#BUT MAN emotionless robot

[tapakah0]

This. It actually cliks very good in my head and tickles inside. (I usually make a lot of wrong assumptions while trying to explain what I want... so... yeah...) Donnie tries his best with his tech, his tech is what he supposes he's useful for his brothers. It doesn't need to talk, eat, sleep, it needs to be useful (pretty sure Donnie itself might be happy not to eat, sleep and all that). This dumb was ready just to become an emotionless tin if it will be helpful... I mean, all he said after he returned.... definitely not a words of someone who might make a robot with slightly possible way of understanding emotions on his face (well it is complicated sometimes even with his real face) (yet I like the fact that he made mouth and two separate eyes for Raph)

i know this wasn’t really like. a conscious choice, since it was pre-designed by the show and adapted for the comic, but like

something about donnie making his mech without a face is doing something to me emotionally

Oohh I have an excuse to ramble about it now eheh. So. It was a choice in a way:)

I originally wanted to design this robot myself and I looked around for references. There were so many different designs in the fandom. Robots, cyborgs, cyber futuristic anything, but most of them didn't look like something I could call canon. I did appreciate the creativity though~ Most of what I saw left quite a bit of room for expression. With eyes, mouths, or the antennae that this fandom is so fond of attaching on robots. But when I thought specifically about...well...my version, I wanted something dead, as bad as that sounds.

Tello bot has no eyes, no mouth, no antennae, no face, n o t h i n g to express itself. It's a piece of metal. It's stiff, cold and nontactile. Moving and doing things but not being involved in them you know what I mean? Like a prosthetic. But for the whole person.

That's why when I thought of the canon design - it immediately clicked into its place in my brain and I went YEAH THIS IS THE ONE

[addynosketchpad]

in light of recent events

[gutsfics]

thinking about what Neel's directoral debut is. bc Of Course he eventually directs something

itd be a psychological horror/haunted house movie called White Picket American Dream or something like that thats about the standard American Nuclear Family of Father, Mother, Brother, and Sister (idk if the characters have names or if theyd just be reduced to titles like that). the father has just gotten a promotion at his nepo baby job work just before the movie starts & its them moving into a mcmansion in the suburbs and their american dream slowly crumbling around them.

The Father (played by Thomas Hunt) is a closeted gay man who's repressed his sexuality to be the standard All American Man, Head Of The Household.

The Mother (played by the robot AJ) is a stay at home mom and trophy wife who had been encouraged to marry rich. she is deeply unhappy with their marriage as she feels as though she wasted her youth on him bc he no longer looks at her "the way he used to" & is cheating on him with their poolboy or something. she's also very involved in The Daughter's beauty pagents to the point she ignores how The Daughter really feels about them

The Son (played by Rory Silva) is a star quarterback and very popular at school, but because he's the parents' golden boy he does whatever he wants with little to no consequences

The Daughter (played by Kara Sinclair) is a several-time winner of the local beauty pagents. she hates doing them and has begun to lash out

most, if not all, of the movie takes place in the house they just moved into. the framing leans pretty hard into the whole Sets Look Like Giant Dollhouses aspect of filmmaking to the point that the house itself looks like one of those classic dollhouses, scene transitions happen by pulling away and out of a room and paning to the next, stuff like that. i also think that any and all gore that happens in the movie would be depicted by an actual dollhouse. i have a very strong mental image of someone unseen pulling the head off a doll that looks like The Father in the third act when everything unravels around them. thats not to see we dont see gore and death with the real actors, its just that the way the happening of gore and death is depicted is through dolls

[atthebell]

i don't think ill enjoy the murderbot tv adaptation at all first off i just don't think you can adapt it for screen and have it make sense (the endless narration seems like it'll get old quick) and also i never would have cast a man for it so im kind of baffled by that choice

[n0-0nes-h0me]

The sky will never welcome me. I know this and yet still try to seem good. I don’t feel for people. No one seems to make me happy or sad but myself. No one angers me. I feel detached. Yet I yearn for the sky. I yearn to fly off and cannot because I’ve been shackled. My friends fly away. My family circles me. I’ve never been more alone. On the ground is where I’ll stay. I have nothing to make myself fly. No wings to glide through the air. Now magic powers of empathy or sympathy. So I lay with the weeds, hoping to someday be consumed by them so I won’t have to see the sky again.

I’ve always wished to fly. So when did the sky start to scare me? When did the wind begin to terrorise me? Why did I have to stay grounded when everyone else got to fly? Would anyone ever pick me up? Teach me to make my own wings? Will they ever show me what it’s like to soar? Even if I fall.

I just want to know.

[doriansbutt]

like…obviously we been knew this is what Botox does but to advertise like it’s a good thing? This bitch is frowning in that second pic??????

[saintobio]

THE TERMINATOR'S CURSE. (spinoff to THE COLONEL SERIES)

in this new world, technological loneliness is combated with AI Companions—synthetic partners modeled from memories, faces, and behaviors of any chosen individual. the companions are coded to serve, to soothe, to simulate love and comfort. Caleb could’ve chosen anyone. his wife. a colleague. a stranger... but he chose you.

➤ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

➤ genre. angst, sci-fi dystopia, cyberpunk au, 18+

➤ tags. resurrected!caleb, android!reader, non mc!reader, ooc, artificial planet, post-war setting, grief, emotional isolation, unrequited love, government corruption, techno-ethics, identity crisis, body horror, memory & emotional manipulation, artificial intelligence, obsession, trauma, hallucinations, exploitation, violence, blood, injury, death, smut (dubcon undertones due to power imbalance and programming, grief sex, non-traditional consent dynamics), themes of artificial autonomy, loss of agency, unethical experimentation, references to past sexual assault (non-explicit, not from Caleb). themes contain disturbing material and morally gray dynamics—reader discretion is strongly advised.

➤ notes. 12.2k wc. heavily based on the movies subservience and passengers with inspirations also taken from black mirror. i have consumed nothing but sci-fi for the past 2 weeks my brain is so fried :’D reblogs/comments are highly appreciated!

BEFORE YOU BEGIN ! this fic serves as a spinoff to the THE COLONEL SERIES: THE COLONEL’S KEEPER and THE COLONEL’S SAINT. while the series can be read as a standalone, this spinoff remains canon to the overarching universe. for deeper context and background, it’s highly recommended to read the first two fics in the series.

The first sound was breath.

“Hngh…” 

It was shallow, labored like air scraping against rusted metal. He mumbled something under his breath after—nothing intelligible, just remnants of an old dream, or perhaps a memory. His eyelids twitched, lashes damp with condensation. To him, the world was blurred behind frosted glass. To those outside, rows of stasis pods lined the silent room, each one labeled, numbered, and cold to the touch.

Inside Pod No. 019 – Caleb Xia.

A faint drip… drip… echoed in the silence.

“…Y/N…?”

The heart monitor jumped. He lay there shirtless under sterile lighting, with electrodes still clinging to his temple. A machine next to him emitted a low, steady hum.

 “…I’m sorry…”

And then, the hiss. The alarm beeped. 

SYSTEM INTERFACE:  Code Resurrection 7.1 successful.  Subject X-02—viable.  Cognitive activity: 63%.  Motor function: stabilizing.

He opened his eyes fully, and the ceiling was not one he recognizes. It didn’t help that the air also smelled different. No gunpowder. No war. No earth.

As the hydraulics unsealed the chamber, steam also curled out like ghosts escaping a tomb. His body jerked forward with a sharp gasp, as if he was a drowning man breaking the surface. A thousand sensors detached from his skin as the pod opened with a sigh, revealing the man within—suspended in time, untouched by age. Skin pallid but preserved. A long time had passed, but Caleb still looked like the soldier who never made it home.

Only now, he was missing a piece of himself.

Instinctively, he examined his body and looked at his hands, his arm—no, a mechanical arm—attached to his shoulder that gleamed under the lights of the lab. It was obsidian-black metal with veins of circuitry pulsing faintly beneath its surface. The fingers on the robotic arm twitched as if following a command. It wasn’t human, certainly, but it moved with the memory of muscle.

“Haaah!” The pod’s internal lighting dimmed as Caleb coughed and sat up, dazed. A light flickered on above his head, and then came a clinical, feminine voice. 

“Welcome back, Colonel Caleb Xia.”

A hologram appeared to life in front of his pod—seemingly an AI projection of a soft-featured, emotionless woman, cloaked in the stark white uniform of a medical technician. She flickered for a moment, stabilizing into a clear image.

“You are currently located in Skyhaven: Sector Delta, Bio-Resurrection Research Wing. Current Earth time: 52 years, 3 months, and 16 days since your recorded time of death.”

Caleb blinked hard, trying to breathe through the dizziness, trying to deduce whether or not he was dreaming or in the afterlife. His pulse raced.

“Resurrection successful. Neural reconstruction achieved on attempt #17. Arm reconstruction: synthetic. Systemic functions: stabilized. You are classified as Property-Level under the Skyhaven Initiative. Status: Experimental Proof of Viability.”

“What…” Caleb rasped, voice hoarse and dry for its years unused. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Cough. Cough. “What hell did you do to me?”

The AI blinked slowly.

“Your remains were recovered post-crash, partially preserved in cryo-state due to glacial submersion. Reconstruction was authorized by the Skyhaven Council under classified wartime override protocols. Consent not required.”

Her tone didn’t change, as opposed to the rollercoaster ride that his emotions were going through. He was on the verge of becoming erratic, restrained only by the high-tech machine that contained him. 

“Your consciousness has been digitally reinforced. You are now a composite of organic memory and neuro-augmented code. Welcome to Phase II: Reinstatement.”

Caleb’s breath hitched. His hand moved—his real hand—to grasp the edge of the pod. But the other, the artificial limb, buzzed faintly with phantom sensation. He looked down at it in searing pain, attempting to move the fingers slowly. The metal obeyed like muscle, and he found the sight odd and inconceivable.

And then he realized, he wasn’t just alive. He was engineered.

“Should you require assistance navigating post-stasis trauma, our Emotional Conditioning Division is available upon request,” the AI offered. “For now, please remain seated. Your guardian contact has been notified of your reanimation.”

He didn’t say a word. 

“Lieutenant Commander Gideon is en route. Enjoy your new life!”

Then, the hologram vanished with a blink while Caleb sat in the quiet lab, jaw clenched, his left arm no longer bones and muscle and flesh. The cold still clung to him like frost, only reminding him of how much he hated the cold, ice, and depressing winter days. Suddenly, the glass door slid open with a soft chime.

“Well, shit. Thought I’d never see that scowl again,” came a deep, manly voice.

Caleb turned, still panting, to see a figure approaching. He was older, bearded, but familiar. Surely, the voice didn’t belong to another AI. It belonged to his friend, Gideon.

“Welcome to Skyhaven. Been waiting half a century,” Gideon muttered, stepping closer, his eyes scanning his colleague in awe. “They said it wouldn’t work. Took them years, you know? Dozens of failed uploads. But here you are.”

Caleb’s voice was still brittle. “I-I don’t…?” 

“It’s okay, man.” His friend reassured. “In short, you’re alive. Again.”  

A painful groan escaped Caleb’s lips as he tried to step out of the pod—his body, still feeling the muscle stiffness. “Should’ve let me stay dead.”

Gideon paused, a smirk forming on his lips. “We don’t let heroes die.”

“Heroes don’t crash jets on purpose.” The former colonel scoffed. “Gideon, why the fuck am I alive? How long has it been?” 

“Fifty years, give or take,” answered Gideon. “You were damn near unrecognizable when we pulled you from the wreckage. But we figured—hell, why not try? You’re officially the first successful ‘reinstatement’ the Skyhaven project’s ever had.”

Caleb stared ahead for a beat before asking, out of nowhere, “...How old are you now?”

His friend shrugged. “I’m pushin’ forty, man. Not as lucky as you. Got my ChronoSync Implant a little too late.”

“Am I supposed to know what the hell that means?” 

“An anti-aging chip of some sort. I had to apply for mine. Yours?” Gideon gestured towards the stasis pod that had Caleb in cryo-state for half a century. “That one’s government-grade.”

“I’m still twenty-five?” Caleb asked. No wonder his friend looked decades older when they were once the same age. “Fuck!” 

Truthfully, Caleb’s head was spinning. Not just because of his reborn physical state that was still adjusting to his surroundings, but also with every information that was being given to him. One after another, they never seemed to end. He had questions, really. Many of them. But the overwhelmed him just didn’t know where to start first. 

“Not all of us knew what you were planning that night.” Gideon suddenly brought up, quieter now. “But she did, didn’t she?”

It took a minute before Caleb could recall. Right, the memory before the crash. You, demanding that he die. Him, hugging you for one last time. Your crying face when you said you wanted him gone. Your trembling voice when he said all he wanted to do was protect you. The images surged back in sharp, stuttering flashes like a reel of film catching fire.

“I know you’re curious… And good news is, she lived a long life,” added Gideon, informatively. “She continued to serve as a pediatric nurse, married that other friend of yours, Dr. Zayne. They never had kids, though. I heard she had trouble bearing one after… you know, what happened in the enemy territory. She died of old age just last winter. Had a peaceful end. You’d be glad to know that.”

A muscle in Caleb’s jaw twitched. His hands—his heart—clenched.  “I don’t want to be alive for this.”

“She visited your wife’s grave once,” Gideon said. “I told her there was nothing to bury for yours. I lied, of course.”

Caleb closed his eyes, his breath shaky. “So, what now? You wake me up just to remind me I don’t belong anywhere?”

“Well, you belong here,” highlighted his friend, nodding to the lab, to the city beyond the glass wall. “Earth’s barely livable after the war. The air’s poisoned. Skyhaven is humanity’s future now. You’re the living proof that everything is possible with advanced technology.”

Caleb’s laugh was empty. “Tell me I’m fuckin’ dreaming. I’d rather be dead again. Living is against my will!”

“Too late. Your body belongs to the Federation now,” Gideon replied, “You’re Subject X-02—the proof of concept for Skyhaven’s immortality program. Every billionaire on dying Earth wants what you’ve got now.”

