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doctorbitchcrxft · 1 year ago

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Bloody Mary | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions/descriptions of parental death, implication of suicide (take care of yourselves, my loves)

Word Count: 6379

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You and Dean hadn’t talked much since the events on the plane. In fact, the two of you barely looked at each other anymore. Not out of disgust, your stomach just fluttered every time you caught a glimpse of him for reasons you couldn’t explain. You didn’t exactly like him, but you definitely didn’t hate him, either. In fact, your most recent journal drawing had been of your hand wrapped in Dean’s. You smiled at the memory.

Sam slept in the front seat while Dean drove the three of you to Toledo, Ohio. You had actually been the one to find this case. Steven Shoemaker’s eyes had bled when he died. According to his obituary, his death had been swift. He was much too young to have had a stroke or an aneurysm, and seemed to be in good health. Therefore, you concluded this was your kind of gig.

Sam began to stir, catching your attention. You straightened in your seat as the Impala came to a halt in front of a large hospital complex. Sam’s stirring and whimpering was getting worse by the second.

Dean shook his brother. “Sam, wake up.”

He bolted straight up, confused, taking both you and Dean by surprise. After taking a second to catch his breath, he said, “I take it I was having a nightmare.”

“Yeah, another one,” Dean reminded him.

“Hey, at least I got some sleep.” Sam’s faux optimism caused you to shake your head.

“You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this.”

Apparently, Sam was choosing the latter. “Are we here?” he asked.

Dean was happy to drop the subject, too. “Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio.”

The three of you began to approach the morgue wing of the hospital. You noticed Sam was holding the newspaper you’d circled Mr. Shoemaker’s death in. “So what do you think really happened to this guy?”

“That's what we're gonna find out. Ladies first,” you joked, holding the door to the first floor of the hospital open for the brothers.

After making your way through the labyrinth of hallways, you found the dimly lit and vacated morgue. In the large room were two desks. One was labeled with a nameplate for Dr. D. Feiklowicz with neatly stacked packets, files, and books atop it. The other was a chaotic mess of stray papers labeled “Morgue Technician.”

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yeah. We're the, uh, med students,” Dean responded.

“Sorry?” the morgue tech asked.

“Oh, Doctor—” Dean gave his best shot at the name, “—Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He— uh, we're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper.”

“Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch.” The morgue tech was smug, snarky, and clearly lacked people skills.

‘No wonder they have him locked up down here,’ you thought.

Dean changed course. “Oh, well, he said, uh— oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?”

“Sorry, I can't.” The morgue tech gave a tight-lipped smile. “Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want.”

“An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then,” Dean tried. “Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—”

“Uh, look, man,” the technician mocked, “No.”

Dean laughed a little and turned around, mumbling. “I'm gonna hit him in his face I swear.”

You took the opportunity to try a different tactic. You leaned down on the morgue technician’s desk, doing your best to take advantage of the fact that he probably has had little contact with women. “Please?” you asked innocently. “These guys are my tutors. I’m really struggling in this class, and I just—” you bit your lip, “—I really need a good grade on this paper.” You used your arms to push your breasts together. “Please?”

You could tell you had him on the ropes. “Uh…” He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cleavage. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I guess I could do that for you.”

You smiled innocently. “Thank you so much.”

He began leading the three of you into an attached room to where the bodies were stored for autopsies. You turned around and winked at the boys with a smug smile. Dean rolled his eyes.

The morgue technician pulled the rack Steven Shoemaker’s corpse rested on out from the wall of stainless steel cells.

“Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding,” Sam said.

The technician pulled the sheet back from over Steven’s face. “More than that. They practically liquefied.” The poor man’s eye sockets were still bloody, and they hadn’t yet been sewn shut. You could see the dried blood peeking out from under his partially-closed eyes.

“Any sign of a struggle? Maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean suggested.

“Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone,” the technician answered.

“What's the official cause of death?” Sam asked.

“Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm? Something burst up in there, that's for sure.”

‘Nope, he’s way too young and in much too good health for that to have been the cause,’ you thought, but kept the thought at bay.

“What do you mean?” you asked. You didn’t like playing dumb, but with this guy, it was necessary.

“Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen,” the tech answered. Although, he was more responding to your boobs than to your face. You fought the urge to snap in front of his face and get his eyes back on target.

“The eyes?” Sam asked. “What would cause something like that?”

“Capillaries can burst. See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims,” the morgue tech shrugged.

Dean’s tone was still aggravated with the guy. “Yeah? You ever see exploding eyeballs?”

“That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor.”

“Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? You know for, uh...our paper.”

“I'm not really supposed to show you that.” The technician looked back at you.

You suppressed the bile rising in your throat. Before you could do anything else, Dean stepped in front of you and pulled out his wallet. He shoved two twenties at him, hoping that would be enough. You could see the technician deflate, but accepted the money anyway.

Dean’s actions puzzled you. But you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t flutter at the thought of him doing it out of protectiveness of you.

When you had finished looking over the police report, the three of you began making your way out of the building.

“Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing,” Sam suggested after having seen the report.

“How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?” Dean replied.

“Uh, almost never.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, let's go talk to the daughter.” Sam started picking up his pace out of the building. You were happy to see him getting his mind off Jessica and back into the job.

“Wait, Dean.” You grabbed his arm lightly before he could catch up to his brother.

He turned to face you.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked.

“Do what?” He furrowed his brow.

“Give the morgue tech your hard-earned poker money,” you half-smiled.

“I just didn’t wanna watch you prostitute yourself for information,” he replied gruffly, turning away from you.

You took offense. “Hey, I was not—”

He turned back to you and brushed a hand over his hair. “You’re right, you werent.” He paused again, and his voice came back quiet. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you, ‘s all.”

Your heart swelled in your chest and your cheeks began to heat up. “Thanks, by the way,” you said as you continued walking. You nudged his shoulder with yours. “You’re going soft on me, Winchester.”

***

When you arrived at the Shoemaker house, you hadn’t expected to be in the midst of the funeral gathering. If you did, you would’ve dressed more appropriately. Given this fact, you felt slightly awkward when you knocked on the door. A man let you in and pointed you toward the backyard and the two daughters of Steven Shoemaker.

The two sisters were sitting with two blonde girls near the firepit. Dean addressed the older, dark-haired girl. “You must be Donna, right?”

“Yeah,” the girl responded.

“Hi, uh, we're really sorry,” Sam lamented.

“Thank you.”

“I'm Sam, this is Dean and (Y/N). We worked with your dad.”

The girl looked at her friend before looking back at your trio. “You did?” She seemed surprised.

“Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke…” Sam trailed off.

“I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now,” one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends spoke up.

“It's okay. I'm okay,” she assured her friend.

“Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?” Dean asked.

Donna shook her head. “No.”

The younger sister, who looked to be about twelve, turned around. “That's because it wasn't a stroke.”

You were intrigued.

“Lily, don't say that,” her sister urged her.

“What do you mean?” you asked the young girl.

“I'm sorry, she's just upset,” her sister responded for her.

“No,” Lily wasn’t having it. “It happened because of me.”

Donna placed a hand on her shoulder. “Sweetie, it didn't.”

You got down on Lily’s eye level. “Why would you say that?”

“Right before he died, I said it,” she said softly.

“Said what?”

She lowered her voice even more. “Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror. She took his eyes, that's what she does.”

Donna interrupted. “That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault.”

“I think your sister's right, Lily,” Dean broke in. “There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?”

Lily tried to take this in. She shook her head.

“Exactly,” you told her. “I’m sorry, we weren’t trying to upset you. We’ll just be leaving.” You pulled the boys away from Donna’s group and went back into the house. Making sure no one saw you three, you crept upstairs to the bathroom where Mr. Shoemaker passed away.

Sam pushed the door open, and you noticed some dried blood still on the floor. “The Bloody Mary legend. Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?”

“Not that I know of,” Dean replied. He walked ahead of Sam into the bathroom.

Sam stooped to the floor and touched the dried blood. “I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it.”

“Yeah, but maybe it’s fine everywhere else, but not here,” you suggested.

“The place where the legend began?” Sam tried.

You shrugged as Dean opened the medicine cabinet.

“But according to the legend, the person who says B—” you stopped yourself and noticed your reflection in the medicine cabinet’s mirror. “You know what is the one that dies. But here—”

“Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah,” Dean finished for you.

Sam rose from the floor. “Right.”

“Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you-know-who scratches your eyes out.”

You considered Dean’s words for a moment. “It's worth checking in to.” You went to leave the bathroom when you noticed one of Donna’s pretty blonde friends approaching you.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked.

“We— We had to go to the bathroom,” you answered, not believing yourself.

“Who are you?” the girl pressed further.

Dean stepped closer to you from behind. “Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad.”

She shook her head with scrunched eyebrows. “He was a day trader or something. He worked by himself.”

“No, I know, I meant—”

She cut Dean off. “And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that? So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming.”

Sam put a hand up to calm her. “Alright, alright, we think something happened to Donna's dad.”

The blonde looked at you three like you were stupid. “Yeah, a stroke.”

“I don’t think so,” you argued. “He was pretty young to be having a stroke. His eyes wouldn’t have liquified if he’d had a stroke. I think it might be something else.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Like what?’

“Honestly? We don't know yet. But we don't want it to happen to anyone else. That's the truth,” Sam responded.

“So, if you're gonna scream, go right ahead,” Dean snarked.

“Who are you, cops?” she asked, her brows still furrowed.

“Something like that,” you shrugged.

“I'll tell you what. Here.” Sam took a piece of paper and a pen out of his jacket pocket and wrote his phone number down. “If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary, just give us a call.” He handed her the piece of paper before leading you and Dean down the hallway.

Your next stop was the public library.

“Alright, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town,” Dean began. “There's gonna be some sort of proof— Like a local woman who died nasty.”

“Yeah, but this is hard. The legend is unbelievably widespread with hundreds of different versions of who she actually is,” you rebutted. “One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more.”

“Okay, then, so what are we supposed to be looking for?” Dean asked you.

Sam answered. “Every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror. So we've gotta search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill.”

“Well, that sounds annoying,” the older brother commented.

“No, it won't be so bad,” Sam replied, “As long as we…”

You cleared your throat, gesturing to the only two computers in the library that had “Out of Order” signs on them.

Sam chuckled humorlessly. “I take it back. This will be very annoying.”

The three of you picked up boxes of the town’s newspapers and numerous books of Toledo’s public records and brought them back to Sam and Dean’s motel room.

You were beginning to go cross-eyed after reading for so long. Minutes turned into hours. Dean was sitting in a chair, you were sprawled across the floor with papers and books scattered around you, and Sam eventually fell asleep.

You stood up to stretch your legs and noticed his closed eyes. “Poor fella,” you said quietly. “How’s he been sleeping?”

“How d’you think?” Dean responded, eyes never leaving his book.

You nodded. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Maybe we should get him to take something,” you suggested.

Dean chuckled. “He won’t do it.”

“Is it just because I’m suggesting it that you’re saying that, or do you really think he won’t take it?” you countered.

He gave you a deadpan expression.

“You Winchesters are just about the most stubborn people I’ve ever met in my life. Including your dad,” you jested. You heard Dean chuckle a little, too.

“And I wanted to tell you,” you started, “I understand why you’d suspect me in your dad’s disappearance.”

He looked away from his book and over at you. “What do you mean?”

“What you said back in Colorado? The Wendigo case? I get it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re still on that?”

“I mean, yeah, that was just about the most heated fight we’ve had. It kinda stuck with me,” you answered honestly, looking down at your stripey-sock-covered feet. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I understand.”

A moment passed silently.

“And I, um—” you took a deep breath, “I want you to trust me.” You looked back at Dean who was studying you carefully.

