#EXECUTE COMMAND

[workatah4ck3rb4se]

fish fish, fish fsh is f hfi f fish

ENOUGH WITH THE FISH

[superstar-nan]

Execute Command

Night 2

Summary: You fix Springtrap's voicebox.

Words: 5,691

Fun stuff: Trigger warnings for obsessive behavior, trauma and psyche related dissociation, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of harm to animals (never shown but implied), and Springtrap being a dick. I wrote his voice like how Pit Bonnie sounds in Into the Pit :p

First ♡ Next

───── (\ /) ─────

You screamed when you saw me, and pleasure shivered through me. You grasped your heart as you caught your breath, your eyes shaking with fear. It made me feel alive again. I wanted to hold your vitality in my hands. I wanted to choose whether you lived or died. Like coming down from a high, you closed your eyes and your breathing slowed, heavy as it was. 

“How did you...” You looked at the broken door knob discarded on your floor. You swallowed. I could see your mind race beyond your eyes, and it was everything I wanted. How? When, why—how? You must’ve been asking yourself. It must’ve been so... discomforting not to know. That I was quiet enough to not wake you. That there was no noise to draw me to you. How long I watched your chest rise and fall with your sleeping breath. 

Strange. I enjoyed watching you sleep, beyond needing your presence to keep the static from decomposing my mind. Your rhythmic and steady breathing was... leisurely captivating. I didn’t want to stop watching you. Whether it was compulsion or envy, I didn’t know.

Your brow furrowed. You moved off of the bed, still clutching the blanket to your chest. “Hey, Bonnie...” You drew out the syllables as if I were a wild animal in need of lulling. At the very least, you were talking to me instead of to yourself. It was delightful you shivered when my eyes followed you. “Was I making too much noise?” Your voice wavered. 

You slowly, tentatively approached my side. What I wouldn’t have given to jump at you, even if just to startle you. Even more to hurt you. 

When I didn’t lunge at you, you held out your hand to me. “Come on. Let’s go.”

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

Dumbass.

Your brow furrowed lightly, and then relief washed over you in a way that enraged me. “The storage protocol...” You said in a thankful exhale. I swore that would be your last thankful breath. “Must’ve been pretty boring stuck with me, huh?” 

I would strangle the laugh from your throat.

“Well, uh...” You looked at me, unsure. You were sizing me up, debating on dragging me out of your room. You were too easy to read. “...You can just stay in here. In my room. I guess.”

You grabbed the thin device that was your phone and tapped on its surface. You swore under your breath, distractedly tapping at it while hurrying to your closet. You set the phone down on your desk, but it was ringing loud enough that I could hear it.

Someone picked up, “Where are you? I’ve been calling all morning!” I knew that voice. The night guard, the one that called help too soon—the one that got away. Maybe they didn’t have to be the one that got away, if I was patient enough.   

“I know, I know!” You were swiping through clothes in your closet, “I slept in!”

“I thought that thing killed you!” How sweet it was when they trembled trying to find me on the cameras, when they squeaked seeing me peek behind the door frame, when they nearly fainted at the sight of me beyond the glass. I would’ve played with them the whole week if they let me.

You laughed, pulling something out of your closet. Your laughter would’ve enraged me, if I didn’t catch the subtle tremor behind it. 

“I’m being serious!” The voice on the phone said, cracking in a delectable stammer, “Something’s not right about that thing! When it was here, it was like it- it was chasing me or... or something.”

“Really?” You said, and you were in the middle of taking off your clothes when you looked back at me. Your eyes trained on me, calculating and thoughtful, “It does seem to follow me. It’s much more advanced than I first thought. I wonder if it has some kind of hide and seek protocol, maybe something to play with the kids?”

> execute([H+S])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

It was only slightly satisfying that Bonnie was just as bound as I was.

“It’s more than that.” The voice on the phone said, becoming quieter—more timid. “It’s like it’s... aware. Did anything happen last night? Anything weird or did it do anything unusual?”

You paused for only a beat as you grabbed your new set of clothes, “No, nothing happened.”

Oh. You were a liar, carrot.

“...Nothing?”

My eyes traveled your bare body. Shoulders. Chest. Stomach. Thighs. I’m sure if I touched you, you’d shiver against my cold, metal fingertips. Your blood would rush in response, warming your skin that I loved to feel. I would enjoy carving lacerations into your warm body, a lovely heated canvas.

You slipped on your new clothes as you talked, “Nothing out of the ordinary. Hey listen, I’m gonna swing by to pick you up for breakfast, okay? Then, I can tell you everything I found. Like I said, this guy is way more advanced than I thought was even possible.”

“...Alright,” The voice was hesitant.

“See you soon!” You tapped your phone before they could respond. You shoved the device in your pocket along with your keys. You winked at me in a way that was both charming and annoying, “Hold down the fort, will you Bonnie?”

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

If only I could kill myself a second time. 

You left me with a loud slam of the front door. I resented you for it—leaving me. Sunlight peeked through your windows. It was too bright. A neighbor's dog barked down the street. It was too loud. Nobody was here. It was too cold. 

You returned when it was still light outside. You had a plastic bag filled with wires and tools. You set the bag on your bed, but you didn’t do anything other than nosily inspect my body. You spent most of your day on your computer, and it didn’t take me long to figure out you were working. Your computer, strangely enough, was thin like your phone; the keyboard built in. It was shaped more like a children’s book than a computer, opening up like a suitcase would.

Your desk was in your room, which meant I could watch you all day. I didn’t mind it. I itched for more, obviously. However, like watching you sleep, it was leisurely captivating. The gentle tapping of your flat keyboard, your small and subtle movements, the silence that was comfortable; not suffocating—it was just enough to clear the white noise without hurting me with intensity.

Every so often, you would take a quick glance at me. When you did, you would make a face, shiver, and then return to your work. After the fourth time, you closed your computer, grabbed your things, and left your room, closing the door behind you. I resented you for that, too. I could still hear your clicks and taps from beyond the door, but it wasn’t enough. 

How selfish, carrot.

The sun had set by the time I heard you moving around in your living room. I heard pots and pans at one point, the TV playing at another. At another, you came back into your room to fix your broken doorknob, and you cringed as I watched you the entire time. 

It wasn’t long after that when you decided to give me attention.

You came into your room, but you left the door open behind you. Did you feel more safe with an exit? If you ran, I would catch you. “Hi, Bonnie.”

I tried to move. The storage protocol stopped me. It wasn’t midnight yet.

“Feeling lonely here all by yourself?” You said, offhandedly. Distractedly. You didn’t mean it, but it still annoyed me. 

Lonely. What a pathetic word to describe my dependance on your presence. Neurosis felt more accurate.

You were staring intently at my chest. You bit your lip. “Wow,” You said, nervously. “It’s really in there isn’t it? Behind all the...” You waved your gloved hand over my chest, grimacing.

My whole body, metal and flesh, tensed. You were going to take out my voicebox. You were smart enough to do it while my storage protocol was in effect, but that didn’t stop the dreadful sensation that spread through my body like spiders. You were going to pick and prod at my innards like a mortician would a cadaver. I would’ve broken your fingers if I could move. I was violent at the thought.

You held your breath—as if you had anything to worry about, as if you were the one having someone dig their fingers into your chest. 

Then, you gently probed past my outer casing. 

It burned. You were saying something but I couldn’t listen because it burned. Pain and rage gripped me, searing hot. I wanted to rip off your hand. I wanted to rip off your head. I wanted to make you feel this pain. I wanted to dig my fingers into your chest. I would kill you I would kill you I would kill you I would-

There was a click. All at once, you ripped something out of me, and I saw white.

You gasped, sharp and quick. The pain cooled to a dim, throbbing ache. I wasn’t standing by your bed. I was on it. You were pinned under me, my voicebox in your hand and connected to my chest by wires. My claws were on your chest, digging into your skin, drawing blood where you drew mine. 

I moved. I moved. I could’ve laughed. And your horror was my delight.

Your eyes were wide in terror, and how that fed me. Your free hand instinctively came to my wrist, and you winced at the blood I drew. 

It wasn’t enough. I needed to feel your ribs crack. I needed you to scream. I needed to push and push, slower and slower, until my hand seeped deep into your lungs. I needed to feel your viscera in between my fingers.

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Satisfaction slipped from my fingers and I would’ve screamed. You were right there. You were right under me! 

I wanted to tear apart Bonnie more than I wanted to tear apart you.

You... You were terrified underneath me, shaking and breath quick, but that only made me want to hurt you more. You dug your nails into my wrist, trying to move me. It wouldn’t work. I couldn’t even move me. My rage elevated as your horror declined; the fear leaving your eyes as you realized I wasn’t moving.

You swallowed, letting go of my wrist. You tried to wriggle out underneath me, but I couldn’t budge. I had you pinned, my claws against your chest. You were just as much a prisoner as I was, and that brought me paltry satisfaction.

You let out a huff as you gave up on trying to slip out from under me, “Well. Shit.” You winced at my claws in your chest. I hadn’t dug deep, unfortunately, only scratching the surface.  “I’m gonna have to get a tetanus shot after this...” You said with a sigh.

You looked around the room, as if anything on the bed could help you escape from under me. Your eyes fell to my voicebox in your hand, then to your bag of tools you left here. You bit your lower lip. 

I could read it on your face. While I’m here... Might as well... You must’ve been thinking. How endearingly stupid.

You blindly palmed for the bag of tools behind you, feeling for which one you needed, while turning my voicebox in your hand. Your eyes were trained on it as you worked, wholly focused on the clockwork that was my machinery. 

Watching you so closely cooled my rage. I liked to watch. I hadn’t always, but I did now. Was it me or was it him? Did it matter? 

This close to you, I could memorize every detail of your features; the texture of your lashes, the hue of your eyes, the color in your lips as you bit them in your fixation. If I concentrated, I could feel your heartbeat through your chest, and I really liked that. I didn’t know if I wanted to slow it until it stopped or speed it up until it burst. 

You used your thumb to brush away calcified rust, replacing the wires of the voicebox, and I could feel it like it was flesh. You were quick. You were smart. A familiar, nasty feeling crept through me. Envy. I wanted the dexterity your fingers had, to move with delicate deftness. I wanted your mind that was so like Henry’s, quick to solve problems. I wanted your autonomy, free from the programming that chained me. I wanted your beauty, to not be some giant rotting thing. I wanted your breath, your blood, your life. I wanted to be you. I wanted you. I wanted to be you. I wanted you. I wanted to be you. I wanted you.

You let out a breathless laugh, one that sounded both nervous and droll. I didn’t notice through my jealous haze, but you were looking at me. “You’re going to burn a hole in me if you keep staring like that.”

I didn’t ease my stare.

You stared back, cursing lightly under your breath as your brow furrowed, “... Sometimes it feels like you’re...” 

Like I what, carrot? Like I’m watching you? Truly watching you? Thinking? Feeling? Like I’m alive? I assure you, I am.

You shook your head, “I need more sleep.” You snapped the voicebox into place in your hands, and I could feel it—I could feel it through him. It was working. Not that I could use it yet. I hated how easy of a task that was for you. “There. That should work,” You said, before flashing me a charming smile. “You’re not going to kill me if I put this back in you, are you?”

I might.

You shuffled through your pockets before holding your phone to your face, the glow of its screen reflecting on your skin, “Only a few minutes until midnight. We can test it out first, and then...” You grimaced, shifting under the weight of my claws, “Maybe there’s a command to get you to put this back in your chest? Something in that code of yours wants me out of your wires...”

Not the code, carrot. The corpse.

You exhaled slowly, setting my voicebox beside your head. Your eyes, still anxious at my visage, traveled down my face and neck to my chest. Your brow twitched. Your hand came to my chest, and my mind hummed sweetly at the soft touch. Gentle fingertips caressed my casing, your thumb rubbing delicately along its rim leaving a heavenly tingle in its wake. If I had breath, it would’ve hitched.

“Your bowtie is missing...” You said (was it? I hadn’t noticed), and your voice was somber. That should’ve enraged me, but I was too entranced by the feeling of your fingers. The sweetest of treats you could be...

You pulled your hand away from me, and I was cold again. 

