#everything else is like. that's not really a moral failing so much as it is really sad

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.” 

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.” 

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice,�� he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments. 

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else. 

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve. 

“No. Don’t worry about it.” 

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?” 

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using. 

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

“Well obviously something’s wrong.” 

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?” 

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?” 

“I’m not upset!” 

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-” 

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him. 

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon. 

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?” 

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins. 

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.” 

“It’s not a joke.” 

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time. 

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you. 

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-” 

“I didn’t get in.” 

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke. 

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock. 

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?” 

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!” 

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has. 

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” 

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand. 

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation. 

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say. 

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?” 

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.  

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds. 

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?” 

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-” 

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.” 

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive. 

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.” 

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest. 

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to. 

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear. 

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you. 

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you. 

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed. 

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?” 

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving. 

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.” 

“Where?” 

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace. 

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.” 

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for. 

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified. 

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.” 

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home. 

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers. 

“You promise you’ll come home, right?” 

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.” 

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too. 

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.” 

“Anything?” 

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness. 

“Anything.” 

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.” 

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did. 

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.” 

Frankie, Present 

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point. 

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings. 

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you. 

Well, he can’t think about you as much. 

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him. 

He let you take the first  shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run. 

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you. 

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!” 

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.” 

“You barely run the mile in gym class.” 

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.” 

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you. 

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to. 

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans. 

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day. 

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement. 

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.” 

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings. 

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.” 

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.” 

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.” 

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.  

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).” 

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible. 

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him. 

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer. 

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school. 

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too. 

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school. 

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble. 

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed. 

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to. 

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him. 

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”  

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage. 

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment. 

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him. 

August 18th, 2006

Frankie, 

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage. 

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe 

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL. 

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person! 

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha). 

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo. 

From, 

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line. 

October 13th, 2009

Frankie, 

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe. 

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet. 

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do. 

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.  

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie. 

Kenzie 

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay. 

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong. 

February 4th, 2011

Hey, 

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways. 

I guess I’ll see you when I see you. 

MacKenzie 

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business. 

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull. 

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done? 

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[lakesbian]

so i blinked & accidentally wrote 2.4k words of alec analysis, content warning for extended discussion of child sexual abuse

i am actually like. genuinely surprised by how common of an alec opinion it is that people would probably feel more negatively about him if we had a chapter from the perspective of one of his victims or if we had more details on his life prior to the undersiders, because the idea goes directly counter to one of the core Things you have to get if you want to understand alec: much like taylor, you should take absolutely fucking nothing he says about himself at face value, because--also much like taylor--he is Absolutely Fucking Terrible at understanding himself!

and speaking of taylor, she is also absolutely fucking terrible at understanding alec. nearly all of the commentary we get on alec is from taylor’s point of view, and she’s frankly incredibly ungenerous towards him.

her very first thought about his childhood mentally classifies him as not being one of heartbreaker’s victims, and the pity she’s offering him wears out pretty quickly when he doesn’t speak about the abuse in terms she finds palatable--while she does secondarily recognize that living with heartbreaker impacted him on some level, she regards him primarily as someone who does Bad Things because he’s a Bad Coldhearted Person.

she and alec are fairly similar--they’re both people who have been abused, people who are remarkably desensitized to violence because they’ve been abused, they’re both people who have ended up on the same villain team where they regularly commit terrible acts of violence, and they’re both people who are terminally oblivious to their own emotions while they commit those acts of violence. their actions are both similarly horrifying from an outside viewpoint, but by sectioning alec’s actions off in her mind as being horrifying because he’s ontologically a bad person w/ no interiority or justifiable reasoning for his actions, she doesn’t have to face that her own actions are horrifying regardless of how she justifies them to herself. neat little compartmentalization trick! alec stabbed that guy to death with a fork because he’s a Bad Person, but when she used triumph as a bargaining chip by filling his lungs with bugs, it was for Understandable and Interiority-Having reasons, so she’s fine.

what this means is that nearly all of the commentary we get on alec is from the perspective of someone who has a very strong psychological incentive to avoid being fair to alec.

much of what taylor thinks about alec is blatantly irrational and wrong, and the fact that he (similarly emotionally oblivious wrt himself + probably entirely unaware she feels this way about him) never directly confronts her misconceptions means that we spend the entire book being told “hey, here are the reasons you should think alec sucks” without any alternate viewpoints to consider. i think that if we saw the worst things pre-undersiders alec did without the repressed way undersider alec describes them or taylor’s biased perspective obscuring what actually happened, most people would feel Really Fucking Bad for him!

even in the very first discussion of his childhood, it’s clear that taylor’s reading of the events is wrong--aside from the fact that she’s not classifying the kids as victims (girl what), there’s these lines from alec:

“[He] pushed my limits, made me do stuff that was dangerous, stuff that was hard on my conscience.”

“I had convinced myself I didn’t care about the people I was hurting or about this guy I’d just killed, and maybe I didn’t. Maybe I don’t, still. Dunno.“

taylor’s response to this is:

“He’d been made to do it, he’d been in fucked up circumstances with no real moral compass to go by, still a kid. The way he described it, though, it didn’t sit well with me. Cold blooded murder.“

that is not how he described it. 

1. he outright says that what he was forced to do was “hard on his conscience”

2. he outright says that he “had convinced himself he didn’t care about the people he was hurting,” i.e he was a 10-13yo child being forced into extreme violence by his ridiculously abusive father & he naturally repressed his emotional reaction to it because there’s no other way to feasibly psychologically cope with feeling the full brunt of the emotions that induces. he’s not a Cold Blooded Bitch, he was a kid desperately convincing himself he didn’t care because he couldn’t care if he was going to survive.

3. yeah, he says “maybe i don’t [care], dunno.” this is because the 3+ years he spent learning to cram every emotional response he had to his abuse into a box & then solder-iron that box shut do not magically disappear the second he escapes from his father. it’s not at all unreasonable that taylor (also 15 and horribly emotionally repressed) misses this, but the “maybe” and “dunno” are indicators that he genuinely can’t tell whether or not he cares! as imp points out after he dies, it’s not that his emotions aren’t there at all, it’s that he has no ability to read them--much like taylor, he’s great at convincing himself of things regarding his feelings and then genuinely believing those things. he’s fifteen and has been out of his abusive home for all of 2.5 years--he’s not capable of grasping the full impacts that the abuse had on his psyche, and the way he describes everything from a detached perspective and waffles about on allowing himself interiority is a natural result of that.

if we saw this or any of the other murders alec was forced to commit as they were happening, we would not be feeling less generous towards him, we would be thinking “i want to beat heartbreaker to death with his own bones, because this is an evil thing to do to a child.”

okay, that’s the murder out of the way. now onto the significantly more controversial aspect of what alec did as a 10-13yo.

taylor generally regards alec as a special type of ontologically real & distinct class of person called a rapist. many people in the fandom share her viewpoint on that one. and, like, objectively true--he is a rapist, he raped people. but applying “rapist” as a descriptor meaning “evil piece of shit who sucks, but i guess he gets some leeway since he was a kid, but he still sucks and is bad and probably a sociopath” is massively flattening the circumstances under which he committed sexual violence & severely underestimating how it impacted his psyche.

taylor--and again, most other people in the fandom--tend to unilaterally go “gross and fucked up, he sucks, moving on” during bits where alec discusses that aspect of his childhood. but if we actually pause to read between the lines for the details and then address the actual context (which alec is not capable of doing, because 1. emotional repression to hell and back and 2. it was, as he said, normal to him), it becomes very clear that it’s unjustifiable to slap the “Sucks + Evil Predator” label on him and then move on feeling comforted by the straightforward moral judgement.

“’Sure,’ Alec drawled. In a more normal voice, he said, ‘But what I’m saying is he wouldn’t mind. Now, it’s been a little while, but there was a time when I had someone in my bed every night.’

‘When you were with Heartbreaker,’ I said. From the look of disgust on Aisha’s face, and what I imagined was a similar expression on my own, I suspected we were on the same page. At least on this one thing.

‘Sure. Cape groupies, my dad’s girls, people I used my powers on toward the end.’

There wasn’t even a trace of guilt or shame on his expression, no regret in his tone. He just looked bored.

He went on, ‘What I’m saying is that I’m speaking from experience.  Having someone cuddled up beside you, even if it’s a little bit of a pain in the ass, having that body contact isn’t so bad. Especially when you’ve had a bad day.’”

like, okay. let’s unpack all the implications there.

1. alec is bringing up this whole topic as an attempt at empathy--aisha is effectively saying “i’m pissy at taylor for being intimate w/ brian while he’s experiencing the worst pain of his life” and alec is effectively responding with “i support them, because when i was in similar circumstances, physical intimacy made me feel better.” it is extremely notable that he’s implicitly comparing brian’s “bad day” (getting fucking bonesawed!) to his own “bad day” (living with his dad)!

2. alec grew up in Emotional Neglect & Abuse: The Household. this is established in buzz 7.1--he recounts that there was zero attention paid to him & the other kids except for when heartbreaker was terrifying the shit out of them for either a perceived slight or in an attempt to force a trigger event. he also grew up in Sexual Abuse: The Household. as detailed in one WoG, the heartbroken were a massive group hiding out in significantly less massive houses--6-8 people sharing a room was common. alec was constantly in close quarters to normalized sexual abuse from the ages of zero to thirteen, e.g the memory mentioned in his interlude where he starts crying over not being given the TV remote and a sweaty, wearing-nothing-but-briefs heartbreaker stomps out of the bedroom to terrify alec for interrupting what was, very presumably, a marathon of sexual assault. exposing children to abuse happening in their environment is a form of abuse itself. there’s also the WoG in which this is mentioned:

“Look at it this way - at the age that many boys are raising an eyebrow at boobs, family members were saying 'hey, here are all the boobs you could want...’ Interested in dick? ... Dad's not that into it but a sister can hook you up. At an age when many are just figuring out enough of the world to ask 'what's heroin?' or 'what's weed?' he was given heroin and weed and everything else that was theoretically obtainable and told to only indulge if it was someone else's body. At an age when many are saying 'sex must be awesome' he was given free reign.”

which is sexual abuse! it is in fact exceedingly sexually abusive for alec’s father & older siblings to go “hey, 10-13yo son/little brother, i notice you are Hitting Puberty! here’s a fucking tidal wave of sex and drugs, have at it.” he didn’t magically get the idea to commit acts of physical violence w/o grooming & coercion from his family, and the same goes for the sexual violence. it’s not a hard extrapolation to make that after 10 years of isolation and abuse he leaps on the chance for physical intimacy, for something that actually makes him feel good when good is a feeling he’s never really gotten to have before--and how would he have a frame of reference for this being bad when his childhood was one long march of his own autonomy being violated + constantly seeing other peoples autonomy violated?

alec did not leave the house as a kid. alec Wasn’t Even Thirteen. the people he assaulted were victims, but he’s inarguably not the person with primary culpability for the assault--that would be the family members significantly older than alec who directly groomed him into hypersexual behavior, kidnapped + brainwashed victims also significantly older than alec, shoved them at alec, and said “have at it, buddy.” (which he, considering it to be normal and desperate for any positive attention or emotion, immediately adopted as a coping mechanism.) it would be absurd not to regard alec as a victim in this circumstance as well, and the fact that the way he was victimized led to him hurting people doesn’t change that. he was a chronically abused and manipulated preteen--he couldn’t issue meaningful consent or exercise any real autonomy in his decision-making. his lack of emotional reaction to casually sharing the story isn’t a moral failure, it’s an indicator of how badly the abuse skewed his perception of what’s normal.

and despite All Of That, taylor’s immediate reaction is to judge his lack of guilt, shame, or regret. which isn’t a wholly irrational reaction from her by any means--it makes complete sense given who she is and what information she has. but it does mean that the judgement we’re given on alec in this moment is nearly entirely detached from the material reality of what happened & how that reality should reasonably be regarded.