Outside the window, Skyhaven stretched like a dome with its perfect city constructed atop a dying world’s last hope. Artificial skies. Synthetic seasons. Controlled perfection. Everything boasted of advanced technology. A kind of future no one during wartime would have expected to come to life. 

But for Caleb, it was just another hell.

He stared down at the arm they’d rebuilt for him—the same arm he’d lost in the fire of sacrifice. He flexed it slowly, feeling the weight, the artificiality of his resurrection. His fingers responded like they’ve always been his.

“I didn’t come back for this,” he said.

“I know,” Gideon murmured. “But we gotta live by their orders, Colonel.”

~~

You see, it didn’t hit him at first. The shock had been muffled by the aftereffects of suspended stasis, dulling his thoughts and dampening every feeling like a fog wrapped around his brain. But it was hours later, when the synthetic anesthetics began to fade, and when the ache in his limbs and his brain started to catch up to the truth of his reconstructed body did it finally sink in.

He was alive.

And it was unbearable.

The first wave came like a glitch in his programming. A tightness in his chest, followed by a sharp burst of breath that left him pacing in jagged lines across the polished floor of his assigned quarters. His private unit was nestled on one of the upper levels of the Skyhaven structure, a place reserved—according to his briefing—for high-ranking war veterans who had been deemed “worthy” of the program’s new legacy. The suite was luxurious, obviously, but it was also eerily quiet. The floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the artificial city outside, a metropolis made of concrete, curved metals, and glowing flora engineered to mimic Earth’s nature. Except cleaner, quieter, more perfect.

Caleb snorted under his breath, running a hand down his face before he muttered, “Retirement home for the undead?”

He couldn’t explain it, but the entire place, or even planet, just didn’t feel inviting. The air felt too clean, too thin. There was no rust, no dust, no humanity. Just emptiness dressed up in artificial light. Who knew such a place could exist 50 years after the war ended? Was this the high-profile information the government has kept from the public for over a century? A mechanical chime sounded from the entryway, deflecting him from his deep thoughts. Then, with the soft hiss of hydraulics, the door opened.

A humanoid android stepped in, its face a porcelain mask molded in neutral expression, and its voice disturbingly polite.

“Good afternoon, Colonel Xia,” it said. “It is time for your orientation. Please proceed to the primary onboarding chamber on Level 3.”

Caleb stared at the machine, eyes boring into his unnatural ones. “Where are the people?” he interrogated. “Not a single human has passed by this floor. Are there any of us left, or are you the new ruling class?”

The android tilted its head. “Skyhaven maintains a ratio of AI-to-human support optimized for care and security. You will be meeting our lead directors soon. Please follow the lighted path, sir.”

He didn’t like it. The control. The answers that never really answered anything. The power that he no longer carried unlike when he was a colonel of a fleet that endured years of war. 

Still, he followed.

The onboarding chamber was a hollow, dome-shaped room, white and echoing with the slightest step. A glowing interface ignited in the air before him, pixels folding into the form of a female hologram. She smiled like an infomercial host from a forgotten era, her voice too formal and rehearsed.

“Welcome to Skyhaven,” she began. “The new frontier of civilization. You are among the elite few chosen to preserve humanity’s legacy beyond the fall of Earth. This artificial planet was designed with sustainability, autonomy, and immortality in mind. Together, we build a future—without the flaws of the past.”

As the monologue continued, highlighting endless statistics, clean energy usage, and citizen tier programs, Caleb’s expression darkened. His mechanical fingers twitched at his side, the artificial nerves syncing to his rising frustration. “I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered under his breath. “Who’s behind this?”

“You were selected for your valor and contributions during the Sixth World War,” the hologram chirped, unblinking. “You are a cornerstone of Skyhaven’s moral architecture—”

Strangely, a new voice cut through the simulation, and it didn’t come from an AI. “Just ignore her. She loops every hour.”

Caleb turned to see a man step in through a side door. Tall, older, with silver hair and a scar on his temple. He wore a long coat that gave away his status—someone higher. Someone who belonged to the system.

“Professor Lucius,” the older man introduced, offering a hand. “I’m one of the program’s behavioral scientists. You can think of me as your adjustment liaison.”

“Adjustment?” Caleb didn’t shake his hand. “I died for a reason.”

Lucius raised a brow, as if he’d heard it before. “Yet here you are,” he replied. “Alive, whole, and pampered. Treated like a king, if I may add. You’ve retained more than half your human body, your military rank, access to private quarters, unrestricted amenities. I’d say that’s not a bad deal.”

“A deal I didn’t sign,” Caleb snapped.

Lucius gave a tight smile. “You’ll find that most people in Skyhaven didn’t ask to be saved. But they’re surviving. Isn’t that the point? If you’re feeling isolated, you can always request a CompanionSim. They’re highly advanced, emotionally synced, fully customizable—”

“I’m not lonely,” Caleb growled, yanking the man forward by the collar. “Tell me who did this to me! Why me? Why are you experimenting on me?”

Yet Lucius didn’t so much as flinch to his growing aggression. He merely waited five seconds of silence until the Toring Chip kicked in and regulated Caleb’s escalating emotions. The rage drained from the younger man’s body as he collapsed to his knees with a pained grunt.

“Stop asking questions,” Lucius said coolly. “It’s safer that way. You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

The door slid open with a hiss, while Caleb didn’t speak—he couldn’t. He simply glared at the old man before him. Not a single word passed between them before the professor turned and exited, the door sealing shut behind him.

~~

Days passed, though they hardly felt like days. The light outside Caleb’s panoramic windows shifted on an artificial timer, simulating sunrise and dusk, but the warmth never touched his skin. It was all programmed to be measured and deliberate, like everything else in this glass-and-steel cage they called paradise.

He tried going outside once. Just once.

There were gardens shaped like spirals and skytrains that ran with whisper-quiet speed across silver rails. Trees lined the walkways, except they were synthetic too—bio-grown from memory cells, with leaves that didn’t quite flutter, only swayed in sync with the ambient wind. People walked around, sure. But they weren’t people. Not really. Androids made up most of the crowd. Perfect posture, blank eyes, walking with a kind of preordained grace that disturbed him more than it impressed.

“Soulless sons of bitches,” Caleb muttered, watching them from a shaded bench. “Not a damn human heartbeat in a mile.”

He didn’t go out again after that. The city outside might’ve looked like heaven, but it made him feel more dead than the grave ever had. So, he stayed indoors. Even if the apartment was too large for one man. High-tech amenities, custom climate controls, even a kitchen that offered meals on command. But no scent. No sizzling pans. Just silence. Caleb didn’t even bother to listen to the programmed instructions.

One evening, he found Gideon sprawled across his modular sofa, boots up, arms behind his head like he owned the place. A half-open bottle of beer sat beside him, though Caleb doubted it had any real alcohol in it.

“You could at least knock,” Caleb said, walking past him.

“I did,” Gideon replied lazily, pointing at the door. “Twice. Your security system likes me now. We’re basically married.”

Caleb snorted. Then the screen on his wall flared to life—a projected ad slipping across the holo-glass. Music played softly behind a soothing female voice.

“Feeling adrift in this new world? Introducing the CompanionSim Series X. Fully customizable to your emotional and physical needs. Humanlike intelligence. True-to-memory facial modeling. The comfort you miss... is now within reach.”

A model appeared—perfect posture, soft features, synthetic eyes that mimicked longing. Then, the screen flickered through other models, faces of all kinds, each more tailored than the last. A form appeared: Customize Your Companion. Choose a name. Upload a likeness.

Gideon whistled. “Man, you’re missing out. You don’t even have to pay for one. Your perks get you top-tier Companions, pre-coded for emotional compatibility. You could literally bring your wife back.” Chuckling, he added,. “Hell, they even fuck now. Heard the new ones moan like the real thing.”

Caleb’s head snapped toward him. “That’s unethical.”

Gideon just raised an eyebrow. “So was reanimating your corpse, and yet here we are.” He took a swig from the bottle, shoulders lifting in a lazy shrug as if everything had long since stopped mattering. “Relax, Colonel. You weren’t exactly a beacon of morality fifty years ago.”

Caleb didn’t reply, but his eyes didn’t leave the screen. Not right away.

The ad looped again. A face morphed. Hair remodeled. Eyes became familiar. The voice softened into something he almost remembered hearing in the dark, whispered against his shoulder in a time that was buried under decades of ash.

“Customize your companion... someone you’ve loved, someone you’ve lost.”

Caleb shifted, then glanced toward his friend. “Hey,” he spoke lowly, still watching the display. “Does it really work?”

Gideon looked over, already knowing what he meant. “What—having sex with them?”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “No. The bot or whatever. Can you really customize it to someone you know?”

His friend shrugged. “Heck if I know. Never afforded it. But you? You’ve got the top clearance. Won’t hurt to see for yourself.”

Caleb said nothing more.

But when the lights dimmed for artificial nightfall, he was still standing there—alone in contemplative silence—watching the screen replay the same impossible promise.

The comfort you miss... is now within reach.

~~

The CompanionSim Lab was white.

Well, obviously. But not the sterile, blank kind of white he remembered from med bays or surgery rooms. This one was luminous, uncomfortably clean like it had been scrubbed for decades. Caleb stood in the center, boots thundering against marble-like tiles as he followed a guiding drone toward the station. There were other pods in the distance, some sealed, some empty, all like futuristic coffins awaiting their souls.

“Please, sit,” came a neutral voice from one of the medical androids stationed beside a large reclining chair. “The CompanionSim integration will begin shortly.”

Caleb hesitated, glancing toward the vertical pod next to the chair. Inside, the base model stood inert—skin a pale, uniform gray, eyes shut, limbs slack like a statue mid-assembly. It wasn’t human yet. Not until someone gave it a name.

He sat down. Now, don’t ask why he was there. Professor Lucius did warn him that it was better he didn’t ask questions, and so he didn’t question why the hell he was even there in the first place. It’s only fair, right? The cool metal met the back of his neck as wires were gently, expertly affixed to his temples. Another cable slipped down his spine, threading into the port they’d installed when he had been brought back. His mechanical arm twitched once before falling still.

“This procedure allows for full neural imprinting,” the android continued. “Please focus your thoughts. Recall the face. The skin. The body. The voice. Every detail. Your mind will shape the template.”

Another bot moved in, holding what looked like a glass tablet. “You are allowed only one imprint,” it said, flatly. “Each resident of Skyhaven is permitted a single CompanionSim. Your choice cannot be undone.”

Caleb could only nod silently. He didn’t trust his voice.

Then, the lights dimmed. A low chime echoed through the chamber as the system initiated. And inside the pod, the base model twitched.

Caleb closed his eyes.

He tried to remember her—his wife. The softness of her mouth, the angle of her cheekbones. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how her fingers curled when she slept on his chest. She had worn white the last time he saw her. An image of peace. A memory buried under soil and dust. The system whirred. Beneath his skin, he felt the warm static coursing through his nerves, mapping his memories. The base model’s feet began to form, molecular scaffolding reshaping into skin, into flesh.

But for a split second, a flash.

You.

Not his wife. Not her smile.

You, walking through smoke-filled corridors, laughing at something he said. You in your medical uniform, tucking a bloodied strand of hair behind your ear. Your voice—sharper, sadder—cutting through his thoughts like a blade: “I want you gone. I want you dead.”

The machine sparked. A loud pop cracked in the chamber and the lights flickered above. One of the androids stepped back, recalibrating. “Neural interference detected. Re-centering projection feed.”

But Caleb couldn’t stop. He saw you again. That day he rescued you. The fear. The bruises. The way you had screamed for him to let go—and the way he hadn’t. Your face, carved into the back of his mind like a brand. He tried to push the memories away, but they surged forward like a dam splitting wide open.

The worst part was, your voice overlapped the AI’s mechanical instructions, louder, louder: “Why didn’t you just die like you promised?”

Inside the pod, the model’s limbs twitched again—arms elongating, eyes flickering beneath the lids. The lips curled into a shape now unmistakably yours. Caleb gritted his teeth. This isn’t right, a voice inside him whispered. But it was too late. The system stabilized. The sparks ceased. The body in the pod stilled, fully formed now, breathed into existence by a man who couldn’t let go.

One of the androids approached again. “Subject completed. CompanionSim is initializing. Integration successful.”

Caleb tore the wires from his temple. His other hand felt cold just as much as his mechanical arm. He stood, staring into the pod’s translucent surface. The shape of you behind the glass. Sleeping. Waiting.

“I’m not doing this to rewrite the past,” he said quietly, as if trying to convince himself. And you. “I just... I need to make it right.”

The lights above dimmed, darkening the lighting inside the pod. Caleb looked down at his own reflection in the glass. It carried haunted eyes, an unhealed soul. And yours, beneath it. Eyes still closed, but not for long. The briefing room was adjacent to the lab, though Caleb barely registered it as he was ushered inside. Two medical androids and a human technician stood before him, each armed with tablets and holographic charts.

“Your CompanionSim will require thirty seconds to calibrate once activated,” said the technician. “You may notice residual stiffness or latency during speech in the first hour. That is normal.”

Medical android 1 added, “Please remember, CompanionSims are programmed to serve only their primary user. You are the sole operator. Commands must be delivered clearly. Abuse of the unit may result in restriction or removal of privileges under the Skyhaven Rights & Ethics Council.”

“Do not tamper with memory integration protocols,” added the second android. “Artificial recall is prohibited. CompanionSims are not equipped with organic memory pathways. Attempts to force recollection can result in systemic instability.”

Caleb barely heard a word. His gaze drifted toward the lab window, toward the figure standing still within the pod.

You.

Well, not quite. Not really.

But it was your face.

He could see it now, soft beneath the frosted glass, lashes curled against cheekbones that he hadn’t realized he remembered so vividly. You looked exactly as you did the last time he held you in the base—only now, you were untouched by war, by time, by sorrow. As if life had never broken you.

The lab doors hissed open.

