#certain unforgivable crimes that just

[askshivanulegacy]

Correct, pregnancy isn't a disease. It's an extremely violent and traumatizing event for a body! Full stop. This doctor is absolutely right and if a woman isn't willing to quite literally sacrifice her body and health in this way, she doesn't have to. Sacrifices are up to nobody but the single person making them.

People who don't understand the trauma that pregnancy inherently entails are terribly ignorant. All too often, this life-changing and body-changing event is not a properly informed choice.

Not to mention, there is a HUGE consent issue here. The whole question of abortion is fundamentally about consent. You cannot force anyone to give birth without their consent. If you wouldn't force sex on someone for the sake of a theoretical future child, you cannot deny abortion for one either. They're fundamentally the same.

Yeah, that's right. Rape and forcing birth are the same unforgivable crime. Think about it.

Consent is key.

This was an interesting read. Surprisingly nonpreachy given the subject; and well worth the time.

[voidscreamns]

./

[hautaaja]

Baudelaire, Le Balcon (The Balcony)

How beautiful are the suns of sultry evenings! How space grows deep! How the heart compels! As I leaned towards you, my beloved queen, I seemed to breathe in the perfume of your blood. How beautiful are the suns of sultry evenings!

[pressureplus]

Hello!!! I really love the way you write stories and head cannons too.

Idk if this is similar to other one but I'm just gonna do it anyway.

(reader can be she/them)

I always imagine this that Reader and Sebastian used to be best friends and Sebastian had fallen in-love with the reader so he decide that he's going to confess to the Reader but sadly the reader suddenly transfer to other school that is out of the country because their father force them to but the reader sent a final letter to Sebastian which handed by Reader's freind to him.

Years later after Sebastian turned into a monster and the lockdown happened, the reader went down because of the crime they did that they killed their father but got amnesia that they couldn't remember anything. When Sebastian and Reader meet, the reader couldn't remember anything. But is Sebastian gonna try to regain their memories or no.

Sorry if this is too specific. It's fine if you don't want to I respect your decision.

No, no, its not too specific! It just took a while to write, that's all. Sorry if it's not as detailed as you would like. I mostly write half asleep and that's what I'm doing again lol

Aphotic

Pairing: Sebastian Solace x Fem!Reader

Au: Classic

Warnings: N/A

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

She had left him wanting all those years ago. The way she smiled lit a warm flame in his heart every time he saw it, her laugh ringing like clumsy church bells in his ears. She was beautiful to him, like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. Entirely striking and stand alone. Of course, falling in love with your best friend never ends well, and it certainly didn't for them. The letter he got that day entirely broke his heart, you’d gone and left him behind. No amount of love could keep you close to him either. It was signed with your name in the prettiest handwriting he’s sure you could manage. Some of the letter was so shakily written it was hard to decipher. As though you were scared, or maybe crying due to some of the little tear stains left on the paper. The ink mixed with it to create little splotches.

Now, here you stood. Your eyes cold and unfamiliar with him. He tried his best to say what he’d wanted all those years ago. He tried to explain how he felt when you just left, leaving only a letter behind. As though you hadn't tore his entire life in two with your bare hands. Yet you stared, eyes entirely blank and expression melting into confusion. It was like staring through ice. Those pools of both uncertainty and without any care, unfamiliar with him, with his voice, with his words. Somehow you not remembering him was the worst part of being down here. What you'd been sent down here for? You never could quite answer. He tried to push his feelings down when he realized you didn't understand a word out of his mouth.

Instead, he lied. He said he's sorry, that you had reminded him of someone he used to know. A person he’d once been familiar with. He was certain that little thing couldn't have been you. She’d been as quiet as a mouse, keeping low and skittering around corners. You couldn't be them, he's sure of that. So he began to help you, his hands in yours practically every step of the way. His all encompassing presence surrounding you, keeping you warm, keeping you fed, keeping you safe. He’d stick his neck out for you and complain the whole time. He’d claim he hated it every time he saved you from certain death. Really, if he was honest, he just wanted to be close to the shell of you.

If he could never have you, if your memories had been lost to time? He’d build new ones. Maybe building them in a place this cold and unforgiving wasn't ideal, but beggars can't be choosers. You were still just as beautiful as the day you left him too. If you were nobody elses heartache for the rest of time, you’d always be his. So he’ll sit and watch you enjoy things you always used too enjoy, and pretend to be just as shocked as you are when you say how happy they make you. Maybe he’ll hand sew you a plushie or two and say he got bored, rather than just wanting you to have something soft to carry around. Maybe he’ll get to fall in love with you all over again.

Maybe this time you'll love him enough to stay. Whether your memories do or don't come back won't change a thing. You will always be his precious Y/N. The one he kisses late at night, the one he cuddles with, the one he hopes to have children with. You're the Y/N he won't let leave him, and he’ll be damned if he can't save you now. Maybe before this place he was small, weak, human. He couldn't have saved you before, let him save you now, won't you?

[askshivanulegacy]

Someone breaking into your house has already put you under direct physical threat. It's not just a feeling. You don't know why they're there. There is no such thing as "just stealing" when someone has violated your home. That person has given up their rights while they are an invader, and you are granted any and all measures to ensure your safety. You are not obligated to act in a way that protects the invader, and you have the right to end the threat by any means you're capable of.

If that means killing the person, then so be it. That person accepted that potential consequence the moment they chose to break into your space.

Of course, what you actually do and what actually happens depends on a number of factors that are very personal to you, your capabilities, and your circumstances, and you need to examine them brutally. Maybe a gun isn't realistic. Maybe something else is. Maybe hiding is the best thing you are personally capable of doing. Maybe you want to avoid confrontation. The safe room concept is a good idea, but of course not everyone is in a position to have something like that.

I don't necessarily advocate for guns in the house. I DO advocate for whatever self-defense or self-preservation action people take to be well-learned and practiced. You have to understand the consequences of moving around in the dark and in losing control of your weapon. If you don't, then you're not capable of using a weapon except as a last resort.

I am also not in the camp of home invader apologists. If you choose to commit a crime that creates a series of unpredictable and terrifying circumstances for people in their own space, you have waived away any rights to your own safety. And that doesn't even account for the psychological impact of having your one safe place rendered suddenly and violently unsafe.

I would absolutely kill anyone breaking into my home if I was ever put into that position. I would also probably hide first and call the cops, because home invaders are unpredictable and dangerous. I also hope no one is ever put into that position of fearing for their life. Also, it's weird to ridicule people taking steps for disaster preparedness by saying, "I don't think it'll ever happen." Like, GOOD that it has a low chance of happening!! However, people have the right to prepare and examine what they would need to do. This is just another extension of any kind of emergency planning.

american gun culture literally has so many people convinced that the plot of Funny Games might happen to them at any time and the only way to prevent it is to vigorously defend their right to murder anybody who steps foot in their home

[iamgonnagetyouback]

𝟷.𝟻𝚔 || 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐋

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Your hangouts with Elijah cause a certain Mikaelson to become jealous.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Jealous Kol, Bit of Elena tormenting,

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: Elijah Mikaelson x fem!reader, platonic!Kol Mikaelson x reader

You and Kol sat comfortably at the Grill, watching Elena from across the room as she poked at her salad with a fork, clearly annoyed but trying to act as though she couldn’t see the two of you. Kol, of course, was leaning back in his chair with that signature mischievous smirk, the one that always spelled trouble for anyone in his sights.

