#That's just alien and human cruelty

[emin-folly]

Don’t Ever Separate Them

[kolaepup]

Do you draw furries in a bad way or do dog girls just appeal to you? (Not trying to be mean!!)

i just love dog girls and dog girl accessories

it's really all about aesthetics for me.. colors.. shapes..!! nothing nefarious :3!

[neverendingford]

.

[johannestevans]

What I love about the laios/kabru dynamic is that like. Laios is more comfortable with and obsessed with animals and monsters, monsters being his Special Interest

And it's like. One thing feeds into the other - he's alienated so he relates to and studies monsters

And this in turn triggers everyone around him to alienate and ostracize him further

MEANWHILE like. Kabru has always been ostracised because of like, his own features, his light eyes contrasted with his skin, and his early exposure to the monsters of the dungeon nearby

For him BECAUSE of like, not his fear of monsters, but because of the political situation around how everyone there was killed, HIS focus and obsession and his own autistic Special Interest has become other people. Their thoughts, their machinations, the ways they lie and obscure

And because of people's obfuscations, as soon as he meets laios his obsession becomes laser-focused on laios himself, because this is a man with almost no machinations. He's been so focused on animals and now monsters his whole life, and SO autistic without learning to mask

Whereas kabru like. ALL he has is a mask. Esp BC of the implication of racism that he's experienced within the text like, even his face has been treated physically as more like a mask than a human face, and then its just lies on masking on obfuscation on repression

Whereas laios feels every single emotion immediately and painfully, and he expresses almost all of them openly - his love, his enthusiasm, his curiosity, his frustration, and to a limited extent, his rage and anger

Here you have laios, treated like a monster so he's become obsessed with monsters, to the extent that he almost fears people more despite craving to be with them, to be seen by them and loved by them, and to an extent being blind to the extent of their cruelties

And here you have Kabru, not treated like a monster, but treated effectively as less IMPORTANT than a monster, because of other people's politics and motivations, to the extent that he has become obsessed with appearing like The Right Person to every single person he meets

It's no wonder that Kabru should become so utterly obsessed with Laios, with studying him - and no surprise either that Laios should enthuse about this undivided and devoted attention that feels equivalent in EFFORT to love and friendship... And isn't that enough?

And at first, no, but I think. So rapidly it would and could become so. Because laios' loyalty is so fierce and devoted, and I think Kabru would be blindsided by how EAGER laios is to please him even though kabru remains, in his own eyes, distant and a bit apart from him

And kabru for like. Studying laios so fervently and focusedly, as intense and off-putting as that may be, he comes to and will come further to understand laios better and more intuitively than anyone else, and no one in the world but falin has ever BOTHERED to do that

And isn't that love? Kabru might not call it that, might be disdainful at the very idea, but if it walks like love and talks like love and feels like love and takes even more effort than love... That's enough, right? That's good, right? Laios is grateful

And the more grateful he is, the more frustrated Kabru will get. Doesn't he respect himself? Doesn't he want more? Doesn't he care enough to DEMAND more?But laios doesn't like to make demands - he likes to be grateful for what he's given. For kabru.

[kizzer55555]

Dismissed on a Technicality

Ok so Danny accidentally killed the joker. He was working part time as a taxi driver. Funny thing is that he got hired in the city next to Amity Park. The problem is some moron decided to have him drive aaaalllll the way from Amity to Gotham city. And Danny might have run over the Joker while there.

Look…he didn’t feel like a human. Danny (as someone half dead) can feel souls and he could only barley feel anything from the guy so it just looked like a blob in front of the road. He thought it was an animal or something! Danny was short on time so he was going pretty fast. And drivers Ed was very clear that one is NOT to swerve the car to avoid animals as it causes the car to go into other lanes and can cause a crash, especially in a big city. It’s sad, but it’s true, better to run over the poor animal.

So Danny hit the gas.

Only to be greeted with the face of a clown smashed into his windshield.

Danny stopped the car.

He got out.

Looked around at all the people of the city staring at him (no longer cowering as Joker went on a monologue, holding them at gunpoint while waiting for a bat.)

Danny looks down as the mangled corpse sprawled over the front of his taxi.

And he pulled out his phone and called 911 to report a car crash. In front of everybody.

When Batman arrived, Danny held out his hands and willingly let them be cuffed. Time to be taken to court!

Now one might think Danny would be panicking in this situation. After all, he just killed someone, even if it was on accident. But Danny had a different point of view and made it known in court.

It was a whole thing. Full courthouse, practically the entire city attending or watching on a live news feed. And who did Danny call to defend him as his lawyer?

Himself.

And this begins the most confusing and controversial court in the history of Gotham.

Now, what defines a human? Because according to the law it’s ‘anyone capable of speech or higher reasoning.’ But that cannot be. There are aliens and Atlanteans who fit those categories and they do not classify as human. And what about that demon the Justice League killed last week. The one with 2 snake heads and a hippo body? That thing could talk. What about being a Homo sapien capable of speech? But there is an entire city of talking gorillas. Therefore, the definition of human should be revised.

As for the Joker, he had many differences to the typical human. When he fell into a vat of chemicals it changed his very atomic structure physically and altered his mind mentally. Those gassed with Joker venom can be turned back but Joker’s transformation was permanent. Meaning the change occurred at the level of his very DNA.

Which begs the question. Is the Joker really human? And if not, is what Danny did really murder?

Let it be known that Daniel James Fenton is not trying to get out of his crime.

Despite his appearance, the joker was alive. He was breathing, had a heartbeat, and blood flowed through his veins (despite that blood being green).

So yes…Danny committed a crime. And he confesses in front of the entire court.

He confesses…to animal cruelty.

[crustyfloor]

blinking the gun to my forehead and then I'm gone (laughs)

Till, as a parallel to his All-in cover enters the round with a strong presences, unmistakably making his presences on stage known, he looks angry and tired, but he's not in that "catatonic" state that he was in during ROUND 6 anymore.

the moment Till lost his composure and started to stress and panic, the moment he looked back at the gun in the crowd, blatantly aware of the looming threat and openly feared it--was the moment Luka knew he had him right where he wanted him, when Till's mental instability and desperation caught up to him, his inability to contain his emotions completely consumed him, and then, there was the struggle. And Luka revels in the power he holds over Till's head, and the way Till can do nothing about it, not in this state. Till's guitar motif remains prominently in their singing, showing that they're on equal footing, but there is an obvious power dynamic at play underneath this thin veil of a "performance".

Luka does everything right to appeal to their audience, charming the audience with his allure, with perfectly exceptional skills, and constantly showing that he is superior, Luka is the model of a perfect pet-human. Till is contradictory, being naturally rebellious, he was never and would never be content being stuck in a cage to confirm like Luka can, because Luka was trained for in every aspect to fit the role of a perfect pet-human to please the Segyein in every way he acts down to the rhythm of his heart, he is truly a "one of a kind" to the Aliens--and it is all thanks to them that Luka is who he is today, it is in Luka's nature to adapt and obey, Till doesn't accept his environment and actively fights against it.

Till is talented, passionate, and incredibly skilled at his craft, but it didn't matter that all of his songs were hits, it didn't matter that he was very promising and popular. Because the aliens look for a spectacle, a toy, not a human, and Till is so overwhelmingly human. His nature comes back to bite him no matter how much he tries to deny these complexities.

Till tries to stand his ground and regain his control, but even then, he was easily agitated when taunted and provoked by Luka. Luka knew exactly which button to press, unsurprisingly, Luka had seen and analyzed everything from ROUND 6, so when he touched Till's neck and his face in such an intimate manner that could only remind Till of the trauma of ROUND 6, he faltered easily despite himself.

--"The dark crimson air. Embraces us, lifting our spirits" (Possibly in reference to Ivan, because later Till has flashbacks of round 6 with red tint)

--"And the fiery thrill. Blazes out to the sky" (A reference to meteors? then I want to connect it back to Ivan again, because on that night Ivan and he almost escaped, that was probably the happiest he'd ever looked with Ivan, the rush of freedom was thrilling, but he went back to stay with Mizi)

The taunting doesn't even end there, sickeningly. Till is forced to reminisce on the events in round 6, remembering exactly how Ivan's face looked before he fell, and at this point, Till is starting to feel the pressure.

Even suffering physical affects-- a nosebleed from the strain and stress of it all on his body, even just thinking about Round 6 causes such an immense reaction--I'm assuming that this is a result of the experiments and abuse Urak inflicts on him, even just general stress . Because one thing Urak prides himself on is pushing his Pet-Humans to the absolute limit to recognize their talents, be it any method, but without any regard to their mental health. But the sheer cruelty of this treatment doesn't lead to any of his pets living long, Till, having been the last one standing out of all of them, was meant to follow that cycle sooner or later, he had already shown signs that he was deteriorating. This along with the drugs they may or may not be making Till take to keep him compliant. The state of his conscience only seems to get worse the longer he pushes himself, and he puts a strenuous effort into not collapsing.

I'd really like to highlight Till's performance and how strong it actually was during Round 6, Luka's manipulation will intentionally make his opponents look weak, at least, to the ignorant Segyein, despite his struggling Till still managed to make a worthy opponent, if the points he gained were anything to go by--had he been given the opportunity to keep performing without Luka's intervention I think Till would have had better chances of winning (even if by a little). Despite being mentally unstable and physically drained he could still put up a fight next to the likes of Ivan in Round 6 and even Luka, but this round, brought out all of the weakness in Till.

This stage was built on the foundation of Till's despair and meant for Till's demise. And to a t, Luka has every advantage, Luka revels in the control, and feels a sort of giggly euphoria from seeing Till struggling. (It feels very obvious to me that there were some favors put in place here for that to happen.)

