#and the correct response in a moral sense is not to take that and try to ‘cure’ Bruce of the Hulk i.e. killing the Hulk

[fate-motif]

i still find the start of the latest episode hilarious. dal is burning with jealousy for okona, and yes it's mostly because his friends have started to trust and look up to him, but just look at okona. he's a human in a post-scarcity federation. he could chill for the rest of his life no problem and yet at the age of sixty he's at the mercy of debtors and the authorities running around like headless chicken thinking he's somehow cool when he has an eyepatch. yes the thought of being a hardened criminal appeals to a teenager from the delta quadrant. but will you just look at this guy, dal. this guy is like the opposite of cool. oh my god

[daydreamerdrew]

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #253

[remlionheart]

⟡˙⋆ MDNI ⋆˙⟡

Teacher's Pet

♡༊·˚ the second installment in my euphoria x jjk drabbles. this takes place where megumi's left off, but it's still a standalone fic so it's not necessary to read both parts if u don't want to ♡ tw for drug use and slight coercion. gojo x shy fem!reader. 𐙚 praise kink girlies who have ever dreamt of an authority figure having their way with you - hi, hello, welcome, enjoy your stay 𐙚 your former teacher's house was a place where anything and everything happened. a place people came to let go of their responsibilities and lose themselves for the night. there was only one rule: no one was allowed to step foot in his bedroom... shout out to the loml @bratbby333 for literally being gojo. 3.9k words. porn with a plot. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ♡༊·˚

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Satoru Gojo had never been the most morally sound, neither in his personal or professional life. There were many things he was willing to turn a convenient blind eye to, secrets he was willing to keep in order to protect himself and those he deemed valuable enough. In a world predominantly made up of black and white, he was the condemning shade of silver that connected the two. Always towing the line but never really committing to either side.

With the amount of wealth and status he possessed, there was hardly anything he couldn't have - not a person or a drug or material object that was off limits to him. The entire world had always bent to his will, and he intended on keeping it that way.

His footsteps were heavy as he maneuvered through the crowd of sorcerers that were scattered about his living room.

Every weekend was the same, a hazy blend of laughter and smoke and blue lights. Girls snorting coke off of his marble countertops and couples fucking in the pool, not caring at all who saw. It was the place that people wandered to when they needed to let go of their inhibitions for the night and succumb to their own vices. "Gojo's house of debauchery" as Megumi would so endearingly name it.

He tilted back the rest of his drink while he made his way upstairs, pleased with the way bodies parted for him without him having to say a word. He was imperious, subconsciously operating with an effortlessly powerful presence anywhere he went, but especially within the domain of his lofty penthouse.

He came to an abrupt pause, noticing the door of his bedroom was cracked open. There were hardly any rules when it came to his Saturday night depravities, but the one thing that everyone knew was to not step foot into his room.

His jaw clenched, grabbing onto the door handle with every intention of having to drag someone out when the tension in his shoulders suddenly settled. A small smirk crept across his face as he closed the door behind him, his annoyance completely overruled by a new sense of perverse curiosity as he noted the way his sheets hugged the side of your hip.

"You lost sweetheart?"

Your eyes snapped open when you heard the click of the lock, your mind was racing trying to piece together where you were. You'd taken at least 4 shots too many before you'd stumbled upstairs.

The last thing you remembered was searching for a bathroom, barely being able to push your way through the crowd when Nobara noticed you. "You don't look too good," she had shouted over the music, "here, follow me." She'd forced you to drink some water while you peed and then guided you to the connecting bedroom. "You need to lay down for a little bit, 'kay?" It was the last thing you had heard before your head hit the pillow and your surroundings finally stopped spinning. You'd assumed that she'd taken you to one of his many guestrooms, but no, in her own drunken haze, she'd managed to leave you in his bed.

"Gojo-sensei," you immediately grimaced at your own formality, scrambling to correct yourself while you rolled over to face him. "I - mean, Gojo." Satoru? No, definitely not. You shook your head at the thought. "I'm sorry, let me just grab my stuff and -"

His smirk only grew at your hesitation though, a slight laugh leaving his lips as he waved a dismissive hand and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to you. "You're already here. Stay."

Your body froze when you met his stare, the low glow from the red light above his headboard emphasizing the sharpness of his face. You were surprised he even recognized you considering you hadn't seen him since graduation. Out of all of his former first-years who would so frequently pass out after overindulging, you had never been one of them.

Never, until now.

His eyes drifted along your silhouette, noting the curves that had replaced your once slender frame. The maturity that had stolen your timid teenage smile. You’d always piqued his interest, but you were now piquing something much more sinister inside him as he continued to look you up and down.

"This is new for you, hm?" He asked, looping a slender finger under his blindfold before pulling it down. "I mean, you were always a good girl, right?" Your heart stuttered in your chest when your stare caught his fully. An impossible shade of cerulean gazing back at you through thick lashes. "A bit shy from what I remember."

You shrugged, thankful for the way the lighting was covering up the heat that had migrated to your cheeks. You were better off than you were 2 hours ago but you still weren't as coherent as you should be, especially for this situation. "I was a kid back then." You finally managed.

"Seems like you're still one seeing as you couldn't handle a few shots without needing to lay down." His tone was more amused than it was scolding. "Look, it’s all about balance. If you're drinking or taking more downers than you're used to, you need an upper to counter it."

It almost felt like you were back in his classroom listening to one of his lectures, only the lesson he was about to teach you was definitely not Jujutsu High approved. He leaned over, grabbing a black Versace box from his nightstand. "If you're ever bordering on the verge of blacking out, the quickest way to regain your composure is this."

You watched him pull out a bag of white powder along with a dainty, almost doll-sized spoon, scooping out a bump before holding it to the left side of his nose while another finger covered the right. His pupils bloomed as he inhaled, letting the drug enter into his system with ease. "Come here." He instructed. 

You leaned toward him, it was almost muscle memory the way your mind and body both followed his directions with such blind obedience. A slight grin pulled at the corner of his lips as he brought another spoonful up to your face, his free hand closing one side of your nose for you. “Take a deep breath f’me.” He gave you a low nod as you complied without a second thought. “There you go, just like that.” 

Your jaw tightened, an odd sense of clarity washing over you when you looked back at him this time. The coke had managed to reel you back in, neutralizing at least some of the alcohol in your system as your body buzzed from the stimulants. Reality suddenly had a stronghold over you, reminding you that you weren’t just in your former teacher’s bed, but you were in it with him while he spoonfed you drugs.  

“Better?” he asked, cocking his head at you with the same smirk.

All you could do was nod, gradually coming to terms with the fact that you were powerless to the two opposing substances that were now working within you. Your heart rate was slowed by the alcohol but accelerated by the coke, neither one of them necessarily overpowering the other. They were instead coming in waves, almost taking turns as they flooded your thoughts and calmed your nerves. Gojo-sensei was always right, but you never imagined this would be something you’d learn from him. 

“A lot better.” You admitted, watching him set the box on the nightstand, wondering if the way he left the bag inside of it open was intentional or not. 

“Good.” He pulled at his tie, loosening it around his neck as he stripped out of his black blazer leaving him in just a white button up. “What were you doing here tonight anyway?”

Your mouth opened and then closed as you met his stare again. There was no subtle way to admit that you were still recovering from your latest breakup. That you’d come out tonight in a sad attempt to maybe, accidentally run into him.

“Oh, god,” he groaned, reading like you a fucking book. “Please don’t tell me you came here to get Takuma's attention.”

Your pupils dilated for an assortment of reasons, embarrassment churning in your stomach as you shook your head in denial. “What? No, I just wanted to get out for a few and -"

“Bullshit.” Despite the sharp edge in his tone, he was still wearing the same coy smile, his leg lightly grazing yours as he positioned himself closer to you. “You always had a thing for him. I remember the way you used to follow him around the hall like a lost puppy.” 

“That was years ago.” You countered, trying to process the fact that he’d watched you that carefully. 

“But you did, didn’t you?” His hand reached up, his slender fingers gently tangling into your hair, his voice dropping down to a pointed whisper. "I even heard you wanted him to be your first."

Your heart was racing, but it suddenly had nothing to do with the coke. Gojo-sensei had never been the most professional teacher. He was always joking with his students. Always getting into gossip that had absolutely nothing to do with him, but you never thought that his interest in his student's personal affairs extended to you considering you hardly ever had anything noteworthy going on. You sat in the back of the class. You barely spoke to anyone. You were a wallflower from hell. The fact that he remembered your crush on Ino was astonishing. The fact that he knew you wanted Ino to be your first was insanity.

His hand was still attentively drifting across the back of your neck, light fingertips gliding across your skin while his eyes roamed along your lips. You were forgetting how to breathe between the way he was looking at you and the sudden realizations that you were quickly having to come to terms with.

"You didn't actually let him take your virginity, did you?" His tone was dripping with taunting curiosity.

"He -" you faltered as his palm met the small of your back, the oxygen all but gone from the room. "He was my...first and...." You nearly choked on your own honesty, your face matching the deep red lights decorating his wall. "...only."

Satoru's body stilled, an incredulous look taking over his face before a vicious laugh erupted from him. "You're joking. So, have you ever cum then? Like, even just by yourself?”

"Of course I have." Your response was immediate. Almost too defensive to be true. "Plenty of times." You tacked on, which only made it worse.

You froze as his grip found its way around your waist, his fingertips lightly digging into your skin. "Show me then." he challenged.

Your heart felt like it was going to explode. His touch equal parts tantalizing and intimidating the closer he got to you, his hand cradled your jawline, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. "Show me how you make yourself cum when no one's around."

Your breathing came to a complete stop when he closed the already small gap between you, his hand gliding down your neck as his tongue parted your lips. His body was warm and inviting, pressing against yours with ease. "Let me see it," he continued, slipping the straps of your tank-top down your shoulders.

You were stuck somewhere between the desperate desire to pull him closer and a nagging sense of insecurity that you couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried. You weren't stupid, you knew that he was much more experienced than you. He'd probably been with plenty of beautiful women who had given him more of a show than you felt capable of giving.

He pulled away slightly, picking up on your apprehension as his eyes met yours again. "You wanna be here, right?"

You nodded back at him, an aching feeling building between your legs at how dominant yet unexpectedly gentle he was being with you. "I do, I just -" You felt your jaw clench, the coke mixing with your self-doubt causing your body to tighten up even though it was the last thing you wanted it to do. "My head is just kind of everywhere right now." You admitted sheepishly.

"Here," He shot you a small smile before leaning over to reach back into his nightstand while you stared at the ceiling, trying to relax into the softness of his bed. "Open." he said, hovering over you again.

His stare was locked firmly with yours as you lolled your tongue out for him obediently, swallowing down the yellow circular pill he'd given you. "Good girl." He praised, tracing over the side of your face with his finger. "We'll take things slow, yeah?"

You didn't know what you'd just taken. Truthfully, you didn't even care with the way he was talking to you. His voice was like silk when he leaned back into you, carefully wedging himself between your legs as he kissed you again. His movements were fluid but thoughtful. His fingers grazing along your skin softly, leaving little goosebumps in their wake.

He may have been with more people than you had, but you were gradually starting to realize that it was more of a positive than it was a negative. He was able to read you so easily, he knew exactly where and how to touch you.

You let out a faint whimper as his palm met the inside of your thigh, slipping up your skirt and moving your panties to the side. "Keep your eyes on me, okay?"

The way your bottom lip lodged between your teeth while you looked back at him with a doe-like expression made it all the harder to restrain himself, but he somehow managed to keep his resolve.

His long digits spread you apart before his middle finger slid between your folds and began drawing light but firm circles against you. He could see your timidness slowly dissipating, the Valium he had slipped you clearing doing its job as you arched your back from him and let out another whine.

You were overwhelmingly comfortable, your body completely melting under his touch. He was running uppp and downnn your clit with just the right amount of pressure, creating a heavenly amount of slick for the both of you.

"That’s it. Gettin' so wet for me." He breathed, his lips just barely ghosting yours. "Do you have any idea how perfect you look right now?"

The moan you let out was beyond your control, your vision was blurred by silver hair and blue eyes and how unbelievably good it all felt. "Gojo-sensei," you panted, your body writhing beneath him as he slid in a thick finger inside of you this time. "F - fuck."

Satoru groaned, plunging even deeper into you. He never knew how badly he needed to hear you moan out his formal name until you suddenly couldn't stop doing it. Your hips were bucking up towards him, your lips urgently crashing into his as more dazed out noises poured out of you.

"Keep going." He instructed, reeling in the way your eyes widened as he added another finger. "You're doin' so good."

You were grabbing onto the collar of his shirt, your walls clenching around him. He was hitting spots that you'd never been able to reach before. Spots that Ino had apparently neglected too. You felt yourself slipping. Your mind was racing. Your body grinding against him desperately and your voice breaking with each word you tried to get out.

"Go-jo... I'm - gon-na..." But you didn't have to say it for him to know. He slammed into you, nodding at you in encouragement as fire flickered through his steel eyes.

"Let it out." There was a fierceness to his tone that he couldn't mask anymore, his composure was crumbling right along with yours. "C’mon, let me fucking feel it.”

