#hypocrisy is one thing defending is another

[studyingnstruggling]

Tonight, as usual, my dad accused me of wanting to be trans/a man and bringing “eternal damnation” all because I was wearing sweatpants, in my own house. And it got me thinking about how much I hate lipstick Muslims, and their liberal lapdogs. Conveniently, they never discuss ppl in my situation, and Ik I’m lucky I’m not in a Muslim country. But the pro hijab, pro Islam (hypocrites) who love to talk about how compatible Islam is with feminism, queerness, and liberalism, never discuss things like this. Technically, pants are “men’s clothing” and according to Hadith, not ok for women. 

[imjustavenuxwithaboomerang]

do i support all of korra's actions??? no. do i like s2 korra??? no. will i still somehow have enough points to defend her if i get a whiff of a korra anti??? YEAH

[galactia]

They didn't find Albert's body. No one really questioned the story of him visiting family in Liyue. He had family there, after all, and really, no one in Mond missed his constant hounding of Barbara. Now Huffman's absence... that would be a bit more difficult to explain away.

And, there was the issue of Mika. For all Huffman's failings, Mika loved him. He was his brother, even if for the worst...

[heartinhyacinth]

Something that I’ve always loved about Hualian is that throughout the series, people had warned Xie Lian of Hua Cheng left and right, told him various horror stories, rumors of cruelty and malice, etc., and yet…Hua Cheng never once (as far as I can remember) tried to counter the accusations with words. He never defended himself or his actions to Xie Lian, never told him of the ways it was false or not as bad as it sounds.

At times, he even went as far as to do the opposite, one example being when Xie Lian said he’d heard rumors of eming (to which Hua Cheng responds, “like how it’s evil, forged from the blood of a living sacrifice?”); when Xie Lian brushed them off as only rumors that shouldn’t be taken at face value, Hua Cheng only smiled (in the donghua at least, we couldn’t see his reaction in the novel considering Xie Lian’s back was to him), and didn’t say anything else on the matter, not refuting or confirming whether it was true, nor proving the details that would surely paint him in a much better light than Xie Lian’s colleagues had.

He’s always let Xie Lian form his own opinions on things, and that includes himself.

Much like the novels themselves, Hua Cheng takes a very “show don’t tell” approach to things. He doesn’t need to tell Xie Lian he can trust him, that he’d never harm him, and that he has reasons for doing what he does. Xie Lian already knows this. He’s shown it to him in his actions. If he had to say the words for Xie Lian to believe him, he’d have seen it as a failure to live up to them. It’s very in character for him imo—he hates hypocrisy and hates when people say one thing and then do another. So it makes sense that he would simply sit back and trust that Xie Lian would see him for who he is.

It’s all very similar to the fact that they don’t say “I love you” throughout all eight books (which I absolutely adore and I’ll make a separate post on soon).

[mostly-delusional]

I find it ironic how Alicent's disdain for both Viserys and Rhaenyra is also rooted in the fact that Rhaenyra, as heir and the only remaining child of Viserys from Aemma, could do as she pleased while he defended her every action. That Rhaenyra had the freedom to openly flaunt her privilege while her dad cleaned up her messes for her. That she was a “spoiled brat” who hardly faced any consequences for her choices because her father turned a blind eye to everything. But we also see how Alicent does the very same thing when it comes to her own children. Aegon rapes a girl and Alicent shoves a bunch of coins at the said girl to keep her mouth shut. He bullies his little brother but somehow Rhaenyra’s children are the only ones responsible for it (remember the scene with the pig in season 1 was Aegon’s doing, he was an active participant in the bullying). Instead of having to face consequences for how horrible of a person Aegon actually is, his mother places him on the throne. Aemond kills Luke and it's because he's just angry about what happened to him as a child. Everything her children do, she justifies one way or another, just like what Viserys did for Rhaenyra. The sheer hypocrisy of it all.

[mywitchyblog]

Forgot to say this too :

Alright, listen up, you judgmental assholes. I see y’all out here screaming about how "wrong" and "creepy" it is for someone to age themselves down in their DR to hook up with someone or relive some youthful romance. Meanwhile, you’re out here aging yourself up for the same exact reason, but somehow, in your twisted logic, that’s perfectly fine? Bitch, be fucking for real.

Let’s cut the bullshit: If aging yourself down to date or fuck is wrong, then guess what? Aging yourself up for the same reason is just as fucking wrong. There’s no moral high ground to be found here. You can’t call someone out for shifting into a younger version of themselves while you’re over there shifting into some older fantasy version of yourself just to live out some “mature, powerful lover” scenario. It’s the same game, just flipped.

Now let’s get to the real MVPs of hypocrisy: teenage shifters. You’ve got a real special brand of double standards, don’t you? Y’all will shift to a DR where you’re suddenly married with kids, living that adult fantasy life like you're some grown-up with a mortgage and responsibilities. Then the next day, you’re back in a high school DR, flirting with your 15-year-old sweetheart like it’s nothing. And yet, these are the same people who have the audacity to label adult shifters “creepy” for shifting down to experience young love or redo some teenage memories they missed out on. How the fuck do you not see the hypocrisy?

You can’t have it both ways. You defend your shifts by saying, “Oh, teens are also horny too so it is okay for me to script sexual stuff.” But then, as soon as an adult mentions wanting to relive a younger stage of life, you’re all up in arms, crying “predator!” Girl, sit down. You’re doing the same damn thing, just in reverse. You can’t pretend your shit is squeaky clean when you’re basically flipping the script to suit your fantasy.

And here’s where it gets real funny: y’all love to age yourselves up to live that mature, adult life, but when you come back to being 15 or 16 in your DR, suddenly you wanna cry about how your "maturity" is affected? Please. You’re switching between being a married 30-year-old in one DR to being a high school junior the next, but it’s the adults you want to come after? Y’all really gotta wake the fuck up.

Then, oh the fucking nerve, teenage shifters will sit there and script full-on adult relationships with older partners in one DR, then hop back to being a teenager dating another teen in the next DR. And y’all don’t see the contradiction? How’s it okay for you to be all up in adult business in one DR, but when an adult shifts down to experience young love, you wanna call them out? Make it make sense, because it sure as hell doesn’t.

Oh, and let’s not forget the real kicker: The pressure y’all feel to cram in all these shifts before you hit 18 in your OR, like once you become an “official adult,” those fantasies will suddenly be seen as creepy. So, there’s this mad rush to get all your DR desires in before adulthood hits, like you’ve got some moral deadline. Really? You’re creating a ticking time bomb for yourself, thinking everything's okay now, but if you did the same shifts in two years, you’d call yourself out? How is that not completely fucked up logic?

And let me not forget how some of you teenage shifters treat shifting like cosplay. You’re out here playing dress-up in your DRs, accusing adults of being creepy, and yet you’re scripting yourselves into stripper DRs or pornstar fantasies, acting like that’s somehow less weird. Bitch, please. You’re over here aging yourselves up to hook up with adults, or worse, aging down your adult love interests to match your age, and you still have the nerve to point fingers at others? That’s some next-level mental gymnastics right there. Y’all are doing cartwheels with your logic, and it’s honestly embarrassing.

Here’s a real mind-fuck for you: A 15-year-old shifts into a DR, lives there for 40 years, then comes back to their OR and dates someone who’s still 15. By your own logic, they’re now some kind of “predator” because they’ve lived for 55 years, right? But flip it around, if they shift back to being 15 and date a 55-year-old who’s aged up in their DR, suddenly that’s a problem? Where is the consistency here? You’re out here with a ruler trying to measure everyone else’s moral standing while standing in a pile of your own bullshit.

It’s like trying to apply chess rules to poker—you can’t just make up the rules as you go along to justify your own shifting decisions while dragging others. Every reality is different, every context is different, and trying to slap your one-size-fits-all judgment on someone else’s shift just makes you look like a clown. Shifting is nuanced, it’s complex, and y’all really need to stop pretending you’ve got some moral blueprint for everyone else to follow when you can’t even keep your own shifting ethics straight.

Bottom line: If you’re out here aging yourself up for the same shit you criticize adults for when they age down, you’re a hypocrite. Period. Either admit that both are fine, or recognize that both have the potential to be problematic. But you can’t keep pretending that aging up for some weird-ass fantasy suddenly makes it all okay. If you’re out here policing other people’s shifts while turning a blind eye to your own ? you're full of shit.

You don't get to rewrite the rules just to fit your narrative and then sit there acting like you're the moral compass of the shifting community. If you’re out here saying that aging down for a fantasy is creepy but think aging up for the same purpose is perfectly fine, you’re not only delusional, you’re a straight-up hypocrite.

And let’s get real: the double standard isn’t just ridiculous, it’s fucking exhausting. If you’re playing the same game, whether you’re aging down or up, it’s still the same manipulation of age for personal gratification. The moral high ground you think you’re standing on? That shit doesn’t exist.

So here’s your wake-up call: Stop preaching about what’s “right” or “wrong” when you’re shifting if you can’t apply the same scrutiny to yourself. You either gotta accept that shifting age—whether up or down—comes with some ethical complexity, or you need to shut the hell up and sit down. Because if you can’t see how aging up to fulfill your fantasies is just as questionable as aging down, then you’re not as woke as you think you are.

So next time you wanna criticize someone for how they shift, take a long, hard look at your own DRs and ask yourself: Am I being a hypocrite? If the answer’s yes, then maybe it’s time to step off your high horse, own your shit, and recognize that you’re not above anyone else. Either own it across the board, or get off the fucking ride and let everyone shift how they want to. Stop acting like one version of age-changing is somehow more acceptable than the other.

[way-of-love]

Oops - (ONESHOT) (Miguel O’Hara x FEMReader) (18+ ONLY) (R- RATED)(SPOILERS)

Well, guess Miguel must really like mouths and you just enjoy giving it to him!

WARNINGS: Forced Oral; bondage; hate x love; sadist; threat of using… ALL holes; biting; smut; spit; bubbly spit; juices (: ; GWAK GWAK 3000

This couldn’t go on for much longer could it? He had to get tired at some point right? No man should have such strength or even stamina to keep this up for so long. Yet you always forget he’s not like any man. You lost track of time in this room, wherever this room was.

Tired and overly-sensitive, you bit your lip hard stoping the whimper coming out when you felt the tip of a talon pressing against the very tip of your overly rubbed clit. Your legs quivered and your body jerked from the contact. Torture is what it was yet it felt euphoric.

You were bound to a chair with thick glowing red webs bitting into your sweaty flesh keeping your legs tied, spread and your arms bound behind the chair. It didn’t hurt but it was uncomfortable to stay like this for hours. You weren’t sure how much you could withstand before eventually passing out.

“Enough! Miguel please!” You finally groaned out desperately tossing your head back.

Miguel stood in the darkness of the room, a sole light illuminating you were you sat and he hid his face within the shadows where his bloody red eyes glowed. And those eyes took in your sorry state with a dark satisfaction. And that satisfaction of his left you vulnerable, naked and bare for his dark devices.

He made you into this mess of a woman because he realized this was the best way to shut you up.

Yelling, scolding, trying to go over his authority when he already gave you a direct order. Yet, you betray him with your…free will.

“Look at you, que porquería.” He speaks quietly, cold with mock sweetness.

Miguel may have been close enough to touch you but you still couldn’t see his face. Clearly he was angry no, furious.

“Miguel… I know you’re angry but you don’t have to go—“ Your eyes widen and a shriek left your bruised lips when you felt him pinch your poor rose bud between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it like a small little bead.

He growled in annoyance bracing a hand on the back of the flimsy chair you were tied to shaking it a bit as he leaned over your face. His brows here angled and furrowed, his eyes lacked that usual sarcastic dull shine. Now they were brimming with a fiery anger that seemed to light them up.

“You! Have pissed me off for the last fucking TIME Y/N.” He sneered down at you, seething in anger as he continued to roll your clit between your forced parted thighs. Your eyes squeezed shut as a breathy moan left you.

You’ve both been at this for hours, and he still hasn’t eased off of you. All because you befriended and defended that kid, Miles. Out of everyone who was there you called Miguel out on his hypocrisy. Putting all the blame from the collider incident on that poor teen all while calling him an anomaly. Yet, he never considered that the only anomaly was that Spot guy.

It turned into a whole argument, things being thrown at one another before he used his superhuman abilities against you forcing you into this room, stripped naked and tied. Of course you fought and bit but he was superior in strength. You were just human with a very big brain.

“I…I get it… but please,” You licked your lips,” Talk. Let’s talk please?” Your voice was hoarse, shaky and breathless.

You’ve begged him to stop countless of times before and each time he dismissed your pleas with the wave of your hand doing as he liked to punish you for your insubordination.

Yet, while you looked so pathetic naked and tied to the chair with with his webs bitting into your plush skin he realized he should have done this much, much sooner. Seeing you unable to move struggling to be freed from his webs stroked a fire within him.

Grabbing your cheeks with the hand he had behind your chair, he squeezes them until your lips are perked, and he looks down at them sneering,” Talk? I’m done talking to you.”

He then smirks and you see a small spark of emotion in his angry red eyes, a hint of lust. He gets closer and brushes his lips against your perked ones, “ Siempre estás hablando.(T:You’re always talking) You’re very lucky I don’t tear these lips of yours off with my teeth.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly at his threat feeling both excitement and arousal spiking slightly. If anyone else was on the receiving end of that threat they’d think he was being serious but you, God, you knew he was bluffing. Those fangs of his were solely for show.

