#killers conditioning/programming.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Something about how color and killer could both very likely operate and function on internal rules that govern their lives, behaviors, relationships, and existence

[probablyasocialecologist]

While they contribute little to society, welfare ranchers on public lands demand a lot in the form of subsidies whose scope is a testament to their outsize power and influence. It’s estimated the state and federal largesse to the industry amounts to between $500 million and $1 billion a year, all of it funded generously by the taxpayer. This includes below-market grazing fees for cows and sheep, fence construction, road building and maintenance, cattle guards, forage improvement and seeding programs, poisoning of unwanted vegetation, forest clearing, stream diversions, water projects such as dams, pipelines, aqueducts, stock ponds and troughs, the monitoring of livestock health, and control of predators and other mammalian and avian pests deemed a threat to the industry. The U.S. Department of Agriculture operates a specialized hunting and trapping unit—referred to by the Saboteur as “hired killers”—that slaughters tens of thousands of animals each year to aid public lands stockmen, including coyotes, beavers, and prairie dogs. Ranchers also receive generous federal and state tax write-offs for every cow they graze, along with reduced state property taxes for their private deeded lands. They are additionally “blow-jobbed,” as the Saboteur put it, by the very agencies that are supposed to be preventing their overstocking and overgrazing of public lands. The Forest Service and the Bureau of Land Management are the primary culprits in this charade of regulation, in which it appears the cowboys run the show and the bureaucrats are their puppets. The industry is thus provided all kinds of preferential treatment and survives on the dole because in the arid conditions of the West, where the climate conspires against cattle production, it cannot do otherwise. “Western cattlemen are nothing more than welfare parasites,” wrote author Edward Abbey, the literary father of the eco-sabotage movement in the United States, who also observed that cattlemen “survive by hiding behind the cheap mythology of the ‘Cowboy’: literally, a boy who looks after cows.” Abbey was hardly alone in coming to this conclusion. Conservative pundit George Will opined that an inner-city mother on public assistance was “the soul of self-reliance compared to a westerner who receives federally subsidized range privileges.” The industry, naturally, wants ever more privilege. The primary advocacy group of ranchers who exploit the public domain is the Public Lands Council, which is funded and staffed by the National Cattlemen’s Beef Association, a political and cultural giant in the annals of lobbying. Every few years, the Public Lands Council issues a policy document to outline priorities for Congress and the White House. Katie Fite, an ecologist with the nonprofit Wildlands Defense in Boise, calls it the “Welfare Rancher’s demand letter.” “The Big Hats basically want super-duper extra special status for every welfare ranching permit holder,” she told me in an email, “because if you have herds of cows or sheep you are a Lord.” Among the common demands: the general annihilation of prairie dogs, a keystone species already 98 percent gone throughout the West but which ranchers still consider a pest; the stripping of Endangered Species Act protections for the trifling number of remaining grizzly bears and for “all species of wolves” in the United States; and rollbacks of key provisions of the National Environmental Policy Act, which requires environmental impact assessments of all commercial activities on federal lands, including ranching operations. The Public Lands Council has also sought to amend the Wild Free-Roaming Horses and Burros Act so that wild horses can be killed because they compete for forage with cows. “They want wild horses in the West pretty much GONE,” Fite wrote me. “The Endangered Species Act rendered meaningless/GONE. They want a free hand to grossly pollute water. They attack just about everything good or positive with public lands and the environment.”

1 April 2025

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 9.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

-

A/n: Things are starting to go according to plan, but is it a good thing...or a bad thing teehee I don't feel as this is my best work, i have such a killer migraine rip but I do hope you guys enjoyed! I definitely skimped on the action scenes ;-; If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

-

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

-

Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8

The city of Gützkow, Germany, was a small and slightly medieval town that was situated in the Northeast. It's population was considerably small with only about 3,000 people occupying the historical town. It was the perfect place to lay low in, but with small towns came lots of talk.

When newcomers or visitors would come, the word spread like wildfire. Thankfully, Natasha and Bucky knew how to blend right in. They were walking around in casual clothing, Natasha wearing a babushka tied beneath her hair, and Bucky was wearing a hat with sunglasses and a surgical facemask.

They were scouting; on the look-out for anybody that looked suspicious to them while blending in with the other tourists that were in the town. Their comm links sparked to life, making the two jolt slightly as Tony's voice came through.

"You guys have got to try the Jaegerschnitzel here at the hotel. I don't think it's got actual jaeger in it though, it's missing that 'why did i put this in my mouth' taste."

"Tony, are you seriously eating right now?"

Steve sounded annoyed, and Tony replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry that I'm a hungry growing boy, cap. Not everyone can be all muscles and conditioned like you."

T'Challa's annoyance rang loud as he hissed through the comm links.

"Would you both get it together? We're on a mission, not vacation."

Natasha muttered, hiding it behind her hand as she coughed slightly.

"You're telling me."

As they walked, Bucky could see a group of men walking out of an alleyway; wearing mostly black and looking as if they were looking for something or someone. Bucky stated as he looked over at Natasha to look as though he was deep in conversation.

"Got company at 12 o'clock. 6 EC's. I can't tell if they're armed."

Steve hummed in response.

"Let's assume they are. Do we have a visual on Rollins?"

"No. He doesn't seem to be with them."

T'Challa's voice came over the comms again, saying as the wind whipped past his mic.

"He is probably lying low so he doesn't get recognized...or doesn't get caught on camera."

Natasha then observed, watching as they grabbed a few take-out boxes and began to walk down the street.

"Seem to be on food delivery for today. Let's see where they're servicing."

Bucky and Natasha began to move slowly, inconspicuously following the men, and they cut behind an alleyway to walk on the opposite side of the building so the group of men didn't notice them. From above, Bucky could see T'Challa soaring over the roofs, staying as low as he could so pedestrians didn't see him.

The men turned down a narrow alleyway, and their steps seemed to quicken. They unexpectedly when down a flight of steps into a door that was situated in the side of the building. Bucky frowned, and Natasha hummed.

"This must be where Rollins has been hiding...right underneath everyone's nose."

Tony then cut in, asking.

"So, what's the plan? You wanna just...knock on the front door?"

"Tony, do not."

Steve hissed with an annoyed tone, and Tony sighed before he dropped down right behind the group of men.

"Sorry, I have an appointment that I just can't miss. You understand, right?"

Steve began to berate the man as Tony engaged the group, knocking them out one by one, and Bucky couldn't help but to glare into the eyes of the Iron Man mask.

"Really? You couldn't let Natasha and I do this? Rollins might know that we're here now."

"Guess we better hurry then. Hop to it, gang, we've got a mystery to solve."

Natasha snuck in first, carefully and quietly neutralizing guards that were in the hallway, and Bucky came in behind her and went through the doorway. The two of them began to engage four guards that were in a common area of the basement.

While Bucky harshly head-butt one of the agents and knocked them out, Steve's shield came flying into the stomach of the other, effectively incapacitating them. Bucky glanced back to see Steve standing in the doorway in his suit, glaring at Tony as he caught his shield.

"Tony, you were supposed to wait on the other side of the building in case they had an escape route."

"I thought Mufasa could handle it."

T'Challa hissed with disdain into his mic.

"I am a panther, not a lion!"

"Okay, does Kitty Claws work?"

Bucky just groaned and declared.

"Can we please focus? Steve and I will go down the left hallway, you and Natasha can go down the right. T'Challa can watch the south exit while Clint watches the North exit."

Steve then frowned, asking.

"Wait a minute, has anybody heard from Clint?"

Suddenly, there was a high-frequency interference that made everyone clutch their ears, and Clint's apologetic voice came over the line.

"I am so sorry, everyone, I couldn't figure out how to get my hearing aids to connect to the server. No movement so far, nobody's gone in nor out, but I have it covered."

Natasha couldn't help but to snort and Tony shook his head.

"I told you that I could update your ears for you."

"I'm not interested in being able to hear you 24/7 Stark, but thanks for the offer. I'm turning my ears down now."

Clint went quiet, and Steve instructed.

"Let's get a move on. The quicker we get this done, the better."

The group split up, and Bucky and Steve began to carefully go down the hallway. Bucky's ears were straining, listening for anybody that might be in the rooms on either side of the hallway, and Steve approached the door at the end of the hall. From within, Bucky and Steve could hear a man speaking that sounded a lot like Rollins.

He gave Bucky a look before nodding, and he kicked the door in with a grunt. The door splintered and came flying off of the hinges, and Bucky raised his gun, glaring down his sight at the empty room. There was a recorder propped up against a microphone, and Steve frowned when Bucky got a haunted look across his face.

"What is it, Bucky?"

"The trigger words...they're reciting her trigger words!"

Steve looked grave and he immediately called within his comm link.

"We got an emergency. Rollins isn't here, but he's got a device broadcasting the soldier's trigger words. We need to get back to Wakanda immediately!"

Tony's voice came over the comm link, sounding slightly out-of-breath.

"A bit busy, Cap! We've got a bunch of hostiles. No sign of Rollins yet either!"

Bucky slid behind the desk, crushing the recorder, and he stated.

"Fuck, they implanted some type of advanced radio within the neural tissue of the soldier's brain that's seemingly undetectable from CT and MRI's. It says that it's engineered to emit controlled radio waves, operating on low-frequency electromagnetic waves that interact with the brain's electrical signals."

Tony hummed after a moment of grunting and huffing.

"It's basically like a small speaker. Whatever they want the subject to hear, they can relay to them through that chip."

Steve instructed.

"We need to get to Wakanda immediately. Tony, can you get us there quickly?"

"I can't get us there in enough time without a quinjet or unless I go alone."

T'Challa called through the mic with urgency.

"We have a way. If you are not with me within the next two minutes, I am leaving without you!"

Steve and Bucky began to jog as fast as they could to T'Challa's location where a Royal Talon Fighter was hovering and being piloted by Okoye. Clint was inside as well, and a moment later, Tony and Natasha arrived. They all jumped into the jet, and T'Challa exclaimed.

"Go!"

-SHURI-

She didn't know what had happened. It had been peaceful in the lab as Shuri ran some more programs to further break down HYDRA's programming when all of a sudden, the digital representation of the soldier's mind began to pulse with red light. The soldier had reacted physically as well, clutching their head and screaming.

Within real time, Shuri watched as her safeguards were destroyed and the whole brain went completely red. When the soldier stopped screaming, Shuri was horrified to watch as she turned around, and the Winter Soldier was back.

Shuri exclaimed to the other scientists that were in the lab to evacuate before initiating a lockdown on the lab. The soldier had wasted no time, bounding across the lab and throwing lab equipment out of her way before she began to punch the door. There was a energy barrier that was installed in the door, repelling her punches.

However, the barrier was weakening with every punch, and Shuri began to curse in Xhosa before calling her brother. With no time wasted, T'Challa answered the call.

"Shuri! They have some sort of chip installed in her brain that is like a speaker. You must get away from her! The Winter Soldier has been activated!"

"How is that possible? I scanned her brain completely! There's no way I wouldn't have noticed!"

T'Challa clicked his tongue loudly, replying.

"They made it with the intention of it never being found. Stark said it's within her neural tissue."

Shuri cursed again as the woman slammed against the barrier again, shattering it before she began to punch at the door again. Shuri watched as the door began to bend, and Shuri stood up, members of the Dora Milaje standing around her.

"Evacuate the Citadel! Protect the people!"

"We can see the Citadel. Hold on, Shuri!"

The lab door suddenly flew off of the hinges, and as the kingdom went on lockdown, the lights flickered. The soldier stalked out of the doorway, and Shuri stood protectively with her vibranium gauntlets readied.

"Isithunzi, please stand down! I don't want to hurt you!"

The woman did not respond, marching towards her, and Shuri shot her gauntlets, the soldier flying backwards and skidding on the ground. Shuri frowned, calling again in Russian.

"Отойди, солдат!"

The soldier faltered for a moment, but she stood up with an angry sneer on her face. As she walked, the feeling of dread filled Shuri, and the Dora Milaje immediately began to engage.

Despite the soldier's weakened state, she still fought as if she was in prime condition. Dodging spears and swinging her fists, the soldier was a beast.

There was no other way to describe the way the soldier fought. She was calculated and cold with her movements as she engaged the Dora Milaje.

She threw one of the women into another, letting out a roar of frustration, and Shuri exclaimed.

"Do not hurt her! Try to incapacitate!"

The Dora Milaje immediately changed their approach, and though they were coordinated and quick, the soldier seemed to anticipate every move that they made.

Once the Dora Milaje were taken down, the soldier began to advance towards Shuri. Shuri stood at the ready, a bead of sweat running down her temple.

As the soldier advanced, the wall to her left suddenly exploded, Iron Man tackling the woman straight through the opposite wall. Shuri gasped as T'Challa and the Avengers came barreling into the room. The king ran to Shuri, asking her.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, but our walls are!"

T'Challa shook his head before he quickly yanked the two of them out of the way of a stray gurney; glass shattering and the bed creating sparks as it slid across the ground. Natasha came barreling through the hole, and she groaned softly once she stopped sliding on the ground before looking up at Shuri.

"Hey, you wouldn't happen to have an extra pair of those gauntlets, would you?"

Shuri shook her head, shrugging.

"Only the prototypes."

Natasha huffed, and Clint came to her side, checking her over before shaking his head and grabbing an arrow that was glowing blue.

"I need you guys to give me an open shot!"

Within the lab, the soldier was currently being crowded and held down by Steve and Bucky, her feet kicking and teeth gnashing as she tried to escape. Tony slapped a collar onto her neck, and when the two super soldiers let her go, Clint took his shot and electrocuted the soldier. The electricity triggered the collar, and harsher voltage began to course through the soldier's body.

The soldier screamed before dropping, convulsing on the ground, and Bucky wiped his nose of blood. Tony's mask slid off, and he shook his head.

"I feel like that could have been a lot worse. I think even you pack a harder punch than she did, MC 1."

Bucky huffed, muttering with an exasperated look.

"She hasn't been properly fed and hydrated in a long time, so she's not exactly in prime condition. If she had been, this would have been a lot worse."

Steve looked over at Shuri as the princess stepped through the door with a grave expression while T'Challa looked angry. Steve immediately apologized, guilt running deep within his mind.

"I'm sorry, Shuri, I didn't know."

Shuri raised her hands, shaking her head.

"It's not your fault. I feel so stupid that I did not think about the possibility of them installing a physical failsafe, not just a mental one."

T'Challa was silent, and Okoye looked livid. The woman stayed quiet, however, and Natasha said as Clint walked her into the lab.

"To be fair, it seems like relatively modern technology that they could have installed recently. We know that she's been active since 1985, and to my knowledge, they didn't have that type of technology then."

T'Challa then decided, crossing his arms.

"Then let us get this lab cleaned up so we may locate the chip and extract it. We must play it safe as we don't know if Jack Rollins still has another communicator."

The Citadel was released from lockdown, and the lab lit up. Shuri opened up a hologram of the soldier's brain, pointing at the large portions of red that had showed up again.

"Her activation completely rendered my safeguards useless. What I can do is reinstall them, begin to locate the chip and extract it, and then begin rehabilitation once more."

T'Challa couldn't help but to say.

"Is rehabilitation still possible?"

"Yes, it is."

Shuri looked stern, and T'Challa just sighed. Tony glanced around the lab and began to ask Shuri about the different equipment that she had while the soldier was placed onto the cryostasis pod bed. Bucky moved back after strapping her in, and Steve shook his head.

"I should have known."

Bucky gave Steve an incredulous look, his blue eyes wide with exasperation as he looked at the upset Captain.

"How could we have known? I know HYDRA implanted trackers into every subject, but even I wasn't aware that they experimented with technology like this."