Watching you come undone like this was such a sharp contrast from the shy schoolgirl he once knew that used to skip class just to avoid group projects. You squirmed under him, mewling out his name like it was the only word you knew as an orgasm finally raked through your body, stealing away every last bit of hesitancy you once had.

You were staring back at him like he'd told you to, never breaking eye contact no matter how hard it was for you to keep still. Your irises bloomed with pleasure, a noise you didn't know you were capable of making escaping you as you drenched his hand.

"Good fucking girl."

He pulled out of you, bringing his fingers up to your mouth. Your lips parted without him having to say anything, sucking them clean as you continued to look back at him with the same innocent expression. He was afraid he was going to no choice but to get you pregnant if you kept this up.

"Takuma ever make you cum like that?" he asked, releasing himself from you so you could speak.

You bit back a smile as you shook your head. "No," you conceded, helping him lift your tank-top above your head. "Not like that."

"I didn't think so." He smirked, unbuttoning his own shirt while you slid out of your skirt, both of your outfits being tossed to the floor.

You felt your center throb watching him strip out of his boxers. An overwhelming sense of neediness flooded over you as you took in the intimidating masterpiece that was Gojo-sensei's body. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't imagined what it looked like a time or two when you were in his class. It was hard not to with the way girls fawned over him, but you'd managed to keep your infatuation to yourself up until now.

Seeing him stroke himself as he lined up with your entrance was prettier than any daydream you could've ever conjured up.

"Need you to focus on your breathing.” he said, rubbing his tip between your folds to wet himself with your slick. The temptation to absolutely destroy you was plaguing his mind, but he knew he needed to ease you into it. The only person you'd been with was Ino for god's sake, you deserved to be fucked properly.

You followed his lead and inhaled slowly, thankful for whatever magical relaxation pill you’d taken you as he prodded into you. It didn't take long to realize why he'd told you to breathe, his tip alone was stretching you out more than you were used to. You found yourself grabbing onto his forearm, your nails digging into his skin as a hazy whimper filled the space between you.

"It's alright, you can handle it." Your walls were smothering him, so impossibly snug and tight that he struggled to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head. "Just like that. Juuust like that."

He pressed into you carefully, harnessing all the restraint he could possibly manage while you tried but failed to hold back your whines. "God, you feel fuckin' good." He groaned. "Takin' me so well."

You were still clutching onto him, your mouth dropping open the further he went. You'd never felt this full before - this entirely enamored by someone being inside of you. You thought that you knew what you liked up until this point, but he was drawing noises and feelings out of you that you didn't even know existed.

Gojo's urge to break you was getting harder to ignore. You were so pouty and delicate and naively trusting of him. He'd been trying to keep a steady pace, watching you intently to make sure you were still comfortable, but the moment the words "deeper" and "please" left your mouth, he felt something inside him snap.

His hand laced around your throat, his thumb and index finger pressing firmly into the sides of your neck. The smirk he shot you was lethal. "Deeper? You sure that's what you want?"

It was your one and only chance to back out, but you couldn't. There was a coiling tension in your abdomen. A depraved craving coming from your core. It wasn't just that you wanted more, it was that you needed more. You could barely get out another, "please." before he was suddenly plunging into you.

His rhythm was merciless, his grip tightening around your airways turning your moans into strained gasps.

He leaned in, his hair brushing against your forehead as he watched your eyebrows knit together, your eyes locked with his once more.

"You've always been so fuckin' cute, y'know that?" His hips met yours with another damning thrust. "So good at doing what you're told."

The red lights blurred together, a mixture of stars and sedatives clouding your vision as the aching feeling between your thighs amplified. Your cunt felt like it was pulsating, that burning build suddenly breaking away from just your stomach and spreading throughout your entire body.

"Oh, fuck." He grunted. "There it is. Keep goin’.”

Your walls spasmed, drool spilling down your chin while you wriggled under his grasp. Your pelvis tilted up feverishly to meet his as you took every inch of him. You were teetering on the verge of passing out. Nearly crying from how overwhelmed your senses were when another orgasm ripped through you.

His grip loosened on you, his movements becoming more frenzied. The fucked-out look on your face coupled with the pouty, suppressed cries you let out when he removed his hand from your throat was enough to drive him over the edge too.

His lips caught yours with feral urgency, his hand tangling into your hair as a lewd warmth filled you, spilling out onto his sheets. “I want you over here again next weekend," he said in between breaths. “Got it?"

You nodded back at him, your mind humming from overstimulation as he slowly pulled out.

He took a moment before getting to his feet, admiring the mess that he'd made of you. "C'mere." He smirked, helping reposition you up to the front of the bed.

He placed a pillow under your head and brought the blanket up over your shoulders. There was no way you were making it home tonight.

He lazily slipped his pants back on, only bothering to button up half of his shirt as he ran a hand through his hair and reached for the Versace box on his nightstand. He divvied out another bump and held the spoon to his nose, inhaling sharply before turning off the light for you and venturing out of the room to see how many people were still up and about.

The music had died down for the most part, the once packed hallway now mostly empty. He rounded the corner, just about to head downstairs when he came to an abrupt pause.

"Ino." he called out, noticing the brunette wandering out of one of his guestrooms. "Didn't realize you were here."

"Oh, yeah." He shrugged, tilting back the rest of his beer. "Was just lookin' for someone, Nobara said that -" he stopped himself before he could finish his thought, shaking his head. "Y'know what, it doesn't matter. She's too needy to deal with anyway."

Gojo's eyebrow raised, an arrogant smirk cutting across his face as he played along, offering him faux words of shallow comfort. "Ah, yeah. Bet she's pretty whiney too, huh?"

"Right." Ino snorted, completely oblivious to the condescending trap he'd just walked into.

"Probably says you're not deep enough." Gojo pressed, earning another clueless drunken laugh from him. "Always so pouty."

"Exactly. Like she's never satisfied."

"Girls," he mused, adjusting the collar of his shirt from where you'd grabbed onto earlier while you were soaking him. "Sounds like she needs someone to teach her a lesson..."

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[nat20composure]

Astarion and Agency- The Necessity of Discomfort to Self Discovery and the Infantilization of Victims

Minor Astarion discourse ahead that mentions the treatment of SA victims post-abuse:

I want to open this post up just with like. The statement that I don't think there is a correct way to enjoy media and that I LOVE to see individual head cannons and takes on characters in media. I think that is also, to a degree, an integral part of video games because of how unique the experience of playing a game will be to every person who plays it. But it has been making me feel so incredibly sad looking through fan content, art, or discourse for BG3 specifically because of how many people have taken the route of infantilizing Astarion.

I understand the instinct to shield or protect an individual that you love and care for. I also understand that because of the nature of the things that Astarion goes through, a lot of people also feel very deep emotional stakes in him. I'm one of the many fans of the character who is a victim of SA and CSA, I really do get it. That is also why for me personally it is so demoralizing to watch so many people treat him like he is a child who cannot make his own decisions or stand up for himself. Part of that frustration stems from it feeling like a media literacy issue, and the other part of that sense of defeat is just because it feels indicative of a broader attitude that people seem to hold towards victims of abuse, particularly those who are victims of SA.

To explain what I mean by people infantilizing him: I see so many people refuse to allow him the opportunity to be hurt, or to feel uncomfortable. They see this character who has been through an immensely horrible and traumatic experience, and their instinct is to try and shield him from anything else that has the potential to upset him. I get that the people who want that aren't doing it with malicious intent, but frankly it is not really...Helpful? To try and prevent victims from Experiencing Discomfort tm. I also think it kind of disregards the entire thesis of Astarion's character and arc.

When you go through something that robs you of your selfhood and agency, the world can become a crushingly terrifying place. In Astarion, that fear presents itself in a desperation for power, control, and at the core of both of these desires- Safety. One thing the game is clear about is that he has a right to kill his abuser. He has a right to escape his situation. A lot of Astarion's personal arc is centered around being able to finally do that. But the game doesn't just leave it off at getting him to safety. So much of it is also about him needing to take responsibility for himself and his actions, with needing to learn who he as a person is.

The inclusion of the Gur children and Sebastian as characters is a good example of ways in which the game gives Astarion the opportunity to take responsibility. I think that if the intention of the arc was meant to be that "Astarion should never ever have to deal with being afraid or uncomfortable again", then the Ascended arc wouldn't Come with such heavy moral ramifications, like sacrificing the other people just like him, killing the victims he lured in, literal child murder. The game infers that he doesn't deserve to die because of the things he Needed to do to survive, but it also makes it very clear that there is a difference between addressing an Active Threat and using your fear as an excuse to hurt others. Breaking that cycle of abuse when he finally gets the chance to is what separates Spawn Astarion from Cazador.

Taking responsibility for himself, and letting himself sit in the discomfort of vulnerability ultimately ends up being a thing that he is very proud of and cherishes. If you tell him you will make sure nothing like that ever again he himself says that he doesn't want you to be his protector. And so it blows my mind when people go into all of these discussions about Astarion with this...Weird moral high ground for never, ever making or letting him make choices that might hurt him?

I see this the most when it comes to discussions about the possible polyamorous relationship with Halsin and the interaction with the drow twins in the brothel. So many people are just...outright angry? At other people engaging with either of those options? And I feel like that anger is one) rooted in the projection of their Own feelings on non-monogamy and what a victim of SA can or cannot look like. and two) Relies on undermining the agency that Astarion BEGS you for at every turn.

When it comes to the drow twins, the game adapts Astarion's response to them based on where he is in his own personal development (a really cool thing imo). Obviously, if he still doesn't feel good or safe about engaging with sex he declines and says you can feel free, though he hopes you aren't just doing it because he hasn't had sex with you. I think this makes sense: He's just gotten out of a situation where his Safety and worth were directly tied to him having sex. I imagine he feels afraid that not wanting to have sex with you makes him replaceable or inadequate because at this point in the game, he feels like that's all he has to offer. The interaction is relatively the same if you ask him for a poly amorous relationship with Halsin: He just asks you to reassure him that you aren't only doing it because he hasn't had sex with you, and then tells you he isn't worried about it otherwise.

A lot of people have taken the expression of that insecurity in combination with him still allowing you to go forward and do these things as him just "sucking it up" because he's afraid of losing you. (I am aware Shadowheart says he wouldn't be able to handle it when you ask her if you can date both of them- But keep in mind, Astarion says she wouldn't be able to either, and THAT obviously isn't true of her. For the purposes of this discussion I'm only including interactions with Astarion as a judgement of his character.) I understand that concern, but I feel this take disregards so many other points of dialogue, and is also continually rooted in the baseline vilification of discomfort.

To further go into it, the way that he speaks about both of these interactions changes significantly if you speak to him about it once he is completely free from Cazador, and has had time to allow himself to start reconnecting with himself and his sexuality on his terms. He has absolutely No reservations about an open or poly relationship with Halsin, and says he trusts that things will be ok because he one) feels secure in Your relationship and two) Knows Halsin is experienced and trusts him to not be a messy bitch about it.

I think that shift, in combination with the in game explanation of why he isn't ok with being in that sort of relationship with the other Origin Characters (for Lae'zel and Wyll, he says they'd never agree to that. For Shadowheart, he says she's not experienced with open relationships and that he doesn't think it'd work out. For Karlach, that it would break her heart. And for Gale, he says you need standards.) is a pretty good indicator that he doesn't actually care about polyamory or monogamy. I think the vilification of that choice relies on you picking and choosing when you do or do not believe Astarion or just outright not liking non-monogamy in the first place. This interaction has more to do with the player's choice and comfort level, and so is not as important to the broader discussion I am trying to have in this post.

The interaction that is more pertinent to not Allowing him to make decisions is, I think, the drow twins. If you interact with the drow twins after the completion of the Cazador questline, he is outright giddy at the prospect of interacting with the Drow twins. Specifically stating that he is excited to see how he likes these sorts of things now that he's free.

NOW- I do NOT think that he enjoys the act. The game makes that abundantly clear, and I'm not arguing that he has a great time. He obviously does not, and dissociates during it. That being said, allowing this interaction to happen does not make a player evil or selfish. You are not playing the hero if you decide to moderate his choices just because you do not think he is ready for it. Once again, no one is evil for Not doing it either, and I am not saying anybody has to want to. I am just saying that treating this choice like it is an evil choice to make relies on completely disregarding what He wants to do.

Astarion says so many times in the game that he is anxious about finally having the freedom to find out what he wants to do, and I think that his excitement for the drow twin exchange is one of the opportunities the game gives him to make a choice. He makes that choice- And it sucks for him. He doesn't enjoy the act, and having done it he would be able to move forward knowing that. I think it's really cool and important that the game represents that facet of recovering as a victim. While you are trying to renavigate who you are, you are going to make a million new choices you never had before. And sometimes those choices are going to suck ass. It would be a different matter if he knew these things would hurt him and went ahead and did them anyway. But so many people expect him to move forward avoiding even the Potential of being hurt, and I think that is extremely reductive of his arc and who he is.

