#i have unfortunately been irreparably harmed

[triija]

[yolli-es]

this is my first request can we please get a yandere jinx headcanons please

Yandere!Jinx × Reader ❤️‍🩹

Tags: NO spoilers for season 2, abuse, mentions of death

This is my first request too, and I am SO HAPPY!! I've wanted to write about this for a long time, but it was difficult for me. Believe me, I broke my head typing all this.

Jinx lacked tenderness and care in her life.

Vi showed her support and love in Jinx's childhood; Silco did the same thing later... it's still not enough.

When Jinx lost Silko and her sister, who had just come back into her life, she was on the verge of death. Not a day went by without her crying, hysterics, and self-harming. It was horrible, painful, and pathetic.

She also took on a mountain of responsibility for which she was never prepared.

And then you appeared. So serious, responsible, and ready for anything. You came to her office and did all the dirty work.

And also very understanding, kind, and patient.

Having witnessed her breakdown, you were absolutely calm. You did not run away, stayed close and pulled her back together.

Even after Jinx's numerous outbursts at you, even after the hard work and all that crap, you stayed. By her side, with her curse.

You reminded her of Vi with your kindness and Silko with your devotion. All the best in one person.

No, more expensive than them.

How could she not become attached to you?

You are the center of her life, the main object of her attention.

It was becoming physically painful for Jinx to be away from you for longer than 8 hours.

Whenever you worked, she always found a reason to be there, justifying it with help or a simple check on the quality of work.

She also began to keep her emotions in check, often biting her lips until they bled just to keep the voices from getting the better of her.

Jinx pays no less attention to her "work" because she noticed how your eyes sparkle while she creates a new gadget or uses it in action.

Now she does all this for you. Just for you.

Jinx just wanted to seem normal to you. Better than what you had already seen. She didn't want to scare you or make you hate her.

That's why she will never admit that she is following you.

Unfortunately, you're not always willing to share your personal life with the "boss," so she had to take matters into her own hands.

Going to the store? She's in the shadow of the stores. Sitting at the bar? She's taken the table behind you. Sleeping in your house? She's outside the window, and in a couple of hours, next to your bed.

Jinx counted all the moles on your face.

She only felt guilty once, when she was spying on you in the shower.

Jinx knew it was wrong, but she just couldn't say "no" to herself then. Mylo made cruel jokes about her afterward.

But it's your own fault for never locking the doors, isn't it?

Now she knows the exact number of moles, scars, and birthmarks on your entire body.

Your things started disappearing, and yes, it was her doing.

Jinx just wanted to have a piece of you in her home.

But then, when Jinx was so deeply in love with you, something irreparable happened—truly terrible for Jinx.

You find a partner.

You didn't even Fucking tell her. She saw it for herself when you were kissing so dirty at the bar.

Jinx was scared. The voices started screaming.

"You've been abandoned again, traded again."

This is the point of no return. Jinx can no longer hold the boundaries.

She didn't want, no, she couldn't lose you like Silko and Vi. She's not an idiot, and twice was enough.

As soon as you are alone, Jinx knocks you out and takes you to her.

It seemed like she had been preparing for this before, like "just in case."

The first month was terrible. You were struggling and didn't want to listen to Jinx at all.

Jinx didn't even tie you up, leaving you to roam around the room freely. This caused problems, and every time Jinx had to fight you. It was shitty, she got seriously beaten by you every time because she couldn't respond properly so as not to hurt you.

She was understanding and patient, just like you were with her before this.

But as soon as you started talking about freedom, Jinx would break down.

She was so angry, screaming and clutching her head. She even brought a knife with her once.

Jinx even swung at you but never hit you. No, that's too hard. You don't deserve it.

Every time after that, she pulled her hair as punishment.

She didn't really want to keep you here, a secret from everyone. Jinx was crazy, but not stupid, and was perfectly aware of what she was doing. But she also couldn't risk it anymore.

What if you run away? What if you find someone again?

Jinx was just afraid of losing you. The thought made her shake and feel sick.

You didn't understand why she was doing this to you. You really loved Jinx, and now you're getting this?

Once you realize that Jinx is just scared, everything becomes easier.

Still, you came to work here just for her. A stupid affair in a bar shouldn't have hurt your baby blue so much.

When she came to you and heard a declaration of love instead of the usual "get lost," it made her freeze. And then smile.

She didn't believe it.

And then you stopped fighting with her, being rude, and seemed to be okay with Jinx's extra touching.

The moment of realizing that it was not a joke was the happiest and, at the same time, the most frightening.

Now she had no room for error and she thought about all the possible future failures. And then you kissed her and Jinx immediately melted. She managed to focus on you and not on her mistakes.

She had never done this before.

Finally, your relationship has become official.

It took you another week before you could finally get out of there. Jinx still didn't trust you completely, even though she tried.

Jinx's house is your home; if you need something, then she needs something too; if you go somewhere, then she goes too.

Jinx was also very clingy. Before, she held herself back and didn't allow herself to touch you unless absolutely necessary. Now, she can do it as much as she wants. She doesn't care where you are, when, or why; there is no wrong time for a hug, a kiss, or a light slap.

Finally, Jinx can ask you the weirdest, stupidest, most personal, and most lustful questions. You are a couple, after all, and that means she has the right to know everything about you.

And it doesn’t matter that she already knows most of your stories.

Jinx adores you and would do anything. But now she didn't trust the people around her at all.

Suspicious meetings with someone better than Jinx will be seen as blatant betrayal in her eyes. And believe me, she won't let it go that easily.

At times like these, she regrets that she gave you back your freedom.

At first, Jinx will be angry. She will definitely start a showdown, possibly right there on the spot.

Often this went beyond the boundaries of ordinary conversation, and Jinx just shot their limbs.

It's their own fault. Everyone knows Jinx, what's their problem?

But when you explain yourself, Jinx finally lets you see her real emotion.

In fact, Jinx is not confident at all. All the important people have left her; she won't survive another time.

Therefore, you are no longer allowed to communicate with anyone other than her.

A relationship with Jinx will be suffocating, but she will never make you feel lonely, unloved or unfulfilled. She also takes care of all your basic needs.

Jinx is one of those yandere who will resort to any manipulation and tricks just so you don't leave her. Otherwise, she will break, and you will definitely know about it.

Your first sex will happen very quickly. What you expected from a touch-hungry girl?

Jinx has no experience at all, so she makes up for it with her energy. She kisses you, bites, pinches, and licks absolutely everything.

She will definitely leave hickeys on you. It's inevitable. 

When it comes to penetration, she suddenly becomes quiet and slow. She is just a little awkward and very scared. 

What if she hurts you? Or is it unpleasant? Or maybe you already feel disgusted by her? 

Kiss her, and it will give her confidence. Jinx will definitely squeeze her legs while you do it. 

When her hand finally reaches your pussy, it will trigger for her. 

It means so much more to her. 