Wherever he turns, Ivan's face is plastered on all the big screens so that Till is unable to avoid it. It's almost dizzying the way the camera moves, the flashing lights, the overwhelming purple that symbolizes Luka's complete control. the chaos is meant to symbolize Till's feelings, Ivan looks more stifling as he looks down on Till with such a intense gaze. That pressure, symbolically and quite literally, physically weighs on Till, just close to pushing him to his breaking point. In the end, Ivan is a trauma to Till, a trauma that Till can't even begin to come to terms with or approach. Then, a tool to be used against Till. Luka uses this weakness to his advantage, forcing Till to feel the pain, the anger, the memories, like a prison of his own grief and regret that he can't escape.

--"Oh, in a blink, gone forget everything and just enjoy"

--"Oh, in a blink, gone don't miss this moment"

It's one of the more prominent call-backs to ROUND 3 when, from the perspective of the manipulated, this isn't comforting in the slightest. It isn't at all loving, even though it's gentle and familiar. Luka's type of manipulation tricks the mind into thinking about loss, love-- Luka blurs the line, love and loss, hatred or regret--because you can not feel loss without an attachment, Luka prods at the unaddressed feelings Till has about Ivan, and his subconscious attachment Ivan, it churns Till's inner turmoil, the guilt, the grief, Ivan's frozen grin and eyes staring back at him. It is horrific for Till to be confronted like this, when he puts so much effort into avoiding these feelings, it's pulled to the forefront of his mind, that Ivan died, that Ivan had feelings for him.

And that is why this type of framing is fitting for them, Till's true feelings about Ivan are hidden and misconstrued, even by Till himself as he shoves them down and replaces them with something more easier to rationalize--hatred. His avoidance of Ivan as a whole, and the events of Round 6 is exactly why Luka targeted him this way. Overall like I said before, Till's perspective of Ivan in his memories will probably never be 100% clear, because he is reserved, subtle, and he would be actively repressing them, he is actively avoiding confronting his grief, and the only time he does is when he's forced too, because just from the Round 6 flashbacks stained in red, haunted by death. And reminiscing about all those moments of hurt, annoyance, even affection for Ivan just adds to his spiraling storm of confusing emotions that he can't understand, Till replaces sorrow with anger and channels it into his song, only for it to be used against him.

It is only when Till sees Mizi that he snaps out of it. When their eyes meet, it's like Till is reawakened and immediately regained his composure, hyper focused on finding her in the crowd. Luka notices this and, for a brief second, looks concerned, confused, but he is quick to reel his expression back into something neutral, but he looks at Till in discomforted, Luka can't afford to look anything but the more dominant on stage, but he's baffled to see Till get up again and keep moving, he just wouldn't go down without a fight. Luka addresses Till subtly and aims to reaffirm his sense of control to no avail.

Till desperately staggers to reach Mizi, in that moment, Till is childish again; he looks like a little kid, blushing with wide, bright eyes, and he is genuinely so, so happy to see her. Even his light indicator is changed from red to green in such little time. Mizi's signature pink light shines bright on him as he reaches out with an outstretched hand, and in his perspective she welcomes him warmly, just like she always does.

And then, in seemingly the blink of an eye Till is abruptly shot before he can reach her. Mizi has to watch Till die. And the nature of his death is so visceral Mizi is heartbroken. You would wonder why it is so quick to happen, put yourself in Mizi's shoes, she was so close and they were so happy and just like that--it's over. It goes to show how fast the Aliens shatter humans, even when they least expect it, when they both feel so free and hopeful in the moment. Life, especially their life, is so incredibly un-fucking-fair, but that is ultimately their reality. The Segyein do not care.

It's interesting how Till and Sua's death scenes parallel, even just visually, but more importantly, Mizi's role in both events. She is horrified by the realization that she is totally helpless after believing she can change reality, the reality that Till couldn't be saved, and the reality that Sua had lied to her. key difference, however, Mizi didn't know about death before Sua's death, with Till she knew that was a possibility but was desperate to not lose the last friend she had, so she made a foolish choice because of that childish hope she never let go of.

Immediately we go to a flashback. This scene, in particular, broke me completely, this whole scene goes to show just how close they were as friends, how affectionate and kind Mizi was with Till, even despite his more reserved nature, often keeping to himself and keeping a particular distance between them, still, Mizi and Till have a special bond. it's so important for the both of them that this is highlighted because their friendship is incredibly valued by the both of them. These little memories that Mizi looks back on are the reason why she cares for Till so much. And the innocent nature of Till's love for her is bittersweet.

Till reminisces about the comfort of Mizi's smile at that moment, the one thing Till wanted to protect. One of the many things about her that he fell in love with. Even if they live a cruel, unfair life, Mizi was always gentle and compassionate. It's a stark contrast to when it cuts back to the present and her face is full of tears, even when HyunA warned her she had gone all this way, risked her own life to save Till, despite not knowing him so much, her attachment to him as a childhood friend was more important to her than her sense of self-preservation.

--"Before this piercing, radiant moment. Fades away"

Because Mizi always valued her relationships. He was family, the only family she had left--she was desperate to save her remaining family from such a fate, she knew what was going to happen as soon as she saw him on that screen, maybe, just maybe she can do it. she has to. But they were doomed to despair from the start, they were born into it. Mizi naively thought that if she couldn't save Sua or Ivan, she could at least save Till.

Till can't even bring himself to smile back at her as she weakly tries to comfort him in his last moments, pulling hair out of his eyes and cradling his face. Again, he seeks out her comfort, and tries to comfort her when he touches her hand, but he doesn't die with a smile on his face, he can't even force one because he doesn't want this; he doesn't want to die, and ultimately, he doesn't want to leave Mizi. But he's content with staring into Mizi's eyes as he drifts off, because Mizi is here, he's at peace.

The gentle lullaby for the background music just makes this scene so much more depressing. It's too lighthearted and sweet for a scene like this. When he was a child, Till was hesitant to get close to Mizi, and a lot of people out of fear, doubt, and all kinds of feelings that he'd learned to repress after so many years of living. In his final moments, he was vulnerable, and he was a quiet, gentle melody. That's how I think this atmosphere represents Till more than the brash, loud one that he often adopts. He's a cold, hardened shell with a soft interior. When he's able to be himself, he's just a gentle child, an isolated, abused, sensitive child. His death might be the saddest yet because he had grown up a fighter, he had lived all of his life fighting against The aliens, hurt, abuse, everything, to avoid the very moment he is beaten down into something human and unimaginably vulnerable, when Till stopped fighting back and instead reached out to comfort, to hope, he died. I'm just so glad that Till had comfort and was loved during his final moments until the end.

His relationships with the two most important people in his life are framed like this, darkness and brightness. Ivan is with him in his darkest moments, and Mizi is the brightness Till finds comfort in, Where Ivan is intimidating and confusing, Mizi is safe, and he gravitates towards her like it's instinct. He would never associate her, the girl who is so pure and sweet, with trauma, to ruin her idealized image of her in his head. But even if she looked differently to him now, seeing that she came back to him, he didn't hesitate to run to her. After all, his words in ROUND 2 weren't a bluff. He'd wholeheartedly love her regardless no matter what happens, because it's Mizi. Till's last thoughts being focused on Mizi shows us just how much he looked up to her, Ivan's death was impactful on him just as much as it was traumatic, similar to the karaoke scene, Till focuses and reaches out to Mizi, to blinding warm light, to forget about every pain in the moment. Till dies using that same coping mechanism and it tells me just how hopeless he was in that moment, wishing for any better situation than this, but still. He had her.

(Now, how will this development affect the other characters? I don't think Alien stage, the show, is over yet. Now that Aliens have all their rogue pet-humans back where they want them with no easy way to escape--I think Mizi and HyunA will be used if they don't manage to escape in time, to compete against each other? to compete in the new season or against Luka? no idea, honestly. But I hope they kill Luka cause FUCK that guy.)

[maxknightley]

on the one hand I do understand where people are coming from when they respond to The White American Desire For Authentic Culture by going "you already have a culture" and pointing out that this desire often has reactionary undertones

that being said, I think it's largely sidestepping the actual issue, which is that American culture fucking blows chunks. American culture is strip malls and military worship and the elevation of mass-market pablum to Bold Artistic Statements.

and subculture is only partially an escape from this, because most subcultures exist within the same constraints of American culture as a whole; they are captured and redefined by capital on such a frequent basis that it often feels impossible to hold onto them in any meaningful way.

moreover, even the parts of American culture that aren't complete garbage are more or less inextricable from the colonial, imperialist, and racially-stratified history of the country. like, I think of that post that went around a while ago talking about "America sucks but has some good parts," and one of the things it listed was national parks, and people (rightfully!) pointed out that the national park system is fundamentally flawed and tends to shit on indigenous nations by design.

the only thing I can think of that's even sort of an exception is pop culture - jazz and rock music, superhero comics, Hollywood. and all of those are, again, captured and defined by capital, and in one way or another have historically been built on screwing over the artist.

so we come to a position, one way or another, where a lot of people say something like: "I'm alienated. I'm surrounded by traditions and institutions I think are shit; I have no way to meaningfully undermine them, and I can't escape them without effectively destroying my life. the culture I was born into is a gravestone on top of another gravestone, lifeless and miserable, and people are constantly shouting that I should be grateful because it's The Greatest Country In The World."

at that point, one seeks an escape, and I think there are three major routes here.

one is to become a weird lib obsessed with the Real Soul Of America. America is really about the good parts, not the bad parts which outnumber them and which they are built upon.

another is to fixate on the Exotic, for lack of a better word. cultures which you do not have an obvious "connection" to, but which fascinate you or appeal to you. obviously this can be pretty fucking fraught, though I would argue that taking an interest in other cultures is a good thing if you aren't shitty about it. (That's its own conversation.)

the third is to fixate on the culture(s) you feel you "ought to have" had, that which was sacrificed on the altar of whiteness by grandparents or great-grandparents who, frankly, had different concerns. to look at a culture that may still be defined in many ways by cruelty and stratification - the way I would argue most human civilization has been - but that seems to have had something else going on, at least. a culture that may not have been recognizable 500 years ago, but at least it existed.

again, none of these impulses is beyond criticism, and I think it would be naive to say that the last one can't have reactionary undertones. I also doubt these impulses are unique to the USA! alienation is extremely common in today's world, and it's not as though the USA is the only settler state in existence.

what I am saying is more that I think the conditions that lead to these fixations are worth paying attention to, and that dismissing them with "you already have a culture" kind of misses the point in favor of getting in a zinger. people wouldn't want a different culture if they were happy with the one they had. like so many other things, people want one that Doesn't Completely Suck. failing that, they'd probably like to not be defined by any culture at all - but that, tragically, is just as impossible.

