#damaging allegations made

[atlas-dr0wned]

every day i am haunted by my embarrassing and alarmingly strong brendon urie obsession from 2020, the least i can do now is make fun of him on the internet

[justshapesandshitposting]

i've been around the jsab block for a good while (originally got in around 2013-2014 and dropped off for a bit due to hyperfixations changing) and i'm still p amused how it used to be VERY common for bosses/freshes & barracudas to have beef on sight but now it's more 50/50 on whether or not they have beef.

also little bit of lore for CPC (Corrupted Power Couple) AU: Chimera & Gorgon are in fact married.

[heritageposts]

[...] During the early stages of the war, the army gave sweeping approval for officers to adopt Lavender’s kill lists, with no requirement to thoroughly check why the machine made those choices or to examine the raw intelligence data on which they were based. One source stated that human personnel often served only as a “rubber stamp” for the machine’s decisions, adding that, normally, they would personally devote only about “20 seconds” to each target before authorizing a bombing — just to make sure the Lavender-marked target is male. This was despite knowing that the system makes what are regarded as “errors” in approximately 10 percent of cases, and is known to occasionally mark individuals who have merely a loose connection to militant groups, or no connection at all. Moreover, the Israeli army systematically attacked the targeted individuals while they were in their homes — usually at night while their whole families were present — rather than during the course of military activity. According to the sources, this was because, from what they regarded as an intelligence standpoint, it was easier to locate the individuals in their private houses. Additional automated systems, including one called “Where’s Daddy?” also revealed here for the first time, were used specifically to track the targeted individuals and carry out bombings when they had entered their family’s residences.

In case you didn't catch that: the IOF made an automated system that intentionally marks entire families as targets for bombings, and then they called it "Where's Daddy."

Like what is there even to say anymore? It's so depraved you almost think you have to be misreading it...

“We were not interested in killing [Hamas] operatives only when they were in a military building or engaged in a military activity,” A., an intelligence officer, told +972 and Local Call. “On the contrary, the IDF bombed them in homes without hesitation, as a first option. It’s much easier to bomb a family’s home. The system is built to look for them in these situations.” The Lavender machine joins another AI system, “The Gospel,” about which information was revealed in a previous investigation by +972 and Local Call in November 2023, as well as in the Israeli military’s own publications. A fundamental difference between the two systems is in the definition of the target: whereas The Gospel marks buildings and structures that the army claims militants operate from, Lavender marks people — and puts them on a kill list.  In addition, according to the sources, when it came to targeting alleged junior militants marked by Lavender, the army preferred to only use unguided missiles, commonly known as “dumb” bombs (in contrast to “smart” precision bombs), which can destroy entire buildings on top of their occupants and cause significant casualties. “You don’t want to waste expensive bombs on unimportant people — it’s very expensive for the country and there’s a shortage [of those bombs],” said C., one of the intelligence officers. Another source said that they had personally authorized the bombing of “hundreds” of private homes of alleged junior operatives marked by Lavender, with many of these attacks killing civilians and entire families as “collateral damage.” In an unprecedented move, according to two of the sources, the army also decided during the first weeks of the war that, for every junior Hamas operative that Lavender marked, it was permissible to kill up to 15 or 20 civilians; in the past, the military did not authorize any “collateral damage” during assassinations of low-ranking militants. The sources added that, in the event that the target was a senior Hamas official with the rank of battalion or brigade commander, the army on several occasions authorized the killing of more than 100 civilians in the assassination of a single commander.

. . . continues on +972 Magazine (3 Apr 2024)

[mv1simp]

inspired by my fav @piastrification thank you for being in my walls 🫶🫶 hope you enjoy!!

Streets ♥️

Max Verstappen x PR Manager!Reader

we play our fantasies out in real life ways, and no final fantasy, can we end these games, though?

6 months ago, F1 champion Max Verstappen traded in his status as "serious cat dad with road rage issues" for "Genius. Playboy. Millionaire. Philanthropist". Since then you've been fighting absolute demons as his PR manager to keep his reputation clean in the media. After you tell him you've had enough, he proposes a very interactive solution to your problem.

Content includes: Humour, crackfic, fluff, so much sexual tension, 18+ MDNI, smut, playboy!max, exasperated manager! reader, a very well rounded fic for once?! 4.7k WC

If someone asked you where it’d all gone downhill, you’d have to say it started because of that greedy paparrazi rat Henri - photographer at the MonacoDaily, otherwise known as every PR manager’s sleep paralysis demon. Because this particular paparazzo had a nasty knack for capturing celebrities just as they made the most atrocious decisions known to mankind. And he had an even nastier knack for threatening to sell said photos to the highest bidder. Truly, it was a dark day for any media team when they were forced to bargain with such a foul demon, who’d be able to go toe to toe with the likes of Satan himself.

So when your phone dinged at 5am on a peaceful Sunday morning, only to reveal the 7th (7th!!) message this month from the very same greedy little rat, you threw it across the room. Only to then remember you devastatingly had not been born into a Dubai oil family and you needed this job to pay Monaco rent. The text turns out to be a photo of your aggravating client - Max Verstappen, F1 champion driver, loving father to two cats, and more recently, certified manwhoreTM. He’s living upto your nickname for him, pictured in some nightclub with a half naked blonde sitting on his lap. Alright, alright, not as bad as you were expecting, you could even photoshop the girl’s hair colour to match his current girlfriend’s one maybe? Well, except the brunette woman glaring behind him is his current model girlfriend of the month. You hear a ding, another text from Henri - this time with just a 😈 and 💸👀. You throw the phone back against wall.

Three hours later you’ve cleaned up the PR nightmare and are banging on Max’s apartment door. He blearily lets you in, shirtless and still looking half drunk, but you don’t hesitate to yank him by his beltloops and drag him to the dining table (after quickly checking out that broad chest of his, though, cause goddamn. You’re just a girl.)

Ow, ow, what the hell, Max groans as he’s shoved into a chair. Please. As if you could do any real damage in your 5 foot frame to the 6 foot driver. Slamming your hands on the table for some dramatic flourish (you’re never beating the theatre kid allegations) you give the Dutchman a piece of your mind, demanding to know what his problem is, does he know how many people you’ve had to bribe this month to stop #SluttyMaxEra trending on twitter?? And yes, you know he broke up with Kelly 10 months ago but can’t he just process this healthily and go to therapy instead of having a hoe phase and hooking up with every third woman in Monaco?

Max looks insulted at this slight to his honor. He retaliates by accusing you of buying into the patriarchy and slut shaming him (-That’s not how that works but pop off king, is your deadpan response), and telling you he’s very much over Kelly, okay, it was an amicable breakup (-Sure, Verstappen, that’s why you’d only played Lana Del Ray for a whole month afterwards, huh?) and well, what’s the issue, he’s a hot and rich guy in Monaco, it’s not his fault women just want him? Would it not be #misogynistic of him to deny women the opportunity to explore their sexuality?! He smirks, pleased with his defence.

You groan, slumping down on a chair and burying your face in your hands, muffling your groan of wholesome cat dad Max comeback whennn. Max rolls his eyes at your theatrics, asking if you’d finally lost the plot.

You try cleaning up the PR messes you’ve been making, Max Emilian, you hiss furiously, remember Ibiza? Santorini? The goddamn yacht party over summer break when he got with the captain and her deputy?! (Even now, thinking of that leaking online gives you heartburn.)

Which yacht, Max says cockily, the one where he got with them one after another or at the same time?

Your jaw drops. You hadn’t even known about the threesome, so you suppose you should be grateful that wasn’t another mess to clean up. But a deeper, insecure part of you can’t help but wonder why the only woman Max doesn’t seem to want is you.

And sometimes you can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be one of his girls, under his strong body for once instead of on the other side of his hotel wall, having to drown out the very satisfied female moans and headboard bangs with noise cancelling headphones. Like always, you push that thought down quickly.

You, good sir, are for the streets, you announce, standing up and deciding it was time to leave before your delulu, jealous thoughts decided to resurface. Seriously, you mutter under your breath, you didn’t care if his current side quest was to fuck 10 times a week, but could he at least stick to one person for a bit and not make more work for you-

Max’s hand slams the front door back closed as you started to open it. You freeze, turning back to look at him smirking down at you. You hadn’t expected him to follow you down the hallway and you gulp nervously for the safety of your job - you might have taken the roasting a bit too far.

Instead, you get a sly, Oh, so I can do whatever I want, wherever I want, just with one person?

At your awkward nod, because yes, that would significantly ease your workload, he continues, enjoying teasing his uptight, pretty manager - then were you gonna offer yourself up? After all, there’s no PR messes to find out about if it’s you, right?

You blink at Max, completely stunned by the 180 this conversation has taken. Your expression is so adorable that he couldn’t resist a you’re so cute when you’re acting all jealous, you could’ve just asked if you wanted him to fuck you, ya know?

That promptly reminds you you’re dealing with an an absolute manwhore. RIP celibacy era Max, you’ll always be famous.

Um, absolutely fucking not, keep your STDs to yourself, you hiss, flushing head to toe, and furious at the desire in you to give into the devilish proposal. He encourages you to think about it, still smirking, relaxing his grip so you can mercifully flee far away from his intense gaze. Jesus, when did he learn to rizz a girl up like that?!

You don’t take his proposal seriously at all, ignoring his cocky looks at you over meetings all week (also, he’d texted you his clean STD result to assure you he was a #SafeSexKing.) But that weekend, your refusal comes back to haunt you when you’re on a well deserved night out with your girlfriends and your PR manager senses start going off. You narrow your eyes as you spot Max in the dark corner of the nightclub, hands all over a mystery redhead. She’s not going to be a mystery much longer though - if you’d spotted them it was a matter of time before fan’s phones did and then you’d wake up to another goddamn text from your sleep paralysis demon, Henri.

You don’t even have to think about it twice. Saying goodbye to your friends, you’re at Max’s side at a very impressive speed given your 6 inch stilettos and tight sparkly minidress, and once again dragging him off by the beltloops and into an open bathroom.