He let your face go instantly making your head swing a bit to the side. Your cheeks hurt where he grabbed and squeezed you.

“Guess…a sorry is in order,” You mumbled with a hint of annoyance.

You look down glancing at your self. Sweaty quivering thighs forced apart and held apart by those glowing webs of his. And a pool of, no doubt, your juices he managed to get out of you dripping over the edge of the chair. This was embarrassing. Humiliating even. Only if you were caught you’d feel humiliated.

If Miles, Gwen or even Hobie saw how pathetic you looked in the hands of Miguel they’d no doubt take pity but you didn’t want that. You were enduring this for their sake.

Were you really? For their sake?

Even if it was for their sake… you still found yourself yearning for more of this…punishment he was bringing down on you.

“ ‘Sorry’ isn’t good enough Y/N. ‘Sorry’ is for when you step on someone’s foot.” He exclaimed coldly while he walked behind you. “This goes beyond sorry. Years beyond a simple apology.”

Raising your head you stared off into the darkness of the room of the room sensing his warmth behind you. His own cool scent of fresh mint, amrboxan amber and cedar wood. The intoxicating concoction of both his smell and sweat were driving you crazy stirring your insides like an aphrodisiac.

Your mind was going in the worst of directions the more you filled your lungs with that smell. All these ‘what if’s’ and scenarios of him and you with sweaty bodies meshed together in unison like a symphony.

Miguel always played you until you were at the peak of your performance. But you knew there could be more, there is more!

You sighed out a response,”Then I take it back, I’m not sorry.”

Defiance is considered open resistance or bold disobedience and it was something Miguel could never let slide. He hated when things didn’t go his way or when people never followed their written roles. And as of right now you weren’t following his regiment.

You could hear his deep sigh of disapproval, his breath falling over the top of your head. His bare hand sliding over your jaw cups your chin and forces your head back roughly. It makes you groan and wince from the force.

Miguel leans in lips brushing against your ear, “Tempting me is a dangerous game, you know that right?”

You roll your eyes as he let you go suddenly. Was he done? Was he satisfied with this punishment? Rolling your head a bit you felt his warmth disappear for a moment but he suddenly came back and your chair was tilted back making you squeal out in surprise.

The control freak tilted your chair back enough where your toes or the chairs front legs weren’t touching the ground. He tilted you back enough so you were crotch height and the top of your head had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting what he truly was hiding behind his blue suit.

“Oops,” He mumbled starring down at you with that unimpressed expression of his. You narrowed your eyes at him. Miguel felt no shame about what he planned on doing next or rather he wouldn’t be feeling bad about it. His thumb hooked around the frontal part of his suit waistband and began to tug it down. Now you began to resist some more when you realized just what he planned on doing.

“M-miguel… you can’t be serious—“ Sucking someone off was not new to you but sucking them off being held upside down like this would definitely be a first.

“Relax. I’m holding the chair,” And to confirm it for you he shook the chair where he held it making you jiggle a bit, “and besides, I think this is the best way to shut you up.”

You and Miguel have never had intercourse or even fooled around before these ‘punishments’ of his began. Was he really doing this to punish you or could he not hold in his own desire anymore? Whichever it was you watched him tug the rest of his suit down revealing himself.

It was long, thick and strong. God he was hard already as if he was waiting for this very moment; his balls heavy, swollen looking hung right above your forehead. You felt your wet cunt throb at the sight. Veins popped up on his pelvis just as thick veins decorated his cock, a very thick one was obviously noticeable on his underside and so was a thick one on his side.

While you gawked at his rod that shadowed over your face he smirked satisfied.

“You have such a big bold mouth. Let’s hope it’s big enough for this,” His voice came out thick and heavy with lust.

Looking up at him fully you licked your swollen lips, “ Then say please,” You looked back at his cock that hovered right above your face.

Miguel tilted his head as he reached for your face, the back of his gloved hand brushing against your cheek before he ran that thumb if his across your upside down swollen lips. By the looks of it, it was going to be a pretty tight fit.

“Say please,” He scoffs slowly sliding his thumb into your mouth. It slid around your bottom teeth feeling up each tooth, rubbing against your gums spreading and smearing your spit to your top teeth.

“Por favor? Déjame usar tu boca.”His voice came out in almost a whisper as he continued to play with your teeth and spit. (T: Please? Let me use your mouth.)

You had no idea what he was doing but hearing him say please in his mother tongue caused you to melt and nod your head without a second thought.

Slowly his thumb came and hooked itself onto your inner cheek pulling the corner of your mouth wider. He scooted forward and the very tip of his bare cock lightly pressing against your upper lip, it couldn’t enter properly because your mouth wasn’t completely wide open.

“Cmon, don’t play with me Y/N” He mumbled quietly in annoyance yet when you looked at him he looked nothing close to annoyed. The poor man looked restless, restrained even. His thumb finally slipped away and went back to caressing your bottom lip.

Oh, so he wanted this just as badly. You couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of him wanting you and you denying him. Unfortunately, tonight wasn’t the night to deny him flat out. Instead you giggled against his tip.

“Mmmm, what if I bit it?” You looked up at him with a teasing glint in your eye.

He closed his red eyes briefly as if taking a moment to register the many outcomes of you taking a bite out of his cock before opening them staring right at you with his cold glare, “I’ll keep fucking your throat until you choke on both my cock and blood. Then I’ll fuck your other two holes, actually,” The corner of his lip lifted slightly as he looked out toward the bottom half of your naked tied body.

Your smile fell when he glanced right back at you with a heated, toothy mean grin, “All three of your holes, I will fuck until you cry. And even then I won’t stop until I’m satisfied.”

You shouldn’t have believed him. Because it wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be possible… after all three holes? Your mouth which was about to be occupied; your pussy which would happily accept him; your ass which may need some getting used to but it was most than willing. Your third hole… was he referring to…that hole?

It should have disgusted you but for some reason, your body hummed at the thought of him exploiting every inch of you.

“You promise?” Breathless.

“Siempre.”

Your mouth opened and your tongue slid right out, he groaned out and made no hesitation to cradle the back of your neck while slipping his length right into the depths of your wet, hot mouth.

Salty.

Hot.

Hard.

Those were the words you’d describe the feeling of his cock finally sheathing itself into your mouth and his sack falling lightly over your forehead. If you weren’t still tied up you’d more than likely would grip the back of his thighs and force him more into your mouth. But he was in control.

Miguel gripped the chair tighter as he held it still and gingerly held the back of your neck at an angle to force more of his girth into your tight mouth. Right now your lips were already stretching and taking him in very well much to his surprise.

As soon as he felt that resistance he stopped pushing watching you carefully. You weren’t gagging, yet. That wasn’t a good sign. This was a punishment after all, it wouldn’t be fun if he was careful with you. Licking his lips he released a breath.

“You’re not gonna like what I’m about to do,” His thumb lightly ram over the base of your throat.

Your eyes opened and your brows furrowed in confusion. What did ge mean? Tied to a chair with his webs, tilted back and forced to give him a blow job wasn’t all he planned on doing?

Before you could mumble or indicate to him you wanted to speak he let go of the chair only to quickly use that hand to join the other in cupping the back of your neck. The chair tilted further back and you instinctively squeezed your eyes shut, and your mouth tightened a bit around his cock. You thought you were going to fall to the ground and hurt your arms that were tied behind the chair but much to your surprise you did.

Opening your eyes against you peeked or tried to, to see Miguel but instead of seeing his concentrating face you saw his head tilted back and his chest rising and falling a bit quickly.

Miguel groaned out while letting the sweet sensation of your throat suddenly close around what little was in there around him. And your teeth, you bit lightly into him but it felt so… good. Tilting his head back down at you, you saw just how aroused he was.

This man wasn’t even half way down your throat and he already was ready to burst, “You’re… bitting. Bueno. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,”

Oh, you felt a shiver run through you. His voice was dark, breathless and filled with arousal. You’d never heard nor seen him like this in the past.

Suddenly his thumbs cradled the sides of your delicate neck, they only gentleness he’ll show you. His stance changed with legs spread further apart and the distance between your head and his groin grew a bit. You fisted your hands and shut your eyes bracing for impact.

When it came you squealed around him, well tried to. It sounded like you were drowning. His hips came in and out like a piston, forcing the entirety of his long cock down to the back of your throat. You tried to move your head but with his hands holding your neck your movements were limited.

Your body squirmed and jerked as he used your mouth with no concern for your safety. Balls slapping against your nose with each thrust of his hips.

It was maddening. He was going wild.

Furthermore, he was enjoying himself. His expression you could not see but you could hear his groans and hisses through the squelching, ball slapping. It sounded like music to your ears. He was in pleasure after all these years torturing you he was also torturing himself which lead to him finally snapping at you.

All these years and he had to withhold all of these emotions, these trivial feelings that made him want to jump at you every time you opened your mouth and defied him. The first time it happened, he didn’t take pleasure in it. He tested the waters and each and every time you spoke out the ‘punishment’ was more sever each time.

Alas, today was the day of reckoning for him. As much as he gave you, he’ll take back. He’ll rid himself of this silly attraction, this obstacle and shut you up for good. That way you won’t mess with his emotions, his plans, his life.

Groaning he felt you gag around his cock finally. And it made him slow down just to hear you struggle to take him in. Yes, just like this he’ll shut you right up.

Miguel hissed lowly, “ That’s it,” He looked down at where his cock was connected to you seeing the bubbly saliva wrapping around his thick length and your mouth.

“Remember this Y/N. Every time you open your mouth to say anything against me, remember this feeling of you choking on my cock like a virgin,” He spat down you feeling elated.

And you, with bubbly spit falling down your cheeks felt a hunger you’ve never felt before. Your cunt weeped for touch, throbbed to squeeze something that could stretch it but instead all it received was the ghost of him.

You had his fingers knuckle deep driving you towards orgasm after orgasm, taunting you every time you came. He was wicked. Telling you this would only get worse each time she defied him. But for some reason your body moved on its own as if…as if it was calling to him.

With lack of air you tried to fight him, struggle to get at least an ounce of air but your struggle was futile. Eventually he gave you a break suddenly slowing down and coming to a complete stop.

He was breathing heavily above you as he remained still keeping himself balls deep inside your saliva coated mouth. Slowly, he pulled back dragging his sloppy cock out of your mouth.

Once he was out you took in a loud gasp of air coughing a bit as he took a hand back to grip the chair and kept it tilted.

“You…will never go…against my word again. Understand?” He was panting and his cock was visibly throbbing coated in your spit. Miguel was holding back and you weren’t sure why but you weren’t about to find out.

You opened your mouth wide and kept your tongue out as an open invitation for him to continue, to release all of his frustrations onto you or rather in you. His hold tightened on the chair and the back of your neck seeing you willingly wanting to pleasure him.

“Mierda.”(T: Fuck.)

———————————-

So I made an AI based off this fic so let me know what you think and please let me know if it’s buggy!

[demodraws0606]

My thoughts on the latest episode (aka HU IS THE CULPRIT I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL)

Warning : My sassy attitude is not directed towards anyone else, I'm simply amusing myself and also I've only gotten barely 5 hours of sleep god save me.

This is gonna be very long and messy so strap in folks

It's so obviously not Eden or Ace it's painful (idc 'i'll die for my hubris). Not even just because Eden lying and being the culprit after all of that would be both underwelming and just...miserable. But also because of how the way we're getting the reveal in advance that it could only be Ace and Eden. The fact the cast was already on Eden's throat as well just makes this point even more clear to me.

This isn't like fucking Korekiyo in chapter 3 of DRV3, this isn't how a culprit reveal happens. Especially not when there's so much we don't know yet.

So who is the culprit ?

...

It's Hu, it's literally Hu.... and like 1 pourcent chance it's Nico but I think both of them are accomplices here.

The thing is, I don't buy any of the shit Nico is saying, their admission of guilt is strangely quick and detached. They also seem to go along with anything people say about them (like them framing Hu) which makes it even more suspicious, they could've just said they used Hu's weapon out of conveniance ? The only thing this episode has proved me is that Nico is an Active accomplice rather than a Passive one like I thought. For what reason ? I honestly don't know fully yet but again we don't know a lot about Nico anyways.

Hu's behavior really makes me think she did it and is acting out, mostly out of guilt. She seems really stressed this trial which while makes sense for character reasons, it also makes sense if she's the culprit and feeling guilty. It would explain her defending Eden and Nico mainly I think despite her probably being the culprit she doesn't want the perception that Eden/Nico has to be broken (especially not bc of her). I've already explained how Hu being the culprit makes sense from a character perspective so I'm not gonna get more into it.

By the way any arguments in this post being like "it would be out of character for Nico or Hu to do that" should honestly review their own hypocrisy if they think Eden did it, or even Ace for that matter.

Another thing that makes me even more convinced that it can't be Ace or Eden is that...you can't fucking prove any of them did it with 100 pourcent certainty. David fucking threw the BDA rule out of the window, so we can't be sure Eden didn't do it but like what decisive evidence would make it clear between the two of them.

The only pieces of evidence we have left is :

-The sticky ball of clothes (most likely turpentine because the soil of the relexation room would cause the ball to have stains on it)

-The alibi for the relaxation room water

-The missing glove (which I think i've changed my opinion on what it could mean here)

Eden did know about the ball of clothes (but that piece of fucking evidence has strings attached so we'll get to that) and Ace doesn't have an alibi against taking the water like Eden does.