> execute command [HOLD_HANDS]

My hand ripped from your chest and grabbed your wrist, mechanical in nature. You startled at the sudden movement, your breath gone from you. As much as I would’ve done the same thing, I couldn’t stand when he took control. I hated when he made me do things, controlled my body when I should’ve been controlling his. I squeezed your wrist tighter.

You hissed at the pain, but endured it. How exciting. How much would you bear? You checked the clock on your phone. It was midnight. “H-hi, Bonnie.”

You stared at me, intently, anticipation oozing from you. You wanted to hear me speak.

“H̴e̷l̵l̶o̵,” It hurt to speak. It was difficult to speak. My vocal chords moved with the voicebox in your hand. They were littered with holes, and it was rubbing sandpaper together using them. I’d dealt with worse pains, however, “C̶a̷r̶r̷o̸t̵.̶”

You reared away from my voicebox, grabbing onto my arm as if it was my voicebox that were haunted, “Good lord, is that your voice?” You said, your face twisted in a disgusted horror that I found humorous. “It sounds like you’re gargling live wires! Is that..?” You held the voice box to your ear, raising your eyebrows, before shaking your head in disbelief. You held it closer to you as if you doubted yourself, “Is that breathing? No.... no, that’s... Hell, I did not fix this thing.”

I think you did. Perfectly.

“Try...?” You swallowed, “Try saying something else, Bonnie.”

You held the box closely to your ear to listen. I was tempted to scream at the top of my ruined lungs to terrorize you—a strangely childish impulse. Did it come from Bonnie?

You furrowed your brow when I didn’t speak. “Hi, Bonnie?” You attempted, but I wouldn’t respond. You exhaled, exhaustion mixed with a touch of exasperation, as you swiped your fingers across your chest. You winced when you saw blood on your fingertips, eyes flitting to mine. You began to scoot out from under me. 

I grabbed your ankle and dragged you back.

Your head hit the bed with a soft thump. Your eyes were wide with the same look you gave me this morning—the one I relished. Fear of uncertainty. A slow build of dreadful ambiguity when I wasn’t hurting you, but unnerving you. Oh, how I loved to see you scared.

“Bonnie...” You said softly, like you were speaking to a wild creature again. You gently probed at my fingers, trying to peel me from your ankle without making any sudden movement. “Let me go.”

> execute command ([RELEASE]) = Yes/No?

> No.

> Execute([SQUEEZE])

I squeezed tighter and you sucked your breath in through your teeth. I could crush your ankle. I could squeeze until it pops and you're screaming. I could snap your foot in half with my grip, and you would never walk again. 

“Bonnie-!”

> Execute([RELEASE])

Which also, unfortunately, meant you would never run again.

You gasped when I let you go. I thought you would scramble away from me like a wounded animal. Instead, you trained your eyes on me. You were as captivated as you were afraid, your eyes scanning me as if staring at me long enough would answer your questions. Then, you rolled your shoulders, your hand still wet with your blood while you slowed your breath. You looked at your bloody hand.

“...Stay here, Bonnie.” You said, and your voice wavered. Pathetic. Surely you didn’t think I’d obey your demands? Regardless, you left, ignoring the way my eyes followed you as you went into your bathroom and locked the door.

I could already feel Bonnie urging me to follow you the moment you closed the door. I knew to wait.

Muffled beyond the bathroom door, the shower started. 

I took the voicebox you fixed in my hand. It was clean. All at once, I shoved it into my chest, suspending it in viscera and wires. It hurt less when I did it... but it still hurt like a bitch.

My ragged, strangled breath seeped from the voicebox like poisonous ichor. It really did sound like I was gargling live wires.

Just like the night before, I silently snapped your doorknob off. Steam billowed out of the bathroom, warm and wet. It was too bright in your bathroom; fluorescent whites burning me. You were beyond a shower curtain, probably trying to scrub the rust from your chest. 

I didn’t like the humidity. It reminded me of rainy nights. Abandoned buildings. Moist suits meant to stay dry. It reminded me of drowning in my own blood.

Metal bolts pierced through my skin and flesh; cracked through my bone. Fragments of my own bones scattered into my veins—I felt every tiny splinter puncturing my nerves. When did I stop twitching in pain, five weeks? Five years? 

I grabbed one of the fluorescent bulbs and snapped it in my hand.

You cursed, dropping something that loudly bounced in your tub. The shower was turned off with a heavy metal thunk. You swiped back the curtain, wide eyes looking at the door, to me, then to the shattered bulb. “Bonnie?!” 

My attention turned to you, my head twitching under the humidity. My voicebox wheezed with that strained breath, undead in nature. I couldn’t bleed, but glass shards jutted from my palm like knives.

You withered under my attention, before steeling yourself anyway. You grabbed a towel and wrapped it around your wet body as you stepped out of the shower. “Was,” You lifted up your arms before clapping them against your thighs, “Fifteen minutes too much to ask?”

My head twitched to the side.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You took my hand and started pulling out shards of glass. I could hardly feel it. You gagged realizing the shards were embedded in flesh.

“Y̵o̵u̷ ̵w̸i̶l̶l̴.̷” You shuddered when I spoke. I enjoyed that, “P̶u̸t̶ ̵m̶e̶ ̴b̴a̴c̸k̴ ̵t̸o̴g̵e̴t̸h̴e̶r̵.̷”

You had to stare at me when I spoke, your mouth opening and closing, as if you didn’t know what to say. As if you were choosing your next words carefully. Your brow furrowed lightly as you pulled another glass shard out of my palm. “I am.”

“N̷o̵.̵” I closed my fist around the glass and you cringed as if you felt the pain yourself, “F̸i̵x̶ ̷m̴y̵ ̸s̵t̷o̶r̵a̸g̷e̷ ̶p̶r̵o̴t̶o̵c̵o̸l̷.̶”

“I-” You swallowed, “I will. We have all week-”

I slammed my fist against your countertop, and you jumped, “N̷o̴w̷.”

“Now?” You said, shocked.

I didn’t respond, searing my gaze into yours.

You tried to step around me, but I moved in front of you. Through your dread, you somehow still had the spirit to look annoyed, “Well, can I at least get dressed first?”

My eyes dropped to your body. It was living flesh, warm and wet, shivering against the cold. Your chest had five uneven pinpricks from where I ripped out of you. Watered-down blood smeared your chest and stained the top of your towel a light red. Your towel hugged your drenched body, your soft skin. I imagined my hands—my hands, not Bonnie’s—hugging your curves, just as warm and alive as your skin. I wanted you. I wanted to be you. I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to have you. I wanted you I wanted you I wanted you I wanted you-

You grabbed my jaw with one hand and pulled it up so my eyes met yours. Your face, your neck, your chest was warm. You were flushed, “Who made you?” You spat the words like an insult. 

You didn’t wait for me to respond, ducking under my arm and slipping out the door. I didn’t silence my steps as I followed you, letting you hear the weight of my body as you flipped through your clothes. You purposefully positioned yourself away from me as you changed. I was transfixed with how your spine and shoulder blades moved under your skin—your own endoskeleton.

You turned around when you were done changing, “Are you done staring? You...” You waved your hands in my general direction, “Freaky thing.”

I wasn’t done staring. I liked watching you. I liked that it unnerved you. 

“I didn’t think so,” You motioned for me to follow you. “Come on. Let me see what I can do tonight.”

I didn’t move.

You sighed, before coming to my side. You held out your hand and I took it. Your hand was still wet. You lead me to your desk, appraising my body with analytical interest. You took a small flashlight to my chest.

“Yeah, it’s in there,” You said, circling behind me. “I can see it better from the back... Can you...?” You sounded unsure. You didn’t know if your words were getting through to me, “Sit?”

My head snapped to the side to look at you, and you flinched.

“Or kneel?” I liked that command even less, “You’re too tall.”

My head twitched to the side. I grabbed your desk chair and slowly dragged it to me, scraping against the desk with a metallic screech. I sat where you had access to my back.

I couldn’t see you, which agitated me, but I could hear you. You were filtering through your tools. “The fact that you can follow verbal commands is... brilliant.” My metal bones reverberated with delight over your condescending praise. Bonnie was too easy to please. “When were you built?”

> output speech(“[YEAR_EST]”) = Yes/No?

> No.

You waited for a few moments before you asked, “Who built you?”

> output speech(“Mr. Henry Emily”) = Yes/No?

> No.

You finally picked the tools you wanted and set them on your desk, “Well, you can’t blame me for trying.”

My head snapped to you, “D̶o̶n̴'̷t̷ ̵p̷u̷l̶l̷ ̶i̶t̵ ̵o̵u̵t̶.̵” You startled at my voice.

“I’m not- I won’t,” Your brow furrowed as I saw your mind race beyond your eyes. I wanted to know how fast your heart was beating. You swallowed and it was thick. “Your suit is rotten enough that I can...” You shook your head. “I’m going to access your PLC from the outside, alright?”

You were speaking clearly and plainly—purposefully, as if to ensure I processed what you said. I didn’t respond, but I did turn my head forward.

I felt your hesitant hands on my back, peeling past my rotted casing and flesh. You took your time inspecting my insides, and I could feel your thumb prodding into me. You weren’t ripping a piece of me out, but your intrusion was still grating; inflamed and abrasive.

I couldn’t see what you were doing, but then you connected something to me. An electrical shock jolted my core, stopping my mechanical and biological functions with a violent brake. For a moment, I was in a hellish suspension. Then, like a dull computer slowly humming to life, I came back to awareness.

“Huh?” You were looking at your thin computer. There were wires connecting me to it. I imagined wrapping them around your neck—pulling them tight, cords digging into your flesh. I could make you feel that damned suspension, no electricity required. “Strange...”

You turned back to me, but stuttered when you saw how I looked at you. You swallowed your visceral panic and began tinkering with the wires in my back.

“...Something is wrong with you.” You said, returning to your computer. “You should be dead... But you're not.”

My eyes made subtle mechanical movements as I stared into your carpet.

“...What’s powering you?” You whispered, before scoffing to yourself, “Translating this is going to be a beast.” I felt the tapping of your keyboard beyond the wires. They itched like bugs crawling on my skin. I wanted them off of me, but I knew to be patient. I could be patient.

Patience was easier when I could watch you.

As I stared at the monotonous carpet floor, I became hyper aware of every sound. Your taps and clicks (obviously), the quiet humming of the air conditioning, the rumbling of your dishwasher beyond the door, the rustling of leaves in the wind outside—a dog suddenly barking in a way that stalled your fingers before you resumed your tapping. The more I focused on these sounds, the more I heard a heartbeat. A low, weak drum that frenzied my mind like wasps. It had to have been yours. It had to be yours. It was yours. It was yours.

You hummed, and it snapped me out of my trance. I couldn’t hear a heartbeat anymore, and my hands twitched at the urge to dig my fingers into your chest just so I could hear it again. “I would kill to talk to whoever made you...” So would I. “The way they programmed you is... unusual. Genius, but seriously unusual. I bet I could knock out half of it tonight-”

My head jerked to the side, “F̷i̶n̵i̸s̴h̴ ̶i̴t̶.̶” 

You flinched, “I-I am!”

“T̶o̵n̸i̶g̵h̶t̸.̶”

“Tonight?” You laughed nervously, “There’s no way-”

“T̶o̵n̸i̶g̵h̶t̸.̶” I repeated, my strangled breath being squeezed from my voicebox.

“I’m telling you, it’s not-”

“T̶o̵n̸i̶g̵h̶t̸.̶”

You scoffed, and you had the gall to sound annoyed. “Alright, if it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?”

. . .

Someone forgot to be afraid.

I stood up. I grabbed the wires and ripped them out of my back. I dropped them to the floor. You stumbled away from me, remembering yourself. 

Too late.

“I mean, I could try-?”

My head twitched. My voicebox popped and fizzled with strangled wheezing, “L̵e̷t̶'̶s̷ ̶p̸l̵a̷y̷.̵” My voice reverberated with Bonnie’s.

“N-no, let’s not play!” Your voice cracked trying to appeal to my circuitry.

> [PLAY MODE] = active

> enter [GAME]: . . .

