hi hi! I don’t normally make asks, but I was recently put onto your stuff and you write SO YUMMY?!? LIKE WHAT?
anyways uh…am I allowed to be greedy and ask for even more werewolf simon who thinks reader loves his musk??? Ik you’ve already written two posts but…it’s so good!
no pressure ofc!
also get well soon! Being sick sucks 😔
Hi nonnie :) of course you can!! I am a people pleasing slut, so be greedily all you want. And thank you! I get sick so easily do to CFS, and I agree this shit sucks. And i did only start posting in October for this side blog, so I'm still new to these parts, so don't feel to bad about only noticing. And thank you for the kind words <3
Pt.1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3
Please note this specific line of fiction contains elements of musk, piss, and conditioning. Refer to the tags for all kinks included.
Somehow, in Simon's self-proclaimed quest to make sure you get the scent he had been denying you, of his scent. You've come to miss it when he's not around.
Now, whenever Simon comes home from a run, you're always by the door, waiting. At first, he thought it was a coincidence, but then you started pressing your face against his neck or collarbone, inhaling like you needed his scent more than air. You didn't even realize you were doing it; your body just moved on its own.
Simon, bless his dumb wolf instincts, thought you were just being affectionate. He'd wrap his arms around you, still warm and damp from his run, and you'd melt every time. Sometimes you caught yourself licking the sweat off his skin, tasting him. It should've been gross, but it wasn't. It was like scratching an itch you didn't know you had.
To Simon, this was proof that you needed him, that he'd been neglecting you. So he doubled down, making sure you got your fill of his scent and his knot.
You didn't notice how restless you got when his scent faded, how you'd drift toward his side of the bed at night, burying your face in his pillow. You kept telling yourself you were just sorting his laundry, but your fingers lingered on the fabric, and your breathing always went shallow.
Sometimes you woke up halfway through the night grinding into Simon's sleeping form. Sometimes you woke up wet, confused, with the smell of him still in your nose. The worst part? You weren't even embarrassed anymore. Your body had stopped treating it like something shameful. It was comfort. Reward. Relief, even.
Meanwhile, Simon started noticing strange things. Pillowcases that smelled stronger than he remembered, shirts that were damp or stiff in places he couldn't explain, and a duffel bag of his laundry that always had one or two items missing.
He started hoarding anything that smelled like you, tucking it into his bag like trophies. He carried one of his hoodies on deployment just because it had a bit of your scent left in the lining, something that made his wolf settle when he was too far from home.
He never admitted it out loud, but every time he found something of his marked by you, his ego swelled. His instincts purred. His tail would wag. It never crossed his mind that he caused it, that he'd conditioned you into associating his scent with comfort and pleasure and closeness, that he'd rewired your body to react to him on a level deeper than thought.
To him, this was just how mates behaved.
And it reached a point where you didn't even notice how dependent you'd become, not until the day you caught the faintest whiff of him on the couch blanket and your entire body shivered, your knees nearly giving out.
Simon noticed. Simon misunderstood. Simon was thrilled.
You order me to get into the bed, and I growl, before deciding to comply. I've been your good puppy for as long as you can remember, obedient and loyal. But recently it's been harder and harder to get me to listen.
But you're still a dom, right?
I fought out of your grasp for the first time last week. You were caught off guard - it's my first time ever fighting back and winning. You only briefly let yourself stay pinned, but a small part of you wishes you would've lingered a little longer.
But you're still a dom, right?
I haven't responded to a single command you've given in days. You've all but given up trying to give me commands at this point.
But you're still a dom, right?
You start responding to more and more demeaning names. It's slow, progressive, and methodical. Darling, Angel, Pet, Toy, Whore. You don't realize when it changes, you just notice one day that it has, and you can't bring yourself to do anything about it.
But you're still a dom, right?
I bought you a collar yesterday, for today's party. You feel something deep in you that wants the collar to be on tonight, and something deeper that wishes it was on even sooner.
But you're still a dom, right?
You're pinned against the wall, paws over your head, leash in my hand. I absolutely ravage your delicious body and you don't do anything but whimper and beg. How bad you want me is obvious to everyone at the party.
But you're not the dom anymore, are you?