Steve had a forlorn look on his face, and Natasha spoke as Clint stood by, tilting his head as he looked at the soldier.

"Don't do that to yourself, Steve, none of us knew. Not even Shuri."

Steve looked defeated, and Clint hummed in thought as he gazed at the sleeping soldier.

"You know, she doesn't even look any older than 25."

His statement made Steve shake his head, and Bucky muttered as the wounded began to file in and begin medical treatment.

"Let's just figure out how to get that chip out."

-

STORY NOTES: Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Tony, T'Challa, and Clint all go to Gützkow, Germany, to locate Jack Rollins. While Bucky and Natasha are scouting on the ground, Clint and T'Challa are on the roofs. Steve is stationary on the opposite side of the town, and Tony is at a restaurant.

Natasha and Bucky spot a group of suspicious looking men that are carrying boxes of food, and they begin to follow them. They arrive at an entrance that is hidden within the alleyway, and Tony decides to engage immediately despite Steve's orders not to. Unable to wait, the Avengers begin to infiltrate the secret base. After engaging and incapacitating most of the agents, the Avengers split up to cover more ground.

Steve and Bucky arrive at a room at the opposite side of the building, and they discover that Rollins is nowhere to be found. However, they find that a voice recorder is playing the soldier's trigger words into a microphone. Despite crushing the device, the words have already been looping for an unknown amount of time. Bucky discovers that HYDRA implanted a chip into the soldier's brain that emits radio waves that translate into words; allowing HYDRA to remotely activate the soldier.

Upon finding this out, T'Challa calls Okoye to come to his location to pick him up and advises the Avengers to hurry, or he will leave them behind. In Wakanda, Shuri and the Dora Milaje are currently engaging the soldier after she has been completely reactivated. The soldier is able to disarm and defeat the Dora Milaje, but before she is able to begin engaging with Shuri, Tony breaks through the wall and attacks the soldier.

Natasha and Tony begin to engage the soldier, but the soldier is able to throw Natasha off and back out of the lab, in which Natasha asks Shuri if she has extra gauntlets that she could use. Inside the lab, Bucky and Steve arrive to give Tony backup, and they are able to detain the soldier.

Tony puts on a collar that delivers high-voltage shocks to incapacitate the soldier, and Clint activates it after shooting the soldier with an electrified arrow. Once the soldier is taken down and put in restraints, she is immediately put into cryostasis for the time-being.

Steve then apologizes to Shuri, but Shuri brushes him off and tells him that she feels stupid for not considering the possibility of HYDRA implanting a chip as a physical safeguard alongside the use of mind-control techniques. T'Challa suggests that they remove the chip as fast as possible, and the Avengers begin to administer first-aid while beginning to research how to remove the chip.

TRANSLATION:

Jägerschnitzel - An Austrian meal that is made with veal and a creamy sauce that is usually made with mushrooms, tomatoes, or by itself

EC - Military Lingo for Enemy Combatants

Isithunzi - Xhosa for Shadow/Shade

Отойди, солдат! - Stand down, Soldier!

TAGLIST: @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x

[posttexasstressdisorder]

California’s oldest and most infamous prison, San Quentin Rehabilitation Center, is undergoing a groundbreaking transformation into a Nordic-inspired rehabilitation hub. Spearheaded by Gov. Gavin Newsom, the $239 million renovation is expected to be finished by January 2026.

Once home to notorious figures like cult leader Charles Manson and serial killer Richard Ramirez, the prison is now at the forefront of California’s evolving approach to incarceration. This new direction was solidified by Assembly Bill 1104, introduced by Democratic Assemblymember Mia Bonta and signed into law by Newsom in October 2023, redefining the purpose of incarceration as “rehabilitation and safe and successful reentry back into the community.”

The project draws inspiration from Scandinavian incarceration models that prioritize dignity, autonomy and reintegration. This approach has been linked to lower recidivism rates, as Norway’s two-year rate is 17.6%, compared with 61.5% in the U.S.

Jesse Vasquez, executive director of Friends of San Quentin News and the Pollen Initiative, told SFGATE he supports a shift in the prison model from punishment toward rehabilitation. “For the first time in California history, the governor decided, ‘OK, we’re gonna change the penal code. We’re gonna change the mission of the Department of Corrections, and we’re gonna solidify it with a monumental structural investment,’” he said. 

Unlike more remote prisons, San Quentin’s location in Marin County — just outside San Rafael — offers close proximity to Bay Area resources and a well-established volunteer network, enabling a wide range of rehabilitation and educational programs. Mount Tamalpais College, which operates within San Quentin, offers an associate degree in liberal arts, with courses taught by volunteer faculty from top Bay Area colleges and universities.

A view of San Quentin seen from a ferry boat on San Francisco Bay.Susanne Friedrich/Getty Images

Central to the transformation are three new buildings replacing former industrial facilities that will house vocational training areas, multimedia education centers and restorative justice programs. The 2024 report from the San Quentin Transformation Advisory Council outlines plans to reimagine the prison environment through additions like a library, grocery store, cafe and communal spaces reflecting life outside prison.

“If you can imagine like a college campus vocational training center inside of the institution,” Vasquez said, emphasizing plans for open-access programming.

Additionally, the renovation includes significant improvements in inmate living conditions, particularly advocating single-cell occupancy — a direct response to inmate requests, Vasquez noted.

“The incarcerated first and foremost wanted single-cell living,” Vasquez said, noting that renovating existing facilities wasn’t viable. With the new model, the prison can better accommodate more humane living conditions aligned with rehabilitation goals. 

Newsom’s San Quentin initiative is part of broader criminal justice reforms, including his 2019 moratorium on California’s death penalty and the dismantling of San Quentin’s death row announced in January 2022. These foundational changes paved the way for the current rehabilitation-focused transformation.

According to a 2023 California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation report, nearly half of California inmates released in 2018 faced reconviction within three years.Vasquez hopes San Quentin’s new approach will serve as a replicable model nationwide to reduce recidivism.  

“We’ve tried incarceration in terms of warehousing with no programming or minimal programming and minimal investment for more than 180 years, and it hasn’t worked,” Vasquez said. “This is the one time that we have a chance to provide investment and create opportunity so that the thing does work.”

Local editor Kasia Pawlowska contributed to this story. 

[talonprteam]

Gabriel Reyes Chronic Pain

It's canon that since gaining his powers Gabe has had chronic pain from his body's rapid decay and regeneration, which is described as agony. I'm gonna expand on that here.

Gabriel was a solider pushed to his physical limits by the soldier enchantment program and the omnic crisis, the enhancement program itself canonly had a mortality rate of at least 60% in just the enhancement part itself. I do trace back Gabriel's later deteriorating state to his enhancements he got here, and I would say this is also where his chronic pain began, though in far more mild form than later in his life.

After the crisis is where his health took a turn for the worse thanks to his enhancements. In the long term his body was reacting poorly to the regeneration effects, causing some of his tissue to experience necrosis while his organs were put into overdrive keeping him alive and heavily strained. Moria was able to stabilize him, increasing the decay and regeneration of his body to where he was at a delicate equilibrium where his body pretty much refreshed just enough he wasn't decaying but also wasn't actively dying of a heart attack. It did however increase his pain levels dramatically and made pain medication far less effective on him.

Then of course we get to the Zurich explosion which further throws Gabriel's health down the drain. His abilities are pushed past their limits and he has to be saved by Moria. He sustained permanent damage to his body from where his body's regeneration was too overtaxed to help, mostly surface flesh which has developed disfigurement, heavy scaring, and in localized areas necrosis. His body is in constant pain just keeping himself physical.

Some other tidbits

His pain varies from day to day depending on how much energy he has, how injured he's been recently, and how rapid his decay is at the time.

Healing from massive injuries will leave him in pain too extreme to function in, making him disappear for awhile.

When in periods of extreme pain (by his standards) he has trouble maintaining a physical form and on his very worst days he absolutely can't focus enough to do it. He will typically only be willing to see Moria and otherwise spend his time somewhere dark and secluded, or in Talon's mourge (which reminds me to write a post about my vampiric cells hc)

Managing his pain is incredibly difficult due to his resistance to drugs, though he does use the strongest pain killers that he can irregardless; along with his active lifestyle, constant reinjury, and poor self care. All of that is overshadowed by the sheer amount of pain he is overall in, which even under the best circumstances would still be extremely painful and limit his ability to engage in the world at all times.

Some things besides from medication he's found that help somewhat include: extreme cold temperatures, breathing exercises, taking rest days where possible. In general slowing down the rate his body is working is the most effective means of treating both his pain and his underlying condition.

[rentenier3148]

Held Together By Memory

Chapter 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You both were torn from 1940s Brooklyn and remade into killers. But when memories begin to bleed through, a second chance is ignited.

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warning: Fluff. Some smut. Angst. Slow Burn (?). Some cannon divergence for plot. No use of y/n. Language (sorry Steve)

A.N: I realized that it has been a while since I've watched the actual saga so sorry if most things are inaccurate. I'm also just lazy to watch all of them again. Plus, it just advances the plot. I love canon divergence 🤩

Chapter 4

✪──────•••──────✪

Unknown Location - Time Unknown

You wake slowly.

The air is cold—too cold. Your head aches like it's been split in two. Everything feels off, wrong, like your body doesn't quite belong to you anymore.

The light is dim, humming with a strange flicker overhead. Metal walls. Sterile floors. The faint hiss of pressurized air.

You're lying on a cot with coarse sheets, your wrists bound in leather cuffs to the rails on either side. Your heart lurches.

Panic sets in.

You twist, pull, try to scream—but your throat is dry, and your voice barely escapes as more than a hoarse whisper.

"Where—"

"Where am I?"

There's a hiss of hydraulics as a metal door slides open across the room.

Two men walk in. Cold eyes. Dark uniforms. You don't recognize the language embroidered on their sleeves, but their insignia—a coiled skull inside a circle—burns itself into your memory like a brand.

One of them carries a clipboard, the other something that looks like a syringe glinting with a sickly blue fluid.

You struggle harder.

"Please—what is this? I didn't do anything!"

They don't answer right away. They just study you.

The one with the clipboard speaks, his accent thick, his tone clinical. Detached. Like you're not even human.

"Subject 014 shows enhanced psychological resilience. High emotional intelligence. Unusually adaptive nervous response under sedation. Promising."

The one with the syringe hums thoughtfully. "The others broke too soon. Too emotional. Too aware. But this one..." He steps closer, tilting your chin with gloved fingers. "This one may be the breakthrough we need."

Your breath stutters.

They keep talking about a new program called "Black Helix" and something about "neurological remapping".

You don't know what any of this means, all you know is that something is very, very wrong.

The clipboard clicks shut.

"Initiate pre-conditioning. Begin baseline extractions. Memory access within forty-eight hours."

The door hisses closed behind them.

And you're left shaking, cuffed to a cot in a room that smells like chemicals and cruelty.

✪──────•••──────✪

Brooklyn, New York

The sun rises like any other—gentle, golden, stretching light across the city rooftops as if it doesn't know the world has changed.

Ginny Russo stirs awake in her apartment a few blocks down from yours, tangled in sheets and clutching a pillow she's long since claimed as Tommy's stand-in. She yawns, stretches, and pushes herself out of bed with the kind of lazy grace that comes from one too many late nights whispering under streetlamps with her best friend.

Her best friend—you.

She pads into the kitchen, hair in curlers and robe trailing behind her, and flips on the coffee pot. Her eyes drift to the small pile of envelopes on the table. No new letter from Tommy yet. She sighs, but it's okay.

She's got you.

After getting ready for the day, Ginny walks the now-familiar route toward your brownstone. Two cups of coffee in hand, a bag of warm pastries in your elbow crook, humming a Billie Holiday tune under her breath.

She climbs your steps with ease, balancing the cups in one hand as she knocks on your door with the other.

Knock knock.

"Open up, sweetheart! I brought the sugary ones with the raspberry filling—your weird favorite."

Silence.

Ginny waits. Then knocks again, this time a bit harder.

"You didn't fall asleep at the table reading love poems again, did you?"

Still nothing.

Her smile falters. Something cold creeps up her spine.

She tries the doorknob. It's unlocked. Which isn't totally unusual... but her gut twists anyway.

She calls your name.

She steps inside.

The apartment is quiet. A little too quiet. A coffee mug still sits in the sink from the night before. Your shoes are by the door. One of your sweaters is draped over the arm of the chair.

But no sign of you.

And then she sees it—your purse is still on the table.

Your keys.

Her breath catches. Ginny's been through enough long nights and lonely mornings to know when something is wrong.

Her voice trembles as she calls for your name again, louder this time.

But you're not there.

And the chill in her chest turns into full-blown panic.

Ginny heads to the police department to file a missing persons report.

The officer barely raises an eyebrow—"Probably just ran off. Girls get emotional during wartime."

But Ginny doesn't buy it.

She knows you.

You wouldn't disappear. Not without telling her. Not without a word.

She clutches your photograph to her chest that night, curled up on your bed, whispering a promise into the dark:

"I'm gonna fine you, sweetheart. I swear to God, I'm not letting them take you from me too."

✪──────•••──────✪

HYDRA Facility - Unknown Location

Three floors below ground. Temperature strictly controlled. Surveillance active. Doors sealed from the outside.

You lie on the cot, still restrained, body aching, thoughts foggy.

Time has stopped meaning anything. There's no sun, no moon—just sterile lights that flicker too often, and the cold voice of someone speaking Russian over a speaker you can't see.

they haven't fed you much. Haven't spoken to you since they evaluated you. But something has changed today.

You feel it.

The door hisses open with a deep mechanical sigh.

Two HYDRA soldiers enter first—silent, faceless under black helmets. Behind them comes a woman in a long lab coat, her heels tapping against the metal floor with unnerving precision. Her hair tied back so tightly it looks like it hurts, and her eyes—icy and detached—sweep over you like you're just another experiment.

She holds a clipboard in one hand and a device in the other—smooth, cold metal with faint blue light pulsing from the edges.

"Subject 014," she says. "Initiate Black Helix Phase One."

You flinch as the soldiers approach, undoing your cuffs only to haul you to your feet and guide you—not violently, but with precision of men who have done this many time before—down a long hallway of metal doors and silence.

You're brought into a circular room.

There's a chair in the center—strapped, reinforced. Surrounding it are machines humming with eerie light. Above, a ring of dim lights and spinning instruments like something out of a nightmare.

They sit you in the chair.

You struggle, voice raw. "Please—I don't understand—what are you doing to me?!"

The woman speaks again, not unkindly. Not kindly either. Just... calm.

"You are being chosen. We believe your mind is strong enough. Your emotions, adaptable. Unlike the others... you will not break. You will evolve."

Another machine whirs to life.

She places small electrodes against your temples. Ice-cold. Sticky. You tremble.

"We are improving on the Winter Soldier model," she continues, like reading from a textbook. "Emotionless compliance has proven unstable. Instead, we cultivate dual-function memory layering—a perfect balance of identity and obedience."

She pauses. Looks directly into your eyes.

"You will become what he could not."

The lights flash. Pain stabs through your skull. Not burning—not yet. Just pulling.

Pulling at memories. At feelings. At you.

Your voice cracks as you call out—

"Bucky—"

But the sound is swallowed by the machines. And the programming begins.

✪──────•••──────✪

The cell they keep you in now is no longer a prison.

It's a lab.

A stage.

A proving ground.

You sit on the edge of the cot, hands folded neatly in your lap. The light above you flickers in rhythm, casting strange shadows across your face. Your posture is perfect. Your eyes—distant.

You don't scream anymore. You don't cry.