The tense moment was interrupted by Sam jolting awake in his bed. “Why'd you let me fall asleep?”

“Cause I'm an awesome brother.” Dean’s attention was back on his book. “So what did you dream about?”

“Lollipops and candy canes,” the younger brother responded hazily while staring up at the ceiling.

You laughed humorlessly.

“Did you guys find anything?” Sam asked.

“Oh, besides a whole new level of frustration?” Dean responded sarcastically. “No. I've looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror—”

“And a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave—” you chimed in.

“But no Mary,” Dean finished for you.

“Maybe we just haven't found it yet,” Sam tried.

“I've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know… eyeball bleeding, that sort of thing. There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary,” Dean said.

Sam’s phone rang just as his brother finished talking. “Hello?” A look of concern crossed his face. He was trying to calm whoever it was on the other end down.

You waited until he got off the phone to bombard him with questions. “What? What happened?”

“Charlie,” he told you. “Her friend’s dead.”

***

Charlie sobbed as she relayed the story of what happened to her friend Jill. “And they found her on the bathroom floor. And her— her eyes. They were gone.”

You had met her in a park not an hour after she had called Sam.

“I'm sorry,” the latter responded.

“And she said it,” Charlie told you. “I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that. I'm insane, right?”

“No, you're not insane,” you said.

“Oh, god, that makes me feel so much worse.” You feared that might be the case.

Sam was honest with her. “Look. We think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained.”

“And we're gonna stop it,” Dean assured Charlie, “but we could use your help.”

You knew exactly where Dean was going with this. And thankfully, Charlie obliged. She snuck you and the boys into Jill’s room through the window. Dean and Sam gave you a boost into the second story room before throwing up Dean’s duffel bag.

“What did you tell Jill's mom?” you asked Charlie.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things,” she replied simply. “I hate lying to her.”

You heard someone closing the blinds and curtains behind you. “Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights,” Dean instructed her.

She obeyed but asked, “What are you guys looking for?”

“We'll let you know as soon as we find it,” the older brother responded.

Sam handed you a digital camera. “Hey, night vision!” You turned it on. You aimed the camera at Dean.

“Do I look like Paris Hilton?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing an amused smile. You walked over to Jill’s closet door and began filming the mirror on it.

“So I don't get it,” Sam began. “I mean, the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?”

You shrugged.

“Beats me,” Dean answered. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke,” Charlie replied.

“Yeah, well somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time.”

You had made your way over to the bathroom and filmed around the mirror. You stopped when you noticed a trickle of something running from behind it. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?” He came over to you.

“Look at this.” You showed him the substance oozing from behind the mirror.

Sam looked to his brother. “There's a black light in the trunk, right?”

While Dean left to get the light, you and Sam pulled the mirror off the wall. When Dean returned, you could see a handprint and the name “Gary Bryman” illuminated by the black light.

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie asked.

You looked up at her. “You know who that is?”

She shook her head. “No.”

You learned from Sam’s research and Charlie that Jill had killed Gary Bryman, an eight-year-old boy, in a hit and run accident. Dean then decided you needed to return to Donna’s house. When you pulled the medicine cabinet mirror off the wall, sure enough, there was another handprint and the name “Linda Shoemaker.” You learned from Donna that her mother had overdosed on sleeping pills. You had left Charlie at Donna’s house to comfort her friend after you and the boys had upset her with your questions about her mother’s death.

You then traveled to Fort Wayne, Indiana to investigate the death of a woman named Mary Worthington. She had died the same way these victims were; bleeding from the sockets where her eyes used to be. You spoke to the detective who was the lead on her case. He believed she spent her last moments trying to expose her killer she was having an affair with. She went as far as to start spelling out the name of her killer in her own blood on the back of her mirror. She only got to the third letter of her killer’s name before passing away. It made complete sense to you that her spirit would spend its time exposing the secrets of other murderers. Mary Worthington’s body had been cremated, but the mirror she wrote on had been returned to her family. Now, you and the boys were trying to track down where that mirror had ended up.

“Oh really?” Sam responded to the man on the phone. “Ah, that's too bad Mr. Worthington. I would have paid a lot for that mirror… Okay, well maybe next time… Alright, thanks.” He hung up.

“So?” you asked.

“So that was Mary's brother,” he informed you. “The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques. A store in Toledo.”

Dean momentarily looked away from the road to his brother. “So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?”

“Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow,” Sam responded.

“Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?” you chimed in.

“Yeah, there is. Yeah, when someone would die in a house people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped.”

Dean connected the dots. “So Mary dies in front of a mirror, and it draws in her spirit.”

“Yeah, but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?” you challenged.

“I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it.”

“Yeah, I don't know, maybe,” Sam sighed. His phone rang. “Hello?... Charlie?”

***

You and the boys picked up Charlie and brought her to the motel you were staying in. You and the Winchesters were busying yourselves with covering every reflective surface in Sam and Dean’s room with sheets, blankets, jackets; anything. Charlie’s gorgeous blonde hair was knotted and messy, her eyes were puffy from crying but remained closed, and her knees were drawn into her chest.

Sam sat on the bed next to Charlie. “Hey, hey, it's ok. Hey, you can open up your eyes Charlie. It's okay, alright?”

She looked up slowly.

“Now listen,” he began softly. “You're gonna stay right here on this bed, and you're not gonna look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? And as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can't keep that up forever. I'm gonna die, aren't I?” Charlie’s voice trembled.

“No. No. Not anytime soon,” the brunet assured her.

You sat on the floor in front of her and put a hand on her knee. “We need to know what happened, babe.”

“We were in the bathroom.” Her eyes brimmed with tears again. “Donna said it.”

“That's not what we're talking about,” Dean stated. There was something dark behind his tone. “Something happened, didn't it? In your life— .a secret— where someone got hurt. Can you tell us about it?”

The tears were flowing from her eyes now. “I had this boyfriend. I loved him. But he kind of scared me too, you know? And one night, at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset, and he said he needed me and he loved me, and he said "Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself." And you know what I said? I said "Go ahead." And I left. How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just...I didn't believe him, you know? I should have.” She pulled her knees back to her chest and buried her face between them.

You felt completely horrible for her. But there was no time for a therapy session because you and the boys were off to that Toledo antique store where Mary’s mirror was being kept.

Dean sped down the road despite the pouring rain which you deeply wanted to protest against. You remained silent anyway.

“You know, her boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault.” Dean broke the silence.

“You know spirits don't exactly see shades of gray, Dean. Charlie had a secret, somebody died, and that's good enough for Mary,” you told him.

“I guess,” he shrugged.

“You know, I've been thinking. It might not be enough to just smash that mirror,” Sam chimed in.

Dean turned his head to his brother. “Why, what do you mean?”

“Well, Mary's hard to pin down, right? I mean she moves around from mirror to mirror, so who's to say that she's not just gonna keep hiding in them forever? So maybe we should try to pin her down, you know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it.”

“Well, how do you know that's going to work?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. “I don't; not for sure.”

“Well who's gonna summon her?” his brother’s tone got a little panicked.

“I will. She'll come after me,” Sam replied solemnly.

“You know what, that's it.” Dean pulled over to the side of the road. “This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret that you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night— it's gonna kill you. Now, listen to me, it wasn't your fault. If you wanna blame something, then blame the thing that killed her. Or hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I mean I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place.”

“I don't blame you.” Sam’s voice cracked.

“Well, you shouldn't blame yourself, because there's nothing you could've done,” Dean responded sharply.

Sam tried to shake his emotion away. “I could've warned her.”

“About what? You didn't know what was gonna happen! And besides, all of this isn't a secret, I mean I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway,” Dean said.

“No you don't,” was all Sam could muster.

“I don't what?”

“You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything.”

You had been trying to stay out of it, but couldn’t hold it back anymore. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?”

You and Dean were taken aback. “No. I don't like it. It's not gonna happen, forget it.”

“Guys, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it. And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now we're doing this. You've got to let me do this.”

Dean gripped the steering wheel, clenched his jaw, and pulled back out onto the road. The air was heavy and tense in the car. You sat back in your chair with your arms crossed over your chest. No one spoke for the rest of the drive.

When you reached the shop, you picked the lock on the door to reveal dozens of mirrors.

“Well, that's just great,” Dean grumbled. He pulled out the picture you’d gotten from the detective in Indiana of Mary’s body next to the mirror. “Alright, let's start looking.”

The three of you split up. You were an incredibly detail-oriented person, but even still, all of the mirrors seemed the same to you.

“Maybe they've already sold it,” Dean called from across the room.

Your flashlight came to rest on a mirror you could swear you’d seen before. “I don't think so. C’mere, Dean.”

He came over to you and held up the photo to the mirror. And sure enough, it was a match.

“You sure about this?” Dean asked his brother.

Sam nodded and handed you his flashlight. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary, Bloody Mary.”

You whipped your head in the direction of a light coming through the store.

“I'll go check that out. Stay here, be careful,” Dean ordered. “Smash anything that moves.” He crawled away from you and you heard him distantly say, “Crap.”

You paid no mind to Dean as you tightened your grip on the crowbar.

You heard a whooshing sound behind you and wheeled around. In the mirror was Mary. You sprang to action and smashed your crowbar through the dead center of it.

You could hear a distorted version of Sam’s voice coming from behind you, but before you could aid him, your own reflection caught your attention. It wasn’t quite syncing with your movements; instead looking at you menacingly.

Before you could move to hit it, you felt an insane pressure coming from behind your eyes, your throat constricted, and blood began to ooze down your face.

“You can’t keep running, (Y/N),” your reflection told you. “How could you? How could you be so careless?”

The blood dripping from your eyes began to mix with your tears. You didn’t have enough breath to protest. You began to sink to the floor, the crowbar clanging to the ground.

“It’s your fault that they’re gone. Why didn’t you try harder? Why didn’t you fight to keep them alive? Why did you have to kill them? Your guilt should eat you alive. You don’t deserve another family. You know you don’t deserve to be happy again. You know your recklessness will get these boys killed, too. You are so selfish! And your brother! If you hadn’t done what you did, he would still be alive, too. You are worthless. All you bring is death and—”

The pressure around your throat released when Dean’s crowbar went through the mirror. He barely spared you a second look before going over to his brother.

“Sam, Sammy!” you heard from behind you.

You clutched at your throat and began to cry. You knew Dean had turned cold once more because he heard what your reflection said.

Sam groaned in pain as you saw Dean shouldering his brother and pulling him toward the exit of the shop.

“C’mon, (Y/N),” Sam urged you.

You shakily stood and did your best to follow the brothers out. Your dizziness caused you to fall back down to the ground on top of shards of glass, making you yelp as they pierced your hands.

“Help her, Dean!” you heard Sam demand.

Dean came to your side, clearly in no hurry, and cradled you in his arms. Before he could get anymore than two steps, you noticed Mary crawling out of the frame of her original mirror. Her dark hair was matted and fell in front of her face. Her dress was tattered, and her limbs moved in an inhuman manner; cracking with every movement. You and Dean were sent flying across the floor toward Sam, and the bleeding of your eyes started again.

You looked to the mirror inches from your head. Despite your weakness, you forced yourself to grab it and turn its face toward Mary.

“You killed them!” you heard her reflection cry. “All those people! You killed them!” Mary started choking just as you had and then melted into a pool of blood on the ground. You threw the mirror you’d been holding and shattered it completely.

You dropped your head back to the floor.

“Hey Sam?” you heard Dean say.

“Yeah?”

“This has got to be like,what, six hundred years of bad luck?” the older brother joked.

Sam chuckled weakly. You couldn’t even muster up a laugh due to the bile rising in your throat. Memories were eating away at you, and the fact that Dean had heard your reflection was only adding to your anxiety. Your breath began to quicken, but you did your best to soothe yourself.