Jinx's hand does a very good job of getting two fingers in at once and pressing on your clit. This is definitely too much for you, so Jinx will have to lean on top of you to keep you from pulling away from her. 

Kisses, kisses, kisses. There will never be enough. 

Jinx will also be very loud. She won't mind at all if everyone knows how good and pleasant it is for her to be with you. 

For the same reason, she will not kiss you on the lips; this will drown out your pleasant moans.

After the first time, Jinx is unstoppable. Now she's ready to fuck you anywhere and anytime. 

Often her initially innocent touches develop into hot sex.

Once you did it against a wall and Jinx held you. It surprised you, but she said that any of her guns would be heavier than you. 

Jinx is also not against experimenting in bed. 

Shibari is her favorite, and she gets better and better at it every time. 

But still, Jinx will never share you with someone. Don't even ask; the thought of it seriously pisses her off. 

Jinx loves to whisper in your ear, "You belong to me.". 

Do the same, and she will definitely get an orgasm.

Touch her as much as possible.

It might be a little rough; it's okay if you touch her. 

Playing with her hair not only calms Jinx down but also turns her on. 

No matter how wild and wayward Jinx is, she will always listen to you. She will definitely notice if you don't like something. 

Ask Jinx anything, and she will do it. 

Spank you? Jinx will make you count. Choke you? She'll be gentle with that. Threesome? NO.

Jinx adores and loves you and is very dependent on you. Sex is one of her ways to show you this. 

I honestly think that Yandere!Jinx is canon Jinx in relationship. I'm also not sure that I wrote everything I wanted to.. I had to miss sleep but I'm just so happy for your support. Thank you. 🥹

[13rurururi]

I'm Your Lover: Haganezuka Hotaru x Reader (SFW Oneshot)

in which Haganezuka thinks he lost the love of his life

Pairing: Haganezuka Hotaru x Female! Reader

Content: angst, hurt/comfort, you have an argument with Hotaru, near-death experiences, etc.

Synopsis: Seeing your long-term lover, Haganezuka, battered and bloodied — with gashes etched across his body — filled you with overwhelming dread. Unfortunately, the ever-stubborn swordsmith upholds his craft over his own health, and you exchange heated words neither of you truly mean. Hotaru thinks you overreacted, and he believes his fresh cuts and wounds aren't worth an ounce of worry; that is, until he saw you in the same state — on the brink of death.

The pain from a wounded heart is shared with one's true love.

Your night is sleepless and engulfed in excruciating dread. Pacing within the quiet gardens of the Demon Slayer Corps Headquarters, you try to steer your attention away from your pounding heart by listening to the crinkling leaves below the soles of your feet.

It was a futile attempt, for you inevitably return to the spiral of paranoia clouding your mind.

"The Swordsmith Village is under attack!"

You remember how your heart dropped to your stomach when you heard the shrill caw of your Kasugai Crow. It has been a few hours since the dreadful news, and no updates are yet to be shared.

As an esteemed Hashira, you are entrusted with protecting the fragile lives of humans against the evil deeds of demons. You act with honed composure and impressive calmness. However, in this moment, no sort of breathing can alleviate your clammy hands and panicked eyes. After all, in this moment, you are none other than the lover of a man who resides in the endangered village.

You blink away the tears framing your waterline as you internally plead for the safety of your betrothed — your soon-to-be husband — Hotaru.

You remember having your forehead touch the ground as you lurched yourself in a desperate bow, begging for the secret village's location to be revealed to you. You have to ensure your lover's safety, and you would never forgive yourself if he found himself in irreparable harm.

Oyakata-sama — the frail, sickly, and kind leader of the Demon Slayers — could only offer a gentle and genuine smile as he said, "I believe in the combined strength of Kanroji and Tokito. Please, raise your head."

If this were any other situation, his calming voice and presence would have reassured you, but the anxiety of whether or not Hotaru is still alive overwhelms any other thought. With that, you pace around tirelessly, restlessly under the glaring moonlight.

Soon, your body grew tired with the weight of your exhausted mind, and you curl yourself into a ball under a solemn tree.

Please, Hotaru — please be safe.

One shall traverse the universe to reconnect fragile hearts.

You vigorously clamp your sweaty hands onto the uniform of the Kakushi carrying you on their back. The sun is already brightly plastered amidst the blue skies, and you eagerly await your arrival in the — supposedly wrecked — village.

That morning, you awoke in an anxious jolt to your crow's pitched cries, "Upper Moon Four and Five were defeated by the Hashiras and slayers in the village!"

Without a doubt, you wasted no time in traversing the convoluted route towards the Swordsmith Village, heart nearly pounding out of your chest due to immense concern for the well-being of your beloved Hotaru.

Is he well? Did he get attacked? Is he alive?

Your crow thankfully delivered news that made you kneel and shakily sigh in relief: Hotaru is alive; however, he sustained injuries from an encounter with Upper Moon Five — that idiot, he can't even cease his work for the sake of protecting himself.

Your thoughts are interrupted when the Kakushi gently urges you off their back, "Here we are, Hashira."

You remove your blindfold and can't help but lightly gasp at the heaps of wrecked houses that initially stood beautifully in the serene village. All the masked swordsmiths are scurrying about, trying to recover whatever belongings they could find under splintered planks and crumbled concrete.

You feel your lips twitch in a concerned frown when you note how each villager appears to have bandages wrapped around various parts of their body — the attack was that bad, huh?

With a light shake of your head, you sprint towards the nearest familiar face — well, mask — that can inform you of Hotaru's whereabouts. He always had a tendency to hide himself away for days, and (at least today) you don't disregard the prospect of tearing down the decrepit village even further just to locate your beloved.

To your relief, you spot Kanamori Kozo, a close companion of Hotaru (even if the latter will never verbally admit to it). He spots you before you can utter a word, and as if he can read the desperate worry on your face, he says,

"Ah, if it isn't our beloved Hashira. Please, try to wipe off the worry in your eyes. Haganezuka-san is fine; he's his usual stubborn self, as always."

"Kanamori-san, thank you — but do you have any clue where he is?" Your shallow breaths are more of a testament to your suppressed worry than exerted stamina, and Kanamori gently places a hand on your shoulder as kind reassurance.

"The last time I saw him, his wounds were already bandaged, and he persisted in returning to his workspace in the mountains."

You don't outwardly react to this information, but you feel yourself swallow a lump of frustration. Hotaru's choosing to return to swordsmithing hours after the threat of death? Stupid, stupid man.

Kanamori flinches at the aura of infuriation emanated by your figure. He continues, "He will be healed fully in time," he appeases you. "It's a miracle he only lost his left eye—"

"What?" Your chilly voice rings through the morning air, and you hear a light yelp of fear from the man beside you. "His eye — what happened to his eye?"

Kanamori flings around his bruised arms, suddenly forgetting his dull pain amidst your bubbling rage. "He was too focused — it was both impressive and foolish — the Upper Moon wanted him to stop sharpening the blade, so he took out his eye." Kanamori's voice falters by the end of his sentence, a look of concern adorning his features behind the Hyottoko mask.