He lets you yank him away, smirking when he sees you lock the door for good measure. Sweetheart, he greets. So good to see you. Finally realised you couldn’t resist me?

You practically climb him like a tree while telling him to shut the fuck up and pay attention at media training day next time, because what kind of PR crisis did he have unfolding out there? And just this once you’ll help him out, you say breathlessly in between deep kisses, but this isn’t a regular thing -

There’s not much more talking from you because he has you moaning up against the wall next, fingers buried inside your tight little pussy as he talks you through an orgasm, and then another when he splits you in half on his cock. (Once again, manwhore, who carries a condom in their jean pockets?!)

Unfortunately for your self control but very fortunately for your sex life, it is not in fact, a “one time thing”. Your trusty rose vibrator is glad for the break as you’d been taking your year long frustrations at your dry spell out on her. Especially when coming home after staying in hotels where you’d had to book out rooms neighbouring Max’s, so no one else overheard the raunchy vocals of different women every night.

Like Max said, with you, there were no more illicit PR messes to find out about in the middle of the night. You’d redirect him everytime he gave you bedroom eyes (At the pre race debrief. Post race debrief. Weekly team plan meeting. Over zoom calls? Seriously?) - gently taking his large hand and guiding him to a much more hidden, PR crisis-friendly area. To your surprise, Max actually sticks to his word and only hooks up with you - admittedly, multiple times a week (Not that you’re complaining. Turns out he was just as good in bed as he was on the track. Except this time he was definitely not finishing first...)

And for a while, everything is going well. There are no more weekly scandals scattered across trashy celeb magazines about Max. Your boss is gushing with praise, so impressed that you’ve finally managed to talk some sense into Redbull’s problem child (ah, if only she knew, but she never would, because the goddamn CIA couldn’t torture this info out of you) and best of all, you haven’t gotten a text from papparazzi rat Henri in weeks!

So of course, Max Verstappen decides that things are getting just a little bit too quiet for his liking, you had to earn your generous PR manager salary, that he paid for, right? His new, numerous tactics to stir the pot had included:

Going to clubs with no private bathrooms so you’d had to sit on his lap in the VIP lounge as he pulled your panties to the side to slide into you, barely hidden under your flimsy dress. You’d held back your moans and prayed the bass was too loud for anyone to hear

Sitting right next to you at every team dinner or business meeting so that he could sneak a large hand up your thigh and tease your pussy for fucking hours, often just as you were about to speak. And when you’re clenching the table so hard your fingers were white, he’s bending under the table to pick up a pen or something but instead left teasing licks and kisses on your aching core. You'd learnt very quickly not to wear a skirt.

Picking you up in his 2 seater Aston Martin instead of the much more appropriate discreet, spacious, 5 seater Audi he owned - so when he was too pent up after a bad practise session to wait till he got home, he'd get you to go down on him right there in the car, sometimes even as he drove, instead of parking in some hidden backstreet. It was so dirty, that he needed you so desperately that he didn't care about being caught by anyone peeking in through the half tinted windows. Because if they did look, they’d find his head thrown back in pleasure as he moans, his fingers tangled in your curls as he moved your drooling, pink lips up and down his wide cock-

Anyways, you get the picture. And he’d escalated this all the way to the paddock, which was insane because there were always multiple cameras trained on the current F1 champion. It’s the one place you two couldn’t sneak off without a very high risk of being caught, as evidenced by the one and only time he'd managed to get under your skin in the garage. He'd had you pinned up against the wall in some narrow side hallway as he whispered how fucking sexy you’d looked today, wearing his hoodie to cover up the hickies you hadn’t realized you’d woken up with and paired with some tiny denim shorts. Having the 6 foot champion huskily groan that he couldn’t focus on his free practise everytime you bent over to pet a passing dog, or when you innocently sucked on the Redbull flavoured lollipops and then the goddamn ice cream from the truck they’d brought in - was quite the power trip, you admit. So you guided his lips from your neck as he tries to add to the growing bruises on your neck and redirected him to your waiting lips instead, steamily making out as his large hands squeezed your thick ass like he’d been thinking about all day-

Max?!?

You instantly pull back from the driver and turned to see a flabbergasted looking GP - Max’s race engineer. His jaw is wide open as he looked at you two with round eyes. You’re fumbling to explain, trying and failing to push Max back - who looks rather annoyed at the intrusion and semi-glares at GP with narrow eyes. You hiss at the younger man to stop being rude and slip underneath his arms, going over to guiltily apologise to GP only to be met with You too?! How did he get you in his bed, you hated how much of a slut he was! Seriously, does he have a magical dick? Now you stare at GP in shock, unsure of how to respond to his question while Max starts laughing behind you. You make him join you as you promise to GP that he will never have to witness this again, because there will be no unprofessional behaviour of any sort on the paddock after "BootyShorts Gate" as you thereafter dub the incident. Regardless, GP still shoots you both wary glances and begins the habit of announcing his arrival and waiting 10 seconds before turning a corner in the garage, earning him many an odd look. Dramatic, really, was this where Max gets it from?

Max, of course, was very displeased with this new “professionalism” rule you'd set down - on the paddock was when he'd get the most tense, the most horny and desperate to have you underneath him, after all - and he made sure you knew it. You deliberately ignored his heated gaze on you as you interviewed him, or his lingering touches when he helped you hold your microphone up to his much taller frame, large hand wrapped around your small ones clutching the mic. Or his recent favourite, which involved standing next to you to help pick out the insta pics post-race (something he'd notoriously always hated to do) - except now, he conveniently happened to be shirtless, his toned abs and broad shoulders on display, running a hand through his sweaty tousled hair.

This last seduction tactic had sent you fleeing to Checo's garage to seek out the other Redbull driver's PR manager and beg on your knees for a client swap, surely, the sponsor benefits are legendary for whoever Max's PR manager is -

Nope. Nuh uh, no way, Checo is the breeziest driver ever to look after. The other manager pauses. Well, except for the occasional political military coup scandal in Mexico. But still, I'd take that any day over El Manwhore.

You wailed at whatever Gods had decided to curse you and took matters into your own hands, furiously plotting up social media campaign idea after idea that were exactly the kind of thing Max hated with a burning passion - hoping it would get him to back off on his tactics and wave a white flag. From viral TikTok challenges, to making him read all his cringe 2008 tweets, and even making him play fuck, marry, kill with the drivers of the grid. You'd admit, that last one had been rather funny to watch, making you chuckle as you scrolled through the comments, liking "Can't believe we got Max Verstappen saying he would fuck Lewis, kill Pierre and marry Charles before GTA 6" and "does Redbull admin know she posted this on main?!"

But despite your best efforts, it didn't seem to deter Max. If anything, he'd begrudgingly do the task and end up laughing excitedly at you - who was holding the camera - about some joke or the other and make your stupid heart flutter. You knew you definitely should not be catching feelings for your client - who'd made it very clear his interest in you was only physical. But no one needed to know that sometimes you’d log into your fake account to like the "Who got max giggling and kickin his feet and shii?" comments.

Meanwhile, Max had caught wind of your desperation for an escape attempt with Checo’s manager and had upped the ante. He slyly mentioning to Christian Horner than you were doing such a great job as his PR manager, could he pretty please have you promoted to his general manager for his non racing publicity too?

And that's how you found yourself at a Dior Sauvage photoshoot, despite your adamant protests to Horner. You were putting your Masters of Business Adminstration, first class honours, to fantastic use by babysitting a 26 year old child who liked fast cars that went vroom vroom. The only redeeming factor is that you can leave the unflattering Redbull shirt at home since this wasn't for F1 publicity and instead wear a nice outfit for once. Still, you thought it was odd that Max had so easily accepted this campaign, as he wasn't normally one to enjoy doing PR.

A few minutes later you've figured out exactly why your favourite manwhore had agreed to this campaign, because he's grinning at you while posed shirtless, toned abs and broad shoulders all on display as some pretty, busty model is draped over him. The photographer is making this even more painful for you by dragging out the shoot, making Max and the model reposition herself multiple times. You roll your eyes at the scene, because obviously they're two very attractive people who will look good together no matter what, did the photographer really need to be so extra? You stalk off at some point to make yourself a hot chocolate in the hopes it'll sooth the flames of jealousy that are threatening to consume you right now. Max approaches you when a break is called, running a teasing hand along your waist from the back and whispering you looked so fucking hot in this tight maxi dress, making you nervously look around to see if anyone noticed. Luckily, all the staff appeared busy and didn’t look in the dim corner you'd settled into to do paperwork. You hiss at him to keep your hands to yourself, Verstappen making him grin and inform you that's not what you’d said last night, in fact, you were practically begging for him to do the exact opposite-

You're glaring up at him, seriously contemplating if it’s worth breaking your contract clause to "act in the client's best interests" and mauling him with your laptop when the photographer comes up to you both with narrowed eyes. You guiltily step back, thinking he overhead Max's suggestive comments, but instead he just looks back and forth between you two contemplatively. Then, just as you were about to ask him what the issue was, he announces that you'd be replacing the model as the female for the shoot. No questions asked! he announces as you try to protest and snaps his fingers at the makeup and wardrobe artists to demand they sort you out (he gestures rather dramatically to your whole figure when he says this, making you scowl).

So that's how you find yourself dressed in a silky gold minidress with a sultry eye look, pressed up against Max's broad chest and trying not to focus on the intimate position you two are in. Max, however, has no such qualms about the position, using it to tease you further. You've been looking extra tense lately, sweetheart, he breathes, those devilish lips brushing past your ear. I know a great way to make you relax? You growl at him to shut the fuck up because oh my god, did he know how many cameras are pointed at you both right now? Besides, you mutter under your breath, it seemed like he was very interested in relaxing with that blonde model earlier.

Fighting to keep the smug look of his face, Max whispers back that there was No need to be jealous, schatje, you were the only one getting access to his magical dick. So caught up in the game you two are playing, you don't even register the photographer excitedly snapping up pictures, proclaiming that he knew it, the chemistry between these two is unbelievable!