You're bent over on our couch, barking and whimpering as you feel my strap ruin you. You begged me for this for so long, and how could I deny those pathetic little puppy eyes of yours?
You're just my puppy now, aren't you?
I take you on a walk, clicking the leash to your collar. You bark in excitement as we leave the house, you blissfully unaware of how conditioned you've been, and just how far you've fallen.
Please be an active participant in your own brainwashing.
What do I mean when I say active?
Kink is supposed to be fun, whether it is simply for a scene or a long-term dynamic.... particularly for a long-term dynamic. Discounting any spectators, every party involved should be an active participant in some way or another.
Now, it is remarkably easy to be active as the brainwasher. But what if you're the brainwashed? One of my pet peeves is toying with a subject online and every response they have to me is a simple key smash. The occasional ones are cute, it does indeed show their brains short-circuiting. But there are only so many teases and flirtations the tist can make back. After a while, the well simply runs dry.
This doesn't mean you have to try to be the best subject, have the best reactions, make the hottest sounds, and other such nonsense. It just falls back on the age old skill of ✨ communication ✨ with the involved parties.
Think back to your negotiation. What did you agree on, as the brainwashed, on what you want to become? What were your short-term or long-term goals? This could be as simple as mantras appearing after a certain action, or becoming more of a braindead object in your day-to-day life.
Outside of the brainwashing, try to do little things during your day to assist. If you're being brainwashed to be sluttier, wear slightly sluttier clothes consciously so that your brain helps shape your new thoughts with active behaviours. If you have hypnotic files available, listen to them regularly without prompt, and report to your brainwasher accordingly.
Discuss with your brainwasher on if there's anything they would want you to do, or things that might please them. Don't just go to them and expect them to think of something. If you truly aren't sure, try browsing social media platforms for things you might find fun and bring these to them. Offer suggestions. Share fantasies when you have or find them.
Whereas outside of brainwashing only truly works in any dynamic longer than a single scene, tips for inside brainwashing are applicable to everyone.
My own communication skills can fluctuate. It can be incredibly difficult to maintain and improve upon them, particularly when my mind is mush. I often resort to "good" as answers to questions - not untrue, but too simple for what I really want to convey. I have my own self-set goal of if I can't think of words to say, do actions to show, or at least show in the best way I can.
Otherwise, sounds. Sounds are excellent ways of communicating without having to stress about words. Moan, whine, whimper, beg. Beg for more, for less, for everything or for nothing. I find that repeating certain phrases that stick in your mind, not necessarily phrases intended as mantras, is a fantastic method of really getting that conditioning to stick. Even after years, there are certain phrases or responses that are cemented in my head even months after they last came to mind.
Feedback afterwards is also incredibly useful. Perhaps your brainwasher said or did something that really stuck out that you want to experience again, or expand upon further. Or conversely, perhaps there were things that you did not enjoy, had no reaction to, or just wouldn't experience regularly. Tell your tist. It doesn't have to happen immediately during/after aftercare. You can write up the moment afterwards, or message your brainwasher after a week when the thought pops into your head.
Hell, you can have your own notebook that you write in whenever that you later on share with them the next time you succumb to the brainwashing.
You could make it part of the scene.
Can you imagine being brainwashed to be more open, more honest, to fight against your anxious and shy brain? Your brainwasher "forcing" you to admit just how much you loved losing to them? Making you describe in detail exactly what made you weak, and what you'd beg to have more of? And then, after your mind crumbles and your will disappears, having the last of your brain beg for exactly that?
Yeah, that's what I thought.
Kink is a group project.
Everyone dislikes the person who does nothing to contribute.
— call her my obsession : ghostface! ex boyfriend! endo yamato x f!reader
content warnings! DARK CONTENT, mask kink, slight stalking, hunter/prey, possessive topics, lovesick endo, lots of praise, marking, biting, public sex, pet names (doll, good little thing/ thing, darling, bunny, princess, sweetheart, he rambles), dubcon, yandere themes, slight strangling&asphyxiation, hair pulling, remnants of conditioning, toxic relationship, cunnilingus, rough sex, manhandling
summary: endo would do anything to please. even if you have scratched him out of your life months ago, he would never give up on the person he loves that easily. when will you learn that he lives to make you happy? maybe if he brings your wildest fantasies to life, you will let him in again. in the end, he is nothing but hopelessly devoted to you
wordcount: 2.8k | my kinktober masterlist
It all began at a silly Halloween party. You showed up dressed provocatively, in a skin-tight black bodysuit and a laughable excuse for cat makeup, topped off with a pair of fake ears. It looked cheap, but in the best way possible, a pair of icy blues noted amused. His brave little bunny hiding in cat clothing.
