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hannibals-favourite-meal · 17 days ago

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.⋆｡The Way｡⋆.

Din Djarin x plus size reader

You don’t know your place in the verse and he’s lost his way.

Warnings: smut, labelling this dub-con just because Din is a bit forceful, this has a lot of angst, mostly relating to awful self-image and hate towards one's own body, restraints, Din doesn’t know how to deal with emotions, possessive!Din, ownership kink, breeding kink, blindfolds, forced marriage (reader doesn’t fully understand what the vows mean but she accepts after), drinking, no foreplay, creampie, fluff WC: 5.3k Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The market was bustling in the late afternoon light. The child cooed over the many bright colours and shiny objects in the vendor’s stalls, little hands reaching out to touch every time you got close. Big brown eyes reflected the lights perfectly. You smoothed over the whips hairs on top of his head, making him smile and snuggle closer to your soft chest, content in being held in your thick arms.

“We should go soon. I don’t want to be here after dark.” The modulated voice easily identifiable in the chatter of the crowd. You tilted your head up slightly, the Mandalorian’s armour glittering the same way as his son’s eyes.

“Just need to pick up one more thing and then we can go.” You reassured but still hurried along, struggling to keep up with the taller man. He grunted, sounding annoyed but with a large hand placed on the small of your back, you knew he was just tired.

You took your time sorting through the fabrics on the cart, allowing the baby to feel some of them. You kept the softest fabrics in your hands, intending to make more clothes for him since he had quite the nasty habit of destroying them beyond repair. “What a beautiful family.” The vendor cooed, “I’ll even give you a discount so you can take care of that baby of yours.” You opened your mouth to protest but were quickly stopped by your companion.

“Thank you.” You felt your entire body flush as he stood closer, taking credits from his own store to pay for you. As he led you away, you spoke up.

“You didn’t have to pay for me, Mando. I do have my own money.” He didn’t respond at first, humming under his helmet.

“It’s my money cyar'ika, I spend it how I wish.”

Your heart pounded as you looked upon the powerful warrior, strong body towering over you, glowing in the light of the setting sun.

Silent tears fell as you kept your head down, listening as goodbyes were said. Your heart broke as you heard the Jedi begin to walk away, the boy you had grown to love as your own giving a small cry, calling out for his father. There was a whispered ‘I’m sorry’ from Mando, his voice clear without the modulator in his helmet.

You didn’t speak as you followed him back to the Crest, your heart broken, your arms empty without the little one in them. Mando climbed into the cockpit, slamming the door behind him. His rage and anguish filled the ship, only compounding your own sadness. You lifted up one of Grogu’s little tunics, the colour meant to emulate his father’s armour, that had been laid out on the table as you did laundry.

Sobs ripped through your chest as you clung to the small outfit, collapsing onto the metal floor, bending over yourself as if it would sooth the incredible ache settling in your chest.

——————

Mando hadn’t spoken to you in a week, taking all his meals in his bunk or the cockpit, grunting in acknowledgement when you told him of the dwindling supplies in the ship’s store. You were no better. That little boy had become your son over the months he had been in your care but now he was gone and you found yourself struggling with your purpose.

You were hired to take care of him when Mando was on a hunt, nothing more. You were just a live-in nanny for the boy, you knew Mando chose you because you weren’t a threat. You were big, sure, but soft, your hands absent of calluses. You weren’t a danger to him, never posing a threat even in those rare occasions where you became furious, usually when Mando had unnecessarily risked his life.

You mothered both of them, keeping them fed, making sure the ship and themselves were clean. And giving Grogu lessons that Mando would sometimes listen in on if they were traveling between worlds and he had nothing else to do. It was what you loved, caring for others. But now, there was no one to care for.

Mando could handle himself, and now that the child is gone, he could easily get rid of you, not having to worry about another mouth to feed, another person to protect. He could easily leave you on some planet somewhere just like when he found you.

It wasn’t like you had any other use. You weren’t even pretty to look at, let alone fuck, no matter how much you yearned. You had, regretfully, developed an overwhelming, devastating crush on the bounty hunter pretty much as soon as he hired you and that had turned into full blown, heart-stopping love.

Every moment you spent with him was torture but every moment without him was pure agony. But you knew he would never look at you, not when he had women like Omera. Small women with pleasant faces who could actually keep up with him. Not someone like you with a stomach flap and stretch marks and acne on your breasts. Not someone who could barely run and got winded after multiple trips up the ladder to the cockpit. You didn’t deserve him.

Your bags had been packed, all your things collected and carefully stored, you were just waiting for the day when the Crest would land on some stretch of planet and he would tell you to leave, maybe you would even get a thank you for your job, but you doubted it.

The ship vibrated beneath you as you sat on one of the many crates, a ball of yarn sitting between your folded legs as you used your fingers to crochet a little bantha. Making little toys for Grogu was a habit you still kept even without his presence. You already had a small box full of the little stuffed creatures in some kind of hope that Mando would bring them to him if ever he saw him again. Or maybe, you’d just sell them to get some credits when Mando kicked you out.

You hummed under your breath, being hyper aware of the volume of your own voice, not wanting to annoy the bounty hunter, even if he was locked in the cockpit. The soft yarn tangled around your arm as you put the finishing touches on the animal. Using the small pair of scissors from your sewing kit, you snipped off the extra yarn and winding the ball back up.

With a heavy sigh, you kissed the little head of the bantha before slipping to your bare feet, a shiver rolling up your spine from the cold metal, and wandered over to the small collection of things for Grogu. You carefully pulled the cover off and delicately laid the plushie on the top of the ever-growing pile, quickly shutting the lid before you could cry again.

“We’ll be landing soon.” Mando’s deep voice broke the silence of the hull, pulling you out of your self-deprecating spiral.

“Yeah, ok.” You muttered, keeping your head down as to not look at your boss, knowing that one glance at his berserker would send your mind reeling, wanting to beg him to let you stay but you just shuffled off to your make-shift room to gather your things.

The cockpit door slammed shut once more and the rumbling beneath your feet increased as the ship entered the atmosphere. You sighed and checked your things one more time, sitting on your cot and pulling on your boots, waiting for the next stage of your journey.

Your breath was caught in your throat but you forced yourself to take a deep inhale, filling your lungs completely as the Crest settled down, jostling you slightly. You steeled yourself for the doors to lower. When they did, a frighteningly cold wind whipped through you, almost knocking you off your feet.

In the distance, you could see the dark outlines of buildings against the horizon. It would be a long walk but perhaps it would give you time to think about what you were supposed to do next. With one last pleading look up to the shut cockpit door, you stepped off the ship and drifted off into the dusty plateau.

“You haven’t asked any questions about the armour.” You looked up from the collection of educational holo programs you had been organising and met the mandalorian’s steel gaze. There were times, you felt, where he could see directly through you, observing your every emotion and thought you tried desperately to keep locked away.

His favourite blaster was half disassembled on the table in front of him, something he only did when the kid was asleep for fear of the little womp-rat stealing pieces for his own amusement. He seemed to fill up the limited space of the ‘kitchen’ with his bulk yet you couldn’t bring yourself to fear his size when he had been so gentle towards you since the moment you were employed.

You cleared your throat and occupied yourself with the various videos before you answered the man. “I don’t think there’s anyone that doesn’t know at least something about a mandalorian’s armour, even if it was just an unfounded rumour they overheard once. Besides, it’s not really my business to ask questions about your wardrobe or lack thereof.” You giggled to yourself, just barely catching the huff of annoyance from him.

“Just because I wear this armour, doesn’t mean I don’t change my clothes beneath it cyar'ika.” You levelled him with a knowing look, one that was far more brave than you felt.

“I think you’re forgetting which one of us does the laundry here.” He grumbled something unintelligible, making you laugh as you turned back to your work, a comfortable silence settling between you. From the corner of your eye, you could see the bounty hunter shift in his seat, said armour glittering beneath the warm light of the Crest.

He grunted as he finally settled, his back against the wall, his thighs spread. You grinned in his direction, your chest warming with the domesticity of the moment. “You gonna tell me about it then? The creed?”

His head dipped towards you, his fingers still skillfully cleaning the barrel of the blaster. “Mask stays on, I fight, I build something new with a clan of my own.”

“Poetic. Seems like you have it all figured out.” The holopad beeped with an alert, pulling your attention away from him and just barely missing the sigh of disagreement that escaped him.

“Could I get a room for the night?” The inn-keeper gave you a look but complied anyway, snatching the small pile of credits you left on the counter.

“All the way down the hall, last door on the right.”

The walls of your room were bare save for the cracks in the brick and a singular window that seemed an afterthought to whoever built the inn. You sighed and threw your bag onto the bed, it wasn’t like you would be here for long. Surely there was another ship out there willing to take you on as an extra hand or at least give you a ride to somewhere that would. You’ve made due before, this time wouldn’t be any different.

You chose to ignore the ache in your chest at the thought.

Noise from the cantina next door drew you from your spiral of self-misery. You knew it was never going to last but for some stupid reason, you had hoped it would. Mando had never hesitated when it came to you, he didn’t underestimate your abilities nor your drive like so many others had done, maybe that was why you had stupidly let yourself believe that he actually liked you.

Maybe a drink would help. Or twelve.

The dense smoke that filled the cantina made your eyes water as soon as you stepped inside, burning your nostrils in a way that pulled your mind from the pit in your stomach for the first time in days. Even on a planet as desolate as this, the bar was crowded, bodies filling every available space as they clambered for drinks. You pressed through the throng, the allure of something that could burn a hole in your throat calling to you.

You didn’t care that it was probably made out back of the cantina in a distillery that hadn’t ever been cleaned, nor that if the mixture was wrong it could turn you blind. You just wanted to feel something other than the gaping void in your chest that the child and Mando had occupied.

A credit slammed onto the dusty counter earned you a glass of the fluorescent green liquid that would make you forget, for just a moment at least. The glass was drained in a second and then slammed back onto the bar, another credit joining it. The bartender didn’t even give you a look, all-too-used to the sight. You would think about consequences tomorrow, about how you would have to start over yet again, to be at the mercy of another employer who would most likely berate you, remind you over and over again of your worthlessness. Eventually, you would forget about the Mandalorian, tucking him away into the recesses of your mind for nights when you would succumb to your weakness and fantasise about what could have been.

The blaring music began to fade into the background as you lifted your third shot, intending for it to follow the first two but you suddenly stopped, the rim of the glass resting on the fullness of your bottom lip. The hairs on the back of your neck raised as you felt the crosshairs of a predator’s gaze settle on you. You looked out of the corner of your eye — No one else seemed to notice the target suddenly scrawled on your back.

As nonchalantly as you could, you lowered the glass back down, pushing it to your right, where it was snatched up by the patron next to you. You weren’t in any real danger, somewhere in your hind mind assured, but you had seen what Mando could do when he was pissed and you doubted your hasty departure had made him happy. Though, you were surprised he noticed this quickly, maybe he had wanted something from you before he left the Crest.

People stepped out of his way as the hulking mass of beskar walked towards you, crossing half the length of the room in only a couple steps. “Cyar'ika.” His nickname for you, which he had not uttered in what seemed like forever, almost stopped you, but you couldn’t waver now. A woman close to the door moved closer to her companion, opening up your escape.

You ran.

Dust kicked up under your boots, no doubt leaving a trail for him to follow, but you hoped that he would get the hint. He had to have known that your time aboard the Crest was done, his child was gone, there was no use left for you and you had to leave before he figured it out and kicked you off himself.

You slipped into the now abandoned inn, silent save for the sound of you trying to catch your breath. This is what you wanted.

In your spiral of self-induced misery, you didn’t hear the heavy footfalls of the bounty hunter until it was too late, maybe if you did, you could’ve gotten away before he reached your door. Just as you thrust the ancient key into the lock, a huge hand landed on your shoulder, the strong fingers gripping the bone tightly, almost enough to make you wince.

“Why did you go?” His modulated voice was cold like the armour he wore, unyielding as you blindly tried to reach for the handle.

“It was time for me to leave.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look back. You tried to pull away but he held you tighter.

“You want to leave me?” If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve swore he sounded sad. Your head tipped up to meet his gaze.

Without the filter of your wholly sober mind, your thoughts spilled from your lips. “We both know I’m just a burden to you. You’d be better off without me.”

“No.” He sternly replied.

“No? What do you mean ’no’?”

“I mean no.” The door opened with a slam that made the thin wall tremble and suddenly, you were shoved into the dusty room, trapped with a man who you gravely misunderstood. Mando appeared as stoic as ever, all while he shut the door behind him, the lock snapping into place once more.

“You won’t leave me too.” He snarled and you gasped but it was quickly cut off as Mando spun you around, pressing your soft body into the hard wall of the inn.

A massive gloved hand clamped down on your hip as the other was planted by your head, caging you in, unable to escape the huge mandalorian. “You’re mine.”

His chest heaved against your own, keeping you pinned in place as you struggled to breathe around the lump in your throat. He had never gotten this close to you before and it was entirely confusing. The cold metal of his chest plate pushed into your breasts making your nipples harden with the chill. Fear crawled up your spine quickly as his helmet tilted in the way it always did when he was observing a bounty.

“I fucking own you cyar'ika or did you forget about our contract already.” The leather of his gloves creaked as his grip tightened on your hip. You swallowed down a wince, unable to have a single thought other than how large he seemed like this. “You don’t get to leave.”

“Contract?”

Faster than your empty mind could comprehend, your employer’s hand flew to the belt that sat across his slim hips and pulled, drawing your gaze downwards. Though the plates on his thighs and the cup between them remained firmly on, from this close you could see the way his flight suit strained behind it. You forced your eyes back up to the dark line of his visor as he pulled something from one of the pockets on the belt before dropping it carelessly to the floor.

“Arms up.” He barked.

You balked, remaining frozen when you finally saw what was in his hands. A pair of cuffs.

“Up. Now.” Mando grabbed both your wrists in one massive paw and forced them above your head without so much as a peep of resistance from you. The cuffs closed around your wrists with a hiss that made his shoulders ease ever so slightly. His other hand remained on your hip, his thumb pressing into the bone like he was trying to ground himself.

“Mando what-“

“You were gone. I came down and you had taken off. I thought you were hurt or lost, but no, you were running away from me.” His head tipped down, scanning the length of your soft body that wasn’t pressed against him. “And now, you’re saying that I don’t want you, need you.” He kneaded the plush flesh of your hip as he stepped closer, now the whole length of him pushed against you, blocking your view until all you could see was him.

“You were wrong.” You tried to protest but he chose in that moment to press his leg between your own, forcing a whine from your lips before you could even think of smothering it.

“You belong to me.” The world flipped on its axis, knocking the wind from your lungs as the bounty hunter flipped you onto his hard shoulder. You almost expected him to throw open the door and carry you back to the Crest but the Mandalorian tossed you onto the bed in the center of the room, leaving you breathless and very confused.

“I-I can give you back the credits you gave me if that’s what you want.” He yanked at the fasteners on his forearms, letting the armour fall to the ground with a clatter. “Or something…” You trailed off as the beskar on his legs followed, somehow hoping that this was going in the direction you had wished for and it wasn’t some cruel joke he was playing to get back at you.

Mando scoffed beneath his helmet as the chest plate joined the rest of the set, leaving him standing over you in the dark grey flight suit you had seen dozens of times before, but never like this. The front was pulled tight by the heft of his cock pressing against the suit’s seam, a darker patch slowly growing where his bulk ended.

“You haven’t seen it have you?” With your wrists still bound, you were pliant to his touch. His hands pulled at the shirt you wore, examining it before he suddenly gripped it tight and ripped the fabric apart.

“Hey!” Fear raced through your veins as your body was exposed to the man you had fallen for, you knew he would turn away, find you so wholly disgusting and unattractive that he would leave you on this bed in an inn that could barely be called that on a planet you didn’t know, taking your heart with him when he did.

“Mesh'la.” His whisper crackled with the modulator in his helmet, but you heard it all the same.

“Please Mando, I’m sorry I left but we both know my usefulness ran out a long time ago. There’s nothing else of me that you want.” You tried to lower your arms over your stomach but he caught your wrists once more and forced them back over your head, keeping you exposed to him.

“I want all of you.” He tugged at the zipper of his suit with his free hand, slowly revealing his own lean body to you. Dark hair speckled his tanned chest, leading down to a soft stomach littered with scars that only added to his beauty. You knew he was strong, immensely so to get his job done, but seeing his strength laid out so plainly to you almost had you drooling. He ripped away the rest of your shirt without much more protest, tearing the fabric apart until all that remained was a thin strip in his hand. “This stays on.”

With more delicacy than you thought him capable of, Mando wrapped the fabric around your eyes, binding it behind your head, blinding you and then removing his touch from you entirely. “Mando, I don’t understand.” Your voice had grown weaker.

“You will.” He assured before another dull thud rang through the room. “I’ll make you understand just how badly I will always need you.” It took you a moment, disoriented from being blindfolded, but you suddenly realised that there was no modulation in his own voice.

“Mando?”

“Trust me mesh'la.” It was then that his touch returned, burning hot and trembling with desire that you had never felt before. He touched your body with reverence, the tips of his fingers tracing each mark and marr with a soft admiration. “You don’t know what you do to me. So gentle, so soft, so perfect.” Lips followed each careful brush of his fingers.

