#Chose your weapon

[reallysomeonetookobituaries]

You are only as fun as your most funniest strawberry fact🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓

[neonhog]

the fnv brotherhood of steel being such an intense parallel to being stuck with an abusive conservative family explored largely through a lesbian character whose constantly making excuses for them gighhrggurughh

[boxwinebaddie]

this is my formal apology to teri for constantly turning her dms into my philosophical soap box for my sermons. also everyone has to know that i am…feral abt cartman. and that he is so much more than just a ‘bad guy’ char.

[tiredassmage]

what type of villain are you?

your honor, i do love a good uquiz diagnosing the diseases and problems of my fictional characters and also i might be slightly procrastinating a final paper. saw this one from @sasslett and simply could not resist :3 quiz link! for those who'd like.

swtor edition first!

tyr deckard - then let me be evil

You never wanted to hurt anyone, but the world never gave you a choice. You did the best you could with what you had, but every innocent mistake you made was held against you when it counted, every crossroads led you down the wrong path no matter which way you went. No matter what you did, the odds were stacked against you. It wasn't fair, and you are sick and tired of being told what a monster you are for things out of your control. Well, fine. They want a monster? YOU'LL GIVE THEM A MONSTER!

alucren ellery - the betrayer

You like to do things up close and personal. As personal as you can get. You are an excellent actor, and you do adore putting on a smile knowing your worst enemy, the one you hate the most, doesn't suspect a thing when they tell you their deepest secrets. Your only motivation is revenge, and revenge you shall get. Perhaps you loved them once, long ago, but any fondness for your target you once felt has long since warped and twisted into perverse obsession, laced with malice and venom and seething hatred. Good or evil does not matter to you. All that matters is they get what they deserve.

leo ashold - the coward

You didn't have another choice, honest! Have these people SEEN what the heroes are up against? It'd end you in an instant, whether that be a lovecraftian abomination with a hold on your soul, a rampaging monster that's destroying more than a hurricane and an earthquake could in one fell swoop, a shadow organization that has tabs on everyone you love and will end them in an instant, or just a particularly grumpy boss that might yell at you if you don't fall in with his excessively tyrannical methods, you can't go risking your neck for the poor saps that think they can stop it. No way, you're staying on the bad guy side, where it's SAFE.

rhyst delavast - for the greater good

Perhaps you do not believe what you are doing can truly be classified as evil. Perhaps some people will be hurt from the immediate consequences of your actions, but what the masses fail to see is the immense good that will come of your plans. Maybe you act in the name of science, or for your people who have fallen on great tragedy. Maybe you see cracks in a failing system and want to uproot it through chaotic, destructive means to avoid greater tragedy down the line. Maybe you're just in with a bad crowd, but you can't leave them, no matter how unsavory their intentions, because they're your only ticket to your ultimate goals. No matter what, your goals are noble, and you take no joy in wreaking havoc or hurting those in your way, but the evils you partake in are necessary. If you need to play the bad guy to ensure a better future, then you are willing to play that part.

savosta - no moral compass

You are cold, analytical, and you strive to be as objective as a person of flesh and blood can be. Either don't understand the concepts of good and evil, or you understand it perfectly and think it's a load of bull. Some may call you selfish, some may call you unfeeling, but you're just doing what you believe will yield the best results, plain and simple. Why bother with petty ideals of right or wrong when you can do what will actively help those you give a fuck about? Your goals may be selfish or noble or anything in between, but you will not let anyone make you feel like garbage for going after them. You couldn't care less about what people brand you as. You just care about getting shit done by any means necessary.

[k-arb]

i'd seriously pay 100 dollars for a choose your own adventure game where your choices ACTUALLY matter, with 60 completely different endings depending on what you choose, because a lot of the progression paths look like this

when i want them to look like this

[expfcultragreen]

I bet piss works, dont waste the more drinkable liquids

[maegalkarven]

Like, no one argues with the fact that pre memory loss Durge is evil.

We are simply interested WHY they're evil.

And how much work seemed to go into making them that way.

[hussyknee]

Arundati Roy writing in The Guardian against the Afghanistan War on October 2001

“Brutality smeared in peanut butter”

Why America must stop the war now.

By Arundhati Roy

Tue 23 Oct 2001 • 00.57 • BST •

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

As darkness deepened over Afghanistan on Sunday October 7 2001, the US Government, backed by the International Coalition Against Terror (the new, amenable surrogate for the United Nations), launched air strikes against Afghanistan. TV channels lingered on computer-animated images of cruise missiles, stealth bombers, tomahawks, "bunker-busting" missiles and Mark 82 high drag bombs. All over the world, little boys watched goggle-eyed and stopped clamouring for new video games.

The UN, reduced now to an ineffective acronym, wasn't even asked to mandate the air strikes. (As Madeleine Albright once said, "We will behave multilaterally when we can, and unilaterally when we must.") The "evidence" against the terrorists was shared amongst friends in the "coalition".

After conferring, they announced that it didn¹t matter whether or not the "evidence" would stand up in a court of law. Thus, in an instant, were centuries of jurisprudence carelessly trashed.

Nothing can excuse or justify an act of terrorism, whether it is committed by religious fundamentalists, private militia, people's resistance movements – or whether it's dressed up as a war of retribution by a recognised government. The bombing of Afghanistan is not revenge for New York and Washington. It is yet another act of terror against the people of the world.

Each innocent person that is killed must be added to, not set off against, the grisly toll of civilians who died in New York and Washington.

People rarely win wars, governments rarely lose them. People get killed.

Governments moult and regroup, hydra-headed. They use flags first to shrink-wrap people's minds and smother thought, and then as ceremonial shrouds to bury their willing dead. On both sides, in Afghanistan as well as America, civilians are now hostage to the actions of their own governments.

Unknowingly, ordinary people in both countries share a common bond - they have to live with the phenomenon of blind, unpredictable terror. Each batch of bombs that is dropped on Afghanistan is matched by a corresponding escalation of mass hysteria in America about anthrax, more hijackings and other terrorist acts.

There is no easy way out of the spiralling morass of terror and brutality that confronts the world today. It is time now for the human race to hold still, to delve into its wells of collective wisdom, both ancient and modern. What happened on September 11 changed the world forever.

Freedom, progress, wealth, technology, war – these words have taken on new meaning.

Governments have to acknowledge this transformation, and approach their new tasks with a modicum of honesty and humility. Unfortunately, up to now, there has been no sign of any introspection from the leaders of the International Coalition. Or the Taliban.

When he announced the air strikes, President George Bush said: "We're a peaceful nation." America¹s favourite ambassador, Tony Blair, (who also holds the portfolio of prime minister of the UK), echoed him: "We're a peaceful people."

So now we know. Pigs are horses. Girls are boys. War is peace.

Speaking at the FBI Headquarters a few days later, President Bush said: "This is our calling. This is the calling of the United States of America. The most free nation in the world. A nation built on fundamental values that reject hate, reject violence, rejects murderers and rejects evil. We will not tire."