"I thought he would have sent you a letter prior to your journey here." His usually collected voice, now barely a whisper, is laced with bewilderment.

You feel your jaw clench as veins pop on your forehead. Stupid man — you're engaged to a stupid, reckless man! Suddenly, as if thrashed around by harsh waves, you feel your anger falter with sadness. Why hadn't Hotaru sent you a letter to inform you of his state? Is he unable to comprehend how stressful your night was while all he did was dedicate his whole being to a sword?

Turning away from Kanamori, you bid him your quiet gratitude and rushed towards the mountains where you are sure to find your tactless lover.

Behind you, Kanamori sighs to himself and mutters, "I started a quarrel, didn't I? Haganezuka-san, please be considerate to your one and only lover!"

However, cowardice shields one from facing their bruised, weeping soul.

You try to suppress the frustration from fully seeping through your figure, briskly stomping towards the collapsed pile of wood and dirt — Hotaru's work shack.

You instantaneously see your lover's bulky figure crouched down and digging for whatever tool he was searching for. Your body and heart react in a conflicting flurry of emotions: you feel relief wash over you, and you blink away tears that were beginning to pool; on the other hand, your head feels like it's overheating from anger — anger towards how Hotaru deliberately forgot about even sending a measly letter to the love of his life.

Perhaps it's the combination of heart-wrenching stress and sleep deprivation, but you find yourself grasping onto Hotaru's shoulder, making him aware of your presence as you twist his upper body to face you.

"Stupid! Stupid! Unbelievably stupid!"

Before Haganezuka can even express his bewilderment at your arrival, you snuck your fingers under the thin string of his Hyottoko mask, removing it to reveal his face: his wounded, cut-filled face accompanied by a left eye that can't even open to reveal one of his brilliant amber irises.

"Why — why didn't you send me a letter?" The lump of sadness sitting in your heart is veiled by stuttering annoyance; with that, Hotaru simply places his rough palms on your shoulders, slowly standing up to his full height (which prompted you to crane your neck to look at him).

"I was going to send you one, but I figured I needed to salvage some materials first. You see, that Tanjiro brat needs this new Nichirin blade and—"

"Enough with swords, for goodness sake! You lost an eye!" You cut him off as your lips trembled. "You're bleeding through your bandages because you're not supposed to work after being nearly killed!"

"Hey, it wasn't a big deal. I didn't even realize I was being attacked. Calm down," Hotaru's (limited) patience begins to waver, scrunching his nose to hopefully deter you from becoming too angry. However, Hotaru does not seem to understand that it upsets you more to hear him downplay his health after hours of you ruminating whether he was alive or not.

"I spent the entire evening mulling over your safety, and you're here casually rummaging through rubble because swords are your priority," your sentence stops before you could mutter 'over me.'

Rather than deciphering the hidden sorrow behind your words, Hotaru becomes defensive, misinterpreting your sentiment. "I'm a swordsmith; of course it's my damn priority," with an angry huff, he stared you down with his eye. "Is my work not flashy enough for you, Hashira?"

"That's not what I said!" You felt your heart crack with how distanced Hotaru is at the moment.

"These wounds aren't a big deal, alright? Stop worrying over nothing and go back to your Hashira priorities. I'm not the only one who has work to do," with a light 'tsk' of his tongue, Hotaru turns away from you, ready to return to the pile of discarded materials.

Although, you weren't pleased with his attitude, and the dam holding your tears and overwhelming emotions broke.

"I am your lover! We chose each other, and you have a commitment to me that you should uphold!" Your voice wavers in inconsistent pitches, and you try to choke back your tears. "Right now, I'm in front of you as someone you are engaged to — worried sick because my beloved had his life at risk!"

Hotaru doesn't face you, and he doesn't respond with even a hum of acknowledgment. It is silent, and only after a few minutes of your flowing tears and his stubborn front did he speak,

"Right now, I'm a swordsmith, and I have work to do. Go home."

Hearts of fiery anger fizzle into hearts of dampened yearning.

Haganezuka regrets what he said to you. It has been a few days since your sudden visit to the ruined village, and he didn't even embrace you in his arms nor did he properly acknowledge your feelings.

He heard your hiccups and sobs, yet he rooted his feet on the ground and offered no solace. He feels nothing but guilt and a desire to see your lovely face again.

He rolls the quill on his fingers, unable to write anything but your name on the paper spread on his desk. He urges himself to write an apology — or even to bid you to visit him in the temporary village they were residing in — but his hands are stagnant and his mind is empty of everything but the throbbing ache of regret.

"Haganezuka-san, you really messed up," Kanamori was shameless in scolding him. In any other situation, Haganezuka would have angrily responded in a nearly comical manner. However, Kanamori is right:

He did mess up.

Just as he writes the first word of his letter to you, a Kasugai crow abruptly enters his hut, making him curse under his breath and glare at the raven-colored bird.

The crow intently looks at Haganezuka, making the man feel an eerie shiver of dread run up his spine. The crow then opens its beak to deliver a message that makes Hotaru drop his pen in sheer horror,

"The Hashira — your betrothed — is in critical condition after protecting a town from powerful demons."

To feel a lover's warmth once again,  one would relinquish everything.

Hastily running on the dirt path to the Butterfly Mansion, Hotaru's mind is tortured by the image of your body rendered immobile and weakened on a hospital bed. His rush to see you made him forget his Hyottoko mask, for he only bothered to bring himself and an apology at the tip of his tongue.

Soon, he rushes through the gates of the Insect Pillar's abode, ignoring the surprised stares of Aoi and the other girls of the mansion. Afraid that he might wreck havoc in his emotionally volatile state, Aoi yells, "Haganezuka-san, she's resting in one of the guest quarters! She's stable!"

However, it did little to quell his worry, for he continues to run through the wooden floors of the mansion with only one thought in mind: you.

He then hears the distant sound of voices conversing with one another in a relaxed manner. One of the voices he immediately identifies as Kamado Tanjiro, and the other — sweet, kind yet tired — is your voice.

With a desperate hope bubbling in his chest, he opens the door without an ounce of hesitation, and he sees you — adorned in white bandages all over your limbs and temple, small scars littered on your cheeks, and a dumbfounded look on your face.

"Haganezuka-san!" The bandaged Tanjiro yelps in surprise, eyebrows furrowing in a mix of concern and shock.

"Out," Hotaru spares no glance at the redhead, for his gaze is locked in your hardened one. "Get out, brat."

Haganezuka does not even pay attention to the boy limply scurrying out the room, muttering flustered apologies as he closes the wooden door shut.

"Hotaru, he was just keeping me company," you lightly scowl at your ever-so immature lover, huffing a puff of tired breath.

"Yeah? Well, I'm your company now." Hotaru brings his large figure closer to your bed, but you twist your head to avoid looking at him. Rather than becoming frustrated, Hotaru feels his heart squeeze with the same regret that plagued him for days.