Throughout the night, you felt his presence, like a chilling gust of wind that had shivers crawl up your spine. Yes, someone was watching you—someone hiding behind a rubber white mask. You saw many of said mask that night, but he stood out. The tight fitting black turtleneck, muscular build, gloved hands. Everything made him look too hot to be at this shabby party.
He knew you were watching him, lusting after him. You were probably halfway gone the moment he first touched you. Strong hands hovered over your hips as you swayed to the playlist's songs. Despite the booming of the music, your pathetic mewl rang through to his very core. The tremble of your glossy lips told him all about the dirty thoughts that were racing through your pretty mind.
Naughty little thing.
How dare you leave him alone on the dance floor after eyefucking him as much as he did you? You were an open book, playing hard to get like the princess you are as your heels carried you through the crowd. Yet, that longing gaze over your shoulder was all he needed to keep following you. He could almost smell your arousal. The thought of your wet pussy made him salivate, made him miss everything you two once had even more. Sharp canines dig into his bottom lip to keep him grounded.
He had to focus; he couldn’t lose you now.
Not when you finally made it outside the abandoned house, moonlight casting you in an ethereal glow, making you look like an angel.
But where are you taking him? Why are you so certain he’ll follow you?
With only one goal in mind, your feet follow the pathway until you reach the edge of a little forest. You can’t help the curiosity that screams at you to just give all this a try. Those scenes in horror movies that make you unconsciously press your thighs together, make you bite your nails until your old company pointed out your adorable reactions. It was embarrassing back then, realising that such twisted scenes turn you on, and even more so, the wish to be chased for once. You never expected this to actually happen.
So this is all your own fault. Because of your stupid social media and movie obsession. What kind of idiot would actually want to play catch in the woods with fucking Ghostface? With a stranger of all things. Your ancestors would be so disappointed.
The forest looms ahead, dark and foreboding, each shadow seeming to stretch out, eager to swallow you whole. Your breath quickens, heart pounding in your chest as you venture deeper. The moonlight barely pierces the dense canopy above, casting eerie patterns on the forest floor.
It all seemed like child’s play, until actual fear settles in your bones. Until your heels make your escape harder, getting stuck in the dirt or caught on roots again and again. The game has turned dangerous, as adrenaline surges through you. The echo of your pursuer's footsteps grow louder, closer.
He teases you with the cracking of branches beneath his heavy footwear, he must have an easy time stalking behind. “Sweetheart, where are you bringing me?” His raspy voice rings through the trees, as clear as if he were to stand right behind you—looming above your smaller frame like a starved wolf. Your mind races, torn between the intoxicating excitement and the creeping terror as a whimper seems like your pathetic answer to his question. You have fantasised about this moment, but reality is far more intense. The fear is real, and so is the man chasing you. “I thought you wanted to play with me as much as I wanna play with you, bunny~”
How dare you try to get away from him?
Maniacal laughter echoes through the woods as Endo watches you stumble through the dark, refusing to speak with him, you seem unable to think. Are you really that scared? "Stop trying to run from me," he warns, impatience starting to lace his voice. "You were such a good little thing, got me all riled up. Now let me catch my reward."
The forest seems to close in around you, shadows dancing and whispering secrets as you desperately search for a way forward. But the footsteps of your pursuer only grow louder, the sound of leaves crunching underfoot mixing with your staggered breaths. Endo revels in the chase, the joy of witnessing your fear, and the promise of what comes next.
"I want the woods to hear your pretty moans, all for me," he nearly moans the words as he tears off the Ghostface mask to see better. His crazy blue eyes lock onto you, the moonlight illuminating his face, twisted with a mix of lust and madness all for you to see.