The missing glove is the only evidence left untouched here and honestly I actually don't think it had anything to do with the glove having someone's hair or anything, mainly because first of all the culprit could've technically just removed any hair on the glove even if it was sticky.

And also there's something else that makes more sense.

I think they probably had to use the glove to avoid rope burn while trying to set up the mechanism to kill Arei. Especially with how high the playground's ceilling is, it wouldn't be child's play. I'm not really good at deciphering what could've possibly happenened directly in the murder but I'd argue it's just more likely that the culprit would be put in a situation were rope burn could happen. This murder set up would require a lot of physical effort, and if the culprit even slipped for a second their hands would end up being damaged from rope burn making them obviously look guilty (also ouchie), which I think is what happened.

It would also explain the scuffs on the floor, maybe the culprit was struggling to hold onto the rope leading to them causing marks with their feet while trying to pull on the rope.

The reason why I think the glove is missing is probably because it's damaged and the culprit wanted to avoid the cast knowing they used Arei's glove during the murder. In fact it's the only piece of evidence that is completely missing

But why ?

Has anyone realised something about, I argue, the three other main suspects here ?

Nico, Eden, Ace ?

They all have gloves.

"But a huge portion of the cast has gloves this doesn't mean anything, it's just a stylistic choice !!" Yeah, the majority of the cast has gloves.

I think now you can understand why the culprit wouldn't want the cast to know that the glove was used. Because if the cast did see the glove that was probably damaged, they would assume the culprit wore it and it would narrow down the suspect list to an extremely narrow pool. This forces them to basically take the glove and hope to fucking god the cast doesn't catch on which they clearly haven't yet.

You know who doesn't fucking wear gloves.

HU JING

My girl got no gloves on !!!!

So yeah, with the glove being untouched evidence yet I think it will be the main decisive thing to point out who the culprit truly is, and I just don't think it's just gonna be like "oh let's just search everyone to see which one has the glove !". For all we know the culprit could've fucking eaten the glove, I don't think we're getting another Min in trying to search shit on people's person.

Anyways I'm gonna transition to other stuff to explain how the Nico and Hu theory makes sense from a logical standpoint here.

Let's get on to the sticky ball of clothes.

First I want to get it out there that I do not think the ball being sticky is due to the soil of the relaxation room. Mono-TV's talk about the "special formula" was mostly to foreshadow the floor of the playground's properties, also the fucking ball would have stains on it.

For me this means the ball of clothes has to have been covered in turpentine especially now that we have confirmation from Ace directly.

This is extremely huge and I'm flabbergasted has no one has mentioned this. Pray tell where the fuck did that piece of cloth go, did it get isekai'd into another world ?

This question actually has multiple meaning here because that fucking ball of clothing actually has massive implications. It confirms a lot of things and also puts a lot of doubt in things that seemed to be confirmed.

Before that I also want to say that Arei 100 pourcent got knocked out with turpentine. I don't want to argue over and over again that it was used because I've done this before but I have to since there are multiple reasons why she had to have been knocked out.

The floor is extremely prone to scuffs, if Arei was struggling then we definitely would've seen more than just a few marks in one area.

The method of murder would have been extremely difficult if she was struggling, like to a ridiculous point. Especially with someone like Arei who has been shown to have been sneaky and very prone to attacking people in their weak spots.

The tape binding Arei's hand in hindsight actually probably wasn't to avoid her struggling, it was most likely due to how the mechanism of the murder work. Keep in mind how the murder had to have worked and imagine if Arei's hands were just loose and flopping around. There could have been possible injuries with her arms that would ruin the culprit's obvious plan to make it look like a suicide. It also just makes sense for weight reasons, again Arei having her arms flopping around would make moving her body even more difficult.

And even if you want disagree with all of that, the culprit could've just binded her tape to avoid the same mistake that happened with Ace with him waking up from the turpentine.

Now that I've made my case about Arei being knocked out, let's get on the actual new arguments I want to make.

First, we know for a fact that a piece of cloth was used to knock out Ace meaning it has to have gone somewhere, if you say "well they could've just thrown it away" I will personally come into your home and shit in your shoes. And you're also wrong because I've already proven that Arei had to have been knocked out.

This means the only piece of cloth available to us would be the sticky ball of clothes.

But...like let me just explain everything that's mind boggling about all of this.

-This ball of clothes had to have been made for Ace's murder to knock him out

-The only people who knew about the old clothes were Hu, Teruko and Whit. Eden only knowing later on, way after Ace's murder was planned probably, because Hu told her about it.

-The culprit used this ball of clothing against both Arei and Ace

-The cloth is suspiciously absent from the murder scene, which makes no sense considering Nico's account rely on them not having left the gym while trying to murder Ace. Them leaving to chuck the cloth aside only to come back to the gym doesn't make sense with the timeline in how we discover things.

Yep, I'm making the claim that Nico didn't actually kill Ace here, I still think it's Hu. Again you can try and complain all you want about how it's out of character for Nico but the reality is...shit is not adding up.

It's really suspicious how silent Hu becomes when her weapon is brought up, immediatly clamming up and not defending Nico anymore. When Teruko makes assumption that Nico lied to Hu to get her weapon, she doesn't reply with a betrayed "Nico is that true ?" or even a sentence she responds with "That's...". The amout of ellpises both Nico and Hu give are extremely suspicious and just make me side eye both of them extremely hard.

I'm gonna go on another tangent here, on the subject of Hu being suspicious. Mainly because I do wanna point out a moment that both makes Eden seem a lot more innocent and makes Hu a lot more guilty.

The subject of Arei potentially committing suicide.

Now, it's very clear that the way Arei was hung was meant to make it look like Arei killed herself, this was very much meant to be the culprit's intention. Both to hide the true murder mechanism and probably to mislead the cast. The fact that it's only an incidental red mark of Arei's wrist that proves she didn't kill herself, proves that the culprit intended for it to look like a suicide.

However guess who argues against this...Eden, which, if she is the culprit I don't see why she would do something like that (and if you say "well why is Hu defending Nico and Eden" I already explained it). Clearly the Eden!Culprit theory relies on her being capable of manipulation so there's no reason why she would be so caught up in her own feelings to just ruin her own plan like that.

You know who seems to really be into the idea of Arei killing herself though, Hu.

That's all I have to say on that, now let's get onto how I think Nico actually helped Hu.

I do think there's still a 50/50 on them working directly together or just Nico catching onto Hu's plans and deciding on their own to help her.

I do think Nico directly helped her though in two major ways

First, the water, it's the obvious one. Nico probably ended up giving the water the Hu here weither they did so with/without knowing Hu's intention doesn't really matter since they're deciding to keep quiet about it now.

I also want to quickly mention how Hu getting water from the relaxation room makes a lot of sense. Hu was busy with Eden in the kitchen and Teruko had taken all the drinks from the gym, so it's likely Hu was forced to take the water from the relaxation room.

Second, the note

Oooo baby let's get into my favorite realisation in watching this episode.

One piece of dialogue has made me realize something

This made me puzzled too, because yeah, who would be listening in and how did Arei not notice when she went into the room ?

Let me take you all back to Chapter 2 Episode 5

Rose and Teruko have a conversation about Rose's secret and that conversation lasts a good while, until...

Nico was actually shown to have been there the entire time, Teruko and Rose were talking without noticing they were there.

Nico then explains themselves like this, pretty much proving this is something they just like doing casually sometimes.

This actually would explain everything on how the eavesdropping happened, Nico was on the literal fucking floor of the infirmary leading to them listening to everyone's conversation. Which tmeans they could have had the information to write the note.

This would explain the inconcistencies as to why would the culprit know to eavesdrop and how they didn't get caught by Arei when she was barging into the room (if they were outside by the door).

Now this leads to two possibilities with Nico and their relation to Hu.

Either they worked together with Hu and they both came up with the murder together. Which means either of them could've written the note.

Or Nico helped Hu without her knowledge, making the note to help her (edit : just realised this doesn't make a lot of sense ignore this).

I believe this is all I have so far and I'm very tired so you won't get a conclusion

Oh wait I hear something in the background...

"WHAT ABOUT THE TAAAAAAAAPE"

First of all, y'all gaslit me into thinking Ace couldn't have taken the tape so I'm already sick of this tape bullshit being used as decisive unshakeable evidence.

You know what I think probably happened ? Ace took the tape, after all it disappeared when he woke up and it's possible that he just then threw it away in the trash.

I mean Ace did say he was gonna "commit a murder of his own", it would be in line with him taking the tape.

Why isn't he talking about it then ? Because he'd be seen as the fucking culprit and also Ace is not really the most honest bitch out need i mention Ace witholding info about David and Arei's conversation.

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Glutton for Punishment | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello, hello! I am back back back again. My life has been busy, y'all. School is kicking my ass. But this fic has been like 94% complete for like a month, and I finally got to finish it! yay!

wordcount: 8939

Warnings: angst, self harm, Bucky's trauma

Bucky collapsed onto the bed with a defeated huff. The mattress rippled under his weight and jostled the computer resting on your thighs. His chest rose and fell with another dejected sigh. His meetings with Fury never went well- but they weren’t always bad. Sometimes, things between them were cordial. Neutral. This was not one of those times. Bucky wanted to sink into the bed and never come out. He wanted to dissolve into the earth and disappear. The only thing anchoring him to reality was, as always, you. 

“Hey, how’d it go, babe?” The comforting lilt of your voice floated through the air. Maybe drenching your words in overt positivity was too much, but it seemed necessary. Maybe if you could coat your voice in optimism, it would fix whatever plagued Bucky. But you knew it was useless to hope. 

He didn’t answer. He just stared up at the ceiling, a blank expression on his face. Coming home to you after a bad day or a shitty meeting was always his saving grace; being near you brought him peace. But he hated bringing the shame home with him. 

“That bad, huh?” you ditched your laptop and laid next to him, propped up on one elbow. “What happened?”

Silence. He didn’t tear his eyes from the ceiling. Didn’t even blink. He just gazed upward- hopeless. 

In the quiet, your fingers traced up and down his arm. You pressed kisses to his shoulder. He always had a way of shutting you out before allowing you in. It wasn’t personal; it was just his process. He opted to suffer without your help until the pain ate away at him. And when there was almost nothing left, he tore down the walls and welcomed the onslaught of comfort. 

“He said it was my fault.” Bucky tried not to sound too pathetic. He knew you worried about him- a lot. Knew that his misery always hurt you. Seeing him in pain brought you nothing but heartache. But his efforts did nothing to hide the anguish in his voice. 

You didn’t want to make him repeat the whole ordeal, to relive whatever messed up shit Fury said to him- but you needed context. Your words were soft, your voice gentle. “He said what was your fault, baby?” Bucky didn’t deserve more blame, more guilt. Though none of what he did was his fault, a lifetime of remorse rested heavy on his shoulders after his Winter Soldier days. You wondered how much unjust blame he could carry before it crushed him. 

Bucky sighed, “All of it. Everything that went wrong on that last mission- the explosion, all those agents getting hurt-”

“What? You weren’t even the lead on that job- how is any of it your fault?” Heat rose in your chest. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Defending Bucky was your first instinct, your first priority. And while he accepted the shame with which Fury saddled him, you immediately turned to protection. To rage. 

Bucky shrugged, “he said I’m the most experienced, so I should’ve known better than to let the lead take our team into the lab.”

 “Wait- he said you should’ve argued with the mission lead?”

Bucky nodded. 

“But didn’t he reprimand you last month for that exact reason?”

Again, he nodded. 

“What the fuck?” Wrath sizzled beneath your skin. No one was allowed to treat Bucky this way- not even Fury. He contradicted himself and put his hypocrisy on full display, knowing Bucky hated himself too much to argue. 

“I can-” Bucky’s voice came out hollow. Empty. Guilt had him in a chokehold. “I can see where he’s coming from…”

“No, don’t do that.” It wasn’t a reprimand- but a reminder. You laced your fingers with his, “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

He refused to make eye contact. “I mean, I could’ve spoken up-”

“You weren’t even with them, were you? Didn’t Fury tell you to hit the warehouse on your own?”

He nodded.

“So how is any of it your fault, Buck?” Fury sent Bucky into a tailspin with almost no effort. He knew exactly which buttons to push, which wires to pull. Fury made him his puppet, his scapegoat. He made Bucky work harder than anyone else and never delivered the praise he deserved. Instead, he met Bucky’s efforts with tongue-lashings and bitter insults. With blame. 

“I don’t…” he shrugged. “I don’t know- but it feels like it’s on me. A lot of people got hurt and I am the most experienced. I should’ve said something-”

“But if you did, Fury would’ve called you into his office to tell you that you’re arrogant- like he did last time.” A deep breath filled your lungs and calmed your system; anger wouldn’t help Bucky. You needed to channel that energy into comforting him, easing his mind. 

You softened your tone, “You know you can’t win with him, Buck.”

“Maybe because I tried to kill him… twice.” Finally, he looked at you, “And I can handle being called arrogant- those agents got hurt, doll. That’s different.”

“I know it’s different. I’m just saying… you weren’t involved. You did what you were told- what Fury told you to do.” Your hand cupped his cheek, he leaned into your touch. “And if he wants to get mad at you for that, he’s a piece of shit. He knows he fucked up, and he’s pinning it on you.”