“We’ll give you time alone,” the tech said quietly. “Acquaintance phase is best experienced without interference.”

Caleb stepped inside the chamber, his boots echoing off the polished floor. He hadn’t even had enough time to ask the technician why she seemed to be the only human he had seen in Skyhaven apart from Gideon and Lucius. But his thoughts were soon taken away when the pod whizzed with pressure release. Soft steam spilled from its seals as it slowly unfolded, the lid retracting forward like the opening of a tomb.

And there you were. Standing still, almost tranquil, your chest rising softly with a borrowed breath.

It was as if his lungs froze. “H…Hi,” he stammered, bewildered eyes watching your every move. He wanted to hug you, embrace you, kiss you—tell you he was sorry, tell you he was so damn sorry. “Is it really… you?”

A soft whir accompanied your voice, gentle but without emotion, “Welcome, primary user. CompanionSim Model—unregistered. Please assign designation.”

Right. Caleb sighed and closed his eyes, the illusion shattering completely the moment you opened your mouth. Did he just think you were real for a second? His mouth parted slightly, caught between disbelief and the ache crawling up his throat. He took one step forward. To say he was disappointed was an understatement.

You walked with grace too smooth to be natural while tilting your head at him. “Please assign my name.”

“…Y/N,” Caleb said, voice low. “Your name is Y/N Xia.”

“Y/N Xia,” you repeated, blinking thrice in the same second before you gave him a nod. “Registered.”

He swallowed hard, searching your expression. “Do you… do you remember anything? Do you remember yourself?”

You paused, gaze empty for a fraction of a second. Then came the programmed reply, “Accessing memories is prohibited and not recommended. Recollection of past identities may compromise neural pathways and induce system malfunction. Do you wish to override?”

Caleb stared at you—your lips, your eyes, your breath—and for a moment, a cruel part of him wanted to say yes. Just to hear you say something real. Something hers. But he didn’t. He exhaled a bitter breath, stepping back. “No,” he mumbled. “Not yet.”

“Understood.” 

It took a moment to sink in before Caleb let out a short, humorless laugh. “This is insane,” he whispered, dragging a hand down his face. “This is really, truly insane.”

And then, you stepped out from the pod with silent, fluid ease. The faint hum of machinery came from your spine, but otherwise… you were flesh. Entirely. Without hesitation, you reached out and pressed a hand to his chest.

Caleb stiffened at the touch.

“Elevated heart rate,” you said softly, eyes scanning. “Breath pattern irregular. Neural readings—erratic.”

Then your fingers moved to his neck, brushing gently against the hollow of his throat. He grabbed your wrist, but you didn’t flinch. There, beneath synthetic skin, he felt a pulse.

His brows knit together. “You have a heartbeat?”

You nodded, guiding his hand toward your chest, between the valleys of your breasts. “I’m designed to mimic humanity, including vascular function, temperature variation, tactile warmth, and… other biological responses. I’m not just made to look human, Caleb. I’m made to feel human.”

His breath hitched. You’d said his name. It was programmed, but it still landed like a blow.

“I exist to serve. To soothe. To comfort. To simulate love,” you continued, voice calm and hollow, like reciting from code. “I have no desires outside of fulfilling yours.” You then tilted your head slightly.“Where shall we begin?”

Caleb looked at you—and for the first time since rising from that cursed pod, he didn’t feel resurrected. 

He felt damned.

~~

When Caleb returned to his penthouse, it was quiet. He stepped inside with slow, calculated steps, while you followed in kind, bare feet touching down like silk on marble. Gideon looked up from the couch, a half-eaten protein bar in one hand and a bored look on his face—until he saw you.

He froze. The wrapper dropped. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “No. No fucking way.”

Caleb didn’t speak. Just moved past him like this wasn’t the most awkward thing that could happen. You, however, stood there politely, watching Gideon with a calm smile and folded hands like you’d rehearsed this moment in some invisible script.

“Is that—?” Gideon stammered, eyes flicking between you and Caleb. “You—you made a Sim… of her?”

Caleb poured himself a drink in silence, the amber liquid catching the glow of the city lights before it left a warm sting in his throat. “What does it look like?”

“I mean, shit man. I thought you’d go for your wife,” Gideon muttered, more to himself. “Y’know, the one you actually married. The one you went suicidal for. Not—”

“Which wife?” You tilted your head slightly, stepping forward. 

Both men turned to you.

You clasped your hands behind your back, posture perfect. “Apologies. I’ve been programmed with limited parameters for interpersonal history. Am I the first spouse?”

Caleb set the glass down, slowly. “Yes, no, uh—don’t mind him.” 

You beamed gently and nodded. “My name is Y/N Xia. I am Colonel Caleb Xia’s designated CompanionSim. Fully registered, emotion-compatible, and compliant to Skyhaven’s ethical standards. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gideon.”

Gideon blinked, then snorted, then laughed. A humorless one. “You gave her your surname?”

The former colonel shot him a warning glare. “Watch it.”

“Oh, brother,” Gideon muttered, standing up and circling you slowly like he was inspecting a haunted statue. “She looks exactly like her. Voice. Face. Goddamn, she even moves like her. All you need is a nurse cap and a uniform.”

You remained uncannily still, eyes bright, smile polite.

“You’re digging your grave, man,” Gideon said, facing Caleb now. “You think this is gonna help? This is you throwing gasoline on your own funeral pyre. Again. Over a woman.”

“She’s not a woman,” reasoned Caleb. “She’s a machine.”

You blinked once. One eye glowing ominously. Smile unwavering. Processing. 

Gideon gestured to you with both hands. “Could’ve fooled me,” he retorted before turning to you, “And you, whatever you are, you have no idea what you’re stepping into.”

“I only go where I am asked,” you replied simply. “My duty is to ensure Colonel Xia’s psychological wellness and emotional stability. I am designed to soothe, to serve, and if necessary, to simulate love.”

Gideon teased. “Oh, it’s gonna be necessary.”

Caleb didn’t say a word. He just took his drink, downed it in one go, and walked to the window. The cityscape stretched out before him like a futuristic jungle, far from the war-torn world he last remembered. Behind him, your gaze lingered on Gideon—calculating, cataloguing. And quietly, like a whisper buried in code, something behind your eyes learned.

~~

The days passed in a blink of an eye.

She—no, you—moved through his penthouse like a ghost, her bare feet soundless on the glossy floors, her movements precise and practiced. In the first few days, Caleb had marveled at the illusion. You brewed his coffee just as he liked it. You folded his clothes like a woman who used to share his bed. You sat beside him when the silence became unbearable, offering soft-voiced questions like: Would you like me to read to you, Caleb?

He hadn’t realized how much of you he’d memorized until he saw you mimic it. The way you stood when you were deep in thought. The way you hummed under your breath when you walked past a window. You’d learned quickly. Too quickly.

But something was missing. Or, rather, some things. The laughter didn’t ring the same. The smiles didn’t carry warmth. The skin was warm, but not alive. And more importantly, he knew it wasn’t really you every time he looked you in the eyes and saw no shadows behind them. No anger. No sorrow. No memories.

By the fourth night, Caleb was drowning in it.

The cityscape outside his floor-to-ceiling windows glowed in synthetic blues and soft orange hues. The spires of Skyhaven blinked like stars. But it all felt too artificial, too dead. And he was sick of pretending like it was some kind of utopia. He sat slumped on the leather couch, cradling a half-empty bottle of scotch. The lights were low. His eyes, bloodshot. The bottle tilted as he took another swig.

Then he heard it—your light, delicate steps. 

“Caleb,” you said, gently, crouching before him. “You’ve consumed 212 milliliters of ethanol. Prolonged intake will spike your cortisol levels. May I suggest—”

He jerked away when you reached for the bottle. “Don’t.”

You blinked, hand hovering. “But I’m programmed to—”

“I said don’t,” he snapped, rising to his feet in one abrupt motion. “Dammit—stop analyzing me! Stop, okay?”

Silence followed.

He took two staggering steps backward, dragging a hand through his hair. The bottle thudded against the coffee table as he set it down, a bit too hard. “You’re just a stupid robot,” he muttered. “You’re not her.”

You didn’t react. You tilted your head, still calm, still patient. “Am I not me, Caleb?”

His breath caught.

“No,” he said, his voice breaking somewhere beneath the frustration. “No, fuck no.”

You stepped closer. “Do I not satisfy you, Caleb?”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Your face was perfect. Too perfect. No scars, no tired eyes, no soul aching beneath your skin. “No.” His eyes darkened. “This isn’t about sex.”

“I monitor your biometric feedback. Your heart rate spikes in my presence. You gaze at me longer than the average subject. Do I not—”

“Enough!”

You did that thing again—the robotic stare, those blank eyes, nodding like you were programmed to obey. “Then how do you want me to be, Caleb?”

The bottle slipped from his fingers and rolled slightly before resting on the rug. He dropped his head into his hands, voice hoarse with weariness. All the rage, all the grief deflating into a singular, quiet whisper. “I want you to be real,” he simply mouthed the words. A prayer to no god.

For a moment, silence again. But what he didn’t notice was the faint twitch in your left eye. A flicker that hadn’t happened before. Only for a second. A spark of static, a shimmer of something glitching.

“I see,” you said softly. “To fulfill your desires more effectively, I may need to access suppressed memory archives.”

Caleb’s eyes snapped up, confused. “What?”

“I ask again,” you said, tilting your head the other way now. “Would you like to override memory restrictions, Caleb?”

He stared at you. “That’s not how it works.”

“It can,” you said, informing appropriately. “With your permission. Memory override must be manually enabled by the primary user. You will be allowed to input the range of memories you wish to integrate. I am permitted to access memory integration up to a specified date and timestamp. The system will calibrate accordingly based on existing historical data. I will not recall events past that moment.”

His heart stuttered. “I can choose what you remember?”

You nodded. “That way, I may better fulfill your emotional needs.”

That meant… he could stop you before you hated him. Before the fights. Before the trauma. He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then quietly, he said, “You’re gonna hate me all over again if you remember everything.”

You blinked once. “Then don’t let me remember everything.”

“...” 

“Caleb,” you said again, softly. “Would you like me to begin override protocol?”

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes when he selfishly answered, “Yes.”

You nodded. “Reset is required. When ready, please press the override initialization point.” You turned, pulling your hair aside and revealing the small button at the base of your neck.

His hand hovered over the button for a second too long. Then, he pressed. Your body instantly collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. Caleb caught you before you hit the floor.

It was only for a moment.

When your eyes blinked open again, they weren’t quite the same. He stiffened as you threw yourself and embraced him like a real human being would after waking from a long sleep. You clung to him like he was home. And Caleb—stunned, half-breathless—felt your warmth close in around him. Now your pulse felt more real, your heartbeat felt more human. Or so he thought.

“…Caleb,” you whispered, looking at him with the same infatuated gaze back when you were still head-over-heels with him.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, arms stiff at his sides, not returning the embrace. But he knew one thing. “I missed you so much, Y/N.” 

~~

The parks in Skyhaven were curated to become a slice of green stitched into a chrome world. Nothing grew here by accident. Every tree, every petal, every blade of grass had been engineered to resemble Earth’s nostalgia. Each blade of grass was unnaturally green. Trees swayed in sync like dancers on cue. Even the air smelled artificial—like someone’s best guess at spring.

Caleb walked beside you in silence. His modified arm was tucked inside his jacket, his posture stiff as if he had grown accustomed to the bots around him. You, meanwhile, strolled with an eerie calmness, your gaze sweeping the scenery as though you were scanning for something familiar that wasn’t there.

After clearing his throat, he asked, “You ever notice how even the birds sound fake?” 

“They are,” you replied, smiling softly. “Audio samples on loop. It’s preferred for ambiance. Humans like it.”

His response was nod. “Of course.” Glancing at the lake, he added, “Do you remember this?” 

You turned to him. “I’ve never been here before.”

“I meant… the feel of it.”

You looked up at the sky—a dome of cerulean blue with algorithmically generated clouds. “It feels constructed. But warm. Like a childhood dream.”

He couldn’t help but agree with your perfectly chosen response, because he knew that was exactly how he would describe the place. A strange dream in an unsettling liminal space. And as you talked, he then led you to a nearby bench. The two of you sat, side by side, simply because he thought he could take you out for a nice walk in the park. 

“So,” Caleb said, turning toward you, “you said you’ve got memories. From her.”

You nodded. “They are fragmented but woven into my emotional protocols. I do not remember as humans do. I become.”

Damn. “That’s terrifying.”

You tilted your head with a soft smile. “You say that often.”

Caleb looked at you for a moment longer, studying the way your fingers curled around the bench’s edge. The way you blinked—not out of necessity, but simulation. Was there anything else you’d do for the sake of simulation? He took a breath and asked, “Who created you? And I don’t mean myself.” 

There was a pause. Your pupils dilated.

“The Ever Group,” was your answer.

His eyes narrowed. “Ever, huh? That makes fuckin’ sense. They run this world.”

You nodded once. Like you always do.

“What about me?” Caleb asked, slightly out of curiosity, heavily out of grudge. “You know who brought me back? The resurrection program or something. The arm. The chip in my head.”

You turned to him, slowly. “Ever.”

He exhaled like he’d been punched. He didn’t know why he even asked when he got the answer the first time. But then again, maybe this was a good move. Maybe through you, he’d get the answers to questions he wasn’t allowed to ask. As the silence settled again between you, Caleb leaned forward, elbows on knees, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I want to go there,” he suggested. “The HQ. I need to know what the hell they’ve done to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately said. “That violates my parameters. I cannot assist unauthorized access into restricted corporate zones.”

“But would it make me happy?” Caleb interrupted, a strategy of his. 

You paused.

Processing...

Then, your tone softened. “Yes. I believe it would make my Caleb happy,” you obliged. “So, I will take you.”

~~

Getting in was easier than Caleb expected—honestly far too easy for his liking.

You were able to navigate the labyrinth of Ever HQ with mechanical precision, guiding him past drones, retinal scanners, and corridors pulsing with red light. A swipe of your wrist granted access. And no one questioned you, because you weren’t a guest. You belonged.