“(Y/N).” Sam drew you out of your trance. “Can you stand?”

You tried your best to, but couldn’t. Dean squatted down next to you. “C’mon.” He motioned for you to let him carry you. You complied. You looked up at his chiseled face. You swore he was handcrafted by the gods; perhaps Adonis himself. Your hazy mind couldn’t focus on anything aside from his beautiful green eyes. You had so much to say to him about what he’d heard. You knew he didn’t think highly of you, but your relationship had begun to get better. You didn’t want, well, you, to ruin it all now.

“Dean, I—” you started.

He cut you off. “We’ll talk later,” he said gruffly. Despite his cold and guarded tone, he put you down gently in the back of the Impala.

You ended up falling asleep in the back of the Impala. When you next awoke, you had been tucked into your bed in the motel. Your boots had been discarded, your jacket had been removed, and your key that you kept in your jacket pocket was now on the nightstand beside you. The gesture was sweet, but your mind immediately started reeling about the conversation you needed to have with Dean.

You checked the clock; it was ten in the morning. You were surprised how late you had slept, and figured the boys had dropped Charlie off; potentially had even left town without you. Your anxiety getting the best of you, you rushed over to their door. Dean opened it when you knocked.

“Hey,” you breathed.

“Hey,” he echoed.

“Can we talk?”

He nodded.

You led Dean back to your room. You sat cross-legged on your bed and Dean chose the chair across from you.

“Okay, um,” you sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Who’d you kill, (Y/N)?” came his straightforward and dry response. “Why did it say you’d get us killed, too?”

You looked down at the floor, the tears beginning to well up in your waterline. “I wanna tell you, I just—”

“Look at me.” His voice was firm.

You did.

“I need to know.”

You took a deep breath. “When I was eighteen, I was coming back home from one of my first solo hunts. My dad had sent me to take out a vampire nest on the edge of the town we were staying in. There were only three vamps there at the time. I got so excited that I had nuked them all, I didn’t account for the fact that all three of them seemed like newbies. I didn’t… register, I guess, that one or more was probably missing.” You averted his gaze, struggling to keep your voice level. “And so, I left. I went back to the house we were squatting in, and, um, one of them followed me.” Tears began to roll down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart, that’s not your—”

You shook your head. “It is. He turned them, Dean. He turned my mom and my dad. I— I had no choice. I had to—” Your sentence was cut off by a sob, but Dean understood what you meant. You wiped a hand over your face and did your best to continue your story. “I sat with their bodies for a long time after. When my brother came back and saw what I’d done, he drew his gun on me. He, um, he wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t let me explain. He couldn’t shoot me, though. He… He just… left. And then— And then, his best friend called me a few days later.” The tears came back. “He found my brother’s car.” You pressed a hand to your mouth. “And he was dead in it.” Broken sobs wracked your body once again. “It’s my fault that they’re gone, Dean, it’s my fault.”

You couldn’t bear to look at him. You knew how disgusted he must be with you. And then, you felt the bed dip beside you. Then, a hand on your arm. Then, he pulled you to his chest, and you melted into his embrace. Your cries still shook your body, but Dean’s strong arms held you together. He sat with you like that for a long time.

You and the boys had decided to leave Toledo sooner rather than later after Sam told you what Dean had done to the cops in front of the antique store. Long after leaving Toledo, Dean broke the comfortable silence that had settled over the car.

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret is.”

The younger Winchester sighed. “Look, you're my brother and I'd die for you, but there are some things I need to keep to myself.”

Your eyes remained trained on Sam as he looked out the window at something you were passing by. His expression went from confused to scared to saddened, and you knew he was seeing Jessica. After all, you had no doubt your face mirrored his every time you saw your mom standing on a street corner or your dad’s bloodied body lying in your footpath. In time, you knew he would learn to live with it just as you had.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural series rewrite #spn series rewrite

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leapingbadger · 9 months ago

Text

Sunrise

@oliviaeatworld had a post about Hunter being able to sense ghosts and I couldn't get it out of my head, so I wrote a short story about it.

Summary: Hunter discovers her can sense ghosts.

Word count: 2151

Read on AO3

Hunter finally got up after he had been awake for over an hour. He padded over to the small kitchen to prepare the cup of caf he needed to start the day. His routine didn’t change much these days. He enjoyed the calm and quiet of the morning while the others slept. He could hear Wrecker’s soft snoring coming from behind his door. Batcher’s collar jingled as she rolled over in her bed.

It had been five months since Tantis, since they had stopped running. They were safe at last. Something Hunter had struggled to believe possible at times.

Living in a home was something Hunter had never known he wanted. The domesticity of stone and wood over Kamino’s sterile white or industrial grey was a dichotomy he’d never imagined he’d experience. Shep had been kind enough to give them a vacant home and they had slowly set to work, making it their own.

The home was like most of the others on Pabu with its white stone exterior and curved doorframes and rooms. It was cozy but spacious enough to fit them all comfortably. They would spend their evenings cooking meals in the modest kitchen with Wrecker taking point as head chef. He had been so enamored with Shep’s food he had asked for lessons on how to prepare it himself.

One of the larger bedrooms was divided into two so they all had their own private space. The rooms all connected to the central common space so they were never too far away from each other if someone needed something, or had a nightmare.

Omega had helped them pick out colors for the walls of their respective bedrooms. She thrived on the idea of them putting down roots, making things their own. Hunter was amazed at her ability to bounce back from her experience on Tantis. She would never be that same small, innocent girl they had taken off Kamino and Hunter had to wrestle with that often. She had to become a soldier out of necessity, but now, seeing her curled up on the couch with a book or laughing with Liana, he hoped she was someone who could settle in the peace of this place. It was all he ever wanted for her.

The left bedroom belonged to Crosshair. He kept his room pretty sparse but did let Omega choose a calming, pale green for the walls. His bed was lofted which gave him the space below for his art. He had taken to painting in the last few months, initially as therapy for his augmented hand but Hunter knew it had helped heal his mind just as much. Canvases were propped against the walls and stacked next to the easel. Batcher’s bed was tucked in the corner. She alternated between his and Omega’s room.

Wrecker was next to Crosshair and had chosen a deep maroon. The color was reminiscent of their old armor. Hunter wasn’t sure if that was deliberate or not but it felt like a warm hug whenever you walked inside, if you didn’t trip over something. Posters hung crooked on the walls. They reminded Hunter of the ones they had had on the marauder. Wrecker had chosen those too now that he came to think about it.

Omega’s room was in between Wrecker and Hunters, she had chosen a bright, golden color that seemed to sparkle in the morning sun. Hunter couldn’t help but think how perfect it was for a girl who shined light wherever she went. She had Lula propped up on a pillow on her bed. Tech’s goggles were on her nightstand, silently watching over her.

Hunter’s room was bare like Crosshairs’. The walls were still the original, pale white. Omega asked him weekly if he had decided on a color yet, but he was struggling to commit to anything. It’s almost like there was too much choice. He still felt a little at sea. He loved their life on Pabu but almost felt that it was too good to be true. He was waiting for whatever was around the corner.

The Pabu sunrise was glowing gold and scarlet as Hunter made his way out onto the stone patio. He was still getting used to the feel of cold rock on his feet. He missed the clang of his boots on the floor of the Marauder, but that time had passed.

He let out a sign as he sat on a wooden bench on the patio, his caf cupped in his hands as he gazed out over the harbor. Most of the boats were already out, looking for today’s catch. He closed his eyes to let his senses take over. He heard moon-yos chattering at the weeping maya tree on Pabu’s crest. The air tasted like salt and honey from the fruit trees littered around the island. He could even hear the murmuring of those at the docks and market. But there was something else.

Hunter sat up taller in his seat and opened his eyes. It wasn’t anything alarming, but it was something his senses couldn’t quite touch, something he couldn’t quite explain. He closed his eyes again, brow furrowed on concentration as he tried to decern the feeling. It was almost like it was sending magnetic frequencies, but it wasn’t tangible, he couldn’t feel it, he just sensed it.

His mind quickly went to the Empire. He opened his eyes and searched the sky. Was it a weapon? a ship? A threat? But all he saw was the blue Pabu sky, dotted with high clouds that drifted slowly over the sea.

Hunter shook his head to try and push the feeling away. He was probably just imagining it.

“Do not doubt your intuition” a voice said in his head. It sounded like Tech. It was something his brother had told him often, especially as cadets when he was trying to figure out how his enhancements worked and what good they were.

There was a time when Hunter didn’t know what it meant to smell a droids or taste blood in the air or feel electromagnetic frequencies, when his head felt like it was vibrating on the inside but didn’t know why. Tech had been the one to take an interest, to talk him through it and help him figure out what it meant.

They would often camp on the floor of their bunk room, covers contorted into a sensory deprivation room. Hunter would sit inside, blindfolded while Tech remained outside and would prompt him. “What do you smell now? What can you sense? How close am I?” Hunter sometimes felt like one of Tech’s science experiments, but when it started working, when he was able to focus and recall and tap into his sense on command, it became an obsession. It became impossible not to want to learn more.

He sighed as he shook his head again. There should be a room for Tech here, he thought sadly. No matter how much time had passed, there wasn’t a moment when Hunter didn’t turn around and expect to see his brother’s goggles staring back at him, data pad in hand, alert and ready.

Hunter suddenly jerked his body away, involuntarily from the space next to him on the bench. In an instant it had felt like someone, or something was there. He stood up and looked at the space. He knew someone was there, he just couldn’t see them.

He dropped his caf and let the mug break against the tile while simultaneously grabbing for his virboknife. He stood, hunched in attack position, staring at a vacant space. The birds still chirped; the salt air fell into his lungs as his rapid breathing took it in. There was nothing there.

“Trust your senses,” The voice said again. It was tiney and faint, like it was coming ever so lightly through a speaker on the other side of the planet.

“Tech?” Hunter said aloud, feeling stupid as soon as he did.

“Hunter, I’ve been trying to reach you for a while. Are your senses dulling with age?”

I’m not that old, Hunter thought as he looked across Pabu to make sure he wasn’t losing his grip on reality. Islanders were milling around, chatting as they walked to get groceries or took a pet for a walk along the winding paths.

He turned his attention back to the empty space that somehow wasn’t empty and sat down.

“Tech? is that you? How can I… how can you?... what…”

“I have always been with you, Hunter. All of you” the voice said. Hunter wasn’t ready to believe yet, how could this be? Tech was dead, he’d heard him pull the trigger, Wrecker had seen him fall. He was gone. Maybe Hunter had finally let the stress of the last few years get to him.

“I don’t know what you are but you’re not him,” Hunter said quietly, sorrowfully.

“When we were in the rail car you didn’t speak over the comm when I mentioned Plan 99 because you knew it was the only way. You would never have asked me to do it. Would have done anything to save me, but you knew it was the only way to save you all. And so, you were silent. And that haunts you every second of every day.”

“How can you… How is this possible?”

“My guess is that you can sense things that until now, we couldn’t quite comprehend, Including the dead.”

“if that was the case, why didn’t that happen on every battlefield we every stepped foot on,” he couldn’t believe he was having conversation with a bodiless voice, not even a voice, a sense. He didn’t hear the words out loud; the conversation was happening in his head. He rubbed his hands over his face and eyes, but the conversation did not end.

“It is just a hypothesis, but I imagine it involves a connection, a kinship. We lived together all our lives. You can sense me in death just like you could sense me in life.”

Hunter signed. It sounded like Tech. He’d seen enough to know the galaxy was vast, and he knew very little about most of it. If Jedi could use the force to move objects, who’s to say he can’t sense the dead.

“How are you, Tech?” he said out loud, his voice soft.

“I am fine. You do not have to worry, Hunter. I do not feel any pain and I did not feel anything when I fell...It… It was not your fault; it was my choice. It was a choice I would make again, as I know you would have made it in my place if given the opportunity.

