#cw rape // cw murder // etc

[magewritesstories]

[ SPENCER REID ] THAT'S A YOU PROBLEM

cw. headcanons for (unit chief) spencer dealing with a gen z reader (there will be a complete fic on this once i find the time!!) tw. mentions of rape, sa, murder, etc

he's so confused all the time

this man knows practically nothing about pop-culture so he's very confused a lot of the time

on a regular basis he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose because of the unhinged things you say to UnSubs during interogation - "Sorry, man, the fact that your father was a deadbeat sounds kinda like a you problem." - "So, what? You did it for the plot?"

(he lowkey kinda loves it tho, bc it reminds him of gideon iykyk)

but aside from that he's also just perpetually confused when talking to you like what did you mean he has 'rizz'? (no one tell him)

one time you called something your 'roman empire' and he went on a 10 minute rant about the roman empire before you told him what you actually meant - he thought it was embarrising - you thought it was cute and would've let him talk abt it for a lot longer if rossi hadn't interupted

whenever the motive for a murder is religious you refuse to call god anything but she (he's giving up on trying to correct you)

the first few times you answered a statement with slay he was mildly concerned

you constantly quote movies and the team finds it very entertaining, bc what do you mean SPENCER REID doesn't know the origin of a quote - when an unsub blamed his killing spree on his absent father your response was "cool motive, still murder" and another time with "that's rough buddy" (spencer asked garcia why everyone thought that was so funny once they were back in quantico)

yes, he did listen to you rant about the kendrick v drake beef for a full 20 minutes without complaining - when penelope teased him abt it he said he was just returning the favour cause you always listen to him

he's sat beside you and watched you watch mike's mic appropriately unhinged recaps on plane rides (he was INVESTED)

the things you say "same" to concern him

that's it for now, i hope you liked it

[diejager]

I HAVE A (kinda) stepdad!König+DBF!Horangi

so it was a while ago but I reealllyyyy liked the one u did where reader’s sort of hooking up w/ soap and ghost on the side?? If u remember that

I was wondering if you could do a story where they’re sort of just hooking up occasionally (as often as reader can get away) but clearly both the boy like them and want to further it but she’s worried about König and Horangi finding out.

pretty much they notice her exhibiting really weird behaviors in and out of bed towards them?? She’ll freak out if they approach her a specific way (not knowing König and Horangi take advantage of her that way) or sort of doesn’t rly care about her own pleasure cuz she’s sacrificing it for theirs…just sort of stuff that makes Soap and Ghost go “uhhh 🧍🧍‍♂️that’s kinda weird innit” (they’re presenting traits of being groomed/manipulated/raped/etc)

anyways somehow Soap and Ghost find out ab what’s going on at home and….yeah they’re not happy 😬😬

Thank you for your consideration!!!

— 🌘 !

Cw: DARKFIC, STEPCEST, DUB-CON/NON-CON, implied smut, abuse, implied kidnapping, possessive behaviour, implied one night stand, implied crush, kinda poly, tell if I missed any.

They weren’t saints. If anything, they were the farthest thing possible from good-natured men, with kind hearts and sound morals. Ghost and Soap were sick men, soaked in bloodshed and tragedy, gunpowder and tears, they weren’t good men, they were simply men doing another’s dirty work to keep the world safer. They’d seen their fair share of filth on this earth, the most depraved and savage monsters that found pleasure in plundering and killing, covert crimes done under the nose of most civilians, and hushed exchanges for prizes. They, themselves, have committed unforgettable and unforgivable acts, torture, murders, arson, and so, so much regrettable things that would forever scar their victims.

But this- your situation was gut-wrenching, in a way that twisted their guts and made their throats tight, deathly silent in the brewing rage. From Simon, who had an abusive up-bringing and torturous life, morals and ethics twisted beyond normalcy and comprehension; to Johnny, who’s busybody life turned darker and darker with every life he’s taken, bodies piling over bodies, a permanent reminder that he wasn’t the same bright-eyed and goodwilling saint he was when he first enlisted. 

They were mad: Simon enraptured in wrath, burning hotter than hell’s fire, whose rage rivaled one of God; and Johnny bubbled with rage, running through his veins like rivers of magma, scorching everything on his path to ash and rock. They were enraged to see the way you were used and forced into a new purpose by older men —much, much older men that they knew. Whereas Simon seethed silently, Johnny screeched loudly, words stumbling in a crazed frenzy.

It just- it simply wasn’t a good-natured frenzy. Ghost and Soap were not good men. It stemmed from jealousy and emotional possession. The many dates that you’d suddenly canceled, calling in a rain check that they had listened, were because you’d been fucked numb, legs too weak to walk or support you, tied to your bed or filled with another man’s cum. How rarely they met you outside of simple bar nights with your girlfriends before you’d hookup with them for the night until you had to leave. Or your reoccurring bruises, hidden under the clear lie of being clumsy, a white lie, truly, but a lie nonetheless and they hated liars. 

And the worse thing, the one that hits the most, was that you were being fucked, and abused, and taken advantage of by men they constantly butted heads with. Once enemies, always enemies. They didn’t forgive or forget in their business, and their rivalry would continue until one or the other had died. Ghost would plan, scheme your taking and Soap would take care of you, a man much softer than his rough hide. Soap would gently introduce you into your new life, and if it does work, then Ghost would have to step in, eyes dark and heart frozen over. 

You’d eventually like living with them. At least you liked them.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole fit reporting my high school teacher (and principal) to the department of education?

(CW: Suicide, and high school) dead dove so not eat 😷 😷

Happened years ago but people still blamed me.

So my medical teacher in high school had an entire lesson plan for the day that was approved by the principal. We talk about a lot of subjects that may make people uncomfortable including rape, murder, and illness.

The lesson plan of the day was about suicide and the ways people commit them. So we spent the day learning about different forms of suicide, and how they could be committed. Including the least painful ways and the ways that were easiest to clean up for other people.

We spent a lot of time discussing the best ways to commit suicide, we even did class presentations, and she showed us a pro- suicide website I can't remember the name of nor would I ever share. But it discussed a lot of dark thoughts that were not the best for young teens, such as how humans were creating too much pollution, there was no hope for the future, how teenagers needed to die because we were the number one cause of all problems. Etc.

Needless to say, I wasn't comfortable, I was struggling with depression and family problems at the time and seeing a website saying they were my fault was not helping.

Especially since our school actually has one of the highest suicide rates of any high school in the entire state. I reported my concerns to the principal but it was dismissed because it was already approved.

So I asked my mother for help and we submitted our concerns to the school board along with the fact that less than 2 weeks after that lesson that there was over a dozen suicide attempts, and the fact that no students were given resources on preventing suicide. Just resources on how to commit suicide, and why they deserve to die.

They did an investigation, fired the teacher, fired the principal, and I get a lot of hate on social media for getting their favorite teacher fired so I'm wondering

Am I the asshole for reporting my teacher for telling us how to commit suicide?

What are these acronyms?

[embossross]

From His Mind to Hers

chapter 13 >> Chapter 14>> masterlist

✣ Pairing: Hanma x AFAB fem!Reader

✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content

✣ Chapter CW: Processing trauma from abuse and sexual violence (rape aftermath), unhealthy coping mechanisms, revenge porn, slut shaming/misogyny, suicidal ideation (sort of – threats)

✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, dubcon & abuse in c13, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more

✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.

✣ Word Count: 5.5k+

The janitor deserves a raise.

The floors gleam, pearlescent and buffed to a shine that threatens to serve your reflection back to you. Where you sit, elbows to knees, staring at the floor, you notice every shoe scuff and dropped luggage tag. Fleeting messes that the janitor is quick to erase from existence. A few sweeps of the mop and everything returns to its former state, beautiful and shining.

“Flight NH451 to Okinawa is now boarding,” a crystalline voice announces first in Japanese, then English, then Mandarin.

No one else has time to study the floors. Compared to the bustle of Tokyo-Narita, Haneda Airport is calmer, but all airports in your experience share an atmosphere of restrained anxiety. For many people, it’s the one time they must completely surrender any pretenses of control over their lives and accept that they are subject to the whims of weather, technical failure, fate.

You know a thing or two about that.

Fussy babies burp and cry while their older siblings fare little better. The line for the Hong Kong Express baggage check stretches around the corner, creeping forward at a pace that promises a missed flight for whichever fool arrives with only two hours to make it to their terminal. A group of college-aged girls kneel on the floor, bags spread out as they shuffle the contents around, trying to find the magic formula that will sneak them below the weight limit. Hunched like they’re already exhausted from standing for so long, an elderly couple waits in mute silence, in a place beyond words. Nearly everyone else stares at their phones, willing the minutes to pass. It’s a fair difference from the energy you’d find over in arrivals, where half the passengers are haggard from a long day of international travel and the other half sprint, energized, into the arms of waiting loved ones. It churns your stomach to think about all those people, crying through tears of joy.

