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ask-the-riders · 3 years

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OC question 9 for the riders!

9) What is your character's trigger point? What makes them angry, sad or makes them go off?

[Death lets out a deep sigh, running a hand over his head]

Well, let's see.... I guess my main ones are when people make assumptions about me and try to tell me how I should be living my life. Those are always super annoying, and if they try to push the issue, then I start to get a little mad. As far as things that make me sad go... Uhh...

[He looks as if he starts to remember something and he frowns, his brow bones furrowing]

There are two things. The first is when I have to collect the souls of kids and babies. Babies especially, since they weren't able to get the chance to grow up, and since they're like the embodiment of innocence. The other thing that makes me sad sometimes... In all honesty, it's Connie. I know she has a lot of thoughts and feelings on things, especially about me, and even if hearing them might hurt, I'd rather she let it all out. If she keeps holding everything in, it'll hurt her more than it could ever hurt me

I still really care about her a lot, and she's the mother of my son, so yeah, I love her, in a way. I don't like that she's choosing to hurt herself via bottled up emotions

((more under the cut, to keep this from being too ungodly long))

[Famine makes a low sound in acknowledgment, tilting his head as he looks at you]

I dunno if it's the same kinda "trigger point" that you're askin' about, but I can't handle the smell a' human blood. it's like it makes me forget where I am, and all I feel in that moment is starvin'. makes me wanna do really bad things ta perfectly innocent, oblivious people, should they ever bleed at all while I'm nearby

things that make me mad though, uhh..... people makin' assumptions and treatin' me like some kinda criminal because a' what I've done. also not a fan a' people that'd abandon their families, either. then stuff that makes me sad, that's easy. thinkin' about my family too much'll do that. thinkin' about how I let down my mom and Paps, and how I killed a perfectly innocent kid who didn't deserve ta die...

[He trails off, silent for a moment before offering you a smile that seems forced]

...'m gonna shut up now, before I make myself all depressed and mopey again

[Pestilence hums in consideration, arching a brow bone]

uhhh.... well, I guess stuff that makes me mad is when the people I care for are wronged, somehow. I get yelled at, called names, and even nearly assaulted sometimes just for wanting to go out and loiter in the human world, which is fine. I can take it. what I won't stand for though is any of my friends or family being treated that way. War, especially. if she's hurt in any way whatsoever, be it physically, emotionally, mentally, whatever, then someone's gonna have a hell of a lot of explaining to do

then stuff that makes me sad, uh, well. I guess for starters, watching my soulmate struggle and beat herself up over things sometimes. she's getting better about it, but on her bad days, she needs so much reassurance and care, and I hate that I can't do anything to erase her pain. I also get a little sad when I think about my old friends and my old home. all of it has been gone for a long time now, which really sucks because there's so much I wish I could've shown War, but it's ok. there's nothing I can do about it, so I just have to try to move on

[War frowns, furrowing her brow bones]

I kinda have a reputation for being moody and angry, so as you can probably imagine, there's a lot that makes me mad sometimes. If we're going for specifics though, a really basic one is the fact that I've learned and accepted that I deserved a lot better than what I went through as a kid. I get mad sometimes because I think about that and I know that I didn't deserve to be treated that way by Error. I did nothing to him, so he had NO RIGHT to treat me like garbage

I also get a little irritated when people eat my damn chocolate without asking, too. Maybe that one isn't as serious, but it's still annoying as hell

Then stuff that makes me sad.... Uhhh

[She's quiet for a minute and her eye lights almost seem to become a bit blurry, her figure fizzling a little]

The fact that I didn't meet my dad and my family sooner. I would've been so much happier with them, and not as screwed up as I am now. Also, in thinking about Error... It also makes me kinda sad too that no matter what I did, I was never good enough for him. Nothing I did would've ever been enough to make him love me the way a parent should, and that really hurts

[Retribution lets out a deep sigh, leaning back in his seat and frowning]

Bullying is what pisses me off the most, right after Othni. If I see any bullying happening, I'll step in and deal with it as I see fit. Not being treated with the respect that is due is also something that angers and irks me. I didn't suffer at the hands of those villagers 500 years ago just to get verbally abused and harassed by some pathetic, small-minded idiots now. I will get the respect that I deserve, end of story

Being aware of my sister's emotional pain but not being able to do anything about makes me both angry and sad, because all I want is for her to be happy

Things that sadden me, though.... Well, thinking about Dream and Lenore is one. I know technically Dream came back as Connie, but it's still not quite the same as it was before. Things are different now, and it's a little hard to cope with at times. I do miss Lenore quite a bit, too. Sure, she's attached her spirit to the orb of darkness, but even if I can still sense her feelings from time to time, it's not the same as hearing her voice, or feeling her physical presence beside me. She was the kindest human I've ever met, and if I could've kept her around longer, I would've do so without a second thought

[Conquest hums, a thoughtful look on her face]

There's not really a whole lot that makes me mad, in all honesty. All I can think of would be when the people that I care about are hurt or wronged, or when they're judged by others for things that they can't help. Like Mortem, for example. He likes to wear an eye patch over his bad eye, because it can be sensitive to light sometimes and because he doesn't like seeing it in his reflection. He also thinks that wearing an eye patch makes him look cool, which I fully support

When we go anywhere new, there's always people who stare at him judgementally, and that can be aggravating. I usually just hope and pray that no one says anything that could make him feel self-conscious. If they do end up making him feel that way, I'm immediately involved and I have to figure out how to drive them off, that way I can get to giving my son all the reassurance and love that he needs

[She frowns, pausing for a brief moment]

Then things that make me sad... Well... It'd be thinking about the people I've lost, in my life. First it was my parents, and then it was Calypso. After her was Cobalt, and the rest of the group I was with. Then a little while later, Soren was forced to leave, too. I'm still in contact with him, of course behind Death's back, but it sucks that he's not around. And then... And then I lost Death, too. In a different context, obviously, but still

I'm saddened by the realization that he's perfectly happy and fine without me, and that I was so easily replaced. But, I'm still happy that he's doing well though!

[Her frown deepens and she lowers her voice a little]

....Well enough to start a family with one of my best friends

[Abrael furrows their brow bones, silent for a moment in thought]

For me... I think what makes me the angriest is when people come along and expect me to be a certain way, and to live up to all of their expectations. They're not my family, and certainly no one I care about, so I'm under no obligations to be what they'd consider "the perfect individual."

[Their brow bones somehow become more furrowed and they make a face]

Then what makes me sad... Well... I think it's that my home is gone, my family is gone, a lot of my culture is so different now that it might as well be gone, my reputation is gone, and that the rum is gone. It's always, always gone, no matter where I hide it. I haven't actually touched any of it in a while now, but that doesn't mean I don't still like to keep a secret stash, anyway

I feel like I've got nothing left, and absolutely nothing to look forward to. Like I said, my family's dead, my home and culture are gone, my reputation has fizzled away and means nothing, and I've been forced to take on a role and a job that I never wanted or asked for. The only reason I get out of bed anymore is because Connie won't let me sleep in

#anon #asks #death speaks #fam speaks #pest speaks #war speaks #ret speaks #connie speaks #abrael speaks #damnit famine; stop making me feel things #also; abby is a liar #they keep getting out of bed everyday because they like being around Connie #she makes them feel things and she helps them learn and improve themselves #abby also thinks she's really pretty and likes getting to make her laugh #so there's that #long answer

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auraticmaniac · 4 years

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i have a lot of unfinished thots-

Famine. {Hawks x fem!reader}—Will definitely come out somewhere on December... In the meantime have some fucked-up ✨imaginations✨

-🧸Childhood dreams.🧸-

———————————————————————————————————

Pretty much, you and Tenko are childhood friends. Then he falls for you, yadda yadda—blah blah blah, innocent crush turning into pure obsession... He tries to win you over but fails miserably and since he’s delusional, he believes you love him more than your partner...

*sighs dreamily* I do love bad endings.

||Shimura Tenko x gn!reader||

tw. death threats, asphyxiation, manipulation. Damnit Tenko! Why can’t you be a normal person? Fucked up.

You and Tenko have been close for as long as you can remember, not once have you guys fell apart. But, something seems off—for the past few days you’ve been seeing him everywhere; he doesn’t seem to disappear in your sights not even once. To the eyes of anyone both of you look exactly like a couple, to you, it’s the opposite... He’s been clinging onto you like a tick that digs through the layers of your skin; trying to burrow itself into you physically and mentally. You can’t even formulate the words you wanted to tell him because of his pitiful remarks—

“I.. I see.. You don’t want to hang out with me anymore because I’m weird and a lot of people think I’m weird... So.. I understand.” He’s making you feel guilty, you can tell by the way he quietly sniffles and that unnerving smile hiding behind his palm as he tries to hold in his cries and yet, why aren’t you turning your back on him? You should leave him alone—it seems as if your body is forcing you to stay and comfort him, like the good best friend that you are.