Here is a list of the countries that America has been at war with – and bombed – since the Second World War: China (1945-46, 1950-53), Korea (1950-53), Guatemala (1954, 1967-69), Indonesia (1958), Cuba (1959-60), the Belgian Congo (1964), Peru (1965), Laos (1964-73), Vietnam (1961-73), Cambodia (1969-70), Grenada (1983), Libya (1986), El Salvador (1980s), Nicaragua (1980s), Panama (1989), Iraq (1991-99), Bosnia (1995), Sudan (1998), Yugoslavia (1999). And now Afghanistan.

Certainly it does not tire – this, the most free nation in the world.

What freedoms does it uphold? Within its borders, the freedoms of speech, religion, thought; of artistic expression, food habits, sexual preferences (well, to some extent) and many other exemplary, wonderful things.

Outside its borders, the freedom to dominate, humiliate and subjugate ­ usually in the service of America¹s real religion, the "free market". So when the US Government christens a war "Operation Infinite Justice", or "Operation Enduring Freedom", we in the Third World feel more than a tremor of fear.

Because we know that Infinite Justice for some means Infinite Injustice for others. And Enduring Freedom for some means Enduring Subjugation for others.

The International Coalition Against Terror is a largely cabal of the richest countries in the world. Between them, they manufacture and sell almost all of the world's weapons, they possess the largest stockpile of weapons of mass destruction – chemical, biological and nuclear. They have fought the most wars, account for most of the genocide, subjection, ethnic cleansing and human rights violations in modern history, and have sponsored, armed and financed untold numbers of dictators and despots. Between them, they have worshipped, almost deified, the cult of violence and war. For all its appalling sins, the Taliban just isn't in the same league.

The Taliban was compounded in the crumbling crucible of rubble, heroin and landmines in the backwash of the Cold War. Its oldest leaders are in their early 40s. Many of them are disfigured and handicapped, missing an eye, an arm or a leg. They grew up in a society scarred and devastated by war.

Between the Soviet Union and America, over 20 years, about $45bn (£30bn) worth of arms and ammunition was poured into Afghanistan. The latest weaponry was the only shard of modernity to intrude upon a thoroughly medieval society.

Young boys ­many of them orphans – who grew up in those times, had guns for toys, never knew the security and comfort of family life, never experienced the company of women. Now, as adults and rulers, the Taliban beat, stone, rape and brutalise women, they don't seem to know what else to do with them.

Years of war has stripped them of gentleness, inured them to kindness and human compassion. Now they've turned their monstrosity on their own people.

They dance to the percussive rhythms of bombs raining down around them.

With all due respect to President Bush, the people of the world do not have to choose between the Taliban and the US Government. All the beauty of human civilisation – our art, our music, our literature – lies beyond these two fundamentalist, ideological poles. There is as little chance that the people of the world can all become middle-class consumers as there is that they will all embrace any one particular religion. The issue is not about good vs evil or Islam vs Christianity as much as it is about space. About how to accommodate diversity, how to contain the impulse towards hegemony ­ every kind of hegemony, economic, military, linguistic, religious and cultural.

Any ecologist will tell you how dangerous and fragile a monoculture is. A hegemonic world is like having a government without a healthy opposition. It becomes a kind of dictatorship. It¹s like putting a plastic bag over the world, and preventing it from breathing. Eventually, it will be torn open.

One and a half million Afghan people lost their lives in the 20 years of conflict that preceded this new war. Afghanistan was reduced to rubble, and now, the rubble is being pounded into finer dust. By the second day of the air strikes, US pilots were returning to their bases without dropping their assigned payload of bombs. As one pilot put it, Afghanistan is "not a target-rich environment". At a press briefing at the Pentagon, Donald Rumsfeld, the US Defence Secretary, was asked if America had run out of targets.

"First we're going to re-hit targets," he said, "and second, we're not running out of targets, Afghanistan is..." This was greeted with gales of laughter in the briefing room.

By the third day of the strikes, the US Defence Department boasted that it had "achieved air supremacy over Afghanistan" (Did they mean that they had destroyed both, or maybe all 16, of Afghanistan's planes?)

On the ground in Afghanistan, the Northern Alliance – the Taliban's old enemy, and therefore the international coalition's newest friend – is making headway in its push to capture Kabul. (For the archives, let it be said that the Northern Alliance's track record is not very different from the Taliban's. But for now, because it's inconvenient, that little detail is being glossed over.) The visible, moderate, "acceptable" leader of the alliance, Ahmed Shah Masud, was killed in a suicide-bomb attack early in September. The rest of the Northern Alliance is a brittle confederation of brutal warlords, ex-communists and unbending clerics. It is a disparate group divided along ethnic lines, some of whom have tasted power in Afghanistan in the past.

Until the US air strikes, the Northern Alliance controlled about 5% of the geographical area of Afghanistan. Now, with the coalition's help and "air cover", it is poised to topple the Taliban. Meanwhile, Taliban soldiers, sensing imminent defeat, have begun to defect to the alliance. So the fighting forces are busy switching sides and changing uniforms. But in an enterprise as cynical as this one, it seems to matter hardly at all.

Love is hate, north is south, peace is war.

Among the global powers, there is talk of "putting in a representative government". Or, on the other hand, of "restoring" the kingdom to Afghanistan's 89-year old former king Zahir Shah, who has lived in exile in Rome since 1973. That's the way the game goes – support Saddam Hussein, then "take him out"; finance the Mojahedin, then bomb them to smithereens; put in Zahir Shah and see if he's going to be a good boy. (Is it possible to "put in" a representative government? Can you place an order for democracy – with extra cheese and jalapeno peppers?)

Reports have begun to trickle in about civilian casualties, about cities emptying out as Afghan civilians flock to the borders which have been closed. Main arterial roads have been blown up or sealed off. Those who have experience of working in Afghanistan say that by early November, food convoys will not be able to reach the millions of Afghans (7.5m, according to the UN) who run the very real risk of starving to death during the course of this winter. They say that in the days that are left before winter sets in, there can either be a war, or an attempt to reach food to the hungry. Not both.

As a gesture of humanitarian support, the US Government air-dropped 37,000 packets of emergency rations into Afghanistan. It says it plans to drop a total of 500,000 packets. That will still only add up to a single meal for half a million people out of the several million in dire need of food.

Aid workers have condemned it as a cynical, dangerous, public-relations exercise. They say that air-dropping food packets is worse than futile.

First, because the food will never get to those who really need it. More dangerously, those who run out to retrieve the packets risk being blown up by landmines. A tragic alms race.

Nevertheless, the food packets had a photo-op all to themselves. Their contents were listed in major newspapers. They were vegetarian, we're told, as per Muslim dietary law (!) Each yellow packet, decorated with the American flag, contained: rice, peanut butter, bean salad, strawberry jam, crackers, raisins, flat bread, an apple fruit bar, seasoning, matches, a set of plastic cutlery, a serviette and illustrated user instructions.

After three years of unremitting drought, an air-dropped airline meal in Jalalabad! The level of cultural ineptitude, the failure to understand what months of relentless hunger and grinding poverty really mean, the US Government's attempt to use even this abject misery to boost its self-image, beggars description.