“I’m not-“ You choked on the protest, tears burned behind your covered eyes.

“I tried to stop myself. I cannot give you the life you deserve but I couldn’t let you go, not after- You are my greatest sin. And my saviour.” Your pants slid down your legs before the weight of the bounty hunter replaced them, your skin flush together, no barriers between you. “And I am never letting you go.”

You tensed in surprise as he pressed his cock against your pussy, letting the heat between you grow unbearable. “I’m not any of those things. I’m not enough.” He froze, though he didn’t pull away.

“You think I’m lying to you.” Anger seeped from his pores. “I don’t lie to you, cyar'ika. Ever. I know you can feel how hard you make me, I’m always like this around you.” His hips pulled back, the tip of his cock falling to notch at your entrance. Even barely pressed into you, you burned with the stretch.

“It’s too much.”

“You’ll take it.” And with that he blissfully, tortuously, began pushing into you. “You were meant to.” Your back lifted from the thin mattress, arching into him as you took more and more, the length of his cock almost never ending. Your hands curled into fists, your nails biting into the flesh of your palm.

Pain swirled with pleasure, muddying your mind more than any alcohol or spice ever could. Your jaw dropped open as he finally reached the hilt and stopped. “Remember to breathe.”

He drew back and then punched into you, forcing your body further up the bed. You didn’t even get a chance to draw in a breath before he did it again and then again and again until the frame beneath you shook with his power, threatening to collapse if you didn’t move with him.

You yanked your arms down, planting your hands on the solid muscle of his chest like you could steal the air from him in return but Mando grabbed the cuffs and pulled them back up over your head. “Breathe.” You gasped at the reminder, the pain suddenly morphing into blinding ecstasy.

“Please!” You begged, not knowing if you were pleading for mercy or for him to give you more. His lips descended on your neck, coarse hair scratching at the sensitive skin that only fed into the growing feeling in your stomach. His cock hit at something deep inside of you that set your nerves alight.

His body moved against yours perfectly, a dance of pleasure he somehow knew all the steps to already.

“I need you.” You lamented, the words flowing from you like a dam burst inside you. “I was so scared, I needed you and I couldn’t lose you too.” Tears wet the makeshift blindfold, making the fabric darker with each one that fell.

“I’m sorry, it was all my fault.” He kissed up your jaw with each word. “You were my responsibility and I failed you, both of you.”

“He was mine.” You cried, chasing his lips. You thrust your bound hands into his hair tugging on the thick curls until you could feel the tip of his nose brush yours. “Please, I need-“ He smashed his lips to yours but then quickly pulled away, his voice ringing through your ears once more.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde”

“What’s it mean?” You slurred but instead of an answer, you received a snarl of frustration.

“Repeat it.” His hand pressed down on your stomach like he was trying to feel his cock pounding into you beneath the layer of fat but he only succeeded in adding more pressure to the already building mountain inside of you. You wailed, thrashing beneath him in some vain attempt to escape the pleasure he was inflicting on you but he didn’t relent for a second. He growled and threw one of your legs over his shoulder, forcing himself even deeper inside you.

“Repeat it.” He hit your g-spot with every thrust, brutally pushing you higher and higher.

“I can’t! I don’t understand!” You sobbed.

He groaned as you tightened around him, your pussy desperately trying to suck him in. “Repeat this; We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.”

“We are one when together.” The cuffs unlocked and your fingers tangled together with his. “We are one when parted.” Your legs wrapped around his waist. “We will share all.” One of his hands cupped the back of your head, pulling at the knot on the blindfold.

“We will raise warriors.” He repeated with you before he yanked off the fabric. The light blinded you for a moment before he became clear. A halo of warmth surrounded his head, illuminating the delicate, harsh features of his face, a face that had not been seen since he was a child.

“My riddur, my wife.” He cupped your full cheek, wiping away the tears that had been steadily leaking from your eyes. “Say your husband’s name when you cum. Let me feel it.”

Your hips rolled upwards, matching his gentler thrusts as you squeezed his hand. “My husband.” His smile punched a hole right through you, tying the knot in your stomach even tighter.

“Din.” He supplied with a moan against your lips. Your legs wound tighter around him, pulling him into you.

With one more deep roll of his hips, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock brushing your swollen clit, you fell, succumbing to mind-numbing pleasure as you howled his name over and over again. Din shuttered above you, desperately trying to keep up his pace to ride out your orgasm for all its worth.

“Kriff.” He gritted his teeth, his hips catching as his own end barrelled into him. Your thighs sealed him into you as he let out a growl. “I’ll make sure you remember you’re mine with my child in your belly.” Din pinned you to the bed with his hips as molten heat exploded within you, filling you with everything he had.

Your breaths mixed as you both finally came down from your highs, leaving you sore but pleased. There was so much left to ask, to say, the air was thick with it, but there was only one assurance you could utter to the man above you, in you.

“We will get him back, I promise.” You pressed your lips to his, the scruff of his facial hair poking your skin yet you reveled in the feeling, you may never feel it again. He sighed into the kiss as he slowly softened inside you.

“Do you remember that day in the market? That was the day I knew you were mine, my aliit, my clan.”

You smiled at him. “That’s the day I knew too. I never thought you’d feel the same.” He kissed you again, his lips unsure but eager against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping him close for just a few seconds longer.

“It’s time we go, find our son.” He pried himself from you and began to gather the discarded pieces of his armour as you attempted to recover from his attentions. The silence and occasional grunt of exertion as Din forced the cold metal back into place, eased your mind. He was here, he came for you with no hesitation and he proved that you were the one he wished to build something new with.

You threw your legs over the edge of the bed, shakily standing as he donned the last of his beskar. You reached for your pants but instead picked up the final piece of his armour. He swung his head around, far too much like Grogu used to when he had lost something, taking a hesitant step further from you in his search. You cleared your throat, immediately bringing his big brown eyes back to you as you lifted the helmet.

“You ripped my shirt.” You reminded him with a smirk, looking down at your bare chest.

With a sheepish look on his face, Din yanked off his cape and bundled you up in it, making sure you were completely covered before taking the helmet held lovingly in your hands. His smile was the last thing you saw on his face as he placed the helm back onto his head, once again becoming the Mandalorian. He swept you into his arms, keeping your body tight to his chest as he stepped into the hall.

“We will get him back.” He repeated, holding you closer.

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jinmindeulle · 3 months ago

Text

die with a smile | jeon wonwoo

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 jeon wonwoo x fem!reader

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 4.1 k

𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 angst, fluff

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 well, it's the end of the world and walkers (zombies) are around --- but nothing too sad happens here!

this piece was highly inspired in the song that gives it its title and one of my favorite shows before they ruined it --- the walking dead.

When they said the end of the world was close, naturally, you didn’t believe it. It had happened multiple times throughout your lifetime, so you knew it would be no different.

Except it was.

Although it was hard to keep track, you estimated that chaos had erupted about five years ago. It had been a pretty normal day — and your birthday.

You had woken up to your alarm clock and your mother’s smile, congratulating you with a small chocolate cupcake covered in pastel pink frosting and heart-shaped sprinkles, with a white candle already lit. She had sung Happy Birthday with her soft voice and had waited for you to think about your wishes and blow it out.

“Bea said she’s coming over tonight,” she had whispered as she hugged you. That was the last thing you had heard coming from her.

Because you had never seen your mum again. And your sister had never come. Only God — whether He existed or not was something you still had trouble with. How could He let this happen? — knew what their fate had been that treacherous morning.

Now, looking down at the half-cut strawberry pieces that were adorned with a single match emulating a candle, tears welled up in your eyes. You hated this, but Wonwoo had insisted, and you couldn’t find the courage to fight him. He liked to make people feel good and cared for, even when they felt like they had nothing left to do on this Earth.

“Do you think they are still out there?” you asked him, shutting your eyes and getting rid of the tears. You felt his calloused thumb caressing your right cheek, and this time, you decided to let him in — your birthdays were an emotional rollercoaster.

“We have to keep fighting. That’s the only way we'll know.” As he took your shoulder and nudged you to press against his side, you placed your head on the crook of his neck and enjoyed his warmth. It was not so bad after all.

Because at first, you had evaded him. He had wanted to break down your walls, and you had shoved him away. You didn’t want to get attached to someone who could die the next day. Who could abandon you just like your mom and your sister had. But sometimes, in vulnerable moments like this, Wonwoo was your only comfort.

“Who is doing rounds tonight?” you asked, hanging on to the fabric of his sweater. Winter was close, and you had realized that it was getting colder and colder as the years went by.

“Either Soonyoung with Jihoon, or Jared with Gael” he whispered against your hair. “It’s been awfully quiet lately.”

“That’s no good,” you sighed, moving away from him to take a piece of the strawberries that laid in the plastic plate in front of you. “Wouldn’t it be easier if I stayed with them? I know the area better than they do, and I can dissuade walkers faster.”

“You don’t get to boss me around” he gave a soft but deep laugh and took the strawberry from your hand to shove it into his mouth “They have to learn. I will be near”

You had wanted to boss him around ever since you got to the safehouse. But to be fair, Wonwoo was too natural at it — he was deeply observant and an analyst at heart, characteristics that you lacked, which made him clearly fit for a leader role. And at that, he was extremely good. You had noticed those traits of his ever since you met him.

After everything went downhill, you had woken up laying on the floor of your bedroom, curled up under your desk. Your room had seemed to have been destroyed by an earthquake or a similar natural disaster. Your head and your jaw were hurting. You had a busted lip. Something had hit your skull and you had collapsed head first — that had been your assumption. When you called for your mother, silence had hit you.

You had tried to leave the house, but it was quite literally upside down. The door had been blocked by a concrete pillar and you had to force your sore body to climb out of the biggest window.

No matter how dark it was, you had meant to find your mother at her workplace and, if possible, Bea at her apartment building which was on the way.

To your surprise, both of them had been empty. The city was empty. How long had you been laying there? Where had people run to? What had exactly happened?

Fear had frozen you for hours, silently staring at your mom’s workplace building. Silence had slowly started to hurt your eardrums. The realization that you were all alone in a place that you had called your home for twenty two years had hit you, and you had collapsed, landing hard on your knees, sobbing.

Millions of questions clouded your mind as you felt your throat tightly closing up, air barely getting to your lungs. You had gasped and fisted your hands in the gravel, your breath getting faster as you tried to concentrate on each movement to finally take control.

“Hey!”

Everything that had happened next had felt like a blur. A man — that you now know to have been Wonwoo — wearing round glasses, dressed in a baby blue shirt, dress black pants and shoes was kneeling in front of you, taking your wrists with his hands and helping you get back to your normal breathing.

“That’s it. Breathe.”

As you look at him munching on your birthday strawberries, you silently thank whoever decided to put him in your way to help you breathe all those years ago. People had come and gone, some with good intentions, some trying to take advantage of you and your hard work to survive. But Wonwoo had stayed — he had fought to stay. And he had taken care of you even when you had treated him like trash.

“I know it’s late” you whispered, following his movements with your eyes as he cleaned up his fingers with a piece of cloth “But I’m not sleepy-”

“You’re not doing rounds” he interrupted, taking your face with his hands and staring at you “We can stay up to talk and giggle, but you are not working on your birthday” he sentenced, pressing your cheeks together.

“I cbnt tbolbk” you whined through your squished cheeks “Bwonbwoo!!”

When he bursted into laughter and finally let you go, you took your time to admire how his eyes lit up when he was happy — a rare occasion, if you may add. In times of chaos, happiness was not on the plate.

“I’m gonna do my check ups. Finish your incredible birthday cake in the meantime” with a soft smile, Wonwoo kissed your forehead and stood up from the floor, where you had been sitting for your 12:01 surprise.

In these circumstances, getting ready to go to bed depended on how well things were going — when explorations were on the go, less people were around the safehouse, which meant that you wouldn’t be sleeping at least two nights a week to keep an eye on the surroundings.

Children were part of your community now, and Wonwoo and the rest of the leaders had decided to double up the people that stayed alert during dark hours. The safehouse was still big enough to house everyone altogether, as he had preferred ever since the beginning.

Leaving the building had merely started as a way to collect food and water, but as time went by, it had become a way to help people and grow the community — your community.

Tonight, however, you knew that Wonwoo had stayed back to be with you on your ‘special day’, even though there was nothing special about it. He rarely missed explorations, and when you stayed back, he trusted your safety to Seungcheol, that amazing brother-from-another-mother that he had helped a couple of months after he had found you, partnering with you as soon as he met you. But you were Wonwoo’s weakness and he wasn’t afraid of showing it to anyone, let alone you, so he had declared that he was spending the night with you. Whatever that meant.

Laying on your back, you stared at the ceiling. On the rare occasions that Wonwoo decided to accompany you, he had been silent. By that point, you knew each other like no one else, but there were parts of your past lives that had remained hidden, and you both were aware of that.

One question had been caught on your throat for quite some time, and as he came back to your side and laid next to you on the mattress on the floor, you put your weight on the left side of your body and supported your head with your hand to look at him.

“Everything alright?” You asked, following his movements as he mimicked you to look at you in the eye.

“Yep. The group reported a signal, they found some walkers trapped behind a fence not too far away. Took care of them. Now they are on the food quest” his voice was low, signaling that people were already asleep. The small rooms were one next to the other, so quietness was a must during rest hours.

“Any news on Chan?”

“Nothing” he shook his head, softly taking a strand of hair out of your face “It’s like the Earth swallowed him”

You felt how your eyes flooded with tears, and at the mere sight of your sadness, Wonwoo brought you close to his chest. “I hope he’s okay”

Chan was like a little brother to you. You had found him trapped on a roof, trying to get away from the then new threat — the walkers. You were still figuring out what they were, how they behaved, and most importantly, how to get rid of them. But by that time, some things were clear — walkers, or the dead, as some people called them, were looking for people who were alive to turn them into one of theirs; movement (and smell?) triggered them; aiming at the head was the safest way to get them over with.

Chan was surrounded by them, but thankfully, your group outnumbered the walkers, and all of you had weapons.

You had been the first to get to him and offer some water before you ran to the exit, where Wonwoo waited for you with his rifle ready to shoot. The youngster had held your hand all the way, and he had spoken to you and you only. After you had safely gotten to the building you had recently started to call ‘home’, Chan hardly ever left your side.

But the only time he did, you never saw him again.

“I bet he is. He was getting better everyday” he whispered, caressing your hair. “He even started using my rifle. That’s a wild move coming from him”

“You never let anyone touch it. Not even me”

“Chan needed confidence. I’m glad I let him.” You sighed and slid your arm around his waist, getting closer to Wonwoo’s body warmth. “Woah. That’s new” he gave a small smile, welcoming your touch with a caress to your cheek. You never showed signs of wanting physical contact, so you were as surprised as him.

“I guess turning twenty seven is making me clingier… and more curious”

“I like that.” Wonwoo nodded, placing a hand on your waist. “What are you curious about?”

You slowly took your arm away from his body and hugged his hand with yours, caressing his fingers with a newly found confidence “Your ring”

When you heard Wonwoo sigh, you understood that that was a sensitive topic. He had let you brush his fingers with yours, but he didn’t move. So you did, returning to your initial position.

“You had it on for two years. You have never used it ever since I turned twenty-four.” you started, your hand still on his “May I ask why?”

He stayed silent for some minutes, and you decided not to push him. He usually took his time to answer, especially when he was in charge of big decisions. It seemed like this one was another one.

“I was engaged” he confessed, returning his eyes to yours. “When everything happened… She and I had a fight. I saw some things I wished I didn’t, she said some things I hoped no one ever said to me. But I was worried about her, and my heart weighed more than my brain when it came to her.”

“Were you looking for her when you found me?”

He nodded, gently squeezing your hip for support. “I was hopeful I would find her at home, but when I got there she had taken some of her basic stuff. So my only conclusion was that she had left me behind. I put two and two together”

“But… Why did you keep the ring for two years? If you knew she was being untruthful?”

“I took my time to make the decision. For how things were going, I was not gonna see her anytime soon. So every time we were not busy surviving, I just went back to what I had and analyzed every little moment, ever since we met until the day we last saw each other. I gave her a chance for two whole years. But the night of your birthday it all became clear to me.”

He slid his hand away from yours, and placed it on your cheek, giving it soft strokes. “It was the first time you had let me in. I saw you crying because I made you a birthday cake with an apple and a match. You hugged me, and clung to me. You said everything I had wished for her to have said that day. And by that, I just mean the ‘I appreciate your efforts to make me happy’ part. I realized I was not asking for a lot. She just wasn’t willing to give it to me. But you were.”

“Wonwoo…” you whispered, touched by his honesty, by his gentleness.

“You must know by now how much I like you. I fell for you and the team we are. We work so well together. We find time to lead, to care for the community, and to come back to one another like we did at the beginning of this torn world. I am certain that you are the partner I have always wanted to have by my side. But I also know that you are not easy to fool into this romantic thing. That you have fears, that finding your family and Chan is your priority. So that’s why I have laid low, testing the waters. I just want you to feel safe around me, and come to me when you need me. I will wait forever if it means I get to have you like this from time to time”

You had sensed that he had become more and more concerned and attentive to you ever since that birthday apple cake day, but you had brushed it off as him being the responsible leader he was. You were, day by day, less hopeful to find your mom and sister alive, so he had naturally been by your side on those harder days. You just never realized Wonwoo had been looking at you with heart eyes from that moment on.