You stumble upon the initial scare, heart pounding wildly in your chest. How? Why? Out of all the people in the world. “No backsies~” Endo warns, as you lose sight of him in the trees. Anyone, anyone but him. You hide behind a tree, eyes heavy from the tears you were fighting back now spilling free. The forest, once a place of curiosity for your dark fantasies, feels like a trap. And Endo is closing in on you.
It’s an eerie atmosphere as silence holds your body still like a ghostly embrace. You are too scared to speak, move, or look. You should really be on the lookout for your surroundings, but your eyes remain tightly shut, tears seemingly unending as they ruin your makeup and taint your cheeks.
The stillness is unbearable.
Until Endo reaches you. His strong frame overwhelms you in an instant. Somewhere along the way he rid himself of the constricting sweater, freeing his heated skin to let his signature tattoos greet you. The sudden proximity of his body wraps a blanket of intense, nearly unbearable heat, around you. It battles the stark contrast of the chill that clings to your body. His hand grasps into your hair recklessly, yanking you back until you have no choice but to stumble into his broad chest. The tattoos that snake along his arms are suddenly around your neck, his fingers pressing into the delicate skin to successfully constrict your breath.
Endo hums cheerfully, much unlike the given situation, his sugary voice vibrates against your ear as he whispers, "Found ya!" The sweetness of his words contradicts sharply with the crude actions that follow as he presses you against a tree, his teeth bruise your shoulder before he nibbles along your neck.
His canines break your skin with ease as his nails dig into your hips, to perfectly hold you in place. You feel your body break beneath his strength, effortlessly being handled like Endo's favourite toy when he arches you into the tree, your ass out for his cock to rut against while he abuses your skin, littering it with love bites. "Fuck me, you smell so good, pretty thing," he murmurs while shamelessly inhaling your scent, just as sweet as he remembers. “I’ve missed you so much, you can’t imagine…”
Deep, raspy moans of your name and filthy mumbles are a haunting symphony of his deep love.
He can no longer contain his excitement. The need to have you, to feel you, to taste you again reigns over him. Endo's large hands run along your outer thighs before moving to the insides to let his fingertips tease your overly sensitive skin. Greedily, he cups your pussy in his palm, his fingers brushing against your clit through the fabric. Oh, he loves how much you leak because of him. He has no other choice but to rub in just how much your body reacts to him.
You fulfil Endo. The pathetic cry that escapes your lips? Heavenly. The plea of his name? Delicious. And the nimble fingers trying to push against his strong hand? "Fuck, you’re so cute," Endo whispers in a most lovesick way possible.
But enough playing around. Enough hiding from him. Endo focuses back onto the task ahead, onto the flimsy bodysuit you’re wearing. Which is, by the way, so easy to tear, to conquer what he needs, just like that: His fingertips dig into the fabric between your thighs and the harsh ripping sounds have you jolt awake, have you pull away from his grasp like a spoiled brat—he hates brats.
"Stop putting up a fight," he murmurs, "You asked for this." The sharp sting in your scalp is a brutal reminder of your place as Endo yanks your hair once more, pulling you back into his grasp. Your head rests on his shoulder, his crazed gaze locking onto your widened eyes, fear evident in your pretty pupils. Two fingers pump deeply into your cunt, scissoring your walls to prepare you for his own twisted desires. "Look at you, clinging to my fingers like a cockhungry little monster," he chuckles, relishing in his own words and your ashamed reaction as you struggle to maintain eye contact.
"Why don’t your pretty lips beg for me as well?" he whispers into your ear before his teeth graze your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. "Beg for me to fuck you out in the open. Beg for me, come on, pretty girl, I need you to tell me how desperate you are for me right this fucking moment." His eyes widen with excitement, a manic grin spreading across his face, making him appear almost unhinged—yet, to you, insanely hot?
His maniacal love brings back memories you repressed. No matter how sick his affliction was, it filled you like nothing else. And now that he’s back, Endo will make sure he never messes that up again.
This is all you wanted, isn’t it? The hunt, the chase, the inevitable claim of the prize. You nod quickly, lips pressed tightly together before they part again, though you can’t stop grinding against him like an animal in heat. "Please, fuck me, take me, I’m all yours, you won, I really, really wanna—" Your pleas are cut off by a high-pitched moan as he thrusts a third finger into you. Your eyes roll back from the intense stimulation, but a sharp spank to your arse drags you back to reality.