Afterwards, as you're walking off the photoshoot, feeling all hot and bothered from Max's hands running across your exposed skin, shamelessly looking you up and down, the blonde Dutchman catches up to you. He teases you that you were going to get wrinkles at 25 if you didn't stop scowling all the time. I'm older than you, you scoff back, by a whole 6 months, in fact, so maybe you should actually listen to me for once instead of pissing me off? No problem, Max agrees, after all, he's always had a thing for MILFs. You can't help snort at his retort and then start laughing when he tries to maintain an innocent look. At least you were away from the cameras in case someone heard this, you mused.

Unfortunately, you both don't notice MonacoDaily's ratbag paparrazo, Henri, hiding in nearby shrubbery with his camera. It had been far too long without a Verstappen news scandal, he thought with a satisfied smirk as he clicked away.

And later than night, after you'd eaten the chicken stir fry he'd cooked and rewatched Cars 2 (a surpassingly more regular occurrence, these days, to unwind with him at the end of the day instead of immediately being mauled the second you stepped foot in his apartment) you made sure he followed your orders for once. Sitting him back, telling him just how bad he'd been today with all his teasing (-well, it worked, didn't it, sweetheart?) you showed him just how good you were at playing the game, too. And soon, he was breathlessly moaning underneath you as you rode him for the first time, gripping his cock like you were going to milk every last drop, teasing him with just enough pace to get him worked up but not enough to send him over the edge. And you only let him cum inside you when he begged you sweetly, making you go fuzzy at the sight of the infamous Redbull playboy being so desperate for you, and only you.

Afterwards, once you've shampooed each other's hair in the shower while gossiping about how catty that makeup artist had been, really, to imply that your pretty curls had been the problem and not her shitty styling? and Max has got you spooned against him, warm in an old hoodie of his, pressing a goodnight kiss to your forehead, you can't control the warmth blossoming in your chest any longer. And as a content sleep takes a hold of you, you can't help but wonder if Max's affections went beyond physical attraction, just like yours’ were now doing.

It turned out the opportunity to find out this answer would come the very next day, when the ding of your phone wakes you up in the early hours of the morning. It’s a very specific sound that you've set for a certain ratbag - and you get war flashbacks, hearing it now after so long. Scrambling off the bed, ignoring Max's muffled groans as you shove his heavy arm of you, you unlock your phone and gasp in horror as your suspicions are confirmed. Henri has arisen from the ashes and this time it's to deliver his sauciest scandal yet. Because a picture tells a 1000 words, sure, but he has the two of you on a goddamn video, flirting and giggling at each other as you exited the studio yesterday. There's no chance of you talking your way out of this one, as Max's large palm wanders to give your thick ass a firm squeeze as he guides you into his passenger seat. Goddamn, you knew you shouldn't have worn that tempting skims maxi dress - Max was an ass (and tits) man who couldn't be trusted to control himself in public. BTW already sold this 🥸 Henri texts. Just a courtesy FYI cuz I brought a boat with the bag from this one ✌️

You contemplate if it would be better to disappear off the face of the planet, or get plastic surgery to become unrecognisable as you chug your morning Redbull while moodily looking over the Monaco sunrise. Max joins you after a few minutes, looking extremely cute as he rubs the sleep out of his baby blue eyes and asks you what's wrong, schatje.

Taking a deep sigh (like you said, #DramaKid), you break the news. I’m going to hold your hand while I say this (- that’s really not necessary, Max interrupts) - but you know celibacy exists, right? As does having sex in a private location without the risk of being arrested for public indecency?

True, Max agrees, but what was the fun in that? Besides, you were just too hot to resist. Ignoring the butterflies at his cheesy flirting, you hold up the incriminating video on your phone as proof that it was not all fun and games, as Henri had already sold this to multiple news outlets this morning, you inform glumly. Max is strangely silent, looking intently at the video and even replaying it a few times, his eyes crinkling as a soft smile appears on his face when he hears the sound of you two laughing. Then - in a truly unbelievable redemption arc plotline from the Monaco playboy - he asks if it would be so terrible, to have this made public, to let the world know that you were together?

Well, I - you stumble over your words, - I dunno, I thought you liked that? Keeping it secret cause you just wanted a convenient hook up?

Max is silent again. Then, looking uncharacteristically nervous, he says that's not what he wants, not really, not anymore - not since he'd fallen in love with you, somewhere along the 3 months of the friends with benefits/PR manager and her problematic client situationship you’d had. And like at the very start, you don’t even need to think about it twice. This time when you shyly smile and kiss him, you make sure he can feel your love through it and know that you wanted more, too.

So you walk into work that morning, holding hands in open defiance, ready for the world to see. You’re rather confused when no one seems to be paying much attention, instead frantically trying to get the set up ready for the pre race testing. Maybe you two had not been as indiscreet as you thought and people already suspected? Or maybe you both had a penchant for drama and thought you were the main characters when you clearly were not?

You look at each other, shrug, and you give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him you’ll see him for lunch at the kebab shop on the corner, before he wanders off to the garage. Maybe Henri had a change of heart and decided not to exploit innocents for fame and money, you ponder hopefully. Maybe there truly was good in the world, after all.

And then you hear your name being called and turn to see your boss standing behind you menacingly, hands on hips. Care to explain why #MaxLovesMILFS is trending right now?

Somewhere along the Monaco waterfront, a paparazzi rat skulking in the bushes sneezes.

—————————————————————————

A/N: again thank you so much to @piastrification for inspiring this piece!! So sorry for the delay and I hope you enjoy my attempt at branching out to other fics xx tysm to you all for the requests, I am working them into my upcoming fics!! 💖

[sapphicdib]

I am sure you are all aware of the current state of the fandom. I have done my best to avoid all of the controversy, but seeing how others have voiced their concerns I would like to as well.

I, as an artist, do not feel safe in the Rain World fandom.

I have expressed this in the past, but I have been the victim of false pedophile and grooming allegations with the use of manipulated and doctored screenshots. I do not have the words to articulate just how psychologically damaging it is to have an entire fandom turn on you in an instant. To have your social life destroyed. To have hundreds or even thousands of people celebrate your downfall, simply because you annoyed them, because now they have a "reason" to. Watching this fandom gleefully parade around shaky evidence and happily participate in this type of behavior is sickening to me. It makes me worry that someday, I will annoy someone enough to have another false allegation made against me, and I will have to go through that again. There is a part of me that believes I would not survive such a thing. I am not trying to be dramatic when I say that, but people need to realize that "internet drama" can cause serious harm your mental health. I still have PTSD nightmares related to the callout post made about me from 3 years ago. This is not something you can just “get over”.

People need to remember fanartists are not paragons of grace, nor are they perfect. The fact that the internet has allowed people to dehumanize artists into "content machines" that must never slip up rather than human beings who are messy and awkward and can fuck up at times is sickening. I do not feel comfortable in a fandom that jumps at the opportunity to harass someone over a mistake, that stirs up a witchunt over what boils down to miscommunications. A fandom that treats every situation as black and white and doesn't wait for all the evidence to come out.

I believe nyuuronfly put it best in their post:

"It is not inspiring to sit around and get attention in an atmosphere where the more attention you get the more you know many of the eyes that are looking toward you are searching for a weak point to go after."

I understand revealing a lot of my trauma in this post is a potentially stupid decision, but I believe my story can help make people realize the genuine harm callout posts cause. It is not fun having to deal with constant paranoia that hundreds of people are praying on your downfall. I have considered not posting about, or simply deleting my rot au many times because of worry that someone will think it's too “dark” or “problematic” and decide I am the fandom's #1 punching bag for months.

As of now, I will not be deleting, nor will I stop posting art. But I have considered it many times, and this behavior as of late brought me the closest I've ever been to doing so. I love rain world and frankly, I don't want to feel this way about the fandom! I want this place to be positive, I want better for this game. I'm not mad, just disappointed.

TL;DR:

PLEASE for the LOVE OF GOD stop reblogging callout posts.

Fanartists are PEOPLE. They are giving you FREE art. Treat them better.

You are not immune to false screenshots, mob mentality, and black and white thinking.

Rain world is a gorgeous, creative, and deeply moving game. Please, let's work to make this community reflect that.

[sayruq]

A new investigation by +972 Magazine and Local Call reveals that the Israeli army has developed an artificial intelligence-based program known as “Lavender,” unveiled here for the first time. According to six Israeli intelligence officers, who have all served in the army during the current war on the Gaza Strip and had first-hand involvement with the use of AI to generate targets for assassination, Lavender has played a central role in the unprecedented bombing of Palestinians, especially during the early stages of the war. In fact, according to the sources, its influence on the military’s operations was such that they essentially treated the outputs of the AI machine “as if it were a human decision.”

During the early stages of the war, the army gave sweeping approval for officers to adopt Lavender’s kill lists, with no requirement to thoroughly check why the machine made those choices or to examine the raw intelligence data on which they were based. One source stated that human personnel often served only as a “rubber stamp” for the machine’s decisions, adding that, normally, they would personally devote only about “20 seconds” to each target before authorizing a bombing — just to make sure the Lavender-marked target is male. This was despite knowing that the system makes what are regarded as “errors” in approximately 10 percent of cases, and is known to occasionally mark individuals who have merely a loose connection to militant groups, or no connection at all. Moreover, the Israeli army systematically attacked the targeted individuals while they were in their homes — usually at night while their whole families were present — rather than during the course of military activity. According to the sources, this was because, from what they regarded as an intelligence standpoint, it was easier to locate the individuals in their private houses. Additional automated systems, including one called “Where’s Daddy?” also revealed here for the first time, were used specifically to track the targeted individuals and carry out bombings when they had entered their family’s residences.

The Lavender machine joins another AI system, “The Gospel,” about which information was revealed in a previous investigation by +972 and Local Call in November 2023, as well as in the Israeli military’s own publications. A fundamental difference between the two systems is in the definition of the target: whereas The Gospel marks buildings and structures that the army claims militants operate from, Lavender marks people — and puts them on a kill list. In addition, according to the sources, when it came to targeting alleged junior militants marked by Lavender, the army preferred to only use unguided missiles, commonly known as “dumb” bombs (in contrast to “smart” precision bombs), which can destroy entire buildings on top of their occupants and cause significant casualties. “You don’t want to waste expensive bombs on unimportant people — it’s very expensive for the country and there’s a shortage [of those bombs],” said C., one of the intelligence officers. Another source said that they had personally authorized the bombing of “hundreds” of private homes of alleged junior operatives marked by Lavender, with many of these attacks killing civilians and entire families as “collateral damage.”