You squeaked, and fever rushed through my veins and wires.

> Execute([H+S])

“H̷i̵d̵e̴ ̶a̶n̵d̶ ̷s̵e̵e̸k̷.”

You choked on your gasp as you caught yourself on the wall behind you. Just look at you. Your eyes shook with horror, darting between me and the exit you left open for yourself. I drank your fear like wine. It was so sweet to me. I deserved this. I had been patient. I waited all day. You abandoned me behind the door. I let you dig around in my viscera. It was only fair that I got to have my fun.

> executing command = [H+S]

Exhilaration raced over my metal bones like lightning. I couldn’t tell who wanted to play more, me or Bonnie. It didn’t matter. I still felt twice the delight.

“T̵e̷n̷.̸” 

Your already frightened eyes widened. What an exciting little thing you were.

“N̵i̸n̸e̸.”

You bolted out of the room, your legs barely stumbling to keep up with your own pace. It took everything in me to keep from chasing you down now—hearing the screams you’d make when I’d grab you and slam your head into the floor.

“E̶i̶g̵h̶t̵.̸”

But it was more fun to play, and I didn’t know if I could stop myself from killing you if I caught you now. 

“S̵e̵v̵e̸n̷.̷”

...Could I stop myself even if I did play by the rules?

“S̴i̵x̵.̷”

I heard a loud crash and the sound of furniture moving. My head twitched to the side, mechanical and annoyed. You’d better not make it easy for me, or I’d rip out your intestines the moment I laid eyes on you.

"F̶i̸v̴e̸.̴"

My eyes jerked at the sound of wood scraping against the tile, then strained creaking. At least you weren't stupid enough to run out the door.

"F̴o̷u̵r̸.̸"

Anticipation itched at my fingertips as your frantic wooden creaking rang in my head.

"T̷h̵r̶e̶e̸.̶"

I imagined your trembling body when I'd catch you, the begging that would spill from your lips like sugar, how your skin would break under my grip, painting my fingers a lovely red. My shattered bones shuddered, intoxicated at the thought.

"T̴w̷o̸.̶"

Metal scraped against wood once more, and then there was a loud slamming.

"O̸n̷e̸.̷"

Pressure released from my metal joints in a hiss of air. I took heavy steps. I let my strangled breath echo against your walls. I wanted you to know where I was. I scratched the doorframe to your living room with the loud screech of metal on metal. My eyes mechanically processed your living room. Every inch of the room was scanned for variations. Bonnie was made for this.

What made that creaking noise? I stepped closer to the center of the living room, eyes darting from furniture to cabinets to doors. Even in silence, I couldn't hear your muffled breaths. They should’ve been quickened with your fear, a delightful hushed series of pants and puffs. Were you holding your breath? That thrilled me.

Taking steps past your kitchen, my eyes jerked upward. A single string swayed back and forth from the ceiling: the entrance to the attic. I felt the edges of my petrified grin widened.

I quieted. I loved giving them false hope. It made their horror more raw; their screams louder. I quietly took the string in my hand, soft enough to be gentle. 

I yanked down the ladder in one loud wooden SLAM. It struck the floor in a terrible crash. I would've given anything to see your expression. Were you crying?

I took one loud step up.

CRACK!

...

I snapped the first step.

I carefully stepped on the second step.

CRACK!

Rage and desperation washed over me like a sheet of icy rain. Your damned ladder was too weak to hold me. I tried to be even more gentle on the third step, but it didn't matter. It too snapped under my weight.

It wasn't fair... I had you! I had you! You were cheating.

In a fit of wrath, I ripped the ladder from your ceiling and shattered it against your floor.

As if to taunt me, you peaked past the entrance to the attic. Your expression was everything I wanted: eyes wide in terror, face paled with horror, body shaking as you looked at me—but it didn't matter. I could not have you.

"C̵͓̑Ḧ̵̟́E̵̖͋Ä̵̡́T̵͈̕Ę̶̆R̶̹̃!̷̗́" My voicebox popped and fried in a short-circuiting monstrous screech. You flinched away from me, ducking back into the attic.

It wasn't fair. I deserved this. I deserved this! You were mine! You were mine! And now, I couldn't even watch you sleep. I grabbed the shattered remnants of the ladder and flung it against the ceiling, fragmenting it in a screaming CRASH!

I twitched. My whole body itched. White noise was swallowing me. You were being quiet. I was alone. Again. This was your fault. This was your fault. I hated you. I needed to kill you. I needed to kill something. I needed blood.

Your neighbor's dog started to bark again. I stilled.

It wouldn't be my finest kill, but it wouldn't be the first time either.

> [PLAY MODE] = Active

> enter [GAME]: . . .

> Execute[FETCH]

[dailyenglishvoca]

Today's song is EXECUTE COMMAND by Skreya_ featuring the Synthesizer V voicebank Sheena

Content warning: mental health downward spiralling (a commenter joked that this was "top ten songs to eat glass to" which both made me snort and generally sums up the vibe here)

[banhbeotim]

so happy she got her own card and comic <3

[tangents-within-tangents]

Hot take:

Crosshair does not have the Imperial disillusionment and redemption arc of The Bad Batch

Emerie does.

Crosshair has an arc for sure yes but it's not that.

I was thinking about this scene:

and how it got right what this scene kinda didn't:

(It was so close but then bad writing decided to undercut the moment with a joke rip)

And I think it's really interesting that these characters who were more or less raised into the Empire/First Order and chose to leave it are all directly asked why.

But take a look at Crosshair's answers in comparison:

Different context for the asking, yes, but still, compare that to clones like Howzer, Cody, Slip and Cade who left or turned against the Empire because they knew what the Empire is doing is wrong and they weren't just going to blindly follow orders:

Crosshair - Loyalty, Purpose, and Survival

Crosshair didn't choose to join the Empire (though the show isn't very clear or consistent about how much control the inhibitor chips have) but he did, for whatever reason, choose to stay. By the end of S1 we know his chip has been removed and as he definitively says "This is who I am." There were likely still other influences on his decision, but listen to how he talks about the Empire in the S1 finale:

Hunter: Crosshair, I've seen what the Empire is doing. Occupying planets and silencing anyone who stands against them. You know it's not right. Crosshair: You still don’t see the bigger picture, but you will. Hunter: Can't you see they're using you?

Crosshair: We’re not like the regs, we never have been. We’re superior. The Empire can’t protect the galaxy without strength, this is what we were made for. Think of all we could do, together!

Crosshair: You all are meant for more than drifting through the galaxy. It’s time to stop running. Join the Empire, and you will have purpose again.

Hunter: They destroyed an entire city! Crosshair: They did what needed to be done. Kamino, regs, the Republic, that time is over. The Empire will control the entire galaxy, and I am going to be a part of it. Hunter: Don't fool yourself. All you'll ever be to them is a number.

He undeniably knows what the Empire is doing, but he does not care. In fact it sure sounds like he actually supports it and finds self-meaning in it. Hunter spends those episodes trying to convince him it's wrong, he doesn't change his mind. In the end they offer him an out and he doesn't take it.

Wrecker: You coming with us? Crosshair: None of this changes anything. Hunter: You offered us a chance, Crosshair. This is yours. Crosshair: I made my decision.

The next we see Crosshair in "The Solitary Clone" (S2:E3) he follows orders and shoots the Desix governor, right after Cody heartbreakingly tries to do what's right and find a peaceful solution.

Cody: Tell me something, Crosshair. This new Empire, are we making the galaxy better? Crosshair: We’re soldiers, we do what needs to be done. Cody: You know what makes us different from battle droids? We make our own decisions, our own choices. And we have to live with them too.

After this (glorious!) conversation, Crosshair stays. Maybe this began to seed some doubts, but he actually smiles a few scenes later when Rampart assigns him another mission. It seems like for him it truly is as he said in S1:E1 (chip not enhanced yet but still influencing him enough for his brothers to notice he's acting strange):

Crosshair: Republic, Empire... what's the difference.

Crosshair: Orders are orders.

This unethical mission that finally pushed Cody over the edge does not change Crosshair's mind about the Empire, at least not enough for him to take action.

But what does?

Mayday: And here we are, the survivors. Combat troopers stuck babysitting cargo shipments. Crosshair: Mission’s a mission. Mayday: Yeah, I used to say the same thing.

Mayday: After all the clones have done, all we’ve sacrificed. We’re good soldiers, we followed orders. And for what?

This mission has nothing to do with how the fascist Empire treats the galaxy, it's about how they treat their soldiers. It's about how Mayday loyally fought and served his whole life and Lieutenant Nolan let him die

Lt Nolan: He served his purpose as a soldier of the Empire. Crosshair: You could have saved him! Lt Nolan: Perhaps you didn’t hear me, he is expendable, as are you.

Crosshair thought he could find purpose within the Empire, and Nolan shows him exactly what that will be.

His turning point is accompanied with this powerful visual of the ice vulture, a symbol (and threat) of death, and also set up within the episode a symbol of survival:

Mayday: Vicious creatures, but you have to admire ‘em. They find a way to survive.

This critical moment (that gives me chills, oof this episode is a masterpiece!) comes right after Nolan calls him expendable and directly threatens him:

Lt Nolan: And if you speak to me again with such disrespect I'll see to it you meet a similar fate, clone.

then Crosshair sees the vulture's shadow and turns to Mayday's dead body (ahh visual storytelling my beloved) then makes his decision:

Crosshair turns against the Empire not because he believes Hunter was right about this:

Hunter: I've seen what the Empire is doing ... You know it's not right.

but because he was right about this:

Hunter: All you'll ever be to them is a number.

Redemption (both in fiction and irl in my humble opinion) comes with making amends and reparations (which is why death 'redemptions' bother me so much but that's a rant for another time). Unlike Emerie, Crosshair never explicitly denounces the Empire or his own actions within it. He never says anything to specifically show if and how his views have changed from what he said on Kamino. He makes amends with his family (sending the warning message, helping Omega escape, making up with Hunter) but that's about it. The most we get in terms of acknowledgement is this:

Crosshair: I thought I knew what I was getting into with the Empire. I thought I was being a good soldier. Hunter: Nobody really understood what was happening back then. Crosshair: I’ve... done things. I’ve made mistakes. Hunter: I have regrets too, Crosshair. All we can do is keep trying to be better, and who knows there just might be hope for us yet.

Which is nice and all but it's more about them making up as brothers so it's way too excusing tbh ("no one knew what was happening back then" ummm? "The Empire will control the entire galaxy, and I am going to be a part of it" remember? And even if at first Crosshair was being controlled by the chip, the fact that he chose to stay after it was removed* means he condones and is therefore still accountable for those actions).

There's also a bit of self-destructive guilt:

Crosshair: Omega, don't risk anything for me. I belong in here.

Crosshair: Omega needs you both. So I’m doing this alone, it’s what I deserve. Hunter: Don’t even think about plan 99, Crosshair. Omega needs all of us.

(which thank you Hunter for pushing back on the death redemption bs and oh look is that a wrap up for the purpose thing?)

But there's no action taken on his part to make up for what he's done or to stand against the Empire (aside from the bare minimum of help with Tantiss, only after it became personally relevant, which like yeah he had trauma to deal with but still).

While I do think the implications/follow-up of Crosshair's turn should have been handled better in S3 (like rip Howzer! he deserved an apology, but that's a rant for another time), I don't necessarily** think this arc is a bad writing choice. It's just saying different things than we expect:

Maybe Crosshair's story is not about standing up against an unjust system, like we see with many other characters (who deserved more screen time but that's a rant for another timeeee). Maybe his story is about how even those who are loyal to the Empire, who actually believe in it, still suffer under and within it's rule. Not to garner sympathy, but to show that there is no winning.

Crosshair has another 'so what changed' convo in S3:E14 with Rampart, in which they draw parallels to each other:

Rampart: You used to believe good soldiers followed orders. Crosshair: Depends on who's giving them. The Empire betrayed us both. Rampart: And you think you can fight them? That's not you. You're like me, loyal to no one but yourself. Crosshair: I've changed.