It may appear like the line isn’t moving, but it’s like the Argonaut. From where you’ve sat to the side watching for the last four hours, you know an assemblage of new faces will gradually replace these, the line somehow never shorter but its components entirely new.

In all this time, not one person has taken note of the woman rooted to one spot, the perpetual observer of the thousands of people who all have better places to be.

The promise of invisibility is what drew you to the airport this morning. Amid the minutiae and petty concerns of the mob, you may as well be furniture. Surrendering to that invisibility evokes a blissful relief.

It is your natural habitat.

As a child, you mastered the art of being there and not there at the same time. You remember miserable days spent locked in your room whenever you caught so much as a sniffle. Your mother would banish you to the narrow three tatami mat room, terrified that your germs might spread and infect her.

At first, every minute would tick by with the weight of eternity. Staring at the ceiling, phlegm draining back through your sinuses and stomach in a pounding knot, you would count each tile one by one. The trick was to stretch the count as long as possible, to sit and savor each number in your mind’s eye, because you knew when you finished it would be back to one again. No windows opened to the views outside, no toys to distract you. The most the little room offered was its thin walls through which you could hear your mother move about the house, her loud laugh down the receiver of the phone, the hum of the TV. All while you shook from fever, unattended.

Time would pass so slowly in that room. Gradually, impossibly, it would slow even further as your stomach grumbled, your throat spasmed from thirst. Your mother never thought to leave you any food or water to survive those long days in that room.

The thirstier you grew, the less you could ward off the realities of the body, thoughts fixating on each ache and pain, until finally, you learned to stop your thoughts altogether. To be there and not there at once.

Then, time would resume in a sprint, a long blink and night would fall. Once the sounds of your mother’s untroubled life ceased, you would make your move. On sock-covered feet, you would slip from your prison and edge your way to the kitchen, praying for invisibility, for no one to spot your midnight heist.  You never dared fetch a glass, mimicking a thief’s caution as you leaned into the sink, mouth closing around the tap, where you would turn it onto a trickle and let the life-giving water permeate your cracked lips. In those moments, you would be there, brilliantly, blindingly there in spirit, but your body remained locked away in that room.

The tricks you learned in those days in that house have served you well over the years. Invisibility sometimes feels like a curse, resigning you forever to the periphery of life, but it also greets you like an old friend when you are most in need of protection.

How traumatizing then to search for it last night and find that old friend missing. When you needed it most, the old detachment abandoned you.

Hyper-present, you suffered every moment of Hanma’s pain and perversion. Countless times, you reached for your invisibility, hoping to slip out of yourself like a specter and leave your body to Hanma’s cruel hands, but you were only left twice as terrified to find yourself trapped inside yourself. Your mind, body, and soul were devastatingly one as you experienced the certainty that Hanma would shoot you dead as he brutalized you, as he held you with the gentleness of a lover, as he…

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You know it’s him. It must be. His smell still lingers on the fine hairs of your nostrils, singeing them with the stench of bourbon that bled from his pores. In the blue-black dark, you could barely make out his features as he threatened you – a masked intruder hovering above you – but fuck if you couldn’t smell him, stinking up your once safe, sterilized bedroom.

Just thinking about it makes you want to…

With trembling fingers, you hunt through your purse until you find a wad of tissues to wipe the sweat that beads across your brow. It is swelteringly hot in Departures, a mix of the unseasonably warm weather and the heat of hundreds of bodies thronging together, their every exhale warming the room.

Searching through the mass of bodies, you find the janitor still at work, fix on the friendly lines of his face. He gives no indication that he notices the heat, the throngs of people, or anything else but his work. The janitor mops the floors, contented. Like you, he has no designs to go anywhere else.

The line moves several meters forward while you watch the janitor. Eventually, he lifts his head and notices you for the first time. The muscles in your face ache as you summon a smile. The result must be obscene or hostile because he hurriedly returns to mopping, a few half-hearted brushes just for show before he scurries away entirely.

Now, you are alone again.

You put your head between your legs and try to breathe like they suggest people having panic attacks do in the movies. The position does help chase back your rising gorge and settles your rolling stomach. It does nothing for your thoughts.

You remember when Hanma’s long fingers found your clit, how he exploited his knowledge of your body to rub you to a forced little orgasm, like he wouldn’t be content until you were made an active participant in your indignity, his forever accomplice, the Stavrogin to his Fedka.

A thundering accompanies a plane taking off from the tarmac, loud enough to chase away the memories. You watch the massive passenger plane soar north until it becomes a speck on the horizon. It will never cease to amaze you how for the hundreds of people aboard that plane, each knows exactly where they are going and why. Their destination is well and truly decided. Too late to change their minds or second-guess.

Whenever you try to think of where you will go next – because surely you can’t live in the airport departures lounge, surely someone, anyone, will eventually realize the ghost of a woman has made a home there, will recognize that you’ve overstayed your welcome, will chase you out, right? – your brain throws up nothing but roadblocks. You imagine returning to your cold, hostile apartment, and the contents of your stomach dance in protest. Your apartment is no longer a safe space.

Your phone vibrates again, and this time, you don’t have the strength to ignore it. Fished from your pocket, you stare at the characters in Shuji’s name, tracing them one by one. Your finger hovers over the button to answer.

What he did last night – did to you – is unforgivable. You may not know what happened to Haitani, but it doesn’t matter. You did not deserve that.

And that should be that. A definitive break with Hanma is the only logical next step. Everything you built together is decimated, just so much sawdust stamped beneath his paranoid feet.

But where does that leave you? You know there will be no returning to your old life? The apartment will never be safe again now that Hanma’s been inside, not since you invited him inside. It will never be clean after what happened.

And maybe you won’t be either. Something inside you is fundamentally changed. Because even now, some part of you wants to go to him. Perhaps want is the wrong word. Without the old survival tools that carried you through the years, you feel cast adrift, weaker than when Hanma found you.

Eventually, Hanma will escalate from ignored phone calls and, vulnerable as you are, will you be able to say no to his face? Worse, will you lean into him, longing for his protection from the demons he himself unleashed on your life?

You don’t take his call, but you don’t leave the airport either. Nothing can change so long as you stay here, but then again, nothing can hurt you either.

Stuck, your return to staring at the floors.

--

You choose to take the elevator up to your apartment, spending the better part of the ride convincing yourself that no demons will await you, so all five senses revolt when you find the hallway outside your door laden with cardboard boxes. They’re not taped up like a delivery would be, and besides, you pick your mail up from the mailroom downstairs. Peeking into one box, you see it’s filled with your old textbooks from university, the ones that should be neatly shelved and collecting dust in your bedroom.

Inside, pornographic moaning greets you. Stopped in your tracks, you almost miss the changes: the photographs in the entry hall have been removed, your shoes are missing from the alcove. There is no mess, just gaps where your life should be.

While taking an itemized inventory of what’s missing appeals to you, the lewd sounds coming from the living room force you forward. On the TV, a naked woman rides a man. She carries on like it’s the best damn dick of her life, touching her own body like something sacred as she cries out.

The woman is you, of course you can see that much, but your brain struggles to play catch up and process this baffling, foreign view of yourself. It’s almost harder to comprehend how wanton you appear in the video rather than that such a video exists in the first place.

“I think we can agree there’s no need for a scene.”

Emerging from the bedroom, Takashi’s doesn’t spare the screen a second glance. It would only take one to confirm that the woman in the video is you, and that the man is decidedly not him.

Between self-indulgent rounds of sex with Hanma, you often wondered how you would feel if Takashi discovered your affair. Secretly, you longed for guilt. A great tsunami of devotion to Takashi and the concept of monogamy would rise within you, the tears would fall, and seconds later, apologies would follow. You hoped for a scene out of the soap operas, something normal.

The reality is less fraught as you are too stunned to summon up any response at all. If only Takashi would turn the video off. Then, maybe your brain would work again. There is no room for coherent thought around the wet, slapping sounds intermixed with moans coming from the TV.

“I knew you were sleeping with patients for months now. It never bothered me too much. So, when I saw the videos, I didn’t understand at first why I was so repulsed by it. But then, I put it together. I had figured some fat, rich fuck at work offered you enough money, and I could hardly blame you for that. If a client offered me money to fuck, I’d do it, too. But watching the videos, I realized, you weren’t just fucking this yakuza creep for money, were you? You liked it.”