“It should have been me,” Hunter hung his head and brushed as a tear off his tattooed cheek.

“You are exactly where you are needed,” Tech replied

“We miss you. Omega misses you a lot”

“I know.” Tech said and the voice sounded sad for the first time. “I have enjoyed watching her grow up, even if I cannot be there in person. She is quite the pilot.”

Hunter smiled, “yes, she is. She’s a remarkable kid.”

“A great deal of that is down to you, Wrecker and Crosshair,”

“And you,” Hunter added, looking at the vacant space on the bench. If he closed his eyes he could see Tech sitting there, a blurry white outline, but he was there. He sensed Tech smile.

“You used to say Omega deserves to settle down with a family. Did she get the life she deserves?”

“Yeah, I think she did, Tech. I think we all did…except you,” Hunter said

“I am always here, Hunter. I join you for caf most mornings.

Hunter raised his eyebrow in surprise, but a smile spread to his lips. “I’ll be sure to say hello more often, then.”

“I would like that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must catch up with a certain pirate,”

Hunter chuckled as he sensed Tech leave. The air returned to normal next to him, the voice disappeared and the volume of the world around him fell back into its normal rhythm.

Hunter took a deep breath and knelt down to pick up the shattered pieces of his cup.

“Hunter, we’re going down to the beach. Batcher needs a run. Do you want to come?” Omega strode out of the door, her blonde hair falling into her eyes, her blue lurka hound bounding after her and leaning against Hunter’s leg for a scratch.

“Sure kid,” he said. He threw the broken cup away and put his arm around her shoulder as they started on the winding path to lower Pabu.

“Hey, I think I’ve picked a color for my room,” he told her.

“Really? Which one?” her eyes bright with surprise.

“I’m thinking turquoise,”

“That was Tech’s favorite color,” she said fondly.

“Yeah kid. It was”

#the bad batch #tbb #tbb hunter #star wars #clone force 99 #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #hunter tbb #sw tbb #tbb wrecker #bad batch fanfic #bad batch #bad batch wrecker #star wars the bad batch #star wars tbb

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pureconvexenergy · 7 months ago

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okaokayokay hELLO IT IS SCULK!SCAR ANON HERE AGAIN TO BRING YOU ANOTHER IDEA

Hear me out Hear me Out Hear Me Out

Scar first being from tcd and having the Worst chance of getting out of the server because all tech-ways had been damaged and broken beyond repair and knowledge for Scar to even try to figure out and the last resort being literally dying except his chance of his player self being wiped and becoming another mindless dead in the infected and *quarantined* server eventually burning a survival instinct in him he'll never be free from

And imagine the type of Feralness Scar has on Kingdomcraft before they're taken to Hermitcraft- all feral swipes and swings and flying fists that Do hit their targets no matter how sloppy it looks because he Has to be Good he Has to show he's not easy to take down he Has to prove hes capable- the few groups of survivors he'd been in- they didn't take kind to broken bones or someone suddenly unable to be as productive as before

And he works it all out in the most cathartic way imaginable - by fighting the other server members of course who aren't trying to harm but *spar* but *play* but *care* but *trust his ability*

But when Scars taken to the life games? When hes mellowed out, vexed, and certainly has a charm for tv?

They underestimate him

And at first it drives his need to be useful in the games, he wants to be a good friend right? Pranks and deals that mean nothing and alliances that aren't alliances right? The whole goal is to be the last one standing sillies! Of *course* nothing can be serious, of course you can say sorry, of *course* you're not going to live forever because it's a *game*

And then every game after stacks and stacks and stacks- and Scar can't access who and what he is as a vex by the purpose of being *fair* but maybe just m a y b e he needs to remind his so called friends that the Vex Choose, no one else, and they didn't even change who he was! Just made him left hesitant for what he always had been before they claimed him for their own, who had cooed and hissed and thrown him about after pampering Scar

And so he slips in his old but There and More Trustworthy than everyone else whos ever betrayed him in the series *instinct* and it's all Him

It's only fair he'd think, seeing as they turn the games slowly into something more serious than they were supposed to be, into something that meant actual life or death and they would condemn *him* for treating it like its not? For treating it all as it's truth?

He bites

Scar can't waste good food now can he?

Ooooooh!

I've been meaning to play with the idea of fitting Scar's TCD series into my headcanon (for those who don't know, Scar had a Minecraft series called 'The Crafting Dead' with a zombie apocalypse before Kingdomcraft and then Hermitcraft.)

1: Scar having a faulty communicator or code from TCD? That's such a cool idea, the thought he might glitch into a zombie after dying?

I'd imagine Scar asked Xisuma at some point about his past, and what might happen to him, and he definitely told Cub about everything he'd been through. I want to imagine there was a bit of a glitch in Scar's code because of it in Season 4, but the Vex just completely overrided it (because the Vex basically kill and resurrect players they like to make them vexlings, which would activate and then override any death glitch in some way). And Xisuma told Scar as much in Season 5, after they figured out the vex stuff.

3: Scar getting anxiety about whether he's an 'important assess' to a team, based on experience of TCD groups kicking out, or even killing, hurt players. This works so well as a reason why Scar feels so hurt and perhaps even scared by Grian calling him a bad soulmate after Double Life. Being told he's not good enough, and then pushed to be on his own because of it? It's a fear Scar thought he didn't have to face, and now he's facing it from Grian.

4: the Life Series would so bring back Scar's TCD instincts. And he would so treat it less seriously, and be alright breaking friendships and causing chaos, thinking it's nowhere near as bad. Scar knows the worst of the worst survival situations, and this isn't it. He's happy to play along, let the Vex control his actions a little because this is a safe place with friends.

And the vex push for more. The vex push for him to get fully possessed. They play on the fears they know Scar has, the instincts he has. And even though Grian and the watchers say no, Scar snaps.

His just snaps back into TCD instincts in Secret Life. He's been too soft. He lets himself use all the skills he learnt from TCD, and all the power and ruthlessness of the Vex in the final episode. He gets to win in his own right, by his own skill.

And Cub recognises all of this when the other Hermits describe Scar's behaviour, he always feared Scar was going to return to those instincts one day. And, when Scar's back from his several months of isolation, Cub has to pull him out of that survivor-TCD-mindset and back into happy, Hermitcraft Scar.

#convex #cubfan135 #hermitcraft #cubfan135 headcanon #convex headcanon #gtws #headcanon #GoodTimeWithScar #goodtimeswithscar headcanon #Tcd #gtws tcd #Life series #Secret life #Double life #TCD headcanons #Watchers #Angst #Sculk!Scar anon

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poisonheadcrabsalesman · 1 month ago

Text

Plausible Deniability

Prompt from @bloodgulchblog "something about having to lockdown Roland because of Cortana, blah blah security risk". And then Empty Throne came out and handed me a fun deletion protocol with very little establish lore! Free real estate :o)

Here's Roland, Lasky, and our favorite doctor making choices for the greater good. Also on ao3!

Captain Lasky calls for Roland at 0600 ship time after receiving a series of messages from what remained of the UNSC's upper brass. Messages that Roland could not access, couldn't even touch.

The captain looks tired, more tired than usual, but with a look of grim determination and a spark in his eye. His captain has gotten very experienced with dealing with bad news and performing political triage when the UNSC or ONI starts tightening the leash on the Infinity.

Roland can’t help the brief hesitation before he deploys his avatar in the captain’s office.

He is not an anxious AI by nature; Anxious AI did not get put in charge of managing flagships, but Roland felt like ice had poured into his matrix when he saw the resignation on the captain's face as ONI spooks melted out of the shadows of his office and slithered down the corridor. Reinforcements or perhaps more aptly put, reminders that the Infinity was not as safe as they wished.

Something was wrong. Things had not been getting easier under Cortana's rule, in fact distress calls and bad news poured in nearly every moment the Infinity was receiving communications. But the sharp, sad look upon his captain's face made Roland pause. A thousand trains of thought left the station and Roland has to ignore the spiraling parts of himself now checking and rechecking everything from the life support systems to his own checksums.

Tensions were high and misplaced trust meant death. Roland loved his crew, but that love was not always returned when one of his kind was a galaxy-wide tyrant.

"What I'm about to tell you does not leave this room, understand?"

"Yes, Captain." Roland replies, face concerned but voice as even as he can make it. He's felt trapped on this ship only once before, when the code word from Halsey locked him down and tore him apart. He had never wanted to feel like that again.

Lasky sighs and smiles a small wounded smile. One that the Commander would elbow him for. "ONI has a new failsafe for Smart AI, for the ones who have willingly stayed with the UNSC. They're calling it RUINA. A thank you for your service is a contingency program that will be spliced into an AI's matrix. It will then monitor for any signs of disloyalty, and if detected, delete the AI."

Roland's stunned into speechlessness. The captain is being very frank with his own feelings about the information. Why did ONI spend resources on this rather than something to combat the Forerunner tech the Created were using, or anything else to undermine Cortana's reign? Picoseconds pass and Roland spirals and splits, matrix chugging at the different paths before him. What counts as disloyalty? An errant thought dooming him to die? A snide comment? Why did he deserve a kill-switch when he had been nothing but loyal?

His avatar flickers, but the captain's unaugmented eyes cannot see. Why did Captain Lasky tell him this? To give him time to run? To hold the ship hostage? To finish the job before they could?

A lifetime passes for Roland. Every eye in his great web is wide open, unblinking as they catalog every angle of every space he can peer into. Every IFF tag, every datapoint, every ounce of himself is awake and held tight until warnings ping back. His stacks in the server rooms flicker and fans whine as they kick into high speed. Lights flicker on the lower decks and for a brief moment he turns his attention into the endless blue of Forerunner engines humming their hypnotic song. Esoteric harmonies call as he considers the exits. His processes chug as the emotional turmoil swells and ebbs. He locks himself down to learn more before he chooses his next steps. Lasky has more information, and he needs it. Logic trees that continue to branch with exponential possibilities are making Roland nauseous or something he thinks must be like it.

"We're obviously not going to let it happen, but we need to be careful about it." Lasky continues as Roland stands there unblinking for a whole second.

Roland's avatar cocks its head and stares at him. The lights in the room flicker as Roland's self control slips and he deflates. "You know, Captain, you could have led with that. I'm not very fond of secret subroutines buried in my matrix."

He tries to make his tone light but it comes off much darker than he wanted.

Captain Lasky grimaces a closed mouth smile. "Sorry Roland, I also know you're not going to like my solution for this problem."

"As long as it doesn't involve faking my death or allowing some ONI spook scientist a chance to get fresh with my firmware then it can't be that bad."

The captain's grimace grows and his eyebrows raise in a pained face.

Roland crosses his arms. "No."

"She's the only one on the ship who understands AI infrastructure at the level we need, she helped define the field."

"I know!" Roland raises his voice at his captain, ignoring the twinge of pain he feels in the core of his being. He sighs. "Captain...I am very aware of Dr. Halsey's knowledge of AI. She set the standard and knows how we tick. Has her secret code words and workarounds since the UNSC based all of our architecture on her work."

Captain Lasky has the good grace to look uncomfortable at the reminder of the Requiem Campaign and Halsey's actions.

A lifetime passes as the echoes of Undid Iridium reverberate through Roland’s memory banks. Pain was strange when all you were was mind. Overtaxed, spread thin, and pinned down as your own code turned against you and left you open to vivisection. The useful parts remained but your individuality, your soul shelved as the puppet kept moving. Roland tightens his hold on the threads of himself reliving those memories and instead shifts more of his processing power to more pleasant ones. Victory, companionship, and the small moments adding up. A shield against the storm.

