#and it feels more like the twist is just trying to delude you than actually make you use your brains

[rhubarb-newt]

-frustrated incoherent mumbling about Jigsaw (2017)-

[bulletswithribbons]

Loving and fearless

TateLangdonxFem!reader // NSFW

Summary: You find out your boyfriend is a mass murderer. He's worried about what you will think of him but he never knew you weren't a good girl from the very start.

Warnings: Smut (obv), unprotected piv, sex with feelings, implied murder...

Word count: 1.7k

a/n: Ok so sorry I took really long to write a new fic I was working on a Part 2 for my Kai one but then thought of this. Had to write it down to satisfy my pookies since I didn't take so long writing it. Basically why it's short.

𝕱𝖚𝖑𝖑 𝖋𝖎𝖈 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖚𝖙 ⋆⭒˚.⋆𝜗𝜚

“Are you scared?” He asks. He wasn’t trying to hide it, nor deny it. He just wanted you to accept it as it is. He was no saint, but so weren’t you. No sugarcoating things for this once at least.

You shook your head slowly, “no.” You said, and it wasn’t a lie. At least yet. You weren’t afraid of him, you knew him better than anyone. Or maybe that’s what you chose to believe. You didn’t want to change anything about him or live in a deluded world of your own thinking of him as someone he isn’t. As fucked-up as it sounds, you liked that psychopathic trait of his.

Tate tilts his head partly to the side, daring you to say that thing you were desperate to.

“I doubt it,” he replied, regret somehow dripping from his tone. You knew he didn’t regret shooting up his school nor all the murders he committed, rather of the way you found out. He had already apologized, what else would you need? Him to get on his knees and beg you to forgive him? He would gladly do that.

“I want you to embrace it,” you finally said, the thought lingering in your head for a while now. You just didn’t know how to express it without sounding like a weirdo. 

“Embrace it?” He repeats after you, confused, a hint of surprise in his voice.

You nod.

“You killed them. There’s nothing you can do about it anymore. You’re troubled Tate. Stop hiding that side and accept it as a part of you. You can’t run away from your past and you being trapped here actually proves my point.” Your tone was comforting, all loving. You were one of the very few –the only one– that actually cared about him in a non-twisted way. He wasn’t ready to lose that. He would never be.

“But would you accept it as a part of me? You want me to go around killing people and then come back to you so you can clean the blood of others from my own hands?” He asks, his voice quavering, a bit shaky and unclear, he was upset and you knew he's on the verge of crying.

And Bingo. There it is. Those poor souls, he doesn’t care about them, but rather what you would think. Nothing matters as long as you’re still there standing by his side. Was it unhealthy? Maybe. But for you it only made your relationship stronger.

“Isn’t that what you would like?” You ask, your hand darting to his face brushing his blonde strands of hair away from his face as you cup his cheek.

A single tear runs down his cheek as he smiles lightly. His dimples looked more adorable than ever. All he ever wanted was to be appreciated. And he is.

The sight of him taking two steps closer to you had your heart speeding up, even though he's your boyfriend you can't help but feel like a silly little girl with a silly little crush. Except it wasn't little, nor silly. His hand grips at your waist as he pulls you to him, getting rid of every inch that separates your bodies. His head tilts slightly before he attacks your face with his lips embracing yours in a hungry lustful open-mouthed kiss.

Your hands quickly find the back of his neck, pulling him even closer and deepening the kiss while his tongue pushes through and fights yours for domination.

He was completely teasing you, or maybe not, maybe he just craved you so bad. His covered erection was tempting your core, begging for release. One of his hands slides down your shirt and cups your boob, squeezing tightly. A soft moan escapes your lips and onto the kiss.

At that time, you thought maybe a somewhat evil spirit took over your boyfriend as he aggressively pinned you against the wall, too impatient to hop on the bed. But you know it was no evil spirit. There was no need to keep on finding why’s to his actions.

He yanks your shorts down to your knees then grips at your thigh lifting it up to his hip, probably to get better access. Meanwhile his other hand unzips his jeans and pulls them down along with his boxers freeing his rock hard dick. Yeah now it's confirmed that it was to gain better access. Tate always gets hard easily, that was a fact you knew. Whether it was a silly little cuddle session or you whispering the randomest topics in his ear. It didn’t bother you, you actually loved it. It enthralled you.

Your arms wrap around his neck while his breath fans against your nape. Each passing second your pussy screams for him to fuck the shit out of you even louder.

His digits found their way to your inner thigh, trailing toward your center. Once they reach your clit, his pointer finger runs up and down the thin soaked fabric of your underwear. He taps on the wet spot a few times, teasing you or maybe to later remember how desperate you were for him inside you. “This is my way of thanking you, y/n.” He whispers in your ear, your body shuddering at the sound of his voice, excitement surging through your entire temple. Every second passing by the atmosphere gets even hotter.

You nod, “mhm.”

His finger curls at the edge of your panties pulling it to the side, baring your pussy to him and the arousal glistening within.

Tate leans over you even closer, capturing your soft skin between his teeth sucking in deep; while he uses a hand to line his cock up to your dripping entrance. His tip caresses your sensitive bundle of nerves. “I’m not waiting any longer,” He mutters under his breath to your ear as he pushes himself deeper into your cunt and slams into you. 

Tate has never ever hidden the fact that he craves you desperately. You loved that he would kill for you but hated how you would too.

You let out a loud moan, if he didn’t know you any better he would’ve thought that was a scream for help. Your hand grabs a fistful of his hair. Your moan made him groan quietly. He loved the sound of you squirming beneath him, and even the sound of your voice when you talk about anything no matter what it was. He couldn’t stop himself, of course not since he couldn’t even wait to hear you screaming his name. Your legs curl around his hips as he thrusted in you deeper, moaning uncontrollably as he feels your tight warm wet walls wrapped around his thick length. “My cock.. Is pure love..” He breathes out. Your eyes hardly widen, Tate isn’t used to dirty talking. Not at all. If anything he was actually nice and making sure you’re ok nearly between every two thrusts. Unless he was jealous or upset with you. But mostly that’s it. Your eyes barely stay wide for 2 seconds before they roll to the back of your head once his tip hit a spot in you that made your moans louder than they already were. “Oh fuck, Tate!” You scream, He slides out slightly then back in forcefully. He didn’t recognize mercy, and your pussy wasn’t getting any of that. His cock pounding into you merciless, unsympathetically, inhumanly. All of the above. Abusing that same specific spot of yours. 

His intense tightening in his chest made him hungry for air as he breathed heavily, humping you remorselessly. Your pussy swallowing every inch of him and lubricating like crazy, your own arousal leaking down your pussy and out to your thighs. Such a slut you are for him. Problem is you were shameless about it.

Your grip on his hair tightens, holding on as hard as you can but making sure not to hurt him. You would never. Soft moans are whispered in your ear as he presses his mouth a little harsher against your skin, his fingers tightening on your thighs. His lips trailing kisses up and down your neck, leaving small bites here and there as he slowly makes his way up to your jaw. His hands slide up your thighs and stop at your clit, rubbing it as if his life depends on it, all the while his hips are pounding into you as fast as they can. You arch your back involuntarily immediately once you feel the contact. He groans softly as he feels your arch into his touch, his fingers going inhumanly faster than before. 

Seeing how it is, it wouldn't be long for you until you came.

Shockwaves of pure pleasure began to ripple throughout your body. Legs trembling and eyes rolling back. Your face was bright red and a wheezing sound came out of your mouth with every inhale. The perfect combination of his fingers stroking your clit and the fast paced abuse on your cunt was enough to make you see stars. He was chasing his own release and you were begging for yours. You knew you were close.. Real close.. “Tate.. Please.. I’m so fucking close..” You whimper, not knowing what exactly you were begging him for. Tate knows your body well enough to know you were close, he speeds up. Judging by his breathing, you can tell he was getting tired. You let out your moans freely as you feel your orgasm crashing down. A complete mess leaking down your thighs. You can’t hold your back arch anymore but it didn't matter, waves of ecstasy and euphoria taking over your body. Tate wasn't done yet, and although your lips were already burning up, you didn't protest. “Hmph..I love you,” He moaned in between thrusts as they were getting erratic, feeling you cum around his cock was enough for him. But that didn’t stop him from abusing your swollen red cunt until he was fully finished. Tate thrusts into you for a moment longer before you feel his ejaculate drowning your pussy breathing heavily, his release splaying across your walls in ropes. Tears had stained your cheeks.

Tate had you still pinned against the wall, with your legs wrapped around his hips and his hands grabbing your thighs. His now softened dick still in your abused pussy. Why isn’t he pulling out yet? This is the first time he lasted this long. Usually he doesn’t stay so long.

His head was resting on your shoulder, nose burried into your neck. His breathing slowed down steadily and went back to normal.

It felt weirdly comforting.. Him being so close, you didn’t even want him to pull out. Your legs still crossed behind your boyfriend’s back.

“You want me to pull out?” He whispers to you lovingly as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face and tugs it behind your ear.

“No, let’s stay this way for a while..” Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close. You can feel him nodding.

[cherryredstars]

First off, I love you.

Second off, I love you A LOT.

Okay so I’m losing my mind over a brain vomit where younger reader’s been harboring and hiding feelings for Miguel for the sake of being appropriate and it’s starting to make her frustrated like “fuck I’m gonna get actually fucking sick and vomit” because how much she’s crushing on him is CRAZY, so reader basically goes up to Miguel like “I can’t take this anymore.” Like reject me so I can move on type of thing. “ Do me a favor, and break my nose or something. Tell me to fucking go away” or something like that. My brain is burning.

Pairing(s): Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader, John Price x civil!reader

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: For my baby, I LOVE YOUUUUUUU!!!

Edited (just for you boo)

| Miguel O'Hara

If you look at him, you will actually throw up.

Like projectile 'make yourself a laughing stock' throw up. It's just the way your body- your stomach- reacts when you see him. It gets twisted, fluttery with a fix of butterflies and disgust. It's down right disgusting, inappropriate at the least. He's almost a decade older than you, yet here you are pining after him as if you're some teenage girl. You feel physically sick when you think about it for too long: throat contracting and your stomach hurting. You aren't sure which of your delusions are the cause of such a horrendous crush, but you promise you'll strangle it when you find out. There is simply no way this could have ever worked out in your favor. It's simply impossible.

Miguel O'Hara would never go for someone like you. Young and naive, haven't even reached the appropriate age to have a mid-life crisis (but you're sure this is the closest fucking thing to it). You know this, hammer it into your thick skull every day before you have to face him. Yet, it all comes crumbling down when you lay eyes on him. It takes less than a second for you to skip after him, a stupid, lovesick look flickering across your face as you help him with whatever he needs. You simply can't stay away, even if you tried. You always fall back into his orbit, gravity pushing you towards him until you're practically glued to him.

You're sure he must find it annoying. Probably relates it to something like babysitting. It's well known Miguel doesn't like to be bothered when he's working. But there you are without fail, sitting around on his platform entertaining yourself by playing with LYLA when you aren't out saving universes. You don't miss the way his eyes flick to you every now and then with some emotion you can't quite place. But if you had to guess, it's probably something close to exasperation.

In all honesty, you're tired of it.

Tired of the false hope you delude yourself into believing after every minor interaction. Tired of trying to justify your affection for the older man. Tired of feeling a bit of resentment towards yourself. You're just... tired. He must sense it when you walk onto the platform, judging by the look he shoots you.

LYLA is muted mid-sentence as he angles his body slightly away from his monitors and towards you, watching as you plop yourself in your usual spot. He waits expectantly for your usual greeting, brows furrowing with confusion when you do nothing but play with the elastic quality of your suit. You haven't even looked at him since you got in.

"Everything alright?" His all so familiar voice asks, making your stomach ache and the urge to punch yourself stronger.

"Yeah," you respond simply, silence lapping over the two of you.

Miguel waits patiently, expecting something more. But, you don't continue. Miguel hesitates for a moment before turning back around. His eyes study the screens once more, his finger hovering over the button to unmute LYLA before you speak up again.

"Can you like... degrade me or something?"

Miguel almost chokes on his spit when he turns around, not expecting you to say...that. You're still playing with your suit and staring at the floor, face painted with frustration. You look up when he doesn't answer, brows furrowed when your eyes meet his shocked face. You quickly divert your attention to his muscular shoulder, not really having the courage to face him head-on.

"Not like the... sexy kind. More like the heart wrenching kind." You clarify, not that it's any better for Miguel.

He turns to full face you this time, arms crossed over his chest as he studies you. The request doesn't really make sense to him. Why would you want him to do that? Is it some universe-exclusive culture he isn't aware of?

"Why?" Miguel asks, trying to recall your past interactions to see if they have something to do with your strange request.

"I dunno, just thought it might make it easier?" You shrug, your eyes flicking to his again and then looking towards the ceiling.

"Make what easier, exactly?"

Miguel isn't a fan of cryptic answers, but he tries to be patient with you. He watches as your face twists, unsure how to word what you're feeling. You let out a heavy sigh eventually, actually meeting his eyes and holding his gaze for once.

"To get over you."

The words cause Miguel to freeze, his body going rigid. You groan, hiding your embarrassed face in your hands and scrubbing ferociously. This is absolutely embarrassing. You wished a random portal would just appear under you, throwing you into another universe and far away from this particular moment in time.

You're so caught up in your embarrassment that you don't realize Miguel is walking over to you until he's crouched down in front of you. He pries your hands gently from your face, giving you the softest smile you have ever seen on him. His thumbs caress your wrists absentmindedly, doing nothing to calm your raging heart. It practically explodes when he leans closer, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. Your eyes are wide and dazed as you look up at him, trying to commit the curve of his mouth to memory.

"Now, why would I want you to do that?"

_____________

| John Price

You aren't exactly sure when it started.

But the moment you realized you liked John, you've started hating yourself. It feels wrong. Almost disrespectful in a way. You aren't particularly sure why, it just does. John Price is a nice man, a good man. A man that could be easily mistaken as your father if someone didn't look close enough. The man you had happened to meet and befriended one day after he had been so kind and gentle with you.

Not the man you should be liking and forcing your feelings on.

You're someone John goes to for comfort, someone he seeks out after coming home from a battlefield. Someone that's supposed to help him distress. The idea of taking advantage of that gently placed trust, of expecting something from John just because he goes to you for help, makes you want to throw up until you're nothing but a useless husk. It's shameful, eating you up on the inside until you feel like your organs are on the verge of failure.

So your solution: Avoid Johnathan Price like the plague.

Does it hurt seeing his texts flash across your phone screen, asking you if you're free throughout the week so he can spend time with you before he deploys again? Hell fucking yes. It makes you feel guilty as hell. But you try to justify it to yourself, reassuring that it's only temporary. That everything will go back to normal once these stupid feelings leave you alone and John Price goes back to being the sweet man you grab lunch with every now and then when he's home so you can catch up.