There is a forcefield around Takashi that repels your gaze. You can test its parameters by starting at the juts of his knees and slowly climbing upward. It’s around his neck, the first bit of exposed skin, that the forcefield kicks into effect, and you find you cannot bring your gaze higher than the hollow of his throat, and even that takes a supreme effort. You turn back to the video playing out on screen.

“So you’re leaving me, then?” you say because it must be said if things are to continue from here.

“Things are busy at work. I don’t see why my life should be disrupted when I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sure you’ll take responsibility as the offending party and move out without a fuss.”

“That would be sensible,” you agree.

Heady with the realization that this is actually happening – you are truly breaking up with your boyfriend – you force yourself to look at him, one last look to imprint forever in your mind. Immediately, you wish you hadn’t.

Takashi looks past you to the video on screen, where the you of only a few weeks back is loudly and visibly announcing how much she likes every stroke of dick before erupting into a shaking orgasm. Lips curled as if tasting something foul, Takashi regards the woman in the video like something subhuman. You try to watch the video through his eyes, but you can’t break free from the chains of your own perspective, a fuzzy migraine cresting in your temples at the sight of Hanma’s body, memories of this pleasurable tryst weeks ago mixing with last night’s events until you feel like the edges of your brain are collapsing inward.

There is no point to torturing yourself with the video or further conversation. Ignoring the shame in your gut, you follow numbly a step behind Takashi as he finishes packing your things. Most of your meager belongings are already stacked in the hall, but still, there is something stunning about how quickly your life is packed up out of sight. After living together for eight years, you would have left such an indelible mark that only industrial strength tools could strip your essence from the walls of this place. There are a couple overlooked items: the vase of artificial flowers Shuji gifted you, a box of tissues if you care to be petty, the spoons with scalloped edges, but, functionally, your life is stripped, relegated to boxes, and pushed aside within a measly half hour.

All the while, the video plays on. When it finishes, autoplay kicks in and offers up a second to continue your humiliation. The second is slightly preferrable as you make less of a spectacle of your delirious pleasure in it, yet worse because it shows Shuji more clearly, the dragon tattoo on his back flexing as he pounds into your prone body, face crinkling in animal pleasure. You can’t stand to look at him.

These videos…the only explanation for their existence is Shuji. They’re an abomination, something that shouldn’t exist and can’t be allowed to continue to exist. The gall of their existence builds in you until you discover enough anger to break the silence that’s drawn tight between you and Takashi.

“Takashi, if I go quietly, will you please delete these videos?”

“Sure,” he agrees simply, but at their mention, Takashi then looks back to the sex tape on screen, and that same revulsion morphs the contours of his face into something unfamiliar. “I suspected it for months, and then after reading your diary, I knew it for certain, and still…seeing it? When I watched the first one, I debated if it was even real. It had to be some kind of tasteless hoax. Because that’s not you in these. You’re like a stranger. I mean, look at it,” he says, gesturing to the screen. “That’s not you. And that guy…How does touching that criminal freak not disgust you? It’s like watching a pig take a mud bath. Disgusting.”

The shelf where you once stored your medical magazines is barren. Naked. There isn’t much dust though. You had spent a few hours cleaning last Sunday. That’s good, you think, one good thing. Everything Takashi says about you is true. Your lack of fear or righteous hatred of Hanma signals a great moral failing on your part. You are a failure, Monstrous.

Spinning out in self-loathing, you stand mutely for a solid minute before your brain hooks onto a single detail and everything clicks firmly into place.

“Wait, you read my therapy diary?”

“Don’t go crying about privacy now. I could tell you were running around on me and wanted to know,” Takashi snaps.

The finer details of what you recorded in that diary escape you, but you know you frequently wrote about your conversations, encoding but not entirely skipping over references to his business. It was stupid, of course, but the diary was intended for your eyes only, an exercise in self-reflection. The same Takashi who told you he was coming into an unexpected windfall of money at work. The same Takashi who had ripped your bedroom apart, supposedly looking for signs of your infidelity. The same Takashi who had demanded details about your patients. If that same Takashi had read your diary months ago he would have known about the HKJ deal, about Haitani soliciting you, about far too much.

“You weren’t reading my diary because you were jealous. You were paid to spy on me, weren’t you?”

And you know just who paid him as well. Based of your three interactions, you should have predicted that Haitani is not a man who accepts defeat easily. He is like a river. When he can’t force his way through an obstacle, he finds a way around.

“I did what you should have done in the first place,” Takashi sneers.

It is not defensiveness, at least not as far as you can tell, that spurs Takashi to confess. In his mind, you’ve already been reduced to something subhuman, a creature undeserving of consideration let alone sympathy, someone he could justify the worst abuses against, so convinced of his own righteousness. But whatever grievance Takashi may imagine against you, nothing can compare to what Takashi cost you. If he hadn’t betrayed you to Ran, then last night…Hanma…

You think you could gouge Takashi’s eyes out and he still wouldn’t understand the hurt he caused you. Minutes prior, you felt completely extinguished, like your flames had been put out forever, but now a pilot light flickers and it’s enough to bring forth an inferno, a heat you didn’t dare hope you would ever feel again.

“How dare you! You want to lecture me about getting into bed with the yakuza when you’re climbing into the bank with one! What if you had gotten someone hurt or killed? Did you even think about what would happen to me? You’re a slimy, despicable, cowardly –”

Shouting over you as you continue to levy every imaginable invective against him, Takashi spits, “Like you’re some paragon of virtue. Were you thinking about your patients when you started screwing them? Or did you not give a fuck who you hurt? Last time I checked, they don’t let yakuza whores keep their licenses. Speaking of which, you should know I’ve already sent these videos to the Japanese Psychological Association. You can look forward to a call from the ethics board.”

The bomb drop has the desired effect. It collapses the floor beneath your feet, gobbles up the words in your mouth, and implodes the tiny sliver of security that you still clung to. A life gone in a moment.

You are going to lose your license.

No job.

No home.

No friends.

No boyfriend.

No security.

Nothing.

The last box of your things and the vase of flowers are shoved into your hands. They feel weightless in your arms. On autopilot, you accept them and Takashi’s pushing hands on your back as he shepherds you towards the door.

This is the last time you will see this apartment that you called home for so long: the warped wood that’s risen under the heat of the window, the lightbulb in the kitchen that flicks if your run the dishwasher at the same time, the dent no bigger than a thumbprint, or more accurately, a door handle in the wall from where the front door slammed into it with too much force.

You want to press pause, to slow down the moment. You would take a final photo if you could, breathe in the smell of this place and bottle it for a future date. Anything to linger for one second longer before you are cast out into the unforgiving cold.

Takashi does not take mercy on you.

“You should be thankful you don’t have a family to shame,” he hisses.

And then the door slams shut. With you on one side and your life on the other.

Everything you once were is gone forever.

On second look, there are fewer than a dozen boxes stacked in the hall. Such a small life. You thoughtlessly heft a small, light-seeming box onto the bundle already in your arms. Dazedly, you stumble past the rest, leaving them behind with no plan for when or who will come to collect them, and even less of an idea of where you’ll send them.

There is no hurry. Nowhere to go. Yet, you too quickly find yourself pressing through the revolving doors that lead out onto the street and the blinding midday sun, which fittingly leeches the color from the world, so that everything’s cast in long shadows. On instinct, you raise a hand to shield your eyes, dropping the little you own to shatter on the sidewalk. A pitiful relief wells in you as you drop to your knees to retrieve your belongings; it is something to do.

Since Takashi cratered the foundations on which your entire existence rested, the normally persistent voice in your head – the one that would caution you against calling a taxi when a subway ticket cost less than 200 yen or would push you to stay that extra hour in university, the one that essentially kept you alive – has been traitorously silent, and so you know that you ought to figure out a place to stay for the night, to calculate how long your savings will last, and brainstorm a strategy to fight the ethics board, but you can’t keep any one thought in your head long enough to develop something concrete. Each stirring of a thought drips through the cracks between your fingers, like trying to collect water in the cup of your palm. You can’t make a plan. What you can do is kneel on the dirty sidewalk and clean up your mess.

First, you right the little box you scooped up from the hallway. Peeking inside, you see it’s mostly filled with socks and underwear. The second box that Takashi forced into your hands is less useful. Inside are shattered picture frames, the photos inside detailing the lives you shared or, at least, lived in parallel. You can’t tell if they cracked in the fall or if Takashi ritualistically broke each as a parting gift. Even less useful somehow is the vase of fake flowers Hanma gave you, now lying scattered, a collection of jagged ceramic shards.

