#he already is but like i might die if i see that

[imliterallyf7ckin9crazy]

꧁⋆°𝓢𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓭 𝓖𝓪𝓶𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓒𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼°⋆꧂

Squid game Season 2 men saving you when you almost die in the game

Characters: player 001, 230, 124

Warnings: canon violence, near death experience, toxic relationships, drug use, mention of suicide, romantic tension, f! Reader

A/N: this is no diss to anyone bc I respect the grind, I truly do, but everything I see of squid game is nsfw. I have to HUNT for sfw shit. I just gave up and just read everything anyways. So I’m trying to balance the scales a bit for rn. Again no diss bc yall nsfw writers COOK.

________

ᏢᏝᎯᎽᎬᏒ 001

(Weird ppl attacking you in game)

- ok so for this one I’ll say that you are just a average player in the games he happened upon. You two met because you were on the ‘X’ team, and more specifically in gi- Huns group.

- he normally is pretty resistant to the ‘worthless sob stories of the poor’ as he puts it. But for some odd reason, yours got to him

- thrown out of home, forced to survive and fend for yourself out in the streets, hopping from job to job because you can’t pay rent on time 8/10 and you get evicted. Pulling loan after loan to keep yourself afloat, and even that is starting to fail you. You are at the very end of the road and if you can’t manage to leave here without some money you are 100% fucked. You genuinely think the only way out of the hole you’ve dug is either a miracle in here or checking out of life manually.

- in-ho LOVES sad wet cat type people, he can’t help it. And even though he’s heard basically the same stories from hundreds of people yet somehow you stuck with him

- life was unfair to you, you were cast out. If that didn’t happen, you wouldn’t have to be living “like garbage”. Almost everyone else put themselves in their financial hole, you started in one. Not fair, see? He’s doing so much mental gymnastics and logistical jumping to validate himself. You’re different, you don’t count.

- you really weren’t a extremely strong individual , you didn’t draw attention to yourself like many of the others, you didn’t argue much or ask many questions. You came with a goal. And he respected that.

- after game two though, the marathon, you and many others decided it was time to call it quits. So you voted ‘X’ with gi-hun and everyone else. And surprisingly in-ho, or young-il as he named himself, also picked ‘X’

- you both didn’t really talk much besides maybe a few sentences to each other about how your group was meant to survive. But after the second vote, having a X on your shirt also meant having a target on your back. And being the “minding my own business” type it doubled that factor.

- a group of three people, two guys and one girl approached you. Sorrounding you and pestering you on your vote. It turned to raised voices and getting in your face, to shoving from all three people as you just stood there and took it, unwilling to change votes. Though you might not fight like some others that doesn’t mean you aren’t brave.

- though as soon as young-il (for simplicity) saw those men put hands on you he was already trudging his way cross room, leaving gi-hun mid conversation to aid you.

- you were backed against the bed frame of the stacked sleeping quarters, these three lunatics yelling and shoving you, telling you that you have to vote ‘O’ “or else”. You assumed it implied you leaving this place in a box.

- that’s when young-il made it to you. “That’s quite enough” he says, eyes cold as ice and facial expression locked in stone. His posture was straight and his head was held high. Very intimidating, it’s almost like he had a military commander type vide (hahaha- odd right??)

- the girl was quick to scamper off, giving you a glare as she informs the boys she’ll be waiting by their group. The men however puff their chests out and square up a bit, and you get second hand embarrassment because young-il doesn’t even flinch or break the deadly eye contact. “Are you sure.” Is all he said. It didn’t sound like an actual question, more of a “are you sure you wanna get your ass beat in front of all these people” threat.

- they got the memo from his venomous words and slowly creeped off back to wherever they came from, looking like puppies with their tails tucked as they walked away.

- “thank you so much” you say, bowing slightly in gratitude for his kindness. He gives you a nice chuckle before lifting your shoulders back up.

- “oh no no, it’s nothing. Those boys should know better, I bet their mothers would chew their ears off if they saw their lack of manners” he jokes, earning a giggle from you.

- it makes him feel kinda fuzzy, but he compartmentalizes that feeling for when he’s alone and can process it. In the mean time he just places his hand on your lower back, guiding you back to the group where you will be safe (and in arms reach)

- this just opened a Pandora’s box of possessiveness and lies, and he doesn’t even know how it will end

ᏢᏝᎯᎽᎬᏒ 230

(Mingle)

- for this let’s just say that you met up with thanos for the second game, the marathon one, and yall clicked a bit, leading him to tell you that “you should stay with me and my crew, for safety”

- and so you do. What could be the harm? He’s clearly deranged and a loose cannon, wouldn’t it be better to just go along before he kills you?

- is what you originally thought. Turns out after that conversation and you joined, he really isn’t that bad to be around. When he’s high he always makes you laugh, constantly cracking jokes and making fun of people at their expense to make you smack his shoulder a bit, saying “be nice!”

- you noticed he thrives on attention, and you give it to him freely. It’s hard not to when he’s got bright purple hair, hand tattoos WITH rainbow painted nails, and he’s rapping and dancing like he was in the comfort of his own home. Plus nam gyu, the guy who lowkey bullied the shit out of you the first few days was now told to “chill out man”

- now, you were all standing on a spinning circular floor, a cute little cheery jingle being played from over the speakers. Thanos and nam gyu danced together to the music, high in ways you didn’t even know you could get. It was pretty silly though, acting like kids.

- then the music dropped, and a number was said. You had to run with that number of people into a room to live. Those left behind will die

- the first few rounds were easy, the numbers were quite high and you held onto thanos’ jacket to stay with the group. The sounds of people begging to be let in followed by being punctured with bullets rang in your mind and the number for people in groups got lower and lower, until the number was two.

- you, thanos, nam gyu and min-su all stared at each other for a moment, frozen on who to pick before thanos started throwing his head from side to side before turning and gripping your arm and nam gyus, running full speed and pulling you along, forcing you to leave min-su. Though you felt horrible once you saw his shocked little face, you just kept going. Choosing to save your life instead of feeling bad and dying there.

- thanos shoved nam gyu towards the door next to the one you were about to be tossed in, luckily he saw someone was waiting by themselves in the room, so he was safe with two. Nam gyu gave him a small nod to let him know he was safe and set to survive.

- thanos rushed you in, slamming the door behind him and peering out. This was the last round, you made it. The door beeped behind you and locked, ensuring your victory of the game.

- adrenaline was still pumping through your veins as you gazed up at him from your spot cowering against the wall as gun shots rang. You didn’t even hear the people screaming or the poor souls who were locked from the room right behind you and thanos, damming you to hell for getting to the room first as they die. “Holy shit” you say as you look at him as he smiled back. “We did it.”

- “yup” he says confidently “now let’s see how much money we earned” thanos says as he pulled open the door for the final time. Before he can step out you grab his sleeve “hey- uh thank you” you mumbled

- he could have just left you like min-su and went with nam gyu, but he chose to save you.

- “what? Nah it’s nothing. Don’t worry” he says, patting you on the head and steering you out of the room

ᏢᏝᎯᎽᎬᏒ 124

(Lights out fight)

- there was a obvious tension in the air, one that nearly suffocated you as you sat with nam gyu on a bed… thanos’ bed.

- the vote ended in a tie, meaning the vote was to be redone the following day. After that was announced, your friends thanos and nam gyu went to the bathroom to ‘help even out the votes’. Specifically to talk to that poor min-su they’ve been harassing non stop. Only just nam gyu came back out. Eyes blown wide and covered head to toe in thick splashes of blood. Your heart nearly died when you saw him stumbling dazed out of the bathroom. You knew SOMETHING had happened when no thanos returned safely to you.

- after that, he tried convincing you they didn’t start the fight, which you saw right through. Eventually he dropped that act and told you straight up what went down. How your friend was murdered. Nam gyu tried covering his pain up by insulting thanos and taking two of his pills from the cross he stole from him. Calling him an asshole and an idiot. Again, you saw right through.

- you brought your hand up to his face to wife some blood off with your sleeve. And he leaned right into it, sighing very very deeply as he crushed the drugs between his teeth. He held your hand to his face, which you thought was just him being cute until he started talking about how there needed to be a total blood bath that night. To ensure team ‘O’ wins and you both could keep going. You tried to pull away but his grip kept you like in your spot next to him.

- “no nam gyu, we can’t just kill these people. They are just like us they just need money-“

- “yes! That’s the fucking point. We need that danm money, can’t you see? We won’t fucking win with all those stupid fucking cockroaches leeching our money” he hisses, harsh words contrasting with his hands tracing patterns gently on yours. “We won’t win this vote with them alive, we won’t get more money with them all alive. This is the only way”

- he just kept going and going until you agreed, saying you’d at least let him go out and kill and you’d be his little look out. Only nothing can go smoothly for anyone ever here.

- while there’s lights flashing and people screaming, blood and gore being sprayed from the alive and leaking from the dead, you are trying to make out what is going on around you. You can (faintly) see nam gyu out in the room, grabbing people and ripping them to shreds with his fork, the very fork that killed thanos to be exact.

- while you were looking around for nam gyu, someone had come up behind you, grabbing you by the neck and trying to choke you out. You screamed out nam gyus name as loud as you could as the attackers grip tightened and tightened to the point where you thought your neck was bound to snap. Your vision going out slowly as all you can recognize becomes the sound of the chaos. Until suddenly you were freed, and your assaulter was ripped off you and pinned to the ground by nam gyu.

- he started repeatingly stabbing the person, blood flying onto you and him as he slit the person open. When he stopped you basically flung yourself at him, crying “thank you! Thank you!”. He just saved your life, though You could barely recognize him, he was lost completely in drug fueled blood lust and rage.

- maybe not completely you figured, as he rushed to you and scooped you up. He returned you to a bunk, telling you to hide there and wait for him. Promising you he’ll come back, that he will keep you safe. And he did, as the lights came on and the gun shots rung out, he was alive and on his way back to you

______

Bet yall can’t guess who my favorite is >:3

[solelifauna]

Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

Pt.5

Guys, I'm cooked. Anyways, thank you for all the kind words!!! Also Y/n's cooked too...anyways! Enjoy!

ALSO!! EVERYONE THANK @oof-spoof!! THIS SERIES IS NOW BASICALLY DEDICATED TO THEM!!! Thank you @oof-spoof for supporting me!

The group fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your words sinking in as if the world itself had pressed down on your shoulders. It wasn’t just about stopping Omni-Man and Invincible or sending that crucial tip to the Guardians of the Globe—it was about surviving long enough to make any of it matter.

The irrefutable fact lingered in the back of everyone’s mind, unspoken but looming: you might be killed again.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the memory of your father’s hand crushing your skull replaying in vivid, excruciating detail. The sound, the pressure, the blinding pain—it haunted you in ways you couldn’t even articulate. And if not that, then what? Would it be a more horrific death this time? Burned alive? Torn apart?

You looked around the table, the same realization written on the faces of your friends. Hallie was biting her lip, staring blankly at the table as her fingers drummed nervously. Connor’s jaw was clenched, his fists curled tightly on his lap. Weston was silent, his expression unreadable, but his tired eyes betrayed him.

Finally, Weston broke the silence. “I’ll figure out how to send the tip,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. His gaze shifted between each of you before landing back on his hands. “You guys focus on keeping our… other obligation in check.”

Shit. You’d completely forgotten about the Demogorgons. Those damn things hadn’t been on your radar for the past few days, but they were still out there, roaming the town, lurking in shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Judging by the groans and sighs from Connor and Hallie, they’d forgotten too.

“Everyone still has their things, right?” you asked, already mentally cataloging what you had at home.

Hallie sat up straighter, brushing her hair out of her face. “Got my pump action and bolt action in my trunk and in my closet,” she said, her voice steadier than her posture.

Connor leaned back, rubbing his temples. “Got ammo and a G-48, Haymitch's axe, and the machete,” he listed off, his tone bordering on exhaustion.

“I still have the smoke bombs and my dad’s rifle he thinks he sold,” Weston added, his voice low but firm.

You nodded, storing the information away. “Good. We’ll need all that and more.”

The silence that followed was thick with understanding. You’d fought these monsters before. You’d survived the impossible. But this time, it wasn’t just about survival. It was about holding the line, balancing the dual threats of the Demogorgons and the looming Viltrumite takeover.

"I say we prepare for the worst," you finally say, your voice cutting through the silence. "Stock up on ammo when you can, supplies, canned food, and whatever else we’ll need. We have to be ready in case everything goes to shit again, in case… in case what we do doesn’t work—"

“Don’t.” Connor’s voice cuts you off, sharp and sudden. “Don’t say that, (Y/n).”

You flinch at the rawness in his voice, the sheer force of his words.

“Connor—” you start, but he barrels forward, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking.

“It has to work!” he says, his voice trembling. “It has to, or else—” He looks away, jaw tight, his hands clenching into fists. “Or else that means we fought for nothing. That means all those people who died—who are going to die—died for nothing. That means we came back for nothing.”

His words hang in the air, raw and painful. You feel them hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your lips press together tightly as you try to find something—anything—to say. Connor was always the "strong" one of the group, the silent type, the brash one who rarely let anyone see how deeply he felt things. He was the backbone, the shoulder everyone else could lean on when things got tough. Seeing him like this, unraveling, hurts more than you want to admit.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Connor,” you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, I’m sorry,” he mutters, his eyes watery as he scrubs at his face with the back of his hand. His voice cracks slightly as he continues, “You—you’re just doing what you always do, trying to keep us alive. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize, Con,” you say quickly, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “I—I get it. Really, I do.”