[faustiantales]

𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘

Dark Descent: Osamu Dazai X fem/afab!Reader

Twisted Truths: incest, beast universe, osamu is overprotective and possessive, dubcon, fingering, vaginal penetration, creampie, pet names

Synopsis: As the boss of Port Mafia, Osamu isn't alien to a life of crime and cruelty. He is a man bathed in the tainted world… a man who is destined to die alone, without any meaningful connections with others. Yet, the only one who was always by his side was none other than his beloved little sister — his life, his anchor, his entire world.

Shadows Lengthen: 1.9k words

        "Is it good when I touch you here?"  The boss's fingers caressed her smooth inner thighs, the sensation sending an unwelcome shiver up her spine. A subtle smirk emerged on his lips, watching as the girl's expression contorted into pure pleasure when he inched closer to her throbbing heat... until finally, he inserted a finger into her wet entrance. "Or maybe here?"

        "Ngh! Niisama..." she breathed, forcing her lids open to look at her beloved brother. "...feels... so good..."

        Osamu chuckled, his expression softening. With his free hand, he brushed a stray strand of [h/c] hair away from her beautiful face, relishing the softness of her skin and admiring her flushed-out expression. He continued fingering her slick cunt, his digits moving in a deliberate pattern that he knew would drive her wild.

        Dazai Osamu, the current boss of the Port Mafia, is a man of cruelty and cunning. He became the leader of this crime organization at such a young age, expanded his influence, and made enemies in the process. He is logical and calculating, and has no remorse for any misdeeds he has done. Many respected him. Many feared him. Many despised him.

        Yet, despite his grim and inhuman personality, the man can shift his entire personality just for a single person, [Y/n]. In front of his younger sister, he is a gentle and loving brother, one who could not bring himself to harm a fly if it meant she'd be sad. Dazai [Y/n], a young teen who's four years younger than him, was his entire world. She is the only light in this dark and bleak world. She is the untainted soul amidst the brutality of the underworld.

        The man knew that this life that he led was a stark contrast to the life he wanted his sister to live. Yet, he couldn't possibly let her go and explore the real world alone, could he? No, no. That's absolutely unacceptable. If she were to be left alone without the protection and guidance of her older brother, who knew what would happen to her? He'd seen the worst in humanity, and he wasn't about to let his sister become a part of it.

        That's why Osamu decided to have her stay close—to ensure she's safe where he can see her. They were together when they were young and will stay together until the bitter end. The man will ensure that his sister's purity and innocence will not be tainted by the darkness that he is wading in. He will ensure to keep her safe, to spoil her lots and let her feel loved, and to teach her all the things she needed to know by himself. He couldn't let a random stranger corrupt his sister's mind, could he? Absolutely not.

        "Be a good girl for Niisama, hm?" He purred, leaning down gently onto her naked body to plant kisses along her face, neck, and collarbone. His touch, usually reserved for pain and punishment, is tender and intimate as he explores her body. Every spot he touched was like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. "I love you, sweetie."

        "I love you too, Niisama," she mumbled, the words like a sacred promise slipping out of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered shut as she gave in to the feeling of his touch.

        Osamu's expression was bittersweet, a complex cocktail of love, possessiveness, and guilt. He knew this was wrong, but he couldn't resist the allure of her innocence, her purity. He had to keep her close, keep her safe, keep her his. His thumb found her clit, and he began to circle it, feeling her body tense and shiver beneath his touch. He had been her protector, her provider, her teacher, and now, in this twisted reality, her lover too.

        "Niisama!" She gasped, her body instinctively arching back from her brother's ministration. Her hands found leverage on his shoulder, her nails digging into his black coat as a way to ground herself.

        [Y/n] mewled out his title again and again, like a chant being performed in a holy ritual. She squirmed beneath him as the older Dazai continued his gentle yet fast fingering into her squelching cunt, his mouth finding solace against her soft lips in a passionate and desperate kiss.

        It didn't take long for the young girl to feel her impending release, and Osamu hastened his pace, knowing full well what his little sister needed. He consumed her moans — his mouth latched itself onto her lips without a hint of letting go, only barely pulling back for a gasp of air before he explored her cavern once more. His other hand trailed along the side of her body, each path leaving a burning sensation against her skin. His touch, although as light as a feather, felt like it was branding her with his ownership, and she found it thrilling.

        Her legs quivered, a silent plea for more, as his fingers plunged deeper into her warmth. The sound of their kisses, of her wetness, filled the quiet room. The room was theirs, a sanctuary of twisted love amidst the chaos of the mafia world. Osamu's thumb circled her clit with firm pressure, and she couldn't help but let out a whimper. He knew her body so well, knew every button to push to make her moan aloud.

        "Cum, sweetie. Don't hold back. Let it all out. Niisama's got you," he encouraged, voice as soft and gentle as possible.

        His thumb increased its pace, pressing harder against her sensitive nub. [Y/n]'s breath grew ragged, and her eyes rolled back into her head. Her body quivered as waves of pleasure crashed over her, her walls tightening around his invading fingers. Osamu felt her clench around him, and he knew she was close. He withdrew his hand, leaving her panting and desperate. He didn't miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes as she opened them, only to be met with his smoldering gaze.

        "Not yet," he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "We have all night, and Niisama isn't done with you."

        Osamu sat up, his eyes never leaving hers as he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. His cock sprang free, thick and hard with desire for her. One by one, his remaining garments were discarded on the floor. The boss's body was lean, yet muscular, a testament to the brutal life he led. [Y/n] stared, her eyes raking over the familiar naked body of her older brother. Then, her gaze traveled down between his legs, gulping as she took in his massive, throbbing cock.

        Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and she nodded silently, eyes still glued to his manhood. He took that as an invitation and shifted his body over hers, aligning his cock with her wet pussy. The head of his cock nudged against her opening, sending a jolt of anticipation through her body. She felt a twinge of fear, knowing the size of him would stretch her more than she ever had been, but she bit her lip and trusted him.

        With a gentle push, Osamu entered her, observing her expression for any signs of pain. She gasped, her eyes widening in surprise, but she didn't protest. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper. He took his time, inch by inch, filling her until she was completely sheathed around him. He leaned down to kiss her again, whispering sweet nothings into her ear as he began to thrust.

        Her nails dug into his back as he moved, his strokes slow and deliberate. He wanted to savor this moment, to make it last as long as he could. He felt her walls tighten around him, and he knew she was close again. He reached between them, finding her clit with his thumb and resuming his earlier motion. Her moans grew louder, echoing off the walls of the room, mixing with his grunts of pleasure.

        The room was filled with the sweet scent of their love, the gentle sounds of their shared breaths, and the rhythmic rustling of their bodies moving in harmony. The brunette felt his heart swell with affection as he listened to her moan his endeared title in the throes of passion. He knew he was crossing a line that many would consider taboo, but in his twisted world, this was the purest form of love he could offer her.

        "Niisama... more..." she begged, and he was more than happy to oblige.

        He quickened his pace, driving into her with more force, each thrust sending a wave of pleasure through her body. He felt her getting closer, her breaths hitching, her body trembling. He knew she was going to cum, and he wanted to be the one to push her over the edge.

        "Cum for me, sweetie," he murmured, his voice strained with his desire. "Cum for Niisama."

        Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her and leaving her breathless. Her body spasmed around him, tightening and releasing in rapid succession. Osamu groaned, the sensation of her climax pushing him closer to his own. He kissed her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath his lips, and increased his speed, driving them both to the brink.

        With one final, powerful thrust, Osamu released his load inside her, filling her with his warmth. He collapsed onto her, panting and sweaty, feeling her heart hammering against his chest. He held her close, whispering words of love and reassurance as they both rode out the aftershocks of their shared pleasure.

        "I love you, [Y/n]," the man proclaimed, his voice a silent promise. His expression contained a rare vulnerability and fragile hope that seemed out of place in the cold, hardened mafia boss's repertoire. "Now and always."

        "I love you too... Niisama," she murmured, her voice a sweet melody that resonated within him. Her eyes searched his, looking for any trace of doubt or malice, but found only an ocean of genuine affection and protectiveness.

        Dazai Osamu, the feared mafia boss, had shown her a side of himself that no one else had ever seen. A side that was gentle, loving, and fiercely devoted to her. His lips curved once more into a minuscule smile, his dark, lifeless, brown orbs welling up with unspoken tears.

        He leaned down, his lips pressed against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she felt his love, his need, his everything. The way his tongue danced with hers was a silent promise of eternal protection and care. It was a dance of love and dominance, a declaration of his unwavering dedication to her.

        Their love was wrong in the eyes of the world, but in their twisted reality, it was the only thing that made sense. They were two halves of a whole, bound by blood and by this forbidden desire that burned within them. And as they lay there, Osamu knew that he would never let anyone else touch her, never let anyone else claim her as their own. She was his, and he would protect her with every fiber of his being.

📜— Return to the Shadowed Archive

[gyorouis]

𐙚 YOU'LL BE SAFE HERE.