“Look at her, trying to act all aloof as if she hasn’t tangled herself up in a love triangle with two brothers. Honestly, Elena, have you no creativity?” Kol drawled, his voice loud enough to be heard from your table, earning an annoyed glance from her.

You snorted, leaning in closer, your voice dripping with false sympathy. “Honestly, it’s tragic. Two brothers, both madly in love with you? I mean, isn’t that a little cliché? Couldn’t you just pick someone who isn’t a Salvatorian? We get it, you like the brooding types.”

Elena finally rolled her eyes, pushing her plate away. “Can you both just leave me alone?”

“Oh, but where would be the fun in that?” you teased, wagging your finger at her like she was a child. “Besides, we’re just giving you some friendly advice.”

Kol leaned forward with a gleam in his eye. “We think it’s time you choose, darling. All this toying with emotions—why, you’re going to give the Salvatores heartburn.”

You were about to add another snide remark when something strange slipped out of your mouth instead. “Maybe it’s time you did what’s best for you, Elena. Honestly, leaving both of them might not be the worst idea. You could focus on yourself for once.”

Kol froze, his entire body stiffening as if you had just insulted his entire existence. His eyes widened, and his mouth parted in disbelief. “What… did you just say?”

You blinked, realizing a second too late what you’d let slip. “Uh… I mean—”

Kol dramatically pushed his chair back, standing up as if you’d just committed an unforgivable crime. “No, no, no. This is all wrong! You—you’ve been hanging out with my brother, haven’t you?!”

Elena furrowed her brow, glancing between the two of you like you’d lost your minds. “What’s happening right now?”

Kol didn’t even acknowledge her, pointing an accusatory finger in your direction. “You’ve been sneaking around with Elijah! He’s doing that thing he does—saying all those moral, noble things. He’s trying to steal you from me, isn’t he?!”

You laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. “No, no, I mean, we just… had a couple of conversations, that’s all…”

“Conversations?!” Kol looked genuinely betrayed, like you’d just sold his entire wardrobe on eBay. “Stop giving her morals, Elijah!” he shouted to no one in particular, waving his arms as if the eldest Mikaelson brother was lurking in the shadows.

You put your hands up defensively. “I didn’t ask for his advice! It just… happened!”

Kol threw his hands up in the air. “This is exactly how it starts! First, it’s ‘maybe it’s time you do what’s best for you,’ and next, it’ll be ‘let’s not murder people for fun anymore.’ Before you know it, you’ll be sipping tea and quoting Shakespeare!”

You burst into laughter despite yourself, though the panic was still bubbling under the surface. “Okay, I would never—”

“You say that now!” Kol snapped, pacing dramatically. “But mark my words, this is how he does it! He gets into your head with all that ‘duty’ and ‘honor’ nonsense, and then BAM! Suddenly, you’re going to bed at 9 p.m. and lecturing me about responsibility.”

Elena, thoroughly confused, stood up. “I’m just… going to go.”

Kol waved her off, not even sparing her a second glance. “Yes, yes, run along, Elena. The real problem here is not your love triangle but this betrayal of new best friends.”

As soon as Elena was gone, Kol was back to pacing.

“Look, it’s not like I’m going to turn into Elijah, okay? I’m still your partner in crime!” you insisted, but even as you said it, the memory of Elijah’s calm, reasoned voice played in the back of your mind. Was it so bad that he made sense sometimes?

Kol stopped dead in his tracks, pointing at you. “Don’t you even think about it. I swear, if you start quoting him to me, I’ll—”

“What? You’ll find another best friend?” you shot back, a grin creeping onto your face. “Come on, Kol. We’ve been wreaking havoc for centuries together. I’m not going anywhere.”

Kol huffed, crossing his arms and pouting like a petulant child. “I don’t like sharing.”

“Clearly.”

Suddenly, he stopped pouting, his face lighting up with a new wave of determination. “That’s it! I’m going to confront him.”

You barely had time to process what he said before Kol vanished in a blur of vampire speed, leaving you alone at the table. You groaned, slumping back in your chair. Great. This was going to be a mess.

Kol stormed into Elijah’s study, finding the elder Mikaelson calmly reading a book. Without even looking up, Elijah sighed. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Kol pointed dramatically. “Stop trying to steal my partner in crime!”

Elijah finally glanced up, raising a brow in amusement. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me!” Kol declared, stepping closer. “I knew what you were up to the moment you started talking to her about all your noble nonsense. ‘Oh, maybe we should care about people’s feelings,’ ‘Oh, maybe it’s not so fun to torment humans endlessly.’” He mocked Elijah’s voice with exaggerated reverence. “Well, newsflash, Elijah! She was mine first! You’re not giving her morals and stuff.”

Elijah raised an eyebrow, completely unbothered. “Perhaps you should spend less time tormenting innocent people, Kol.”

Kol let out a mock gasp. “Innocent? Elena? Are you mad?”

You bit back a laugh, but Elijah’s smirk was all too telling. “I assure you, I’m perfectly sane. Though I must admit,” he glanced at you, his voice lowering, “I rather like this new side of her.”

“Don’t be smug!” Kol snapped, throwing his hands up. “I see what you’re doing! You’re trying to turn her into one of your allies. Next thing I know, she’ll be wearing suits and frowning disapprovingly at me!”

Elijah chuckled softly, closing his book. “She has a mind of her own, Kol. If she chooses to follow my advice—”

Kol gasped dramatically. “See? SEE? This is how it starts! You’re trying to steal her from me! With… with philosophy!”

You chuckled at Kol's dramatics. “Kol, seriously?”

Kol pointed at you accusingly. “Don’t ‘seriously’ me! I saw the way you looked all guilty back there! I won’t stand for it!”

Elijah’s eyes flicked to you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he regarded you with a mixture of fondness and amusement. “Is that so?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, completely flustered. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean it.”

Kol narrowed his eyes, shaking his head furiously. “Don’t listen to her. She’s gone soft.”

“I am not soft!” you protested, crossing your arms indignantly. “I just… said something Elijah-ish by mistake. It doesn’t mean I’ve gone all moral!”

Kol crossed his arms, turning his back to you both with a huff. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Elijah smirked. “I suppose that’s my influence.”

You groaned. “Don’t encourage him.”

Kol turned back around, dramatically pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. “Oh, I see it now. I’ll be forgotten—replaced by Elijah of all people. You’ll be sitting by firesides discussing literature and sipping wine, and I’ll be out in the cold, wreaking havoc all alone!”

You chuckled, stepping forward to playfully nudge Kol. “I’m not ditching you for Elijah, Kol. You’re my best friend, remember?”

Kol peered at you, suspicious. “Promise?”