(note how he says who's giving the orders, not what the orders are)

"Loyal to no one but yourself" describes Rampart much more than Crosshair, since we often saw Crosshair pride himself as a loyal soldier of the Empire whereas we saw Rampart abuse power to be self-serving within the Empire (like when he killed Wilco to save face). But they were both betrayed either way. Vice Admiral Rampart, snively Imperial opportunist through-and-through, shouts "I was following orders!" as he is arrested for the Empire's purposes. (Edit: and where Crosshair rejected the Empire and found new purpose fighting for his family, Rampart was still self-serving in the finale. He still tries to gain power for himself and he gets his comeuppance).

Even Hemlock, the final boss immoral Imperial scientist, who has to be benefiting the most from this system, echoes the expendability idea:

Hemlock: What I am working on is beyond your understanding. Something so vital to the Empire it makes me indispensable.

Then there's CX-2, also set up as a parallel/foil to Crosshair (fight me), who in the end is discarded as no more than a weapon, a tool that served it's purpose, showing us what would have become of Crosshair if he had stayed.

There is no winning in the Empire. Loyalty is not rewarded, it "doesn't go both ways." Everyone has to fight for their value. Even high ranking individuals** who for a time benefit from the injustice, in the end are just pawns to be used up and cast aside at a whim for the Emperor's gain. Even people who are motivated by self-interest alone cannot survive within this system, the only viable option in this galaxy is to fight the Empire and dismantle that system. (unless you conveniently find a magically safe island to hide away on but that's a rAnT fOr AnOtHeR tImE)

Which brings us back to...

Emerie - Cooperation, Compassion, and Choice

(Okay this post has already gotten away from me but I still want to talk about her to show the contrasts.)

Emerie may not have been given a lot of screen time to really flesh out her development, but there is a lot that is pretty clearly implied with her:

Crosshair: They’ll never turn her [Omega] over. Hemlock: They don’t have a choice. She is a clone, and therefore Imperial property. *Camera cuts to an angle more centered on Emerie’s face*

Crosshair: Give me your access card! Emerie: It won’t get you outside!

Emerie: I tried to warn him what would happen if he did not cooperate with the Doctor.

Emerie: Prisoner? Omega, you are no such thing. It will take time to adjust, but you will acclimate. It is far safer in here than out there.

Emerie: You should go back to your room. Crosshair: You mean her cell?

Emerie: Why children? Hemlock: Children are easier to attain and more agreeable to the subjugations. They are unaware of why they are here and what they possess.

Emerie: They're children. Like I was... Was your plan to discard them too? Nala Se: The Empire will keep them in order to control them.

We don't know a lot about Emerie's background, but it's clear that she had a lot less choice than Crosshair and less opportunity or ability to leave. Unlike Crosshair, we never directly hear Emerie's views of the Empire (and she was most likely 'taken under Hemlock's wing' before the Empire even came to power), but lets look at how she talks about the Tantiss:

"Remain calm. Cooperate and you might survive."

"Don't make this worse, Crosshair! There is no escape!"

"All of us serve a purpose here."

"The Doctor will inform me, if it's necessary."

"It's best not to ask questions."

"Escape is not possible, Omega. This is for your own good."

She honestly does the best she can within the system she is also trapped in. She tries to help Crosshair, Omega, and the vault kids in the only way she knows how (warns Crosshair about the hounds and security, tries to protect Omega from Hemlock, tells Scorch his "actions were extreme" with Jax, insists on overseeing Bayrn's retrieval, double checks his m-count (to give him an out), and tries to find out where he came from). When she gives Omega, and later Eva, the doll, I think it shows just how little she really is able to do here (and it's kinda heartbreaking imo).

The framing of this shot especially (after Jax's escape attempt) visually shows how Emerie herself is trapped/imprisoned:

Despite the fact that very little of this is Emerie's fault, she has very little power and she is doing all she can, the narrative does not excuse her role in the Empire:

Nala Se: What will you do, Emerie? Emerie: There is nothing I can do. I don't have that kind of power. Nala Se: Don't you?

Emerie: I- I was doing my job. Echo: Yeah, I’ve heard that before. You’re a clone. How can you be part of this?

These fighting-the-Bystander-Effect conversations parallel these exchanges:

Hunter: We made a choice, and so did you. Crosshair: Soldiers follow orders. Hunter: Blind allegiance makes you a pawn.

Crosshair: We’re soldiers, we do what needs to be done. Cody: You know what makes us different from battle droids? We make our own decisions, our own choices. And we have to live with them too.

which did not change Crosshair's mind. And honestly, all respect to Echo's disappointed mom glare™ but I think it's clear Emerie had already made her decision, she just needed help to actually be able to do anything about it. When she stopped Echo, with her voice wavering on the verge of tears (ahhh v good voice acting), she clearly had no intention of turning him in. She's on her own in the Empire's most secure facility with very little resources, if she had tried anything on her own she most likely would have failed and been killed

Omega: Emerie, you don't have to do this. Emerie: (sigh) I’m sorry, but I do.

but as soon as she is enabled by an ally, she immediately turns around to help: giving information and getting Echo through security, helping the kids escape, and giving Omega the tablet that allows them to free the other clone prisoners.

Where Crosshair's turn is accompanied by the symbolic imagery of the ice vulture, Emerie's is the removal of her (literally rose-tinted!) glasses:

Symbolizing how she has shed her previous views/indoctrination that altered her perception of the Empire and blinded her to it's wrongs. It's disillusionment.

Emerie's story shows us that even those who are raised and indoctrinated into this system can, should, and will escape (with needed help). Even those who did not choose to be apart of the Empire and are not making the decisions still have the responsibility and ability to act on what they know is right.

Emerie, whose name means 'Home strength' 'Brave' and 'Powerful', and "reflects the importance of leadership and authority in the workplace".***

While Emerie is only in one more scene after her turn, so the wrap up is a bit rushed, she still very simply does what Crosshair does not:

Emerie: Because I was wrong about this place. And I'm trying to do the right thing.

Echo: I’m sure Senator Chuchi would find what you have to say very helpful for our cause. Emerie: I have a lot to make up for. I’d like to help out however I can.

She admits wrong, takes accountability, commits to making amends, and leaves with Echo to go take on the Empire (which hopefully we will get to actually see more of some day).

So, in short, she's showing us how redemption is done right!

---

Notes:

*Whether this writing choice was good/logical/in-character or not is another discussion entirely, but I'm going off of what we were given, what the show is presenting in the canon text and (reasonably inferred/intentional) subtext. Crosshair is pretty multifaceted and I could only touch on so much here. There's a lot of ways to interpret his character/choices, but I tried to avoid the realm of speculation or fanon explanations (even if they sometimes make more sense lol).

**History and political theory are not my area of expertise at all, so I have NO idea how well this aligns with real-world fascism stuff and therefore what implications this storytelling choice could have. I think the message of like 'if you think you could survive or gain power by doing what the Empire/fascist system wants you are wrong' could be good (like how everyone is actually harmed by the patriarchy type of a thing), but I hesitate bc maybe there are those who would benefit, since it's a hierarchal system, right? If anyone more knowledgeable than me has incite to share, by all means

Either way, I do think it works in-story and in-universe though. It's just in the execution. The main problem (even from a strictly theme/character arc stand point) is the lacking follow-up/consequences for Crosshair in S3. Like you gave your character accountability by removing the chip and I think that's great setup for an arc but you gotta follow through with that and actually hold him accountable!

***I'm always curious when clones have 'normal' names, like why did they chose the name Emerie of all things? So I looked it up. Idk how reliable sources are for name meanings so take it with a grain of salt but it's still fun. Fits pretty well, and clones names have definitely had significant meanings in the past (like how Rex and Jesse both mean 'king') so I'm pretty sure it was intentional.

Anyway, thanks for coming to my tedtalk

[suirizmi]

my favorite pokemon characters! (based on this)

[nerdishpursuits]

Reina … Marta de la Reina

[purplemoonfox]

Ramblings on the Senate Building in Clone Wars vs Andor and aesthetics IRL...and a tiny aside about the security presence there

Some spoilers for the end of s2 of Andor

I might be late to the party with this (I've never been super involved in fandom, I'm a lurker, so I'm usually on the outs) but oh well.

I cannot watch any scene in the Senate Building in Andor without wincing—and not because the show is bad.

Andor is so good it beggars my ability to describe how much it's what I've been begging for for years and knew Star Wars could potentially be. I cry a lot while watching it though. I’ve got my issues with Bix’s ending (what exactly did the generic baby ending add to the story or to her already crippled agency) but I can deal.

One of these days I'm going to get off my ass and think about the juxtaposition of culture as an active source of community and strength vis a vis Luthen Rael selling other peoples' provenance to rich consumers who keep things on sterile podiums. Maybe tie in that he doesn’t get along with the wider Rebellion somehow idk.

This is going to meander a little, please bear with me. Summary at the very end because I absolutely like to go on.

It’s not that the portrayal of the Senate building in Andor is in any way bad; it’s that it's so white it’s blinding. It's sterile, like a hospital room. And like everything else in Andor, that must be a deeply intentional choice apologies to Valencia, Spain for this entire post, your building seems like it would be very nice when it's not the home base of a shit ton of complacent fat cats content to do nothing until it affects them directly.

Coruscant in general also reflects this...cleansing, as we see in season one when Syril Karn goes back to live with his mother (is this purely a Topside thing?). In the prequels we see so many non-humans, whereas in Andor, 90% of everyone we see are human. Coruscant (and we only see Topside, tbf) is more colorful at a ground level in the prequels and TCW than it ever is in Andor. Hell, it even seemed to me like Coruscant's air traffic had been cut down by at least half, as well.

For comparison, here is a still from TCW of a concourse:

Note the dark, rich colors. Other areas are similar in theme and illumination.

Here's one from AOTC, and I believe this one is in the Senate building, not the Executive building:

Now here's Andor:

That is excruciating. I need sunglasses, my eyes are shit enough. Also, blue, like the Madonna, Mon? Fucking classic <3. Yes i know blue and orange are the Rebellion's colors but my limited familiarity with art history won't be ignored lol.

The thing about conservative bends is that conservatives tend to prefer "clean," modest aesthetics because they tend to look towards a mythical past where people "did an honest day's labor" and humbly didn't have even the desire for fancy stuff (haha so very false people have always liked nice things you just literally can't get nice shit if you're a subsistence laborer unable to go anywhere else because you're legally bound to the land and are one bad harvest away from starving to death while your God-ordained feudal landlord is a dick who deserves more because God said he's a better breed of person...no seriously the Brits still deal with class issues this many centuries later for a reason, and there's also a reason that in some shows somebody has the ONE somewhat pretty hair pin they pull out of an otherwise destitute hovel...although that being said the image of impoverished peasantry was definitely a tax evasion scheme in some cases so like...it's complicated LOL).

Famously, Shitler didn't like women wearing red lipstick, or any makeup really. These days, the "clean girl" aesthetic is apparently popular because men can't tell the difference between a sick person and a woman not wearing any makeup, so no makeup isn't an option.

It also plays into something I like to call "light is not always good, dark is not always bad." Light can be piercing, even blinding; dark can evoke rich and fertile soil. I'd be more inclined to describe the Clone Wars-era Senate building as less fertile and more antediluvian and decomposing, and really lived in like an old house, but there is meaning in gutting it and making it all bright white and almost airy, with no shadows.

Makes it a lot easier to keep an eye on everyone, for instance.

It's in the same vein that "clean aesthetics" creates a narrower definition of what constitutes an acceptable appearance, and makes it a lot easier to catch out and target any divergence from the expected norm. It makes even something as mundane as being sick that day stand out.

The Senate complex etc.

I tried very hard to find some pictures of anything outside the Senate building in Clone Wars, but it seems like that's relatively limited to establishing shots. But note the difference between these two; the below being in Andor:

This is what's between the two in Andor:

This area is, I believe, where Kloris waited for Mon Mothma, and Cassian took off from--and the landing pad images I can find from the prequels are located in the Executive building/Senate office building (when Anakin saw Padme after getting off the shuttle post battle of Coruscant in ROTS, and earlier where Cad Bane landed in TCW).