3. i think i’m literally the only person i’ve ever seen point this out--the first category of person he lists off as having slept with is “cape groupies.” as in, fans of capes. 

what kind of person do we suppose would be a fan of heartbreaker’s cult? what kind of person would have a thing for heartbreaker’s sexual abuse and mind control cult? the fact that he specifically mentions “cape groupies” means these were people who liked the heartbroken and were picked up by it voluntarily--what kind of person would want to sleep with one of heartbreaker’s barely-pubescent superpowered children?

yeah, that one sounds less like alec committing rape and more like heartbreaker providing access to his children to pedophiles w/ a Thing for the powers involved, presumably because it was a fantastic honeypot for people he could drain for money or otherwise use as a resource (which was his primary method of staying undercover & getting by). which alec parses as normal enough to casually slip into a random sentence.

alec’s childhood was not a lengthy tour of him committing sexual violence because he sucked, it was him being sexually abused, and a portion of that abuse included him being groomed to perpetuate it onto others. because that’s one of the Core Things about his character: he was a victim of grooming to perpetuate a cycle of abuse, he ran away from it at an impressively young age, and he spent the rest of his life making stumbling attempts to jerry-rig a distinct system of ethics & decision-making so that he wouldn’t be like his father.

no, the abuse he experienced & the way he responded to it wasn’t straight-forward or palatable. he’s not a stereotypical or idealized Good Victim--none of the traumatized teens in worm are. the specifics of what happened to him & what he did as a result are uncomfortable. he participated in hurting other people very badly. he still doesn’t really understand everything that was wrong with what happened. he doesn’t open himself up for pity or add caveats when discussing it to make it clear that he’s viewing his childhood the Right Way. he doesn’t feel or talk about it the way he’s “supposed” to. he doesn’t understand why or care that it upsets and disgusts people. the abuse left him with low to no empathy, and he’s not ashamed about admitting that.

and absolutely none of that changes that he’s still undeniably a victim, and if we saw any of the things that happened to him from the perspective of anyone involved, if we saw the abuse he experienced without the normalized lens he views it through or the villainizing lens taylor views it through--everyone would probably feel really fucking bad for him.

or in other words: alec vasil is a little boy whose life fucking sucks, and we all have to be nice to him, okay?

[this-doesnt-endd]

I used to have a really giant family like tons of tias and tios and cousins and i say used to cause like it seems like after my grandparents died on both sides both families seemed to never speak again and i had no chance to even try and keep hold of those ties i was in elementary school watching my parents marriage crash and burn in real time dealing with major death in the family and then subsequent family abandoning me at the tender age of 11. Hell my brothers were older and jumped ship it was just me and the horrors

[luna-azzurra]

Some Tips for writing internal conflict

Wanting Two Things at Once Imagine your character really wants to chase after something big, like a dream school, a major opportunity, or maybe even moving to a new city. But at the same time, they’re terrified of leaving behind everything they’ve ever known. Or maybe they’re in a relationship that’s holding them back, but they can’t bring themselves to let go. Show them getting pulled in two directions, torn between their ambition and their fear of losing the people or places that ground them.

Right vs. Wrong Sometimes, your character will know deep down what the right choice is, but it’s the most difficult one to make. Like, maybe they see someone getting bullied and know they should stand up, but doing so could make them a target. Or maybe they have to decide between helping a friend and doing something that could ruin their own future. These moral dilemmas create intense internal conflict because it forces them to question who they are and what they stand for.

Doubting Themselves We all have moments where we wonder if we’re enough, smart enough, strong enough, brave enough. Let your character wrestle with that same doubt. Maybe they’re the kid who has always been told they’re special, but now they’re in a place where everyone is just as good, and they start to wonder if they even belong. Or maybe they’ve been through something tough, and they’re not sure if they can bounce back. These moments of insecurity make your character feel human, like they’re trying to figure it all out, just like everyone else.

Dreams vs. Fears Show your character dreaming big but getting frozen by their own fears. It’s like wanting to ask someone out but being terrified of rejection, or wanting to move away for college but being scared to leave home. Let them imagine all the things that could go wrong , that moment when fear makes them doubt if they should even try. But also show their desire burning just as strong, making it impossible to ignore. That’s the heart of internal conflict: they’re stuck between wanting something so bad and being afraid of what it’ll cost to go after it.

Beliefs Being Challenged As your character grows, the world will start challenging their beliefs. Maybe they grew up in a family that drilled certain values into them, and now they’re meeting people who see things differently. Or maybe they’re experiencing something new, and it’s changing their perspective. It’s like when you think you have everything figured out, and then life throws something at you that makes you go, "Wait, maybe I’ve been wrong this whole time." This kind of internal conflict is powerful because it forces the character to question who they’ve always been.

Keeping Secrets If your character is hiding something, like a mistake they made, feelings they’re afraid to admit, or a truth they don’t want to face, that secret becomes a huge part of their internal conflict. The fear of being found out or of dealing with the consequences can create a constant pressure in their mind. Maybe they’re scared they’ll lose their friends if the truth comes out, or maybe they’re dealing with guilt they can’t shake. The tension comes from their battle to keep it hidden while knowing they can’t keep it locked away forever.

Pressure from Everyone Your character might feel like they’re trapped between what they want for themselves and what everyone else wants from them. It could be pressure from parents, who have their whole future planned out, or pressure from friends to fit in or follow the crowd. Maybe your character wants to be true to themselves, but they’re scared of disappointing people or standing out too much. This kind of internal conflict is super relatable because, at some point, everyone feels like they’re stuck between living for themselves and living for others.

Fear of Failing Sometimes the biggest obstacle isn’t the external challenge but the internal fear of failure. Your character might have big dreams, but they’re paralyzed by the thought of messing up. Whether it’s competing in a sport, performing on stage, or just trying something new, the fear of not being good enough can be overwhelming. Maybe they’re afraid that if they fail, everyone will see them differently, or worse, that they’ll see themselves differently. The internal conflict comes from their desire to succeed battling against their crippling fear of failure.

[obae-me]

I have been asked to expand on the MC with trauma scenarios, and you know what, I need the comfort, so let's do it! (No these are not based on myself, I don't know what you're talking about....)

Also I've seen a ton of people's responses to the last one and just know that I am spiritually patting you all on the head and wrapping a soft blanket around your shoulders.

--

MC with ~Trauma~ PT 2!

Imagine an MC who has been mocked, berated, or criticized for their joys and hobbies. They don't do those things anymore or go to great lengths to hide them.

They never share their writing or their art with anyone. They are surrounded by demons and angels much more talented than them. The thing that they felt they were moderately talented in is below average compared to these beings... Everything they create is hidden in secret digital folders or kept in notebooks under their mattress or tucked in secret spots on their bookshelves.

They never sing or dance or play their instruments. They almost avoid the music room altogether. It's almost too painful for them to think about. If they attend a dance they just stand off to the sides... They don't participate in karaoke. They don't hum to their favorite songs.

They hardly cook, or garden, or read, or edit, or color, or knit, or crochet, or embroider, or anything else that they might enjoy.

Imagine some of the nosier brothers not realizing the pain that hides behind their passions and either playfully spying on them or digging up their secrets. Their hearts are fully destroyed when their human breaks down in tears. Now, every single day, every character encourages them to do what they love and giving them private time and space to do it in a place where they feel safe. They all hope that maybe one day MC will feel comfortable enough to share what they love with them but they will never pry it out of them, and all the while giving them the support they need behind the curtain.

Imagine Satan, Levi, and Mammon grouping together and creating a PowerPoint presentation. With Satan's organizing skills, Levi's technological know-how, and Mammon's morally grey skills of espionage, they gather all the characters together and teach a class on what to do and not to do around MC. Things like having a clear voice in text messages to keep them from having anxiety. Or not slamming doors, not entering their room without knocking, reminding them to drink water, knowing when to give them time to breathe etc. Everyone takes it seriously (some might say too seriously), including Belphie who didn't even sleep for a second during the whole thing.

What about an MC who takes on too much and never says anything about it? At first, Lucifer, Barbatos, and to a lesser degree Diavolo, are pleased that they've found a human with a strong work ethic and a love for responsibility. Little do they know that while part of that might be true, they are doing it because they are non-confrontational, a people pleaser, or try to prove their worth through success (or all of the above). They burn themselves out and forgo their other needs to conserve all their energy for the work that's been given to them, and it's not until it becomes a serious health issue that anyone really notices. They all take a blow when they come to know how much they had been pushing a human beyond their capabilities. So they tell MC to do less, not expecting the human to try and convince them that it wasn't an issue, maybe even apologizing for failing. Now they all have to keep an eye on MC and make sure they don't take things too far, and make sure that MC knows that their worth isn't tied to how much gets done in a day and they don't think of them any less for taking breaks or time for themselves. And maybe they all learn to take care of themselves a little more for it too. Especially one work-a-holic demon known as Pride.

How about an MC that hates the way they look? No matter what that might be. Body size, shape, height, skin-tone, skin-color, scars, blemishes, freckles, etc. What if it was drilled into their head since they were a child that they were not beautiful? What if they can't look into the mirror or take any photos of themselves without feeling sick? How about being around a demon like Asmo? Maybe resenting him, maybe avoiding him, maybe wishing they were like him. It probably would hurt Asmo to see someone hating themselves and their body so intently. Maybe it's because it reminds him of himself. Maybe they both have to sit down and rethink what beauty really means? It's a long process for both of them.

All of them work with the human with their image and not in a shallow way like trying to deny the things they have and who they are. They find ways around pictures, because there are more ways to keep memories rather than selfies and commemorative photos.

Or what if:

Beel: *In MC's room.* Alright, we'll just do some basic stretches.

MC: Okay, just tell me what to do.

Beel: Well, if you want, you can put on some music to make it more relaxing.

MC: Music? *Looks a little nervous.* If you want...

*MC then turns some music on their phone on the lowest setting and sets it on their bed.*

Beel: Um...you can turn it up more than that if you want.

MC: Louder? Really?

Beel: Don't you think it's a little quiet?

MC: Oh...um...okay... *turns it up by one more click.* Is- Is that okay? I can turn it down again.

Beel: *Opens his mouth, confused for a moment before shutting it again. In the quickest second, he's in his demon form.* Who do I need to find?

MC: B-Beel?!

[gay-dorito-dust]

scar with a gn! Reader that’s crazier then him :3 (headcanons please)

You probably caught a glimpse of him one day could feel this chaotic and intense energy about him, which would’ve been enough to have anyone making the smart decision to leave while they could.

for you however, it was more or less the opposite and it wasn’t long before you’d actively tried seeking him out, causing chaos and discord however you could just in the hopes of getting an audience with the man known as Scar.

You knew of the stories that have been told about him but you didn’t care and instead found something to bond with him over; wanting to watch everything go up in smoke as the fires blazed on well into the night.

Scar saw you both as kindred spirits, people who saw things as they really were whilst everyone else was more or less content with living in ignorant bliss.

If anyone were to call your love deranged or unstable, Scar would gladly destroy them in whatever ways he felt suited them best, as he went on a triad about how yours and his love was a genuine, one of a kind love that couldn’t be replicated because people didn’t have the same passion for destruction and desolation like you two did.

So in his eyes, anyone else’s definition of love was false in comparison to yours as yours stemmed from an obsession that bloomed from a simple glance.

Scar would preach whilst holding you close as a village burns to cinders that you were soulmates, two halves of the same soul that were forced to live separate lives because you were deemed too powerful of a force when together. so they had to rip you both apart while they could to preserve their definition of ‘peace.’

Your dates were…unique to say the least, such as participating in his experimentations and misleading good and well meaning people for fun and laughing when they come back a monstrosity of their own creation, as you’d let them believe.

You: would you burn everything for me? Would you even kill thousands for me my dearest Scar?

Scar: I’d do so and much, much more, charred corpses that would try to take you away from me, try to persuade you into leaving me or even exist within the same space as you will be used as an cautionary art piece; an example for everyone else that they’d too would suffer a similar fate made purely for our entertainment.