The memories still come... but they feel like dreams now. Half-real. A boy with soft eyes. A kiss on a stoop. A laugh in the rain.

But the machine hums louder than your heart, and the woman in white never lets dreams stay.

Dr. Liska, which you later found out her name was, clipboard in hand. She's flanked by two uniformed guards and a HYDRA officer with a cold stare and silver insignia.

She studies you for a moment before speaking, voice smooth and even.

"Begin trigger sequence."

One of the guards steps forward, opens a small case, and pulls out a red book—leather-bound, stitched with the HYDRA sigil.

He opens it.

Reads, in a low, measured tone:

Неподвижность [Stillness] Лента [Ribbon] Звездный свет [Starlight] Двенадцать [Twelve] Сладкий [Sweet] Исчезновение [Disappearance]

Your breath catches.

You blink. Hard.

And then, your spine straightens.

Your eyes lose their shine.

You rise—slowly, silently—and look forward. Expression blank.

Dr. Liska smiles. "Good. She responds."

The HYDRA officer murmurs something in Russian, impressed.

"Identity is not fully suppressed," she notes aloud. "But control is improving. A delicate balance of emotional memory and mechanical obedience. The serum is unnecessary when the mind is this... pliable."

She steps closer, looks you in the eyes.

"Who are you?"

There's a flicker—deep inside you—screaming from somewhere in the dark.

But what leaves your lips instead is cold. Automatic.

"I am Black Helix."

Liska smiles.

Above, watching from the glass gallery, a man with a red skull nods in approval.

✪──────•••──────✪

Brooklyn, New York - 1940s

The sky is a heavy gray, pressing down over the city like grief. Slush lines the gutters. Smoke curls from chimneys, thick and aimless. Flags hang at a half-mast from too many stoops.

Two people walk toward each other down a quiet street, both carrying worlds of pain they haven't spoken aloud yet.

Steve Rogers, fresh from the war, still in uniform, a shadow of the man he used to be—even with the serum.

And Ginny Russo, coat wrapped tight around her frame, red-rimmed eyes fixed on the familiar figure she hasn't seen in over a year.

They meet on your old stoop. The one where you and Bucky once said goodbye. The one where hope used to sit between cups of coffee and quiet kisses.

Steve forces a soft smile.

"Ginny."

She hugs him before he can say anything else. It's tight, desperate, the kind that comes from holding things in too long.

When they pull apart, she stares at him for a moment—really stares. And her voice shakes.

"Where is he, Steve?"

He looks away. the answer is already written in the lines of his face.

"We were on a train. It was fast, moving through the Alps. We were chasing a scientist from an organization, HYDRA. There was a fight and... and Bucky..."

He swallows. Hard.

"He fell."

Ginny's hand flies to her mouth. Her knees buckle slightly and she sits down on the cold steps, stunned silent.

Steve sits beside her.

"I—I tried to grab him. I did. But..." He trails off, shoulders trembling, jaw clenched.

A long pause.

And then, very quietly, Ginny says—

"She's gone too."

Steve turns to her, startled.

Ginny looks up at him, eyes shinning with tears.

"She went missing months ago. Vanished without a trace. Everyone said she just... ran off. Or couldn't handle the waiting. But I know her, Steve. She wouldn't have left Bucky behind. Not like that."

His breath catches. "You mean... She's—"

"Presumed dead," Ginny whispers.

Two ghosts.

Gone from the same war.

Steve sits there in stunned silence, his heart pounding. His chest aches, not just from grief—but from someone else.

Something he doesn't understand yet.

Because a part of him refuses to believe you and Bucky are truly gone.

Not without a fight.

✪──────•••──────✪

HYDRA Facility, Siberia

The cold is deeper here.

Not the kind you shake off. The kind that settles in your bones. The kind that erases.

Deep beneath the mountains, behind reinforced steel and layers of silence, another name begins to die.

James Buchanan Barnes has been recovered from the snow—barely alive, missing an arm, his body broken from the fall.

But HYDRA sees something in the wreckage.

They see potential.

He wakes strapped to a table, screaming hoarsely until his voice gives out. He doesn't know where he is, or who these people are. His last memory is wind, ice, Steve's voice shouting his name.

And then—nothing.

Pain. Lights. Needles. Blades.

He screams for Steve. For you.

But your name has already been classified under "non-essential."

Too long gone. Too far buried. Too... erased.

HYDRA doesn't speak to him much.

Only orders. Commands. Numbers.

HYDRA scientists begin attaching the prosthetic. Flesh meets cold steel. Sparks fly. Screws tighten.

"актив будет возрожден" [Asset will be reborn]

"кондиционирование начинается через 72 часа" [Conditioning begins in 72 hours]

There is no ceremony. No humanity. Only protocol.

✪──────•••──────✪

HYDRA Facility, Siberia - 1947

The snowstorm outside howls against the mountains, but inside the lab, the air is clinical. Cold. Dead.

You stand perfectly still in a sterile chamber lined with reinforced steel and humming lights. Your breathing is calm. Steady. You've just returned from a mission in Warsaw—clean, quiet, fatal. No witnesses.

The report simply reads: "Success"

A man in a white coat circles you, clipboard in hand. Dr. Liska watches from a raised observation window, her eyes narrowed behind glass. a new protocol is being tested—one borrowed from a similar program now perfected in the adjoining sector.

Cryostasis.

They say it reduced memory degradation. Preserves assets longer. Keeps emotion buried beneath ice.

The man stops in front of you.

"Asset Helix. Окно вашей миссии закрыто. Вы будете сохранены до следующего развертывания" [Asset Helix. Your mission window is closed. You will be stored until your next deployment]

You nod. No protest. No hesitation.

The chamber slides open.

Metal bracket hiss from the walls as you step inside. The light above flickers blue. A technician straps your wrists and ankles gently—almost respectfully. You lie back into frame.

A breath leaves your hips. Not from fear. From stillness.

As the freezing mist begins to rise, you stare forward—expression unreadable.

In the last second before your eyes close, a flicker of something dances behind your lids.

A name. A voice. A streetlamp.

Gone.

✪──────•••──────✪

Brooklyn, New York

Ginny stands outside Steve's deployment car, her coat buttoned tight, gloved hands clutching a letter she didn't want to send yet.

The wind tugs at her scarf as she looks up at him.

He smiles softly, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"I won't be long," he says.

Ginny tries to smile, but she's tired of promises that never come true. She steps in and hugs him tight, heart aching in the space left by two ghosts—you and Bucky.

"Just don't make me say goodbye to you too," she whispers into his coat.

He holds her like a brother. Like someone who knows what it is to lose everything and still move forward.

Then he boards the truck

She stands there long after he's done.

Alone.

✪──────•••──────✪

The Valkyrie - 30.000 ft Above the Arctic

Steve grips the controls, his knuckles white. Johann Schmidt—Red Skull—has vanished, pulled into the cosmos by the Tesseract. The plane is going down. Fast.

Steve doesn't panic.

He presses the receiver to his lips, voice calm.

"Peggy... I'm gonna need a rain check on that dance."

And then silence.

✪──────•••──────✪

Within weeks, the world mourns two heroes lost.

Captain America. Sergeant Barnes.

No one speaks of you. Or Black Helix. You have no grave.

Only ice.

And Silence.

✪──────•••──────✪

I have an idea for Loki but I think I'll do that once I'm done with this series. I also didn't expect this to be shorter than the other chapters but the end of this made me really sad when I was writing it out so i guess it makes up for it 😭

✪──────•••──────✪

Tags: @svtbpbts

[toons-inkwell]

SSKKKSSSTTT—We interrupt your usual Finding "Frankie" AU fic programming to present this star-crossed lovers Lucky Contestant X Monster Frankie fic titled:

LUCK-STRUCK

WARNINGS: Death, (somewhat) graphic violence, suicide talk/themes, and a good deal of cussing

Summary: Monster Frankie and Lucky are at the end of the line. The audience has grown bored of the same thing every season but neither are ready to say goodbye. With the uncertainty of what will happen, who will live, and what will come after, they take a second to look back on what they had before stepping out and giving the audience one final grand finale before finally understanding what went unspoken. (Author's notes in reblogs)

Slow, long strides were matched with short small steps down the waxed floor of a corridor. The long and spacious hallway was occupied by two different creatures, both of vastly different origins. One was a vicious temperamental killer, this bloodthirsty attitude dwelled within the mascot of the very area they were in, Frankie. Frankie wasn't just any mascot though, although he did represent the place with his imagery plastered just about everywhere, he was also responsible for its closure and current condition. Season after season, he was the sadist responsible for the death of hundreds as he remained undefeated in a twisted game show started by people lusting for money. Countless poor souls tempted by greed stepped inside only to have their dreams crushed by this monstrous rabbit, sometimes it was more than their dreams being crushed. Gutted, squished, decapitated, torn to bits, if you could imagine a gruesome demise there was a good chance Frankie was the one to give it to someone just for the fun of it. Oh god did he have fun with it. He was the star, the namesake of the entire thing with his role being the ruthless monster people tuned in or betted on to end lives. A beast created to kill with not one escaping his springy clutches.

Or at least, he was.

Besides him was the small masked human who was almost a victim to Frankie's bloodlust. Running, jumping, sliding, rail grinding, they did everything in their power to live once they made it to the parkour palace. They had expected to be chased by killer mascots but what they never anticipated was how good it would feel. Although they found themselves winded, scared, with the hairs on their body on edge each time something ran after them, they found it exhilarating. Initially coming for a reason they now looked back on and thought silly, the lucky contestant found something so much better in the twisted show.

It was them living that infuriated Frankie, even looking down at the human they could remember the day the contestant showed up. They were told to wait to kill them and holy fuck was it hard. He had the perfect opportunity to snag them in a vent, he could have so easily shoved their face into the rotating blades of a fan making a fine red mist out of the fragile human. Instead the *other* Frankie gave him specific instructions to keep the contestant alive, to let them go to at least boost ratings a bit before ending them. It was aggravating, it was his show, he shouldn't have had to share it with anyone and he made his opinion quickly apparent by disobeying orders. If that smiley bastard didn't interfere when he wasn't looking he would have succeeded in crushing that pest under his foot too, instead the contestant got by using sheer luck to escape. When that fucking prick showed his face again and tried to help the contestant once more, Frankie was quick to put an end to it. They had reached the end and he—unwillingly—went along with the plan. The contestant was at Hexa-Havoc meaning they werr all his, his to kill, his to rip apart in front of the cameras, it was his right to make them a martyr by displaying their organs across brightly colored hexagons to teach any future contestants what would happen if they dare FUCKED with HIS gameshow!

Instead the reverse happened. He was made a god damn fool in front of over 20,000 people with that audience count only rising each second. Thousands witnessed that costumed weirdo who randomly appeared dash back and forth, dodging him as the timer ticked down. Eventually once the lever lock timer was up the contestant lunged for it, barely any ground to stand on left. From the sky rained the sentient time bombs that were the little noob-noobs and then it was all over. Frankie's life flashed before his eyes, each and every human he killed and the different ways they screamed under their mask embedded into his memory. Their fearful eyes that were once such a delight now mocking him as he descended into a burning inferno that was in the pit of the parkour palace. His transmitted screams rang out from above, the TVs showing the screaming face of a cartoon variant of him as his body began to superheat and melt, and it was all because of that one contestant who had luck on his side. As he watched the contestant get saved from the same fate, them lucky enough to cling onto one of the precariously placed rails above the incinerator, he vowed to not only get his revenge but to take back all that he lost.

And next season, sure enough, he had the chance. It was a surprise to the rabbit but the contestant came back, this time with a whole lot less uncertainty in their actions much to his displeasure. Frankie never did get the chance to enact his revenge, the contestant once more proved to be more than capable of outplaying him. Season after season it repeated, a game with both parties trying to one-up the other and make it so the other would end up losing. Frankie had won for so long that after each loss he felt emotions surface he didn't even know he had, anger, bitterness, hate, it all brewed next to the constant humiliation in front of the audience that once applauded him and screamed his name as he eviscerated all those in his sight. Simultaneously, he also felt something else. Just like the pain he felt upon burning for the first time, the contestant's slowly shifting attitude and actions after the seasons intrigued him as it was all so new. He had plenty of chances to kill the person that proved to be a thorn in his side when off camera, but at the same time he didn't wish to. It was odd but actually trying to win stirred something in him, it was the same feeling the contestant got when being chased. It was a sort of unique thrill they shared with each other, their disdain and hatred slowly changing while the game did too. New obstacles were installed, parts of the parkour palace were renovated, the game was kept fresh with their rivalry enticing people to watch. What started off as a simple game to Frankie and as nothing more than a chance at something else to the contestant became something truly special to the two. Frankie found someone to actually challenge him and the contestant found a new identity as the people's champ. *Lucky* is what they called him, it's what Frankie—both of them—called him. It was something that the contestant embraced and a name Frankie soon found himself thinking about, even when the cameras stopped rolling.

The two came to a halt, both stopping to sit in the dead center of the hallway, neither wanting to go through giant doors with a sign above reading "season finale". No cameras were placed around, just powered off TVs allowing them a small shred of privacy and break. They wouldn't want to be caught dead this close to each other and not in their game of chase, but as it stood neither wished to run. Like the oncoming freeze of winter they both could sense something different in the air, something that neither had a good feeling about. The silence was deafening and both acted out of the norm of their usual circumstances, both predator and prey having a moment of respite.

With a nervous twitch Frankie eventually made the first move, his head turning to look over at a powered off TV mounted on a wall behind him. With less than a thought given he projected his consciousness to it, the much cuter cartoon version of the body he wore manifesting on it drawing Lucky's attention. Unlike the first time they saw the cartoon Frankie on screen, he held no madness in his eyes, instead it was just a somber gaze that shared the sentiment of worry.

["So... This is it huh?"]

Lucky looked downwards, breaking eye contact and nodding "guess so..."

Frankie grimaced, the one on the screen showing emotions whilst his physical body remained in that permanent grin. The silence filled the air once more and it became discomforting, neither wishing to be alone with their thoughts. If there wasn't something to focus on both Frankie and Lucky started to think about what would come next, the thought of after being scarier than the toothy rabbit with a thirst for blood. It was Frankie himself who was scared most by it, quick to speak just to pad time.

["... You think there's a god?"]

Lucky perked up, the question catching them off guard "what?"

["Ya know, god? You believe in one"]

"Uhh... Not really?..." Lucky trailed off and looked at the TV screen, Frankie seemingly wishing for a genuine response which prompted him to continue "I mean... Maybe? I can't say there's definitely not a god but there's no also no proof saying there is...why do you ask?"

["Ehh, I dunno"] Frankie shrugged, his physical body mirroring his movements on screen ["just a thought I suppose, as an AI I really don't think I should have a say on whether a god or not exists, but I know you humans pray to them and I've heard a whole lotta prayers while I–" he made a ripping gesture with his hands ["–ya know?"]

"mmm... Yeah, I hear you" Lucky fiddled with the costume they wore, the fabric sticking to their sweat laced skin underneath "I gotta wonder, do... Do you, uhh... Ever feel bad or anything?" He paused, unsure how to word it without sounding harsh or antagonistic "ya know...for the people you kill?"

["No... Well–not exactly? I mean, I certainly don't feel bad, I just wonder why they risked their lives in the first place?”] Frankie rubbed his chin, the sound his metal finger made making Lucky grimace under the mask ["It just doesn't make"]

"What doesn't make sense?"

["well if the people I kill risk their lives for a measly 5 million then come ooonnn~! They either gotta be a crook, stupid, or suicidal!"] Frankie counted on his fingers each adjective before he rolled his eyes ["I don't care about you humans that much but even I am smart enough to know 5 million dollars isn't going make the average person think they can avoid death where no one else could!"]