Reverse the scenario for a moment. Imagine if the Taliban Government was to bomb New York City, saying all the while that its real target was the US government and its policies. And suppose, during breaks between the bombing, the Taliban dropped a few thousand packets containing nan and kebabs impaled on an Afghan flag. Would the good people of New York ever find it in themselves to forgive the Afghan Government? Even if they were hungry, even if they needed the food, even if they ate it, how would they ever forget the insult, the condescension? Rudi Guiliani, Mayor of New York City, returned a gift of $10m from a Saudi prince because it came with a few words of friendly advice about American policy in the Middle East. Is pride a luxury that only the rich are entitled to?

Far from stamping it out, igniting this kind of rage is what creates terrorism. Hate and retribution don't go back into the box once you've let them out. For every "terrorist" or his "supporter" that is killed, hundreds of innocent people are being killed too. And for every hundred innocent people killed, there is a good chance that several future terrorists will be created.

Where will it all lead?

Setting aside the rhetoric for a moment, consider the fact that the world has not yet found an acceptable definition of what "terrorism" is. One country's terrorist is too often another¹s freedom fighter. At the heart of the matter lies the world's deep-seated ambivalence towards violence.

Once violence is accepted as a legitimate political instrument, then the morality and political acceptability of terrorists (insurgents or freedom fighters) becomes contentious, bumpy terrain. The US Government itself has funded, armed and sheltered plenty of rebels and insurgents around the world.

The CIA and Pakistan's ISI trained and armed the Mojahedin who, in the '80s, were seen as terrorists by the government in Soviet-occupied Afghanistan. Today, Pakistan – America's ally in this new war – sponsors insurgents who cross the border into Kashmir in India. Pakistan lauds them as "freedom-fighters", India calls them "terrorists". India, for its part, denounces countries who sponsor and abet terrorism, but the Indian army has, in the past, trained separatist Tamil rebels asking for a homeland in Sri Lanka – the LTTE, responsible for countless acts of bloody terrorism.

(Just as the CIA abandoned the mujahideen after they had served its purpose, India abruptly turned its back on the LTTE for a host of political reasons. It was an enraged LTTE suicide bomber who assassinated former Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi in 1989.)

It is important for governments and politicians to understand that manipulating these huge, raging human feelings for their own narrow purposes may yield instant results, but eventually and inexorably, they have disastrous consequences. Igniting and exploiting religious sentiments for reasons of political expediency is the most dangerous legacy that governments or politicians can bequeath to any people - including their own.

People who live in societies ravaged by religious or communal bigotry know that every religious text – from the Bible to the Bhagwad Gita – can be mined and misinterpreted to justify anything, from nuclear war to genocide to corporate globalisation.

This is not to suggest that the terrorists who perpetrated the outrage on September 11 should not be hunted down and brought to book. They must be.

But is war the best way to track them down? Will burning the haystack find you the needle? Or will it escalate the anger and make the world a living hell for all of us?

At the end of the day, how many people can you spy on, how many bank accounts can you freeze, how many conversations can you eavesdrop on, how many emails can you intercept, how many letters can you open, how many phones can you tap?

Even before September 11, the CIA had accumulated more information than is humanly possible to process. (Sometimes, too much data can actually hinder intelligence – small wonder the US spy satellites completely missed the preparation that preceded India's nuclear tests in 1998.)

The sheer scale of the surveillance will become a logistical, ethical and civil rights nightmare. It will drive everybody clean crazy. And freedom – that precious, precious thing – will be the first casualty. It's already hurt and haemorrhaging dangerously.

Governments across the world are cynically using the prevailing paranoia to promote their own interests. All kinds of unpredictable political forces are being unleashed. In India, for instance, members of the All India People's Resistance Forum, who were distributing anti-war and anti-US pamphlets in Delhi, have been jailed. Even the printer of the leaflets was arrested.

The rightwing government (while it shelters Hindu extremists groups such as the Vishwa Hindu Parishad and the Bajrang Dal) has banned the Islamic Students Movement of India and is trying to revive an anti-terrorist Act which had been withdrawn after the Human Rights Commission reported that it had been more abused than used. Millions of Indian citizens are Muslim. Can anything be gained by alienating them?

Every day that the war goes on, raging emotions are being let loose into the world. The international press has little or no independent access to the war zone. In any case, mainstream media, particularly in the US, have more or less rolled over, allowing themselves to be tickled on the stomach with press handouts from military men and government officials. Afghan radio stations have been destroyed by the bombing. The Taliban has always been deeply suspicious of the press. In the propaganda war, there is no accurate estimate of how many people have been killed, or how much destruction has taken place. In the absence of reliable information, wild rumours spread.

Put your ear to the ground in this part of the world, and you can hear the thrumming, the deadly drumbeat of burgeoning anger. Please. Please, stop the war now. Enough people have died. The smart missiles are just not smart enough. They're blowing up whole warehouses of suppressed fury.

President George Bush recently boasted, "When I take action, I'm not going to fire a $2m missile at a $10 empty tent and hit a camel in the butt. It's going to be decisive." President Bush should know that there are no targets in Afghanistan that will give his missiles their money's worth.

Perhaps, if only to balance his books, he should develop some cheaper missiles to use on cheaper targets and cheaper lives in the poor countries of the world. But then, that may not make good business sense to the coalition's weapons manufacturers. It wouldn't make any sense at all, for example, to the Carlyle Group – described by the Industry Standard as "the world's largest private equity firm", with $13bn under management.

Carlyle invests in the defence sector and makes its money from military conflicts and weapons spending.

Carlyle is run by men with impeccable credentials. Former US Defence Secretary Frank Carlucci is Carlyle's Chairman and Managing Director (he was a college roommate of Donald Rumsfeld's). Carlyle's other partners include former US Secretary Of State James A Baker III, George Soros and Fred Malek (George Bush Sr's campaign manager). An American paper ­The Baltimore Chronicle and Sentinel– says that former President George Bush Sr is reported to be seeking investments for the Carlyle Group from Asian markets.

He is reportedly paid not inconsiderable sums of money to make "presentations" to potential government-clients.

Ho hum. As the tired saying goes, it's all in the family.

Then there's that other branch of traditional family business – oil. Remember, President George Bush (Jr) and Vice-President Dick Cheney both made their fortunes working in the US oil industry.

Turkmenistan, which borders the north-west of Afghanistan, holds the world's third largest gas reserves and an estimated six billion barrels of oil reserves. Enough, experts say, to meet American energy needs for the next 30 years (or a developing country's energy requirements for a couple of centuries.) America has always viewed oil as a security consideration, and protected it by any means it deems necessary. Few of us doubt that its military presence in the Gulf has little to do with its concern for human rights and almost entirely to do with its strategic interest in oil.

Oil and gas from the Caspian region currently moves northward to European markets. Geographically and politically, Iran and Russia are major impediments to American interests. In 1998, Dick Cheney – then CEO of Halliburton, a major player in the oil industry – said, "I can't think of a time when we've had a region emerge as suddenly to become as strategically significant as the Caspian. It's almost as if the opportunities have arisen overnight." True enough.

For some years now, an American oil giant called Unocal has been negotiating with the Taliban for permission to construct an oil pipeline through Afghanistan to Pakistan and out to the Arabian sea. From here, Unocal hopes to access the lucrative "emerging markets" in South and South-east Asia. In December 1997, a delegation of Taliban mullahs travelled to America and even met US State Department officials and Unocal executives in Houston. At that time the Taliban's taste for public executions and its treatment of Afghan women were not made out to be the crimes against humanity that they are now.