Bucky pulled you close. He curled in on himself with you at his center, his head resting against your chest. The logical part of his brain believed everything you said. It disregarded Fury’s false accusations and willed the blame to dissipate. But the rest of him took Fury’s every word as gospel. It rejected your assurances, categorizing them as obligatory kindness from a significant other. Shame feasted on his soul. He didn’t want to feel this way, but it came easily. By now, it was second nature. 

“Thanks, doll…” He lifted his head and brought his face to yours, “I appreciate you.” He meant it; no one ever supported him like this. But you always listened. You were always there for him, even when he was too ashamed to look you in the eye. You showed him patience and kindness and led him out of the dark more times than he could count. 

He dotted a few soft kisses to your lips, “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

“Wait-” Your hand caught his as he tried to get up, “I love you.”

A shy smile pulled at Bucky’s lips. He once again met your lips with his, needier this time. “And I love you.”

He stripped off his shirt and, immediately, your eyes landed on it. By now, you knew better than to stare. But sometimes, you couldn’t stop yourself.  

The first time it caught your eye, you couldn’t avert your gaze. You noticed it right away- how could you not? It drew your focus the first moment Bucky removed his shirt in front of you. You didn’t think anything could ever distract you from his perfect body- but you were wrong. 

A massive bruise splashed across Bucky’s skin. The cluster of broken blood vessels was dark at the center- nearly black. It exploded into by purples and blues that stained his right shoulder and eclipsed his chest. Sometimes, an angry, red haze leaked from the edges like a wine stain. Greens and yellows- signs of healing- colored the border every now and then. But no matter how many times you bore witness, they never seemed to overtake the tones of violet and navy. 

For whatever reason, this thing refused to heal.

On more occasions than you could count, you asked Bucky about this large indigo mark. And he always had an answer:

“Ran through a wall”

“Jumped out of a plane”

“That John Walker asshole hit me with Steve’s shield”

He did, indeed, have a dangerous job and a penchant for peril. For taking risks. But no one else on the team ever seemed to have a bruise like that. Even you received your fair share of stitches and broken ribs, but never anything as persistent as Bucky’s bruise. 

Wasn’t he a super soldier? Wasn’t he supposed to heal fast- really fast? His other injuries disappeared like they’d never happened; why did this bruise stick around? 

“I think you need to get that looked at,” you told him once, “it can’t be good that it never heals...”

Bucky shrugged it off with a smile. He kissed you on the forehead and thanked you for your concern. But he didn’t get it checked out. He downplayed the massive bruise eclipsing his body and moved on, just like he always did. 

“What are you lookin’ at?” Bucky quirked a brow at you, his shy smile making another appearance.

You shrugged, “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It’s not- it’s not that bad,” Bucky did his best to hide his bruise with his vibranium hand, but the colors extended far past what he could cover. “I’m used to it.”

Something had to be wrong with him, right? Something inside his body had to be out of order. The first time you saw it- the first time you saw him without his shirt- was six months ago. How long could a bruise last? And how long did he have it before he showed it to you? 

Why hadn’t the serum fixed it by now?

Bucky was well past his expiration date. He lived more years than the universe intended, and his body suffered enough trauma for a hundred lifetimes. He was strong, he was a survivor. But every time you stole a glance at the inky spot on his skin, anxiety blocked your airway. Part of you wondered if this mark signaled his end. There was a chance that his body already started breaking down, that all those years of abuse caught up with him. Maybe his bruise was a harbinger. Maybe his days were numbered. Maybe he was dying. 

Maybe you were about to lose him.

Those kinds of thoughts pushed bile into your throat. You shoved them into the darkest corners of your mind and did your best to lock them away, but they reappeared from time to time just to hurt you. Taunt you. Bring you to tears. And while Bucky made his way into the bathroom and turned on the hot water, you remained fixated on the inky spot. On his demise. 

Bucky did his best to let the shower cleanse his mind. He told himself he’d let it all go- all the guilt and the blame. He knew he didn’t deserve it. But his shame didn’t run down the drain. It didn’t wash away with the warm spray of the shower. No, he remained coated in it, dripping with it, no matter how hard he scrubbed. And though it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, he never welcomed its reemergence.

A sliver of levity wriggled into his chest as he emerged from the bathroom. He found you reading in bed, your brows knit together in that cute way he loved. But your focus shattered when he stepped into the bedroom. He watched you dogear your page and shut your book as he climbed into bed. 

“You don’t have to stop reading because of me, doll-” 

“I was only reading while I waited for you,” you extended a hand in his direction and tugged him closer. He didn’t need to know that you only opened your book to distract from your crippling anxiety about his condition. He didn’t need to know that you read the same paragraph over and over and over without retaining a word. “Now that you’re here, I don’t need any other form of entertainment.”

“Is that so?” He narrowed his eyes at you and gestured to the book resting on your chest, “I’m better than Dracula?”

“Way better. So, the guy drinks blood and sleeps in a coffin-” You shot him a wink and knocked your book to the floor, “big whoop.” A dramatic eye roll and a quick laugh accompanied your comments about Bram Stoker’s masterpiece. But a sudden seriousness banished your playful tone as you gave Bucky a once over. He didn’t look any better- not that he ever looked bad. But the hot shower did nothing to help him relax. All his muscles remained taught. His brow still furrowed. The tension in his jaw seemed to turn to concrete. He was hurting. 

“How you doin’, Buck?” A gentle hand smoothed over his shoulder and slid down his arm. “You okay?”

A manufactured smile spread across his face. His shoulders rose and fell in an all too casual shrug. “I’m fine- I’m good.” He couldn’t seem to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Another tug of his hand brought him closer. “You don’t seem fine…”

“No, really. I’m okay,” he brought your hand to his lips and pressed kisses to your palm. He was the farthest thing from okay; it was written all over his face. And though he did his best to put on a façade for you, you saw through the cracks. A heaviness lurked behind the grin he wore. A deep sadness darkened his gaze. You knew he probably spent the entirety of his shower replaying Fury’s words and berating himself within an inch of his life. 

An extra helping of guilt dropped upon Bucky’s shoulders as he studied you. One of your nails dug into the cuticle of another. Your smile remained tight and tense. He could practically see the anxiety surging through your nervous system. And it was all his fault. You were worried about him, upset about him. How could he do this to you when you brough him nothing but peace?

He found it in him to take a deep breath, to let his shoulders fall a fraction of an inch. “It’s just gonna take a little time for me to get out of the shitty headspace Fury put me in. I’ll be alright-” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, “I promise.”

Fucking Fury. He seemed to allow everyone else chance after chance; he granted grace to every other member of the team. Everyone but Bucky. “You wanna get some sleep, then?” you cupped Bucky’s cheek, “hopefully, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Bucky nodded. He reached over and flipped off his bedside lamp before giving his pillow a few adjustments. He got settled under the covers and waited for you to do the same- but you didn’t. You laid there, watching him. 

“You gonna turn your lamp off, doll?”

“Not until you’re all situated.”

Bucky looked down at his perfectly arranged covers and then back at you, “I’m um, I think I’m settled, baby.”

You quirked a brow at him, “Are you though? Come on-” you found his hand under the covers and pulled him closer. “Assume the position, Barnes.”

He let out a labored, tired laugh. “Baby, thank you, but I can’t. My hair’s still wet, you’re gonna be cold-”

“I don’t care- you had a rough day.”  You could practically see the war raging within Bucky’s psyche. He was dying to crawl into your embrace a disappear into your warmth. But he couldn’t- not tonight. 

“It’s okay, doll. You don’t have to, it’s-” 

“Come onnn, Buck. You knowwww you waaaant toooooo.” You gave your chest a few light pats, beckoning him to you. “I know it always makes you feel better.”

Of course, he wanted to. Something about resting his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, and feeling your hands in his hair eased his soul. Even on his darkest, most soul-crushing days, he found solace with you. But guilt still gnawed at him; Fury’s rant played on a constant loop inside his head. And after what he’d supposedly done, he didn’t feel as though he deserved your love. 

“Baby, I know you feel bad; And I know you’re trying to deprive yourself. But guilty or not- which you are not-” you gave his hand a squeeze, “you deserve comfort.”

A touch of heartbreak colored your voice. You were desperate to help Bucky, nearly begging him to grant himself some grace. Some care. In his attempts to hurt himself by staying far from your embrace, he’d hurt you instead. He’d made you sad, filled you with worry. He wondered if he’d ever be able to do anything right. 

In an instant, he did as you asked; he’d do anything to make you feel better. His head rested against your chest, his wet hair dampening your shirt. It sent a rush of goosebumps over your skin- but you didn’t care. A deep sigh left Bucky’s chest as he melted against you. He often swore his body was made to fit yours, that he only existed to touch and be touched by you. 

“See? Isn’t that better?”

“Mhmm…” he sighed, “much.”

You ran a hand through his wet hair, “Good. Now, let’s get some sleep. Okay?” You flicked off your lamp and wrapped your arms around Bucky, willing every ounce of your love into his body. He’d feel better in the morning- you knew he would. He just needed time and rest and a little love. And you gave him more than he ever dreamed of. 

But around two in the morning, a strange sound vibrated on the edges of your consciousness. The dense ‘thud’repeated endlessly, like an eternal metronome. It resounded inside your head, mixing itself in with your dream until it finally woke you. 

With your face still smushed into your pillow, you muttered Bucky’s name. The sound stopped- maybe you imagined it. Maybe it really was just part of your dream. Silence settled over your room once again and lulled you back to sleep. 

But only a few minutes later, that sound woke you once again.

Your words came out sloppy, heavy with sleep. “Whass tha noise?” 

No answer. 

“Baby,” you said, more alert this time, “You hear that?”

Bucky didn’t respond. 

With a groan, you forced your eyes open. There was no sign of disturbance or struggle; nothing out of the ordinary caught your eye. Everything was in its place- except Bucky. And when you pressed your palm against his side of the bed, the sheets lacked any remnants of his warmth. 

This wasn’t like him- not anymore, anyway. Back when you first got together, Bucky left the room when he woke from a night terror. He’d slip out of bed and escape to the living room, forcing himself to withstand his panic attack all alone. But one night, you found him on the living room floor- desperate for breath. He clutched the corner of the rug and gritted his teeth, willing the anxiety to receded. 

He flinched when you touched him; he didn’t hear you approach over the pounding in his ears. But the second he saw you, he reached for you. His sickly white knuckles regained their color as he released his fists and collapsed against you. He dropped his head into your lap, falling forward with the weight of his trauma. And he allowed your voice to soothe his racing mind. He let you guide him out of the agony. 

Of course, he apologized for waking you. For inconveniencing you. Of course, you wouldn’t hear it. And when the panic finally subsided, he let you walk him back to bed. He buried his face in your chest and thanked you a million times over. After that night, you made him promise to wake you when these things happened- no matter what time it was. You made him promise not to suffer in silence. And he agreed. 

You didn’t know he had his fingers crossed. 

“Buck?” the anxious pounding of your heart boomed in your chest. “Baby?” You kicked the blankets from your body and abandoned your bed. Slivers of light made their way through the blinds and splashed across the floor, allowing you to search through the darkness. He wasn’t sitting on the floor or in the armchair near the window. Nor did you find him in the en suite bathroom.  

“Bucky?” The hall was empty and the office void of Bucky’s presence. And while you searched for him, the sound refused to cease. It echoed through seemingly every fiber of the apartment. It haunted every space. Unfounded worries threw themselves at you, fighting to topple you to the ground. What if Bucky was hurt? What if he was gone? 

No- he was fine. Of course, he was. Right? He had to be. The home you shared was safe. Nothing here could hurt or harm him in any way. 

Well, maybe not nothing.

The thudding of your heart grew loud in your ears, nearly eclipsing the mystery sound all together. Part of you even doubted the existence of the noise- maybe it was just your anxiety getting to you. Maybe Bucky was in the kitchen grabbing a late-night snack, perfectly safe and happy. 

But when you rounded the corner into the living room, all doubt fell away. Shards of your heart did the same as you stood in shock, watching the source of the sound reveal itself. 

Bucky sat on the floor near the window, his back resting against the couch. 

His metal fist hammered against his right shoulder again and again, beating the flesh a sickly blue. 

The utter shock stole your breath, forcing it violently from your lungs. A burning erupted from your chest and spread through your every cell like wildfire. The floor seemed to tilt and ripple as a wave of dizziness sent you nearly collapsing into the closest wall. And through all of it, the sound persisted. The sickly thud of metal striking skin, striking bone.

But there was no time for your shock or sadness or heartbreak. Bucky needed you.

“Buck? Hey-” In only a few strides, you made your way to his side. But he didn’t look at you. He didn’t meet your eyes when you sat down in front of him, nor did he stop his assault. “Bucky, baby, can you look at me?” 

He didn’t. He simply forced his hand against his chest over and over, no matter the pain. 

“Bucky,” you didn’t recognize your own voice. It came out more strained, more desperate than you’d ever heard it. The sight of Bucky doing this to himself almost made you sick, the sound covered you in goosebumps. A flood of saliva rushed into your mouth, warning you of the impending threat of vomit- but you forced it down.

Every time you asked about it, every time you wondered what caused that bruise- you never imagined it was self-inflicted. 

“I need you to stop, okay?” Your words came out frantic, “Can you- can you just look at me for a second?”

His hollow gaze remained fixed on the floor. Anguish twisted his features, pulling his face into a pained mask. But his eyes held no life. 