You rolled your eyes. “Promise.”

Kol narrowed his eyes at Elijah one last time. “I’m watching you, brother. Stop with the moral lectures.”

Elijah chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll do my best to refrain.”

Just then, Rebekah sauntered into the room, glancing between the three of you before resting her eyes on you. “My, my. Trouble in paradise?”

You groaned. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Rebekah grinned wickedly. “Pity. I was hoping for some drama. You know, if Kol’s giving you too much trouble, you could always keep me company instead. I promise I’m much more fun.”

You burst into laughter, while Kol made a face. “Don’t you dare!” he warned, pointing at Rebekah.

Rebekah winked at you, clearly enjoying herself. “Think about it, darling.”

Kol groaned loudly. “Why is everyone trying to steal my best friend?!”

Elijah chuckled softly, looking at you with a smirk as you shook your head in amusement. “It seems you’re in high demand.”

You just grinned, shrugging. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

thank you so much for the request @unstablereader !!

[carowleysposts]

It’s okay to care about things.

These past couple of days i’ve been noticing that a great part of our fandom is being relentlessly shamed for still loving Good Omens and not wanting it to get cancelled, and I thought i’d share my feelings about it, as I myself have been receiving hateful messages and comments because of it.

First and foremost: many people who judge don’t seem to be able to understand the power of fiction. Fiction is the art of translating reality through magical lenses and making it easier to deal with. It’s something that brings people hope, joy, comfort and brings them together even if they’re thousands of miles apart. Fiction is a shoulder to cry on, a portal to escape through and a friend to rely on. Fiction is magic in its own way, and it can (and has!) change the world in countless ways. Whether you have a happy, fulfilled and busy life or you are going through a rough patch, fiction is always there to help you navigate your own journey, and that’s why it means so much to so many people.

Secondly, it’s important that people fully understand that we do not necessarily associate our favorite pieces of fiction with the creators behind them. After JKR and all of the newly outed zionists, it’s becoming more and more clear that art can be appreciated for itself, and not tied to the person who brought it to life. Sometimes, shitty unforgivable people can make incredible things. And, as long as you don’t support or defend these people, it is okay for you to care about things important to you. It’s okay. You aren’t bad for loving something that has brought you comfort and joy.

Besides, there’s a certain power in taking things back. In looking at the person who made it and saying “this is mine now, and you are not going to ruin it for me”. And that is exactly why so many of us want this show to go on. We all want Gaiman fired. He himself has offered to step back because he is not his art and that story isn’t his anymore. It’s ours. Going on without him would only prove that, and it is okay to root for the show to survive after all that has happened. We are human, and humans need fiction. We need our little bit of magic, and that is perfectly okay.

And lastly, I would like to say that I believe in all the allegations. Even if there’s a chance of it being untrue, it’s not in my nature to doubt victims or to take someone’s side blindly just because I think they are good at their jobs. I believe his victims, I want him to pay for his crimes and I would never, ever support him. You can feel both things: despise for him and love for what he’s created alongside Terry Pratchett. You can want both things: for him to go to jail and for the show to go on in spite of him.

It’s okay to feel how you feel, to love what you love and to be vocal about it. It’s okay to advocate for your favorite show, only you know what it means to you and why. If you need to talk, I am here, I see you and I understand.

I promise we’ll be okay. 🩷✨🫶🏻

Edit: this is meant to comfort the people who are dealing with this situation as well, please refrain from commenting negative things, this is one of those “if you want to judge, do it silently” kind of things. It’s okay to stop enjoying things after stuff like that comes out, but it is also okay to still love them and care about them. Thanks! ✨

[quinloki]

Quin do you have someone particular in mind? Because what you described I either picture Mihawk, Rayleigh, Lucci, Kid, Izou or Crocodile maybe Sabo too. Yes definitely Sabo too.

You can't just drop this and not write more. 🥵

original post

XD

I mean, me being me I had Marco in mind primarily. Sat between your legs, using one transformed foot to wrap his talons around your calf and keep your legs wide open.

Long fingers just finding the points that send sparks through your vision. The way he flickers flames over you every time you orgasm to help you recover a little faster so there's less time between them.

Rayleigh's a good choice too. He doesn't even press his fingers inside your ass, just teases against the ring until you're losing your mind wondering how he can bring you to the edge like that. A gentle swipe of your slit with his thumb and you're crying, begging, gods and demons just let you cum, just once, please.

He wants to know what the rush is, you both have all day, just relax. Once you relax he finally pushes inside, and you're cumming in that soundless sort of way that rolls your eyes back, mouth gaping like a fish out of water, squirting down his arm.

Sabo's a good one, but he's traded his usual leather gloves for those bright blue neoprene gloves. You've been role-playing, and he's the shady government official there to get your confession. You've done nothing wrong, of course, but you're still going to admit to your crimes by the time he's done with you.

Don't fight it, don't think too much, just drown in the pleasure and admit all your sins to him. He promises he'll make sure you atone for each, and every. single. one. ♥

Kid's thick fingers are covered in lube, and the stretch is intense, but he's only going to hurt you if you beg for it, so it might feel weird, but it still feels good. The cold heavy curve of the tip of his metal finger against your tongue and the perfect tension against your neck. It's equal parts alluring and scary how fine his control is over that massive hand.

How caring he is that the finger tips are rounded right now, so there's no hard edges against your tongue or lips. Every time you cum he's leaving hickies and bite marks on your skin, seasoning that deep pleasure with spice just the way you need for it to prolong everything.

Crocodile's hook cradles your neck as his single finger fills you well. He teases pushing his thumb into your cunt, but shifts up and teases your clit just as you think you're going to get double penetrated by his fingers.

Of course he does this while you're in his lap, legs draped over his, gaze hazy and unfocused as half the upper staff gives the report for the day. You're certain Crocodile won't have missed a word, but you're not even sure how many people are there. No would dare to risk anything more than a shaky voice or clearing their throat in regards to you, and the only time people stop talking is when you're cumming.

Everyone listens, no one daring to disturb the one Crocodile actually wants to hear.

Izou has you suspended from the ceiling, face lined up with the window as he works. Between the height of the window and some curtains, no one can see much except your face, but if you cum too hard to scream the entire ship's going to hear you.

The point is who gives in first - will Izou show mercy, or will you remind the crew that the one person who can really make you bloom is him?

Lucci is unforgiving in fingering you, nearly forcing an orgasm from the beginning, but you can't. Much as he works you toward the brink you have to fight it, you have to struggle - by Lucci's words specifically you're not allowed to cum until he gives you permission.

The longer you obey him the more pleasurable his conquest of you will be. Make it a minute and you probably won't need medical attention. Make it two minutes and the bruises and claw marks will be much sweeter, almost kind.

Make it three minutes and any crying you do will be from overwhelming pleasure.

Hold out until he tells you you're allowed and you won't be able to walk for a couple of days for all the best reasons.