Beyond the matter of interpersonal relationships, the choice between Ascending or not Ascending Astarion is not a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils. It is a choice between his fear and his humanity. Between letting his trauma and his fear define him for the rest of his immortal life, and allowing him the vulnerability of deciding who he is when he isn't running from the world. When he's willing to listen to the parts of himself that want to do right, that wants meaningful connection, that wants to be proud of himself. That wants to meet himself. To confront who he is when someone else isn't deciding that for him.

Astarion as a character is extremely ambitious, inquisitive, and adventurous, three traits that only become more and more evident as he breaks free from letting his own fear dictate how he lives his life. I don't understand how so many people can see him and want to take the core of his character away from him, when he spends the entire game fighting desperately to take it back.

Victims are not casts of the abuse they have gone through. Their shapes may be changed by the hands of others, they may have to relearn how to be the person they want to be. But they are not broken or irreparable or fragile. They do not need to be freed from the grip of one person to be held tight in the grip of another. It is so fucking unfair and self-important to think that your hands will be the ones that fix them. That your hands know better than theirs. I think the kindest thing you can do for a person is to trust them with themselves, and to listen when they tell you who they are and what they want. Please listen to the voices that have only just learned to speak. It is the only way they can get better at doing it.

[eunxhan]

❝ But remember, in this game, there are no winners or losers. There's only survival and satisfaction. ❞

•◦✦────•◦ᘡᘞ •◦────✦◦•◦•

Ꮺ 😪 Requested ⨾ HEY I looked at your profile and it’s literally so pretty, and you write for so many fandoms I’m literally dying…Now I wanted to ask for a ticci toby x male reader! Committing a crime together, covered in blood only to end up on the mansion/forest making out. Feel free to add horror, any amount of smut or anything you’d like. Thank you in advance and, is “😪” free for anon?

Ꮺ Eun Replies ⨾ I'm sorry for taking too long but thank you! I'm still not good at writing gore but I do added smut and I tried putting on violence..? But I hope this doesn't disappoint you ^^

•◦✦────•◦ᘡᘞ •◦────✦◦•◦•

Ꮺ Disclaimer — NSFW AT THE END. If you're under the age of 16-18, I'm not responsible for what content you consume.

Reader & Genre ⨾ MALE!Reader, He/Him/His

Words used ⨾ 1,236 words 6,850 characters

Character ⨾ TOBIAS ROGERS (Ticci Toby), He's an adult here.

Art Credits ⨾ @/shatteredankles

Links ⨾ My Navigation and Mandates

•◦✦────•◦ᘡᘞ •◦────✦◦•◦•

Toby is known to play tricks on people. While he has been known to steal things for his own amusement, he usually returns them later or pays for them with some form of "payment" like a practical joke back at the store owner. While Toby doesn't have a conscience, he has a sense of right and wrong, but it's based on what is funny, rather than what is morally correct.

Toby takes pleasure in playing harmless practical jokes on people, especially those who have wronged him. When Toby steals something, it is generally for fun and not for personal gain. His motivation is that he finds it amusing to see the reactions of the people who he is stealing from. He usually returns the items later, or replaces them with something else that is equally funny.

On the other hand, [M/N] is more of a thrill-seeker. He love taking risks and trying new things. How do he and Toby met? That's now on you, He's also very creative and can often find ways to get away with things that most people would never even think of. He tend to see stealing as a game, with the goal being to get as much as he can without being caught. [M/N] loves the adrenaline rush he get from stealing, and he often take items he doesn't even really want just for the thrill of it.

Both Him and Toby are quick on their feet and could easily escape into the forest. They might even have a secret hideout in the forest where they could hide out and plan their next adventure. Ticci Toby would probably enjoy the chase and try to make a game out of it, while [M/N] would be more focused on getting away as quickly as possible.

Toby would likely be both impressed and annoyed if [M/N] tried to one-up his game. He would be impressed because he appreciates cleverness and originality, but he would also be annoyed because he views stealing as a competition, and he wouldn't want anyone to be better than him at it. He would likely try to one-up him back, leading to a sort of back-and-forth battle between the two thieves.

•◦✦────•◦ᘡᘞ •◦────✦◦•◦•

Toby and [M/N] had been stealing together for some time now, and they had developed a strong sense of competition with each other. They would often try to one-up each other, stealing bigger and better things than the other had, and would sometimes even bet small amounts of money on who could get away with the most valuable prizes. But despite their competitive spirit, they also loved to tease each other, taking any opportunity to make fun of each other's methods or techniques. This made stealing together a fun and exciting adventure for both of them, even if at times it could also be a bit intense and competitive.

Both are competitive as hell, They're a couple of teens and one of them is a literal killer. Their competitive instincts often led to them teasing each other to an extreme, pushing each other's buttons until all that was left was pure annoyance and anger. In these moments, they would often come very close to physical violence, but neither one wanted to actually hurt the other. Making Toby in a sour mood, He would mumble slurs against his breath whenever [M/N] "wins"

•◦✦────•◦ᘡᘞ •◦────✦◦•◦•

Ꮺ ⨾ ONESHOT —

As they hurriedly made their escape from the store, they couldn't help but feel a competitive tension brewing between them. They found themselves in the forest, having just pulled off a daring heist and hiding out in some gross abandoned building. Their nerves were on end and they were both feeling the adrenaline from the excitement of the robbery. As they argued over who had been more responsible for the successful heist, they began teasing each other relentlessly, their words becoming more and more heated.

In the heat of the moment In the heat of the moment, the tension between Him and Toby reached a fever pitch. The air was thick with anticipation, and the dim light filtering through the broken windows cast eerie shadows on the decaying walls. Toby's heart raced as he glanced over at him, Toby's eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of him. The two thieves were standing inches apart, taunting each other, their eyes locked in a battle of wills. They felt the anger and resentment building between them, but neither one could seem to let go.

[M/N] 's breath tickled his skin, his words sending shivers down his spine. Toby could feel the heat radiating off his body, and he couldn't help but be drawn to him despite their rivalry. His mind raced as he tried to think of a clever retort, but before he could utter a word, [M/N]'s lips crashed into his. The force of the kiss left him breathless, him lips tingling with delight. Toby' S hands instinctively gripped [M/N] 's waist , pulling him closer to him as he kissed him back with fervor.

As their tongues danced together, exploring the depths of each other's mouths, [M/N] felt a fire ignite within him. He could feel the warmth spreading through hiz body, his core throbbing with desire. Toby'z hands began to explore his body, his fingers tracing the contours of the man's curves, sending shivers up his spine.

Toby pulled away slightly, his eyes locked with [M/N] as he spoke in a husky whisper, "You may be clever, but you're also right about one thing. I do want to see who can outlast whom in this game we're playing."

They continued to tease and provoke one another, Toby couldn't help but feel his heart race with anticipation. The tension between them was palpable, the air thick with desire and competition. He could see the hunger in [M/N]'s eyes, the way his gaze lingered on his body, and it only fueled his own desires.

As they circled each other like predators, their hands grazed and brushed against one another, sending electric shocks through their bodies as well as both of them grinding on each other. [M/N]'S breath hitched as Toby's fingers lightly traced the curve of his waist, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through him. Their bodies pressed against each other, the heat between them almost unbearable.

"Wow.. Ha.. You couldn't get enough of me, do ya?" [M/N] whispered in between the kisses, Toby frowned hearing that and lunged forward, his lips capturing [M/N] once again in a searing kiss. the intensity of their passion was overwhelming. Toby's knees buckled, his body melting against [M/N] 's as he moaned into his mouth. His hands roamed freely over his body, exploring every curve, every inch of his skin.

As their kiss deepened, Toby felt an insatiable hunger grow within him. the kiss came to an end, Toby and [M/N] pulled apart, looking at each other with a mixture of fear and excitement in their eyes. They had both felt something they had never felt before, a connection that went beyond their petty competitions and the rush of stealing, Toby's eyes locked with [M/N]'s as he whispered, "You win this round, Reader. But the game is far from over.."

They have completely forgot about the food and drinks they stole, that was now on the ground..

•◦✦────•◦ᘡᘞ •◦────✦◦•◦•

Ꮺ ⨾ I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING COPIED OR TRANSLATED.

[hephanna]

On the Cat King, Edwin & Charles. [And David the Demon + Crystal, and Jenny + Maxine & Niko].

Not to unnecessarily pipe in my two cents when it hasn't been asked for, BUT I just wanted to mention some of my thoughts on The Cat King, Edwin, Charles (and Crystal + David the Demon) sometimes fantasy shows use supernatural elements as allegories for real life situations (this is seen with Buffy, Supernatural, and yes Dead Boy Detectives) and therefore just because it's supernatural/fantasy, it cannot immediately be dismissed as 'not needing to follow real life moral rules' For example in Dead Boy Detectives, David the Demon, despite being a demon, is clearly an allegory for an abusive ex-boyfriend - Jenny even points this out on-screen. David is in Crystals' head, harassing her and tearing down her self-confidence (telling her she isn't worth anything) the way an abusive ex-boyfriend may linger in their victim's mind even after breaking up. He takes away her memories (and therefore her identity) the same way an abusive boyfriend takes away the identity of the woman he is abusing, her sense of self, her connections. And Crystal must take her sense of self, her memory, her confidence back by defeating David. Although David is a demon, he is still meant to reflect a real-life abusive ex-boyfriend, even a human one. The same thing is true with the Cat King - not saying he's an abusive ex-boyfriend - but his behaviour cannot be justified by the fact that he's a supernatural creature. The audience is still meant to reflect, to make connections via the supernatural on real-life situations. Now, I'm not saying the Cat King was wrong for trying to shoot his shot with Edwin, or that Edwin wasn't attracted to the Cat King, HOWEVER, Edwin's attraction doesn't mean the Cat King is entitled to his time or affection - nor does it mean the Cat King has a right to disregard Edwin's boundaries. Disregarding their introductory meeting, and discussions about whether or not it was morally correct of the Cat King to ask Edwin to have sex with him after putting a magical bracelet on his wrist, several incidents after that also demonstrate the Cat King taking away Edwin's choice from him (such as using a truth spell on him to force Edwin into confessing why he's a detective in hopes of not being sent back to Hell) - regardless of the Cat King's response "I like your secret parts" you shouldn't force someone into being vulnerable for you before they are ready - the same way it would be wrong to read someone's private journal, or get someone drunk with the purpose of asking them invasive questions you know they wouldn't answer sober. The Cat King views himself as entitled to the 'real' Edwin, regardless of whether Edwin feels comfortable sharing that with the Cat King. This is also seen when the Cat King saves Edwin from Monty, and then gets upset when that doesn't get him what he wants (a kiss, sex, whatever) and Edwin gets frustrated with the Cat King, reminding him he's a person, not a toy. The audience is meant to emphasize with Edwin, and understand the situation he's in and how it parallels real life situations. (i.e., someone thinking you owe them sex because they bought you a drink at a bar) Edwin forgives the Cat King at the end, because a part of Edwin's character journey, along with self-discovery, is also forgiveness. He understands the Cat King is also struggling, in the same way he understood Simon was struggling, but there struggles do not mean the way they treated Edwin was acceptable. That doesn't mean the Cat King can't grow from this, and learn to respect Edwin and his boundaries. That also doesn't mean you can't still ship the Cat King/Edwin and enjoy an unhealthy power dynamic, boundary pushing, etc., this is still fiction after all, and I'd be a huge hypocrite to say that all my ships are morally good and acceptable. But I just also think "it's a fantasy show! it doesn't need to follow our morals!" is a flimsy understanding of the text - just acknowledge that something doesn't have to be morally correct for you to enjoy it, but don't remove the morals altogether.

There is a reason, after all, as Edwin accepts his sexuality, he realizes he is in love and wants Charles, not the King Cat. There is a reason (I think, at least) that the show creates obvious parallels between Charles & the Cat King - and shows Charles very obviously not liking the Cat King. Also, just another little thought, this is also demonstrated with Jenny & Maxine. Maxine seems 'innocent' because she's a sweet, blonde librarian who is writing Jenny Love Notes - and the Love Notes are even acknowledged, as creepy from the get-go, but then it's like "oh, but it's just a sweet, innocent woman who's writing them, it's actually super romantic!" And then the twist is, no, actually, it still is creepy. Maxine was literally stalking Jenny for possibly months, watching her through her window, and as we saw: not accepting Jenny's boundaries when it became clear Jenny was uncomfortable. Like the Cat King got upset and mad with Edwin, saying he wasn't going to 'play nice' anymore, Maxine got upset with Jenny and then tried to kill her, yelling 'why won't you let me love you.' Again, just because you like someone, and even if that person was initially or still is attracted to you - like Jenny was initially attracted to Maxine - that does not mean you are entitled to their love, their privacy, or their body. Everyone still have free choice. There is a reason Jenny did not immediately forgive Niko for pushing her to go on a date with Maxine, and why Niko felt so guilty - it wasn't Niko's fault, at all, because Maxine made her own choices, but Jenny had been uncomfortable with the situation from the get-go, and she was proven right - and put into extreme danger because of it. This isn't to say the Cat King is terrible - again, I enjoyed the Cat King character. I liked his interactions with Edwin, his sarcasm and tricks. But his behaviour towards Edwin went beyond flirtation and wanting to be with Edwin, and at times was coercive, manipulative, and toxic. Which is okay! As we learned during the end, Crystal was also toxic during her life and then wanted to change and become a better person. The Cat King can also be toxic, and then learn and want to change and better himself. I just personally think that's an important aspect to acknowledge of the Cat King's journey - instead of sweeping it under the rug, or telling other fans they're "reading too deeply into it" and "just don't understand what demonstrating sexual interest in someone is." Or "it's fantasy." Because there's demonstrating sexual interest in someone, and then there's routinely and purposefully bull-dozing over someone's boundaries, which we see the Cat King to do Edwin. Anyway, apologies for my huge ramble, I am not trying to be mean to anyone or say anyone cannot ship the Cat King/Edwin (and I am admittedly biased - Edwin/Charles holds my heart) but I enjoy show analysis, healthy debate, etc,. and just really wanted to share my thoughts and engage with the community. All my love, Hephie.