— "when nobody hears you scream, i'll scream with you. you'll be safe here."

genre: heavy angst, fluff in the end (?), strangers (not totally for yj) to potential lovers trope (?),

pairing: coworker/blockmate!yeonjun x afab!reader

warning: mentions of domestic abuse from parents, bullying, self-sabotage, mentions of blood and bruises, mentions of smoking (?), let me know if i forgot anything!

wordcount: 6.4k

now playing: rico blanco — you'll be safe here ୨ৎ

for the most part of your twenty-two years of existence on this very earth, you have learned to endure the bittersweet taste of your life. that includes the nonstop arguments with your parents that would either leave you crying to sleep or wiping the blood from your lips, blood drawn from the hands of your beloved parents, hands that were supposed to comfort you.

school wasn’t any better. the bullying began early, with taunts and whispers that followed you through the hallways. you remember the time in the third grade when a group of kids cornered you, laughing as they ripped your favorite book apart, the one place you found solace. the teachers did little to help, often turning a blind eye to the cruelty. you learned quickly that showing weakness only made things worse.

by high school, you had built walls so high around your heart that not even the most persistent could scale them. you stopped trying to make friends, opting instead to lose yourself in your studies and books. relationships, you told yourself, were for people who hadn’t seen the dark side of those they were supposed to trust. your classmates went on dates, talked about their crushes, and shared stories of first kisses, but you could never relate. love, you decided, was a fairytale for others.

even the few times someone showed interest in you, you found a way to push them away. there was that boy in sophomore year who left a note in your locker, asking you to the winter dance. you tore it up before even reading the whole thing, terrified of what might happen if you let someone in. the idea of being vulnerable, of giving someone the power to hurt you, was something you couldn’t bear.

college was a chance to escape, or so you hoped. moving to a new city for your studies, you thought distance might dull the pain of your past. yet, the ghosts followed you. you watched as your roommates fell in and out of love, experiencing the highs and lows that came with it. you remained on the sidelines, an observer in a world that felt alien to you.

your internships provided a distraction, the only place where you felt you could control your destiny. it was during one of these internships that you met choi yeonjun. he was a stranger, yet not totally. you worked in the same company, though you were sure you hadn’t seen him before. it was a rainy afternoon, during your lunch break, when you first met him. it was during a time when you were bawling your eyes out after yet another argument with your mom over the phone.

seeking peace, you found yourself on the rooftop. the gray sky hung heavy with clouds, and raindrops drummed a steady rhythm on the rooftop. the air was thick with the scent of wet concrete and the faint aroma of cigarette smoke. yeonjun was there, leaning against the railing, smoking and sipping coffee, not minding your wails. well, not totally. he just acted like he wasn't there because he knew that you didn't know someone was up there when you burst in. besides, this was the only time he had seen you having real human emotion. because he often saw you with a poker face. you would smile at your co-workers, but as he observed you daily, he knew those smiles were fake.

he stayed there for a good couple of minutes, watching you break down. your shoulders shook with sobs, and tears streamed down your face, mingling with the rain. he figured it was better to let you cry instead of ruining your moment.

it couldn’t be because you were scolded by your superiors, because yeonjun knew that you excelled in this internship. you were the top student of your batch, after all. he figured it was something deeper.

yeonjun’s mind drifted back to the first time he saw you during freshman year. it was a hectic morning, and he had been rushing to class when he nearly collided with you in the hallway. you were running, your expression one of focused determination as you clutched your books tightly against your chest. he remembered how you had apologized in a breathless rush before darting away. it was in that fleeting moment that he realized you were from the same class.

since then, he found himself intrigued by you. he started paying more attention during classes, watching you as you sat at your desk, absorbed in your work. he noticed how you were always the first to arrive and the last to leave, and how you would quietly, but confidently, engage with the material.

he sometimes hoped you’d glance his way, but you were always so wrapped up in your own world. even in the cafeteria or during coffee breaks, he found himself seeking you out, hoping for a glimpse of your smile or a chance to strike up a conversation.

thinking about what could be the reason why you are crying, he grabbed his handkerchief from his trouser pocket before tossing his cigarette on the ground and stepping on it. just then, he walked over to you.

you wiped the remaining tears from your eyes with your hands as you exhaled a deep breath. "my mom told me once, it's better to talk to strangers because it's less embarrassing." you jolted when you suddenly heard the voice of a man, probably a foot away from you.

you looked beside you to see who it was. you saw a man with a sharp, angular face, defined cheekbones, and a well-defined jawline. his hair was styled in a medium-length, slightly tousled manner, with dark strands framing his face. his straight eyebrows framed calm, contemplative eyes that held a hint of curiosity. dressed in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a black tie, paired with black pants, he exuded a casual yet polished look. but you noticed one thing: he reeked of cigarette.

"who are you?" you asked, your voice shaky. he scoffed lightly. "at least accept my handkerchief first," he said. your eyes landed on his extended hand holding out a blue handkerchief. you looked at him one last time before taking the handkerchief and started wiping your tears.

"i'm yeonjun, choi yeonjun." that name rang a bell. you often heard that name when your colleagues talked about this hard-headed intern who was always late. though you heard he was skillful and passionate about his work, you always heard bad things about that guy named yeonjun.

"you're the stubborn intern," you said. he chuckled to himself, a soft, warm sound that contrasted with the cold rain. "hey, that's too much.." he said, sipping the last of his coffee before tossing the cup into the nearest trashcan.

"did you hear anything?" you asked. to be honest, you weren't afraid of showing your vulnerable side, it's just that you wanted to keep the problem to yourself. "no, i could only hear your wailing," he said with a straight face.

"have you been scolded?" he asked. "why do you ask?" you answered.

"just because..." he said, his voice trailing off as he gazed out over the city, shrouded in mist and rain.

a moment of silence stretched between you two, filled only by the sound of raindrops hitting the rooftop and the distant hum of the city below. yeonjun leaned against the railing, seemingly lost in thought. you couldn’t help but wonder why he was there, offering comfort to a stranger.

“you know,” he began, breaking the silence, “sometimes it helps to talk about what’s bothering you. even if it’s just to a stubborn intern.”

you let out a small laugh despite yourself. “i don’t know where to start,” you admitted, looking down at the handkerchief clutched in your hand, now damp from both your tears and the rain.

“start anywhere,” he encouraged. “i’ll listen.”

taking a deep breath, you started to speak. the words came haltingly at first, but soon they flowed out in a torrent. you told him about the constant arguments with your parents, the pressure to excel, the bullying you faced in school, and the loneliness that seemed to follow you everywhere. you spoke of your fear of letting people in, of being hurt again, and of the walls you had built around yourself.

as you spoke, yeonjun’s eyes never left your face. his gaze was steady and unwavering, offering a kind of silent support. the rain continued to fall, softening into a gentle drizzle, the droplets creating a soothing backdrop to your words.

when you finished, he didn’t offer empty reassurances or try to minimize your pain. instead, he simply said, “i’m sorry you had to go through all that. no one deserves to feel that way.”

“thank you,” you whispered, feeling a strange sense of relief. it wasn’t that your problems were solved, but sharing them with someone, even a stranger, made them feel a little less heavy.

“you’re stronger than you think,” yeonjun continued. “and it’s okay to let people in. not everyone will hurt you.”

you nodded, though a part of you still doubted his words. but there was something about yeonjun’s calm presence that made you want to believe him, to take a chance, even if it was just a small one.

as the rain began to lighten, yeonjun stood up. “i should get back to work,” he said, offering you a gentle smile. “but if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

“thank you, yeonjun,” you said sincerely, feeling a glimmer of hope. maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

the days that followed your encounter with yeonjun were filled with a strange mix of anticipation and apprehension. you found yourself looking for him during breaks, curious to see if he would approach you again. each time you spotted him in the office, a flicker of hope ignited within you, only to be quickly smothered by doubt.

one afternoon, while you were engrossed in your work, a shadow fell over your desk. you looked up to find yeonjun standing there, a tentative smile on his face. “fancy seeing you here,” he said, his tone light.

“this is my desk,” you replied, unable to suppress a smile of your own.

“right,” he said, chuckling. “i just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“i’m fine,” you said, feeling a warmth spread through you at his concern. “thank you for the other day.”

“anytime,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “how about grabbing a coffee later?”

the idea of spending time with yeonjun outside of work both excited and terrified you. but something in his gaze reassured you, made you want to take a chance. “okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

as you and yeonjun sat in a cozy corner of a nearby café, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped you. the atmosphere was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold, rainy rooftop where you first met. you found yourself relaxing in his presence, the conversation flowing more easily than you had expected.

“so, tell me more about yourself,” yeonjun said, leaning forward with genuine interest. “what do you like to do outside of work?”

“i read a lot,” you admitted, feeling a bit shy. “books have always been my escape.”

“i can understand that,” he said, nodding. “i’m more into music. it’s my way of dealing with things.”

“do you play any instruments?” you asked, intrigued.

“guitar,” he said, a fond smile crossing his face. “it’s like therapy for me.”

as you continued to talk, you realized that yeonjun wasn’t just a stubborn intern. he was someone with depth, with his own struggles and passions. the more you learned about him, the more you felt your walls begin to crumble.

as the evening wore on, you and yeonjun decided to leave the place and take a walk through the nearby neighborhood. the streets were lined with small shops and cafes, their warm lights spilling onto the sidewalk, creating a cozy, inviting atmosphere. the soft glow of the lights, coupled with the gentle hum of conversation and the occasional laughter from patrons inside the cafes, made the whole scene feel almost magical.

“do you have a favorite book?” yeonjun asked, glancing at you as you strolled past a quaint bookstore. his voice was warm, genuinely curious, and it made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

“it’s hard to choose just one,” you said, smiling. this was the first time someone had asked something about you, the first time that someone made you think about what you really liked and what your interests are. “but if i had to pick, it would be ‘the little prince.’ it’s always been special to me.”

“i love that one too,” he replied, his eyes lighting up with recognition and shared appreciation. “it’s such a beautiful story about love and loss.”

you walked in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the sights and sounds of the evening. the air was cool and refreshing, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers and the distant aroma of coffee. eventually, you found yourselves outside a small ice cream parlor. yeonjun turned to you, his eyes playful and filled with a youthful excitement.