When you opened your mouth to speak, he interrupted you “You don’t have to say anything now”

“But I want to” you nodded, placing your hand in his, still on your cheek. “I am a little taken aback, not gonna lie. I thought you were just being you.” you chuckled “You know me so well that you are aware of my fears and priorities, and I appreciate you considering my feelings before advancing. But… I lost a mother, a sister, and Chan. He was here, and the next day he wasn’t. How would I keep on living if something ever happened to you? If my partner suddenly disappeared, leaving me and all these people behind? My heart won’t be able to handle it, Woo” you shook your head, tears already making their way down your skin, and your hands. “I don’t want to lose a boyfriend”

“You won’t lose me” he brought you back to his chest, legs tangling with yours “I promise, y/n. I have fought for this community and for us for a long time. I want this to work out so we can get our lives back, but I don’t want any of this if you’re not gonna be with me every step of the way”

“I will always be here, Wonwoo”

“You know what I mean. I’m afraid I won’t be able to contain myself any longer. I want to kiss you whenever I want to. To have the right to call you mine. To hold you and lay here with you. To give you some hope for the future.”

The way your body fit with his and seemed to not want to let go anytime soon gave you the idea that you had always wanted him like that too. The panic that you felt every time he left for an exploration and the relief that travelled down your spine when you saw his smile flashing through the entrance on his way to hug you was making sense now. But that same panic was the one keeping you at bay — if you started loving him a little more than you already did, the day he never again walked across that door, just like happened with Chan, was going to come. And you would lose the only reason you had to wake up everyday in this fucked up world.

“Can you let me think about it?” you asked, afraid of breaking his heart just now.

“Of course. It’s been three hard years. I am a patient man, darling” The endearing term melted your heart, so you let yourself loose on his warm caresses, hoping this moment to last forever.

But you knew better, and in times like these, emergencies were more common than you’d like them to.

“Sorry to bother you” a voice was heard behind the thin wooden door. Jihoon “But the team is on their way back. They found Chan”

You had never ran that fast. Not even when walkers were behind you.

When Chan wrapped his freezing arms around you, you felt your heart regaining some of the life it had lost over the years.

“Happy birthday, noona” the tremble in his voice was heartbreaking and relieving at the same time.

“Oh Chan” you sobbed, hugging him with all the care you could muster “You’re my gift”

It hurt to feel how thin he had gotten over the three weeks he had been missing, but now that he was under your care, you knew Chan was going to get better. He was your responsibility and you swore to yourself that he was never going through anything similar ever again.

You heard as Wonwoo and Seungcheol commanded everyone around you to help in some way — getting the first aid kit, some warm food and a new set of clothes to help the young man recover his normal body temperature.

A calloused hand hugged your shoulder and without even having to turn around, you knew Wonwoo was asking you to step back a little.

“Wrap this around him” he handed you a blanket, and you thanked him with a small smile and tears in your eyes.

You spent your first hours as a twenty seven year old watching Chan finally sleeping under as many blankets as you had deemed necessary, softly pressing your hand on his forehead from time to time to check his temperature. He had tolerated some warm can soup and water while one of the older girls, Savannah, had warmed some water for him to wash up.

After finally being sure that he was breathing normally and was not dying of hypothermia, you headed to Wonwoo’s small place, right next to yours.

You saw him fast asleep, with his glasses still on and his old and torn notebook open and spread on his chest. A silver pen was lying by his hand, and you remembered how he had found it in one of your first explorations after joining the community. He had kept that in his pocket even since then.

You didn’t want to wake him up, but at the same time, your answer couldn’t wait any longer. Chan was back. He had proved that not everyone disappears. And if they do, they eventually find their way back to you. Your mother and your sister were on their way — even if it took them years. They were out there looking for you.

And you also knew that the man sleeping in front of you was the first one to have found his way to you. He had never let you down — Wonwoo was not only physically there for you, even if it was just by lying next to you a feet apart, but he was also keeping his feelings from you in order not to put pressure on you and increase your hardships. He had given you time to see who he was to you, and to prove that you would never find anyone like him.

You would die if he died. No matter the label of the relationship you had.

It was going to hurt the same. Because you had already fallen for him the day he had saved you.

“What are you doing here?” His question took you out of your trance, and when you saw him sitting up and rearranging his glasses to see you well, you found the courage to sit on the mattress next to him.

“Chan is sleeping like a baby. Looks like he will recover pretty fast”

“He’s young. And athletic. I’m just worried about the struggles he had out there”

“I’ll talk to him as soon as I see him ready” you nodded, looking down to your fidgety fingers.

“But that’s not why you're here for, though”

You hated how well Wonwoo knew you. He could read you like a book and as much as you wanted to glare at him, your shyness was overpowering you.

“Mhm” you muttered, trying to find the words. “Getting Chan back got me thinking”

“I like when you think” he gave a soft smile and you had to raise your head to look at him.

“That was not a compliment, if you were thinking of it as one” you pouted.

“I have better ones, yes” he chuckled, and slowly took one of your hands in his “Stop the fidgeting. Talk to me”

You had to fight the urge to press your lips to his, because he would need an explanation first — that was how Wonwoo worked. But… maybe not this time. You really didn’t know how he would act around you as his girlfriend.

His girlfriend. Wow. That sounded great.

“What I said earlier. About you ever leaving me”

“I won’t leave you, y/n” he shook his head, eyes still bored into yours.

“I know. And even if you did… It would hurt the same. Whether you are more than a friend or if you keep being my friend, I would cry the same. I would let myself die the same. So…”

“That’s too tragic for a love confession, darling” Wonwoo gave you a wide-eyed grin and you couldn’t help but laugh too.

“That’s me. Take it or leave it”

“I’ve been waiting exactly three years for you to let me take it. Pouring my heart out here” he wiggled the notebook on his other hand “so I didn’t have to say all that to you. So bold of you to assume that I would leave it”

And with that, he freed his hands to cup your jaw and guide your way to his mouth. When they finally met, you felt a warm explosion in your chest — Wonwoo was gentle, caressing your lips with his to make you feel safe first. But you wanted more, and when you parted your lips, he swiftly transformed it into an open mouth kiss.

And you melted.

“Thank you” he muttered in between kisses “Thank you”

If this was the end of the world, you were glad you had found Wonwoo before it finally ended. Maybe it had taken the Earth to collapse, and dead people to come to life in the form of zombies for you to get to the one and only man you would let in.

Even though you were still fighting to get the rest of your family back, you were sure that you would die with a smile if Wonwoo was next to you.

235 notes · View notes

sunnydbeam · 23 days ago

Text

Gamma Code

Chapter 3: Alone With Yourself (AO3)

▪︎ Word count: 7,500+

▪︎ Chapter summary:

Biohazard is not feeling so confident this time.