You herd the broken pieces into a little pile, careful as you do to avoid slicing your fingertips against the sharp edges. As you delicately lift one piece, you feel out something small and round affixed to the inside. With an emotion milder than curiosity, you peel the coin-like anomaly off. Holding it to the light, you puzzle at what looks like a microchip.

And then, all you can do is laugh, as your memory offers up an old spy movie where you saw a device just like this, hidden in a flower vase. It’s a bug.

Of course, he bugged your apartment. Even a gesture as simple as gifting you flowers in apology is warped, twisted into something malicious with Hanma. He’s been laying the foundation for your downfall for months now. Just waiting to crumble you to dust in his hands.

A familiar car pulls up to the curb where you sit, laughing maniacally to yourself. You laugh harder when you spot it. Perfect fucking timing.

The window rolls down, and for one terrible second, you lock eyes with Shuji. Terrible, venomous eyes, the gaze of a viper, hidden away behind glass lenses as if without that layer of protection, he might penetrate you to your core. No, not a viper, a basilisk.

The way he’s dressed, hair perfectly coiffed and in the tailored suit that is his work uniform, offends your sensibilities. From his height advantage, he peers down at you like a scientist watching a bug through a microscope. You feel as small as a mite.

“You can spend the night at my place,” Hanma says, without so much as a greeting because he need not dignify you with niceties. A person needn’t spare a termite a hello before stepping on it.

A plane flies overhead, so low it tricks the eye for a moment, makes you think it’ll crash into the skyscrapers dotting the cityscape. You follow it with your eyes until it’s long out of sight, retracing the chemtrail it leaves in its wake. You almost forget Hanma is here, watching.

Pressed through a sigh, Hanma says your name. His voice, toneless and impossibly deep strikes you like a whip, a thousand times worse than seeing him. It is the charge you need to act.

Bursting to your feet, you leave all but your box of underwear and march determinedly in the other direction. Adrenaline courses through your veins, a jittery but appreciated focuser, and for the first time, you are able to think outside your fugue state. You will find a hotel for the night, something cheap that pays by the hour. If you walk for five minutes, you’re sure to find something.

Anything is better than Hanma’s offer.

“Get in the car.”

You ignore Hanma’s first call and his second, pretending his voice doesn’t make your hands shake so hard you fear you’ll drop the box. The Bentley keeps pace with you to the right. At the first intersection, a redlight stops the Bentley dead.

“For fuck’s sake!”

The curse is a warning before Hanma charges out of the car, arms extended as if to grab you and drag you into the cavern of his Bentley. The dark interior beckons ominously, hinting at a cacophony of horrors. To go into that car is to die.

His fingers don’t so much as graze yours before you start to scream.

Hoarse, guttural screams that turn the necks of every passerby in the area emerge from your bruised throat, a scream that must be tearing your throat apart, but you can’t feel the pain through the adrenaline rush. Heads pop out of nearby shops to see who is making such a ruckus and why. Amid the animal shrieks, the occasional curse takes place, a well-timed “motherfucker” or “waste of space.” To anyone watching, you appear unhinged. A lifetime of pain and rage unleash in one concentrated exhale of agony. If you could bottle the force behind your bellows, they would blow a hole through Hanma’s brain and vaporize what’s left. You scream in his face like you hope to erase him from existence like he did you.

Time holds no meaning now, and you think you might black out or suffer a psychotic break that blacks over just what you say or do in those precious moments of freedom. Whether Hanma is appalled by your behavior, if it makes him want to hurt, fuck, or kill you is irrelevant. Blissfully blank, you become the beast Takashi thinks you are and growl and rage and bare your teeth.

Stunned into stillness by the spectacle, Hanma’s gaze darts between you and the spectators who could intervene, but as no one steps forward to help the crazy woman having a breakdown, Hanma loses his patience.

He slaps a hand over your mouth, muffling your hysterical shrieking. His body is so much larger than yours, something you once craved, but now it crowds and bullies you toward the parked door, where the wide-open passenger door signals your doom. You go silent. You transfer every bit of energy from your throat to your body. Biting and bucking, you fight him with every ounce of strength you possess.

No amount of thrashing could overpower Hanma at full-strength, but he treats you gently with none of last night’s brutality. Kid gloves try to handle you with care as if he would never think to harm you, no not you, his precious, beloved pet. How could you even think such a thing? Unwilling to hurt you, Hanma grapples against your flailing arms for a full minute before backing off, hands tugging at his hair in frustration. He is panting though not half so hard as you are.

“Would you fucking stop!” Hanma snaps. “You should be grateful for what I did. You should –”

Whatever lovely suggestion would have topped off that sentence, you don’t wait to hear, lashing out with a closed fist before he can finish.

You aim for his cheek, but Hanma sees the blow coming, so your fist glances off his neck.

The next punch is somehow more pitiful. Powered by your righteous indignation, you throw your full-body weight behind it, but Hanma bats you aside, so that your shoulder collides into his chest and the punch dies out against the air. Hanma folds the leftover arm behind your body and pins you to his chest, so that all the bucking in the world won’t be enough to break free. He is a titanium wall of muscle and violence, and he has you in his grasp. You think you might vomit.

All the energy in your body evaporates, and you slump into his embrace.

“Finally,” Hanma mutters but without frustration. There is a hint of satisfaction there. A hint of humor at your suffering.

“Let me go,” you whisper.

“Will you behave like a good girl if I do?”

“Let me go.”

Hanma sighs, “Oh, Doc, come on. All this carrying on over limp-dick Takashi? He’s not worth it.”

“Didn’t you hear? While you were eavesdropping, didn’t you hear?” you chuckle a little, a sound strange enough that Hanma eases up on his grip, enough so that he can peer down at your face. You are both equally surprised to discover that you are crying, little matte tears slipping down your cheeks. “I didn’t just lose my boyfriend and my apartment. Oh no! I’m also going to lose my fucking license!”

“What? Why would you lose your license?” Hanma visibly startles, and on any other day, you might have enjoyed one-upping him, but not today. And never again.

“Is this what you wanted from the beginning? To lay me completely low? Did you think that when I was broke and starving, I’d have no choice but to rely on your limited generosity? To let you play with me until you get bored? Because I have nothing left to give, Hanma. I’m not even a human being anymore. I’m nothing.”

“Listen, Doc, relax. This is a panic attack. I’ll take care of Takashi and whatever he did. I’ll make it go away. You just come home with me, and I’ll take care of you and –”

“I may be nothing, but I’d rather be nothing than be with you,” you spit in his face.

His hands slacken for a moment, and you use that moment of weakness to break free.

Once more, Hanma’s hand reaches out as if to grab you, but you turn to him and with every bit of solemnity in your soul, so that the words read with all the gravity of a blood oath, you swear, “If you force me to go anywhere with you, I swear I will find a way to kill myself.”

The fingers on Hanma’s hand flex. The veins pop and strain like his body is rebelling against him, urging him to clutch, grab, cage. But then that hand falls to his side, stills.

This time, when you walk away, he doesn’t follow.

[vervayyn]

Sujamma Sundas Tirdas

I was tagged by @friend-of-giants and I'm going to tag @elavoria (not sure if you have any TES ocs you want to divulge the deets on?) and anyone else who wants to @ me. I'm still trying to figure out who to tag and get back into the Tumblr swing of things. As always, feel free to ignore the tag and/or me and to post at your leisure/otherwise. :) Today, Sujamma wants to know about your OC's moral compass. What God do they worship and why? Do they engage in any illicit activities (drugs, etc?) Any holy activities, like healing in the name of a certain divine? Have they committed any crimes, or are there any crimes they actively despise? Feel free to talk about anything and everything along these lines.

CW: Mentions of cannibalism and rape.