[linkspooky]

Spinner ending kind of confirmed for me that even if Horikoshi does bring back Shigaraki/Tenko, it won't be so he can heal the League, and they can reform together. I get the sense that we are even supposed to feel like all of the villains *deserved* their fates, that it isn't something they deserve saving *from*. It's like he couldn't decide between having them be evil + getting punished for it and having them be sympathetic to an extend + humanising them. I'm seriously trying my hardest to wrap my head around this, it feels so cruel??

I already talked about it in this post, but Obito's death is a much better example of how to "save the villain's heart" then what MHA is trying to sell us.

It's this excessive focus on whether or not the league's crimes are forgivable that's really the problem, because it comes down to the implication that once the league has crossed a certain line into unforgivable territory they're "no longer human" and therefore not deserving of human empathy for what they've suffered.

The main characters constantly use that line "I can't forgive them" so they don't have to think about the league as human beings who have suffered greatly.

What does it matter if they're forgivable or not? My Hero Academia is not a work that analyzes moral philosophy. I'm not reading Crime and Punishment here.

The theme they brought up is "Are heroes obligated to save the villains too, even if those villains have done unforgivable things."

I've stated this before but whether their crimes are forgivable or not is irrelevant to that question, because it's about the heroes obligation to save everyone not pick and choose who to save. They are government servants who are supposed to use their quirk to stop villains and save lives, but at the start of the story heroes only focus on the brutally beating down villains part of the job. The central theme of the manga is that the greatest hero wins by saving, and saves by winning, therefore Deku must save even his enemies.

The worst part is that despite bringing up the topic of forgiveness, MHA basically has nothing to say about the issue of what should be forgiven, what shouldn't, and how justice should be applied in this situation. It is wildly inconsistent because the villains are all held to task, whereas characters like hawks are never held accountable, and Enji while put in a wheelchair suffers way less consequences than his son and victim Toya.

Since MHA has like nothing intelligent to say about accountability, redemption and what merits justice and what merits forgiveness it might as well have just swept everything the villains did under the rug and thrown them in prison because we would have gotten the same result regardless. The story never addresses anything it brings up or applies consequences to the heroes so why do villains need consequences too?

I'm reading another comic right now Gunnerkrigg court, which actually discusses these themes of morality, and whether victims should be saved even if they've harmed others in the past.

Zimmy is a character being used as a human battery for the court's (a shadowy organizations) plan to create a new world without the Ether, which is a chaotic force that warps reality. Omega is a character who is for this plan, because she is 1) a semi-omniscient being who sacrificed her own bodily autonomy in order to help the court by giving them predictions of the future that furthered it's plans.

(Therefore, she does have the understandable perspective of, Well I sacrificed myself for the greater good so why can't Zimmy?)

and 2) Zimmy is kind of a jerk, who has an incredibly dangerous ability that puts everyone around her in harm's way. Therefore if you're going to sacrifice someone for the greater good she makes sense.

Zimmy isn't a perfect victim. She constantly gaslights her girlfriend by telling her that everyone hates her except for her so she'll never leave. (A girlfriend who is rather selflessly devoted to I might add). She is like, a walking bomb ready to go off at any moment.

At the same time the story never minimizes Zimmy's suffering with the idea that she "deserves it" for being a bad victim. The main character is consistently advocating for her, which also SHOWS the main character's empathy rather than MHA's habit of continually INISTING upon Deku's empathy without ever showing it.

I don't think the author expects us to side with Omega, but it does entertain her argument so it's a two sided discussion. To cap this off I hope this demonstrates the difference between what I think is a thoughtful depiction of a bad victim and to what extent the main characters are responsible for saving them, and a completely thoughtless one and why one is more entertaining to read than the other.

[miss-dollette]

Vladimir Makarov x Reader - 18+

TW: rape + murder + victim blaming + Makarov (need I say any more?)

I fully believe Makarov is not capable of true love. I believe he's a psychopath with no regard for human life, and he only sees lovers as possessions.

Note: Just because I write about Rape, doesn't mean I believe it's moral. This is dedicated to @bloodyrussianraven P.S: Sorry if it's a little short, I came up with this quickly.

Tomorrow is Saturday, and it's been three long months since Vladimir disappeared to God knows where. That's just how he was - he never cared to give her a heads-up about his departure, and sometimes she'd wake up to a frigid, desolate bed and an even icier void in her chest.

But today was entirely new, in the worst way possible. While her life still had its share of troubles, nothing could match the agony coursing through her body. The memory of her violation rolling over and over in her mind.

Her forehead remained streaked with dried, crusted blood, her neck bore the telltale bruises of his violent grip, and her face still burned from its rough contact with the carpet.

As she reminisced, her memory painted a vivid scene of being thrust into her apartment from behind, her face brutally colliding with the coat hanger, staining her white coat with warm crimson trickles.

Fingernails scratched her waist as her pants and underwear were snatched down to her knees, and her insides burned when he pushed his penis into her unwilling womb.

Pinned down and vulnerable, she found herself at the mercy of his predatory intentions, trapped in a horrifying ordeal.

The fact that he didn't attempt to kiss her was a small relief. She knew she'd snap out of her shocked trance and resort to extreme measures if he dared, even if it meant biting off his lips.

It was as if all her will to resist had drained away, and she lay there in disarray, attempting to blink away the blood clouding her vision.

Her cognitive functions shut down, and she stared at the broken eggs on the carpet. She wasn't sure how to react at that moment.

After he finished, hastily zipping up his trousers before bolting from the apartment, even pushing past her startled neighbor, she remained sprawled at the heart of the crime scene, her hand tenderly tracing her battered face as she struggled to regain her composure.

Disgusting sperm ran down her leg.

The groceries were strewn across the front door, their contents scattered on the floor. She remained seated at the kitchen table, gazing out the window as cars passed by, children engaged in snowball fights, and the sun dipped below the horizon. Her appetite for dinner had vanished.

A shadowy figure crossed the street and entered her apartment building, his measured stride betraying his identity. She silently wished he'd returned sooner, knowing he could have protected her. He could've.

The front door clattered against the fallen groceries, and she heard his steps muffle as he examined the telltale signs of the struggle - her blood-stained carpet, the chaos of the groceries, and her beanie abandoned on the floor. She was certain he knew this wasn't her typical mess.

Turning her head towards him as he entered the dining room, she watched as he lowered his gun, the barrel aimed in her direction.

"What happened?" He inquired with a tone that lacked emotion, a dangerous sign she knew all too well.

"I was walking home… i didn't see him," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "He hurt me." As she spoke, tears finally streamed down her cheeks, the realization hitting her that she hadn't shed a tear until now.

Vladimir moved swiftly, covering the distance in long strides, until he occupied the chair opposite her. In a rough and unforgiving manner, he seized her chin, his different colored eyes dissecting her battered forehead and blood-soaked countenance.

"Tell me what he looked like," he demanded, his tone blunt and sharp.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It happened too fast, and I couldn't���"

"I told you to stop being so mindless, wandering around like an idiot. Now look at you." He interrupted her sentence, causing her to shrink further into her seat, his calloused fingers digging into her chin.

"Vladimir..." she began, but her words faltered, a sense of futility enveloping her.