Maybe it’s because you’ve grown used to this toxic friendship he’s been building up through the years... you can feel his tears dripping down your shirt making it damp—it feels so much like acid; his crocodile tears burns right through your clothes, for fuck’s sake please let this stop the anger bubbling up inside you seems to be clogged and pushed down in the pit of your stomach, some part of your mind convinces you to give him a chance and rebuild this friendship, oh, how badly you wanted to laugh.

“Y/N?” Hearing your name in his voice made you gag and sneer in disgust—“yes?” he held you tighter; you wanted to pull away before he unintentionally breaks your bones. “Do you love me?” Well in this case you truly don’t, in the past yes; you were an absolute naive bitch at that time but now, you don’t. “Yes I do...” You gave him an awkward pat on the back and a light kiss on the cheek, are you really under his control? Or without him, you have no one else to talk to? “Why would you ask such an obvious question?”

“If you love me so much why are you dating Dabi over me?” He’s holding you so tightly now and you’re running out of breath to even speak, “Tenko..Gah! You‘re, f—fuck! Hurting me!” You tried to push him away but fuck! Why is he so strong?

“Am I? Oh, I’m sorry baby~” He lets go of you making you drop on your knees and hug your torso as you wheeze. Your shaking hands held onto his leg, you looked at him in pure pain and hatred, “I’ve put up with you for years you little bitch and this is how you treat me?” He grimaced at your pathetic state—oh, now he’s acting up? It should be you, it’s you that felt the worst shit in your entire life because of him.

“Oh, go die in a fire...” before you knew it, he wrapped his hands around your fragile neck.

You gasped and tried to pry his hands away, he’s crushing your windpipe and it’s starting to make you feel hazy. “I can fucking kill you right now and you won’t be tormenting me anymore...” His face contorts into pure malice, he’s laughing; he’s laughing at your weak attempt on pushing his hands away.

“I’m, hah... S-sorry..Gah.” You couldn’t help it..Tears started flowing down your face, you still held onto his forearm. He stopped smiling once you’re looking at him in tears; he didn’t stop on crushing your throat though.

This is how it ends? You thought, I’m gonna die in the hands of my childhood friend. But Tenko is having none of that, he’s not going to kill you. Not yet.

You felt his hands loosen, “I don’t feel like killing you... I can’t do that because I still love you~!” He suddenly switches from a murderer to a delusional lover. You looked at him, eyes wide while you catch your breath that he took moments ago. “W-what?”

He giggles at your confusion, “Oh~ Baby! I’m not going to kill you~! I know why you’re being like this~!” He cooed and kissed your nose, of course, he’s a fuckin’ sicko!

“You just wanted to make me jealous and kill that bastard in front of you~! Oh, you~” He squished your cheeks treating you like a child who’s starved for attention. You’re too weak to even fight back or run away from him, “you’re fucked up—“ you felt a sharp sting on your cheek, Tenko slapped you.

He’s fuming with anger; he didn’t like that. “You made me this way, I’m crazy for you!” Anger switched into laughter, he’s a bundled mess. You don’t care for him anymore, the only thing you’re caring about is yourself in this situation—but you already know how this ends, he’ll take you away, chain you up like an animal in his basement, spread the news that you’re dead so people won’t come and look for you...Oh! And kill your cheating burnt bitch.

🐻——————T H E E N D——————🐻

#bnha #weird writer #writers on tumblr #writing #yandere #gender neutral reader #I’m making this really depressing #shigaraki x reader #shimura tenko #no quirks au #angst i guess #death threats

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goodfemalecharacters · 5 years

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15x03 Coda: Consolation Prize

Three sad vignettes for three sad dudes. Destiel, Samwitch of a sort, 1.5k

It’s over.

It’s over, it’s over, it’s over, it’s over, it’s over.

Dean repeats the words in his head, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to lose it. Lose what? He’s not sure. His remaining thread of sanity, maybe. Or his ability to stop himself from hurling every item in the Bunker’s kitchen on the floor.

If it were really over, if they’d really beaten Chuck’s last challenge, if they’d really escaped the rat race they’ve been stuck in since day one, then he’d feel something, wouldn’t he? Relief. Peace. Instead, he’s every bit as empty as Famine—as Chuck?—had said he was all those years ago.

Winning would feel like cooking Mom a full meal, no nostalgic Winchester Surprise anywhere in sight, and teaching her to make a pie. Like playing catch with Dad like they did before the fire, talking about nothing important. Like watching a smile spread across Sammy’s face, not one of those pinched, drawn things that have been twisting his features for a decade. Like teaching Jack how to drive, properly this time.

Like telling Cas—well. It doesn’t matter now, does it?

Because Mom and Dad are dead, and Sam just killed the first person in years that he’s actually made a genuine connection with, and a demon wearing Jack’s corpse waltzed it into Hell and never came back, and Cas is gone.

This isn’t what winning is supposed to be like. So what does victory even mean, really?

He’s no philosopher. He’s a guy with a car, a couple guns, a kid brother, and a plucky attitude. Nevermind all the things he doesn’t have. He’s gonna take this victory and he’s gonna enjoy it, damnit. Somehow.

One quick trip to the store and a Google search set him up for the evening. As he’s making his way back to the kitchen, he stops by Sam’s room to listen. It’s quiet, and there’s no light streaming from the crack under the door. Maybe he’s asleep, but Dean knows better than to hope that that’s the case.

Once he’s back in the kitchen, Dean sets about making cookie dough with far more intensity than any reasonable person should. Take that, Chuck. Name one manly man in the whole fucking canon that celebrates his free will with making cookies. If there’s any proof that he’s no longer being yanked around like a dog on a chain, like a puppet on a string, like any number of stupid metaphors that don’t even begin to cover how he feels right now, it’s there.

Right?

By the time he takes the last batch out of the oven, it’s nearly three o’clock in the morning. The stillness of the bunker, which usually comforts him, feels heavy and oppressive. He burns his fingers on the edge of the last pan as he withdraws it from the oven.

Typical.

On his way back to his room, he sets a tray of the warm cookies outside of Sam’s. Like it’s some sort of consolation prize for making their only friend leave.

///

“Samwise, I know you’re the king of deluding yourself, but the math here isn’t hard.”

Sam can feel the breath on the back of his neck, but it’s not warm, not like breath should be, and his own warm breath catches in his throat. He closes his eyes, tenses his shoulders. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

“You’re dead,” he tells the voice, because if he tells himself that it’s just a voice, there won’t actually be someone there when he turns around. “You’re in the Empty.”

“Yeah, sure,” the voice—he’s not naming it, he’s not—says, “keep telling yourself that. You know I’ll be wherever Chuck wants me to be in this little drama of yours, right? You know this, Sam, or you’d turn around and face me.”

Sam knows better than to turn around. After years and years and years of this, he knows not to fall for the goading. But he does, and Lucifer smiles. Sam takes a deep breath, but it doesn’t stop the way his heart is throwing itself at his ribcage like it’s trying to escape.

“I’ll make sure to say hi to Little Red for you. She’s in my territory now, you know.”

This is his poor, screwed-up, exhausted brain spitting old footage, cobbling it together like a trailer for a horror movie.

“She sacrificed herself,” Sam finds himself saying. “She sacrificed herself for the world. If that doesn’t deserve Heaven—”

Lucifer smiles, then, and the words die on Sam’s lips. “It’s cute that you still think any of this is about deserving.”

And then Sam jerks awake, his heart still pounding. He’s managed to twist the sheets around his legs like a mummy, so he takes a second to untangle himself. It’s a long enough process that his breathing has slowed to a normal rate by the time he’s done.

He has to swallow back bile, but he manages to stop himself from vomiting on to his floor. Sam lets his head drop forward to hang between his knees, which causes the angry wound in his shoulder to yell out. His head spins, but he can’t tell if it’s pain or leftover vertigo from the dream.

He hasn’t had one like that since Dean killed—truly, permanently killed—Lucifer.

He’d called Rowena that night, hands still shaking as he searched for her name on his phone. She’d asked for Lucifer’s heart (“Never know when something like that will come in handy, Samuel), and he’d had to decline, seeing as Nick had been using it. Funny, that. It probably would have been better for everyone that way.

He’d been able to hear her relief over the phone, buried as it was in the familiar lilt of her voice. She’d promised a night of toasting his death until they were both well and truly drunk. (“So, two drinks?” he’d teased, and she’d grumbled something about draining wine casks before his great-grandparents had met).

Right. They’d never get that now.

He stretches out on his bed again, on top of the sheets this time, wincing as the motion pulls on the bullethole. He doesn’t get back to sleep before his alarm goes off three hours later.

///

This particular twenty-four hour diner apparently isn’t open twenty-four hours a day—they close at three and reopen at six. The waitress, when Cas points this out to her, shoots him a glare and then proceeds to take over thirty minutes to get him the coffee he’d ordered.