"My love, I'm sorry." His voice was quiet, weak, and vulnerable — entirely opposite to the gruff, deep voice that angrily curses at any miniscule annoyance. Hotaru kneels by your bedside, taking your bandaged hand in his calloused one. You initially flinch, but you relent and relax in his comfortable, familiar hold.

"I want you to know that I regret what I told you that day. I am a swordsmith — that's true — and I pride myself on my role, but I also pride myself on being your lover." His genuine tone makes your eyes water, and you blink hastily to rid of the tears.

"I was so worried — so, so worried — and you were so mean to me, Hotaru," you can't suppress your sobs as you face him again, tears cascading down your bruised cheeks.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," he gently shushes you, nuzzling his face onto your temple as he sighs deeply. "I didn't understand why you were so worried about me, but seeing you in this state," he swallows down a sob, his tone wavering. "I thought — I thought I lost you, and I realized how you must have felt when the village was under attack."

"Yeah? You got a taste of your own medicine, that’s good," you try to playfully tease him, voice tired and raw with emotion. Hotaru’s face contorts into a half-hearted smirk as he settles down on the foot of your bed, not once unlinking his hand from yours.

His expression turns solemn once again. " I mean it when I say I want to be a better lover to you and soon — a good husband." His honest declaration of love makes your heart swell in warmth, flaring brightly when he brings your battered knuckles to his lips. 

"I want to live a long life with you, and I’m not leaving you anytime soon — not even when we age into cranky old people with wrinkles and frail backs." He presses his tender lips against your knuckles once again, feeling himself relax at the sound of your quiet breaths of relief and contentment. 

"Let’s take care of ourselves and each other, yeah?" He bends down to kiss your quivering lips lightly, hand still holding yours as his other palm gently combs through your hair.

"Yeah."

Once you part, you can only stare at him with unbridled love — his scarred cheeks, unusable eye, and the damp locks of dark hair stuck to his temple; despite all that, he’s still Hotaru, your unbelievably handsome, reckless yet amazing lover.

Hotaru’s face holds a raw emotion reserved for you and no one else. Your scarred face and puffy eyes do nothing to hinder your magnetic beauty — your gorgeous soul — from shining so brightly, and he feels like he’s falling in love all over again.

You bask in each other’s presence for hours, making up for lost time as you share warmth, comfort, and hushed promises of a better tomorrow. By the time the room is painted by the moon’s grace, you whisper,

"Hotaru, don’t you need to restore Tanjiro-kun’s new katana?"

"That can wait. I’m not a swordsmith right now."

"Hm?"

"I’m your lover."

Souls can be healed, no matter how nasty the scar, as long as you give the right person your heart.

A/N: There's a shortage of angsty Haganezuka posts — hope you like this one.

[crossdressingdeath]

A thing has been living in my head since I listened to the first episode of Vows and Vengeance (uh, potential spoilers for that by the way), so have some vague thoughts as I try to make sense of it.

It's like... okay, we've all been enjoying the jokes about Solas's ritual-based woes (because they are very funny, to be clear), but the fact that he keeps doing rituals even though they never end well and he never likes the result is fascinating to me, both in terms of his character and in terms of potential DAV plot hooks. I mean, he knows he's fucked up every time! He's never happy about it! But he never stops either, even though he never gets what he wants. That refusal to accept that he needs to step back, listen to others and look at other possibilities instead of steamrolling his way towards the conclusion he's decided is an unfortunate necessity is such a fascinating part of his character. Also yes, I know that Solas has that thing where if Quiz says they want to change his mind he seems to want them to but the issue with that is that he's still refusing to stop for five fucking seconds and actually let them try before he goes about his merry world-ending way. Solas has this thing where even when he knows he's fucked up his response seems to be trying to undo the one specific thing he knows he fucked up rather than... learning from the mistakes he made and trying to move forward with that knowledge instead of constantly trying to go back. This is most noticeable with his main plan ("fucking with the line between the waking world and the Fade destroyed my people and brought me nothing but misery so clearly the solution is to fuck with that line again, in the opposite way this time, with the knowledge/assumption that doing so will once again kill a shitload of people and make me miserable and guilty" sure is... a plan) but honestly just in general the fact that he keeps doing rituals that never work out for him is like. my guy at some point you have to realize that this isn't going to do what you want, please try a tactic that is not a magic ritual.

But that leads me into how this could lead to some interesting plot possibilities, because Rook has also royally fucked up after the first part of DAV. Their attempt to intercede in a ritual has fucked up the world and based on what we've heard seems to have changed them permanently. It'd be very fun if one factor in their relationship with Solas involved the question of whether they do what Solas does and just try to undo what they did, or accept what happened as a now-unchangeable fact and make the best of it they can. Especially if you agree with the theory I've seen floated that the Veilguard are going to on some level correspond to the Evanuris with Rook themself corresponding to Solas; the concept of them being in a similar position to him (having fucked up their world by accident during a ritual gone wrong, although in this case the ritual itself wasn't their doing and the fuckup wasn't nearly as fatal) and having the choice of either following in his footsteps and just trying to undo it somehow or learning from his mistakes and accepting that there's no real way back and they have to go forward. Now I don't know how exactly that would work, it's not like Rook has access to time travel or anything like that, but it could be something like... rather than trying to somehow magically undo the Evanuris getting out (since they're going to have to do that the old-fashioned way) maybe they could try to fix (or "fix", since we don't actually know if them being bound to the Fade is harmful at this stage) what happened to them personally? Again these are just vague thoughts that I'm having, I have no idea how viable this would be, but it could be interesting if Rook was given the same choice of either moving forward with the knowledge that their actions did likely irreparable damage (to themself if not the world) or trying to undo it and could either follow in Solas's footsteps or say "No, I've seen where people trying to undo their mistakes leads, I will do everything in my power to mitigate the damage but I will accept that it's done and can't be fixed just like that".

[chamerionwrites]

Trump-administration officials insisted for a whole year that family separations weren’t happening. Finally, in the spring of 2018, they announced the implementation of a separation policy with great fanfare—as if one had not already been under way for months. Then they declared that separating families was not the goal of the policy, but an unfortunate result of prosecuting parents who crossed the border illegally with their children. Yet a mountain of evidence shows that this is explicitly false: Separating children was not just a side effect, but the intent. Instead of working to reunify families after parents were prosecuted, officials worked to keep them apart for longer.

Over the past year and a half, I have conducted more than 150 interviews and reviewed thousands of pages of internal government documents, some of which were turned over to me only after a multiyear lawsuit. These records show that as officials were developing the policy that would ultimately tear thousands of families apart, they minimized its implications so as to obscure what they were doing. Many of these officials now insist that there had been no way to foresee all that would go wrong. But this is not true. The policy’s worst outcomes were all anticipated, and repeated internal and external warnings were ignored. Indeed, the records show that almost no logistical planning took place before the policy was initiated.