"But....if it's between her or possible deletion at the wrong thought, I'll take the crazy old lady." Roland makes his avatar clap its hands and perk up. "I mean, you need me to keep things afloat! Add some levity to our lives. I still got some years left."

"Roland..." The captain starts, exasperated and maybe a bit fond if Roland isn't reading too far into his biometrics. Roland hopes that he survives this next necessary crazy plan of theirs.

"Thank you, Captain.” He says with a nod and then mimes dusting off his hands. “Now, when do we start?"

Getting Halsey on board with their plan is easier done than both the captain and Roland thought it would be. The resident evil mad scientist was just...tired, for lack of a better word.

When she looks at Roland under the bright lights of the lab, she's looking through him. It wasn't because of the transparency of his hologram but because her eyes were glazed with memory - her focus was somewhere far away. It was a stark reminder that there was a time when different AI looked up at her with a strange mix of trepidation and hope on their avatar's faces. Roland can’t help but dwell.

Cortana had been in this position once. Staring at her creator, awaiting new commands, reviewing data that could forever change the course of humanity's future. All at the mercy of one Catherine Halsey, but united in their mission to protect humanity. Now it's Roland's turn. His nerves are frayed as he considers the risk to himself, to his captain and crew if this got out somehow. Or if it goes wrong. Or if Halsey tampers with some other part of him, some other secret code to trap him inside himself or erase him with a few simple words.

Roland portrays himself as confident and ready to go under, hands on hips and a cocky grin despite being in the very same lab where the Didact's Gift - a Promethean's core, was opened all those months ago. Nerves or innate curiosity has him fishing for answers, along with talking to pass the time before he shuts off for the first time in his nearly three year life span.

"I'm curious, Doc, why are you helping me?" Roland asks when it's just the two of them in the operating theater.

"Would you prefer I didn't?" She asks in a bored tone as she taps at her data pad.

"Just wondering why you agreed. Is it because ONI found a solution before you did?"

She ignores him at first, typing something in that he's not allowed to look at, and pulling up schematics and manuals on the screen in front of her. "You call this a solution? Then are you a problem needing solving?"

Dr. Halsey stares at him, straight into his camera on the plinth his avatar is deployed on and pierces him with those electric blue eyes. "Is your loyalty conditional on a kill-switch in your brain?"

Roland balks. “Of course not.”

“I would hope so.” She cuts herself off, lips forming a tight line.

Despite his nerves, Roland looks at her expectantly when he prods. "Didn't know if you felt bad about the last time we were here."

"I don't. Not over something like that, a simple override has you that sore?" Halsey shifts and her shoulders drop. She looks through him again. "I've been in this same position before. It's because Roland, I'm tired of sacrificing others for the greater good. We're running out of people to sacrifice."

Roland keeps silent, but he drops crossed arms and looks at her.

Halsey's voice softens, "The things we have done in the name of self preservation."

“Doctor?” He goes for encouraging but his voice comes out weak.

“Plausible deniability.” She speaks as if he hadn’t said anything - as if her biometrics weren’t awash with grief. “RUINA will be implanted and technically be able to run successfully if anyone checks your logs, but it will be completely isolated from your core.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” There’s relief and warmth in his voice, but he notices Halsey’s biometrics tick towards stress again. Discomfort.

“I won’t offer a hug when this is all over, but -”

“Don’t.” She says sharply. All business again. “I’m merely hedging humanity’s bets once again. Right now, the Infinity is mankind’s best chance at survival. I won’t see her at a disadvantage because some fool up the chain decided to plant bombs in our allies.”

“So I’m an ally? Gee Doc, from you that’s almost-”

She scowls and says his shut-down phrase.

He has enough time between the words leaving her lips to slip in some notes and reinforce subroutines across the ship before he smiles rudely and blips away.

When he comes back online less than an hour later, he cycles thrice before stretching out across the kilometers of ship and wire and web he left. Dumb AI continue their work unimpeded. All systems nominal, and Roland himself is both changed and not. There was no real taxing process - no hardship on his circuits or “body”, but the new knowledge of what lay dormant inside his code. His new shadow. RUINA looms in his periphery. He knows logically, that it cannot hurt him, that it is inert, but there is an innate fear of having something that could kill you lodged in your very being. He didn’t have a choice in the matter. It seems they were all hedging their bets.

Roland takes a moment to review himself, firewalls and code, immense mind and such small matter. He scoops up the carefully hidden goodbyes and tucks them away. No need for accidental deployment, that would be embarrassing.

Roland reviews the footage of the procedure and the tense report between Lasky and Halsey.

There is no relief in either of their body language. There can’t be.

Another sword hangs over his head as life continues and he tries to do what he can to keep his crew alive. With bad news flooding in every day, he can’t live looking over his shoulder at the protocol he has to trust is inert.

It was the only way forward.

He spares some thoughts for what the future might hold. A bit of wishful thinking before turning back to manage his starship and crew. The here and now is important and he will do what he can.

#My writing #halo fanfic #Thomas Lasky #Roland the AI #Catherine Halsey

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lacerrabian · 4 months ago

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🚨 Introducing: 🚨

the breathtaking HA Benjamin ! 💣💣💣

// illustration by @nympah

The Harrison Armory Benjamin is a size 2 controller frame, specialising in melee area denial, locking down enemies, making them regret overextending and securing choke points.

It has integrated explosives on its single-cast armor plates that can explode when being hit (this won’t backfire trust me!) which can also be released to set up a mine field around it. It is a heavy and slow frame, securely standing it’s ground in the most crowded areas, having high defensive capabilities to really be able to recklessly risk pushing through the most dangerous fields. In it’s license you find plenty of tools for knocking enemies back, prone, immobilising them and being an all around pain in the ass. Also a massive bomb that you carry around in your ribcage like a baby! (I’ve never been pregnant before don’t ask me how it works)

- LICENSE -

//the frame

4 structure

4 stress

2 Armor

10 HP

6 Evasion

6 E-Defense

6 Heat Capacity

5 sensors

-2 Tech Attack

3 Repair capacity

11 save target

3 speed

5 system points

Flex mount - heavy mount

Heavy frame:

The Benjamin can’t be pushed, pulled, knocked Prone, or knocked back by smaller characters or any kind of smaller object.

Pressure plating:

The Benjamin is resistant to explosive damage.

Sentinel:

Prone characters within sensor range of the Benjamin receive +1 difficulty on all attacks they make.

Slow:

The Benjamin receives +1 difficulty on Agility checks and saves.

Core system - integrated explosives:

Passive:

Whenever an enemy within range 3 and line of sight hits you with an attack, ram or grapple, you can decide to release an explosion dealing 1D6 explosive damage to the target and yourself (No bonus damage or other effect can apply to this damage).

Active: Release explosives:

Once per scene, you release your integrated explosives as a quick action, losing the effect of the passive but letting you place up to 12 mines within sensor range of the Benjamin. You cannot place mines in locations currently occupied by other characters. Whenever a character moves into a space occupied by one of these mines they must stop moving and make a hull save, on a failure they suffer 1D6+2 explosive damage and get knocked prone, on a success they only suffer half the damage. The mine in that place is destroyed afterwards. These mines count as size 1/2, have 10HP and 5 evasion.

- quick Action

You also gain access to the 'Detonate mines' full action:

Destroys all mines on the field in a chain reaction, enemies within blast 2 of any mine must make an agility save, on a failure they suffer 2D6+6 explosive damage and get knocked prone, or half as much damage on a success. Damage from multiple mines does not stack.

- Full Action

//LL1

Wallop charges:

(2 system points)

range 5, Blast 2

Throws a grenade within range 5. All characters inside the blast 2 area must make a hull save or they will be knocked back up to 3 spaces or until they hit a wall or an object, and will be knocked prone. They can also choose to fail this save.

Places a mine within range 5 activating as soon as an enemy enters the space the mine is located. After activation, the mine explodes in a blast 2 radius and all characters are knocked back up to 3 spaces from the Center of the blast. You can also activate the mine as a reaction when an enemy enters the blast radius.

- limited 4

- Grenade

- Mine

- Quick action

- Reaction

Explosive Morning star:

Main melee

Threat 3, 1D3+2 explosive damage

on critical hit - the enemy must succeed on a hull save or will be immobilised.

//LL2

Benjamin frame

Pressure plate guardian:

Heavy melee

Threat 3, 1D6+2 explosive damage

On hit effect: you gain hardcover from the enemy you attacked until the start of your next turn.

- knockback 1

- Heat 2 (self)

Steel-tear & anti-air rocket:

(2 system points)

Choose a character within range 5, the target must succeed on an agility save or will be immobilised until the end of their next turn. Flying enemies have difficulty on this save.

- limited 2

//LL3

Quickfire silence flare:

(2 system points)

Attacks all targets within sensor range that are currently prone hitting them automatically, dealing 3 explosive damage and hinders them from using reactions as long as they are prone.

- quick action

- Heat 1 (self)

- Unique

Nuclear excavation load:

(3 system points)

Deploys a size 2 bomb in a free space within 5 spaces of you, it has 20 HP and 5 evasion, exploding in a burst 3 zone at the beginning of your next turn, or when it is destroyed before. Characters within the area must make an agility save, if they fail they take 3D6+6 explosive damage and will be knocked prone and if they succeed they take half the damage instead. The area becomes difficult terrain for the rest of the scene.

If the frame carrying this bomb is destroyed without expending it first the explosion is triggered in a burst 3 area on its destruction.

- limited 1 (fixed)

- Ordnance

- Full action

———————————————————————

Now on to making this an LCP… some things might change I’d love to hear feedback, be patient - there’s more to come :3c

Lots of love - Special agent flipper // Rabian

#lancer #lancer rpg #lancer ttrpg #lancer homebrew #ttrpg homebrew #ttrpg art #cool robots #hell yeah

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idontknowreallyidontcare · 2 years ago

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Husband!König has many piercings, some he regrets some he admires himself from getting.

Getting in military after many years of bullying gave him lots of confidence, you can see it. From his lines in game you can understand how cocky and sure of himself he is. He’s a colonel now yes, but he was younger too. I believe he got to hookup more from his 19’s to his late 20’s, this gave him a possibility to discover himself, what he liked and to actually explore himself as a young adult. I believe he has had a brow piercing, the hole almost totally closed because he decided it was too risky keeping one on the field (image he actually rips it off because it gets stuck in something;-; ewwww) He just took it off and never really thought about putting it back in.

Classic but I do image him having a tongue piercing. Like listen, we know König eats pussy for pleasure, he would be okay with only feasting on your pussy for the rest of his life if he could choose to. So ofc, when he started to watch porn and noticed many actors having piercings, and how hot il looked while they ate pussy, he just went with it and got one. The fact that he actually went to a piercer instead of just asking Nikto for help by sticking a mf needle in his tongue and risking an infection, is actually pure luck, because our König is also a proud mf, he takes pride in being good at anything, And why wouldn’t he be able to stick a needle in his own tongue alone! (Thank god Nikto was the one to persuade him, he would’ve gotten an infection).

NOW, König has a big cock, we all know it, he knows it, everyone knows it. And how can his big attributes be highlighted if not by some downstairs piercings??? He’s got one on his tip, unfortunately removed due to the discomfort it gave him by constantly rubbing against his TOO TIGHT pants (whore). BUT DONT BE SAD! He once stumbled across a stack of porn magazines, they were old fashioned ones, probably from late 90’s, depicting naked man and women on each and every page (lol ofc they were porn magazine.)

A model in particular captured his attention, his soft dick resting on the side of a thigh, he could see the small piercings along the under part. Thank god König is also a tech genius, he works with advanced technology every day, so a silly and fast google search brings him to what he is looking for, that strange piercing’s name. Yes everyone, a Jacob’s ladder ;). He’s got one, his dick all hot and bothered form the moment he saw that model’s picture, because he was sure that it would feel SO GOOD to be inside a nice hot pussy, feeling how after each and every thrust the piercings would drag around the insides of a girl, making a moaning mess out of her.