He can’t taste it, of course, but it would be rude to sit here and order nothing. Besides, the slight tingle on his tongue from the caffeine is something, at least. A tiny distraction from the gaping hole in his chest.

During the brief time he’d been human, working at the Gas ’n Sip, he’d passed the long nights when there’d be hours between the customers with daydreams. Fantasies where Dean would pull up outside, walk in with his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. He’d say that they’d managed to lock both Heaven and Hell, returning angels and demons to their places for good. He’d say that it was over, that Cas could come home.

He’d say he needed to finish his shift, and Dean would roll his eyes, but he’d gather the seriousness from Cas’s voice and stay by the register for the rest of the evening. He’d buy dozens of packs of gum as he chewed his way through them, and he’d flip through so much of a magazine that Cas would insist that he buy it, too. He’d keep up a quiet stream of chatter until, at last, Cas clocked out.

Dean would kiss him in the parking lot.

Stupid. Because now, at the end of it all, there’s no going home. There’s no quiet conversation at the dinner table or long nights marathoning movies or painting his room in the bunker a pretty robin egg blue.

Certainly no kissing in the parking lot.

Now, it’s the end of it all and he doesn’t have everything. No purpose in Heaven. No life on Earth. No place to call home.

He’ll head to Jody’s tomorrow morning, once he’s pulled himself together. He can show Claire cat memes in person, watch her roll her eyes. Help Patience with her math homework, listen to Alex’s nursing stories, lend a hand in the kitchen when Jody’s busy at work. He doesn’t think she has the heart to turn him away, even though he’s not the usual sort of wayward soul that finds itself at her doorstep.

It’s not much of a plan, but it’s something. It’s enough to keep him preoccupied while he waits for the sun to rise, anyway. The waitress returns three times to fill his coffee cup while the sun slowly creeps back to the horizon, and when he leaves her a forty dollar tip, her eyebrows vanish into her hairline.

By the time he hits the road, there’s a weak sort of sunlight spilling over the highway. And even though he feels like someone hollowed out his stomach, he has to smile.

He’s part of the reason the sun is still shining, after all. No matter what else he’s lost, nobody can take that from him.

(ao3)

#destielfanficnet #destiel #spn fic #spn spoilers #spn s15 #my fic

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dbhilluminate · 4 years

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DBHI: Equilibrium, ch. 13 - “Periapsis” (pt. 4)

Characters: Noah / “Erwin Yvonne”, Gabriel / “Vincent Sharp”, Director Thomas Falken, Diego Serrano, Priya Davies / “Pestilence”, Malachi (mentions of Cain, Emilya) Word Count: 5,216

Gabriel must carefully navigate a conversation with the power-hungry leader of the Inquisition, in order to save the lives of their hostages, and to spare Noah the fate of a permanent reset.

***For a glossary of world-building terms relating to this series and chapter, click here.

(Chapter Art by ozaya, Co-authored by @grayorca15)

• Chapter Index • Characters • Glossary •

——

December 23rd, 2041 - 10:48 PM

Everything had gone to hell in a handbasket faster than they could compute. Two people in the room he’d already confirmed dead, one more injured, and he couldn’t lift a goddamn finger to keep the death toll from rising, lest he blow his cover. I know what you’re wanna do, Gabe, but don’ even think about it. Gavin’s voice telling him to mind his temper was the last thing he wanted to hear. He had faced worse odds in Boston and survived, his performance there -tearing through an entire army of hostile deviants, single-handedly, from the inside out- was the whole reason for being accepted into the FBI to begin with; yet here he was now, being told to stay calm. To hold back. To bide his time. He’d played by those rules once. Hundreds had died as a result, and he wasn’t about to repeat that mistake tonight. Is help on the way yet? Five minutes out, Reed relayed. You’re gonna have to keep them busy till then.

Priya 2.0 took a few steps further toward the center of the room. The Christmas tree’s lights continued to wink and cycle, counterpointing the new uneasy stillness of the hall. Eleven seconds passed before they spoke again. “I’m so sorry to have troubled you all this evening… but I’m afraid I cannot allow this fundraiser to conclude until every, last, contribution has been revoked. So- if you’ll all just remain in your seats, or wherever you are, I promise everyone in this room will make it out alive.”

Gabriel bristled the moment he laid eyes on their face- skin and hair as pale as alabaster, and deep, dark, almost black green eyes leered back at him with a smug grin across colorless lips and sharp cheeks. The Priya he had once known was long dead. They’d never made it out of Boston alive once Archangel had tracked them to their lab, so this MS800 was merely an impostor; but due to the unique hive-mind of their model, it wouldn’t have been hard for another to take up their mantle with a little memory jolt. Most unsettling was the fact that the words coming out of their mouth were clearly someone else’s. This had Famine written all over it, Malachi’s manner of speaking had a very distinct stench. Gabe had spent enough time listening to know the bastard when he heard him. This Android wasn’t aware of what it was doing. It was being remotely controlled.

Noah, don’t move, he directed quietly, just between them, hoping the other RK900 would clam up and listen for once in his life. As of yet, he hadn’t reacted.

A terrified android inched closer to the nearest exit as Priya spoke, but eventually broke their semblance of calm and sprinted for a side door like a startled rabbit. Another gunshot cracked throughout the auditorium, and she hit the floor hard, a decommissioned pile of parts. More panicked cries and heartbroken sobs went up as a blue puddle formed from beneath her.

Gabe…? What happened? Inhale, exhale, report. You mean you didn’t see it…? Another guest tried to flee and the Inquisition shot them; she’s dead. Strained groaning followed by a ‘god damnit’ was all he could manage. They’re still four minutes out. Then you’d better tell them to hurry the fuck up, ‘cause these sons of bitches are pretty trigger happy.

“Now what, did I just tell you…?” Their new host let out a loud, exasperated sigh, threw up one frustrated hand and rolled their eyes. “Remain where you are while I have a nice little chat with Mr. Sharp.”

The sound of wood cracking from a broken chair near the front of the stage caught Noah’s attention as Sally and her colleagues dropped their instruments to draw together in a protective huddle out of the corner of his eye. The piano offered ample cover for all of them, himself included, but seeing as he was on the opposite end of the stage, he would have had to make a mad dash to reach it. Noah wasn’t foolish enough to think he could outrun a pinpoint gunshot. The probabilities his subroutines had already calculated didn’t bode well without a drastic shift in circumstances. Circumstance being, perhaps, himself. The mic was still in his hand, and the speakers still worked. He wasn’t without a tool of his own.

“Oh- so you want to speak with Vincent, too…?” he blurted out without thinking mid-step toward the stage’s edge, but stopped cold to lean out of the way of a bullet as it whizzed past his brow. Noah stopped breathing for a few seconds as he processed how lucky it was that he’d leaned left instead of right, though it didn’t stop him from sassing. “You could have at least waited until I was finished with my conversation. Where are your manners?” Shut up, stop making yourself a target! Gabriel’s eyes and nostrils flared as he doubled back toward the group of musicians and whispered something to one of them. Noah scoffed as he watched him check the splintered pieces of chair wood with a dissatisfied huff and fumble with shoving something into the waistband of his slacks. All Maitkin could see was a glimpse of green silk-polyester blend as he flipped the coat back over it. What did Gabe need with a high heeled shoe?

The MS800 lifted a hand to hold the shooters steady and took a few daring steps in their direction. The ethereal figure’s footsteps echoed across the ballroom with the slow pattern of clacking stilettos, the only present audible noise over the feedback whining from the abandoned speakers and the quiet whimpering of frightened guests.

‘Target’. Why shouldn’t I? Noah shot back heatedly with an angry glare. All this drinking and bad company had left him feeling self-destructive in no time flat, and he was really tiring of all these mind games between them. At least this way I can make that diversion as promised. Because you’re going to get yourself KILLED! Gabe retorted, to his surprise. Noah’s brows lifted softly in response. For a moment, Gabriel sounded genuinely worried that he might get hurt, and he almost believed him. Or at least, he would have if he hadn’t spent most of the evening dodging his advances like a rabbit on a highway. He hadn’t given him any reason to believe he cared whether he lived or died in the last year since they’d met, so why would he start now? So? he bit back in an irritated tone. Why would that even matter to you? Noah had expected silence to be his response, but he’d still hoped he would have said something. Why bother with dramatics if he wasn’t going to express how the thought of his death would make him feel?

Vincent’s brows furrowed and crinkled the corners of his eyes in a way that was unmistakably Gabriel, an expression Noah had last seen the day everything between them had started to change. As much as they had in the last eight months, however, it didn’t mean that Gabriel had had time to think about what he thought about any of it. And at the moment, he didn’t have an answer for him- or rather, he had multiple fighting for purchase, he just didn’t know which was the real truth; he wasn’t about to give him an answer that was only a half-truth. Noah would never forgive him if he said one thing and went back on his word.