*he grabs at your face and leans in real close* they are merely mortals fooling themselves into thinking they’re smart enough to speak upon issues regarding those of a higher power and purpose. Do you hold me in the same regard, my desire?

You, leaning your forehead against his, looking deep into his eyes that were unusually soft in this moment: if I had it my way there’d be no one left alive to look at what’s mine. I’d rip out my own heart if I could to prove that it only beats for you and you could do whether you’d like with it for as long as you want. Cage it? Destroy it? Preserve it for all time always? My heart is yours to toy with.

You truly were a match made in a demented, morbid version of heaven.

Scar would probably test how much you love him by making you do the most morally questionable shit known to man, if you succeed, you’ve proven your love was genuine but if you failed, then he guesses you didn’t love him as much as you declared you did.

However once you’ve become scar’s, you were forfeiting your freedom in order to shape yourself into being the prefect lover for him, however that was the plan to being with wasn’t it?

[makimahinalno]

Rip to Loghain Mac Tir, who is imo the most morally grey character of DA series.

Bioware really said "Actually Executors have been controlling everything this whole time and Loghain was manipulated/brainwashed during Ostagar" Fuck you. I can't believe how much they retconned everything.

"There is nothing I would not do for my homeland."

Ferelden and Anora come first before everything else.

Loghain cared for Cailan, he was the son of his best friend and the woman he loved, he is his son-in-law. That didn't stop him from betraying his King because he viewed him as a romantic and naive fool who glorifies war like a fairy tale. There's nothing glorious about war, you are left with trauma even if you win. This is his hatred for Orlais. Which ties to the fact, that Anora (his daughter) was going to be discarded for Empress of Orlais (not to mention that Cailan was already disrespecting Anora as he was having affairs with other women). As for him locking Anora up later, he did it because no blame would be layed on her. These are HIS sins, he will pay for them alone.

So he didn't betray Cailan out of hatred, he didn't want throne out of thirst for power and he isn't a sadist. But that doesn't excuse his arrogance, he thought he was the only one who could do the job right when it comes to Ferelden's protection.

He feels human. He has flaws. He tried to do right in his own way, but he failed and made a terrible mistake which he realises in the end, and he accepts the players judgement to be executed or to join the Wardens.

I'm so pissed at what Bioware did to this character (and many others). So much potential wasted because magical Illuminati across the sea were the true villains all this time.

[animeyanderelover]

Anon: Can I have headcanons about a reader who is much older? I mean, she is older, smarter, wiser, stronger although she looks young for her age. During her long life, she has experienced a lot of terrible things and therefore cannot tolerate injustice. She is not a hero who wants to change the world, but she will not offend the weak. She has such a specific aura of a mother that you involuntarily go to her for advice (and she gives it) When the character talks about his age, she just smiles and thinks, “he’s still just a child.” Featuring Chrollo, Shalnark, Dazai, Deidara, Kurapika, Pouf, Gojo

This is to be read in a platonic context.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional mindset, clinginess, isolation

Tags: @swagenemyartisan @cachamata @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @hyakki-yosai @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59 @shumidehiro @izanami78

You're still just a child

Deidara

💥​Deidara truly is a walking talking contradiction. On the one hand he often complains to you that he doesn't want to be treated like a child yet as soon as he is even slightly upset or offended by something or someone he comes running to you with a big pout on his face. Despite everything at heart he remains an attention-seeker after all who would hate to witness you paying attention to someone else. He is truly a breathing manchild though as his temper really reminds you of the bratty attitude of a child. It is so easy to make him jealous to the point where he has actually threatened to bomb the people who elicited such ugly emotions out of him only to be scolded and afterwards receiving the cold shoulder from you, something that causes him to actually tear up. As much as he complains about not wanting to be treated like a child, Deidara still insists for you to brush his hair and tie it in the morning whenever he stays the night. He's always without a fail complaining to you about Sasori and their constant arguments about what the true definition of art is, wanting you to take his side of the argument. On every special celebration possible he prepares a firework for you.

Kurapika Kurta

⛓️​Kurapika is going to go into this a lot more skeptical. It's alright to have friends who are not part of his clan but going as far as to see someone as a mother is testing his loyalty to his clan as Kurapika is painfully aware that you aren't his biological parent. He often shies away from your attention and rejects your help as the feeling of betraying his own clan gnaws at his soul. Still he finds himself subconsciously seeking you out whenever he experiences an emotional tumult, already knowing deep down that you can soothe his overflowing rage. He starts getting quite selfish the more he gets attached to you as he attempts to isolate you more from others. After all it is not uncommon for people to admire you for your strength and your youthful looks despite your age and such people always put him on edge. You are by all means far from naive yet his distrust often outweights his rationality. You never fail to notice his brooding emotions and always put a calming hand on his shoulder, emotionally and literally holding him back. You have never attempted to take the morally high ground when you found out about his desire for revenge, never belittled him and it allows him to express his pain freely to you.

Chrollo Lucilfer

📖​Intrigue is always the emotion that will serve as the bait to gain Chrollo's attention and it truly is no different in this scenario. You see, Chrollo has always been rather sophisticated with a unique philosophy and he loves having long discussions with you about humanity and all their rights and wrongs. You're neither driven by revenge nor are you someone who sees herself as a hero who has to stop him. Instead you listen to him with that gentle look on your face and it only serves as fuel to Chrollo's curiosity as he rarely witnesses such composure. However, he is not quite sure how he should feel about the way you view him as still a child. Sure, you may be older than him but throughout his life Chrollo has learnt that even adults reverted back to crying babies when he confronted them and promised them death. The concept of a mother is something neither he nor any of the other members of the Phantom Troupe have experienced, the strange warmth within his heart a sensation so unfamiliar that it feels alien. Still, he supposes that it's quite nice. I feel like in this specific dynamic he would actually refrain from stealing your Nen-ability simply because he genuinely respects you.

Shalnark

📱​Usually his sweet smiles are very deceiving but they are always genuine whenever he visits you. Whilst Shalnark harbored some distrust against you during the beginning as years of being a thief and criminal have given him direct exposure to the ugliness of humans he has learnt to realise that you aren't like common people. You have had your own share of struggles and injustice and it is a topic he learns to bond over with you as well as learning to respect you for your physical and mental strength as a consequence of your past. Indeed, the two of you may appear like a mother and her sweet son spending time together yet there is always a sinister motive that lies hidden. Shalnark always pays you a visit after a successful mission the Phantom Troupe committed as it is a nice change of pacing. Initially he brings you souvenirs as a gift, most of them stolen objects from the robbery. It becomes quickly clear though that you do not appreciate such presents, especially if the blood of innocents sticks to them like invisible karma. If you should have difficulties regarding technology and electronical devices Shalnark is always there to help you and fix stuff for you.

Shaiapouf

🎻​Shaiapouf gives you intense hatred after you pick him up from the palace where he almost died, blames your kind for the death of his beloved king and heavily blames himself for not having done more. You should have saved the king and not this unworthy and incapable servant. He only complies begrudgingly because you are stronger than he is and his animal genes accept the natural order of the food chain where you stand above him. Born to serve and born to help his majesty to receive greatness, perhaps it is this desperate wish that slowly leads him to push his ideals on you. He notices the spark of potential, starts clinging to the attention and care you give him as he receives a taste of what it must feel like to have a nurturing mother. Shaiapouf hatched already as an adult who knew of his purpose and already possessed great levels of intelligence yet the more love he receives the more he starts reminding you of a child. Still dedicated to serve and protect yet also constantly seeking approval and damning everyone who may even attempt to date you. It is somewhat endearing though, especially if he splits himself and you have multiple mini hims clinging to you.

Dazai Osamu

🤎​You indeed ended up picking up a stray dog with several issues after stopping him from trying one of his many attempts to die. Dazai keeps up his initial antics as he asks you if you would like to join him, quickly shoot him down by revealing your age which elicits one of his theatrical reactions out of him. The truth is that Dazai never had loving parents and much less a mother who nurtured him and cared for him and even if he would have had one he doubts she would have been able to love him for the monster he used to be and partially still is. It is this inexperience that startles him when he receives tastes of it from you. It is a sensation akin to being submerged in scathing hot water, his mind torn apart between pain and a strange comfort that urges him to drown even deeper. What frightens him even more is your willingness to listen to him in order to understand him better, something he has never received before as most people have just learned to live with his antics and brush them off when he lets them out. Pain makes someone wiser and that applies perfectly to you and Dazai can't help himself but seek you out for advice, searches for the answer of what he was made for by seeking out you.

Gojo Satoru

🩵​You've known Gojo since he entered Jujutsu High, actually decided to tutor him despite having retired after the world failed you. Partially you see yourself in this young boy and it is this urge to teach him to not repeat mistakes of the past that leads you to take him in, officially becoming his first teacher as he was only ever taught the basics by his own family. You seek out the boy underneath those blue eyes on a personal level no one has ever bothered to get to know him on. What makes Gojo Satoru Gojo Satoru? So used to being treated like a valuable weapon than someone's son it is almost sickening for a while for Satoru and even though he attempts to hide it beneath that careless grin you sense his distress and help him to work through it. After Suguru chose a path of hatred to walk on you are the only person Satoru still has left and on that day he breaks down in tears for the first time and clings to you like a weeping child in need of his mother's love and comfort. He completely turns his back on his biological parents, even coldly states to them one time that he only has one mother which is you. The only approval that matters is yours, the only attention he needs is yours.

[muzansfangs]

Hiii! I hope ur still accepting requests. Recently, an idea has stuck in my head. What about taking bath with Aizen and his s/o? I hope you will accept it!

Cleanse my soul.

Starring: Aizen Sosuke x f!reader; mention to Shinji Hirako, Kisuke Urahara, Kensei Muguruma, Rojuro Otoribashi, Lisa Yadomaru, Hiyori Sarugaki;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal fingering, cock-warming, vaginal sex, creampie, fear play, smoking, clit-edging, jealousy, nudity, Lieutenant Aizen, morally grey reader, mention to attempted murder, violence, gore, blood, talks about the future, betrayal, trust issues, turn back the pendolum arc, established relationship;

Plot: He was back, knocking on your door in the dead of the night. His Lieutenant badge had been damaged, the gleam in his chestnut eyes telling you he had succeeded in accomplishing his plan. He always seeked your company, after long days of work and unspeakable crimes committed to chase his dream of becoming a God. You were the only thing he would have never given up to on his climb to the Heaven.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Reading by the window to distract yourself, you had watched in agitation the way your Captain had left the barracks to investigate on the sudden disappearence of Kensei Muguruma and and some members of his squad. Your stomach churned, apprehension leaving space to the mournful feeling of being forced to accept a brutal reality no one else in your Division was prepared for: at the end of the night, you were either going to say goodbye to Hirako Shinji, your Captain, or to Sosuke Aizen, his Lieutenant, your boyfriend.

No one else knew what was really happening, besides you, Kaname Tosen and Gin Ichimaru, the young prodigy Sosuke seemed to be so enthusiastic about. The secrets you harbored behind your soft smile, when you conversed with your friends, as if you had not just witnessed to some poor inhabitants of the Rukongai vanishing before you wary eyes, when you lied for him, when you cradled his face in your hands and reassured him everything was going to be okay, when he silently pleaded you to cleanse his soul by fucking you up against a wall and telling you the world was soon going to acclaim you their queen, were slowly consuming you up from the inside like acid sizzling the delicate walls of your stomach.

Despite that, you had chosen him above anything and anyone else. You were the priest absolving him from the sins he kept on staining his soul with for the sake of his ideals. The real question was: who cleansed your soul?

You often queried whether his efforts to keep your hands clean were actually successful. You were not innocent. You were guilty as well. You had just betrayed the Soul Society and your friends. Your idle tongue was as sharp as Sosuke’s blade. You wondered how many of your friends had already fallen by your boyfriend’s hand. A massacre was taking place outside and there you were, safe in your dorm and hoping Kisuke Urahara was not going to disrupt your lover’s plans.