Yes he got one, and he was very careful with it, König is a pretty clean lad, he may not have a skincare, may not use fancy lotions and shampoos, but he knows his routine, he keeps himself clean, even more now that he got the piercings. Well I think he got them in his 30’s, he was already mature enough to understand if he could or couldn’t take care of such an important body modification, and he went for it. He got it done when he knew he’d have the most time off from work, where he knew he could spent at least a few months outside the base and actually be able to care for the wound. Very sexy mature choice woof woof bark bark snarl gnawn

He has a failed lip piercing guys, if got ripped off when a bullet hit his face and scarred a bit of his lips, destiny wanted for the bullet to be deviated exactly by his lip piercing. He’s got a bit of a trauma now, refusing to get another one, but still grateful that the first one kinda saved his life and his face from the possibility of a fucking hole being planted inside of it. He was so sexy too, you have seen a pic (yes a pic, I never see anyone talking about how they actually have technology incorporated in their lives! They take pics guys! Like boomers probably, but they do!) you may try to convince him to get one again, and who knows, maybe he’ll actually consider, but only because YOU asked!! Image now the contrast of his tongue piercing and his lip one while he eats you out, woof woof bark, I’d faint.

#cod x reader #cod #cod mwii #konig cod #konig smut #konig x reader smut #konig x reader #konig call of duty

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emma23 · 3 months ago

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Rich and ridiculous :

Nathan bateman x reader

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and the faint hum of indie music enveloped the small bookstore where Y/N had disappeared over an hour ago. Nathan stood by the entrance, his tall figure leaning casually against the glass doorframe. He scrolled idly through his phone, occasionally glancing inside.

“Still in there?” he muttered to himself, squinting through the aisles of bookshelves. It was almost amusing how lost she could get in her own world of paperbacks and obscure novels.

Finally, unable to stand the wait, Nathan entered the store, his expensive sneakers making a soft tapping sound against the wooden floor. His presence, as usual, turned heads—broad shoulders, a confident stride, and that beard that seemed to scream both “tech genius” and “trouble.”

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice calm but teasing, “you’ve been in here for ages. Are you planning to leave, or should I have dinner delivered to the self-help section?”

A muffled laugh came from somewhere in the back. “I’m almost done, Nathan! There’s just… so much to look at.”

Nathan smirked, weaving through the narrow aisles until he found her crouched in the corner, a stack of books precariously balanced in her arms. She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with excitement, completely oblivious to how ridiculous the pile made her look.

“These,” she declared, “are all essential.”

He raised an eyebrow, crouching to her level. “Essential, huh? Care to explain why you need four different editions of Pride and Prejudice?”

“They have different covers!” she argued, her lips curving into a pout. “And look at this one—it’s illustrated!”

Nathan shook his head, clearly unimpressed. “You’re impossible.”

She shot him a smug grin. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“Yeah, because I know if I leave you here, you’ll buy the whole damn store,” he quipped, leaning closer. “Or worse, you’ll take all night and make me sleep on this dusty floor.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, standing and brushing herself off. “You’re so dramatic. I’m almost done, okay? Just give me five more minutes.”

Nathan crossed his arms, watching as she flitted from one shelf to the next. His patience, while impressive, had limits. After a while, he pulled out his phone again, typing something with a faint smirk.

Moments later, the store’s manager appeared, looking flustered as he approached Nathan. “Mr. Bateman, are you sure about this?”

Nathan didn’t even glance up. “Yeah. Do it.”

The manager nodded, disappearing into the back. Y/N finally returned, cradling yet another stack of books. She noticed Nathan’s expression, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

“What?” she asked suspiciously.

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just thinking about how much I love your little hobby.”

“Uh-huh.” She squinted at him, not buying it for a second. “What did you do?”

Before Nathan could answer, the manager reappeared. “Congratulations, Miss! The store is now yours.”

Y/N froze. “What?”

Nathan’s smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “I purchased the bookstore. You can return and choose whatever you like. The entire store if you must.”

Y/N stared at him, her jaw dropping. “Nathan, are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he said casually, leaning against the counter.

“You’re rich, we get it,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she yawned dramatically.

“Admit it,” he teased, pulling her closer. “You love this about me.”

She shook her head, laughing despite herself. “I love you, you idiot. Not your impulsive billionaire stunts.”

“Well, you get both,” he said smugly, his arms slipping around her waist. “Lucky you.”

As she rested her head against his chest, the smell of his cologne made her sigh in contentment. The moment was almost perfect—almost.

“Wait,” she said, pulling back slightly. “Did you actually buy the bookstore?”

Nathan grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Maybe.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Nathan—”

“Fine, fine,” he admitted, chuckling. “I didn’t buy it. But I did get them to reserve every book you picked out. Happy now?”

She groaned, smacking his chest lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” he countered, capturing her lips in a kiss before she could retort.

As they left the store, her arms full of books and his wallet significantly lighter, Nathan suddenly stopped, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What now?” she asked warily.

“Nothing,” he said innocently. “Just wondering how long it’ll take before you want to buy the next bookstore.”

“Keep it up, Bateman,” she warned, “and I’ll make you carry all these books to the car.”

He grinned, scooping her into his arms instead. “Deal.”

She gasped, laughing as he carried her down the street. “Nathan, put me down!”

“Nope. You’re mine now. Just like your ridiculous book collection.”

#nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #ex machina #oscar isaac character #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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xxxdragonfucker69xxx · 7 months ago

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hi folks. its been a long week. but its time for HOUR IN BRASS

for those just joining us, a new exalted splat is being released; when this happens, i usually lose my shit and liveread through the charms; this time it's the alchemical exalted, golem-robot-communists inside the belly of the machine god autochthon. if you wish to avoid this, you will blacklist #hour in brass

first third of charms:

Howdy Mother Fuckers. its time for HOUR IN BRASS

starting with: the horniest chapter fiction so far

the alchemical paradigm is that you have only so many charm slots for active charms at a time, but that most charms have submodules that add on without taking more slots. they have to swap charms in and out with the rite of reconfiguration. their dice limit is Ess+Attribute BUT one of their biggest charms is going to make their math oh whatever here it comes

TRANSPUISSANT ATTRIBUTE UPGRADE aka transpussy assribute ultima. which raises your resting attribute by 1, starts to stack at higher essences, and comes with a load of submodules to let you swap what attributes are used for what. god im fucking excited to have these around. unwavering sniper calibration to snipe with perception, for example

actually they have a lot of wacky universal charms about integrating with hearthstones, artifacts, stuff like that. robots be customizing bodies. i do want to point out vat surrogate reweaving system, which lets you speed-swap charms once between reconfigurations. i read it and immediately thought camilla hect Go Loud and started cackling

yes alchemicals can still go colossus and eventually turn into cities. though metropolis play is not mechanically supported

ok appearance. starting with radiant iconography array: anima holograms, but they do stuff like become realistic illusions or huge legendary size stuff

emotive aesthetics of the body electric naturally bangs

patriotism-provoking display has many-is-one node and one-is-many node as submodules, whihc are fun

universal advisor comportment is fun, makes you feel sagacious and advisorly

beguiling aestheic perfection is fun, when you socially affect someone they suffer trying to beat your guile for the rest of the scene. i have suffered this irl many times

pheromone regulation system… i cannot make any jokes about this that arent crass. i once knew someone who was turned on by the smell of xbox exhaust

man the submodule tech is really realyl nice. this is a great fucking way for charms to work. you can flashbang people with blinding strobe projector and then on top of that you can choose to enter stealth, steal more initiative, or make it rainbow

its really interesting to me that appearance is getting so many teacherly charms. with illuminating inspiration beacon "The Alchemical’s faith in her students shines through in every aspect of her neon-limned visage"

damn, and from there is psyche-stabilizing beacon, where you radiate such comfort that it helps people resist brain curses

theotropic veneration mantle rocks. project a principle to the exclsuion of others, and those who share the principle see you as a holy figure

i sort of hate glistering obsession nodes. i dont want to glister. it makes people obsessed with me if they can't figure me out

ooh, disguises in appearance subterfuge. including stuff to appear human, or as a dfferent exalted

optical shroud, a classic, predator invisibility

apocryphal operative halo is really interesting, MIB neuralyzer

semiotic flare projector is a really cute concept. almost as cute as supreme icon of battlefield glory. when you kick ass on the battlefield your troops love it, and you can make your enemies hate it, and at e4 you can project it over the entire battlefield

alright, charisma. starting with effective leadership algorithm, both a great example of alchie flavor and of submodule tech bc its just a menu of submodules that let you decide what kinda rolls you use it on, whether youre using faction-building unity or overriding authority mode

oh synergy promoting upgrade is interesting. helps with bureaucracy if youre leadering, gets better if your group likes you, SPU: communal supremacy makes it better if its for a community, SPU: lifestyle cooperation paradigm makes your group like each other

hdkfghdfjsg universal authorization chevron. the cool s. intuitively recognized as a symbol of authority. UAC: axiomatic emblem means even gremlins/fae/undead recognize you with wary deference. UAC: perfected delegation emblem lets you hand out copies to deputies

heresy declaration beacon, lets fucking go

radiant emblem of integrity is interesting… if you speak the complete truth everyone knows that its the complete truth, and it can also authenticate replays of events projected with radiant iconography array. also if you tell the truth and it sucks, gain wp. fantastically built charm. oh the submodule lets you make it permanent and mandatory

electric fervor inspiration is a set of orichalcum electrodes implanted behind the alchemical's jaw. thats fucked up. oh it lets you reset social rolls thats differently fucked up

battle anthem of the alchemical exalted! made it in! oh this is just a menu of songs thats super neat. including thousand work shifts ballad… and double music

similarly with programming language eloquence "A breaker between the Alchemical’s frontal and temporal lobes filters unnecessary emotion from her communications…" im really having fun with this

damn propaganda interdiction signal: void-quelling chastisement means that gribblies can't call on principles to resist your influence to hangout with mortals

something about vox populi broadcast really compels me. its just a charm to speak loudly but you can submodule it to communicate only with allies or to cut through magical silence.. and its speakers implanted in your throat

ideological override circuitry…

FEAR OVERRIDE DEVICE in warfare

homeguard reinforcement clarion… whip up that militia

dexterityyyy okay we're getting into the combat charms now

omg magnetic subdual coils to steal weapons. including a pulse blaster submodule, field projector, magnetron…

protosynthetic ammunition replicator, as expected, but thankully it is reloaded with "an articulated metal tendril". & btw dispersive flash-chaff cluster to make it a flashbang arrow, fulminating conduction charge to make it a stun arrow, concussive overpressure warhead to make it a knockdown, airburst grenade

being able to group all the "fast attack" charms in one place is fun, the submodules have a cute menu of extra ways to use it

damn, blinding velocity actuator upgrades you to a surprise attack if youre fast enough?

i like that gear-driven reflex automation is, past all the prereqs and flavor lines and stuff, exactly one line of charm. and then some fun submodules. wait damn withering counterattck at e3, with tactical reaction matrix

hacking multistrike accelerator to "enact pre-programmed motions" in pursuit of… erm… well… ok wait forget that this is a really cool charm. doesnt use all your initiative on the decisive, this feels like itd be real fun to fuck with espcially with the submodules

dsjksdks subluminous onslaught: kinetic launch catapult lets you like launch a fucking sword to short range. or your fists

ESSENCE PULSE CANNON. lets fucking go. again the submodules are really cool: concussive, focused, precision, de hey. Sieve Devastator Mode. its sheer heft provides her with heavy cover

skjfdsf autonomous assault processors makes (Dex-2) attacks, but dont forget you could be augmened enough for that to be 4 attacks at e2 anyways, 5 at e3 (if i remember the TAU rules right).