“Please-” your palm landed on his bruised shoulder mere seconds before the next strike. The force of his vibranium fist was sure to shatter your hand, but you didn’t care. You’d do anything to stop him from hurting himself. Anything to ease his pain. And if you couldn’t make him stop, maybe you could soften the blow. 

But just as his fist once again neared his shoulder, he stopped. “Move,” his voice was low, almost timid.

“No.”

“Doll,” his eyes remained downcast, “I need you to move your hand.”

You refused. “I’m not gonna move, Buck. I’m not gonna let you hurt yourself.”

Finally, he dragged his shame-filled gaze upward. His despondent look sliced through you, cutting right to the bone. This was worse than the vacant stare he wore moments ago; this was utter misery. “Please…” his voice caught in his throat, barely pushing its way past the tension. “Move.”

But your hand remained; you’d keep it there until the end of time if you had to. 

Warm, salty tears breached your lips as you spoke, and only then did you realize you were crying. “Buck, why are you doing this?”

“Because I know you won’t.” He clenched and unclenched his metal fist in a never-ending cycle, itching to resume his efforts. “None of you will. Not Sam. Not Hill. Not ever Fury. So, I have to.”

“Of course, we won’t. Why- Why would we?” It was an unfathomable thought. 

“I need- I deserve to be punished. I deserve to face consequences for my actions.” The words fell from his lips in what resembled a recitation, like he had a script to follow. Like he’d said this before. “There are always consequences…” Again, he pulled his hand into a fist; the vibranium whined under his strength. “There have to be consequences.”

“There were consequences- your meeting with Fury? That was the consequence.”

He shook his head, “It’s not enough- people got hurt.”

“It’s more than enough…” With your free hand, you reached for Bucky’s cold fist. He resisted at first, almost scared to be without his method of punishment. But he never could resist your touch. One at a time, you uncurled his fingers from his tight fist. You pressed his cold palm against your chest and held it there, allowing the beat of your heart to vibrate through the metal. “Especially because you didn’t do anything wrong. People got hurt- but it’s not your fault.”

Bucky ached to maim himself. He needed to feel pain. Needed to get what he thought he deserved. But he couldn’t bring himself to tear his hand from your chest. And though you blocked his bruise and made punishment impossible, he liked the way your palm felt against his black and blue skin. It was the one part of him you always shied away from for fear of hurting the already tender flesh. But your touch soothed the deep ache.

“Baby, how…” you swallowed the lump forming in your throat, “how often do you do this?” You weren’t sure you wanted the answer; just the thought of Bucky doing this to himself day in and day out filled your chest with storm clouds. But you needed to know.

His words held a deep shame, “Whenever I deserve it.”

“Buck, you’ve had that bruise for at least six months...”

He shrugged, “I deserve it a lot.”

Everything inside you burst into flames. You wanted to tear Hydra apart, to destroy them for what they did to Bucky. They altered his sense of self so violently, so irreparably, that they changed who he saw in the mirror. He viewed himself only as a vehicle for destruction, a receptacle for other peoples’ wrongs. They drilled into him an acceptance of abuse, of pain, of torture. And now, he didn’t know how to operate without it. 

“No, you don’t- you don’t deserve this.” A small quiver forced its way into your voice, “even if this whole thing was your fault- which it wasn’t- you wouldn’t deserve to be hurt.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Sometimes, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend the sentiment that he didn’t deserve pain and suffering; that he wasn’t always to blame. It was almost like you spoke different languages. Shuri may have eliminated the Winter Soldier programming and rendered his trigger words useless, but she couldn’t remove his shame. His guilt. His instinct to assume blame.  

“I can’t do anything right-” His right hand gripped the edge of the rug. He needed some way to release his tension, his anxiety. The fabric bunched inside his fist and twisted with his every move. 

“It seems like no matter what I do- or don’t do- someone ends up hurt. That says something about me, doesn’t it?” 

“No. It doesn’t.” You slowly removed your hand from his metal wrist and found his right fist. He eased the tension in his grip with your help and released the corner of the rug. It fell crumpled against the hardwood, struggling to regain its shape. “Buck, you always say that you blame yourself because you think you’re a bad person. But I actually think you blame yourself because you’re a good person.”

He gave a small shake of his head. 

“You’re willing to shoulder whatever guilt or blame other people put on you- regardless of whether you deserve it- because you’re not selfish.” He was, in fact, the least selfish person in the world. He’d set himself on fire to keep you warm. Would move heaven and earth to make you smile. He was loyal, devoted. He cared about you, about his friends, without ever putting himself first. 

“And you haven’t buried yourself in ego or pride like some of the other guys we work with.” 

Bucky let out a soft laugh. 

No, he didn’t bury himself in ego; he had no ego. His self-image wasn’t inflated or overexaggerated. He just wanted to do his best. To help. To offset with light some of the darkness he caused. 

“And maybe it’s your way of seeking redemption- not that you need to be redeemed,” you gave his hand a squeeze. “But maybe part of you feels like if you accept enough responsibility, it’ll make up for the things you were forced to do as the Winter Soldier.” 

He let out a sigh from somewhere deep within him, somewhere he didn’t know he had. It seemed to him like he’d been holding on to this truth, this breath, since the day he escaped. And here, in the darkness, he released it. “I just… I don’t want to be the bad guy anymore.”

“That’s the thing Buck,” you gently stroked a few fingertips across his massive bruise, “You never were.”

His forehead fell against yours. The two of you sat there, motionless, for what felt like forever. Cars moved on the streets below. Thunder rolled through the sky. Rain drops tapped against the large windows. But neither of you noticed. 

“If I move this hand-” you tapped your once again fingers against his bruised shoulder, “are you gonna do it again?”

He shook his head. 

With great hesitancy, you removed your palm from the evidence of his self-inflicted punishment. It looked worse in the eerie 2am lighting, like a black hole formed on his skin; you feared it might envelope him completely if you let it. Your lips replaced your hand, leaving the softest of kisses across his skin. Bucky let loose a small sound- something like a whimper- as you traced the bruise with your mouth. He let a few tears slip down his cheeks. 

“Thank you…”

You took a moment to drink him in. He was stronger than humanly possible. Hugely muscular. Nearly indestructible. But in the middle of the night on the floor of your living room, he looked so small. So fragile. His shoulders caved forward, and his read remained bowed. His voice wavered. His right hand shook ever so slightly. He was a man haunted, possessed by his past. Fearing the future. He was hurt. Broken. Lost in others’ perceptions of himself. He lay trapped under his need for validation from those around him. He sought approval from people who never dreamed of granting it. 

You wondered if he’d ever be free from his ghosts, or if they’d follow him until he became one himself. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” you pressed a kiss to his forehead. “All I ever want is to be there for you when you need me.” The tremor in your voice matched Bucky’s. Pure hurt rendered the air around you thick and heavy. You ached for Bucky, and he, in return, ached to be anyone but himself. 

“What do you wanna do? We can go back to bed. Or if you don’t feel like sleeping, we can hang out in here and watch some tv.” You ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, “Up to you.” 

Bucky’s mind still raced. His brain sat stewing in a deep pit of sorrow and anguish. But he was tired- exhausted. And while his mind wanted to stay up for a while, he let his body decide. His chest and shoulder screamed with pain. His skin stung. Each breath forced a sharp agony into his consciousness; he knew he must’ve cracked a rib. “Let’s-” he grimaced as an inhale filled his lungs, “let’s go back to bed.”

As gently as you could, you helped Bucky from the floor. He smiled when your hand found his as you led him in the direction of the bedroom. The two of you shuffled down the dark hall in silence with no clue what to say. Bucky wanted to apologize; you wanted to drown him in promises of your love. 

Bucky stopped short when you paused, almost running into you. You turned to him suddenly, eying his bruise in the dim light. “You go ahead, okay? I’m gonna grab you an ice pack.”

“Doll, thank you, but I’m fine-”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “does it hurt?”

He shrugged; the motion made him wince. “I mean, yeah. But it’s-”

“Exactly.” You pushed up on your tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek, “I’m gonna get you an ice pack. You get your ass to bed- I’ll be there in a second.”

Bucky whispered a ‘thank you’ and headed in the direction of the bedroom, leaving you alone. But just as he turned the corner down the hall, guilt wrapped around his ankles like a ball and chain. He was stuck; his need to apologize rendering him frozen. He watched you turn in the direction of the kitchen and wondered what he did to deserve you. “Hey, doll…” he called after you. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I promise.”

“But I-”

 “You’re doing your best. You’re coping in the only way you know how. That’s not something to be sorry for.”

Bucky shrugged, winced, and disappeared into the bedroom, eager to escape your line of sight. Everything you did, you did for him. And though that knowledge should’ve eased Bucky’s soul, it only added to his guilt. He marked yet another tally to the long, long list of ways in which he didn’t deserve you. 

The walk to the kitchen wasn’t long- but it provided a sliver of extra time for you to cope in private. If Bucky knew just how much this upset you, how heartbroken you were, he’d never forgive himself. He, instead, would add that knowledge to his ever-growing mountain of shame. He’d adopt a new method of self-punishment, something more subtle, easier to hide. And he’d never express his guilt or shame to you ever again, all to save your feelings. You couldn’t do that to him; he deserved an outlet, a sounding board, a space to vent. You’d never dream of robbing him of that. 

“Alright, here we go,” you pushed open the bedroom door. “I got you one of the big ones, cause that thing is massive, and-” If you didn’t look up at the right moment, you would’ve crashed right into Bucky. 

He stood near the foot of the bed, just inside the door, almost vibrating with anxiety. It rolled through him in waves and placed tremors in his hands. He didn’t stand a fighting chance. 

His massive frame looming in the darkness almost blocked your path completely- and scared the hell out of you. “Shit-” You tripped over your own feet and stumbled backward, but Bucky wouldn’t let you fall.

He caught you in the nick of time, snatching you from the air and righting you on your feet. “Oh, hey- I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Without a word, you pressed the towel-wrapped ice pack to his skin. Though he detested the cold, the sensation awarded him much needed relief. A deep sigh left his chest as his pain receptors deadened and the constant, months-long throbbing subsided. This was the first thing to put his pain on pause in- he couldn’t remember how long.

You searched his face for any indicators of discomfort, “How does that feel?”

All he could do was nod. The two of you stood there a while as Bucky drank in the relief. The muscles in his shoulders released their tension, his breaths came a bit easier. But something dark lurked beneath his quiet surface. 

“Such a gentleman, waiting for me to come back before getting in bed,” you threw him a wink.  

Bucky’s attempted laugh came out broken, disjointed. To his credit, he tried to laugh for real. He wanted to put this whole night behind him and slide into bed with you. Under the covers, surrounded by your body heat, nothing could hurt him. The skeletons of his past couldn’t claw out of the ground and wreak havoc on his psyche. But a nagging dread yanked at his heart. 

He couldn’t pretend things were resolved. He couldn’t forget his troubles and intertwine his body with yours like the knit of a well-loved sweater. The crushing weight of Fury’s blame sat atop his shoulders, growing heavier by the second. But he couldn’t find it in him to tell you, to ask you for help. 

“Come on, let’s go back to sleep. Okay?” You tucked the ice pack into Bucky’s hand and started toward your side of the bed, “I know you’ve gotta be exhausted.”

But Bucky didn’t follow. He didn’t join you, didn’t even nod. He stood there, stuck, his feet anchored to the floor. The cold pack ate through his nerve endings until his hand went numb. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fill his lungs. They felt shallower, somehow- like they lost all capacity. 

His deadened fingers fell open, allowing the ice pack to fall against the floor. The sound pulled your focus, halting your efforts to right the sheets and blankets. 

“Buck?”

He didn’t answer. 

“Hey…” Quick steps brought you face to face with his empty stare. “Is everything-”

His knees met the hardwood as the weight of his anxiety forced him into submission. He fell against the cold floor with a sickening thud, his body shaking with the force. His head bowed; his spine curved forward. Ragged inhales forced their way into his ever-constricting lungs.

“Please-” he begged through choppy breaths, “if you won’t let me do it myself, I need- I need you to.”

“Buck, I’m-”

“I need you to hurt me.”

His words gutted you. 

“Baby, no.”

He begged over and over for punishment. For pain. 

Bucky fell against you the moment you joined him on the floor. His head lay buried in your neck, his sharp breaths fanning your skin. He begged through the tears, through the torment, for pain. And you refused. Instead, you gave him the lightest, softest affections you could manage. 

Under different circumstances, your gentle touch would’ve saved him. It would’ve brought him comfort in his moment of distress, grounded him during a bout of panic. But he didn’t want kind hands. For the first time, your soft touches prolonged the agony. The light circles you rubbed against his back filled him with impending doom. With misery. He wanted torture. Agony. 

And even if he were dying, he’d willingly sacrifice his last breath to ask for punishment. 

As carefully as you could, you helped Bucky lay down on the floor. How his body continued to run remained a mystery to you. He was drained, physically and emotionally. He was hurt. Panic ravaged his nervous system and pumped him full of cortisol. He was running on empty. 

“Let’s try to relax a bit, okay? Let’s try to breathe-”

He shook his head against the rug, “No, I need- I need it. I need you to- can you…” His words came out weak- but desperate.

Your hands raked through his hair and massaged his knotted muscles. Over and over again, you swore your love to him. You showered him in assurances and words of kindness. And though he was grateful when sleep won him over, it didn’t stop his efforts. Even as he finally dozed off, he begged. 