CW: Heavy angst, dysphoria, derealization, graphic descriptions of anxiety and panic attacks, aggression, self-injury, swearing.

~~~~~~~~~

The end of your shift leaves a familiar, acrid tang in your mouth – the taste of unresolved tension. A heavy cloak of frustration, inexplicable and suffocating, settles over you. Each colleague offered the same look, a watery, pitying gaze that slid right off as you retreated, words failing you. None of them could articulate, or perhaps dared not to, the turmoil that churned within you, a distress that ran deeper than mere fear of another unwanted, nightmarish encounter with the creature haunting your waking thoughts and sleeping terrors.

This hollowness isn't new. It’s the gnawing bitterness of an injustice you feel in your bones but cannot articulate, a silent scream trapped in your chest. The mere act of wrestling with it drains you, your thoughts snagging, your brain feeling seized, shriveling like a sponge wrung dry under a relentless, invisible fist.

Alone in the oppressive darkness of your room, the tension clings to your limbs like a second skin, refusing to release its hold even as you lie prone, your eyes tracing the blank, indifferent expanse of the pale ceiling. Sleep, that elusive balm, offers no solace, and the frustration of its absence grates on your already frayed nerves. You hate this.

When you finally register your surroundings again, your eyes are sandpaper-dry, stinging, and bloodshot. The room’s darkness is a tangible presence, swallowing you whole. For a fleeting, merciful moment, the intrusive neon glow has vanished. This time, it’s not the chilling tendrils of fear that consume you, but a profound, bottomless sorrow washes over you, cold and vast, as if you’ve borne solitary witness to an act of such profound immorality that only your soul can perceive its true weight. You feel adrift, marooned in a parallel dimension, an inverted reality where you are the alien, the outsider, casting a harsh, judgmental eye upon a world that deems its skewed normalcy as absolute.

And yet, through it all, your thoughts circle inevitably back to him. To the robot.

The memory of your last conversation with him is so visceral, so sharply etched in your mind, that your stomach lurches, a sickening roil that forces you to curl onto your side, hugging yourself against a wave of nausea that feels both real and phantom. He had fallen silent, abruptly, the final words of his almost-declaration tumbling out in a tone that had, for a startling instant, softened, become… pleasant. And the shift had felt utterly bizarre. Unsettling. As if he, too, were defeated.

Vulnerable.

A sliver of doubt remained – was he truly sincere, or was this an elaborate ruse, a calculated play to persuade you of his supposed innocence, of the fantastical possibility of escape? Perhaps the field of flowers he spoke of was a cruel mirage. Perhaps his words were nothing more than a sophisticated emulation of emotions he could never truly possess. You fought against the pull of it, yet the echo of that vulnerability didn't entirely fade. To your fortune, or perhaps your detriment, you’d always been cursed with an overabundance of empathy, a trait that now stole your sleep, leaving you to wrestle with these impossible quandaries in the dead of night.

The crux of it, the thorn that pricked your conscience, was the casual disposability of this artificial life, the ease with which everyone could use and discard.

And since Biohazard isn't… technically… alive…

Why did the weight of complicity settle so heavily upon your shoulders, as if you were an accomplice to a crime that defied definition, a wrongness that resonated in the very marrow of your being?

…

The void. A silence so profound it thunders in the absence of sound. Darkness, absolute and unyielding.

His enemy. His friend.

His ally.

Sometimes, not seeing oneself is a perverse kind of mercy.

But the glow… his glow. It sears, an internal fire.

The unending torment of a fractured mind, chained to a past it cannot relinquish.

What could have been.

Oh, what could have been.

What would it have been?

He has, in truth, forgotten.

And the forgetting is a fresh agony, a constant, dull ache.

An eternity seems to have yawned since the last caress of light, since his sensors registered anything beyond the blistering, relentless heat. An eternity since his optical sensors perceived anything but the cold, indifferent sheen of steel, or, more often, nothing. Absolutely nothing.

He prowls the Stygian gloom, his mechanical claws scraping, screeching against the rough-hewn surfaces, each footfall a ponderous, threatening thud in the vast emptiness. Only he bears witness to his passage. His very touch leaves an ectoplasmic trail of sickly green luminescence, a viscous, dangerous-looking slime that seems to sizzle and eat at the concrete like potent acid. He knows with a detached part of his consciousness that his deteriorating form is a canvas of optical illusions he no longer fully comprehends; the perpetual, horrifying sensation of melting, of his very structure deliquescing, crumbling like rotted, irradiated flesh. The radiation, a relentless tide, devours his chassis particle by particle; stainless steel, lead, tungsten – no fortress of costly, resilient materials could have ever been engineered to withstand, to predict, the sheer, unadulterated toxicity that now bathes him, circulates through his internal systems like a corrosive mockery of blood. Yet, he endures. He walks. Aimless. Purposeless. A zombie, many would whisper, if they dared to speak of him at all. But Biohazard knows. Those shambling, reanimated corpses, they once had something to cling to, a life to mourn. He knows, with a certainty that chills his core programming, that he was never truly alive to begin with. A matter of convention, of course.

But increasingly, Biohazard finds the charade of simulated life, of simulated anything, utterly pointless.

The grating, worn-out symphony of his existence: the screech of protesting joints, the groan of over-stressed actuators, the relentless spread of rust, pistons hissing and straining under the immense weight of his frame. Cold. Rigid. Cracked. Every element of his being screams "ARTIFICIALITY!" in a tone dripping with contempt, a cosmic joke played on him alone. And still, to exist, to persist on this plane, painfully, acutely aware of his cursed state, in every conceivable sense of the word.

Biohazard halts, his optical sensors attempting to pierce the impenetrable black. His night vision capabilities should render it a non-issue, yet the persistent visual static, the desaturated, aged filter over his perception, bleeds all vibrancy from the world, leaving only a monotonous, soul-crushing greyscale. He finds himself… missing… color. Anything other than the ubiquitous, sickly green of his own corrosive aura.

A faint drip… drip… drip slices through the silence from somewhere in the oppressive distance. He shakes his head, a curiously organic movement for such a mechanical being. He cannot pinpoint its origin. It’s not an immediate threat, he ascertains, but it will be dealt with. He always deals with things.

"I must… investigate that," he mutters, his vocalizer a low, gravelly rasp.

The sound, insignificant as it is, grates on him, a rhythmic torment that seems to reverberate inside his cranial casing as if he possessed organic ears. As a machine, such a minor auditory input shouldn't agitate him to this degree. Yet, it feels as if the dripping intensifies, draws nearer, its echo ricocheting off unseen walls, each drop a tiny, insistent hammer blow against his thick, armored chassis. He despises it. He needs it to stop. Now. He will make it stop.

A wave of something akin to nausea washes through his system.

"Ugh… ENOUGH! MAKE IT STOP!"

He slams his immense weight against a nearby wall, the rough concrete screeching as it gouges fresh wounds into the already ravaged paintwork of his armored frame. He struggles to stabilize his trembling form, his optical sensors flaring wide, pupils dilated to their maximum. He teeters on the precipice of a full-blown system meltdown, a terrifying, hysterical overload.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Closer. Louder. Piercing.

The robot’s hand flies to his head, claws splayed, pressing against his head as if to physically prevent it from shattering, from exploding from the unbearable, escalating pain.

"Wh-where… where is it? I must… I… I…"

Horrific. Vile. Utterly despicable.

It’s drawing nearer. Closer. Too close.

His luminous eyes, wide and wild with a dawning terror, fix on an image of you in his corrupted memory banks. His green-tinged claws clench, a spasm of immense pressure, then fly open, digging into the unyielding wall for purchase. He almost seems to scrabble, to writhe, contorting his massive frame against an invisible, inexplicable agony. A constant, internal sizzling, as if his lead and tungsten guts are being slowly dissolved, burns through him. He thinks of the radio – your voice – the static, the deafening, mind-splitting crackles, the almost subliminal, omnipresent hum of distant, unseen machinery, and the dripping. The goddamned, incessant dripping.

Your voice. He needs to hear your voice again.

It was… different. Satisfying in a way he couldn't parse. Soft, yet inquisitive. Accusatory, yes, but… it had brought him a strange, fleeting semblance of peace.

Why did you leave him? Why did you fall silent?

Why haven't you come back?

He feels physically ill from the relentless, maddening drip. Why hasn't he been able to silence it? Why can't he make it STOP?

With a guttural roar, a sound torn from his vocalizer that is half agonized whimper, half frustrated sob, he seizes his upper left arm with his other three, yanking, tearing at it as if determined to rip it from its socket. The sharp tips of his metallic fingers snag in the existing fissures and gouges, rending the plating further, pulling outwards with the sickening sound of stressed metal, like someone brutally tearing the rind from a piece of fruit. It’s no surprise to him that only certain sections register the pain; his tactile sensors are, for the most part, shot, barely functional. It doesn't matter. He'll repair it later. He always does.

"Stop… please… just… stop…"

He emits a sound that might be a sob, a dry, racking mechanical cough. Everything is amplified now, the world a cacophony of distorted noise, an infinite, swirling abyss that threatens to engulf him, to drag him down into an endless, terrifying fall.

It's so dark, yet paradoxically, Biohazard is utterly, painfully sick of his own inescapable, corrosive glow.

He tries. He truly, desperately tries.

He’s doing… okay, isn’t he? He has to be. No one would be safe if it weren’t for him.

"Stupid… STUPID, USELESS HUMANS… STUPID!"

They need him.

Every last one of them. If not for his constant, thankless vigilance, this entire godforsaken facility would have been vaporized, a crater of radioactive ruin – a devastation mirroring the desolate wasteland of his own tormented existence. So why, why is he still here, in this lightless hell?

In the crushing abyss of silence, a maelstrom of noise now rages, yet Biohazard clings to the faint, desperate hope that the radio will crackle to life, that your voice will pierce the darkness, signaling your return.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Closer. Louder. Nearer. It's here.

Biohazard’s fist smashes into a hard, unyielding surface – some kind of thick, reinforced pipe, he vaguely registers, running flush along the wall. He snarls, then lets out a choked, agonized howl as the resilient material barely deforms, a slight indentation appearing under the brutal impact of his knuckles. His fingers jam, servos straining with a high-pitched mechanical shriek. The complex mechanisms within his arm momentarily seize, actuators grinding with a sickening, discordant screech. A powerful jolt of electricity, a rogue surge, courses through his frame, sending the colossal robot crashing heavily to his knees in a violent, spontaneous convulsion. Pain, razor-sharp, lances through him, a crippling spasm that arcs down his spinal column. It’s excruciating, unpleasant, but it means little to him now. He’s endured worse. It’s always worse. His limbs twitch and jerk erratically for several agonizing seconds before the surge subsides, leaving him trembling and gasping. He sobs, a ragged, despairing sound.

When his optical sensors refocus, the sight of the newly damaged pipe, the evidence of his loss of control, fills him with a fresh wave of suffocating anxiety, a stark, unreasoning panic, and an overwhelming, inexplicable urge for self-flagellation.

"No, no, no…! I’ll fix it… I can fix it…"

Irreparable. Disposable. Monster. Failure.

To any observer, the sight of a multi-ton machine crumbling into what could only be described as tears would be profoundly disturbing and bizarre. The muffled, choked sounds of distress reverberate through the empty spaces. And for a blessed, fleeting moment, the infernal dripping seems to recede, to become distant, almost manageable. Biohazard buries his faceplate in his massive, trembling hands. That persistent, nightmarish sensation of his body melting, corroding from the inside out, intensifies, becoming almost unbearable, as if he were positioned directly beneath a perpetually overflowing vat of concentrated, flesh-eating acid. If he were human, he’d be retching, his stomach clenching in agony, his insides feeling as though they were being crushed by a tightening, iron-clad fist. His mechanical body, however, can only react by flaring with that sickly, radioactive green luminescence, burning with an internal fire that consumes but never purges.

"Why… can’t it just… stop…?" he chokes out, the words interspersed with harsh, grating sobs.

His hands, those lethal, green-glowing claws, clench and unclench around the neon green "rays", the imaginary sensation of melting, of dissolving, searing his metallic palms. Suddenly, an immense, bone-deep weariness settles over him, as if tons of additional lead shielding have been instantaneously fused to his already overburdened shoulders. He remains slumped on the cold floor, his knees drawn up to his chest in a pathetically humanoid posture of distress. But no tears, no salty, cleansing human tears, will ever trace paths down his face. His luminous, mismatched eyes stare blankly into the void, lost in the suffocating darkness, yet his auditory sensors remain torturously attuned to the persistent, maddening drip-drip-drip whose source remains infuriatingly elusive.

Perhaps it is just in his head. A phantom sound in a broken mind.

Something internal must be short-circuiting. Yes. That has to be it.

The four auxiliary, spider-like limbs sprouting from his back twitch and scrape restlessly against the floor, the sound a thunderous, ear-splitting screech that echoes and reverberates to the furthest, darkest corners of his prison, amplifying the crushing sense of isolation, of an impossibly vast space.

A large, trembling hand, driven by a desperate, anxious urgency, fumbles at his utility belt, extracting a small, antiquated radio. It looks ridiculously tiny, almost like a child’s toy, cradled in his massive palms. The device is old, battered, its plastic casing discolored and warped, as if the ambient heat and pervasive radiation had begun to slowly melt it long ago. The batteries, visibly swollen and leaking corrosive sulfates, are fused into place, impossible to remove. Yet, somehow, miraculously, the damn thing still functions, drawing power from some unknown, residual source. With shaking digits, he depresses the side-mounted transmit button, bringing the battered apparatus close to his mouth.

"Little Mouse…?" His voice is a strained, hopeful whisper.

A prolonged, harsh crackle of static answers him. Then, nothing. Silence.

Biohazard feels the last vestiges of his sanity begin to fray, to unravel.

His thoughts, already a chaotic maelstrom, veer into darker, more insidious, intrusive pathways. Was your presence merely a fleeting hallucination, a cruel trick of his deteriorating processors? Will you ever return? Were you, are you, truly different from all the others who feared and reviled him?

When you asked, in that unexpectedly gentle, almost tender tone, what he would do if he were free… were you sincere? Did you mean it?

Did any of it even matter to him in the first place? He doesn't know. He doesn't understand.

"Give me a sign… please… just a sign… that some of this… was real."

He doesn’t even comprehend why it matters so damn much. Why you matter.

Five agonizing, interminable hours crawl by, each second stretching into an eternity. Biohazard has lost all coherent track of time, his internal chronometer, usually so precise, now hopelessly skewed, irrelevant. For him, each passing minute is another layer of torment in the inescapable, timeless limbo in which he is trapped, as if the very fabric of time has congealed, frozen solid around him. A dimension of perpetual, agonizing waiting, for something he cannot name, cannot define, yet desperately craves.

Suddenly, the radio emits a sharp, distinct crackle. Biohazard’s head snaps to the side with a convulsive, savage movement, his eyes flaring to their widest aperture. For a disorienting moment, he thinks, knows, he must have imagined it, another auditory hallucination. But then, the battered, almost derelict device lets out a short, tinny, undeniably real beep, and an instant later, a voice, your voice, familiar and achingly clear, echoes through the desolate, lonely chamber.

"Huh… hello?"

Oh, the wave of… something… that washes over him. Relief? Joy? He cannot name it. He is… stunned. Amazed. His jaw slackens, hangs open, leaving him looking almost… dumbfounded.

Your voice, uncertain, cuts through the static again.

"Biohazard?"

Wonderful. Fascinating. Captivating. The robot is so lost in the sheer, overwhelming relief of hearing you that he doesn’t realize how much time is passing, how long he’s taking to respond. He just stares at the small, battered radio in his hand as if, by some miracle, he could visualize you there, on the other side of the crackling transmission. He sees you in his corrupted memory: clad in that ridiculously oversized, bulky hazmat suit, a protective mask obscuring the lower half of your terrified face. Biohazard’s visual record of you is incomplete, fragmented, yet it’s all he has managed to salvage, to store in the damaged recesses of his memory bank.

And he wishes, with a sudden, desperate pang, that it were more, that were enough.

"…Are you… Are you there?"

Your voice, edged with a new note of concern, finally shakes Biohazard from his stupor. He grips the radio tighter, perhaps a little too tight, his metallic fingers creaking. He forces himself to respond, his vocalizer engaging with deliberate, measured slowness, a stark contrast to the frantic, chaotic storm of anxiety and relief still raging within his processors.

"As always." The words are a low rumble, heavy with unspoken things.

A beat of silence descends, thick and charged. His mechanical fingers tremble almost imperceptibly.

The radio crackles again, and Biohazard hears the distinct sound of you clearing your throat, a small, nervous human noise, as if you’ve suddenly become aware of the strangeness of the situation, perhaps even uncomfortable.

"I’m sorry. Of course you’d be there. I mean, where else would you go… huh…" You falter, then rush to correct yourself. "I’m sorry, that was… rude of me."

Still seated on the cold floor, Biohazard idly traces small, intricate, wavy patterns on the smooth, slippery surface with one finger. A faint, almost imperceptible, somewhat sly smile touches the edges of his mouth, as if he’s unaffected by your minor social blunder.

"Aw, and here I thought you didn't care about the delicate emotions of a poor, misunderstood robot," he teases, his tone a low, rumbling purr that is surprisingly playful. "My little electronic heart is all a-flutter."

You let out a sound on the other end, a frustrated snort that morphs into something more akin to a groan of mingled regret and confusion. Biohazard cants his head again, that curious, canine-like gesture, as he meticulously analyzes the subtle nuances in the sound of your voice, trying to decipher your tone, your current emotional state.

"I seem to have embarrassed you~" The playful lilt is back.

"Just… don’t start." Biohazard can almost visualize you on the other end, rolling your eyes in exasperation. "You’re far too confident for us to have barely met, especially after you, you know, tried to kill me."

The robot’s eyes narrow, his gaze fixing intently on the walkie-talkie. The playful air vanishes, replaced by a sharp, sudden intensity. A flicker of confusion, then suspicion, darkens his expression, as if an unexpected and unsettling premonition, a mysterious unease, has begun to coil and writhe in the depths of his mechanical guts. He offers no response. An uncomfortable silence descends, broken only by the faint, persistent hiss of static. Biohazard fights against the crushing weight of the eternal, unchanging day that constitutes his miserable existence, determined not to let it drag him down, not to let it sour this… interaction. He’s fine. He’s calm. He can handle this. He can fix this. He always does.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The sound, previously a source of torment, now seems to fade into the background, a dull, rhythmic counterpoint to the tension coiling between you.

"Um… listen," you begin, your voice a hesitant whisper, deliberately attempting a friendly, casual tone. Biohazard registers the forced lightness, the underlying nervousness, but chooses, for now, to ignore it. "I know we got off on the wrong foot. I’m just… trying to understand you, okay? Like… how you’re feeling about all of this. How you ended up… where you are now…"

Biohazard’s head jerks, a sudden, violent movement. You hear a sharp crackle over the radio, followed by a low, ominous hiss. He brings a hand to his faceplate, his sharp claws scraping, gouging at the already scarred metal, catching, tearing at any existing crevice or fissure.

He can handle this. He knows he can. He has to.

"Oh, so you do care, then." His voice is flat, devoid of its earlier playfulness, the statement a harsh, grating assertion, laced with an unpleasant, almost aggressive sarcasm.

He can practically feel you recoil on the other end, can sense your tension spike in response to his sudden, hostile shift in tone.

"Of course, I care," you whisper, your voice small, earnest. "I… I just want to help."

"How very… considerate of you," he croaks, the word dripping with venom. "In that case, you can start by getting me the hell out of this damn cage."

"You know I can’t do that."

"Yeah, of course. How silly of me to even ask."