Someone knocking on your door made you flinch, back straightening as a ramrod as you settled your book down on the ebony desk, careful not to make a sound. What if Sosuke had failed? Maybe he had sold you off too, after being arrested. The mere thought of your beloved boyfriend throwing you to the wolves made chills run down your spine and your mouth turn to chalk. Would Sosuke really do such a thing to you? You wondered, once again, if he loved you as much as you did.

You mentally rebuked yourself for assuming the worst. Sosuke loved you. Why were you doubting his feelings for you? Probably, you were just projecting onto your relationship the ominous feelings, swallowing you in a whirlwind of fear and anxiety, that you experienced when you watched him work cold-heartedly, sacrificing souls, to the chilling phenomen known as Hollowfication.

Your hand reached for your zanpakuto, your bare feet sliding onto the wooden floor without making a sound, just like he had taught you throughout the years you had spent together. You took a sharp intake of breath, tightening your grip on the hilt of your katana until your knuckles turned white. The visitor was masterly suppressing their reiatsu, making it impossible to detect their presence and identify who they were. You knew what you had to do, in case Sosuke’s failed and the guards went after you. Killing comrades, however, was entirely different from massacring Hollows. You were a shinigami, not an assassin. If the person knocking on your door was not your boyfriend, your blade was going to drip viscous, crimson blood of a shinigami.

Hiding your katana behind your back, you slided the door open, ready to become a full-fledged traitress. The lean frame occupying the threshold made you discard the blade onto the floor instinctively, the sound of the weapon clattering against the parquet echoing in the silent night, as your hands clutched the fabric of Sosuke’s shihakushō and pulled him inside. He had come back safe and sound.

It only meant one thing: the Fifth Division had lost its Captain.

You relished the bittersweet taste of happiness achieved through betrayal, when you smashed your lips onto his, hand scrambling to your side to slide the door shut. Yet, you had learnt to be selfish, you had grown familiar with the sensation of enjoying moments of peace and unbridled excitement, when other people were in pain. Sosuke held you close to his chest, his hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed you back with equal fervor. His hair were disheveled, the badge indicating his status of Lieutenant was gone, the black fabric of his uniform torn in some parts, dirt dusted his clothes and visage.

“Are you hurt?” you dared murmuring against his lips, ignoring the way he was already trying to disrobe you.

“Unscathed. — he shortly informed you — But I could use a bath” he added, mouth voraciously assaulting the crook of your neck, whilst you were attempting to make a small conversation to know details about his victory.

However, right now, when you were in his arms and his teeth were nipping at your tender flesh, Sosuke did not seem to give a iota about further explanations. He had won. He had promised to come back to you and there he was, pushing you towards the bathroom, heedless of the corners biting onto your sides as he forced you to stumble backwards to reach the destination he had chosen for you two to spend the rest of the night at.

You winced pathetically against his lips, the chilly, wintry air blowing through the small, wide-open window of your bathroom leaving goosebumps on your now naked shoulderblades. The rustle of your clothes landing onto the floorboard accompanied you to the edge of the bath, as he finally let go of you and began to undress himself before your glossy, dreamy eyes.

No matter how many times you had traced the outlines of his abs with your lips, or fingertips, every single time his body was bared for you to contemplate you lost any cognitive capacity of thinking straight. Sosuke had always got you in a chokehold from the day you first met at the Academy.

He was that kind of man who outfoxed everyone around him, the sweet-natured guy with glasses no one would have ever accused of committing bloodcurdling felonies. Sosuke Aizen was far from being an ordinary man, some stranger easy to forget about. He had captivated you effortlessly in the palms of his hands, like a clueless butterfly delicately landing on the fruity, multicolored petals of a carnivorous plant only to be devoured to the bone. You had become one with him.

You realized you had been fantasizing about him again only when his hand reached for you chin, forcing you to crane up your neck and meet his gaze. His glasses were gone, his beautiful chestnut brown eyes boring into yours in anticipation as he brushed his thumb over your cheek “Focus on me” he commanded, his words no longer sugar-coated, the typical honeyed tone slipping out of his mouth when he talked to you absent.

His ravenous side strived to take over, evidently. He desired you like a helpless shipwrecked person hoped to find water in a deserted island, adrift amidst the salty water of the Ocean.

Seldomly you had recognized the diabolic gleam in his eyes outside the safe walls of your dorms. His lust, his thirst for power, his greed and ambitions were never showcased in his ever so kind eyes, the same pretty eyes bewitching you right now. Sosuke was the incarnation of the infamous wolf in sheep’s clothing. He had people bamboozled, unable to see him as nothing less than a noble, proficient and polite man minding his business and even reprimanding his Captain for the sake of his Division.

A man with leardship, but uncapable of doing any harm.

Perhaps, it was because you knew him so intimately that his demons had grown familiar with yours that you often asked yourself if you were a mere pawn in his hands, a pretty diamond pin to wear in order to fool people about his real intentions. You hesitated, a small frown creasing your forehead as you watched Sosuke impassibly stare at you in confusion.

“Tell me something, Sosuke. — you started, miraculously modulating your voice in a firm but soft tone — Are you going to abandon me, once the world will be in your hands?”.

His eyes clouded over for a moment, your stomach churning in apprehension. What if you had ruined it all? You impudent mouth, your lips quivering in fright, your heart pumping fast in your chest had revealed you were scared of losing him, or to be fair, of him.

Sosuke’s jaw clenched, his other hand gripping your hip to push you back towards the cool edge of the tub, the still warm water sparkling under the moonlight dimly enlightening the room “When the world will be nothing but a possession of mine, I will give it to you” he stated, making your stomach somersault.

Regrets for having even asked him such a silly question gnawed at your stomach, guilty conscience weighing on your shoulders like a heavy read. You blinked a few times in a row, watching as your boyfriend sidestepped you to climb into the tub. The sound of the water splashing onto the floor, overflowing from the edge, filled the air. Sosuke leaned his back against the bath, arms comfortably positioned on each side of it, penetrative gaze commanding you to join him.

Resisting was impossible. Entering the water, you snuggled into his chest, your back adhering to his firm abs as your neck reclined. Your hair tickled his chin, his jawline, his eyes closing to finally relax. He would have never admitted it, but you could tell he was exhausted. Even Kings needed to slack off, to ignore their duties and enjoy the small moments of bliss their life granted them.

“I need you to believe in me” he spoke out then, velvet voice playing the chords of your heart, as you swallowed thickly.

“I believe in you”.

“Then don’t doubt my love for you. Never” he asked of you tiredly, his arms now leisurely encircling your waist to bring your body closer to his, skin to skin, his mouth gliding down the curve of your neck.

You hummed, thighs parting, when his hand slipped further down your body, disappearing underneath the translucent water “I’m sorry. But this is all so scary, Sosuke. I was afraid—”.

“Afraid of what? That you mattered less than glory and honorifics?”.

You squeezed your eyes shut, his deft fingers parting your dewy folds as if they were a syrupy fig for him to feast on, the scene reminding you of a depraved bucolic lyric about a Greek, Attic shepherd corrupting a modest nymph by a river. A blasphemy you were condoning sheepishly.

The moans you let out were not the answers he was trying to coax you to pronounce “Answer me” he pressed.

“N-No!” you stammered, hips rocking as he plunged a finger into your tight hole, causing him to pull it out and gently pinching on your clit. While the action obviously did not hurt you, it sent waves of electricity running through your body. You jolted onto your seat, toes curling as you lolled your head back onto his shoulder.

Sosuke’s teeth nibbled onto your earlobe, before he hushed you “Hush, love. Can you just recall what I have taught you? Provide me a good argumentation and I won’t prolong this torture further” he whispered, his brown eyes shifting to a small cabinet at his right, making his blood boil in his veins.

Why did you still keep such an object in your house?

Were you maybe going behind his back? Were you actually siding with that frowsy scientist he had taken care of nearly an hour ago? Kisuke Urahara would have not been a problem anymore, whatever was the reason behind your injudicious decision of discarding that water-pipe in such a place for his eyes to see. A small test of your loyalty would have sufficed to prove how deeply you cared for him, to understand whether your devotion was pure and solely on him, or not.

Hazy, you clasped your hand over your mouth to muffle out another whimper threatening to erupt from your throat. Rationality left your body, when he touched you. How were you supposed to force your brain to properly function, when Sosuke was flicking your throbbing clitoris torturously between his thumb and index? Despite that, you knew damn well the only solution to your problem was doing exactly what he had said.

Tears prickling in your expressive eyes, you pushed your knees together, only for Sosuke to chide you and run his fingers through your drenched hair. His nails scraped your scalp ever so lightly, but it was enough to stop your futile struggle.

“You have such a pretty mouth, darling. Let me hear your voice, hm?” he mumbled, one of his arms sliding around your abdomen and pulling you flush against him while the other pinched your clitoris again.

You squealed out in overstimulation, your body too sensitive to endure more of this edging. It was his usual wicked game of power and self-control. Sosuke was in command, yet he made sure you always had your chance to make his ministrations cease. All you had to do was playing your part, like a pretty ballerina moving under his instructions. A false step and you sprained your ankle.

You huffed, cheeks heating up in embarrassment and shame for your total lack of backbone, when it came done to him “A Goddess shall never be afraid” you blurted out, sinking further into the water as a satisfied hum resonated from behind you.

True to his words, he stopped playing with your pearl, fingers merely delving into your pussy instead. Scissoring them gently into your warm cavern, Sosuke pressed his lips against your nape, eyes darkening in lust and a something shady you had failed to see due to your position.

“That’s right. You’re the future wife of a God. No matter how powerful and cruel a divinity is… — he started, one of his hand reaching out to grasp that water-pipe irking him to no end — A man is nothing without his woman” he finished, inspecting the smoking device between his fingers.

His words had left you breathless, your inner walls squeezing his fingers as you writhed in his arms. Your moans echoed in your small dorm, probably the shinigamis in the backyard had heard you too, but you did not care, nor did him. They knew better than coming after the Lieutenant’s girlfriend.

The respect he had gained through the years surpassed even the one your comrades had for the late Shinji Hirako.

Your eyelids had shut, relishing into the way he fingered you so deliciously, and your mouth was hanging open to release those shamelessly high-pitched cries of pleasure he loved so much. The hard wood of the pipe resting against your bottom lip, though, made your eyes snap open again.

Dread washed over you, as Sosuke’s fingers tangled your hair, yanking them back harshly “You still keep his gifts. Smoke for me then. Smoke to celebrate his incoming downfall, darling” he crooned, your blood running cold in your veins as he gripped your wrist and directed your hand up to make you grab the object yourself.

Yout shaky hands did wrap around it, teary eyes meeting his cold ones “S-Sosuke, I am sorry! I just forgot to throw it away, I promise” you apologized profusely, watching how he softly smiled at you and prompted you to raise your hips enough for him to impale you onto his cock.

“I know you did. — he cooed, the bulbous head of his shaft stretching your aching hole, as you languidly looked at him and whimpered as he buried himself deep into your welcoming core — I suggest you to smoke in his honor one last time, darling. Cry for his departure” he whispered, mouth leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the curve of your neck.

And you mourned Kisuke’s fate. Oh, you did it so convincingly, for after cock-warming your beloved boyfriend for a while he then began to thrust into you in hard, punishing thrusts making you sob tears of pleasure. You hiccuped, blurry vision, smoke filling your lungs, as you exaled through your nostrils.

Body sore, heat overflowing with Sosuke’s hot seed, you collapsed against chest. His arms held you close to him, as he watched the device sink into the now murky water, forgotten forever like the destiny of all those Captains and Lieutenants who had been unlucky to cross his path.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Uhm, I feel too ashamed to say anything about this. If it is not toxic, it’s not Sosuke to me. Ah, my first red flag crush… Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this as much as I adored writing it!

Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

Until next,

X O X O

TAGS: @onyxino @velaenaa @villainsrtasty @stygianoir @noirfan12 @bucciaratizippers @linkwho1 @0wh1te0 @bakugosgirl01 @persuasivus because I think you might enjoy it💫

[softzindagi]

Some of my thoughts on maxton hall and why i loved it so much:

- im so glad that they didnt have james being a dickbag and kissing other girls after he met ruby

- the contrast of james and ruby’s families, the polar opposite in fathers. I love how they still had james and lydia be each other’s rocks in such a crappy situation when they have no one else, even if their relationship isn’t the best. The dichotomy of their relationship to ruby’s and ember’s? things can go wrong but they are sisters who love each other deeply.

-i loved the very pride and prejudice esque scenes of ruby dressing james down, and every time he deserved to be told off but it still makes ruby feel guilty afterwards. there’s a moral compass of ruby that james hated at first but it humbles him? Chefs kiss its so fucking good. He betters himself just like darcy and the change is seen even by his parents.

- the scene of ruby telling james off in the oxford course, its a pivotal scene because everything she says digs at things he knows. Young Beaufort wasnt his idea, it was Lydia’s and he’s taking credit and charge of it. He feels bad, he’s forced into it, but it’s the “you go through life representing wealth to which you have contributed absolutely nothing? With so much money, there’s no need for your own ideas.” Ruby has no idea how hard that actually hits home, and you can see Lydia take a step back mentally and yeah she agrees. The rest of it, how people will only like him for his money and not himself, that also hits so close. We see how Cyril laughs inspite of James’ pain, Alister is impressed by Ruby’s dress down but no one goes after James like a true friend would. As the series goes on you see how Alister and James grow closer as he becomes a better person, you see the care and concern because they’re in similar places but Alister isn’t as proud or arrogant as James is. I really love how by the end of the series, you have James and Alister confiding in each other.

- the scene on the lacrosse field, the way she apologizes and he is arrogant but decides to be nice because he is curious, and finds out that he does like her. She humbles him and makes him want to do better, she’s not the enemy and he kinda respects her for it. I also think, he’s never had anyone genuinely apologize to him, because he’s never had anyone wrong him but his own family. The apology, it’s a catalyst for him to let go of this resentment he has for her, in the truth she dug up in him.

- i am very happy that they have the good and the bad with ruby’s parents. The guilt that Ruby feels and the way her father is not happy that she is “wasting” her money on saving for his lift. There’s care there, but it’s hard nonetheless, those are big emotions to have years after an accident like he experienced.

- piggy backing off of that, the pivotal scene of James saving Ruby from the pool, that even though he didn’t know why she didnt come up but didnt hesitate to jump in? CHEFS KISS! The scene after of her confiding in him, him being so gentle and careful and being honest with percy, that he’s in over his head but he likes ruby, he wants to help her and has helped her. Oof just so fucking good!

- the way they keep telling each other that they should go back to never knowing each other, but every time fail because they’re meant to collide now, they MATTER to each other now

- i just really am glad they had him apologize for the shitty way his father was to her. That he was embarrassed by himself and his father. It was excruciating to have her get humiliated by his father. He’s only experienced it within his own family, but having it happen to Ruby? that changed things.

- they fucking nailed the cute scenes between them. The dancing in the victorian clothes, the chasing pigeons, the planning and setting up of the gala? Hell yeah!

- The whole fourth episode was chef’s kiss, no notes just purely good storytelling

More thoughts later but this is what i’ve got rn after rewatching the show for the third time

[queenvhagar]

"Fire and Blood is biased propaganda by the maesters so nothing in the real Dance of the Dragons actually happened like in the books, you can't critique the show for showing things as they really were!"

I'm so tired of this take...

GRRM wrote the original ASOIAF series as an anti-monarchy and anti-war story. He's an author who makes a point to flesh out characters and motivations, he understands that there isn't truly a good vs bad narrative to any large-scale, real-world conflict like war, and he understands the sociopolitical factors involved. His series highlights that it's the most vulnerable people in society who suffer when those in power play their game of thrones and make consequential decisions based on their own personal motivations without thought to the consequences to those that will have to the pay the price for them. That's GRRM's entire point with the original series: war destroys everything, it is never really justified, and through war the powerful set in motion terrible events that the most vulnerable are most like to suffer.

So the idea that all of a sudden with the prequel book Fire and Blood GRRM pivoted to write a biased textbook that purposefully misconstrues a conflict where the real story behind the pages is that one side of a dynastic civil war was led by a faultless, pure woman whose divine right to rule was stolen from her, and she's justified in plunging the realm into war to reclaim her throne because the other side was uniquely misogynist against her and was made up of selfish flawed people who just wanted to steal her power from her because she was a woman...

Sure, Fire and Blood may be a history book with unreliable narrators and sources that are trying to recount long-lost histories of the realm and possibly failing to capture the totality of what actually occurred. But I can absolutely guarantee you that the intended real history of the Dance of the Dragons as it took place in the world of ASOIAF was not some black and white, good vs bad tale of morality where one side was right and the other side was wrong like the show and some fans are insisting.

The actual Dance of Dragons as it exists in the ASOIAF timeline and universe, keeping in line with GRRM's original intention and message of the ASOIAF books, is 100% a story of a flawed, ultra-powerful family that fractured into two ideologically different factions that led to a pointless civil war in which neither side was justified in their attempts to seize power from the other. The result was that the family killed themselves until the only survivors were the traumatized children left over from either faction. In this pursuit of absolute power within one family thousands were subjected to the abject horrors of war: pillaging, famine, torture, sexual violence, being burned alive, and so much more. Neither side was faultless. Neither side had "the right" or justification to enact this conflict. Neither side bore sole responsibility for the conflict. Neither side was good or bad while the other was the opposite.

It really just fits outside of the world of ASOIAF to think that Fire and Blood's account of the Dance of the Dragons was uniquely biased against a single woman and her side of the conflict wherein this woman and her supporters were actually good people that had bad things done to them and all accounts in the book relating to them are inaccurate, yet most accounts of everyone else in the story were more or less true and accurate to how events played out. Like are you actually serious that this is how you think this story and history played out in this world of ASOIAF? That ultimately the story of the Dance of the Dragons is not anti-monarchy and anti-war in line with the original ASOIAF series but actually it's the story of a uniquely good woman in this terrible world who had a rightful claim to the throne and whose power was taken from her solely because of misogyny so she was justified in going to war to take it back? Like that's your analysis and interpretation on this conflict?

The way that the show is presenting this story is so unbelievably and ridiculously reductionist and simplified to the point where you begin to question why someone wanted to try to adapt the material at all... but then of course you remember that 1) Game of Thrones made a lot of money for a lot of people 2) its later seasons of mediocre, oversimplified writing continued to be rewarded with huge budgets, profits, and awards nominations despite the obvious downgrade of quality 3) so many modern writers believe the general audience needs to be spoonfed ideas and that they can't handle complexity, so it's more important that they shape an existing story into something that is a palatable, profitable hero vs villain tale that everyone can casually enjoy (and ideally appeals to modern sensibilities) than they try to create a compelling, thought-provoking, interesting and faithful adaptation of the source material.

[wh0reforfantasy]

Why is Jude Duarte the perfect morally grey character…

- Her parents were brutally slaughtered at a young age, and while hating Madoc, she also had a soft spot for her “father.” Since she was small, this man raised her and taught her everything she knew. Of course she had memories from her own parents, and could never forgive Madoc for what he did, but she also saw the fatherly side of him and appreciated it. Jude Duarte was created in a morally grey environment.

- Jude Duarte will do anything for her power/pride, even if it means risking everything and everyone she has. She could have easily brushed off petty insults and kept temper during her brutal bullying/harassment she was going through, like Taryn and the rest of her family insisted, but Jude never let it slide. Even if it was simple revenge that might earn her a dip into a creek, Jude always stood her ground. Later into the series, we see her completely and utterly invested with the little power she gains and how she uses it. There are considerable more risks with every power move she makes, especially everything concerned with the crown. Her family is usually an afterthought, and rarely an emotional case. Even with Oak, Jude is more concerned about the use of power and where she stands, then she is for his safe-being. Not to mention the time Jude almost killed Taryn in a squabble over Locke, which in its entirely mocked Jude and what control she had over someone close to Cardan. Jude loves her family, and will protect them, but not unless it suits her in some way.

- Everyone/anyone is her enemy… no matter how much she “trusts’ them. We see it with her relationship with Taryn, where Jude cares for her sister, but never really trusts her. Even with Cardan, while Jude was infatuated with him, she never once trusted him. All of her friends and family becomes pawns in her power game, and she will always back up herself first. This was taught to her by Madoc, who put battle/power first above his own important people and morals. Cardan was a known enemy to Jude, but he showed her a vulnerability/empathy that she showed no one else. Instead of being emotional and falling for him harder, Jude convinced herself it was an act and to use it to her advantage. Most people wouldn’t shackle a boy that was being beat by his own brother, trick him into having a crown he did NOT want to have, AND witnessed his whole family being slaughter in front of him… Jude didn’t care, she wanted the crown and her revenge.

Nonetheless, Jude has a side of her that is very protective and loves harder than the average person. Her strength and determination could be used for something more than her own gain, and she shows she is capable of that later into the series. We understand why Jude acts the way she does because we witness the pain of her character first hand. Who wouldn’t want revenge against the very people that hate her for her existence? Being human means your weak, can be controlled… a creature owned by the fae. Love was wired to be thought of as a weakness, something to make you lose the battle. In this series, we see her struggle with the choices of to love, or gain more power.

I think Holly Black made an AMAZING female lead that wasn’t written for love, but for feminine rage and power. Love didn’t stop her from gaining what she needed, what her goals were, and instead make her stronger. Jude fought most of her battles alone and failed, but got up regardless. Cardan wasn’t her knight in shining armor, it was quite the opposite. And let’s just say, the best series I’ve read so far.

[nilboxes]

How Sunday is Perfectly Morally Gray

Original thread on Twitter

Sunday is a misguided savior—made to believe he is the sole salvation of all, who was willing to be the lonely scapegoat/sacrifice/host of a place where everyone else but him lives in a beautiful never-ending dream.

Repeatedly during 2.2, Sunday alludes to a story about the Charmony Dove and how he believes an injured bird who can't fly should be caged, pampered and fed to live the rest of its days in comfort. It is alive, that is what matters the *most*

Sunday's thoughts to me probably go—Why can't we be all caged like the Charmony Dove? Where is the place that we can exist without predators and hardships? Everything should always be nice and unchallenging, we should just leave in perpetual peace and happiness and indulgence

This idea of a paradise free of suffering is reflected in the "sweet dream" of Penacony, but Penacony itself is fueled and fed by its dreamers who slowly lose themselves as the dream eats away at them.

So Penacony can't be the paradise, there needs to be a better, a newer dream that someone will bring forth so that everyone can be the Charmony Dove in the cage. No more hardships, no more sadness, no more disease, no more death, everyone lives their best lives.

Sunday was brainwashed into thinking HE would best suit as a sacrifice to these needs, he was ready to be the lonely host of this new and so much better dream where everything is all good. He designated himself as the cage, he is the sacrifice so that everyone else can have it good.

Everything about this heavily references an old short story by Ursula Le Guin called "Those who walk away from Omelas" which is basically a story about a wonderful utopia called Omelas where everything great and stuff, BUT it comes with the price of one single child suffering very badly

The story details how most people are horrified to learn about this child who lives in total abject misery, darkness and filth, but they see the utopia they live in and go "this is fine, this beautiful paradise is all worth the suffering of one person"

But SOME people can't deal, even just one person suffering and not being part of utopia is a no go, it's not worth it, so they "walk away from Omelas" and go somewhere not better objectively, but just away from that place and that price they had to pay for utopia

Sunday literally wants/offers himself up to be this child. He is willing to be the sacrifice so that everyone else can live happily. Because, selfish as it is, he feels like everyone should be put in a gilded cage so they can have it good and easy.