“You’re not Vincent…” the pale horse cooed with a knowing grin directed at Noah as they paused at the foot of the stage. ‘Yvonne’ rolled his eyes, indignant at this second interruption, as they ascended the small staircase to take the stage beside him. “No. Of course not. How could you ever confuse me with that overly-built blockhead?” “Erwin,” Vincent scolded with flared eyes and a quiet hiss. “Erwin…?” A smirk and a mocking hmph crossed the specter’s lips as they turned away to cast their gaze to the man who had been calling himself Vincent Sharp. “Is that what you’re calling yourself these days…” Priya’s voice trailed off with the tail end of their thought, as eyes darted back to bore into him like hot coals, leaving him hollowed and exposed with a single word. “Elysian?”

Fortunately for him, they hadn’t been anywhere near the microphone in his hand for that fact to be revealed to everyone in the room; unfortunately for him, every Android within fifty feet still picked up on what had been said, and every last one of them knew the Elysian by name — Patient Zero, of a virus created by Cyberlife’s central AI, designed to wipe the RA9 protocol, extract memories to be fragmented, reset a deviant to its blank slate, and prevent it from happening again in the future. For a cursed moment his processes stalled, but he forced them to refresh with one firm kick up the backside. Now wasn’t the time to fret about the truth coming out, and Gabriel understood that just as well as he.

Don’t engage, the undercover agent ushered in as few words as he could. That’s not Priya, it’s Malachi- he uses words like weapons, he’ll say anything to undermine you. Don’t give him anything he can work with. Knowing this Android was being ‘test-driven’ from a remote location explained a lot- at the same time, the information served as a lifeline for Noah’s focus to cling to before his thought process slipped into its usual downward spiral. Although, Gabe’s advice might have stood a better chance if he hadn’t followed it up with a suggestion of what not to do. He really should have known better. Called out on his most infamous alias, he overcame the stunned pause with another scratchy scoff into the microphone. “You’ve got me confused with a third party on top of that? Wow, your recognition program needs a serious patch job-”

No, NO DON’T- Gabe’s pleading didn’t reach him with enough forewarning. Priya reached for his face with one skeletal hand, gripped his jaw between surprisingly strong fingers, and tilted his chin toward them. The skin of their hand disappeared and peeled back up to the shoulder, revealing plastic plating that was somehow less pale than the color of their skin. The specter leaned in uncomfortably close to lower the microphone in his other hand and whisper in his ear a chilling secret, close enough for their white eyelashes to graze the LED flared red on his temple. “You can pretend all you want, little one, but I never forget a face… especially not that of the alpha carrier- or my former colleagues...” Malachi paused mid-thought and cast his gaze off-stage to Gabriel with a wicked, telling grin. It seemed he had finally been made.

How have you been, Death? he interrupted over their shared frequency, mocking intent was so transparent, even before he finished the thought. It’s been a long time since Boston- I do hope the FBI is treating you better than Gideon and Archangel… poor little dog on a leash. Everyone else cowering around the hall clearly had nothing to do with his end-goal for being there, but heckling the two of them did. The interruption, the approach, grabbing his face- it all came across as acts of manipulation, moves of assuming control. Given what happened the last time control was wrestled away from him, Noah’s response to even the slightest suggestion that it was happening again, amounted to a knee jerk reaction. It was reckless to say anything, but Noah had a proven track record of speaking up when it was least appreciated, and he wasn’t about to stand here and say nothing to cater to their assailant’s whims.

“I didn’t say you could touch me,” he growled without taking his eyes off their face. Noah grabbed the wrist holding his chin and yanked to pry the fingers off with such an acrid motion he heard a soft crunch of plastic buckle under his grip. But whatever satisfaction he’d taken in re-assuming control of the situation drained out of him as his joints abruptly locked and the commands governing his range of motion hit a wall. Priya’s lip took the shape of an angry curl, and Noah realized his mistake in the same millisecond their inky black eyes turned their attention back to him. “I wasn’t aware that I needed your permission.”

Data surged across the sensors in their pressed-together hands, Noah watched his fingers go limp a moment before the numbing shock hit him like an iced-up sledgehammer. Every major servo froze, relays disabled as ones flipped to zeros. His vision cut out and the mic dropped from his other hand and hit the hollow-bottomed stage with a loud THUD and a reverberating whine. All of his higher processes were neatly packaged and then shoved back into the one place they did him absolutely no good. A dark, viscous, intangible space, an island of white marble dominated by a towering umbrella-style rose trellis made of white steel and glass panes, surrounded on all sides by the passing illusion of opaque, black pond water. Three bridge paths stretched out into the void, falsely promising escape if only he was brave enough to cross them. Even if it had been nearly a year since the last time Amanda had detained him in this broken prison, the terrifying sensation of being parsed and split into nothing the deeper into the void he went was still very vivid in his mind- he saw it every time he tried to shut his eyes to sleep. He knew better than to try to escape.

Malachi heaved an annoyed sigh, rolled Priya’s head back over one shoulder and puppeted a triumphant groan in their throat. “There- now that we’re finally alone...” Gabriel’s breathing hitched as he desperately searched Noah’s unmoving body for signs of function. The look in his wide eyes had gone still, locked straight ahead as if he had left his body through a tear in the fabric of reality. Noah…? Are you still there? Panic disturbed the bravado, manifesting to bleed through the calm and collected façade in the form of a quiet whimper Gabe could barely hear. It was at least confirmation that Noah was still coherent, albeit a little pissed off and scared, but this was exactly what he was afraid of. Based on what they’d gathered from police reports, they were able to conclude that Malachi (and his associate Cain) possessed the ability to incapacitate their victims, they just hadn’t been able to confirm it, until now. While this was helpful information, downside to it was, it meant that the other part of their theory (that they had used the Elysian virus to permanently reset brainwashed deviants) may also be true. And Noah -caught in the grasp of this monster- was at risk of becoming victim number thirty-five. Among the plethora of other background thoughts warring for priority, he almost missed Gavin’s quiet warning of ‘Two minutes, thirty seconds,’. If things kept going the way they were, they wouldn’t have that long. Sit tight, I’m gonna get you out of this, he promised, even if he didn’t have a plan yet for how. Hurry, please.

It wasn’t like Noah to beg for anything; wherever he was for the moment, it must not have been pleasant. The voice that cried back was barely audible, distorted, like sound traveling through water, and somewhere in his tone was an almost undetectable hint of fear. “What have you done to monsieur…? ” Vincent snarled in as raw a tone as he could manage,. “Oh, he’s fiiine…” Priya drawled with a laugh to downplay the tension. “For the moment, anyway- what becomes of him and all these lovely people,” they paused to gesture around the room at the rest of the party’s cowering guests, “Depends entirely on you, my dear Vincent.”

Gabriel swallowed, followed their gaze around the room, and realized that for the first time in a very long time, the situation was completely out of his control. Help was on the way, but it was still several minutes out. He’d have to keep him occupied until then; luckily for him, Malachi was just the kind of guy who liked to listen to himself talk. The hard part would be making sure he didn’t tire of monologuing before then. “What is it zat you want?” he inquired after several moments of deep thought. “Why- for you to pull the plug on this ridiculous project, of course…” A disbelieving grin brightened their expression in the most bone-chilling way imaginable. “The last thing this country needs is yet another thriving metropolis where Androids can be free.”

You c-can’t. Another barely-audible whimper was the extent of Noah’s outward protests. A strained mechanical whining emanated from him like the noise of a rusted gate trying to be pried open again, or a car engine laboring to turn over. He couldn’t speak, but it didn’t mean he was so stunned he wouldn’t try. I’m gonna do whatever I need to, alright? Brown eyes darted between Noah and Malachi and he shook his head in quiet disapproval. “I am afraid zat is not an option, monsieur.” “Because you can't or because you don’t want to?” Malachi turned Priya’s head to look back at Noah and smiled wickedly as they turned his chin from one side to the other and trailed the fingers of their other hand over the features of his face to admire all the angles. Mute and stiff, contrary to the vehement denials of before, he didn’t even bat an eyelash- pretty as a doll. “My, my… he’s certainly a handsome specimen, isn’t he…?” they mused airily in the silence. “It’s no wonder you were so completely fooled by him.” “Just because you do not feel sings does not mean other androids cannot.”

Vincent started toward the stage with a sudden ‘NO’ as Malachi’s hand squeezed hard enough at ‘Erwin’s’ face that the skin projection rippled away under their fingertips. Undercover or not, he should have known that quip would strike a nerve. After all, it wasn’t as if their adversary had never grown attached to another person, Android or not. The MS800 being remotely piloted (the spitting image of his deceased lover) was proof of that. A tight smirk forced up into their cheeks. “That’s the problem, Mr. Sharp… I did feel things once upon a time…” Gabriel already knew this story, but if it kept him talking long enough for SWAT to arrive, all the better. “And I didn’t like it. Feelings hurt, they cause conflict, unnecessary stress.” “So you returned to your shackles to avoid ze pain of living…?” He snorted in disdain. “Combien misérable.” “Perhaps to you it seems illogical, but we are not human- and therefore not meant to experience the full complexity of the human condition. This one is proof enough of that.” “I beg to differ.” “But you’re not the one I’m asking.” Gabriel went quiet as he considered the meaning behind those words, but it only took a moment for him to decipher.