"Well, what if they have a family? Being desperate is a reason why a lot of people do things for cash"

["Well that makes even less sense! Why would you attempt to lose your life if you got people relying on you? It'd make more sense to kill someone else before trying to kill yourself for money"] Frankie's spring neck slowly started to extend towards the contestant ["which makes me wonder...]" Now looming over the human, Frankie lowered his face close to Lucky, the smell of rotten flesh still fresh ["which are you?..."]

Lucky squinted their eyes and glared at the rabbit, unphased by the familiar smell and sight "what are you getting at?"

["Well it's just you don't take ANY of the money!"] Frankie's head snapped back to its original position, bobbing ever so slightly on its spring ["If you had a family to feed you'd take it without a second thought and leave, if you were suicidal you'd just let me kill you, that just leaves you either being some criminal on the run with this being your only safety, or plain stupid"]

Lucky chuckled and gave a dismissive wave "heh, well I know I'm stupid for staying but as for why I found this place in the first place?..." They looked towards the big door awaiting them both, it's presence making any humor vanish "... It really was because I couldn't think of any better way to go out, after all dying live in front of thousands is a whole lot better than tying a noose around my neck"

["So why is it that you ran? Why didn't you just let me kill you, I don't know if you could tell but I wasn't really keen on listening to the asshole watching the cameras"]

"Yeah... I could tell real fast you didn't care if I made it to the end..." Lucky grumbled before registering the question. With a small bit of thought they answered, their voice cracking from a small bit of uncertainty in their own words "I suppose it was just instinct? I did think the money would be nice but I didn't really think I'd last long... When I heard about–" the gestured to the surroundings "–this I watched a few clips online to see what exactly I was getting into, upon finding out barely anybody made it past the lobby let alone the first obstacle course I just said fuck it, blew a few grand on your crap cereal, and when I actually got here I got ready to die..."

Frankie's ears twitched, by his cartoon version's face filled with intrigue ["...And then?"]

Lucky took a second to recuperate their scattered thoughts. The fear they felt, the hopeless knowledge of what would happen when they walked in through those doors and put on the suit was still so fresh even after years. With a sigh they began to speak again, their words holding the same confidence that grew in them overtime.

"I found it... Fun" they met Frankie's gaze, the blue lights of the rabbit's eyes a lot easier to look at than the headache inducing fluorescent lights above "I know I'm crazy but when you were chasing me it felt like I actually had a purpose, obviously my body just wanted to not die, basic science behind survival and all that, but after the initial fear started to fade and I could begin to think clearly I wanted more, it's why I kept going, it's why I didn't stop and give up, it's why I kept trying to get to the end and managing to outrun you"

["Atatata!"] Frankie sputtered ["let's get the story straight here, I "LET you live, reminder that the other called me back when I was so capable of killing you"]

"Oh of course, it's not like after when Henry was close to killing me you just couldn't let your fragile ego be broken so you tried to catch me when he was attempting to kill me as well" Lucky stood up, a snort was given as they recounted the past "oh! Oh! Can't forget 'STOP MESSING UP MY FUCKING GAMESHOW!' can we!?"

Frankie sat back, watching the human he could so easily crush begin to laugh. Way back when if anyone dared to mock him in such a way he would be quick to put them in their place, not even the other wouldn't be safe if they acted in such a manner. Frankie couldn't help but feel different when Lucky did it, like he actually liked getting mocked? It was strange, but it was sort of nice knowing his little outburst was memorable, that Lucky still recalled their first interaction. It gave him a sense of nostalgia that he had never had before.

["... You know, I actually liked it when you ran"]

Lucky's laughter was cut short, the words making him sputter and cough "CUGH! ugh! Wh-what!?"

Frankie covered his mouth and snickered ["I said: I actually liked it when you ran"] he shrugged ["you're the first little fucker who ever gave me a run for my money, well— I guess the company's money, but my point still stands, you were the first to make the game a bit more interesting and made me think about actually winning rather than just coming up with new execution strategies"]

"Ahh yes, I'm sooooo~ grateful I made you think about killing me rather than coming up with whatever sick shit you thought about before"

["You should be, you should also be grateful I never caught you because if I did I would of found out real fast if my springs were durable enough to be used as guillotine"] Frankie flicked the spring that acted as his arm ["there's a good chance they would of just painfully dug into your skin and strangled you, but I believe anything can be used to cut if you try hard enough"]

As grim as it sounded, and as genuine of a threat as it was, both cracked up laughing. It was dark, but to them it was playful. Death was really always how they played, it was the foundation of what they built and what kept their interactions interesting. As the time ticked by, and the laughter subsided, both knew the borrowed time they ran on had to be given back. If they spent too long out of the camera's view they knew the other would creep in with a camera to catch their bonding moment. Both would rather be caught dead than having the audience know of them. It was a bit more than fondness of course, although neither wanted to admit it. Instead they looked towards the glaring pink elephant in the room. A pressing issue that only grew more pressing by the moment, the one that spurred them to stop and talk in the first place, the aforementioned end. It was a bitter truth neither wanted to face, but an unavoidable one that Frankie spoke about, the warmth in his voice vanishing.

["... They didn't bother making a new suit for me this time around..."]

Lucky joined the rabbit in his unease "The other one told me already, turns out seeing me win is getting boring" They sighed and began to raise their voice "How could they take it out on you though? Why wouldn't they just kill me instead of replacing you?"

["Hell if I know"] Frankie shrugged and got to his feet, with a huff he shook his head ["that fake bastard nearly got scrapped by the higher-ups and he barely gets a say in how the show goes, my best guess is the reason why they don't just get rid of you is the same reason this entire show started in the first place, humans being the greedy fuckers they are are willing to find the cheapest solution to any problem"] a deep rumbling growl came out from Frankie's physical body, one of the few noises he was capable of making ["hay, maybe you'll find it fun getting chased by whatever new horrifying fuck takes my place, I'm sure the higher-ups will think of something, like maybe a person with a etch-a-sketch for a head"]

Both looked at each other before chuckling. The very idea that anything could replace Frankie and his brutal ways was hilarious. After all, what would this show be without Frankie? Sure Deputy Duck and Henry were there, but Deputy Duck wasn't really an obstacle and Henry could be easily avoided if you didn't irritate him with his telephones. The show was centered around the rabbit mascot, it was named Finding Frankie. Without Frankie it wouldn't be the same no matter what and with the way the rabbit spoke about the future off-put Lucky. It caught him off guard"

"Heh... What uhh... What makes you assume you'll lose?"

["Hmm?"] Frankie's head twisted to look down at Lucky, his ears twitching as he wondered if he heard correctly ["what? Do you really think I'll win this time around?"] He scoffed ["you've been beating me since you first got here, why is this season gonna be any different? We'll do Hexa-Havoc, you'll beat me, I'll fall, you'll catch the rail, collect the money and keep playing, it always ends like that no matter what"]

"You don't know that" Lucky said quickly.

Looking back down from where they came from, the whirr of buzzsaws that were dangerously close to their being made Lucky think about just how close they were to death. They were still close to death, but they didn't fear it. Not now at least.

"Can't be flawless always right? I was bound to slip up eventually... Make a wrong step, maybe trip... It'd be so easy for me to just make one simple mistake and fall..."

Frankie glared at Lucky and crouched down to face him, even his cartoon version had its face zoomed in on to accentuate its attitude ["what are you saying?"]

"Nothing, nothing at all" Lucky began to walk forward, the sounds of their footsteps echoing off the walls "just that maybe this will be the time you actually get me"

Frankie's face dropped hearing the human's words. Although they didn't say it outright, he knew what they were insinuating. The talk about death, not having purpose and the inevitable end made it all too clear the message. He didn't expect for the human to try and sacrifice themselves, and as much as he would have loved to continue owning the show, he didn't want to. Never once would he expect a human of all things to pity him and he was quick to make his opinion known. He couldn't let Lucky give up, it didn't feel right to them and it certainly didn't feel right to be without them.

["You hold the fuck up!"] He snatched up the human, making sure not to crush them in his metal grasp but still make sure they couldn't squirm out ["You can't just lose on purpose!"]

"Who says I was gonna loseon purpose?"

["YOU WERE IMPLYING IT!"] Frankie stamped his foot on the ground, the cartoon version getting sudden flames in his eyes ["I'd rather be awake and have some fuck-head mechanics the company send dismantle me bit by bit than just let you throw away your spot in the show"]

"I DON'T WANT A SPOT IN THIS FUCKED UP SHOW!" Lucky felt themselves tear up under the mask, the material underneath becoming damp "the reason why I never took the money is because I never wanted it! I want to continue running! Continue playing, but it won't be the same without you!" They choked on a sob, their voice cracking as they pressed a hand to their pulsing heart "I won't be able to continue if you don't come back..."

Frankie didn't have a heart but those words pained his virtual feelings all the same. His grip faltered and Lucky dropped to the ground. The human turned away and removed their mask, beginning to wipe their tears off their unseen face. Whenever the rabbit saw any other cry he'd laugh, mock their pain before biting their head off. Instead he found himself also tearing up, or at least the virtual display which was a true depiction of how he felt. With a quick wipe of his own tears—his physical body wiping nothing—he placed his giant hand on Lucky's shoulder, the size difference would be comical in any circumstance other than the one they found themselves in.

["I don't think I'll be able to continue without you either..."] Frankie grumbled, trying his best to hold back any more emotions as he pulled away ["as much as it sucks, It's just how things gotta be..."]

Lucky sniffled and swallowed a ball of spit that built in their throat "I guess so..." They looked downwards at the mask in their hand, it felt more familiar than their real face "if... If this is the last time we see each other, than I guess I won't lose anything letting you see what I always hid"

Frankie's eyes widened as Lucky began to turn around ["ATATA! NO! NO!" He twirled his torso around, his feet staying in the same place as his springs twisted to make him face away [“keep the mask on! I don't wanna see it!"]

"..." Lucky raised an eyebrow before slowly placing the mask back on "you don't wanna see my face?"

["see your face!? Why the hell would I wanna see that!"] Frankie crossed his arms and let himself snap back around after he heard Lucky's mask be fastened ["If I never see your face I get to know that I look better than you"] he said with a smug grin as he adjusted his bowtie.

"Really?" Lucky snorted and placed a hand on the hip "I think it's safe to say there's not a deformity, defect, or skin condition that could make me look worse than you, and I ain't talking about what's actually standing here”

Frankie flinched back, his ears sagged as he looked at his cartoon appearance which he prided himself on ["wow... You REALLY know how to push my buttons don'tcha?"]

"It's what throws you off your game, makes ya sloppy during chases"

["Oh! Well, ain't you just a lovely cheating cunt!"] Frankie chuckled and let his neck drop his head, with a face that was now upside down he let out another growl and stared down Lucky ["let's not do that this time, capiche? I want a good clean game, none of your little cheating and riling me up, no goofing off or not taking it seriously, and certainly no going easy on me so you can fulfill a death wish"]

"Rules go two ways Frankie, I know for a doubt sometimes you don't run as fast as you could when chasing me, why don't you show everyone why it's called Finding Frankie instead of being just a sore loser"

Lucky pressed one of his gloved fingers to Frankie's nose. Much to their surprise a distinct robotic voice line came from his body, a giddly little chuckle that rang out to both their shock. Lucky couldn't believe such a thing was built into the toothy monster and Frankie didn't think anyone would find out.

["Oh.... Okay!"] His head slingshotted back to its original position and he began to march off ["I'm gonna have so much FUN killing you!"]

"not if I send your sorry ass into the fire!" Lucky yelled after them.

"hay moron! Look at the screen!"

Lucky looked upwards, he usually looked at the rabbit themselves rather than the avatar they used to speak. Although their body was out of sight, their cartoon appearance could more than aptly send a message. With his little rabbit toon body bouncing, Frankie made a cranking gesture with one hand as the other slowly flipped them the bird. Once the gesture was fully given Frankie gave a mock face of shock before vanishing.

Lucky quickly yelled back down the hallway "FUCK YOU TOO! GET READY TO EAT SHIT DUMBASS!"

With their respective taunts spurring them on, both raced to the arena. Lucky wasted no time in kicking down the doors to the season finale and sprinting down the familiar corridor to the final game, Hexa-Havoc. It was a path they had walked before, but never once ran. Just as the show was about to change, so did their attitude towards everything, no longer somber, they eagerly jumped down onto the colorful hexagons to get into the ring. With an unseen smile on their face they witnessed Frankie join them, hurling himself into the ring with a lunge intent on already killing. It was a game they had played countless times, the showrunners incapable of thinking anything more climatic. It was fine, it just meant they had seasons worth of experience to play to the best of their abilities.

And played they did.

Methodical, careful, deliberate in each and every movement they moved. What once was a sloppy frantic chase with falling platforms became a graceful rehearsed dance of two parties in a game with the odds stacked against both. Lucky and Frankie both made it apparent they weren't going easy, Lucky was careful to jump on every other platform conserving as much space as possible within each level. Frankie's jumps which were once used to merely catch up were now used to eliminate and were made with deadly accuracy. Each time the giant rabbit hopped up Lucky had to slide away else they'd be as flat as the platforms they ran on. It was refreshing and even with the intial diminishing views the sheer skill both displayed began to attract new watchers. Numbers rose as the time fell, more and more people tuned in to see what was once a chase become something so much more. The chat, unseen to both, exploded with new people wondering if this was the constant quality, meanwhile old viewers were astonished at how both acted. It was something they had never seen from either, old and new watchers alike were left starstruck as they witnessed time the climax to the show they mindlessly tuned into on the dark web.

["our show just reached a world record for death shows across the world! It's at a million views!"] The other Frankie yelled over the intercom ["the lever is now unlocked! With this many viewers the prize money may QUADRU–"]

SSSSKKKSSSTTT

Frankie hacked both the intercom and televisions scattered around the arena. His cartoon appearance held a familiar flame in his eyes but unlike the past it held no rage or crazed desire for death. Instead his gaze fixated on Lucky and the way they ran. The human locked eyes with the screen and knew it was a fire of passion.

["SHUT IT DIPSHIT! THIS IS OUR SHOW! WE SAY WHEN IT ENDS!"]

Wait—Our show?

It didn't matter if Lucky heard correctly or not, the show carried on with both not even finishing with the second level of platforms. Lucky didn't even give the noob-noob release a glance, instead their attention was given in full to Frankie and their reaching hands. The rabbit repeatedly swiped as they marched towards what they once considered a victim. Now with both near the end, their fates currently uncertain, they felt that same something that only Lucky managed to give them. When he finally managed to corner them only to be met with them slipping between his legs and keep running did he have a rough idea of what it was. It was a feeling Lucky too shared, it was one that made their blood pump and heart pound louder than any scream that could be given by the million people cheering them both on at once. Some of the viewers wanted Lucky to die, finally have the champ meet his end and descend down into hell, meanwhile some rooted for the fragile human to best the monstrous rabbit that was responsible for murdering a large portion of people. Neither really cared what the audience wanted, both were having the time of their life and it only got better once 0 platforms remained on the second level.

Down to the third and final level, both could barely feel the heat looming below as they continued. Even if machine, Frankie's body started to overheat in the same manner Lucky's began to exhaust. Movements became a lot less graceful as they became literally one step closer to the end each moment. Raw and tired, Frankie stopped jumping and instead focused solely on grabbing and Lucky stopped sliding, it was too damn effort and with no safety net it was too damn dangerous. The desperate huff of a masked individual and the creak of mechanical rabbit's joints replaced the dubstep track that played during the finale. The soundtrack wasn't intended to be played this long, but considering Frankie and Lucky never intended to feel such deep things about each other it was safe to say life was full of surprises. It certainly was a surprise to both how much they thoroughly enjoyed it. Each step ignited past memories of doing this very thing, only with a lot less of a rush this time around. It was these memories that flashed before them as the game eventually came to a complete stop. The show reached its peak with both Lucky and Frankie on their final platform, both had given it their all yet it didn't change their fate.