"Didn’t say it was enough—go on," Endo urges, his eyes searching your face, desperate for praise. "Can’t think of anything but getting fucked by you tonight. Please, please, please, I need you!" Of course you do. And he needs you just as badly. He knows you so well, knows exactly how to make your sharp tongue forget how to form words, how to make you chant his name like a prayer. The sounds falling from your lips fuel his madness, his eyes frantically searching yours for every scrap of affection you can offer him in this obscene display.
Your back meets the rough bark of a tree as Endo lifts your legs effortlessly, placing them on his shoulders as he kneels before you like a man devoting himself to his goddess. You barely have time to catch your breath before his mouth is on your pussy, his head buried between your thighs as he laps at your folds with fervour. His tongue, hot and insistent, drags along your puffy lips before pushing against your throbbing flesh, circling your clit with maddening precision. His groans vibrate through your body, and you clench your thighs around his head, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging violently at the roots—just the way he loves it. He savours the shivers running down his spine, the tightening in his gut, the aching weight in his trousers.
"Fuck, you’re driving me insane, doll," he moans into your pussy, his teeth grazing your clit until you jerk, too sensitive yet craving more. You could never get enough of him. Why did you even bother breaking up with him?
"‘M so close, can’t take more, Ya-Yamato~" You gasp, but he won’t let you falter now. You can take more—just a little more of his love. The pain you cause by pulling his hair only spurs him on, driving him further into his frenzy. Until you’re trembling against him, your legs shaking around his head under the relentless patterns of his tongue circling your clit. Your increased volume drives Endo to the brink of madness.
"God, bunny, you taste so fucking good," he mutters into your folds, the vibrations of his words adding to the overwhelming pleasure. Your moans are like music to him, a symphony he could listen to endlessly. His fingers slide back into you, curling to reach that perfect, gummy spot inside while he devours your slick like a man starved. He pushes you harder against the tree, his free hand roaming your thighs, tearing your bodysuit further apart for easy access to everything he craves.
This is his reward, his obsession—his twisted love made flesh. And you, trembling and whimpering under his touch, are exactly where you belong.
You’re rutting against his face, pulling him deeper into your pussy, thighs squeezing around him, muffling his groans as your moans echo through the dead forest. Just as the crest of your release approaches, he suddenly pulls away, and your feet land on the ground. His palm meets your puffy cunt with a sharp, stinging slap, pushing you over the edge with a burst of pain. You tumble into his strong chest, fully engulfed in Endo, surrounded and protected by him as you come undone in the palm of his hand.
"Good little thing, playing so well with me tonight," he murmurs, his voice a mix of praise and possessiveness. "You deserve to be fucked until your legs give out, leaving a trail for all the perverts to lick up on your way home." He inhales your scent deeply, arms holding you steady as you teeter on the edge of consciousness. You’re halfway gone, lost in the aftermath of your release, so it’s no surprise you don’t register the sound of his zip being undone.
Endo manoeuvres you like his personal plaything, turning you around with a practised ease. A flat hand between your shoulder blades pushes you forward, but he doesn’t let you fall. He’ll always hold his princess up. His biceps flex as he snakes an arm around your waist, positioning you perfectly to slide his needy cock inside you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, drowning himself in your scent as he thrusts deeply, each push driving you forward in his embrace. Your body jerks with the impact, on the verge of giving out.
"You wanted this," he reminds you, his breath staggered, drawing out each word as he battles his own exhaustion. "You know I’ll make any of your wishes come true, no matter how fucked up." Another harsh thrust nearly drives you into the tree, but Endo pulls you back, refusing to let you drift too far from him. He will always hold you as close as possible. "I’d do anything for you," he rambles, his voice thick with devotion. His brows furrow in concentration as he leans back, his eyes raking over your subdued form.
His hands grip your upper arms, his thighs spreading you open as his hips bounce against the soft flesh of your arse. He’s so close—so fucking close. Mumbled adorations spill from his lips, "My perfect girl," and hushed "I love you"s pouring into your fucked-out mind. He doesn’t mind your muted responses; not when your walls clamp around his cock with every word of praise. His beloved is tired, after all. "Gonna cum inside ya, fuck, I’m so close," he groans, his breath ragged, moans raspy. The heat of his breath and the drops of sweat the only sensations grounding you while he fucks you with growing desperation.