Over the next six months, pressure from hundreds of outraged American feminist groups was brought to bear on the Clinton administration.

Fortunately, they managed to scuttle the deal. And now comes the US oil industry's big chance.

In America, the arms industry, the oil industry, the major media networks, and, indeed, US foreign policy, are all controlled by the same business combines. Therefore, it would be foolish to expect this talk of guns and oil and defence deals to get any real play in the media. In any case, to a distraught, confused people whose pride has just been wounded, whose loved ones have been tragically killed, whose anger is fresh and sharp, the inanities about the "clash of civilisations" and the "good vs evil" discourse home in unerringly. They are cynically doled out by government spokesmen like a daily dose of vitamins or anti-depressants. Regular medication ensures that mainland America continues to remain the enigma it has always been – a curiously insular people, administered by a pathologically meddlesome, promiscuous government.

And what of the rest of us, the numb recipients of this onslaught of what we know to be preposterous propaganda? The daily consumers of the lies and brutality smeared in peanut butter and strawberry jam being air-dropped into our minds just like those yellow food packets. Shall we look away and eat because we're hungry, or shall we stare unblinking at the grim theatre unfolding in Afghanistan until we retch collectively and say, in one voice, that we have had enough?

As the first year of the new millennium rushes to a close, one wonders – have we forfeited our right to dream? Will we ever be able to re-imagine beauty?

Will it be possible ever again to watch the slow, amazed blink of a newborn gecko in the sun, or whisper back to the marmot who has just whispered in your ear – without thinking of the World Trade Centre and Afghanistan?

[chisatowo]

Quick doodle of Jonny! Might change his eyes a bit but overall I think this is a fine design for him :3

[corvigae]

Whenever I remember that I didn't set out with the explicit plan to make Page a bardlock initially it just throws me bc it's just. So intrinsic to her character now that I could never imagine her as anything else. Like yeah I planned on making her a bard and that was always a big part of her character, but I really just picked warlock as a multiclass for utility's sake at first. But now being a warlock is so much of a big part of her backstory and her story going forward that if you were to remove that part of her you'd remove a significant portion of her character.

[mythcaels-a]

Soulmate Prompts | @mundanemiseries asked: [SCARS | 🪡] You and your soulmate share scars. (w/ Joel and ur muse of choice mayb :3c ?)

He always had this feeling that his soulmate would find his own scars that they'd share with him to be rather odd. He is a being that can turn into a weapon and into that of a human. As a weapon he has been scratched too many times, they reflect as scars in random places on his form and he had too many to count. Yet, he never worried about his own scars on himself, instead feeling bad for them on his soulmates skin and then feeling bad when he found a scar that wasn't is own, tracing them with a frown every single time. Koda was usually a cheerful soul, his soulmates scars made him anything but cheerful.

He'd know the scars they share anywhere so when he spots them on another form, he tunnel visions them until he gets all the way over to the other and grabs their hand to stop them, to get them to look at him. He knows they'd know too, seeing scars that they both share, some standing out more than others.

❝ . . . My name is Koda. ❞ He sounds out of breath but he looks on in wonder at the other, giving hand a small squeeze. ❝ I know without a doubt that you are my soulmate. ❞

[caparrucia]

Full offense and pun fully intended, but I genuinely think the very existence of "dead dove, do not eat" was a fucking canary in the mines, and no one really paid attention.

Because the tag itself was created as a response to a fandom-wide tendency to disregard warnings and assume tagging was exaggerated. And then the same fucking idiots reading those tags describing things they found upsetting or disturbing or just not to their taste would STILL click into the stories and give the writer's grief about it.

And as a response writers began using the tag to signal "no, really, I MEAN the tags!"

But like.

If you really think about it, that's a solution to a different problem. The solution to "I know you tagged your story appropriately but I chose to disregard the tags and warnings by reading it anyway, even though I knew it would upset me, so now I'm upset and making it your problem" is frankly a block, a ban and wide-spread blacklisting. But fandom as a whole is fucking awful at handling bad faith, insidious arguments that appeal to community inclusion and weaponize the fact most people participating in fandom want to share the space with others, as opposed to hurting people.

So instead of upfront ridiculing this kind of maladaptive attempt to foster one's own emotional self-regulation onto random strangers on the internet, fandom compromised and came up with a redundant tag in a good faith attempt to address an imaginary nuance.

There is no nuance to this.

A writer's job is to tag their work correctly. It's not to tag it exhaustively. It's not even to tag it extensively. A writer's sole obligation, as far as AO3 and arguably fandom spaces are concerned, is to make damn sure that the tags they put on their story actually match whatever is going on in that story.

That's it.

That's all.

"But what if I don't want to read X?" Well, you don't read fic that's tagged X.

"But what if I read something that wasn't tagged X?" Well, that's very unfortunate for you, but if it is genuinely that upsetting, you have a responsibility to yourself to only browse things explicitly tagged to not include X.

"But that's not a lot of fic!" Hi, you must be new here, yes, welcome to fandom. Most of our spaces are built explicitly as a reaction to There's Not Enough Of The Thing I Want, both in canon and fandom.

"But there are things on the internet that I don't like!" Yeah, and they are also out there, offline. And, here's the thing, things existing even though we personally dislike or even hate or even flat out find offensive/gross/immoral/unspeakable existing is the price we pay to secure our right to exist as individuals and creators, regardless of who finds US personally unpleasant, hateful or flat out offensive/gross/immoral/unspeakable.

"But what about [illegal thing]?!" So the thing itself is illegal, because the thing itself has been deemed harmful. But your goddamn cop-poisoned authoritarian little heart needs to learn that sometimes things are illegal that aren't harmful, and defaulting to "but illegal!" is a surefire way to end up on the wrong side of the fascism pop quiz. You're not a figure of authority and the more you demand to control and exercise authority by command, rather than leadership, the less impressive you seem. You know how you make actual, genuine change in a community? You center harm and argue in good faith to find accommodations and spread awareness of real, actual problems.

But let's play your game. Let's pretend we're all brainwashed cop-abiding little cogs that do not own a single working brain cell to exercise critical thinking with. 99% of the time, when you cry about any given thing "being illegal!!!" you're correct only so far as the THING itself being illegal. The act or object is illegal. Depiction of it is not. You know why, dipshit? Because if depiction of the thing were illegal, you wouldn't be able to talk about it. You wouldn't be able to educate about it. You wouldn't be able to reexamine and discuss and understand the thing, how and why and where it happens and how to prevent it. And yeah, depiction being legal opens the door for people to make depictions that are in bad taste or probably not appropriate. Sure. But that's the price we pay, creating tools to demystify some of the most horrific things in the world and support the people who've survived them. The net good of those tools existing outweighs the harm of people misusing them.

"You're defending the indefensible!" No, you're clumsily stumbling into a conversation that's been going on for centuries, with your elementary school understanding of morality and your bone-deep police state rot filtering your perception of reality, and insisting you figured it out and everyone else at the table is an idiot for not agreeing with you. Shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down and read a goddamn book.