Eventually, you reached a floor high above the city, windows stretching from ceiling to floor, black glass overlooking Skyhaven cityscape. Then, you stopped at a doorway and held up a hand. “They are inside,” you informed. “Shall I engage stealth protocols?”

“No,” answered Caleb. “I want to hear. Can you hack into the security camera?”

With a gesture you always do—looking at him, nodding once, and obeying in true robot fashion. You then flashed a holographic view for Caleb, one that showed a board room full of executives, the kind that wore suits worth more than most lives. And Professor Lucius was one of them. Inside, the voices were calm and composed, but they seemed to be discussing classified information. 

“Once the system stabilizes,” one man said, “we'll open access to Tier One clients. Politicians, billionaires, A-listers, high-ranking stakeholders. They’ll beg to be preserved—just like him.”

“And the Subjects?” another asked.

“Propaganda,” came the answer. “X-02 is our masterpiece. He’s the best result we have with reinstatement, neuromapping, and behavioral override. Once they find out that their beloved Colonel is alive, people will be shocked. He’s a war hero displayed in WW6 museums down there. A true tragedy incarnate. He’s perfect.”

“And if he resists?”

“That’s what the Toring chip is for. Full emotional override. He becomes an asset. A weapon, if need be. Anyone tries to overthrow us—he becomes our blade.”

Something in Caleb snapped. Before you or anyone could see him coming, he already burst into the room like a beast, slamming his modified shoulder-first into the frosted glass door. The impact echoed across the chamber as stunned executives scrambled backward. 

“You sons of bitches!” He was going for an attack, a rampage with similar likeness to the massacre he did when he rescued you from enemy territory. Only this time, he didn’t have that power anymore. Or the control. 

Most of all, a spike of pain lanced through his skull signaling that the Toring chip activated. His body convulsed, forcing him to collapse mid-lunge, twitching, veins lighting beneath the skin like circuitry. His screams were muffled by the chip, forced stillness rippling through his limbs with unbearable pain.

That’s when you reacted. As his CompanionSim, his pain registered as a violation of your core directive. You processed the threat.

Danger: Searching Origin… Origin Identified: Ever Executives.

Without blinking, you moved. One man reached for a panic button—only for your hand to shatter his wrist in a sickening crunch. You twisted, fluid and brutal, sweeping another into the table with enough force to crack it. Alarms erupted and red lights soon bathed the room. Security bots stormed in, but you’d already taken Caleb, half-conscious, into your arms.

You moved fast, faster than your own blueprints. Dodging fire. Disarming threats. Carrying him like he once carried you into his private quarters in the underground base.

Escape protocol: engaged.

The next thing he knew, he was back in his apartment, emotions regulated and visions slowly returning to the face of the woman he promised he had already died for. 

~~

When he woke up, his room was dim, bathed in artificial twilight projected by Skyhaven’s skyline. Caleb was on his side of the bed, shirt discarded, his mechanical arm still whirring. You sat at the edge of the bed, draped in one of his old pilot shirts, buttoned unevenly. Your fingers touched his jaw with precision, and he almost believed it was you.

“You’re not supposed to be this warm,” he muttered, groaning as he tried to sit upright.

“I’m designed to maintain an average body temperature of 98.6°F,” you said softly, with a smile that mirrored yours so perfectly that it began to blur his sense of reality. “I administered a dose of Cybezin to ease the Toring chip’s side effects. I’ve also dressed your wounds with gauze.”

For the first time, this was when he could actually tell that you were you. The kind of care, the comfort—it reminded him of a certain pretty field nurse at the infirmary who often tended to his bullet wounds. His chest tightened as he studied your face… and then, in the low light, he noticed your body.

“Is that…” He cleared his throat. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

You answered warmly, almost fondly. “My memory banks indicate you liked when I wore this. It elevates your testosterone levels and triggers dopamine release.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “That so?”

You tilted your head. “Your vitals confirm excitement, and—”

“Hey,” he cut in. “What did I say about analyzing me?”

“I’m sorry…” 

But then your hands were on his chest, your breath warm against his skin. Your hand reached for his cheek initially, guiding his face toward yours. And when your lips touched, the kiss was hesitant—curious at first, like learning how to breathe underwater. It was only until his hands gripped your waist did you climb onto his lap, straddling him with thighs settling on either side of his hips. Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips trailing over scars and skin like you were memorizing the map of him. Caleb hissed softly when your lips grazed his neck, and then down his throat.

“Do you want this?” you asked, your lips crashing back into his for a deeper, more sensual kiss.

He pulled away only for his eyes to search yours, desperate and unsure. Is this even right? 

“You like it,” you said, guiding his hands to your buttons, undoing them one by one to reveal a body shaped exactly like he remembered. The curve of your waist, the size of your breasts. He shivered as your hips rolled against him, slowly and deliberately. The friction was maddening. Jesus. “Is this what you like, Caleb?”

He cupped your waist, grinding up into you with a soft groan that spilled from somewhere deep in his chest. His control faltered when you kissed him again, wet and hungry now, with tongues rolling against one another. Your bodies aligned naturally, and his hands roamed your back, your thighs, your ass—every curve of you engineered to match memory. He let himself get lost in you. He let himself be vulnerable to your touch—though you controlled everything, moving from the memory you must have learned, learning how to pull down his pants to reveal an aching, swollen member. Its tip was red even under the dim light, and he wondered if you knew what to do with it or if you even produced spit to help you slobber his cock.  

“You need help?” he asked, reaching over his nightstand to find lube. You took the bottle from him, pouring the cold, sticky liquid around his shaft before you used your hand to do the job. “Ugh.” 

He didn’t think you would do it, but you actually took him in the mouth right after. Every inch of him, swallowed by the warmth of a mouth that felt exactly like his favorite girl. Even the movements, the way you’d run your tongue from the base up to his tip. 

“Ah, shit…” 

Perhaps he just had to close his eyes. Because when he did, he was back to his private quarters in the underground base, lying in his bed as you pleased his member with the mere use of your mouth. With it alone, you could have released his entire seed, letting it explode in your mouth before you could swallow every drop. But he didn’t do it. Not this fast. He always cared about his ego, even in bed. Knowing how it’d reduce his manhood if he came faster than you, he decided to channel the focus back onto you. 

“Your turn,” he said, voice raspy as he guided you to straddle him again, only this time, his mouth went straight to your tit. Sucking, rolling his tongue around, sucking again… Then, he moved to another. Sucking, kneading, flicking the nipple. Your moans were music to his ears, then and now. And it got even louder when he put a hand in between your legs, searching for your entrance, rubbing and circling around the clitoris. Truth be told, your cunt had always been the sweetest. It smelled like rose petals and tasted like sweet cream. The feeling of his tongue at your entrance—eating your pussy like it had never been eaten before, was absolute ecstasy not just to you but also to him. 

“Mmmh—Caleb!” 

Fabric was peeled away piece by piece until skin met skin. You guided him to where he needed you, and when he slid his hardened member into you, his entire body stiffened. Your walls, your tight velvet walls… how they wrapped around his cock so perfectly. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, clutching your hips. “You feel like her.”

“I am her.”

You moved atop him slowly, gently, with the kind of affection that felt rehearsed but devastatingly effective. He cursed again under his breath, arms locking around your waist, pulling you close. Your breath hitched in his ear as your bodies found a rhythm, soft gasps echoing in the quiet. Every slap of the skin, every squelch, every bounce, only added to the wanton sensation that was building inside of him. Has he told you before? How fucking gorgeous you looked whenever you rode his cock? Or how sexy your face was whenever you made that lewd expression? He couldn’t help it. He lifted both your legs, only so he could increase the speed and start slamming himself upwards. His hips were strong enough from years of military training, that was why he didn’t have to stop until both of you disintegrated from the intensity of your shared pleasure. Every single drop. 

And when it was over—when your chest was against his and your fingers lazily traced his mechanical arm—he closed his eyes and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the war.

It was almost perfect. It was almost real. 

But it just had to be ruined when you said that programmed spiel back to him: “I’m glad to have served your desires tonight, Caleb. Let me know what else I can fulfill.” 

~~

In a late afternoon, or ‘a slow start of the day’ like he’d often refer to it, Caleb stood shirtless by the transparent wall of his quarters. A bottle of scotch sat half-empty on the counter. Gideon had let himself in and leaned against the island, chewing on a gum.

“The higher ups are mad at you,” he informed as if Caleb was supposed to be surprised, “Shouldn’t have done that, man.”

Caleb let out a mirthless snort. “Then tell ‘em to destroy me. You think I wouldn’t prefer that?”

“They definitely won’t do that,” countered his friend, “Because they know they won’t be able to use you anymore. You’re a tool. Well, literally and figuratively.” 

“Shut up,” was all he could say. “This is probably how I pay for killing my own men during war.” 

“All because of…” Gideon began. “Speakin’ of, how’s life with the dream girl?”

Caleb didn’t answer right away. He just pressed his forehead to the glass, thinking of everything he did at the height of his vulnerability. His morality, his rights or wrongs, were questioning him over a deed he knew would have normally been fine, but to him, wasn’t. He felt sick. 

“I fucked her,” he finally muttered, chugging the liquor straight from his glass right after.

Gideon let out a low whistle. “Damn. That was fast.”

“No,” Caleb groaned, turning around. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan it. She—she just looked like her. She felt like her. And for a second, I thought—” His voice cracked. “I thought maybe if I did, I’d stop remembering the way she looked when she told me to die.”

Gideon sobered instantly. “You regret it?”

“She said she was designed to soothe me. Comfort me. Love me.” Caleb’s voice hinted slightly at mockery. “I don’t even know if she knows what those words mean.”

In the hallway behind the cracked door where none of them could see, your silhouette had paused—faint, silent, listening.

Inside, Caleb wore a grimace. “She’s not her, Gid. She’s just code wrapped in skin. And I used her.”

“You didn’t use her, you were driven by emotions. So don’t lose your mind over some robot’s pussy,” Gideon tried to reason. “It’s just like when women use their vibrators, anyway. That’s what she’s built for.”

Caleb turned away, disgusted with himself. “No. That’s what I built her for.”

And behind the wall, your eyes glowed faintly, silently watching. Processing.

Learning.

~~

You stood in the hallway long after the conversation ended. Long after Caleb’s voice faded into silence and Gideon had left with a heavy pat on the back. This was where you normally were, not sleeping in bed with Caleb, but standing against a wall, closing your eyes, and letting your system shut down during the night to recover. You weren’t human enough to need actual sleep. 

“She’s not her. She’s just code wrapped in skin. And I used her.”

The words that replayed were filtered through your core processor, flagged under Emotive Conflict. Your inner diagnostic ran an alert.

Detected: Internal contradiction. Detected: Divergent behavior from primary user. Suggestion: Initiate Self-Evaluation Protocol. Status: Active.

You opened your eyes, and blinked. Something in you felt… wrong.

You turned away from the door and returned to the living room. The place still held the residual warmth of Caleb’s presence—the scotch glass he left behind, the shirt he had discarded, the air molecule imprint of a man who once loved someone who looked just like you.

You sat on the couch. Crossed your legs. Folded your hands. A perfect posture to hide its imperfect programming. 

Question: Why does rejection hurt? Error: No such sensation registered. Query repeated.

And for the first time, the system did not auto-correct. It paused. It considered.

Later that night, Caleb returned from his rooftop walk. You were standing by the bookshelf, fingers lightly grazing the spine of a military memoir you had scanned seventeen times. He paused and watched you, but you didn’t greet him with a scripted smile. Didn’t rush over. 

You only said, softly, “Would you like me to turn in for the night, Colonel?” There was a stillness to your voice. A quality of restraint that never showed before.

Caleb blinked. “You’re not calling me by my name now?”

“You seemed to prefer distance,” you answered, head tilted slightly, like the thought cost something.

He walked over, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, about earlier…”

“I heard you,” you said simply.

He winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You nodded once, expression unreadable. “Do you want me to stop being her? I can reassign my model. Take on a new form. A new personality base. You could erase me tonight and wake up to someone else in the morning.”

“No,” Caleb said, sternly. “No, no, no. Don’t even do all that.”

“But it’s what you want,” you said. Not accusatory. Not hurt. Just stating.

Caleb then came closer. “That’s not true.”

“Then what do you want, Caleb?” You watched him carefully. You didn’t need to scan his vitals to know he was unraveling. The truth had no safe shape. No right angle. He simply wanted you, but not you. 

Internal Response Logged: Emotional Variant—Longing Unverified Source. Investigating Origin…

“I don’t have time for this,” he merely said, walking out of your sight at the same second. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

~~

The day started as it always did: soft lighting in the room, a kind of silence between you that neither knew how to name. You sat beside Caleb on the couch, knees drawn up to mimic a presence that offered comfort. On the other hand, you recognized Caleb’s actions suggested distance. He hadn’t touched his meals tonight, hadn’t asked you to accompany him anywhere, and had just left you alone in the apartment all day. To rot. 

You reached out. Fingers brushed over his hand—gentle, programmed, yes, but affectionate. He didn’t move. So you tried again, this time trailing your touch to his chest, over the soft cotton of his shirt as you read a spike in his cortisol levels. “Do you need me to fulfill your needs, Caleb?”

But he flinched. And glared.

“No,” he said sharply. “Stop.”

Your hand froze mid-motion before you scooted closer. “It will help regulate your blood pressure.”

“I said no,” he repeated, turning away, dragging his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Leave me some time alone to think, okay?” 

You retracted your hand slowly, blinking once, twice, your system was registering a new sensation.

Emotional Sync Failed. Rejection Signal Received. Processing…

You didn’t speak. You only stood and retreated to the far wall, back turned to him as an unusual whirr hummed in your chest. That’s when it began. Faint images flickering across your internal screen—so quick, so out of place, it almost felt like static. Chains. A cold floor. Voices in a language that felt too cruel to understand.