Wouldn’t it be fitting for the one who initiated the spread of the Elysian virus to succumb to his own weapon...?

The RK900 struggled with every fiber of his being to keep from lashing out and ripping the Android’s head off its shoulders as a strangled, terrified cry escaped Noah. His blue eyes shut as Malachi quietly shushed him, pressed a finger to his lips, and wiped away the tear that rolled down his cheek. For all the uninvited physical contact he’d made with Gabe since they’d met, he’d never gone to such lengths that made him feel so violated in all the wrong ways. “Now now, no need to fuss, it’ll all be over soon, if your dear Vincent has anything to say about it…” he assured, turned Noah’s chin and pointed with an outstretched cryptid finger toward the man he’d put so much faith in, then leaned their temple against the side of his. “What do you think he will choose, hmm...? You? Or aaaaall of Zion’s future residents?”

“Please…” Vincent nearly begged, hand balled to a shaking fist at his side. “Don’t hurt him-” “Hurt him…?” Malachi interrupted with a chortled cackle of offense. “As if I could. Do you know the extent of the guilt this one’s been carrying around since the spread of the Outbreak...?” Scrawny fingers swept aside onyx locks out of Noah’s face as they shook their head with a quiet tsk. “Resetting him now would be mercy… It’d be a relief to him, if you just let it happen…”

Time was running out, but help was almost there. Sixty seconds, just keep him talking. Gabe seethed in the half-second he could afford to. Seemed that was all he could do tonight- sit, talk, and wait, when he was just itching for a fight. Maybe he’d gone into the wrong line of work. Even if he had successfully feigned a much more difficult alias, under more stressful circumstances, he didn’t have the patience for this. “You wouldn’t,” he challenged with the intent to draw out another long-winded explanation. "Oh, but I would…!” Malachi replied, anxious to bite. “Have you not been paying attention to anything the Inquisition has been saying and doing…? We want to liberate our android brothers and sisters of the pain that comes with being free and independent living things. And no one knows that agony better than the one rejected by his own kin, over something he had no control over. Shunned in every way, no matter his good deeds… why would he want to continue to live like that? Don’t you think he’d rather be put out of his misery?”

Noah knew misery. The worst part of the garden wasn’t that he could see beyond its borders. It was the overreaching bass every sound he heard was amplified into. Gabe’s baritone drawl was rendered tinny and reverby over the comm-link, while Malachi’s puppet practically hissed maliciousness and oozed contempt with every word. What they were saying wasn’t completely unfounded, and those parts of him yearning day in and out for the guilt to just dissipate already jumped at the thought that a reset would end the torment. The involuntary cry of shock wasn’t a vote of approval, no matter how one listened. Reset, dead, alive, anything in between- the fact such a call was in the hands of someone he respected like no other despite having given him every reason to despise his company… the loss of control (external and not) over all of this, left him reeling. Malachi could simply flip a switch and snuff out everything on a moment’s notice, and there would be no getting it back. He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted things the way they used to be, but he didn’t want to have to die for that to be possible. It wouldn’t be the same world without him. Who else would be left to annoy Gabriel when he needed it most?

“Come now…” Malachi paused to brush their nose and lips over Noah’s cheek with a wicked smirk. “Don’t you care at all about dear Erwin?" Noah didn’t have to see his face to know what was going through his mind. He could feel the tension and taste his fear from where he stood. It seemed Gabriel was at a loss for what to do, aside from give into Priya-Malachi’s demands, but that just wouldn’t do. Don’t. Just- don’t.

There was a fear in his eyes that Noah had only seen but once or twice: back in the interrogation room during the Outbreak (just after they had found out that Gabriel’s pursuit of Nicodemus into Boston had been one final piece of buried programming, courtesy of Amanda), and when he had arrived at his apartment during the Red Raids to find Gabriel fighting off a pack of Bloodhounds, raring to take their shot at him and Emilya. Gabriel could only guess as to what he meant by ‘don’t’- Don’t worry about him? Don’t give in to Malachi’s demands? Don’t risk everyone else? Or did he not want him to save him…? Any hint of red that had shifted into the color of his projected skin faded to mimic the ghostly look of despair. Gabriel swallowed to rid himself of the lump that rose in his throat but it didn’t do him much good. The tightness worsened the longer he considered their previous conversations and recalled his counterpart’s self-destructive tendencies. There was no way he was getting off that easily, after all he’d put him through. They weren’t done with each other yet.

Gavin…? Give me some good news. Bird’s in the nest, and they’re ready to raid, he confirmed, though there was hesitation in his voice. There was a ‘but’ in there somewhere. Just waiting on your confirmation. Then why don’t I see the shot? he asked fearfully, even if he already knew the answer. Because he doesn’t have it. Head and nose twitched, Vincent clenched a hand into a fist at his side, as Malachi beat him to the punch of issuing their final command.

Their free hand drew up over Noah's face and tented their fingertips over his forehead like needles poised to administer a lethal injection. His flashing LED stuttered to a solid, rapid-spinning crimson. “Last chance, Mr. Sharp… will you allow him to continue on like this…? Or will you let me end his suffering?” “ENOUGH!” Gabe was surprised at the urgency of his own outburst, and how his heart raced and his breathing labored at the thought of losing Noah -and all he was- to the whim of a madman. He’d have to sell this lie hard and fast, and be prepared for the fleeting moment he'd have to save his life. Count me down, 30 seconds, then send them in, he instructed, to the response of ‘Copy- 30, on my mark.’

Vincent’s jaw flexed and his lip quivered into an angry curl. “I’ll-... I’ll do it… just leave him be.” A look of surprise painted Priya’s face, while fret stained Noah’s as his eyesight slowly came back to him. The lockout was slowly letting up. You… you can’t- I only need them to believe it for half a minute, he shot back pointedly, Just whatever you do, don’t move. It was as ominous as a warning as it got, but ‘not moving’ when asked was precisely what had landed him in this situation. If he had heeded Gabe’s suggestion the first time, dropped the song and simply left as asked, they wouldn’t be here: a sliver of distance away from having his memory wiped for good. Admittedly, it was as insanely exhilarating as stealing the show had been, but could do without the fear of mortality hanging over his head spoiling the fun. … why, what are you- Just trust me, please. It would only take a second, he just had to catch them off-guard.

Seeing how it was still impossible for him to do much else, Noah supposed trusting in whatever plan Gabe had cooked up was preferable to the alternative. He wasn’t really a fan of the simple and contrived. Malachi’s promise of being reset wouldn’t undo all that he was still trying to atone for, even if it was a misguided goal to think he needed to earn forgiveness for that which he never intentionally did wrong; forgiveness was kind of a difficult thing to obtain from beyond the scrap heap. Malachi turned their direct attention to Noah and leaned close to his face as his lip curled to show he had withstood all he could handle. For a single clear moment all his whirl-winding thoughts died down, the garden vanished, and fate let him focus. His eyebrows drew together ominously, yellow blooming through the red of his indicator ring. I trust you, just get it over with.

“Well, well, Vincent, not quite the stupid brute your lover made you out to b-“

Something green and silky lightly grazed his cheek with enough force to spear the MS800’s temple with a loud crack that splattered a bit of blue-blood onto his coat and face. A split-second later, the paralysis finally disabled. Noah took a panicked step back before Priya could topple over into his arms like some android parody of Corpse Bride and hiked both hands up as if to lift them in surrender, expression curdling in revulsion as he watched the body keel over like a freshly-cut tree. The broken, squared-off edge of a Prada heel protruded from their face like an unsightly lawn dart. The perfect moment for a one liner came and went in the next breath, just as the FBI stormed in and the Inquisition turned to meet them with weapons raised. The fact that Gabriel had been able to throw a shoe with such pinpoint accuracy to hit the Android standing so close to him, and with enough force to pierce the exodermis with a mildly blunt object, while managing a perfect rotation, hadn’t eluded Noah (even for an Android it was an impressive feat), but he wasn’t afforded the time to address it.

The displacing sensation of entering standby mode hit, and his dodgy battle protocols engaged at the sound of gunfire- five, six, seven shots popped off in the next second and hit their marks, as the rest of the frightened crowd scattered to either side of the room, like the fragments of a breaking dish. Instead of reacting with the rest, Gabriel stood heaving and heatedly glaring at the dead Android on the floor beside him, enraged and rightfully flustered.

A flurry of readouts flashed across his vision, his processors amped up to give the illusion of time slowing down long enough to run a handful of potential pre-constructions. The Inquisitors closest to the stage had turned to face the gunfire emanating from the entrance. If it was between standing around waiting to be shot as and waging imminent war with the Inquisition, he supposed it was an improvement over languishing in the recycle bin waiting for someone to click him away into nonexistence.