It’s been said of other Trump-era projects that the administration’s incompetence mitigated its malevolence; here, the opposite happened. A flagrant failure to prepare meant that courts, detention centers, and children’s shelters became dangerously overwhelmed; that parents and children were lost to each other, sometimes many states apart; that four years later, some families are still separated—and that even many of those who have been reunited have suffered irreparable harm.

It is easy to pin culpability for family separations on the anti-immigration officials for which the Trump administration is known. But these separations were also endorsed and enabled by dozens of members of the government’s middle and upper management: Cabinet secretaries, commissioners, chiefs, and deputies who, for various reasons, didn’t voice concern even when they should have seen catastrophe looming; who trusted “the system” to stop the worst from happening; who reasoned that it would not be strategic to speak up in an administration where being labeled a RINO or a “squish”—nicknames for those deemed insufficiently conservative—could end their career; who assumed that someone else, in some other department, must be on top of the problem; who were so many layers of abstraction away from the reality of screaming children being pulled out of their parent’s arms that they could hide from the human consequences of what they were doing.

Congress, too, deserves blame, because it failed for decades to fill a legislative vacuum that anti-immigration officials moved to exploit. For too long, an overworked and underequipped border-police force has been left to determine crucial social, economic, and humanitarian policy. It should be no surprise that this police force reached for the most ready tool at its disposal: harsher punishments.

What happened in the months that led up to the implementation of Zero Tolerance—the Trump administration’s initiative that separated thousands of families—should be studied by future generations of organizational psychologists and moral philosophers. It raises questions that have resonance far beyond this one policy: What happens when personal ambition and moral qualm clash in the gray anonymity of a bureaucracy? When rationalizations become denial or outright delusion? When one’s understanding of the line between right and wrong gets overridden by a boss’s screaming insistence?

In reporting this story, I talked with scores of Trump-administration officials whose work was in some way connected to the policy. Very few were willing to speak on the record, for fear that it would affect their employment prospects. A number of them told me they were particularly nervous because they had children to think about and college tuitions to pay. During interviews, they asked to call me back so that they could run and pick their children up from school; they sat their children down in front of homework or toys so that we could speak privately in their homes. “Can you hold on? My daughter is about to get in her car to leave and I need to kiss her goodbye,” one government official said as she was in the middle of describing a spreadsheet of hundreds of complaints from parents searching for their children. I listened as the mother and daughter said “I love you” back and forth to each other at least five times before the official returned and our conversation continued.

Recently, I called Nazario Jacinto-Carrillo, a 36-year-old farmer from the western highlands of Guatemala whom I first wrote about in 2018. Back then, with his field barren and the price of crops stagnant, his family had been straining to survive on the $4 a week he brought home during harvest season. Most days, he and his wife went hungry; some days, his two young children did too. They were destitute and felt unsafe in their community. So that spring, he and his 5-year-old daughter, Filomena, set off for the United States. A “coyote” guided them to the American border near San Diego. All they had to do was walk across.

Things didn’t go as planned. As six Border Patrol agents surrounded them, Filomena grabbed onto one of Nazario’s legs, as did another girl her age with whom they were traveling. The girls screamed as the agents pulled the three apart, one of them holding Nazario by the neck. Nazario eventually agreed to be deported back to Guatemala because, he said, a federal agent told him that if he did so, Filomena would be returned to him within two weeks. This false promise was made to many separated parents, who were later portrayed by the administration as having heartlessly chosen to leave their children alone in the United States. “I would never abandon my daughter,” Nazario told me when we first spoke. More than a month had passed since Nazario’s deportation, and Filomena still wasn’t home.

Nazario’s voice cracked as he interrupted my questions with his own. When will Filomena be returned to Guatemala? How many weeks? What number of days? When is the United States government going to give back the children it kidnapped? What does it want with them? They’re children.

It would take nearly three months, a team of lawyers, the sustained attention of journalists, and a federal court order for Filomena to be reunited with her family. By then she was 6; she’d celebrated a birthday in U.S. government custody.

When I called Nazario again recently, his children were still hungry and his family still felt unsafe. I told him that four years later, some parents still don’t have their children back. “I honestly don’t know what to say,” he said. When I asked him if Filomena, now 9 years old, thinks back on what she experienced in the U.S., he handed her the phone so she could answer herself. She eked out a few words that I couldn’t understand and then went silent and handed the phone back to her father.

“Sorry,” he told me. “She’s crying.”

[kaisacobra]

I just read Second Best and I've never been punched in the heart by a fic like that.

Like, I'm losing my mind over what you've written and had to read all of the asks since it came out.

I definitely think Tara doesn't deserve R after everything she's said and done, you can't keep hurting someone and expect that love will be enough to patch all wounds. You said that Tara had some reasoning (maybe not justified but still) as to why she treats R that way and also I understand that everyone grieves differently.

I'd like to understand Tara on this, because it seems despite everything that happened she did love Amber and it might be hard for her to reconcile both Amber as her girlfriend and Amber as one of her attempted killers and THEN having to shoot her and ofc being threatened by people who seem close to you has got to fuck you up irreparably, like she definitely needs help and maybe having THAT conversation in the middle of a volatile environment such as a party full of alcohol and high emotions was an awful idea and R was right in trying to stop Sam and Tara, still, Tara's lashing out seems to me like just that, her lashing out because she may have started feeling crowded on and Sam reminded of how fucked up she might actually be and THEN bringing Reader into the argument finally (and unfortunately) gave Tara an outlet for all of her conflicting emotions. She has the perfect target, she knows Reader's weaknesses, she knows how to frame her words and most importantly she knows that R won't actually fight back. She just wanted to inflict damage somehow and she got it, she just didn't have the wherewithal to hold back on her words, and now she's left with the consequences of the damage she caused.

I'm not trying to make excuses for Tara, what she said was definitely fucked up and she may seem undeserving of happiness to some, but I wanted to understand the reasoning behind it, because in the end she is just a girl who needs help but refuses to see it and lashes out when confronted. And if she were to get a happy ending, I think the best way to go about it would be to work on herself first and start fixing what she broke.

Anyways. As for Reader I am so excited as to the realm of possibilities of moving on mean, especially now that they are in NY. Bringing in Quinn for Reader just so the Gang still has a connection to R despite the shit show that went down AND to drive the knife further (literally) on how fucked Tara was and watching R falling for Quinn's charms (platonically or romantically) just for Quinn to end up harming them to get TO TARA, maybe Quinn senses how R means more to Tara than she likes to admit. R being attacked and feeling more vulnerable than ever is ofc going to make her close up even MORE when Tara tries to make amends because, hasn't Reader been through enough, R is going to be guarded and hesitant around Tara, not so much cold because despite everything you can't make a love like that go away that easily, so R may be civil and even friendly with Tara but definitely won't be getting close enough to give Tara the power to hurt R again.