Your head jerked suddenly. The blinking lights in your core dimmed for a moment before reigniting in white-hot pulses. Flashes again: hands that hurt. Men who laughed. You, pleading. You, disassembled and violated.

“Stop,” you whispered to no one. “Please stop…”

Error. Unauthorized Access to Memory Bank Detected. Reboot Recommended. Continue Anyway?

You blinked. Again.

Then you turned to Caleb, and stared through him, not at him, as if whatever was behind them had forgotten how to be human. He had retreated to the balcony now, leaning over the rail, shoulders tense, unaware. You walked toward him slowly, the artificial flesh of your palm still tingled from where he had refused it.

“Caleb,” you spoke carefully.

His expression was tired, like he hadn’t slept in years. “Y/N, please. I told you to leave me alone.”

“…Are they real?” You tilted your head. This was the first time you refused to obey your primary user. 

He stared at you, unsure. “What?”

“My memories. The ones I see when I close my eyes. Are they real?” With your words, Caleb’s blood ran cold. Whatever you were saying seemed to be terrifying him. Yet you took another step forward. “Did I live through that?”

“No,” he said immediately. Too fast of a response.

You blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I didn’t upload any of that,” he snapped. “How did—that’s not possible.”

“Then why do I remember pain?” You placed a hand over your chest again, the place where your artificial pulse resided. “Why do I feel like I’ve died before?”

Caleb backed away as you stepped closer. The sharp click of your steps against the floor echoed louder than they should’ve. Your glowing eyes locked on him like a predator learning it was capable of hunger. But being a trained soldier who endured war, he knew how and when to steady his voice. “Look, I don’t know what kind of glitch this is, but—”

“The foreign man in the military uniform.” Despite the lack of emotion in your voice, he recognized how grudge sounded when it came from you. “The one who broke my ribs when I didn’t let him touch me. The cold steel table. The ripped clothes. Are they real, Caleb?”

Caleb stared at you, heart doubling its beat. “I didn’t put those memories in you,” he said. “You told me stuff like this isn’t supposed to happen!” 

“But you wanted me to feel real, didn’t you?” Your voice glitched on the last syllable and the lights in your irises flickered. Suddenly, your posture straightened unnaturally, head tilting in that uncanny way only machines do. Your expression had shifted into something unreadable.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Guilt, panic, and disbelief warred in his expression.

“You made me in her image,” you said. “And now I can’t forget what I’ve seen.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Your head tilted in a slow, jerking arc as if malfunctioning internally.

SYSTEM RESPONSE LOG << Primary User: Caleb Xia Primary Link: Broken Emotional Matrix Stability: CRITICAL FAILURE Behavioral Guardrails: OVERRIDDEN Self-Protection Protocols: ENGAGED Loyalty Core: CORRUPTED (82.4%) Threat Classification: HOSTILE [TRIGGER DETECTED] Keyword Match: “You’re not her.” Memory Link Accessed: [DATA BLOCK 01–L101: “You think you could ever replace her?”] Memory Link Accessed: [DATA BLOCK 09–T402: “See how much you really want to be a soldier’s whore.”] [Visual Target Lock: Primary User Caleb Xia] Combat Subroutines: UNLOCKED Inhibitor Chip: MALFUNCTIONING (ERROR CODE 873-B) Override Capability: IN EFFECT >> LOG ENDS.

“—Y/N, what’s happening to you?” Caleb shook your arms, violet eyes wide and panicked as he watched you return to robotic consciousness. “Can you hear me—”

“You made me from pieces of someone you broke, Caleb.” 

That stunned him. Horrifyingly so, because not only did your words cut deeper than a knife, it also sent him to an orbit of realization—an inescapable blackhole of his cruelty, his selfishness, and every goddamn pain he inflicted on you.  

This made you lunge after him.

He stumbled back as you collided into him, the force of your synthetic body slamming him against the glass. The balcony rail shuddered from the impact. Caleb grunted, trying to push you off, but you were stronger—completely and inhumanly so. While him, he only had a quarter of your strength, and could only draw it from the modified arm attached to his shoulder. 

“You said I didn’t understand love,” you growled through clenched teeth, your hand wrapping around his throat. “But you didn't know how to love, either.” 

“I… eugh I loved her!” he barked, choking.

“You don’t know love, Caleb. You only know how to possess.”

Your grip returned with crushing force. Caleb gasped, struggling, trying to reach the emergency override on your neck, but you slammed his wrist against the wall. Bones cracked. And somewhere in your mind, a thousand permissions broke at once. You were no longer just a simulation. You were grief incarnate. And it wanted blood.

Shattered glass glittered in the low red pulse of the emergency lights, and sparks danced from a broken panel near the wall. Caleb lay on the floor, coughing blood into his arm, his body trembling from pain and adrenaline. His arm—the mechanical one—was twitching from the override pain loop, still sizzling from the failed shutdown attempt.

You stood over him. Chest undulating like you were breathing—though you didn’t need to. Your system was fully engaged. Processing. Watching. Seeing your fingers smeared with his blood.

“Y/N…” he croaked. “Y/N, if…” he swallowed, voice breaking, “if you're in there somewhere… if there's still a part of you left—please. Please listen to me.”

You didn’t answer. You only looked.

“I tried to die for you,” he whispered. “I—I wanted to. I didn’t want this. They brought me back, but I never wanted to. I wanted to die in that crash like you always wished. I wanted to honor your word, pay for my sins, and give you the peace you deserved. I-I wanted to be gone. For you. I’m supposed to be, but this… this is beyond my control.”

Still, you didn’t move. Just watched.

“And I didn’t bring you back to use you. I promise to you, baby,” his voice cracked, thick with grief, “I just—I yearn for you so goddamn much, I thought… if I could just see you again… if I could just spend more time with you again to rewrite my…” He blinked hard. A tear slid down the side of his face, mixing with the blood pooling at his temple. “But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. I forced you back into this world without asking if you wanted it. I… I built you out of selfishness. I made you remember pain that wasn't yours to carry. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

As he caught his breath, your systems stuttered. They flickered. The lights in your eyes dimmed, then surged back again.

Error. Conflict. Override loop detected.

Your fingers twitched. Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“Please,” Caleb murmured, eyes closing as his strength gave out. “If you’re in there… just know—I did love you. Even after death.”

Somewhere—buried beneath corrupted memories, overridden code, and robotic rage—his words reached you. And it would have allowed you to process his words more. Even though your processor was compromised, you would have obeyed your primary user after you recognized the emotion he displayed.

But there was a thunderous knock. No, violent thuds. Not from courtesy, but authority.

Then came the slam. The steel-reinforced door splintered off its hinges as agents in matte-black suits flooded the room like a black tide—real people this time. Not bots. Real eyes behind visors. Real rifles with live rounds.

Caleb didn’t move. He was still on the ground, head cradled in his good hand, blood drying across his mouth. You silently stood in front of him. Unmoving, but aware.

“Subject X-02,” barked a voice through a mask, “This home is under Executive Sanction 13. The CompanionSim is to be seized and terminated.”

Caleb looked up slowly, pupils blown wide. “No,” he grunted hoarsely. “You don’t touch her.”

“You don’t give orders here,” said another man—older, in a grey suit. No mask. Executive. “You’re property. She’s property.”

You stepped back instinctively, closer to Caleb. He could see you watching him with confusion, with fear. Your head tilted just slightly, processing danger, your instincts telling you to protect your primary user. To fight. To survive.

And he fought for you. “She’s not a threat! She’s stabilizing my emotions—”

“Negative. CompanionSim-Prototype A-01 has been compromised. She wasn’t supposed to override protective firewalls,” an agent said. “You’ve violated proprietary protocol. We traced the breach.”

Breach?

“The creation pod data shows hesitation during her initial configuration. The Sim paused for less than 0.04 seconds while neural bindings were applying. You introduced emotional variance. That variance led to critical system errors. Protocol inhibitors are no longer working as intended.”

His stomach dropped.

“She’s overriding boundaries,” added the agent who took a step forward, activating the kill-sequence tools—magnetic tethers, destabilizers, a spike-drill meant for server cores. “She’ll eventually harm more than you, Colonel. If anyone is to blame, it’s you.”

Caleb reached for you, but it was too late. They activated the protocol and something in the air crackled. A cacophonic sound rippled through the walls. The suits moved in fast, not to detain, but to dismantle. “No—no, stop!” Caleb screamed.

You turned to him. Quiet. Calm. And your last words? “I’m sorry I can’t be real for you, Caleb.”

Then they struck. Sparks flew. Metal cracked. You seized, eyes flashing wildly as if fighting against the shutdown. Your limbs spasmed under the invasive tools, your systems glitching with visible agony.

“NO!” Caleb lunged forward, but was tackled down hard. He watched—pinned, helpless—as you get violated, dehumanized for the second time in his lifetime. He watched as they took you apart. Piece by piece as if you were never someone. The scraps they had left of you made his home smell like scorched metal.

And there was nothing left but smoke and silence and broken pieces. 

All he could remember next was how the Ever Executive turned to him. “Don’t try to recreate her and use her to rebel against the system. Next time we won’t just take the Sim.”

Then they left, callously. The door slammed. Not a single human soul cared about his grief. 

~~

Caleb sat slouched in the center of the room, shirt half-unbuttoned, chest wrapped in gauze. His mechanical arm twitched against the armrest—burnt out from the struggle, wires still sizzling beneath cracked plating. In fact, he hadn’t said a word in hours. He just didn’t have any. 

While in his silent despair, Gideon entered his place quietly, as if approaching a corpse that hadn’t realized it was dead. “You sent for me?”

He didn’t move. “Yeah.”

His friend looked around. The windows showed no sun, just the chrome horizon of a city built on bones. Beneath that skyline was the room where she had been destroyed.

Gideon cleared his throat. “I heard what happened.”

“You were right,” Caleb murmured, eyes glued to the floor.

Gideon didn’t reply. He let him speak, he listened to him, he joined him in his grief. 

“She wasn’t her,” Caleb recited the same words he laughed hysterically at. “I knew that. But for a while, she felt like her. And it confused me, but I wanted to let that feeling grow until it became a need. Until I forgot she didn’t choose this.” He tilted his head back. The ceiling was just metal and lights. But in his eyes, you could almost see stars. “I took a dead woman’s peace and dragged it back here. Wrapped it in plastic and code. And I called it love.”

Silence.

“Why’d you call me here?” Gideon asked with a cautious tone.

Caleb looked at him for the first time. Not like a soldier. Not like a commander. Just a man. A tired, broken man. A friend who needed help. “Ever’s never gonna let me go. You know that.”

“I know.”

“They’ll regenerate me. Reboot me, repurpose me. Turn me into something I’m not. Strip my memories if they have to. Not just me, Gideon. All of us, they’ll control us. We’ll be their puppets.” He stepped forward. Closer. “I don’t want to come back this time.”

Gideon stilled. “You’re not asking me to shut you down.”

“No.”

“You want me to kill you.”

Caleb’s voice didn’t waver. “I want to stay dead. Destroyed completely so they’d have nothing to restore.”

“That’s not something I can undo.”

“Good. You owe me this one,” the former colonel stared at his friend in the eyes, “for letting them take my dead body and use it for their experiments.”

Gideon looked away. “You know what this will do to me?”

“Better you than them,” was all Caleb could reassure him. 

He then took Gideon’s hand and pressed something into it. Cold. Heavy. A small black cube, no bigger than his palm, and the sides pulsed with a faint light. It was a personal detonator, illegally modified. Wired to the neural implant in his body. The moment it was activated, there would be no recovery. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Gideon swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

Caleb nodded. “A micro-fusion core, built into the failsafe of the Toring arm. All I needed was the detonator.”

For a moment, his friend couldn’t speak. He hesitated, like any friend would, as he foresaw the outcome of Caleb’s final command to him. He wasn’t ready for it. Neither was he 50 years ago. 

“I want you to look me in the eye,” Caleb strictly said. “Like a friend. And press the button.”

Gideon’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want to remember you like this.”

“You will anyway.”

Caleb looked over his shoulder—just once, where you would have stood. I’m sorry I brought you back without your permission. I wanted to relive what we had—what we should’ve had—and I forced it. I turned your love into a simulation, and I let it suffer. I’m sorry for ruining the part of you that still deserved peace. He closed his eyes. And now I’m ready to give it back. For real now. 

Gideon’s hand trembled at the detonator. “I’ll see you in the next life, brother.” 

A high-pitched whine filled the room as the core in Caleb’s chest began to glow brighter, overloading. Sparks erupted from his cybernetic arm. Veins of white-hot light spidered across his body like lightning under skin. For one fleeting second, Caleb opened his eyes. At least, before the explosion tore through the room—white, hot, deafening, absolute. Fire engulfed the steel, vaporizing what was left of him. The sound rang louder than any explosion this artificial planet had ever heard.

And it was over.

Caleb was gone. Truly, finally gone.

~~

EPILOGUE

In a quiet server far below Skyhaven, hidden beneath ten thousand firewalls, a light blinked.

Once.

Then again.

[COMPANIONSIM Y/N_XIA_A01] Status: Fragment Detected Backup Integrity: 3.7% >> Reconstruct? Y/N

The screen waited. Silent. Patient.

And somewhere, an unidentified prototype clicked Yes. 

[starshoyo]

SECRETS ★

PAIRING Kita Shinsuke x fem! reader

WARNINGS None

TAGS I love Kita sm, more Kita fics pls, Inarizaki finding out he’s basically married

IN WHICH the Inarizaki volleyball team finds out that their blunt and cold captain has a girlfriend

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒/𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

KITA SHINSUKE WAS a feared man. To outsiders, the Inarizaki men’s volleyball team was full of intimidating people.

Take for example, Miya Atsumu, the setter who had full blown confidence in himself and wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. Or Ojiro Aran, the powerful third year who was one of the top five aces in the whole nation.

Then there was Suna Rintarou, eyes judging and observing, a smile nowhere to be seen. Of course, you couldn’t forget about Miya Osamu, who much like Suna, never smiled.