With architecture like in Andor, it's easy to keep people out in the open on predictable, observable paths (can't walk on water, you'll walk on the pathways around it, and the Empire’s apparent love of reflection pools as a repeated choice of external decoration, as seen outside the ISB too, deserves its own post), and elevated in a way that the amount of stuff between the two buildings does not make possible in the prequels; this is the Executive building in AOTC (also known as the Senate Office building, where Palpatine and the Senators have their offices, and I believe based on building placement that this is not from the side that faces the Senate building, so the Senate building would be hidden behind it):

I looked hard for landing bays for Senators/visitors to use attached to the Senate building itself but it seems like the Executive building is where the landing pad is (which, how the fuck they get between the two in the prequels, I'm still not sure, but in Andor it looks like they can walk). Mon Mothma mentions the loading bay in Andor when they're making their escape, which is in the Senate building, but that's it. If I am wrong, please correct me.

I'm reminded of the difference between Medieval cities and those that came after (and before, really, if we're being honest, as the Romans loved urban planning...they also loved conquest and control): Medieval cities were close, organic, warren-like, and hard to navigate for anyone but those from that area or very familiar with it. Later cities would be constructed with wide, grid plans because...well, aside from being a lot more navigable to an outsider, it's a lot easier to move around on wide avenues and keep your population under control. There is a lot less local knowledge and a lot more power politics in play.

And then irl there's the whole diminishing of the Commons and the ceding of the road to automobiles (it was not a given that cars should take precedent), and...anyway. I digress. I do that a lot.

The ultimate point is, the Empire seems to have done a thorough job of making it impossible for anyone to be out of sight in the Senate. There are no more shadows or warm colors, or columns to talk to your secret wife behind, just stark white to contrast against, on an elevated walkway. The architecture is structural, whereas in the prequels there are organic-looking statues and a lot less of a bottleneck (although I can't easily tell which side this plaza is supposed to be on, to be fair):

Apparently, this, the above Senate Plaza contained an Avenue of the Core Founders which was by the time of the Clone Wars subject to criticism for not being representative of the multi-species Republic, as it was basically of all humanoid peoples, who formed the Republic in the Core Worlds way back when--I think this place still exists during the Empire but as of 5 years into the Empire they were planning to put a statue of Palpatine in it instead, so maybe by the time Andor happens the multitude of statues in this area have been replaced by a statue of the Emperor.

In a rather literal sense by the time the events of Andor happen it seems the Senate has been put on a pedestal in a way that keeps them in the open, observable, and also effectively cut off from the rest of the populace of Coruscant, and differentiated and deprioritized rel. the Emperor can't imagine he wants too many visitors, he wants them squabbling on the floor.

Side note

Also where the abject fuck are my goddamn Corries. Last known sighting of Corries in red paint besides seeing how they held on to the red in TBB is of shock troopers in the comics in 14BBY. Mon Mothma's speech in the Senate happened like twelve years after the comic appearance, and the Stormtroopers we see pursuing Mon Mothma and Cassian aren't wearing any red paint.

There's also no Senate Guards in their Roman-esque armor. The blue-uniformed fuckers with shitty breastplates are probably what's meant to have become of them. Shitty riot gear (also seen when they stormed the safe house) seems to be a mainstay in any security force that isn't the Imperial military itself. In my mind, if the Coruscant Guard still exists at all, it was probably just stripped of of its paint and had its ranks filled with conscripts, even though the Guard evidently managed to hold on to theirs longer than most.

That is very much a choice as well; by stripping the Senate Guard itself of effective armor and stripping the troopers assigned to the Senate (they showed up hella fast if they weren't) of any distinguishing marks, and not even having the Guards on the floor as visibly as they were shown in TCW or the prequels, it essentially keeps all the aesthetic...uniqueness? On the Emperor, and keeps the main source of any actually effective security in the hands of an indistinguishable Imperial military.

In short the flattening of aesthetics is likely meant to emphasize the Emperor's position and importance and erases the diversity of the species within the Empire.

Summary:

The Senate building and attendant security forces' aesthetic changes between the prequel era and Andor could reflect a desire to expose and control the Senate, and emphasize the preeminence of the Emperor while also downplaying individual elements of the Empire.

Oh shit I actually managed to make that a short one

[jpsolace]

I finally finished another drawing! And it's angst! So have some angst order 66 Cody art. And remember, if you live in denial, the clones never, ever, got hurt 🥲

[cathartic-tomfoolery]

Human peepers is @om000o 's design!! (And it's so radical, wtf)

Actually a huge fan of their art in general absolutely delectable stuff!!! >_< U should go check out their stuff..or else..

[workatah4ck3rb4se]

I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF AGAIN I'LL- I'LL EXPLODE!1!1!

I- IM NOT TRYING TO-

ALSO NOLI??

[superstar-nan]

Execute Command

Night 4

Summary: You play house with Springtrap. Plot twist, he's a terrible partner.

Words: 7,448

Fun stuff: Trigger warnings for blood, non-con behavior (nothing is sexual, but he does and thinks things that elicit that imagery), abusive relationships, obsessive behavior, trauma and psyche related dissociation, graphic descriptions of violence.

First ♡ Prev

───── (\ /) ─────

A melodic ringing snapped me out of my trance. You too paused, your gentle caress stopping. I felt you turn your head to the side.

“...Bonnie,” your voice was sore with fatigue, a low dull monotony. “It’s morning.”

Gears clicked in my head as I came back to awareness, as if I was truly waking up. I lifted up off of you. You looked deeply exhausted. Your eyes were bloodshot; dark circles shadowed under them. Your hand I held twitched when I let it go, the circulation returning to your fingertips. You didn’t even react as I tilted your chin up.

Your neck was decorated with a lovely purple. My favorite color. 

I looked at the source of the ringing. It was your thin phone. With mechanical and uneven movements, I pick it up in all its flashing lights and sound. That seemed to wake you up. You went to sit up, but I pushed you back down by your chest.

... I didn’t know how to answer it. I didn’t know if my rotting fingers had the dexterity to answer it. My fingers twitched and jerked under this realization.

I held the phone to your ear.

You pressed against its screen as I held it for you, “... Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.” The nightguard.

“Hey.”

“You sound exhausted.”

You couldn’t meet my eyes, “Long night.”

“I can tell,” They said. “How is... uhm, it.”

“T̷e̴l̶l̸ ̴t̷h̸e̶m̶ ̸n̵o̴t̴h̶i̵n̵g̷.̶” 

“What?”

You faked a cough, “Sorry. It’s going well. I fixed the storage protocol it had.”

“... And it hasn’t...?”

“What, come to life and killed me yet?” Fatigue seeped into your voice as you dryly humored yourself with your own private joke. “I’m fine.”

“Good. Good. When are you going to call the police about...?”

“The body?” You exhaled as you looked to the side, “I don’t know. Soon.”

Your name was said in exasperation, “Please! Take this seriously!”

You looked at me. Your eyes were a colorless slate. Exhausted. Defeated. It was as though you knew your fate. You weren’t getting out of this alive. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll call them the day after tomorrow.”

A sigh left your phone, “Thank you... Do you wanna grab dinner before I head to work tonight? It was boring last night.”

“I̴n̴v̶i̸t̶e̷ ̵t̷h̴e̵m̶ ̷h̶e̸r̴e̷.̵” 

Your brow twinged. You didn’t say anything.

The voice on the phone asked your name in a question.

“I̴n̴v̶i̸t̶e̷ ̵t̷h̴e̵m̶ ̷h̶e̸r̴e̷,” I commanded again.

A familiar expression crossed your features, one I saw often in my past life. Of course I’d be familiar with it, I ran a pizzeria crawling with beastly little brats day in and day out. But it was a lifetime ago, and by the time I recognized it, it was already too late.

You snatched the phone out of my hand and rolled out from under me, “Dinner sounds great. Quit your job. Do not go back. Don’t even go back tonight. Don’t-”

I grabbed your ankle with a tight crushing squeeze and you hissed in pain. I dragged you back to me, ripped the phone out of your hand, and shattered it in one forceful clasp.

You stupid brat. You dull-minded idiot. Did all that exhaustion cloud your judgement? Or were you just that stupid.

A furious popping and fizzing dripped from my choking, gasping voicebox.

You winced at its screeching, but you hardened your gaze as you looked up at me, “I’m not gonna let you kill my friend.”

“L̶e̸t̷ ̸m̵e̴?̷” I laughed, but the sound that left my voicebox sounded more like snarling, choking hyenas. “Y̶o̸u̸ ̴w̸o̸n̷'̴t̷ ̵h̵a̵v̶e̶ ̸a̷ ̶c̸h̵o̷i̸c̶e̸.̵”

“Touch them,” Hot, burning venom dripped from your tongue as your gaze seared into me like a brand. “And I’ll kill you.”

Oh, I liked that. Your anger burned hot, your eyes hardening with a determination I wanted to break. I bet I could choke the rage out of you, suffocating you with fear until not even your anger could keep you warm. I bet I could make you hate me until all your thoughts were plagued by me. I bet I could keep you up at night without having to even touch you. 

You exhaled, and your sweet anger left with your breath. You touched my arm and my eyes clicked to it. You were trying to calm me again. “Look. I don’t want to fight.”

My head twitched, mechanically. “Y̷o̶u̷'̶d̶ ̵l̵o̶s̴e̶.̷”

“Hypothetically, maybe,” I didn’t know which stunned me more, your audacity or your touch. Your thumb rhythmically rubbed back and forth and it sent electricity up my arm. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m going to fix your noise protocol and then...”

My eyes snapped to yours and you shuddered.

“And then you can go back to haunt Fazbear’s or whatever. I don’t care what you do.”

I tilted my head to the side, the motion sharp and unnatural. I felt Bonnie’s ears lean heavily. “D̴o̵ ̵y̷o̶u̷ ̸t̸h̷i̶n̸k̸ ̸y̴o̴u̶'̷l̵l̸ ̷s̸u̶r̵v̷i̵v̵e̷ ̶t̶h̵i̶s̶?̶”

You swallowed, thick and anxious. Your grip on my arm tightened. You chewed your bottom lip, “I can be useful beyond just fixing your protocol. Your parts are ancient. Parts could break. You could come back to me if anything broke.”

I wanted to laugh at how pathetic you sounded, suggesting anything you could think of to try convincing me. I bet I could make you beg for your life—beg to be my personal mechanic. Beg to be mine... A thrill traveled up my spine at the thought. I opened my jaw, and my voice cracked to haunted, strangled life, “H̷y̵p̵o̷t̷h̴e̴t̸i̸c̸a̶l̸l̸y̵,̸ ̵m̶a̶y̵b̶e̷.̵”

You deadpanned, and it made you look all the more tired. You let go of my arm and my second skin itched to have you back, “I need to make food.”

I didn’t move, but I didn’t hold you back either.

You crawled out from under me, keeping your eyes on me in case I made any sudden movements. You slowly edged toward the door, still watching me. 

In an abrupt robotic jolt, I unlatched my jaw with a sharp mechanical hiss. You flinched. Funny.

You cooked as if on autopilot, barely seeing the food in front of you. At intervals, you moved your attention to me, ensuring I wasn’t about to kill you. 

When your food was done, you just sat in front of it, staring. You didn’t have an appetite. You looked back at me, “Do you eat?”

My body craved food once, long ago. My need for sleep and air outweighed my hunger and thirst, however. All of it was nothing compared to the pain.

“...So you’re just watching because...?”

I liked to watch.

You exhaled, your breath shaking. You forced yourself to eat. In between bites, you said, “I need to go out-”

I slammed a hand on the table, shaking your plate. You froze. “Y̵o̸u̶ ̶a̴r̴e̴ ̷n̸o̷t̸ ̴l̵e̴a̸v̶i̶n̴g̴.̴”

You kept my eye-contact, deliberately steady, “I can’t fix you without equipment.”

“Y̷o̶u̷ ̶h̶a̸v̶e̴ ̴e̴q̷u̵i̸p̴m̴e̴n̵t̷.̵” I said, strangled breath starting to seep louder through my voicebox.

“I did,” You said. “Before you ripped my wires apart. Twice.”