But of course, your plans never go accordingly.

You startle on your couch when there is a firm knocking on your door, your hands rushing to pause the telly to see if it was just a hallucination. But sure enough, that same steady knocking sounds again. You get up hesitantly, brows furrowed as you try to remember if you ordered take away or something. You peak through the peep-hole, hand planted on the cool wood of the door as you squint.

The alertness in your body dies away when the familiar frame of John greets you, only to tense up again. John Price is at your door. The same John price you've been avoiding for a week. The same exact John fucking Price you're practically in love with. Your hand slides down to the knob, gulping nervously as you unlock it and yank your door open.

John is standing there with his hand raised again to knock, decked out in his military gear. His hands drop to grip the strap of his vest, his mutton chops quivering as his face lifts into his soft smile. You blink up at him, feeling the knob warm under your hand and your heart slamming against your chest. Why did he have to be so handsome, goddamnit?

You step out of the doorway, silently inviting him inside. He accepts it, stepping in and examining the area out of habit. You close the door quietly after him, turning to face him as he turns to face you.

"Missed ya, love? Been busy lately?" He asks in that comfortingly rough voice of his.

You don't trust yourself to not choke on your words, scared he'll see through your lies. Instead you nod, letting out a weak hum that he returns in a more confident note. Your eyes drop down to his military gear, a frown slipping onto your face. Is he being deployed again?

As if sensing the underlying question, John's hands let go of his military vest and he stuffs them into the pockets of his tactical pants.

"Heading out tonight, just wanted to say goodbye before I go since I didn't get to see you this time around."

You feel a stab to your chest at his words, resisting the urge to lift your hand and smooth the pain.

"John..." You start hesitantly, your mouth going dry when he hums again. "Can you tell me you hate me? Or... or that you think I'm stupid or something?"

John tilts his head in confusion, brows furrowing as his lips thin. There is a silent question in your eyes, an aura of demand wafting from him that orders you to explain further. Your hand comes to rub your arm, socked heel digging into your ankle as you debate how much to tell him.

"It's just... I like you and I don't..." You sigh in frustration, turning your head away to glare at the wall. "I don't want you to think I'm trying to take advantage of how nice you've been to me or that I expect you to reciprocate how I feel."

It's quiet for a moment before John's chuckling fills the room. Your head turns away from the wall, meeting the sparkling amusement in John's eyes as he looks at you. There is a fondness there that makes your knees feel weak, your breath getting trapped in your lungs. John takes steady, reassured steps towards you, stopping when he's centimeters away. Your heart is practically lurching in your chest as you look up at him, watching as he slowly takes off his boonie hat.

Your eyes are wide as he places it over your head, chuckling when it slips down over your face before he readjusts it. He admires the sight for a second before he leans down, his facial hair tickling your cheeks as his lips press against the corner of your mouth. Your heart officially stops, your body dangerously close to swaying as he pulls away. You're in a daze as he pinches your cheek lightly, trying to call your attention away from the sparks lingering across your skin.

"We'll take about this when I get back, silly girl." He rumbles, his heavy paw landing on the top of his hat before he slips past you, closing and locking the door behind him as he disappears out of your flat. You're left in a daze as your shaky hands reach up and grasp the rim of his hat, the smell of him instantly invading your senses.

And when John reaches base and the lads pester him about where his usual hat is, he just shakes his head and replies that he left it at home for safe keeping.

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

"Eternal Attachment" Post Zayne Birthday Event Review + Delulu

Note: Please take this with a grain of salt as I cry myself for this one. This is personal opinion and delulu brain working so no need to go violent at me as none of this was confirmed beside the cannon events connected to his birthday. MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS. YOU ARE WARNED!!!! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT FOR NSFW CONTENTS

First Things first. Please stop comparing Rafayel's and Zayne's Birthday Event because they are special in their own way. Plus I trust that the dev knows what they are doing. In my opinion, they are basing the stories on the boys personalities and overall impact to the main stories. True we ain't able to give him a kiss on his birthday but we marked him on Misty invasion. All is fair guys! And if the dev give us same plots, then what are we going t look forward to?

Zayne's birthday event left us with warm feeling and overall stronger bond with him. His character development and relationship development is awesome and the fact the he easily smiles now gives me satisfaction. I love him so much.

The most memorable part of this event for me is the recording of Zayne's video message to his parents and him holding our hands in front of everyone. When he mentioned that "they already know you" it means he talks about us to his parents. This is again something so intimate yet so wholesome. He did really love us. And the holding hands is showing that he is taking claim on us. Yes, Zayne! I belong to you!

Zayne and M/C had s3x after the cake scene. Ok this is the delulu me, but M/C subtly offer her self to Zayne when she says "the birthday boy is allowed to be greedier than usual" and Zayne mentioning "my appetite is perfect for handling anything from you", "perhaps, it's because I already taste something sweeter" this might be just my imagination but remember that In the previous Banner he tasted "us" solidifying the fact that we are indeed and not just in a relationship with him but we are already intimate.

Dawn breaker is present in Zayne's body during this event/ This is yet a again a mix of canon and delulu. Canon because in Zayne's anecdote, Dawnbreaker was there during M/C singing happy birthday. Delulu because I feel like Dawnbreaker never left he is the one delivering the line "I wish that in the years to come, I won't have to imagine spending everyday of my life with someone". Think about it his way, Why would Dr. Zayne imagine that he is with us, when he is actually and physically with us? And the more deluded part of my brain tells me he is there as well when we are being intimate with Zayne and Zayne is actually aware of Dawnbreaker.

From here on will be the dark and sad side of the delulu I'm in due to this card. When I mention that Dr. Zayne was aware of Dawnbreaker being present in him, it is because he mention in the Daily Task Episode that "he just stops being afraid in the monster the lurks in them" (his dreams). Perhaps he don't view them as dreams anymore and he as aware that he have another presence/persona in a different time.

That being said, Dr. Zayne might also be aware of Foreseer and Master of Fate causing him to almost always speaks so formally and in 3rd person speech.

Dr. Zayne might also be aware of the killing Dawnbreaker needs to do to people that turns to wanderers. And this might also explain his needs to always save lives not just M/C. Dr. Zayne might be trying to save lives to compensate to the life lost on Dawnbreaker's hands. Oh no I am so so sad about this.

And the finally, Dr. Zayne might also be aware that Dawnbreaker does not have his version of M/C in his timeline. Since (delulu) he comes to terms that they are the same person on a different timeline, he is willing to share his happiness to his other self. And that happiness is M/C. This might also explain the touchiness and neediness from Zayne, cause they are 2 people longing for her.

Final Thoughts. It must really be twisted to have them at the same time. No pun intended. But if Dr. Zayne and Dawnbreaker is indeed present at that exact time, I really don't mind. I'll take any version of Zayne anytime. He have done so much for us and if I'm making him more happy by celebrating the day with both of them, I will gladly do so. Might it be Dr. Zayne or Dawnbreaker, they deserve all the happiness in the world.

[suguru-getos]

Wane | Yandere Hawks x f!Reader |

A/n: Posting one of my old works in my previous account, and also one of my absolute favorites. I was searching for this fic so bad but thank fuck this one got so much interaction I had to google the title and found it. So happy rn!

Summary: You finally got the chance to escape Hawks, after planning & plotting for months. But the SWAT-trained hero is trained for everything. Even this.

Warnings: Yandere themes, Guilty Keigo, MDNI, drugging, threatening, mentions of non-con, victim-blaming, emotional manipulation, swearing, use of quirk(feathers) as a weapon, blood, cuts, delusionality, hallucinations.

Keigo was asleep, to be more precise... You carefully put 6 sleeping pills on yesterday's dinner for him. You couldn't look very nervous or on edge. Keigo had promised to trust you once he broke you with his insecurity that you'd leave. You could see he was trying his best, considering you weren't very good at cooking & he ate it and called it 'immaculate'. You didn't feel bad though, more like you didn't let yourself feel bad for doing that to him. You were a person of sane mind, unlike his twisted one. You were doing this because you needed to live free, not caged.

Keigo could feel the haziness of the downers, yawning and his wings droopy. They dragged against the floor carelessly as he stretched his arms. He was wearing his joggers, just his grey joggers. If he was someone you truly loved? You could've drooled for his toned & sculpted abs easily. His lean, powerful well-built physique & beautiful carved back muscles because of his excellent swordsmanship. You knew how dangerously strong he was. Being the #2 hero wasn't a feat any wonted individual could achieve. Especially when you were one of the ill-fated ones that were quirkless. The world of quirks and powers seemed all the more gleaming. "All the more reason that you stay under my wing, am I right babe?" Keigo's words echoed in your head. No, NOT all the more reason to stay under his wing. Fucking bastard— He would do anything to get you to obey him. To crush you under the weight of being quirkless.

You leaned against the headboard, looking at him with your eyes filled with love and admiration just as he wants to see it. He wants you to look at him like he's the only one for you. Like he's carved perfection and you're grateful for him. Someone ordinary like you is bestowed with the love of a hero. Not just any hero... Pro hero Hawks! He feeds you, clothes you, gets you all your favorite little trinkets... It should be the least you can do. Keigo made it pretty clear several times when he's had you against the wall with your wrists pinned to the sides. Predatory pupils slit and widen as he says every word with an eerie pause and smile. "Don't push, my, limits. Sweetie." You won't. Not when his freely falling feathers roam around your body in circles as he clicks his tongue when you've done something wrong. Not when his huge, crimson wings cover your line of sight when he's talking. Never. You are better than that. Your survival instincts are better than that.

He walked over to you, smiling softly and towering over your form. You could almost cut his fingers off if you could, the way they brushed against the sides of your body, slid under your cami, and touched everything he shouldn't be touching. Everything he had no right to even look at. He gently kissed your clothed nipple, heavily sleepy lashes fluttering at you. "I love you, you fucking sexy thing" Normally, this indicated that you are to be folded in the nearest counter, or his study, or over the couch and fucked until you couldn't take it. Until your body would give out. You can't really complain because the after-care almost makes you delude yourself into thinking that Keigo actually loves you. Pathetic, you are truly pathetic at times. But not now, now you had a plan, an escape plan.

You tried not to flinch, not to overreact, and not to be too good as well. He was a genius after all. Little differences like these always reminded you of his Hawk gaze towards your actions. You gulped and leaned in to kiss his cheek. There, soft and easy. Not too much so he thinks you're plotting something. You need to be perfectly balanced between reluctance and love.

The rest of the night followed you like a dream come true. There was no shoving of his member, girthy member tearing you apart. There was no sign of his voice that hurt your ears like molten glass.

You laid your head against his chest, not minding being cocooned by his wings. If you did love him, you'd find them warm, soft & comfortable. Soothing even— but they make you claustrophobic. You despise him & his quirk. Every single cell in your body detests his quirk 'Fierce Wings'. For they were truly fierce, truly merciless and ruthless. They gave him powers you'd never want a monster like him to have. He knows enough from a single feather. A red little soft thing lying around. Enough to even know the slightest difference in your breathing. No amount of surveillance cameras could ever beat that.

You couldn't be hasty at all, it was weirdly torturing... Laying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, all wide-eyed & waiting for him to fall deep into his slumber. It was truly said... Time turns the slowest when you want the unbearable to pass. Hawks was unbearable, truly insufferable. If he isn't fully asleep, the slightest difference in your movements would disrupt him. All thanks to Fierce Wings, his pathetic god-forsaken quirk.

You couldn't track the time, a lot of thoughts hovered in your mind. How will you escape, when should you escape, where will you run off to? The most feasible solution seemed like a Pro Hero's agency. You could run off to one of the top heroes— no, what if they don't help you. What if they call Hawks & tell him everything! Honestly, after witnessing the #2 hero be such a fatal jerk, your belief system was shaken. Maybe you should go for the heroes who have lower ranks. Maybe in the thirties or forties. No, what if they tell Hawks because of the popularity he can get them... It could boost their rank easily. Should it be something you're willing to play with? God— it was so difficult. Too many options to play with, too many cons. Just a single pro, freedom. You were willing to bet everything on it either way.

Your eyes wandered off to his face, his lovely neutral, peacefully asleep face. He definitely looked like he was sculpted by the gods. The eye markings, the blonde fluffy hair, the stubble that made him look just a tad older. He was just 23 after all. Part of you was in awe of him when you first met because of it. Because of how fast he climbed up the hero ladders and was now the #2 hero. Granted he didn't talk much about his quirk, he thought you were snooping around. He was slow to trust. You wished you didn't meet him at all, you wished you weren't swayed by his unending charisma. Earlier, before he kidnapped you and kept you hostage after hearing you wanted to go on a date with some guy... He used to chuckle and pat your head, "Don't be so nosey birdie. It's just a quirk." Whenever you asked anything. His laugh almost felt believable, his friendship felt believable.

Finally, after what felt like ages, you sneakily got up. Twirling and twisting very carefully to get yourself out of the pro's grip. It was like walking on eggshells, your heart was racing dramatically. If he wasn't sedated, it was enough for him to ask you about it. "What's got your heart all racy, babe? Do you love daddy that much huh?" No, bastard. I don't- I don't love you. I will never love you. I will kill you-

After successfully landing on your feet, your shivery palm patted your chest. How pitiful, you were doing one of the tactics he taught you when you couldn't stop crying. To gently pat your chest and breathe. Completely ignoring what made you lose it in the first place, completely ignoring what made you sob with ragged breaths. It was him, he had just sent your best friend to jail. Wrongly accusing him of murder. The league had a part in this, now that you live with him. You think his villainy contacts had a part in that shattering, traumatic experience. Of course, he still won't accept that your friend; who was also about to be your boyfriend after you'd ask him out... Was in fact, innocent. "I'm so sorry, little bird. Part of me is kinda glad in a way you know? I took you under my wing before that leech of a bastard could have his hands on you."

You needed to calm yourself down. Breathe— you need to breathe. Now is not the time to torment yourself with haunting memories of the past. Maybe you can get out of this hell-hole forever. Yes! Look on the bright side y/n. The bright side where his talons can't reach you.

You stared at him with utter disgust, some of it was also for your own self. You won't accept it ever, won't accept that his monstrous, manipulative self was able to earn a soft spot in your heart sometimes. Whenever he came home injured, saving people. You could almost feel pity for him. Whenever he took a leave from his work to religiously take care of you when you were down with a fever, you could almost say you were flattered and in awe. Fuck that, you'd choose your freedom over anything else. Even hell must have its perks on some days. Keigo was attentive to you, made you feel heard & seen more than anyone else, you'd give him that. But he also broke you, shattered your body and mind like no one else could. You'd never forgive him for that.

You tiptoed away from the California king-sized bed, the master bedroom that you were forced to share, and towards the outer segment of the house. The first thing you needed was to drink some water. Bubbling anxiety had made you parched. Stop turning back and checking up on him again and again y/n! He is not awake. Stop wasting time!