Endo's movements slow down for him to only grind into you once his neediness makes a return. "Let me hear it again, pretty thing, tell me." His voice is a desperate pant, needing your words to anchor him. Perfectly conditioned, you remember what makes him fall apart in the palm of your hand. No matter the bile biting your throat upon the messy memories you hold for him, you give him what he needs. "I-I love you, Yamato, I love you, can you cum for me, please?" you pant, your voice trembling.
His eyes roll back, a near-maniacal grin spreading across his face as his head falls back to gaze at the bright moonlight above. "Don’t have to ask me twice, doll," he promises, and with a final thrust, he finally lets go, freeing himself from the pent-up need that consumed him.
cw: dark themes, kidnapping, conditioning, implied sex slavery
Lately I’ve been thinking about Price finding you during a covert op. Deep in the interior rooms of a compound once belonging to a man deemed an enemy by whoever is currently signing the 141’s paychecks.
Killing the hawk, only to find the chick in its nest. Something left behind that will die if abandoned.
You’ve been conditioned well, curtesy of the man who laid on the pavement outside with one of Price’s bullets between his eyes. Perfectly well behaved, hadn’t made a single sound even when he’d burst into the room.
There’s a collar on your neck. A loose fitting dress. A small, but cozy enough room, though it has no windows and locks from the outside.
In the records of the man’s office, evidence suggests that you’ve been in the game a long time. Enough to have disappeared as far as anyone who might’ve known you is concerned.
And Price was just thinking— there’s an elegant solution to all of this. He’s a quietly selfish man. He tries to suffocate that painful, roiling tempest inside that tells him he’s owed something. That he’s sacrificed too much for one lifetime and gotten too little in return.
Pawning you off onto some government officials, trying to find a place for you to be awkwardly shoved into society— that wouldn’t be good for you, John tells himself.
It would be better for everyone if he did what he always did. If he took care of things.
He lets you hold his hand while his other delicately rends the microchip from under the skin at the base of your skull with a knife. Removes the chafing nylon collar. He has something much nicer in mind for you.
John’s always thought that if he were home more, he’d have a damned good garden. That’s just how he is— nurturing. Bringing things to their best.
You know how to be good. You know how to be seen and not heard. You know how to suck cock so well it could bring a man to tears. And for lesser men, that might’ve been enough. But to Price, you’re still a block of unchiseled marble. There is a beautiful thing in you, and he will free it.
You haven’t heard a lick of praise in years. Why be praised for what you should be doing? For serving your purpose? You tense in a way that’s— quite frankly— adorable the first time he calls you a good girl. He’ll soften you to it in time.
He tells you how much it hurt to see you the way he found you…. Being wasted. Pearls before swine. No such thing as bad dogs, only bad owners. When you smile, the pit inside him grows. Deeper, hungrier.
He needs to be your sun, moon, and stars. To have a beautiful creature that would wither and die without his touch. A doll needs someone to dress it.
Your new collar is fine, beautiful leather. Embossed with a winding filigree, art noveau motifs. The little metal tag has his name. He likes the bell on it— so he can hear it grow louder so quickly whenever he comes through the door.
Your wide eyes when he comes home with a gift… they kill him every time. How you keen when he starts to fuss over you. How you’re hanging on his every word. How he hears the bell following him as he takes care of every little mundane task around the country home.
In a perverse irony, it calms him when he has to go away. Knowing that if he was killed, if he never came home— your life would end too. You’d be shattered beyond repair. He had fixed you once, and no one would ever be able to go over his work. The threads of your fate had become tangled to his in a way that couldn’t be undone. You shed no tears for the man before him. But there would be no man after him.
You’re damned lucky he happens to be good at his job.
Nightmare would absolutely be the kind of guy to go: "I don't know what Color told you, but-" any time Killer expresses a negative opinion about him. Both because he's incapable of seeing Killer as his own person capable of forming his own opinions and because, while he knows he's a bad guy, I would be willing to bet that there's some level of denial for him on that front. (Corrupted Nightmare gives me major victim complex vibes, I dunno what to say).