They spent that night together, with her recalling the day before the attack. He meticulously questioned her, forcing her to repeat various details numerous times, where she'd been, who she talked to that day until she squeezed out details that managed to escape her until that moment.

When he came to visit her, she would dutifully stand over the stove, preparing their meals (usually consisting of meat), and then share the food with him before he laid her down on the bed, and pushed himself inside her.

It appeared that he had lost his appetite for both food and that carnal desire that was attached to him when he visited her.

At nearly midnight, he dismissed her, and she left him alone in the dimly lit dining room. She found solace in the bathtub, immersing herself in the lukewarm water, which gradually turned a disconcerting shade of red. The stinging sensation from the cut on her forehead intensified.

Her entire body ached, and without the concealing cloak of clothing, she was confronted with her bruised flesh in its full spectrum of colors: purple, yellow, green, and angry red.

In an attempt to cleanse herself of the ordeal, she vigorously brushed her teeth until her gums bled, then meticulously dressed, yet the feeling of being tainted lingered. Despite scrubbing her skin raw, she couldn't shake the sensation that an oily darkness clung to her.

She reclined on her bed without much regard for comfort, her gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling. Her eyes, glazed over with a haunting emptiness, stared into the void above.

She eventually closed her eyes and surrendered to sleep's embrace.

When she awoke, Vladimir's absence was glaringly apparent. His side of the bed remained cold, a stark reminder of his cold nature. His clothes from the previous day lay in disarray on the floor, and a lone sleeve dangled from an open drawer where he stored his belongings.

Once more, she vigorously scrubbed her skin raw in the morning, as if attempting to rid herself of the memories etched into her flesh.

It had been three long weeks since she last saw Vladimir, and it had also been three weeks since she was raped by that stranger. In that span of twenty-one days, she moved through the town with a distant, glazed-over expression, avoiding any meaningful eye contact with men and speaking in hushed tones. It seemed as though her very soul had been snatched away, leaving behind only a hollow shell of the person she once was.

She fixated her gaze upon her worn boots, every step they took echoing loudly on the icy concrete beneath, determined to drown out the relentless cacophony of traffic and the incessant chatter of the people bustling around her.

In the early morning's embrace, the first light of dawn meticulously brushed the streets with a vibrant palette, painting them in exquisite hues of pink, purple, and a myriad of other melodramatic colors.

Her stomach emitted another mournful growl, a reminder of her empty mornings – just like the one before, and the one preceding it. She struggled to recollect the last time she had savored a meal.

Engulfed in her contemplations, she collided unceremoniously with a stranger's back. With a gentle "Pardon" escaping her lips, she reluctantly tore her focus away from her ruminations. A gathering of nearly a hundred people held collective fixation on something in the road.

She wondered if there had been a car accident that morning.

Compelled to forge a path through the throng, her heart raced wildly in her chest. As she finally emerged from the crowd, her heart plummeted into the depths of her being, her eyes locked on a man whose face suddenly seemed so familiar. He was suspended between two lampposts in the middle of the road, a grotesque marionette covered head to toe in a gruesome tapestry of blood and bruises.

His wrists, where wires had mercilessly bitten into his flesh, oozed crimson rivulets that painted his arms and body in a grotesque shade of red, an agonizing tableau of suffering before her very eyes.

She was forcibly reminded, once more, of the chilling reasons Vladimir struck terror into the hearts of the masses, understanding why his name blared across newspapers in stark letters, detailing the monstrous carnage he'd ruthlessly orchestrated, all in the relentless pursuit of collective fear, and a motivation that'd been explained to her, but never understood.

The lifeless form of her attacker hung eerily above the street, expertly suspended by wires, resembling a grotesque work of art that defied the boundaries of the macabre.

With her mouth parched and her chest feeling like an empty void, she turned away, her mind haunted by the scene before her. The sheer reality of the experience weighed heavily on her, leaving her unable to carry out even the simplest of daily tasks. Resolute, she made the decision to set aside the day's chores. Today, she knew she needed to retreat to her bed, seeking refuge from the relentless torment of her thoughts.

[shadowmaat]

weaponized labels

How, exactly, are Community Labels supposed to work here on the hellsite? And why, in fact, does adding a tag to something suddenly become a community label?

Seeing all the people getting disappeared off this site for unforgivable crimes like- *checks writing on hand*- being a transwoman is chilling and gross. Watching other blogs get nuked for having the "wrong" kind of content is also gross. And not being able to access someone's blog because it "may contain adult content" is absolutely infuriating.

When I reblog something and tag it as En Ess Eff Dubyou all I mean is exactly that: it isn't something safe to be caught looking at while at work. I am not trying to brand OP or the person I reblogged it from as obscene. I'm not trying to get anyone's blog shut down or censored. I'm just trying to pass along a warning to save people at work (or people squicked by sex/nudity) a bit of discomfort.

If someone wants to label their own blog as being "Mature Content" or whatever, that's their choice. But this system where other people can decide a blog is "naughty" is appalling. And it has very much been weaponized against certain groups; something made worse by the fact that tumblr staff not only allows it, but encourages it.*

Labels and tags are meant to be tools to help, not tools to attack and suppress. And yeah, I know there's not much to be done when the whole system is corrupt from the top down (looking at you, Mulletwig), but COME ON. Maybe it's time for another lawsuit or three, since hitting them in their pockets is the only thing they seem to feel.

-

*Look, staff. You can protest and handwring all you want about how you're Good People, Actually, and that it's just a few Bad Actors ruining things, but it's time to admit facts: Your whole system is designed to oppress and silence vulnerable minorities. Your CEO is a Redcap Trumpian who singled out a transwoman and tried to put her on blast. He accused her of lying, opened her up to even more hatred and violence than she was already receiving, and tried to act like diversity's champion while instead proving his own rampant transmisogyny,

The people working on your mod team have been consistently antiqueer for decades, and have used their hate to shut down any voices they find objectionable. It isn't a few "bad apples," it's the whole bunch. Or near enough not to make a difference. They also keep proving that, despite what the TOS would suggest, threats of rape, violence, and death are, in fact, allowed here. Hate groups are welcome here. Palestinians and their supporters, however, are not.

Frankly, Mulletwig isn't even the cause, he's just another symptom. This issue predates his tenure by a wide margin. He makes a convenient target, though. A good distraction. Oh, he definitely needs to be kicked out, but he isn't the only one who needs to go, is he?

[fierymiasma]

☆For Her Own Good ☆ Sebastian Sallow x Reader

⪩ pairing: Sebastian Sallow x fem!reader  ⪨

Summary:��Sebastian would do whatever it takes to make sure his Hufflepuff will be his forever, even if that means doing the unforgivable.  Takes place in 7th year.

Part 2 is out!!

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning(s): Dark!Sebastian, obsession, use of amortentia

|| Masterlist || AO3 ||

After knowing Sebastian Sallow for seven, very long, years, Ominis had come to learn certain rules.  If his bed was empty at night, then it meant that the Slytherin was up to his usual midnight mischief.  If the new transfer student batted her eyelashes, the Sebastian would be wrapped around her wand….