Simply put, Sinder is morally bankrupt. He struggles with it, and yet he revels it in, constantly playing flip-flop between trying to be a better person and falling back into old, ugly, borderline evil habits. He steals. He kills. He relapses into cannibalism every so often. He’s not against allying with the wrong people for the right (and wrong) reasons, yet there is some part of him that’s still bright and gleamy and full of hope—that won’t die no matter how many times he tries killing it. His relationship with Namira is a complicated one, less worship and veneration than it is constantly vying for control. She won't let him (her Champion) go, and even if he leaves, he always comes back. Otherwise, he has no respect for the Divines, even less for Talos, the Breton son-of-a-whore, and despite his unconventional upbringing—he pays little mind to the Khajiit pantheon, making an exception for Jone and Jode, as well as Rajhin—the latter because he can appreciate the hustle. Sheogorath is probably the closest he comes to any sort of semi-appropriate veneration, and that's only because of a joke his adopted parents told throughout his youth that he never realized was a joke. The joke, for reference was: That Sinder was conceived north-northwest Leyawiin, on a stone slab beneath the spread legs of Ann Marie. — in other words, it's an abstract way to say he was born crazy. In his youth, before separating from the caravan, whilst in the area, he decided to gain clarity, and who better than to ask than the Skooma Cat himself? Unfortunately, all Sinder managed to gain from that encounter was an obsession with cabbages as well as more questions than answers. Fun fact: A century+ later and he's still going strong with the cabbage obsession. Last and certainly least, despite being Dunmer, Sinder doesn’t give a rat’s ass about the Dunmeri pantheon, actively spitting on the ideals of the Old Temple, and sneering at the resurgence of the New. He doesn’t celebrate any holy holidays—not since leaving Namira’s cult and trying to put that behind him, anyway—though he will celebrate with friends, like Una, who will party any given opportunity, as well as helping Ves with whatever Boethiah-themed mission she's on. The only personal ritual that kind of fits the bill is his abstaining from eating meat in an attempt to keep certain specific impulses at bay. As for illicit substances? He does a whole hell of a lot of moon sugar and skooma. Being raised amongst a traveling gaggle of Baandari Pedlars (who accidentally kidnapped his runaway ass) has offered him a higher-than-average tolerance for the stuff. He’s committed quite a few crimes, from petty theft to property damages, to mass arson, to murder, to kidnapping (for religious* purposes), to cannibalism to adopted patricide. As for crimes he actively despises? Religious persecution and rape. Also, animal abuse.

[jazzstandardspoll]

Descriptions & Propaganda

Mack the Knife (Original title: "Die Moritat von Mackie Messer")

Composed by Kurt Weill , with lyrics by Bertolt Brecht (English lyrics by Marc Blitzstein )

Notable versions: Louis Armstrong (x), Ella Fiztgerald (x), Bobby Darin (x)

Propaganda:

Originally a last-minute addition to the German opera "Die Dreigroschenoper", it was translated into English in 1954 by Marc Blitzstein (it was translated beforehand in 1933, but that run of the opera was unsuccessful, and the 1954 translation is the base for most modern recordings). The following year, Louis Armstrong recorded a version of it in a swing style, and soon after Bobby Darin released (arguably) the most popular recording of the song, solidifying the murder-ballad as a jazz standard.

Additional neat little bit of information (cw mention of rape and arson): The 1954 translation is censored from the German version, as it removes the verses detailing rape and arson, and adds a verse naming several victims of Macheath. Lotte Lenya was the original star of the opera, and is mentioned by name in Louis Armstrong's recording during this additional verse.

St. James' Infirmary

Traditional

Notable versions: Louis Armstrong (x), Cab Calloway (x), Artie Shaw (x)

Propaganda:

i love how this song starts as a lament and then switches on a dime to such a cool, proud, almost bragging defiance of death. and of course that trumpet!! that trombone!!

imo this song exemplifies the rich tapestry of popular music and the links between the jazz standards, the blues, and the english, irish, and appalachian folk traditions. people sort of fight over whether this song is influenced by the unfortunate rake/rakes progress/young trooper cut down in his prime/etc., (musicologist a. l. lloyd’s theory) or not- there’s a whole book about it, “i went down to the st. james infirmary” by robert harwood.

but none of that really matters. if you love the blues and you love folk music this song is like a familiar hug, full of the themes and motifs you recognize but maybe can’t quite pin down. the mysterious origins are part of the fun. extra propaganda: if you know/love/have ever listened to “blind willie mctell” by bob dylan, this song is the father.

i like the way this one sounds but i also think it's historically/anthropologically pretty cool... it's part of the lineage of "the unfortunate rake" which also spawned popular folk songs like "streets of laredo" and possibly "house of the rising sun" (debated among experts but possible), but this one unlike those others was taken up by jazz artists starting in the 1920s and eventually came to be regarded as a jazz standard. fascinating stuff!

[cassi-the-cutie]

why being an amab woman is not a privilege

cw for talk about trans misogyny and misogyny in general, rape, sterilization, violence, murder.

the main thing this is gonna focus on is the idea that trans women have privilege because of the fact we can't give birth. after all, this exempts us from fear of pregnancy from rape, needing to worry about abortion laws, birth control, etc. and it is true that these specific impacts of the patriarchy do not effect trans women. but it is really a privilege to not ever have the choice to give birth? is it really a privilege to have never had any autonomy whatsoever in the matter? would you say a cis women who cannot give birth is privileged? would you look a woman who was sterilized by a poorly tested vaccine in the eyes and tell her how lucky and privileged she is to not be able to give birth anymore? do you not see the cruelty in that? then why do you do it to us, without a second thought? do you think it a privilege that our inability to ever give birth makes us so much less valuable in the eyes of men, so much less valuable that it makes us much more likely to be murdered, among other reasons? that we are treated as the type of woman that men can exercise all their most violent desires upon, because there's so much less risk in our harm and death than a woman who can give birth? why is it that you assume this is so much more of a privilege for us than it is for a cis woman?

[sharp-silver4795]

Could we know more about Jessie? :)

I loved that character!! Poor Liu boy needs smth good in his sh!tty life </3

Jessie Vahns (OC)

Ofc!! I love talking about my OCs!! And Liu 🤭

Jessie Vahns, an inmate Liu met in prison.

The Story of Jessie & Why he was arrested

CW!! ⚠️ Abuse, murder, SA, sexual abuse, child molestation, physical abuse.

His father literally beat his mother to death.

Because she died, he started to take it out on Jessie.

Meanwhile, his little sister, Samantha, was being sexually abused by their brother.

One day, Jessie decided to fight back against his dad. He then tried to stab his own son. It was turned against him and Jessie stabbed his dad 19 times.

When he went upstairs, his sister was crying in the aftermath of her assault. Jessie decided that, he already killed one person and he’s probably going to prison for it, might as well finish it here and now.

So, he found his brother and stabbed him until he stopped moving- it was 27 times.

Obviously, Jessie was arrested and sentenced to 20 years in prison. He was 19 at the time, the same age which Liu would kill himself.

Liu and Jessie

Jessie was 36- he had 3 or 4 years left in his sentence- when Liu came in.

He caught the older man’s attention because of how kept down he was. Someone who had committed a crime wouldn’t be in a ball on the floor, nearly crying, with his head on his knees.

When Liu told him his story, Jessie was livid.

It reminded him of his own injustices, so he would fight tooth and nail to get him outta there.

Liu’s Release

CW!! ⚠️ Implied physical abuse

Once Jessie helped him get out early, he wrote the man letters.

The letters told of all the shit he went through, but there were also casual ones as well.

He sent him drawings of his favorite things: sunflowers, butterflies, drawings that encapsulated songs he liked, etc.

Jessie always loved these letters, and sent some back to him. He complimented Liu’s drawings and some of his poems that he sent as well. Jessie disclosed that he wanted to be an author as a kid, and sent Liu the main concepts of the stories he made up. Liu loved all of them and even drew cover art for them.

One day, a woman came to the Woods’ house looking for Liu. Peter was angry when he called Liu down, assuming he was in trouble.

The woman merely gave him a scarf. It had gray and black stripes and was so so soft.

“It was my brother’s. I think you know him. His name is Jessie.”

Liu was near tears at the gesture. Peter was instantly calm, but they didn’t save Liu from the pain that would ensue…

Liu’s First Death

CW!! ⚠️ Suicide

Jessie was the first one to know about it. He had a half year left in his sentence.

Liu sent the letter before he did it, so it would get to him on time.

Once released, Jessie put together every single one of his letters and drawings, sobbing over the loss while he put them in a box and marched down to the police station.

He slammed down the box and said:

“He didn’t fucking deserve this. Make it right!”

Then he left.

He paid for Liu’s cremation, but gave him a headstone in the graveyard. He left sunflowers on the grave every weekend. They were his favorite, after all.

Keith’s & Liu’s Second Death

Cw!! ⚠️ Murder, rape

When Liu (23) had killed Keith, the first person he ran to was Jessie (41).

His hands were covered in blood as he sobbed into the older man’s shirt.

Jessie had told him this, and he meant it too:

“It’s alright kid… it’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore… you did good… I’m so proud of you…”

He was 44 at the time, out of prison for nearly 9 years. Liu was 27, and off to the electric chair.

Jessie was well aware of what Liu had been up to. He knew who he was killing, and why.

Rapists, abusers, and people who fucked with his brother and friends.

Jessie couldn’t bring himself to justify it. But that didn’t stop him from loving the kid as if he were his own.

He went to visit Liu before he went off, and asked one simple question. And Liu gave a simple answer.

“You coming back again? Like ya did before?”

“I plan on it.”

And he did. He did come back.