After downing the whole glass of water, you sighed in relief. you did feel better. Just a bit. But it was enough to keep your mind sane, & that's all you needed to escape. You've been planning it for months, making mental notes of everything you need to take with you to leave, notes of how sometimes Keigo drugged you when you became a little over bearable and kept it on the highest shelf that was locked. How the key went back to one of his pockets as you lost consciousness. It was hard to steal the key, it usually was in his khaki pants. Starting to do the laundry for him seemed like the perfect option. Every single day, you lost hope. Every single day the key wasn't in there... But you waited diligently like one waits for their prayers to be answered... Waited for Keigo to be careless. And one day, he was...

Keigo wasn't big on cash. Never... You couldn't possibly steal his card either. That would be the epitome of dumbness. You could sell the jewelry he bought you. But with all of them having his initials, feathery design; it was safe to say that they were all designers. Maybe some low-class peddler would give you the not-so-right amount for them. Worth it!

You took all the necessary things you could, the jewels gifted by him that you hated were being put to good use now. You can't bother to change clothes when the question is of life and death after all. You rushed out of the house, the lock needed to have meddled with just right. You didn't know the passcode, even after months of being with Keigo. He wasn't dumb enough to keep it something like your birthday, or the day you met. They changed frequently as soon as he saw you eyeing him as he returned from work. The next day, it was a different code. You can't even put to words, the defeat that coursed through your veins all these months when you tried the previous night codes the next morning after he was gone for work. That fucking pathetic sly fucking- Bastard... Suits him to be flaked out like that. Suits him to be left alone like that.

You opened the door, closed it, and changed the code from outside. A funny parlor trick for that piece of shit. Even though you knew that the reason he likes his nest sky high is the windows. You walked, one step, two steps, three steps... And then you ran. Covering your face up, even though you knew he could recognize you instantly from the cameras, you ran.

You reached outside, panting and supporting yourself with your palms on your knees. It felt, good. Momentarily though, because you had a lot to do, but it felt good. You were thankful that Hawks kept you hidden. No one truly recognized you. You were as normal as any other person.

What you didn't and couldn't expect that the SWAT-trained hero woke up minutes after you left. He had an achingly dry mouth, side effects of sleeping with 6 of the sleeping pills. Everything around him felt dizzy, he couldn't focus on anything. He was hazy, drowsy- Wait! Where were you?

His pupils pinned in sheer panic and rage, mighty wings stretching and puffing up and hundreds of feathers leaving at once, scattering throughout the house and shattering the window glass, flying outside. "Fucking hell- you fucking pathetic slut." Keigo's rage was knowing no bounds. You betrayed him, he trusted you. He thought you were making progress, you betrayed him. You betrayed him, you betray-

You kept walking, looking around everywhere suspiciously & trying to ignore the burning anxiety in your chest. You'd soon find a cab y/n. Don't fret about it, you'll find a cab & it'll be over. You'll be far, far away from this place. Maybe today was the last time you saw his face.

Keigo on the other hand, was going feral. Impatient and feral and desperate for your presence. The rage inside him was soaring by each passing moment. "Wait until I find you y/n. Just wait." He growled under his breath, feathers picking up inhumane speed to scan the whole vicinity of the neighborhood.

His jaw slacked when he found you, teeth grinding against each other aggressively enough to seem it would unhinge his jaw. His heart was racing too, not in a good way. The panic he felt was like nothing else. He hasn't felt this vulnerable, this defeated, this betrayed. He had no time for playing games, he wanted to fly there himself and bring you back. Not when all his feathers are out, hunting for his prey.

Maybe a little prey and predators game won't hurt. He needs to remind you that he's here. He's always going to be here. A single red plume found its way around the nape of your neck. God— His rage was overriding his logic. He wants to slit your throat for betraying him. He wants to slit the driver's throat for trying to take you away. No, a civilian. He's a hero, he can't do that to a civilian who's doing his job. His job of taking you away! Damn it! No- still his job. No-

The feather skimmed across your neck, caressing your skin softly. That was it, that was the moment. You froze in place, the driver looking at you awkwardly for instructions as to where you'd go. "Listen, girl, it's late. Do you want to go or not?" He was getting testy. Of course, you had no words of your own, they fell deep into despair and darkness. The crippling fear of what's going to happen to you now was enough to veto everything else. Even your breathing. It grew ragged, shallow, and hoarse. Only this time Keigo won't feel pity for your so-called fearful panic attacks.

He smirked, having you realize how frail & pathetic you are was step number one. Getting the driver to leave in confusion was done by your fear. Good, at least you saved him an impulsive kill. "But— but— the dose—" you whimpered, shivering and watching the red plume dance in front of your eyes. It revolved around you, having turned pointy & knife-like. It reminded you of how powerful Hawks really was. A single feather was enough to kill your worthless, quirkless self. It was also enough to destroy any confidence you had in yourself as well.

Soon, other feathers joined, they all rotated around you as if it was Hawks himself sizing you up. They acted on his will after all. You didn't move an inch, your feet went cold, your spine went cold. You knew there was no running from this. Suddenly, one of them sliced your forearm with a cut. "AH-" your hand reflexively touched the area of impact, witnessing horrifying red. Then came another just below the apple of your cheek. You flinched and whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut. Your shaky legs began to move. You needed to run. Keigo wanted you to run, he already has begun with his ways.

Your panic had already made your legs heavy to lift, but you ran. Ran back towards the penthouse with the feathers chasing you, slashing through your supple skin at every contact they could find. Part of wanted to scream & shout for help, but you knew Keigo would kill both you and whoever stepped up for it. Your lungs were burning, your feet were cramping from the sudden, unprepared run. Your body was crying from the tormenting cuts of the feathers on your chest, shoulder, waist, forearm, back, calves.

You were reduced to a pathetic mess, a panting, crying mess & yet you knew that he was just getting started. His rage was cold, brutal even. You wanted this to be over, you kept going back until you reached the elevator. Bloodied, shivery fingers staining the button you hastily pressed for the top floor. "Shit- shit- Keigo, please—" you kept begging throughout your way as the elevator went up. You knew he could hear you, the false hope of him feeling pity for you was all you clutched onto. Until you saw him sitting on the couch of the drawing-room...

"Welcome home, sweetie." He never looked so terrifying. You thought you have seen the worst of him, this was something else. His pupils were almost shinny at the lamplight beside him. The golden rings mirrored his rage so well. You were cowering in fear. Almost enough to feel like throwing up. "Please, I'm sor—"

"Ah ah ah, not a word." The icy tone of his voice racked through your veins. All the odds were against you. Everything was against you. He got up, spreading his wide wings in front of you with one flap. The sound of it and him taking a step near you made you impulsively step back.

"You're a very good runner I must say." He walked towards you, thumb inching closer and wiping the blood off the cut on your face. You flinched at his touch but didn't dare lean away from him. You don't need any more trouble than you're already in. "What if... We give those pretty legs a looooonnng rest." His cold smirk met your blanched face. "Yeah?" He licked a strip of your blood, enjoying the loud sound of your heart racing at his every action.

"Listen, Keigo, please. Please I'm sorry I'm just- I'm really sorry I won't ever- I won't ever I promise I swear on"

He rolled his eyes, quite irritated with how swiftly you spitted out your defenses. His hand positioned in your head gently, ironic with his behavior as he leaned in and subtly brushed his lips against yours. It was sickly twisted, it was giving you hopes to latch onto again. Maybe if he's kissed me this softly, I can vouch for forgiveness. I can—

The rest happened too quick for you to decipher. The gentle hold on your head turned into a clasping, ruthless pull onto your hair, tugging your head back as his kisses rose in fervor, muffling your painful whimpers against his tongue. Two of his versatile feathers slit your Achilles tendon, rendering you off balance with a scream that tore apart from the depths of your throat, lavishly, hungrily eaten by him.

You'd fall down, if not for Keigo's sudden grip onto your waist. The kiss made you bleed now, his canines dug into the soft flesh of your inner lips. The moment Keigo left you, you fell down like a used rag on the bloodied floor. To say that the cuts that Keigo gifted you weren't deep would be an understatement. You were bleeding too much, way too much. Maybe he wanted you to be weaker, to not be able to walk & to be pale, weak, and dependent.

He sat down on the couch, raising a brow. "What? Told ya your pretty legs need some rest didn't I?" Your heels were also bleeding, it was messy, painful & humiliating to look at him. "I think maybe, we should play a little game. It would be called, Y/N is stupid..." he deadpanned, unforgiving towards your broken body. You've had enough, you were bleeding enough. Enough for everything to turn hazy, enough for you to see black spots in your vision, enough to make whatever Keigo's saying echo as you lost your mind to nothing-ness.

"It'll consist of me punishing you for breaking my trust, cheating on me like that. And we'll play this game again & again until I get bored." Keigo daunted, furrowing brows when he couldn't see the desired fear into his eyes with his statement. His rage was clouding his vision as well, clouding it enough for him to not notice the damaging slashes onto your body.

You fell onto the floor with a thud, limp, almost lifeless. "Tch, weakling." He cursed under his breath, finally the fog of his rage lifting at the sudden thought of your health. He got up, scooping you in his arms & calling a doctor. Of course, it was an HPSC hired physician, he needs to keep his mouth shut about Hawks' new torture shenanigan. He patched you up, gave him a warning about too much blood being lost and the impending weakness of your body after, chances of you being Anemic & left. Keigo would've turned a blind eye to it thinking you deserve it, if not for the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was guilt. He hasn't done much to you, he should've done more. He's not satisfied, he's not sure you've learned your lesson. Besides, you'd recover, right? Why is he feeling guilty for doing that to you when you trampled upon him always. Rejected him always!

He sat on the edge of the bed, wings that held so much power faltering at the vulnerability. His hand reached to cup your face, thumb trailing over the band-aid on your cut. "Why can't you just love me?" His voice was low, barely even a whisper. It felt as if his little self came back to him, staring at what he did, staring at Keigo, judging him.

She's just like mom, isn't she? She hates us. Is that why you did that? Little Keigo spoke to him, causing the 23-year-old pro to look at his younger self, holding the Endeavor plushie. "Nah, she loves us. She will... Love us."

Yeah, you think she won't tell you to die? Like mom did to me so many times?

"No, she doesn't mean it. Even mom didn't mean it."

Keigo went to sleep beside you, staring at your face, thanking himself for being awake at the right time. Thanking fate for making you quirkless, the sleep inhibitors he gives you don't work for him with the same intensity either. Of course, you don't need to know that. He didn't let someone like recovery girl come and heal you, you needed to feel the pain of the wounds given to you. You need to see how nice he is going to be even when you put him through that. You'll see how supportive he'll be in helping you walk, bathe, everything. Yeah, that's how things should be... You, in awe of him. You, loving him. He's willing to try any means necessary. From tomorrow...

From tomorrow, as soon as you wake up...

[cellphishthekaiju]

Crackpot Headcanon: The Emperor's 'Grand Design'

Goes without saying, that spoilers abound for Baldur's Gate 3 and course, lotta this is gonna be extrapolated ravings of a deluded fan reading too much into events, subtext, and the Forgotten Realms wiki.

This will be a lengthy doozy. I hope it's, at the least, enjoyable or useful.

The Emperor, a.k.a Balduran... our 'savior', ally, and back-stabbing squid friend who does nothing but pretend to have noble intentions from the moment he speaks with you under the guise of 'The Dreamer'. To Larian's credit, The Emperor is a very well-written character, as he can appear as either an ally or enemy based upon how players interact with not just him but the game overall. There are layers upon layers of secrets, deceit and half-truths when it comes.

But ultimately, The Emperor is the true antagonist of The Absolute crisis, only overshadowed by the Elder Brain itself, if the Player goes against him and puts the final nail in the coffin of his Grand Design.

So, first order of business; dissecting the squid's character as much as I can.

The Emperor has a very unique design when compared to illithids encountered in Baldur's Gate... which, granted, is not many as we only encounter one other named illithid and the 'common' enemy types seen, sparsely, across the game. The common sense case of this is because, obviously, this is an important character so of course they'd stand out extravagantly.

But it's this fanciful drip that leads me to believe The Emperor is much more than just some other illithid, that his deception about his opposition to The Absolute is far more sinister than the game makes it appear (and with the way the endings with The Emperor work, this feels further validated)

The Emperor may be a 'unique' breed of illithid known as a Ulitharid, a powerful and sinister 'evolution' of illithid that others view as godly, only second in power to Elder Brains... and this is what Elder Brains evolve from, usually at the Ulitharid's leisure but before it ages too far for its brain to be decrepit.

However, The Emperor's 'drip', attitude... just 'him' just screams he is an Ulitharid that broke away from The Absolute, yet has his own ambitions and no intention of furthering the Grand Design. He simply does not wish to rule a mere colony...

He IS the Grand Design (in his twisted squid brain, at least)

THIS DUDE TRIES TO SEDUCE YOU FOR GOD'S SAKE!

Anyway, The Emperor is quite powerful in his own right, both physically and mentally but when it comes to evolving, becoming an Elder Brain has its downsides; namely that he would become a massive brain forever floating in a jar or Morphic Pool. All that physical power he is proud of would be gone, forever. His mental strength would be unmatched but without a body... The Emperor doesn't seem to like that idea at all, especially if his host had been the 'great hero' Balduran, as he claims (confirmed by Ansur if one does Wyll's personal quest through Act 3)

At first, The Emperor passes himself off as The Dreamer, an entity within the Astral Prism that, repeatedly, tries to assure you that you both are in the same predicament, that The Absolute is a threat to you both and he protects you out of some noble benevolence... as well as that you need to embrace your illithid infection, consume other Netherese tadpoles to strengthen yourself, all for the 'sake' of your survival without actually explaining what is going on or who he is fighting within the Astral Prism (which turns out to be the Githyanki Honor Guard)

Once you hit Act 3, you learn of The Emperor's true nature (surprise, he's a squid!) and the reason he is able to guard you against The Absolute's attempts to transform you is due to dominating the mind of the trapped Githynki Prince to manipulate his unique psionic null-zone powers.

As you continue exploring Baldur's Gate itself, The Emperor continues to try and lure you to his 'side' of things but speaking of how he had once been an adventurer the illithids had captured and turned, how he escaped The Absolute and came back to his beloved city to protect it from the shadows (and how he took the moniker 'The Emperor) but through the course of this deceit, he seems to unintentionally reveal things about his true nature; how he was manipulating magistrates and politicians, such as his dear friend Stelmane.

This is further "supported" in-game by The Emperor attempting to seduce you.

Like guys... WHY?! What about this dude does it for some people? I'm a monster-fucker myself but like The Emperor inspires nothing aside from punching him in his squid face... with a sledgehammer.