Remember, the Israeli occupation government considers all men over the age of 16 to be Hamas operatives hence why they've claimed to have killed over 9,000 of them (which matches the number of Palestinian men killed according to the Ministry of Health). So, when the article speaks of 'low level' or 'high level militants' they're likely speaking of civilians.

If Israel knew who Hamas fighters are, Oct 7th wouldn't have caught them off guard and they wouldn't still be fighting the Palestinian resistance every single day.

[redflagshipwriter]

Check Yes (to go on a date with a dead guy) chapter 5 progress

“Hey!” Duke hollered, as soon as Jason put the key in his door. “Welcome back, loser!”

Danny huffed out a laugh. 

“Hey yourself,” Jason called out, holding the door open and making sure Danny got in before he closed it behind them. “Scruffy little brother, this is Danny. Danny, this is Duke.” 

“Wait, what?” Duke skidded into the room on socked feet, eyes wide and mouth grinning in confused delight. “I didn't know you had any friends!” 

“Oh, we're not friends,” Danny reassured him easily, missing Jason's scowl. “Just dating. So there's still no proof that he has friends.” He winked obnoxiously. 

Jason could see the moment Duke shut down and rebooted twice as excited. 

Christ. He quietly cursed to himself and ducked his head to hide the burning in his cheeks as Danny bounced over to hold his hand out. He was never beating the allegations of favoritism after this, Jason sighed. 

Danny was a little sun spot when he chirped, “Nice to meet you, I hear you're the generous distributor of games?”

“Yeah, that request makes sooo much more sense now.” Duke met Danny's hand with a friendly slap and then went in for a hug. Jason cringed at the familiarity- but apparently it was the right move. Danny went for it, backslapping Duke amiably. They separated. Danny thoughtfully held Duke at a distance, hands on his shoulders. 

“I see. So, you're my true opponent?” At Duke's nod, Danny smiled with a few too many teeth. He leaned in to hold intense eye contact. “Gonna kick your ass,” Danny vowed. 

“You can try, old man,” Duke shot back. They separated with grins. “I’ll set up. Jason, your taste is so much better than I thought it would be.”

Jason made an offended noise. “Wait, what?” 

Duke gestured at him with one lazy hand as he unlatched the top of his backpack and started withdrawing games. “I figured you would exclusively date super serious tough types.”

“... I'm tough,” Danny said morosely.

Jason resisted the urge to cackle. He didn't disbelieve it at all! Size wasn't everything. But the uh, the big baby eyes and slumping shoulders really weren't selling the toughness.

Duke shrugged, brutal and unconcerned with the damage he was leaving in his wake. “I was thinking more like a forensic accountant who collects rocks and cage fights literally just for the fitness benefits.” 

Jason took a moment to consider that theoretical accountant. He would date that person. They sounded well rounded. It was a sensible career, a chill hobby, and a reasonably active lifestyle. What was wrong with that? He frowned to himself. What was Duke even implying??

“I would date that accountant,” Danny reluctantly admitted. He seemed disgruntled about it. “I don't cage fight, sorry to disappoint. You can't imagine how much my sister would kill me if I tried.” 

“It's fine,” Jason reassured, making a mental note of a sister and the potential for quantifiable subsequent deaths. “Me either.” 

He could, though. He thought about it for a moment. He'd kick so much ass. That would be a fun way to give Bruce a heart attack. 

Duke snorted, but thankfully said nothing else. Jason didn't want to hear what Duke thought about his odds in cage fighting. Jason knew what was in his heart and that it was fighting potential. 

The game Duke and Danny settled on was a multiplayer racing game. Jason dutifully tried. His car bounced along and beat out all but one of the computer's characters. He endured two rounds before he bowed out and leaned back to watch the other two trash talk each other. 

Honestly, these games were repetitive and pretty boring. Jason zoned out and stretched. He was laying his arm along the back of the couch before he realized that was a bad idea. 

He froze, forearm just barely brushing against the back of Danny's neck. Danny… didn't seem to care. 

Well. Jason let his arm relax. It was only weird if Danny thought it was weird. 

Duke glanced over out of the corner of his eye and gave Jason a cat-faced smirk. Jason raised his hand just enough to show off his favorite finger. 

“Hey, gimme a min?” Duke said. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Liar. Sneaking liar, Jason thought fondly. He was going to try to spy and see what they did when he left the room. 

Danny hit the pause button and let the controller drop to the sofa. “Yeah, go piss girl,” he drawled. 

Jason cocked his head to the side in confusion.

Duke just laughed, so that must have been some kind of reference. He clambered over the back of the sofa and gave Danny's shoulders a light push on his way past. 

Danny went with the motion and bumped into Jason with a giggle. Jason endured it patiently, bemused but enjoying that they were both happy. 

The bathroom door shut behind Duke. 

Danny leaned further into Jason and contorted his neck at a frankly precarious angle to look up at him. “Are you having fun?” He checked. Danny's ear brushed against Jason's chest in a way that he was hyper aware of. There was line of concern between his eyebrows that Jason kinda wanted to smooth away with a thumb.

[tzifron]

Reminds me of how the British blamed the Acadians for the Mi'kmaq resistance.

The crackdown on campuses offered a grim continuity: Police and other officials churned out all the same old excuses for quashing resistance. Most notably, their rhetoric relied on the predictable canard of the “outside agitator.” New York Mayor Eric Adams trotted it out as grounds for sending in an army of baton-wielding cops against the city’s students. And Deputy Police Commissioner Tarik Sheppard went even further on MSNBC Wednesday morning, brandishing an unremarkable chain lock — the sort of which I’ve seen on bikes everywhere — as proof that “professionals,” not students themselves, had carried out the takeover of the Columbia building. The bike-lock business quickly came in for rightly deserved mockery, but the “outside agitator” myth is no joking matter. In this current moment, the “outside agitators” conjured are both the perennial anarchist bogeymen or Islamist terror groups sending funds to keep student encampments flush with the cheapest tents available online. The “outside agitator” trope has a long, racist legacy, including use by the Ku Klux Klan. In the 1930s, the Klan issued flyers in Alabama claiming that “paid organizers for the communists are only trying” to get Black people “in trouble.” The allegation does double rhetorical harm by denying the agency and commitment of organizers themselves and suggesting that “outside” support from beyond a given locale or institution is somehow a bad thing. More recently, the canard has been hauled out in defense of movement repression in Atlanta, against Stop Cop City protesters who had made a national call for backup. And it was a common refrain for politicians nationwide during the 2020 uprising, as well as discourse around the earlier Black Lives Matter protests in Ferguson after police killed Mike Brown. Blaming outside agitators or interests always was a propaganda ploy and remains so now. The idea that Palestinian liberation struggle is a mere proxy for Iranian interests repeats the delegitimizing logic of the past. In fact, the Gaza solidarity encampments on campuses are student-organized and led, with Palestinian students at front and center, and a disproportionately large presence of Jewish students too. It is students, over 1,000 of them, who have faced arrest. It also happens that millions of people have called for an end to Israel’s genocidal war, and support for Palestinian liberation is not and must not be limited to the mythic and maligned terrain of campus activism.

[psychotrenny]

It's so funny when people try to defend Left Nietzscheanism by going "Noooo you can't condemn all of Nietzsche's work as Fascist! Look at all these awesome Leftist thinkers he influenced: " And you look through the list and every single one of them was on the CCF payroll at some point.

Now I'm not saying that recieving money from the CIA automatically makes someone's entire body of work worthless (maybe the CIA made a mistake and funded someone they shouldn't have, or maybe their work evolved after they stopped getting CIA bucks), but it's a really bad look and makes everything they have to say suspicious at best. Like it severely damages their credibility as a Marxist or even general "Leftist" and I wouldn't be namedropping them to prove a point. And if this is the best Left Nietzscheanism can do then you aren't beating the Fascism allegations anytime soon

[onceuponatown]

The Great Molasses Flood was a disaster in Boston that occurred after a storage tank collapsed on January 15, 1919, sending more than two million gallons (eight million litres) of molasses flowing through the city’s North End. The deluge caused extensive damage and killed 21 people.

The tank was built in 1915 along Boston’s waterfront on Commercial Street, opposite Copp’s Hill. It was operated by the Purity Distilling Company, a subsidiary of United States Industrial Alcohol (USIA). At the time, industrial alcohol—then made from fermented molasses—was highly profitable; it was used to make munitions and other weaponry for World War I (1914–18). The tank’s immense size reflected the demand: it measured more than 50 feet (15 metres) high and 90 feet (27 metres) in diameter and could hold up to 2.5 million gallons (9.5 million litres) of molasses. Built quickly, the tank was problematic from the start, leaking and often emitting rumbling noises. Nevertheless, it continued to be used, and after the war’s conclusion USIA focused on producing grain alcohol, which was in high demand as prohibition neared passage.

At approximately 12:30 PM on January 15, 1919, the tank burst, releasing a deluge of “sweet, sticky death.” According to reports, the resulting wave of molasses was 15 to 40 feet (5 to 12 metres) high and some 160 feet (49 metres) wide. Traveling at approximately 35 miles (56 km) per hour, it destroyed several city blocks, leveling buildings and damaging automobiles. Although help arrived quickly, the hardening molasses made rescue efforts difficult. In the end, 21 people were killed, many of whom were suffocated by the syrup, and approximately 150 were injured. In addition, the Boston Post noted that a number of horses had “died like so many flies on sticky fly paper.” Clean-up efforts lasted for weeks, and Boston reportedly continued to smell like molasses for years afterward.