…And if Ominis' life was a bit too quiet, then Sebastian Sallow was certainly up to no good.

Now ordinarily, what Sebastian did or did not get into was none of Ominis' concern. Goodness knows, he wiped his hands clean after the events that handed at the end of their 5th year.  But old habits were hard to kill, and Ominis couldn't get rid of the nagging worry in his head that his best friend was, once again, up to no good.

Embarking on an unfortunately too familiar routine, he scoured the castle for where his fellow classmate could have wandered off to.  He wasn't in his usual haunts.  Sebastian's bed, unkempt and unmade as usual, was empty. His usual station at Crossed Wands was cold.  And (perhaps most surprisingly) the 5th year transfer did not know where Sebastian had gotten himself into.  With a heavy sigh, Ominis sung open the heavy iron gates of the Undercroft.

To his surprise, his nose was assaulted with the heavy chemical odors of potion making.  He could heard the crackling burner under the cauldron and the grinding of mortar and petter.

"Sebastian Sallow, brewing potions?  Do my ears deceive me?"

"Ominis!"  Sebastian beamed, hastily pocketing something into his robes.  "Good to see you, I was about to say I could use a good hand." He grimaced as the grey brackish liquid bubbled an off-odor.  

Instantly, Ominis was on guard.  Unless Sebastian suddenly went mad and decided to actually focus on the upcoming NEWTS, he was certain that Sebastian was up to no good.

Quickly he waved his wand over the ingredients strewn across the table.

"Lavender, Valerian sprig…..nettle, standard…and" Ominis grimaced wiping his hand on his robes, "and flobberworm mucus. What on earth are you-Sebastian! Are you making a sleeping draught? What in Merlin's name do you intend to use it for?"

Sebastian laughed good-naturedly as he added the crushed ingredients from the mortar to the cauldron with his wand, "Perceptive as always Ominis.  Our very dear partner-in-crime has been having some trouble sleeping.  It's no wonder with half of the bloody Valley and all of Hogwarts constantly using her like a House elf."  His expression darkened, and his wand stilled for a moment before resuming.  "It's a shame she's too Hufflepuff to turn down their stupid requests.  Hardly has any time to herself, much less time for me.  Between all those silly errands those moon-minds have her running and her nightmares, she's having trouble sleeping." Sebastian's hand clenched on his wand and he muttered darkly,   "For once, I'm going to help her out a bit.  Let her relax a little."

Ominis shifted uncomfortably, "And why is it, can she not simply go to the Hospital Ward and request a Sleeping draught to help her sleep at night?"

Sebastian was glad that his best friend couldn't see his scowl. "For being the most powerful witch in all of Hogwarts, sometimes she doesn't know what's good for her. She's going to run herself ragged and end up passing out in some Acromantula cave.  This is going to encourage her to sleep a little, for her own good."

"Are you talking about drugging her Pumpkin juice?  Merlin's beard, Sebastian, if you're so worried about her, why don't you just tell her how you feel?"

He frowned.  "Why do you have to phrase it like that?  You and Anna, always making me out to be some great evil.  I'm helping our friend feel better.  All I’m doing is just taking care of her."  Sebastian paused, clenching his jaw.  "Besides ever since…certain events, she's been avoiding me."

Sebastian wasn't daft.  His little Hufflepuff, the one who used to look at him with wide shiny eyes like he was the moon and she was the Mooncalf, the one who's cheeks always glowed red in his presence, had grown distant and cold.  Oh she could claim otherwise, she could make excuse after excuse. There was always some magical creature in need, some godforsaken Merlin Trial needed to be solved. But he knew her. His dark eyes saw how she would no longer meet his intense gaze.  Lately, she always looked away, body twisting away from him almost begging to be anywhere but with him.  Her laugh wasn't as free, and her smile, the one that she saved only for Sebastain, only for him, started carrying this rather pinched quality.  

Ever since the unfortunate…end of his uncle, he could practically feel her slipping away.  It took all of his coaxing, his begging, his pleading, his lies, for him to calm her nerves.  To assuage her worries, to kiss and melt away the fears that were brewing in her heart.

And it worked.  For a while, she was his.  His shy doe would tentatively dip her hands into his, allowing him to trail burning kisses on the insides of her wrist.  Her breath would hitch as he nibbled her red ears, whispering scandalous promises of what would happen if she were to give in to his desires. His arms would wrap around her trembling frame, a protective, warm yet iron embrace begging her to stay.  His sweet nothings worked…for a bit.

It happened when Sebastian was starting to forget himself, to loosen his grip on her.  It was the most recent goblin's camp.  He was too reckless. His wand was too relaxed.  He was too charmed by her effortlessly use of ancient magic in combat. He was starting to mix up his promises to Ominis, to Anne, and to her.

"Crucio!"  

He never forgot her horrified face when Sebastian had broken yet another one of his many promises to her.  He had sworn to never use another Unforgivable curse.  To never flirt with the Dark Arts again.  To never give her another reason to fear him.

He grimaced stirring the cauldron again with his wand.  What's done, is done.  

Ominis floundered.  His Sebastian, the Sebastian that he met 7 years ago would have never been talking like this.

"Do you really think she's that stupid to drink some spiked Butterbeer?  Merlin's beard, Sebastian, this is 5th year all over again!  You've gone too far!  I'm going to tell her."  

Sebastian's heart leapt, fingernails digging into his wand handle.  He cooled himself down quickly, smoothing his robes,  "Calm down, troll-for-brains.  I'm just making a sleeping draught.  If she wants to take it, she can.  If she doesn't, it's no concern of mine.  She's a grown witch.  I'm just trying to do my best to support my only remaining friend at Hogwarts."

Ominis squirmed, now a bit ashamed.  "I'm sorry.  I-I didn't mean to accuse you of doing such awful things.  I…I guess just after everything that happened, I'm a bit on edge is all."  

The other boy shrugged, turning away from his maybe friend maybe now acquittance.  "It's understandable…I guess.  You should know, I would never do anything to harm her.  I take care of what's mine."

Ominis shivered, uncomfortable hearing the possessive dark tone that his once best friend had been using recently.  He was reminded of the concerning way his new Hufflepuff friend was so spellbound to Sebastian.  So loyal to him, that she would ignore all the warning signs and follow him down the dark arts.  Play victim to Sebastian's most darkest and perverse thoughts.  "Yes…well.  Sleeping draughts are easy.  Even a 1st year Gryffindor could make it in their sleep.  Now that I know you're not up to any trouble, I'll be heading out." He turned, robes swishing behind him as he made a hasty retreat from the awkward situation.

Sebastian dawdled a bit, waiting for the telltale sound of the iron gates shuttering close, telling him he was now and truly alone.  He breathed a sigh of relief, taking out the pouch of pearl dust he swiftly hid from Ominis' prying eyes.  With a flick of his wrist he added the final ingredient to his potion.   Characteristic spiraling steam burst from his cauldron the once gray liquid taking a new mother-of-pearl sheen.  Sebastian breathed deeply, trying to identify the new seductive scents emitting from his potion.  A familiar warm perfume, her favorite apple tarts, and something flowery that reminded him of her pillows in the newly renovated Room of Requirements. He grinned ladling some of the concoction into a small easily concealable vial, pocketing the solution into a hidden compartment of his sleeve.