When you reject him, The Emperor will still speak to you in a very passive tone (though a bit disappointed) but if you reject him more severely... basically call him a freak, the mask falls off and he will aggressively tell you that you are nothing more than a tool, a servant, to him

Nothing about The Emperor is noble or sincere, hell if you side with him and go full illithid, you are enslaved to him along with The Absolute, free to continue his own Grand Design to dominate the Sword Coast.

Alright, now that THAT part is over, let's move on ya.

So how the hell does The Absolute, the Crown of Karsus and the Astral Prism factor into all this?

*clears throat*

The theft of the Crown of Karsus and the Astral Prism are integral to the Emperor's plan; The Crown of Karsus would enable him to dominate and control the Elder Brain via the use of the Netherstones and the Astral Prism, due to Prince Orpheus's unique psionic abilities, would enable him to preserve and guard his mind (I assume to prevent his evolution into an Elder Brain and/or protect against other illithids, including Elder Brains)

However, he needed to orchestrate the theft of the Crown of Karsus, which lay in Mephistopheles's vault in Cania, the Eighth Layer of Baator (The Nine Hells) and the Astral Prism from some unknown location, likely guarded similarly to her phylactery (perhaps Larian referencing the old lvl 16-20 adventure module 'The Lich-Queen's Beloved')

The Dead Three were easy to manipulate, Chosen of godlings with grander ambitions but at odds with each other otherwise. Through them, The Emperor fostered his plan by managing to fool them into stealing the Crown of Karsus. Convincing and fooling the Dead Three into thinking an army of illithids, rehensible creatures without souls, was how Bhaal, Bane and Myrkul would ascend to Jergal's

This plan, in part, can be learned through finding texts in Kethric's personal quarters in Moonrise Towers along with looting Gortash's Vault in Baldur's Gate.

The theft of the Astral Prism, however, likely proved much trickier for The Emperor, since it was under the possession of, what is essentially the Apex Predator of illithids; The Githyanki Queen Vlaakith CVII. This is how Viconia and Shadowheart become involved. He needed a backup plan in the event the Dead Three failed to retrieve the object.

Manipulating disciples of Shar, especially Viconia DeVir, was likely the best answer, especially if he needed agents that had a chance to retrieve the Astral Prism, given how obsessively Vlaakith likely guarded the device and being a powerful lich, her safeguards would be powerful and many. The Emperor, and by extension the Dead Three and The Absolute would lose nothing.

Heh, irony amirite?

I suspect The Emperor found some means to convince DeVir, under the pretense of Shar's command, to put together a means to steal the Astral Prism. Unfortunately, all the game ever gives us is a list of who was on the strike force, including Shadowheart, who does have the Astral Prism when introduced.

However, there was always something that bugged me about this part and that is in the notes about the theft. The Dead Three were planning to make the theft themselves, using tadpoled agents and a nautiloid (though giving no indication WHERE they were going) with the assumption that The Emperor was leading the team (believing they controlled him and not the other way around).

This, kinda, explains the 'story' of how Tav and the rest of the characters are tadpoled on the nautiloid together. (The Dark Urge was tadpoled before but that's a whole other thing)

My thoughts?

Ready for more crazy?

The Emperor manipulates DeVir and the House of Grief into going after the Astral Prism. The Dead Three 'assign' The Emperor to go after the Astral Prism but he simply intends to 'retrieve' (ala kidnap and tadpole) what's left of the Sharran team and collect the Astral Prism for himself. We see the first signs of his duplicity in the opening cinematic, even. Several of the illithid crew are dead before the githyanki kith'rak attack the ship... but there's no indication as to how and why they were killed

(There's some thoughts to be had there)

Interestingly enough, The Emperor planeshifts the nautiloid to Yartar and starts attacking the city, which seems to draw the Githyanki raiders to attacking the ship... then he jumps it to what is (presumably) Cania, the 8th layer of Baator (where the Crown of Karsus had been stolen), then ultimately Avernus before taking shelter in the Astral Prism... which I think man explain why we find Shadowheart's pod seperated from the cauldera room Lae'zel and Tav (Any Origin) start in.

To make a long, lunatic story endless, the Emperor manipulated everything from the day he left The Absolute (his story about leaving The Absolute twice is absolute horseshite), envisioning himself ruling all of the Sword Coast with Baldur's Gate as his 'throne'.

Welp, this went on WAY longer than I expected but I hope it was, at least enjoyable. If folks enjoy my crackpot theories, ah... well, you're welcome to ask me stuff or a pitch. Asks are always open (I think)

[anamericangirl]

It drives me kind of crazy how often I see you having to argue the same points over and over with people. It seems to me as if I should just be able to scroll your blog a bit, get a good idea of your feelings on things, and then know everything I need to know about how you'll answer. How do you deal with this strange, perverse popularity you've garnered? How many times do you think you'll have to tell people that an unborn baby is a person and entitled to all the protections any other person should be? Every other 'gotcha' and nice and narrow circumstance that someone could possibly ask about abortion should be a 'don't make me tap the sign' moment, right? Yes, aborting a child conceived of rape is bad because the baby is innocent. Yes aborting a child because the mother's circumstances changed is bad because the child has a right to life too. Yes, when you fuck someone you're consenting to the risk of bringing a new life into the world, and you don't get to revoke that consent later for any reason. I can't help but think these people keep trying to mental-backflip their way into a position where their beliefs aren't barbarically monstrous has to be coming from some feeling of guilt. At some point in their lives they coerced someone to kill their baby, or maybe they killed their own baby, and if they confront the idea that they took part in killing an innocent person they will burst into flames or something. They're desperate to try to convince people that they're actually a good person, that they're not monsters, and that they don't need to repent for the lives they've ended.

I'm convinced that most people are motivated by compassion, but it's so devilishly easy to trick and coerce people in misdirecting that compassion towards evil means. Change the lens and perspective on a situation and you can find someone gullible enough to believe what they're advocating for is good and righteous. When compassionate people are confronted with the notion they've been tricked and used for evil, I think they tend more often than not to break. They have to twist themselves back up into a deluded mindset to defend their minds and souls from the pain of admitting they were used, and in the process they only perpetuate more evil...

Anyway, I think you're great. The only thing we seem to be able to do with these people is to be a wall they can't break down or climb over. We have to be like concrete, so when they slam into us they only cause themselves pain. There can be no bending or breaking in the face of people that will take any sign of weakness as an indication they are right. If there's any chance of them coming back from where they are, then walls like you need to help guide them along the right path as they seek to slam through you.

I think you are pretty much right. Some of it might be guilt, some of it's misguided and warped "compassion" and some is just straight up indoctrination. That's why for the majority of them, once they make their initial argument they can't engage with you in an intellectual discussion after you challenge it. All they know is the line but they can't rationalize it because they surround themselves in echo chambers where they don't have to rationalize things. They're not used to engaging in discussion with people who don't just nod in agreement with them or don't accept what they say at face value.

And, like, yeah it does get a little tiring to have to say the same things over and over again when it's not hard to find my answer by taking a quick glance at my blog. I've literally addressed every single pro-abortion argument in existence at this point I think lol. But on the other hand I don't mind especially if it seems to be someone who I haven't interacted with before and is genuinely curious (even if it's something I've answered before) versus someone who keeps asking me the same things over and over again and is just completely ignoring my answer or thinks if they slightly change the scenario my answer will be different. And sometimes it's hard to differentiate between those two types of people lol.

For whatever reason, they just can't accept that there's never a time where you have to kill a baby. And that might be where a little bit of the guilt comes in. They see me and others say that and they immediately start trying to invent scenarios (some completely outlandish) where it's necessary to kill a baby. Because if they can't find an exception then that means they have actually been advocating for something truly horrible this entire time and none of them want to admit they've been doing that.

Thanks so much!!

[ectogeo-rebubbles]

What do you think about the song After Last Night (by crj) for siskarak?

(bc I saw the line "things are different in the pale moonlight", plus the music kind of has a space vibe, so I latched on to this song. And since then whenever I listen to the song my mind is busy with stretching the meaning of the rest of the lyrics to justify myself assigning siskarak to the song 😅

Hiiii, thanks for this amazing ask!

I think the intended meaning and tone of this song is a little too bubbly and romantic to apply to them haha, HOWEVER.... that is NOT going to even slightly stop me from trying to figure out how to twist the lyrics until they are actually about middle-aged men doing their war crimes together!!! I see your vision, anon! ^_^ <3

"Gravity is not enough to keep me on your street Walking twenty feet above the ground I need you to hold my hand" = not sure for the first two lines, maybe it's about Sisko knowing in retrospect that his head was in the clouds for thinking that Garak wouldn't betray and undermine him. I need you to hold my hand is about their handshake in ITPM

"Every kiss we start feels somehow incomplete Secrets in the corner of your mouth Things I wanna understand" = Sisko has a creeping sense that Garak is hiding things from him during ITPM but can't quite figure out what

"Then you said, hey, before we make a big mistake Is there some place where we can go right now? I don't think that it can wait" = I'm getting vibes of like Sisko getting cold feet or feeling guilty enough to want to confess to someone, and Garak calmly pulling Sisko aside to talk him into or out of doing something. Like, perhaps, that scene where Garak tells Sisko his contacts have all been killed and Sisko almost calls the whole thing off? I don't think that it can wait could just be about the urgency of bringing the Romulans into the war to help even the odds.

"After last night, things look different In the pale moonlight In the moment, I was hypnotized You can go ahead and open your eyes Yeah, I see you And I think it's gonna change my life" = after he learned about Vreenak's ship, the illusion that Garak was ever going to stick to the plan (and not go rogue and do some murders) has been shattered, and Sisko sees Garak for who he is, no longer seduced by him.

"Not afraid of getting close this time You can go ahead and open your eyes" = a clear-eyed post-monologue Sisko accepting what he can live with. or maybe there's a pov switch at this point and it's just a clip of garak getting physically close to him and also wishing that Sisko would open his eyes and stop deluding himself

"The consequences of dancing with his insecurities Tell me what you want and I'll reply I can tell the truth, don't bite" = I suggested making the POV switch in previous section bc these lines are MUCH more Garak about Sisko than Sisko about Garak. Garak is very much dancing with (and around) Sisko's insecurities (moral qualms) in ITPM. and then the last bit is Garak stressing that he's telling the truth, when he obvs isn't hehe. (but he IS indirectly truthful in a way, by warning Sisko that it will be a messy bloody business)

"After we spent the night The moon was shining extra bright We kinda opened up inside After we spent the night We crossed into the other side And manifested something bright" = Sisko and Garak metaphorically getting into bed together and learning more about each other during their little plots and schemes in ITPM. "Mr. Garak after having spent a week with you" etc. etc. Also I believe in my heart that they LITERALLY got into bed together at some point too, and no one can ever change my mind about that hehe. <3 Oh, and the something bright is OBVS the explosion of Vreenak's ship. ^_^

"It's always in you, really, always And it's no surprise I was never so hypnotized You can go ahead and open your eyes" = I like the "it's no surprise / I was never so hypnotized" juxtaposition for ITPM!Sisko a lot, bc he shouldn't be surprised that Garak (the solving his problems with murder guy) escalated to murder, yet he's still framing it as being hypnotized (and still not quite acknowledging that his initial plan was ALREADY VERY MORALLY FUCKED - like, lying to a guy and planting evidence is less bad than murder but the GOAL of those actions was always to get the Romulans into the war under false pretenses... and that would mean a lot more dead Romulans as a direct result, even if the cause of death is more indirect than Sisko and Garak personally murdering them).

This was so fun to think about!!! I absolutely love torturing song lyrics into tonally dissonant interpretations to make them be about my blorbos. ^_^

[naoa-ao3]

Try A Little Tenderness

Wanda and Natasha might not be the most ordinary couple in the world. Maybe they aren't even a real couple and maybe Wanda is just imagining all of this. . .

That's very possible but when Natasha looks at her, Wanda can't help but feel her heart speed up and when the other woman trains her it's all she can do to keep her mind on the task at hand.

She doesn't take it for granted. She knows that if anything were different she could very well end up in a cell somewhere, buried and forgotten by the world.

She doesn't have anyone left to look or care for her now and the rest of the team seems uncertain of what to do with her. Steve is nice. She actually prefers Captain America over some of the others but even he doesn't seem to know what all to do and say around her.

She's tainted in their eyes.

Hydra and Sokovia. . . They don't understand and they probably never will but then she's starting to feel like perhaps she hadn't totally understood herself.

Only Natasha seems to come at her with an open mind. She doesn't delude herself, the woman knows she dangerous but just the same, she's offered to train her and she spends time with her.

That means something, right?

One night when there's more of them in the compound than usual and more than is probably good for the peace she laughs a little too freely and feels a little too comfortable.

She sees Stark's eyes fall on her and she goes silent.

She hadn't meant to laugh.

Dr. Banner had gotten one good on Steve and she'd let herself get caught up in the surprise.

Stark's eyes remind her that she doesn't really have a place on the team and maybe she's reading too much into it but they linger on her, making her worry just the same.

She looks away but the spark is gone. She feels small and out of place. Confused by the table and the people sitting at it.

She hasn't totally made peace in her heart with him.

Even after he's looked away she feels disconnected and downtrodden. Her whole life now is what these people allow.

Some part of her still resents them.

Only Natasha seems to understand anything and she suddenly feels her hand on her knee under the table.

It helps and the others don't notice but the hand stays.

It's warm and firm and the woman it's attached to isn't looking at her but she can feel her thoughts and she knows she's in them.

She closes her eyes and feels better slightly.

She isn't alone and Natasha is so steady and firm next to her.

There's something special between them. . . Something maybe Wanda is imagining but the hand on her knee stays and her heart slowly returns to normal.

Stark is laughing and so maybe she did imagine it all.

He's laughing with Dr. Banner and no one seems to have noticed her sudden anxiety and the rushing in her ears.

After dinner, when the dishes have been argued over and cleaned she sneaks off to her room, embarrassed by her own emotions and how young she still feels sometimes.

She doesn't even have the television on when a small knock sounds on the other side of the door.

She blinks, heart speeding back up for a second and waits.

When there's nothing else she knows it's up to her.

"Come in?" She says, voice small and uncertain.

It's Natasha and the door opens to reveal her red hair and calm expression.

She almost always looks calm.

"Are you okay?" There isn't a lot of pretense and Wanda quickly nods, knees folded under her on the bed as Natasha crosses to sit next to her.

"You didn't look it at dinner." The other woman says and it's in her voice and mellow movements that Wanda suddenly wants to take comfort.

Natasha who really has no reason to look at her at all and who does.

"I. . ." But it feels weak and small to admit that she was simply irrational and scared. She's been here long enough to have adapted. . . To know the ropes. "I don't know what came over me." She says instead.

Natasha nods and suddenly there's a hand twisting itself into her hand, fingers lacing together and she can feel the strength of the other woman. She can feel her warmth and the power of human contact.