“P- please…” he sighed, his eyelids fluttering. “Need you… need you to.” His hand twitched, his brow furrowed. “Hurt- hurt me.” Hearing it didn’t get any easier. 

For what must’ve been the millionth time, you refused. 

And while Bucky slept in your arms, you remained wired. Every cell in your body swam in a cocktail adrenaline and cortisol. You wondered if you’d ever sleep again.  Just when you thought Bucky’s story couldn’t get any darker, it seemed to do just that. His life was all shadows and wormholes wrapped in an inky abyss. No stars, no moon. Just shapeless, unsettling, endless night. 

He deserved better. 

The sun rose as you fell asleep. Your mind shut off; your body gave out. Thinking yourself in circles while Bucky slept in the safety of your arms depleted your every ounce of energy. Worrying this much didn’t seem healthy; you didn’t think it was even possible to feel such deep concern. You never knew how taxing crying could be. But Bucky was worth it- hands down. 

No part of you wanted to fall asleep; Bucky couldn’t be left unsupervised. But a biological need for rest demanded you get some shut eye. And while you slept off the gut-wrenching night you’d spent with Bucky, anxiety seeped into your dreams. Images of Bucky maiming himself flashed behind your eyes. You saw him bloodying his body, abusing himself. His bruise haunted you. 

Waking in bed threw you for a loop. Only a few hours ago, you’d dozed off on the throw rug covering your bedroom floor. But when you opened your eyes, you found yourself snuggled under the duvet with Bucky’s body under yours. His arms held you tight, your face nuzzled into his neck. This was how things were supposed to be. 

It was then you realized- your head lay against his bruise. Even in your sleep, you did your best to protect him from himself. He wouldn’t dare strike his shoulder and risk hurting you. But the weight of your skull had to hurt him, didn’t it? He was sore, miserably so. Just the pressure of your palm resting against his bruise the night before made him wince- surely, your head was too much. With the utmost caution, you pulled your head from his chest.

“It’s okay- doesn’t hurt,” his voice was weak, full of exhaustion. You didn’t know he was awake. 

“Oh. Okay, good. I, um,” you looked around for a few seconds. “I don’t remember getting in bed.”

“We didn’t- well, you didn’t.” He couldn’t believe that after everything he put you through the previous night- all the pain, the heartache, the worry- he let you fall asleep on the floor. It was selfish of him, inconsiderate. He should’ve insisted that you get in bed. He should’ve done what you asked and crawled under the covers with you. He failed you- again. “I didn’t want you to sleep on the floor…” 

Your lips met his skin in a chain of soft kisses, “You know I don’t mind.”

“But I do,” he returned every kiss you granted him.

He woke nearly half an hour after you finally dozed off and found you curled up against him. Your head rested against the cold hard wood; the itchy rug left marks against your skin. A small shiver rattled up your spine and pushed you closer to Bucky’s warm embrace; it was too cold for you to sleep without a blanket. His body begged him to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t- not yet. He lifted you from the floor, his shoulder aching with the effort, and tucked you into bed with all the care in the world. Only then could he fall asleep once again. 

“I’m sorry about- about all of it,” he said. “Last night was-”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you pulled your face from his chest, “I just wanna know what that was about.”

Bucky hoped that acting innocent would save him. “What?” Maybe if he pretended like he didn’t know what you were talking about, you’d move on. Maybe you’d tell him to forget it and save him the explanation. You didn’t.

“When you asked me to…” you gave a small shake of your head, “to hurt you.” The pain in your voice sliced through Bucky. He wondered if words could make him bleed. 

“Oh. Yeah. That was… I was out of line,” his jaw tensed. “That wasn’t okay. I know I made you uncomfortable- I’m sorry. I never wanna upset you. I was being stupid. And selfish. It wasn’t fair of me-”

The shame practically dripped from Bucky’s lips. You could almost see in running down his chin, staining his skin. He expressed his remorse for things that weren’t his fault, for things he couldn’t control. He told you how sorry he was for his trauma responses and the anxiety that held him hostage. Maybe one day, he’d believe you when you told him he didn’t have to apologize. Today was not that day. 

“I’m just worried about you, Buck. And I wanna help in any way I can-” you took a deep breath, “I just can’t help in that way.”

“I know.”

“Can you maybe tell me- can you help me understand?”

He remained silent for a long while. If he stayed quiet long enough, he could avoid any further distress on your part. With his silence, he could provide solace. But no. You had a penchant for knowing what made Bucky tick, no matter the pain it caused you. 

Your unflinching stare drilled through him until he couldn’t take it any longer. “I needed you to hurt me because that’s what I’m used to. I’m used to punishment,” he finally said. “Because when I fucked up at Hydra, there were consequences. They’d beat me within an inch of my life to get the message across.”

Of course, this was a sad truth you already knew. But hearing it aloud- from his lips- gutted you. The image of a cowering, broken Bucky sent bile rushing up your throat. You could see him lying in a cell somewhere, his blood staining the concrete as Rumlow tore him apart. And of course, he’d never fight back- he couldn’t. Not unless ordered to. 

“And now, that’s what I’m accustomed to,” he rested a hand against his bruise, almost on instinct. “I don’t know how to operate without it. I thought I’d be happy to never experience it again but… I feel like I need it.”

Showing Bucky kindness and understanding sat atop your priority list- but you couldn’t grasp his perspective. It didn’t make sense. He lived a life so foreign to you, so utterly other, that the things he said often left you confused. While the two of you had many similarities and things in common, some experiences would simply never be relatable. Some stories could never be shared. 

And similar to how Bucky couldn’t understand your flagrant disregard for locking the front door, you couldn’t fathom why he’d beat himself blue.  

“Why, Buck?” It wasn’t that you wanted to know. No, the truth could only serve to hurt you. But you needed to understand. You needed to untangle every knot within Bucky’s psyche and help mend his frayed edges. In order to help him, you had to first grasp his perspective. “Why do you ‘need’ it?”

“Because I know I deserve it.” The words came out course, almost aggressive. Bucky shot you a sheepish look, his method of a wordless apology. The next time he spoke, his voice was softer, his tone more even. “I’ve been conditioned to expect it. And waiting for that pain is- it’s torture. It’s almost worse than the punishment itself.” 

He thought back on all the beatings he received as result of fucking up missions. On one occasion, they broke all twelve of his ribs in one sitting. Another time, they turned almost his entire body blue with bruises. But the times they made him wait it out were far worse than any bloodshed. He jumped at every sound, lost the ability to think. To sleep. To breathe. Every moment fell prey to the anticipation of agony. Bucky shuddered. 

“I keep expecting pain. I feel like I have to look over my shoulder.” The urge to tear himself apart scratched at the inside of Bucky’s skull. If he could just deliver his punishment- if he could just get what he knew was coming- he’d be okay. By destroying his body, he could soothe his mind. But with you so close, staring at him with your blood shot, heartbroken eyes, he was stuck. “It’s like this sense of impending doom that doesn’t end unless I get what I know is coming.”

Things fell quiet as you thought over his words. Anxiety was an old friend you knew well. It accompanied you through everything, never leaving your side for more than a few days. But what Bucky described- that was the stuff of nightmares. That was misery. 

“Hang on,” you tripped over a detail in his story, “then what happened last night?” You didn’t mean to sound skeptical- it wasn’t like that at all. You believed every word Bucky said. One part, however, didn’t quite make sense. “Last night, you got your punishment. You got the pain. Why did you ask me to-”

He sighed, “Last night was different. You caught me. I had to stop- I’ve never done that before. I’ve never stopped right in the middle. I was only out there a little while before you found me.” His vibranium hand pulled into a fist and slowly released. He did this time and time again as the urge hurt himself gnawed at him. “I didn’t do enough. It felt like holding in a sneeze or something. And when we came in here to go to sleep, I still had this sense of looming pain, an impending punishment. And I knew you wouldn’t let me give it to myself. So, I asked you to do it.” 

The far-away look in his eye dissolved as he came screeching back to the present. Guilt dragged his features downward into a near scowl. “But I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry.” The remorse weighed more than he could shoulder. If he thought he knew what guilt felt like before, he was wrong. 

“It’s okay, Buck.” You knew the memory of Bucky begging you for punishment would haunt you forever. It took up prime real estate in your mind and cut you deeper each time you paid it attention. But he couldn’t help it; this was part of his journey. When you started dating Bucky, you knew he wasn’t a ‘regular’ person. Darkness and demons followed him wherever he went, filling his mind with horrors most people could never imagine. Of course, there were going to be speed bumps and rough patches on the road of your relationship. But he never did anything with malice in his heart. He was simply trying to survive. “I know you’re just doing your best-”

“My best is pretty shitty.”

He was always so callous with himself, so unforgiving. It wasn’t fair. “Baby, you’ve made a lot of progress.” He was a completely different person than he was a few months ago. He’d worked hard every day to wade through his trauma and find himself on the other side- all while saving the world. “But it doesn’t all have to happen at once. You can’t heal from everything in one fell swoop. It’s not linear. It’s a slow process-”

“Really slow.” He let out a huff and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Part of him wanted to run; he couldn’t believe he’d subjected you- the kindest, most loving person on earth- to this corner of his awful reality. But he knew being without you was a fate worse than death. Worse than Hydra. 

“I don’t want to do this-” he motioned toward his bruise. “I don’t want to hurt myself. But I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to heal the part of me that’s always looking over my shoulder for a punishment.”

You smoothed his hair back and let your hand drift down his cheek, “You don’t have to do it on your own, Buck. Maybe you should talk to someone-”

He shot you a pointed look.

“Not Dr. Raynor. Someone else. Someone with empathy.” 

Bucky gave a firm nod and a quiet laugh. “Okay, yeah. That works. 

“And in the meantime, whenever you feel that impulse, I want you to tell me, okay? I want to help you through in whatever way I can.”

He tried to protest, but you silenced him. “I’m in this with you- full stop. I’m with you for all the hard stuff and the things you hate about yourself. I’m always in your corner.”

He snaked his arms around you and pulled you as close as possible, relishing in the feeling of your heart beating against his skin. 

“This is a pain-free household, okay? We don’t do punishments here. We don’t hurt ourselves, and we don’t hurt each other.” You wiggled a hand free and offered Bucky your pinky, “promise?”

Not hurting you was a given; Bucky would never dream of causing you pain. But refraining from hurting himself was another story. The need sometimes possessed him, drove him to harm himself when the guilt grew too heavy. The look in your eyes, though, pushed him to promise you. You held such love for him, such adoration. And he knew you meant every word you said. You were going to help him through, to support him, no matter what. 

He linked his pinky with yours, “Promise.”

“Good.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away, “hey, do you have Fury’s address?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “Uh, yeah. I think it’s in my notebook in the office. Why?”

In one swift motion, you slithered from Bucky’s arms and slid out of bed. “Oh, no reason,” you sighed as you headed for the door, “I’m just gonna egg his house.”

———————

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[merwgue]

Rhysand is often portrayed as this perfect, morally grey ruler, but when you take a closer look at his actions, it's obvious how messed up he really is. Let’s break down the so-called “benevolent” High Lord of the Night Court.

1. The Hewn City – The King of Torture? Rhysand's treatment of the people in Hewn City is straight-up barbaric. The way he holds power over them isn’t out of necessity or to “protect” them from worse rulers—it’s control through fear and violence. He tortures them, plays with their lives, and enjoys maintaining his iron grip on them. It's almost like he uses them as his personal stress toys. Is that really the hallmark of a just ruler? Sure, Hewn City isn’t full of saints, but for Rhys to stand on his high horse and act like he's saving everyone while still torturing his subjects? Hypocrisy at its finest.

2. Rhysand and Feyre – Let’s Talk About Consent Let’s not forget that he literally assaulted Feyre Under the Mountain. I don’t care how anyone tries to frame it as him “saving her” from Amarantha—there’s no excuse for the way he took away her agency. Rhys manipulated her, forced her into wearing those skimpy outfits, and paraded her around for his entertainment. All while pretending it was for the greater good. It's pretty damn disgusting how that gets brushed under the rug like it was some noble sacrifice when in reality, he robbed Feyre of her choices.

3. Planning to Execute Nesta – The Line Between Justice and Control Rhysand and his inner circle legit planned to execute Nesta, all because she didn’t fall in line. Nesta had her faults—hell, a lot of them—but threatening her life because she didn't act the way Rhys wanted? That's not justice; that's manipulation and control at its core. He wasn't trying to protect anyone. He was pissed that he couldn't control her, that she wasn't another cog in his perfect little machine of Night Court harmony.

4. Tamlin – Kicking a Man While He’s Down Say what you will about Tamlin, but there’s no denying that Rhysand completely overstepped every boundary when it came to him. The Night Court loves to preach about freedom, but Rhys had no problem strutting into Tamlin’s land, throwing it in his face, and making an already broken man feel like utter shit. There’s a difference between defending your own and downright antagonizing someone who’s in the depths of depression. At one point, he basically told Tamlin to end his own life. What kind of "savior" talks like that to someone who's clearly struggling? It's downright cruel.

5. The Night Court – A Dictatorship Wrapped in Pretty Words Rhysand's Night Court is sold to everyone as this place of freedom, where people can be who they truly are—but at what cost? If you cross Rhys or don’t fall in line with his vision, you either face his wrath, his torture, or his manipulation. He's not running a court; he's running a dictatorship where everything is fine as long as it aligns with his master plan. The fact that he keeps calling himself the “most powerful High Lord in history” just feeds into that massive god complex he has. The ego on this guy is unbelievable.