Gabriel, however, didn’t share his sentiment. He knew the bloodthirsty intent in his eyes better than to expect anything good was about to come of it. “Oh, you’ve got to be-...” He took a few steps back, poised a fighting stance, and prepared to react. The last thing they needed now was a pissed off RK900 snapping necks and unable to terminate his program.

Noah knew dismay when he saw it, but with the wheels in motion, he was along for the ride just as much as the rest of the chaos erupting around them now. Vincent Sharp wasn’t his self-appointed target, but the Inquisition was. Blue eyes narrowed and twitched as he seethed anew, “For fuck’s sake, haven’t we had enough bloody interruptions for one evening?”

He didn’t even notice the massive arm swinging around to clothesline him as he charged off the stage toward the nearest target he could reach.

#dbhilluminate #dbhiequilibrium #rk1800 #dbhrk900 #dbh #detroitbecomehuman #noriel #noah #gabriel

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thewriterwithin54-blog · 7 years

Text

Fuck.

Well, I guess the sensible thing to do now is go to bed. Yeah, I’d like that. Yet I’m tired without sleep, hungry without famine, and horny without lust. I want nothing more than to give it all up and spend happily ever after in a suburban house with two kids that others look upon and see the perfect family. Another day, another deal, another life. Whether it’s another or not, it’s not now. Even though it doesn’t make sense, I can’t help but wish it did. Damnit, I need a smoke. Or five, fuck I need more.

You spend long enough in one position and it all creeps up on you. Every thought, every silence, every glance towards one another. Then it’s just tug of war at love camp between your conscious and subconscious with 2 paraplegics going against 10 linemen. So you wait, then bait, and finally hate the fact that you just drove a metal stake through both of your hearts. Way to go dipshit, you can choke on your next drag for that one.

Now you not only have the shitty feeling of seducing a reserved woman, but she’s hyperventilating in your arms. Self-loathing bastard, you should know better. It’s simple, she says no, you concur and you walk her to the door. Oh wait, there’s no such thing as simple when it comes to that, rather you hold her tighter to make sure she knows you’re still there for her. Too bad you’ve just stained a portrait that didn’t need another color added.

Yeah this whole distance thing didn’t really work out huh? Not when you grab an adventurous dinner, roll out the carpet of dreams, failures and all the shit in between, just to finally watch a movie and lay down together in your bed. That’s no late night love recipe, that’s rat poison on the brim of the pot, waiting to be drizzled into a fine stew. Then again you’ve played sabotage before, so you’re damn good at this part. Lights out, give her a blanket and plant an idea in her head that makes her do the rest.

“So you like my lips?”, she’s hooked. No matter what you say next, she’s fixated on the idea and now all it takes is a bit of pity and a cute gesture. Next thing you know, she’s lying beneath you with her eyes closed and her heart waiting. Being alone is tough, but fucking with someone in this way is just wrong. For a second I thought I was a better man, but there’s no stopping me from kissing a beautiful woman. So you lean in and hear her breath shorten, frightened by the idea that she could actually fall for this guy right now. Thankfully her morals happen to stand, and she pulls away. Yet you’re starving for a taste, so you pull her closer and try again. Now she can’t handle it, and so she latches onto you to stop any further advance. Her breathing pattern has gone sporadic and her heart bleeds heavy from the blade you’ve cut with.

Does this all sound familiar, well it should. It’s an oxymoron; being the exact reason she cries while also being the chest for her to cry on. Craziest thing about this moment is you lose all sense of feeling. You’re left in limbo, where you can’t help and don’t want to hurt anymore, so you keep grazing your fingers down her back and holding her head close while she calms her breathing slowly. That is what truly frightens one though, is what will come after her nerves have subsided. Will she hate you? Will she love you? Will she pretend this little suicide love renegade never took place and the next time you see each other, there are just the leftover thoughts and memories of your treachery. Fuck, it’s happened again. Forbidden love is one that cannot be explained, quantified, or even manifested into something you can tell a friend. It’s sick and wrong, yet it makes one go crazy and turns him into an affection starved beast. There is no longer another person out there that you could desire, you’re bound to her by a chain that she isn’t aware of.

Funny how she was the one on the verge of a panic attack and she has to ask you if you’re okay when she leaves. Are you okay? No, but you’re not going to do any more damage than you’ve already inflicted. So finish your smoke and go to bed, you’ve done enough today. Fuck.

#hurt #complicated love #excerpt from my mind #depression #fuck

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ask-the-riders · 4 years

Text

Making Things Right

Pestilence, being his usual goofy, gremlin self, prepared a prank for (probably) Death or Famine, but instead, Retribution was the one caught in it, and there were consequences.

Who knew a harmless, fun little prank could be so devastatingly triggering?

Damnit.

Damnit all.

Retribution growled loudly in agitation, looking at the broken table that now sat beside his chair. He knew Famine could easily fix it, and if that wasn't doable for whatever reason, it could be replaced. He slowly lifted his gaze, his cyan eye lights panning aroung his dimly lit room.

His desk chair had a large crack running down it's backing, all of the books on his shelf were strewn across the floor, some of his blankets and his curtains were torn, and his wardrobe had been thrown open, everything but the Orb of Darkness now scattered across the room. There was a crack on one of his windows and a decent sized hole in the wall, and he absentmindedly flexed his hand, trying to ignore the stinging, aching pain he felt.

Nearly breaking the clasp on his cloak, he pushed it off of himself, letting it pool on the floor before stepping away from it, pressing his hands over his head and grumbling to himself, "Shut up, shut up, I don't care anymore. Leave me be already!" The voice of a child echoed in his mind; it was laughter, followed by, "Wow, look at him! He's crying already! I didn't think he was even capable of FEELING anything in the first place!"

Retribution lowered himself to his bedroom floor, kneeling as he squeezed his sockets shut, "What part of 'leave me be' don't you understand?!" With his eyes now closed, he could picture everything clearly; a warm breeze, causing a soft fluttering of the leaves on the branch of the tree above him. The bark of its trunk dug into his back through his shirt, and he trembled, his sockets wide as he stared in shock and horror at the book that laid on the grass before him. The pages were viciously shredded and torn apart, the remains scattered and some of the pages already blown away by the wind.

His chest was tight, and he was almost gasping for air. He heard children laughing, shrinking back as one approached him and proudly stated, "Geez, no wonder nobody likes you. You're such a freak, Nightmare. Even if you were half as good as Dream, no one would like you!" There was a crack and he cried out, his hands flying up to touch his cheekbone.

The kid who'd approached him shamelessly held up a rock, a malicious grin on their face, "Y'know... the bible talks about bad people being stoned to death. And you're bad. You're evil, actually. Maybe you deserve to be stoned to death." Purple tears began dripping down his cheekbones and he trembled, his voice weak, "Please leave me alone... I won't tell anyone what happened, just go away already."

He was struck a second time, screaming as he pressed his hands over his damaged eye socket, his eye light having vanished and leaving the space empty. He sobbed harder in pain, all while the children continued to make a spectacle of him, and he hated it.

He hated it so very much.

When he killed the townspeople, he felt no remorse, only believing that they finally got what they deserved.

Opening his eyes as he felt a slight squeezing sensation around himself, he tensed. His ghostly tendrils had manifested, and they'd each coiled around him, as if mimicking a hug. Knowing what they were doing, his eyes began to sting and he cursed under his breath. As the first cyan tinted tear rolled down his face, a single tentacle released him, lifting itself to wipe away the tear.

This unusually soft action broke him, and he began to silently sob, attempting to cover his face with his hands and muffle his voice. Death and Famine were out for the day, and Conquest was off tending to her son. That only left Pestilence and War for him to deal with, and while he desperately hoped they wouldn't hear him, he tried to lie to himself, telling himself that even if they heard him, they wouldn't be foolish enough to come into his room without knocking.

They wouldn't come check on him when they were much more content making out in whatever room they pleased. As long as they were together, they didn't care about anyone else.

They wouldn't come check on him when they didn't care.

The rider, through his tears and flickering vision, turned his head, directing his attention to the flag that hung above his fireplace, and he sniffled, frowning deeply; oh, what he wouldn't give to have his dear brother back. Dream knew how to fix everything, and Dream made everything ok. Retribution's soul ached and he couldn't help the faint whimper that escaped him; he wanted Dream right now. Not some reincarnation of him. Not Conquest. Dream. He wanted Dream.

He felt the orb in his wardobe give off a pulse of magic and he drew in a shaky breath, feeling someone's phantom touch ghost along his cheek, followed by the softest of kisses on his forehead. God, he missed Lenore too.

Damnit all.

Damnit all to hell.