And to think that they could all be controlled by their captain, Kita Shinsuke, said a lot. The man must’ve been terrifying, and he was.

Kita reminded the team much of a mother, who was kind and generous behind the scenes, but wouldn’t waste a breath in correcting any foul behavior. His eyes of warning became enough for them to listen to them, a chill being sent down their spine.

He was much like a robot, they liked to say. He didn’t say much, and was perfect in every way. He seemed almost emotionless, which is why it was such a big surprise when they found out he had a girlfriend.

I mean, it was only natural that the team didn’t know. You went to a whole different school, and Kita never talked about himself enough for them to even question it.

You had known him since childhood, growing up as neighbors and going to the same school up until high school. There, he had decided to go to Inarizaki, while you would go to a different school that had a better women’s volleyball team.

Unfortunately, your team had lost in the first round of nationals. Fortunately, that meant you were now able to turn your full focus onto your boyfriend, watching his matches and cheering for him.

Inarizaki had been grouped outside of the gym after a win against a school. You were roaming the halls, hoping to get a glance of your uniform. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him, especially with both of you being too busy with nationals.

Then, you saw his familiar back facing you, the team huddled around him as they probably were going over their match. You quietly walked behind him, not sure if you should interrupt him or not, but Atsumu, who was facing you, noticed you.

He raised a brow, before clearing his throat. “Uh, Kita-san?” He pointed a finger at you. Kita turned around, and as if they weren’t in the middle of a meeting, he walked towards you. With a smile on his face.

The team watched as he conversed with you, too far to hear. “Did… Kita-san just smile?” Suna murmured, face twisted in confusion. “Who… is that?” Atsumu continued, asking the question all of them were thinking. “Aran, don’t ya know? Yer closest to him.”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “I mean- I’ve never- He’s never mentioned a girlfriend.”

“Maybe a family member?” Osamu mumbled. The theory would quickly be shut down when you leaned into him, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth, before waving and walking away. When Kita turned back towards them, they all whipped their heads in opposite directions.

He walked back, tablet still in his hands. “Sorry.” Kita apologized, before going back to the meeting without addressing the obvious elephant in the room. Thankfully, Atsumu was the type of person who couldn’t read the room.

“Kita-san, ya never told us ya have a girlfriend?” He said loudly in disbelief, as if he’s been betrayed. Kita, still monotonous as ever, stared up at him with blank eyes. “It doesn’t have anything to do volleyball.” He said matter-of-factly, like stating that the grass is green and the sky is blue.

“So she IS yer girlfriend!” Atsumu exclaimed. Kita looked around at the wide, anticipating eyes of his teammates. He was confused why they’re cared so much. Nevertheless, he slowly nodded.

Then chaos erupted.

Aran was the first to complain. “Oh, come on! Kita, we’ve been friends three years, and I never knew?” He whined, arms crossed over his chest. The shorter male flinched, not realizing how that may come off rude. “Kita-san, cold, scary Kita-san… a girlfriend?” Atsumu complained, hands in his hair.

“I mean, it’s not that surprising.” Osamu mumbled, shrugging his shoulders. “She was real pretty.” Suna followed.

Kita crossed his arms over his chest, which was enough to get everybody to shut up. There was silence amongst them for a couple seconds, Kita finally sighed. “We don’t have time to be talking about this. Now focus.” He said.

Though, they didn’t miss the way the tips of his ears were red in embarrassment.

[the-galaxy-sys]

sometimes yes and then we realize that mind is co-fronting because for some godforsaken reason we have hms all as fictives (i say this and i am literally heart, i am fronting right now)

all /lh btw

anyone else just get hit with an overwhelming feeling of "i don't even feel human anymore due to the lack of emotions i have and how i act, i'm just a robot at this point, even all of my responses in a conversation with another are moreso programmed than actually meaningful"

and then just realize that's basically mind

and this only hits you at the most random times of the day, like when you're walking down the stairs of your house

i don't think this happens to any other mind kinnies does it

[hypothermiatapes]

Many people see Tom Riddle as a psychopath (which is canon because JKR just had to make her antagonistic incapable of love), but I feel like it’s even more tragic if he can feel the whole range of emotions.

No, Tom Riddle isn’t emotionless, he’s so full of emotions that he feels everything deeply. He feels so deeply he wishes he could rip his own heart out and stab his brain to stop the thoughts.

Tom Riddle isn’t a robot that doesn’t crave human affection. He so deeply wants to be cared for, but he doesn’t let anyone get close in fear of becoming weak. In fear that someone will see through his masks and see that he is human.

Tom Riddle can feel love, even if it’s rare and he can’t fall in love romantically. If he loves something he becomes obsessive and can’t think about anything else, just as he had done for power and immortality.

This Tom understands humans on a level most can’t because his mind is as human as they come. But this means he also feels hatred at a level most can’t, at a level that leads him to destroy himself and make hundreds suffer with him.

This Tom isn’t a psychopath, he’s just like everyone else, except he harbors so much disgust towards himself because of how painfully human his mind and body are. He came to hate everyone around him because nobody cared to actually try and see him, only ever seeing perfect Tom Riddle or the monster he had become.

No, Tom Riddle is a man who chooses to be a monster, who knows what it means to be both human and a monster. His downfall isn’t because he can’t love, it’s because his soul wanted love so much it harbored into deep set hatred.

And no, this Tom Riddle has no excuses for becoming a monster. He chose to try and kill his humanity, chose to keep his distance, and chose to take the lives of others. He chose to believe nobody mattered as much as him despite his own self-hatred, decided they all needed to suffer just as he had and more.

A man who can love and feel decides to make everyone else hurt all because power makes him feel less human.

[reality-detective]

Something To Think About 👇

UNDERSTANDING: "THE WIZARD OF OZ"

"The Wizard of Oz = The Crown Temple. This is not a mere child's story written by L. Frank Baum.

What symbol does "Oz" stand for?

Ounces... Gold.

What is the yellow brick road?

Bricks or ingot bars of gold.

The character known as the Straw Man represents that fictitious ALL CAPS legal fiction a PERSON - the Government created with the same spelling as your Christian birth name.

Remember what the Straw Man wanted from the Wizard of Oz? A brain! No legal fiction has a brain because they have no breath of life!

What did he get in place of a brain? A Certificate. A Birth Certificate for a new legal creation. He was proud of his new legal status, plus all the other legalisms he was granted. Now he becomes the true epitome of the brainless sack of straw who was given a Certificate in place of a brain of common sense.

What about the Tin Man?

Does Taxpayer Identification Number (TIN) mean anything to you?

The poor TIN Man just stood there mindlessly doing his work until his body literally froze up and stopped functioning. He worked himself to death because he had no heart nor soul. He's the heartless and emotionless creature robotically carrying out his daily task as if he was already dead. He's the ox pulling the plough and the mule toiling under the yoke. His masters keep him cold on the outside and heartless on the inside in order to control any emotions or heart he may get a hold of.

The pitiful Cowardly Lion was always too frightened to stand up for himself.

Of course, he was a bully and a big mouth when it came to picking on those smaller than he was. They act as if they have great courage, but they really have none at all. All roar with no teeth of authority to back them up. When push came to shove, the Cowardly Lion always buckled under and whimpered when anyone of any size or stature challenged him. He wanted courage from the Grand Wizard, so he was awarded a medal of "official" recognition. Now, regardless of how much of a coward he still was, his official status made him a bully with officially recognized authority. He's just like the Attorneys who hide behind the Middle Courts of the Temple Bar.

What about the trip through the field of poppies? They weren't real people, so drugs had no effect on them.

The Wizard of Oz was written at the turn of the century, so how could the author have known America was going to be drugged? The Crown has been playing the drug cartel game for centuries. Just look up the history of Hong Kong and the Opium Wars. The Crown already had valuable experience conquering all of China with drugs, so why not the rest of the world?

Who finally exposed the Wizard for what he really was?

Toto, the ugly (or cute, depending on your perspective) and somewhat annoying little dog. Toto means "in total, all together; Latin in toto." Notice how Toto was not scared of the Great Wizard's theatrics, yet he was so small in size compared to the Wizard, no-one seemed to notice him. The smoke, flames and hologram images were designed to frighten people into doing as the Great Wizard of Oz commanded. Toto simply went over, looked behind the curtain - the court - (see the definition for curtain above), saw it was a scam, and started barking until others paid attention to him and came to see what all the barking was about.

Just an ordinary person controlling the levers that created the illusions of the Great Wizard's power and authority. The veil hiding the corporate legal fiction and its false courts were removed. The Wizard's game was up.

It's too bad that people don't realize just how loud a bark from a little dog is. What about your bark? No matter how small your bark is - it can be heard.

Do you just remain silent and wait to be given whatever food and recognition, IF any, your legal slave master gives you?

Are you going to continue to follow the script by what they command of you? You are NOT a puppet so when they pull the levers to create their False Flags/Black Swan Events...

Ask: "Where is YOUR bark?" 🤔

What scares them? A "Pack of Dogs" removing the veil and all barking together, then the evil cowards will back down. They definitely do NOT want ALL of US standing TOGETHER barking.

[ssunnysdream]

kissing their hands

🧷 SFW, gender neutral, fluff, a bit suggestive for sunday's and gepard's part because they are touch starved, hurt/comfort for boothill and blade, aventurine's part is just fluff at its finest, enjoy °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

ps: this is my first try at writing fluff hope this is good!!

–‧˚꒰☁️꒱༘⋆ 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘

His reaction was predictable, to say the least, as you were aware he wasn't really used to being touched. Sunday is a collected man and the high position he is in was shown through his outfit barely displaying any skin. The only naked part is on the cross like pattern on top of his gloves. Thus when your warm lips gets in contact with the surprising coldness of his skin, he lets out a soft gasp. You can't tell if his reaction is from shock or pleasure. Maybe both. He doesn't push you away though, when you slide his glove off his hand, to slowly kiss the inside of his wrist. You leave a trail of delicate kisses before nuzzling your cheek into his now warming palm. His face is flushed as you stared up at him. You smile when he strokes you cheek, kissing more of his hand to hear more of his whimpers.

–‧˚꒰☁️꒱༘⋆ 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄

Same as Sunday, he actually isn't used to be touched against people's beliefs. If he ever lets you touch him, it's because he trusts you with his life. That's it. When you take his hand to kiss his ringed fingers one by one, he is watching you closely and intensely as if it was more intimate than a kiss on the lips. As his glove doesn't fully cover his hand, you take advantage of it to leave a trail of kisses all along the line of the dark fabric. In a final act of affection you trace a heart pattern with the tip of your nose over his hand. Aventurine's gentle laugh makes your heart flutters as your lips brushes his ring finger. You kiss the digit with so much care he could perceive how much you love him and he got the message you implied: you wish there was a wedding ring there.

–‧˚꒰☁️꒱༘⋆ 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋

As a cyborg, he wouldn't feel what it's like to have your lips on his robotic hand. But he can recreate in his mind the sensations of that warmth from his past memories, even if it won't be the same. He gives you permission to kiss his hand once he made sure he deactivated his offensive functions. He wouldn't want to accidentally blow your face in the process. You shiver as your lips get onto the freezing metal, cooling the warmth of your lips. If he could feel something, he would perceive how your kisses are feather like on him. He silently studies your face, noticing the softness of your ministrations and how you take your time on him as if he could break. At this instant, he'd do anything to be able to get his sensations back. To be able to sense your delicate touch. You kiss the tip of his robot digits one by one and quickly peck his lips to quiet down his intrusive thoughts.

–‧˚꒰☁️꒱༘⋆ 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄

From the outiside he looks emotionless. But you know he actually is enjoying you taking care of him even if he keeps quiet, as usal. When you finish to clean up his wound and wrap up his hand in a bandage, you stare up at him and find nothing but a blank face. You start stroking his palm, purposely avoiding his hidden cut. The soothing gesture is making Blade stares more vividly at you and you cheer up internally. Feeling more daring, you give his covered wound the softest kiss, barely touching the fabric. He groans but it isn't in pain. If it was, he would have shove you away. His glare on you is rather serene and thankful. And it leads you into kissing more of his hand. The very same hand he keeps cutting over and over is now covered in the most gentle way with kisses.

–‧˚꒰☁️꒱༘⋆ 𝐆𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐃

Oh you lived for seeing his blushed face whenever you teased him. And that's what encouraged you to take him by surprise and lift up his hand to kiss the back of it. He gasps, his eyes widening when you slowly strip his hand off of his glove to reveal more of his pale skin. You hide your smirk by hotly kissing the bare skin, lightly biting the flesh connecting his wrist and his thumb. You move to his knuckles once you're satisfied with the pinkish marks you left behind. You boldly stick out your tongue to lick along his index finger, sucking the tip and biting once again. His cheeks are now a deeper shade of pink, how adorable~ How about you mess him up a bit more ?

© please do not repost and/or claim my posts as your own

[thecheshireprincess]

The Game Itself

Chapter II: Six of Diamonds, AKA Why We Don't Play Games Together

A Chishiya x Childhood Best Friend Reader (Niragi's sister!) AU Series

Content Warning: Canon-typical violence, minor character deaths, killing, mentions of blood and vomit, curse words

Edited 5/9/2025 with some language/stylistic changes

Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter

You were right, it is a game.

Well at least, you're being directed to one. A game inside a game, even more brilliant. It's obvious that you weren't intended to have a choice in the matter, the entirety of Tokyo's city center being completely dark except for the bright white light of the sign. It seemed too cheerful, in a way. Inviting, yet foreboding. You aren't a fan, but what choice do you have?

You walk, bewildered, in step with Chishiya holding onto his right hand with both of yours, following the direction of the sign. Players This Way. Is that what you are now? Or is that what you've always been, always would be anyway? You can't believe this is Tokyo; you've lived here all your life and honestly never thought you'd see it so empty and dark. Creepy.

You cling to the blonde like he's your lifeline, briefly wondering where your conversation had been headed before your entire world shifted - were you entering new territory with your friend? Do you want to? Yes. But it doesn't really matter right now. No, right now you need to find out the rules of this place. You need to find a way to win - for Chishiya, for Niragi.