["Game over... Goodbye, Lucky"]

Lucky was left speechless as he looked to see Frankie on the screen shed a tear through grit teeth. Just like their very first encounter and subsequent encounters they fell down into the incinerator below. Useless merchandise, bits of garbage, and the old clothes and remains of past contestants were piled around the hellish flames that were at the center of the parkour palace. The smell of burnt flesh filled Lucky's nostrils, the past 3 contestants who didn't make it as far as him invading his senses. Frankie knew this was his end and couldn't accept anything less than what he got. Initially wishing for nothing more than to remain the top dog who racked up views as they killed Frankie was happy he was dethroned. Not only happy but overjoyed he could play with his lucky little contestant one last time before he would die. The grind rail couldn't support his weight and from past attempts trying to claw out only extended the pain, it was futile but he was okay with it. The smile on his body's face would be genuine as he watched his contestant above grab onto the rail. Saving themselves just as they had saved themselves countless times before.

Only this time they didn't.

In a shocking display that made chat and the other watching erupt into screams Lucky actually missed the railing. They themselves didn't know if it was on purpose, after all just as they said you can't go so many seasons and not make a misplay. But was it really a misplay? They meant it when they said they wouldn't be able to go on with Frankie, but would it really mean they would accept death with him? They didn't know. All that they did know was that no end could have been better.

Even with Frankie holding them against his metal body, the flames only making it hotter, they didn't regret a second. No screams were made as they gazed into each other's eyes, Frankie's bright blue piercing the surrounding red and staring deep into the masked covered one's of Lucky's. Metal melded into flesh that was seared black, the pain of which would make any scream out or writhe in pain. Instead Lucky just kept their vision focused forward towards Frankie, the rabbit doing the same as he fought with his circuits which wanted to shut off. It hurt, it hurt like hell, but it would pale in comparison for either to live another second without seeing the other. Memories of all the fun they had, even if it was built in the foundation of death, were looked down upon fondly as the end came by the millisecond. Tears which were almost immediately evaporated tried to roll down burnt flesh, and if he was capable Frankie would return the human gesture if not limited by his metallic body. The rabbit's tears were in the same vein as the human's, he wasn't sad but rather was overjoyed he wouldn't be alone. He *did* wish for Lucky to survive, move on, continue living without him. But maybe this was their fates. Their true fates. It took so long for both to finally realize what they was truly special and would never again happen, but maybe it was for the best. Hatred that sprouted into fondness, fondness which grew into care, care which bloomed into love was now fully understood by both. Frankie, happy he managed to find such a silly human emotion in his life filled with death and Lucky, grateful they were ironically saved from their depressing life by the very thing that wanted to kill them, closed their eyes. They embraced each other for what would be the first and last time in their lives as the fire covered them, shielding their love from prying eyes. It was an end, but one both could accept. Even as Lucky's brain began to melt they still thought about the name given to them and how each time Frankie called them that—even out of anger—it made their hate race in a way no chase could. It repeated, stuck on loop as their life came to an end.

Lucky

...

"Lucky"

...?

"Lucky!"

...?!

"LUCKY!"

!

Lucky's name being screamed made them jump up and look around at their surroundings, their heart not stopping for a second. It scared the hell out of them and they couldn't understand, what just happened? Their head was pounding, their body was all warm—wait! Weren't they on fire and dying a second ago? No. Of course not, why the heck would they be on fire? The sun was shining down, it was warm, pleasant, like a comforting blanket. Where the hell would fire come from? In fact, where would dying even come from!?

"LUCKY!"

Lucky spun around, their floppy ears instinctively laying flat at the sound of a loud noise "huh!?"

There running through a flower filled meadow was a familiar sight. Robotic prosthetic limbs attached to the body of one small grayish furry rabbit with lop-ears, bowtie, and magician hat. It was Frankie, it was their Frankie.

"THERE YOU ARE!" The rabbit yelled as he wagged his finger at Lucky "where the hell were you! I was looking around for ages, I thought you fucking DIED!"

"Ugh... Sorry" Lucky groaned and pressed a paw to their forehead, the sight of their hand made them flinch for some reason but they shook it off "think I tripped and got knocked out or something... would explain why I feel like I got a whole lotta head trauma"

"Knocked out!?" Frankie repeated, their nose twitching as they inspected the other rabbit "oh god! I– I didn't know! Do you need to stop? Go to the ER?"

"ER!? And let YOU win!?" Lucky scoffed and shoved the other rabbit playfully, a smile playing on their lips "fat chance magic boy, round 2 is starting now!"

Frankie shrugged "eh, if you say you're alright I ain't gonna push the issue" the rabbit tapped his foot against the ground "so, you wanna be the tagger or tagee this time around? Pick the option that WON'T make you accidentally crack your skull open"

"I didn't crack my damn skull open!" Lucky said as they thumped his paw into the dirt. With a low growl they suddenly stopped and began to think of the game they played that had been interrupted by them falling unconscious "hmm... You know, I think I wanna go back to being it"

"Ughhh..." Frankie's limbs extended and limply laid on the ground, his entire body unraveling to express his disdain "you're **ALWAYS** it! That round was the first time I got to be it in forever!"

"Welp, I guess we can just go back home and sleep, you can take the couch or course–"

Frankie stood back up "You're a bitch ya know that?"

"A bitch who's your lover, may I remind you?" Lucky leaned in close, pressing their snout close to Frankie's.

Seeing that stupid smile on Lucky's face made Frankie roll his eyes "fine! You're it!, gimme a 30 second head start this time okay?"

"Fine–" Lucky quickly grabbed the rabbit and pulled him into a kiss.

Frankie's eyes went wide and tensed up, his body slowly melting into Lucky's grasp before realizing what they were doing "wait! No!"

"20 seconds left~"

"You can't fucking do that!" Frankie blushed, his cheek fur magically turning red as per toon rules "you're cheating!"

"19... 18..." They kept counting.

"AH!"

Frankie stumbled away and quickly began to break into a sprint. They would certainly get back at Lucky for the sly move but pushed revenge out of his mind. For now they would appreciate their rabbit partner, even if they were a dirty cheater.

Looking back Frankie locked eyes with Lucky. The smiling rabbit still counting as they watched him run. It was the start to another one of their games, a game that would eventually end like all things would. For now they wouldn't think about the end, for now they'd just be happy and enjoy what time they had.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

i am not very much in the fandom so i was wondering what the consensus was on this. how do you (and just everyone in general who sees this) feel about killer's 'multiple personalities' i really love killer and i think he's great however i feel like that part of his character is a bit of a bad stereotype of DID (the evil alter, good alter trope). let me say this: i dont think killer's creator did it with malicious intent. im just confused on that part of his character because it's kind of vague. could you possibly explain your thoughts on it a bit more?

Well, im not a professional or expert on anything, but I’ll try to give it a go. Anyone can feel free to correct me if im misinformed and misspoke, or if yall simply disagree.

In terms of in universe, the general consensus, as I see it anyway, is that Killer is not human. Not even exactly like his soul isn’t human or monster, but that his body’s species is also not human.

Which means things like disorders and mental illnesses we have not only in real life, but as humans, does not apply to Killer.

There may be similarities, but they likely wouldn’t be one for one. Another consensus in universe is that, Killer is not said to be diagnosed with anything—he’s just living with and experiencing symptoms of similar possible disorders IRL.

He does not know what exactly is happening to him, he tries to make sense of and explain his experiences to the best of his knowledge and abilities in his own terms and languages.

And due to his own self perceptions, abuse, trauma and self hatred—he often dehumanizes and demonizes himself to others, especially himself when he’s in his other higher Stages.

It’s also long been established that Killer is canonically a character who struggles with a lot of suicidal ideation—not only has he attempted on his own, but when in Stage 1, he has been shown at least twice asking people to kill him (Swap and Color), which reads to me that he is seeking out assisted suicide. Not to mention how he has stated in Stage 1 that he has “accepted death a long time ago.”

Now, a bit more out of universe, I think Rahafwabas was not only really young at the time, but she did not know much English yet. If i recall correctly, she had other people translating her comics from Arabic to English for her.

Which means that not only could information had been lost in translation or mistranslated, it’s possible her language either didn’t have the means and words to explain what she was going for with Killer, or the English language didn’t or meant something else entirely.

In terms of actual disorders or similar irl, or if Killer had physically been a human with a brain, general consensus is that Killer would definitely be diagnosed with a dissociative disorder of some kind. In my opinion, I don’t think a professional would diagnose Killer with DID or P-DID.

I think he’d be diagnosed with either UDD (Unspecified Dissociative Disorder), or OSDD (identity disturbance due to prolonged intense coercive persuasion).

This can also be caused by captivity, thought reform, brainwashing, torture, programming, recruitment by cults/sects/terror organizations, being a POW, etc. This presentation of OSDD is also called OSDD-2.

These guys are not systems, however. There’s not actually much literature or research into this presentation of OSDD or how it effects a person from their experiences and perspectives—only brief descriptions.

Especially from those with OSDD-2 who were programmed, which is an inherently very complex topic even if OSDD-2 is not a complex dissociative disorder.

Now, an argument was made to me by a system recently for why Killer could be a system as well as have symptoms of OSDD-2, but I still believe Killer would not receive a diagnosis of DID, PDID, or OSDD1/1a/1b. Even if he does show and experience symptoms similar to them.

That being said, however, it cannot be denied that Killer already has canonically experienced the type of things listed in OSDD-2.

Intense prolonged coercion, coercion based dissociation, programming (literal reprogramming of his code in the game), torture, captivity, kidnapped/being held hostage, and labor trafficking.

He also shows signs of severe dissociative identity confusion and disturbance—not only does he seem to think he is not Sans anymore, just something that is wearing Sans’ face because Sans “would never kill Papyrus,” and that he said he “wants to be Sans again” in Stage 1 as if he isn’t already or still Sans, but rahafwabas has stated that his soul being like that is one of the reasons why his mind “split.”

It’s a war between two souls, Sans’ and the human Determination soul, but the Determination soul is stronger—even if Sans’ soul often ‘peeks’ out (via that white eyelight in Killer’s right eye socket, which is described as a sign of “the real Sans we know”) or forces itself/is triggered out.

And now he doesn’t know how he should behave, human or monster. He is basically programmed and likely conditioned to behave and think a certain way when in or triggered into a certain Stage—which means dissociation is always present on some level.

However, on the case of Killer being a system or experiencing himself as plural—as more than one in one body—even if not DID, PDID, or OSDD-1 I do think there’s a way to write and portray it without falling into an evil alter trope.

First would be to write other system or plural characters. Have a diverse range of different systems and plurals and don’t leave Killer as the only one.

Second is, understand Killer’s environment and situation.

(Putting a read more here because the rest can potentially be a little too much or potentially triggering.)

Understand it really is a form of extreme, organized abuse. That he is in a high control group.

That he is being trafficked by Nightmare. That he is being tortured, programmed, and conditioned. That he has to survive—and he and his potential headmates simply will not survive if they try to be good people.

Hell, they may even view themselves as only existing to do awful things and being incapable of anything else (or not knowing there is anything else, and that it’s something they could have or be)—kill and hurt when no one else can, kill and hurt on command, kill and hurt without guilt or remorse that would otherwise leave Killer unable to function and likely dead a long time ago.

(Abusers may even actively make the victim(s) believe and think that way, or they may heavily encourage it by either giving alters their names or forcibly renaming a singlet, giving them numbered names or simply calling them by their ‘role.’ Like..Killer, for example. Or even more degrading, insulting names they make their victims respond to and identify with.)

For them to live, to survive, others can’t—because being trafficked, kidnapped, in organized crime, in a high control group, means having to witness and do highly illegal and immoral things if they want to live or not be tortured themselves.

This is also where the manipulation stuff comes in. Abusers, handlers, traffickers—they want the victim to not speak out, they want them to not leave or think about leaving. They’ll do anything to ensure that.

From coercing or threatening a victim to do bad things or participate in bad things with the abusers, the abusers can then begin holding that over them.

Claiming the victim isn’t any better than them to ensure guilt and silence, saying they’ll be arrested or everyone would hate them for what they did to ensure fear of outsiders and dependency on the group, claiming that they know the victim must’ve liked it—that the victim is just like their abuser, or will be.

And that can cause feelings ranging from shame and feeling like they deserve what’s done to them and they don’t deserve help, to internalizing all of that and attempting to behave and think exactly how the abuser does. Either because they start genuinely believing they’re as bad if not worse, or because it’s a survival and/or coping mechanism.

Not to mention that those in these environments will likely eventually become desensitized to the violence they’re forced to perpetuate and/or witness, they could even try to force themselves to like it in an attempt to either make it easier or feel powerful and in control.

Other alters may be programmed or simply indoctrinated in cases of cults or types of belief systems and ideologies being implemented in abuse—they may genuinely believe that the ones hurting them are godlike, or that they can communicate with a higher power, or that a higher power will punish them if they try to leave. Especially if they’re children, or if they have no access to anything or anyone saying otherwise.

Some alters may believe this type of stuff is completely normal and okay, particularly when raised in it. It can be so severe that these types of alters could embrace the idea of their death at their abusers’ hands easily, without fear or struggle, because it’s normal to them.

This all can happen to a singlet in similar situations too. Singlets can start to genuinely believe they were born, created, or only exist to do certain things or for certain purposes—from a sex slave to a killer to a weapon, especially if they’re being trafficked.

It’s just a fact that many who experienced things that Killer did/does and managed to not only survive, but escape, likely did it in bloody and/or underhanded ways.

There was no good or bad, no moral or immoral, just what had to be done — traffickers and abusers and handlers will never just let their victims go, regardless of if they ask really nicely or not. It’s life or death. They chose life.

Or in Killer’s case (has likely died multiple times, juts can never seem to stay dead), potentially something one of his Stages (such as Stage 4) believes is worse than death. It could genuinely believe that if it doesn’t do what it does, something unbelievably horrible is going to happen. Something that would make it wish it were dead.

[ballsandbabes]

Athletic Lessions Pt 1: Nagi Seishiro x reader

Read PART II // PART III Genre: Slow-burn, Wholesome, Mutual Growth, Subtle Romance Setting: Blue Lock Training Grounds

Summary: What happens when ambition meets laziness and tension begins to rise. Find hatred and dislike in a connection and trainer and Prodegy have to find out how they can achieve their goals together?

Authors Note: y/n = your name and L/n= last name // GIF not mine //h/c = hair color // nor proof read, sorry ^^

When you received the call from Ego himself about a month ago, you thought it was a joke. You had been helping your father in his training facility for about a year. Richard, your father, was very respected in the sports world. He looked after all the top athletes like Leon Messy, Kyle Bappe and Christian Roland. Monitoring physical performance, supervising physical training and evaluating data. You and your best friend Ami were planning to fly to Sweden at the end of the year, so you started working while attending college to finance the trip.

When you heard that you would actually be working the same way as you already did with your dad and that the paycheck would easily finance the entire trip, so you agreed. That's how you ended up in the leather seat of a private jet, together with other boys and flew to Japan. You had a brief and concise explanation of what was coming next, when the boy next to you suddenly leaned in towards you.