The tension around the table is palpable. Hallie and Weston exchange uneasy glances, their worry for Connor evident in the grim lines of their faces.

“Connor,” Hallie starts gently, her voice low and careful, “nobody’s saying what happened before will happen again, but—”

“I know,” he cuts her off, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He lets out a shaky breath and sinks back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know. But we have to consider the high chance it will.”

The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the thought of failing—of going through all of it again—was unbearable.

But you didn’t have a choice.

You glanced at each of them in turn, taking in their tired faces, the fear lingering in their eyes. They were your family, your only anchor in a world that felt increasingly impossible to navigate.

“We’ll make it work,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the storm inside you. “I don’t know how yet, but we will.”

You don’t know if they believe you, and honestly, you’re not even sure if you believe yourself. 

Weston’s hand comes to rest on Connor’s shoulder, rubbing little circles in that gentle, soothing way he always did to calm the group down. It was such a Weston thing to do—he had always been physical with his care and affection, expressing his love in small touches and gestures that reminded you all you weren’t alone. You see Connor’s shoulders relax just slightly under Weston’s touch, though the tension doesn’t completely leave him.

You shift closer, moving to sit beside Connor, offering your silent presence as support. Across the table, Hallie slides her water bottle toward him, her brow furrowed in worry. “Here,” she says softly. Her voice doesn’t waver, but her eyes betray the depth of her concern. Connor takes the bottle with a small, muttered “thanks,” and sips from it, his gaze distant.

The weight of the moment settles over all of you, thick and suffocating. No one says anything for a while, and for a brief moment, the only sound is the distant hum of chatter from other tables in the courtyard.

Then the lunch bell rings, cutting through the stillness like a knife, signaling it’s time to go back to class. The sound sends a jolt through you, and you see the same dread reflected in everyone’s faces. None of you want to go. Yet, there was nothing you could do.

You all stand reluctantly, gathering your things in silence. Before you split up, you squeeze Connor’s shoulder gently, hoping it conveys what you can’t find the words to say. He offers a faint smile.

You walk into the crowded hallway, your mind scrambling as you try to recall your next class. What was it? You swear you knew just minutes ago, but now the information is gone, like a wisp of smoke slipping through your fingers.

You glance around desperately, hoping to recognize a familiar face, someone who might share the class with you. But the sea of students around you is a blur of faces you barely recognize. Who the hell are these people? You don’t remember their names, their voices, their stories. They’re strangers, even though you know you should know them.

Panic creeps up your spine as you weave through the hall, your breathing growing shallow. You’re losing it. You’re losing yourself, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The realization claws at you, sharp and unrelenting.

You hate this. You hate what this world, what this second chance, has reduced you to. What it’s reduced all of you to.

Your hands tremble as you tighten your grip on your bag, willing the shaking to stop, but it doesn’t. You pass classrooms, peeking inside, hoping something will click—a desk, a teacher, a face. But nothing does.

The hallways start growing emptier as students file into their classrooms, the bustling energy fading into a deafening quiet. You glance around, the panic tightening in your chest. Where the hell were you supposed to go?

Your mind scrambles, trying to latch onto something—anything—that will tell you your next class. The answer eludes you, slipping through your fingers like sand. You fumble with your phone, attempting to log into your student portal. At least that would show your schedule, right?

Except the password isn’t auto-saved. Of course, it isn’t.

You sit there staring at the login screen, willing your brain to remember your credentials, but nothing comes. It’s just another blank void. Great. Now you can’t even see your schedule, let alone your grades. Not that grades should be at the top of your concerns right now, but still, the thought gnaws at the back of your mind. You’re so screwed.

You lean against a row of lockers, the cold metal biting into your back as you let out a frustrated sigh. What the hell do I do now? Asking the front desk for help is out of the question. It’s the middle of the school year, and no one forgets their schedule this far in. It would raise questions. And why couldn’t you just look it up yourself? The idea of facing that judgment makes you cringe.

No, you can’t do that.

Instead, you resign yourself to staying in a random, empty hallway, slumping down against the wall. The quiet envelops you, a brief respite from the overwhelming noise in your head. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle around you. God, you didn’t realize how much your eyes were burning, how much your body ached.

The idea of just staying here, hidden and still, is so tempting. Maybe you could just chill here for a while. Yeah, that sounded nice. Just a little break.

You don’t realize how much time passes as you sit there, your mind drifting between the chaos of your thoughts and the exhaustion weighing you down. For a brief moment, you feel the smallest sliver of peace.

Until a voice shatters it.

“Playing hooky, (Y/n)?”

Your stomach drops. No. Not him. Not now.

Mark’s voice carries that unmistakable mix of smugness and sharpness, the tone that always made you want to squirm. “Tch, Mom and Dad are not going to be happy. Especially after the last meeting your counselor had about your little habit of skipping classes.”

You open your eyes, and there he is, standing over you with a smirk that makes you want to curl in on yourself. His eyes bore into yours, sharp and calculating, as if he’s dissecting you piece by piece.

“W-what? When did—oh shit,” you stammer, the memory hitting you like a brick. He’s talking about the meeting. You’d skipped a bunch of classes last semester to deal with the Demogorgons. Sure, you kept your grades up, but that didn’t stop the school from calling your mom. And to say she was upset was an understatement.

Mark’s smirk widens as he watches the realization dawn on your face. “Ah, there it is,” he says mockingly, leaning against the wall. “I’m sure Mom will love hearing about this. You know how she feels about second chances.”

You glare at him, the panic in your chest now mixed with frustration. “Mark, I—look, just don’t. Please.”

His expression softens, but only slightly. There’s still that edge to his voice, that unnerving mix of concern and menace. “Don’t what? Tell her? You’re not making this easy, you know. Skipping class, hiding out like this… It’s like you want her to freak out.”

“I just—” You falter, your words failing you. The exhaustion, the stress, the sheer overwhelming nature of everything—it’s all too much. You can’t think of a good excuse, and Mark’s gaze feels like it’s cutting through every lie you might try to tell.

He crouches down, leveling his eyes with yours. “What’s going on with you, (Y/n)?” he asks, his voice softer now but no less piercing. “You’ve been off. I know you’re not telling me everything.”

You look away, unable to meet his gaze.

Mark’s words linger in the air like a trap, waiting for you to fall in. “Are you depressed or something? Maybe it’s a boy? I don’t know, (Y/n), but something’s off. I know it is,” he says, his tone dripping with faux concern. “Just tell me. Tell your big brother, and I can make it go away.”

The irony of it all hits you like a freight train, and you can’t help it—you huff, then giggle, and then it all spirals out of control. A laugh bubbles out of you, wild and uncontainable, quickly escalating into full-blown hysterics. You’re wheezing now, clutching your sides, and you know you must look insane. Maybe you are. How could you not be?

It’s funny, really. The idea that he, Mark, could fix your problems. That he could “make it go away.” It’s laughable because a massive chunk of your problems is sitting right in front of you, watching you unravel with that same calculating smirk. How utterly absurd.

Your laughter devolves into choked breaths as your chest tightens painfully. The tears come next, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. You’re sobbing now, loud and ugly, your body shaking uncontrollably.

Mark’s expression shifts, surprise flickering in his eyes. Then something darker takes hold—something intrigued, almost amused. He wasn’t expecting this, but oh, was he glad. He leans in closer, his lips curling into a softer smile. There was something seriously wrong with you. He knew it now. And that knowledge only made him more eager to figure out what had happened to his weak, adorable little sister.

“Oh, (Y/n),” he coos, his voice deceptively sweet as he cups your cheek with his large, warm hand. His thumb brushes against your tear-streaked skin, wiping away the evidence of your breakdown. His touch is firm but gentle, an unnerving mix of comfort and control.

You try to flinch away, your instincts screaming at you to get out of his grasp, but your body betrays you. Exhausted and overwhelmed, you slump into his hand, your head tilting slightly as if seeking solace. You hate it. You hate yourself for it. But you’re only human, and his warmth feels like the only anchor keeping you from completely spiraling.

“St-stop this,” you choke out between sobs, your voice barely audible. “Puh-please.”

Mark tilts his head, his expression almost mockingly innocent. “Stop what, (Y/n)?” he asks softly, his voice laced with feigned confusion.

“This,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “This—what you—you’re doing. Please, it—it isn’t fair.”

His hand doesn’t move from your cheek, and his thumb continues its slow, deliberate motion, wiping away fresh tears as they fall. His smile softens further, but his eyes remain sharp, predatory.

“Fair?” he echoes, as if tasting the word. “Oh, (Y/n). Life isn’t fair. You know that.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “But you don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to worry about anything. That’s what I’m here for.”

You shake your head weakly, your sobs growing quieter but no less intense. “You—”

He interrupts you gently, his voice soothing but utterly condescending. “Shh. Just let me take care of you.”

The words send a chill down your spine, the weight of his intent pressing down on you. You know there’s no escaping him now, not when he’s latched onto you like this. Not when he’s decided you’re his problem to solve, his little sister to protect—even if it means breaking you further in the process.

Mark’s gaze lingers on your trembling form, his hand still cradling your cheek. He studies you with a mix of curiosity and calculation, the wheels turning in his mind as he contemplates your place in all of this. Maybe he could make something useful out of you. Maybe you could be shaped into something worthy of the Viltrumite cause.

But as he takes in your tear-streaked face, the way your body shakes beneath his touch, he doubts it. You’re too weak. Too small. Too soft.

It’s almost pathetic how fragile you are, how human you are.

Still, the thought lingers—what if? What if you could prove yourself? What if, against all odds, you showed even the slightest potential? Perhaps then he could convince their father to keep you after the takeover. It would be difficult, of course. Nolan had little patience for weakness, and you were the embodiment of everything the Viltrumite race despised. But if you somehow managed to prove your worth, there was a chance.

Mark’s lips curve into a faint smile, the thought of sparing you for his mother’s sake bringing him a strange sense of satisfaction. You weren’t ideal offspring, no, far from it. But you were her daughter. Debbie would appreciate having you around, he’s sure of it, especially when their father inevitably takes her away from Earth to shield her from the chaos of their conquest.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Mark murmurs, his voice low and smooth. His thumb pauses for a moment, pressing lightly against your cheekbone as his eyes bore into yours. “If it weren’t for Mom, I wouldn’t even consider giving you a chance. But maybe… maybe you’ll surprise us.”

You blink at him, your chest tightening as his words sink in. “A-a chance? Mark, what are you—”

He cuts you off, his smile widening slightly, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’ll see,” he says cryptically, pulling his hand away and standing to his full height. His shadow looms over you, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re shrinking under his gaze.

“Just remember, (Y/n),” he adds, his tone shifting to something colder, more deliberate. “This world isn’t kind to people like you. But you’re lucky to have me. I’ll make sure you don’t get left behind.”

The words feel like a promise and a threat all at once, leaving you frozen in place as he turns and walks away, his presence lingering long after he’s gone.

You’re left alone in the empty hallway, your breaths shaky and uneven, the weight of his intentions pressing down on you like a vice. Lucky, he said. But you don’t feel lucky. You feel trapped. And no amount of tears can wash that feeling away.

You sit there, slumped against the wall, trying to process what the hell Mark was talking about. “If it weren’t for Mom?” What does that even mean? Why would she have anything to do with whether Mark decided to “give you a chance?” What kind of chance was he even talking about?

Your mind spirals as you try to make sense of his cryptic words, the unease clawing at your insides. The idea that your mother somehow factored into whatever twisted plans Mark had for you only made the knot in your stomach tighten. What was he planning? What did he mean by not getting left behind?

Your thoughts race, one question bleeding into the next as panic wells up inside you. You can’t piece it together. You don’t have enough information. But the way he looked at you—the cold calculation behind his eyes, the way his words felt like a threat wrapped in false care—it makes your skin crawl.

You bury your face in your hands, your breathing shallow as your mind loops through the interaction. What the hell is going on?

Meanwhile, Mark is on his way out of the school building, his phone already in hand. He dials the familiar number, his expression cool and composed. The phone rings only twice before the unmistakable voice of his father, Nolan, answers.

“What is it?” Omni-Man’s voice is gruff, direct, as always.

Mark leans against the wall outside, his tone calm but tinged with a quiet urgency. “It’s about (Y/n),” he begins, cutting straight to the point. “There’s something off with her. More than usual.”

On the other end of the line, Nolan sighs. His voice is bored, disinterested. “Mark, your sister has always been like this. Emotional and a bit erratic. It’s nothing new.”

Mark clenches his jaw but keeps his tone steady. “No, Dad, this is different. She’s acting weird—like, really weird. Come’on, I’m sure you’ve noticed how she’s stopped constantly asking to go out with us? Or how everytime she looks at one of us, her heart rate always increases, hell, I could smell the adrenaline rush that gets triggered.”

Nolan’s silence stretches for a moment. “Dad, why is she having a fight or flight, fear response triggered, huh?”

“Of course I’ve noticed, Mark,” Omni-man sighs out. “If it’s worth worrying about, I’ll handle it. But until then, she’s just…” He pauses, and Mark can practically see the look on his father’s face. “She’s still a human.”