6. Double Standards – The Morality of Convenience Rhys preaches about freedom and respect, but he only seems to extend that to people he deems worthy. If you’re in his circle or someone he cares about, great—you get all the privileges. If not? Well, tough luck. He’ll trample over your land, threaten your life, or torture you into submission. The cherry on top? Everyone around him acts like he’s the greatest thing to happen to Prythian, and the fandom just eats it up.

So, yeah. Rhysand is fucked up. He’s not just morally grey—he’s power-hungry, manipulative, and borderline sadistic. His version of “ruling” the Night Court is as hypocritical as it gets. Benevolent High Lord? More like the king of self-righteous cruelty.

7. Locking Up Nesta – Rhysand’s Tamlin Moment Remember how everyone vilified Tamlin for locking Feyre up “for her own safety”? Sure, it was messed up, but the narrative painted him as this controlling, possessive villain because of it. Now, fast forward to Rhysand, who literally does the same thing to Nesta. She’s spiraling, yes, but instead of finding her real help or giving her space to heal, he decides to trap her in the House of Wind like a damn prisoner. He takes away her freedom, isolates her from the outside world, and forces her into a situation she clearly doesn’t want. How is that any different from what Tamlin did?

But here’s the kicker: Rhysand gets praised for it. Why? Because he’s Rhysand, the supposed hero, and everything he does is always “for the greater good,” right? It’s utter bullshit. He used the same controlling tactics on Nesta that Tamlin used on Feyre, but the fandom acts like he was being this saintly, tough-love older brother. What he did was textbook manipulation, stripping away Nesta’s autonomy because she didn’t fit into his perfect vision of what recovery should look like.

8. Forcing Recovery on Nesta – Ignoring Trauma Let’s not sugarcoat this: Rhysand locked up a woman who was using drinking as a coping mechanism and basically said, “Tough luck, you’re staying here until you fix yourself.” That's not helping; that’s punishing someone for their trauma. Nesta was in pain, lashing out and struggling to deal with what happened to her. Did she need help? Absolutely. But instead of offering her real emotional support, Rhys just forced her into a recovery program that suited his standards and timeline, not hers.

What makes this even worse is that Nesta was self-harming through drinking, and instead of addressing the root cause of her pain, Rhysand and his inner circle chose to control her like she was a problem that needed to be fixed, not a person who needed to be understood. There’s nothing noble about that.

9. Rhysand’s Hypocrisy – Tamlin vs. Himself This is where Rhysand’s hypocrisy really shines. He condemned Tamlin for being controlling, and Feyre (rightfully) left that toxic environment. But Rhys turns around and does the same thing to Nesta, and instead of being held accountable for it, he gets celebrated for “taking action.” How does that even make sense? It's such a double standard that it's almost laughable. Tamlin’s actions were wrong, but Rhysand’s were just as bad, if not worse, because he knew better. He knew what it felt like to be controlled, yet he did it anyway.

10. Stop Giving Rhys a Pass People need to stop giving Rhysand a pass for his behavior. He gets away with literal torture, manipulation, locking people up, and trampling over others' boundaries because he’s good at hiding it behind the facade of “protecting his court.” He’s not the hero people make him out to be. He’s just as flawed and fucked up as the people he claims to be better than.

At the end of the day, locking someone up—whether it’s Feyre in the Spring Court or Nesta in the House of Wind—is a violation of their autonomy. Rhysand isn't some hero swooping in to save the day. He's a controlling ruler who just happens to be good at spinning the narrative in his favor.

[unknown-cold]

I hate that people still think Vi needs to sacrifice everything for Jinx. As if she hasn’t been selfless her whole life and has immense guilt/trauma around it. Vi finally has the autonomy, after 7 years of being locked away, to make her own decisions. Girl is trying her best. She’s her own person and not solely responsible for her sister’s wellbeing. This is why I love Caitlyn and Vi together. Caitlyn tries to remind her of that. So sick of people always demonizing Vi for all of this :(

I agree with you on this, I don't know why people don't want to admit that Vi is also traumatized and not just Jinx and she feels guilty about what happened and what will happen. Cause Season 2 will focus on Vi and her suffering and hesitation in making decisions. And as you said, Vi is not the only one responsible for Jinx's actions, Jinx has gone too far in her actions, I understand her situation but I will never accept that she kills people and is the reason for the war. I mean the council finally agreed to the independence of Zaun and their freedom, then Jinx comes and ruins everything. And someone will come and say Jinx had the right to do this. Oh really I'm sure if it was another character who did this they would have hated her, I mean okay I understand the character but I will not accept that she does bad things and I say she has the right. That's hypocrisy guys, okay.

As for Caitlyn I feel sorry for what will happen to her, she was trying to keep the peace and help everyone but unfortunately what will happen in season 2 will change her character. For me, I can totally understand Cait's character change. The problem with these people is that they will never stop making Cait and Vi look like villains, even though they're not, they're just trying to protect civilians from Silco's men and Jinx too. I don't know, despite Jinx's bad actions, they still defend her and don't even justify her. Even Silco these people still defend him despite all the heinous acts he did throughout the first season.

I don't know what to tell them, are these people teenagers who love villain characters so they defend them or do they just like to make noise? I honestly don't know, but the only thing I know is that they are hypocrites of the first degree.

But don't worry too much about what they say because they are really annoying.

The important thing is that we know we are right because we have facts and our words are not biased towards certain characters because we love them, but rather we are defending good characters who are doing their best to do the right thing. And let's not forget that what makes this show special is that the characters make mistakes, not the perfect characters. "But the difference between them is that there are characters who admit their mistakes and try to fix them in any way they can, while other characters make mistakes on purpose and believe they are right".

[wildpeachfarm]

have you seen cate’s priv tweets? if not i can send screenshots she’s beefing with twitter stan’s calling out her hypocrisy and it’s……

ok my mini ranting is going to be under the cut because all the pics make it long

This girl has such an inability to face criticism it's fascinating like I think the point went right over her head. Like do i think some of the wording in the post was harsh and probably unnecessary? Sure.

but no one said people had to exclusively 'publicly defend' george?? But maybe don't bullshit with "oh you don't know them behind the scenes" when you were actively hanging out with them prior and then continued to hang out with a few of them afterwards... it makes you look performative right longside everyone else who made giant, exaggerative claims about the situation and then was a hypocrite about other stuff.

She never once called george a "friend" during this whole thing or said she was "disappointed"- it was all venom from her so idk where she thinks she conveyed any of that.

also this is so interesting because she is always shoving her nose into shit that doesn't involve her and making these big statements about stuff so like...yeah obviously that it giving people room to critique you, that's just how the internet works.

and this is just another example of her just going "nuh uh" and not actually taking ANYTHING they said into consideration or providing literally anything to refute it in terms of things she has said, etc. so like...this isn't a good explanation. I just wish she would actually think about some of this and the core of the message people are trying to convey instead of getting mad at the mere thought of criticism for your actions in a sensitive situation and how that looks to other people.

[maxiemumdamage]

Hopefully any remaining Striker defenders will hush up after that, at least.

Like, you could not have had a more obvious way to show that he cares more about his personal interests and profit than he ever did about Imp Rights or Sticking It To The Rich.

Because Striker had the chance to rat out Stella and Andrealphus when he was called to testify! He could’ve said “that one paid me to kill her noble Prince Goetia husband and that one paid me to lie about it and blame an Imp.”

No, it might not have worked — an Imp’s testimony alone wouldn’t have gotten Goetic nobles indicted, even if with Andrealphus’s help it was enough to execute another Imp.

But Striker testifying against Andrealphus would’ve raised questions about the legitimacy of the trial, and at minimum would’ve gotten Stolas in the room. From there, Blitzo would’ve been acquitted, and Andrealphus and Stella would’ve received some kind of punishment. Given that Stolas outranks them both as a Goetic Prince and still got a 100 year sentence…I mean, their punishment wouldn’t be nothing.

But the thing is: it’s not about class for Striker at all. It’s about his personal profit, he only whines about social inequality because the current class structure doesn’t benefit him. He’s all too happy to do exactly what he critiqued Blitzø for and roll over/show his belly to a blueblood prick if it means he gains something — in this case, immunity for his pointless attack on Stolas.

(It was the same thing then. Killing one elite for profit even when it benefitted more of them for Stolas to die than for him to live and continue his relationship with Blitzø.)

Never mind that another innocent Imp will die in Striker’s place for a crime he didn’t even commit. Never mind that Blitzø being publicly executed for having ambition and daring to run his own business is worse for Imps’ rights and social development. Never mind that telling the truth and calling Andrealphus and Stella out might make all these elites turn on each other by exposing their hypocrisy and petty power plays.

It doesn’t benefit Striker, personally, so it’s not worth doing.

[katyspersonal]

Hi there, I hope you don’t mind the random question but in your mind which fanbase would you say is worse, Elden Ring or Bloodborne in terms of annoying fans. I used to think Bloodborne fans could be bad but holy shit ER fans are something else when it comes to lore discussions. As someone who is pretty active in lore talk with both games do you find one side to be more exhausting to deal with than the other? Obviously feel free not to answer this if you think it might start drama

Honestly? I can't hate Bloodborne fandom enough.

Bloodborne was my first Fromsoft game and one keeping me hostage in terms of fixation for over three years, like I said! And yes, it has incredibly bad, toxic people in it - Maria fans who kept slandering Gehrman despite all the info against their takes, honestly believed there is anything problematic with Gehrmaria, had mental breakdown if anyone dared to see Maria as bi or straight despite her not having canon sexuality, believed that the whole story is either about man bad woman good OR was incredibly misogynist, no between. Close minded, toxic people who would deliberately bait anger and pain with placing their hate in the tags and then play victims when those hurt fans snapped back. Oh, I hate them, and revealing that Gehrman's "creepiness" and "misogyny" was completely and fully translation mistake, as well as pointing out how comes why nothing is wrong with how Doll is dressed with facts, is forever my most valid contribution to the fandom. More so than my ugly childlike fanart or convoluted theories could ever be. But, not THIS is why Bloodborne fandom is worse in my opinion.

Elden Ring fandom introduced not one but SEVERAL annoying and exhausting topics to deal with! I "affectionately" titled especially rabid Malenia and Miquella fans 'Twin Cultists' because this is exactly what their behavior is and have always been! Funny enough, a person who got mad at me for this one was someone who got alienated on Discord server for Miquella fans because owners started to insist that only their headcanons are valid AND admitted to me on feeling unsafe for not shipping Finlenia. I am dead serious! Malenia fans are strikingly similar to Maria pseudofeminist fans in toxicity, Miquella fans are like if you removed all likeable traits of Leda and replaced them with even MORE of undying vitriol for anyone who dares to interpret him as anything but perfect pure radiant sunshine. Mohg triggered a pretty awful discourse between those who insisted he was rapist molester whatever and if you interpret it differently you are insensitive and media-illiterate victimblamer and people who defended him "becoming the very thing they sworn to destroy" as well as also exhibiting cult-like thought control in their circles (they know who they are -_-).

But the DLC has changed things a bit, right? Some Twin Cultists are still spilling vitriol, except now they also claim that writers are bad, not only fans that disagree with them! Still, blessed, deserved vindication finally arrived! But what about others, whose situation never changed? Vitriol towards Godrick is ABSURD. You know how common fandoms L is that they judge and hate female character for something, but when male character did the exact same thing it is humored or justified? Godrick is this, minus the gender difference, yet everyone who points out his actual characteristics and the hypocrisy of his haters gets ridiculed. You thought that his fans would flock together to support each others? No, turns out that pocket are loosers who think people who don't headcanon him as trans are childish and ridiculous and loathe cishet Elden Ring fans in general. Fia and D are caught in the weird discourse loop where one is always simplified and idealized and another is demonized to Hell and beyond, when they both are strongly caught in religious brainwashing of sorts but also are sympathetic in their own right. Ranni's fans and haters both do not know the term of Machiavellian (aka "Ends justify the means" philosophy). She is the worst most evil character in the setting over what crimes she committed in order to protect the world from the problem of potentially anyone being able to grab the laws of nature itself and shape them according to their bigotries and preferences, OR she is a perfect innocent fighter against oppression and people who dislike her Just Hate Women TM. And of course we cannot forget the one above them all! The radiant, omnipresent, eternal!...

Marika truly brings out the worst of discussions! She has been before SOTE, but you YEARN for pre-SOTE times if you hate OR love her! Not because things changed, but because now discussion can't be avoided. She is THE Elden Ring character who is only ever demonized and idealized. Before SOTE, she was only ever just a tyrant who loves genocide OR simply a puppet of Greater Will (or rather Two Fingers claiming to speak for it as it turned out) who never meant to do that shit and finally heroically rebelled. After SOTE... hahaha, oh boy... we started to deal with the issue of excusing genocide. Her fans will claim into essays and more essays why Hornsent are all fundamentally dangerous race and Marika is merely trying to rid the world of filth that ruins it by sending Messmer. However, demonization didn't quite go away either, and her haters are so angry at writers humanizing her a bit more that they say WRITERS are pro-fascist!