"You know, they chose young adults as trainers to make the training easier and more relaxed. I think Ego believes, these are optimal training conditions," he said in an omniscient tone of voice. You looked at him confused. Also a bit annoyed, he had just violated your personal space like it was nothing....you didn't know each other, not even his name.

He saw the emotions and questions running across your face and seemed to realize where his mistake was when he said, "Oh sorry, I'm Maximilian, feel free to call me Max."

“Hi Max,” you say friendly. "How come, you know all this stuff about the Blue Lock program? I thought its very much a secret..."

"Ah, you know, my mother used to work for a sports team at the beginning of her career… she supervised Egos team in media stuff, back when he was still playing, you know. So basically I have all the good insider information," he smiled with a sparkle in his eyes.

You made friends with Max for the rest of the flight, you had more than enough time after all. Philippe, the boy in the seat to the left of you, had joined the conversation at some point. With the two of you at your side, your nervousness disappeared more and more. Only to rise again into the immeasurable, after landing… Now, this crazy adventure of yours would start.

A black, sleek traveling bus took you to the Bluelock facility. Its buildings towering tall over all of you.

--------------- 2 hours later ----------------------------

The ceremony was stiff, formal, and—ironically for a program like Blue Lock—military toned. Rows of Blue Lock players stood on one side of the gym, while the athletic trainers faced them across the polished floor. Ego had just explained, over the giant screen, that you and the others were brought into BlueLock to maximize and perfect the physical abilities of the young players.

You stood near the center, clipboard in hand, trying to look composed in your athletic uniform. Blue, just like the players' "uniforms". Your top had hexagon patterns in a light blue on the sides, which was repeated in your shorts. It suited you very well. Despite your professionalism, you could feel the stares. You became even more nervous.

You were the only female trainer. And the Blue Lock boys, despite their killer instincts and inflated egos, were still teenage athletes with eyes. Not to mention the fact that the boys had been here for weeks and had little contact with the outside world because of the strict training schedules and rules.

"Who's that? She's kinda cute.", Tabito whispered, stealing a glance at you. "Think I can ask for a switch?", Kenyu aksed more to himself. "Tch. She's probably not impressed by weaklings like you.", Rin said unfazed.

You heard the whispers but didn’t acknowledge them. Instead, you stood tall as Ego Jinpachi walked between the two lines like a general, tablet in hand, expression as unreadable as ever. It was rare for Ego himself to set a foot on the field.

“This is not a popularity contest,” he began, voice cold and sharp. “Each player has been matched to a trainer based on compatibility, athletic needs, and psychological contrast. You won’t like each other, you don’t have to, thats not what we are here for. You will grow.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Seems to be a classic Ego.

He began calling out names. One by one, players were matched with trainers. Some high-fived, others looked confused or nervous. Then:

“Nagi Seishiro. Assigned to (L/N) (Y/N).”

Your head snapped up. Across the way, a tall, sleepy-eyed white-haired boy raised a brow. He blinked slowly at you like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to react—or if he even wanted to. Shit, you got the indisciplined and lazy player. How are you supposed to uphold your father's good reputation when the player you were supposed to coach looked like he skipped every practice session?

You stepped forward, clipboard still tucked under your arm, slightly in a bad mood. “Guess I’m stuck with you.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Man… I was hoping I’d get someone easy.” Someone simple? What did he mean by that? Probably someone who didn't care whether he skipped the training sessions. Lost in thought, you looked at the mirrored wall of the room… your look was scary and serious. Maybe that's why he said it.

You gave him a flat look. “And I was hoping I’d get someone who can hold a plank for more than 10 seconds.”, was your clearly cold and annoyed answer.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Guess we’re both outta luck then.”

The first few weeks were a nightmare. Nagi treated working out like it was a punishment invented to make his life harder. He slumped through stretches, whined about burpees, and once tried to trade his leg day with Reo like it was some playground lunch deal. Or he didn't show up for training at all.

By now it was common practice for you to wait outside his room in the morning just to personally drag him to training. He hated it. Every morning his roommates were happy to see you, which resulted in a jam at the door. Once, he took advantage of this chaos to sneak up on you for breakfast, without being noticed. But that only meant 20 more push-ups.

In his eyes you were merciless, cruel and far too ambitious. After all, he would be standing on the field playing soccer and not you. What did you get out of torturing him like that??

----------- Same day: trainers lunch -------------

“Ugh, he’s a total disaster,” you complained to Max and Philippe. "Why is that? He actually looks quite athletic," asked Max, astonished.

"He skips training sessions and when he shows up, he always only gives 50%…how am I supposed to get this idiot fit for the U20, if he just refuses??" you said with an ever-increasing anger.

Philippe just laughed, amused by your reaction. "You know, I have to train this guy named Kenyu, he's supposed to be a model. He's really a handful too"

“At least he’s coming to training,” you said as you looked lost into your spaghetti. How are you supposed to get him fit?

----------- Same day: players lunch -------------

"Dude, training today was awesome. I notice how strong I've become," said Tabito, visibly proud of his progress. Reo chimed in, "Yeah, right? My trainer, this Max really knows what hes doing."

"What about you Rin, what's training like for you?" Kunigami asked between bites of his steak.

"Ugh, this guy is supposed to make me stronger…not waste my time" Classic Rin, all he could think about was soccer. Judging by the way Isagi looked, he seemed to share the same opinion as Rin.

Plop! A tray crashed onto the boys' table. Nagi had just sat down, his gaze firmly fixed on his console. "Hey Nagi, we're talking about strength training. How's yours?" Reo asked while he was getting ready for his pudding.

"Yes, tell me how's it going," Kenyu asked with interest, "At least you got the only female and very attractive trainer."

"She's annoying," Nagi said curtly, bored by the question.

This statement visibly surprised the boys. "Why is that?" Isagi asked. "I wish I had her…her training program looks so good."

"It's such a hassle. She's always complaining…it annoys me and is stressful," he said as he got up to take the tray away. The boys looked at him in bewilderment.

------ Time Skip ----------

Weeks had passed and you and Nagi hadn't really made any progress. The only notable success was, that he now came to training voluntarily and did so comparatively often.

But that afternoon everything was about to change. He entered training field number 3 and wondered, why you guys were suddenly training on the soccer field. He saw you sitting on the grass and was confused. "Sit down," she said in a commanding but friendly voice. And that's what he did.

"You're going to sit here for a whole hour," she said, not lifting her eyes from the clipboard in her arm. "Sit? Just sit," Nagi asked confused. "Yes," she said as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

He shrugged his shoulders…this seemed to be a relaxed training session. He was about to get up and go to his training bag when y/n picked it up and walked to the door. You saw his questioning look and said, "Just sit, you shouldn't do anything else, just that. Can you manage that?" Your voice sounded a little more condescending than you intended. You closed the door, but unknowingly left a little parting.

Minutes passed by. What's the point of that? Nagi asked himself. That was a complete waste of time. How was he supposed to be the best striker ever, if he just sat here. Sure, the training and games with Ego were annoying and he would love to go back to his console…but a leat he would get something out of it. This sittitng thing of yours....it was beyond his laziness.

He was pulled out of a thought when voices appeared in the hallway…one of them was…yours??

"Y/n, what are you doing here alone? Aren't you supposed to be training with Nagi?" asked the unknown voice. “I do, I just adapted to his level and willingness to perform,” you said in a sharp voice that carried a tiny bit of another feeling. Could it be disappointment?

So that's how you saw him? As a lazy, undisciplined person, whos not worth training? He was used to people reacting strangely to his way, but this reaction and the realization, of what it meat, hurt him somehow.

An hour had passed when the door was pushed open with a flourish. There you stood, the light from the hallway made you look like a divine figure. “Get up, practice is over,” you said as you placed his bag in front of him. "What's that about?" he asked with a mixture of curiosity, hurt and anger.

“How did you feel during this hour,” you ask him with interest. "Like you're wasting my time," he said angrily.

“Good,” was all you said. "Now you know how I feel whenever you decide there are more important things than coming to our training!" Realizing what you just said, he looked down. You were right. Being the egoist that he was, he had never thought about it.

Despite how much he resisted at first, after that afternoon, you began to notice the small changes.

He stopped ghosting morning drills. He started bringing his water bottle without you nagging. Actively listened when you had something to say and asking questions every now and then. And when you once joked, “You’ll thank me when you’re scoring with those thighs, that I left you sitting on the field” he’d turned bright red and actually tried in that day’s leg press.

Little by little, he started to grow. And little by little something started to grow between you. Not just cooperation—but quiet respect. Some sort of connection.

During your time off from training with him, he secretly watched you. on the way back from the gym. You played soccer with the other trainers. You did well. he found you to be a very varied, especially a tactical player. He now went to the weight room four times a week. Once more than you had ordered him to do. He wouldn't admit it, but he wanted to show you that he could improve. And that he was worth your time and effort.

You stopped seeing him as a lazy prodigy. You saw the subtle competitiveness in him, the hunger to be better—especially when you praised him (he loved it so much). And he started seeing you, as more than just another person telling him what to do. You pushed him, yeah—but most importantly you noticed him. Encouraged him. Believed in him.

------ One late afternoon----------

One late afternoon, after a brutal agility circuit, Nagi sat on the floor, breathing hard but not complaining for once. You tossed him a towel, and he caught it with a practiced flick of the wrist.

“You didn’t skip a single training in three weeks,” you said, surprised.

He glanced up at you through silver lashes. “Yeah. I noticed you stopped looking annoyed. Thought that was kinda nice.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “So... you’re saying my approval’s your motivation or something?”

He leaned back on his hands, smirk lazy but sharp. “You work hard. I thought maybe I should try too. Plus…” His gaze flicked up and down briefly, just enough to make you fluster. “Effort looks good on you. Figured I’d try it on myself.”

You turned your head, hiding your smile. “You’re such a problem, handful lazy-ass” You initially called him that out of frustration, but it had grown more into some sort of a teasing pet name.

“Mm.” He stood, towel draped around his neck. “But I’m your problem now.”

You shook your head, heart oddly full. And from across the field, Reo watched the exchange with wide eyes, nudging Bachira with a knowing grin.

“Y’know,” Reo muttered, “he’s never trained this hard for anyone. Not even Ego.”

Bachira tilted his head. “Kinda strange, meh i dont care how others do...i focus on improving myself.”

Little did they know how much Nagi would focus on his improvement, because of you.

Because effort looked good on Nagi Seishiro. But the way he looked at you, like you were the goal he didn’t realize he needed to score— That looked even better.

PART II will be coming soon. Stay tuned! <3

[dcdreamblog]

Didn't The Ray has a sidekick for a while in the fifties? Spitfire or something like that? Whatever happened to him?

Yes that's a rather tragic tale that one and a story that highlights the dangers that come with superhuman abilities no matter who your parents are.

(A photograph from the Philadelphia Inquirer showing Spitfire's temporary rampage through the city.) Joshua Terrill was born to the first Ray, Langford "Happy" Terrill and his first wife Rachael in the late 1940s with genetic abilities inherited from his father. The ability to direct, absorb and control photons of visible light. His abilities were even stronger than his father's, able to take on a fully intangible form. He was unveiled to the world as the Ray's sidekick Spitfire for a few months around the passing of the Keane Act. The Keane Act making their actions rife with hostile encounters with police and the public revealed Joshua's burgeoning mental instability, a violent instinct in the boy that was only more damaging because of the destructive potential of his abilities. During an argument with his mother, the young Joshua lost control, turning his abilities on her to fatal results. Naturally horrified by his son's actions, the elder Ray restrained his son and placed him in cryogenic status until a time where the interaction between his mental illness and his powers could be better treated, especially with government hostility against publically active superhumans being at an all time high. This personal tragedy is what lead the Ray to abandon our reality and join the expedition of the Freedom Fighters that set off to liberate the Nazi dominated Earth-X. It wasn't until the second and current Ray uncovered the still slumbering Joshua that much of this information came to light, as the awakened Spitfire went on a nearly fatal rampage across Philadelphia. Eventually both Rays were able to bring the young man under control (leading to a rather heartbreaking scene of young Joshua breaking down sobbing and begging his father for help while wrapped around his ankles. It really is watching a snarling supervillain turn into a scared 10 year old in the blink of an eye) The boy has, very rightly, been kept away from the public eye since then under the care of the Ray and his second wife Nadine. He is enrolled in STAR Labs' superhuman psychology unit through their Philadelphia branch where one can assume he is undergoing intensive therapy not only for his native mental disquiet but also the trauma of the events he has been through. He has been at the center of the so called "Killer Kids" 'movement' when a national forum of 'concerned' parents and other authorities figures attacked programs like STAR Labs for offering these kinds of rehabilitation programs to "metahuman delinquents" rather than placing them in a juvenile detention facility or, as many in the movement prefer, stating that the possession of metahuman abilities automatically should force one to be tried as an adult. My thoughts on such a "movement" are simplistic and can usually be communicated in a series of very impolite four letter words at very high volume. Especially when the apex of this movement's popularity escalated to protests and threats being made toward or around the Terrills' Philadelphia home. Which I'm sure only further exacerbated Joshua's mental distress. The movement has died down into the realm of vague conspiracy theories (though the movement endorsed Lex Luthor for president *cough cough*) and as far as is publically known Joshua continues his recovery in private, surrounded by trusted professionals and family. I will reiterate my personal and professional stance that the Terrills are owed their privacy and that any public speculation of Joshua's current condition is just that, speculation and I condemn any attempt to invade or interrupt the boy's life for our public knowledge, curiosity or "judgement"

[mariacallous]

From Gaza to Sudan, the world is beset with historic humanitarian challenges. According to the United Nations’ refugee agency, nearly 120 million people worldwide are displaced because of violence or persecution—a number that represents 1.5 percent of humanity. How overwhelmed is the global aid system right now? Why are the rules and laws created to uphold international peace failing to do their job?

On the latest episode of FP Live, I spoke with Martin Griffiths for answers. Griffiths has spent a lifetime in conflict resolution and aid work, and he served between 2021 and 2024 as the U.N.’s undersecretary-general for humanitarian affairs and emergency relief coordinator. Subscribers can watch the full discussion on the video box atop this page or follow the FP Live podcast. What follows here is a condensed and edited transcript.

Ravi Agrawal: Let’s start with Gaza. How bad are things on the ground?

Martin Griffiths: It’s so difficult to find a word that really answers that question. It’s egregious. It’s a catastrophe. Somebody said the other day that we’re running out of adjectives. It’s absolutely shocking.

We’ve had a blockade since March 2. And outside one of the new distribution points under the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation program, we had an extraordinary and deplorable scene, which brought great suffering and danger to many people. Some 100 trucks entered in the last week or so because Israel needed to show some remorse. It was nothing like enough. I’m told there are 9,000 trucks waiting, full of the needed aid. And it ain’t getting in because of the incredibly brutal assault that’s happening at the moment.

RA: There are warnings that famine could set in if it hasn’t already. What would that mean?

MG: There’s a very rigorous system to judge whether a famine exists, Ravi. I think it’s too rigorous because it goes beyond reality.

Of course, there is starvation. There are children dying of starvation in Gaza. There is a famine: It’s looming or it’s famine-like conditions. But let’s be honest. Once we finally get an adjudication, it’ll be long past.

What happens in a famine is that the hunger goes viral; it eats up the bodies of those suffering from it. Famine is more than hunger. It destroys you; it destroys families. And it requires incredibly deep therapy, food, medicines, water, deep care to recover from. So we’re on that brink, if not beyond it.

RA: Let’s try to talk about solutions. From an aid perspective, how do you alleviate the suffering in Gaza right now?