Mark exhales sharply, but he doesn’t argue. He knows better than to push Nolan when he’s like this. “Fine,” he says, his voice tight. “But if I find out something important, I’ll let you know.”

“Do that,” Nolan replies curtly, and the line goes dead.

Mark slips his phone back into his pocket, his expression unreadable. He’s not entirely satisfied with his father’s response, but he’s also not surprised. Nolan has never had much patience for what he considers “mundane human nonsense.” If (Y/n)’s behavior didn’t involve anything worthy of the Viltrumite cause, it simply wasn’t a priority to him.

Still, Mark can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this than his father realizes. And if Nolan won’t take it seriously, then Mark will.

[idontactuallyremember]

Thanos x fem!reader PART ONE

- You assume Thanos flirts with you in an attempt to get you to vote O next round. He comes to you late at night and offers you something. At first, you think it's only so he can manipulate you. However, he asks you something that changes your assumption of him and what he wants.

- TW! Y'all both popping pills!!!

- Sad boy/ sorta soft boy Thanos :( Fluff, essentially SFW (Next part might be spicy 🤪)

- He's kinda a jerk at first (it's a defense mechanism, he's hurting)

“Why not? You think you’re better than us?” Thanos says, a sarcastic smile sprouting on his lips, “You think you’re better than Thanos, girl?”

“I don’t need a team. I don’t need friends.” You say, simply, “I don’t need a group.”

This is not your first time explaining to Thanos you didn’t want to join his team. Each time he offered, he had a different, new and improved reason as to why you had to join them.

“Last game… I saw you struggling. The bitches you’re with now won’t help you if the next game is another team game. You’re lucky you survived the Pentathlon.” Thanos replies and Nam-Gyu, his pet, bobbles his head in agreeance.

“Remind me, why do you even care?” You smile.

“We want to protect you, baby. You think such nasty things of us… We also need an extra vote for the O team and if you join us, I know you’ll vote O next round.”

“I don’t need your protection. I think you need my help more than I need yours.” I give an exaggerated, sarcastic, sad glance to the voting results- a tie until we re-vote tomorrow, “Anyhow, even if I joined your team- I’m still voting X.”

“Well, if you joined my team and voted X that’d be like betrayal to me, girl. Why can’t we both benefit from this?”

“Right, how am I benefiting?"

“Well, we’d be protecting you like I said! If you don't join us someone else will and if you’d rather die with those bitches-”

“Stop calling them that!” You interrupt but he ignores you.

“-than go right ahead.”

There’s a moment of disapproving silence- you and Thanos simply stare at each other.

He glances you up and down and stalks closer to you, closing the space to mere inches- “I could protect you and I could also get my dick wet, yeah? Make you feel good?”

“Fuck you.” You say.

“She’s just playing hard to get.” He says to his group as you walk away.

Later that night, you lay in bed, unable to sleep. A bad feeling creeps up your chest- the feeling that you might die here.

You also think about what Thanos said. He's been flirting with every girl here but he won't leave you alone specifically. He’d fuck anything that walks, surely. It sort of made you mad- but deep down- part of you liked that he chased you.

You stare at the ceiling for minutes, maybe half-an-hour. You hear movement coming from below you, only, it’s too dark to see anything. You don’t want to draw attention to yourself so you stay as still as possible.

Someone is climbing up your bed to the top bunk. You already know who it is. The sight of purple hair only solidifies what you already know to be true.

“I will kick you down the fucking bunk and laugh when you break your neck- get the fuck out of my bed.” You say.

“Woah, woah, I just saw how tense you were earlier, I figured: why not offer you something?”

“You’ve offered enough, no?” You ask, cheekily.

He says nothing, only sits himself down (uninvited), removes the necklace from his neck and opens the cross. An array of colorful tablets lay in a hidden compartment.

“You want one?” He says, a smile on his face.

He waited, expectantly. You’d never seen him this happy or this excited. Maybe only when he murdered three people during Red Light, Green Light.

You think about the consequences of taking one. He probably wanted to drug you and get you to vote O, or worse.

He notices your hesitation and states, “Look: I’ll take one, too. We could get high together, okay?”

He picks a green one and places it on his tongue, then, lingering for a moment, “What’s your favorite color, baby?”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the excessive trauma of the last few days but- fuck, he is hot. Sitting here in the dim-lit room, him in your bed, you only notice now. The tattoos; running down his neck, down his arm, to his long, slender fingers. The ear piercings, the purple hair, the colorful nails- he was sexy. Especially the way he looked at you; looked at those pills. Like a kid on Christmas. You can’t help but think about what his tattoos look like in full; what he looks like without his shirt.

“Pink.” You swallow, thickly, clearing your head.

He meticulously shuffles the tablets around, digging for a pink one, his hands hovering over the piece of jewelry.

“Open.” A simple demand- he doesn't even look at you to see if you do. 'Cocky fuck', you think but your legs feel weak from his commanding tone, anyway.

You do as he says and he places the tablet on your tongue.

“Good girl… chew it.” He purrs. Your insides feel like jelly.

“It will hit hard and fast, okay? Should I stay here?” He asks.

You remember that feeling you had, laying awake before Thanos crawled up here. The feeling that death is imminent, that you will die here, maybe in this bed.

You still didn't trust him- not as far as you could throw him- but if you may die anyway…

“Stay here with me.” You decide, quietly.

“Okay.” He lays down next to you instantly, stroking your hair.

It’s silent as he twirls your long hair between his fingers.

“Thanos?”

“Yes, pretty?”

“Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“I want you.”

“Why? Why not someone else?”

He thinks for a long time.

“The other people here... they treat me like an object. I'm some rapper- not even anymore- who they just want to say they met. Say they were friends with... whatever. You saw the way they all wanted a picture with me? Those people admire me but they don't like me. Plus, I always want things I can’t have. You don’t like me, either. It makes me want you more. At least you don't lie to me."

Maybe it was the drugs talking.

Maybe it’s only because he won’t give up. Maybe you liked that he wanted you so bad.

“I do want you.” You say, barely above a whisper.

“Why do you act like you don’t?”

“Because I don't agree with you in this game. I need to leave. Fuck the money, at this point. I’d rather have my life.” you say.

“I wouldn’t.” He says, glumly. You don’t ask why; you don’t say anything.

It's silent for so long, you wonder if Thanos fell asleep. You feel the drugs working through your body, your feet and hands tingling, the room spinning. You wonder if he’s feeling it by now, too. You wonder how many he takes- Do they even do anything for him anymore?

“Life sucks out there…If everyone else around me is pretending... pretending to be my friend... I want to just pretend- even for a minute- that things are okay.” He admits, sleepily, “I can't… do that out there. Here I can pretend.”

For a long time, you don't know what to say.

“I understand.” You say. Because you do.

You feel him push against you closer.

“Pretend with me?” He asks.

More silence. Is this his way of trying to convince you to vote O? He plays the sad-boy card?

“Please?” His voice desperate; he grips your shirt as he cuddles you, pulling you close. He sounds genuine.

“Okay. We can pretend, Thanos.”

“Thank you.” He says, seemingly relieved. You feel the grip on your shirt loosen after a few minutes.

“Thanos?” You whisper.

No reply- he’s asleep. You relax into his arms until you think about what he said, just earlier:

"You don’t like me, either. It makes me want you more. At least you don't lie to me."

When you recall him saying that, all you can think about is how he isn't asking to be wanted or loved- he's not even asking for the truth, whether he appreciates it or not. He's asking, desperately, to pretend.

You realize how much a person needs to have been lied to to beg to be lied to, again, only, under their own terms.

For him to beg for an ounce of kindness, sympathy, connection: even if it's not real... that must hurt.

Your stomach turns; you feel like crying. You stare at the ceiling more.

Thanos snores softly beside you.

[pockypuck]

"No--you--what have you done?!" they gasp, clutching the table like a lifeline.

I shake my head a little, wiping my mouth of the last few drops and giving an incredulous grimace. "A celestial shot, from the taste of it." Ooh, tingly.

"You mixed them," they say, anguished enough to state the obvious.

I raise my eyebrows, flexing my fingers a little as the capillaries start to throb with my quickening pulse. "Of course I did. You offered me both, and then added a false dichotomy."

"False--what?"

"False dichotomy. Presenting two options as the only choices when there are others available."

"I know what a--do--do you have any idea what you've begun?!" They’re sweating quite profusely for an extraplanar being, the collar of their shirt losing its starch and their silvery hair dampening against their brow.

I shrug. "Something interesting, from your reaction. I expect I'll find out shortly." Oh yeah, very shortly. I can already feel my eyes starting to water and sharpen at the same time. "At least I won't die, though."

"Y--" They go even paler, somehow, staring at me with wide eyes and such distress that the air around them is vibrating. I grin at them with lots of teeth.

"Yeah, figured on that. Celestial essence doesn't mix with human life too well, does it? Too rigidly aligned, one way or another. Most people's systems can't handle it. They run hot for a few months, get all those cool powers, then burn out like an overclocked CPU. Nice try, though." I lick my lips, trying to identify the flavor left behind. Sea salt and chocolate from the mocha, I figure, and something that I can only describe as spite. What I get for mixing it in a Starbucks cup, I guess.

They're still stuttering, eyes now tracing along the outline of my shoulders as if watching for weapons. "But--how did--?"

"How did I know to mix them?" It's not a guess. I'm starting to feel the questions on my skin before they ask them. "Simple. They're the same thing."

Their face twists in revulsion. Heh, they didn't like that.

"Mostly," I amend. "Demons are just angels with defiance mixed in, after all. The base is the same. But mixing god-ordained defiance--" they twitch hard "--with absolute obedience was either going to explode immediately or cancel each other out." I sit back and cross my arms, feeling the proteins in my muscles start to fold and twist into energy the likes of which the world hadn’t seen in millennia. "So I tested it."

"This is--you can't," they rasp, but not as if they believe it. No, it sounds as though their belief is very fragile right now. "You can't be."

"I mean, it turns out that I very much can." I spread my arms, my fingers. It takes very little effort to add a few, subtract them, change them to claws, wrap air and fire and time around them. I keep it short; there are people in this cafe, even if they can't notice us right now. "And really, I should thank you. If you hadn't given me both at once, I couldn't have pulled it off. So this," I gesture to all of me, the shifting skin and brightening eyes and power beginning to radiate in waves, "is all your fault."

They inhale with a shudder, and then their eyes narrow. "Then you are my--my responsibility, and I will--"

"I don't think so," I say sharply, my hand clenching. The energy gathering at their fingertips cuts off as if it's never been. They're pallid again. "See, you might be able to hop planes all you want, but this is my home. Some fancy potion can't change that. God can't change that, if He even wants to. And now you're in my home, and you're no longer the biggest thing here." I stand up, and they're not visible but I can feel them at my back, long feathered wings with bones like steel and little clawed tips flexing and shivering with barely-contained power. "So you can get the fuck out of my home with your mind games and your holy war. And if you come back--if any of you come back--I will know, and I will make you regret it."

It's so easy. I reach for their pale, panicked face, and they're gone. Not sure where, but it's not like I care about the details right now.

I sigh, look around, and settle my power back beneath my skin with effort. The people around me continue to get their coffee and croissants without any indication that something extraordinary has happened.

That's good. Nephilim don't have the best reputations. I can change that, though. I can make our home a better place, and Heaven and Hell had better watch their step.

"In the first vial there is a pure demonic essence, and in the second there is pure angelic essence-" Without letting them finish, you mix both vials and drink the mixture.

[cokoweee]

COKO. Dude. This latest update- Holy MONKEY FEATHERS.

Let’s begin cause there’s a LOT TO COVER HEHEHEH~

Firstly

LOOK AT THIS MAN’S EXPRESSION. Just- FRIGGIN LOOK AT IT. He’s blushing, he’s tense, he’s confused and flattered and weirded out, and happy- This man don’t know what emotions are and he just got hit by a truck full of them.

And AGAIN- KENDRA IS COMPLETELY INEBRIATED- She will most likely not even REMEMBER THIS MOMENT- Will Donnie tell her? Will this be a hilarious story that causes an argument later down the lines in their marriage?

WHO KNOWS. 🤷‍♀️ And it DOESN’T END THERE-

Not ONLY is Donnie flying through the five stages of grief like a boss level mini game- but Kendra, even in her drunken state, noticed that Donnie had that dumb makeup on him to cover up his markings for the party. And she just- gently- caresses his cheek to wipe it off.

Yeah, Donnie’s gonna die from either too much happiness or being way too flustered. Either way-

Awwwwwwwwww 💜

NEXT.

Despite being completely paralyzed in fear love, Donnie’s gaze quickly makes its way to where Big Mama and Frida are. And what does he see that gives him this horrified of an expression?

OH- SHEEEELLLLLL NO.

So, like the reasonable turtle mutant Donnie is, he gingerly picks up Kendra and leaves the party.

Also can we just study this anatomy for a second cause GUYS- as an artist myself this kind of posing and proportions is NOT EASY TO DO. So-

👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏👏

WELL DONE, COKO!!!!!

Ok, so after they make their way back to their room, Donnie plops Kendra into bed. We’ve seen this before- he’s never gentle, literally throwing her and it’s absolutely hilariou-

… Expectation SUBVERSION- the SWEETEST I’ve ever seen. 🥹 Donnie’s being so gentle with her what the HECK DJFUJWVXMISUDHWBSUW I adore these two- they love each other so much- caring for each other despite their qualms and history- AAAAAA ITS SO GOOOOOOD!!!