Jessie’s Death

He died at 62 years old in the hospital. He was a smoker, and it caught up to him. Liu was 42, and left Hydra to visit him in his dying moments.

It was a sweet moment: Liu sitting on the side of the bed, holding Jessie’s hand. The two had one last conversation:

“Kid?”

“Yeah?”

“Look at how big ya got. Damn.”

“You need to get tough or die, right?”

“You were tough to begin with, kid. You took so much pain and suffering, and ya still held on for so long… I’m proud of you.”

Liu started to tear up, the words that he needed his whole life being said to him. Jessie was the only person who would say it. Granted, this wasn’t the first time, but it would be the last.

“You know, kid. I started calling you ma son.”

Liu was speechless. Jessie considered him his son? It shook him that someone, a parent figure, would want him. Would call him their son… and be proud of it…

“Thank you… so much..”

“C’mere”

Jessie stretched out his arms as best he could, and Liu cried into his chest once more. Jessie, his only father figure since his dad’s death, was leaving him.

He died in the hospital.

This time, it was Liu who paid for the cremation and headstone. No one came to the funeral except him and Samantha, Jessie’s sister.

He stood with her as she mourned the loss of her brother who saved her so many years ago. She cried into Liu’s arms, the only other person who would care.

When her eyes were dry from the crying, she looked up at Liu and noticed he was still wearing that scarf…

Divider & Header Creds: Sister-Lucifer

[imperiuswrecked]

So this question just popped into my head, but how empathetic do you think Namor is in general towards people? Are there any specific kind of people whom he feels more sympathy for, like abused children, victims of crimes or rich people, etc?

Namor historically has always had great sympathy for the underdog or those who have been abused. He stands up for people who don't have the strength to stand up against their abusers and lends his strength when it's needed. Two instances I would point to as an example of this:

CW: rape/possible incest mention by villain in New Invaders (2004) #3

Merrano (Atlantean Nazi) talks about how he raped a woman (Nia's mother) and then implies he abused Nia (his daughter). After a fight Namor vows that as long as he lives Merrano will not strike Nia again.

As a father and mother fight over custody of their child, Namor makes the child as his ward since both sets of parents are too busy caught up in their personal battle to give proper care and education to their child. He admonishes the mother for putting her son at risk, and he berates the father for thinking to use his child as a part of the Atlantean army because Namor does not recruit children for war; "He is a Citizen. He is my Citizen. We do not turn children into warriors."

Dark Reign: The Cabal

That's examples of Atlanteans in need of protection/help, for humans it's more "Namor saves a child". Like in Namor, the Sub-Mariner, Caleb Alexander tells the story of how Namor saved him from drowning as a child.

Namor, the Sub-Mariner (1990) #1

One of my most favorite "Namor saves a child" is from R.O.M. Space Knight #35 - Namor saves a surface child, Sybil, and it's just so cute how he is like "I'm gonna put you in a bubble" lol. He also promises to save her robot friend.

In the next issue he saves her life again by transforming her genetic nature to that of an Atlantean so she doesn't die and can live in the ocean in safety forever. (Sybil was a human orphan, who became blind and was also abused by her caretaker, her Aunt. Her Aunt murdered Sybil's parents and kept Sybil to be used for a dark ritual.)

So Namor has a lot of sympathy for children, and underdogs. He doesn't like people who have power and abuse that power or use it to harm others. He notoriously hates bullies.

"There are those who would stand with the many against the few. But Namor will never be amongst them." - Uncanny X-Men (2012) #11

Namor, the Sub-Mariner (1990) Annual 1 - "I have an exceptionally low tolerance for bullies."

Towards people in general, Namor is stand offish imo, but he doesn't hesitate to speak up or step in if he sees someone being hurt.

[vergess]

Jesus they don't even care that people like me and others who have self harm disorders holy hell there disgusting

https://www.tumblr.com/ahe-bby/716113818711883776

Link CWs: Murder, suicide, death, etc threats.

Yeah, the thing is, part of being in a cult like this is you dehumanize the other.

Now, "dehumanize the other" is kind of a gibberish technical statement, so let me break that down.

By "dehumanize," I mean that members of the antiship cult are taught to see anyone who disagrees with them as unworthy of basic human rights, including the right to life itself. But also unworthy of things like being treated with respect, or having basic needs such as food and shelter, etc. This is justified by claiming that anyone who "does the evil thing" has given up their humanity and with it their human rights.

In this case, "the evil thing" is "read about fictional characters kissing." Comparable in a lot of ways to the extreme christian cults that consider Disney movies to be sexually predatory.

By "the other," I mean, "anyone outside of the cult."

That includes people like me, who engage with dark media as a hobby. But it also includes people like you, who just aren't interested in being violent towards "bad people" as defined by the cult.

As a result, this cult encourages its members to self-isolate, which helps speed up the time needed to indoctrinate new members, and simultaneously makes it harder for members of the cult to seek help escaping.

After all, in their minds as warpped by cult logic, they've "done great violence" already, just in their harassment campaigns. All the worse if they were led by the cult to engage in actual violence, such as rape and assault, both of which are common within the cult.

It is only the cult's reassurance that their targets are sub-human monsters that the guilt can be held at bay. Which effectively traps the member in the cult, and encourages them to engage in more and more violent rhetoric and actions.

[x-neurotoxin-x]

Could you expand on Tomura's trauma in paper bag? was he r@ped also by AFO? I remember he said he wasn't when Dabi asked but was he lying/doesnot remember?

Sure, i can expand on it cause it's kinda complicated and less direct in Tomura's case than it is in Touya's case in the series, for example. Putting it under a cut because I'll probably ramble

(Tw/Cw talk of child abuse, csa, torture, murder, dubcon, noncon, violence against sex workers, grooming, etc)

Afo never had direct sexual contact with Tomura or had him be on the receiving end of sexual violence in the Paper Bag series, but you could definitely say he indirectly sexually abused him through forced perpetuation of sexual assault and making him witness and participate sexual assault, torture, and violence as a way to desensitize him.

Afo raised Shigaraki to basically only be able to express anger and hatred and turn all other emotions into that. A lotta that was done through what canon implies- making him/encouraging him to kill people and desensitizing him to violence and death, to only feel hate, telling him the "itch" won't go away until he scratches it. I built the headcanons I have for him in the series around that. Afo wouldn't assault Tomura himself, I hc he didn't even use physical punishments like hitting or beating him, if anything the grooming was extremely psychological through manipulation and forced violence under the guise of "empowering" him. He wouldn't noncon Tomura or have Tomura be on the receiving end of noncon because it would "ruin" him and "make him weak." Instead, he normalized that kind of violence by victimizing other people in front of Tomura and/or making him participate in torturing and raping other people-- primarily victims that wouldn't be able to fight back and wouldnt be missed if they disappeared, so homeless people, addicts, prostitute, etc. He'd bring people in, torture and assault them then kill them in front of Tomura and as he got older and more and more desensitized to it began to push and pressure Tomura into also torturing and assaulting the people he brings in then kill them.

He basically gets it into Tomura's head that its a way to establish dominance and gain power and control through victimizing others and making them feel weak, hence where Tomuras control issues and the way he deals with feeling out of control in his relationships manifest as physical and sexual abuse.

It's not that Tomura doesn't remember/is lying about sa, he just doesn't register it as sa because it was indirect and more forced perpetuation than anything like Afo having direct sexual contact with Tomura or Tomura being raped in the sense of being held down and penetrated, instead he was made to victimize others or witness others be victimized, which is still sexual abuse it's just a different kind of sexual abuse.

I made Tomura's backstory parallel Touya's backstory in how Touya was groomed and conditioned to be a victim of abuse, Tomura was groomed and conditioned to be a perpetrator of it, so when the two of them start a relationship they fall instinctively into the roles of that dynamic.

[lya-dustin]

All is bliss

Chapter 18

Gif by:@feodor-dostovesky

Taglist: @mercedesdecorazon @darylandbethfanforever9 @sweethoneyblossom1 @ewanmitchellcrumbs

Cw: mentions of bullying, trauma, infant death,stillbirth, biological warfare, implications of marital rape, murder etc

Anything used to reduce her to tears when they were children, so much so that her Septa used to say her name should have been Daella.

The aftermath of his toast had been him for the first time in his life feeling the brunt of her anger, everyone shocked into silence because no one has ever seen that side of her and the unanimous agreement that Rhaenyra and her family should return to Dragonstone at first light.

The reason for his behavior was utterly forgotten in the mess after.

Not that anyone actually cared in the first place, even his mother had forgotten the incident with Aegon’s pig prank given she chose the menu for tonight.

Aemond doesn’t bother with being discreet as he goes to the place that is so very sacred to the both of them.