I imagined strangling you with those wires. I imagined using them as a garotte. I imagined your skin and flesh breaking with every twist of my wrists. I imagined you choking on your blood and tears, promising me you’ll stay—groveling to stay.

“Alright,” You said, your eyes wide at whatever expression I was wearing. You threw your hands up in surrender. “I’ll see if I can get it delivered. Good lord.”

My head twitched. 

When you were done forcing yourself to eat, you took your thin computer to your living room. You tried to angle your computer away from me, but I moved it back. You swallowed. I watched as you ordered wires from some kind of catalogue on the computer.

You stared at your computer screen, not moving. 

“...I have to let my friend know I’m okay or they’ll call the police.”

“Y̵o̸u̶ ̶a̴r̴e̴ ̷n̸o̷t̸ ̴l̵e̴a̸v̶i̶n̴g̴.̴”

“Yeah, you said that,” You snapped, turning to me with annoyance. The moment you laid eyes on me, your eyes wavered in fear and you turned back to your computer screen. “But you broke my phone. So.”

I said nothing.

“Don’t you think having the police involved might complicate things a little?”

“Y̷o̵u̴ ̷w̶i̶l̶l̸ ̸s̴e̵n̴d̸ ̵t̷h̷e̷m̵ ̸a̶w̷a̸y̷.̵”

Your eyes briefly flicked to me, “I told them I’d do dinner.”

“T̶h̴e̷n̸ ̶p̷r̸a̷y̵ ̴t̶h̵e̸y̴ ̴d̸o̷n̵'̶t̵ ̶c̴o̶m̷e̴ ̵t̵o̸ ̸y̷o̷u̴.̶”

You stared ahead of you, eyes fixing with a cold chill, “You are as dark as you look.”

I stared at you. Your gaze set so assuredly. Stubbornly. I needed to break that. 

> Execute command [HOLD_HANDS] 

I slipped my hand into yours—the same hand I held the night before—interlocking our fingers and pressing into your couch with a slow crack of your knuckles. You winced under the pressure, sucking in a breath of air. I leaned closer to you. “D̶o̴ ̴y̷o̵u̸ ̶w̵a̶n̴t̷ ̴t̷o̵ ̸l̵e̵a̶v̵e̵?̵”

“What-?”

“D̶o̵ ̵i̷t̶.̵ ̶L̶e̸a̶v̷e̵.̶” I unhinged my jaw, and your eyes fell to my flesh beyond my mask.

You swallowed, and you couldn’t drag your eyes from my corpse, “...Why?”

“W̶h̸e̷n̴ ̵y̸o̸u̷ ̷r̵e̴t̶u̸r̸n̵,̶ ̶I̷ ̴w̴o̵n̶'̸t̴ ̸b̶e̴ ̶h̸e̸r̶e̶.̵ ̸I̴'̸l̷l̸ ̸b̸e̷ ̷w̷i̴t̴h̸ ̶t̶h̸e̶m̶.̵ ̸T̵h̴e̵y̷ ̷c̶a̸n̵'̴t̶ ̴r̸u̸n̸ ̶f̴r̵o̴m̶ ̴m̵e̸.̶” My breath wheezed as I leaned closer to you. I could feel the heat emanating from your blood, so warm against my cold, lifeless body.“I̸'̸l̵l̷ ̸m̵a̶k̸e̸ ̸i̴t̴ ̶l̵a̵s̶t̴.̵ W̷e̴'̸l̸l̴ ̴p̶l̸a̸y̶ ̶g̶a̵m̴e̶s̵.̷. ̶A̴n̸d̴ ̵w̷h̷e̷n̷ ̷I̴'̶m̶ ̴d̷o̴n̴e̶,̸ ̵I̸'̵l̴l̷ ̷c̸o̷m̷e̴ ̴b̷a̵c̸k̸ ̷f̶o̶r̷ ̴y̵o̵u̵.” I almost wished you would leave. If it weren’t for the terrible white noise that plagued me, I would’ve encouraged you to. I tapped into Spring Bonnie’s voice, “I̷'̸l̷l̴ ̴t̸h̵r̷o̶w̸ ̸y̶o̶u̵ ̵a̴ ̸p̸a̵r̸t̷y̶.̷ I̵'̸l̵l̵ ̸g̴i̵v̸e̶ ̶y̴o̵u̷ ̵a̴ ̷g̸i̵f̴t̷.̴” I tilted my head, and my ears felt heavy as they leaned with a terrible creak. “W̶o̴u̸l̷d̶ ̷y̴o̵u̶ ̴l̷i̷k̶e̴ ̷a̴ ̶g̴i̷f̸t̶,̵ ̷c̷a̵r̶r̵o̴t̶?̸”

I wanted to see you shrink in fear. I wanted to see you burn with hatred. I wanted to feel your shock, horror, disgust, anger, despair, terror, desperation, agony—I wanted to pull emotion out of you like cotton candy. You gave me none of that. You gave me nothing. Your eyes glazed with a cold, numbness. How frustrating! How utterly unsatisfying. 

“No,” You said, and your eyes were as lifeless as mine. 

My breath wheezed, yearning for more from you. “D̶o̴ ̴y̷o̵u̸ ̶w̵a̶n̴t̷ ̴t̷o̵ ̸l̵e̵a̶v̵e̵?̵” I asked again.

“No,” You turned back to your computer, your hand still in my possession. “I don’t.”

I tilted your head back to me, and you let me do it. As disappointing as your response was, there was something that I liked about that. “G̸o̷o̵d̸ ̴c̵a̵r̸r̷o̵t̵.̴”

You didn’t respond. 

I watched you as you worked. You were focused on something unfamiliar. Whatever it was, it didn’t have to do with me. I didn’t care. I liked watching you work. You were slow, though. You only had one hand to use your keyboard and mouse. I wouldn’t let go of your hand. I could feel your pulse in between your fingers, blood rushing in a rhythmic tempo. I was lulled by it. Your living body was my music box.

After some time, you cast your eyes in my direction, “I need my other hand.”

I executed the command squeeze. You winced.

“You could lay your head on my lap?” You asked.

How patronizing. I hated that you knew I needed to touch you. I hated that you used it to placate me. I hated that it worked. You vile rotten little thing. I squeezed your hand tighter still, and a sharp gasp left your lips.

“Okay, ‘no’ would’ve worked.” You said between strained breaths. “How about I sit in your lap?”

A low hiss escaped from my machinery. It was nothing to you. Touching me was nothing to you, while it was everything to me. I resented you for that. I squeezed tighter still.

“Ow!” Your hiss of pain echoed mine as you cursed under your breath, trying to pry my hand off of yours, “Ow-ow-ow! Is there no winning with you?!”

The fact that you were still alive was winning, did you not realize how lucky you were?

“You can have my hand, just-!” Your fingers were useless as you tried pulling my grip free of your hand. It wouldn’t work, but I enjoyed feeling you try, “Please-!”

> execute([RELEASE])

You swiped your hand back to your chest too quickly. I was almost in shock. But then, I was enraged. Didn’t Bonnie want to hold you as much as I did? Didn’t he need your touch just as much?! Stupid soft-hearted rabbit! I would rip his wires from my veins if it meant being rid of his control. 

You were rubbing your hand rhythmically while scanning me, your eyes puzzled and searching. It made me more annoyed. I felt my voicebox pop and fizzle in agitation, and you shied from me. Then, something calculative crossed your eyes. I’d seen it before, when you worked. When you solved the mystery of my voicebox, my storage protocol, my true nature. 

You held out your hand to me, a sacrificial offering, “I want you to hold me, Bonnie. Will you please hold me?”

Rage calmed like cool water over heated metal. In a moment, I was spellbound by your words. I want you to hold me. Will you please hold me. I want you to hold me. Will you please hold me. I want you. Please hold me. I want you. Please hold me. I want you. Please. I want you. Please. I want you. Please.

Oh, you sweet liar. You lovely little snake. Pleasure trailed up my spine like a drug. You didn’t want to touch me. You were repulsed by me. That didn’t matter—you knew it didn’t matter and so did I. 

I inclined closer to you, and you drew back by instinct. I liked that. Bonnie was a live wire with the desire to do as you begged. I placed my large hand so close to your thigh, leaning over you. “C̵o̷m̸m̸a̴n̷d̸,̷” My choked breath felt heavy under the weight of my pleasure. “n̷o̵t̶ ̸r̶e̷c̵o̷g̴n̸i̴z̶e̸d̵.̷ R̴e̸p̶e̸a̴t̵ ̷y̷o̸u̸r̸ ̶r̷e̴q̴u̷e̷s̸t̵.̴”

Your face scrunched up in an annoyance that I found delightful. I could practically feel you restraining yourself from rolling your eyes or making some snarky quip. However, clever carrot that you were, you understood your place. You were my hostage. “I want you to hold me. Please hold me, Bonnie.”

“A̶g̶a̴i̵n̶.̵” My voice was more my own than Bonnie’s.

You swallowed, “Please hold me, B-”

“A̶g̶a̸i̴n̵.̷” 

“...Please hold me.”

A strange sound left my voicebox; it sounded like the dying of glass and metal in a broken whine. My gears felt hot. My flesh felt wired. My head felt too light, it hurt. I wanted you. I wanted to taste you. I would have you.

I could hear your pulse echo in my head. I would feel it against my teeth.

You shouldn’t have been so sweet to me.

I held out my hand to you; rotten fur and soiled metal. I needed you to initiate. I needed you to want it. 

You gently, tentatively, reluctantly placed your hand in mine. 

Your surrender was ecstasy.

I affectionately wrapped my claws around your wrist. How lucky you were to be the object of my affection, even if only for now... Your gut reaction was to tense, but you didn’t pull away. Good carrot.

I dragged your forearm to my teeth, my jaw a breath away from your veins. I could smell your blood beneath your skin. I felt your pulse through your wrist. Your heart raced. I loved when I made your heart race. “D̷o̷ ̵y̵o̵u̵ ̵l̷i̴k̸e̸ ̶m̶e̷,̶ ̷c̷a̵r̸r̴o̶t̵?̸” If you said anything other than ‘yes’, I would break your arm.

You blinked, stalled for just a second, before you said, “Sure.”

My mechanical eyes focused on you, my grip tightening on your wrist, and my head twitching to the side. I couldn’t tell if that satisfied me.

“I mean, yes!” Whatever expression I was making moved you to correct yourself, “I like you.”

My voice box reverberated with a low, pleased purr. I unlatched my jaw in a squelching and sticking release, delighted with how you reacted in disgust. I angled my jaw over your arm—I needed your reaction. I would sear the image of your expression in my memory forever: eyes widened with the horror of realization.

Slowly, I sank my teeth—both my teeth—into your flesh.

You were warm. You were alive. I could feel your pulse directly on my corpse. Pain and pleasure mingled in searing intensity when I touched you with my actual body. I wanted it. I wanted you seared onto me like a brand. And I wanted to be a scar you could never heal from. 

You choked a gasp, your free hand digging into my shoulder as you braced yourself. Pathetic. I bit enough to bruise, not to break skin. I should’ve torn your flesh apart. But... you were so sweet to me, how could I deny you a reward? I had always been guilty of spoiling my favorites...

I let you go, and your body relaxed. Your breath came in heavy, hot pants, as if you too were coming down from a high. 

Maybe you were? Maybe you liked my attention? 

... No... There was something missing when I looked at you. I forced myself not to think about it. I wouldn’t let your detachment ruin my satisfaction.

Your eyes widened with renewed horror when you saw two sets of bitemarks. Pleasure shuddered through me. I wasn’t done. 

I slowly pulled you towards me, and you let me. Strange. I thought you would struggle. You didn’t. I angled my jaw over your shoulder, my mouth large enough to stretch from your neck to your upper arm. You shivered with anticipation underneath my cold, simulated breath. I adored how you shook in my grasp. “D̴o̸ ̸y̷o̸u̶ ̶w̵a̴n̶t̵ ̵t̴o̷ ̸l̶e̸a̵v̵e̷ ̵m̸e̸,̷ ̸c̴a̴r̶r̴o̶t̷?̶” If you said anything other than ‘no’, I would tear your throat out.