Numerous lawsuits were filed in the wake of the disaster. While victims alleged that the tank was not safe, USIA claimed that it had been sabotaged by “evilly disposed persons.” In 1925, however, it was ruled that the tank was unsound, and USIA was ordered to pay damages. In addition, the disaster resulted in stricter construction codes being adopted by states across the country.

For years, questions were raised over how such a seemingly benign substance could have caused so many deaths. In 2016, researchers released a study that placed the blame on cold temperatures. While warm weather would have caused the molasses to be less viscous, the winter temperatures made the syrup markedly thicker, severely impeding rescuers.

[silvermountaingirl]

Locus Magazine's September update on the Neil Gaiman allegations

"CORRECTIONS (on page 4) In our August 2024 story regarding recent allegations against Neil Gaiman, we erroneously described Tortoise Media (which broke the news) as a tabloid; we apologize for the mischaracterization. Tortoise Media is a British news website founded in 2018

MORE GAIMAN ALLEGATIONS (on pages 72-3) We reported last month on two women who accused author Neil Gaiman of sexual assault. Since then, three more women have come forward with allegations. Two of them spoke on the Tortoise Media podcast Master: The Allegations Against Neil Gaiman. Caroline Wallner lived on Gaiman’s property in Woodstock NY from 2014 to 2021, and says that she felt pressured to have sex with him in order to maintain her living situation; she further alleges that when she stopped responding to requests for explicit photos and videos, Gaiman’s business manager told her she had to move out by December 2021. Wallner says Gaiman paid her $275,000 that month in exchange for signing an NDA that ‘‘disputes and denies that Wallner has sustained any losses, damages, or injuries for which Gaiman is legally responsible.’’ Wallner chose to come forward after hearing the earlier allegations.

The second woman on the podcast, Julia Hobsbawm, says Gaiman made ‘‘an aggressive, unwanted pass’’ at her in 1986, when she was 22 and Gaiman was 25, after which she cut off contact.

Two other women reportedly declined to be interviewed for the podcast but provided messages and ‘‘corroborating evidence’’ pointing to a pattern of behavior on Gaiman’s part. Details are here: www.tortoisemedia.com/2024/08/01/exclusive-two-more-women-accuse-neil-gaiman-of-sexual-assault-and-abuse/

The other accuser, using the name Claire, appeared on a different podcast, Am I Broken: Survivor Stories. She claims that she was a fan of Gaiman and met him at a book event in 2012, subsequently entering into a ten-month in-person and long-distance relationship that allegedly included unwanted interactions such as a kiss, groping, phone sex, and pressure to have sex. She described feeling ‘‘gross’’ but going along with the kiss because ‘‘it was Neil Gaiman.’’ She claims Gaiman said, ‘‘I’m a very wealthy man, and I’m used to getting what I want.’’ She also said Gaiman claimed she initiated the contact, and that he blamed his autism for failing to properly read her body language. The podcast is here: amibroken.buzzsprout.com/763742/15488615-s4-ep2-claire-i-ignored-it-and-i-believed-him-because-he-s-the-storyteller-neil-gaiman.

Gaiman has declined to comment publicly on the allegations."

[hertenskylarks]

One point that I want to talk about:

In the podcast, Clarie mentioned how she reached out to Gaiman with the intention of saying what she felt she needed to say and asking for an apology. This struck me because I did something similar with my rapist, and the response I received was eerily similar to Claire's experience.

Like Claire, when I called my rapist, I was fully expecting him to be defensive. I was fully expecting him to be dismissive and to shift the blame onto me. I was prepared to counter his excuses.

Instead, what I got was what seemed, at the time, like a sincere apology.

Yet, despite how genuine it sounded, I've always doubted his sincerity.The reason boils down to two words: damage control. When he realized I was confronting him, he said whatever he needed to say to pacify me. In Claire's case, Neil did the same. He apologized, claimed ignorance, attributed his failure to pick up signals to his autism, insisted he had never done this before, asked how he could improve, and even made a token donation to a charity Claire cared about.

How nice of him (sarcasm).

And for Neil, it worked… temporarily. After receiving what seemed like a sincere apology, Claire backed off. She decided against coming forward, felt she had the closure she wanted, and believed—or wanted to believe—that he wouldn't do it again.

But that's exactly what Neil wanted.

We now know that was a blatant lie. Not only did Neil target at least one other woman afterward, but Claire wasn't his first victim, nor likely his second or third. Not only is he a liar, he’s a GOOD liar. Here is this woman, Clair, who is finally calling him out on his bullshit, ready to hold him accountable for his bad behavior, is saying “No, I didn’t kiss you first, you kissed me first,” and “No, that’s not an excuse.” She still walked away believing (or wanting to believe) his apology was sincere and that he wouldn't do it again, even though he probably knew full well he was going to strike again. If he could convince Claire, in that situation, that he was genuine, imagine what else he's lied about, covered up with PR, lawyers, editing, rehearsing, and years of practice.

Actually, we don't have to imagine, because we already know. For years, Neil has constructed this persona of someone safe, someone who champions believing women, diversity, inclusion, and all these noble causes. Much of his fanbase resonated with these values and looked up to him for it. Hell, I used to think that man was a national treasure. And now we have to cope with the realization that the persona our hero constructed is a complete fucking farce.

Edit: So apparently, one of the newest allegations comes from a woman who had a bad encounter with him in the fucking 80s. Y'all, he's been at it for like 40 fucking years. That's longer than some of his survivors have been alive. I can't even...

[jesusagrees]

NewJeans fans comparing NewJeans so called mistreatment to the mistreatment of LOONA and FIFTY FIFTY is NOT in the same category. They do NOT sit in the same bracket. Nor is it an act of feminism on their part. Defending their groomer and abuser is NOT an act of feminism here.

LOONA and FIFTY FIFTY were mistreated extremely. They had proof. FIFTY FIFTY were literally being starved, overworked, abused...etc...with proof they still lost the lawsuit. LOONA was being overworked and not paid and still lost.

NewJeans alleged "abuse" is someone not greeting them in the elevator and another manager of another group ignoring them and telling others as well and the new CEO telling them to move on. Yes, I would tell them the same thing.

These girls have stuck by their abuser SO much, Min Hee Jin has successfully isolated these girls and made them feel completely dependent on HER only. I don't blame other staff or groups for ignoring NJs. MIn Hee Jin has shown she IS the problem and these girls have done nothing but stick by her like fools. Of course other groups don't want to jeopardize their own groups and careers by associating with that. I would do the same! Especially after MHJ was exposed for her being a defender and covering up SA/Harassment in the workforce and harassing employees. That's crazy!

Someone ignoring you is NOT the end of the world. They ignore you, you ignore them. You get over it. Not everyone has to give you the time of day and cater to your every needs. I'm sorry, NewJeans, but you are NOT the money makers of HYBE. HYBE most definitely will not hurt if you disband. As a matter of fact, they've been putting out too much money on NewJeans, it's actually more expensive to keep them at this point.

I am actually floored seeing this unfold. These girls NEED to leave the industry at this point and seek intensive therapy. The adults around them have FAILED them and they should no longer be in this industry. If they are going to cry everytime someone doesn't say hi then they aren't fit to be idols.

Min Hee Jin has done SO much damage on these girls. They will blindly follow their groomer who has done nothing but bring them down this whole time. This woman has lied, defamed, harassed, and attacked other groups. She has forced NewJeans to do the same and has shielded herself behind them claiming "NewJeans made me do it, I'm doing this for NewJeans," when she has 2 active criminal cases against her and 5 active lawsuits. These girls kept publicly thanking her in front of the people she attacked over and over again and put out articles against them to bring up NJs. That is NOT protecting your group.

The only mistreatment here is from Min Hee Jin. She has lied to these girls, she has manipulated these girls, she has abused these girls. and she has gaslit these girls. These girls can do what they want now that they're adults, but if they want to work in the industry again, they better go begging on their knees to the CEO and ask for forgiveness. They just ruined every chance of working in the industry again.

[muraar]

Precursor

Blissful fools or perhaps it was intentional on thier parts, but something existed between the two of you.

Jiyan x reader. Feat song: like you do- joji

Wc: 2k, gn!reader

Mentions of self-destruction?? i mean its nothing heavy, but the reader is implied to have a destructive resonance ability that causes damage to them as well. 

We're not beating the yearning allegations with this one 🗣🗣🗣

Moonlight seeped over the marred backdrop, bathed in the silvery incandescence, the previously war-torn land looked …serene. 

A quaint stillness presided over the expanse, an aftermath they ever ardently sacrificed for, a respite attained through blood and hardships alike. Vestiges loomed over in memories and corporeality alike, but this night, tonight, languid in its wake, made it all the more absolute what it is that they truly fought for. 

The air felt crisp and clean; a cool breeze blew from the west, carrying with it a scent of wood mingled with earthy dirt and the lingering trace of the campfire. The sky above, clear and bright, held no clouds and offered a magnificent display of stars scattered across the horizon, twinkling against the velvet black void.

 It wasn’t often that the General of the Midnight Rangers found himself in such a peaceful pace, so much so that he allowed his eyes to close momentarily, savoring the sensation before slowly opening them again.

The forested hillside stretched on as far as his eye could see, a dark blanket concealing most of the area beyond, though a few small lights dotted the landscape.

“Come here often?” 

Interposed in your mirthful voice, followed soon after by lazy footsteps as you approached him on a leisurely pace, taking measured steps and being mindful of the support sling over your contused left shoulder. Remnant from the recent clash with Overthrax, one that you hoped to don as a proud medallion one day. 

Startled slightly by the sudden intrusion into his thoughts, Jiyan turned around. His golden eyes met yours, reflecting a mix of surprise and relief at your presence. The moonlight played across his angular features, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. Despite the weight of recent events, there was a hint of warmth in his expression.

“[Name]”

He acknowledged, a faint frown etched on handsome feathers as he took in your oncoming figure 

“You should be resting” 

His tone was laced with concern that threatened to suggest more than just camaraderie, belying a fierce need to ensure your safety and well-being, which was countered with a light and easygoing chuckle of your own, its timbre reverberating against the tranquil backdrop of the night. 