There's a very misguided savior complex here where he thinks everyone should be subject to this sort of "salvation" like there's a special mindset here of Sunday's, self-sacrificing and very Catholic that HE can choose what is good for others and be willing to pay the price for it

And like, it's terrible but also commendable at the same time. Sunday says if you are weak that is fine, he will give you a dream where you can just live your """best life""" and be ""happy"" but is it really happiness if it's "fake"/handed to you on a platter and decided for you

But the message of Penacony says dreams are just dreams and you should wake up and strive for it, not live in the dreams. Omelas says if even just one person has to pay for your paradise it will never be worth it.

Sunday is terribly misguided, was brainwashed/conditioned to believe this, using his childhood grief to perpetuate a misguided ideology where he will basically Jesus himself for a thing that is objectively not really any good for anyone.

But like, he is rather straightforward as a character and yet his motivations and what thoughts he might have while believing in this is so so fascinating…

Anyway I stop yapping maybe don't hate Sunday, maybe read Omelas

PS: Does Sunday think he is unworthy of his own paradise because he failed to save his mom if so that's so Catholic of him dude needs therapy

[richeeduvie]

But what if during the Tabitha era Baby and Stewy went together to Shiv’s wedding? Or any event really. Maybe they even just went as friends. Maybe not. But none of Roman’s bullshit and threats would work on Stewy.

Wedding Bells (part one)

Stewy x Reader, Roman x Reader (complicated)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

You asked Stewy to be your date to Shiv and Tom's wedding, a simple choice to not be lonely in the face of love - and Roman with Tabitha, as much as Roman's suggestion to continue having sex and climbing into bed with you while he's with her would cure the loneliness in the first place. But then, a bit played out a hundred times before is all it takes to make the choice desperately more difficult for you and Stewy, as well as giving a long overdue, torturous experience to Roman.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Stewy's been sweet. Fun - in the hour of him being your date to Shiv's wedding. Roman will find out eventually and you know it'll be hell. It'd be hell if you had any other date, but him being Stewy? He'll tell you you're killing him. For a moment, you'll want to kill Roman - claw at him for being hypocritical. He's with Tabitha, he got with Tabitha after everything.

But then you'll remember...that's fair. There is no after everything. What you and Roman have been for nearly your entire lives is just...love - and sex and a neediness, an obsessive that Roman must've outgrown. It's nothing of commitment, officiality. And he picked Tabitha. And Tabitha's good, she likes to run her fingers through your hair, and you wouldn't have picked anyone else for him.

So, you'll let go. You have to, because you can feel yourself wanting to give in at the way Roman still grabs at you, asks for you. You have to stop letting yourself sigh and hold him when you wake up to him climbing into bed with you. You wonder if Tabitha wonders when he is when he does that.

You'll take Stewy as your date, because it's Stewy. And every other maybe-date seems to just not...want you. Always suddenly too. What a thing to make a woman feel good about herself.

"Jesus."

You fail to not blush remembering when you asked Stewy.

"Oh. Honey, how long have you been in love with me?"

"I just need a date! And you're coming..."

And his stare, smug to match his smile.

"Shut up!"

"I didn't say anything, princess."

"Your eyes are bullying me."

He's still the same as when you were fourteen and he was Kendall's quick-humored, ostentatious best friend. Almost, Stewy's a business negative to be your wedding date, but he's still bullying you - ruffling your hair like you're fourteen, you blush like you're fourteen. Jesus. Anything, anyone of Kendall's seemed so intimidating. Though, Stewy's just more ridiculous than anything now.

There's hands grasping your shoulders.

"Which one of us is gonna catch the bouquet?"

"...Oh my god."

"Which one of us is getting pregnan-"

"Stewy. Your head is blown."

"I think I could manage child-baring hips. But let me stop with the disgusting talk. I heard they're taking photos before the ceremony. You should be there."

"What are you even doing in my room?"

"I need to match my tie with your dress. And you're a bridesmaid. You should be there with the bride."

"I'll be there. And you saw the other bridesmaids - it's a greenish...blue. I picked them out with Shiv."

To be honest, you don't know any of the other women Shiv picked to stand beside you. They all seem nice, but you'd rather not think about how you've come to know so little about your childhood girl best friend.

"You have awful taste, but you're the prettiest. I'm saying that because I want to, not because you're my date and I have morals. But finish up with the earrings, I don't need a coward on my arm, even though I'm pretty sure you haven't told anyone I'm your date. And I have to talk to Kendall."

"Coward?"

"Roman's pathetic, but he's not gonna bite you. Not in public, anyway."

...You wouldn't carve Stewy's words in stone. But you get his point. And you're a coward with a question. It makes you feel pathetic, a child who can't let go - because the answer, whether you like what it'll be or not, won't change anything.

"Why didn't you tell me I have a piece of fluff in my beard? I understand what having me next to you the entire night will do to your insecurities, but you don't need to sabotage me."

In the mirror, you watch Stewy pick out something from his beard. He flicks his fingers on your shoulders.

"Stewy."

"Mhm?"

You blink.

"...Did Roman say anything to you at Tom's bachelor party?"

You watch him in the wide glass with a burning feeling on your chest. His eyes go up, almost half of an eye-roll before he looks at you.

"You know, kid. I always thought he was going to...how do I say this without making college-aged me sound like a fucking freak?"

Stewy's face feigns wonder.

"I always thought he was going to purposefully have a child with you. before you graduated."

You swallow. Stewy leans in and over, playing with a jeweled necklace on the clean, slick wood of the dresser.

"A mistake on every technicality, but it would've been purposeful on his end. But to answer your question...actually, I don't think I have one for you that matters. At best, I can see a vague image of me talking to this lady in a spacesuit, who I think was hot? Good on me for seeing past the stars. Then your fuckhead of a childhood lover just...needed me. He was needy enough to interrupt me."

"Needy?"

"Roman needed me to get in with a buddy of mines, all on the line of business. He threatened me, which was adorable. He's adorable when he's trying to be serious and not just a snarky fuck. You would know."

"...I would."

Stewy smiles slightly before a look to the rug, he's quick to look back up at you.

"I don't think how or what happened there matters. He didn't knock you up to pull a shotgun wedding in Milan. He had more than enough time."

Stewy pulls on your earring, a gentle and humored touch.

"That was the mistake on his end."

You smile with closed eyes. Okay.

You can't agree too much with what Stewy says, you think that puts you up on a pedestal. That it's a pathetic attempt to say no, nothing's wrong with you - everything's wrong with Roman for not choosing you. There's nothing of you to choose, but it does make you feel better, even if it's Stewy mentioning teenage pregnancy.

It's something unbelievably nice from him, but it's crotchety. Graceful, and his arms of warm. It's just as much of Stewy as it's of something unbelievably.

"The smile is telling me I'm great at this. So, let's go find people of the wedding party to bed - if everything goes well."

"What are you doing with Kendall?"

"We're saving you. We make do with the Roys, right? Fuck."

"Does my hair look okay?"

"Oh, your hair smells just fucking swell."

"I didn't say-"

Stewy cuts you off with his face coming closer over your shoulder, eyes closed and nose ready for this stupid bit. It's something he's done in front of Roman to make the veins come along his forehead, to gain pitchy insults for himself while you would have to soothe Roman with your chest against his back afterwards, taking your own slut, whore-named calls from him.

He's going to smell your hair.

"It's vanilla. And lilies. Apparentl-"

And he smells your hair, finger brushing it. You watch him sniff and it's...

He's so close. You don't think he was ever this close before when he'd fuck around, but Stewy's hand squeezes your bicep. You feel your heart speed up, a soft heat on your skin pressing down as he squeezes tighter.

And suddenly, Stewy's different. You hate it, you hate the way he's different next to you - or you just feel different about him.

Because he's handsome in the mirror.

Stewy's always been handsome, in style and in face. You've known that, but the way he looks is on your skin, on the beat of your heart. The way he touches you doesn't feel like way Kendall or Shiv touches you. In the way anyone touches you.

Unfortunately, the only thing you can go off of is the way Roman's touch feels - and that's what it feels like now.

No, Stewy's touch is more confident, less demanding of attention. But his touch makes you feel the way you do when Roman's hands come onto. That's it.

And it's a it that sinks down into your stomach. Because Stewy was always Stewy, he's doing something Stewy always does - and it's suddenly different?

Somehow you've managed to fuck up curing your loneliness. But you'll push it down, because it's nothing. The way Stewy's squeeze slowly, slowly stills and softens is nothing. The way his mouth curves and how his eyes blink quickly under his bent brows.

He's just Stewy. And his name doesn't mean anything.

"...I don't know how you're getting lilies, but I'm not queer enough to know my flowers. But-"

Stewy breaks his words as he lets you go, clearing his throat and putting his hands in his pocket.

"You smell as pretty as you look. Congratulations."

"Let's go before I'm knocked down from bridesmaid's status to wedding-goer."

"That's what I've been saying."

You haven't seen Roman since you've set up in your room yesterday and being seen with Stewy was going to get a sigh from you, a slew of demeaning conversations from him. But now it feels like something else and you don't want it to because it doesn't.

"I'll catch up, princess. I need a tie and a time to remember how good I look right now."

"You do what you need to do, Stewy."

You smile at his smile before leaving. You need to breathe when you close the door.

You won't be this stupid, even if you don't know that Stewy needed, needs to breathe to - cursing at himself in the mirror.

He runs his hand over his mouth.

"Jesus fucking Christ, man."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

"Roman, get out."

"Why isn't she here?"

"I don't know, but we'll be in our...I hate the stage name-bullshit to all of this, but we'll be in our places soon. Are you here just to bother her until she wants to slit her wrists? Because don't do that to my bridesmaid, Rome."

"She's been avoiding me and I want to knock her head off for it."

"Well, that's what happens when you try to shove your dick into someone with the moral decency to not tell your girlfriend but also the dignity to want to not be within the vicinity of you. Surprising."

"Fuck you, your tit is about to pop out, by the way."

"Go away."

Roman sits himself on Shiv's vanity. He plays with a tube of lipstick.

"I'm going to wait for her here because if I don't, that means the next time I'll actually see her is when she's up on the fuckin-the end of the aisle thingy. And I'll just rip the top of her dress down and her bridesmaids boobs will bounce out for everyone to see-"

Shiv makes a squinty face as she puts on her heels.

"God, Rome."

He only thought it cause he wants that, but fuck - honestly? Outside of the joke to make Shiv uncomfortable? Roman would only do that with just the two of you. He's just desperate. Sorry. He hasn't seen a lot of your skin in awhile.

"I'll do that...or I'll leak a little something about Tom before his vows. I'll embarrass the shit out of you and it'll be over something you could've easily accepte-"

"Jesus fucking Christ, fine. Get off the vanity, your fat crack is going to make an avalanche out of agarwood."

Roman makes a squinty face, genuine anger and defense bloated on his brows.

"You're the one serving steak. Your breasts will pop out of the dress, only cause your stomach is gonna break the buttons in the back. Fuck you."

Roman hops off the vanity and puts up his arms when you come in.

"I was getting worried."

"Sorry, Shiv....and Roman? Was he going to replace me as a bridesmaid if I didn't show?"

Shiv smiles and Roman comes closer to you, you're here now and he's here? At least he's seen you before he's seen you with Stewy. You wonder what he's doing now. If you'll see him much after the wedding.

"You haven't been answering my texts. I need you to not be a child and talk to me...and critique my cock pics."

Shiv's head snaps and you close your eyes. Two of the bridesmaids shift uncomfortably and embarrassment burns.

Roman.

"Nothing's different. Did something happen in your personal life that I'm not aware of? Like trauma to get you isolated?"

"I was just tired and wanted to stay in the room. No trauma involved, I don't think it would take that much for someone to not want to talk to you."

Shiv snorts.

"Boring. Me and Tabs explored the grounds, there's at least six places at the venue where people definitely hanged themselves. Hung. You know, Brits and their cheery dispositions." Roman crosses his arms and presses his foot into the ground. "Tabitha mentioned that weather definitely plays a part in mental wellness which made me think I've made my bed with a 5'10 hippie but I thought about it and like yeah, England's gloomy. Gloomy fucks."