Your throat was close enough to me that I heard you swallow. “No,” Your voice was tense, your breath strained. You knew what I was going to do. “I want to stay.”

I sank my teeth into you again, my voicebox grinding in a low delight. You sucked in air through your teeth, bracing against my shoulder again. My grip tightened around your wrist, while my other hand came around your waist. In one sharp motion, I pulled your body flush to mine. Your gasp was that of a lover’s... It made my decayed heart skip.

I didn’t break skin again. You lucky thing. I wished my tongue hadn’t decayed to nothing so I could pull sounds from you with it.

I let you go with that sickening squelch again, and your body went slack. Your chest heaved. You were sweating. Everything about you was so alive and I loved that I tasted it. I deserved to taste it. You belonged to me. Your compliance was proof of that.

I let go of your wrist and moved my hand to your waist so that I was holding both your hips. I relished how your heartbeat raced when I lightly nuzzled your collarbone, hardly touching you—a facsimile of affection I yearned to pull fear from. I continued to descend past your chest and sternum. Pleasure cooed from me as I felt your hyperventilating. I angled my jaw over one side of your waist, my teeth stretching from the last of your ribs to the tip of your pelvic bone.

By instinct, your hand came to the back of my head. I adored that. You weren’t trying to pull me off, but I could tell you wanted to. You knew who you belonged to.

I let you breathe. I let you adjust. I let you get used to my presence so close, so intimate. I wanted to lower your heart rate so I could make it race again.

When your sweat cooled, and you could finally match my gaze, I asked, “D̶o̴ ̸y̸o̶u̴ ̷b̴e̴l̵o̷n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̸m̷e̵,̵ ̴c̸a̷r̴r̴o̵t̵?̵” If you said anything other than ‘yes’, I would gut you.

You made a face. Your face scrunched in annoyance. You didn’t like it. It didn’t matter if you didn’t like it, I still owned you, and it pissed me off you hesitated. My grip on your waist tightened, my mechanical eyes narrowing.

You sighed, as if it was a chore and how that infuriated me, “Yes.”

My claws dug into your hips. Furious fizzing and popping came from my voicebox. You didn’t believe it. You would soon. 

You cringed against my touch, before something akin to a whine left your throat, spoiled brat, “Don’t make me say it...” 

I buried my teeth into the flesh of your hip, blood spilling from you in a euphoric warmth. You tasted like iron and salt and a pleasure sweeter than cake. Like scratching a maddening itch, strangled curses left your throat as your nails dug into the back of my head. You choked on the pain and I savored it.

“Fuck-FUCK!” You swore, yanking at my ears in a way that sent a thrill down my spine, “I belong to you! I belong to you!”

I abruptly let you go, and you gasped. Blood soaked your shirt, chilling your warm body with a shudder. Tears welled in your eyes that you refused to let spill, and that excited me more than if you cried openly. It was cute.

I tilted my head in a lie of innocence, rubbing my thumbs along your waist—including over your freshly made wound. You hissed in pain, and I could see the tears threaten to fall. I wanted to see you cry. I wanted you to try your hardest to resist tears, only to give in. I wanted you to surrender.

You didn’t. You swallowed your pain and glared at me, “Asshole!” You snapped, though there was hardly any venom in it. Mostly pain. Funny.

I descended further, pushing your legs up, your back pressed against the arm of the couch. For the first time, your face flushed with exhilarating warmth. Electricity washed over my metal and skeletal spine. Your breath heaved—not in pain, but in hot anticipation. I could eat your attention, and it was mouthwatering. In a show of faux affection, I nuzzled against your inner-thigh, and you grabbed my rabbit ears in a way that made me see stars. I could feel your pulse from your femoral artery, a sensation that made me dizzy. It was as fast as a bunny’s...

“Bonnie-!” You gasped as I angled my jaw over your inner thigh.

“D̷o̶ ̴y̶o̴u̸ ̵w̵a̶n̷t̵ ̶m̶e̶,̷ ̶c̵a̴r̸r̸o̴t̵?̵” I said, my mock air cold and heavy against your thigh. If you said anything other than ‘yes’, I would tear your leg from your body.

“Th-!” You squeaked, flushed with warmth from cheeks to chest. “There?!”

... Okay, I’d make an exception for that.

I relished how you flustered, a hiss of air leaving your teeth as you couldn’t bear to look at me. I caressed your thigh with my thumb, a coaxing reminder of who was holding you. You could be so lovely when you unraveled...

You swallowed, heavy and hot, before slamming your eyes shut and nodding. “Yes. I want you.” You said, and it was closer to a delightful whine than the resolve you wanted it to be.

I was slow. I wanted you to feel it. I wanted you to enjoy it. I wanted you to desire my body as much as I desired yours. I was gentle. I only bruised you, even though I wanted to make you bleed again. You should be thanking me. Praising me. Loving me. It infuriated me that you didn’t. I was so good to you, and you were awful to me. But the way you gripped me and covered your own mouth to stop from making any noise was enough to sedate me.

I gave my best attempt at sucking, though it ended up more of a gnaw. There was no command prompt for ‘suck’ and my lungs were littered with holes.

I drank what emotion spilled from you, indulging in how I could make you feel. Your eyes met mine, and I shivered. Your pupils were moons, your cheeks flushed hot, you bit your trembling lip. Pleasure warmed me in a heavy shudder—fuck, I could’ve moaned under your blushed attention.

I let you go. You let out a heavy exhale, closing your eyes in relief. Did you feel cold without me? Did you miss me already? I wished you did.

> execute command ([HOLD_HANDS]) = Yes/No?

Oh, excellent idea, Bonnie.

>Yes.

I took your hand, the one I held the night before, and held it to my maw. I rubbed your soft, warm hand against my tattered lips, feeling every callous and every tendon in your flesh. I wished it mattered to you as much as it mattered to me... You were still disoriented by my last bite. I found that so endearing; my unmoving smile could’ve widened. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to kiss it tenderly, or bite it viciously.

“Whatever it is,” You said with exhausted breath, your head falling back on the couch’s arm. “The answer is yes. Just do it.”

Bite it is.

I slammed my jaw around your palms and fingers. You screamed, grabbing at my jaw to pull me off. Blood splattered against my face, dripping into your couch. You were trying to rip your hand out of my bite, but it was only tearing your flesh more. I loved how you squirmed in pain, twisting and writhing to free yourself. Your eyes welled with those unshed tears, as you seethed through your clenched teeth. 

Your pain was candy to me. I would make myself the center of your psyche, one way or another.

“Let go! Let go!” You were pulling on my lower jaw, futile and weak and so entertaining. You were so helpless, it charmed me. Finally—finally—the icing on the delicious cake, tears you wanted to hold back dropped down your lovely cheeks. Poor thing. Affection and pleasure washed over me. You shut your eyes tight, your weak resistance slowing, “Please-!”

I let go, and you pulled your bloodied hand to your chest. You cradled it. Your whole body was shaking as you took deep, tentative breaths. You were calming yourself. Did I make you anxious, carrot? I felt Bonnie at the edges of my mind yearn to comfort you with his protocol. I took great pleasure in denying him and you.

“Bastard!” You cursed sharply under your breath before glaring at me. I found it amusing you still had the spirit to glare. “I need this hand! To fix you!”

I tilted my head. It was slow, mechanical.

You growled under your breath, “Don’t play innocent. My blood is staining your teeth!”

I thought you’d at least have the tact to play along. “P̶a̶t̸h̵e̵t̶i̶c̶.̷”

“Pathetic? Pathetic?” Your voice rose in anger. Brave. Stupid. “If you weren’t a seven-foot metal monster-”

I held your hand to my muzzle, sinking my claws into your wound with a sharp hiss from you. “I̵t̴'̶s̵ ̵b̸a̵r̸e̶l̵y̵ ̵a̶ ̸s̷c̸r̵a̶t̵c̴h̵.̶’”

You swiped your hand back, and I let you. “It still hurts.” You agreed? I was trying to provoke you... 

I found it odd how cavalier you were being. You were frustrated, but you were masking your fear with it. Was it a defense mechanism? Did you feel protected when you hid your fear from me? I wanted to pull it out of you and make you face it. 

You groaned, “I need to wash these...”

When you stood up, I grabbed your wrist and pulled you back on the couch.

“Y̴o̵u̷ ̷a̷r̶e̷.̸.̵.̴” What was the right word? “.̶.̶.̴c̸o̴m̸p̶l̵a̷c̸e̷n̵t̵.̷”

“...That’s not the word I’d use.”

“D̸o̷ ̴y̵o̸u̶ ̵t̶h̷i̴n̷k̵ ̸I̵ ̴w̷o̷n̴'̵t̷ ̴k̸i̴l̶l̵ ̴y̷o̴u̸?̶”

You furrowed your brow. Emotions I didn’t recognize crossed your features. Was it calculation? Confusion? I wasn’t sure, and the puzzle of it made me tilt my head, heavy and broken rabbit ears shifting to one side. After choosing your words carefully, you said, “I wouldn’t let you bite me if I didn’t think you were going to kill me.”

My head twitched mechanically. My gears churned. I didn’t understand what you meant.

You picked up on this—something I hated, I didn’t like being read. “You need... this,” You took my hand in yours, the bloody hand. It sent a thrill up my arm, “Right?”

I stared at your hand obsessively. Furiously. Rage encompassed my entire being, it burned my metal bones. As if it wasn’t humiliating enough that I relied on you—that I keeled at your feet just to taste you, and rotted in desperation when you were gone—how dare you point it out? Did you think you were safe? Did you think that my neurosis protected you? I loathed my attachment to you. I loathed you. And when I was done with you, I would break your body until you were unrecognizable.

My voice box glitched and popped in my rage, “T̴h̷a̸t̵ ̷d̷o̸e̵s̵ ̷n̴o̵t̷ ̷m̶a̵k̷e̴ ̶y̴o̵u̵ ̴s̴a̴f̸e̷.̵” I hissed.

“Don’t be mad!” You said, aghast at my reaction, “I don’t care what you need, you’re a seven-foot-tall monster bunny robot!”

“R̶a̵b̸b̵i̶t̶.̴”

“Whatever!” You sucked a sharp breath in through your teeth, “Look. You need me for...” You squeezed my hand and I felt that thrill again, “this. And I need you to not kill me. I have a feeling it’s not in your nature to... not kill me. So.” You braced yourself, setting your jaw and looking at me with tired, worried eyes, “We need each other.”

My rage drained.

You needed me.

I would’ve preferred you needed me in the same way I needed you. But... I didn’t hate it. You were right. It was in my nature to kill you. I wanted to, almost as much as I needed to have you. It felt a... decent trade. Your life for your touch.

It wasn’t my first partnership. I knew how to get along. Of course, in this body it was less of a partnership and more of a menage a trois.

“I̸t̵'̶s̴ ̷i̷n̸ ̴m̷y̴ ̷n̶a̶t̸u̵r̶e̶ ̷t̶o̵ ̵h̸u̵r̷t̵ ̶y̷o̵u̴.̷” It was less of a warning, and more of a promise.

You shrugged, “I have a high pain tolerance.”

My wicked heart skipped a beat.

When I didn’t say anything more, you swallowed as you masked your fear in dry humor, “So... Can I wash these? Or would you have me die of sepsis?”

I didn’t respond to you. You eyed me as if you expected me to stop you when you stood up. I watched you carefully. I followed you when you went to your kitchen sink.

You checked your wounds gingerly. I was careful. I only pierced your waist and hand, and I didn’t bite clean through like I could’ve. My end of our deal. You still rasped through your teeth as you took a washcloth to your waist and palm.

You ignored my presence when I followed you to your closet. You pulled out a first aid kit. You began treating your wounds with something that made you hiss. You picked up some bandages, and I grabbed your wrist. You looked at me with tired eyes. Your end of our deal. You set the bandages down.

“The wires won’t get here for another two hours,” You said, avoiding my eye contact. “I can’t do anything until then.”

My eyes were transfixed on my bite marks, flaunting who owned you. Mine...

You tentatively made your way to your room. You stood by your bed, one hand on the sheets. You were gauging my reaction. You were asking for permission. How cute. I was tempted to deny you.