[katareyoudrilling]

The Sweepstakes: Frankie Morales Epilogue (Porn Star AU)

Series: The Sweepstakes

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Porn star Female reader

Summary: You texted Frankie after your evening together, but what happened next?

Word count: ~600

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: descriptions of sex acts

A/N: This follows the events of The Sweepstakes: Frankie Morales so be sure to read that first!  I did the most minimal of research for this, so please forgive any inaccuracies.  I have been overwhelmed (in the best way) by the response to Sweepstakes Frankie.  I hope what I’ve imagine here does him justice.  Enjoy!

Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist – link in my bio or ask me to add you!

“Frankie! Come see this!” you exclaim from the bedroom.

“What is it?” Frankie comes in, running a towel through his shower-damp hair, wearing just his worn blue jeans.  You take in the view of his soft tummy and bare feet, momentarily distracted from the news you called him in to share.

You just had him in your bed less than an hour ago, but you’d gladly have him back again.  You shake your head to clear the distracting thoughts.

“Right. I was just uploading today’s video when I saw that we hit 1,000 subscribers!”

“What? Really? That sounds like a lot.”  He sits down next to you on the bed, his weight causing the mattress to dip and bumping your knee against his side.  His fresh, clean scent wafts over you and you have to resist the urge to snuggle into his warm skin.

“It is a lot,” you beam at him, and he returns your smile with a lopsided grin of his own. “We’ll be making real money soon.”

It had been after another fun and satisfying fuck with your favorite civilian that you had pitched Frankie the idea of starting an OnlyFans with you.

The way you saw it, there was an untapped market for soft, brown-eyed men, who gave amazing head.  Your rapidly rising subscriber numbers are proving your hunch to be correct.

Frankie had thought it over, but he said it was ultimately a pretty easy decision.  Why not try to earn a little extra money doing something he loved?

You called your channel “The Pussy Eating King”

Your signature videos were first person POVs of him eating you out.  Sometimes he looked directly down the camera with those soulful eyes.  Others, he closed them to get completely lost in the pleasure of your cunt.  It was devastating… in the best way.  And the viewership numbers agreed.

Second to those, were the videos you filmed from between Frankie’s legs, looking up at him while you stroked his gorgeous cock until he came.  His disheveled curls and pink cheeks are the stuff dreams are made of.

Dirty dreams.

Dreams you wake up needy and desperate from.

It would be selfish to keep that view just for yourself.

“I think we should celebrate,” Frankie muses, pulling on his t-shirt and running his fingers through his messy curls.  “Can I take you on a date?”

“A date?” Your pulse pounds in your ears.  Sure, you have sex with Frankie on a regular basis.  You have sex with a lot of people.  Sure, you often wind up spending the day in bed with him just talking, but being with him in public? With clothes on?

Frankie senses your hesitation.  “It doesn’t have to change anything.  I just really like you and want to spend time with you.”

“I… ok,” you hear yourself answer.

“Great, I’ll pick you up at 8.”  Frankie kisses the top of your head and makes his way out of your apartment, picking up his hat as he goes.  Before he closes the door, he turns and winks.

- - - - - - - - - 

Later that night, Frankie takes your hand as you walk down the sidewalk.  He twines his fingers with yours in a way that feels more intimate than anything you’ve done in the bedroom.

He said nothing would change, but things always change.

For the first time in a long time, you wonder if maybe that isn’t a bad thing.

- - - - - - - - - -

A/N: If these types of videos exist, please let me know…

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist – in reblog

[velvet-vox]

V and Doll; trauma, mental disorder, and low empathy.

(Warning: this post is slightly outdated and contains some incorrect medical terms that don't correspond to the modern classification of ASPD. You can still read it if you are curious, but don't take anything stated here as hard facts. They are not.)

Very recently on my notifications I received a reblog by @aroaceweirdos101 to a response I've made to a post talking about how Doll went through so much more pain than V, and it made me realise that the response in question was actually, like, really good.

I had genuinely forgotten and underestimated how good of an analysis of both V, Doll, mental health and societal stigma it really was.

Now, of course, I disagree with the sentiment that Doll suffered more than V and fully believe that out of the two V endured way more pain and trauma than Doll; yet, although the responses in the comments checked out with what I previously said, they felt... meaner?

Like, the answers went to the opposite extreme of the original comment and tried to downplay Doll's trauma in comparison to V's, almost implying that Doll was a b##ch (which she was) for snapping as hard as she did when V still managed to retain a sense of restraint; and I disagreed with that, so in response I wrote this:

*Look, I believe both Doll and V are interesting characters, and although I feel more sympathetic towards Doll, I definitely believe V went through so much more pain than Doll and had way more reasons to snap and be the way she is now, but I just really hate people who use that as an excuse to label Doll has the more evil of the two or "she was always just a psycho, she just needed an excuse to snap"; it's especially disheartening when people straight up interpret her as unreademable or pure evil, when V and N's body count is 10 times higher than Doll's.

Also, I'm sorry but I really can't stomach the possibility of Liam redeeming the genocidal war machine and not the broken orphan created by said psycho, it literally would be the fictional pinnacle of "since these are the protagonists, they can get away with as much as they want and are always in the right"; I'm fine with the way Doll died because it was done by Cyn and there wasn't any moral lesson to be gained from our protagonists about it, but if it was done by N, Uzi, or worst of all V again, it should have played out like "we have reasons to do the things we do, and you have yours, unfortunately we're on opposite sides and you are hurting us so we must kill you now".

The human (worker drone) mind is extremely fragile, and some people, due to a probably inherited and undiagnosed mental illness or a particular personality type, are more at risk of snapping then other people, yet instead of being understanding towards those who are born with more issues than others (especially women, look up Azula or Ashley Graves) we tend to isolate, demonize and then kill them because they were incapable of fitting into the larger societal standard of acceptable social behaviour, even when said society never did anything to help them meet its unreachable standards because it required too much work from society's side to give you the special attention you needed in order to make you work and fit in.

V was a quiet kid because she was shy, Doll was a quiet kid because she was introverted. Those are two very different types of people and one of them (Doll) was inherently more at risk of developing mental health issues than the other due to their personality type and how it's stigmatized.*

Here's also the original post made by an anonymous user on @md-confessions

Also, here's the link to another post still talking about V and Doll. I made two comments in response, but neither of them is particularly well thought out and since you can't correct them I left them as they were.

Now, back to the highlighted part:

I want to use this response as a springboard to talk about the main differences between Doll and V when it comes to their different handling of their decaying mental health and why it's unfair to say that one of them was worse than the other based on their actions and attitude towards the problem.

(Also, all of the Murder Drones characters are extremely complex, and the fact that the show doesn't have filler makes it harder to get a good grip on one's particular mindset, so if it seems like I'm talking more about Doll than I am about V, it is because V is the most complicated character in the cast and I'm not as confident to talk about her as I am with Doll; it took one entire year to finally understand Doll as well as I do now, so V is a touchy subject for me that's why I might not do her justice).

First of all, it has to be said: Doll is a sociopath, V isn't, despite appearing like one. And that's ok.

When I say that I feel more sympathy towards Doll than I do for V, this is what I mean: I don't sympathise with Doll heartlessness more than I do with V jackassery; rather I understand and relate with Doll's low empathy since I also have low empathy as well, and it is quite common for people like us to be misunderstood for uncaring individuals.

It's the same reason why I and many others tend to like villains and sympathise with them more than we do with the heroes (Lord Shen from Kung Fu Panda 2 is the perfect example for this); it's quite common for villains to be written as individuals with low empathy, as an highly empathetic individual tends to be harder for the audience to buy as an antagonist, since you need to justify why someone this caring is committing all this heinous and terrible stuff, but if that person is already unemphatetic by nature, than it's just a matter of establishing their goals and motivations. These people also tend to be ostracized by their environment and go through a gruesome and violent death because it's socially acceptable to let these despicable individuals find comeuppance through death since they lack the traits that make a person traditionally good.

So, when people use the "So what? She's got dead parents. Many others do, including Uzi, who's also infected with the Absolute Solver, yet they have not become cannibalistic serial killers obsessed with revenge" as a slight against Doll it's not entirely fair because from what we've gathered in the show the other worker drones don't suffer from sadistic impulses and sociopathy like Doll does, even if they (Rebecca) are pretty uncaring. (Side note, Uzi also suffers from sadism/sadistic impulses, but not from sociopathy, hence the main difference between the two).

V, on the other hand, despite what her introduction and psycho girl persona might trick you into believing, was never a sociopath nor did she struggle with low empathy, she was, instead, a pretty timid maid who suffered through unspeakable physical and psychological trauma that led her to adopt this fake identity to cope for the atrocities that she was now committing for the company (Absolute Solver) and the safety of N; V cared about N in a pretty normal person kind of way: she kept N at arms length and hid the truth from him so that he wouldn't get hurt, all while detaching herself from the actions she was now committing, not saying Doll wouldn't or didn't commit any of these actions, but V did them in a way that better aligns with someone who doesn't suffer from sociopathic disorder.

Speaking of N, since he has been mentioned, I'll say that while Uzi suffers from sadism but not low empathy (she has shown to be pretty empathetic many times), N doesn't suffer from sadism but from low empathy; as better explained by a section of this post made by @melissa-titanium :

N x Doll

Don't believe me? Then maybe you should rewatch the series again because N's unemphateticness is his own can of worms to delve into.

But back to Doll, it's time to dissolve (😏) one of the oldest misconceptions surrounding her character:

Doll reached out for help. A lot. She just didn't have any luck with it.

Call me crazy, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised that the fandom wide spread belief that Doll rejected all the help that was handed to her to be a massive lie, and in fact, Doll actually tried to reach out way more than you thought, arguably, even more than Uzi:

The impact that Yeva's education has had on Doll's life can only be noticed in this way: Yeva extended her hand to Nori and she accepted it, thus, it is fair to assume that Yeva taught Doll to be pretty open to others and to give a hand to someone in need (the show was rewritten after the pilot, so ignore the incongruences with Doll's initial characterization), and in fact, after enduring the trauma of watching her parents die, she opened up to Lizzie for help and support, unfortunately, Lizzie wasn't exactly the right person to talk about these things (no offence to her, all of Uzi's classmates suck for one reason or another, including Uzi herself, I guess that's what happens when you are stuck inside a bunker your whole life), after all, Doll was still killing and cannibalising her classmates.

Then, before she went back to gain her revenge, she tried to get Uzi on her side, which wasn't an attempt to open up, but she was still willing to connect, even if for the wrong reasons. Finally, once she discovers that Uzi also has the Absolute Solver, she promises to help her out, and at this point, Doll wishes to talk it out with Uzi, but because she is surrounded by the Disassembly Drones (V), she can't.

And now, for the most interesting discussion, there's this brief and frankly weird moment in episode 5 where Doll compliments Khan for raising Uzi, and while Khan laughs it off immediately, since he is a dumbass, this could have been a perfect opportunity for him to reach out to Doll and reason with her, since she's clearly putting aside whatever her objective actually is to talk to him, but he doesn't catch on, and this leads Doll to immediately closing herself off again and returning to the mission, and like, maybe we all kind of underestimated how much significance this moment carried, but consider this:

Doll, at this point in time, has been living out in the cold for what... a month? Six months? A YEAR? If we exclude J and Cyn from the equation, this is probably the only social interaction she ever had since The Promening, yet, because of Khan's lack of touch, she immediately reminds herself of the massive disconnection between her and the other workers (eh ehm sociopath) and thus storms off rapidly; this moment is actually quite painful when you look at it from this perspective, yet it's also, the only interpretation that makes sense? Otherwise how do you explain the existence of this moment when Murder Drones is a show infamous for his high plotting and lack of filler? They had to go out of their way to animate this, so why did they play it off in this way?

Tessa is a meanie

Penultimately, and again, I want to bring up a post by @capnsaltsquid since that's where I got the inspiration to write this paragraph off, Doll opened up to J and Tessa to get the answers she was seeking, yet not only Tessa shot her in the face for s###s and giggles, but then proceeded to fraternise with her parents murderers, and at this point, she closes herself off enough to realise that she might have to unintentionally kill Uzi and leave everyone in the dust if she wants to get anything at all.