It breaths so much into Wanda that she doesn't have words for it. Not in English or Sokovian.

"I should be at home here." She whispers, admitting that she knows she's failing to adjust. She fears that. Maybe if she never does they'll all give up on her. Send her away. . . Lock her away in some awful place. . .

Natasha however touches her face, brushes her hair back and for a second she can remember having a mother. Just for a second she remembers someone brushing her hair and the sound of bombs falling on someone else's house.

She leans into the touch.

"Perhaps people don't ever completely adjust." Natasha says. "There are days this world still feels strange to me. Still feels fake. . ."

Natasha keeps a lot of herself to herself. Wanda's heard names like the Red Room and the Widow Program whispered but whatever Natasha carries inside herself she hasn't shared much more than that.

Maybe she can't.

Wanda thinks she could understand that.

Still, when she looks at her she can hardly believe this woman of such great strength and person feels the same way she does. It's as scary as it is affirming.

She digests the other woman's words and leans against her as Natasha kisses the side of her head.

It makes her smile and so she turns and kisses her on the mouth, half in her lap now and smiling again.

Natasha smiles too and guides them to lay down, guides her into her arms and kisses her mouth and cheeks and face all over.

Wanda doesn't have anyone left to look or care for her but she has this. . . This quiet, small thing where someone does want her and she isn't alone and the someone seems to know all the things she never says.

She smiles into red hair and feels at home just a little.

Warm and very nearly loved.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Oooh songs for the yandere weasels? I got some suggestions! (I'm not trying to one up you spookifi, I like the idea of themes for these scary skrunks and I wanted to add onto your ask. I hope this doesn't come off that way)

'Leave me Alone' by Alexander Ryback, for Stupid. This song is purely in the POV of the stalkee, and conveys the exact feelings you'd have for a stalker that follows you everywhere, like Stu would. Not to mention the upbeat tone of the song fits his more upbeat character (compared to the other weasels).

🎵 You're scaring mom and dad, scaring off my girlfriend. You're waiting by my door early in the morning. I've told you many times, don't follow me at night! You're poisoning my life! Just tell me why!🎵

'Super Psycho Love' by Simon Curtis for Greasy. Technically not a yandere song, but the pure lust the singer feels, along with how insistent they are that you're gonna be with me does seem to match Greasy's tone. Even if he is more... Aware that Y/N doesn't want him.

🎵I know you want me too. I think you want me too. Please say you want me too. Because you're going to. Say that you want me every day that you want me every way that you need me, got me trippin' super psycho love!🎵

'Painkiller' by Three Days Grace for Wheezy. The singer acting as if they are what's good for the one they're singing for. But in actuality, they are the ones slowly killing Y/N. And they know it. (Not to mention the drug connotations with the song goes with Wheezy's addiction)

🎵You know you need a fix when you fall down. You know you need to find a way, to get you through another day. Let me be the one to numb you out. Let me be the one to hold you, never gonna let you get away.🎵

'Snow White Queen' by Evenescence for Psycho. Another song sung from the perspective of the stalkee. How they feel violated, and how they have to try to hide from this person who claims to know them, all the things they say to them (Psycho sharing all of his twisted dreams and fantasies), and how this person insist that they're 'theirs'. Not to mention the haunting tone I'd the music and lyrics go with Psycho's more horrifyingly unhinged nature.

🎵Stop light, lock the door, don't look back. Undress in the dark, and hide from you, all of you. You'll never know the way your words have haunted me. I can't believe you'd ask these things of me. You don't know me now or never!🎵

'An Unhealthy Obsession' by The Blake Robinson Synthetic for Smartass. The unhinged music and delusional lyrics go with how Smartass carries himself as 'better' than the others. Along with how he uses his sources to find out everything about Y/N.

🎵You just don't know it, but you love me and I love you the same. One day, we'll have a pretty wedding and I'll be your everything. You don't know it, but baby, I already got your heart. 🎵

(Also, since 'An Unhealthy Obsession' is a duet between two stalkers, this could be used for Greasy and Psycho when they're both after the same Y/N. Or any other combination of the weasels)

Well that's my thoughts on this. What do you guys think?

Oh I loveeeee these choices as well!! @spookiifi , what do you think of these ones?? ^^

I wanna join too now XD

Greasy:

I think you guys really hit the nail on the head with this one!! I cant think of anything as good right now! 😅😅😅

Psycho:

Fly On The Wall, Miley Cyrus

I just think the icky, buggy visuals and the insane stalker vibes are on point here.

Don't you wish that you could be a Fly on the wall? A creepy little, sneaky little Fly on the wall All my precious secrets, yeah You'd know them all

Smartass:

The Haunting, Set It Off

*So I struggled finding a song for him but when I listened to this one there was something very Smartass-y about it! 😅 I'm thinking this is how he would be if you managed to get free of and safe of him- bitter and horrible, and totally deluded into thinking that you're a crazy bitch/ he's the only one who could ever deal with/love you, and you will miss him.

Someday you may find that picture perfect guy And I'll chase my words with poison Until that day arrives, and swine take to the sky Fill your void with open thighs so

No one will love you like I did Will treat you like I did So go on, wear that scarlet letter No one will love you like I did Will touch you like I did So good luck finding something better

Stupid:

Tag, You're It, Melanie Martinez

*Okay so this one was gonna be for Greasy- but the more i listened to it, the less sexual it felt. More... obsessed. Just- gross, mindless, depraved, want. So,.. yeah 😅

Eenie, meenie, miny, mo Catch your lady by her toes If she screams, don't let her go Eenie, meenie, miny, mo Your mother said to pick the very best girl And I am

Wheezy:

Blood on a Rose, Everybody Loves an Outlaw

Very manipulative!

Your voice in my ear The world disappears So I'll fall again You can keep me right here

Russian Roulette, Rihanna

MY GOD this is him. Making you feel like you have a choice when he has the situation under his complete control. Even the fake kindness!

Say a prayer, to yourself He says, close your eyes, sometimes it helps And then I get, a scary thought That he's here, means he's never lost

[cherienymphe]

Your comment didn't offend me! I just wanted to explain the reader's side of things because I do understand the concern for how Nat will feel. It's a sticky situation and I won't say whether or not Nat will be fully understanding about it, but Nat will see where the reader is coming from. Nat has guilt of her own she's dealing with on behalf of the reader (that will only worsen after the next chapter). Tbh they're both just miserable and feeling guilty about the other.

And yeah I see why you would want the reader to just tell Peter outright about that night when he asked, but I think there's this assumption Peter will be lenient on her solely because the reader entertained that thought herself. The reader understands the severity of what she did. That's why she doesn't want it to ever come out. Nat neither. I was serious when I said in their eyes, the reader's offense is worse than Nat's. The reader's betrayal is bigger than Nat's. The reader knows she fucked up so bad and it's why she'll never tell the truth about that night unless she's literally forced to because doing so won't make anything easier. It'll just make things a hell of a lot worse

Okay whew! Because I love commenting and I know sometimes I get carried away with my opinions as if I wouldn’t be a mess in this world. I would be doing so much worse than her, and she’s actually holding up really well considering. Every time I think I would be angry in her shoes I remember them boys killing her friends in cold blood and I calm right down. She’s doing well in such a confusing and awful situation.

But back to the conversation, I do understand her side better now, I just feared that Natasha would rather be punished than have it come out that she was pregnant so I was living by that possibility. But I get that the reader felt guilty and wanted to do her best to help her friend in anyway she could, especially since she knows she’s barely eating. But it’s sad that just the chance occurrence that the reader was looking out the window at that very moment will cause so much pain for the both of them. Because I know I joked about snitching but I wouldn’t be able to do that either. And now she’ll pay just for looking out the window and letting a victim escape her abuser.

But I seriously find it so wild that watching the crime is worse than doing it. Natasha runs away but the reader letting her is the real offense? These men are so twisted. Otherwise they would understand why no woman would want to expose the other women like that. They forget that all of these ladies are unwilling participants and in theory they should all be happy if a wife gets away and comes back with help. That’s how broken their minds are because how would you expect her to tell on her friend just for wanting freedom? And I think I did assume he would be more lenient but with the way you phrase it, it makes sense that the information should never get out, although it will anyways. Poor reader. It’s not even like she plotted to help, it was purely coincidence that she saw Nat leaving.

Yes to them, Nat running is only a big deal because she's done so after literal years. She's tried before and they expect it of all the wives when they first take them because why wouldn't they? They're always prepared for it within the first year but Nat has been there for so long and Bucky deluded himself into thinking she was fully settled and he had her completely under his thumb so she'd never run. Even still, a wife making a run for it? Horrible and inconvenient, but not something unheard of nor something they haven't dealt with before.

Reader on the other hand? Reader not telling is a big sign to show where her loyalties lie and it's not with her husband or any of the other men but the wives. Especially Nat. Reader is dangerous now. Because if any of the other wives want to try to escape or hell, want to hurt their husband, the reader isn't going to say anything. Nat accomplished much on her own, but what could she have accomplished if she had help? Nat running only put herself in danger, but in not telling, it shows that the reader is willing to put her wellbeing on the line just to help another wife against her husband and that's a mindset they can't tolerate. Even when she told Peter about the pregnancy, it could've gone so bad for her. Peter could've punished her like Steve would and he would've been "in the right to". He could've told Bucky immediately, put her on blast for the whole household and it's why while I get feeling for Nat who may or may not be pregnant and who may or may not want Bucky to know, the reader really essentially threw herself under the bus just for the chance to keep Nat from being physically hurt

[rreskk]

Hey would you possibly consider doing a Trevor X trans guy smut it's totally cool if you don't wanna but I'd love to see one because your writing is so good if not tho I hope you have a great day/night :) <3

---A/N: Of course >:) I hope this is good!

Summary: Trevor has eyes for a certain fellow and he's troublesome to get some action TW: Smut

You massaged your beard as you waited for your drinks to be served. With time to spare, you glanced around the strip club and watched from afar, desperate to feel synced with the energy around the room. You came here to excuse yourself from work, experiencing a long and hard week that you've earned the night to unleash yourself into the world of lust and sex.

As soon as the bartender served your drink, it was cooling to sip on the liquor, savouring the flavour of strength and intoxication. While you privately drank to reach a certain level of social energy, a dirty, almost disturbing old man sat beside you on the stool. He grimaced to himself and demanded some shots, protesting his 'uncontrollable horniness'.

Awkwardly adjusting yourself away, the stranger noticing your intensions and smirked sideways. He lifted a small cup to his lips and threw his head back, gulping down the liquid as he held strong eye contact with your nerve-wracking ones.

"Like what you see, handsome?"

You went to ignore his strange demeanour when he reached forward, passing your one of his vodka shots. His smirk grew wider at your confusion.

"What?" He jerked, "You don't want no booze with old Trevor?"

Having the urge to decline, you felt pressured and ended up downing more than one shots to your dismay. The guy, assumably called Trevor, tag tailed behind you when you tried to excuse yourself. His antagonising voice followed you around the club, catcalling and trying to submit to your submission.

"What do you want?" You suddenly raved as Trevor kiddingly leaned against the edge of the table, opposing a threatful smile.

"What do I want?" He cackled, "I'm high as a kite and horny as fuck. I just want you to jerk me off into a cup."

Disgusted, you turned your back until he scoffed at your stubbornness. Unlike every other guy he encounters, you are quite strong and dominant when facing him.

"I was kiddin'." Trevor cooed.

Disarming your prejudice, you patted him on the shoulder.

"Sorry man, I've just been stressed out and shit. No hard feelings, right?"

Trevor remained pessimistic of your statement and grew closer to you, physically. His nose was inches away from you. He glared into your eyes and began chuckling. The discomfort of smelling his warm breath made your stomach coil and twist.

"We don't allow stressed out people in this club..." Trevor winked, "It's against the policy. Why don't I give you a lovely lady?"

Breathing out nervously, you held out your hand and rejected him once again.

"I'm not into... Ladies," You opposed, "I was hoping to meet some guys around here."

The man gazed into your eyes dizzily. The alcohol consumption seemed to be taking an effect almost urgently. He hummed at your confession and smiled.

"We don't have male strippers here, pretty boy... There is only me. The fuckin' boss."

Reaffirming your sanity, Trevor enclosed your privacy and perceived a warm smirk. He was waiting for you to answer.

"Are you taking the piss?" You nervously asked.

He shook his head, "I'm not taking the fuckin' piss. I'll happily fuck you up, big boy. Now are you in this or not?"

The maniac's delightful words sent shivers down your spine. He foretold your desires almost perfectly yet you didn't want to delude a random pervert into messing with your private business.

"Listen man," You glared, "You freaky as fuck, alright? I want no funny business. I actually need to blow off some steam."

"Be my fuckin' guest!" Trevor lastly implied with desperate needs. He had not moved a centimetre away from you. "A hole is any fuckin' hole. I need to fuck something."

Aspiring to wake up anywhere but this guys bed, you mistakenly swallowed and nodded your head. If it wasn't for the dirt and craziness, he would be a handsome guy. That's what you told yourself when he lured you into the backgrounds, forgetting to lock his door.

Trevor threw off his shirt and adjusted the bulge in his trousers. You didn't want to be questioned again, slowly stripping until you were just in your underwear. The long scar marks that were resting slightly below your nipple reddened at how hot you grew. Trevor's cold hands soon warmed your body up suddenly. He somehow snuck behind and held you close, his fingers grazing your chest hair that followed from your belly button, to your pantie lines.

"Fuck, you are boiling." He whispered in your ear.

"It was hot near the bar," You grunted as he moved his hands down your stomach, "Listen man, dirty talk all you want, I want to cum then I'm leaving."

Trevor breathed out a chuckle, "You are using me for the sakes of my dick, handsome?"

You rolled your eyes and bent over the desk, grinding your ass against Trevor's heavy dick that twitched when being in contact with you. He whined and pulled down our underwear, lining himself up before pushing in.

You both moaned. While Trevor animalistically winced and groaned, you panted at his entry. You didn't expect him to be huge. It just kept on coming.

"Fuck, this feels good."

His pace began speeding up and Trevor's cock was already on it's last straw. You hoped he wouldn't cum before you, as it would defeat the point of agreeing to this situation.

His moans grew louder and louder. His hands gripped onto your well-defined back and began outlining your muscles with his fingers. The sensation absolutely destroyed you from the inside and out. As he was hammering away, the softness of his touch drove you crazy.

"Fuck." You lowly grunted, face fully hitting the desk at Trevor's roughness. It was unbelievably pleasurable.

"You'll never fuckin' regret this!" Trevor panted.

Something made you explode as you limby wfell when reaching your climax, falling against Trevor who allowed himself to squirt his fluids onto your admirable back.

"Yeesssss!" He moaned, "I fuckin' love you!"