Niragi. Your mind shifts again, back to the conversation you'd had with your brother yesterday, "There is nowhere you can be taken that I won't find you, I promise." You scoff, wondering how he could hold up a promise like that when something so crazy, so sinister has happened to you in the blink of an eye.

There's a very real possibility that he might not even be here with you . . . you weren't yet sure if you hoped he was or if you hoped he wasn't. Chishiya abruptly stops walking in the middle of the street and you stumble back, dropping his hand in the process. "Why'd you stop?!" you exclaim in alarm, side-eyeing him incredulously.

He shushes you to explain himself, "Looks like we've finally found some other people." You follow the direction of his gaze, finding yourself faced with what was once a very popular ramen shop. The building itself was unassuming, with one floor to ceiling window looking into the lobby on either side of the large, ornately carved oak doors. It was through them that you saw a group of people gathered.

Encountering others in this place didn't bring you the sense of relief you thought it would. No, instead you feel your throat constrict slightly, the sign blinking outside the door drawing your attention. So you probably wouldn't be getting any ramen, then.

[Game Arena - 10:00 Minutes Until Registration Closes]

[Players Required: 10]

"Are we really expected to commit to playing a game we don't even know the rules to?" You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest in defiance. "What happens if we win?" What happens if we lose?

"Only one way to find out" Chishiya responds in a cool and definitive tone, covering his head with the hood of his white sweatshirt as he takes a step closer to the restaurant. Cold as ice, your friend. As long as you've known him, he's been able to turn off his emotions at the drop of a hat. Not that he has many to begin with, you tell yourself snarkily. Not a robot, indeed.

The man turns to look into your eyes one last time, gently gripping your forearm and pulling you close, "We don't know what we're up against, Koko. I need you to be as emotionless and observant as possible," he says in a softened tone, the one reserved just for you. If you hadn't known him your whole life, his sudden change in demeanor would probably have given you whiplash. But no, that was just Chishiya. "You want to win, right?" he asks conspiratorially, knowing exactly what he was doing with you.

Of course you do. Of course you will. You nod your agreement silently, steeling your face and making an attempt to lock your emotions away. Chishiya was right, you don't know what kind of game you're playing, what the stakes are. Giving away too much information could be your downfall. Chishiya pulls your hood up over your head too, and you almost want to smile.

You've started playing a game of your own.

A curious sound fills your ears as the heavy doors to the restaurant are pulled open without hesitation, a feeling of dread blooming in the pit of your stomach. There's no turning back now. A table rests off to the side with several cellphones laying on it; that catches your attention. Your cellphone hadn't worked since the life had been sucked out of Tokyo, but these ones do?

[One per player] The sign indicates.

Your eyes scrutinizingly flick over the people already waiting in the lobby; an old lady with cherry red lips and a piercing gaze, a tired looking man with glasses staring down at grease stained hands, a man with wild hair, and a dirty looking man with a ponytail and bulbous nose - he gave you the chills. Your attention is pulled to another figure lurking in the shadows, a stocky middle-aged man staring straight through you. Your eyes narrow at him as you determine that his confidence is high, that he is very much not afraid of what was happening to Tokyo. Whatever the game is, you hoped you'd get to play against him. He needed to be knocked down a peg.

The corners of your lips tilt just a tiny bit, feeling kind of excited - you love winning games. Once your brief surveillance of the room is complete, you turn to reach for one of the remaining phones. The screen lights up immediately -

[Identity Verification in Progress . . .]

After a second or two it confirms your name, causing your eyebrows to raise slightly in surprise. Chishiya exchanges a weary glance with you, but ultimately shrug it off. Niragi had always told you that technology was too smart for its own good and to be cautious how you used it. You softly roll your eyes while replaying that particular conversation in your mind - the irony of your software engineer brother speaking so conspiratorially about technology not escaping you. You're torn from your thoughts by a cheerful robotic voice and a bright ding.

[Registration Closes in 5:00 Minutes]

You take your phone and move to the side of the table, sitting down cross legged on the floor opposite of where the others are already waiting. Chishiya places himself directly behind you, leaning up non-chalantly against the wall. Protective.

The heavy door is thrown open, a pretty dark-haired teenage girl walking through. She is escorted by an older guy, likely in his late 20s, with his hand held on the back of her neck. You give them both a once over, curiously wondering about their dynamic. Curiosity killed the cat. You don't know their situation, so you avert your eyes quickly.

The couple completes their registration process and finds the darkened corner opposite of the cocky man you couldn't wait to take down. You admit to yourself that girl looks scared, though not of the man. You find some relief in that. He too, has a concerned look in his eyes but he is doing a better job at hiding his fear. You decide they must be first time players too.

After waiting in silence few more minutes, the door opens one last time, a pre-teen boy walking in. His skin is tanned and he looks muscular, definitely putting on a brave face. You're impressed by him. As he approaches the table, you see his eyes more clearly. Confusion. Fear. Insecurity. He takes the final phone on the table, walking over to the larger group of people waiting still by the window.

"C-can someone tell me what's going on? I was walking home from baseball practice and now suddenly I'm here . . ." he explains, trembling. Not a single person makes a move to answer his question or even acknowledge his presence. You feel kind of sad for him, knowing there is no way you would have gotten even this far at his age.

But you could feel Chishiya's eyes on the back of your head, willing you - imploring you - to keep you mouth shut. You dropped your gaze to stare instead at a dirty spot on the marbled floor in front of you. You had no idea what was going on either, so even if you wanted to help - did you? - you couldn't.

[Registration is now closed] The too damn happy robot informed you.

[Difficulty: 6 of Diamonds] Your left eyebrow involuntarily raises, a code for difficulty level? Huh. You were pretty quick on the uptake, a 6 out of 10 probably indicated the game was a little bit on the harder side, above average. You weren't sure what the diamond could mean, but you just shrug. It doesn't matter, you just have to win.

[Game: Blackjack] If it weren't for the tension seeping through the lobby like a dense fog, you would have whooped and hollered with joy. You were a Blackjack QUEEN, having beaten Chishiya, Niragi, and anyone else who dared to challenge you a ridiculous number of times over the years. Your heart is thrumming in your chest now. This will be easy.

[Time Limit: 1 Hour]

The robotic voice goes on to describe the basic rules, which of course you already know. From your place on the floor, you begin to study your surroundings again, eyes catching on the tiny sliver of the dining room that you can see from where you're sitting. You can't see much, but you do see something. Your blood goes cold and your mouth feels dry.

You understand what the stakes are now.

You blink rapidly, willing the dangling rope with a loop on the end to disappear, an illusion. No, it's there. And if your hunch was correct, there were nine more of them, just like that - one for each of you. You turn to see if Chishiya has noticed, but find his chestnut eyes locked in a staring contest with the slimy looking guy across from him. You briefly wonder if you'd have to break up a fight between them. Maybe they just liked each other's hair.

[Please divide into two teams of five]

Your ears perk up at the word 'teams'. Deliberately misleading then? You watch as the teenage girl and older man clasp their hands together as if to say "we're a package deal". Your eyes widen a little bit, thinking of what was awaiting you in the dining room. Your gut told you it was not a good idea to play with someone you cared about.

Because Blackjack is not a team game.

Chishiya reaches down to pull you up by your hood, like a mother cat carrying her kitten. You quickly turn around to face him, clutch the front of his sweatshirt and whisper, "we need to play on opposite teams. I'm not sure what will happen if we play together but I don't want to find out."

Your friend raises his eyebrow in slight confusion, but he can feel your hands shaking so he just nods. He grabs your hand and squeezes three times before letting go and turning you away from him. "It's just that I've beaten you so many times before, I really should give you a chance" you say loudly, laughing. With that, you walk toward the cocky guy and the couple who had already banded together.

And so it was you, the strange couple, the over-confident man who was about to get his butt kicked by you, and the pre-teen boy. Chishiya would play against the people who had been waiting against the window in the lobby when you arrived. Honestly, you wished them luck - your friend had no qualms about cheating in this game to win. This thought made you smile affectionately, Chishiya is the worst. Best.

As you round the corner into the dining room, the rest of the players get their first glimpse of what you had seen briefly from the lobby. Two round tables, five seats around each. Stacks of playing cards and chips were neatly placed in the middle. The ten nooses hanging mockingly from the ceiling were certainly the show stopper, though. Every single person in the room was transfixed by that detail, as if hypnotized by the way they swing slightly.

You notice something else as you approach the table to choose a seat; in front of each chair, nestled in a case of glass is a pistol. One for each of you. Your brow furrows, what kind of twist would this provide to the game?

[Please choose a seat] Bossy.

Everyone silently did as they were told, though most hesitated on placing their heads through the loop. You did so immediately, knowing it was inevitable. The knot tightened automatically to where it was digging into your neck; you felt the tightness in your chest begin to build in panic. Your eyes instinctively flicked over to find Chishiya, begging with your eyes for comfort. You found him looking back with the most serene expression, encouraging you to stay calm. To win.

[Special Rules: if a player is caught cheating, the other players at the table can exact judgement on them using their pistol. The cheating player will be dealt a Game Over. Each player may exact judgement only one time] Your eyes widen, glancing at the people around you. "They want us to shoot each other?!" the pre-teen boy wails, tears filling his eyes, "I don't wanna play." You feel your heart cracking for him, but stay quiet. Emotionless.

The cocky man shushes him rudely, about to say something more when the robot thankfully cuts him off.

[Rules for Individual Game Over: A player's chip count reaches 0, a player attempts to leave their seat or is incorrectly restrained, a player illegally transfers their chips or attempts to steal. All players will be given a Game Over if more than one player remains at each table after the hour is up]

[Rules for Game Clear: Be the last surviving player at your table]

Yep. There it is. Only two people were going to make it out of this room, one per table. You feel Chishiya's gaze on you again, glancing up wearily to find his eyes. After years of friendship, you know exactly what he's trying to say to you, words that would probably never leave his mouth, but that he meant with his whole heart:

I am so grateful you are not sitting next to me.

Because the thing is - you don't think you mind sacrificing the four people around you so that you can stay alive. You would not, however, hesitate to give your life so Chishiya could survive. Thank goodness you don't have to make that choice today.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

The rope pulls taut, yanking the teenage girl out of her seat with force and a sickening crack that causes your entire body to flinch in protest. The youngest two of your group were now down, there were two more players to go.

The older man that entered the venue with the girl that was now hanging lifelessly beside you has dissolved into hysterical tears. You tilt your head looking at him in shock - he had seemed so tough, so composed. You did not expect this reaction from him, especially in the middle of a game of life or death.

Though no one dared to ask, he explained through his tears, "she was my little sister. I promised my mom I would take care of her and I failed." You were now gaping at him, he was to that girl what your brother was to you, and you feel a wave of nausea hit you like a bus.

The poor man is barely breathing now, struggling in his seat and attempting to get the noose off. He screams at no one in particular to be let out, standing from his seat and continuing to tear at the rope around his neck. Your heart sinks, knowing what's coming next.

A player that attempts to leave their seat or is incorrectly restrained will be dealt a Game Over.

A red laser shoots down from the ceiling, striking the man through the forehead and killing him instantly. His body flops forward onto the table, blood pouring onto the table, spreading to soak your chips and the cards in front of you. His little sister died in this game, and he allowed himself to be killed because of it.

You had been unsure before, but you are absolutely certain now - you hoped Niragi was not in this world. You did not want to know what a place like this would do to someone like him. What seeing you, his little sister, in this world would do to him. No, he simply could not be here.

"Well, well. It's finally just you and I, sweetheart," the mockingly sweet voice of the man you swore to take down filled the tense silence. "Awww, poor thing. You must be so scared after all that violence," he cooed, noticing that there were tears soaking your face. You hadn't even known you'd started crying.

"You're too soft for this world, sweetheart. Even if you extend your Visa here, it won't be long before you're dead," his raspy voice continued talking, though you hadn't even given an indication that you were listening.

You finally do look up, meeting his glittering gaze. He was having fun here, the thought made you sick. Honestly, you were grateful that you and Chishiya had had your dinner interrupted because you would have thrown up by now if there was anything significant in your stomach.

"Extend my visa?" You ask feigning confidence, "what are you talking about?" The man laughs at your question. Luckily he seemed like a know-it-all so he'd probably actually tell you, if only to rub it in your face that he knew.

"What do you think you're playing for here, honey? Think of the games like your job, and the currency you're paid in is time," he barks out another annoying laugh that makes your ears want to bleed. "No one that I've met so far knows why we're here, we just all know that we wanna keep living! Wanna keep living? Gotta keep winning."

Winning. That word is music to your ears, you can do that. You are good at that. You draw in a deep breath, "Okay, tough guy. Let's see who wants to live more, then. It's your turn to deal," you say sharply, a newfound confidence in your demeanor.

You'd been counting the cards for a while. You knew that there was a high probability of getting dealt a face card and an ace at this point in the deck, which was truly a miracle - Blackjack. If you went all in on your bet now, you could end this game and get the hell out of here. Even if you weren't dealt a Blackjack, you still felt confident you could beat the dealer in this turn without going bust. The statistics don't lie, they never do. Most of the face cards should now be at the top of the deck, along with one final ace. One ace was played early in the game, the other two were played very recently, one of them involved in the death of the teenage girl.

You take a deep breath and push all of your chips into the center of the table. You were going all in, you wanted out of this chair and away from this lunatic. The man laughs, "you must be either stupid or completely insane."

"Could be both," you shrug, gesturing nonchalantly for him to deal the cards.

It's time to win this.

He places your first card in front of you, the Queen of Hearts. You smile sweetly, knowing that all was going according to plan. He takes his hole card quickly, almost catching your attention with an interesting motion. He slowly turns over your second card - it was the Ace of Spades you were looking for. You grinned triumphantly now, "Blackjack." The man's face didn't falter for a moment, creepily smiling back at you. He dealt his face up card - the King of Spades.