But unfortunately, that is not the case, she dies of a lonely, meaningless, gruesome death, and at this point, she still tries and finally succeeds in reaching out to Uzi, and yet, like all of her previous tries, this is unsuccessful, as Uzi has other things in mind right now.

To wrap things up nicely, both V and Doll went through severe amounts of trauma and handled said trauma in a similar yet also different way, since they are different individuals who process emotions and love differently, thus the actions they took made sense for the person they were and should only be judged in the context of their writing and characterization.

Want more?

[yourlowkeyidiot3]

YOU ARE SO RIGHT ABOUT THAT CURLY POST

Hey guys genuine question. If the game WAS about punishment, why would JIMMY be the one "punishing" him??? He's the one who well, IS RESPONSIBLE HE'S LIKE THAT IN THE FRIST PLACE?? He's the one who's constantly abusing and torturing him?? How can it be punishment when the one who's for his "punishment" is also the one who's %100 more worse and responsible for everything than him. Shouldn't he be punished by, let's say, someone who deserves to punish him? Like Anya for an example??? Make it make sense!!!

You are correct anon and you should say it

Btw I hate how those people also kinda try to act as if they are morally superior for saying he deserves it?? Like bro if you saw the scenes where Jimmy literally beats him up for not wanting to take his meds or/and for crying to the point where the next time Jimmy comes to give him his pills he tries to stay quiet cuz he's scared that if he makes noise he'll get beaten up again. And the scene that's literally a "puzzle" of Jimmy FORCING HIM TO EAT HIS OWN LEG, THAT HE BRUTALLY CUT OFF, and if you mess up he fucking VOMITS it but Jimmy doesn't stop until you get it right. And thought "yea he deserves that" I'm side eyeing you

[teletraan-archive]

Optimus Prime

Video Recording of the first official broadcast of The Voice of Autonomy, the autobot news channel:

A red and yellow cybertronian with what looks like speakers in his legs appears on screen, standing behind an indistinct metal wall.

“Salutations, cybertronians both big and small! Your optics and audio sensors aren’t glitching out on you, this is Blaster. I know you haven’t heard from me or my minicon crew of rabble rousers in a long time, but there’s a fair reason for that. On the last few broadcasts of Blastin’ Out Truth, I gave our new decepticon government a few harsh critiques. Now, the expected response from our leaders would be some lip service about how their increasingly fascist military isn’t all that bad. The hopeful response is that they’d actually course correct and stop all this peace through tyranny nonsense. The actual response? Megatron and his cronies threatening to blow up the building where I used to broadcast from. Say what you want and Sentinel Prime’s time on the throne, I know I have, but at least he let speak your mind.”

“I pride myself on speaking the truth, even when it’s hard. So, let me say this… Things are getting real bleak for Cybertron. Megatron bringing the hammer down on peaceful protests, military spending is through the roof, and that’s just the tip of the spear. Yes, the decepticons are turning our home world into one giant battle station of death and conquest. But folks, there’s a light at the end of this tunnel. You might’ve heard about the rumblings of a new resistance movement, especially if you live here in Iacon. I’m happy to say that I’ve recently became a member myself.”

“What’s this new resistance? How does it have a chance against the military might of the decepticon empire? To answer those questions, a familiar face is gonna take the stage. Now, he’s not used to public speaking, so give the bot some mercy if he stumbles a bit. Come on up, boss bot.”

Blaster steps aside as a tall red and blue cybertronian with a face plate walks into frame. A unique red insignia is on his left shoulder. The most striking thing about him is his chest windows, giving off a light circuitry glow. He steadies himself and begins to speak.

“Greetings, people of Cybertron and beyond. You all knew me as Orion Pax, one of the ascenticons key spokesmen. If you remember, my wonderful girlfriend Ariel reported that I was severely injured by Megatron when trying to talk sense into my old friend. During my slow recovery, I could only watch as the bot I once revered turn into a monstrous tyrant. How could this warmongering brute possibility be my brother in arms?”

“A more pressing question was on my mind, however. How did Megatron amass such a large following of decepticons? This is not the movement that I joined, the one that promised to aid the other species of the galaxy and not hide away in paranoia. The destruction of Tarn alone should’ve stopper the decepticon empire in its tracks due to public outrage. And yet, cybertronians continue to join. Why? … Why in the name of Primus would anyone ever join such a morally abhorrent government? Why would people willingly, gleefully tear apart homes and take away the freedoms of others?”

“But a few days ago, Megatron made a new speech. He confessed that the Matrix of Leadership refused to make him a prime. He would go on to denounce and condemn the matrix bearers, that the leader of Cybertron shouldn’t be chosen by an ancient trinket. That’s when it all clicked for me. That’s when I realized why so many support and praise Megatron. He said exactly what many wanted to hear.”

“Megatron said what those who feel isolated wanted to hear, that we could forge our own destiny and should be allowed to explore the cosmos without restraint. He said what the fearful and greedy wanted to hear, that brute strength and conquest would lead our kind to greatness. He said… He said what I wanted to hear. Nova, Nominus, Sentinel, they’ve all done great things for Cybertron and it’s neighboring worlds. But they have also caused great pain and frustration among the masses. Many of us excused their foibles simply because the matrix chose them and they accepted the responsibility of leadership. But we must remember that even the thirteen original primes had their faults. I don’t believe that a single person should have the final say on how to improve our future… With all that said, this next bit of information might come off as hypocritical.”

Orion’s chest windows convert and open up, revealing a shining light. The light dims, showing the Matrix of Leadership residing within the speaker’s chest.

“After his speech, Megatron openly gave the Matrix away to Alpha Trion. My former colleague challenged my iron mentor to find another prime and see how many would flock to them now that the decepticons have shown their might. Alpha Trion came to my medical bed and gave me the Matrix. It deemed me worthy and I accepted. I am now Optimus Prime, and I send this message.”

“In my resistance against Megatron, I vow not to return Cybertron to the way it was before. I do not believe the the thing in my chest grants me superiority over all others, nor does it give me all the answers. Thankfully, people like Ariel and Xaarron are already rallying against the decepticons. Of course, this rallying force needs a banner and name to stand under.”

“Megatron’s philosophy only rewards the strongest and cruelest of our kind. Where is the sympathy for those that cannot fight? How can the decepticon empire proclaim that all of Cybertron shall thrive while the weak and unmilitarized are crushed underfoot. Our resistance is not just for our allies that think and act like us. We fight for the autonomy of all, because freedom is the right of all sentient beings! We are autobots!”

Just then, Blaster interjects from offscreen.

“Wrap it up soon, Optimus. That Soundwave fella is working hard on cutting the transmission and I don’t know how much longer I can firewall him.”

Optimus nods and continues,

“I know that things are dire. We look at the successes of the decepticons and think ‘Is this what cybertronians are? Just ruthless war machines?’ But that is not all that we are. We are courageous in the face of darkness, and we do not bow to those that seek to control everything around them. Do not despair at the decepticon’s power. As a librarian in Iacon’s hall of records, I’ve read of the different alien races across the galaxy. There have been many empires like the decepticons, and there is one thing that connects them all. They all fell. Even if Megatron defeats me, others will rise to defeat his tyranny. The autobots will defend and aid all that we can. We will fight when fighting is the only option. We. Will. Win!”

Video transmission ends.

(Author’s note: While this certainly became more topical than originally intended, I hope that this fic can bring some comfort to those that need it. The main idea behind Optimus being against a prime ruling all Cybertron came from IDW2)

[coff-in]

hellooo!! :333 can i request the graves siblings with an older sibling (could be an older brother or gn idm!!) who refuses to participate in any of the weird incest-y bs andy and leyley have going on? i’d imagine growing up and raising them, reader initially had a sense of familial love for them which lead to ashley and andrew also being attached to them (and not in the family love kind…).

and when the whole shitshow that goes down in the game, reader is just like ‘oh hell naw…. 💀’ outright rebuking their siblings’ actions and saying how they’re embarrassed to even be related to them. trying to separate themselves as far away from their siblings. i wonder how the siblings would react with the stark change of their older sibling and kinda wanting their bond back and it turns into something yandere, obsessive thing especially with andrew and how he’s co-dependent towards reader isnfskkfskfkkf

thank u ❤️❤️

notes from coff-in: hellooo!! :3 oh this is so delicious, thank you 'nonnie for this meal! i saw the words 'yandere' and 'obsessive' and a part of my brain just started barking and running all over the place.

[masc] reader-insert, [reader] is about two years older than andrew

[reader] would have such a fucking time taking care of these two freaks, haha! he'd work together with andy taking care of leyley but at the end of the day, mrs graves lets them both know that if they want something they have to ask [reader]. their childhood is pretty cute for the most part. i'll leave it to you guys if you think [reader] gets involved with the nina incident. i personally think he might since he's the oldest, he has to accompany his siblings to make sure they're safe. they bury nina's body and he has to make them promise to NEVER speak of this again. "we don't know where she was or where she went. we never saw her today or yesterday." (maybe he participated in the blood oath, i'll leave that up to you guys)

andy and leyley love him as a familial love but i can also see how it becomes a more romantic love too. [reader] and andy are leyley's only friends to who actually care about her while andy appreciates the shared burden they carry that is taking care of leyley (not as in she herself is a burden but as in taking care of another person) and maybe andy likes the feeling that is having someone older looking out for him. idk how [reader] is able to be like... normal in this family, it's truly an accomplishment

i could also see the dynamic being shifted a little too? ashley is still a scapegoat used whenever something morally bad happens but the blame would/could then be transferred towards [reader] for not stopping ashley, since he's the oldest sibling and should be watching over her and andrew. it could give andrew some space or room to act up a bit since a majority of the siblings' responsibilities aren't shoved onto his shoulders anymore. just food for thought i guess

once quarantine happens, i think everything would be more of less the same? [reader] would let andrew into his bed because he genuinely wants to help andrew with his nightmares (something i think neither andrew or ashley really want to happen. nightmares give ashley leverage over andrew and they give andrew an excuse to cuddle and sleep (literally) with his siblings). the romantic comment andrew makes while starving will confuse [reader] a bit, "i guess it can be seen as romantic... being forever intertwined and such... but-- but that won't happen to us! i'll make sure of it, so don't worry." he has to pay extra attention to them when they're on the balcony now...

there are incestuous undertones throughout the entire game, but when episode 2 starts up [reader] is like "what 💀" HAHAHA!! look man they were raised to know better, not be better hahahaha! ah, sorry sorry. sexual comments or innuendos or slips are caught on by [reader] (or maybe even flat our ignored by him so he could pretend that everything's fine) and are sort of corrected? like "okay, calm down ashley" or "bloody hell andrew, fucking control yourself" with a face palm.

just thought about this. ashley also has leverage over [reader] since ever though he didn't actively participate in killing nina, he did "let it happen" and helped hide the body.

i lost track of time here, oops. once they get to the graves' house [reader] has a talk with mrs graves in the basement. he hates them, hates them. for having to raise his siblings when he was only like, 9 years old. do you know how hard that must be? being a single dad at fucking 9 years old with two children to take care of? IT FUCKING SUCKS and honestly FUCK MRS AND MR GRAVES FOR JUST SHOVING ANDREW AND ASHLEY ON TO HIM! "we can make this all go away" "I WANT YOU TO GO AWAY!" [reader] loves his siblings and yelling at his tied up parents feel very cathartic ngl.

assuming this is a burial route thing, [reader] would be fucking disgusted :3c i doubt he would leave andrew and ashley... since he also needs a new identity too but he does try to separate himself from their sibconnery. tries to avoid being all touchy feely and probably doesn't give that many praises or compliments to them anymore either and it makes andrew and ashley worry (whether or not they siblings fuck [reader] is also up to you guys)

like the burial route is about having trust in each other and exploring EVERY aspect of a bond and relationship, so [reader] rejecting that idea and even like, shying away? from it would raise some panic in the siblings, and i could see them trying to coax [reader] into degeneracy with them, you know? why give a fuck about what society thinks? look at how well it's gone for them; neglected, starved, hunted, CORNERED. they don't need society's approval or good graces or whatever the hell else. they just need each other, no?

(whenever i get better, bet your ass yandere graves' is going to be hard)

----

coff-in

[deluxewhump]

This isn’t about any one thing specifically, but in my 4+ years here and 3 million years in fanfiction circles it’s something I’ve thought about more than once regarding dark topics in fiction and harassment (and if you're sick to death of the subject, i feel you, skip the read more, it’s just my opinions)

I try to imagine what I would think if I was someone who anonymously (or not anonymously) harasses and tries to censor writers on the internet. I assume I would feel pretty righteous. And if you’ve ever felt righteous you’ll likely agree, it feels really good. I wouldn’t do something like that if I didn’t think that I was clearly in the right. This would probably come from the idea that the content in question is harmful. Harm itself is a large, ambiguous concept. If I believed that writing certain things was inherently harmful (not just to certain individuals who don’t want to see it, which is their right, but in general), I would certainly feel vindicated in my behavior.

Personally I think harm is more complex than that, and I think a majority of people here believe censorship is more harmful to society than any illegal, immoral, or disturbing thing someone can depict in fiction. The issue with crying “harm” is that it is so subjective when it comes to fiction. I’m not saying fiction exists in a vacuum, but it is not the same thing as real world harm, which unfortunately can also be leveraged in bad faith to distort arguments with hyperbole and diversion.