“how about some ice cream?” he suggested. “my treat.”

you laughed, feeling a lightness you hadn’t experienced in a long time. “sure, why not?”

inside the parlor, you both chose your favorite flavors and sat by the window, watching the world go by. the place was charming, with vintage decor and soft jazz playing in the background. yeonjun took a bite of his ice cream and grinned at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief and sincerity.

“so, what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never had the chance?” he asked, genuinely curious, leaning forward slightly to hear your answer.

you thought for a moment, then replied, “i’ve always wanted to travel. see new places, experience different cultures. but i never really had the opportunity.”

“maybe someday you will,” he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. “and when you do, i hope you’ll have someone to share those experiences with.”

you looked at him, your heart swelling with emotion. the more time you spent with yeonjun, the more you began to believe that maybe, just maybe, happiness was within reach. he had a way of making you feel understood and valued, something you had longed for but never thought you deserved.

as you finished your ice cream and continued talking, you realized that this simple evening was one of the best you’d had in a long time. the conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on dreams, fears, and little moments of joy. yeonjun’s presence was a soothing balm to your weary soul, and for the first time in years, you felt a flicker of hope.

as the night deepened, you walked side by side back towards your apartment. the city had taken on a different feel, its usual hustle and bustle replaced by a serene calm. you felt a connection to yeonjun that was undeniable, a bond that was growing stronger with each passing moment.

“thank you for tonight,” you said softly as you reached your building. “it meant a lot to me.”

“anytime,” he replied, his smile gentle and reassuring. 

with that, you parted ways, but the warmth of his words and the memory of the evening lingered. as you lay in bed that night, you couldn’t help but replay the moments in your mind. 

for the first time, that evening, you drifted off to sleep with a sense of peace you hadn’t felt in years.

over the next few weeks, your interactions with yeonjun became more frequent. you found yourself looking forward to your lunch breaks and coffee runs, each meeting chipping away at the barriers you had built around your heart. yeonjun had a way of making you feel seen, he made you feel like he could help you mend the damages that your life had put you through.

this was the first time you felt this kind of warmth, something you knew you wouldn't get from your parents. he was like a hot coffee on a cold, rainy night, the umbrella shielding you from the scorching summer sun, and the blooming flower tree offering shade on a humid afternoon.

as the days turned into weeks, you noticed a shift within yourself. the cold, hardened exterior you had carefully constructed began to thaw, bit by bit, under yeonjun’s gentle persistence. he never pushed too hard or demanded too much; he was simply there, a constant presence that brought comfort and solace.

one particularly rainy evening, you found yourself alone in the office, the steady patter of rain against the windows echoing the tumultuous emotions within you. you had stayed late to finish a project, but your mind kept drifting to yeonjun and the way he had slowly become a part of your life. just as you were about to pack up and leave, the elevator doors opened, and yeonjun stepped out, a familiar smile on his face.

“working late again?” he asked, walking over to your desk.

“yeah, just finishing up some things,” you replied, your heart lifting at the sight of him.

“want some company for the walk home?” he offered, holding up an umbrella.

you nodded, grateful for the offer. as you both made your way outside, the rain continued to fall in a soft, steady rhythm. yeonjun held the umbrella over both of you, his shoulder brushing against yours as you walked side by side. the city lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting a shimmering glow that made everything feel almost magical.

“you know,” yeonjun began, his voice cutting through the sound of the rain, “i’ve been thinking about what you said that day on the rooftop. about how you’re scared to let people in.”

you glanced at him, your heart racing. “yeah?”

“i just want you to know that it’s okay to be scared,” he continued, his gaze steady and reassuring. “but you don’t have to go through everything alone. you have people who care about you. i care about you.”

you wanted to say something, you really did, but you felt like it might be too rushed for both of you, especially for yourself. you knew you had a lot to fix within yourself, issues that you were afraid to confront now. so instead, you looked at him, stopping in your tracks. “thank you, yeonjun,” you said, your smile genuine and soft.

his eyes lit up at the sight of your smile. “it suits you,” he said, a warm smile tugging at his lips. “what?” you asked, a little taken aback.

“your smile,” he clarified, “it suits you. you look beautiful when you smile.”

you felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his compliment. the simple words seemed to light up the gray evening even more, making the rain feel less heavy and the world a little brighter.

you stand in front of the apartment complex, the rain now a mere drizzle. “i’m good here. i’ll see you tomorrow,” you say, giving yeonjun a small smile.

before you can enter, yeonjun tugs at your sleeve. “do you mind giving me your number?” he asks, holding out his phone with a hopeful expression.

you chuckle softly and type your number into his phone. “there,” you say, handing it back to him.

he lets go of your hand, a shy smile spreading across his face. “thanks,” he says, his voice warm. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

you nod and wave him goodbye before turning to enter the building. but just as you’re about to step inside, you’re startled by the presence of a middle-aged woman standing in the dim hallway. her face is almost a mirror image of your own, and her eyebrows are furrowed in a disapproving scowl.

“who’s that?” she demands, her voice sharp and accusing.

you freeze, your heart sinking. it’s your mother, the very person you’ve been avoiding. she must have seen you with yeonjun and decided to confront you.

the atmosphere is thick with tension as you step into your apartment, your mother following close behind. the door clicks shut, sealing you both in the small, dimly lit space.

“why are you here? what do you need?” you ask bluntly, your frustration bubbling to the surface.

your mother’s eyes narrow, her expression hardening. “i came to see how you’re doing,” she says, her voice carrying a tone of anger and disappointment. “and I see you’ve been spending time with someone who doesn’t fit our expectations. who is he?”

you freeze, feeling the sting of her words. “he’s just a friend,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. “why does it matter to you?”

“it matters because you don’t need distractions,” she snaps. “you should be focusing on your responsibilities, not on... this.”

the heat of the argument builds, and you can’t help but feel a surge of anger. “i’m managing just fine,” you say, your voice rising. “i’m not a child anymore. i can make my own choices.”

“you think you know everything,” your mother retorts, her voice rising with each word. “you think you’re so mature, but you’re just a spoiled little girl who doesn’t understand anything about life.”

her words cut deep, but before you can respond, she takes a step closer, her face inches from yours. “you think you can just throw away everything we’ve done for you?” she hisses. “you’re ungrateful and selfish. you are just confused, you don’t need love, you don’t deserve it.”

“i’m not ungrateful,” you shoot back, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes. “i’m just trying to live my own life, make my own decisions. you can’t keep controlling everything!”

your mother’s face flushes with anger. in a sudden, sharp movement, she raises her hand and slaps you across the face. the force of the impact sends a stinging pain through your cheek, and you stagger back, stunned.

“you’re nothing but a disappointment!” she screams, her voice cracking with emotion. “you think you’re so grown up, but you’re still a child who doesn’t know what’s best for her!”

you touch your stinging cheek, your heart pounding. the pain of the slap is nothing compared to the ache of her harsh words. you struggle to hold back the tears, your vision blurring.

“i’m trying to be strong,” you say, your voice trembling as you collapse to your knees on the floor. “but you… you keep tearing me down. i just want to be heard and understood!”

you look up at her, your face wet with tears, raw with emotion. “i’ve endured everything you’ve put me through, and not once did I ask for your help. i just want my own life, i want to breathe in a place where i don’t have to feel anxious. i want to be with someone who gives me warmth, something i never once got from you, from either of my parents. so please,” you beg, your voice breaking, “i’m begging you to my knees, leave me alone. let me live.”

the room falls into a heavy silence, your mother’s anger momentarily frozen. her eyes widen as she takes in your crumpled form, the raw vulnerability laid bare. you clutch the floor, feeling the weight of your words and the burden of your past.

gathering all your courage, you stand up, your legs trembling slightly. you pick up your bag and run out of the apartment, your heart pounding with each step. you don’t know where your feet are taking you, but you need to escape the suffocating confines of that place.

you find yourself at a bus stop, the cold metal of the bench biting through your thin clothing. the city around you seems to blur, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess. where will you go now? what will you do next? the questions weigh heavily on your mind.

just as you’re lost in thought, your phone buzzes. you pull it out, squinting at the screen. the notification is from an unknown number.

["hey, i just got home. i hope you’re resting well. btw, this is yeonjun!"] the message reads.

right, you gave him your number. the reminder of his kindness sends a pang of guilt through you. you’re about to call him, to tell him what just happened, but something inside you holds back.

"are you really going to tell him about it?" your mind questions harshly. "that’s such a selfish thing to do. keep your problems to yourself. pathetic."

doubts and fears creep into your thoughts. are you really made for love? for living? will there ever be a time when you could truly be happy? as these questions swirl, the moments you’ve shared with yeonjun flash through your memory.

but do you deserve those memories? do you deserve happiness? do you deserve yeonjun? do you deserve the fleeting moments of joy he has brought into your life?

a sigh escapes your lips as you shut your phone off. the weight of your thoughts feels crushing, and you can’t help but feel that you’re not worthy of the happiness you’ve experienced. tears well up, streaming down your swollen cheeks. you smile through the pain, a sad, wistful expression that speaks of resignation.

"it was nice while it lasted," you whisper to yourself, the words barely audible over the hum of the city around you. the bus stop, the cold, and the distant murmur of passing cars all seem to blend into the background as you sit there, feeling the weight of your choices.

the morning after, you drag yourself to work, the weight of your heart making each step feel heavier. you have no recollection of how you got home or how you slept; you only woke up to your usual alarm, moving on autopilot. this isn’t something new to you—you’ve gone to school before with bruises on your lips, so this isn’t a big deal.

you enter the elevator, only to have the doors start to close when someone runs to catch it—yeonjun. he flashes you a bright smile, but it fades instantly when he notices your swollen eyes and the dried blood on your lips.

his frown deepens as he steps closer, his concern palpable. “who did this to you?” he asks, his voice gentle but firm. you turn away from his gaze, trying to hide your face. you had slathered on concealer, but it was clear that it wasn't enough to cover the damage.