It was a shame, it had to come down to this. Amortentia was a NEWTS level potion, notoriously difficult to make.  Perhaps, the feelings from the amortentia Sebastian had created for her could rival a small fraction of Sebastian's obsession.  If she didn't love Sebastian anymore, he'll make her love him.  She was his, and Sebastian was hers.  Nothing, would get in his way.  Nothing.

[lexcellence]

When I heard Gerry Duggan get asked on Cerebro, white boy to white boy, about the unfortunate optics of announcing and then immediately murdering the least white team of X-Men in years, I knew we'd be in for some shit. Man, did he deliver - after some evasive waffling about how ORCHIS is meant to be fascist, and how the story's point is to put the collective back of mutantkind even more against the wall than it was any of the last six times something like this has happened.

And, honestly? That's fair! This year's Hellfire Gala is ultimately the first part of a larger story, and history shows it's not going to last forever — hell, does anyone remember what the status quo was immediately before HoXPoX? At least this time most of the characters have implicitly just been sucked into Mother Righteous's magical Poké Ball, rather than outright killed; if anything, that's an improvement. I was fully content to just think "hey, not for me," and get back to ignoring everything beyond Immortal and Sabertooth, secure in the knowledge that certain topics are bound to be handled poorly when almost everyone in the room is white, when Duggan said three words that stopped me in my tracks:

"Keep the faith."

See, that struck me, because for a lot of us, this entire era of comics has been about nothing but faith. I've been reading X-Men, and engaging with fans since I was eight, and I've never seen the kind of collective buy-in from other marginalized readers that I have with Krakoa. X-Twitter (or, I suppose, X-X) has been Blacker, queerer, more disabled, less homogeneous than the fandom has ever been, all of us buying in to the implicit promise that this time things would be different. Sure, the line was headed by a presumably straight white guy, but there were other voices in the room for a change, and it really felt like they were going to be listened to. We thought we'd moved past clunky metaphor, past queerbaitimg and awkward racial gaffes. Storm and Kwannon were getting to do stuff, Arakko was full of amazing characters of color, Cyclops and Wolverine were probably fucking, we were hooked, and we turned out.

It's hard to overemphasize just how wild this was to see in real time. X-Men has always been allegory, sure, but it's traditionally allegory by and for the majority. For years, the readers who might really feel that resonance, those of us who have been hated and feared for the unforgivable crime of being who we are, we were afterthoughts, tolerated at best. We got scraps, "representation" from creators who seemed to be offended by the implication that we would ever want something other than being fetishized tokens. We were, as Hickman so succinctly put it, told that we were less when we knew we were more. And then, out of nowhere, Krakoa made us inescapable.

The two biggest X-Men podcasts, X-Plain the X-Men and Cerebro, are hosted by queer people. X of Words has been rocking the Black, queer experience like no one's business, Mutant Watch has been a joy to listen to and to be on. Not just podcasts, either, in everything from criticism to fanart to cosplay, voices have been elevated that were previously silent. I mean, hell, I've gotten paid to talk about comics, that shit never would have happened four years ago.

All of that was based on faith.

Faith that we were being celebrated, for once, instead of just used. Faith that for whatever growing pains there might be, things were going to be better.

And let's not fuck around here, there were growing pains. In the first year alone we dealt with everything from blatant whitewashing, to queerbaiting — any Sunspot fan can go into detail there, assuming you can get one of us to stop crying for long enough. While that was going on, we watched Bryan Edward Hill (the only non-white writer in that initial wave) put out a book that was, let's face it, at worst aggressively mid, only to be excoriated by certain portions of the fandom, and dropped by the office, while significantly worse books managed to hold fast — er, hold on. Not to say that Fallen Angels was without sin, mind you, the book was packed with enough orientalism to make Chris Claremont blush. But, at the same time, Wolverine's first year ended with him doing what he does best: trying so hard to be Japanese that I had to check to make sure he wasn't Marvel's editor in chief.

Through all of that, we kept the faith.

Things didn't really get much better, of course. Arakko was a fascinating concept, and felt like it damn near doubled Marvel's characters of color. And yeah, the ending of X-Factor was one of the most poorly handled racist messes I've seen this side of… well, any given day on Twitter. Sure, the whitewashing has never stopped, to the point where everything from X-Corp to this week's Hellfire Gala has had to be hastily edited between previews and release. Maybe we keep dealing with stuff like butchered AAVE, even more queerbaiting, Kate Pryde's funeral, the genocide of almost all of those Arraki characters, and whatever the hell was going on with Lost in Way of X. Maybe there's a very real argument to be made that there's something insidious about three straight years of voting to determine if characters like Monet (who, by the by, has been retooled from "basically Superman" to "Black woman with anger powers") deserve the honor of being written by a white man who's stayed writing with his foot in his mouth. I mean, hey! All my white friends in the scene say he's nice, just like Williams, or Howard, or any number of other crusty crackers who are still proud of tripping over the bar Claremont left on the floor in the 80's!

And dammit, we kept the faith!

Even before the issue dropped, the Fall of X has had a lot of us wary. After all, all of the promotion leading up to it has been white guys saying the minority allegory has had it too good for too long, which, whatever, press copy. We all know they've gotta sell books — they, in this case, being the almost exclusively white, almost exclusively male creative teams attached to all of the books in the line. Sure, as Duggan said, the 616 has a fascism problem, but it’s hard not to see this as a deliberate step back from the almost double digit number of non-white creators these past few years — almost as if Marvel has realized they can make space for a fourth ongoing by their favorite white boy if they just throw out a Voices special every couple of months as a containment zone for the darkies. And, hey, considering how good ol’ C.B. got his foot in the door, I can’t even fake surprise. At this point, it’s a minor miracle any time a person of color is tapped for anything that’s expected to last beyond one issue.

In this issue, as a reward for keeping the faith, we got to see something astounding, something that'd bring a tear to the eye of even the most cynical reader — a team that was only half white. My god. And sure, their brutal murder in favor of a team with Kate "Hard-Arrr" Pryde and the Kingpin(????) was only a pit-stop between the resurrection of the suddenly ashy Ms. Marvel and Lourdes Chantel being killed off for the sake of a white woman's angst yet afuckinggain, but ain't that the dream that Malcolm Ten or whoever died for?

The Krakoan era, ultimately, has been the same as every other. Empty promises by white men who show us time and again that there was never any point in expecting anything better. Any meaning we've found, everything of worth, has been what we've made for ourselves.

We've spent years keeping the faith, Gerry, while you and yours have continued to let us down. What the hell do we have to show for it?

[drakaripykiros130ac]

I am supposed to somehow take HotD seriously when they took a highly biased pro-Green narrative and multiplied it by a thousand?