And now that Kendra is safe and away from Big Mamas prying eyes, Donnie has time to ABSOLUTELY FREAK OUT.

THIS DUDE went from feeling nothing to feeling EVERYTHING. And we get to watch and die laughing at his expense~ *WHEEEEEEZE*

This dude is totally broken HAAAA

Alright- with emotions and feelings and imagination WAY TOO HIGH, Donnie tries to distract himself.

The comedy in this chapter is just top tier~ I was at work when I read it the first time, and I broke out laughing and wheezing. (So grateful I work alone HA)

And just when Donnie thinks he’s in the clear-

*Chaos Gremlin chortling sounds* Coko, you absolute GENIUS- HAHAHAHA- I love that you simply allow the audience to imagine what Donnie saw- No one needs to outright say it, we all just know. And it’s utterly hilarious.

Donnie’s never gonna recover from that brain poof- You can just see all of his brain cells and bad boy image DISSOLVE in an instant at such a sight. 🤣 HIS HAIR EVEN CURLED UP- HIS EYES ARE BUGGING OUT- HAHAHA THIS DUDE’S brain went from dead to running a marathon in a MILLISECOND.

Alright, I think this has gotten long enough, so I’ll stop there. 😅 Amazing work, Coko!!! I am VERY excited to see what happens next!

~ Melissa

AUUUGGHHH ill never tire of these asks pointing out the little things cause yall almost always get like 80% of the lil things i slap in updates

THANKS FOR SEEING MY EFFORT IN THAT PANEL! THAT ANATOMY WAS A BITCH.

While sketching the update I may have been watching some goofy shows and movies so influence from those was high. Figuring out ways to show without showing what was going on took longer than expected but HEY! YALL GOT THE IDEA SO SWAG.

If my shoulder stops hurting I might have the next update by morning. Im gettin a lil too excited for what’s next. Already picked an emoji for the next chapter thing

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 38/42 WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another.

PROLOGUE/1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 (interlude) 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 (interlude) 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 (interlude) 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

CHAPTER THIRTYEIGHT

                Time speeds up and drags at the same time, the way it always does for him when he’s flying and hyper focused on achieving all the goals laid out in front of him. They manage to hit the target, get up and over and then it’s an utter shit show that makes him fairly sure he’s not going to be able to cope with any fireworks for a couple of years. Then Maverick is covering him and going down and all he hears on the comms is the scramble to see a parachute and the denial to go back. Orders to return to the carrier.

                God fucking damn it. He might not like the man very much, but he does respect his skill.

                Can’t leave him exposed like that.

                Can’t have that on his conscience.

                And he’s disobeying orders to do it as well.

                Fuck this is maybe the most stupid thing he’s ever done.

                He manages to shoot the helicopter out of the sky, blows out a breath and pulls at the throttle, has a sinking feeling in his gut because he’s already out of flares and unlike him, the others are likely closer to the carrier than they are to him. Without any air cover, the sheer number of SAMs along with other bogeys in the air he’s already pulled the ejection handle when the SAM hits his jet. It doesn’t stop the blast from hitting him, propelling his body further away. He feels the heat from the explosion and hopes like hell he still has enough altitude to safely land without his body crumbling in on itself or leaving him with broken legs and incapable of doing anything.

                “Fuck. I’m so sorry baby…”

                The landing is rough, branches of trees scratching him up as he falls through them, but he doesn’t care because they assist a little in breaking his fall. A miniscule amount.

                He’s alive.

                It’s not all that matters but it’s better than so many alternatives.

                It’s a miracle. Not one of the ones Maverick had listed off, but a miracle all the same. But he’s alive and well and actually… well is probably a stretch. He’s in enemy territory with no way out. His survival training kicks in and he starts stuffing his parachute back into its bag. The material may come in handy later but he also doesn’t want to leave out a giant fucking flag to any aircraft that might be around as to his location. He pulls out an empty pouch and fills it with snow, seals it and shoves it back into a side pocket of his flight suit, knowing it’ll melt and give him something to drink soon enough.

                First things first.

                Find Maverick.

…            …            …

                He doesn’t need to look very far, because the man is running and looking at him frantically and Jake holds his hands up in supplication.

                “I’m fine. All in one piece.”

                Then Maverick unceremoniously shoves him to the ground and Jake just stares up at him.

                “What the fuck?”

                “What were you thinking!”

                “That I didn’t want you to die on my watch. Sir.”

                “I saved your life! You’re meant to be back on the carrier. Safe.”

                “Well. I’m not. I’m here…” Jake provides, clearly stating the obvious but feels like it needs to be said as he stands back up and brushes snow off himself. Maverick is frowning and Jake recognizes that look. “You got a plan old man?”

                Maverick huffs in annoyance and Jake shrugs, because he’s alive and that’s still better than he thought he’d be ten, fifteen minutes ago. He doesn’t get why the old man is angry at him, he saved his fucking life, and if he makes it out alive from this he’s probably facing disciplinary action at the bare minimum. Well, he can always work on the farm and Leo will make sure he won’t starve at least.

                If he makes it home.

                He sucks in a breath then and refuses to think about any scenario where he doesn’t make it home. It’s defeatist and it’s not his normal thought pattern, so easy enough to ignore. For now. They walk through the trees, using them as cover but also the snow is lighter and any tracks they leave are intermittent at best, although not for an experienced tracker. He can tell Maverick wants to talk, has been trying to talk to him since that first day. There is no-one else out here though, no one that Jake can use as a distraction, so he’s going to have to just grit his teeth and make nice.

                “You married Lieutenant?”

                The question surprises him and he finds his hand go to his tags where Leo’s ring sits.

                “No sir. Am engaged though.”

                “Hmm. What’s their name?”

                “Leonardo. Leo for short… Going to make him a Seresin.”

                Maverick stops walking and turns to look at him, frowning at what he’s said and Jake doesn’t have time to get in his face about any homophobia the man might have. Leo’s well rid of him if he is.

                “Uh. Is your… head feeling alright Lieutenant?”

                “I… yes sir?”

                “You did just get shot down…”

                “So did you sir.”

                “Hmm.”

…            …            …

                Ice’s face and name flash up on the screen of his phone and he swallows, already nervous because Ice doesn’t call, not without good reason. Or bad reason. It hurts to talk but if there’s bad news he will be the one that will want to break it to Bradley.

                “Bradley…”

                “Ice…”

                “You… sit down.”

                “Oh god… Jake.”

                He wasn’t sitting, but his knees give out and he hits the floor

                “And Mav.”

                “What?”

                “They… fuck… classified.”

                “Who are you going to get in trouble with?”

                “President.”

                “Oh.”

                “They’ve both been shot down…”

                .

                .

                .

                Everything is dark.

                .

                .

                .

                “Bradley… Leo… svegliati…”

                .

                .

                .

                He throws up.

                Can’t stop shaking.

                “You look like shit.”

                .

                .

                .

                “Come on, we’re going to North Island. Your zio bought us tickets…”

                .

                .

                .

                He doesn’t know what Vi gives him, but it knocks him out.

                Makes the whole world feel hazy.

                He doesn’t care.

                He’ll wake up when the nightmare is over.

                Or he just won’t wake up.

…            …            …

                Maverick is fucking insane.

                Jake’s worried about concussion and whether the man can even remember how to fly.

                Then again, if Maverick’s only lost his short term memory he probably remembers how to fly a plane older than Jake.

                Okay.

                Insane but also a man who deserves the legendary reputation he has.

                Jake wonders if Leo will forgive Maverick because he’s saved Jake’s life.

…            …            …

                “He’s alive. They’re both alive. I think your Uncle Tom wants to kill them both, but they’re alive and back on the carrier and apparently apart from some mild scrapes, sprained ankle and a little concussion they’re both fine.”

                He’s shaking again, and this time the tears are of relief, he feels like he has been put through an emotional wringer non-stop. While he cries Vi holds him and eventually he falls into an exhausted sleep.

[hannahssimblr]

Astrid, 

Hope you got my postcard from Phuket, and that the Bangkok one shows up, eventually. Maybe it is actually lost, like maybe I’m doing something wrong at the post office. It’s fine if they all go into the abyss. I am writing just to write, because it feels romantic or whatever. You probably hate the idea of this. I could just text you. I texted you forty-five minutes ago. Still miss you. 

We’re in Phi Phi now. Islands, very beautiful. I bet you already know about them, but I’d never heard about this place before I came here. The landscape is kind of mental, like giants made it. Weird to look at. We went out on a little boat yesterday to see the sights. Jonas jumped off and swam, and I did not. My tattoo is still healing. Stupid fucking thing. I waved over a boat of girls and told them Jonas was saying he fancied them, and then he got annoyed with me, because he wasn’t saying that, and he was embarrassed. I think he should learn to talk to women without wanting to die, and he says I think about women too much, that I’m too invested and I should think about something else. History, philosophy, whatever. Why would I when there are women like you on the earth?

At night, instead of going out and drinking, we go to bed early, in our bunks, him on the top, me below like always, and he tells me all this shit about the Suez canal, or what the Falklands war was all about, since I was stupid enough to ask a follow up question once. Then I fall asleep to escape the boredom. We get up at six and do activities, then. Lots of walking. My body hurts. 

Jonas finally tried those scorpions he was banging on about, and now he’s sick, btw. Food poisoning. I don’t really know how to take care of him, except coming back to the hostel every few hours, making sure he has water. Until he’s better, I guess I’m just wandering around on my own. Luckily, it’s nice to look at. Maybe today I’ll swim with my arm out of the water. Running out of space. Love and miss you can't wait to see you.

xxx Jude. 

I snap open the lid of a bottle of water and carry it into the hostel room. It smells bad there, but I’ve stopped saying it, because it makes Jonas look like he’s about to cry. He’s curled up on his bunk, a complexion like curdled yoghurt, as a chink of morning light spills through the blinds and over his shivering body. Mostly naked. Too hot, then too cold, then sipping water, then throwing it up. I hover in the doorway. 

“I’ve water,” I say, and he just stares. Resigned, half-dead, maybe. “Should you go to hospital or something, do you think?”

“No, I feel slightly better.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want the water, or?”

“Yes. Bring it to me.”

I approach him like a leper, not sure why, as I’m fully aware he’s not contagious, but it’s been ten days since I’ve thrown up, and I’d like to maintain my healthy aura. He regards me with bleary eyes as I back away. “It is good you are an artist and not a nurse.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m not so good with illness.”

“Even though you are always ill.” A tentative sip from the bottle. “You went out this morning?”

“To the post office.”

“Another postcard to Astrid.”

“Yes.”

I can tell he wants to laugh but lacks strength, managing only a feeble wheeze. “Is she missing you as much as you are missing her?”

“No, I don’t think so. She’s much better at distance.”

“She’s an independent person.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me what she is doing today.”

“It’s Wednesday, so probably going to reformer pilates. Then she’s supposed to meet a friend from university for lunch. After that, I don’t know. Something spontaneous and thrilling, probably.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

He manages a watery smile. “You’ll be doing nothing again today? Missing her?”

“I was thinking I might wade into the sea, actually. Keep walking out until I disappear, wailing after Astrid like the pathetic little freak I am.”

“It’s Wednesday?”

“Yes, Wednesday.”

“I signed up for something today.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be going, by the cut of you.”

“No,” giving up on the water for now, he rolls onto his back, watching insects congregate around the plastic light fixture. “You could go in my place. It’s a… meditation thing.”

I pull a face. “Meditation? That thing where you sit cross-legged and go like ‘om’?” I demonstrate, but feel bad for making him laugh. Apparently a bit painful for him. 

“Yes,” he says. “Kind of. You might find value in it.”

“Is that the kind of guy you think I am? With like, dirty feet and harem pants?”

“Since I am the one who signed up, is it the kind of person you think I am?”

“Not far off.”

“Well, meditation has many benefits. It’s not just for the dirty-feet-squad. It’s good for people who suffer with various mental health concerns, and people who have racing thoughts they cannot stop and such things. Maybe it will inspire you to stop thinking about women’s breasts.”

I scoff. “Why would I do a thing like that?”

“So you can think of more productive things that will inform you, and grow your mind rather than rotting it away.”

“Like the Falklands war, for instance.”

“Yes, like the Falklands war,” he says, suddenly animated. “Thank you for saying that. Or the targeting of Libyan migrant workers on suspicion of being mercenaries by—”

I take a brisk and decisive step out of the room. “Well! Glad you’re feeling better, Jonas. See you later. Keep drinking that water, et cetera.” I swing the door shut and amble away, down the hostel hallway and back to the beach, rearing for another day of nothing, bored senseless by the edge of a lonely ocean.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[seeingstarsinthedaycare]

I love the art so much, and I really love your interpretation!

I have a lot to say about it (que rant below)

They way I see it is that almost every character (namely the Reader, Moon, and Sun) try to answer the questions of: Can there be exceptions to being good for the greater good? What are the circumstances into being ethically bad?

I think Sun believes so. To him, the horrible things he is doing are nothing compared to whatever the other (ex) councilors have done. Anything, no matter what, is justified; and it shall prevent further harm.

To Moon, yes, the councilors are horrible and deserve to die. But not in the way Sun believes it to be. It would be better to cut the losses now and move on.