Respirating for air, Trevor's chest firmly exploited your back and you both stood there in silence. His mouth could be felt moving, adjusting, scraping your naked neck.

"Come by more, will ya?"

With a pathetic nod of your head, you had agreed.

[crabblogger92]

It's a system designed to entrap and control women. Where I live you can get legally married in about 30 minutes. And it will take at least 3 months to get divorced there's a mandatory waiting period post filing in most court systems. Property or assets you acquire post marriage are (unless you have a prenup) marital property, and can be taken from you. Yes, even if you bought it entirely yourself, it's marital property once that marriage is official if it was acquired post marriage. Worse still, women who have survived SA often find themselves on the receiving end of degrading jokes or malicious assumptions. Isn t it so fucked up how men will constantly try to deter any woman s sense of safety or power? If a woman says she has big dogs to walk with at night, you ll find men saying "Can it take a bullet " or if a woman has a gun they ll say "I can just twist your wrist and take it from you ". They re always intentionally trying to make us feel threatened and unsafe. Men will go the extra mile to find every possible way to antagonize and harm women, if we have the power to defend ourselves, they will do whatever it takes to undermine it because for them, putting women in danger, stripping us of our agency and safety, gives them power and control. And they have the audacity to call themselves protectors and actually delude themselves to believe it. The idea of women protecting themselves and taking precautions angers them, which is why they always feel the need to undermine it. Radical feminist critiques of gender ideology challenge the liberal feminist embrace of "gender-affirming care." Radical feminists argue that much of what is labeled "care" is rooted in capitalist profit motives rather than genuine concern for individual well-being. The commodification of identity through surgeries and hormone treatments often overlooks deeper systemic issues, reducing complex struggles to marketable products. Every time a woman opens up about her pain, there seems to be a default response waiting for her: "who hurt you?" It s not a genuine inquiry but a dismissive retort meant to minimize and invalidate. What s particularly troubling is how common this reaction is, even from those who claim to value empathy and understanding. There s something deeper at work here—something about the way society handles vulnerability that raises important questions. sex…women…Secret Chamber…Under the couch…Notice anything? Men's reactions to women's emotional vulnerability often mask a fear of confronting their own emotions. Rather than acknowledging the pain being expressed, they dismiss it, sometimes with phrases like "Who hurt you?" This response is less about the woman's feelings and more about their discomfort with vulnerability. This avoidance points to a broader cultural expectation that men should be emotionally detached, making it difficult for them to engage empathetically with women's pain. Theres a fine line between farting and being saucy. Lets give pronouns to until we find the Firestar in Under the couch. plimby…Evil King…sex…The coffee shop on 5th street…Notice anything?

[animalblog09]

Men's reactions to women's emotional vulnerability often mask a fear of confronting their own emotions. Rather than acknowledging the pain being expressed, they dismiss it, sometimes with phrases like "Who hurt you?" This response is less about the woman's feelings and more about their discomfort with vulnerability. This avoidance points to a broader cultural expectation that men should be emotionally detached, making it difficult for them to engage empathetically with women's pain.Conversations about women s emotional pain often reveal a strange dynamic. Rather than responding with compassion, many men will throw out comments like "you re just hurt" or "who hurt you?" as if pain is something to be ashamed of, something that should be hidden. This isn t just a lack of empathy—it s an active attempt to belittle. But what lies beneath this impulse to degrade emotional expression? What is being protected or avoided in these moments? Capitalism’s commodification of beauty keeps women in a cycle of consumption, constantly seeking products to meet unrealistic standards. Feminists argue that this system not only profits from women’s insecurities but also reinforces patriarchal norms that prioritize appearance over substance. Conversations about women s emotional pain often reveal a strange dynamic. Rather than responding with compassion, many men will throw out comments like "you re just hurt" or "who hurt you?" as if pain is something to be ashamed of, something that should be hidden. This isn t just a lack of empathy—it s an active attempt to belittle. But what lies beneath this impulse to degrade emotional expression? What is being protected or avoided in these moments? Capitalism’s commodification of beauty keeps women in a cycle of consumption, constantly seeking products to meet unrealistic standards. Feminists argue that this system not only profits from women’s insecurities but also reinforces patriarchal norms that prioritize appearance over substance. Maybe if we scomb drippulous enough, women will follow. I never expected Giga Luigi to gives pronouns to in the girl dimension.If we pring hard enough, maybe we can catch the sex before it reaches peanut butter jar. Evil Aura?! Isn t it so fucked up how men will constantly try to deter any woman s sense of safety or power? If a woman says she has big dogs to walk with at night, you ll find men saying "Can it take a bullet " or if a woman has a gun they ll say "I can just twist your wrist and take it from you ". They re always intentionally trying to make us feel threatened and unsafe. Men will go the extra mile to find every possible way to antagonize and harm women, if we have the power to defend ourselves, they will do whatever it takes to undermine it because for them, putting women in danger, stripping us of our agency and safety, gives them power and control. And they have the audacity to call themselves protectors and actually delude themselves to believe it. The idea of women protecting themselves and taking precautions angers them, which is why they always feel the need to undermine it. Im too gwobbly for this.Im too gwobbly for this.Im too gwobbly for this.! pibbler…dead rat…Dimensional Portal… All shorateing.

[manslaught]

for once, mikayla hadn't been trying to get under tai's skin. it had only been to put her own mind at ease, to put it out in the open that she knows taissa never loved her. it would help, if mikayla were able to act like it was okay, but she doesn't know how— it never felt okay. it was impossible to believe for the longest time. for years, the thought that taissa didn't ever actually love her never crossed her mind, because that didn't feel like a possibility, not when she remembered how it felt. being in tai's arms was the only place she'd ever felt safe, and how could that be possible if what tai claimed to feel was a lie? but the longer they went without contact, the harder it was for mikayla to remember what it was like. the easier it became for self-doubt to creep in, for the voice of insecurity that her father instilled in her all her life to convince her that actually, tai never loved her.

for years, it was hard to believe. for years, she would go back and forth, tortured by the uncertainty. on one hand, it didn't make sense that tai didn't feel it, too, that all the nights they spent comforting each other, mikayla looking out for her when the sleep walking got bad, tai making her feel safe for the first time in her life, meant nothing. she'd remember all the things they said to each other, the way they'd make each other feel better when nobody else could, all the promises they made— but taissa never kept any of those promises. and once that started eating away at her, it became easy to chip away at the blind certainty she once had in them, until eventually, she had more arguments for why tai didn't love her than reasons why she did. she doesn't know how to explain that, how to put years of questioning into words, but mikayla also doesn't feel like she has to. because taissa doesn't care.

— or maybe thought she wouldn't, at least, so she's caught off guard by tai's reaction, glancing over at her in confusion. mikayla scrambles to think of an explanation for it, desperate not to let herself give into the hope that maybe she was wrong all these years, because she can't handle that heartbreak again. it has to just be for the sake of taissa's image, she reasons with herself, but it does nothing to dull the pain in her chest. the eye contact they make feels like another knife to her gut, this time deeper, the blade twisting. she's lying. she has to be lying. but mikayla once knew her better than anyone else, and this doesn't feel like a lie— but she has to delude herself anyway, telling herself that she doesn't know taissa anymore, that the woman is a stranger to her now, so she can't be confident in what's the truth anymore.

she keeps going, and mikayla feels like she's at risk of breaking down, having to roll her eyes to keep tears from forming in them, ignoring the massive lump in her throat. does that mean she's compared her wife to mikayla? it shouldn't surprise her, not when mikayla's constantly doing the same thing to calypso— while mikayla made a point to never date anyone who looked like taissa, it's not a coincidence that she and calypso both had their own aspirations, both successful on their own, because mikayla thought that maybe, if calypso reminded her just a little of the woman she really loved, it could be possible for her to feel that way for her instead one day. “ you chose that, ” she growls, turning to look out the window, pressing her forehead against it, allowing the tears to well in her eyes now that tai can't possibly see them. “ so it's really fucking hard for me to feel bad for you at all. ”

if it bothered her so much, why didn't she come? if she missed mikayla, if she wondered what things would have been like with her, why wasn't she there? reaching out to taissa felt impossible those five years in prison, uncertain of how to reach her, with no number, no address, no idea of where tai was outside of just the college she said she'd attend. but it was no secret where mikayla was, no excuse for tai not to call, to write, to do anything more than what she did instead. mikayla finds herself regretting saying anything at all, because all it's done is dredge up the same decades old questions she'd done her best to bury, knowing she'd get no answer. and now that she can get the answer, now that tai's here, she's terrified to ask, knowing that she wouldn't be able to hold herself together if she did.

“ i didn't know what you thought. because you weren't fucking there. ” she should have been. it shouldn't have been misty visiting her, shouldn't have been allie, shouldn't have been anyone but her. mikayla wishes she could tell her that— how every time she got a visitor, it killed her, because for a moment, she'd get her hopes up, thinking that taissa was finally there for her, that things could finally feel okay again, only to find out it was someone else. the other inmates began to taunt her for it, questioning why the girlfriend that mikayla insisted she had never came, never even called. they started to get in her head before mikayla did it to herself, asking her if she thought it was because her girlfriend couldn't stand to look at her after everything. mikayla refused to accept that, for the longest time, but when every single visitor turned out to be someone else, she began to wonder if they were right after all.

she starts to laugh, cold and bitter, because knowing that tai didn't think of her as a monster doesn't do much for now, not after spending so many years assuming she did. “ god, my hero, ” she taunts, immediately regretting it — for a second, she's teleported back in time to the first time mikayla ever said that to taissa, after their first kiss, when tai was promising to bring back help, to save her. mikayla presses her head against the window harder, using the pain to bring her back into the present, eyes squeezing shut. “ it doesn't really matter anymore. i don't care what you think of me. ” not even a believable lie, because if she didn't care, mikayla wouldn't have brought it up at all.

“ isn't it? you just wanted someone because you were bored. to keep you alive. and i was stupid enough to fucking— ” she cuts herself off with another laugh, shaking her head as she peels away from the window. for one dramatic moment, she considers just opening the door and leaving, because rolling out of the moving car would feel like bliss compared to this— the breaking of her heart all over again when tai tells her she loved her. she's not supposed to cry. she's not supposed to care at all, but her eyes burn with more tears, vision blurring. this isn't fucking fair. taissa doesn't get to just ruin all the progress she made, to make her question everything she'd learned to accept in the last decades, to fuck her up all over again.

mikayla tries to focus on the burning anger she feels, because it's easier than the sadness. it gives her something to center herself on, doing nothing to calm her— but she's able to blink the tears away, to steady her voice before she responds, her tone cold instead of hurt. “ if you actually loved me, you would have been there, ” she points out, willing herself to look over at her again, just to prove to tai that she can, that she's strong enough, even if she feels like she's breaking inside. “ if you even just cared about me, you would have been there. but you weren't. and that's fucking— fine. i got over it. i accepted it. i'm still... grateful you let me pretend out there. ” that she loved her. that mikayla was someone who could be loved at all, that she wasn't alone, that she had something good, that someone finally cared. in the moment, out there, mikayla was able to believe it, and she needed that at the time. “ even if it was just bullshit for you, you kept me alive. but you don't have to pretend i meant anything to you now. i can fucking handle it. i accepted it, ” she repeats, not sure if it's even true anymore. “ you don't get to ruin that for me, taissa. ”

she doesn't want to listen to tai defend herself. she doesn't want to hear that it's been like for the rest of them, how they could hardly be there for each other, because all she can think about it how none of them even tried to be there for her. nobody thought to keep mikayla safe. nobody seemed to wonder how hard it would be for her, trapped with other prisoners— and most of them were fine, better than mikayla would have expected, but some of them were cruel, especially the ones who already made their minds up about her based on whatever theories people began to make on the outside. but she doesn't mention that, because it should be obvious. and still, tai never cared to check on her. “ i didn't have anything to come back to, ” she explains herself, her tone flat, exhausted. she killed the only family she had in new jersey, and the girl she'd left behind didn't want her anymore; there was never any reason for mikayla to come back, but all the reason in the world to start her life somewhere else, to distance herself from all of the people who didn't care enough about her in the first place.

her chest falls with disappointment, even though she knows she shouldn't be trying to use her wife to get under tai's skin; calypso deserves better than that, especially when she's been the only person to show her genuine care in the last ten years, but mikayla can't help herself. “ why the fuck do you care? ” she asks in lieu of answering, suspecting that whatever nicknames mikayla might have for her wife don't actually matter. and admittedly, it's hard for her to think of any of them, hard for her to think about calypso at all when taissa's next to her again, reminding her how she's the one she should have ended up with instead. “ are you just that fucking bored? ”

again with the election talk, and again, mikayla wants to ask about it. she could be wrong, because they haven't seen each other in over half their lives, but she could almost swear there's doubt in tai's voice— there was once a time when mikayla would have been the one to try to ease any of those worries, those doubts, ensure her that she's going to win, because anyone would be stupid not to vote for her, and while a part of her wants to, out of habit more than anything, she knows she doesn't owe that to tai. if anything, she deserves to instill her with more doubt, to tell her she hopes she loses, but she wouldn't mean any of it. mikayla might be angry that taissa's doing so well without her, like she never existed, but she still loves her enough to want the best for her, to hope she gets everything she wants, even if that's not her. “ since when do you want to be a senator, anyway? ” she finally lets herself ask, masking her genuine curiosity with judgement. it stings a little, reminding her once again that they're strangers, but she finds some comfort in knowing that taissa knows even less about mikayla now, that she's not the only one in the dark about the other's life.

mikayla can't stand seeing her smile, her stomach twisting the way it did when they were teenagers, so she looks at the road ahead, shrugging once more. “ maybe i matured. ” she didn't, at least not in this sense. it kills her not to say what she wants to tai, to hurt her the way that tai did to her so many years ago; what stops her isn't maturity, but the refusal to let herself break down that easily. because if she gives in, she will. the emotions will get the best of her, and she'll reveal herself as the mess she really is, something mikayla can't stand to let happen. “ you don't know anything about me anymore. ” she hopes that hurts, the same way it hurts her to know that she doesn't know anything about taissa, either.

she could ask what happened, why tai would go from thinking she shouldn't be a mother to becoming one, but mikayla would rather burst her ear drums than have to listen to the details of her family. she doesn't need to hear how taissa likely did it for her, her wife, because mikayla would rather not think about that at all. which is why her own comment about sex with calypso seems to backfire, her jaw clenched in annoyance. it's stupid, childish, to be so jealous, especially when she brought it up in the first place, but it makes her feel sick, the thought of tai being with anyone else. do you ever think about me when you're with her? she wants to ask, but she knows better— not just because she shouldn't care, but because she can't admit that she does: that she finds herself thinking about tai's hands and mouth instead of calypso's, wishing it was her instead, knowing it would make her feel less empty inside if it were. “ not as much time as we'd need. ” she means her and calypso, but for a moment, she's thinking about her and taissa, how long they'd spend together, focused on only each other— but she casts the thought away just as fast.