MG: The aid solutions for Gaza, of course, require the blockade to be lifted. It’s not just the U.N., but also other humanitarian agencies, which have the experience and capacity and the goods to deliver aid. And they recently published a new plan, which increases the monitoring on potential leakage of aid to the people who are not the intended beneficiaries. So there is a plan; there is experience; there is the aid. But it’s just not getting through.

The first concrete, but sadly distant, solution to the aid issue is to lift the blockade and let those people get back to work. [My successor at the U.N., Undersecretary-General for Humanitarian Affairs] Tom Fletcher has been very voluble on that. Now that ain’t going to happen, as we know, unless there is serious leverage from other sources on Israel and its Western allies to make this blockade a reputation killer.

RA: But we’re beginning to see more pressure being exerted by European countries. The U.K. has suspended trade talks. German Chancellor Friedrich Merz has been quite strong in his rhetoric about Israel, which is a turnaround for Germany. Is any of that enough?

MG: No, it’s not enough, but it’s a good start very, very late in the day. There are 56,000 or 58,000 people dead in Gaza who didn’t get that kind of care and attention. But as so many people say, it’s action—not words‚—that count.

London is having a great deal of internal discussion in the House of Commons and in the government about what to do. They still have a problem with not stopping arms deliveries to Israel, having only cut a minor element. And, as the International Court of Justice reminded us a year ago, international law forbids the sales of arms to anyone reasonably suspected of this kind of a behavior—of genocide, ultimately.

Just not giving aid is a breach of the obligations of the occupying power. There is an important shift toward more honestly appreciating their responsibility for what’s going on. We must spend time with these leaders to turn their good words into good acts.

There is a clear agenda for this. You stop the arms trade. You look at companies that shouldn’t be investing in Israel. There’s history on this. Perhaps you sanction key members of the Israeli government. It’s a massive punitive issue. I suspect that only when you go down that track, you will see movement on the blockade.

RA: So, is the United States the only country that can truly influence Israel’s actions? Or can European countries or maybe Asian countries have any leverage here?

MG: They have obligations, and we’re beginning to see them understand that.

As somebody told me the other day, the difference between Sudan and Gaza is that in Sudan, the international community is indifferent. In Gaza, they’re complicit in this appalling firestorm on the Palestinian people. So countries are beginning to realize they risk being judged complicit. This won’t work unless the United States also takes a different step, but that doesn’t mean that the West doesn’t have responsibilities to speak out regardless.

Just a moment on [U.S.] President [Donald] Trump. We know that he’s anxious and cross about the situation, but we need to show him the political deal that is necessary to end this war. He’s open, in his special way, to engaging in such things, but we haven’t seen the vision or template of what it would look like.

RA: Martin, I want to shift our focus now to Sudan, which—as you’ve said—gets very little attention in the West. Explain to us what is happening there and why?

MG: Sudan is probably the worst humanitarian situation in the world. The numbers are just so extraordinary. There are more than 20 million people in need of humanitarian assistance, of which 14 million are children. This war is between two generals with a history of rivalry and competition. They were locked in an agreement on a civilian transition and then tore it up one day and went to war.

Why wouldn’t they? Nobody’s going to take them to jail in this world of ours so why not fight to a satisfactory conclusion. A victory, not a peace agreement, is a global problem now.

A political end state is very difficult to imagine now, because the war is still very heated. There is famine. It’s going to get worse. Humanitarian aid is very underfunded, and the mediation seems to have stuttered to a virtual halt.

In that context, first of all, focus on the urgently needed humanitarian solution. Médecins Sans Frontières [Doctors Without Borders] has talked about the humanitarian compact to study all the issues that make or break aid delivery. Secondly, we need more robust cross-line operations to get food and other things in from Adre, Chad, into Darfur, which is clearly opposed by the government on sovereignty reasons. And then thirdly, the political solution, though it’s not around the corner. It’s essential that we privately consult, bilaterally, with the mediators under their aegis for a way out.

Focusing on solutions is so important because it’s also lifesaving. People die if they have no hope for the future. So Sudan needs to have a path back toward civilian rule. It may not happen now, but it will come.

RA: You said the rest of the world is complicit in Gaza, but indifferent in Sudan. How important is the rest of the world in a solution? Frankly, Martin, the track record for intervention isn’t great. Is it necessary for other powers to get involved in this situation?

MG: No, there isn’t a great record on this. There was a season of successful peacekeeping operations, which were U.N.-led but involved many different governments contributing troops. That seems to have halted.

For Sudan, the governments that have leverage are vitally important. We know who they are; they’re involved in this ALPS [“Aligned for Advancing Lifesaving and Peace in Sudan”] mediation group, which met in Switzerland but made no progress. They need to align on leverage, on pressure, on public statements—but they aren’t. London recently had a conference on Sudan that failed to produce a communique due to differences of opinion, particularly in the Gulf and the region.

But we can’t give up on that. There’s a tendency, when something is too difficult, to go away and find somewhere else to work. Afghanistan is a classic example of that. But you can’t go away because of the famine and the devastation that’s coming. And because of the consequences to the broader region if this war goes on. It’ll spread west and up to the Horn [of Africa]. That’s why the other countries there are so important. But they need to negotiate with each other first so that they can then negotiate with the Sudanese parties and civilians.

RA: Martin, a broader question that encompasses both Gaza and Sudan is: Where does the U.N. fit into this? There is a sense that we’re entering a world now where the rules don’t matter. Countries act increasingly with impunity. And the international system built and created 80 years ago isn’t as robust as it used to be.

MG: I think that’s tragically true. In both of these crises, the Security Council has failed to reach substantive agreement on key issues. Russia has vetoed resolutions on Sudan; the U.S. has vetoed on Gaza. This stops any constructive action by the rest of the members of the council. The council cannot do its original job, which is maintaining peace and security. So you don’t expect much anymore from the council.

Another problem is a general feeling of irrelevance. We need to demonstrate relevance. That means taking risks, getting more creative, going more local and enlisting the corroboration of front-line communities, and then actually showing that they are needed. And there’s this worry about the United States defunding the United Nations, which would be a grave blow, to say the least.

I think we need really bedrock thinking about how we build back something different than the U.N. that still fills the gap that it was created to fill: common norms and values. It needs to be much more open to the people rather than just a forum for committed and excellent diplomats. It needs to include the global south because of all the vicissitudes of what we’ve been talking about. And it needs to find a new way of working for humanitarian aid.

RA: Turning now to Syria, it’s an interesting example of how the rest of the world wasn’t able to do much, essentially since the start of the Arab Spring. But in the last few months, [acting Syrian President] Ahmed al-Sharaa, who was formerly an al Qaeda operative, emerged as the interim leader of Syria. The humanitarian crisis there is at an inflection point. Sanctions have been lifted; aid and rebuilding efforts could flood in. What is the path forward for Syria?

MG: I’ll just say, I met former President Bashar al-Assad quite a lot after the earthquakes in 2023. We were trying to get him to do the minimum, like welcoming dialogue, opening prisons, and creating conditions to get the refugees back. Our talks were constructive until the moment he was reintroduced to the Arab League, so [he] felt no pressure anymore.

What happened in December was wonderful for Syria. It also shows, tragically for someone like me, that maybe war works at certain moments. As I personally discovered, we weren’t going to get peace through dialogue. The problem with the Sharaa administration is that it’s very sheltered. It’s focused on former or current HTS [Hayat Tahrir al-Sham] officials of a certain ideology, and yet it’s trying to govern a country riven by dissent between its minorities and now occupied by Israel and, to a certain but lesser extent, by Turkey.

In my view, we need him to succeed, because if he doesn’t, it would be worse. It could split up the country again. Now, as I understand it, the problem with Sharaa is that he’s not really taking advice from a lot of people. Of course, he’s on the world stage now, as we saw from Trump’s visit to the region. But anybody in his position, with his background and experience focused on war and ideological battles, needs support. He’s suspicious, though, because as you say, he lived through 10 years of a situation where nobody helped him, and he was a terrorist.

I tried to meet him, in fact—in Idlib, Syria, after the earthquake—but I was stopped by some key member states. The U.N. itself, including me, has a lot to answer for in the sense that it was a companion to this disastrous lack of vision. So we need to be sensitive to his psychology and his situation. But he needs all the help he can get. And we need that for the region.

RA: You’ve touched on something very interesting, Martin. You said that you met with Assad, that you tried to meet with Sharaa (formerly Abu Mohammed al-Jolani) but were rebuffed. In today’s climate, it’s sometimes hard for elected leaders to meet with adversaries, with the vilified side.

But officials—either at aid organizations or the U.N.—do meet a lot of these reviled figures. For some of those dictators, like [North Korean leader] Kim Jong Un or, to an extent, [Russian President] Vladimir Putin, repression works. And to sustain your regime, you need to continue on that path. You become a pariah but fear the consequences of changing it. How do you manage that tricky reality?

MG: Well, it’s been my life, Ravi. I started off meeting the Khmer Rouge back in the 70s, as they were killing people in the killing fields. From the perspective of the humanitarian community, you have to meet anyone who can impede or safeguard humanitarian assistance. We will see anybody if it leads to the saving of a life, as Jan Egeland famously said.

When I went to Myanmar about a year and a half ago, I saw the regime in Naypyidaw to see what we could get out of them. I was taken to pieces by social media for that, for meeting the wrong people. And they were the wrong people; they were awful people. [United Nations] Secretary-General [António] Guterres, whom I worked for, of course, at that time, rebuffed questions as to why I did that. He said, “that’s our job.”

You do it on the basis of the hope—often tenuous, often unsuccessful—that you can convince these dictators and psychopaths to do something good for their people. The problem is, with these pariah countries, the U.N. has become more limited in its general political work. In Sudan’s case, there’s pressure not to meet the RSF [the Rapid Support Forces, one of the country’s two warring militaries]. I’m no fan of the RSF, but you need to meet them, because they’re in a powerful position.

So we need to return to the idea of meeting bad people for a good reason. We need to insist on it. It can be done by surrogates, like my new organization, Mediation Group International, with no official position. We can consult for—not on behalf of, but for—governments that would find it obviously more difficult to do so in order to reinstate that principle.

[ask-caprinacorn-the-diva]

I just want you to know that you are loved both as Colt and Caprina, and I want you to be more confident about the real you.

With that being said, you mentioned something about your team in your other town, where you moved from, and the villains you fought there too. May we know more about them?

Caprina: I'm back, darling! And while I appreciate your words, for the moment I'll continue being Caprina unless said otherwise (like if my uniform was in the wash). You viewers are so sweet: what would I do without you?

Anyways, I've already talked about the villains I face, but I haven't mentioned my team back home: and here they are! Together, we're the Midnight Pack! While not all of us are from Texas, we're apart of several teams across America: yes, surprise surprise, the Power Heroes aren't the only heroes fighting bad guys at night. There's several hundred groups protecting the world, but I'm not here to talk about them. My team is what I'm here to tell!

Leon: genderfluid (she/he/they)

Leon is my best friend (in Texas, dont worry Kitsu). Their real name is Savannah and she's from Minnesota: I met him playing video games and we became even closer when we found out we're working together! Leon was born without his right arm, but he has the ability to create Plasma Blades and Holograms so she can create a firey prosthetic in battle! Like me, Savannah also crossdresses, but it's mainly due to keep her secret identity secret. Since my departure for my foreign exchange program, he's taken charge (since I was the leader).

Odette: Abrosexual (she/her)

She's the one who looks like a beautiful ballerina: and her beauty isn’t all that's there for her! Her real name is Opheila and she's from Paris: not Paris, France but Paris, Kentucky. Despite being born without her leg, Odette is one of the most graceful dancers I've ever seen. Her moves and her feathers are great when distracting others and capturing villains! She's not as active as the rest, as she also has a condition called Vasovagal Syncope, which leads her to faint: she's normally back at HQ helping us out but when she's on duty, she's unstoppable.

Rapido: Straight (he/him)

Rapido reminds me a lot of Catboy: and for good reason. Like a certain blue hedgehog he's obsessed with, Rapido has super speed and can be on the other side of tbe globe in less than a second. I guess he gets all his energy from being from Florida, but I'm not the first whose jokingly called him a "soon to be Florida man". He, like Catboy, can get very overconfident in his abilities and it can lead him to ignore other's assistance, but he's learning to reach out for help nowadays. In the daytime, he's Rodrigo and I'm wondering how much energy drinks this kid drinks from how hyperactive he can get.

Pupscout: aro-ace (he/they)

The youngest AND newest of the gang, Pupscout isn't to be brushed aside. Despite being called Percy and being cute as a button, his daytime form is the definition of emo. At first, he was reluctant to help out during missions, and tried quitting a few times, but he found his purpose for the team: fetching information about what's happening and where villains are. Sure, he's not usually on the ground, but they're able to bark out information when needed. He also has a killer sense of smell, which they claim they picked it up back in Wyoming.

Rhinostone: asexual (he/him)

The oldest of the group, Rhi is the textbook definition of "gentle giant". Coming from Chicago, Rhi knows a thing or two of protecting others (as he has four younger siblings). He has superstrength, no doubt (like a particular gecko or armadillo), but he wouldn't hurt a fly. He's got the biggest heart out of everyone and he goes to the extra mile to help a fellow teammate. His real name is Tucker, and he's deaf, but we've found alternatives to make sure he's included in the team and being alerted of danger.

Lastly Sheriff Betta: lesbian (she/her)

The only one of us whose non-human, Betta/Betty is from the Atlantic Ocean but surprisingly has a lot of experience of wrangling bad guys in the sea, known for riding her sea-horse and cleaning up the ocean floors from "the wrongs of humanity". At first, she was hesitant of befriending us, because of past trauma from reckless humans, but she eventually learned not all humans are trash-monsters.

[sweethoneyrose83]

Murder Drones Ask Game

If you were a Disassembly Drone, which of the core drones (N, V, J) would you team up with? Why?

What kind of upgrades would you add to your drone body to survive the harsh conditions of Copper 9?

How would you approach a confrontation with a Disassembly Drone? Fight, flee, or negotiate?

If you could save one character from destruction, who would it be and how would you do it?

Which drone model do you think you'd be (Worker Drone or Disassembly Drone)? Why?

You’re trapped in a collapsing building on Copper 9. What’s your escape plan?

A group of Worker Drones is rebelling. Would you join them or side with the Disassembly Drones to restore order?

If a malfunction caused your drone body to become a rogue killer, how would you regain control over yourself?

Your drone hive is attacked by a mysterious entity. What’s your first priority: defend, evacuate, or counter-attack?

A strange signal from deep space reaches Copper 9. Do you investigate or ignore it for safety?

Would you sacrifice a fellow drone to complete a mission if it meant saving the hive?

If you found a way to reverse the drone apocalypse, would you risk your life to implement it, even if others didn't believe you?

How far would you go to protect your drone family, even if it meant going against your programming?

Would you ever trust a Disassembly Drone if it claimed to have changed its purpose?

If you could redesign a drone model to make it more efficient, what changes would you make?

What kind of energy source would you develop for long-term drone survival on a desolate planet like Copper 9?

If you could explore one forbidden zone on Copper 9, which would it be and why?

What would you do if you discovered a new drone race living in secret on Copper 9?

How would you survive an ambush by a rogue Disassembly Drone with limited resources?

If your hive's energy core was failing, what drastic measures would you take to restore power?

[seat-safety-switch]

If you believe the news, these days, it's never been easier to get murdered. Everyone is waiting to snuff you out. Even suburbs are roiling apocalyptic zones that mandate you buy a very expensive security system and an up-armoured luxury SUV. A road trip is completely out of the question. After all, who knows what kind of whackos are out there?