Biohazard’s hand, the one not currently trying to claw its way through his own skull, trembles, a strangely organic, uncontrolled tremor for such a massive, powerful machine. His eyes dart around the darkness, wild and anxious, his razor-sharp, metallic teeth clenching, grinding together with a sound like stressed gears.

"You’re in a particularly foul mood today, I see." Your voice, filtered through the radio’s cheap speaker, sounds tinny, like a frustrated growl in his oversized hands. “I haven’t forgotten that you nearly killed me. But at least I’m trying to make an effort here, to make peace with you!"

"Wow, and now you’re implying I’m a goddamned ungrateful wretch, is that it?" Biohazard lurches to his feet, his immense frame unfolding like some terrible, shadowy beast. He begins to pace, a caged predator, his colossal figure an ominous, shifting silhouette that merges and disappears within the deeper pockets of darkness. "Poor, pathetic me. An object of pity, is that what I am? Oh, I beg for your mercy, your understanding!" His voice is a torrent of bitter sarcasm.

"No, I… I didn't mean…"

"Every single one of you worthless meatbags owes me your fucking miserable lives, and what do I get in return? Condemnation! Imprisonment! You should be on your knees, thanking me!"

"Y-you need to calm down, behave yourself! You don’t understand, this is important! We… we could get you out, if you would just…"

"’ We could'?" The question is a low, dangerous snarl.

You fall silent on the other end. The radio crackles and hisses with static for what feels like an eternity, a long, agonizing minute stretching into infinity. Biohazard feels a familiar, dreaded sensation begin to build within him, his internal systems slowly, inexorably igniting, as if his delicate wires and complex circuits are being systematically doused in corrosive acid and set aflame. If he possessed a biological heart, it would be hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Instead, a single, ancient, dilapidated cooling fan located deep within his chest cavity sputters to life, its bearings shot, screeching with the tortured sound of rusted hinges on a heavy iron door that has remained sealed for countless, forgotten years.

"Um…" You hesitate, then your voice returns, laced with a new, palpable apprehension. "There’s… someone else here with me."

Biohazard freezes mid-stride. His final, ponderous footfall echoes, and re-echoes, in the vast, eternal emptiness of his lightless prison. He looks down, his movements slow, deliberate. His mismatched, luminous eyes are wide, unblinking, fixed on the radio in his hand. When he speaks, his voice is deceptively calm, quiet, like the eerie, unnatural stillness that precedes a violent, destructive storm.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Louder now. More insistent. Getting worse. So much worse.

"...Who. Is. There?" Each word is a carefully enunciated, ice-cold shard of menace.

"His name is Edward. He wants to understand you, too, Biohazard. We both want to help."

Closer. It’s getting closer. The dripping. The pressure. The rage.

He can handle it. He can fix it. He always does.

No.

No, he can't.

Not this time.

He needs it to stop.

It never stops.

It’s a goddamned, inescapable, downward spiral.

And then, he shatters.

"WHY THE HELL IS HE WITH YOU?!"

"B-Biohazard, please-"

His fist, a blur of motion, connects with the unforgiving concrete wall with a sickening, explosive CRUNCH. His knuckles, the very metal of his hand, erupt in a shower of brilliant, sizzling sparks, like a burst of malevolent fireworks. The impact sends a shockwave of agony lancing up his arm, but he barely registers it. He doesn’t care. His world is tilting, spinning, a nauseating vortex of sickly green, blood red, and deepest, suffocating black. So very, very black.

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP!" he bellows, his voice cracking, distorting. "I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOUR LIES! I DON’T WANT TO HEAR HIM!"

A cascade of urgent, flashing alert messages floods his internal visual field, scrolling behind his eyes: numerous critical system errors, piercing auditory beeps, blaring klaxons. Everything is failing. Cascade failure. He can’t make it stop. He can’t regain control.

"WHY IS HE THERE?! WHY IS HE WITH YOU?!" he screams again, the raw, undiluted hatred in his voice shocking even himself. His intention, his core programming, wasn’t to sound so… so consumed by it. But something vital, something integral deep within his complex matrix, has irrevocably fractured, snapped, as if he can no longer bear the weight, the strain, the unending torment of his existence.

"I-it’s not what you think, Biohazard, we just…"

"NO! NO, SHUT YOUR LYING MOUTH!" Biohazard clutches his head, his massive frame wracked with violent tremors. He growls, he sobs, a horrifying, discordant symphony of fury and utter despair. "YOU’RE JUST LIKE ALL THE OTHERS! TESTING ME! PRODDING ME LIKE SOME… SOME UNSTABLE, DANGEROUS BEAST IN A CAGE! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?! ALL OF YOU HAVE NO GODDAMN IDEA HOW UTTERLY, HOPELESSLY DEAD YOU’D ALL BE RIGHT NOW IF IT WEREN’T FOR ME! FOR ME! YOU UNGRATEFUL, SELFISH, PATHETIC, INEPT…! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOUR DAMN FAULT!"

He leans forward, his entire body quaking, the small, battered radio groaning, threatening to buckle, to shatter into a million pieces under the crushing pressure of his steel grip. The very space around him seems to shimmer, to distort, to crumble like a sandcastle before an incoming tide, and he feels himself being dragged down, down, into the swirling, chaotic abyss…

You’re saying something, your voice a distant, tinny squawk, but he’s no longer listening. He’s gone. Far, far away, lost in the raging tempest of his own fractured mind. The dripping, that infernal, maddening dripping, echoes, persists, a mocking soundtrack to his descent. He can’t fix it. He doesn’t know how. He is consumed by a searing, all-encompassing hatred, so potent, so overwhelming, that he hates the hatred itself.

And then… silence.

A deafening, absolute silence.

No one speaks. But the tension, thick and suffocating, doesn’t lessen. It hangs in the air, a palpable entity.

A full thirty seconds tick by, each one an eternity.

Suddenly, a sound rips through the stillness. Biohazard begins to laugh. It’s not a sound of mirth or joy. It’s a wild, terrible, manic, unbridled cackle. He throws his head back, his shoulders shaking, and laughs, an almost macabre sound, a chilling harbinger of doom.

"Foolish, foolish humans!" he shrieks, his laughter devolving into a series of choked, gasping howls. "So arrogant! So stubborn… But you have no idea… no idea at all! You think you’re SAFE? YOU THINK YOU CAN CONTROL ME? You’re not safe with me in here, not like you imagine! I have a goddamned nuclear reactor core right here! Have you forgotten that, you pathetic worms?! I’ll blow this whole damn place, and all of you with it!"

"Biohazard, you have to listen to me! Please!" Your voice is desperate, pleading.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

He raises his fist, preparing to unleash another devastating blow against the already battered wall, but then he freezes, mid-motion. His wild, luminous eyes, burning with an unholy light in the blackness, fix on something unseen.

"When I get my hands on all of you… I swear-“

He stops. Abruptly.

His vision strobes, a bizarre, disorienting chiaroscuro of light and shadow. He almost feels… a headache? A wave of dizziness? A strange, tingling numbness creeping up his limbs? He knows, on a logical level, that such sensations should be physically impossible for him. Yet, his hands are trembling, his entire body shaking as if a powerful, uncontrolled electrical current is surging through his circuits. His grip on the radio slackens, his fingers uncurling. He closes his mouth, his gaze dropping, focusing on nothing. And then, with a quiet, almost anticlimactic finality, he simply lets the radio fall from his grasp. It clatters to the hard floor with a reverberating thud, bounces once, then slides a short distance before coming to rest.

His towering, lanky figure, moments before a terrifying embodiment of rage and destructive power, now seems to shrink, to diminish, appearing suddenly, shockingly small amidst the vast, encroaching shadows. It’s not that the chamber itself is so immense. He is simply… insignificant. Nothing.

The robot turns, slowly, ponderously, on his heels, his movements now unnervingly silent, almost graceful, as if his immense weight has suddenly become negligible.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound seems to fade, to grow smaller, more distant.

He can’t fix it. But perhaps… he can ignore it. For now.

Until he finds its source.

Until it truly matters.

Until… until it’s enough.

Biohazard walks away, his form receding into the oppressive gloom, until the swirling, radioactive mist that constantly surrounds him, a visual echo of the dense, toxic smoke that chokes his mind, finally engulfs him, swallowing him from view.

…

The radio is silent. And with its silence, your thoughts grind to a screeching halt, your mind a sudden blank. You can’t even begin to process, to comprehend, the sheer, cataclysmic violence of what just transpired. It’s as if a furious, destructive tornado had materialized out of nowhere, ripped through your fragile sense of reality, laid waste to everything in its path, and then, just as suddenly, vanished without a trace, as if it had never been there at all.

Your body is wracked with tremors, a deep, bone-chilling shiver coursing through you despite the stuffy air of the control room. A heavy, constricting tightness grips your chest, an iron band squeezing the air from your lungs, and an overwhelming urge to weep, to break down completely.

You curse yourself. You curse the precise moment you allowed desperation to override your better judgment, the moment you decided to confide in Edward, to ask for his help with this… this impossible situation. You curse yourself for even mentioning Edward’s presence to the robot. Laying bare all those gnawing insecurities, those fears that had been relentlessly eating away at your sanity, to the older man. And the fact that Edward had decided to try, to attempt. But, in all brutal honesty, you never, not for a single instant, imagined that Biohazard would react with such… such volcanic fury. As if you, you, were the ultimate betrayer, the worst kind of traitor. The thought makes you feel physically ill, a cold, greasy sickness coiling in your stomach.

But it’s not true. It’s not your fault. You didn’t put him in that lightless hell. You know you didn’t. Damn it all, you don’t even know the full story behind his confinement. But Biohazard, in his current state, clearly doesn’t care about nuances, about extenuating circumstances. To him, you are simply another human. One of them.

The sheer force of his hatred, the palpable wave of it that had crashed over you through the small radio speaker, is so overwhelming, so terrifyingly potent, that your insides begin to twist and churn, a knot of ice and fire.

Edward, his face grim, places a heavy, comforting hand on your shoulder. You let out a muffled, choked whimper, burying your face in your trembling palms. You want to speak, to articulate the storm of emotions raging within you, but your tongue feels thick, clumsy, tangled in a hopeless mess of unsaid words, of what-ifs, of what could have been. Oh, God, what could have been.

"Hey, Kid," Edward’s voice is low, rough with a weariness that seems to go bone-deep.

"That… that wasn’t right, Edward." Your voice is a ragged whisper, raw with unshed tears. "I-I swear, he wasn’t like this the last time I spoke to him. I… I don’t understand."

Edward gives you a long, searching look, his eyes filled with sadness, a deep-seated resignation. He sighs, a heavy, gusty sound, and runs a tired hand through his already disheveled hair.

"We’ve been down this road before, Kid. More times than I care to count." His voice is flat, devoid of hope. "There’s no reasoning with him anymore. Not when he’s like this. He’s gone."

"No! You don’t understand!" You surge to your feet, your eyes blazing, hot tears finally spilling over, tracing burning paths down your cheeks. Somehow, you’ve allowed this, allowed him, to burrow deep under your skin, to affect you far more profoundly than you ever thought possible. "All that… that rage! That pain! He feels, Edward! Just like we do! Can’t you see he’s suffering in there, alone in the dark, and nobody here, nobody, is even thinking about doing anything to help him?"

"We can’t do anything, Kid! Don’t you get it?!" Edward suddenly explodes, his voice cracking, nearly as raw and frustrated as your own. His composure, usually so steadfast, finally shatters. "Weren’t you listening? The mere mention of my name sent him completely over the edge! He just literally threatened to kill us all, to blow this entire place to smithereens! Do you have any earthly idea how unbelievably dangerous that… that creature’s very existence is right now?!"

Your hands fly to your hair, fingers tangling, pulling, a physical manifestation of your internal turmoil. You hate this. You hate being trapped in this impossible, no-win situation. Why, oh why, did you ever allow yourself to get involved in the first place? How do you escape this now? How do you ever hope to live with the crushing weight of this on your conscience?

"I-I’m sure he didn’t mean any of it," you stammer, clinging to a desperate, rapidly fading hope. "He was just… just furious, Edward! He was lashing out!"

Edward shakes his head, slowly, his expression one of sorrow.

"It’s far more complicated than that, Kid. You know it is." His voice drops to a low, conspiratorial whisper, his eyes darting around the control room as if he fears being overheard. "That automaton… he’s a clear and present danger. To everyone outside those walls, and to everyone still trapped in here with him." He leans closer. "Believe me, if there were any other viable solution, any other way, we would have tried it by now. We would have exhausted every possibility. But there isn't. There just isn't."

"But I… I talked to him before…" You murmur, your voice barely audible, your gaze distant, lost in the memory. Edward watches you, his expression unreadable. "He seemed so different. So calm. Almost… vulnerable." A fresh wave of tears threatens. "H-he told me… he said he wanted to see the flowers."

A faint, sad smile touches the corners of Edward’s lips, a smile you instantly, vehemently hate. It’s patronizing, pitying. You know exactly what that smile is saying, unspoken yet deafeningly clear: ‘You’re so naive, Kid. So gullible. He’s playing you. He’ll come for all of us first, you mark my words.’

There is no field of flowers. There never was.

Maybe you are. Maybe you’re just a fool. Naive.

Wordlessly, Edward turns and begins to pace the confined space of the control room, his movements jerky, agitated, his gaze thoughtful, intense, fixed on some indeterminate point on the worn linoleum floor. Your eyes follow his restless movements anxiously for a moment, then you turn your head away, with a bitter taste in your mouth. Your tongue feels like sandpaper, your throat raw and scraped, as if you’ve been screaming into a hurricane.

"What are you all planning to do?" The question is a leaden weight in the sudden silence.

Edward stops his pacing but doesn’t turn to look at you. His shoulders are slumped, his posture radiating defeat.

"I’ve heard… rumors," he says, his voice low, hesitant. "They’re developing some kind of… chip. An inhibitor, I suppose you’d call it." He glances at you briefly, then away again. "It’s designed to work remotely. They think… hope… they’ll be able to control him with it. Shut him down. For good. Forever."

You raise an eyebrow, a flicker of something unreadable in your eyes. Your chest, however, aches with a sudden, sharp pang, a familiar throb of empathy and despair.

"So, there’s no other way to… turn him off, then, huh?" It’s a statement, not a question.

"No. There isn’t," Edward sighs, the sound heavy with resignation. "We all believed… we hoped… that the automaton would eventually just… power down. Run out of energy. Simply cease to function over time. But he didn’t. He’s… if anything, even worse now. More unstable. More dangerous. All his primary components, his wireless receivers, his remote control functions… everything that could have given us a way in, a way to override him… It’s all fried. Burnt out. Useless." He shakes his head. "There’s nothing left that can shut that thing down."

"But… why is that the only part of him that doesn’t work? The part that would let you stop him?"

Edward lets out a strangled sound, a noise that is halfway between a scoff and a groan of pure frustration.

"We’re pretty sure… he did it himself."

Another icy shiver snakes its way down your spine, leaving you feeling cold and weak. Your legs suddenly feel unsteady, threatening to buckle beneath you. The thought, the horrifying image, of Biohazard, in his isolation and despair, systematically ripping out, destroying, those critical components of his own being, ensuring that no one, no one, could ever exert control over him again… it fills you with a visceral unease. It’s almost… terrifyingly understandable.

"That… really sucks…" You mumble, the words inadequate, yet you don’t know what else to say, what to think, how to process this new piece of information. "About that chip… this inhibitor… huh… How exactly do they plan to use it? Someone has to get close enough to install it on him, right?"

Edward still doesn’t look at you when he answers, his gaze fixed on the flickering monitor displaying nothing but static.

"I’m not sure of the details. Like I said, it’s still in the experimental phase, the testing phase." He shrugs, a gesture of helplessness. "We’ll just have to wait. Wait and see what the eggheads in R&D come up with. I just… I hope they don’t take too damn long."

You glance at the silent radio on the floor, then your eyes drift towards the bank of monitors on your console, your gaze settling on the single screen that still displays a feed from a functional camera. Nothing but flickering static, a visual representation of the chaos.

You think. And think. And think. A desperate, improbable idea begins to form.

"Maybe… maybe I can prove it to you. To everyone. That Biohazard isn’t as bad as you all think. That he’s not… the monster everyone believes him to be."

Edward turns then, slowly, and walks towards you, his eyes filled with an almost unbearable weariness, a deep, paternal concern.

"Kid, I… I really, truly want to support you in this. You know I do. But…"

You sink back into your chair, your body heavy with exhaustion, but your mind is racing. You try to inject conviction, certainty, into your voice, even as the tremor in your hands, the unsteadiness of your tone, threatens to betray your fear.

"I’ll continue with what I was doing before," you declare, your voice gaining a surprising firmness, even as your anxious fingers fiddle restlessly with the buttons and dials on the control panel. "I’ll monitor the robot. His behavior patterns. And… I’ll try to talk to him again. To reason with him." You meet Edward’s gaze, your own pleading. "If I can’t prove it by then… if I can’t show you that there’s still something good, something salvageable in him… then I… I won’t stand in your way anymore. I promise."

Edward shakes his head, a slow, incredulous movement. A faint, reluctant smile touches his lips.

"You’re really something else, Kid. Stubborn, aren’t you?" he says, his voice laced with a grudging admiration. "I suppose there’s no stopping that determined little head of yours once you’ve set your mind to something."

You manage a weak, watery smile in return.

"But you’ve got a good heart, Kid. A rare thing in this place." He sighs. "And who am I to say no, anyway? It’s not like we have a wealth of other options." Edward reaches out and places a hand on your head, ruffling your hair affectionately, a gesture that is surprisingly fatherly, comforting. "Okay. You’ve got it. I’ll mediate for you. Run interference with the higher-ups as much as I can. But you have to promise me you’ll stay safe. Be careful, understand?" His expression turns serious, his eyes filled with a genuine concern that touches you deeply. "This company… it hasn’t been the same since the incident. There are… whispers. Things are being done. Quietly. They’re doing… cleanups. They’re testing things they shouldn’t be." He leans in again, his voice dropping further. "There’s going to be an inspection. In three months. And they’ll want this whole automaton mess completely resolved, buried, by then. One way or another."

"A-an inspection?" you stammer, a fresh wave of anxiety washing over you. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means the authorities on the outside, the ones who think this place is a shining beacon of corporate responsibility, have no idea that the automaton is still here, active… still perfectly functional, in his own destructive way." Edward’s voice is grim. "This situation was supposed to have been… resolved… a long time ago. But when the truth finally comes out, when they realize that the safety protocols here are, and always have been, absolute crap, this entire facility will be shut down. Permanently. And they will take matters into their own hands."

"And… what if they do take care of Biohazard? Wouldn’t that be… well, more efficient? Safer?"

Edward shrugs, a tense, jerky movement that belies his attempt at nonchalance. His jaw is tight, his eyes hard.

"That’s not the real problem here, Kid."

You frown, a knot of confusion tightening in your stomach. You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He just stares past you, his gaze distant and troubled.

"Just… let the powers that be deal with their own goddamn colossal mess for the time being."

Why does he say it like that? Why does he make it sound as if, despite everything, you’re no longer capable of just walking away from this, of extricating yourself from this spiraling nightmare?

A chilling realization dawns.

You’re trapped. Just as trapped, in your own way, as Biohazard is in his.

If this place were to be shut down, and Biohazard were to be… set free… what’s truly the worst that could happen?

By then, you’ll make sure of it. He’ll be a completely renewed robot. A different being. You have no earthly idea how you’ll accomplish it, but there’s no turning back now. You’re in too deep.

All that’s left for you to do… is try.

That's all that matters.

_______ ~

#Please check the warnings before reading ⚠#heavy angst #cw angst #tw angst #tw self destructive behavior #cw dysphoria #tw dysphoria #Biohazard oc #GC Biohazard #GC YN #Gamma Code AU #Gamma Code fic #fnaf eclipse #fnaf eclipse x reader #dca fic #fnaf dca #fnaf dca fandom #dca fandom #dca community