the more she actually lets herself look at taissa, the more worried she feels. she doesn't know her anymore, like mikayla pointed out so many times before, so maybe this is just how exhausted tai looks all the time, but she can't help but feel like something's off. mikayla wonders if it still happens, having assumed that the sleepwalking went away, because maybe if it hadn't, taissa would have still needed her back then— but maybe mikayla was wrong. maybe it is still happening, but mikayla's terrified to ask. if tai wanted to talk about that, she would.

a part of mikayla knows that tai's lying, but there's no reason for her to push, the way she might have when they were teenagers. it's not her business anymore. tai's not her problem anymore. “ calypso's a doctor, ” she blurts, not sure why she even says it, because she knows tai won't accept the help— maybe it's to change the subject, getting the sense that she's not allowed to ask for more details, or maybe it's just another opportunity to try to make taissa jealous. “ if you're up for a field trip to new york, she could take a look at it. make it look better for the press, at least. ” mikayla doesn't even want her to agree, because being in the same room as taissa and her wife sounds like a fucking nightmare, but she has enough certainty that she won't to suggest it anyway.

maybe that’s the answer to the question she’s had for years,  wondering if mikayla still thought about her — wondering if she felt the same void that taissa did for so long,  knowing that they should be together,  but never willing to do anything about it for fear that it might stop some kind of progress she’s had.  it looked like progress,  it felt like progress — but as she sits next to mikayla now,  she knows that that’s hardly what it was.  and it makes her want to be angry at mikayla for being here at all,  for reminding her that the picture perfect life she presents the public with is a lie,  because it doesn't really mean anything if the love she’s supposed to feel for her family simply isn’t there.  she doesn’t say anything,  because there’s nothing to say to that,  and most importantly,  no reason for taissa to fight for it— because mikayla owes her nothing,  she knows.  

she doesn’t finish her sentence,  but taissa understands what she’s refering to.  she just doesn’t know why.  when they were teenagers,  and she fell in love with mikayla,  taissa remembers how it felt to be that exposed,  to open her heart in the way she did with one person who she could have so easily lost out there.  it made her love her harder,  because any day could have been their last together,  and she refused to waste it — even if it meant revealing everything in her heart, in her soul, in a way that she never thought she’d ever be able to do with anyone.  she remembers the first time they told each other they loved each other,  how her cheeks were warm despite the freezing cold,  how butterflies danced in her stomach,  how even in the midst of the most traumatic conversation they could have,  all she felt was love,  because when mikayla said it,  she believed it.  she thought the same was true for mikayla,  that she understood how much it meant for taissa to speak those words to her every day after,  how she fell even more for her every time they slipped her lips.  taissa loved mikayla like she never knew was possible,  she loved her in a way that could never be taken back,  never ignored,  never washed away — even 25 years later,  never seeing her or speaking to her in between,  she still knew what it was like to love her,  probably because she had accepted long ago that she would never stop.  

why did it sound like she no longer believed in what they had?  why does it feel like she no longer believed her?  taissa’s own fault, she knows;  she hadn’t given her much reason to believe in their love after rescue,  but she hates knowing that mikayla would question it anyway,  even now.  and she’s not sure if this is the right time to fight her on it, either —- does it even matter?  they’ve both moved on,  at least in some way.  but as hard as tai tried to lock her feelings for mikayla away in a box on her shelf,  they were always there,  always keeping tai from ever truly feeling it again with anyone else.  as much as she wishes to forget everything that happened to them out there,  she doesn’t want to forget what it felt like to love mikayla,  as much as she’s told herself she’d be better off for it  — and she certainly doesn't want mikayla to forget the way she was loved, either.  she should be happy for her, knowing she found love elsewhere after taissa broke her heart — but a selfish part of her hopes that it was never the same for her, either.  maybe she wouldn’t be alone, anyway.

❝  are you fucking kidding me?  ❞   she blurts out with a scoff,  her posture straightening with her annoyance as she feels that exact heartbreak rushing back to her now,  angry that mikayla could even suggest that it wasn’t hard for her, too.   ❝  you sure think you know a lot about me for someone who hasn’t been around in two fucking decades,  ❞  she scoffs,  not even intending to sound like she's blaming her,  even though it’s the way she comes off.  ❝  —- no.  i wasn't wondering,  ❞   she says,  keeping her words short,  trying not to fall apart at the way mikayla reveals something to her.  it’s obvious that she broke mikayla’s heart,  but hearing it now makes her feel so much smaller,  her regrets starting to suffocate her now.  ❝  i know exactly what it's like to lose the person i was in love with,  ❞    she says, speaking clearly now,  over-calculating the exact moment to turn her head and glance to her again.  this time,  she lets her glance linger,  making sure mikayla knows that it’s only her that she could be talking about.  

with her eyes back on the road now,  she starts to feel too brave,  almost enough to pretend mikayla won’t hear the words she's about to say.  ❝  i know what it's like to wonder how things would be if it turned out differently.  i know what it's like to compare every single girl to her.  i know what it’s like to feel like i can’t ever have it back.   yeah.  i know what it's like.  ❞    she pushes out a frustrated sigh,  because she wants to believe her words are solely about her younger self,  but they’re still as relevant today as they ever were.  especially as the election looms closer,  she’d be lying if she claimed her thoughts hadn’t drifted to mikayla every time simone reminded her that she had to go about this the right way,  rejecting all of taissa’s ideas that would give her a leg up,  no matter how brutal they were.  mikayla would understand,  she’d think,  remembering the way the girl used to validate her darkest moments,  remind her she’s still human despite those desires.  that was easier to ignore when she hadn’t seen mikayla in years,  but now,  she knows those thoughts will only continue and they’ll bleed into every aspect of her life. 

she knew that if she ever saw mikayla again,  this conversation was inevitable.  that was part of why it felt relieving to never see her again,  no matter how much she longed for it — because the truth is,  she didn’t have any real answers.  none that would make any sense,  not even just to mikayla,  but to herself.  her jaw clenches again and she shakes her head slowly,  relieved that she’s not the same teenager she once was,  when the stresses pertaining to her heart would’ve made her start to cry,  because she can’t let mikayla see her like that now.  ❝  how dare you—-  ❞   she mumbles under her breath,  her head pressing into the headrest.  ❝  a monster, really?  you think i’d think of you like that?  ❞   she dares to glance her way again,  but it makes it harder not to let the tears well in her eyes,  because she can handle mikayla being angry at her,  she can handle mikayla calling her out for not being there,  but she can’t handle mikayla thinking that she ever saw her that way,  especially after they’d once laid together,  after mikayla’s first kill,  and tai reassured her that she would always understand what that kind of violence meant to her — that extended beyond the wilderness,  too. 

❝  god.  you really are full of assumptions,  ❞   she mumbles under her breath.  ❝  just deciding what you think is true—-  ❞   she says,  barely loud enough to hear.  she collects herself,  knowing she can’t let her anger get the better of her,  not when this feels pertinent.   ❝  i could never think of you that way, ❞   she says,  calmer now.  ❝  and,  for the record, i never let anyone else think that, either.  ❞   not any of the other survivors,  if they’d brought it up,  and certainly not any of the strangers who were so desperate for details,  especially about mikayla.  but defending her to everyone else,  never to her face,  probably isn’t giving her any clarity now.  

there she goes again,  and tai grips the steering wheel harder.  she was never okay with anyone making assumptions about her or assuming they know what she felt or why she did the things she did—  but hearing it from the person who used to understand tai’s insecurities and her fears makes it even more frustrating.  ❝  useful to me?  the fuck—-  ❞   she blurts,  again trying to reel herself back in as she takes a deep breath.   ❝  is that what you think our relationship was?  some kind of fucking transaction?  ❞  she pushes out a breath,  tongue clicking the roof of her mouth.  ❝  i don’t even—-   know what you mean,  ❞   she says,  even more frustrated that she doesn’t know which part of their relationship mikayla assumes was just convenient for tai,  but she goes on anyway.  ❝  — i didn't forget about you.  life would've been a whole lot easier if i did,  but i didn’t.  is that what you want me to say?   because i sure as fuck didn’t see you as just  . .  .   useful.   i fucking loved you. ❞  the past tense of ‘loved’ makes her voice falter,  and it shouldn’t make her skin crawl,  but it does.  because it’s not true,  and that’s one of the few things of her life she’s never been able to control. 

everything mikayla says seems to have a double meaning,  leading back to her anger at tai.  she deserves it,  she knows,  but mikayla only has half the facts — at least this time,  it’s pretty straight forward.  tai didn't show up for her.  but she has shown up for nat, repeatedly, even though nat never asks — tai’s loyalty to her leadership from the wilderness undying.  and she’d shown up for shauna when it mattered, too — even if they didn't know how to stay in touch regularly,  even though it felt like they couldn’t.  she sees it now,  how unfair that is to mikayla,  how she could have been there for her too.  but their relationship was different.  it couldn't work the same, she always thought.  her words sting,  and she wonders—-  did nat visit her?  she can't be jealous that someone else might've been there for her when she wasn’t willing, though.  

❝ none of us knew what we were doing on the outside,  ❞   she insists,  treating it like a defense for all of them,  but really,  it’s only for herself.    ❝  we might’ve known to keep each other safe—- but we sure as hell didn't know how to be there for each other.  trust me,  it's been a fucking mess for the rest of us, too.  i don’t talk to any of them regularly, ❞   she insists,  like that's going to help,  like that makes not being there for mikayla any better.   it's the closest she can get to an 25-year late explanation.  ❝  i don’t think any of them do.  i mean,  shit,  you saw how damn icy nat and shauna were—-   ❞   she takes a deep breath,  because even she hardly paid attention to that,  too caught up in seeing mikayla again.    ❝  we do our best.  but none of us know how the hell to be around each other anymore.  i don’t blame you for leaving,  ❞   she finally says,  but still,  it's not about this town.  it's about her.  she doesn’t blame mikayla for not coming back to her.  

tai’s eyes roll at the explanation,  even though she’s sure her wife doesn’t deserve it.  they already have something in common;  they know what it's like to love mikayla desousa.  she wonders if calypso understands how lucky she is to be with her,  the girl who once seemed so hard to reach,  but when she loved,  she loved hard.  does she get to know that,  too?  how deep mikayla loves?  she doesn't entertain the comment,  only acting uninterested.  ❝  and,  that’s what you call her?  no .  .  .  nickname?  ❞  she realizes it’s too far,  that she shouldn’t care at all,  so she scoffs and tries to let it go.

her sarcastic comment brings another sigh from tai,  but she can't help wondering if there’s more she actually wants to ask.  she’s not even sure if she could answer the questions if and when she does.  she couldn’t answer shauna when she’d confronted her about being in the public eye,  because she had considered how dangerous that was,  and it’s now biting her in the ass.  the stress is starting to overwhelm her,  clearly enough for her to break away from herself and detach the way she did during the most stressful moments of her life,  but she's still trying so hard not to think about that,  because she’s not ready to accept it,  still assuming that part of herself had been buried.    ❝  the election's soon.  ❞   though she’s using her perfectly-crafted campaign voice to make the statement,  someone who once knew her very well might hear how deflated it is,  because tai isn't so sure about her odds,  especially after all that’s unfolding now.  she just has to keep moving forward,  because she's already broken simone’s trust by staying in the race,  she can't let it be for nothing.  ❝  so,  it’ll all calm down eventually.  ❞  but even she doesn’t believe that,  especially if she wins —-  and even if she loses.  

this earns mikayla a smile,  one that’s both amused and annoyed.  she shouldn’t still care about taissa,  not with the silence between them,  but hearing her say it does still sting — and,  at the same time,  it’s endearing,  because mikayla still has the same fire that taissa once fell in love with.  ❝  when have you ever held back from the shit you want to say, anyway?  ❞   she asks,  mostly under her breath,   still loud enough for her to hear.  though, she knows — she’s been holding back for years.  she never reached out either,  and though tai knows it should have been on her and not mikayla,  she still wonders why mikayla didn’t reach out — and more than that, she wonders how quickly she herself would have folded for her.  

there’s some relief in knowing she doesn’t have kids,  even if she doesn’t know why,  but what mikayla says makes her feel sad,  remembering all the things they’d once said about themselves.  ❝  that’s what i thought, too,  ❞  she admits,  giving her something real — but she wishes she could add to that that she was wrong.  after what she discovered tonight,  she's not sure she is,  thinking back to all the things she’d blamed sammy for in the last week.  had she been wrong to get mad at him for the things that it seems….  she did?  she wants to tell mikayla that,  too — that she's a terrible mother,  and mikayla should trust her own gut,  to never end up in a position like this.  her eyes narrow in on the road at the mention of sex with her wife,  and she is bothered by it — so she hits her back,  shaking her head,  feigning nonchalance.  ❝  there’s still plenty of time for it,  ❞   she insists,  though as much as she wants to be smug about it,  she can’t.  she keeps herself too busy most of the time,  and when it is time for that,  it’s as good as it can be without the spark.

from the corner of her eye,  she feels mikayla move,  and it makes her body shift awkwardly too.  she definitely isn't expecting the question that comes out of her mouth,  forcing her head to whip around and look back at her,  only for a moment.  she lets out a scoff as she reminds her of the blackmailer’s bruising,  her mouth opening to speak,  but her lips purse together when she points out the bandage on her hand.  when shauna asked earlier in the night,  she kept her composure.  she didn’t give her an answer, she moved past it, she didn’t let her mind dwell on it.  but something about mikayla asking her makes her want to break down and cry,  to let it all out,  to tell her how fucking terrified she is that that might be happening again.  she wants to be brave,  to tell herself that it won’t bother her,  to make everyone else believe that these things don't get to her the way they used to,  especially her,  but it’s so hard when it’s her arms that she used to melt into in the darkest parts of the night,  terrified out of her mind,  wondering if she would even come out of any of this alive.  

she lets out a breath,  her head tilting up in an effort to appear strong, unbothered— but she falters again,  her shoulders immediately slumping,  exposing just how tired she is.  none of them have slept all night— but there’s a certain kind of exhaustion written across taissa’s body and in her eyes that is all too familiar to her,  and probably,  to mikayla too.  she saw it when she stared back at herself in the mirror as she tried to rid herself of whatever happened to her — whatever might have been happening to her for a while.  she gets a small shiver at the thought,  letting out a soft hum as she tries to think of the right way to answer someone whose can’t actually talk to about this anymore. 