[alexthetrashyracoon]

Simon loves you. He adores you. He worships you.

You love Simon. You adore Simon. You worship Simon.

That’s one thing you two have in common.

The other thing is that you two hate your own bodies.

You hate the fat on your belly and the fat of thighs that make every jeans you wear too tight. You hate how slabby your arms are when you wave at someone and wear a t-shirt. You hate the stretch mark on your stomach and under your arms, around your thighs. You hate the little double chin you’ve gotten over the years and can’t get rid off, no matter how hard you try.

Simon on the other hand hates how rough his body is, how firm and hard. He hates the scars all his years in the military had left behind. He hates how there is always a reminder of a bad past, one where you didn’t have a place just yet. He hates how calloused his hands are, from years of punching people or holding weapons. He hates that no matter how hard he tries, he always is a bit too rough, never too much to hurt you, but it’s not easy to relax.

So one of these days, your parents invited you and Simon over for brunch and you agreed to go. But now you’re standing before the full body mirror and stare at the tight shirt you chose to wear, you swore the last time you had it on it wasn’t like this. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes as you squeeze the pouch of fat on your belly.

That’s when Simon walks inside. He’s dressed casually, jeans and shirt. He looks good, handsome. But as always he hides most of his body behind long sleeves and pants.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers into your head, wrapping his arms around your waist to take your hands away from the small pouch. “You’re gorgeous, sweet, sexy. There are a million words I could say to describe you, but they won’t be enough. You’re perfect, the way you are.” Simon says softly, looking into your eyes through the reflection of the mirror.

You believe him.

Because you might hate yourself but you love Simon.

Simon is the same. He believes you when he stands at the sink and looks at his scarred hands. Those hands aren’t made to love someone, they are made to kill and destroy. Those hands aren’t meant to touch someone as pure as you.

That’s when you walk into the bathroom. You see him, hate and disgust in his blue eyes.

You place your smaller hands on top of his before taking them and placing his hands on your cheeks. Smiling softly.

“Your hands are made to protect, you save not just me but many people. They are gentle and kind. You are gentle and kind. You aren’t a machine that’s made to kill. You are perfect, just as you are.”

And Simon believes you.

Because Simon might hate himself but he loves you.

[celaenaeiln]

You know what’s interesting?

Dick didn’t set out to murder Zucco with the intent of being a killer. He viewed it as an unfortunate byproduct of his actions.

His real goal was to “purge the world of criminals” because “darkness needs light.”

Do you realize how unhinged that sounds? It means Robin wasn’t created from anger. It was created from the messed up psyche of a child who realized at 8 years old that the entire world needs something better than what it was given and so he went out and became it.

I cant properly explain how insane that is. It’s like putting the logic of the Joker inside the mind of child but turning it for good. Everything is falling into place now. That is why the Joker hates Dick-he is the one Robin the man couldn’t break. Literally COULDN’T because when he’s facing Dick, he’s facing the version of himself that would have existed if he had put himself to good. That was would break HIM.

Imagine spending the better part of your life doing your utmost worst to show Batman that people and the system are inherently evil only to have him fall head over cowl for a version of yourself to completely invalidate your reason for existing. How psychotic would you turn when you realize you have nothing to prove?

This also explains why Dick is so well adjusted and sociable in a way that Bruce and the others aren’t.

Bruce loses it when he loses his children, he thinks it’s a failure of his abilities and doubts his life’s work.

Jason loses it when he thinks he’s been replaced because his reason for being is having someone care for him.

Tim loses it when he comes to a dead-end. He feels helpless and lost when he doesn’t know the next move because his reason for being is being able to solve what’s wrong.

Damian loses it when he feels abandoned. He feels hurt and broken because he’s a child who wants to be loved.

The reason Dick was the perfect choice for Dark Crisis and to become the dawn of DCU is because his sole reason for being is to be the light.

That is why Bruce refused to destroy a planet when Superman asked him too. That is why Dick was the only person in the universe who could control the Darkness infecting him when even Deathstroke lost his mind to it. That is why the evil Justice League chose Dick of every one to kill-to make a point.

This is why he’s looked up to by major heroes such as Superman, Wonderwoman, the Titans, the children, the villains, and the civilians.

This is why Harvey Dent called Robin Dick “Batman’s secret weapon.”

Although anger was the baseline emotion, Dick doesn’t have anger issues because:

Robin wasn’t created for revenge. It was created with the intention of building a world so unrealistically good, that the level of the vision Richard Grayson was aiming for and set the standards for- is so terrifyingly inconceivable.

And that-is why he is a happy, feral, monster.

[moeitsu]

Explaining the James Logan Howlett (Wolverine) Lore for the new fans :)

I made this as a little cheat sheet for all the new Logan/Wolverine fans, in case you’ve never seen the movies or read the comics. Hopefully it’ll help with your fanfics and understanding his character better <3

Logan is my favorite of the Marvel superhero’s, and he and I go way back….so far back that my Dad dressed up as Wolverine and I as Rogue for Halloween in 2006. So he holds a very special place in my heart.

Lore - Part 2  Wolverine Comics

If you’ve seen X-men Origins: Wolverine, I hate to break it to you, but that backstory is not canon to the X-men universe. The later movies really screwed up the timeline. So the information here is strictly from the comics.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Pre-Adamantium Binding:

His real name is James Howlett, ‘Logan’ is later used as an alias to distance himself from his past.

He was born sometime around 1880, in Alberta Canada.

He is the illegitimate son of Elizabeth Howlett and Thomas Logan. He grew up on the Howlett estate and believed John Howlett was his real father.

His mutant powers first appeared when he was a child. He has accelerated healing, heightened senses, and retractable bone claws.

The trigger was caused by Thomas Logan killing James Howlett. The overwhelming fear and anger made his power manifest, blinded with rage he kills Thomas.

As his biological father dies, he reveals to Logan that he is his true father. The event is deeply traumatizing, and Logan runs away from his family estate. His mother commits suicide shortly after.

Logan has a half brother known as Sabertooth (Victor Creed) who has similar powers to the Wolverine but is more ‘animalistic’

The details vary across the comics but the brothers are always seen as rivals. And often pitted against eachother.

Logan served in WWI, WWII, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War.

He also served in a Canadian military force known as ‘Department H’ that specialized in superhuman affairs. (This was after the experiment, I’ll go into more detail later)

Sometime before the Weapon X program: On Earth-616, Logan had a wife (Itsu) and son in Japan where he was training at the time. They were killed by the Winter Soldier (Bucky Barnes)

Weapon X Program - Adamantium Binding:

The Weapon X program was run by multiple people working in secret for the Canadian government. Originally beginning in 1845, their goal was to experiment on mutants and create their own super-soldiers.

Logan was deceived and manipulated into undergoing the Weapon X experiment. He did not consent to being a test subject.

For some reason the X-Men Origins movie makes it out to be that Logan willingly chose to undergo this process, only to later reveal that he was tricked into doing so.

Before being captured, he was still struggling with his identity, he was close to 100 years old at the time. His life was filled with violence and loss. Making him physically and mentally vulnerable.

He was a prime target for exploitation.