The Reader might say no. They know that deep down their "friends" have been hiding something from them. Their "friends" are not good people, but they don't deserve torment and death. In doing so, they get closer to their goal of being close with the ex councilors.

Why bring up Moon and the reader to understanding Sun and its symbolism to the Grim Reaper?

Because I understand the Grim Reaper as more of messenger: someone bringing death to another whether they like it or not.

My theory is that Sun is the catalyst for the ex councilors to be there in camp, and hence, most of the tragedies that will happen to him. The call for judgment has been long gone to him. He is bringing death to those people just as he and Moon wanted.

The reader, on the other hand, is attempting to break the councilors' fates. By using an appeal to such judgment that has been already decided. They may have their infatuation; but it doesn't look like they'll be able to succeed. But who knows?

*The Death....

DFtR au by @muzzlemouths

Who knows, I was just scribbling freely and it turned out like this?

I found it in my draft pile from three months ago.It was originally like this:

Actually, I never understood dftr! Sun's behavior…

I thought about it for a long time…

From my understanding of the Grim Reaper, the Grim Reaper exists to warn people to cherish life, and the summer camp members' past actions were extremely bad, and their crimes were enough to punish them.

Sun's character is actually full of pessimism. After seeing that justice in the world cannot be upheld and seeing the tragedy happen again, he chose to let despair permeate himself and become the Grim Reaper to judge the sins of others…

Oh, maybe I am too involved?

[sirhamburrger]

UNRAVEL (m. bachira x reader)

━☆ (detective x detective, for day two of @phantasmaebg) ━☆ in which you grow to love your case partner in all his unconventionality. ━☆ wc: 1272 || tags/cw: gn!reader, bachira is off the walla crazy, lover boy x no. 1 hater || event m.list ━☆ i'm lowkey very proud of this!! bit long but whatever

you absolutely hated meguru bachira. 

he had risen through the ranks of the organisation, making detective in just under five years. you, however, did not have as easy a time, so everything about him ended up grating on your nerves; his too-loud laugh, his tendency to skip over vital steps in the investigation process, and his penchant for inappropriate jokes at even more inappropriate timings, just to name a few.

you’ve always been serious about your job, focused, meticulous. and he was... well, a walking distraction. the way he’d spin around in his stupid swivel chair, mutter nonsense about "feeling the rhythm of the case," and throw out stupidly outlandish theories at task force meetings? it did nothing but made your blood boil.

but you’re stuck with him as your case partner now, and there’s nothing you can really do about it.

"hey, what do you think about this case? i'm sensing some kinda weird vibe here," bachira says mysteriously, a grin plastered across his face as he expertly spins his pen between his fingers. "maybe the suspect’s hiding in plain sight, right? you know, like a ninja!"

you stare at him, simultaneously annoyed and baffled. "a… a ninja? seriously?"

he tilts his head, the usual playful glint present in his eyes. "hey, don't knock it 'til you try it! you gotta think outside the box." he pauses, looking over at you with a grin that’s somehow both mischievous and... genuine? "you've got the serious part down, but if we don't play around a little, we're never gonna crack this."

you roll your eyes, but part of you can’t help but be intrigued. no one else on the team has been willing to entertain his unconventional methods, but somehow, his outlandish thoughts feel intuitive. right, almost. 

and despite how chaotic he is, things start to come together. as the days pass, you find yourself drawn to the rhythm of his mind. he’s got this way of looking at things from every angle, as though solving a case is a game he’s not willing to lose. you can’t deny that his unorthodox approach is starting to make sense, especially when the results speak for themselves. it’s like his chaos brings clarity to your logic.

it all comes pouring out one night, when you find yourself alone in the office with him after hours, when everyone else has already gone home. he’s unusually silent, like he knows you need the silence for clarity of mind. you thank him - in your head, of course, because you’d rather die than admit you appreciate him.

"you know," you say finally, breaking the silence, "i thought you'd be the death of me when we started this case."

he looks up, and a knowing smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"but now you’re kinda starting to like me, huh? and that scares you?"

you make a face, refusing to admit it to him, but you both know the truth. it’s obvious you’ve warmed up to him, grown to appreciate his bizarre brilliance. because there’s something almost beautiful about the way he sees the world, and you think you might be seeing it, too.

"maybe," you say quietly, and though you don’t dare to say it aloud, a small part of you is slowly beginning to fall for him - not just for his methods, but for who you now know him to be. 

bachira grins toothily. "knew it."

“not the part about me being scared, though.” you glare at him, feeling your cheeks heat up. but there’s a warmth in your chest now, one that you think might have been missing before.

finally, after weeks of hard work, it all clicks. bachira’s wild theories, your steady persistence, and a little bit of luck - together, you had cracked the code and closed the case. it wasn’t the suspect’s usual behavior that had given them away, but something subtle, something hiding in plain sight, just as bachira had suggested from the beginning. a small detail, overlooked by everyone else, had been staring you in the face the whole time.

"told you," bachira says, flashing his signature confident grin as you both stare at the final piece of evidence, relief washing over you like a gentle coastal wave. "sometimes you just gotta let your natural instincts do the work."

you can’t suppress your smile even if you try. he’s right, irrevocably so. it hadn’t been about following the rules, or sticking to the traditional methods - it had been about seeing things differently. and, somehow, in the process, you’d come to appreciate his way of thinking. even if you didn’t fully identify with or understand it.

he plops down in the chair across from you when you get back from ego's office, completely unbothered by the chaos still lingering in the room. he looks over at you, a serious expression replacing his usual playfulness. you stare back, curious. 

"hey," he murmurs, his voice quieter than usual. "ego called me into his office today."

“oh? what did he tell you?”

“he told me about your application.”

oh, crap.

“i’m sorry,” you mutter. the feeling of his rejection stings just as much as the tears welling up in your eyes. “i shouldn’t have sent it in without asking you first.”

“i mean…” his voice trails off, and he looks at you almost tenderly. “i didn’t know you wanted me as your permanent investigation partner. it’s honestly a huge compliment.”

you let out a watery chuckle. “are you serious? rin itoshi wants to partner up with you. rin freaking itoshi.”

“but you’re the best,” he insists.

you swipe at your eyes quickly. “way to let me down easy, i guess. thanks for being nice about it, though.”

“who said i was declining?”

“wait - really?” you perk up, eyes widening. “you want to be my investigation partner?”

he nods silently, and you notice his hand is almost brushing yours. he hesitates, reaching out to take your hand. in a decision that horrifies you, you don’t stop him.

“i want to be a lot more than that.”

and you think you might just swoon with how undeniably serious he looks in this moment, and maybe laugh a little too. you raise an eyebrow in mock surprise, feigning ignorance. "whatever do you mean?"

he leans in a little closer, clearly amused. "how about dinner? jist you and me. i think it’s time i take you out - somewhere nice, y’know. somewhere with no crime scenes, no paperwork, just... us."

you freeze, your heart skipping a beat. he’s for real, isn’t he? and despite all your stubbornness, your initial reluctance to admit any kind of admiration for him, you realized you want this. you want him.

"bachira," you murmur, your voice a little softer than even you expected, "is this you asking me out on a date?"

he gasps dramatically, clutching his chest as though he’s been wounded. "what? i’m heartbroken! i thought we were already dating!"

you roll your eyes, but there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips. 

"fine, meguru. take me out to dinner. but only because you solved the case, genius."

he grins triumphantly, "yes!" and then, with a gleam in his eyes, he adds, "it’s a date then, detective. i’ll be on my very best behavior. maybe."

as you both stand, gathering your things, you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in your heart at what is to come. tonight, and in the days ahead. maybe things aren’t as black-and-white as you once thought. and maybe, just maybe, you’ve discovered something between the two of you - worth more than solving any case.

bllk masterlist || general masterlist © sirhamburrger 2025

[to-boldly-ship-mcspirk]

okay so people seemed to actually like my post on having read the tos mirror universe saga comic (and thanks for the further comic recs!) so I thought I'd share my thoughts because I have SO MANY. I was not prepared for how married mcspirk was gonna be in this, especially kirk and mccoy.

as for the actual plot of the series: it picks up after the search for spock, with spock still recovering while kirk and the rest have to face off with their evil versions from the mirror universe episode. It was published by DC comics during the 80s in eight issues, and later turned into a graphic novel with eight chapters, which is the one I read. So, because I also intend to add as many photos as tumblr lets me, I thought I'd split my thoughts per chapter and if you're interested you can read my thoughts on CHAPTER ONE under the cut:

so this is literally how the comic opens, spock is recovering on vulcan and this is the first thing he says:

like come on, he's so in love. Also the "jim, his name is jim" mirroring his exchange with kirk from the search for spock, where he says: "jim ... your name ... is jim" and kirk says "yes" (which lives rent free in my mind) is so cool!

then we have a glorious exchange with bones, whose first words to spock after the events of wrath of khan and search for spock are "you look good" ... okay, I know he meant it as a medical opinion but come on. Also the fact they're immediately back to bickering, I love their relationship so much. Spock paying him a compliment and calling him excellent and bones just going: "yeah, something's up, he's lost his mind", they are so MARRIED

the next exchange is so funny to me because mccoy's "you bet" and saavik's "indeed" are so unnecessary but they're all being so supportive 🥺🥺 it's so sweet

and then of course spock and jim holding hands and being all lovey-dovey. Like, "you came back for me once, Jim ... I have no doubt you will do so again" is insane, and they're holding hands again .... just kiss already

I also love how obsessed amanda is with kirk in this one, she treats him like her son in law and it's so sweet

and of course kirk says sth like "I have to do this but I can't order you all to follow me into danger" or sth similar like 3 times and of course everyone (and mostly sulu, the adrenalin junkie he is) always goes "stop being stupid, of course we'll come with you" and it just warms my heart

then we have more of mccoy being the most relatable ever, and this exchange with kirk just screams married to me. The way I was giggling every time bones had a line is definitely not normal

also the death of david is still so fresh and kirk is clearly suffering and bones is just so worried.

it's so sweet! And then mccoy, who canonically hates/fears nothing more than transporters doesn't just agree to beam down with kirk solely for support, no, he immediately OFFERS it himself. Like, no questions asked, he sees this is important to jim and he's just like "what can I do to make him feel better". Bones I love you so much (and so does kirk) and if this isn't husband behavior then idk what is

and kirk admitting "I've never been okay" is wild. Yes, it's about Carol but still.

mind you, we're 15 pages in and kirk is already so depressed. I know david just died but he literally goes "I wish I could die" every other page and it ripped me apart, like this is literally what he says:

meanwhile bones is constantly trying to cheer him up, the whole thing just went: mckirk being married - depression - mckirk being sweet - depression - mckirk - depression ... the whole time

also we have a scene between sulu and uhura being besties and singing together in the botanical gardens and it made me SO HAPPY. And then chekov comes in and they're all like: "oh shit we stole the enterprise to rescue spock, that might have consequences", so then they're worried and uhura is just the biggest badass (which, we all know already)

like, she's so done with it. Literally like "yeah I might lose my job but who cares, spock is more important" and it's so valid.

also, I didn't expect to see so much friendship between scotty and saavik but I'm so here for it, they have a bunch of scenes together just playing chess and being sweet

then mccoy is taking carol to david's funeral because she and kirk are not on speaking terms, like, the man loves jim so much he's doing everything he can. And at the end of the chapter kirk and carol are able to talk it through and make up solely because mccoy talked to her and convinced her that blaming jim wouldn't help. Anyway, just another example of bones being the best

that's all I have to say on chapter one, or at least all I could think of with the photos that tumblr let me include. Let me know if you want me to continue? I'd love to make a post like this for every chapter and guess what? They're even more married in the next one

[deusvervewrites]

First of all: Happy Birthday Deus!

Secondly, I have more thoughts about the whole "The Villain must Die" thing. You already allude to it in your original post, but one of the reasons that people tend to dislike it is definitely the fact that, if they were to acknowledge & accept it, they feel they would also have to "blame" themselves for liking "bad" media that does not follow this "rule".

You point out Star Wars, so some people will simply read this as "If you enjoyed Star Wars, specifically Palpatine dying, YOU ARE A BAD PERSON!"

Which is not what you said, (and I assume not what you meant) but some people will just read this into things, and feel like they have failed some invisible "vibe check" or something by liking the "wrong" media, and it all starts becoming some weird purity test even if it's often only in peoples head.

Like, stop reinventing Catholicism over here, stories can have different meanings and lessons, and one single thing doesn't mean that the story is no forever tainted and everyone who ever liked it should be branded as evil or some-such nonsense.

To use an extreme example, Metal Gear Rising Revengeance very VERY much kills its villains. It also has a very strong and important message about politics and ideology and how people justify atrocities in it. It's a different kind of story with a different kind of message compared to things like BNHA. Also, it even implies itself that the protagonist might have been wrong in killing his enemies, the fact that he did so anyway and that that was the only way he could see is a flaw that the game directly points out! So good news, liking MGR doesn't make you "bad" just as liking SU or BNHA doesn't mark you as inherently "good" or "righteous".

People need to take a step back and consider that not everything is an attack on them or what they like. Good stories are allowed to have flaws. Because most of them do. Any you are still allowed to like them. That's also fine. You can even like something and criticize it anyway, that's allowed!

This is getting long, so I want to end with another example that helped me realize how much I love villains surviving:

Fairy Tail, and the Arc of Jellal. Long Story short, when we first meet Jellal he is THE WORST. Absolute scum of the earth, sadistic maniacal supervillain that, inevitably, ends up blown up in a big anime battle.