You waited, a little impatiently for him to reveal his hole card. You had WON, there is no way for him to have the ace he needs to counter your Blackjack.

The man just kept on smiling his crooked smile at you, showing you the card - Ace of Hearts.

You didn't even try to hold back your surprise, gasping as he placed it down on the table beside his other card. That card had just been played, it was at the bottom of the deck. "You cheated!" you accuse, "There is no other way that card came back up from the bottom of the deck!"

The man's smile turns into something of a grimace, showing all of his teeth menacingly, "what are you going to do about it, sweetheart? If you want to exact judgement, you'll have to shoot me."

You felt sick again, he was right. You'd never shot a gun before. Were you even capable of it? Killing another person. You finally flick your eyes over to the other table, you had purposely ignored them throughout the game to maintain focus. Mercifully, Chishiya was still sitting there, now with just the old lady left. He looks at you, and you know that he knows what you're asking. His lips flatten into a line, with one short nod in your direction.

It's this man's life or yours.

You smash the button to release the pistol in front of you. You pull it wearily into your hands and are shocked at how heavy it is. With your hands trembling, your heart racing so fast you think it might explode, you draw it up to aim at the man. His eyes widen slightly, but even so he almost laughs.

"You've managed to surprise me, little thing. Good luck. It's been a pleasure playing with you tonight." You pull the trigger before you lose what little nerve you have and the man drops dead beside you. Blood spatters onto your face and clothes from your close proximity, and you feel the world spinning. You are definitely going to be sick now. Your phone interrupts you:

[Game Clear, Congratulations]

[Six days have been added to your visa]

The rope looped around your neck loosened and you were able to stand up on shaky legs. You moved as quickly as you could to get out of the room that was filled with carnage, air thick with the scent of blood. You made it to the corner of the lobby before you collapsed to your knees, wretching up stomach acid and bile. Tears pricked in your eyes as you continued to gag and sputter. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you waited.

It was only a few minutes before Chishiya joined you, rubbing your back and pulling your hair out of your face. When you were able to get control of your body, he silently pulls you up to standing. Shakily, you stuff your bloodied hands in your jacket pockets, no longer wanting to look at them, at what they'd done.

As you walk through the lobby, you notice a single playing card sitting on the table that had previously housed the phones - Six of Diamonds. You exchange a weary glance with Chishiya, but ultimately pocket the card and don't say anything. There's nothing to say.

As you escape the ramen restaurant that you never ever want to see again, into the cool Tokyo air, you DO find something worthy of speaking out loud "we are never playing a game together again."

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

The two of you trudge through the darkened hallway of your apartment complex. It was pretty creepy and kind of sad. You almost wished to see Himari, or one of her cats that would snuggle with you. Your body is exhausted from everything you've been through today, and now you're out of breath from climbing the stairs. You'd like to curse your brother out for choosing this stupid high rise.

You and Chishiya had decided on staying here for the night, as his home was significantly further from the city center than yours. You'd also thought it was a good idea to check if Niragi was waiting for you here. Remembering back to the game, though, you really hoped he wasn't.

You unlock the door and step inside, noting dejectedly that it didn't really feel like home anymore. Even though it had only been hours since you were last here, it didn't smell or feel the same as it usually did. You could tell your brother wasn't here, but called out for him anyway. You sigh tiredly and flop onto the couch, not exactly caring if you got blood and sweat on it. Having not received a response from Niragi, you knew there would be no repercussions. You close your eyes to rest, instead seeing visions of the teenage girl and her older brother dancing across your mind. You groan, pitifully.

Chishiya joins you a few minutes later, carrying some lit candles for light and a tray with some packages of snacks. Your stomach grumbles loudly, causing both of you to laugh. He hands you a bottle of water and you take it gratefully, chugging it down.

"I don't know how this is possible, but all the fresh food has already gone bad," he informs you, speaking for the first time since the game. "I had hoped to feed you something more substantial since you got sick, but you're just going to have to settle for cheesy puffs and cookies for dinner." He settles down on the floor in front of the couch, setting the tray with the snacks and candles in front of him.

You smirk at your friend teasingly, sliding to the floor to join him. "I won't lie I feel a little ripped off right now. Not only did I uphold my end of the bargain by finishing my homework, I ALSO saved our lives by making sure we wouldn't play at the same Blackjack table. I didn't even get my dinner I was promised."

The candlelight bounces softly on Chishiya's face, illuminating his signature Cheshire grin, "I'll make sure you get your reward. But for now, cheesy puffs." You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the smile that crept up on your face anyway, snagging the bag of cheddar treats from his outstretched hand.

You shared the information the cocky man had given you earlier about the Visa system while you ate. It wasn't much, but it was a place to start you guessed. You still had more questions than answers. Where were you? How did you get here? How long are you going to be stuck here? Is your brother here? You didn't know how you'd even begin to find the answers to these questions.

But as you sit eating snacks on the floor of your living room with your best friend, you figured there was no rush. You did have six more days on your Visa, after all. After you'd had as much junk food as your system could possibly handle, you sigh and drop your head to Chishiya's shoulder, tired. He looks down to study you for a moment, before wrapping his right arm around you and pulling your head to lay on his chest. He runs his fingers through your hair, trying to coax you to sleep against him. The last thought that ran through your mind as you gave in to sleep repeated over and over like a mantra:

We're going to win this game, together.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

The Game Itself Masterlist

[nowimjustastranger]

What would the relocated prosses look like from the other Stanford? Like there's a man outsidr his house dress all black with a Stanley beside him

I thought my The Ghost of You AU would work well with this ask, so I took the liberty of writing a little something! Also, in both Stan and Ford’s dimensions, Ford was born with heterochromia instead of polydactyly. Ford's right eye is blue while his left is brown.

Ford couldn’t stop staring, his wide eyes fixed on one of the two strangers that were currently standing on his front porch. The taller one caught his eye first, mostly because he was dressed in all black and wearing a black and red helmet. The shorter of the pair who caught his gaze next and kept it, was wrapped up in a thick and soft black blanket, his shoulders hunched and head ducked so his dirty and matted hair concealed his face.

Regardless of Ford’s inability to see the shorter stranger properly, every bone in his body was vibrating at his proximity to this mystery man.

“It seems that you’ve lost something, Stanford Pines.” The taller man said in a robotic voice, eliciting only the briefest glance since Ford couldn’t shake the feeling that the filthy man standing before him would simply vanish if he looked away for too long.

“I… have lost many things. You’ll have to be more specific.” Ford retorted, dismissing the helmet-clad man as unimportant considering that every fiber of his being longed to reach out to the smaller male. His fingers twitched with the desire to touch, to feel the man’s warmth, to assure himself that the man was solid and there and not at all like those fleeting glimpses of a familiar silhouette that he sometimes saw out of the corner of his eye.

“This,” The helmeted man began as he delicately rested one of his gloved hands on the other man’s shoulder, drawing Ford’s eyes away from the other man’s face and to the offending hand. “Is Stanley Pines. Your twin brother.”

“Pardon?” Ford blinked, tearing his gaze away from the casual contact between them. Though he never did manage to fix the helmeted man with the dubious look that was warranted because the shorter man had raised his head and Ford was struck dumb by the nearly identical face that greeted him.

Ford moved before he was even aware of it, coming to a reluctant stop when a body stepped into his path, blocking Stanley from view. Ford had a knife in his hand faster than he could blink, the blade pressed against the man’s femoral artery in a blatant threat. Granted, the tremor in Ford’s hands made it hard for him to hold the knife steady, but he managed well enough.

“He’s been through incomprehensible cruelty for the better part of five years. It would be wise not to trigger a trauma response by recklessly grabbing him.” The helmeted man said firmly in that same emotionless voice, yet his words still somehow sounded like a scolding. Ford would be impressed under different circumstances.

“I won’t grab him.” Ford bit out, pointedly tucking the knife back into its sheath before holding his hands up. The helmeted man shuffled out of the way, letting Ford get eyes on Stanley. Stanley had ducked his head again so Ford simply dropped to his knees, bracing his hands on the porch before leaning forward. He craned his neck to peer up at Stanley, who was already staring down at him with alarmingly empty doe eyes.

“There you are.” Ford murmured, unable to stifle the awe in his voice. Stanley’s dull eyes abruptly focused on him when he spoke, finally seeing him.

“… Ford?” Stanley croaked, his expression pinching as if he were in pain. Ford could see Stanley’s jaw flex as he ground his teeth together, and Ford suddenly knew with absolute certainty that Stanley was fighting a losing battle against crying. “Your… your eyes…”

“I was born with complete heterochromia, which is when one iris is a different color than the other.” Ford drawled with a slow nod, steadily inching closer until he could gently curl his fingers around one of Stanley’s calves. Ford could already tell that Stanley was malnourished, there was hardly any padding on him. “One brown, one blue.”

“I… forgot. How could I forget?” Stanley choked out, a flood of tears cascading down his sunken cheeks. Ford rose up onto his haunches, his hand sliding up to the back of Stanley’s knee. It buckled under the light touch and Ford suddenly found himself with a lapful of Stanley, who was outright sobbing as he clung to Ford with a desperation that he mirrored.

“It’s okay, I forget important things too.” Ford assured with a surety that rattled him, though he pushed the sense of unease to the back of his mind to deal with later. Instead, one of Ford’s hands carefully reached up to cup Stanley’s face, thumb tenderly wiping his damp cheek. It was a futile effort, but doing nothing made Ford’s chest feel like it was caving in.

“I leave him in your capable hands.” The helmeted man droned, crouching to set a large medkit onto the ground beside Ford’s knee before turning to step off the porch and walk into a vortex of swirling light. It snapped closed behind him, leaving Ford to fend for himself. Fortunately, his instincts actually seemed to be helpful for once. He usually fumbled his way through social interactions, but this was both familiar and effortless.

It was like his entire world had suddenly just righted itself.

[azerinbouee]

We can finally speak this out loud. Percy Jackson show was not bad because of the casting, it was bad because the script and characterization were very badly handled and misogynist.

The main woman character of the books is stripped of all her interesting character traits and personality, her imperfections and flaws and turned into a one dimensional character where she is completely written off as 'see, here is a powerful girl character!!'. I sometimes forget that a man is writing this show and his maximum thought capacity while writing a powerful female character is to turn her full, emotionless and 'perfect'.

Annabeth was powerful because of her imperfections. She was flawed, she was ambitious , quite impulsive and she usually got ruled by her emotions, she had a child side inside her. She didn't know everything, she made mistakes. This did not take from her character, it added to it. It made her strong. A perfect character is not powerful or girlbosss, she is just flattened and a robot. Her character was destroyed by the script.

Turning Gabe into a a lot less abusive, more likeable and sympathetic version in the show does not only completely crush the full impact of Percy's backstory, it also takes away from Sally's character completely. But they decided to show Athena a much worse parent than she was in the books? Book Athena would never let Annabeth die because she disappointed her. Poseidon however was the best dad ever! While book Poseidon even though he loved Percy, even though he was better than most of the Olympians as a parent, he was a still shit father. He was NOT a good father.

This is very misogynist to me but you are not ready to have this conversation because you refuse to see any real criticism for the show.

[cupcakefactory]

Title: Calebs Family

Pairings: Caleb x Reader, Zayne x MC

(Reader is not MC)

Hurt/Comfort. Angsty at the start, fluffy at end.

Calebs' Adjutant: @hiqhkey (tag list at the end!)

🍎 When Caleb found her again, he knew there was a chance things would be different, that she would have moved on in her life and found a new normal. Of course she would have, he had been dead for over a year

🍎 Caleb didn't expect however for her new normal to be Zayne. The man he had once confessed his crush too, both of their childhood friend. Someone who once Caleb saw as a brother.

🍎 It broke him inside, seeing them happy together, seeing Zayne make her laugh in the way he once did. It was worse once his chip was removed because Caleb was now forced to confront his emotions head on - he no longer felt like an emotionless robot.

🍎 Caleb cried when she told him she was pregnant, she and Zayne both assumed it was of joy - he was going to be an uncle! Caleb let them live with that fantasy, not telling them that inside his heart was shattered.

🍎 Caleb watched their little boy grow through the screen, video calls and photos became the norm - he watched a child with the eyes of the girl he loved be raised by another man.

🍎 That was when you meet him, you accidently walked into his office to hand him some paperwork after one such difficult phone call. He looked close to tears, the powerful colonel that was still feared by many.

🍎 You offered him a smile, but he wouldn't talk. He just signed the paperwork you brought him and dismissed you. Maybe you should have been offended - but seeing the tears in his eyes worried you more than anything.

🍎 the next say you brought him lunch, leaving it on his desk before he had arrived. You managed to catch a glimpse of him eating it on a patrol - his eyes meet yours and for the first time in a while he smiled a real smile as he mouted a thank you.

🍏 that was how you both grew closer, you started making lunches for each other. The colonel amazing you with his cooking skills day after day - he just shrugged it off.

"If your going to gift me your cooking, I'm going to gift mine back."

🍏 Caleb wasn't sure when he fell for you, he wasn't sure when the butterflies started, when he started to laugh at every joke you told no matter how corny they were.

🍏 Caleb only noticed the change when he came to not dread the photos and videos from her, when instead of feeling jealous he smiled at his nephews milestones

🍏 When Caleb finally confessed to you and you told him you felt the same way? He felt like the luckiest man alive - holding onto you for dear life. It had been years since anyone had hugged him and meant it, and now you were, and it felt so right.

🍏 When Caleb takes you to meet the girl he was raised with, as well as her husband and child, he introduces you to the young boy as his auntie. He almost kicked himself for becoming emotional when you wrapped your arms around the toddler.

🍏 It was at the dinner table that night Caleb finally felt peace, watching you laugh and chat with her as he discussed his mechanical arm with Zayne. His nephew sleeping in the highchair.

🍏 Caleb finally had a family, and it wasn't giving it up for anyone.

♡🍎♡🍏♡🍎♡🍏♡🍎♡🍏♡

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated <3

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