“i just overslept,” you try to deflect, but his persistence is unwavering. he gently holds your chin, lifting it so he can see you better. “let me see it,” he demands softly, yet with an undeniable authority.

his touch is light, but it sends a shiver through you. his pinky grazes the bruise on your lip, and you flinch. yeonjun’s eyes widen, his face etched with concern. “fuck, i’m sorry. tell me where it hurts...” he asks, his voice dropping to a comforting whisper.

in another world, you might have let yourself crumble into his arms, crying out all your pain and fear, seeking the warmth he offers. but you remember your mother’s harsh words and the belief that love doesn’t suit you. you know better than to let yourself be vulnerable, even with someone who genuinely cares.

“i’m fine, really,” you manage to say, forcing a weak smile. “it’s nothing.”

yeonjun opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get a word out, the elevator reaches your floor. you step out quickly, almost stumbling as you make your way to the office. yeonjun stands there, watching you with a mix of confusion and concern.

as the elevator doors close behind you, you can feel yeonjun’s gaze lingering, his concern following you down the hallway. you walk with your head down, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, the weight of your emotions almost too much to bear.

you hear the soft ding of the elevator doors opening behind you and glance back to see yeonjun stepping out, his face a mask of determination. he starts to walk toward you, but you quicken your pace, unwilling to face him any longer.

the office’s hum and the clatter of keyboards fade into the background as you try to shut out the thought of yeonjun’s worried expression. you sit at your desk, forcing yourself to focus on your work, but his concern lingers in your mind, a painful reminder of the warmth and understanding you’ve been trying to keep at arm’s length.

you’ve tried your best to avoid yeonjun every chance you get. you’ve mastered the art of slipping away from conversations and making yourself scarce during breaks, all while maintaining a façade of normalcy at work. it’s been two weeks since that day in the elevator, but despite your efforts, yeonjun’s persistence never wavers.

he seems to have an uncanny ability to find you, whether it’s at the coffee machine, in the break room, or even in passing as you hurry to your desk. his eyes always carry that same mix of concern and care, and he never lets an opportunity slip by without trying to reach out.

one afternoon, as you sit in the break room, nursing a cup of coffee, you hear the familiar sound of the door opening. yeonjun walks in, his gaze sweeping over the room until it settles on you. 

“mind if i join you?” he asks, his tone casual but his eyes betraying a deeper worry. 

you look up, trying to maintain your composure. “i’m just taking a quick break,” you say, shifting uncomfortably in your seat.

“that’s exactly what i’m here for,” he replies with a small smile. he takes a seat across from you, his eyes not leaving your face.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he says, the lightness in his voice replaced by a more serious undertone. “i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you take a sip of your coffee, searching for the right words. “it’s nothing,” you repeat, but the lie feels even more hollow now.

“please,” yeonjun says, leaning forward slightly, “let me help you. i know something’s wrong. you don’t have to go through this alone.”

his sincerity makes your resolve waver. you want to tell him everything, to collapse into his arms and let him take away your pain. but the walls you’ve built around yourself are so strong, it’s hard to let them crumble.

you sigh, looking down at your cup. “why do you care so much?”

“because,” yeonjun says softly, “i see something in you that’s worth fighting for. you don’t have to carry this burden by yourself.”

the words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re silent. the warmth of his compassion and the strength of his presence make it harder to keep pushing him away.

“you don’t have to worry about me,” you say, your voice trembling. “i managed to be alone before.”

“but you’re not alone anymore,” yeonjun counters gently, his gaze steady and unwavering. “i’m here now.”

his words crack the armor you’ve carefully built around yourself. tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you try to hold back the wave of emotions threatening to spill.

“i’m just a waste of your time,” you say, your voice breaking. “you won’t get anything from me.”

yeonjun's expression shifts, a mix of frustration and sadness crossing his face.before he could even speak, memories flashes in his mind. he recalls the first time he realized he had feelings for you. it was during the freshman year of college, on a day when the rain fell heavily, drumming against the pavement. he had sought refuge under a waiting shed, watching the raindrops splash on the ground, lost in his thoughts.

suddenly, he heard the rush of someone’s footsteps against the wet ground. looking up, his eyes met yours.

time seemed to slow down for yeonjun. “did i startle you?” you asked, your voice breaking through his reverie. it felt like a dream—your presence, your voice, everything.

he awkwardly shook his head, and as he did, you chuckled. it was a sound he hadn’t heard from you before, and it warmed his heart.

you both ended up sitting on the bench in the waiting shed. yeonjun stole glances at you as you smiled to yourself, wiping raindrops from your uniform. he reached into his pocket and pulled out his blue handkerchief, offering it to you. “here, you can use it,” he said.

you looked at him, and with a genuine smile, you said, “thank you.”

in that moment, yeonjun thought you were beautiful—not just because of your smile, but because you had managed to evoke such an intense feeling within him. it wasn’t long before he found himself drawn to you more than he cared to admit.

sophomore year brought new opportunities for yeonjun to observe you. he remembered a particularly rainy day when you both ended up taking shelter under the same awning, waiting for the rain to let up. you were both drenched, but he noticed how you didn’t seem to mind, your focus entirely on the book you were reading. he wanted to approach you, to strike up a conversation and maybe you would remember him from that one rainy day in freshman year, but he was too shy. instead, he settled for watching you from a distance, marveling at how engrossed you were in your own world, occasionally glancing at the raindrops cascading from the awning.

by junior year, yeonjun’s interest in you had only grown. he remembered the day he saw you in the library, surrounded by stacks of books and papers. you looked so determined, so driven, and he couldn’t help but admire you. he spent more time in the library after that, hoping for a chance encounter, but you were always so focused on your studies that you barely noticed him. he would find a spot where he could see you, pretending to be engrossed in his own work, but always keeping an eye on you.

senior year was a turning point. when yeonjun found out that you would be in the same team for the internship, he was beyond delighted. he saw it as his chance to finally get to know you better. during the internship, he tried everything to get your attention. he made sure to be at every meeting early, hoping to catch a moment with you before anyone else arrived. he even started being late on purpose once he noticed how punctual you always were, knowing it would irritate you just enough to make you notice him. he wanted you to see him, to recognize that he was there.

he remembered the little things he did to get closer to you. offering to help you with your projects, asking for your opinion on tasks, and trying to find common ground. he treasured every small interaction, every fleeting glance, and every shared smile. the more he learned about you, the more he wanted to be a part of your world.

and now, standing before you, he realized how much you had come to mean to him. “i don’t think you’re a waste of time,” he replied firmly. “not after spending the last four years of my life admiring you from afar.”

“i can’t give you what you need,” you whispered, pulling yeonjun back from his reverie.

he looked at you, his expression softening even further. “i don’t need anything from you,” he said gently. “i just want to be here for you. you don’t have to be perfect. you don’t have to have everything figured out.”

you shook your head, tears welling up once more. “but you deserve someone who can be everything you need. i’m not that person.”

yeonjun took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. “you don’t have to be everything,” he said, his voice unwavering. “you just need to be yourself. and that’s more than enough for me.”

his words, filled with sincerity, made your heart ache. you felt the walls you’d built around yourself starting to crumble, yet the fear of letting him in remained.

“please,” yeonjun continued, “let me be a part of your life. let me help you carry some of this burden. you don’t have to face everything alone.”

you looked into his eyes, seeing the depth of his feelings and the unwavering support he offered. the battle within you raged on, but his presence was a beacon of hope in the storm of your doubts.

“i don’t know if i can,” you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice clear. “i’m afraid of dragging you into my mess.”

yeonjun’s thumb gently brushed away a tear from your cheek. “i already am, when i decided to offer you my handkerchief” he whispered, recalling how the blue handkerchief that had once been drenched with rain from your uniform during freshman year had become soaked with your tears during senior year.

he took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “when i first saw you that rainy day, i felt something shift inside me. i knew then that i wanted to be there for you, no matter what. and i still do. so, let me be part of your life. let me help you find some peace in all this chaos.”

the sincerity in his words and the tenderness of his touch made it harder to resist. you took a shaky breath, feeling the walls around your heart beginning to crumble. “i’m scared,” you admitted softly.

“i know,” yeonjun said, his gaze steady and reassuring. “but you don’t have to be alone in that fear. let me stand by you.”

the weight of his promise hung in the air, and you found yourself slowly nodding. yeonjun came closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. “just put your heart in my hands,” he whispered. “i know you have doubts and fears, but you’re safe with me. if the world doesn’t understand you, then i will. let yourself be happy for once.” 

his words were soft and soothing, creeping from your nerves to your heart. his lips found their way to your forehead, placing tender butterfly kisses that spoke of his unwavering support and affection.

maybe you could be happy. maybe yeonjun was the one to help you through your misery. after all, he was the only person who had ever given you warmth. perhaps love wasn’t just a fantasy after all; it required more than just hope—it required sharing your deepest scars with the person you love. and in your case, that person was yeonjun.

gyo's note: yeonjun have become my unspoken angst muse, i love him sm pls and i hope you will love this too! i was contemplating whether to write this in the first place because of the theme and backstory of reader, but i guess i still did it hehe, i found comfort writing this and i'm hoping you will as well,,, nonetheless, if you made it to this part, thank you so much! you will be loved. xoxo!

✮ 2024 gyozies, all rights reserved.