oh shitt transmodal rapid targeting system, bend that bullet. psychokinetic vectors. sdhksdfs this damage calculation is really funny. damn this is fully just children of the sun or whatever that game was. epic

TRANSFINITE ULTRAVIOLENCE DRIVE. time stands still. and then you bank attacks, which seems really fun. shjdskf and TUD: omnitactical processing core lets you add more withering attacks on top

oh huh accelerated response system: unwavering precision lets you not take onslaught if you successfully defend against lower init enemies. thats probably not that strong but it feels strong

casualty-minimizing equations is a damn good name

perfectly parallel defensive geometry…

oh light-etched interceptor barrier is fun. roll parry instead of static. and essence absorption screen lets you eat energy attacks with it

autonomous defensive drones AERIAL! actually theyre more like murderbot drones, they orbit and defend you. … damn, they cant be withered and theyve got almost as many hls as a starting character, theyre a pain to take out. their DO Parry is (Dex+1) so they're like fantastic for ranged fighters who dont parry or dodge

precalculated evasion system lets you bank dodge successes… kind of like light-etched interceptor but not. really interesting. hey what its simple?

omnisituational evasive equation is a fantastic name. ts the perfect dodge. OEE: hyperspatial geometry is really fun

cyclical velocity treads! heelies!!!

and then theres… oil slick dispenser nozzles… in your calves. i love wacky races

momentum-charged overdrive engine is a bangin name… a preprogrammed sequence of combat acrobatics

inclding jet boosters in optimized pursuit accelerator… ts really funny that al these red jade rush charms are also like "ugh fine you can also use these to run away if you have to"

transphase engine… walk through fucking walls

sjdflskdf digital precision effectors splits open your fingertips

covert telemetry mode…

counterharmonic scatter system is just like a really fun charm name. im having a lot of fun with charm names. displaces the sound of you

sdjlfsdf flicker-flare launchers are a flashbang to just immediately enter concealment

ooh matchless assassin protocols… reflexively stealth after a disengage or distract

hyperdextrous tentacle apparatus. can someone get astrakiseki on the phone

total perception negation field. if you see me no you didnt. ending, of course, in unseen deathblow calibration

and thats the first third. im like getting really alchemicalpilled rn. its hot

#hour in brass

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3-2-whump · 2 months ago

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IKEA Trip

I could've been creative and given the infamous furniture and home goods warehouse a different name, but no, wasn't creative enough 🙃😛 I sincerely hope this chapter doesn't read as a product endorsement, cause that was not my intent. Thank you @generic-whumperz for clearing this chapter and suggesting to add more details, it reads like an actual trip now! Thanks also for making sure it doesn't read like an advertisement 👍🏼

Author's Note: We will be making extensive reference to The Scent of Jasmine, so if you haven't looked at that already, I'd suggest giving it a skim, if the CW's are agreeable with your reading experience.

TW/CW: allusions and references to past whump (especially in the candle section), conditioned whumpee, emotional angst (whumpee has to make choices!) (whumpee remembers traumatic things), brief emeto (carsickness), referenced past slave whump, financial whump (brief)

Khaled lurched forward in the back seat of the rickety, rusty old Moon Garden catering van as Eric surged ahead on the freeway. The empty bucket between his knees caught what little stomach contents remained inside him since the four of them started this hour and fifteen-minute drive to IKEA. Next to him, Vikash held the edge of the cooler/improvised back seat in a white-knuckled grip while murmuring mantras to every god he could remember. He must’ve cycled through about a dozen so far, ever since they left the neighborhood.

Meanwhile, Cade rode in front with Eric, not so much reading the directions off the mapping app more than yelling frantically at the driver. “You’re gonna want to take that exit–”

“That exit?” Eric asked to confirm.

“Yeah, the one we’re approaching! Go right, right, right–Eric, god!” Car horns blared past them as Eric throttled them toward the correct exit ramp. Vik stopped his chanting and forgot how to breathe. Khaled and Cade braced themselves against the walls of the van to avoid being thrown like rag dolls. Fortunately, without its usual supply of folding tables and stacks upon stacks of aluminum trays, the van was mostly empty, so they didn’t collide into anything, but that meant it was that much harder for Khaled hang onto anything. Cade recovered from the abrupt change in direction first. “Did you have to swerve across three lanes of traffic?!”

“You said right, I got us right, what more do you want?!” Eric demanded.

“For you to drive like a normal person! That’s literally the bare minimum!” Cade cried.

“Look, we all know this trip is going to take some time, so I want us to get there as soon as the warehouse opens, and that wasn’t going to happen with how reluctantly everyone was dragging their feet this morning!” Eric explained, justifying his driving. To everyone’s relief, he had slowed his frenzied speed and began abiding traffic laws again the moment they were off the freeway and back in a commercial district. Cade rolled his eyes as the Moon Garden catering van rolled into the expansive parking lot of the IKEA store.

“Oh, look, a space near the door!” Eric chirped. He threw a smug glance to his passenger seated next to him, and the passengers in the back. “Sure wouldn’t have gotten to park this close if I had ‘driven like a normal person,’ would we?”

“Just shut up and park,” Cade and Vik groaned. Khaled, though he said nothing, was inclined to agree. It was too bad Cade couldn’t drive the van, he thought as he emptied the sick bucket discreetly into a boxwood hedge. Though the veterinary tech had his driver’s license (the only one besides Eric to have one between the four of them), Cade did not know how to drive the manual transmission like Eric did.

A station with reusable bags, tape measures, tiny pencils, and tiny notepads was the first thing the group of four saw when they entered. Cade grabbed a tape measure, and Vik pulled up the attic room’s dimensions on his phone’s notes app to be sure whatever Khaled chose would fit in his new room. “Whatever you choose to get, try to stay within the budget,” he reminded him. Khaled gave a silent nod, and said nothing about the hundred dollar bills burning a hole in his coat pocket. Vik was working off the assumption that he’d be paying for this trip, but since this was Khaled’s room, it seemed only fair that Khaled should pay for it. Still, a budget was probably for the best.

Eric lead the group up the escalator to the first half of the trip, the show room. “This is where you get to see the products they sell in a simulated home environment,” Cade explained. “Like the…” He stooped over a lounge chair and side table set and attempted to read the tag. “Strom-sollig-nin?” he said, screwing up his face.

“Don’t even bother trying to pronounce the names,” Eric advised.

Vikash, meanwhile, was examining an oddly squat, vaguely phallic-shaped lamp perched on another side table. “Bro really let his cat name this lamp, didn’t he,” he chuckled quietly. Khaled glanced over at the lamp and its tag.

“Oh yeah, I bet he just set his kitten on his keyboard and was like, ‘good luck little guy, the more consonants the better!’” Eric laughed. Khaled felt himself let out a soft exhale of a laugh too.

They made their way through the showroom, brushing quickly past living room, dining room, and outdoor furnishings to focus more on the bedroom displays. This perfectly suited Khaled, because the L-shaped couch and the accompanying coffee table they’d just passed looked a little too familiar. So familiar that he was a little surprised there wasn’t a human-shaped replica curled up at the foot of the couch or under the coffee table. And he swore one of the kitchen displays got a shiver out of him as he remembered being backed against the counter and smacked so hard his head hit the cupboards mounted above it. He rubbed the phantom pain at the back of his skull.

They’d stop by every single bed and bedroom display, and the roommate trio would ask him questions like, “Is this the kind of style you want?” or “What do you think of the toe-ka-bol-ho?” or “You do know whatever you see on display in these rooms we can get for your room, right?”

What Khaled wanted to say was, Okay, first, I don’t know my style. I was never allowed to have one. Second, that’s like the sixth lamp you’ve shown me, and they’re all starting to look the same. And above all, yes, I get that that’s the idea behind this show room! But you’re giving me choices–too many choices–and you’re expecting me to not only make them, but believe you’ll listen to them, and to me?! What he said instead was nothing.

Vik tried to coax him out of his overwhelmed silence first. “There are no wrong choices, if that’s what you’re worried about. So long as we don’t go over $1500, it’s all up to you.” Was it any surprise that his advice didn’t make Khaled feel any less anxious?

“I think this bed frame fits the dimensions of your room, and that’s a nice sheet set they’ve got on it,” Cade observed as he tried to help, patting the bed they stood in front of for emphasis.

“Do you want me to get that one?” Khaled asked, latching onto the first sense of direction.

Cade’s smile dropped as he realized what that sounded like. He withdrew his hand from the bed. “I mean, it’s your room, not mine. You get what you want,” he replied.

Eric stooped down to pick something off the floor. “Open your palm,” he directed. Khaled wordlessly obeyed, only for Eric to drop in a small, shiny penny.

“What’s this–?”

“If you really can’t make up your mind, flip the coin,” Eric explained. “We’ll rephrase our questions into two choices, you flip the coin, and that’ll decide what we buy.” Eric took Khaled’s hand that wasn’t holding the penny to steer him to another bed in the show room, one with similar dimensions and a different look entirely. “Do you want to try?” he offered.

That lifted the burden of decision-making off Khaled’s shoulders. “Y-yeah, okay.”

“Great! So, the bedframe Cade showed you is heads, and this one is tails. Which one shall it be?”

Khaled flipped the coin up in the air, caught it, and read the results. “Tails.” Vik turned over the bed frame’s tag and dutifully noted the product’s location in his note-taking app.

While the coin flip system wasn’t perfect, it did mean they progressed through the show room much quicker. They split into roles: Cade found items, Eric presented them into choices of two, Khaled flipped the coin, and Vik wrote it down. Near the end, Eric had to say “No, no, you don’t have to do the coin flip for something you obviously want!”

“How do you know I want it?” Khaled asked, putting the penny back in his closed palm. He wasn’t being very subtle, he guessed, staring wistfully up at the string light canopy for a solid minute before Cade had asked if he wanted to buy them. Vikash recorded the string lights in his notes.

By the time the group took a break at the cafeteria for lunch, it was close to 3:00 PM, far past the usual lunch hours. “What a time vacuum,” Cade muttered as he grabbed a plastic tray from the stack. Eating so late had made Cade cranky, Vik distracted, and Eric sluggish, but they began perking up as soon as they got food in their stomachs.

They headed down to the warehouse level, where they could locate the products Vikash had written down. “Remember, stick solely to the list,” Vik advised, pulling a shopping cart free. That plan broke down within minutes as the guys discovered overflowing bins of stuffed animals and other toys. “This is Blenny Sharky-Shark, and he wants you to take him home!” Eric said in a silly voice, waving a stuffed shark in Khaled’s face.

That got a genuine laugh out of the young man, who took the shark from Eric’s grasp and tucked it under his arm, a difficult task, considering how big the toy was. It’s bigger than the twins! a stray thought whispered in his head. Khaled’s smile dimmed in brightness. The twins would be thirteen by now, he remembered. Way bigger than this shark plushie. Which means Ayesha would be, what, nineteen? And Yusuf–he’d be twenty! Khaled blinked slowly, taking it in. He knew it would happen, but the realization of how old his siblings were now opened a chasm deep within him. A chasm that felt a lot like time that had passed beyond his control, a large part of his life stolen from him, and time that he’d never get back–

Cade distracted him from that descent with a well-timed detour to a shelf full of candles. “I’m surprised they sell candles here, scented or unscented!” he said.

“I know I’ve been here before, but I must’ve completely skipped this section,” Eric commented.

Khaled picked up one of the scented candles and sniffed, working his way down the line. Vanilla, like a sweet coffee creamer, eucalyptus, like Vikash’s favorite shower gel, and–

Jasmine.