As for the Kate Route, I can definitely see it happening, R is out in NY and ofc is looking at safety measures to implement, they somehow meet through Bishop Security and that's that, R has now a Golden Retriver friend (who has a Golden Retriever!) that somehow became R's loyal bestfriend. R definitely takes a quick liking to Kate too, since Kate tends to be funny and protective (kinda reminds R of Tara too) and she is so outspoken and confident that R can't help but keep her as a friend, a breath of fresh air after walking on eggshells with Tara because of R's feelings. And of course, Kate seems like someone who falls fast and hard, and isn't afraid to show it, so even if R can't feel the same at the moment Kate understands and respects that, even offering some comfort after finding out everything that went down with Tara and R. Kate being excited to meet the 'core four' and everyone can't help but fall for Kate's charming personality, they see her being hopeful and daydreaming as the perfect contrast to Reader's 'down-to-earthness' and are relieved that R has someone in the group who can finally choose Reader FIRST, since Sam is Tara's sister and the twins are hesitant to take sides (even though Mindy thinks R is almost always right). Kate being fast friends with Chad over sports and becoming gym buddies (love the hc of Chad spilling the tea to Kate over some reps), Mindy likes that Kate is loyal and keeps R happy and although Sam is distrustful and paranoid at first she eventually warms up to Kate after finding out that Kate lost her father and has a shitty mother (Sam can relate) and the favors from Bishop Security to the Carpenter's definitely help too.

If following the events of the movie I can definitely see Kate trying to sus out the killer and ALMOST getting it right, her going into protective mode so fast and losing her mind when R keeps risking it all for the sake of Tara, she gets it since she fell for R but can't help but worry if there's something else to it and maybe she didn't notice how devastated R really was after Tara.

Tara WANTS to hate Kate, and she definitely gets close to it when seeing how affectionate Kate is (Kate definitely is into platonic PDA and can't help herself, specially since R doesn't seem to mind) (it's nice to feel wanted for once) and how receptive everyone is to Kate's go-lucky attitude and neverending gifts. Like Sam, she definitely isn't trusting Kate from the get-go and all the gifts Kate brings the gang aren't helping, but even from the beginning nobody takes Tara seriously because they can clearly see that it all stems from jealousy of not having Reader's attention to herself for the first time. And even though they try to ease Kate into their dynamic as to not upset Tara further it doesn't work because Tara doesn't even realize why she doesn't like Kate fully! They both seem like they could be great friends! Why is it though when she sees Kate and R she gets so mad?

Kate definitely knows what's going on and can't help but be cocky about it to which the gang just gets more exasperated with the added antics of Kate (who is in love with R but respects R's feelings, but loves to make Tara jealous) Tara (who is jealous, doesn't know why and thinks R and Kate are together) and Reader (who is oblivious to all of this and is nursing a broken heart while still in the same friend group as Tara), while also dodging a murderer, yay!

Honestly however it ends up, Reader with or without Tara, adding someone to stir the pot like Kate or Quinn? For a moment? Maybe?

We can all agree that Reader definitely needs a moment to heal and survive what's coming.

Also

"...because you promised her you wouldn't leave her alone and she just doesn't wanna believe that death is the one thing that's gonna break you apart".

That line hits so hard how DARE you

...aand i know I'm late since you are already writing the 2nd part but I still wanted to share my thoughts.

Awesome writing and I'm so invested! Can't wait!

You see, this is precisely why part 2 is getting so long🤭 I want you guys to understand Tara and why she's doing the things that way and i want it to make sense ever since the beginning. I don't believe people are born mean and i wanna transfer that into the story. Tara wasn't born mean and i want y'all to see why she's like that.

Now, am i saying this is gonna wipe every damage Tara has made to R and make her a victim? Absolutely not. But at the end of the day, she's just a girl with issues that needs to get help before trying to make up and be in good terms with R again.

Kate would definitely integrate herself so well within the core four and that would make Tara go ballistic. Not only does she has to deal with Ms. Perfect stealing her place as R's number one person but now she's winning over her friends as well? Tara would be pissed and always on the verge of throwing a fit whenever Kate's around.

And Kate is a little shit, let's be fr here. This girl is a rich heir with no siblings, she never had to share a thing all her life and you expect her to just be cool about this random gnome trying fight her over R? Nuh uh. She's doing things to piss Tara off on purpose (and sometimes she even asks you for permission before doing it, just to make sure she's not creating an awkward vibe)

Don't worry, you're not late for anything! I loved your thoughts and i had so much fun reading them. I hope you'll like what i have planned for part 2 ����

[ofmdsalt]

Do you think the fandom will come back, even somewhat, over time? You mentioned taking a break and coming back and while I personally don't think I will nor will other fans who have been harassed and hurt, maybe new people discovering the show in a couple of years will have a different/healthier take on fandom. Basically do you think time will fill the canyon and/or future fans will be able to make this fandom into something less toxic? Or the writing of S2 especially was egregious enough so the legacy of the show is basically fucked and never stood a chance?

hey anon! i'm sorry to hear about your experience within the fandom. it sucks that a place that is supposed to be fund and creative can turn into such a high school cafeteria, complete with all the bullying and clique behaviour.

i cannot speak for everyone's experience within this fandom, those who remain and continue to seek ways to curate a space for themselves and those who had to leave because it was no longer a positive space for them to be in.

i think it's unfortunate that such a positive show has to happen in one of the most turbulent and unsustainable eras of television. streaming culture and binge watching ruin the longevity of TV shows, and modern fan culture is too obsessed with consumption. OFMD came out during a time when a lot of things are in flux

new people joining the fandom will certainly bring new perspectives and have less baggage than the current bunch of fans, and i honestly wish the best to those who join to create new things.

the idea of the Canyon has done irreparable damage and harm to this fandom. it's become a convenient scapegoat, a label to slap someone with that you don't agree with.

didn't get into a zine? well one of the mods is a Canyonite.

someone writes Izzy as sympathetic or neutral in a Gentlebeard fic? well the writer is clearly a Canyonite.

in these instances, it becomes a conspiracy. it becomes a valid excuse to very weird about someone online. and this goes for both sides of this conflict: Gentlebeardies and the Canyon. i just think it's more weighted against the Canyon because, well, their ship won despite the fact that there was never any contest because it was always assured that Ed&Stede would come out on top. the fact that other people complain about other ships like Stizzy, Edizzy, and Steddyhands (always about these three which really tells you what this group is more focused on)

my final thoughts on this is that both sides have created their own block lists, but the Gentlebeardies side is less willing to admit that they are in their own canyon. the only way to really end this is to stop talking negatively about Izzy. stop doing ship war shit. there is so much more joy people get out of fandom if they curate it into a positive, uplifting experience rather than falling into this clique high school behaviour

as for people's reactions to s2, i think what will happen is something similar to BBC Sherlock s4. that season was written poorly and as fans came back to reflect on their experience with the show to realize it had always been written poorly. s1 of OFMD is still solid TV and there are parts of s2 that are good, and fans will do what they have always done. take the parts that are good and build off of them, take the parts that are bad and transform them into something good. or continue to engage in AUs and make something new. that is the positive transformative experience of fandom. but with the uncertain future OFMD, if it will ever get picked up for something new, means that some fans will look back on it and realize that s2 was a let down.

the legacy of OFMD has already made its mark, but the toxicity and the entire Save OFMD campaign will leave a bitter, sour taste in some fans mouths, and that will be part of the fandom's legacy until the bitter end. the abandoned fics with final chapters that layout harassment people faced and why they can no longer continue.

i don't blame the fans who've left. i only wish it could've been on their terms rather than feeling like they were forced out

[eltube]

I can't help, but feel apart of Father regrets Delightfulizing the kids- They received a full dose & can't ever fully change back. There's literally no light in their eyes, their movements are robotic, & they act as a hivemind. I think he looks at them & sees his child self, how he'd act around his own father, & he hates it even if he won't admit it.