So, why? I've described such horrid discourse, when Bloodborne fandom sounds like it simply has a few bad apples in comparison! What can be worse than Elden Ring fandom, after a description like this? Yeah, you see... Elden Ring fandom is thorn by awful arguments and discourse, it is hostile and dangerous for your mental health if you are invested into fandom beyond just "consuming content" and advertising your art for sale. Yet, it lives. It lives in the same sense as a land torn by earthquakes lives. It lives in the same sense a volcano that won't stop smoking lives. It lives in the same sense sea lives during the storm. But it LIVES.

Bloodborne fandom is a fucking Caelid.

If you question whether I'd be scared of "drama", I assume you are new here and don't know my epic lore. I am not afraid of anything because society made itself clear on what I am for it. In the most condenced way possible, one OF those toxic Maria fans didn't like me thinking for myself too much so they went out of their way to slander me for various -ists and -phobias. Their ableist friend that doesn't take racism seriously joined in. I was a victim of stalking, harassment, slander, witch-hunting and cult-like shunning for over a year, and so was every kind fool who treated me like a human - friend or mutual. I can NOT speak of Bloodborne fandom experience from personal standpoint because obviously it is not an objective experience (though someone who also got unfairly slandered by Maria fans too contacted me, so I question whether it IS a trend..?). Still, it isn't about me or my friends, we are an oddity. Bloodborne fandom for me was just a bunch of gullible, weak sheep who are okay with witch-hunt because letting just a few people get harassed is not worth souring their fandom experience. And I do not wish to turn back or even try to mend anything. I caught my stalker and exposed their crimes, I made everyone who believed they were innocent feel stupid and ashamed, it was all I wanted. I don't wish to "befriend" the fandom afterwards.

YEAH YEAH "THINGS ONCE BROKEN" WHATEVER

But I was still posting and drawing and playing and talking and writing, right? I was still present. So, I was at least observing what was going on. And what truly soured Bloodborne fandom was actually happening afterwards, what was not involving me or any friend or enemy I knew. The worst thing happened, worse for fandom than any amount of discourse. I call it "centralization", for lack of better term.

Bloodborne is a niche fandom, yet it had a sudden zoomers burst. And that led to dynamics of "fandom leaders", and stupid fucking Discord community that are akin to elite club in which if you are not invited you might as well not exist. It ALL became about stupid "web of mutuals" nonsense. It ALL became about some cool kids deciding what will be the ship or the take of the week/month, and soon you'd see NOTHING but this thing posted. Always through the exact same lense, too. Only to then be forgotten, because it was just a trend. Rom x Caryll comes to mind as a FAD of similar vibe. Micolaurence too.

I just hate this. The fandom stopped LIVING. I saw genuinely absurd things happen! Like someone drawing Mariadeline, one of the most popular ships in the fandom, yet they get completely ignored because they've failed to grab a beer at the bar with "leaders" of this ship who "hold" the distribution of that approval and love. Even worse; over a year ago, a very talented, fun, energetic and creative fan of Mensis Trio and Byrgenwerth squad showed up! They were SPAMMING art and writing, and all of that was good! So good that..... all of that barely got over 20 notes, maybe 30. Why? Because, again, you can't just post about blorbos and expect to be liked and approached. You have to get on the "good side" of "holders" of love for characters like Micolash, Laurence and Rom, or else they'll just side-eye you! But imagine this with literally everything else. I have been watching it happen all the time, to people that were not even targets for cult-like shunning by Alfred, Eugene or Anna for associating with me. You keep to yourself, you are shy, you are not on Discord with them, your headcanons are a bit different? Too bad, you may rot, because it is not about you! People look up to a few popular artists with shallow takes and so much creative liberties they might as well make OCs to know whether this or that person should be liked and reblogged, instead of JUST liking and reblogging them!

THIS is why Bloodborne fandom is Caelid. Not for toxicity, but because it is rotten. It used to be far less "organized" when I joined in. There were no trends to define fandomry for next few weeks decided on a party where ignored creators were not invited to. There was not hegemony of certain ships, designs and headcanons. There was no "web of mutuals" and pressure to either assert yourself by the good side or vanish. Everyone were doing their things and coexisting, nobody could determine who flourishes and who rots, diversity of headcanons and interpretations were celebrated. Oh, what's a matter? You really dislike that popular artist who infantilizes Marika and stripes her out of any agency over her actions? Well, so do like 500000 other people! Every popular take is ALSO popular to hate on in Elden Ring fandom! But if you dislike a popular take in Bloodborne then sucks to be you, because diversity of interpretations, opinions, preferences and takes just doesn't exist in it. Not anymore. Unless you "asserted" your novel idea to the "court" on some stupid Discord server and was "approved", of course.

Look. Elden Ring discourse annoys me to no end. I always get my headcanons and interpretations "corrected" in the worst condescending fashion. My friend posted a very well made lore post and got harped on because his take contradicted someone's idol's headcanons (with that idol approving of that harping) and I am still mad. I don't want to post my GEQ takes to be reminded that "aktualy" she is Melina. I dislike seeing claims of Miquella's nonexistent character assassination or Radahn hated just because some sexist Redditors were using him as a mascot. Nonetheless, deep down, I am THANKFUL. Because even really annoying debates end up being entertaining. Because people here TALK about things, REVISIT things, ARGUE about things, CARE about things, HAVE OPINIONS on things. They will annoy you in the comments or reblogs, but they SPEAK to you. No take is so popular that it defines all art and fanfics because every popular take is also popular to hate on. Things are disorganized. No fandom leaders, no elite club ignored blog wasn't invited to, no "web of mutuals" that should get sucked into a vacuum cleaner and never be seen again. Elden Ring fandom is a battlefield, but also free market minus the money.

To be honest, Bloodborne fandom was done for me when based people started to vanish. Fishbowlcarnage deactivated everywhere, Cuddlefish mysteriously disappeared and I worry whether they are even alive to this day, user Molluscock got bullied away... It felt like a bad omen, it happened before my drama, and I've never seen users like this before. Except I have been, but they all are now ignored because of this stupid high school dynamic taking over. Had Elden Ring hyperfixation not happened, I'd probably just end up blocking many Bloodborne accounts and never care for trying to make connections again, just post art and vanish to draw the next one. I did end up blocking some Bloodborne mutuals, after all. After it hit me, what was bothering me so much. Appreciate Elden Ring fandom and it's earthquakes, because shaking earth can't be bigger evil than stagnation. Bloodborne fandom no longer breathes, they are champions of not feeding the sparkles that were meant to become fire hoping they die down, and I hate every looser that benefits from that "system". In Elden Ring, ALL things flourish, whether graceful or malign.

[emilywaters]

I have so many thoughts on the motives of the different gangs and what they represent in the musical bcs it directly correlates to reasons why gangs are formed in the first place, which is in direct contrast to the message from the 1979 movie portraying all gangs as ones of pointless violence and wrongdoing.

1. The warriors - support and sisterhood

Right from the start we see the warriors looking out for each other. Cleon's first concern after Cyrus was killed was her warriors and getting them out safe. Every time they fought, it was to defend themselves, to get home alive. The warriors exist as a place to belong. We see this in 'A Light or Something', where we learn that Swan was homeless before Cleon took her in. The warriors exist for community, for support. The first thing they do after getting away was making sure everyone got out after Cleon went down. This is in direct contrast to the rogues, where the moment Luther lost they began running. "My crew would die for me, loyalty matters." They exist to uplift each other, for community and family to people society ignores and abuses.

2. The bizzies and the hurricanes - justice

Both the bizzies and the hurricanes went after the warriors to get justice for Cyrus. It was out of outrage, righteous anger fueling their desire to hurt them back. This shows another, more active, form of protection. The two groups have never met, but for that moment where they were fighting for Cyrus they were unified in the way Cyrus was hoping to achieve. If the warriors exist to give a safe space to marginalized communities, the bizzies and the hurricanes exist to defend that space, to stand up to those who threaten that community.

3. The orphans - ego and power

From the very start we see the orphans ego. They talk misogynistic rhetoric and boasts and gloat bcs they don't see the warriors as a threat. They exist to copy off bigger fish and live vicariously by terrorizing those they consider weaker. But the moment the warriors decided to stop pandering to them, they ran off. There is no real power in them and they exist to bully the weaker while themselves never fighting those stronger than them. They're no better than schoolyard bullies, each of them enabling the others. The orphans exist to cushion each other's egos, with nothing substantial. If I had to use a modern analogy, they would be the boys who listen to alpha male podcasts then be dicks to everyone around them.

4. The rogues - violence

Luther commits violence for the sake of violence. He benefits off a divided system, there he can cause havoc and slip away while blaming someone else. He would be a policeman's last suspect, bcs everyone believes the white man. He is free to do as he pleases with no consequences. But if Cyrus's plan worked, all the infighting would stop. Then his actions will be spotlighted and he would have to deal with the consequences of them. If Cyrus's plan worked he would loose his advantages of favouritism. So he kills Cyrus. With her dead and the gangs back at each other's throats, he's free to run around unnoticed, with his violence for the sake of violence. He has no personal motive outside defending the privileges he holds. His violence is purely to allow him more violence. And when he gets caught he melts into a pathetic creature whining and whimpering bcs at the end of the day he wasn't anything more.

5. The police - hypocrisy and the law

The police exist solely to chase after the warriors with no regards to their innocence. They do not believe them, or trust them, or help them. People who are supposed to protect the most vulnerable individuals intentionally do the opposite. The policeman at the park shamelessly catcalls the girls. The officer in the station actively chases them, despite having no real reason to. The officers are the worst bcs they are supposed to be the ones protecting them and instead become the perpetrators of these crimes and then get away with no repercussions. And then you see why the gangs were formed.

If the people meant to protect them do the complete opposite, assume their guilt, accuse and abuse and treat them as inferiors, then they need to get together and protect each other.

And there we have our answer. Gangs exist to protect those the city refuses to protect. From the power tripped assholes down to the gun wielding murderer. Even when Luther was taken in that was done by the Gramercy riffs. The police did absolutely nothing other than arresting Ajax for self defense and killing fox after actively chasing them for no reason other than bone deep prejudices and bigotry. Gangs exist to defend the members of their communities, to defend themselves, to get justice for their families, to do what society and the law refuse to do, to create a place for them to not just exist, but to thrive.

"And they deserve a city where they'd be alright, where they all come home alive.

And someday in the city we won't have to run each time somebody broken gets ahold of a gun.

Breathe easy every night knowing we'll see the sun, when we all come home alive"

[bonefall]

would whitewater end up getting dark forested for her support of mudclaw, her hypocrisy, and her neglect?

There's a VERY high chance of it. She's almost certainly damned unless someone defended her VERY well (which is unlikely)

When StarClan makes a ruling, they aren't neccesarily deciding if you are Guilty or Innocent. They're determining if you are worthy of their ranks. You have to prove you belong in Heaven, NOT that you're not bad enough for Hell.

For most warriors this is a very simple yes, and no trial is required... but if you so much as OFFEND StarClan with your bad vibes, they might damn you just for that. Whitewater has a really bad reputation for everything she's done.

The Queen’s Rights actually work "legally" on the assumption that judgement is outsourced to StarClan, because mortals (Oakstar) can't be trusted to be impartial on this specifically. The birth of kittens cannot be used as evidence of codebreaking behavior... on the mortal plane.

StarClan was ALREADY going to give her a review just based on her affair with Mudclaw. If it ended on the Great Journey like they initially planned and she invoked QR with her Ba-less litter, there wouldn't even be a trial.

But that's not how this story goes. She was a ShadowClan cat involved in Mudclaw's rebellion, because she wanted to support him.

SHE might have only done that because she wanted to avoid ThunderClan "putting their paws in another Clan's business" or some other excuse, but StarClan says

"L + Ratio + Supported your baby daddy's coup + Set the peat on fire + What were YOU doing putting your paws in another Clan's business"

StarClan didn't even accept MUDCLAW'S explaination. They didn't even accept VIXENLEAP'S excuse, just some Thistle Law-loving RiverClan warrior who joined because Hawkyfrosty asked her to. They were always going to give Whitewater a hard time for this.

Whitewater might have been able to wrack up some goodgirl points by being a very loyal ShadowClan warrior..... and she did, a little.

But she kept her head down. No spectacular feats of redemption. Just tried to live quiet. That doesn't incur a lot of favor.

And then, the part you've been waiting for... how she treated Owlkit. Theyyyy didn't like that.

If she was sooo unattached to her mate, why did his smiting BOTHER her so much, hm?

She might have won favor for doing something very noble and giving the kittens to the bereaved Torear, but she KEPT Owlkit. Any love she had that influenced that choice drained away

and she didn't do the "right thing" for him by asking for help. She just did the bare minimum at best, and hid her abuse at worst.

Unfortunately though, the neglect and emotional abuse did not earn as much ire on their own as you're hoping. StarClan is (and was) full of much worse abusers. Hillrunner, for example.

Most of StarClan's condemnation would be based around Mudclaw's Rebellion... but they've been waiting a LONG time to process the surviving non-WindClan rebels. So... she's probably doomed.

Unfortunately I cannot imagine she takes it well. She completely ignores that Owlclaw was just a footnote in her condemnation, and uses it to confirm everything she ever believed.

"That kitten WAS meant to die that night. I should have dragged that child out into the storm with the rest of its cursed siblings. I've been shoved into the spot where Owlclaw should be!"

Hmm... maybe I should axe her shortly before the Great Battle, and actually have HER be the one who attacks Owlclaw's kittens. It would be pretty horrifying if she was the one who killed Weaselkit, her own grandchild.