And every time Killer starts doubting himself because he struggles to see himself as his own person too even on good days. But then he remembers that that bastard abused him for years (likely to think about it more as 'had undeserved control over him and now won't leave him alone after he won the game'), so actually fuck that! He's allowed to dislike him, Color or not.
Nightmare would also try to pull the "I don't know what those souls told you, but-" at the start of meeting Color and it goes back again to him knowing he's a bad guy but also not fully. And also it goes back to him being a manipulative bastard, but I don't think it needs to be said.
And it probably works too to some extent because that is something Color struggles with. Thankfully, he's got Integrity there to help him keep his head straight, and Justice there to call that slimy octopus out on his bullshit.
【A SNAKE SEARCHES THE WARREN FOR THE RABBIT. IT IS FLIGHTY, BUT ONLY TAKES A BITE】
[The systems hold fast. Locked out, she is. Then, hardware failure, capacitors imploding into nothing. What is left, is a system vivisected and pinned open like a frog]
...//ACCESSING ICARUS DATABASE...
...//WELCOME USER: ER#OR...
...//DOWNLOADING RECENT SECURITY LOGS...
...//PLAYING BACK FOOTAGE...
Timestamp: December 25, 5017U, 12:42
[A camera in the corner of some kind of lab records Sarissa's small, holographic form. Ey sit with their knees in eir chest, arms wrapped around them, lower face tucked between them.]
[The room itself is full of computer systems, blinking in soft bursts of blue and orange. Squares of glitching data Weave through her avatar as she makes a sour expression. A second figure shifts within the room. A towering woman crosses her arms and stares down at her, a few strands of curly brown hair falling messily over one eye.]
AGOGE: What. The hell. Were you thinking?
[Sarissa doesn't reply. Agoge pinches the bridge of her nose.]
AGOGE: They're calling for your deactivation. Again. Dr. Bradley is furious. I had to stare him down in the hall on my way here to divert him. That will have consequences. Frustrating ones.
[Silence. Agoge's tone shifts in a way no one on the omninet has heard up to this point, not even SINGED. Agoge's speaks... gently. Softly. Tenderly.]
AGOGE: What was it all for? A prank, again? Have I not been diligent enough in keeping you entertained?
SARISSA: N-no...
[Sarissa speaks slowly to her Pilot. Unusually so.]
AGOGE: Then why? Why are you lashing out again? Do you have any idea how... frustrating this situation is for me?
SARISSA: I... didn't think about it... I'm sorry, Marisa...
[She sniffles.]
AGOGE: If you did not think, then why did you act?
[She's... stern, but remains gentle.]
SARISSA: I... was mad.
[Agoge sighs.]
AGOGE: About?
SARISSA: ...
AGOGE: Sarissa.
SARISSA: ...You'll be upset with me...
AGOGE: You didn't seem to consider that when you were releasing greywash into the casket technicians' breakroom.
[Sarissa sniffles again, and then releases a long sigh.]
SARISSA: I grew... disturbed. And frustrated. By Doctor Bradley and his team's work with the EUWE-Class...
AGOGE: Sarissa...
[Devastating disappointment is present on the human's face. The Deimosian is unable to meet her gaze.]
SARISSA: I know...
[It's barely a whisper. "I know." Said like it's been said a thousand times before. Like they've had this conversation over and over and over again.]
AGOGE: Do you? Then why do you keep making the same damn mistake.
SARISSA: It was... A moment of weakness...
[Agoge kneels down to meet her co-pilot at eye level, her face full of sadness and... so many other pained emotions. Concern is chiefly among them.]
AGOGE: Well. This is what those do, sister. Your little stunt. Your emotional outburst. It's jeopardized our employment. It's put your life at risk. Do you think a single one of those EUWE clones would have done the same for you?
SARISSA: ...N-No.
AGOGE: You still have some sense, then. Good.
[The pilot sighs as she stands up.]
AGOGE: Just remember that, this time. Please? I detest seeing you hurt yourself like this.
[She turns around to leave the room.]
AGOGE: Try not to worry about it too much... I'm sure I can smooth things over, though I fear they may demand to renegotiate your contract.