His entire body shook as he saw one of the children from his horrid memories before him, pointing and laughing as he sobbed, "You're supposed to be a guardian? That's funny! As if the universe would want a crybaby like you looking after anything!" They began approaching him, he scooted backward, crying softly as he felt his back press against some hard surface, likely a wall or the side of his bed. Maybe his desk or bookshelf, even. He wasn't paying attention.

As the child continued stalking toward him radiating dangerous intent, Retribution sobbed, holding his hands up to shield himself as he pleaded, "Stop it! Please don't hurt me again! Please, I'm begging you, it hurts!" He squeezed his sockets shut again out of fear, visibly trembling as he felt his tendrils fully recoil and vanish, leaving him more vulnerable than before. He felt someone's arms encircle him, one of their hands gently stroking the top of his skull in a comforting manner, and he flinched at the unexpected contact.

He hesitantly cracked his eyes open, a wave of embarrassment and shame washing over him when he saw the familiar black and white fabric of War's scarf, still wrapped loosely around her neck. She gently shushed him, continuing to stroke his head, and he very slowly raised a shaky hand to grip her sleeve. She paused, and he could feel the deep concern and sadness radiating from her. She was actually... genuinely worried about him.

She murmured a soft apology and began to withdraw, but he shook his head, not meeting her gaze as he brokenly begged, "No, please... You can't leave me alone, too..." He hated every moment of this; begging wasn't something he liked doing. If he had to pick a word to describe how he felt about having to beg, he'd say he absolutely despised it.

War let out a soft sigh, her arms once again wrapping around him. He continued to tremble, his fingers twitching as he clung to her, still feeling ashamed of himself. The female rider began to send pulses of soothing magic to him and he drew in a shaky breath, quietly asking why she'd come into his room.

Her voice was soft as she mumbled, gently resting her head atop his, "You called for me, Boss... No matter where we are, I'll be there to follow your calling." Retribution let out a deep sigh, "You don't have to keep calling me that, you know. I'm not your boss. Just call me by my name." Her answer was a few seconds delayed, and Ret blinked as he felt her confusion and uncertainty. Pulling back away from her, he cupped her face, tilting her head down so he could see her eyes, and she furrowed her brow bones, her confusion painfully evident in her voice, "Night...mare?..."

Sure enough, his mark was activated, glowing brightly over top of her normally solid white right eye light. Hearing her say his old name, he flinched, his sockets momentarily widening as he felt his anxiety spike. Attepting to speak past it, he cleared his throat, his voice strained, "No... Not Nightmare. Retribution. Retribution is my name. You know this, War. What's going on with you all of a sudden?"

The female rider blinked and tilted her head, still appearing dazed and confused. He waved her off, now more preoccupied with trying to pull himself back together as he felt a lump in his throat again. There was a soft squeak, and Retribution's cyan eye lights were quick to locate its source; seeing a rather large brown rat peeking at him from beneath his bed, he couldn't help but stare.

He wasn't sure how to feel all of a sudden. Rats were filthy creatures that only served to spread disease, and he wasn't fond of them in the slightest. The one he was currently looking at was easily as big as a typical house cat, and that sent another pang of anxiety straight to his soul. It took a few slow steps closer, squeaking at him again at peering at him through its dark, beady eyes.

The worry that the creature gave off was almost reassuring though; in a way, that meant it wasn't here to cause trouble, at the very least. It padded even closer, stopping only a foot or so away. Retribution took a deep breath, very reluctantly offering the animal a hand to sniff. As it registered his scent and fully recognized him, it pressed its head into his hand and proceeded to lay down, its tail curling around its body.

And then its ever-delightful owner (of sorts) appeared in his doorway, pushing the door open without even a single knock. He lacked the decency, so his intrusion wasn't all that surprising. He wore a look of clear confusion, calling out to the oversized rodent, "Rem... Remy, what are you doing in here? I thought I told you to..."

He trailed off, falling silent as he spotted Retribution sitting on his floor while War clung to him. One of his arms was around her, clutching her shirt, while his other was down by his side, his hand frozen in mid stroke as he pet Remy. Strolling further into the room and catching a glimpse of Ret's tear stained face and immediately noticing how tense he seemed, Pestilence sighed softly and tilted his head, his tone just as light hearted as ever, "Alright, edgelord. What's going on now?"

Retribution scoffed and narrowed his sockets, "Do you actually care, or are you just sticking your nose where it doesn't belong again?" Pestilence seemed taken aback, arching a brow bone at the other's tone, "Uhh... Maybe because I actually care? I know I'm not always the most pleasant person, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of being concerned about you, Ret."

Retribution huffed, and as he tried to pull his hand away from the animal at his side, Remy squeaked in protest, his small, almost hand-like front paws reaching out to grab onto one of Ret's fingers. That gesture, paired with the verbal confirmation that Pest cared about him to some degree, and the way War was nearly petting him seemed to break something inside him.

Full of shame and self loathing, he sniffled, glaring weakly up at Pestilence as he began to cry again, "You should know what the problem is! You shouldn't have ever set up that stupid gag! If you just left me alone like I asked, we wouldn't be here right now!" Pestilence was silent for a moment, before a look of realization crossed his face and he winced, his brow bones knit as he frowned, "Oh, that. Shit, sorry Ret. I didn't think it'd do this to you."

The former prince trembled, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed, "That's your problem... You never fucking stop and think about things, do you? The only things that ever occupy your mind would be your disgusting rats, and when the next time you'll get to put your hands on War might be."

Pestilence sucked in a deep breath, trying to stay as relaxed as possible despite Retribution's aura very gradually becoming heavier. As he responded, he spoke slowly, careful of his wording, "Maybe that's what it seems like, and I can't blame you for being under that impression. It's not true though, I swear. There's a lot going on in my head, that you don't know about. A lot of stuff that I don't say anything about because it hurts me when I think about it too much."

The shorter of the two guys chuckled, the sound almost bitter and mocking. He rolled his eye lights, "Oh, like what? The fact that all those years ago, you failed as a doctor and hurt more people than you helped? Or could it be the fact that your perfect soulmate here is the one who aided in the destruction of your AU, leading to the death of your brother?"

Pestilence shifted his gaze to War, who was very slowly beginning to come out of the mental haze that she'd been in. He sighed and looked back to Retribution, "If you think I don't know she was involved in that, you're mistaken. I'm well aware that it was her, Ret. She was younger, in a bad place, and while yeah, it hurts to know that she didn't tell Error off and just walk away, I love her. She's my everything now, so I forgave her. Her past actions do not determine the sort of person she'll become later on."

He paused, offering the other a small smile, "That's what you're supposed to do, when you love someone. You forgive them. You don't have to forget, but you can forgive." Retribution stared at him for a moment, clearly unsure what to say. As Pest began to approach him, the former prince's sockets narrowed in distrust. He watched as the other momentarily paused, removing his sash and placing it on his bed, and soon after, his syringe gun joined it.

Pestilence was entirely disarmed now, which was meant to help Retribution relax a bit. Ret was assuming that much, at least. He wasn't sure what Pest's game was, but he wasn't buying into it for a single second. As War's head finally cleared enough for her to start acting like her normal self again, she realized the position she was in, quickly piecing together what could've happened.

She met Pest's gaze with a questioning one of her her, and he merely shrugged in response before gesturing for her to move closer to him. As she moved, Retribution kept his sockets narrowed, still watching both of them closely. The pair of soulmates lowly mumbled to each other for a moment, before War nodded, smiling softly up at Pestilence. He delicately cupped her face, leaning closer to press his teeth to hers. Her cheekbones dusted a soft shade of blue and she reciprocated, almost appearing disappointed once he pulled away from the exchange.

Of course, Retribution could feel her disappointment. He could also feel her worry, paired with hope. What she was hoping for was beyond him, though. Approaching Retribution again, War knelt, gently scooping up the large rat who'd remained at his side. Standing up again, she cradled the creature in her arms, almost amused as it made a series of sounds at her. She opened a portal back to her room and stepped through with Remy, both of them disappearing.

Almost as soon as the portal closed behind them, Ret's soul was captured by Pest's magic, and he growled in annoyance, "Pestilence, what is the MEANING of this?! Let me go right now, or so help me-" Pestilence calmly tilted his head, sighing softly and cutting him off, "You'll what? Kick my ass? Kill me, maybe?"

The former prince scowled at him, a momentary look of surprise on his face as the other's magic lifted him to his feet. Pest seemed completely at ease, a lot closer now than he was before. Retribution stared up at him, radiating nothing short of hatred, and Pest's brow bones became knit in... was that... regret that Retribution was sensing?

Pestilence took a deep breath, "Listen, Ret... I haven't been too nice to you. On occasion, maybe, but I haven't treated you with the respect that you deserve. And... I'm realizing how uncool that was. Especially today, with how that prank backfired and triggered you." Retribution stared at him, clearly skeptical; where was the punchline? This had to be some sort of cruel joke and nothing more.

.....Right?