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folk-enjoyer · 8 months ago

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Song of the Day

"Call of the moose" Willy Mitchell, 1980 As you might know, September 30th is Truth and Reconciliation day (more commonly known as Orange Shirt Day), a national day in Canada dedicated to spreading awareness about the legacy of Residential schools on Indigenous people. Instead of just focusing on a song, I also wanted to briefly talk about the history of the sixties scoop and its influence on Indigenous American music and activism.

The process of Residential schooling in Canada existed well before the '60s, but the new processes of the sixties scoop began in 1951. It was a process where the provincial government had the power to take Indigenous children from their homes and communities and put them into the child welfare system. Despite the closing of residential schools, more and more children were being taken away from their families and adopted into middle-class white ones.

Even though Indigenous communities only made up a tiny portion of the total population, 40-70% of the children in these programs would be Aboriginal. In total, 20,000 children would be victims of these policies through the 60s and 70s.

These adoptions would have disastrous effects on their victims. Not only were sexual and physical abuse common problems but the victims were forcibly stripped of their culture and taught to hate themselves. The community panel report on the sixties scoop writes:

"The homes in which our children are placed ranged from those of caring, well-intentioned individuals, to places of slave labour and physical, emotional and sexual abuse. The violent effects of the most negative of these homes are tragic for its victims. Even the best of these homes are not healthy places for our children. Anglo-Canadian foster parents are not culturally equipped to create an environment in which a positive Aboriginal self-image can develop. In many cases, our children are taught to demean those things about themselves that are Aboriginal. Meanwhile, they are expected to emulate normal child development by imitating the role model behavior of their Anglo-Canadian foster or adoptive parents."

and to this day indigenous children in Canada are still disproportionately represented in foster care. Despite being 5% of the Total Canadian population, Indigenous children make up 53.8% of all children in foster care.

I would like to say that the one good thing that came out of this gruesome and horrible practice of state-sponsored child relocation was that there was a birth of culture from protest music, but there wasn't. In fact, Indigenous music has a long history of being erased and whitewashed from folk history.

From Buffy Saint-Marie pretending to be Indigenous to the systematic denial of first nations people from the Canadian mainstream music scene, the talented artists of the time were forcibly erased.

Which is why this album featuring Willy Mitchell is so important.

Willy Mitchell and The Desert River Band

This Album was compiled of incredibly rare, unheard folk and rock music of North American indigenous music in the 60s-80s. It is truly, a of a kind historical artifact and a testimony to the importance of archival work to combat cultural genocide. Please give the entire thing a listen if you have time. Call of the Moose is my favorite song on the album, written and performed by Willy Mitchell in the 80s. His Most interesting song might be 'Big Policeman' though, written about his experience of getting shot in the head by the police. He talks about it here:

"He comes there and as soon as I took off running, he had my two friends right there — he could have taken them. They stopped right there on the sidewalk. They watched him shootin’ at me. He missed me twice, and when I got to the tree line, he was on the edge of the road, at the snow bank. That’s where he fell, and the gun went off. But that was it — he took the gun out. He should never have taken that gun out. I spoke to many policemen. And judges, too. I spoke with lawyers about that. They all agreed. He wasn’t supposed to touch that gun. So why did I only get five hundred dollars for that? "

These problems talked about here, forced displacement, cultural assimilation, police violence, child exploitation, and erasure of these crimes, still exist in Canada. And so long as they still exist, it is imperative to keep talking about them. Never let the settler colonial government have peace; never let anyone be comfortable not remembering the depth of exploitation.

Every Child Matters

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maddascanbe-blog · 1 year ago

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Part 2 of the life-swap series! Oddly enough when I asked those close to me, none of them anticipated that I'd swap Chloe and Luka. Honestly it made more sense to me? Both have sisters, have at least one obscenely rich parent, and have crushed on the two leads?

Now onto the plot-

After finding out about the twins Jagged decided to battle for custody. He managed to get full custody of Luka, but not Juleka, and out of spit decided to cut the twins off from each other, causing Anarka to move to the the US. But despite having a young son now, this didn't stop Jagged from touring, often leaving Luka behind in Paris to be looked after by whoever was available. Even when he was in Paris he often avoided Luka, instead leaving Penny to watch him.

Luka grew up bitter at his fathers lack of care for him, and took it out on everyone around him. Mostly the staff of both Le Grande Pari, where he lives, as well as whatever caregiver his father/Penny had hired. When he went to school, he immediately began taking his anger out on everyone there too. Once Adrien's mom passed he took a special hatred to the blonde, in some ways seeing himself in Adrien. Both now children of single fathers, but Gabriel is in his sons life (whether that's good or bad doesn't matter to Luka).

And Luka, being an empath knows exactly how to get under ones skin. Because even if you don't show your emotions outwardly, he still can tell when he's struck gold. The only person he doesn't hate is Marinette, his childhood friend and the only person unaware of his attitude.

And yes, we are going for Cannon Chloe swap here, so no redemption for Luka. Sad. I'll draw Akuma-Viperion later.

Onto Chloe, once Andre found out about Audrey's infidelity he gave her two options. The first, he expose her and her career be permanently marred. Or she give him full custody of both Chloe and Zoe and the could divorce peacefully. Chloe hasn't seen her mom since she was 3 and quite frankly had no interest in her. Zoe only being a half sister to Chloe is a carefully guarded secret, one that Zoe thinks even Chloe doesn't know.

Chloe, not wanting to emulate her mother grew up with a very different mindset. Instead being taught that being both too aggressive and a pushover will lead to a mess. So she instead learns to govern her hive with a firm but steady hand. The staff of Le Grand Paris greatly respect her, and she is often the one sent to head off a Luka temper tantrum, as the only person unimpressed by both him and his father. She's more of an Clara Nightingale fan anyways.

She fast tracked her way through school, and decided to take Highschool online as to give herself more time to work both at the hotel and at her event planning company. As Queen Bee, she is fierce but kind. The favorite of the secondary heroes, since she is not only efficient at stopping the akuma, but will stick around to comfort and reassure both the victim and the civilians who were caught in the attack.

Due to her calm voice and good advice, Ladybug and Chat Noir have turned to her many times for comfort on both the chaos hero life and civilian troubles. She's always willing to listen when they need her. As such Hawkmoth sees her as the most beneficial to target. Only he seems scarred to akumatize her for some reason...

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanart #Lifeswap Au #snake miraculous #bee miraculous #luka couffaine #chloe bourgeois #I'm obssesed with this Queen bee design btw

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atopvisenyashill · 11 months ago

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that bit about joffrey is FASCINATING have you ever written about this in depth? I've always loved his character but I would never be able to like. Describe why exactly he is the way he is so I really appreciate your analysis of him loving BOTH parents and incorporating only their flaws - I always just assumed that he hates his dad and is annoyed by cersei (still loves her) but then the way we sexually humiliates and abuses sansa etc is so robert-coded like of course he emulates the bevavior of his father.

Also slightly off topic but i always forget that Joffrey is like canonically so good at all the proper princely things (thinking of that scene at Sansa and Tyrion's wedding when she's so upset that a monster like Joff could be so good at dancing) and - not to go on about GOT again - but I wish we had actually gotten to see that and him being charming etc. Huge props to the show for giving Joff the perfect wardrobe (the only thing they did right) but also f them for waiting all that potential

yes, they really said joff gets to have all the swag and then the moment he died they put cersei in that fuck ass bob and no one in the lannisters was allowed to serve again smh. and thank youuu i actually had to stop myself from rambling over him before haha, but i'll go into more detail here! so this was the comment from the other post-

joffrey is a kid just ruled by his first, most base instinct. his instincts, his core emotions, tell him to love and trust both robert and cersei, and imo he twists himself into a MONSTER to try to appeal to both of them. no one else matters - not his siblings, not his uncle, not his grandfather, not the realm. he needs to be the sort of vicious person they could both be proud of, he needs to be better than them both at violence, so he absorbs all of their faults and none of their virtues.

i definitely do see very often that people feel he only loves one or the other parent and while I do understand that reading, I don't think it's quite how Joffrey operates. I think he does love them both, and holds them both in high esteem. I do agree that he's annoyed by Cersei but that doesn't mean he doesn't value her opinion (as much as Joffrey puts value on anyone else's opinion, I mean).

Joffrey and Cersei

Joffrey relies on his mother more than almost any other male character we see in the series. We see him call for Cersei basically every time he's hurt, in trouble, or wanting to whine about something. Not only that, but you have everyone from Robert to Renly to Tywin himself saying that Joffrey is doted upon and inseparable from his mother. A few choice quotes:

"Fear is better than love, Mother says." Joffrey pointed at Sansa. "She fears me."

He takes Cersei's lessons to heart, however flawed they are. Her opinion matters to him, he wants her to see him as strong.

Nine cases out of ten seemed to bore him; those he allowed his council to handle, squirming restlessly while Lord Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, or Queen Cersei resolved the matter. When he did choose to make a ruling, though, not even his queen mother could sway him.

It's Cersei he listens to the most. We know that if a little King, even with his mother as Regent, doesn't want to deal with her, he can simply ignore her - that's what Jaehaerys does with Alyssa, after all. But Joffrey doesn't do this; he'll fight with her, he'll insult her, and he's not shy about doing it in public but he never disregards her out of hand.

Joffrey lurched to his feet. "I'm king! Kill him! Kill him now! I command it." He chopped down with his hand, a furious, angry gesture . . . and screeched in pain when his arm brushed against one of the sharp metal fangs that surrounded him. The bright crimson samite of his sleeve turned a darker shade of red as his blood soaked through it. "Mother!" he wailed.

His instinct, every time, is to turn to her for help. He loves her. He adores her. She's the only person around who tells him he's strong and smart and will be a good king. He leans on her for guidance, for comfort, he talks to her about fucking whores. He shares everything with her because he doesn't have a single friend. She models anger and violence for him constantly, she excuses his disturbing proclivities, so he molds himself to be the person she wants him to be, the king she wants him to be. People - including Tyrion and Tywin! - are always wondering why Cersei is blind to his cruelty, but the reality is she knew he was cruel and loved him for it.

Tommen did as he was bid. His meekness troubled her. A king had to be strong. Joffrey would have argued. He was never easy to cow.

For Cersei, cruelty is strength and in her eyes, Joffrey is as strong as they come. This isn't by accident; just like his constant cries for her are reinforced by her rushing to coddle him, his cruelty is reinforced by a mother who sees it as strength. It's almost like what Coldhands says to Bran - Joffrey is a monster, yes, but in Cersei's eyes, Joffrey is her monster.

Joffrey and Robert

Joffrey had never had a close friend of his own age, that she recalled. The poor boy was always alone. I had Jaime when I was a child . . . and Melara, until she fell into the well. Joff had been fond of the Hound, to be sure, but that was not friendship. He was looking for the father he never found in Robert.

From Cersei's point of view, I think she knows very well that Joffrey is searching for love, acceptance, and himself in Robert. She doesn't like it, but she seems to accept that it's natural for Joffrey to search for some sort of father figure, and doesn't seem to begrudge him that - imo, I think because she knows Robert is always going to reject Joffrey for his cruelty.

“Why would he [care]? Robert ignored him. He would have beat him if I’d allowed it. That brute you made me marry once hit the boy so hard he knocked out two of his baby teeth, over some mischief with a cat. I told him I’d kill him in his sleep if he ever did it again, and he never did, but sometimes he would say things…”

Whenever they interact, the few times they do, there's violence. People always take this as Cersei not allowing Robert to "teach" or "properly discipline" Joffrey but, well...does the above seem like helpful discipline? Knocking out your child because he freaked you out? Punishing extreme violence with more extreme violence? And it's not just Cersei that this moment sticks with, because Stannis brings it up as well-

"Joffrey . . . I remember once, this kitchen cat . . . the cooks were wont to feed her scraps and fish heads. One told the boy that she had kittens in her belly, thinking he might want one. Joffrey opened up the poor thing with a dagger to see if it were true. When he found the kittens, he brought them to show to his father. Robert hit the boy so hard I thought he'd killed him."

Since Cersei says Robert would "say things" and we see him threatening Cersei (the "or I'll honor you again" line), I don't think it's a stretch to say that Robert threatened to beat Joffrey nearly to death several times over.

And yet...Joffrey compliments his father, especially in comparison to his other relatives.

He wrenched free of her. "Why should I? Everyone knows it's true. My father won all the battles. He killed Prince Rhaegar and took the crown, while your father was hiding under Casterly Rock." The boy gave his grandfather a defiant look. "A strong king acts boldly, he doesn't just talk."

And Cersei believes this came from Robert-

"Father, I am sorry," Cersei said, when the door was shut. "Joff has always been willful, I did warn you . . ." "There is a long league's worth of difference between willful and stupid. 'A strong king acts boldly?' Who told him that?" "Not me, I promise you," said Cersei. "Most like it was something he heard Robert say . . ."

And of course, Jaime is the one who pieces together why Joffrey sent the catspaw-

“Yes, I hoped the boy would die. So did you. Even Robert thought that would have been for the best. ‘We kill our horses when they break a leg, and our dogs when they go blind, but we are too weak to give the same mercy to crippled children’ he told me. He was blind himself at the time, from drink.” Robert? Jaime had guarded the king long enough to know that Robert Baratheon said things in his cups that he would have denied angrily the next day. “Were you alone when Robert said this?” “You don’t think he said it to Ned Stark, I hope? Of course we were alone. Us and the children.” Cersei removed her hairnet and draped it over a bedpost, then shook out her golden curls. “Perhaps Myrcella sent this man with the dagger, do you think so?” It was meant as mockery, but she’d cut right to the heart of it, Jaime saw at once. “Not Myrcella. Joffrey.” Cersei frowned. “Joffrey had no love for Robb Stark, but the younger boy was nothing to him. He was only a child himself .” “A child hungry for a pat on the head from that sot you let him believe was his father.”

When you put it all together, you have a child who is ignored by his father unless he's being threatened with a beating, who is constantly calling him a monster, who watches his father harm and humiliate his mother day in and day out, who has no other paternal figure around but this violent, angry man who he is supposed to model himself off of, and a mother who encourages his cruelty because she believes it's the only way to protect herself, to protect her son. He's not just emulating his mother's cruelty, he's emulating Robert's violence specifically when he humilates Sansa at court, when he openly talks shit about Cersei - it's what he's seen modeled for him as kingly behavior!

The Abuse And Jaime Of It All

King Joffrey's face hardened. "My mother tells me that it isn't fitting that a king should strike his wife. Ser Meryn."

He knows Robert is abusing Cersei and he takes her dislike of it seriously even as he doesn't make the connection that she means he shouldn't be striking his wife period. Whether it's because Cersei directly told him (which could make sense; she's purposefully hiding it from Jaime but perhaps she confided in Joffrey) or because he witnessed it himself, he's aware of the abuse enough that he takes his mother's comments about not personally striking Sansa to heart.

"No," [Robert] thundered in a voice that drowned out all other speech. Sansa was shocked to see the king on his feet, red of face, reeling. He had a goblet of wine in one hand, and he was drunk as a man could be. "You do not tell me what to do, woman," he screamed at Queen Cersei. "I am king here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say that I will fight tomorrow, I will fight!" Everyone was staring. Sansa saw Ser Barristan, and the king's brother Renly, and the short man who had talked to her so oddly and touched her hair, but no one made a move to interfere. The queen's face was a mask, so bloodless that it might have been sculpted from snow. She rose from the table, gathered her skirts around her, and stormed off in silence, servants trailing behind. Jaime Lannister put a hand on the king's shoulder, but the king shoved him away hard. Lannister stumbled and fell. The king guffawed. "The great knight. I can still knock you in the dirt. Remember that, Kingslayer." He slapped his chest with the jeweled goblet, splashing wine all over his satin tunic. "Give me my hammer and not a man in the realm can stand before me!" Jaime Lannister rose and brushed himself off. "As you say, Your Grace." His voice was stiff. Lord Renly came forward, smiling. "You've spilled your wine, Robert. Let me bring you a fresh goblet." Sansa started as Joffrey laid his hand on her arm. "It grows late," the prince said. He had a queer look on his face, as if he were not seeing her at all. "Do you need an escort back to the castle?"

I think it's pretty clear that Joffrey is dissociating here which also explains his very detached way of looking at Robert's abuse of Cersei. It freaks him out enough that he uses Sansa as an excuse to leave (giving her the Hound, then running off himself) but he doesn't show it. He's not even particularly upset during this scene, not throwing a tantrum or making whiny remarks like he does when he's usually upset. He only has a "queer look" - the stress of trying to reconcile his adoration of Robert and his love of Cersei just makes him fully shut down instead of confronting it.

Joffrey gave a petulant shrug. "Your brother defeated my uncle Jaime. My mother says it was treachery and deceit. She wept when she heard. Women are all weak, even her, though she pretends she isn't. She says we need to stay in King's Landing in case my other uncles attack, but I don't care. After my name day feast, I'm going to raise a host and kill your brother myself. That's what I'll give you, Lady Sansa. Your brother's head."

I think people often take his comments about how women are weak to mean he doesn't view his mother as a competent advisor. But you notice a pattern here - he gets shitty with her when it's about Jaime specifically.

"A great many people are sorry for that," Tyrion replied, "and before I am done, some may be a deal sorrier . . . yet I thank you for the sentiment. Joffrey, where might I find your mother?" "She's with my council," the king answered. "Your brother Jaime keeps losing battles."

"She's with my council" he says, because he sees no reason to not let Cersei run things without him, something Robert never lets her do. But "your brother Jaime" not "my uncle Jaime" which is a shift because he doesn't stop calling Renly or Stannis his uncles even after they rebel. He knows, he suspects, and what he resents is not Cersei fucking Jaime but Jaime fucking Cersei.

My read on this is that Joffrey sees his mother as weak for allowing herself to be seduced by Jaime, and sees Jaime as a lecherous seducer who is the cause of all his problems. If only Jaime hadn't seduced his mother, maybe his parents wouldn't hate each other. His claim wouldn't be under question. His mother should have just taken the abuse and bided her time instead of putting herself in danger and having bastards.

He loves his mother. He loves his father. And that's the human heart in conflict with itself that resides in Joffrey. Does he honor his mother, the only parent he has, or does he honor Robert, the patriarch he is supposed to emulate? If he has no other example of what strength looks like, is he even capable of figuring out a different path for himself?

#joffrey baratheon #asks #valyrianscrolls #anons #cersei lannister #robert baratheon #rani attempts meta