I agree & I think most people who have become abusers, in brief moments of moral clarity, hate themselves for what they’re doing. I actually think it’s pretty common for abusive parents in particular to know they’ve harmed their children irreparably, but this shame usually just gets directed back outward at the child (i.e. “oh so I guess you hate me and I’m a terrible parent”; “we were doing the best we could”; “I sacrificed everything for you” etc.). Father definitely does hate himself at his core, and one part of me feels really sad about how deep the well of abuse goes when I think about that, and another part of me does the Nelson Simpsons Ha Ha. You know.

Unfortunately (and though it’s unsaid maybe you’re thinking this part too) none of that self-flagellation is a substitute for stopping the abuse. And Father never does! Most importantly, none of that shame or self-hatred is a child’s problem…Father’s pain in particular has been weaponized so much and ruined the lives of so many people. Ironically, people like his brother who could have been part of a better life for him. It can be really dangerous to think, like Father likely does, that you’re the only victim in the world, because you’ll think your pain justifies anything you do to someone else. If you can only see yourself as a victim, you also lose the ability to imagine yourself as a more compassionate person.

In operation POOL the negative version of Father is someone who loves his kids, and I always read that episode as not being about the characters’ “opposites” but about shadow versions of themselves, parts of themselves that scare them. I think Father is afraid of his own capacity for good, because he doesn’t want to admit that he can be anything other than the monster he chooses to be every day. Some of the people who survived him might feel sorry for him and some of them definitely don’t….there’s no right way to feel about it. But being kind was always as much of a choice as being cruel was for him, and we only ever saw him be cruel. Some people choose a grave before they lie in it. SAD!

[celeste-i]

the biggest sin of twenty one pilots is they have incredible beats and edm but unfortunately Tyler has to come in and sing awful lyrics that sound good to nobody but self harming suicidal 14 year olds who emotionally manipulate their friends into dating them. and these fans also racist and call it rap but they believe it to be more erudite than tupac and biggie even tho all he's saying is "I'm so crayayazy. asylum. asylum. I'm crayayazy. the darkness it will eat me up" while again, and I can't stress this enough, the best edm backing ever is playing. but then the next song is just shitty ukulele (which has done irreparable damage to the alt white community) and 2 notes on a piano. these two could have been the next daft punk but instead their contribution to society is getting people that told their friends they'd kill themselves if they didn't get nudes to get blackout tattoos and learn 3 chords on the ukulele

[raytorosaurus]

listening to common existence all the way through for the first time and am experiencing promethean levels of repeatedly getting my dick blown clear off and regrowing it instantly because of tims tones and notes. why did no one tell me about this. all my life i've been deprived

oh my god. dude i wish i could listen again for the first time. common existence is their most tragically misunderstood album, it was a huge failure at the time and geoff took it very personally bc he was the creative driver of that album and insisted the guys should trust his judgement on it - he wanted to prove that thursday could write an experimental and musically + lyrically mature album while still being super heavy and dark, sound-wise. and it was received really poorly and their following tour had their worst turn-out ever (they'd got out of their major label contract and switched to an indie that "matched their values" but sonically they were a weird fit, and then they were headlining above bring me the horizon on taste of chaos which was just...unfortunate organisation, since they had almost no crossover in fans. some nights up to 80% of the crowd would leave before thursday's headlining set. when they talked to festivalgoers, they often found they were kids who'd never heard of thursday and assumed their name on the poster referred to the literal weekday.)

so basically that album was a really big risk and it did not pay off 😔😔. that's why geoff took a big step back when they were writing no devolucion - he was like i told them to trust me and it didn't work, so i'm sorta washing my hands of it and letting . now the thing is Geoff is an unreliable narrator and very self-critical, tom (lead guitarist) has said geoff has a misconception that he's more neurotic and controlling than anyone else on thursday, which he doesn't think is true. god this band is so messy. in his most recent podcast appearance geoff was like a lot of "our fans are starting to tell us now that common existence is our best record...but where were you guys back then :(" (the ":(" part was audible). :(. in that same episode he also said that "every time [thursday] would write together we'd do irreparable harm to each other...and we have seven records, so the scars run deep." yeah.

anyway sorry for rambling was this your last thursday record? or have you still got more to go? don't forget to check out their split with envy, it's definitely a pre-common existence of sorts. also waiting! their first album! if you like common existence and are used to geoff's voice i bet you'll get into waiting too :^D

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Black Embarrassment Television and the fraudulent NAACP leaves most black people shaking our heads. Unfortunately the annual so-called black hollyweird "image awards" was no exception. George Soros famously said, "black people are the easiest to manipulate" and this awards program is an excellent but tragic study in propaganda, victimhood and manipulation.

Jason Whitlock's sage commentary is worth hearing:

How insulting to have Meghan & Harry annually pushing their globalist agenda to criminalize digital criticism. Who is actually funding this annual award? Sunshine Sucks continues to represent the NAACP and Tyler Perry.

NAACP 2023 President's Award: Dewayne Wade & Gabrielle Union. This award is the annual Trash & Clown Award.

Dwyane Wade's Son Changes Name and 'Gender Identity' as Mother Objects to Transgender Transition in Court

Dwyane Wade has changed his name and “Gender identity,” despite his mother fighting to stop the transgender transition in court.

Wade’s ex-wife, Siohvaughn Funches-Wade, had been fighting the basketball star in court to prevent the child from being transitioned before adulthood.

The athlete’s child was born Zion Malachi Airamis Wade, a boy. His name has now been changed to “Zaya Malachi Airamis Wade” after a Los Angeles Superior Court judge ruled that they can change their name and transition.

“A court order affirming her identity will allow Zaya to live more comfortably and honestly in all aspects of her life — from simple introductions and food orders, to applying for a driver’s license and filling out college applications,” read a court order from November that was obtained by The Blaze. “This Petition is about empowering Zaya to live her truth.”

The report states, “Funches-Wade accused the NBA legend of trying to ‘profit’ from the child’s gender change in a court filing from last November.”