...Okay.

"Okay. Well, I heard about photos?"

Shiv comes up from her chair.

"Oh, no. Me and Tom decided we didn't need those behind the scenes personal photographs. But we're taking some right after the ceremony, I think. But...alright, I think I'm getting married soon."

You smile, coming to kiss Shiv's cheek. You remember when you two would play wedding with each other, before you would play it with Roman. And yeah, she's getting married. It's like time is nothing.

"You look beautiful. Sorry for being a shit bridesmaid. I should've made up a party or something befo-"

Shiv shakes her head quickly, a soft jolt with a thin smile.

"Where would I have time for dick lollipops and mini-veils? You're fine. You put on the dress and do the thing, right?"

"Tommy's wedded to a romantic. Okay, I'm going. Have fun standing for an hour. I'll come to your room later."

You blink at him. He wants to lick you so badly.

Roman stretches before he goes to leave, he just doesn't with a stare you understand. It makes you sink, a need to comfort him and tear the fact you know he's in distress and confusion by a simple change in his face. You can't do anything with it anymore.

"What the fuck are doing here? Move."

"I came to look at my date before I have to sit through mandated vows...unless, Shiv - you'll be reading something from the heart?"

Stewy comes through the doorway. He's wearing a tie and he looks...cute.

"...Hi?"

Roman's brows come down, his head jolts back. "Wow, one of these grocery store ad model randos Shiv picked off the street due to having no friends actually wants to fuck you?" He tilts his head. "I guess I could see it, you're as hot as a grocery store ad model. Take you out of the suit and you're fucking homely."

Stewy doesn't say anything to Roman. He just smiles, turn his head to you.

Your heart picks up. You rub your neck.

"Tie matches. And because of your terrible wedding-fashion taste, about twenty percent my outfit is a green-blue fabric mess. Thank you for that."

You take a peek at the way Roman's face drops. In the eyes and soft mouth, in the way his neck holds his head.

A bit of brokenness and anger growing like a weed so instantly, but you deny it so, because Stewy's ties matches his outfit, you think. And if you react to this, to Stewy as intensely as Roman does, you'll be sick. Fuck.

You can't look at him.

"You're welcome."

"I have a bit of time to..."

To talk with Kendall about fucking their dad, something that his siblings can't know about. Stewy holds his head up.

"You okay, Roman?"

"...What the fuck?"

You can feel Roman's staring like a burn, like a clenched fist you can't comfort him enough to open.

"Shiv, you look beautiful."

You don't hear Shiv behind you, but you imagine the slight twist of her face, her head tilt.

"...Thanks. You're her date. He's your date? To my wedding?"

"I just needed to fill out my plus one."

"Oh. Okay."

"I'm so honored you're not ashamed of me. No, she suddenly found me too hot in the face to not have me as her date. We'll see where this goes."

"Fuck you. Get the fuck out-"

"Are you telling me to because I was planning to leave? So it seems like you made me. Princess, he's grasping."

You can watch Roman's fist, his hands flex out and shake and shift - just with his head.

"Um. Okay - I um...I'm going to get set up to...walk. Dad didn't get in on the semi-wedding rehearsal but he's waiting, probably. But Rome, calm the fuck down. Jesus."

Shiv makes small conversation with the other ladies before walking out, dress in her fist. And you have to turn to Roman's stare.

It's grating against your eyes.

"You fucking whore-"

"Oh. If I thought this was a place where adults could talk. I'm sorry. I'll have to leave."

"Are you serious? You reall-"

"I feel like you want me to leave him with you. I better go before that vessel bursts on my neckline."

You hear something of a choke and a scoff when Stewy kisses your cheek. You smile weakly, but your sigh is strong when the door closes in the both of you alone.

"You reveal you've had-have Stewy dick thrusted into you at Shiv's fucking wedding? You...was me getting with Tabitha a blessing in disguise for you? How long have you've been wanting him impregnate you? Huh?"

You look to the floor. It's just Stewy. It's just Roman's insecurities coming over him. Stewy was the worst to pick, but Roman would've acted as if he was being incinerated if you picked anyone else. So it can't matter - and you can't assure him that no, you don't want anyone else.

Because he did, he picked her out and you're just lucky she's nice, that she can handle someone like Roman. But he did want someone else. And you didn't think you would ever, but you wear the same color Stewy does. But fuck, even if you didn't, there's something like spite - that you don't want to tell him you're his.

But it's true, because that feeling with Stewy was just something...fucking strange. You won't hear the end of it from him if you gave way.

"Are you not going to answer me? Because you were just waiting for a moment for me to fuck up and off so you can lollygag on Stewy's cock - and I just fucking - I let you! I actually believed you when you would blow and cuddle me. You are a glorified streetwalker for this family. Roy and Co. strumpet."

It hurts. You know Roman's hurting, he's just spitting fire, but it still hurts and you'd like to hurt him. Not in the way that would make him feel more like, not a hair pull or harsh insult in the sheets. But it's not fair. Either way.

"Would you call getting with Tabitha a fuck up?"

Roman closes his eyes for a hot moment.

"You do. Obviously. It's either you've been wanting Stewy to slobber and make curved-nose love to you for the entirety of us being...us. Or you're just being a petty, pathetic bitch to get back at me for trying out different legs - but like, you also still have me. You have me. Either way, I think you hate me and fuck you. You know what? I'm glad you've been a prude for me because you've dried yourself up for him."

Roman kicks his foot into the wood.

"I'd be sharing pussy with Stewy. Jesus, fuckin-"

"Roman."

You hear it in his voice, the strangle and panic as he rolls his neck.

"He's just my date for tonight because I couldn't find anyone else. He's here because he was invited and also just to...I don't know - fuck around with Kendall, in a professional manner. I don't know. It made sens-"

"I offered, me. You. And Tabitha - just fucking, a formal three-way. And it's a fucking wedding, who cares? You didn't have to pick Stewy." Roman breathes, even in the pitchy, bitchy anger. "...But seriously, just a fucking date? And he's just coming in here to break me for giggles? That's it?"

You look at the color of your dress. It's more a purple-blue, really.

That's it. It has to be. Because it's Stewy.

"Yes, that's it."

He scoffs high, pulling at his ear before his hands open up below him.

"Well, fuck. Bet you picked him just to make me tingle, though."

"...But what if it was something, Rome?"

And whatever is like a smile on his face drops again.

"Jesus Christ. You want march in the pussy parade. Fuck you!"

He had it. Roman just though you were being...sad, depriving yourself of him for the sake of morals. Or that you were trying to be like him when to came to venturing out date wise. But you pick basic fucking normies who don't like you. They don't love you and they obviously aren't worth your time if they give up so fucking easily whenever Roman threatens them.

But he didn't think of Stewy. He didn't because you promised him. He wouldn't have thought of Stewy and he wouldn't have thought of Kendall. Because it's Stewy - so fuck him. And it's Kendall. Those are the only male fucks he's sure you wouldn't think of fucking just because you don't have him. But you do have him.

But Roman's feeling a pit in his stomach, just pressing down on his muscles and he feels sick. This is making him sick. He wants to grab at you and make him promise things.

Why are you doing this to him? Why are you asking him stupid fucking questions?

"If I we're to get with someone - not Stewy. Not Stewy, Roman...because he's just my date. If I got with someone just for fun or it's fun but then it turns into something else, something stable...this is all hypothetical. There's nothing to it, or history or anyone. But it's a question because you can't keep doing this."

Roman stares and his face becomes simple, casual.

"But I can, because who's gonna want you when I just email them the videos of your toes in my mouth? Or...me in your lap and you're singing, but that's bound to gross someone out and into their grave. So...I can."

Frustration hits. Roman.

You can deny everything else, but not his hypocrisy.

"It's going to have to stop. Pushing the idea that I can be with you while you're with Tabitha and especially if I do want to find someone at some po-"

Roman snort something smug and familiar, you'd usually just kiss him and pull to get him weak. Soft.

"Yeah. No. You're not going to want to do anything. Physically, you can't."

"How could you possibly know that, Roman?"

"Cause me and you are of the same twig. Stop trying to force yourself to find other dicks to gobble down because it's making you look like a try-hard. Stewy's fine now because...what a sad sap for a date, but it'll make Ken's head spout steam. That'll be funny."

You blink with parted lips.

Now you really don't get anything. Because he's saying he knows you're not going to want to do anything because you're the same as him. But he has done something.

In the last hour, you've lost so much in terms of understanding.

"And if it was Stewy? Back to the hypothetical."

Roman's unblinking before a slight, slight smile.

"You would find me with slit writs on your doorstep. And it'd be your fault and I would make sure everyone would know. But you know that already."

He grabs your hand, a mwah on your cheek.

"We'll be tired tonight, I don't think these ancient knobs have locks on them so I'll come by later. But seriously, just...don't try hard."

It makes you look pathetic, but it also makes me sick.

You look at where Roman doesn't wear a tie. You don't think he's ever made it so he's matching with you. And Stewy's done it so easily - you try and remember his dates to Waystar events and galas over the years, if his ties matched their dresses. The best you can remember is when he bought you matching baseball hats for your seventeenth birthday, something Roman and Kendall found corny.

You rub your neck as Stewy fixes his tie two halls over.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

hope you enjoyed! dw, roman's gonna get what's coming to him. You've already seen his panic at the idea of her being with Stewy, as her and Stewy slowly realize their jokes and bits can't stay bits anymore? Roman's heart is gonna fall out of his ass. He's gonna kill himself. They're feeding each other food next part and it's hell for everyone. Love ya!

[kayas-kosmos]

Because of what's happening on Twitter...

I've made a little diagram to demonstrate why billionaires and the ultra-wealthy are bad for society.

(Text in Image)

"If we view society as a body, every sector is like a different organ within the body that serves a function and works in harmony with other organs to maintain balance. Every part of the body is important for the whole thing to function."

"The ultra-wealthy want you to believe they are the beating heart and thinking mind of the society – they are the innovators who create our jobs and their brilliance drives society forward. They deserve to be at the top of society because they have earned that. Without them, the body won’t function because they are the most important part."

"In reality, they are more like a malignant tumour, sucking all of the blood (resources) away from everything else (people and the planet) to fuel its own infinite growth, depriving the rest of the body and slowly killing it. Workers create all of the innovation and keep things running, the ultra-wealthy take all the credit."

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This is a public domain image so feel free to pinch it for whatever.

Elon Musk has put the careers of thousands of small business owners who depend on Twitter (myself included) in jeopardy by completely running it into the ground. Before this, Mark Zuckerberg had already been doing the same when he started pursuing Metaverse, making Instagram and Facebook much more unusable for artists. Do I really need to go into other examples of CEOs and very normalised practise of wage theft?

Meanwhile, the UK currently has the richest Prime Minister in its history. What is this man doing with this wealth? Continuing the Tory legacy of austerity in order to line his pockets and the pockets of his crony friends. This has resulted in a devastating cost of living crisis that continues to ravage the country as people's energy bills skyrocket out of control.

My diagram is pretty basic and lacks nuance, there's definitely more I could elaborate on with this comparison but I really don't have time. I just want people to get the basic point of how billionaires view themselves vs what function they actually serve. I'm also not here to debate whether some organs are more important than others since I'm not a doctor, that's not really the point here. And no, I don't care if people think I'm being harsh by comparing billionaires to a tumour. If they don't want to be compared to one they should stop acting like one. Jeff Bezos could end world hunger right now and chooses not to.

Also, I know a lot of people are going to come at me with the argument that billionaires give away massive amounts of money. First off, people like Jeff Bezos only give large sums of money to charity a.) for the sake of improving their public image and b.) because giving to charity allows them to write it off in their taxes. Also, charities in of themselves have a lot of problems, but that's a blog post for another day. Mutual Aid is a better way to help people directly. Really, the ultra wealthy need to be taxed, of course they do everything within their power to avoid taxes.