If I was in the business of trying to censor writers on the internet, and I was a stickler for nuance, I might say that the *way* someone depicted something was not correct, responsible, or heavy handed enough in the moral messaging of “X is bad.” This might be a mental compromise I would make in order to justify to myself the fact that I’m advocating for censorship. Criticizing someone’s handling of something is fine by the way, it’s the harassment and trying to get them to stop writing it bit that I’m taking issue with. I would probably feel really good about harassing and criticizing people I thought were wrong for depicting serious things in a way that didn’t sit well with me. I would probably secretly feel (because to admit it plainly would be embarrassing) like a bit of a vigilante. It might come from a deeply personal and complicated place, or just a place of general beliefs I’d picked up. I’d bet money that I would consider myself left leaning on most things, maybe even strongly so. I wouldn’t like to consider that my goals are ultimately conservative, because that would cause me mental discomfort. But “conservatism and liberalism” in the sense we’re usually talking about them is not a binary. It’s more of a circle, and you can find yourself batting for another teams tactics real quick if you’re not methodical and honest in your thinking.

These conversations often devolve into and circle back to “for the love of god just please tag everything” which I agree with. But that is not the reason why people continually harass other people. It’s more that they think the content should not exist at all, which is what I just don’t fundamentally agree with. I also think human beings tend to enjoy feeling like they have intimidated someone they’ve decided is wrong or bad. I try not to be too dug in on absolutely everything I think. If I’ve put personal biases into my little profiling opinion feel free to suggest where I’ve gone wrong lol. One other thing— there’s all kinds of things in books these people would have to say, to be true to their own logic, should not be in print. What do you say then, should we pull it? I wonder if they’d say that with their chest or if it’s relegated to the internet for them.

[thatneoncrisis]

I was just catching up on your most recent fic after a busy week and saw your AN and came here looking for more clarification.

I guess I don’t understand why you felt the need to take it upon yourself to write something that you knew would get the attention of the people you were satirizing. Your whole stance on fan fiction (based on your own personal statements in both your asks and your ANs) seems to be that if people aren’t doing it the way you personally like, they shouldn’t be doing it at all. You keep saying you want people to just talk to you about it but why should they when you haven’t extended that gesture to them?

Also it’s very odd of you to be speaking for an entire group of people you yourself do not identify with. To what end exactly? So you can pat yourself on the back and tell yourself you fandom correctly while everyone else doesn’t? Did someone come to you and ask you to advocate for them? It just doesn’t make sense why you felt like this was your responsibility to correct or something.

It kind of reeks of moral (and fandom) superiority, like you’re just doing the most to educate people (which is. Not a thing we need in fandom spaces) and keep them on your straight and narrow instead of letting fandom works be what they are which is, for most people, a fun, exploratory way to engage with the source material. Your GOTCHA attitude towards readers who were enjoying your “bland” fic was very shocking. It does come across like you just want to embarrass people who enjoy those types of stories and tropes and make yourself feel enlightened and better than them because you thought outside the box.

I don’t know. The idea of using these tropes as a tool to spring “THIS WASN’T REAL” on readers is fun but I think it would have been much better if you hadn’t actually been making fun of other people. That kind of spoils the whole experience of your fic. I’ve been a fan of your writing and art for a long time and I do genuinely understand the desire to have people write more of what you want to see/write things that feel more in-character, but the approach here is confusing and off putting and it’s pretty disappointing to see you openly hurt people just because you like dicking around and can’t just scroll past stories/ideas/headcanons you don’t agree with.

Anyway I doubt any of this will change your mind about what you did and I doubt you’ll even care about what I have to say about it. It’s hurtful and upon deeper inspection and reading and rereading the fic and your AN and asks, I’m pretty sure I’m one of the intended targets. This is kind of word vomit at this point as I try to get my thoughts out but you asked for the people you were criticizing to reach out so here I am. Discouraging and disappointing but I hope you found what you were looking for I guess.

see thats like. completely antithetical to the point ive been reiterating for like a week. i CANNOT stop anyone from writing and i dont want to this is not the take away and it never has been. if they want to write fifteen fics like that to spite me then good on them i really just

cannot keep saying enough that i dont want anyone to STOP writing. this was just me kind of screaming in the dark because i see the exact same patterns repeated over and over. you should never ever stop creating because some fucking nobody is frustrated with the content produced en mass for free as a hobby. there is no actionable Thing that can take place here i cant stop anyone from writing any of this i just kind of wanted some people to Think about what they were reading. ive gotten messages from people saying they didnt like the initial tone of the story before chapter 4 but kept reading it because they were desperate for content. thats nuts to me! but i also understand that those people just have very little to choose from. if anything i want MORE people to write

like i keep saying again and again i do not want and cannot stop anyone from writing whatever they want. im not your mom! and to a certain degree, this did come out of nowhere there was no big thing that set it off, it was just me being obscenely frustrated.

and what i am REALLY frustrated about is how presumptuous youre being! i do feel bad that i hurt people and i decided basically a day after i posted the chapter i would never do something like this ever again. theres just too much room for misinterpretation. you are actively reading me as malicious like we can just talk in dms. "im so disappointed in you" YOU DO NOT KNOW ME. THAT is the shit that is getting to me youre acting like i am incapable of acknowledging how i know this fic could have been interpreted. its up now i made my bed im not going to plug my ears and pretend a public vent wouldn't catch people unawares. i am no stupid and do not treat me as such

i am actively choosing not to post most of the asks i get in FAVOR of this because they are dumping on the kinds of fics i dont even necessarily like and i think that's just adding on. again this is why i spoke about braid tropes used, shit that could basically be applicable to any fandom, and not a particularly fic. i didnt want to go into someones comments or dms and say hey! your fic is personally, to me, bad and hard to read, might you explain yourself? like theres nothing TO explain its aet it just exists how it is. there was no nice way of doing this kind of thing, but itd be so sweet if people didnt call me a friendless clout chaser and do some "you'll never work in this town again" shit.

[burning-academia-if]

1k follower celebration: Rook's short story

Word count: 4.5k

Summary: Snapshots from the life of a boy who almost stood a chance.

CW: While violence is not shown on page, this deals heavily with child abuse and PTSD.

A/N: Quick crash course on magic: there are two types of magicians. Heart magicians whose magic is from emotions and Soul magicians whose magic is from core beliefs/morals. You'll learn more in game, but that's what you need to know for this to make sense lol. Hope you enjoy the first story!

At some point he considered the fall. With eyes glazed over, forehead resting against the cold glass of a dusty window. His breath created a consistent fog. The endless arguing in the next room created a hellish ambiance.

            He could already imagine what it was his mother was saying, as muffled as her voice was. He was not, and would never be, another second-rate child overflowing with unstable magic. He did not shatter all the windows in a room because of a fatal miscalculation. She would not be paying for damages.

            It wouldn’t be far if he jumped, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know how to catch himself. The meeting house rested snug against a long stretch of buildings, and he could vanish between any of them. Duck his head into a store somewhere and wait out the storm.

            He could take the metaphorical fall, too. The persistence of his mother’s voice had his teeth set until his jaw ached. He counted the ticking seconds of the clock, desperate for it to end. The room was so small, encasing him as though caged. There was no freedom like this.

            After a moment, he pushed himself up. The remnants of where he’d laid remained on the glass. It watched as he pushed his heavy legs to make it to the door. To take a moment to stop shaking hands, and push open the door.

            The voices stopped immediately. His mother eyed him, brown eyes burning fierce as she took note of him. The man looked decidedly calmer, and so, he kept his attention on him. Never his mother. He’d never survive.

            “I lost control,” he said in a rush, feeling the growing intensity of his mother’s stare, “I’ll take full responsibility so—”

            “Oh please, you think you’re the first child to have done such a thing.” The man waved his hand, dismissing him completely. “You just turned thirteen, correct? Hormones and puberty and all of that make kids’ magic go wild. It should grow stronger and more stable the more you age. It’s why we have tests like this, to track where every child is at.”

            “As I’ve been trying to tell you, he has more control than the average child. It was merely his nerves.”

            Nerves from what? The test? The unknown adults all staring him down, tearing into him vein by vein to decode his magic? His mother, front and center, lip curled back with a warning if he dared disappoint, but already certain he would?

            “Sure, sure. Once he gets used to it, we’ll be able to tell for sure. As it stands, being able to use magic is a miracle enough already. I hope to see you again.” The man smiled and he couldn’t remember his name, and even his face was blurring though it remained in front of him.

            His smile was easy and automatic and it didn’t feel like his face, “Thank you, sir. I’m sorry again for the damage.”

            The man nodded before leading them outside. There were more words from his mother, sinking into the shadows cast by various wall decorations hanging throughout the endless halls. It was a maze of wood and rolled out carpets and doors full of symbols he couldn’t quite recognize. It was another decade before they were out the door and going into the average parking lot of a shopping district. The dissonance rang in his ears.

            “I taught you better, didn’t I? Hand.”

            “Mom—”

            She snatched his hand and dragged it towards her, wrist up. She pressed a nail, long and red and sharp, against the tender tendons there. His mind went blank as she pressed against it, trailing along the artery, “There are three places we feel our magic the most; the head, the heart, and the hands. So tell me, did you really not feel what you were doing?”

            The answer didn’t matter, he knew. There was only one outcome waiting for him at the end of this.

//

            “Rook Bellerose.”

            “The one and only. Did you miss me Mr. Strauss? It’s been a while since I landed myself in detention.” He kicked back in the chair, arms folded across his chest as he glanced at his other inmates. He knew some of them, vaguely, although names were like water to him. There was no need to retain something when they’d mean nothing to him, even if they tried.

            Mr. Strauss, for his part, did not look as put off as he should, “Ah yes, this is the first time since you started tenth grade. I’m not sure what’s more impressive. Refraining from getting sent here right away, or your reason for detention being that you somehow managed to completely ruin the salad bar to the point the metal holders need to be replaced.”

            He laughed, mirroring the noise around him, pairing with the various comments of, “No, that shit was insane dude—”

            The whole thing had, by all accounts, been recorded as a freak accident, because what else could it be? It wasn’t properly secured and sure, he had maybe tested its durability in a series of actions which could only be described as ‘boys will be boys’, but it wasn’t like he’d meant for it to all come crumbling down.

            It wasn’t like they knew he’d been spilling over magic because he’d just gotten broken up with and his words had been spinning around in Rook’s head for the past week and a half. It wasn’t like his magic was supposed to come from intentions and not fucking emotions, but it seemed like someone got it wrong because his heart had been too loud in his ears for years now and it only made it all worse.

            ‘Christ Rook, you can’t even hold my hand in secret. Am I really that disgusting to you?’

            ‘It isn’t that—’

            ‘Then what is it? Because that’s all I’ve ever felt when I’m with you.’

            “Hey, now they know to secure all the cafeteria equipment better. I think they should be thanking me.” Mr. Strauss rolled his eyes and settled in for the incoming hour. Rook ran a hand through his hair, and flinched at the length.

            When he turned to look at the window, the reflection staring back at him was not the face he knew. His hair was too short, his limbs too long, and his hands too clean.

//

            He imagined he’d break a lot of hearts. Mouth too full of sweet words, mind made of too many walls, chest full of thorns. He figured it was a byproduct of a noxious marriage spiraling down from parent to child. He was his mother’s son. He was not his father’s child.

            It was the first court order which made all of the head magicians’ panic. They were not supposed to go through outside means, however they’d ignored all of his dad’s vehement concerns. His mother was doing what needed to be done, to ensure his magic did not drag the average person into a reality they didn’t belong in. To ensure he wasn’t a danger to others.

            So his father had went and filed an abuse report as the average person did and now Rook was here in a house he knew but could never grow into. His dad had always been too soft, needy, caring, reliable. Every interaction, Rook waited for the transaction. Every time he came home from another one of his fuck ups, he braced himself for the bruising.

            Instead, his dad would pat him on the shoulder and send him outside, “Wasting energy helps. You should have seen me at your age. I nearly burned down the science classrooms because my magic wouldn’t stop flickering.”

            Except his dad’s magic did come from the heart and not the mind. There was no reason for there to be this constant instability, for it to sit so heavily in his veins, and shatter the world around him because years compounded endlessly in his chest and hit him at once in the worst of ways.

            So he’d go out and he’d run and he’d feel the branches snap and bleed him as he did. He’d climb and jump, and expel all the magic he could. He’d reach the end of his known path and stare out into the beyond and let himself scream as though that could chase away everything inside him until he was sane again.

            He’d think about how his heart shouldn’t be able to be so full when it was also a void, devouring the feelings of those around him without feeling a thing itself. He thought of the people he’d agreed to date, and think the false hope he gave was the same as his mother’s calm days.

            When he came home after detention, he’d expected the usual spiel, the standard apologizes, the same refusing to look his dad in the eye. When his father saw him, it was not his latest detention that seemed to be his concern.

            “You cut your hair. When?”

            “Yesterday. It was getting too long.”