To answer this question, we became those whackos. No, we didn't serial kill, or even parallel kill anyone. What we did was load up the old '72 Toyota Crown wagon with a bunch of spare oil and parts and hit the road. We wanted to figure out if the world really was all that dangerous, and to prove it, we stayed at only the sketchiest bed and breakfasts across New England.

Things got off to a bad start. You see, the coterie of folks that I usually travel with are not exactly the most refined individuals. Because a lot of us were raised entirely by junkyards and our parents' respective parole officers (thanks Joerg) we have trouble "fitting into" the conventional structure of society. That wouldn't stop a serial killer, of course, who would surely prey on at least one of our group as we slept soundly inside Maryland's least rat-infested rustic cabin.

No such luck. In fact, it turns out that the proprietors were afraid of us. They had been conditioned by the news, you see, and spent the entire night sleeping in shifts, wondering when we would burst through their bedroom door, looking for jewelry that we could hock for money to afford a Holley carburetor rebuild kit. Little did they know that the Crown was in fact running a diesel engine out of a Cuban grey-market lawn tractor, and also that we had no intention of ruining the experiment by trying to cause trouble.

That first morning, we parted, each group wary of the other. The experiment could not continue: it was likely that we would encounter the same problem the entire way up the Old Bay Expressway. We knew what had to happen next. After driving at high speed, we arrived at the local TV station, barely shaven and ready to pitch our new fear-based "action news" program. The audience would surely believe ridiculous lies coming from disgusting dirtbags like ourselves, our crude language and 10w40-stained visages lending our dire warnings extra authenticity.

"Folks," I began, in my most folksy voice, "you gotta get rid of any old Mopar parts you have on your property. They were made by sleeper-agent Communist agitators working with the Y2K bug. Send them to me for destruction."

[mjonthetrack]

**disc: this fic contains graphic material such as rape,assault,homicide,explicit language,etc. It is a work of fiction based on the show Criminal Minds, It will be an alternate universe meaning it will NOT follow the time sequence or character plots exact to the show. I do not own these characters aside from my own oc and do not own the images used.

Chapter Two: The Pattern Hunter

Quantico. 7:13 AM. Briefing Room.

A stack of manila folders hit the table with a familiar, grim weight.

Hotch stood at the head of the room, jaw set. “We’ve got two domestic homicide-suicides in Lorton, Virginia. Both within the last seven days. Two military families. No prior reports of abuse. Both male spouses found dead with a bullet to the head. Female victims strangled. Children left unharmed in both cases.”

Prentiss flipped through the file. “Different military branches. One Navy, one Army.”

JJ shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. There’s no link between the couples—no shared locations, duty stations, not even schools.”

“They’re not connected,” Morgan said flatly. “Could be coincidence. PTSD maybe. Lot of guys don’t report symptoms.”

Hunter was silent at the end of the table, arms crossed, reading. She hadn’t touched the coffee in front of her.

“Thoughts?” Hotch asked, directing the question to the room.

Hunter didn’t look up.

“Same abuser. Different hosts.”

Every head turned toward her.

“I’m sorry?” Reid asked.

Hunter finally raised her eyes.

“The male spouses—different names, different ranks, different branches. But the women?

They followed the same pattern of social withdrawal, financial isolation, and sudden shifts in behavior within a three-month span.” She pushed the photos aside and pointed to the timeline Hotch had scribbled on the whiteboard. “They didn’t die by chance. They were conditioned. Staged.”

Rossi leaned in. “You’re saying someone else pulled the trigger?”

“No,” she said. “I’m saying someone else built the bomb and let the men light the match. These aren’t suicides. They’re final acts of control—triggered by someone who knew how to get inside their heads.”

Silence hung for a beat too long.

Garcia (quietly, from the doorway): “So we’re not looking for a killer… we’re looking for a puppeteer.”

Hunter nodded once. “A pattern maker. Someone who understands trauma bonding, manipulation, power play tactics. Likely ex-military. Possibly someone who ran training programs in psychological warfare. My guess? They test people. Push them to thresholds. Whoever this is… they think they’re smarter than everyone in this room.”

There was no boast in her tone. Just fact.

Reid sat back in his chair, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“You’ve seen this before.”

She looked at him, steady.

“I’ve lived it.”

—————

Later – Jet, En Route to Lorton

Morgan sat across from Hunter on the jet, watching her review files like she was hunting ghosts between the lines.

“That was a hell of a theory back there,” he said, arms crossed.

She didn’t look up. “It’s not a theory if it’s already happened.”

“You talking about your time with STRIKE?”

Hunter’s expression didn’t flicker.

“I’m talking about the things they don’t print in the mission reports.”

Reid chimed from across the aisle,“STRIKE?”

Morgan nodded. “Special Tactics Response & Intelligence for Kinetic Engagements. It’s like the military’s version of a black-ops psychological ops unit. Didn’t even know she was part of it until I dug around last night.”

Hunter finally glanced up, expression cool.

“I wasn’t part of it. I was borrowed by it.”

Rossi: “Borrowed?”

“They bring in people like me when the cases get too dirty for the Department of Defense but not dirty enough to bury in a hole. My specialty was sex-based trafficking in conflict zones. I learned how abusers build people from the inside out. And how to spot the ones who don't leave bruises.”

The jet went quiet again.

Reid didn’t look away from her. Not this time.

“You profile monsters before they ever get called that.”

She nodded. “I spot the pattern.”

And this time, nobody questioned her.

—————-

Lorton, VA. 12:42 PM.

The crime scene smelled like bleach and rot.

The house looked like any other suburban military home—white siding, brown shutters, American flag still waving out front. But inside, it was frozen in the moment everything ended. A child’s toy truck sat in the hallway. Blood spatter on the banister. And two lives gone before anyone even noticed the signs.

Hunter walked in behind Hotch and Morgan, slow, steady. Her eyes scanned everything, but her hands didn’t move. She didn’t touch—she absorbed.

“Husband strangled the wife, then turned the gun on himself,” the local detective said, voice flat. He pointed toward the chalk outlines. “Nothing unusual on record. No neighbors reported anything.”

Hunter didn’t respond. She was already walking down the hallway.

“Where’s the child?” she asked without turning around.

“In the foster system. Temporary placement.”

“I want to talk to the kid.”

Hotch glanced at her. “We don’t usually interview children this early.”

“You don’t. I do.”

There wasn’t arrogance in her tone—just certainty. Like someone who had done this a hundred times in worse places, with fewer rules.

Hotch gave a small nod. “We’ll make the call.”

————-

Outside – 1:15 PM

Prentiss and Reid stood on the lawn, watching as Hunter crouched near the mailbox. She wasn’t just scanning the scene—she was feeling it, tuning into something invisible.

“She profiles spaces like Gideon used to,” Prentiss murmured.

“No,” Reid replied, eyes locked on her. “She profiles like she’s been inside them.”

Hunter stood up slowly, brushing her hands on her coat.

“He didn’t plan it here,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “He was triggered somewhere else. This was just where it ended.”

“Triggered by what?” Morgan asked.

She turned toward him, eyes dark. “The same person who made the first guy snap. We’re not looking for a killer. We’re looking for a signal caller. Someone who knows how to orchestrate emotional collapse.”

“So what’s the signal?” Reid asked.

Hunter’s jaw tensed. “Fear. Doubt. Control.”

And then, as if summoned by her words, a car rolled slowly down the opposite side of the street. Tinted windows. Out of place in a neighborhood full of minivans and rusted sedans.

Hunter watched it pass without blinking.

The window rolled down just an inch.

She stared straight at it.

It rolled up again—and the car kept driving.

Hotch clocked it too. “Get the plates.”

Garcia’s voice chirped over comms before he even finished the sentence. “Already on it, boss man. That car doesn’t exist in DMV records. Burner vehicle. Classic watcher setup.”

Hunter turned to Hotch, voice low.

“He knows we’re here.”

——————

Later That Night – Motel HQ

The team had split into pairs, digging into the histories of both couples, cross-referencing military records, trauma counseling logs, anything that hinted at behavioral shifts.

Hunter was alone in a room lit only by a desk lamp, a spread of redacted STRIKE documents in front of her. Her fingers traced one of the names listed under Operational Behavioral Test Assets – Disavowed.

E. Matthews. Retired. Last known location: Classified.

Her phone vibrated.

Text from a number labeled: UNKNOWN

You’re not supposed to be here, Hot Shot.

She stared at it for a long moment, then deleted it without a word.

In the hallway, Reid hesitated before knocking.

She opened the door before he could.

“You read my mind,” he said, holding a case folder. “Or maybe I’m just loud.”

She stepped aside. “Come in, Doctor.”

You’re not supposed to be here, Hot Shot.

She stared at it for a long moment, then deleted it without a word.

In the hallway, Reid hesitated before knocking.

She opened the door before he could.

“You read my mind,” he said, holding a case folder. “Or maybe I’m just loud.”

She stepped aside. “Come in, Doctor.”

The motel room smelled like old wood and air freshener trying too hard. Reid stepped inside, holding a case folder, trying to act like he wasn’t nervous—but Hunter could tell.

He had that energy about him. The kind of mind always moving three steps ahead while the heart stayed one step behind.

She respected that.

“You always this formal, Doctor?” she asked, taking the file from his hand and flipping it open.

“Only when I’m trying not to come off too curious,” he said, half-smiling.

She raised an eyebrow. “You mean nosey.”

He gave a soft laugh. “I mean... fascinated.”

Hunter looked up slowly, eyes unreadable. “That a professional or personal interest?”

“Can’t it be both?”

She didn’t answer. Just kept reading.

Reid shifted awkwardly, then gave in. “You were right about the signal. The second victim—Sergeant Walsh—had recently been accepted into a PTSD recovery program. He withdrew two days before the murder-suicide. No warning, no explanation.”

“Same with the first,” she said. “It’s the moment they start to heal. That’s when he moves in.”

“He?”

She looked up. “Whoever this is... they don’t kill to watch people die. They kill to maintain control. The minute someone breaks that psychological grip, they flip the board. Burn the pieces.”

Reid studied her for a long moment. “How do you know all this?”

Her voice didn’t change.

“Because I’ve seen what it looks like when someone rewires a person from the inside out. And I’ve lived what it feels like when they think they own you.”

Reid opened his mouth—then stopped.

He didn't need to ask. She’d already said more than most ever would.

A silence fell between them, not uncomfortable, just heavy. Then—

buzz

Her burner phone lit up on the nightstand.

Still wearing war paint for a fight that’s already over?

Reid noticed the way her jaw clenched. The way her fingers twitched slightly, but she didn’t flinch. She simply picked up the phone, read the message, then tossed it aside like it meant nothing.

“Everything okay?” he asked, carefully.

“Just ghosts,” she said.

“That one talk back often?”

Hunter gave a faint smirk. “More than you’d think. Less than he used to.”

Reid didn’t press. But he memorized the number. Something told him Garcia would be hearing about it soon.

Hunter sat back, eyes on him now.

“You ever been controlled, Doctor?”

“Only by chess boards and quantum theory.”

“Then you’ve never really lost yourself.”

Her tone wasn’t sad. It wasn’t bitter. It was simply the kind of knowing that lived in someone’s bones.

Reid looked at her for a long time—really looked.

And for the first time since she arrived, he realized:

Hunter Simone Brooks wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

She was surviving with precision.

“You know,” he said, voice softer, “you’re not nearly as unreadable as you think.”

“That right?”

“You don’t hide. You just hope no one bothers to look.”

For a brief moment, something in her expression shifted. Not vulnerability—just the ghost of something almost tender.

Then—

buzz

Another message.

You’re not the only one who knows how to play profiler.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.

This one, she didn’t show Reid.

She just locked the screen, stood up, and said, “Time to get some sleep, Doctor.”

He nodded. “Right. Yeah. Of course.”

But as he stepped into the hallway, he didn’t feel any closer to rest.

Only closer to a war that none of them fully understood.

[queensumomo]

Eeeeee!!!! I love Choi Jinhyuk and Jeong Eunji in “Miss Night & Day”!!!! 😍😍😍

I haven’t posted about this drama because I was just too focused on watching it. It was a fun and crazy romp, part fantasy/fairytale, part romcom, part suspense-thriller. And I just loved the combination of Choi Jinhyuk, who looks quite dashing and handsome as Prosecutor Gye Ji-ung, and APink member and vocalist Jeong Eunji as the intelligent but insecure Lee Mi-jin.

Of course, there’s the uber-talented veteran actress Lee Jeungeun, who plays Lim Sun, Lee Mi-jin’s daytime alter ego.

Basically, Lee Mi-jin is a 29 year old young woman who, for some reason, keeps failing her civil servic exams despite being quite intelligent and talented, and having reviewed thoroughly. Turns out she has a massive case of insecurity towards her own abilities and talents. Yet becoming a civil servant is her dream.

One day, after failing her latest try at the civil service exam, she gets drunk and encounters a mysterious orange cat. The next day, she finds that she’s turned into a fifty-something woman overnight. Yet strangely enough, this results in her getting the dream job that she’s always wanted. She gets into a senior intern program at the Prosecutor’s Office and becomes promoted from maintenance to clerical work as a reward for her good performance and her bravery.

Mi-jin takes on the name Lim Sun in her middle-aged woman persona, which was the name of her aunt who had disappeared 24 years ago. As Lim Sun, she becomes the clerical associate at Gye Ji-ung’s office and finds herself assisting him and his teammate, Investigator Ju, in finding out the culprit of several gruesome killings that had occurred in their city recently. The killings aree reminiscent of several serial murders that had occurred at the same place decades before.

The murders turn out to hit closer to home than Mi-jin realizes, because it eventually turns out that her aunt had been of the serial killer’s victims many years before. This is something she has in common with Prosecutor Gye, who had returned to the city of Seohan to investigate these gruesome murders, with the hunch that his own mother had been one of the earlier victims as well.

Even as all these things happen around her, Mi-jin keeps searching for the mysterious cat, which she believes is the answer to her strange condition.

The series is at once funny and serious, sometimes a romcom and sometimes a makjang. Somehow, the actors manage to make everything work all throughout, and this can be credited not just to their skills as actors but to the script and the directing as well.

The actress Lee Jeungeun showcases why she is one of the main actors in the Oscar-winning film “Parasite”. As Lim Sun, she is able to portray the angst and insecurities of a young woman, including all her clumsiness and thrill at having a huge crush on her boss.

Choi Jinhyuk is perfect as the dour and no-nonsense ace lawyer, Gye Ji-ung. He is at once strong and vulnerable. He gives off the aura of someone who’s supremely confident and self-possessed, yet deep inside, he hides the trauma of a young boy who lost his mother.

Jeong Eunji is spunky and charming as Lee Mi-jin. She’s very determined and single-minded but her fears of her own inadequacy is her worst enemy. Eunji manages to convey all of this in her portrayal. She’s an excellent actress and manages to convince the viewer of Mi-jin’s struggles and brokenheartedneas every time she fails.

It’s also good that the actors have such wonderful chemistry together. All throughout the drama, the viewer is thoroughly convinced that Eunji’s Mi-jin and Jungeun’s Sun are one and the same person. And whenever either one of them is acting in the same scene as Choi Jinhyuk, there’s no question that they’re one and the same person who’s in love with him.

Although the drama ended in a typical fashion by tying up all loose ends in the final episode, it still managed to give ample time for Mi-jin and Ji-ung’s reunion. And it was neatly dovetailed with Mi-jin’s middle-aged self bidding both Mi-jin and Ji-ung farewell.

It was a satisfying watch overall. I was surprised to discover a new KDrama OTP in Choi Jinhyuk and Jeong Eunji. They do look good together and their chemistry is organic and very natural. No wonder their co-actor Lee Jungeun ships them so strongly in real life.