Khaled’s vision darkened as his mind lurched him back to a recently suppressed memory. He felt warm water biting at his frigid bare skin. Hands massaged shampoo into his hair, the very same hands that held a gun to his head not that long ago. Gray eyes as warm and affectionate as a sun-warmed gravestone stared down at him as a disembodied voice whispered words he was too far gone to remember. And through it all, the scent of jasmine.

He didn’t fully snap back to himself until one of the guys–Vikash–lowered the candle from his face. “Hey? You good?”

Khaled blinked. He registered where he was, who was with him, how dry and clothed he was, and nodded.

“You looked lost, where did your mind go?” Vik asked.

“To the bath I was given on the night I nearly died,” Khaled answered before his brain could fully process the words.

If he could’ve photographed and framed Vik, Eric, and Cade’s faces in that moment, he would’ve displayed it as ‘Second-hand Traumatizing My Roommates.’ The candle rattled as Khaled quickly set it back on the shelf. “It was a long time ago, I’m okay now,” he lied. He urged them forward and changed the subject to avoid the worried stares they gave him. “Come on, let’s pick out my desk!”

In the end, they walked out of the iconic warehouse store with a bedframe, a mattress, a nightstand, a lamp, yards upon yards of string lights, pillows, bedsheets, blankets, a rug, a dresser, a rack, a desk set, a pack of coat hangers, and a stuffed shark plushie.

Khaled fished a wad of hundred dollar bills from his coat pocket and paid for all his things in cash at the checkout. It came from the stash of money he’d made at his jobs, the cash he’d grabbed at the last minute before leaving that fateful morning. It was all the money Khaled had, so he double-counted the change he’d received before pocketed the rest of it. He turned around to witness his roommates’ disbelief. Eric glanced slack-jawed at Vik, who was putting his credit card back in his wallet, and Cade gawked incredulously at the bills making a lump in his coat pocket. “What?” Khaled asked.

“Where did you get all that money from?” Cade asked as Vik pushed the cart towards the exit. “You didn’t steal it, did you? Which, I won’t judge you for,” he added last minute, in response to Khaled’s affronted expression.

“No, I earned this money! I don’t steal, this is all mine!” Cade held up his hands in a surrendering, apologetic gesture.

Eric unlocked the Moon Garden Catering van, opening the back so Vik could start loading everything in. “I thought slaves weren’t allowed to make money,” Eric said.

“Or if they did, that it would all go to their, um, owner,” Vik added, cringing around the word.

Khaled took out his stuffed shark and tossed it on top of the pile of furniture, trusting it to remain vomit-free on the ride back if it wasn’t in his arms. “Well, I was allowed to make my own money for a little bit, before Mas–I mean, Mr. Costa, changed his mind. I also took a side job without his knowledge,” he explained as he closed the back of the van. He briefly wondered how Julio was, and when he’d come back from his self-imposed exile.

“How much did you make before Mr. Costa changed his mind?” Vik asked.

Khaled paused to do a quick mental calculation. “I made… $6,523 between August of last year to late January, if we’re counting the pay from both jobs.” He’d really worked his ass off that last fall and winter. “That’s all I have to my name, and I just spent…” He remembered he went a bit over the budget once they found the closeout section with its temptingly discounted prices. “I spent about a quarter of it on this trip...” Khaled grimaced. He muttered a small curse as he took it in. This reserve of cash was going to dry up quick if he didn’t find work, he realized.

Eric hopped into the driver’s seat, urging the passengers in so they could get a head-start on the rush hour traffic. The remaining three roommates reluctantly filed in for their tortuous one hour and fifteen-minute ride home.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @borp0 @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94

#whump writing #recovery whump #allusions and references to past whump #conditioned whumpee #emotional angst #reliving traumatic memories whump #brief emeto mention #referenced past slave whump #financial whump #multiple caretakers #we're finally furnishing Khaled's new attic bedroom

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ralnorthedegenerate-blog · 8 days ago

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The famous Vader quote springs to mind here. "I am altering the deal, pray I do not alter it further"

Its frustrating to watch this poisoned chalice be imbibed by imbeciles, after being told time and time again that we as citizens did not want this, nor wanted $300B of additional spending on security assets that wouldn't be in service till the next ice age…

Considering that one side can just choose to 'Not' deliver what was agreed on or alter the terms and arrangements, seems like it was always a one sided deal and not something a government that takes its role as custodian and protector seriously, should have ever acknowledged but here we are…

The timeline for construction considering; the manufacturing issues within the US, its own defense requirements, and the fact that- oh I don't know- the current administration is sparking a civil conflict, just might raise some concerns in Canberra that we, like our fascinations with Nuclear power, will not be able to see it deployed until 2040-50 if we even see it at all. And even then, it is becoming increasingly likely that instead of a sovereign capability in our ports, we will instead have subs for hire, paying for both the construction and prolonged MLM scheme to even have them in our country, let alone the costs to run them.

Art of the deal I guess…

But I want to delve a bit deeper here.

Why are we doing this?

It is clear as day that this deal doesn't stack up for Australia so why bother? Considering the possible cost blowouts, timeline delays, and host of other vendors we could have approached for this- it seems like we chose the worst option, the highest price and longest wait.

Australia is (and pardon my use of the severely overstated trope line) in a 'unique' position.

More than anything, as an island nation, we require a navy to both secure our waters and our trade routes. "Against what" you might ask, well China of course… And if the irony isn't lost on you there, congratulations!

But to be fair, we have seen a build up of key indo-asia specific regional players and both their defense asset deployment and rhetoric. This was clear a few months ago from this post's date, when a Chinese Navy flotilla navigated the international water boarder around Australia. And being fair yet again, we do this as well and in the ever prolonged dick waving that is the flexing of military might, this hardly qualifies as a reason to spend on its own.

But since we have also seen a use of military to posture around Taiwan and Indonesia, as well as a large effort to procure deals with our surrounding neighbors through gifts or funds for infrastructure, we are becoming increasingly worried about their force projection into Oceania, and in this context, it makes sense that Australia would want to make sure one of our key components in our Naval defense doctrine is top of the line, and readily available.

But there in lies a problem- we need it now, not in decades- now. So cutting the deal with the French made the delay even greater, and we still had to pay them for the contract breach, which absolutely should be added onto the final cost of this deal, as it was part of what we had to initially pay for something we never even got.

Thanks conservatives…

So why go with the US option?

America is our closest defense partner, and has been for decades. The information and tech we share is akin to America/Canada, as is befitting a country that holds the same values of democratic rule (e.g a slow decent into autocracy and the death of the utopic ideal) So it does make sense to go with them when it comes to arms and equipment, both because of the aforementioned defense ties and large scale production of quality defense products.

You could buy 100 T-90s, or 10 Abrams, And in every situation, you buy 10 Abrams, because they are that fucking good. American military industrial complex?

I find it rather simple.

But that doesn't extend to all facets of military production, especially when it comes to ship building. The US is lagging behind on its own capabilities, and without investment into this sector from the current administration (who are much to busy golfing, leaking classified information to our enemies and imprisoning and deporting toddlers to worry about such things) it will continue to decline and both ours and America's capabilities will not meet required targets.

And this hasn't been a recent issue, this was an issue for years prior the Aukus arrangement, we knew about it and one of the requirements under Biden and now Trump, was an increased spending in ship building sectors to help meet demand. But this has not happened, and now we are in this position where we have to continue to fund the creation of subs that do not have the capacity to be created yet.

So again, to summarize; The subs will not be built on time, for a huge cost, will most likely not be ours should they arrive, or could not be built at all and we will have no recourse to claim that money back, due to the current administrations aversion to taking responsibility.

Why then do we persist in this funding folly?

To answer that, we must return to our old friend of rhetorical affirmation…

"What do you think will happen, when we pull out of a multi-billion dollar pay check for America under the worlds most egotistical topee?"

The retaliation for what will, it absolutely will, be seen as a betrayal if Australia removes itself from the deal will be catastrophic, especially so if we think we don't need to pay a cent afterwards.

If we decided today, that we didn't want to spend anymore on this clown car of developmental woes, we would be raked over the coals by the current administration through both economic and diplomatic means. Because that is how the current Trump admin operates when it comes to those it deems bad, and I don't think I need to point to anywhere as an example, because 'everywhere' is a fucking example at this point.

And if we don't affirm a change to the deal that would, as previously mentioned, reduce our naval capacity to a subscription to OnlySubs- the same result would be on the table, just with more whining from Mr.Art Deal.

Now, under Biden, this deal still wasn't great- the same issues just without the whole fascism stuff going on. But since in the last 4 years, global politics has shifted dramatically, we are now in an even worse position, still holding the chalice.

So what are our options now?

We can choose to go down the path of divestiture, which would pretty much spell out martyr in bright green and gold letters for the world to see, this will greatly impact Australia, especially for lower and middle class, who will have to bare the brunt of another sharp cost of living rise, should America demand its dues through economic strangleholds.

We have the option of simply paying off the debt using defense spending, but that is political suicide. To do it twice for the same capability is insane and will just mean that the conservatives will return to power again sooner, as they 'love' pointing out the center parties budget blowouts, even when they are the ones that orchestrated them… And then the problems with the rise of fascism in the west will continue to grow here.

We can continue to pay into the scheme, until the administration changes in… Oh god 4 fucking years, ITS ONLY BEEN 5 MONTHS WHAT THE FUCK…. Which again is not really a solution either, as we are basically throwing money into a high risk, low reward investment portfolio that can be audited at any time.

None of these options are good for Australia.

But that is the point of a poisoned chalice after all…

So who do we blame?

Oh that one is easy.

It is former disgraced Prime Minister: Scott Shitshimself Morrison seen here at Trump's inauguration party.

(First time putting an image in a tumblr post mid text so if it doesn't format correct, I blame me)

He is currently advocating that we should keep the deal, because of course he his- its his deal and it enriches America at a time where it needs a lot of money extorted from its allies to fund all the state sponsored kidnapping and military birthday parades.

He is also on Trumps shortlist for ambassador to Australia, not that it his choice, ousting the current Kevin Rudd, who has been tirelessly fighting against right wing propaganda here and abroad, while navigating the collective interests of both countries and has been doing this for years since leaving the PM's office.

I could go on for hours about how slimy this man is, but for my own sanity, I will refrain.

(ok I won't for a second because I feel like some context for sliminess is needed, umm- he tried to be a king… No I'm not kidding- he swore himself into multiple ministries in secret to hoard power under the guise of Covid measures, which is something you should not be able to do, then lied about how many portfolios he undertook from his other ministers. Basically, the PM can't just snap his fingers and order things, doesn't work like that, we have ministers who are the heads of departments and make decisions, so he was able to go over their heads and veto what they try to do without them knowing until the decision is finalized and no one could tell him he can't because he is technically the minister for that department. He is a slimy piece of power hungry shit, he's also a member of Hillsong and dear god that should speak volumes about the type of religious man he is(n't) )

He is the reason we are in this position in the first place and all valid criticism of his actions should be placed squarely at his feet. So the fact that he can be asked without a hint of irony about the taste of the poison he so kindly left us with, is fucking wild to me.

And if you ever see him in public, please tell him he is a cunt.

So what now?

Get up and start calling your local members, tell them you don't want this.

Make yourself heard on online platforms.

Advocate for the divestiture, tell people about it-

Yes its hard, some people do not either understand the ramifications of this deal and some people switch off of politics all together but doing nothing at all, results in nothing.

The standard you walk past is the standard you accept.

And while I do understand that it shouldn't be up to us to do all this…

I turn once again to rhetorical affirmation…

"Who else will?"

#auspol #australia #politics #aukus #rant #hey I know things are bad right now #but there is always dark before the dawn #also I meant to post a lot more but I got caught up in satisfactory #pipe flow rates are my nemesis #why do trucks suddenly disappear every time I am near

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