Also:

"Earning a lot of money" and "holding onto a lot of money" are two different things. You cannot be a multi-millionaire unless you hold onto that money. If you give away massive chunks of it to enrich society, you cease to be a billionaire.

Oh and this is worth a watch, too.

Furthermore:

Also before the inevitable great man comments:

Being a billionaire is a moral failing. Nobody needs that much money.

[Slight edit here - I made the assertion that a billionaire could not spend all of their money in their lifetime, but as someone in the comments pointed out it's very easy for them to completely waste billions in no time. Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg have shown that].

Anyway, if you would like to see more anti-Capitalist art from me, I am currently working on a webcomic called "Flowerpunk" - a story about a group of anarchists who are trying to save the city of Wyrdon from a supernatural plague known as "the rot." The comic heavily discusses disaster Capitalism and how the rich will use mass death and destruction as an opportunity to further line their pockets.

I also like to do little anti-Capitalist doodles relating to this project, which I plan to make into posters at some point.

Please consider donating a Ko-Fi also if you would like to help support this project. I am really struggling at the moment because I've basically lost a massive chunk of my client base due to this Twitter implosion and also because of the AI BS that has made it impossible for me to get any reach nowadays. The last year or so has been an absolute nightmare for my career because of all of this.

Thank you all for your continued support! Hopefully I can re-establish my audience here on Tumblr and wherever else I decide to go.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #52 – The Mercy of Gods by James S. A. Corey

Introduction

I have never technically read any of Corey’s work before, but I really loved all the seasons of the Expanse I’ve seen. So, as it would be months and months before I could actually get a copy from the library, this is the rare book I actually bought off the strength of the blurb. Even rarer, this actually worked out! This is genuinely quite good, meaty, even fairly original space opera!

On the world of Anjiin, a human civilization has developed from the ruins of some prehistoric colonization mission that ended in atomic fire, their origins a matter of theology and myth. Through blatant nepotism (his aunt is a very important administrator whose made his career her way of honoring her dead sister), Dafyd Alkhor is a research assistant on the most prestigious and celebrated lab/project on the planet – a successful attempt to bridge the gap between the native plant life of the planet and the earth-descended life humanity brought with it. But even as everyone’s enjoying their moment in the limelight, the project is in danger of being split up, the credit and prestige a juicy enough prize for the academic politics to get vicious. And then there’s Dafyd’s rather poorly hidden crush on Else, a much more senior scientist and also the Team Lead’s girlfriend. Everything begins to come to a head, and then-

Well, and then aliens invade. The Carryx and their servitor-species more-or-less effortlessly destroy every human attempt to resist, and then execute one eighth of the population where they stand. Like some massive, chitinous, latter-day Assyrian Empire, they then sort through and abduct a few hundreds or thousands of humanity’s administrative and intellectual elites. Hostages to bring to one of their world-palaces to live at their pleasure and prove their worth as subjects until a place in imperial society can be decided for them – with ‘mass grave’ being an entirely plausibly option if they fail to please. Dafyd, honestly a pretty shit scientist but a natural courtier and schemer, then finds himself desperately trying to understand the Carryx actually want from humanity, and why they refuse to communicate any of it.

Complicity and Collaboration

So this is overwhelmingly a novel about how to react to subjugation – of different emotional and trauma responses to seeing your loved ones killed to make a point, to seeing everything you know destroyed in the space of an afternoon, to being forced into an overcrowded ship and sent to a terrifying new world where your life is valued exactly in proportion to your captors' whims. As the novel reaches its climax, it becomes increasingly about the morality of fawning, servile collaboration and nobly suicidal resistance – of whether it’s better to live kneeling or die standing, essentially.

This is one of very few books I can ever remember reading that make a big dramatic point of that question, and then come down on the side of ‘live kneeling, bide your time until you’ve earned their trust and know enough to stab the knife somewhere vital’. Partially just because every other genre story in the world does stack the deck towards resistance (making victory an almost foregone conclusion if people just have the courage to fight) and this does in the opposite direction (‘resistance’ would be at best a few spectacular terrorist attacks before they’re all hunted down and executed, the first thing the rest of humanity would know of their noble fight is when the retaliatory genocide starts), but still.

I found the start of chapter epigraphs a greater flaw, honestly – they’re quotations from an imprisoned Carryx after some future fall of the empire, who lays the blame squarely on humanity. I’m sure this is building up to some lovely dramatic irony in future books (and is a fun window to Carryx state ideology), but the constant reassurance that the plan works and isn’t just a rationalization for surrender really does drain some of the moral stakes out of the question, you know? From a dilemma with genuinely unclear outcome to just a particularly cruel and slimy trolley problem. Which I mean, still juicy character drama! I did enjoy it.

As Space Opera

There are many works of SFF which are, frankly, setting bibles with an excuse of a story stapled on out of obligation. This isn’t one of them, but it is a book written by people who clearly enjoyed the worldbuilding for its own sake and were always looking for little excuses to show off a bit of it. This is probably clearest with Anjiin – from a plotting perspective, they could have sketched out the basics of the world in a paragraph, assuming they didn’t just use some vague future Earth or Mars instead. But Anjiin actually feels like a fully realized world with its own politics and hypocrisies, its own culture and theology, and (especially) its own beautiful and profoundly alien landscapes and architectures. The last thing makes the book’s job much harder, really – the sense of shock and alienation (as well as a guilty sort of curious wonder) at the Carryx world-palace is vital to the book, making the home the cast is stolen away from so strange and unfamiliar as well can only make it harder to evoke in the reader.

The book spends something like the first fifty pages on Anjiin before the Carryx arrive – before (almost) anyone have the slightest idea they exist – introducing the main cast and their dynamics, sketching out their daily lives, and grounding Anjiin a real, vibrant place that it’s possible to get properly attached to. Vitally, it’s not a world without conflict – Dafyd et al spend the entire time embroiled in high stakes academic intrigues and interpersonal dramas, of a kind that could easily sustain a book on their own. This was a big part of why the book worked so well for me, I think – the loss of Anjiin felt like a loss, the cutting off of possibilities I wanted to see play out, the execution of characters I enjoyed seeing on the page. Given how often these sorts of stories can (unintentionally or no) read ‘and then they were whisked from boring mundanity with dramatic fireworks accompanying them’, I’m glad the book spent the wordcount on it.

The Carryx needed to really overawe and impress, which I think the book mostly manages. Their society seems both plausible and viscerally alien. The book does a neat job of obscuring the exact border between their (weird and fascinating) biology and their obsessively eugenic imperial ideology, in a way that seems very fitting given that both the characters we spend any time with at all are middle/lower-middle ranking strategists and overseers in the imperial project.

This is very much an empire which starts with the iron fist and only bothers mentioning the existence of carrots after a new subject population is brutalized and terrified into full submission. Their ideology is a half-step short of pure power worship, and makes no excuses butchering and exterminating to make the world more convenient for them – none of them ever refer to other species as anything but ‘animals’. This isn’t an empire that tries to convert and persuade – but then, it’s not one that needs to.

The world-palace and assembled ranks of other species gathered in it does an excellent job of being genuinely awe-inspiring even for the characters who hate every solitary thing about it. One great advantage of written science fiction over more visual media is that there’s no real need to make your aliens humanoid or relatable-looking, and Corey takes full advantage of it to fill the prison camp with dozens of memorable, different species – absolute none of which could be played by an actor in makeup.

Of course, those aliens are mostly just set dressing – with the exception of one species of primates that humanity is placed into competition with that ends up in a mutually escalating and quite bloody vendetta – the only alien species represented by actual characters with names and points of view are the Carryx and the infiltration-swarm sent by their great enemy to get scooped up along with humanity and gather information about their inner workings. It does this by consuming and possessing one of the main cast, and the book has great fun keeping coy about who for half the book while still using it as a secondary Point of View. Even more than the Carryx, it does a good job of coming across as both genuinely alien (probably because it is an alien-ness in conversation with the humanity of the two hosts it has assimilated) while still being an incredibly compelling character.

Characterization

Dafyd has a habit/nervous tic of looking for people’s ‘pathological behavior’ – the habits and tendencies they default onto in situations of high stress or while they feel in danger or powerless. This is, then, the lens the book invites as far as its characters go. Every one one of them spends the vast majority of the book cycling from one trauma response to another, and each is probably mostly characterized by the way they respond and the things they fixate on as their world is destroyed and they reckon with their own powerlessness. Fixate on the research the Carryx want and at to try and pretend life is still recognizable, or get angrier and angrier and jump at the first chance to justify beating some other inmates to death to feel a bit of agency and control. Plot out a nobly suicidal strike back against your oppressors, or try desperately to understand what they want so you can manipulate them and ensure the survival of you and yours. Or just constantly make off-color and mostly unfunny jokes.

None of it is exactly subtle, but it all rings pretty true, and does a good job making (almost) every cast member compelling and memorable. It helps, I suppose, that we end up spending at least a chapter or two in the head of half the main human cast, and get plenty of careful observation or intimate conversation with the rest. I’m aware some people really despise this sort of POV-hopping in a story (especially when it’s mostly just different perspectives on the same broad events/circumstances) but personally I rather adore it when it’s done well and they each seem both plausible and distinct, which this book easily manages.

In Conversation with the Wider Genre

I am at this point a bit of of a connoisseur of the hyper-specific subgenre of ‘space opera/spec fic more generally deeply concerned imperialism, colonialism, the experience of subjugation, and the internal logics of complicity and collaboration’ – a shelf which its always great to add new works to. I don’t particularly think Mercy was written in direct response to or is actively commenting on any similar works, but it is fascinating to do a bit of a compare/contrast. Well, it is for me, anyway.

Compared to your Memory Called Empire’s and your Imperial Radch’s the most salient really thing is how uncomplicatedly awful the Carryx are. Not that the empires in those books ostensibly aren’t, but they’re simultaneously also cultured, elegant, rich – in a word, alluring. We spend as much or more time on the intricacies of Radachi tea ceremonies and soap operas as we do on their atrocities, and even that makes the messy brutality of imperialism far more foregrounded relative to the seductive beauty of salon poetry and monumental architecture than it is in Memory. Mercy, in contrast, mostly shows the awe-inspiring beauty of the Carryx world palaces through the windows of a prison-camp. It’s there – we even meet the subject-species who were enslaved instead of exterminated because they can architect such wonders – but only really incidentally. The glory of the Carryx is their vastness and their overwhelming might, all the elegance and beauty they have is the fruit of conquest – and more often than not, different subject-species are introduced with hints or notes of how much more they were, before they were crushed and carved into something the empire could use. (This is almost certainly related to the fact that the only point of view we get whose at all a native or wiling agent of the empire is very minor, and clearly a villain without much in the day of redeeming or morally interesting features).

The better comparison is really Exordia. Or maybe I’m only saying that because it’s the one I read this year, and thus the one whose interesting little complications are at least somewhat clear in my head. Better put, Mercy is exactly the story Clayton from Exordia thought he was in. In both the empire is both alien and undisguised in its malice (two things that are probably related, really), in both the empire doesn’t feel any need to understand or integrate humanity, when overwhelming superiority in technology, scale, and availability of coercive force allow it to just threaten and brutalize until it gets what it wants. The humans in Exordia are just both more and less lucky. Less, because their alien invaders are even more monomaniacally (indeed, metaphysically) malevolent to the point that even being their willing accomplice only buys hours to days of life. More, because they have an ancient relic of a plot device buried in the mountains to give a bit of cause for actual hope in violent resistance (and so a final act of the story concerned with an entirely different suite of messy trolley problems).

It’s an interesting addition to the subgenre anyway – I really can’t recall any other books that have a protagonist collaborating with the empire while not at any point being seduced by it. Well no, that’s a lie – Machinaries of Empire does hit the same beat, just in extraordinarily different ways.

Should Your Read This Book?

The answer is at least partially conditional on how the rest of the series turns out – the narrative absolutely requires sequels, and oh how they could retroactively absolutely ruin it. But with just the one book and a bit of optimism? If the premise seems even slightly intriguing, then absolutely.