Part of the experiment was to completely erase his memories and replace them with false ones. This allowed them complete control over him.

This also made it difficult for him to recall how he ended up in the program to begin with.

I repeat: they completely wiped his memory. His whole identity was gone.

100 years of memories were gone.

The bonding process turned his entire skeleton and bone claws into indestructible metal.

Due to his regenerative nature, Logan was not given anesthetic or put under for the procedure. It was excruciatingly painful.

Logan worked as a mercenary for private military contractors. He took on these assignments without fully understanding their implications because of his fragmented memory.

Sometime later he became a member of X-Force, a private military unit (affiliated with the CIA) that dealt with incredibly violent operations.

The purpose of the project was to create an unstoppable killing machine. With their end goal being to erase his humanity all together. However Logan’s mental fortitude allowed him to resist the conditioning and make his escape before it was too late.

After escaping, Logan developed a mistrust with authority. And just people in general. He felt deeply betrayed by the Weapon X program. And he struggles with the fear of being used as a weapon.

The escape and aftermath of Weapon X:

After everything Logan went through, the intense trauma and confusion significantly impacted his actions and mindset.

He was left with extreme psychological damage, and behaved more as an animal than a man for the first few years of his freedom. Living in the wilderness of Canada.

Quite literally a feral man. He lost touch of his humanity. Embracing his animalistic abilities, turning him into an apex predator.

Logan has the ability to enter something called “Beserker Rage” which he becomes entirely driven by animalistic instinct. Turning him into an unstoppable force and exerting himself for very long periods of time.

Think of when you see him running on all fours…

Over time, Logan began to regain bits and pieces of his humanity. He was later discovered by Heather and James MacDonald Hudson who took him in and helped him recover physically and mentally.

(Logan actually fell in love with Heather, and James became his best friend. They were the closest thing he had to a family)

After he recovered, he was recruited by the Canadian governments ‘Department H’. They were responsible for a lot of his training and became a key member in Canada’s superhero team: Alpha Flight.

This is where he took on the code name “Wolverine”

His time with Alpha Flight was short lived. And soon he was approached by Charles Xavier, who was looking for mutants to join his X-Men. He recognized Logan’s potential and offered him a place on the team as well as the promise to help him regain his memory.

Logan accepted, and his time with the X-Men marked a critical and significant moment in his life. Under Xavier’s guidance he was able to rebuild his identity and gradually piece together his past. All while fighting for the rights of mutants.

Being part of the X-Men gave him a sense of purpose and direction. Although his main goal had always been to uncover what he had lost, which was himself. He still struggles with trust and relationships, but eventually forms strong bonds with the other X-men.

His past with Weapon X still haunts him. And he has vivid and terrible nightmares about what he had done and what was done to him.

I won’t go into detail about his time with the X-men because that varies a lot across the comics. Just know that he had a love-hate relationship with them, but he ultimately loved them in the end.

Some sad facts about Logan that actually haunt me:

Logan has outlived everyone he ever loved. Family, friends, even his own children. He is so so so lonely.

Immense amount of survivors guilt. He feels unworthy of the life he continues to live.

He suffers from chronic nightmares. Often waking up in a violent and panicked state.

Deep-seated fear of abandonment that goes all the way back to his early childhood. He isolates himself to protect himself from more pain.

Tons of self-loathing. He believes himself to be nothing more than a killer. He thinks he is unworthy of love and happiness.

In the “Old Man Logan” storyline, he is tricked into killing the entire X-Men team. This event haunts him for the rest of his life.

Logan had a long, unrequited love for Jean Gray. He has watched her die multiple times, and each time a piece of him dies with her. On one occasion, he even had to kill her himself.

When he succumbs to “beserker rage” he loses control of himself. And the aftermath horrifies him. He is even afraid of himself at times and one of the reasons why he distances himself from others.

Some happy/soft facts to make up for everything you just read:

Logan is incredibly fatherly at times, often taking younger mutants under his protection and guidance. He becomes a mentor to them and looks out for their well-being.

In one of the comics he takes a young girl (Jubilee) to the mall and followers her around carrying her bags. He loves doting on her and I find it so adorable.

He also teaches another mutant named Kitty how to dance.

In one mission he is tasked with taking care of an infant, Hope. And he is incredibly gentle and tender with her. Cradling her in his arms and being fiercely protective.

He has a deep love and connection with animals. Especially ones that have been mistreated or misunderstood.

Caring for an injured wolf, he nurses it back to health and releases it back into nature.

He also adopts a stray, abused dog at one point.

In one of the timelines, he funded and ran the ‘Jean Gray School for Higher Learning’ He was the headmaster, and was dedicated to protecting and teaching young mutants.

In one scene he literally makes pancakes for all the students. I love him so much.

His relationship with Nightcrawler (Kurt Wagner) is very brotherly. They share alot of respect and understanding for each other, and Nightcrawler often serves as Logan’s moral compass.

His happiest memories are when he was training in Japan. And he has a deep appreciation and admiration for the culture. Taking on the samurai code of honor, and respecting its discipline and humility.

His entire relationship with Laura Kinney (X-23). Essentially his daughter. Taking on a father-figure role for her.

In one of the comics he organizes a birthday party for her, knowing she never had one. He goes all out and it shows just how much he loves her.

Logan has a great sense of humor. Often dry and sardonic, he’s known for his quick wit and playful banter. Which adds a layer of warmth to his otherwise tough persona.

He is very fond of life’s simple pleasures. Which reflects his inner desire for peace and normalcy. He values the little things that make life enjoyable.

His numerous acts of kindness towards strangers. Logan is compassionate at heart.

He doesn’t comfort others with his words, but rather his presence. Logan has a very unique understanding of grief and tries to give others relief in knowing they aren’t alone.

WOW okay I wrote way too much. Tbh I actually cut a ton out of this but if anybody wants a part 2 I’d be happy to share more. Shoutout to my brother for helping me source all this with his comics lol.

If you read all this, you’re a real one. And I’m so glad we’re all witnessing the Logan Howlett Renaissance

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙚𝙨, 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙗𝙪𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙚𝙨 ♡︎

characters: sub!AFAB!scar x gn!dom!reader

warnings: dissected organ and blood mentions, fingering, dry humping, squirting, clit pinching, light masochism, overstimulation, bondage, degrading, possessive and obsessive behavior, scar giving off HEAVY yandere vibes, reader has lightning powers so inappropriate use of lightning powers

notes: in loving memory of scar's onigiri manko😔 dividers from cafekitsune. this is a repost since tumblr is being a bitch🙄

being constantly stalked from the shadows can cause a person to do all sorts of things, y'know?

it started out small.

gifts being left at the front of your doorsteps, flowers, bouquets, sweets and snacks even ranging to weapons or things you needed to make a new weapon being left in the same old gift box. red, with white satin tied up in a cute bowtie at the front. you thought it was a cute way for your little secret admirer to notify "hey, it's me again!" to you each time they leave a gift.

but then, it started to get... a bit odd.

the gifts that used to be left at your doorstep with a knock would now be sitting inside your home. on the couch, the kitchen counter, the bed when you sometimes walk into your bedroom or even on the bathroom counter. the same old red colored box with a white satin in its stupid bowtie. as much as you appreciated this gesture of your secret admirer leaving you all sorts of gifts and presents, it had started to become... creepy. the mere thought of this person stalking you, knowing where you live, constantly coming back over and over to leave a gift for you to now downright breaking into your home.