            “I never thought I’d see your hair short.”

            “Are you saying it doesn’t suit me?”

            “No, no. It’s just…”

            There were words behind both their teeth that neither dared to say. Rook lived with his dad now but his mother was still his mother and her hands were still yanking him by the fistful, telling him boys shouldn’t have hair so long and it was time to grow up. When his ex had said it was pretty with a punishing smile, he’d found himself standing in front of a bargain salon with ten dollars to spare and a fog of memories.

            His dad, tall and broad, but as soft as a flower, pressed his lips together, “I know you don’t like to talk to me about stuff but…”

            Rook let out a groan, kicking off his shoes and leaving them hazardously by the door, “It’s a haircut. I’m experimenting or whatever. If I hate it, it’ll grow back in a month. Anyway, I got a lot of homework. Later.”

            “Rook, are you sure? I got a call from school; they said you got another detention?” God, he hated that voice. The softness of it. The furrow between his brow and the way he’d duck his head a little to make himself look smaller than he was.

            He tried not to grit his teeth, “Yeah, fine. My magic’s fucked like usual, big surprise.”

            “I know it’s hard to believe right now, but it’s getting better at least. By the time you graduate high school, you’ll have completely adjusted to it.”

            “Great. So just a two more years of destroying property and causing mayhem.” There was too much pressure in his head. He wasn’t really thinking. “You know, when others go through this, they’re not destruction incarnate. It’s always attracting animals, or being too good at running the mile, or making those dumb ‘magic’ tricks look cool.”

            There was weight in his father’s eyes, “We all experience it differently. We’ll manage it as best we can.”

            “Until mom takes me back.” He hadn’t meant to say that. Why had he said that? Wasn’t he better at controlling his words?

            “Rook, she’s not taking you back.” His father was as serious as he’d ever seen him.

            “How many more fuck ups do I have left before she insists I have to go back to her? I wasn’t ruining everything under her care, was I? Maybe it’s where I belong. Like calls to like.” His voice had raised a notch, spilling over like everything he ever was did. A bad habit, a fatal flaw.

            His father took a step towards him, “You’re not like her.”

            Rook swallowed. Shook his head. Imagined how he wanted to hold a hand in theory but in practice it made him sick. People weren’t disgusting, his exes weren’t disgusting. He was. Is. Always.

            He never once scarred, but he had every wound inflicted mapped in his memory.

            “Rook.” There was a warning there, but it went past him. He wasn’t there. He was seven and he was in a room and his mother said he’d need to use magic to get out, to survive. He was ten and she loomed over him, telling him the most basic of magic was to heal your own wounds. He was thirteen, taking that damned test for the first time and showcasing zero control and failing. Over and over.

            “Rook!” His father reached out. A miscalculation. He jerked, body coiled tight, and it was like his magic found a target. It took a moment, a never-ending moment, to realize what he’d done. The sudden red was not as unfamiliar as it should have been. Everything in him screamed monster, and his father cradled his arm. The strange, staggered lines of a magical wound rested on his forearm. Rook was going to throw up his guts.

            “I’m exactly like her.” He said, a confirmation for himself more than anyone. He darted up the stairs, ignoring his father’s shouts. He slammed the door shut and fell back against it. His body was shaking, there was a keen in his throat fighting to become a scream. He kept his back against the wood, a warden against the world.

            For the rest of the night, his father came to check on him, and he stayed quiet. At some point, there was a thud, like he was leaning against the door. Rook stilled his breath, straining both to listen and tune out his voice.

            “You can’t go on like this, Rook. You won’t change if you’re too focused on who you are right now.” His father took a deep breath. “I don’t expect you to come to me, after everything that’s happened. But I just hope you find others to rely on. I just hope…I hope that you know you aren’t her, either.”

For a second, he thought of opening the door. To at least apologize for his actions and make sure his father was alright. But his hand stilled at the door. He couldn’t do it. His room was the only place he was allowed to be. He didn’t go to school for the rest of the week.

//

            There were dreams some nights. He’d be at school or hanging out with friends and he’d hear a voice call to him. He’d turn and everyone would look at him strange, although none of them had faces he could see. When he’d look, the space he was in had a familiar hall. Full of old wood and antique decorations, he’d find himself walking down the endless space.

            The voice kept calling. It was familiar in a way he couldn’t place. The wrongness of it would spur him into a run, and the voice would become more frantic, a desperate plea of ‘don’t’ and ‘help.’

            At the end was the testing room. None of the usual set up was there. The walls were bare, the room was bare, save for the body resting on the floor. He’d try to stop, because he knew that body better than anyone else’s. He’d stop, because he didn’t want to see it.

But then a hand would shove him forward, and his mother’s voice would hiss, “I told you, didn’t I? You were always bound to hurt someone.”

And so he’d fall to his knees, and the blood would drip from his hands, and he’d tear himself awake. He’d find his father with his arms locked around him, his magic subduing his own. Even in his sleep, Rook’s curse would lash out and destroy everything.

“You’re ok,” His father breathed against his shoulder, one arm wrapped firmly around his torso and the other cradling his head, “You’re going to be ok.”

But the blood was still on his tongue and his mother’s voice in his ears and a body on the ground. He swallowed for air, fighting to come back to himself. Fighting to live. Fighting to live?

His voice was broken glass, “Am I allowed to want to live, even knowing I only hurt people?”

His father held him a little tighter, “You aren’t just allowed to, you deserve it, too.”

Rook didn’t deserve anything. But he was selfish and he’d take everything anyone was willing to offer. It was why he let his father hold him, and allowed himself to cling to him. For this moment, he just wanted to exist.

//

            The letter was in his hands, a smug grin stretched on his face. His friends eyed him, various reactions on their faces.

            “Read it and weep,” he smacked it down on the desk in front of him, “Accepted to the one and only Vales Grove University.”

            “There’s no way.”

            “You’re full of shit. Your grades are trash.”

            His grades were, technically, painfully average. But that didn’t change the fact that grades weren’t the selling point in this case. The only real requirement was being able to use magic, and Rook had it in droves. In a few months he’d graduate, turn eighteen, and his magic would continue to stabilize.

            It didn’t stop his grin from widening, “With a charming personality like mine, did you really think they’d say no?”

            There was swearing and noises of disbelief and he was snatching the letter back, saying he needed to go tell his dad. He’d gotten the letter in the morning, when his dad had been at work. He hadn’t heard the news and Rook needed to tell him. Obvious good news was still good news. And besides, he owed it to him after everything.

            When he got home, he paused at the driveway. His eyebrows furrowed, taking a long look at the cars lined up. He didn’t recognize one of them. Adjusting the strap of his backpack, he gave it a second glance before heading inside.

            “Uh, dad?” He called, glancing around the entry room. Everything was about the same as always. Perfectly intact and magazine photo worthy, save for the faint coating of dust that they never seemed to be able to get rid of.

            His voice echoed for a moment, and it took too long for his dad to call back, “In my office.”

            Rook ducked through the door, greeted with the only messy room in the whole house. Endless papers and forms and documents spilled over as far as the eye could see. His father sat, rod straight, dark strands of hair falling into his face, a tell-tale sign of stress. And he wasn’t alone.

            Rook jerked away immediately, backpack sliding off his shoulder. It slammed onto the ground, echoing all around. His mother rose from her chair, a serene smile stretched across her face.

            “Oh Rook, it’s been so long since I’ve last seen you. You’ve grown so much.” Her arms stretched out and he needed to run. His heart hammered hard in his chest, his eyes unfocused. Her arms wrapped around him, careful not to actually touch him, like avoiding a disease. Her fingers brushed his hair, long again, and he thought he’d be sick.

            A show. It was a show. He didn’t raise his arms, couldn’t. His mind was going a million miles an hour. He glanced over and there was a second person here. A man. He knew that face. Had seen it every year since thirteen. The one he hadn’t thought he’d needed to learn the name to. He knew his name now.

            “…Mr. Solace.” Rook managed as his mother pulled away. The man rose from his chair, and the smile he usually wore was nowhere on his face. He couldn’t begin to fathom what was wrong.

            “It’s good to see you again. I heard you decided to stay close and go to Vales Grove, correct? Congratulations on your acceptance.”

            He reached out a hand and Rook took it, fixing a smile in place, “Ah, thanks. You already know?”

            Really, his eyes were on his dad when he asked, just a slip away from Mr. Solace’s face.

            Mr. Solace pulled away with a single nod, “It’s part of my duties to keep up with the children I’m tasked with testing. Part of that, is making sure there hasn’t been any unnecessary involvement.”

            “Unnecessary involvement?” His dad flinched, and his mother’s mouth tugged into a frown. Really, he wanted to ask if the man knew she wasn’t supposed to be here. But then, what did it matter? Melody Bellerose was a name which held more power than God—in his life and in a world of messy politics.

            “Yes. It happens often, kids accidentally getting friends involved in things they shouldn’t. Boundaries are hard for kids, especially if your parents decided to put you through public school. It’s simple, you give us a name and we’ll adjust their memories.”

            A ringing sounded in his ears and he shook his head, “I know my magic caused a lot of issues in the past sir, but if you mean I let other people know about magic, I haven’t.”

            His mother’s voice made him feel five again, with how slow and deliberate and dripping with artificial sweetness it was, “It’s alright. We’re both here to take care of it, you don’t have to worry.”

            Both of them. He knew, then, why they were here. Why she was here and what she was claiming and what she wanted. It was too late to get custody, he was a few months out from adulthood now, but there were other things to go after. Always.

            “There’s no one,” he repeated, false politeness falling away with a snarl, “And I swear to god if they put their fucking hands on—”

            He cut himself off and swallowed hard. The room was spinning. There was a body on the ground. There was always a body on the ground. The body was always his fault, one way or another.

            His father stood, voice dropping low, “If he claims there’s no one I believe him. He wouldn’t risk his standing over lying about something like this.”

            “Harvey, you’re really going to let him talk to us like that?”

            “I think he has every right to in this very moment, so if that’s all you needed I’d like you both to leave so I may have a word with my son.”

            Mr. Solace gave a small smile, bundled with fake apologies. Rook moved to the side, stiff and vague, to allow them to pass. Mr. Solace left and his mother followed. He kept his head down as she paused.

            The minute she was gone, his dad closed the door and Rook pressed a hand to his eyes, “Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting.”

            “Rook.”

            “I’m fine. I’m not…I’m not going to break.” He was. Likely, he already had. He was still in that testing room, because he’d never leave. He’d been trapped inside since he was thirteen. Since before he knew the room even existed. “At least I got into college, right?”

            It was a weak attempt at a diversion, but his dad had since given up on prying him open. Rook wondered at that, sometimes. If even his dad had given up on knowing him, then there was no one else left for him, was there?

            After a long pause, his dad nodded, “We’ll celebrate, come on. We’ll go grab pizza from your favorite pizza joint. Ask your friends if they want to come, we’ll even do bowling.”

            “Bowling? That’s such an old man hobby.”

            “Plenty of people your age bowl.” Rook laughed, and he rearranged himself again. It was fine. They’d open the door and no one would be waiting for him, lurking in the corner. His mother did not have her ear pressed against the door, trying to take in every word.

            “Yeah sure. Sounds great. I’ll let everyone know.” His hands were not shaking.

//

            At some point he’d wandered off into the arcade area that was incredibly barren on this Tuesday evening. His friends had decided on another round and he’d claimed he was going to go beat some high scores, promising pictures when he did.

            Now, he sat on a hard, round chair and went around in circles. The carpet was the classic kind from the nineties, and the lighting in the arcade room was the kind of neon that hurt your eyes.

            “Hey.” He stopped so fast he nearly toppled off the chair. You raised an eyebrow at him, but he felt the judgement even with your silence.

            “What are you doing here? Wait, don’t tell me. You got tired of getting your ass kicked at bowling, so you decided to get your ass kicked at the arcade instead.”

            “I’m here because I don’t know any of your friends, jackass.” You roll your eyes, and your gaze skims the selection of machines. He hadn’t expected you to come. You said you never could stay out late, and he had never pushed it.

            The sight of you is surreal, but it might be because the whole day has been. He’d experienced every single emotion on the spectrum in less than twenty-four hours. You elicited the last few he hadn’t felt when you’d shown up for pizza, scanning his friends and figuring out how you were going to go about it all.

            Now you were here, and if life was different it’d feel like a world of your own. But his nightmare still rested in his ribs and so he did what he always did.

            “Pick a game, we’ll conquer it.”

            “Anything’s fine.” A pause. “Are you really going to Vales Grove?”

            He grinned and threw an arm around your shoulder. A touch painfully easy and familiar, “Hell yeah I did. You’re not going to be able to get rid of me that easily.”

            In the glass of a dusty machine, his reflection stared back at him. It was not him. It never was. The too wide grin of his reflection and the easiness of his body belonged to someone else. His closeness with another spoke of a boy who was safe. It didn’t stop him from this one thing.

            He’d never get close to anyone, but he was still the same selfish child. If you didn’t break the connection, he wouldn’t either. For as long as he was allowed, he’d keep this one thing. Until the endless dream of a body became overbearing. Until you finally found someone who could be your true friend.