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ivanttakethis · 1 year ago

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top 5 worst ivan mischaracterizations ( aka could you list five worst traits people give him that are just totally wrong) i love to hear people complain but if you don't want to you can ignore this ask have a good day

Anon I am SO glad that you asked!

Ivan is my favorite character in Alien Stage because he’s really complex.

I could talk about him and his characterization/mischaracterization all day and still have more to say after that. Now you’ve given me the perfect opportunity to write a bunch of my thoughts down.

These complaints are in no particular order and are ultimately subjective.

Also, I’m not a Patreon supporter, so I can’t comment on anything that might’ve been confirmed or debunked over there.

Top 5 Worst Ivan Mischaracterizations:

Ivan is an unfeeling and emotionless person

Ivan was trying to kill himself and Till during Round 6

Ivan hates Mizi

Ivan is arrogant

Ivan is violent

This is going to be a long one, so I’m putting everything under the cut. Let’s begin!

1. Ivan is an unfeeling and emotionless person.

I find this mischaracterization to be one of the most frustrating because there is so much evidence to the contrary.

As a child, Ivan is described as someone who struggles to express his emotions and connect with others (imo he’s neurodivergent-coded, but that’s a whole other discussion). But notably we’re not told that he doesn’t experience emotions.

This official art kills me every time I see it because it shows that Ivan knows he’s different from the other children and that it probably makes him stick out and he wants to fit in somehow so he tries to practice/fake it so maybe he won’t be so alone (the imitating behavior is also coded imo).

Beyond all of that, we see plenty of times throughout the series that he feels things, rather intensely even. He’s wistful about the stars and meteor showers and the thought of freedom. He has a curious nature, observing others, wanting to learn more about how they work; how he can emulate them.

And then there’s all of the feelings that well up when it comes to Till. The most obvious is that Ivan loves Till, in his own fucked up way. But there’s more to it.

He wanted attention from Till (maybe the first time he’s ever wanted something in that way). He did everything he could just to get Till to even so much as glance in his direction. All of the fighting, and the bickering, and the instigating was because Ivan craved reciprocation. He grew obsessed.

When Ivan managed to free both himself and Till, he was thrilled!

And when Till let go of Ivan’s hand to return for Mizi, he was very clearly heartbroken.

Ivan felt jealous of Mizi and Sua’s relationship, knowing that he would never have that chance with Till.

Ivan felt lonely because he thought Sua was just like him, only to realize that wasn’t true (because Mizi loved Sua back) and he had no one to relate to.

Also, the entirety of Black Sorrow?? Hello??? He was yearning for more than what he could get. He was resigned to his minuscule place in Till’s life. The song is full of mourning and sadness and grief.

In Round 6, I believe Ivan knew what he was going to do.

He was desperate for anything he could get from Till in his final moments. I think that’s part of why he kissed Till. If his only goal was to deliberately lose, why not skip the kissing and go straight to choking?

Ivan was a dying man overwhelmed with emotion and he desperately wanted Till to look at him, see him, make him feel content for the first (and last) time in his life.

Even if some of these emotions are not necessarily healthy, it shows that Ivan was capable of feeling something.

So… yeah. That’s why I really dislike the emotionless characterization of Ivan. There’s so much depth to his emotions and character, but some people just skim the surface and reduce him down to nothing more than a cold and stoic person.

2. Ivan was trying to kill himself and Till during Round 6.

This one is probably more often a misunderstanding than a mischaracterization of Ivan. I think some people may have seen IvanTill referred to as “toxic” or “obsessive” love when it came to how Ivan felt and behaved around Till and thought Ivan was on some “if I can’t have you, no one can” shit, but that completely ignores the wider context of his character. Ivan was devoted to Till to a fault.

To Ivan, Till was his reason for being. Till was his universe. His god. Till was something to be revered, protected, and worshipped. Ivan couldn’t live without Till. That’s why he sacrificed himself, so he wouldn’t have to continue on in a world without him in it. But he also wanted to protect Till, no matter the cost.

Pretty much everything Ivan did was to protect or care for Till: trying to escape Anakt Garden with him, watching over him after Till was attacked by the aliens in the club, freeing him from his collar over and over and over again, every chance Ivan got.

Nothing about Ivan’s feelings or behaviors toward Till suggests that he would ever harm him, let alone kill him. There’s a reason why when Ivan was “choking” Till it didn’t look like he applied any pressure, there was no struggle for air on Till’s end (even if he had mentally given up, physically there will be some sort of reaction to having your airway compressed), and we don’t see any marks on Till’s neck afterwards.

It didn’t matter what happened to Ivan as a result. Till was the only person who mattered to him.

He would do anything for him. He would quite literally rather die than have anything happen to his god.

Ivan only ever knew how to give all of himself to Till, giving up his life was inevitable.

3. Ivan hates Mizi

I’ve seen this one more so in fan fiction, usually for angsty circumstances, but this just completely sidesteps their canon relationship, which is positive and, dare I say, friendly.

He gave her piggyback rides when they were kids! In the lead up to Alien Stage, we see them chatting and Ivan being pleasant towards her in a sort of “big brother” type way without hiding some sort of darker emotion behind it.

Now, is Ivan envious of the relationship Mizi has with Sua? Yes. Does he hate that he’ll never get to have the connect they have with Till? Yes. But Ivan hasn’t given any indication that he hates Mizi herself. And I think that’s an important element of his characterization.

Yes, he has negative feelings surrounding Mizi, but he never takes them out on her or lets himself feel negative towards her as a person.

Edit: I started writing this section BEFORE we got the official art of Ivan hanging out with Mizi, but holy fuck am I glad I took so long to finish this because now it’s canon that Ivan got along well with Mizi and they were even close as kids despite the fact that Ivan loved Till and Till loved Mizi.

In conclusion, Ivan and Mizi were reasonably close and (imo) would’ve been besties in slightly different circumstances. Ivan is NOT a Mizi hater!!

4. Ivan is arrogant

Yes and no. On the surface, Ivan comes across as mature, confident, and in some cases arrogant, but as we see more from his perspective it quickly becomes clear that the arrogance is just a mask he wears for others.

Deep down, Ivan is very insecure and his self-esteem is almost nonexistent. He views himself as insignificant, twisted, unworthy. He vilifies everything that he feels and does. (“Thank you for being a victim of my shallow emotions” anyone?) Ivan fully convinced himself that Till wouldn’t give a shit about him if he died to keep him alive. That’s not the behavior of an arrogant person. Far from it.

His arrogant mask acts as a shield to keep others from seeing the monster he thinks he is. He’s even kept parts of himself out.

I think that’s also where his tendency to be an asshole comes from. Keeping people away, not wanting or knowing how to drop the arrogant mask, internalizing everything, projecting onto others (like that whole talk with Sua about self sacrifice).

So basically:

Characterizing Ivan as an insecure person who hides behind false confidence/arrogance to keep people from seeing the real (and somewhat fucked up) him? Great. Fantastic. Love to see it.

Characterizing Ivan as an arrogant asshole “just because”? Terrible. Hate it. You burned my crops and killed my cow.

5. Ivan is violent

I don’t know how this one came about, but it rubs me the wrong way so I’ll touch on it here.

We know Ivan instigated physical fights with Till when they were kids because that was the only way to consistently get Till’s attention (not saying I condone that btw). But outside of that, I don’t think Ivan has been violent with anyone else? And would he even be violent with Till like, recently?? I would say no.

Now I do think Ivan would resort to violence to protect Till, but nothing beyond that. I don’t don’t even think he would use violence to protect himself.

He’d probably just revert back to being a “perfect” obedient pet to avoid or diffuse confrontation. That’s what he did as a child; while Till fought back every chance he got. Till’s fighting spirit is probably one of the things Ivan loved about him. Maybe in part because he couldn’t find it in himself.

————————————————————

Anyways, those are my Top 5 worst Ivan mischaracterizations! Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk 🖤💙

#thank you for letting me yap about ivan anon #mwah mwah #sorry i took so long to answer i had a lot to say lol #alien stage #alien stage ivan #alnst #alnst ivan #alien stage round 6 #alnst round 6 #ivantill #alnst ivantill #alien stage ivantill #if you squint #ivanttakethis talks too much #ivanttakethis answers

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hellerjackline · 3 months ago

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Explain why you like Jack? I'm genuinely curious no hate

I really like characters with something wrong going on with them. I like them wrecked with guilt and feeling unable to cope with what happens to them/their actions.

There's something so compelling about Jack trying so hard to be liked and loved by his family (people that have also done him wrong in the not so distant past) that he's willing to go to extreme lengths to appease them. He tries so hard to fit in but most people find him unsettling or weird. He tries really hard to be whatever other people need or expect of him because he is desperate to make them happy. Every mistake is like the end of the world for him, so he tries to be the best there ever is, because he must, because otherwise he is just as evil as Lucifer. Deep down he thinks his family hates him, and we only figure this out because he is hallucinating his evil father's corpse.

His relationship with his family started out as Cas and Sam thinking he's something useful, with only Dean having the guts to tell him to his face that he doesn't trust him, and he's fine with this, although he keeps wondering if his usefulness is the only reason they keep him around (re: hallucination of Lucifer). He has no other frame of reference to dictate what's right or wrong than the Winchesters', which says that if you make a mistake, they have to put you down, so he understands when Dean tries to do exactly that. He also probably sees nothing wrong to torture someone to get something out of them, considering that everyone around him do it constantly.

Because emotions are new to him (he just started existing very recently all things considered), he feels them very strongly. He hasn't yet learnt to regulate that, so he reacts very strongly too, which with his powers means that other people get hurt. A lot of his actions are him trying to convince himself and others that he's not evil, because, to him, there's no nuance in that. Either you are good, or you're evil.

He just... he is so much like (early seasons) Dean that it's sad the fandom has stripped him of that. Both with fathers that they emulate to impress them and performing the role they want from them (Dean: masculine dutiful son; Jack: happy, harmless, and helpful kid). Both with profound amounts of guilt. You can analyse Jack's behaviour all day long and still have something else to mull about the next day. And is not even touching soulless!Jack.

#sorry for the late reply uni is kicking my ass #hope this answered your question #anon talk #me talks #spn #jack kline #spn meta #ask #my property

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gl1tchy-4rt · 1 month ago

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PizzaENA Facts! (Text post)

So we got the results from the Poll and you guys wanted to hear about the PizzaENA AU, so you asked and i'll deliver!

(and sorry this time around I could'nt draw, I got sick :()

1# What are ENAs?

In this AU, "ENA" stands for Emulator of Neurological Advances, in essence a re-creation of the human mind inside of a computer, replaying emotions and trying to replicate the way a person should react.

All entities, not only Peppino and the other, Are ENAs one way or another,

This is because they re-create how we act, but the reason why they aren't considered a "successful recreation" is because they act and behave Surrealistcally (a de-constructions of reality) and in a Dadaistic manner (without sense whatsoever) and the had changed so much from their original programming that "The Gods" cannot change them without breaking the functional "spaghetti code" that the entities have per minds.

Peppino on the other hand is not a re-creation, He is an actual human mind inserted into the program.

2# The Body Language of "The Gods"

Have you seen how the ENAs seemingly "dance" for no good reason? (Like in the example pictured below 👇)

Well this is because in other to keep the mind active and healthy inside of the program, "The Gods" "shake the brain awake" with electric impulses, this tingling sensation feels like a need to move for The ENAs and so they move.

3# The Split Mind

ENAs Have two sides/personalities but the why in Peppino's case is quite peculiar...

You see Peppino already had this two personality traits before being inserted in the Program (He was anxious but also quite easy to annoy) and while he hated both traits, the one he hated the most was his anger and tried to repress it, This is why in the world his 'Anxiety' is his Main side while his 'Anger' is the secondary one.

In other words, The other side is the part they dislike or repress of themselves.

And with both sides exaggerated, it feels like talking to two different people at the same time, infact sometimes both sides with talk to eachother.

4# The Cracks

The multiple cracks in The ENAs body I because of the discordance between the two half's, but also because the Program cannot fully comprehend the Human mind, so that's why they have to "reprogram" themselves in order to handle their Memories.

The moment both halfs and program truly connect, The Cracks will be gone and a Perfect ENA shall finally Exist.

5# The Houses and World

This one is quite easy, many of "The Gods" were fans of something called "the Artistic Vanguards" and the Entities needed "dreams" and a world, since their world is created from the Entities's collective consciousness.

(This painting not only influenced the world but the ENAs themselves!)

"The Gods" inserted those works in the program, giving them "dreams" and a world.

This is why their world is so influenced by the vanguards and one might blame this for why the entities are "insane", however the entities were insane before the dreams so thats not to blame, besides "The Gods" have gone too far to go back.

#6 Dying

Both ENAs and Entities are unable to truly die, they can be destroyed and enter a state of "Limbo" but they all eventually respawn.

-----------------------------

So yeah that all I can think to write right now hope you guys enjoyed

And see y'all next time!!!

#pizza tower #pizza tower au #text post #PizzaENA AU #ena au #ena dream bbq #ena joel g

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nierly-amazing · 9 months ago

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Controversial opinion: Nier Automata's story would have benefited a lot from the creative freedom of being an indie game with more queer & disabled writers, and writers from heavily colonized places

Probably less controversial to those who are still following my gay ass.

It already manages to be a masterpiece on it's own but there's always going to be constraints in big budget games to appeal to a wider audience--like the rumor/fact/idr that 9S was going to be a girl initially but got changed. There's a lot of good input queer and disabled creatives could have offered from their life experiences and how it relates to some of the transhumanist themes in the game. A lot of people seem to forget the machines have been colonizing earth and genociding the androids for 6000 years and those themes could have been expanded on more too.

Like yay we get lesbian 6O and implied trans Pascal but it doesn't really go anywhere with them. The anime does go more into Pascal and machines swapping parts and 9S completely dismissing it but then they never touch on it again (unless they still plan to but with 4 episodes left I doubt it). I want to see 9S have a crisis over it, (and 2E 2B have a crisis over him having a crisis about it).

It'd be interesting to see more a of a discrepancy between high-end porcelain doll yorha models and underfunded ancient Resistance androids. They all look like normal humans. Even the ship of theseus trader guy with the bad leg looks like a regular android. Give me some androids with fucked up body mods that causes 9S to have another crisis (because this boy can fit so many crises in him). Something something parallels with relationships to gender something something 9S is trans and transphobic--doesn't understand the FEEELINGS or what to do about them.

Yorha could have much stricter rules on body modification that's drilled into the android's heads from day one and then they see the machines swap parts with no reservations and resistance androids swap parts with some reservations. Even the whole "emotions are prohibited" thing could be touched on more with more internal struggle in 9S over his inability to act emotionless, and perhaps touch on the point of conflict with 2B who poorly pretends to have her emotions in check.

Maybe some conflict between the machines in pascals village and how rigid they are in trying to emulate humans. Like a group trying to emulate rigid gender roles despite not having assigned genders or sex characteristics, and a group that just does whatever. Like "no you have to choose" but also "humans didn't choose (mostly) so who cares".

And then there's the fact that most machines in pascal's village are not fully sapient, or are maybe coded as children still learning the world and something something its 1am something something how much should their level of sapience matter

Even with 9S's memory "issues" we only have 1 moment in the anime where he has a flash of past memories. Imagine if his descent into grief-stricken madness in route C had his old deleted memories start resurfacing and mixing with his current ones. Or maybe the machine network had copies of some of them and used them to torment him more.

Imagine if they showed Anemone and Devpop try harder to help him but weren't able to due to them not fully understanding what he's going through and their own hangups about machines. Imagine him being unable to really open up to anyone because he doesn't fully understand what he's going through.

9S """racism""" toward machines isn't at all unique to him. They've been genociding the androids for 6000 years, everyone hates them. I want to see more opinions from resistance androids, especially regarding pascal's village. Even Anemone/Lily aren't completely fine with the idea of trading with machines but are basically forced to out of desperation since the council of humanity left them on read. I want to see more of their internal strife with the concept. I want to see some conflict between resistance and yorha androids, too, and conflict within the resistance over the idea of aiming for a peace treaty.

There could also be some good conflict between 2B and 9S over 2B's willingness to just "accept" pascal's village. Since they both have valid points for their opinions (2B's a big softie and doesn't want to fight and 9S sees pacifist machines 'suddenly' popping up after 6000 years as a mega giganto trap (and why wouldn't he?)).

I would have liked to see more interactions with other androids and how they manage in a posthuman world and them trying to replicate humanity from 11,000 years ago. We have little bits and pieces like the bit where the operators give commander a bunch of brown things for valentine's day instead of chocolates.

Oops I thought I was gonna write like 2 paragraphs but I blacked out and wrote an essay. It's late I might expand on this tomorrow but here's some stuff 2 think about

(and bonus extra controversial opinion but it's kinda fucked up that there's the whole theme about robot sentience and then you can go stab fish in the face for fun and kill moose and boar for a quest so an android--who doesn't need to eat at all--can try eating them. Like here we are arguing about fictional robot sentience and then ignoring actual real animal sentience in our daily lives to the point where we don't even question how messed up killing them for non-survival reasons is)

#nier #nier automata #nier spoilers #nier automata spoilers #nier anime #my shitposts

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johnconstantinesdick · 11 months ago

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A series of AAI2 headcanons

(biased towards Sebastian and using the unofficial translation names bc I am not emotionally adjusted to the new ones)

Kay bounces around between jobs for a while—she works under Lang at interpol for some time, and then spends a few years as a detective, and eventually settles into working as a PI. It gives her the free time to pursue her own investigations, and she can work with either the Prosecution or the Defense as she pleases. She does the full Yatagarasu intro every time she’s called in to testify. She adds special effects each time. No one knows how.

Kay also gets fuckoff tall. Just like. Fully over 6ft, and extremely buff to boot. Her vibes are very Gender and I can see her going on testosterone at some point, so maybe she has some scruff. Really emulating Badd.

Sebastian also gets tall. No concrete height but he must get taller than Edgeworth and Edgeworth must have a crisis about it. Full beanpole though, no muscle.

BIG fan of long hair Sebastian. Tied in an elegant little ponytail. He flicks it when he’s smug about making a point. It makes people want to punch him.