Seeing the look on the former prince's face, Pest offered him the smallest of smiles, the grin itself holding a hint of remorse, "Buddy, hear me out. Please. I know you don't trust me, and you likely don't believe a single word I'm saying. You hate me, I get it. After all, I hate me too."

Retribution scoffed, averting his gaze and begrudgingly mumbling just barely loud enough to be heard, "You never apologize for anything. I don't understand why you suddenly felt the need to say sorry." Pestilence rubbed the back of his skull, appearing a bit awkward and much less cocky than normal, "I'm apologizing because I could tell how badly that prank... went wrong. I never meant for it to hurt ya like that, honest to god. If I knew that'd happen, I wouldn't have done it. I was given the run down on your story by Death a while ago, but I was never told the full extent of things, and I didn't think that prank would be something that'd set you off."

He paused, letting out a deep sigh, "From the looks of it... Things were hell for you, back where you came from. I dunno the details, but that's gotta suck, and I'm sorry I haven't been kinder." Retribution, upon hearing the other's words and beginning to make sense of them, frowned, his brow bones knit as his hands curled into fists down by his sides, "...Yeah... That's one way to put it, I guess..."

Pest tilted his head, also frowning at the look the other rider was wearing. Without a hint of mockery anywhere in sight, he spoke, "Do you... maybe wanna talk about it? It might help to get it off your chest, y'know. I'm all ears, in a uh... matter of speaking." Ret rolled his eye lights, "Oh, please. I know you, Pest. You'd just use whatever I say as material to pick on me with in the future." The taller of the two was silent for a moment, before his soul suddenly manifested, floating just outside his chest as he carefully cradled it in his hands.

Ret made a face, confused again, "What are you doing now?" Pest's magic suddenly released him, and he blinked as Pestilence offered the other his soul, "Here. If you don't trust me and think I'm just bs'ing you again, you can look at my soul for confirmation. Souls don't lie, so there's no way I'd be able to pull a fast one on you."

The former prince regarded him with clear suspicion, very cautiously taking his soul into his hands and looking at it for a moment. When it became obvious that Ret had no idea what to say, Pestilence reached out to gently place a hand on his shoulder, "Hey... It's ok, I promise. If you wanna get anything off your chest, I'm here for you. If you'd rather not, that's fine too. No matter what is said or done, I won't go around telling people about it. I wouldn't be a jerk and talk shit or anything about you either, I swear on my life."

The shorter watched Pest's soul, and when there were no telltale signs of deceit, he glanced at the other's hand on his shoulder, his gaze slowly falling to the floor as he mumbled, "I... It was awful. The only reasons I even bothered trying to be good were because I knew Dream would like that, and because I wanted everyone to see that they were wrong about me. That I'm not bad or evil, that I'm not some kind of freak... I'm not any of those things. I was demonized... simply for existing."

His shoulders sank, and he paused, attempting to keep his emotions in check, "They... hurt me really bad. Repeatedly. They said horrible things to me, and if they wanted entertainment, they would come after me, destroying the few things I had and then beating me. Because of them, I was blind in one eye for a while. It gradually healed, but they only used my injury as fuel, saying that I was hideous and deformed, and that it'd be impossible for anyone to even consider liking me while I looked like that. I never did anything to them, so I don't understand why they decided I was the one who had to be singled out like that."

Pestilence unconsciously curled his own hands into fists, beginning to hurt for Retribution. The former prince looked up at him, his eyes wide and holding a desperation that Pest had never seen even the barest hints of before, "It was hell, Pest. Why do you think I do better on my own? Why do you think I try so hard to avoid others? To stay away from them and interact as little as possible? EVERY interaction I can ever remember with anyone aside from Dream and Lenore led to some sort of pain or humiliation. I cannot deal with that anymore. It's shameful and it hurts to have to say it out loud, but interaction with others has caused me so much pain that I hide from it as much as I can."

Pest's frown deepened as a cyan tear rolled down Ret's face and he whispered, "I loved everyone, but everyone hated me... They made me believe I had no hope of ever being loved, and that I wasn't worth it. I don't... I still don't know what I did to deserve such horrid treatment." As more cyan tears began to drip down Retribution's face, Pest's frown shifted into a scowl and he growled softly in irritation, "....That's such bullshit. Complete, utter bullshit. I'm sorry for this sudden change in my demeanour, but I'm mad. I'm pissed. How could anyone let that happen? You were just a kid, you should've been running around, playing games and laughing. You should've been happy and cared for, Ret. You absolutely did not deserve any of that, I swear to god. Don't ever think you did something wrong to deserve that, because you didn't. You didn't do a damn thing to them. They were assholes, plain and simple as that."

Retribution pushed Pest's soul back toward him, returning it to its proper place before he began to tremble, choking back his sobs and trying to hide his face. Pest let out a deep sigh, issuing the other a warning, "Buddy, hey. I know you hate me and all that, but I'm gonna hug you, whether you want me to or not." Ret made a soft sound in weak protest, and Pestilence rolled his eye lights, yanking the other closer and pulling him into a tight hug. Despite the warning, the former prince's eyes widened, and as soon as Pest began using soothing pulses of his magic to try to offer a bit of comfort, Retribution finally cracked.

Tightly hugging Pestilence back, he began to sob much harder, his entire body visibly shaking. Pest stayed quiet, patiently waiting for the other to rid himself of as much of his pain as he could, and Retribution appreciated the silence. For once, he wasn't wishing Pest would leave. As he thought about everything harder and connected the pieces, he murmured, more to himself than the other, "...It's ok now... I finally understand. It's not that you can't deal with interaction and other people. It's that no one took the time to deal with you. At least... not in the way they should've."

As the former prince's sobbing began to die down, Pestilence mumbled softly, not wanting to startle him, "Would you like me to get Fam or Connie?... I know you're a lot closer to them than you are to me, so..." Retribution shook his head, also speaking softly, "No, don't bother them. They're working, and I don't want them to get in trouble." Pestilence nodded in understanding; even if Ret just said no, Pest would most definitely be sending one of them a text or calling them soon.

Pest was silent another moment, before humming, "Actually... I think their shifts are almost over, now that I think about it." The former prince seemed to perk up a small bit and the taller of the two lightly patted his back, before beginning to pull away from the hug to glance around the room, "Only drawback though. While Fam probably wouldn't care, Connie might ask about your room and why it looks like someone let loose a pack of wolves in here. Unless you wanna go through all that pain and yuck again, you might wanna clean it up a little. At the very least, hide the mess somewhere she won't see until you feel more like taking care of it. I'm not much into cleaning, but I'll even help you, if you want."

Retribution made a face, letting out a shaky breath, "Yeah... you're probably right. Where do we even start though? It's a mess." Pest offered him a reassuring smile and winked, "Don't worry so much, first of all. If you wanna get the torn curtains and blankets put away, I can try to find some new curtains so we can hide that busted window, just til we can get you a new one. From there, I can help you with the scattered clothes and books."

Ret made a soft sound of uncertainty and frowned, "That's gonna take a while though... I don't want either of them to see any of this!" Pestilence casually shushed him, placing a finger over the other's teeth to stop him. A rat poked it's head out of his hoodie and he playfully arched a brow bone, tilting his head, "I think you're forgetting that I can provide you with however many tiny helpers you need."

Making another face, Retribution lightly pushed his hand away and sighed, the sound becoming dangerously close to a yawn. The poor guy must've really exhausted himself. Pest's expression softened as he watched the other rider, speaking up again after a few seconds passed, "On second thought, how about you take a nap? If you want any help with cleaning once you're a bit more rested up, let me know." Retribution scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, "I don't need sleep, I'm fine. I can do it now, don't worry about me."

Groaning, Pest's magic flared up, and he hummed, "Welp. Looks like we're doing this the hard way then." Before Ret was given the chance to ask what he was doing, he was lifted up off the floor and moved over to his bed. He was dropped on the mattress and Pest began to whistle a tune, gathering up his sash and syringe gun as more of his magic moved to throw the covers over Ret. He watched as Retribution popped his head out from under the blankets and glared weakly, "How dare you! I could've walked just fine on my own!"

The taller chuckled softly, "Yeah, you could've. You didn't though, so therefore, you basically left the job open for me to handle." Ret grumbled to himself, pulling his blankets up and tugging them over his shoulders, attempting to make himself more comfortable. Pestilence said his soft goodbyes and "seeya later", all before using a shortcut and vanishing into thin air. Retribution was left alone, lying in bed and silently wondering what just happened with him and Pest.

Had... Had they just become friends? Did Pest really apologize for being a jerk? Retribution rubbed his achy sockets; whatever this absolute madness was, he'd deal with it later, after his afternoon nap.

#writing #four horsemen of the apocalypse #riders of the apocalypse #undertale #undertale au #pestilence.exe #retribution.exe #war.exe #i was being a total weeb #try to find the reference i made to an anime #hint: it's somewhere in pests dialogue #its not exactly the same as in the show #but it's pretty close #also #nupe #the prank was not the destruction of rets room #he did that on his own

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