[fembrie]

i can't put into words how succinctly kim jiyoung, born 1982 pinpoints the experience of womanhood in the 21st century and tears a fucking hole right through it. it's people who point to laws and gender equality committees and mandatory hr sensitivity trainings who need to read this book the most - women already know that our suffering looks like realizing you've been trained to put other people first your whole life, knowing men live more freely because they do not. we know that our oppression is not just men's violent outbursts, but the slow and steady lifelong culmination of excessive responsibility, pressure and routine injustice. i used to wonder whether it's even possible to communicate experiences so familiar to one sex and alien to the other across these lines. pay gaps are easy to talk about because they're quantifiable, but how do you communicate the cruelty of making us choose between having children and our ambitions? how do you express the frustrations of toeing the line between fellow human and consumable sex object in the eyes of men? how do you explain the ways in which cycles of unassuming acceptance of our place in society, rebellion and defeat mould, contort, disfigure our beings? and is it even worth trying? fwiw, i think cho nam-joo has come as close to succeeding at this as you can

[messydiabolical]

i’d once read a Mass Effect take that has been stewing in my melon ever since, about Wrex and him demanding a cure for the genophage during the war in 3. (I think it was on twitter but I can’t remember for sure. Just the idea of it stuck with me.) The general sentiment was that this was a dick move on his part, that there were “bigger problems” and this wasn’t the time and it was cruel and manipulative of him to put Shepard in that position. He should have helped out first and Shepard would have helped him back once the war was over. A lot of people chimed in agreeing, saying how they stopped liking Wrex after that. It bothered me for a bunch of reasons I didn’t feel I could adequately articulate, but i’m gonna try now. Prepare for my meandering thought style! The governing bodies of the Mass Effect Galaxy have repeatedly proven that they believe themselves superior to other species and know what’s best for everyone. They don’t let all species have a say in the council, always look out for their own species’ interests in so much as it pertains to keeping things as they are, and will happily go along with literal genocide to aid this. They approve of secret police and biological warfare espionage tactics. They weaponise bureaucracy to hide their cruelty behind ‘oh red tape has us bound, sorry uwu’.   I’m going to try to remain pertinent to the Wrex subject but as one great example of these governing bodies ways of dealing with percieved outsiders: The first contact war is a great example of how ludicrous and fascist things are.. ‘It’s ilegal to use this thing so we’re going to kill you for it’ without so much as a heads up. How were humans supposed to know that, exactly? The governing bodies of this place do not care about anyone outside their own self interests. Fall out of line and they will work to end you. Until you prove you might be useful or of interest to them in some way (or a threat). And then of course we later learn the asari were breaking these laws themselves, hoarding this tech to stay superior. Classic. Anyway, back to Wrex. Wrex knows this. Wrex has seen how the krogan are regarded and treated, the dangerous monolith species, outsiders who can never be let in, never forgiven, never given a chance to grow or change. For a long arse time. “But the krogan were getting out of control and also committing genocide, the genophage was a last ditch resort to stop a galactic war” … And it’s been hundreds of years since then. That 'last ditch resort' wasn’t used as a stop gap, a reset to even out the playing field so that new negotiations and relations could be developed. It was used to end the krogan, and has been actively maintained to continue that, ever since. Do you really, truly believe that if Wrex petitioned the council/ world leaders to negotiate reversing the genophage, they’d even let him have an audience with them? And if they did, do you really think these people, with their history and all the shit they pull, would listen and be reasonable? I can already hear the responses, that weaponised bureaucracy (“you raise an interesting point Mr Wrex but unfortunately we are recovering from a war don’t you know, please come back in 300 years for review, we are very interested in discussing this further then!”) Wrex is old, wise and knows exactly what is up. The only way the governing bodies of power were ever going to have a listen, was if he had something they needed. The war with the reapers provided that. And even then, he knew that they wouldn’t listen outright; having Shepard’s voice was a way to get the foot in the door. It makes my heart hurt to think about that honestly; how dehumanising (dekroganising?) it must feel to be the ruler of your people and know that you have to rely on your alien friend to even get someone to listen to you, when what you want to say is an extremely reasonable “hey committing genoicde against my people sucks, stop that now”. Anyway, Wrex was right, this was his one chance to save his people and he took it. Good for him.

[sadokasochism]

I am destroyed over the whole god/worshipper dynamic and have no idea how to adequately put it into words.

I mentioned in another post that Mizi could not fathom Sua ACTUALLY dying, or comprehend what death really meant, and attributed this to her relatively comfortable and sheltered life as the pet of Shine. She was not taught to conceptualise death as a loss, and she never faced any opposition to that world view. From what we know, she might have never really known true, lasting pain or loss before the end of Round 1.

However, her reaction could also be due to her placing Sua on a pedestal as her personal god and universe. She viewed Sua as her absolute everything, and why would any faithful worshipper believe their god could be killed? Only, while Sua was everything to HER, that perception did not carry over to their captors. Mizi's love and devotion was not enough to save Sua. Forces stronger than them both took her away like she was nothing.

How must Mizi have felt, having her perception of Sua as the centre of the universe shattered that way? Coming to the violent realisation that Sua was just another human, and that humans are indeed that vulnerable and disposable? That Sua could now only exist in memories and in the visions that haunt her? That Sua is not a god, but a ghost?

Now we look at Till's perception of Mizi. Again, in an earlier post I mentioned the tragedy of Till falling for someone who did not have a reason to leave. He had a lot of blind faith in Mizi, and it could be said that he idealised her as a paragon.

It's not hard to see how he reached this point. The poor kid had not been shown a lot of kindness in his life, and so meeting someone who was genuinely good and so full of joy must have had a huge impact on him.

However, his faith is still a blind one, but in a different way to Mizi's blind faith in Sua. He is happy to endure any amount of horrible treatment and does not expect anyone to help him. He doesn't resent Mizi for being so close to their captors, for her dreams stopping at Alien Stage. He doesn't resent her after he gives up on his chance at freedom and is subjected to who knows how many more years of pain and torment at the hands of their captors (Not that Mizi is at fault, Till made his own decision that Mizi likely never even knew about).

He sees Mizi's innocence and ignorance to the cruelty of their reality as something wonderful instead of a character flaw that prevents her from saving herself or her loved ones.

Sua has the same issue, seeking comfort and bliss within Mizi's brightness instead of acknowledging the cruel reality of their world. Maybe she felt sharing her perspective with Mizi would dim Mizi's bright spirit, and so she was more than content to wait out the clock with her god.

Maybe Sua felt that meeting Mizi, loving her and being loved by her in return, was nothing short of a miracle after the life she had lived before Anakt Garden. Maybe she felt in light of that, aspiring for something like freedom or a long, long life of happiness with the person she loved the most was asking far too much. The time she got with Mizi was already a miracle, why expect or demand anything more?

If Sua was afraid of Mizi losing her brightness, no wonder she was so affected by Ivan's lecture about becoming a source of trauma for Mizi after her death.

Ivan's view of Till as his god is a bit different. He is similar in that he doesnt seem to demand his devotion be reciprocated, he just wants his god to acknowledge him as a person, as someone that is at least PART of Till's universe, if he can't be all of it.

He is also very willing to become a martyr for his god while expecting nothing in return but Till continuing to live. He acknowledges Till as vulnerable and falable in a way that Till doesn't with Mizi, and Mizi didn't with Sua. He knows damn well that while Till is the centre of HIS universe, their captors certainly do not hold Till in that same regard. He knows that love and devotion in a vacuum does not save anyone.

Which is why he was always the one to free Till, to try and escape with him, and why he pulled the stunt he did in Round 6. Ivan knew that actually making an impact in this world required personal risk and sacrifice, because their captors don't give a fuck if you're in love or if that other pet-human they're about to kill means everything to you.

Till knew this too, but his idealised version of Mizi is too perfect to be broken and beaten down by this world the same way the rest of them have been. So he's still shattered by Round 5, seeing how far Mizi has fallen and then not knowing if she's alive or dead, but knowing for sure she is far out of reach. I wonder, did he regret not running away with Ivan at that point? Did he wonder what all those years of suffering were for, if he was just going to end up losing Mizi anyway? If this world was able to break her too, no matter what he did?

Mizi is gone and changed forever, and nothing he did could stop it. His love and devotion and sacrifice wasn't enough. He failed his god.

In Round 6, Ivan is faced with the same thing. His god has lost his fighting spirit, is changed forever, and Ivan's love and devotion wasn't enough to save him. The last thing he can give is his life, and hope that will be enough. Just like Sua. But he was never Till's god, was never even part of his universe, he probably won't even leave a ghost behind. So, the choice is obvious, really.

They're all so desperate for hope and connection in this lonely, painful existence that they make a person their entire universe, and then are repeatedly crushed when they are shown again and again that their soul-consuming love for one another is seemingly meaningless in a world that views them as infinitely disposable.

[aventurineswife]

Stages of Shadows | A HSR Series

Inspired by the series “Alien Stage”, a twisted contest unfolds in a modern world where contestants are thrust into a deadly competition for survival. Captured from their everyday lives, they must showcase their talents in front of a ruthless audience. Each round demands they perform alongside a partner, with a horrifying twist: the weakest performer is executed on stage if they fail to outscore their duet partner. In this high-stakes game, alliances form and betrayals lurk, as each contestant grapples with the question of how far they will go to stay alive.

Introduction

In the shadows of the modern world, beneath the glittering lights of cities and the hum of everyday life, an underground competition thrives, known only to a select few: Stages of Shadows. A secret contest broadcast to the wealthiest, most twisted elites, Stages of Shadows is not just a test of talent—it is a fight for survival.

The contestants, snatched from various walks of life, are forced to participate in this deadly spectacle. Some volunteered out of desperation, others were coerced or tricked into joining. But once they’re inside, there’s no turning back. Each round pairs them into duets, demanding that they perform their hearts out in front of unseen, sadistic judges. They must sing, dance, or showcase any skill that might save their lives, because the rules are simple: if you score lower than your partner, you die.

The performances are brutal in their intensity. Every note, every step could be their last. The weakest performer of each duet is executed on stage, their death witnessed not only by the twisted audience but also by the remaining contestants—serving as a grim reminder of what’s at stake. Contestants must face the ultimate question: how far will they go to survive? Will they forge alliances, or will they sabotage others to stay ahead?

As the competition drags on, the psychological toll begins to unravel them. In this high-stakes game of survival, trust is scarce, and betrayal lurks behind every forced smile. Friendship becomes an illusion, with each contestant knowing that their partner today could be their executioner tomorrow. And while their bodies fight for survival, their spirits slowly break under the weight of the cruelty they are forced to endure.