The fire has not been lit and yet in the dark he knows exactly where she is.

And even if he hadn’t known he could easily follow the sounds to their source.

Aemma’s knees are folded to her chest as she heaves with every sob.

Looking at how wretched his toast has made her has him wondering if it was even worth it.

She looked up at him with bewilderment and dried her tears with her sleeve. “Out of all the things you could have said you chose that.

Has it ever occurred to you that the same insults you used tonight will be used against our children?”

Instead of answering her question he digs out his handkerchief out of his pockets and offers it to her.

She had made it for him, the dragon on the corner being done in both green and silver thread, a small and yet thoughtful gesture that always reminded him of her.

“Sometimes I wonder if your view on bastards will extend to your own children.” She admits taking the piece of fine cotton to his relief.

“That is different, Aemma.” Different because they would be his children, and no one would be able to see they were not Aegon’s.

“Hypocrite.” She mutters, at least she had stopped crying.

He’d rather Aemma be angry at him than crying because of him.

“I am sorry my words hurt you.” Because that is the one thing he is actually sorry for.

He is not sorry for making his toast, he is just sorry his insults towards her brothers also struck her.

“Why did you say it?” she asks, looking at him knowing he won’t lie about it.

“Luke saw the pig between us and laughed. I couldn’t take it, not when your brothers act as if our childhood was all dragons and rainbows.” He admits and comes to sit beside her on the floor, leaning his back on the bookcase and wishing he could reach more than her soft green skirt.

“I’m sorry my words hurt you, Aemee.” He repeats his apology straining his eye to see if she nods.

“I suppose I can forgive that; Luke may feel guilt for taking your eye, but he does not remember Aegon’s pranks were meant to be cruel.” She accepts his apologies and makes excuses for her little brothers, perhaps she was right or perhaps she was biased because it sounds ridiculous when you factor in that Luke and Jace had been seven and nine at the time of the Pink Dread.

“I’m sorry for hitting you.” She said and he dismissed it.

She had struck him, and it had hurt more emotionally than physically, but he doesn’t hold it against her.

It had led to an epiphany.

He is in love with her.

Perhaps he has always been and it had taken for him to make the glass spill over with his words for him to admit it.

Or perhaps it was a recent development and it had been the feeling of her hand connecting with his cheek for him to know it.

“We can stay here if you wish.” He offered hoping she’d leave her safe place and join him on the rug again.

“I’d like that.”

“I suppose I should thank you,” the queen says quietly as the witch woman closes the door behind her.

“Not many have the courage to thank me, most like to forget it ever happened.” Alys said with a nod.

Alicent had only been wed for a scant six months when the bastard of Harrenhal saw her crying in the sept.

If she were with child Viserys would cease visiting her.

If he were to die, she would be free of him.

You won’t have to suffer him for long, your grace, that wound on his back won’t ever heal, Alys had said lighting a candle to the Crone.

The Maester said it had, Alicent had pointed out.

The Crone has given me the power to heal and to kill, and she has asked me to help you, the witch had said.

“It wasn’t until today I realized it had truly happened, perhaps most wonder if it was just a figment of her imagination.” The queen said in her defense. “What did you do to Queen Aemma?”

Had she killed Queen Aemma’s babes with her magic?

“Nothing, I had yet to come into my abilities, but little Prince Aegon did live for a few moons before dying in his sleep and I like to believe I was the reason she had those few precious moments with him.” The witch answered and lit a candle to the Mother, the statue had been broken after her death, as if the Gods themselves were mourning her too.

Viserys had ordered the new statue to be made in Aemma’s likeness. Holding Baelon in her arms and surrounded by their dead children as toddlers clutching her skirts, Alyssa ,who was stillborn two moons after the Great Council, and Aegon ,who died in his cradle when Rhaenyra was ten.

Alicent knows when she dies no one will make a statue for her.

She’s damned herself to keep them safe.

They are only safe if Aegon is king and Alicent rules the Court.

Once he is king this stops.

“What would it cost for me to make Aegon king?” the queen asks knowing there is no going back from this.

“Everything.”

“He is your lover.” Jace looks sick to his stomach at the realization.

“Yes, father of my child because Aegon, thank the gods, no longer can sire a child.” Aemma said as they readied their saddles.

Aemond would be staying, they had thought it would be best if he were to delay his visit to Helaena for a while.

Jace had caught them sharing a long kiss goodbye.

Even worse, Aemond had said the three words she had both been dreading and wanting to hear for so long.

I love you; he had said as he kissed her so intensely, she had forgotten she was to leave.

It would have been such a romantic moment that they’d carry in their hearts forever if Jace had not cleared his throat and been blushing like a maid.

“He loathes us, how can you love him?” he asks the question she was always asking herself.

Would his love for her be stronger than his hatred for her family?

Even she doesn’t hate his mother and grandfather as much as he hates her brothers.

And sure, it would have been much easier if the person she fell in love with had not been him, but it had happened.

By the time she had realized she was in love with him it was too late to stop herself from doing so.

“I don’t know, you cannot ask why about love, little brother.” Aemma answered. “There’s a reason Socrates called it a madness.”

[mctives]

okay i think i just need to talk about the thing about maureen from the original script. i'm going to be linking this on my pinned because it does affect how i write the character (and has already been for a week but i was trying to work this out before posting about it).

cw grooming, csa

note: this is a real sensitive topic (for me and lots of people), but i will clarify that i'm speaking as a survivor and probably the reason it's sticking in my brain so badly is that i think the vibes are still in the film (and maybe that's why i attached to stu sigh).

if you don't know, in the original script, maureen groomed and raped billy and stu when they were kids. not clear how young, but tatum says maureen likes 'little boys' and that seems to indicate pretty young.

and i could just ignore this, but now that i know it, i feel like it makes sense for the way billy and stu are dysfunctional, both together and individually.

it doesn't explain or excuse the murders other than maybe maureen's, so that's not what this is about. it's the way billy seems to have try to take control (by harming and abusing other people). it's the way stu compartmentalizes reality (very lovey-dovey with tatum when he knows billy's going to kill her, asking sidney if she called the cops and saying his parents will be mad, etc.) also, the way billy and stu seem inextricably connected despite not having much in common, really... and the fact stu killed maureen with billy, which really doesn't connect in the film as it was released imo.

basically, i cannot disconnect this from my portrayal in general, because it is just in there now, but i also don't want to alienate anybody so here's what i'll do:

. it will never come up directly in a thread unless we discuss it first. while it will color the way stu reacts or responds to certain things, the topic itself will only come up if we have talked about it. any posts that mention it will include the content warnings grooming cw and csa cw.

. i will never write out what happened in detail. while stu might share bits and pieces in threads if we've discussed it first, i don't want to linger on the actual events; just how they affected stu and billy.

. i don't know if anybody writes maureen, but i won't rp with maureen at all.

. if you are writing a canon scream character, especially billy, sidney, or tatum, please let me know if you would rather i not include this part of stu's backstory at all. (especially billy, since it happened to him too and he is the only one who absolutely would know. tatum seems to know something, but it's not clear she knows about stu, so that could go either way.) AGAIN, I won't bring it up directly in threads unless we discuss it first regardless.

. the representation of survivors of csa is extremely important to me for obvious reasons so please note: stu is not a good person, but that's not because of what maureen did. his trauma is just a part of who he is, not an excuse for how he treats others or his violent tendencies. i think being sheltered and privileged did a lot more to make him that way. the trauma does, however, affect his mental health significantly, which can affect HOW he does bad things (just not WHY).

[webtoon-related-tournaments]

OK so for the evil parents tournament here's how it's going to go:

#cw abuse <- will cover parents who beat up their kids, insult them, lie to them, poison them, hurt them physically, and kicked them out of the house. Also includes parents mocking or degrading the kids, revealing the kids' secrets or trauma or past to the public as a power move, etc. Doesn't include SA, this one is filed under another tag.

#cw neglect <- will cover parents who are deadbeats, abandonned their children, or locked them somewhere and threw the key/forgot them there, or didn't feed their kids, gave their kids to someone and never came back to meet...

#cw helicopter parents <- will cover controlling parents, parents who meddled with their kids' love life or platonic relationships in large proportions (had the gf killed, arranged a marriage behind the back of the kid, forced the kid to seduce someone or to break up with someone...), it covers also forced marriage, parents controlling their kids' diet well into adulthood...

#cw crime <- will be only for things that were not covered before, so basically murder, arson, genocide, incest, rape, cannibalism, stalking, etc.

For all these triggers, I will put them if there are lengthy or graphic descriptions, but if it's just a offhanded "Parent beat up kid and also..." then I won't tag it unless someone tells me it's necessary.