According to the showrunners, the Greens can do no wrong. The poor dears only do things which can be perceived as “accidents” or they are just “misunderstood”.

1. Alicent didn’t mean to send her psychotic club foot on a murder rampage in Harrenhal in order to be permanently rid of Lyonel Strong and ensure that her father be allowed to return as Hand. No, sweet dear, she didn’t want this, even though she made it clear that she would do anything to get her father’s position back to further her family’s ambitions. No, no. Absolutely not. *note the sarcasm*

2. Criston Cole didn’t mean to murder Lord Beesbury. He just wanted to sit him down, albeit in a very violent non-canon way, but he definitely had the best intentions for the poor old man whose only crime was expressing the cold hard truth to a bunch of shameless conspirators. The good and noble Ser Criston should of course once again be pardoned for a crime he committed before many witnesses.

3. Aegon ‘the usurper’ Hightower didn’t mean to r*pe women. He was just too upset because his daddy didn’t love him enough. The poor dear. He just wanted some affection but those women in his service just didn’t understand him. Tsk tsk.

4. Aemond One-Eye Freak didn’t mean to kill Lucerys. No, of course he didn’t. It was all Vhagar. The old dragon didn’t have anything better to do with her time than to follow a child on top of a much younger dragon. Aemond was just going to follow him around for a while, wasn’t he? He was going to go with him all the way to Dragonstone, maybe have a chat with Daemon and Rhaenyra once they landed, right? Drink some ale, talk about good old times…that’s all Aemond wanted, wasn’t it? The poor dear. Vhagar completely misunderstood his rage and clear intention to murder the boy. Of course…

5. Otto Hightower didn’t mean to murder Lord Caswell. It just kind of happened. He was going to tell the heir to the throne and the King’s eldest child that her father was dead. A most unforgivable crime. How dare he? He must die. But the good Ser Otto did give Lord Caswell a chance to confess, didn’t he? Yes, he did. Such a kindhearted man.

How certain people can actually claim to like these characters is beyond me. They are evil in the books and absolutely pathetic in the show because of the showrunners’ failed attempts at whitewashing them.

Nothing gives me more pleasure than knowing that these characters get the worst punishments/deaths imaginable, which is precisely what they deserve.

[therobotmonster]

Superman's unwillingness to kill is not his greatest weakness...

But Rom the Spaceknight's is.

Warning, I am on pain medication.

I didn't want to bloat the post that inspired this more than I did already. In it, there's reference to Zach Snyder alluding to his putting Superman in the position where he 'had to' kill Zod because Superman's unwillingness to kill is "his greatest weakness."

I disagree. Superman's unwillingness to kill is actually his greatest strength, or at least a manifestation of it. Superman doesn't refuse to kill just because of a Christian devotion to 'thou shalt not kill' or an adherence to human law. Clark's refusal to kill is an extension of his absolute dedication to not abusing his power.

Clark's actual greatest weakness is his compassion for others. That's the thing that constantly tempts him to abuse that power. It isn't that killing Lex Luthor or Zod is an unforgivable crime in itself, it's that Clark knows it wouldn't be.

Rom, on the other hand, is the other way around.

Rom isn't really a Superman Expy, but he's certainly a commentary on him, even if unintentionally. Rom is also a paragon-type, also an alien superhuman with a wide assortment of immense powers. His greatest weapon is essentially a phantom zone projector.

Like Superman, Rom is sworn not to kill. But that's the important part. Sworn not to. He is bound by oaths and duty and rules of engagement because he's both a holy knight hunting demons and a soldier in a war. He isn't allowed to kill non-wraiths because they're civilians and doesn't want to because he cares about most living creatures.

He isn't allowed to kill wraiths because death is too good for them. He's hunting down war criminals, and the Galadorian leadership sentenced them all to exile to limbo to suffer for eternity, immortal but unable to affect, much less harm, anything.

A dead wraith is a wraith that has escaped its sentence, and coming back from the dead is easier for a species of demon-warlock aliens than escaping their metaphorical exorcism and banishment to hell.

Rom's code against killing is the most often exploited weakness he has. The wraiths, knowing a front-on confrontation with him is certain banishment, love to hurl non-wraith humans and superhumans at Rom, knowing the Spaceknight won't return their lethal force (and that if he did, they'd have forced him to murder an innocent, which they consider a win).

In these contests, Rom's humanity (specifically his ability to express human traits like compassion, mercy, and self-sacrifice) is usually what turns the tide by convincing these dupes of his true nature.

Pictured: Rogue inadvertently triggers Rom's body dysmorphia

Now, as has often been mocked, Rom does kill a couple of times. This gives him an existential crisis, but it's more about violating his oaths and losing control than remorse for destroying a wraith in a moment of passion. The audience isn't supposed to be horrified at his actions or unsettled, they're supposed to see the impossible standard the Galadorians put on Rom and his brethren.

But it still works with the themes, because Rom is a man trapped in a machine, and his Spaceknight code and duty are a part of that machine.

So where Superman must triumph over the temptations his own compassion puts before him to go too far, Rom has to keep his power and duty from keeping him from feeling the emotions he needs to triumph over his demons.

[epicfroggz]

Isn't a little hypocrisy when people hate on Messmer for being a war criminal but stan the other war criminal and genocidal demigods like Malenia/Marika/Godfrey etc... like I got not vibing with certain characters but acting so self-righteous over the people who like these characters is ultra cringe.

Heya, thanks for the ask! (There’s another ask in my inbox that’s a little more heated than this one but thanks for that one too, please take this as the answer!)

In essence, yep, agreed. There is no purpose to this self-righteousness when we’re all having a civil discussion about very terrible people and events. The only reason Fromsoft would write a “strictly morally good” character is to put them in a tragic situation that breaks them—like Artorias, who despite his good intentions is still implicated in flooding the entire city of New Londo with everyone in it (I’ll get to my “Messmer is Fromsoft’s next evolution of Artorias” post eventually!). No, they’re not in the business of simple heroes and villains, they write characters that are hopelessly human in hopeless circumstances of their own making.

Let’s not get real life and fiction confused, alright? Wars are horrible things that end up being no good for anyone, and genocide is the worst thing of them all. It is the human tragedy, and the loss of humanity that is necessary to commit these acts, that makes telling and learning about war stories fascinating, at least to me. I have my own personal reasons for finding Messmer’s perspective more compelling, just as others have their own reasons for finding the Hornsent’s side more compelling, or that of another god/demigod, or so on. We are all humans with differing backgrounds and our interpretation of art does not come from a vacuum. Sharing these views with each other leads to a more holistic understanding of the narrative as a whole, I think.

So yeah, I won’t be ashamed to say that I think Messmer is a badass and fuck the Hornsent, in the same sentence that I say that both sides of the conflict are absolutely unforgivable and choose to perpetuate a cycle of violence and despair that has and will continue to destroy them both. It’s not a crime to be passionate about a fictional character in a (really fucking good) fictional narrative.

I think that is all I have to say on the matter. Now I’ll get back to enjoying Elden Ring lore as per usual. ^^

- Froggo