“You worry too much” 

Came your smooth and curt reply, as you continued your trek toward the teal-haired man, taking nimble footsteps until you stood beside him. Eyes gazing over the expanse laid bare before you, one functional hand reaching out to grip the reinforced railing as you leaned your weight over the cool metal. 

Jiyan watched as you moved towards him, the ease of your gait suggesting a familiarity with pain that made his chest tighten.

“Worry is my duty,”

He responded quietly, turning his attention back to the breathtaking panorama before them

“And perhaps a personal failing.”

His eyes flickered towards you, tracing the curve of your profile against the dark skyline

“Only because you don't seem to worry nearly enough” 

A commonly used and familiar jab at the reckless abandon and lack of self-preservation that followed you every time you set foot in any physical confrontation. You shook your head and let out a sharp breath, smiling inwardly at being chastised like this; it's not like you voluntarily choose to have the resonance power associated with risks. But then again, research directed that resonator abilities were influenced by personal experiences and the subconscious. So perhaps….you weren't completely out of incrimination for these maladaptive tendencies. 

It would be amiss to deny the thrill you felt when your life was on the line, increasingly fluctuating odds fueling adrenaline-infused nerves. There was something incredibly exhilarating about self-destruction. Perhaps the way you could feel your heart racing whenever someone threatened you was a form of excitement, or maybe you were just addicted to the chase and had become so entranced by the thrill of danger you'd given up on ever feeling truly safe and secure-

“It's hard not to care.”

Stern words broke through your impromptu round of introspection and seemed to slip out involuntarily, carrying a weight that surprised even himself. There was another short pause, filled with both contemplative and thoughtful stillness, only broken by the soft rustle of trees against the night wind.

You stood still for just a second or so, facing the moonlight expanse, yet your mind was anything but focused on the twilit spectacle.

“I don't worry…because I don't have to” 

Maneuvering and turning your head slightly, your eyes met his protective depths of golden met with resolute ones of your own. The air seemed to be still, and time slowed even as the moment stretched on. 

“You worry enough for the both of us”

The words left your lips with such ease because, and it was easy, intuitive almost. Somewhere along the lines, along the countless battles faced side by side, it had become second nature for you. Blindly, irrevocably, heading first into the belly of the beast, you threw yourself into the gallows, tested the lines between this world and the nether relm, just like your forte circuit demanded of you.

Danger nipped at skin and mind alike. Each confrontation translated into an intimate play between you and death, and every time you bid farewell to her for a teal-haired anchor that tethered you to the land of the living. 

Was this what people defined as co-dependency? A reckless warrior and a general with concern ingrained into his very being? 

Breaking off the intense eye contact you looked down at the injured limb, cradled underneath meticulous bandage work.

“And I don't regret risking myself” 

The confession was resolute, perhaps careless even as the wind tussled through your wild locks, as if nature acknowledged your tempestuous nature. 

His gaze lingered on your face, studying the lines etched by time and trials, wishing he could somehow protect you from further harm while acknowledging the futility of such thoughts. His mind pondered after a moment's pause, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside him.

“But there comes a point when caution becomes necessary for survival.”

He sighed deeply, hands clutching the railing a bit too forcefully.

“I don't want to see you hurt”

The unspoken plea hung heavy in the air between them, a testament to the depth of unspoken words.

“Careful there, General, you might just start graying with how much you stress out.”

Came your lopsided reply, cutting clean through the heaviness of the conversation at hand. 

Jiyan couldn't help but chuckle softly at your jest, the sound rolling off his tongue with surprising ease. Yet, the humor did nothing to dispel the underlying tension that seemed to permeate every aspect of their interaction.

“Better me than you” 

He admitted ruefully, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“But seeing you safe and well is worth every strand of gray.”

His gaze locked onto yours, the sincerity in those golden orbs impossible to miss.

An amused chuckle escaped unsuspecting lips, crescent crinkles emerged around your eyes as you entertained the notion just spoken of.

"That's...awfully sentimental. Tell me, have you been watching those hero plays?"

Using the moment of inquiry, you turned around unsoldierly, leaning back until your shoulder blades rested against the railing that had grown accustomed to supporting your weight.

Jiyan arched an eyebrow at your comment, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.*

“Hardly,”

He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Just stating facts.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, though the intensity in his gaze betrayed the casualness of his words.

“We've been through too much together for me not to care about your wellbeing.”

The admission hung heavily between them, punctuating the charged atmosphere with its weighty significance.

His words caused a soft smile to emerge upon your lips, as a foreign warmth bubbled beneath sternum and the organ that rested underneath.

"Been through enough to elicit care and worry...but not enough to have faith in my abilities?"

Jiyan's expression softened at your words, a flicker of guilt flashing across his features before being swiftly concealed behind a mask of stoicism. He leaned into your side, closing the distance between you two, until only a sliver of moonlight escaped from the rift between the parted lips. 

“I do have faith in your abilities,”

He said earnestly, meeting your gaze head-on.

“It's just...hard to watch someone so dear go through pain and suffering.” 

You let out a sharp breath; the air being forced out of your lungs as you felt your chest spasm and convulse, your demeanor tempered by the sheer discipline ingrained in your very being.

“Pain and suffering, huh?”

You mused as the conscious reeled through the twists and turns that led and shaped your life as it is today. 

The life you chose. 

Or was it the one fate forced you to tread on?

All these years on this planet and the real depths of your impulses eluded you still.

“They seem to be the staples of this life though...and better me than some poor innocent soul out there”

But at least there was reassurance that your hands of violence were good for something. At least there was consolation in the fact that your fists weren't merely tools meant to tear apart lives, they were weapons that protected. And if you were destined to die young in battle it was best to die doing your part. To die with honor, a worthy cause.

To die as someone who had earned the privilege of a life worth remembering.

Jiyan nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered your words.

“You're not wrong”

He conceded after a moment's pause.

“And I suppose it doesn't make sense for me to shield you from everything. And I'm aware of the irrationality of my sentiments. But know this - every time you're hurt or put yourself in danger, it feels like a part of me is ripped away.” 

His voice was heavy with emotion, belying the depth of his feelings for you.

“Then give it to me” 

Words rolled past your lips with no premonition of consideration behind them, instinctual, thoughtless. 

"Join that part with me," 

Your voice a brazen whisper, its emergence a stark act of rebellion against modus vivendi dictated by logic alone. 

"so that it's never ripped away again."

Those words imitated a dare, challenging fate and hearts alike. 

Jiyan's heart raced as he gazed deeply into your eyes, feeling the weight of your words settle heavily upon his soul. A thousand unspoken promises danced between them, their connection forged by shared experiences and a bond that transcended mere camaraderie. Something primal stirred within him - an ancient longing that transcended reason and logic alike.

Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, he leaned forward slowly until his lips brushed lightly against yours. 

“I want to be connected to you…more than anything”

He whispered hoarsely against your mouth, feeling a surge of heat course through his veins at the contact. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt the warmth of your breath ghost across his face, the tantalizing scent of your perfume filling his senses.

Just as lips were about to touch, a shrill beeping sound pierced through the silence. Both of them froze mid-movement. Their Pangu terminal vibrated on both ends. The holographic screen flashed with an urgent message from the city: Incoming threat detected.

The spellbinding moment shattered like fragile glass underfoot, scattering fragments of desire and passion across the floor. Leaving them both gasping for air like fish out of water. Jiyan blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the lingering effects of their near-kiss.

The message was clear: duty called.

Without another word, he turned to face you fully – only to find that you had vanished without a trace, leaving behind a gentle tussle of wind and torn bandages, in your wake.

---------------------------

a/n

Jiyan convene fucked me over so badly. i cannot even tell you, because its downright embarrassing.

just know that i have him now, somehow.

mans not getting any happy ending from me 😒😒😒. Keep pining and yearning you mf !!! YOU AINT GETTING LAID !!!

[milfhunter6698]

Under pressure pt2

synopsis: Upon joining the NYC firm as a new associate, you quickly find yourself facing the pressure of working under the firm’s star senior partner, Victoria neuman. With a reputation for excellence and an eye for potential, she was searching for a junior partner who can meet her exacting standards. You, with your impressive credentials and unwavering ambition, seemed like a perfect fit…until the pressure of meeting those high expectations started taking their toll. 

Warnings: 18+ eventual smut, no use of (y/n), cursing, no describing reader’s appearance, explicit language, fluff, angst, teasing, hurt & comfort, power imbalance, slight AU, some similarities to cannon, mentions of the boys characters (Hughie), slight age gap, rival associates, young!reader, older!Victoria, slow-burn. 

notes: So.. what do we think? this is slightly proofread so sorry if there’s any errors, this is kind of a random time to post but like I said posting schedule is gonna be a bit messy, but I’ll make sure I’ll give ya’ll a heads up if I’m gonna take a week off or something like that. Now that you have two chapters only in one week so enjoy! (also so sorry guys If I didn’t respond to some of your comments I don’t know what fuck all had gotten Into my tumblr but thank you some much I love every each single one of you).

chapter 1

wc: 2.8k

It was a new day the sun rose, casting a warm glow over the city. You arrived at the office, your steps heavy with the weight of the previous night’s argument. The excitement and enthusiasm of your new role had faded, replaced by a sense of dread and fatigue. The tall office building loomed above you as you walked in.

You made your way through the bustling lobby, Suddenly, you collide with another person hurrying past. Your coffee cup tipped, spilling its contents all over your suit.

“Great,” You muttered under your breath, watching in dismay as the coffee soaked into your jacket. “The universe must really hate me right now.”

You quickly made your way to the woman’s bathroom, where you used paper towels to scrub the stain from your suit and washed your hands.

With a deep breath you stared at your reflection on the mirror fixing your hair, before heading back to your desk, hoping the day would get better.

As you settled into your cubicle, Victoria approached with a file folder in hand. A warm smile on her face, “Hey, I have a new assignment for you.”

You stood, ready to listen. “What’s the case?”

She placed the folder on the desk. “We’ve just been retained by Garnet Technologies, a major player in the tech industry. They’re being sued for breach of contract and intellectual property theft by a rival company. The stakes are high—they’re seeking damages in the millions, and the allegations could seriously damage Garnet’s reputation.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you opened the folder, scanning the details. “This looks like a complex case.”