Except, nope, ~2 arcs later, he is back, with amnesia, and involved in some other villains plot. Over the course of the arc he works with the heroes but then regains his memory and is utterly devastated to learn who he was in the past, to the point that he tries to noble suicide sacrifice himself to stop the villain. It does not stop the villain, but he still wants to go through with it to "atone", until the hero that he had hurt to most slaps him in the face and yells at him to Live and Struggle.

Because his death wont change anything. It wont heal those he hurt, or revive those he killed. He can only make up for this, only truly become better, by living.

And, spoiler, he does not sacrifice himself, but instead starts to go on a long and arduous and messy journey of atonement and it absolutely rocks. It makes him and his story a million times better than if he had died.

Anyways, sorry for the second wall of text I send you today, once again, Happy Birthday and best wishes!

One of the many things I love about Metal Gear Rising Revengeance's dialogue on the nature of violence is that, as you said, Raidon loses the moral victory at the end. When he kills Senator Armstrong, Armstrong names Raidon as the inheritor of his ideals that Might Makes Right. The entire game shows Raidon martyring himself by sacrificing his morals in an effort to save lives, implicitly comparing this to real-world warfare

[salllzy]

One time you could claim sanctuary from churches and they would grant you it. It was used by those who needed shelter, in the Middle Ages, the tradition of Sanctuary was written into Law, and went far beyond the provision of shelter, allowing even convicted criminals to evade capture. Many a tale is told of desperate criminals who beat the Law to reach the safety of a Church. So for Heaven to do what they did? Knowing full well that many of those who live in Hell might have claimed sanctuary at one point or another? It is spitting on it, it is saying that it doesn't matter, that their belief doesn't matter. That they are going to die regardless. Churches for the longest time were seen as safe havens for those who needed them. Struggling mothers, homeless, young children who had nowhere to go. Heaven using the building as a church is spitting on what sanctuary stands for. Not to mention that from what we have seen in Vaggie's memories, there are children in Hell, quite possibly sinner children as well. At one point in time, it was believed that all children who were not baptised would go to Hell when they died. So how much of that is true? Vaggie was tossed out of Heaven because she wouldn't kill a child, so that is another strike against Heaven. Heaven has no idea how the system works, they don't know how the souls or judged. The supposed 'rules' that Adam gave them, in theory, means that Lucifer would have been allowed into Heaven. But he isn't. So Heaven has no idea how souls are judged. Heaven is fucked up, I am not saying that Hell isn't. It is. It is Hell. But it makes you wonder if Heaven is willing to have a church as their symbol with a massive hourglass, knowing full well that many would have claimed sanctuary at some point in a church and the fact that they sent an army year after year down to slaughter sinners. What else have they done? What lines have they crossed? How far as they willing to go to keep their status? Heaven is not what it seems, it is not filled with good beings. Sera, Adam and Lute are proof of that. Emily is much like Charlie, but due to her age, I doubt that others will listen to her. They are more likely to listen to Sera over Emily. Sera has already proven that she will kill, that she will send armies to Hell to slaughter people. Charlie is a danger to Heaven, she is a danger to the status quo and I think that we are going to see how far Heaven will go to keep the status quo.

Damn, I never noticed that the Heaven Embassy looks like a Church chapel - though it makes perfect sense that it would - or that it has a giant hourglass that they use for the countdown for the next Extermination (that is so fucked up btw, forcing the Sinners to live with this giant, golden timer in the middle of their city, slowly marking down the next time an army is going to descend down and murder them).

[midnight--sadness]

I know a bunch of people have already had the idea, but I love the idea of In-Ho and Gi-hun hooking up a few weeks or months before the games. But I had a slightly comedic twist on it set in the omegaverse. Imagine In-ho has been monitoring Gi-hun for a while now and lets him back into the games at the time with no intention of reentering himself. Then it's revealed that Gi-hun, who has been wearing scent blockers and baggy clothing for the past few months since they hooked up, is very much pregnant.

Gi-hun just sits up in bed back in the games while In-ho watches over the camera feed, and he literally spits out his drink seeing his track jacket unzipped, showing that he is very, very pregnant.

Then an ⚫️ guard comes in late and is like,"Oh, sir, by the way, I did Player 456's clothes change, and he may be pregnant."

In-ho, of course, is like,"No shit!" And is already radioing the head ▪️guard telling me to take over and changing into a tracksuit, ready to reenter the games for… reasons.

i love this so much! gihun and inho meeting slash hooking up before entering the games is so entertaining to me, bc i think it will add to the later betrayal.

but! this comedy, not angst!

gihun literally just chilling (or as much as he can in a capitalist death game) when he suddenly catches a whiff of a very familiar scent. across the room is inho, known to gihun as youngil, eyes locked on gihun, surprised as hell (inho is pretending to be shocked ofc). they meet and inho asks gihun why he never told him abt the pregnancy and such and such and they have a conversation and then they go to the six-legged pentathlon.

that's where inho realizes he fucked up bc this omega who is carrying his child might die in one of the games he himself engineered. he gives an order to every pink guard to make sure gihun is not harmed and then proceeds to win the game with scary accuracy. this man does NOT fuck around with pretending not to know how to play spinning top, he immediately chucks that shit. he helps gihun wtih jegi again but when gihun overbalances and falls to the side, inho is yelling at the guards to remove their cuffs so they can stand up and the guards are rushing around doing what he says, much to jungbae, daeho and junhee's confusion.

(bc he's pregnant and inho is an obsessive freak, gihun has a special chocolate milk delivered to him with his breakfast! bc inho's baby mama will everything he wants!)

[hivemuthur]

What was that? - Ch. 8.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 4,6K

tag: #what was that

summary: More banter and slight angst! Jayce speaks French, and we are about to even out with AO3 which means I will post chapter 10 in two days :)

author’s note: Beta reader: @rennethen

Cross-posted on AO3

—

A week had passed since their trip to the Undercity, though the memory of their near-moment lingered like a stubborn ember refusing to die out. Viktor had kept his distance, returning to his meticulous work, while Renly buried herself in testing the formula. She really wanted to make it before the gala on upcoming weekend. The tension between them was not sharp or angry but... unresolved. Words left unsaid.

Now, as she stood at the threshold of his workspace, cradling the first viable test sample in her hands, that tension seemed to knot her throat. She tapped softly on the metal frame of the door, and Viktor turned, his golden eyes catching hers.

“Viktor,” she began, her voice betraying her nerves, “I—um—I wanted to show you something.”

He set aside the intricate mechanism he’d been tinkering with and gave her his full attention. “What is it?”

Renly crossed the room slowly, holding the small vial out like an offering. “The cure… or at least, the first viable iteration of it. It’s ready for testing.”

Viktor’s gaze dropped to the vial in her hands. His expression, as always, was difficult to read, but there was a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe even hope. She couldn’t be sure.

“I thought,” Renly continued hesitantly, “that you might—well, you might want to try it. But only if you’re comfortable. I don’t want you to feel like…” She trailed off, suddenly aware of how heavy the moment felt. “Like I’m treating you as some sort of… experiment.”

Viktor took the vial from her with gentle hands, his fingers brushing against hers for a fraction of a second. “You would never,” he said softly, his voice carrying a certainty that made her stomach flip. He studied the vial, the pale, faintly glowing liquid catching the light.

Renly twisted her hands nervously. “I just... I know how much you’ve already risked, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m—”

“Renly,” he interrupted, looking up at her. His eyes, earnest and steady, caught hers and held them. “You are not asking anything I would not willingly give.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The words he’d just said hung between them, weighted with layers of meaning that neither dared unpack.

“You trust me that much?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Viktor’s lips curved into a faint smile, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly higher than the other. “More than you realize.”

Her chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. She wanted to respond, to say something meaningful, but her thoughts tangled together. Instead, she nodded, and handed him a small parchment with dosage instructions, her own tentative smile matching his.

Viktor glanced back at the vial, his expression turning contemplative. “If this works,” he murmured, half to himself, “you will have done something remarkable—not just for me, but for all of Zaun. I hope you see that.”

His words sank in, and for the first time, she felt the enormity of what she was trying to accomplish—the weight of all those counting on her, including Viktor himself.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she said, attempting a lightness she didn’t quite feel. “It’s only the first trial.”

“Even so,” Viktor replied, his gaze lifting back to hers, “it is a step forward. And for that, I am grateful.”

With that, Viktor pocketed the vial, his movements deliberate, his expression unreadable once more. The moment stretched on before he turned back to his desk. “I will let you know how it goes.”

Renly hesitated for a moment longer, wanting to say something—anything—that might ease the invisible wall that had risen between them since that night in the Undercity. But in the end, she simply nodded and slipped out of the room, her heart heavy with things left unsaid.

***

The grand day had finally arrived. Viktor and Jayce were rehearsing their presentations for the fundraising gala. They knew their work inside and out—every discovery with Hextech had been thoroughly tested and meticulously documented. The primary focus of their practice speeches, however, was to ensure that Piltover's wealthy elite would view their innovations as they did: a beacon of life-changing progress, meant to be harnessed for peaceful purposes.

“She’s late,” Jayce muttered, glancing at the clock. “Renly’s never late. What if she bailed on us?”

Viktor didn’t look up from his notes. “She would not do that. Perhaps she is simply… taking her time.”

Jayce opened his mouth to argue, but the creak of the lab door froze him mid-step. Both men turned toward the sound.

Renly stepped inside, and for a moment, time seemed to pause. Her heels clicked softly against the tiled floor, their sharp rhythm underscoring the quiet hum of the lab’s machines. But it wasn’t just her entrance that demanded attention—it was everything else.

Gone was the practicality of her work attire, the reliable fabrics stained by chemicals and the scuffs from long hours. In their place was a dress—blood red, sleek, and elegant, a daring statement of confidence and boldness that seemed to make the very air around her shimmer. It hugged her frame tastefully, the neckline hinting at daring but never straying into excess. A delicate silver chain rested against her collarbone, the simple accessory accentuating her sharp features. Her hair was swept back, leaving her face unobscured, framed by the glow of polished poise.

“Sorry I’m late,” Renly said, her voice casual as she set her bag down. “Had to find something that wasn’t covered in stains.”

Viktor stared. His brain, so capable in the realm of logic and science, utterly failed him now. Words tangled in his throat like frayed wires, and after a pause that seemed eternal, he finally managed to stammer, “You look… astonishing.”

The word lingered, weightier than intended. Jayce stopped pacing, eyebrows lifting in shock, his head snapping toward Viktor as if to confirm he’d heard correctly. Viktor stiffened almost immediately, his grip tightening on the cane as he realized what he’d said aloud. He cleared his throat, looking away in a feeble attempt to recover.

Renly, however, didn’t miss a beat. Amusement flickered in her eyes as a slow smile curved her lips. She tilted her head, her tone playful but warm as she responded, “Thank you, Viktor.” A slight pause, and then, with the faintest edge of mischief, “I could say the same about you, but I’m not sure ‘astonishing’ is the right word for a man who insists on wearing a cravat to every occasion.”

Jayce burst into laughter, loud and sudden, while Viktor shot him a withering sidelong glare. His discomfort deepened as Renly took a step closer, her grin widening.

“But it suits you,” she added, her voice softening but still teasing. Her eyes locked on his, glimmering with an energy he didn’t quite know how to place. “Distinguished, refined… and maybe just a little bit pretentious.”

Jayce leaned against the counter, practically doubled over from laughing. Viktor’s composure frayed further, his ears burning crimson at the edges. “I am glad my wardrobe provides such endless entertainment,” he muttered, his voice dry but noticeably tight.

Renly chuckled, the sound light and unbothered. “Alright, boys, let’s get these speeches sorted. I didn’t put on this dress just to make fun of Viktor.” Her gaze lingered on him for half a second longer than necessary before she added, with a smirk, “Though that is a very nice bonus.”

Jayce continued to snicker, but Viktor barely noticed. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus on the notes in his hand even as his thoughts refused to follow suit. Renly moved toward the blackboard, her heels clicking against the floor like punctuation marks, commanding attention with every step.

For a fleeting moment, Viktor allowed himself to watch her, unguarded, unrestrained. His equilibrium, so carefully maintained in all other matters, was noticeably absent. But despite the flustered edges of his thoughts, one truth remained clear: whatever chaos Renly brought, he didn’t mind.

“I have to be honest with you guys—I am scared shitless,” Renly said, turning on her heel. She spoke more to the room than to her friends.

“What…? Why?” Jayce snorted at her blunt statement. “You’ve got this. Besides, Renly, you’re the only one of us who has fresh presentation practice. You teach students all the time!”

“I know, I know,” she said with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. “But with the students, I know I’m talking to people who at least try to understand what I’m explaining.” She paused, her tone carrying a hint of exasperation. “Here, we’re presenting to people who might not have the slightest clue about the science—and on top of that, we have to… balance it,” she mused, pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard.

Viktor’s lips curled into a smirk as he watched her pace, her earlier worry still etched on her face. He decided to step in—not just to own his earlier compliment, but also to draw her focus away from her nerves. “I doubt the poor boy Ezra would survive if you showed up to teach class in this dress,” he remarked, his tone light but teasing.