you notified a midnight ranger of course. who in their sane mind would allow this thing to keep happening, even if they do have powers to protect themselves?

two rangers came by your home. snapping a few photos of the evidence, checking the locks and windows, under the bed, in the attic, basement - almost any and every place someone could hide in and places someone could break in through - they found nothing. whoever this stalker of yours was, they were a good one at getting rid of their traces.

of course, still worried for a citizen, they asked you to stay at a relative or a friend's place for a few days as the two rangers stay behind to capture your stalker when they come back eventually. bad move. the exact next morning, a few more midnight rangers came knocking at your friend's door, asking for your presence. the moment you saw the rangers, you felt a churning feeling in your gut. and you were right to feel that because turns out your stalker had ended up murdering the two rangers who stayed behind, dissecting their hearts and sewing them into one to create the cartoonish heart shape.

all wrapped up in red box and white satin bowtie with blood on the ends. paired with a small note slipped under the bowtie.

"do you like my gifts, darling :)?"

this was getting out of hand. you need to find a way to confront your stalker by yourself and take matters into your own hands. or else, who knows how many more midnight rangers have to die until your stalker comes to you. hell, even your friend could be killed because you chose to stay in their home for the night.

you began with a list of suspects on a notebook. red and white and apparently strong and deranged enough to kill not one but two midnight rangers as if they were still in training. mortefi? no. the researcher was too busy and besides, he's a standing citizen. completely normal and able to keep himself in line without turning into a stalker, fanatic fan. danjin? sure, she was unusually strong for a resonator who had just awakened her tacet marks but she would never kill people over someone she simply adored. encore? now you're the one who is going crazy here, [name].

for a brief moment you thought of a certain someone who had his eyes on you for a little while and wasn't afraid to show his infatuation with you. scar, one of the overseers of the fractsidus organization. one insane bastard, strong enough to kill two rangers as if they meant nothing to him and not to mention, he had a history of stalking you before. the hunch wasn't far fetched but now, all that you needed to prove this theory of yours is to capture your stalker. and if your stalker really is indeed scar, then you needed to teach some sense into him.

carefully, setting up traps in your own bedroom, all the while continuing to act if everything was okay and you weren't feeling eyes digging holes into the back of your skull, you slipped under your covers. turning the lights off, making sure to not exactly clutch your hand to trigger the trap, you closed your eyes as your breathing slows and the windows to your living room slides open.

‘that certainly didn't take long...’ you thought to yourself, entertained by just easy it was to fool your stalker and how quickly they slipped inside your home. just a few minutes after you laid your head on the pillow too.

the sound of footsteps grow closer, light and quick like the pitter patter of raindrops against your window making their way up the stairs and towards your room. your stalker seem to hesitate, their shoes stopping just outside your door as if they were straining their ears to listen to your breathing. as if satisfied with your act of being asleep, the sound of the door to your room opening is heard. the gentle shuffling of clothes and light heel taps making their way into the room. you could hear the box in their hands. that cursed red box with its white satin tied into a bow.

their steps make their way to the side of your bed, on the nightstand beside it as they place down their box of gift with a quiet thud. holding your breath, slowing your breathing as much as possible, you listen on to your stalker. light breathing, a constant shuffling noise and the scent of… ash? that scent gave it away. the scent of ash, sulfur and a very old dried blood.

scar.

of course it was him. of fucking course it was that damned overseer of the fractsidus. an old enemy, a rival and certainly the very same bastard who had a history of stalking you before.

as much as you wanted to jump out of your bed and strangle the bastard by his throat at this very moment, you held yourself back. grinding your teeth slightly in annoyance and biding your time until a clawed finger pushes back a strand of your hair from your face. that was the perfect moment for you to take action, squeezing your hand as the sound if electrical strings is heard, binding scar in his place and hitting him with a high voltage. throwing the blanket off of yourself, you jump away towards the other side of the bed from where scar was. slow and cautious steps towards where a thud is heard, peeking over the edge of the bed, you see his unconscious body. tied up with electrical cords of your making and zapped unconscious.

“yes, it’s me again. that person who was being stalked and gave a call… yeah. i managed to capture my stalker and he’s currently in my bedroom right now. if you could send a few patrollers or midnight rangers, it would be—“

“aww… getting right of me so soon, darling?” scar speaks up, voice scratchy from the earlier stunt you pulled, shaking his head as he tries to clear away any lingering unconsciousness. he wasn’t sharp enough to notice the trap you laid out for him to step into nor was he strong enough to endure the zap of your electricity. not like he minded. he wanted all the time in the world with you and if being tied up and shocked did the trick, he would have it happen to him all the time. as long as it was you who was doing the shocking.

abruptly ending the call — but managing to get through the main point of your call — you turn towards your captive. that annoying scarred face and the lopsided smile that he always has on his face. how much you wanted to wring out his neck to get rid of that smile.

“you look way too happy for someone who got caught” you say, watching him for any sort of movement. nothing. he was just sitting there, kneeled in your floor like a well trained pet all the while keeping an eye on you with those mismatched, puppy eyes.

“what can i say? i slipped and i’m caught. but are these ropes and strings really necessary, darling? you have another plan for me?” he asks, wiggling his shoulders slightly as his smile grows at the furrow of your brows. yes, get angry, get agitated. he loved to see that expression on your face, that anger, that fire. how he wanted to stoke that little ember in your eyes until it turned into a blazing inferno like his own.

“why don’t you learn to shut up first?”

“why don’t you learn to zap me with just enough voltage to make me squirm?”

dear sentinels, this guy was really getting under your skin. he always did and he still does. that annoying smirk, the constant witty banter and the way he would push your buttons all the while whispering filth into your mind.

“bend me over the desk, darling”, “the couch looking painfully empty and clean”, “my zippers are unlocked, y’know?” all sorts of erotic words and suggestions flow from his lips every time he opens them, painting this image in your mind. of him bent over the counter, a quickie in the corner, hell, he even once suggested you to just tear off his jumpsuit and fuck him to your satisfaction in his domain. no one would see or hear you two, as he coos out, dodging your attacks as a red card burns in his hand.

pushing himself up, he trudges his way towards where you stood at the end of your bed, arms still tied behind his back as he leans in close to you. too close. you could smell the sulfur from him even more distinctly now.

“come on, darling. don’t act so cold with me. you and i have known each other for so long, it’s about time we take our relationship to the next level” he coos out, leaning in closer and closer while you lean away from him. until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, causing you to fall back onto the soft mattress while scar climbs on top of you. cheeky bastard was grinning so smugly, straddling your lap like it was his favorite seat in the world. maybe to him, it was.

“in your wet dreams. there’s no relationship between us except for the times we nearly kill each other. that’s it” you hiss, propping yourself up on your elbows to glare at him. the anger in your eyes and the way you easily disregarded him like he was nothing made scar shiver, his hips moving tantalizingly over your groin like he was trying to seduce you.