“Exactly,” She said. “I need you to handle the initial research and help draft the response strategy. You’ll be working with a guy from our litigation team, who will guide you. This is a chance to prove yourself.”

You nodded, “Understood. I’ll get started right away.”

As the day progressed, you threw yourself into the case. Spending hours poring over documents, emails, and internal memos related to the dispute. The complexities of corporate espionage and the high stakes of the lawsuit were challenging but also invigorating.

During a brief break, you ran into Hughie in the break room. He glanced at you, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Still working on the Garnet case?”

“Yeah, just getting started,” You replied, trying to keep your tone neutral.

He leaned against the counter. “Good luck. It’s a tough one. Don’t get too comfortable. You’ll need more than just brains to crack this.”

Before you could even say anything, he grabbed his coffee and left, leaving you with a sense of unease. You can’t help but think this guy is a total weirdo..

Later in the afternoon, you met with the senior litigator who would be overseeing your work on the case. He was a seasoned professional with a no-nonsense attitude. You discussed the case’s intricacies, and you took notes diligently, absorbing every detail.

As the day wound down, you stayed late again, determined to make significant progress. The office quieter, with only a few people scattered around. You continued working late into the evening, analyzing data and preparing a draft for the case strategy.

After tedious paperwork you finally escaped the office, the darkness of night swallowing the city. Your footsteps carried you to the subway, and as you stood there, leaning against a pillar wall, the soft green hue from the tunnel lulled you into a daze. 

Your gaze drifted to the ground, only to see a rat holding a soda can with its hands, taking a drink. You shook your head, unsure if it was real or if you were just hallucinating from the exhaustion.

In need of a distraction, you pulled out your phone, your thumb lingering on the name you hesitated before dialing. You brought the phone to your ear as the voicemail played, and you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper, "Hey, I'm really sorry about everything. Can we please talk? I missed you."

A frustrated huff escaped your lips as you slipped the phone back into your pocket, before stepping onto the train ready to head back home.

A loud thud interrupted your concentration. You looked up to see Victoria standing by your desk, a thick file dropped onto the surface with a decisive motion.

“How’s the progress on the Garnet case?” She asked, her tone brisk but not unkind.

You glanced at the file, feeling the pressure of her question. “I’m making headway. I’ve been analyzing the documents and working on the draft for the response strategy.”

She nodded, her gaze assessing. “Good. I expect a preliminary report by the end of the day. We have a meeting with Garnet’s CEO tomorrow, and I need to be prepared.”

Before you could respond, Victoria turned on her heel and walked away, leaving you with a stack of paperwork.

You stared at the file, feeling the weight of both the task at hand and the lingering personal issues from the other night. With a sigh, you rolled up your sleeves and began to work, trying to push aside your personal frustrations and actually focus on the demands of your job.

The Garnet case had been hanging over the firm’s head for weeks. For you, it was an overwhelming task, but with Victoria’s guidance, she had managed to stay afloat, delivering on the expectations she set.

The conference room was tense as they sat with Garnet’s legal team, the final negotiations reaching their climax. Victoria, ever composed, led the charge, while you sat beside her, following every word. When the final settlement was agreed upon, and the opposing counsel conceded, there was a collective sigh of relief from their side of the table.

As you two left the building and made your way back to the firm, Victoria turned to you, a rare smile on her lips.

“You did good today. We couldn’t have pulled that off without your work on the documentation.”

You felt a surge of pride. “Thanks, I’ve actually learned a lot from watching you.”

Victoria gave a small laugh. “Let’s hope you’ve been learning the right things.” she paused, then glanced at her watch. “What do you say we grab a drink? Celebrate a little.”

You hesitated, the exhaustion from the past few days catching up with you. But then again, it was Victoria, and this was a rare invitation. 

“Sure,” you nodded, feeling both excitement and nervousness bubble up.

Later that evening, you found yourself sitting across from Victoria at a fancy bar just around the corner from the office. It was dimly lit the atmosphere was warm and relaxed, a far cry from the intense formality of the firm.

“Here’s to kicking those bastards’ asses and walking away with another win,” she said, her voice playful but still sharp.

You clinked your glass against hers. “And to not getting fired,” you joked.

She smirked. “Not yet, at least.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

You both laughed, the tension of the day easing away with every sip. After a few drinks, You started to loosen up, the pressure of your first major case behind you. As the conversation flowed, you found yourself speaking more freely than you had intended.

“So, how are you settling in? Surviving the chaos?” Victoria asked, leaning in her seat, her eyes watching you with mild curiosity.

You shrugged, swirling the ice in your glass. “Yeah, I think I’m getting the hang of it. Still trying to balance everything, though. The job… and other things.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Other things?”

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to share more. “Yeah, well like my girlfriend and I… it’s been tough with all the hours I’m putting in here.”

Victoria’s expression shifted slightly, and you saw it a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Girlfriend, huh? You didn’t mention her before.”

You gave a small, awkward laugh. “Yeah, well, things have been… complicated. She’s not exactly thrilled with the late nights and the job taking over my life.”

She leaned in a little, her tone softening. “That’s a tough balance. This job—it doesn’t make things easy on relationships. Not everyone can handle it.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle in. “Yeah… it’s been hard to find the right balance.”

Your eyes met across the table. For a brief moment, neither of you said a word. There was an unspoken tension, a subtle spark that neither acknowledged, but both felt.

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of how close you were sitting. “I guess I need to figure out what’s more important… this job or—”

“Or her?” Victoria finished the sentence for you, her tone gentle but probing.

You chuckled nervously. “Yeah. Something like that.”

There was a pause, the kind of silence that invites temptation. Victoria’s gaze lingered on you a second longer than it should have. She leaned back, breaking the moment, but the air between you felt charged, as though something unsaid had passed between you.

“I should probably call it a night,” You said, sensing the shift but not wanting to take it any further. You wasn’t about to jeopardize everything you had worked for—not on your first few months at the firm.

Victoria gave a small, knowing smile. “You’re smart, You know where your priorities lie.” She finished her drink and stood up, gathering her things. “See you tomorrow. And don’t worry about the rest of the case—I’ve got it under control.”

Weeks blended together and you returned to work, the hum of the office and the endless paperwork becoming your new normal. You and your girlfriend had worked things out—sort of. But you both agreed to take it slow, trying to deal with the tension between your job and your relationship. Still, the strain lingered in the back of your mind.

One morning, as you were reviewing a case, your thoughts were interrupted by Victoria’s voice from across the room.

“Do you have a minute?”

Startled, you looked up to see her standing by her office door, gesturing for you to join her. You quickly gathered your things and followed her in. She closed the door behind you, motioning for you to take a seat.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began, her tone business-like but with a hint of something more personal. “We have a major charity event coming up. The firm’s sponsors are throwing a gala next week, and I think you should attend.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A gala? You mean one of those black-tie events?”

She nodded. “Exactly. It’s a big deal for this firm. We’ve got some key clients attending, and I think it would be a good opportunity for you to network. I could introduce you to some people.”

You hesitated. You weren’t really the one for flashy events, but the opportunity to meet high-profile clients could be valuable. “Are you sure I’m the right person for that? I mean, I’m still new.”

Victoria smiled, her tone softening. “You’ve already proven yourself. And besides, you’ve handled bigger things this past month—this will be easy in comparison.”

She leaned forward, her eyes catching yours. “You’ll be fine. Just think of it as another case to handle. And… you won’t be going alone. I’ll be there.”

In a flurry of movement, you stood in front of your closet, rummaging through your clothes. They flew in the air as you tossed them around, desperate to find something suitable. Your eyes met your reflection in the mirror as you slipped on a dress. You twirled, checking the fit, only to immediately change it.

Minutes ticked by as you searched for the perfect outfit. Eventually, you settled for a more casual look a black sleeveless halter waistcoat, V-neck, and front buttons. You added the final touches, an earring to complete the look, when your phone chimed on your bed.

A message from your girlfriend popped up

‘Hey, wanna come over tonight?’ 

Guilt washed over you, and you chewed on your lip. As much as you wanted to you knew you couldn't. ‘Sorry, can't. Got an event to attend. But I promise, I'll make it up to you. Wish me luck, xx.’

 

You stepped out of a sleek black car, the cool evening air brushing against your exposed skin as you gazed up at the grand hotel hosting the gala. This was the kind of event you’d only heard about—the kind where power and influence mingled effortlessly over champagne and whispered deals. 

Beside you, Victoria stepped out, her presence commanding attention clad in a gown that exuded elegance and authority, it shimmered like moonlight under the hotel's bright lights. 

The dress rode low, leaving her back exposed as it hugged her perfectly. She was absolutely breathtaking Your eyes were drawn to the elegant necklace, its chain draping over the nape of her neck, trailing down her spine. You swallowed hard, adjusting your suit.

You had a girlfriend, and you knew you shouldn't be caught in this web of temptation, but oh god Victoria made it so damn hard to look away. Pushing those thoughts aside, you brushed off any lingering feelings and followed her into the hotel.

“Ready?” she asked, casting you a glance as you both walked toward the entrance.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you muttered, regaining composure. You felt the slight pressure in your chest, but you hid it behind a smile. This wasn’t just another networking event—this was about showing you belonged.

Inside, the ballroom was glittering with chandeliers, the sound of soft jazz filling the air. Victoria wasted no time, immediately drawing you into the circle of high-profile clients and business moguls, introducing you as if you’d been at the firm for years.

She introduced you to a silver-haired man in a tailored suit. “One of our rising stars. She’s been handling some important cases, including our recent win with Garnet.”

The man raised an impressed eyebrow. “Garnet? That’s no small feat. Impressive.”

You gave a polite smile, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, all while trying to ignore the subtle charge in the air whenever Victoria brushed against you. A hand lightly on your shoulder as she guided you through the room. A fleeting look that lingered a second too long. Each interaction felt like a game you weren’t consciously playing, but one that neither of you could really stop.