If you want anything that was mentionned in here to be also tagged separately (ex: cw crime, cw cannibalism) do interact to tell me. If you think of something I didn't cover here and you want tagged, do tell me. You can do it by DMs or anon ask if you don't want people to be able to trace it back to you.

[ladyloveandjustice]

(CW for real life murder and domestic violence in this vid btw)

So the Thanfiction story is one I have the tiniest bit of involvement in--I'm no longer into HP fandom for The Obvious Reason but I did spork Andy's DAYD fic back in the day for this HP community (it's what we used to call it when you went through someone's fic and made fun of it MST3K style.) Only did this because I knew Andy was a POS so I wasn't worried about hurting his feelings. Andy even emailed me telling me he didn't mind did I want to talk etc. and I emailed him back saying he needed to stop hurting people. No response.

It's NOT a good fic, prose very purple and the plot and characterization was bad, here are some highlights of the wild shit:

-Managed to be possibly even worse on race than the actual HP books which is a feat. Suddenly every character of color was whatever their racial stereotype was. The Patil twins were really into yoga and had yoga and snake based magic! Li Su mentions that she totally gets their yoga and tea stuff because "the mountains between India and China are not so vast" (what??? WHAT??).

This also extended to national stereotypes- with Scottish Ernie suddenly being a very violent angry person who drank a lot with a ridic over the top accent that would even put Rowling to shame despite being a pompous drip in the source material, and Irish Seamus of course getting drunk all the time and sleeping around. (He was also very clearly Thanfiction's Favorite Self-Insert along with Neville).

-Extremely misogynistic which should surprise no one. Girls were constantly described as "fragile" and "dainty", (even those who were jocks in the source material) and a lot of emphasis was put on how manly the guys were. All the girls suddenly had the same personality, mildly sassy but swooning constantly over the boys and also literally cleaning up after them and making them shower

-There was a plotline where Lavender Brown got raped by Crabbe and Goyle, and of course it was entirely focused on the boys reaction to this and their hardcore vengeance crusade, with no exploration of her feelings. They just ended up breaking their fingers and vaguely threatening them so it wasn't even cool revenge. She also magically recovered from her PTSD as soon as they got revenge and hopped into bed with Seamus.

Lavender is then graphically killed at the end of the fic (the movies later killed her off too but the books weren't clear either way).

-Hannah, Neville's gf in the fic, is described as chubby in the actual books. Of course Thanfiction had it turn out that it was her robes that were making her (and no one else?) look fat and she had a supermodel's body. Nevile, also chubby, is now super jacked with chiseled abs and is so embarrassed he used to be fat. It's very funny that he scorns girls for their Mary Sues while using the exact same tropes, also that he was angling to live up to Rowling's fatphobia.

-He had these two boys who were obsessed with each other and wore each other's clothes and had MATCHING TATTOOS and did everything together, clearly bait for the M/M shippers but he acted FURIOUS when those "empty headed" girls shipped them, forbade people from using "his" characters in fics, calling it plagiarism (the hypocrisy is incredible), and said they didn't understand how deep and special male friendship was! The bond between men in the military is like the specialest thing to ever exist but NOT dirty and gay. This deep bond of brotherhood could never measure up to relationships stupid women have.

-The gays did NOT kiss in actual DAYD, sorry Strange, that is not true, maybe in the sequels or a side story though. What did happen was he decided Dean Thomas was gay and tragically in love with to his straight bff Seamus, he tells Seamus this and Seamus responds by calling him a bunch of homophobic slurs, and then Dean dies in the Battle of Hogwarts and Seamus gets to tragically angst about it. Recall that Dean is one of the few Black characters in HP too.

( I think he later walked this back and had Seamus like, also have buried gay feelings for Dean he just wasn't aware of or something, likely in response to people criticizing this plotline)

-There was a plotline where they included Slytherins in the DA and just forgave them constantly calling all the Muggleborn students HP's made-up slurs, Neville literally tells the targets of the slurs to calm down when they get mad about it. This is pretty OOC because the HP books, for all their flaws, always had everyone go ballistic on Malfoy and beat the shit out of him for doing that, so. uh. i guess that was Thanfiction's addition.

-Snape for some reason was constantly trying to murder Neville and other students despite the fact he was supposed to be secretly on their side, it made no sense. Snape sucks but the podcaster was right, his actions were inexplicable just because Thanfiction needed a Voldemort like antagonist.

-For the record, there weren't a lot of traditional OCs, he just took minor characters who were only mentioned once or twice and made them his own. and by his own I mean bad.

-In the sequel, Hermione is raped in front of Ron, then dies while having a demon baby. yeah. Actually now that I think of it did he steal that plot point from Berserk?? Oh my god he did.

-he named his serial killer character the same as my user name at the time, which was a coincidence because he did it slightly before I started sporking but it's still funny.

HERE IT ISSSSSSSSSS

[vampire-sugar]

The Queen of the Damned Progress Post! Part III chapter 4.

~

So it’s been over 3 weeks since I finished this chapter and I haven’t picked up the book since lol. Partly because I’ve been busier than usual, but also largely because, as I mentioned before, once I put QOTD down I find it very very hard to pick back up again. I think I realize why I’m having a hard time with this book, but I’ll get into that at the end of my little chapter review/rant thing. In short though, this is more about vampire lore rather than character exploration which is what I liked the other two books for, and the writing style is pretty tedious which makes even the interesting bits drag. It’s giving The Mortal Instruments.

That said, here’s what I thought of this chapter.

🚨 CW: a lot of discussion of rape

Spoilers ahead!!!

The Story of the Twins, Part I.

It took me so long to finish this chapter, even if I actually did enjoy it. I know that makes no sense but like that’s truly how it felt! It was interesting but it also dragged. Like Maharet really talked through the whole night! And not only is there a Part II to this story but a conclusion chapter as well like this is giving me flashbacks to TVL Marius chapter. And aren't these vampires pressed for time?? How many more nights will they be listening to this story while Akasha and Lestat are out committing mass murder....

But on a more serious note:

First, making up the origin of mummification in Egypt to be like “it was to stop them from eating their dead, which was a sacred thing to do in our village and the way the Egyptians did it was more savage than we did it but still mummification is such a vile practice, the Egyptians suck in all ways actually” is such a crazy thing to do. Like Egyptians pre Akasha are described as savage and during Akasha are described as vile, and I cringed every time I read it.

Another CW in case you missed the one above the cut! 🚨 Discussion of rape below.

Khayman. I knew that he was the one to have raped the Twins from his introductory chapter, and that he was made to do it by the King and Queen (he was comiting the King’s rape). But my assumption then had been that Enkil was already a vampire when he gave the order, and Khayman was compelled to commit the act. Essentially, I thought it was a mind control situation, and I had thought him to be a more tragic character than he actually is. Now it’s like the least you could do is hate yourself for following through. And it takes a certain type of effort to commit the act as well, which I don’t know how one can bring themselves to that level. Maharet thinks the same.

I think, as he came towards us, I believed he could not do it, that a man could not feel the pain which he felt and still sharpen his passion for this ugly work.

I understand that Khayman did not want to do it, he was forced to do it, and to not would have meant death. Maharet knows this and still wonders the above. While she is dissociating, he is imagining scenes in his head to arouse himself.

I guess he got a fate worse than death, being an ancient vampire forever lonely and consumed with guilt and self hatred, probably too ancient to die even if he wanted to.

It’s very hard to feel bad for this Khayman character when, even after the Twins escaped to their homeland and Maharet gave birth to a daughter (from Khayman’s rape), and the Twins were happy, Khayman comes back with a bunch of soldiers and ruins it. Again, he could have just lied and said he couldn’t find the Twins. But instead he begs them to go back to Egypt to get rid of the curse of vampirism. The curse that came as a consequence of his and the King and Queen’s actions. This got me heated. Take the punishment if you really do feel so bad!!!

Anyway,

I think this book is very much about vampires being vampires rather than like family/character dynamics, character exploration, etc. It’s very plot heavy, at times it felt like I was reading the Mortal Instruments lol so maybe I would have liked it more if I had read it in high school. And sometimes it really drags.

I know there’s not a lot of positive things I’ve said about this chapter, I guess the only positive was that I finally understand part of the dreams everyone was having. Again, I read it more than 3 weeks ago so I can’t really remember all of my thoughts on this chapter.

I’m excited for the next chapter, I prefer the Lestat POV ones because we get some Akasha/Lestat action and I find it very hot lol. And so far Akasha and Lestat are the only ones with personality tbh.

I probably will stop posting chapter by chapter now and just post whatever I feel about the book as I read.

Next up: Lestat: This Is My Body; This Is My Blood