Relatedly, everyone on Team Edgeworth is a smug asshole. This is just canon. Edgeworth? Bitch energy off the charts. Franziska? She can and will mock you to your face. Small children hate her. Lang? Fantastic dude but you could NOT get through a conversation without wanting to deck him. Kay? Absolutely insufferable and she’s going to make it everyone’s problem. Sebastian? You may want to make him kind and soft because his dad sucks and he DOES care about doing the right thing and he cries a lot. However once he gets his confidence back he’s going to go back to being an arrogant bitch, except he’ll be right more often. Which is Worse. Ray is the closest to being straight up Nice. But at what cost.

Cape Sebastian. I rest my case.

Sebastian wears blue as his accent color for a long time, and actively avoids wearing red. It’s not until Edgeworth gives him a red cape that matches his suit that Sebastian puts red on again and feels like he earned it. It’s an emotional moment. Sebastian sobs through their entire shared lunch break.

Lang, Franziska, and Kay worked together really well in interpol, and went on some highly classified missions. They may or may not have smuggled political refugees out of Khura’in. Whenever anyone asks if they’ve been there, they give the exact same smile and copy-pasted response about it being a beautiful country and no of course they’ve never been! The Wright Anything lie detectors all blare alarms. Edgeworth doesn’t let them near Prosecutor Sahdmadhi when he’s in the country.

I actually think Franziska slowly leans more and more into her investigative duties for Interpol. Will she one day realize she’s more of a detective than a prosecutor? Who knows, but she fucking loves chasing down criminals. She and Lang are best friends. They will one day make friendship bracelets and cherish them for the rest of time.

Kay and Sebastian get platonic married. Kay arranged it for a case. Sebastian thought they were making a blood pact. They never get it annulled. (aro Kay and demi Sebastian ftw)

They are also SO gender and goofy with it. Kay is Sebastian’s husband. Sebastian is Kay’s wife. If Sebastian ever dates anyone (Blackquill/Sebastian my beloved rarepair), Kay is going to call them her wife’s mistress for the rest of time.

Sebastian and Edgeworth never have a formal conversation about it, but they consider each other family. They refer to each other as father/son only when the other isn’t present. Sebastian is in his will.

Sebastian and Courtney DO have a formal conversation about the same topic. There’s a lot of crying. John exclusively refers to Sebastian as his “weird brother”

Edgeworth and Courtney have a custody agreement. They meet weekly for lunches. They deny they’re friends but they ARE coparenting. Divorce rumors abound.

Conflicts of interest don’t exist in the ace attorney universe but if they did these two would have to declare one. Edgeworth would be like. Sorry I can’t work with one of three entire judges in our district. We’re coparenting a teenager together. And Justine would be like yeah. Also I think he’s a bitch :\

Sebastian goes into child welfare. He specializes in criminal cases with children as the victims or defendants, and often gets called in on cases where kids have to testify. In civil cases he acts as a Guardian Ad Litem (I like to think he was Trucy’s during the adoption proceedings!)

I see the Klavier and Sebastian highschool friends angle and I respect it but I actually think Klavier should have vastly complicated feelings about Sebastian, while Sebastian barely even thinks about him.

To expand: Sebastian is head of the class (Klavier is sporting about it but also jealous. They don’t really interact. Klavier has friends and Sebastian is an asshole.) >> Blaise Debeste’s bribery and other crimes come to light (Klavier feels a little bad for him. He doesn’t say it out loud but there is some very real level of “he should have noticed. What an idiot. I would have known.”) >> Sebastian prosecutes his father because conflicts of interest don’t exist in Ace Attorney. He cries the entire very public trial, and sometimes the court needs to go into recess because the defendant won’t stop hurling abuse at the prosecutor, but he otherwise presents a very solid case. (Klavier watches in stupefied horror. “I could never do that to someone I love,” he thinks, “no matter what they did.” He’s wrong.) >> Sebastian slowly picks himself up and builds his legal career with Edgeworth and Justine’s help. (Klavier still feels a bit of condescending pity, but mainly it’s a “good for him” kind of thing, with a small but lingering amount of distrust.) >> State v. Enigmar (Klavier takes a leave of absence. He shoves down his misgivings about the case. The Dark Age of the Law starts. Sebastian stays behind, and does his best with every case. He doesn’t run. Klavier is desperately bitter.) >> Seven Year Gap (Klavier becomes an international rock star. Sebastian is thrown to the wolves every day he practices law under the Debeste name. They’re both stained, but the difference is that Klavier is from his actions and Sebastian is from others. There’s at least one hit single based around this. Sebastian does not listen to rock music.) >> State v. Wright (2026) (Klavier’s brother can’t be guilty. Klavier knows him. Klavier loves him. Doesn’t he? Did he miss something or was he kidding himself? Klavier begins obsessing over Apollo Justice. He and Sebastian work in the same office again. Sebastian feels no particular way about this. Klavier hovers outside his door when no one else is around and thinks about guilt. Did you know? Did you suspect? Did you care?) >> State V. Tobaye. (Another betrayal. Will all of his loved ones abandon him? Did they think he was that stupid or did they think he loved them enough to look past their crimes? Which is worse? Klavier does not knock on Sebastian’s door.) >> State V. Misham. Sebastian takes Klavier aside and tells him not to hold himself responsible. Says that he can’t be blamed for not noticing, and that he just has to try and build himself up again. Sebastian tells him his door is always open. Klavier says thank you but I’m okay. (Klavier thinks “Maybe you couldn’t have known. But I could have. I should have. I was not supposed to be the fool.”) >> Klavier goes to Edgeworth-mandated therapy. He comes to terms with Kristoph’s betrayal. He realizes he has been obsessing over someone he barely knows from high school for over a decade. He wonders if this is a crush. If he had a friend to tell this to, they would say that this is actually just an externalized form of self-loathing. He does not have any friends. His therapist tells him this instead. >> Klavier knocks on Sebastian’s door. They proceed to have a series of very normal conversations. They become friends. Klavier is too mortified to ever tell Sebastian about any of the above.

The Klavier and Sebastian analysis could have been it’s own post but I got in too deep. I think Klavier should get to be an unfair bitch sometimes, even if he never says it out loud.

Alas, this post is now too long for me to expand on my Blackquill/Sebastian thoughts. Of which I have many. There’s 7k of fic written in my notes app. Blackquill thinks Sebastian is pushy and confident and the hottest person he’s ever seen. Sebastian thinks Blackquill is extremely pretty and kind to small animals and children. No one comprehends their views of each other.

#ace attorney #aa #ace attorney investigations #aai #ace attorney investigations 2 #aai2 #aai2 spoilers #kay faraday #sebastian debeste #eustace winner #franziska von karma #miles edgeworth #justine courtney #verity gavelle #klavier gavin #that’s the main ppl I talked about right?#eli rambles #eli writes

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static-errorcode · 2 months ago

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God's among inanimates ii au/sequal season au cast incorrect quotes

dead relms-

Kai: If karma doesn't hit you, I fucking will.

Steve cobs: That's not funny.

Kai: I thought it was funny.

Steve cobs: You don't count. You started laughing in the middle of my funeral because you started thinking of a meme you saw on Facebook.

Nick le: Can you keep a secret?

Kai: Well, I'm good until I meet the next person.

Kai: I feel awful about killing you.

Steve cobs:

Kai: Even though technically you never even died, so I don’t know what you’re bitching about.

Zachary zoetrope: Go to sleep or you'll hate yourself in the morning!

Steve cobs: I'll hate my self in the morning regardless.

(How I think cobs and zoetrope would interact regardless of if it's a au or not)

Kai: Astrology is fun because I can pretend that all of my behaviors are just a result of being a Gemini and not symptoms of mental illness.

Grace groscer: Being a Gemini is a mental illness. That’s not hate it’s just a fact.

Cadie: Say no to drugs.

Kai: Say yes to drugs.

Mephone1: It doesn't matter if you say yes or no to drugs. If you're talking to drugs.. then you're on drugs.

(Cadie is my irl gf so I had to include her here)

my ships in the au-

Steve cobs: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt.

Ballpoint pen : Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks I don't want to hear shit.

Steve cobs: I'm trash.

Zachary zoetrope : As someone who's environmentally conscious, it's my duty to pick you up. Does 7 work for you?

Steve cobs:

Steve cobs: You smooth motherfucker.

Steve cobs: And yes it does.

Caddie : Come to dinner tonight. I can’t cook, but I’ll bring plenty of free wine.

Kai: Marry me.

Kai: My hands are cold.

Caddie : Here, let me hold them.

Kai: My lips are cold too.

Caddie : *covers Kai's mouth with their hand*

Nick le, texting Floory: Hey do you like anyone?

Floory: Yeah you

Nick le: Oh, I'm sorry we're just friends

Floory: *Yeah, you?

Floory: Oh haha sorry lol

Nick le: *dies inside*

(In this au, since both floory and Nick le are God's, Nick le and floory were exes, kinda having vineria owakcx/raddy couple relationship)

Kai: Alright, I've been thinking. When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade - make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager. Make life rue the day it thought it could give kai eligh lemons. Do you know who I am? I'm the man who's gonna burn your house down! With the lemons. I'm going to to get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!

Land of living, og relm-

3gs: Floory, that’s disgusting. You’re only giving free stuff to beautiful people.

Mephone 4: Yeah, you should be ashamed of yourself.

Floory: Oh yeah? *gets really close to Mephone 4* How about a muffin on the house baby?

Mephone 4, giggling: I’m pretty.

Floory: Why are you looking at me through a fork?

3gs: I'm pretending you're in jail.

Floory: Why?

3gs: It's spiritually healing.

(3gs doesn't entirely like floory, a. since he wasn't made by mephone, b. he wants to make sure mephone is okay, and c. he doesn't know how to feel about mephone dating a god)

floory: you're insane!

Kai: sure I am what's you're point?

Toilet, talking about x (mephone X): WHAT THE FUCK I WAS ARGUING WITH THEM AND I SAID “OOH YOU WANNA KISS ME SO BAD” AND GUESS WHAT? THEY DID. THEY KISSED ME. WHAT THE FUCK WHAT DO I DO.

(When x finally had his emotion emulator activated, he instantly fell head over heals for toilet, toilet lovingly teasing x which makes him happy)

Mephone4 : *sucking on a popsicle*

3gs: Pfft, you practicing for when Floory gets here?

Mephone4 : *takes a huge ass bite out of the popsicle*

3gs: *Concern*

Should I talk more about this au?

Also prt 2?

Also here's the link that explains the au

#floorphone #ii floory x mephone #incorrect quotes #ii mephone4 #ii mephone3gs #mephone 4s #steve cobs #ii au #Oc #self insert #ii nick le #ii groscer #ii zoetrope

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budd-ie · 1 year ago

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“If I wasn’t destined to be perfect, I at least wanted to be perfectly kind. But…I couldn’t even manage that. It’s really…so unfair."

Yin Yu's dream of perfect kindness is yet another example of unattainable perfection. I love Yin Yu, because he really is trying to be kind to everyone. But "perfect kindness" doesn't exist in a world where other people are unkind, because there's a very small intersection between kindness and justice.

Yin Yu deliberately spends his time looking out for Quan Yizhen even though it drives him mad and only causes him problems.

He tells him not to worry even when his head is throbbing, he tells him it's fine, you didn't do anything wrong, even if everyone else is ready to kill them. Even if Yin Yu is lying, he's not really doing it just to placate him, he's doing this because he genuinely, wholeheartedly wants to believe in the words he's saying. It's not that he's unbothered, but that he wants to be unbothered. Yin Yu knows that helping Quan Yizhen is the right thing to do, so that's what he wants to emulate, and when people give him a hard time for it, he tries to placate them too. He tries to reason and rationalize every side regardless of his emotions; this is his way of trying to be fair and kind to everyone. This is easier in the sect because his peers respect him, but heaven is a little different.

Yin Yu appoints Jian Yu and Quan Yizhen as his deputy officials. We know that Jian Yu is a trusted companion despite his negative attitude, but what about Quan Yizhen? There's no way Yin Yu didn't rationalize his decision as a mix of talent, gusto, and maybe even a little spite. He recognizes Yizhen's potential and knows that helping him hone it is the right thing to do. It's the kind thing to do. Why wouldn't he want to help? Not to mention if he leaves him alone in the sect, who will vouch for him? It will only cause him problems if they aren't together, so really it's best to keep him along.

(continued under cut due to length and book 7 spoilers)

Lo and behold, inevitable problems arise and Yin Yu is under fire as well. Others show the same contempt for Yizhen as before, but the stakes are much different now. In heaven, everyone is a big shot and Yin Yu has no authority and only complimentary respect to his name. Placating the aggressor is hardly an option anymore, so all he can do is take it.

For the next section, lets look at this scene:

It also needs to be established right now that Yin Yu desperately wants to be a god, and it should also be said that a "god" really is something a little different than being a "heavenly official." This is more than a position to him, it’s a dream. Ascension for Yin Yu is proof that all his hard work is paying off, that all the headache wasn't for nothing, that he really is someone remarkable. Only...he doesn't quite feel remarkable. A god is someone who is perfect, kind and benevolent, who always does the right thing for the right reasons. A "heavenly official" is more like a white-collar worker at a corrupt high-end job stuck in meetings all day with a strict social code lest you offend another very powerful person. Everyone thinks they're hot shit just because of their title, which is especially why so many low-ranking deputy officials are so arrogant. With that, Yin Yu is aware that he isn't perfect. He hates that he gets annoyed by Yizhen when he knows there's really nothing he's doing wrong, he knows Yizhen's skills are better than his and he hates that it makes him somewhat insecure, and most of all, he hates that he hates. Yin Yu wants to be a god, kind and benevolent, skilled and perfect, but there are no true gods in this world. So instead he holds on tight to that title and does his best to just keep doing his best, even though he knows Quan Yizhen is right.

So why is perfect kindness unattainable, and why is it so frustrating?

Yin Yu is constantly trying to appease both sides. On one side is the sect and the heavenly officials who are fed up with Quan Yizhen for not following social standards and getting benefits he apparently doesn't deserve. On the other side is Quan Yizhen who holds no value in arbitrary social rituals and only fights when picked on. Despite being a trusted friend, Jian Yu doesn't help any.

Yin Yu's mitigation is always an order to "drop it" and move on with an added rationalization of Quan Yizhen's actions. In the end, Yin Yu is a logical thinker who tries to suppress his negative emotions for the sake of being kind, and thus doesn't reprimand anyone else for being unkind either, but it really doesn't work against people who don't care the way he does.

Lets look at this scene too:

"You shouldn't let others hear you talk about him like that"

This is the line that says the most about Yin Yu. As someone who's met a lot of people who weren't quite the nicest, I can say from experience that these are the words of someone who is afraid of being associated with the sentiment but doesn’t actually disagree with it. It is unkind for Jian Yu to talk about Quan Yizhen behind his back like this, especially in heaven, but Yin Yu doesn't really tell him off. Even if this kind of response is more kind to Jian Yu, it's still unkind to Quan Yizhen (even if it isn't being said to his face).

On both sides of this, there is a decision about justice, and on both sides he's too scared to make that decision lest he offend someone. So what was he supposed to do? As a relevant comparison, let's think about Xie Lian who is notorious for being kind. Kind as he was, he also stated he would defy the heavens if they should condemn him for doing what he knew was the right thing (saving hong-er). He reprimands bullies, hated his own father for his questionable values, isn't really afraid to yell or hit if he needs to, and most of all has little regard for himself or what people think of him if it means justice is granted to the righteous and innocent. He's a headache and a troublemaker in exchange for standing up for what he believes is right.

Unfortunately, Yin Yu's sense of justice isn't as strong. If he wanted to be wholly kind to Quan Yizhen, that would mean justice for him and being unkind to the other heavenly officials. To appease the heavenly officials, he would have to be unkind to Quan Yizhen. Yin Yu's passion for godhood makes him unwilling to defy the heavens and his respect for Quan Yizhen makes him unwilling to do him harm either. It is impossible to be "perfectly kind" because justice is imbalanced by this nature, and that "third path" of equality over equity can harm more than it helps. In the end, someone has to get hurt. If we really want to put it into perspective, you might even also be able to say that Quan Yizhen's sense of justice is stronger than Yin Yu's, which only makes the blow hurt more. If heaven stands for justice, he understands that heaven is unfair by nature and rejects it, where Yin Yu is still willing to uphold it, as it placates him in his own yearning to be a god. But does a kind god really have time to be kind to themself too? Gods are not all powerful, and even after ascension they remain human. All humans have unbalanced emotions, and for these limits of humanity to remain is only natural.

“Yizhen is a genius, but I’m just ordinary. I could only climb so high. I knew that. Even though I knew, I couldn’t accept it. In truth, I felt the same as Jian Yu—I was even more frustrated than he was. It’s not that I wasn’t resentful; it was impossible to be otherwise. After that incident, I could never bring myself to reflect on why I told Yizhen to die when I knew he was wearing the Brocade Immortal. Was I really just driven to madness, or did I actually want him dead?"

He wanted to choose the path to appease everyone, including himself, and he suffered for it. The frustration that overtook him really did just drive him mad, and he can't truly be blamed for it; what he wanted to achieve was impossible, after all. And although his kindness couldn't be perfect, it wasn't for nothing. After Yin Yu was banished, Quan Yizhen went to Ling Wen every day to check for news on his whereabouts and for centuries still believed in him despite it all. Even as Yin Yu dies, Quan Yizhen sobs his heart out for him, broken that there isn't more he can do for him. It's easy to shake Quan Yizhen off as an airhead comedic relief character, but Yin Yu's kindness did genuinely touch him, and he never stopped caring for him. He reminds me of Hong-er, the way Yin Yu was the only person who was nice to him, helped him, and showed him grace. Why wouldn't that be meaningful to him? Let's also remember the lantern contest banquet when Xie Lian interrupted a play that portrayed Yin Yu in a distasteful light, and the way Quan Yizhen later shoved his donation box full of gold bars in appreciation. He always looked to Yin Yu for guidance and trusted him wholeheartedly. He always wanted due justice, or at the very least respect for Yin Yu, and to find the truth about what happened that day. Even if you can't appease everyone, even if the masses don't remember your good deeds, that doesn't mean your actions were meaningless. As long as it touches one soul, you'll never truly be forgotten.

Finally, I want to look at this declaration:

"Yes, I hate him! But so what?! He’s given me so much trouble—can’t I hate him for it?! But…But I only…I only wanted to hate him. That doesn’t mean I want to hurt him."

Despite saying this, I don't believe Yin Yu ever really hated Quan Yizhen at all. He invested so much time in him because he saw what he was capable of. He lied for him to keep his spirits up so he didn't get discouraged when others shot him down. It's just that when he kept being himself, people came complaining to Yin Yu all over again. All of the frustration he was feeling wasn't because Quan Yizhen couldn't take the hint and leave him alone for an hour, its because everyone always took their anger out on him when he did anything. Yin Yu didnt hate Quan Yizhen, he hated that he couldn't be the patient and calm person he wanted to be for him. He hated that he felt so worthless despite working so hard. He hated the unfairness of it all. And if Quan Yizhen was the one at the center of it all, it's easier to summarize these negative emotions into hatred and focus it on one avoidable entity than to wallow in the hollow shell of that person he wanted to grow into one day. It was never really their fault, not either of them. The whole of it was unfair, and they both deserved better for the efforts they made.

#yin yu did nothing wrong everyone else was just a jerk #Quan Yizhen is based in saying heaven isn't worth anything and i like him so much #I wish Yin Yu could understand how much he actually meant to Quan Yizhen and that everything he did was worth it #he is remarkable to ME #tian guan ci fu #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #yin yu #quan yizhen #all of the autistic coded characters have strong senses of justice and are the first to understand that heaven is fucked up #and i love them so much

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