Renly blinked, caught off guard for a moment before her wit kicked in. “And here I was, thinking it was you who’d be his doom if he ever came near me again.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly, his smile widening as though conceding the point. “I think if you simply be yourself tonight, no one will dare to refuse you funding—or misplace your work—for fear of being eviscerated by your words,” he said, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Jayce glanced at the clock and clapped his hands together. “Alright, folks, time to go! Vite, vite!”

Renly grabbed her coat and, as they headed out the door, leaned in just close enough to whisper to Viktor, “By the way, I actually think you look very nice tonight too.”

***

She was right—it was absolutely terrifying. Bright lights, the constant hum of voices and laughter, the clinking of cutlery, the swell of music, and the shuffle of footsteps all blended into one overwhelming cacophony, crashing over Renly’s senses in unrelenting waves. Strangers brushed past her, their hands grazing her bare shoulders or the small of her back as they squeezed through the crowded room. The invasion of personal space only heightened her unease.

This was nothing like her classes. Her students were quiet and predictable in comparison—tame, even. But this… this was—

“You look pale.”

Viktor’s low voice cut through the din, and she felt his presence behind her before she saw him. He leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear, carrying the faint, teasing scent of champagne. The unexpected intimacy of it made her shiver.

“Are you alright?”

“Totally,” she lied, her fingers fidgeting in front of her in a telltale gesture of discomfort.

“I know that ‘totally.’ It is no good,” Viktor said softly, concern shadowing his expression. Gently, he turned her to face him, his hand brushing against hers. “What do you need?”

“Quiet. And, um… a drink, maybe?” Renly raised an eyebrow, half-joking, as if gauging whether Viktor would judge her for indulging in a little liquid courage before the important presentation. “If you don’t think it would be… improper.”

Viktor didn’t hesitate. “Come.” He offered his hand, his tone gentle yet firm.

Renly took it without thinking, letting herself be guided toward the balcony. As they passed a waiter, Viktor paused and gestured toward the tray of champagne flutes. “Will you manage two? My hands are a little… busy,” he said, his smile playful as he raised their intertwined palms toward the view. Of course, the cane. She forgot briefly.

The crisp air of the evening was like a balm, soothing her stressed body with its cool touch. As they stepped out onto the balcony, the noise of the gala dimmed, and Renly found herself breathing more easily, the weight of the chaos inside melting away. She leaned against the railing, letting the quiet settle around her like a protective shield.

Viktor, ever observant, stood beside her for a moment, watching her with a soft intensity. “I know that feeling,” he said quietly. “The world getting too loud, the weight of the eyes on you. If you need some grounding, or maybe just a pep talk before you face the stage…” He trailed off, waiting for her response.

Renly glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the tension still coiling in her stomach. “What do you have in mind?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity mingling with her unease.

Viktor moved closer, propping his cane carefully against the railing. He turned to face her fully, and for a moment, all the noise of the event seemed to fade into the background. His hands landed gently on her shoulders, steadying her. His touch was firm but not controlling, a reminder of his quiet strength, and when his eyes met hers, she saw something rare there—genuine care, but also something deeper.

“You go up on that stage,” Viktor said, his voice low and steady, the words almost like a command. “It’s quiet, there is only you. All those people, they should be scared of you, not you of them. What you are capable of. How wise you are. How strong.”

Renly’s breath caught in her throat as she absorbed his words. His gaze held her, unwavering, as though he were willing her to believe in her own power. She felt the words sink deep, quieting the storm of nerves that had been brewing inside her.

“And now,” he continued, his voice softer but still firm, “drink.”

Renly’s fingers tightened around the champagne flute, her eyes lingering on his face as the brief moment stretched out between them. The warmth of his presence, his steadying touch, and the sheer simplicity of his confidence seemed to wash over her. She took a deep breath, the knot in her chest loosening as she sipped from her glass, the cool liquid running smoothly down her throat.

In that moment, on the balcony under the dim light of the stars, it felt as though the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. The gala, the people, the expectations—everything faded away, leaving only Viktor and his quiet strength. There was no pressure, no judgment, just a calm understanding between them.

Renly let herself relax, letting Viktor’s presence anchor her. She wasn’t alone in this. She had her work. She had her mind. And, in a way she hadn’t fully realized until now, she had Viktor. She gave him a small, grateful smile, the tension in her shoulders melting further as she felt his steady gaze on her.

“Alright,” she murmured, setting the glass down. “I’m ready.”

Viktor’s lips twitched into a smile, though it was subtle. He gave her shoulders a final squeeze, his hands slipping away. “You’ve always been ready.”

***

Renly’s heart still fluttered as the echoes of applause faded away, the weight of the speech finally lifting from her shoulders. The donors had been impressed, their pledges securing two years of funding for her research—a small victory in the grander scheme, but one that felt monumental to her. She spotted Viktor in the crowd as she finished, his gaze steady and approving, but when the applause died down and the crowd shifted, he was nowhere to be found. She felt an odd pang of disappointment, but quickly shook it off, knowing he’d likely retreated to avoid the attention she was receiving.

She was about to step off the stage when Jayce appeared, grinning broadly. “Renly! You did it! I told you, you’d kill it up there.” His voice was warm with pride, and he clapped her on the back before pulling her into a tight hug. Renly laughed, a little breathless.

“You weren’t wrong,” she admitted. “Though I’m sure you just wanted me to do well for the sake of your own ego. You did help me practice a lot.”

“Of course, it was for you,” Jayce teased, “but mostly because now I can say I knew you when you became a star.” His grin grew wider as Mel Medarda approached with her usual effortless elegance.

Renly’s eyes lit up when she saw her. “Mel, you look absolutely beautiful as usual.” The words slipped out naturally, and there was an affectionate tone in her voice. The inside joke between them—how Mel Medarda, despite whatever else might happen, was always beautiful—never grew old.

Mel gave her a teasing glance. “Thank you, Renly,” she said, “though you’re not too bad yourself.” She shot a sideways glance at Jayce, who was still laughing at Renly’s comment. “It’s good to see you so relaxed. You seemed like a completely different person up there. Confident. Powerful.”

“I don’t think I could’ve done it without Viktor,” Renly replied, before realizing how much that might imply. She quickly added, “You know, his advice. He’s always been the calm in the chaos. You’ve probably noticed.”

Mel raised an eyebrow, but before she could comment, a few other guests approached, eager to congratulate Renly. She graciously accepted their compliments on her work, her mind drifting slightly as more drinks were brought her way. The weight of the evening started to feel more like a pleasant haze as the alcohol began to take effect, loosening her up a little. She could feel herself getting a little warmer, the buzz of the evening mixing with the buzz from the champagne.

When the conversation began to dwindle and the crowd dispersed, Renly found herself slipping back out onto the balcony, craving the quiet again. The cool air welcomed her, and she leaned against the railing, taking a long breath to steady herself. It was then that she heard Viktor’s soft footsteps approaching behind her.

“Thought I might find you here,” he said quietly, standing beside her. He had a glass in his hand, but it seemed he’d had much less to drink than she had. Still, the slight edge of warmth in her words betrayed the effect the alcohol was having on her.

“I’m glad you came,” Renly said, her words a little more slurred than she intended. “I thought you disappeared on me.”

“I’m never far, Renly,” Viktor replied, his voice steady, though his gaze softened as he studied her. “How are you feeling? Your speech was brilliant. I have no idea how you can be so brilliant, but I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me.”

Renly smiled, though her cheeks flushed slightly from the compliment. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she murmured, her voice dipping into something more sincere. She turned toward him slightly, her words flowing faster than she meant. “You’ve always been the one who steadies me. The one who helps me see things clearly, even when the world’s too loud. I—I wouldn’t be here without your guidance. Your strength. It’s—”

Her words faltered, and she suddenly caught herself. She was bordering on saying too much, on revealing something she wasn’t ready to say. The vulnerability felt too raw. She blinked, clearing her throat, trying to regain some composure.

“Dance with me?” she said suddenly, her voice less steady now but still filled with something unspoken.

Viktor blinked, caught off guard by her request. “I... I don’t dance,” his voice quiet as he fixed his eyes on the floor, shifting uncomfortably.

“I don’t know what else to call what you’ve been doing around me those last couple of months,” she blurted out before she could stop, earning herself a concerned smile from him.

Viktor’s breath hitched, the weight of her words settling on him, both unexpected and revealing. He had hoped his attention to her, the fleeting moments between them, had gone unnoticed. But here she was, calling it out, putting words to the tension that had been building between them. He quickly glanced away, feeling the heat of her gaze lingering, but he couldn’t shake the unease that crept in. He didn't know how to navigate this space they were now in.

“I could offer my assistance in walking you home. It was a long evening,” Viktor said, his voice taking on a more neutral tone as he ignored her comment, though the sting of it lingered. She had noticed. All of those brief, charged exchanges between them.

But now—now she seemed to be asking for something more. And that, more than anything, left him unsure.

Renly saw the hesitation in his eyes, and she felt a familiar knot form in her stomach. She had never been good at reading the signs, but she couldn’t ignore the way Viktor had looked at her, the way he’d touched her, the quiet moments that seemed to speak volumes. It all seemed to point to something, didn’t it? Yet here he was, avoiding it.

“I didn’t mean to...” she trailed off, suddenly unsure of herself. “I’m not asking for anything. I just thought... Maybe I misread things.” Her voice softened, the alcohol having loosened her tongue and her thoughts. “But if that’s not what you want, it’s okay. I’m just...” She paused, biting her lip as she tried to steady herself.

Viktor let the silence hang between them for a moment, his hand resting gently at her waist. He could feel the weight of her uncertainty, but it mirrored his own. He had become used to playing the steady, composed part of the equation, but tonight, that seemed harder than ever. He wanted to reassure her, to say something that would ease the tension, but his mind was clouded, and he didn’t quite know what to say.

Instead, he took a step closer, his hand slightly tightening around her waist. “You’ve had quite the night, Renly,” he said quietly. “I can see it in your eyes. But if you need to talk about any of this… I will listen.”

Renly met his gaze, her eyes soft and searching, but it was clear she was still a little lost in her own thoughts. She sighed and, without thinking, rested her forehead against his chest. She felt a small sense of comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her.

“I don’t know how to be around you anymore, Viktor,” she murmured, her voice almost too soft to hear. “But maybe I��m tired of pretending I don’t feel it. Whatever this is between us.”

Viktor’s throat tightened as he looked down at her, his own feelings echoing hers. He had always been a master of keeping his emotions in check, but there was something about Renly that disarmed him. Something about her presence, the way she made him feel both grounded and entirely lost at the same time.

His greatest fear still stood unshaken, though: the fear of anyone, of her, seeing how incomplete he was, how damaged. He did feel slightly better since he started taking her formula, but it was too early to tell. Still, this would only solve one of his problems. Admittedly, that problem was imminent death, but the liability of his spine, of his leg, would remain with him forever. He never allowed anyone to stay with him on this journey for longer than a flicker of time—fleeting affairs, singular events, neither forgotten nor remembered in much detail. He feared dependency. His entire body feared her and screamed for her at the same time.

“I’m not pretending,” he whispered, his voice low, the words coming more easily now that they were alone in the quiet of the night. He paused, as if searching for the right words. “But sometimes it’s easier to stay silent than to risk... changing things.”

Renly pulled back just slightly, lifting her head to meet his eyes, and in that moment, she saw the vulnerability in his gaze, the uncertainty that had always been there but that he kept hidden so well.

“I don’t want to change things,” she said quietly, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “I just want to know if you feel it too.”

The question hung between them, and for the first time that evening, Viktor didn’t have the answer ready. The words came from the part of him that was strongest—the one that was protecting him from himself. “I don’t have an answer, Renly. But I think… maybe we should get back to this when we are both… rested.” He really wanted to avoid using the word ‘drunk.’ He felt her face wrinkle on his chest as she turned away, trying to hide her expression.

“Yes, that’s fair. I’ll get home by myself just fine,” Renly threw over her shoulder, her voice straining.

“Are you—” Before Viktor could finish his question, she cut him off. “Please. I’ll see you on Monday.”

[threebea]

Canon divergence. Dooku survives his encounter during the attack on Corscant and is aware Palpatine was planning to kill him.

He still controls the Separatists, but a large amount of his forces were taken out during the battle. He's probably also injured.

Palpatine knows he's very close to his plan coming to fruition so he lets it all play out like he originally does. Obi-Wan gets sent to capture Dooku on Utapau.

Dooku and Obi-Wan duel. Dooku says again there's a Sith in the Senate and it's timed out to be exactly when Sidious reveals himself to Anakin.

Dooku: you're far too late. He's already won. The Jedi are as good as dead and the Republic is making its final dying gasp as we speak.

---readmore---

Obi-Wan: you're lying.

Dooku: it doesn't matter if you believe me. What I'm curious about is if you believe in your student.

Obi-Wan: Anakin? What does he have to do with this?

Dooku: Palpatine plans to make him his apprentice. My replacement.

Obi-Wan: now I know you're lying. Anakin would never turn.

Dooku: don't be so sure my young friend. You know little of the pull of the Darkside, but I'm afraid your student has already touched the power it might give him.

Obi-Wan: you would say anything to save yourself.

Dooku: and you don't know me very well at all. It's a shame. Perhaps if we had met earlier you might have trusted me. Might have been able to see my true intentions. But you've cost me too much. You and the boy you trained.

Obi-Wan: your intentions. You started a war. Bombed civilians, worked with slavers! Your intentions are clear.