            For now, the two of you sat in an old booth with cracks lining the material of the seats. The sound of the machines whirled, paired with the shouts of your voices. A world for two, if he forced his brain to stop thinking. There was no danger. There was no ledge. Years of friendship, and it was all the same. There were no warning signs on the wall.

            But at some point, he would take the fall.

[shamsrevengers]

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗼 ;; 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙, 𝙨𝙤 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙡 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚.

⤷ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ; BONTEN TIMELINE, language, sex, drug abuse/use, violence, toxic themes, overall not for young audiences or those easily affected by subjects of the same nature.

⤷ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ; Haruchiyo Sanzu, Manjiro Sano, Ran Haitani, Rindou Haitani, Kokononi Hajime, Takeomi Akashi, Kakucho, Hanma Shuji.

⤷ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ; this is all work of fiction. in no way am i prompting the acts in this fictional story nor am i encouraging acts done or words said in this piece of writing. i heavily recommend only 18+ viewers as the heavy themes are not the most suitable for a younger audience.

“That proposal seems favourable," Your leg tapped rhythmically beneath the table while facing Manjiro in his office. It wasn't out of fear towards him, but rather a reaction to the impending change. Sano's intense onyx eyes remained fixed on you, showing his lingering doubts.

"Are you able to commence work tomorrow?" His words didn't come across as a mere inquiry. It wasn't a question, but a command. A command that could be declined, but doing so would signify your permanent departure. Did you truly desire to leave?

As you listened to his plan, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping up on you. The idea of being involved in a potentially illegal operation was normal and with the allure of the hefty payout that was promised. . . it was perfect. You knew that your skills as a member of criminal organisations that have transpired to be amazing throughout the years could be put to good use in a variety of legitimate ways, but the temptation of easy money was hard to resist.

You took another sip of your whiskey, trying to calm your nerves as you weighed the risks and rewards of the job. The man across from you watched you carefully, waiting for your response. Finally, you set down your glass and met his gaze.

"I'll need more information though," you said, your voice steady despite the doubt swirling in your mind. "I need to know exactly what I'll be getting myself into and what the potential consequences might be."

The man nodded, understanding your hesitation. He began to lay out the details of any job, painting pictures of high-stakes operations that required precision, skill, and a willingness to bend the rules.

You knew that you were treading on thin ice, but the promise of a big payday was too tempting to ignore. With a heavy heart, you made the decision to go through with the job, knowing that it would test your morals and ethics in ways that it hadn’t before. But then again, that last look Shuji gave you made you question your morality.

But for now, all you could do was steel yourself for the task ahead and hope that your skills as a lawyer would be enough to see you through.

As you nodded in agreement, Manjiro informed you that Sanzu and Ran would accompany you for the job. You couldn't help but chuckle at the thought and posed a question, "What kind of job would require a lawyer?" You poured yourself another glass of whiskey, hoping that it wouldn't cloud your judgment. The amber liquid swirled in the glass as you took a sip, savouring the warm sensation that spread through your body. Despite your doubts about the job, you trusted Manjiro's judgment and felt confident that you would be able to handle whatever challenges lay ahead.

The man sitting across from you leaned in and asked, "Your license is legal, correct?" You nodded in response, feeling a bit uneasy about what he was about to say next. "We have a deal being made in a government building and we need a distraction," he explained, taking a sip from your glass. You couldn't help but feel sceptical about the job he was proposing. It seemed too simple to just walk into a government building with a legal license that you haven't used in years. As you looked into his eyes, you couldn't help but wonder what kind of trouble you were getting yourself into.

“What’s the condition?”

Mikey chuckled heartily when you raised the question, a sign that he had complete faith in your abilities. After all, he wouldn't have entrusted you with a task as risky as operating under the watchful gaze of Hanma Shuji for years if he didn't believe you were a meticulous and sharp-witted individual, capable of handling such a demanding job with utmost care and precision.

The person speaking began by saying, "Everything is expected to fall apart. The agreement will collapse after a heated argument and violence will break out at a predetermined time." He then turned to you and said, "We require your assistance in keeping three specific individuals confined to an office until Sanzu arrives to retrieve you at the end of the assignment."

It had plot holes. Like why would they purposely break off a deal? Why are they making an illegal deal in a government building in the first place? Who are these three men and why should they be blind to everything happening? You can’t ask questions. It’s not part of the repertoire.

Over the last fourteen days, you have found yourself waking up in a hotel room that is heavily guarded and located only a few minutes away from the main headquarters of Bonten. Although the experience has been unusual and uncomfortable, it is a welcome change from the suffocating and unpleasant experience of waking up in your previous bed. Despite the foreignness of the situation, you cannot help but feel a sense of relief and safety in this new environment.

You got the call from Ran Haitani saying they’re ten minutes away from the hotel. He said you’d be picked up by cars that aren’t aligned with them so as to not raise any suspicion of you being a part of Bonten.

As you stepped out of the car, the driver remained silent and avoided all eye contact with you. It almost seemed as though he had received a specific instruction to keep his distance from you. Once you arrived at the building, you quickly put on your sunglasses, shielding your eyes from the bright sun. With a deep breath, you stepped forward, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

As per Manjiro's instructions, you entered the main building and made your way towards the main desk. You felt a little nervous, but you took a deep breath and approached the receptionist with confidence. You pulled out your lawyer license and greeted the receptionist with a warm smile, "Good morning. I am a part of Peter Ippoti's team of lawyers here to discuss his ongoing lawsuit." You spoke with a sense of authority and conviction, using the lying skills that you had developed over the past four years. The receptionist looked up from their computer and nodded, "Alright, let me check if Mr. Ippoti is available." You waited patiently, hoping that your plan would work.

The man bought the lie, just as Manjiro had predicted. As you stood in the elevator, feeling a mix of anticipation and anxiety, your eye caught Sanzu and Ran as they pushed the main glass doors. Sanzu glanced back at you for a split second before disappearing with Ran up the emergency stairs. You couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that lingered with you as you stepped out of the elevator on your floor.

You recall the path that Manjiro had shown yesterday, guiding you through different turns and twists until you finally arrive at the designated room. As you approach the door, you notice the number scribbled on your wrist by Manjiro, serving as a constant reminder of your destination. With a sense of understanding, you reach the door and prepare to occupy the room.

As soon as you walked into the meeting room, you couldn't help but notice the seven male lawyers sitting on one side of the table. You took off your glasses slowly, trying to hide your discomfort at being the only woman in the room. They all ogled at you as you sat down on the opposite side of the table, effortlessly keeping a confident smile.

As soon as you sat down, you took a quick glance at the three men. They looked like ordinary lawyers, dressed in crisp suits and ties. Two of them had wedding rings on, which made you wonder what their spouses would think of their current situation. You couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt creeping up your throat. After all, you were tasked with keeping them locked up in this small room, away from the rest of the world during whatever the hell was supposed to happen in a couple of minutes.

The room buzzed with idle conversations while you intermittently glanced at your watch, eagerly anticipating the designated time. Once the clock struck the anticipated hour, you strained your ears for any signs of commotion, signaling the commencement of the crucial task. However, to your dismay, there was no activity whatsoever.

Minutes ticked away, stretching from five to ten, and before you knew it, it was already 8:30. You found yourself still seated in a room alongside several other attorneys, patiently awaiting a client who would not show up.

Unexpectedly, everyone reacted swiftly to the abrupt gunshots and gunfire. Finally, you thought to yourself as you glanced back at your targets. They started whispering to each other quietly while the others were clearly in a state of panic.

Something inside you suggested that these individuals were not ordinary lawyers.

As their gaze shifted towards their watch, your eyes widened as their sleeve inadvertently revealed a tattoo in kanji. It was a tattoo that spelled out 'Punishment' in kanji characters. Your breath hitched, but you knew you had to react swiftly as they made their way towards the exit.

Without hesitation, you retrieved a gun from your purse and aimed it at the back of their heads. In an instant, their hands shot up in surrender, while the remaining four men gasped in a mixture of astonishment and fear. "Don’t move," you cautioned firmly.

It seemed like eons of you standing there with a gun pointed at people's faces, the safety off. However, it was only a minute or two before the door swung open abruptly, revealing Sanzu covered in blood.

You gazed at him in shock before he grabbed you and hurriedly led you through the halls. Glancing back, you noticed three men chasing after you both, armed with their own guns. As you descended the emergency stairs together, you turned to him and exclaimed, "What the hell happened?!"

"Shit went awry," he calmly responded, disarming you and firing a shot that hit one of the men in the leg. The distant wail of police sirens made you both exchange a tense glance, his gaze resolute, yours filled with alarm.

He grasped your wrist firmly and guided you up the stairs in the opposite direction of your intended path. As you ascended higher and higher, a chill breeze brushed against your skin, signaling your arrival on the rooftop of the building.

He came to a halt abruptly, fixing his gaze upon you with intensity. His eyes, a deep shade of rose, silently pleading to convey a question. Pleading to express a specific desire that words seemed unable to capture.

As you stood there, the silence hung heavy in the air, amplifying the unease that had settled within you. Your inquiry, uttered in a hushed tone, seemed to have disappeared into the void, swallowed by the vast emptiness surrounding you. The absence of a response only deepened the mystery that shrouded this encounter.

But then, as if in response to your unspoken question, you felt a gentle touch upon your cheek. The sensation of calloused fingers grazing your skin sent a shiver down your spine, both unsettling and strangely comforting as the other hand held the black, shiny gun. It was a touch that carried a weight of significance, yet its purpose remained elusive, leaving you perplexed and yearning for answers.

As those fingers continued their delicate exploration, tracing an intricate mark etched upon your cheek, a surge of curiosity mingled with a tinge of apprehension coursed through your veins. What was the meaning behind this enigmatic symbol? What secrets did it hold? And why was it being revealed to you now, in this moment of profound silence?

With each stroke of those rough fingers, a flood of emotions washed over you. There was a sense of intimacy, as if this touch was meant for you alone, a connection forged in the depths of an unknown past. Yet, there was also a hint of vulnerability, as if the mark on your cheek exposed a part of you that had long been concealed, a hidden truth waiting to be unveiled.

As you tried to decipher the identity of this mysterious mark, your mind raced with possibilities. Was it a symbol of protection, a ward against unseen forces? Or perhaps it held the key to unlocking a forgotten memory, a fragment of a story that had been lost in the recesses of time. The uncertainty gnawed at you, fueling a desire to unravel the enigma that had been placed upon your very skin.

In the absence of words, you found solace in the language of touch. The mark on your cheek became a bridge between two souls, a silent conversation that transcended the boundaries of speech. And as you stood there, enveloped in the mystery of this encounter, you couldn't help but wonder what other secrets lay hidden beneath.

God, were you becoming delusional?

i can fix him (no really i can).

[loving-n0t-heyting]

When I say that to choose to kill the innocent as a means to one’s ends is murder, I am saying what would generally be accepted as correct. But I shall be asked for my definition of “the innocent.” I will give it, but later. Here, it is not necessary; for with Hiroshima and Nagasaki we are not confronted with a borderline case. In the bombing of these cities it was certainly decided to kill the innocent as a means to an end. And a very large number of them, all at once, without warning, without the interstices of escape or the chance to take shelter, which existed even in the “area bombing” of the German cities.

“But where will you draw the line? It is impossible to draw an exact line.” This is a common and absurd argument against drawing any line; it may be very difficult, and there are obviously borderline cases. But we have fallen into the way of drawing no line and offering as justifications what an uncaptive mind will find only a bad joke. Wherever the line is, certain things are certainly well to one side or the other of it.

Now who are “the innocent” in war? They are all those who are not fighting and not engaged in supply those who are with the means of fighting. A farmer growing wheat which may be eaten by the troops is not “supplying them with the means of fighting.” Over this, too, the line may be difficult to draw. But that does not mean that no line should be drawn, or that, even if one is in doubt just where to draw the line, one cannot be crystal clear that this or that is well over the line.

“But the people fighting are probably just conscripts! In that case they are just as innocent as anyone else.” [She may well have added: “But civilians are probably enthusiastic proponents and willing beneficiaries of the war, in which case they are quite culpable as well!”] “Innocent” here is not a term referring to personal responsibility at all. It means rather “not harming.” But the people fighting are “harming,” so they can be attacked; but if they surrender they become in this sense innocent and so may not be maltreated or killed. Nor is there round for trying them on a criminal charge; not, indeed, because a man has no personal responsibility for fighting, but because they were not the subjects of the state whose prisoners they are.

There is an argument which I know from experience it is necessary to forestall at this point, though I think it is visibly captious. It is this: on my theory, would it not follow that a soldier can only be killed when he is actually attacking? Then, e.g., it would be impossible to attack a sleeping camp. The answer is that “what someone is doing” can refer to what he is doing at the moment or to his rôle in a situation. A soldier under arms is “harming” in the latter sense even if he is asleep. But it is true that the enemy should not be attacked more ferociously than is necessary to put them hors de combat.

These conceptions are distinct and intelligible ones; they would formerly have been said to belong to the Law of Nations. Anyone can see that they are good, and we pay tribute to them by our moral indignation when our enemies violate them. But in fact they are going, and only fragments of them are left.