As you moved from one circle of clients to another, You caught snippets of Victoria’s past—her long history with the firm, how she’d risen to prominence by closing massive deals, and her reputation for being a force to be reckoned with. She carried herself with poise, yet there was something about the way she interacted with you tonight—more relaxed, almost playful.

At one point, while you were speaking to another client, she leaned in, her breath warm against your ear. “You’re doing great,” she whispered, sending a spark through you as goosebumps danced across your skin.

You managed to nod, swallowing back the sudden rush of nerves. “Thanks.”

After an hour of mingling, you found yourselves near the bar. You sipped your drink, trying to steady yourself from the undercurrent of tension between you two. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it, but you felt it—something is different tonight.

Victoria leaned against the bar, her eyes scanning the room. “You’re a natural at this, you know.”

“I’m just following your lead,” You replied, feeling the need to keep the conversation professional, though the weight of the evening pressed down on you.

She smiled, but there was something in her gaze that softened. “You’re too modest. You’ve been holding your own.”

Before you could respond, a man approached—someone new, someone you hadn’t yet met. His dark eyes flicked between Victoria and you, and the atmosphere shifted. He had the look of someone important, someone who carried a different kind of power.

“Victoria,” the man said smoothly, a knowing smile on his face. “It’s been a while.”

“Michael,” She replied, her voice cool but polite. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

The man glanced at you, sizing you up before turning back to Victoria. “And who’s this?”

She said your name, her tone firm. “She’s one of our top associates.”

You extended your hand, but Michael didn’t seem particularly interested. Okay asshole? you raised an eyebrow. He Instead, kept his focus on Victoria, his smile growing wider. 

“Well, good luck with that. But if you ever want to step away… you know where to find me.”

There was a subtle edge to his words, and for a moment, you could sense the tension between them. This man, Michael, wasn’t just a client or rival—he was someone from Victoria’s past, and his offer was more than professional.

Victoria’s smile didn’t waver, but her eyes hardened. “I’m right where I need to be, Michael.”

The conversation ended with a curt nod, and He disappeared into the crowd, leaving you and Victoria standing by the bar.

“What was that about?” you asked, curious about the strange tension.

She sighed, her gaze distant for a moment. “Old rivalries. Michael’s been trying to poach me for years, but he’s not my concern. We have more important things to focus on.” She turned to face you, her smile returning. “Like how you’re going to handle this deposition tomorrow.”

The shift back to business was sudden, but the undercurrent between you remained. You finished your drinks, the night carrying on, but as you left the event, You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. Not just in the way you saw Victoria, but in how she viewed you, It stirred something within you it was intriguing yet so.. 

[wordsvomit101]

I would put him as a "sad old man" on my contact list if I were MC.

Sometimes I gotta be a bit petty for MC cause they don't do it for themself. Credits to @shyanimeboi and their friend on X: https://x.com/shyanimeboi/status/1795183592961655077/video/4

Warnings: Sexual content, complicated brainstorming about guilt and legacy.

Of course, you would say that- No but honestly, I would be pissed as hell if he said that to me directly, cause sir your brother lowkey put MC's parent on the news, made their friend see his ancestor temporarily, and then almost put them in the casket as well. It's a miracle that they do not blindly hate everything relating to angels at this point. (Although I'm glad that you at least find closure from it you dismal oldster ╮(─_─)╭)

It's a little heartwarming that he shows that he still loves his brothers a lot, given how he said: "traces that Gabriel is alive and well". It got me thinking about how it could very likely mean that he believes at some point in the future, either the other kings kill his brothers or Lucifer will have to choose between Hell (repentance) and his love for them when put in a corner he cannot back out, and with him being the Sin of Pride, I don't think he would either.

Also, if he is happy just by seeing the brand alone then his brothers either avoid attacking Paradise Lost personally or he didn't face them directly after he told off Michael more than 100 years ago and he did say that he "can no longer meet to ask how he is doing".

This first option seems like something Solomon would say. As his descendant, how MC presents themself in the daily chats and some of their options are probably the closest we get to see how Solomon would act when he was still around. An example would be how they question the goofy 3 rules policy in Paradise Lost that was set by the nobles, I will admit, I didn't think of that either. I was affected by the devoted behaviors of the nobles from both the event and the beginning of the prologue, in turn, I put Lucifer on an unreachable pedestal and I love that MC boldly questioned it and presented their opinions and rationale that bring Lucifer closer to the player and shows more air-headed sides to the nobles. They bring new perspectives and challenge the assumptions albeit in a small but significant way. I love it, I hope they do it more in the future.

He also finally said it, the holy words of every prideful bastard I know on media, "How dare you", it took 4 chats but we finally got here.

How he process his brothers' wrongdoings and his own? Very understandable and something, in my opinion, most victims would rather want to get from their offenders' family members, acceptance and acknowledgment of the issues and the damage that was done, and a genuine effort to do the right things. Familial love is very complicated, and it is… difficult to hate and condemn someone you come to love first naturally in your life. I think Lucifer, besides God (but also not really), first loves his brothers, probably the first angel to do so for their kind, and by reading the Seraphs’ comics it clearly shows how they either don’t care or hate each other guts yet still capable of loving Lucifer. He raised them, he's both their brother and their second parental figure, and he show them love outside of their devotion to God.

And how he addresses them in the chat, he calls each one of them a "child", he was being very quietly affectionate by focuses on their well-being when he saw the brand on MC. He also only does this with them and Gamigin, so it is clear how he sees them from a caretaker standpoint (the allegation of him being born in his 30s and raising his brothers is not so far-fetched now, honestly, he is the true dilf here, not God). He knows his brothers ruining other people's lives but when they turn around and love and treat him so dearly that it can feel like what they have done to others is an illusion.

When that illusion doesn't cloud his judgment and beliefs anymore? It will hurt and it can feel like his perception of his brothers are lie. It can be easy to deny the first time but since it happens again and again he has to accept the change and it ain't gonna feel great to realize how he is not the bystander here and directly or indirectly enable his brothers' atrocities (maybe join them in it too at some point, but this is just my thoughts). It gonna rewire how he views a lot of things and it gonna run back from the beginning to the current time, and with how long Lucifer lived? That's rough buddy.

Now, humans are insignificant in these guys' eyes and a single death is nothing to them in the vast universe, yes, but like Lucifer said, God made humans and with how he said it after that, humanity is a part of God's legacy. Legacy is fundamental to what it is to be human to many, something to be carved on their graves and will at the end of their time, it also helps people who live beyond them to remember and let their spirits or unconscious presence remain on the world. So despite humanity in the grand scheme of things, humans are still the work of God. By referring to God as "Our Father," besides asserting his connection, he also indirectly extends that connection to humans. It suggests a shared lineage and inherent value in all of God's creations.

If I interpret what Lucifer said correctly, then the duty of the Seraphim has always been to protect and care for all beings created by God, ensuring the preservation of His legacy. This duty encompasses all creations, whether great or small, beautiful or flawed. To destroy these creations and leave only themselves as His legacy would be a betrayal of their responsibility. A legacy, regardless of its nature, is not to be forcefully erased. Those who seek to erase it tarnish the very legacy they are meant to safeguard and were entrusted to honor.

So if they can't even accept all of God's legacy, no wonder why they can easily go hunt down every single child of one (1) man they are jealous of. Perhaps this is my speculation on what they did with Solomon, who seemed resigned to being forgotten by the devils in chapter 5. They sought to erase his entire bloodline, his descendants, and his legacy, ultimately aiming to make him extinct from the world (like how poachers do it toward endangered animals). For someone like Solomon, this, in my opinion, could be the most terrible fate for him. I honestly wouldn't put it past God's plan to make MC a part of this war for Solomon.

This option is more like the canon MC than the Solomon option from before. They felt more personal here in their anger.

The desensitization for guilt and emotional detachment is strong in this. Lucifer acknowledges the gravity and permanence of the sins he and his brothers have committed and accepts that he must coexist with his guilt and remorse, but how he goes around with it is mostly for himself. Lucifer mentions that he "voluntarily fell to Hell", a form of self-punishment despite his brothers' protests (but also calling Hell the starting point of sadness is wild cause honestly? Not that wrong, I can't see truly happy devils, and if there is, their development happened off-screen).

Lucifer’s remark that the MC is "not that meaningful enough yet" is his emotional detachment from others. His focus remains on his own internal experiences rather than on the perspectives or forgiveness of others. This detachment suggests that his pursuit of guilt is inward-focused, rather than being about seeking forgiveness or redemption through the eyes of others. Selfish and very prideful, very fitting for the Sin of Pride. The idea that Lucifer is almost addicted to the feeling of guilt points to a self-destructive aspect of his personality. It indicates that he may be using guilt as a way to continually punish himself or a way to keep feeling alive through suffering.

Now this leads to my next point:

Lucifer's search for guilt and remorse indicates a need for intense emotional experiences. Witnessing someone cry, especially if he has caused the tears, could provide a powerful emotional release or catharsis for him. This could momentarily alleviate his own feelings of guilt by transferring some of that emotional burden onto others.

Control. By inducing tears in others, he might be exerting a form of control that he lacks in his own life. This dynamic could satisfy a deep-seated need to reclaim some semblance of power over emotional outcomes.

Witnessing tears might serve as a mirror to his own inner turmoil. It externalizes the pain and suffering he feels internally, allowing him to confront it more tangibly. This externalization can create a twisted sense of connection or empathy, aligning with his need to constantly grapple with guilt.

Lucifer's enjoyment of seeing others cry could be intertwined with his own cycle of punishment and redemption. Inflicting emotional pain might be a way for him to project his self-loathing and need for atonement onto others. It creates a scenario where he can experience the aftermath of guilt without direct self-harm.

Causing others to cry could validate Lucifer's sense of guilt and reinforce his belief that he is deserving of punishment. This validation can be perversely satisfying, as it confirms his self-perception as someone who commits unforgivable sins.

Tears are often a sign of vulnerability. Seeing someone in a state of emotional rawness might create a sense of intimacy that Lucifer finds alluring. This intimacy could particularly appeal to someone who feels isolated by guilt and sins.