Dooku: the sith is Palpatine.

And Obi-Wan is stricken with emotion because it's so obvious now. So clear.

And Anakin thinks he's a friend. And Anakin has always been loyal to people, not ideals. Both a great strength and weakness.

They battle more. Dooku is injured but still a powerful duelist.

Dooku: you must join me. Or whether by my blade or Sidious' you will die.

Obi-Wan: ...

Dooku: or perhaps it won't be my blade, but Skywalker's.

Obi-Wan redoubled his efforts gritting his teeth.

Cut to Anakin, Mace and Sidious up to when Order 66 is called.

Obi-Wan is feeling the psychic backslashes of the death of all the Jedi. He falls to his knees. He's barely able to look up at Dooku as it rushes over in him in waves.

Dooku: it's started.

Dooku disarms Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan falls back next to one of his fallen soldiers blasters.

Dooku: I'll spare you having to feel the rest. (He raises his blade)

Obi-Wan picks up the blaster in desperation and there's the sound of a shot.

Dooku sinks down to his knees. His saber falls.

"Run." It's his final word. Perhaps he sees Qui-Gon when he looks at his grandpadawan, or maybe he views Obi-Wan as his only chance for revenge against Sidious. He falls forward and you realize he was shot in the back by the approaching clone troopers. Did he take the shot on purpose to shield Obi-Wan? It's not clear. Obi-Wan's only option is to run.

[alarajrogers]

Writers Tell You What They Believe, Not Who They Are

I’ve been percolating this post in my head for a while.

I want to talk about the Neil Gaiman situation. How there are, apparently, people out there who are trying to declare that there’s evidence in his writing for what he turned out to be, who blame the fans who were taken advantage of or who still find the writing beautiful no matter what the man is. Those people are wrong. They point at previous examples of writers who showed their true colors like JK Rowling, but this is not that situation.

I’m going to contrast this to Rowling, and to Orson Scott Card, another writer many of us (particularly us older ones) loved before he turned out to be a shit. In fact, I’ll start with him.

But first, I’ll tell you: Writers do not tell you who they are. They tell you what they believe. Sometimes those match. Sometimes they do not.

I was a huge fan of Orson Scott Card, and read everything he wrote once upon a time, so I know he wrote kindly and sympathetically about gay men and boys. He didn’t give any of them love or a happy ending, but most Card characters don’t get love or a happy ending, so this was not notable. Thus it surprised many of us when he came out swinging against gay marriage, and some people viewed him as a hypocrite.

He wasn't.

Card’s work repeats a theme over and over: older men have to hurt children and young people, raise them harshly, crush their dreams, in order to save them, or the nation, or the world. Over and over again. It’s relevant that Card was abused by his father as a child, so we can certainly see how tempting this paradigm would be for him. These older men suffer, because they sympathize with the young ones. But it has to be done, for the sake of everyone.

Around the time he was campaigning against gay marriage, Card said, in a forum post that unfortunately appears to have been lost forever, that we can’t have gay marriage because men would naturally want to marry men. Men just understand better and are naturally simpatico with other men, and presumably the same is true for women. So if we had same-sex marriage, all the men would marry other men, and human reproduction would stop, and the species would die out.

Leaving aside what this implies about Card himself and what he was obviously not letting himself realize about himself, this means his opposition to same-sex marriage is exactly what he told us, in his books, over and over, that he would have to do, when he became an older man. Older men hurt young people to force them to conform to what society needs. If men being allowed to marry men could destroy the human race, of course it’s his job as an older man to prevent it, no matter how sympathetic he might be to gay people’s desire to love each other. They have to suck it up and endure heterosexual marriage, like he has to, and like he assumes most married men have to, or humanity dies.

He's wrong, and his belief is honestly kind of repulsive because it means he assumes every man who says he loves his wife is kinda lying, or at least, made himself believe it. But he’s not a hypocrite. He told us what he believes, and it matches what he does.

Now, JK Rowling. I was an adult when Harry Potter came out, so I was never a huge fan of Rowling. I’d already read better fantasy, for children, by female authors, from England… Seriously, Rowling is kind of mid when compared to other fantasy writers for kids. But Harry Potter was pretty cool. I liked the fact that she presented us with an obvious villain, an absolute asshole, a cruel teacher who bullies the kids, plainly in league with the main villain… and then made him turn out to be a hero. Someone who, the whole time, was sacrificing himself to keep everyone, including Harry himself, safe. And who was, nonetheless, still an asshole. I liked that. “You don’t have to be a good person to do the right thing.” Sounded to me like a good message.

Rowling’s beliefs seemed pretty bog-standard white suburban liberal. Of course diversity is important, that’s why there are token members of several races. Fascism is bad, of course. The circumstances of your birth don’t matter nearly as much as what you make of your life. Child abuse is bad.

But there was stuff that people who were not raised as white suburban liberals kept pointing out. Like… Rowling doesn’t think it’s important to do enough research to have a real Chinese name for her one Chinese character. It’s not going to be a problem that Irish, Scottish and Welsh children – all oppressed by England once upon a time and in many cases still oppressed – are going to school in Scotland with English children; the only conflicts will be between houses. Slavery is of course bad, but have you considered that maybe some slaves want to be slaves and you should probably leave them to it? If a woman is sufficiently evil, it might be a good idea to arrange for her to be raped by centaurs. Women who look mannish are figures of fun and probably bad people. Fat people are bad. We do not at any point need to think about the question of, in general, what would wizards from oppressed Muggle families do if brought into the wizarding world and trained, because, well, that’s not worth thinking about.

Also, while Rowling might not consciously be an anti-Semite, she did come up with one of the most vicious collections of anti-Semitic tropes and applied them to her goblins, who are money-obsessed, bankers, have pointed noses and ears, and are not treated kindly by the narrative as non-human magical creatures the way Hagrid himself and any of his pets are.

Also, she gave us “Dumbledore is gay” in Word of God, but couldn’t be bothered to put it into the book that is heavily about Dumbledore’s past, which goes into detail about his close friendship with a fascist who despised the Muggle-born, where establishing that he loved Grindenwald would have made the whole relationship make more sense and make Dumbledore more sympathetic.

So… she ended up becoming a TERF. And this felt like a betrayal to those of us who saw in her beliefs the same liberal ideals we held. Except… she was never intersectional. She never told us she cared about minority humans. Her bad guys were fascists because they wanted to dominate the Muggles – a group that includes all of us, actually – and to purge “half-bloods” and Muggle-born, which, again, all of us are Muggle-born and we would be if we suddenly got that owl from Hogwarts. It’s real easy to hate fascists who want to put the boot on your neck specifically. She got a little bit into fantastic racism with the prejudices against Hagrid, but other races – like the goblins! – were just treated badly because that’s the way it is, and Harry never thinks to push back against obvious injustices unless they affect him and his friends.

She was always a bit skeeved out by “women who look like men”, and then the TERFs radicalized her and told her that trans women are a dire threat to cis women and that trans men are sad little girls who’ve been brainwashed to give up their womanhood, and she believed them because none of this contradicted anything she told us she believed. She very clearly told us in the books that she really didn’t care about anyone who wasn’t a white British human, and she has next to no consciousness of how the Irish, Scottish and Welsh actually perceive the British, and while the Weasleys are poor because they have way too many kids on a government worker’s salary, they have no class consciousness that stands in opposition to Harry’s, or anyone else’s. Rowling just doesn’t empathize with people who aren’t like her. So it wasn’t hard to get her to hate people who never did anything to her, because they were different enough that she could be convinced they were dangerous.

Neil Gaiman is not like that.

Like most good writers, Gaiman told us what he believed. And I think he was sincere in those beliefs. Even after he himself became a monster, I think he believed what he believed because those themes show up consistently in all his work, from the Sandman to his more recent works. And I’m going to point out the relevant ones, that seem to have an impact on this discussion.

We make our own hell with our guilt. Lucifer said so in A Season of Mists, despite it contradicting DC continuity and some stuff Gaiman himself did, such as Nala being condemned to hell by Morpheus. It is still consistent in most of his depictions of Hell. The angel Remiel is corrupted by being forced to punish sinners, but it’s the sinners’ own guilt that demands punishment, not a directive from God.

Desire is capricious and dangerous. Desire wants to destroy Dream for reasons we are never given. Alone of the Endless, Desire is never shown in a positive light. (Despair is, in places. Desire, never.)

Predators deserve to die or suffer a fate worse than death.

This is important to note. A lot of Gaiman’s villains don’t really suffer much of anything; their ability to do harm is removed, that’s it. Such as John Dee, who murders an entire diner full of innocent people. But predators and people who betray people who look up to them and trust them… they suffer.

In Sandman, Richard Madoc, a writer who can’t come up with ideas, catapults to fame when he takes the Muse Calliope as a sex slave, imprisoning her, dominating her, and repeatedly raping her. Morpheus punishes him by driving him mad, with a torrent of so many ideas he cannot express them all, and he ends up destroying his own fingers trying to write the ideas down on the wall in blood. This is a particularly horrifying fate for a writer, and a particularly horrifying fate for a writer to imagine.

Prince Franz Drago of Bohemia, in A Study In Emerald, is an eldritch abomination, as are all the royalty of Europe in this particular AU. He is brutally murdered by two of the most beloved characters in the canon of English-language literature. One of the two explains how Drago was lured to his death, in a way that the character (and the author) intend to justify the murder: he was promised a virgin girl, raised in a convent, who had never seen a man. The sight of Drago would have pitched her into “a perfect madness”, which Drago would have feasted on while raping her. For being the kind of entity who would want to do this, and probably has done it before, Drago was eviscerated. We are intended to sympathize with the murderers.

There are other examples, of people looking up to someone they respected, only to discover that person was lying, or betrayed them. These people are killed, or their plans are ruined. I’m not going to list every instance of that here. But this is a thing Gaiman believes, a theme that appears multiple times.

Gaiman also believes that we make our own hell. It wasn’t until I watched the Lucifer series, and had some experience with people who do awful things, many of whom have managed to twist things around in their head so they are the victims, that I thought: if you know what you’re doing is evil, why are you doing it? Many of the people I know who do terrible things simply don’t recognize that what they’re doing is bad. Like Rowling and Card, both of whom think they’re doing the right thing. They’re not going to punish themselves in Gaiman’s Hell. Maybe someone who murdered in a fit of rage, but not someone who thought of themselves as the victim, or as someone entitled to do what they did… which seems to be a lot of bad people.

And Gaiman believes that Desire is the cruelest of the Endless, and has nothing positive to say about them.

Gaiman told us what he believed, and we were calmed, and pleased, because we believed those things too. Trans women are women. All people deserve dignity. There is no one we have the right to look down on, and everyone has their own reasons for doing things, even evil people. Demonstrate empathy for all. This sounds like the beliefs of someone who is very, very safe. Like… a year ago I would have put Neil Gaiman on a list of “Least Likely To Have Problematic Skeletons In The Closet” creators, which just tells you, I pay too much attention to what writers believe when I think about what they do.

Because people don’t always do what they believe.

Sometimes they know what they’re doing is wrong. Sometimes it goes against everything they believe. And they feel hellish amounts of guilt for it. But they still choose to keep doing it. Maybe telling themselves they’re slaves to their own desire, that they cannot stop themselves. Maybe telling themselves it’s okay, fooling themselves that people they overpower with force of personality could have said no if they hadn’t wanted to. Gaiman at one point admitted to impostor syndrome. To not being able to quite grasp how successful he was, how people looked up to him. Maybe he was able to fool himself into thinking that if you pressure someone who looks up to you, who you have economic power over, into having sex, you’re not raping them because if they’d really fought back they could have stopped you. (Never mind that you had too much power over them and they were lulled by your public persona, sure you were safe, until you weren’t.)

Trust me, I am not here to praise Neil Gaiman, but to bury him. (And unlike Marc Antony in Shakespeare’s play, I sincerely mean that.) The fact that he knows better, that he believes people who are doing what he’s doing should die or suffer fates worse than death, that his writing strongly implies that he feels intense guilt over it… but he does it anyway.

Anybody got that gif of Chidi Anagoyne from The Good Place saying “But that’s worse. You get how that’s worse, right?”

No one could have read Gaiman’s work and thought, this is a sex predator into domination and rape. Because Gaiman has consistently condemned people who do that, in his writing. And his writing is all we knew about the man.

You know how you read some fanfic authors, and you can see their personal fetishes glaring out at you? You can’t do that with Neil Gaiman. He’s a better writer than that, and he’s good at hiding the things that turn him on, because he’s felt guilty about them from the beginning. He’s told us what he believes, not what he thinks is sexy.

He knows what he did is wrong. He feels guilt over it, or he did when he was writing Sandman and having fantasies, maybe. He knew it was wrong when he did it. And he did it anyway.

The only hint we could possibly have ever taken was that Gaiman thinks the people who do terrible things know it, and feel guilt over it, and demand to be punished for it when they get to Hell. When we see a world around us of people who feel no guilt whatsoever for the terrible things they do, maybe we should have questioned?... but it could have been the naivete of a young writer (young-ish, at least…) who genuinely wanted to believe the people who do terrible things feel guilt for it. I know I wanted to believe that, and I was horrified at how not true it turned out to be.

I hope he burns in the hell of guilt he’s made for himself. Because he told us what he believed, and we all believed it too. We forgot that a person can do things they believe are wrong.