I nodded to the bed. You shivered, and I found that delightful.

You laid on the bed, and I stood next to you, watching you. A look of discomfort crossed your face when you saw me watching you. You curled away from me.

> execute command ([FOLLOW]) = Yes/No?

> Yes.

You flinched when you felt my weight on the bed. I slipped my hands over your waist—over my lovebites—and hugged you tight to me. I could smell you. You were so warm. I loved feeling you. I could hear your heartbeat this close. It was my lullaby. 

Could you fall asleep like this? I wouldn’t mind if you did... that meant you were willingly making yourself vulnerable to me. I also wouldn’t mind if you didn’t, that meant you were too scared of me to listen to your own body.

This partnership... I didn’t mind it. For now. When I grow bored, I could just kill you. You could be fun for me, though. I wondered how far you would go to cater to my desires; how far you’d be willing to stretch if I threatened you—threatened your friend. You did say you had a high pain tolerance, after all. I would enjoy pushing you to your limit.

For now, your heartbeat was enough to sate me.

Apparently, you did fall asleep, because you didn’t stir when there was a knock at the door. I squeezed you until you were gasping and choking awake, clawing at my arms tight around your torso.

“Shit...” You rubbed your eyes with your wrist. Your voice was hoarse with fatigue. Despite how I woke you, your gentle hand came to caress my cheek anyway, “Hi, Bonnie...” You knew how to play your role well.

I leaned into your touch. I wished I could say it was only Bonnie...

“What time is it...?” You blindly palmed your bedside table. There was a wire, unconnected to anything. You groaned, “Oh right. My phone.”

You stumbled out of bed. I wondered if you were numb where I held you. I hoped so. I followed you as you yawned, meandering to your living room. When you saw your clock, you moved to your front door. I knew you were only grabbing your delivered supplies, but it still didn’t stop the panicked rage that swept over me as I saw you open the front door. Even Bonnie’s metal wires were frenzied with command prompts to stop you.

My madness calmed when you closed the door behind you. You looked exhausted. You held up the wires, shaking them, “Shall we?”

I held out my hand to you, and you took it. 

With your thin computer set up, we sat at your kitchen table. You drank a cold, brightly colored drink that looked like antifreeze. You plugged your wires into your computer, holding the ends meant to go into me in your hand.

“Uhm...” You looked to the side bashfully, “I need to put this in you...”

I only stared at you.

“Do you want them in the back or the front?”

“F̶r̴o̴n̷t̵.̴”

You swallowed, “Are you sure? I have to dig through all that-”

“F̶r̴o̴n̷t̵.̴”

You stalled, “...Does it hurt?”

“L̸i̷k̴e̸ ̷a̵ ̴m̴o̷t̸h̸e̷r̸f̴-̷-̶c̴k̴-̷-̴.̵” My voicebox glitched. Dumb rabbit.

You recoiled from me, not expecting that answer. You chewed your bottom lip, “Do you want to do it?”

I twitched, “I̸ ̵c̷a̸n̵'̴t̴.̸” Even if I did have the dexterity, I wouldn’t know where to put them.

You took a shaky breath. You held the wires over my chest.

You weren’t moving.

“S̵t̴o̴p̸ ̷h̴e̴s̶i̸t̸a̷t̴i̸n̵g̸.̵”

“Give me more than five seconds!” You snapped at me, “It’s not so easy...”

“D̸i̸d̸n̷'̸t̶ ̴s̸t̴o̸p̶ ̴y̴o̶u̷ ̶b̴e̸f̵o̵r̸e̶.̵”

“That was before I knew you could feel!” You huffed, dropping the wires in your lap. “And also were violently murderous.”

My head inclined to the side, slow and mechanical. “D̵o̸n̷'̵t̴ ̶y̷o̷u̴ ̴w̵a̷n̸t̵ ̶t̴o̸ ̸h̶u̶r̶t̴ ̴m̵e̴?̶ ̸I̴ ̵l̷i̸k̵e̶d̴ ̴h̵u̸r̸t̸i̸n̵g̴ ̵y̴o̵u̶.̷”

My taunt did nothing, to my chagrin. “Yeah well, not all of us are sadists.”

I bet I could change that, if I made you hate me enough. I just couldn’t seem to get you angry past moderately frustrated. Maybe if I hurt your friend... Another time, another place. “C̷o̴w̶a̷r̵d̵.̸”

“Alright, relax.” You rolled your eyes, “You have to promise not to murder me when it hurts.”

“N̵o̴ ̵p̵r̸o̴m̸i̶s̵e̴s̴.̵”

You exhaled, shaky and tired, “Of course.”

You swallowed as your trembling hands approached my viscera. It burned as you prodded into me, but at least I could move. Fizzing and popping spilled from my voicebox like ichor. I slammed my claws on your table and you flinched. You worked faster in your shaking fear, and I knew it was over when I felt that jolt of electricity through me. That terrible terrible suspension.

A low, dark growl—choking and strangled—left my voicebox. You swiped your hands back to yourself, wiping your soiled fingers on your legs.

Without another word, you were typing on your computer. Code flashed across your screen, a language familiar, and yet a puzzle to me. Henry always had to be different in his programming... And you, with your quick wit, figured it out in nearly a few days. Damn you... 

My voicebox wheezed with strangled breath and I gripped the table, digging lacerations into it.

Your eyes briefly met mine, before returning to the computer, “...Can you feel this, too?”

Every. Pressed. Key. “F̵i̴n̸i̸s̸h̶ ̷u̸p̸.̴”

You continued typing, “Don’t fuss. I’m working on it.”

I sneered, low and threatening.

“I mean, thank you, Bonnie, for being so patient and gracious.”

Better.

I could watch you like this. Your typing that soothed me, your breathing that calmed me, your heartbeat that lulled me. My mind... it felt less fragmented the more time I spent with you. I was still mad, no doubt, but the madness felt less inflamed when with you. I doubt that it was you specifically who did that—typing, breathing, and heartbeat could come from any living creature. But whether or not someone else could satisfy me enough to keep me from killing them... I wasn’t entirely sure. You had a unique trait: you were exciting enough to keep me entertained, and useful enough to keep alive.

It was almost as if you were made to be mine. Even Bonnie favored you.

Steadily, my strangled breath diminished to a low hum, and my grip loosened to a gentle rest. You were... useful. I didn’t have to kill you after you fixed me. You said it yourself, my body was decay incarnate and you were a perfect technician. I could keep you. I would make you beg for it, of course, but you could be mine more permanently than I originally planned. As long as you kept soothing me... and entertaining me.

There was a click. You let out an exhale and leaned back in your chair. Time had slipped through my fingers again. It was fine. Because you put me back together, and I would enjoy making you beg to be mine.

You cracked your neck, “Finally. It’s done."

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

...What.

You leaned forward, tilting your head as you looked at me, “Can you move, Bonnie?”

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

You exhaled in relief, “Thank goodness.”

You... You LIAR!

“Oh, come on,” You, filthy snake and venomous tongue, raised your eyebrows. “You had to see this coming.”

How dare you... You vile CHEATER!

You turned to your computer and started typing, before it sang like a phone. Another lie.

Rage consumed me, and it was fire. You filthy LIAR! You rotten little BASTARD! When I’d move—I’d rip you apart by the joints! I’d savor every tear and pop from your body! I’d tear you open and drink from your viscera! I’d see you BURN! YOU’D BURN YOU’D BURN YOU’D BURN YOU’D BURN I’D KILL YOU I’D KILL YOU I’D KILL YOU I’D KILL YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I’D KILL YOU I’D KILL YOU I’D KILL YOU I’D KILL YOU!!!

Your name was said by your coward of a friend from your computer, but I was dripping with too much malice to process it, “What the hell? Where have you been, I’ve been calling you like crazy!”

“My phone broke,” Liar liar liar liar LIAR LIAR LIAR LIAR. “Did you quit yet?”

“Did I quit? No! I’m literally in the car right now heading to your place to see if you got MURDERED!”

“Don’t!” Your eyes fell on me, fear cracking through your lies. I’d tear your friend apart in front of you. I’d rub your face in their bloodied organs. I’d make you eat their flesh. “I’m gonna come to you. Look, it’s an insane story. You need to call your work and have them pick up the animatronic from my place. Before midnight. I’m not gonna be here. And then you need to quit. And probably skip town.”

“What?!”

True desperation seeped into your voice, the kind I longed to pull from you. You said your cowardly friend’s name, “Please! This is important. We can talk about it in person. I-” You swallowed. “I mean it. Please.”

You were pathetic. You were weak and wretched and stupid and dishonest and I was disgusted I even entertained the idea of humoring you. You would pay for betraying me...

The voice on your computer sighed, “Okay. Come soon.”

You exhaled in tense relief, “I’ll be right there.” You ended the call.

You closed your thin computer. There was silence. My eyes burned into yours because that’s all I could do.

“You’re mad.” You finally regarded me, you traitor. “Don’t be.”

Oh! Well, now that you’ve said that, EVERYTHING IS ALL BETTER NOW.

“I really did fix the protocol that makes you go towards sounds,” You held my gaze, and I hated you for it. I hated you so much. I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you- “And the storage protocol is only temporary. After tonight, it’ll be gone.”

This was worse. This wasn’t about stopping me. This wasn’t about some greater good you were attempting to achieve. This was about leaving me. You wanted to leave me. 

You heartless cheater.

“I don’t care what you do after this,” Why didn’t you care? What was it about me that left you unfeeling? Did I have to make you hate me for you to care? You were cruel. “But remember I helped you. It’s a fair trade. Your freedom for my freedom.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. And if you thought it was fair, you had no idea what I was giving up to let you go.

You held my face in your hands, and it burned me. How could you touch me after trying to leave me? How could you caress me as if you loved me when you were trying to get away? I wouldn’t let you—I couldn’t let you. You were mine. You were MINE! “Goodbye, Bonnie. I bet I’ll be seeing you on the news.”

Metal and flesh alike screamed internally in agony when you let me go. My rage was spoiled with Bonnie’s sorrow, but I felt it all twice. How could you leave me? After I decided you were mine, you left. After being willing to SPARE you, you left! You were heartless and cruel and weak and terrible and pathetic and mine and mine and mine and mine and mine and how could you leave me when I needed you?!

You closed the front door behind you and white noise never consumed me more. 

You wanted to convince me to let you go. You fabricated this ‘fair trade’ in an attempt to pacify me. To make it seem as though you weren’t worth the effort. You weren’t. You were a liar and cruel and wretched. That didn’t matter. You were mine. You couldn’t escape me. I wouldn’t allow it.

Both my metal and my rotting heart broke in the white noise of your home.

“...And they’re not home?” A deep voice said as your front door opened.

“Nah,” Another voice responded. “We can just load him up in the truck and haul him over. The new night guard is already on duty.”

“What time were we supposed to pick him up? I don’t like being around that thing at night...”

“Relax! They said at midnight, or something. Let’s just get this over with...”

“Alright... I swear, if this thing starts moving while we’re driving...”

> [PLAY MODE] = Active

> enter [GAME]: . . .

> Execute[TAG]

[thtupidity]

TR execs get the "I love them so I will make them all stupid and dumb" treatment. Oomf and I also came to the agreement that Petrel uses spongebob bodywash. Was gonna hold onto this longer because I could only do sketches of them and I wanted smth else to post with this.

small thing but everyone has like half lidded eyes except for Proton who is looking directly at you. He was hired to stare at you.

[sublimati0ns]

I am very sorry but when you say that Starscream would want to do a good job doing KO all I think is 'I am getting a good grade at Knock Out. A perfectly sane thing to want and possible to achieve' (bringing into the joke about KO being Knocked Out over how unusual the situation is, you can say Starscream is doing a good Job at Knocking Out)

Don’t be sorry, this made me laugh xD It also reminded me of this hilarious shitpost @mattpotat0 sent to my inbox I keep thinking about HSDFJKASD

[grey822aaa]

draw the redheads (silver, ariana, mars, and arezu) together chilling

or maybe scheming

If this is a headcanon that they are all related, then I condemn

[mereelskirata]

Kintsugi.