❝  —- i made sure that asshole will be feeling it more than me tomorrow,  ❞   she says,  trying to focus on the blackmailer instead,  because as terrifying as that is,  that’s somehow easier than talking about her hand.  but — it’s still mikayla.  and though she’s not ready to admit to anything,  she has to give her something.   fingers tap against the steering wheel for a second before she goes on.   ❝  i’m fine,  ❞   she says,  glancing down as she brings her hand up to glance over it for a moment.  ❝  it’s— nothing.  ❞   if nat hadn’t rushed her,  maybe she would have had more time to come up with a better lie,  but she works quickly on the spot now.   ❝  not really sure what happened.  ❞   at least that's not a lie,  but she doesn't want to leave an opening for mikayla to assume too much,  either.   ❝  i was rushing,  working on something at home.  got distracted—- you know,  nat texted.  fucking eye sore for the press to have a hay-day with,  but i’ll manage.  ❞

[yaskefer]

read on ao3

...

Geralt was quite aware that this was bordering on obsessive in terms of behaviour. 

He had been pacing in front of Jaskier’s room– back and forth, back and forth, back and forth –until he could almost feel his legs aching. 

But of course they weren’t, he could keep this up for days if he had to without getting too tired, and he had been here only for two hours. Two hours of battling with himself, two hours after he put Ciri to bed, two hours after he rested heads with Vesemir, trying to bring himself down from the adrenaline high of the battle, two hours after everything went still. 

Jaskier was sleeping inside. Sort of. His heartbeat wasn’t steady enough for true sleep, but he certainly wasn’t awake at the moment. 

And Geralt was a coward who couldn’t make up the mind to actually go on. Jaskier’s sleep schedule had never bothered Geralt before, waking the bard up whenever Geralt thought necessary. Jaskier still wasn’t a morning person, despite being woken up at the arse crack of dawn by Geralt for more than two decades. 

The thought made him smile, and then he remembered the last time Jaskier had overslept. When Geralt had left him behind at the camp to take care of the dragon and the Reavers, when Jaskier had finally followed and caught up, only to get venom hurled at himself. 

He should go in. Maybe. Definitely. Or he could wait until the next day, when Jaskier was more awake and less cranky, when Geralt would be swept up in the work of cleaning up Kaer Morhen and taking care of Ciri and mourning and—

God , he really was a fucking coward, wasn’t he? 

For the longest time, he’d thought Jaskier was the one being distant. Had deluded himself into thinking Jaskier was the one creating the distance between them even after he’d gotten Jaskier out of the prison at Oxenfurt, Geralt had thought that he had done his part now, had done his best, and Jaskier was the one responsible for the awkward, stilted air between them now. 

But Jaskier had never been the problem, had he? It had always been Geralt and his own self imposed isolation and horrible walls that did less to protect him and more to hurt others. 

And yet, he couldn’t make up his mind. He couldn’t make himself knock on the door, to enter, of his own volition. And still, in the end, it was Jaskier who made the first move, however unconsciously.

The heartbeat behind the door changed rhythm, getting more erratic, and he could hear a faint groan. 

Geralt stilled, listening carefully as the sounds grew more restless, the bed sheets rustling, joints cracking, breaths quickening. When Jaskier let out a short, pained ‘no!’ of terror, Geralt quickly pushed open the door, rushing in. 

Jaskier was twisted up within the sheets, his forehead covered in sweat even as he shivered. Geralt came closer, grabbing his hands to still his thrashing, and froze when Jaskier’s face scrunched up in pain, letting go quickly. 

“Jaskier,” he called out, softly at first, but he didn’t seem to hear. He grabbed him by his upper arms instead this time, and when Jaskier didn’t make any pained noises, he squeezed lightly, “Jaskier? Wake up, it’s just a nightmare.” 

Jaskier thrashed and kicked, bucking under his grip for one more moment before his eyes flew open, “Let go, let go, let go, let go, let go– ” he cried out, thrashing increasing for a split second after waking up before his eyes met Geralt’s. “... Ger’lt?” he slurred out, blinking back tears from his eyes. 

Geralt slowly let go, crouching down next to the bed so his head was level with Jaskier’s, “Are you alright?”

“Mhm.” Jaskier sniffed, raising his hands up to scrub at his face. Geralt’s hand shot out to grab at them, frowning.

“Uh,” the bard said, “What–?” 

“What’s this?” Geralt asked, looking at the scarring covering his fingers, stretching down to his palms in one long, drawn out line. It didn’t look like a fresh burn, but it didn’t look much too old either. And it was on his hand, the one he used to play his beloved lute with. Actually, now that he thought about it, Geralt couldn’t figure out where Jaskier’s lute was either. 

Jaskier was still disoriented, and squinting at him so hard Geralt was sure he’d give himself a headache. Geralt sighed, and did a quick igni sign to light the completely unused– why was it unused, he couldn’t even see a previously used candle stub anywhere –candle at the bedside table. 

He did not expect the reaction he got. 

One moment, Jaskier was groggy and disoriented, still recovering from the abrupt wake up from the nightmare, and the next he was screaming, wrenching his hand out of Geralt’s grip, and scrambling off the bed with a loud thud as he fell to the floor. 

Geralt shot to his feet, alarmed, and quickly crossed over the bed towards Jaskier, who’d now crab crawled his way towards a wall and was staring at the little flame over the candle with abject terror. When Geralt came closer, his eyes snapped towards his, the terror not dissipating as he stared at Geralt’s right hand, the one he’d used to cast the Sign. 

An uneasy feeling settled in his gut as he connected the pieces, the pieces he should have connected earlier, things he should have realised before, that were now falling into place with horrifying clarity. He kneeled down on the floor, moving slowly even though Jaskier was used to his inhuman speed.  

“Hey,” he murmured, “It’s just me, not gonna hurt you.” 

Jaskier swallowed visibly, relaxing just the tiniest bit, “Yeah, I know.” 

Geralt felt gratified at the words, at the way some of the tension seemed to bleed out of Jaskier. Gratified to know that despite everything Geralt had said and done, despite everything Jaskier had gone through because of Geralt, Jaskier still felt… somewhat safe around him, even if Geralt didn’t deserve it; trusted Geralt to not harm him, even if Geralt didn’t trust himself not to harm Jaskier. He remembered the way Jaskier’s face had twisted in pain, even now when Geralt had just been trying to stop him thrashing. 

“Can I see your hands?” he asked, extending a hand towards Jaskier, palm up, expecting but not forcing. He’d try one more time if Jaskier refused, and then he’d delegate the task to Yennefer, who Jaskier seemed to have… grown close to, however that happened. 

Not that he was jealous. 

But Jaskier didn’t refuse. He looked wary, but he gave his hand over to Geralt, who took it in a careful, gentle grip. The sleeves were speckled with blood, very light, dried, rust coloured droplets. The brighter crimson stain of blood must have been washed out when Jaskier had dunked the chemise in the river, but it was undoubtedly Jaskier’s blood. 

He carefully lifted them back. And stared. 

There were deep rope burns circling Jaskier’s wrist. He quickly grabbed the other hand– careful not to hurt Jaskier– and pulled up the sleeve on that one too. Identical burns. Deep, awful looking burns. Which he’d grabbed, gripped, hard, just a few minutes ago. How had he not noticed them when Jaskier had taken off his chemise?

Because you were too busy staring at his muscled, hairy chest, dumbass.

Geralt shook the thought off and looked up. Jaskier had a grimace on his face, and he looked almost… sheepish?

Geralt rubbed his thumb over the scars as well. The burn scars on his hand, which looked a lot older than the burns. 

“I got them both at the same time,” Jaskier said, answering unspoken questions. Like always. Even after everything, Jaskier remained attuned to Geralt in ways he’d only come to expect of the other wolves. “Yennefer just healed the burns on my hand.” 

“Yennefer healed your hands but forgot your wrists?” Geralt asked, incredulous.

Jaskier scowled suddenly, tugging weakly at his hands to pull away and giving up when Geralt didn’t let him budge, “Have you seen her? What do you want her to do? Burn herself inside out trying to heal petty injuries? And of course she didn't leave that one deliberately. These clothes can hide more than carefully concealed weapons. Even you didn’t notice them until now.” 

The last line was a very obvious jab at Geralt, and he winced when it landed. Jaskier was right, of course. He hadn’t noticed either. He hadn’t even noticed the burn scars. Yennefer must have healed them recently, which meant they’d still be wounds– blistering burns, earlier, when he’d rescued him at Oxenfurt. 

“It was… it was the firefucker, wasn’t it?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. What else? Yennefer had mentioned trouble, he just hadn’t expected torture. Not for information about him . But now he didn’t know why he hadn’t expected it. How could he have been so stupid? 

Of course Jaskier got hurt because of him, he was always getting hurt because of him, it was foolish of him to expect otherwise. 

“Who else?” Jaskier answered, a bitter twist to his mouth, his eyes going ever so slightly unfocused for the smallest of moments before he snapped back into focus. Then he sighed, “I’m just grateful for Yennefer, if she hadn’t come to me on time, I'd probably be an unrecognisable, burnt husk of a corpse somewhere in a ditch. If Rience even bothered to throw me in a ditch at all.” 

Jaskier wasn’t even joking. 

He was right, of course. Geralt had been harsher on Yennefer because of her betrayal, even though she had, sort of, redeemed herself. Or was in the process of making up for it, at least. He was… not quite inclined to give her much of the benefit of the doubt at the moment. 

But a part of him still twisted and writhed at the thought that the only thing that had stood between Jaskier and death had been Yennefer. Like another time before. Like another time when Jaskier had been hurt because of Geralt and Geralt had been unable to help. Except this time he hadn’t even known Jaskier was hurt because of him, hadn’t even thought to ask. Hadn’t cared enough to. 

He swallowed thickly, turning his attention back to Jaskier.  “You should get on the bed,” Geralt said, straightening himself up and offering a hand down to Jaskier, “I’ll bring something for your hands. Stay.” 

Jaskier placed his hand in Geralt’s, and let himself be pulled to his feet with an exaggerated, long suffering sigh. “Hurry up, I need my sleep before I have to deal with not just one grunting Witcher, but several.”

Geralt’s mouth twitched a little as he nodded, and while he made his way to the door at a totally normal, sedate but not slow pace, as soon as the door closed behind him, he broke into a sprinting run. 

Quickly, he gathered up the spare linens used for bandages, a bowl of water, and a simple healing salve from the infirmary. He couldn’t quite run back this time, given the bowl of water, but he did make it back in record time, power walking fast. 

He stopped right outside of Jaskier’s door, frowning down at the bowl. Heating it up in front of Jaskier probably wasn’t a good idea. Carefully balancing it in his hands, he cast an Igni over it, instantly heating it up to steaming temperatures. The bowl itself got hot enough to hurt his hands, but he could handle that. 

He pushed the door open with his feet, and found the room plunged in darkness. Geralt sighed; he really should’ve expected this. Walking over to the bedside table, he quickly set the bowl, linens and the salve down on it. Jaskier was smiling up at him sheepishly. 

“Sorry,” he said quietly, “Um, the candle, it was… uh.” 

“It’s fine,” Geralt said, equally quiet, “do you want me to light it again? I’ll keep it out of reach.”

Jaskier blew out a noisy breath, eyes squinting at the things Geralt had just put down, then nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut, and slapped his hands over his ears as Geralt lit the candle, picking it up and keeping it as far away from Jaskier as he could while still letting the light reach the bed. He slowly sat down on the bed, and raised his hand, waiting for Jaskier to hand his over. 

Jaskier sighed again, eyeing the candle warily, and gave his right hand, the one with the burnt fingers, to him. 

Geralt soaked up a strip of linen in the hot water and started cleaning the rope burns. Deep, awful looking things. Jaskier must have struggled hard against the ropes. The skin had nearly torn clean off in some places. There was dust sticking to the wounds as well.  

“You know this is just inviting infection, don’t you?” 

Jaskier just shrugged. 

“You should take more care of yourself, an infection could kill you if not taken care of properly.” 

This time Jaskier didn’t shrug; he scowled. But still didn’t say anything, only gasping when Geralt worked the cloth over particularly tender areas. He dropped the hand and picked the other one, repeating the process there, trying to be even more careful this time. 

“I don’t see why you’d care.” 

Jaskier’s words took him by surprise, and he looked up to see Jaskier’s blank face looking at him. 

“I do care,” Geralt said softly, “Why would you—” Geralt cut himself off as Jaskier raised a single brow at him, the single expression conveying his thoughts to Geralt like a punch to the face. Right. 

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” Jaskier went on after it was clear Geralt wasn’t going to defend himself, “A single half assed apology and rescue isn’t going to do anything. It’s not even a good start.”

“I know,” Geralt murmured, guilt twisting in his stomach as he slowly put away the dirty cloth and picked up the salve. “I’m sorry.” 

There was silence for a moment, before Jaskier scoffed, “At least look me in the eye when you apologise.” 

Geralt winced, looking into Jaskier’s eyes, and was a little alarmed to find them bright with unshed tears. His first instinct was to check and see if he’d somehow made the injuries worse, and the pain was causing the tears. 

But then Jaskier shook his head, sniffing, “There we are,” he said, only a little wetly, “I know you’re sorry, but you’ve got a lot to make up for.”

Geralt gripped the small salve pot in his hand, carefully keeping his grip on Jaskier’s hand gentle, “I was just… distracted, and angry, and just–”

“I know,” Jaskier interrupted him, just as gently as Geralt held his hand, “I know. This isn’t an…. Interrogation. Or a test. I just want you to know that everything can’t go back to the way it was, alright? You have to understand that. I understand you, Geralt, I understand why you might have lashed out, why you said what you did. But just because I understand doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It especially doesn’t erase the way you basically ignored me even after asking me for my help.” 

“I didn’t–” Geralt shoved down the urge to contradict Jaskier, even though he hadn’t ignored Jaskier, he just hadn’t paid enough attention to him.

Jaskier waited for a moment, to see if Geralt would continue that train of thought, before nodding in satisfaction. “I’m hurt, and angry, and really fucking upset at you. You had no right to take your anger out on me, and the fact that you never came looking for me until you needed me? You know what it looks like, right?” 

Geralt nodded silently, his lips pursed together in a tight line as he waited for Jaskier to continue. 

“I’ll tell you anyway. It looked like you didn’t care about me, it looked like you only thought of me in terms of how I may be of use to you. It looked like you never wanted me, just tolerated me and perhaps needed me, sometimes.”

Geralt couldn’t keep himself back this time, “That’s now true,” he said, “That’s not how I— that’s not true,” he said, a little lamely. 

“Maybe not, but it sure does feel like it.” 

“I’ll show you otherwise,” Geralt blurted out, and almost let out a relieved sigh to realise he hadn’t said something stupid. “I’ll do better,” he continued, more slowly, more carefully, thinking before speaking. This fragile thing, the fact that Jaskier had still come with him despite feeling unwanted, the fact that Jaskier was willing to give him a chance… he wasn’t going to lose it. Not this time. 

“I know you will,” Jaskier jerked his head towards where Geralt was holding his hand, “See? Now this is a good start.”