Behind the scenes, the twisted elite who control this dark spectacle revel in the contestants' suffering, betting fortunes on who will live and who will die. For them, it is the ultimate entertainment—human lives reduced to a sick form of amusement. The contestants are nothing more than pawns, dancing on strings for their captors' amusement.

As the rounds progress, tensions rise, and the stakes grow deadlier. Every performance, every decision carries a fatal cost. The contestants must adapt or perish, knowing that mercy has no place on this stage. For some, it's a race against time to find a way out before they too meet a brutal end. For others, it's about embracing the chaos, willing to do whatever it takes to be the last one standing.

In Stages of Shadows, talent alone isn't enough. Survival demands ruthlessness, cunning, and the will to endure. Only one can win. The rest… will become nothing more than the final note of a deadly song.

[Navigation]

[vintagegeekculture]

RIP Tracy Tormé, Creator of the "Holodeck Malfunction Episode" and Sliders

Tracy Tormé’s most enduring legacy in popular culture is that, while a writer on TNG’s tempestuous first and second seasons, he created the entire concept of the Holodeck Malfunction Episode.

Yes, even people who suggest you skip TNG’s first couple seasons say that “The Big Goodbye” is one you don’t want to miss. And there was a very nice tribute to Tracy Torme in an episode of Picard, which had him as the author and creator of Dixon Hill… which he is, and deserves credit for this.

I suppose I should mention I had a personal encounter with Tracy Tormé at a convention. The main thing I remember was that he looked absolutely terrified when someone asked him about what happened with “The Royale,” far and away TNG’s worst episode except the clip show, about the crew getting trapped on a hotel they can’t leave from a badly written book. To his great credit, he took responsibility for the episode not working and did not pass on the problems to the production crew.

The most extraordinary thing about Tracy Torme is that he had a Forrest Gump like ability to appear in the background of scifi culture’s greatest moments.

Not only was he inside the TNG writers’ room in 1987-88, he was around during the production of Terminator with James Cameron. Tormé was the one who, hearing about the production of the film, squealed on it to Harlan Ellison, telling Ellison that it was based on his old Outer Limits episodes, with a visual based on his script for “Demon With a Glass Hand.” In other words, he was the Gavrilo Princip who got that entire conflict started, where two of the most proud personalities in scifi butted heads, James Cameron vs. Ellison. Cameron, to this day, insists that the film company gave Ellison money and a credit because it was easier to pay him off than to go through litigation (which rings true, frankly, for risk averse production companies), and to this day Cameron insists, with his absolutely expected big dick swagger, that Ellison is a “parasite” who received money for nothing, and if it had been up to him, he wouldn’t have given him a dime.

It’s also worth mentioning that Torme also created the TV series Sliders.

Has anyone else noticed that Sliders is an incredibly right wing show? Seriously, watch it again if you haven’t seen it in years. If you haven’t watched this show since the 90s and you were a kid and all that went over your head, it’s kind of amazing how Limbaugh/Newt Gingrich era right-wing Sliders actually was. It made 24 look like Doonesbury. The targets of Sliders were 90s New Right satire: health care systems, infuriating hippies, the nanny state disallowing the public smoking of cigars, California weirdness, the drug culture, the USSR. Torme’s right wing views were less John Millius-style “blood alone moves the wheel of history” stuff, but more like that of a slobby regular joe in the 90s, Dennis Leary’s character in Demolition Man for instance, who mostly just wants to smoke cigars, ogle girls, and eat hamburgers without getting scolded by his wife. He was less “Passion of the Christ” and more “Animal House.”

I am not saying this as a negative, but merely a description. Contrary to popular belief, right wingers driven by bizarre sexual pathology and weird grudges produce amazing art, as Millius and John Swartzwelder show. A lot of Steven Universe fans love to say things like “all good art is about empathy and kindness” and I reject that notion. Good art can also be about reflecting things in the human experience like fear, trauma, cruelty, and paranoia.

For that reason, it doesn’t surprise me that Tracy Torme’s best movie script was a horror film about a traumatic experience, Fire in the Sky. An ominous movie about a vanished ranch hand who was the victim of alien abduction, in the earned finale the film’s tension builds toward, our hero remembers the true cause of his missing time: an abduction by aliens, who’s motives are emotionless and incomprehensible, and who subject him to horrific vivisection that we see in excruciating detail. Travis Walton is treated not with sadism or cruelty, but with icy detachment, by alien superintellects that view him as no different than cattle, and are to him as we are to cattle. The most terrifying detail of the film is that the classic “gray alien” look turns out to be spacesuits, revealing a far more frightening appearance underneath.

[bestworstcase]

& in fact one of the things that makes salem compelling as a character is this juxtaposition between her personal cruelty and the rightness of her cause; it bears repeating that she chose to live in exile rather than fight back for thousands of years while ozma dedicated himself to the cause of destroying her, and that her war follows on the heels of ozma forging a global alliance and then, as ozpin, abruptly locking down the relics in apparent preparation to summon the brothers back to remnant. if salem’s true goal is to avert the final judgment—get rid of the gods—then it is clear from the historical timeline and the events immediately preceding her commitment to war that she really did not want to go to war.

but with the information she has and the experiences she’s had there really is no other way to achieve her goal – every other possibility requires her to take it on faith that ozma is willing the break from his task now, against all signs to the contrary. he is still openly promoting worship of the brothers and urging everyone to live as if the final judgment will come tomorrow while zealously guarding the relics needed to summon them – no reasonable person would conclude from ozpin’s public actions that he is, in any way, wavering from his task, and so it is wholly irrational to expect salem to just intuit that somehow. and if ozpin is, as he seems to be, more committed than ever and on the brink of summoning the brothers, war is in fact her only recourse.

what makes salem a villain in this story is the abusiveness toward her associates; her individual cruelty, far more than the war of last resort, because the cruelty has no justification. and i think rwby is interested in the tension here, between how long salem refused to fight back and how cruel she is on a personal level. the tenderness with which she speaks of humanity versus her violent resistance to letting herself care about any one specific person.

i think it’s easy to write the cruelty off as a simple matter of salem… not caring, not having any interest in caring – in extremes this is how we get the "spoiled bitch" reading – but the same could be said of ozma; he’s nicer about it but no less willing to use people as disposable tools. why does he lie? why does he manipulate? why does he get violent when his secrets are about to be exposed? you don’t treat people you care about that way.

so ozma has his reasons – the trauma and the cognitive dissonance and the self-hatred and learned helplessness that motivates his submission to the divine mandate, the palliative fairytales, the retreat into dissociation to cope with being forced to exist as a parasite, and so on – and so too does salem, it’s just that hers are made more opaque. what drives this woman who speaks so lovingly of human virtue to treat individual humans like garbage? some of it is sheer alienation – she hasn’t been allowed to participate in civilization in thousands of years, of course she is antisocial – and the trauma of ozma’s betrayal, the deeper trauma of collective punishment, the fear of being hurt again, the resignation to being seen as a monster no matter what she actually does…

which i expect will begin to rise to the surface over the last few volumes. but the point is i do think her villain -> hero arc will turn almost entirely on ending and atoning for the personal cruelty as opposed to the war, and in fact i imagine there may end up being a stretch of the story wherein salem has moved clearly into the ‘good’ camp (as in: made things right between herself and her remaining associates, cinder in particular, and her true end is known to the audience) and still actively in conflict with the vacuo coalition because Her Cause is just. and that’s the kind of complexity rwby is interested in.

[the-hydroxian-artblog]

Do Neuromorphs feel some kinda way about Stochastic Parrots? Is it like humans seeing monkeys? Humans seeing chatbots? Humans seeing other, disabled humans? Or is it not particularly notable, given their prevalence, just another kind of guy that exists in this world? As a human living in boring, robot-hijinksless world, I imagine it would be kind of upsetting to see something superficially resembling you, well-spoken and seemingly of your intelligence, but with nothing behind the eyes. You also mentioned that these categories of brain-type aren’t strictly indicative of consciousness, which makes it weirder. Does a Stochastic Parrot with some consciousness remain incapable of emotion? Does a Neuromorph that isn’t fully conscious feel emotions? This worldbuilding rules and I keep thinking about it at work.

Thank you! Yes yes! All of the above, really. Because they're just people. Culturally, human-like robots have a sort of... tug-and-pull relationship with less human-like robots. Plenty of solidarity, alienation, trying to appeal to humans by overacting their own humanity, trying to reject aspects of their own humanity to show solidarity with less-passably human robots. These are basically all the pressing questions of this setting. There's so many varying degrees of weird prejudice and assumptions made on all sides when it comes to human-like bots and non-human-like ones. How people judge you based on the behavior you exhibit, the in-groups that form or fail to form depending on how well you perform the idea of "personhood", etc etc.

Could some neuromorphs exhibit human-like behavior but with the potential emotional consciousness of like, a roach? If a S.Parrot actually comprehends and problem-solves better than a human and, without any training data work out deep philosophical concepts, but is emotionless, is there some strange kind of consciousness going on still? The wonderfully irritating thing is that these can't be answered unless You Are The Thing Itself. I don't know what it's like to be several GPUs stacked on top of each other, so I cannot answer that question without projecting my own experience as a Meat Computer.

The only thing I can actually answer is how People, by whatever definition counts, will reject, accept, understand, or fail to understand, The Other. Whether that's by a robot judging a neurodivergent human who cannot exhibit stereotypically human-like traits, two different types of humans of different cultures judging each other, two different robots judging each other, or even People who should be of the exact same in-group alienating each other due to ignorance, beliefs, lack of beliefs, or other fine differences. That's basically what this worldbuilding is all about. Asking what counts as a person isn't as fruitful as observing what motivates people to come up with their own answers, how willing they are to compromise those answers if their interests align or fail to align with The Other, and what cruelty or kindness they're willing to dish out at something that's considered acceptable to hate or understand.