“oh darling! how did you know i have wet dreams about you? in fact, one of them was just like this! with you under me and having me all tied up♡︎“ scar coos out, his expression brightening like a puppy who just got his favorite treat. sneaky bastard, twisting your words and using them against you while getting what he was after. you were sure this is what he wanted the most. to allow this to happen, to let himself be under your mercy. it didn't surprise you at all.

though, you would be an idiot to say you didn’t recognize it. the signs of arousal that he emitted. the slight flush of his cheeks, the heavier breathing and the wetness coating his and your pants. bastard was getting turned on. but… so were you.

hesitantly, your hand reached for the zipper of his jumpsuit’s crotch, the area already wet with his slick. scar nearly whined at that, moving around on your lap as if trying to get you to unzip it quickly. getting the hint, you did as he wanted. the zipper opening up slowly, his dripping cunt coming on display for you.

“tsk tsk. so eager to get fucked you’re not gonna bother to wear underwear?” you ask, clicking your tongue as your thumb comes up to circle around his enlarged clit. scar nearly stumbles over, his knees buckling as he thrust his hips, trying to get your fingers inside himself already.

“why… would i need to wear one if i’m going to be visiting you, darling?” the pyromaniac groans when your thumb leave his clit, leaving him dripping and clenching around nothing. but his disappointment is short lived when you push a finger inside him, stretching him open and making him gasp out loud. just a single finger, buried to the second knuckle and he was already whining as he tries to ride your finger to the best of his abilities. if his hands were free, he would have placed them on your shoulders for balance as he bounces himself over your fingers.

alas, that was not the case and scar was forced to make do with his current predicament, grinding himself down onto your finger while you watch him unamused. when he tried to bounce on your finger, it slipped out thanks to the excessive slick coating your finger, making him whine at the loss while his cunt eagerly wait for your finger to be back inside him again.

“aanhg—! gyaah… mgghh♡︎♡︎ ohhh darling, you sure know how to please my cunt♡︎” a choked moan comes from him when you push two fingers inside his gummy walls, prodding and fucking him open. knuckles deep inside, you make a scissoring motion, making his knees feel weak as he sits down on your lap, letting you finger him as much as you wanted. he was thoroughly enjoying himself it seemed, as he grinds his hips back and forth, his soft cunt weeping more and more of his juices as they coat your hand.

“you… you really know how to please a cunt, don’t you, darling? all mmgh—! ah anngh ah ah ahh♡︎♡︎ all deep♡︎ and rough♡︎ f-feels like you’re trying to get me to squ-uuuhncckk♥︎♥︎!!” scar trails off, his cocky words dying in his throat, replaced by a shrill squeal when you zapped his cunt with a low electricity. opening his mouth, the pyromaniac tries to say something again only to get cut off by another high pitched scream when you decided to zap both his cunt and clit at the same time.

“like i said, you really should learn to shut your mouth, scar” you tease him, a pleased grin on your face as you take in the mess he had become on your lap. thin trail off drool on his chin, flushed red and hazy eyed. there were even tears forming in his mismatched eyes, looking like he was about to cry.

“m-make meeehnn♡︎♡︎ make me th-then, darling♥︎!“ scar manages to say, a whiny groan falling from his drool covered lips as your fingers pick up their pace, now easily fucking into his loosened hole. filthy lewd shlap! shlap! shlap! could be heard, the wet noises of his cunt mixing together with his punched out moans, turning into a blend of beautifully filthy noises.

“filthy whore who loves to walk around with his pussy out should learn to hold his tongue” you coo out, mocking him for his jumpsuit style as your fingers curl upwards, searching and finding that one spot that caused him to see stars in his eyes. a sharp gasp falling, his head thrown back as his legs shake like a weak lamb’s while your fingers continue to hit that one spot. pushing your knees up, you allow him to lean back on your knees, arms struggling against the strings and ropes while you continue to abuse that bundle of nerves inside his gummy walls.

“shh-shuttt awghhh unngh up!! shut up, dawrlinnggg—♥︎♥︎!!” scar trails off, a wet, punched out wail coming from him as your free hand pinches at his hardened clit. pinching at the bundle of nerves, your fingers squeeze around it simultaneously as the rough pads of your fingers hit his g-spot, making scar let out delirious noises of pleasure. he was far gone to hold a proper conversation with you and you could see that. the tears that were collecting in his mismatched eyes now falling in fat globs, red and grey eyes rolling to the back of his skull as his legs thrash around on the bed.

“dirty dirty boy, look at yourself. not only making trouble for me with your stalker tendencies but also getting my sheets and clothes dirty” you coo out, the fingers that were pinching at his clit tugging on them slightly. scar let out a loud scream at that, throwing his head back as his legs squeeze around your waist tightly as he comes undone on your fingers. but you weren’t planning to stop anytime to soon. you needed to teach him a lesson to stop bothering you while also letting out the pent up anger that he caused by deciding to be a prick.

“who gave you the permission to cum, you filthy whore” you bite out, the anger and annoyance seeping into your tone as your fingers stretch his cunt open, continuing to push against his sweet spot. scar started to sob, the pleasure being too much, nearly bordering on pain but his masochistic spirit wanted you to keep going and to never stop. he wanted both the pain and the pleasure. anything, anything you gave him, he would gladly take greedily.

“dar—! darling!! dawrlinnn’♡︎ ’m sorry... ’m sorry ’m soo showwryy♡︎♡︎♡︎ d-didn’t mean to be soo baawdd♥︎♥︎” scar sobs out, punched out, whiny moans and shrill squeals making it harder to understand what he was saying, but you managed to catch on. despite his words and his wet apologies, you knew he wouldn’t stop being a nuisance at your side. that was just how scar was. unreadable, maniacal and a pain in your ass. so even if he does walk away from your bedroom today with drunken apologies and trembling legs, you knew he would just come back again the next day, searching for more. especially now since he has gotten the taste of how good your fingers could fuck his dripping cunt open until he cries deliriously.

sobbing out apologies mingled with how your fingers were fucking his pretty pussy until it bruises, scar lets out a weak whine whenever you pinch at his clit harder than usual. the occasional violent jolts and squeals falling whenever you zap his gushing cunny, crying about how mean you were.

“mmghhh… go-gonna cum…! gonna cum again♡︎ aamgh eeck♥︎♥︎ g-gonna cum on your f-fingers againn..! d-darling! darlingdarlingdarlingdarl-iiinngh♥︎!!” babbling incoherently about his rapidly nearing release, scar’s head is thrown back, mouth slack open in a silent scream when you zap both his pussy walls and clit at the same time. legs trembling like a lamb’s, threatening to close if it weren’t for your body between them, his body jolts violently as his gushing cunt squirts out his cum, painting your entire hand and pants with his slick.

fingering him through his high, you withdraw your fingers only after he whines for a break, the mess that he created didn’t exactly bothering him as he leans in to steal a kiss from your lips. a dazed attitude, drunken look in his eyes as he shoots you a lopsided grin, scar leans in to whisper when he would be visiting again next time. and he specifically asked for more than just your fingers. the greedy bastard.

“i’ll see ya’ then, darling♡︎!” before you knew it, he pulled out one of his red cards from his back pocket, opening a portal for himself to escape through just as there comes knocks on your front door.