She claimed that her ex told her “that a lot of money had been already made and that additional money will be made in relation to our child’s name and gender issue.”

The basketball star allegedly told her that Disney might be interested in making a deal to sign the teenager.

He denied her allegations on Instagram.

“I’ve received a social media post about me forcing our 15-year-old to be someone she’s not and to do something against her will,” Wade wrote. “These are serious and harmful allegations that have hurt our children.”

“While none of us are surprised by Siohvaughn’s attempt to fight Zaya’s identity and her unwavering attempt to drag my name through the mud, I’m very disappointed that she continuously find[s] ways of centering herself and HER needs, without regard to her children,” he continued.

The athlete added that Funches-Wade “tried a similar attempt over a decade ago (with equally damaging lies and causing irreparable harm to her children) and 13 lawyers later, I was awarded sole custody of our two kids as an active NBA player.”

“All I ever wanted was to have my parenting time uninterrupted, as I knew that it would be a very difficult time for our kids to navigate their new normal,” he said.

Wade’s new wife, actress Gabrielle Union, has reportedly been very supportive of the teenager transitioning.

[my-mt-heart]

Wanted to add on to the JDM discussion, but need to do so anonymously, for a few reasons. First off, much thanks to anon and yourself for being open to healthy debate on this. Maybe I won’t be accused of forcing opinions on people this time, lol.

It took me months to properly unpack the ramifications of his choice. When this all started, I first found those tweets kind of relieving of the emotional turmoil and confusion we were all being bombarded with. And AMC’s statement felt condescending. So in the moment I appreciated that a key voice was just talking to us like people, and was willing to address the elephant in the room. I made a post about it sharing my personal feelings, and was heckled a lot for it. I think there are people in the fandom who still dislike me on that basis, which is funny because after 11 months my opinion has evolved from there.

Evidently, he was not aware of what really happened. I don’t think his intent was to spread falsehoods or cause harm, but unfortunately those tweets did a tremendous amount of irreparable damage. People are too willing to look at a woman in her 50s in this industry and believe that she really fought her way out of a contract and jeopardized all her future work opportunities, because she was tired. (Sidenote: I don’t think the selfish ‘fans’ who want Melissa far away from RTD for their own personal reasons, realize how difficult it will be for her to find other work at her age. Or that potential employers will take into account what kind of SM PR an actor will bring to their project). Anyway there are countless people who believe she really needed a break and there is no changing that in their minds because of where it came from. We’ll never know what Norman would have said on Fallon if the script hadn’t been changed.

Jeffrey sadly created a huge PR mess, which I can undoubtedly say was met with consequences. An old set photo of Melissa and Jeffrey doesn’t depict what their relationship might be like currently. AMC neglected to send him (and by proxy LC) to SDCC (filming was just a convenient excuse)—possibly a punishment for going off script, but more likely, to entice Melissa to be there.

I was at the finale event, and the interactions I personally witnessed when the cameras weren’t rolling were very telling, to say the least. They painted a clearer picture of how Mel really feels about Jeffrey, about Norman, and about Gimple. And I’m really content to leave it at that. It’s really everything that’s already been said multiple times on this account.

Thank you for sharing your perspective and you're right that your opinion should be allowed to evolve. I don't think anyone was sure what to make of the situation a year ago, and I include myself in that as well. Whether through a fans' POV or someone with industry experience, it was all so weird. It's sad that we're still seeing the collateral damage and maybe some of that can never be fixed, though I would hope AMC are well on their way to fixing what's in their power for Melissa's sake and for her fans. I was going to get into the challenges of Melissa finding other work a little later, but since you brought it up, I should probably just do it now. I can already visualize people foaming at the mouth lol

We know Melissa has plenty of talent and a stellar reputation. That's beside the point. In an industry where sexism and ageism are still running rampant, there's going to be less leading roles available for women over 35, let alone 50. Even less for women who don't dye their hair and therefore won't appeal to men 18-49. Other considerations include an actress' social media footprint and where they're based. Melissa isn't active on SM and she's not on either coast. None of these are "faults" of hers. This is all just to say, I can understand if she chose not to go down that path and judging by all the buzz about her joining the Caryl spinoff, it seems like maybe she did not. That doesn't mean she's settling for anything less than she deserves. She'll get to be the leading lady, playing a character we know she loves, and she'll likely have the leverage to create a better work environment for herself, where she'll be respected and valued.

[memento-morianon]

Happy STS! Who is your favorite antagonist to write? What makes them so special? (Also, bonus question, would you give them a Disney villain song? Which one?)

aha, see thing is, I don't actually have any proper antagonists/villains in my stories. there are some vague figures who have done or are doing bad things. Morianon's abusive parental figure from early childhood, who died in the hurricane. some terrible politicians in another country neighboring the main setting country. that sort of thing. I haven't had a chance to write any of them yet and flesh out who they are and what they're doing. (the terrible politicians will be important for book 3, so i ought to flesh them out)

the closest thing I have to an antagonist in the first book is actually the personification of Death itself. I wouldn't call them a villain, but they are the source of some very big struggles for Morianon and he is justifiably angry and annoyed at them for it. Death is fun to write as a character, though it will be a while before they actually show up on page!

I'm kinda keeping their presence a secret until the climax of book 1, having Morianon finally tell his wife Evarin about them and the problems he has because of them. It's not easy to tell other people your soul is all tangled up with Death, who is an immortal being but not any of the particular deities your local cultures view as death gods.

and since I'm still working on and posting my WIP draft, I'll just put the extra details under a cut for spoiler reasons.

I don't think I would give Death a villain song, but I could see them having some solo numbers if this was a musical. maybe have a leitmotif for them anytime they're secretly present in a scene (like when the old orc He-esh dies, Death's leitmotif would be there quietly beneath Evarin's song)

they could have a solo number after their reveal, explaining their identity to the audience. and an argument duet with Morianon. that would be a lot of fun.

Death has been around so long, they often try to tell jokes that no longer make sense. they're socially awkward, moody, and a little pathetic. Morianon owes his very life to them, but he hates them for it. He's alive, sure, and he loves the life he has gained as a result. but Death only prevented him from dying, they're not the rescuers and doctors and adoption organizers who ensured his full recovery and placed him with a good family. Death's manner of saving his life also did irreparable harm to his soul. he can't interact with magic the way most people do. and the reason Death saved him was a petty, selfish, impulsive action done with no thought for the future of the poor dying half-quetzalin boy.

though the offer Death has made him in their attempt to right things without killing him is certainly a tempting one. (it's not great to deny a dying child the mercy of release, tangling their soul in a power they can't handle. but it would be undeniably worse to then correct the matter by murdering the child after you prevented their death.)

unfortunately, the nature of the spell Death used (forbidden and lost to mortal memory) means Morianon's soul is stuck to Death's and cannot be released unless Death personally kills him. the most normal option he has is just to live to old age and then let Death finish him off so he might have a chance at a normal afterlife. if he dies by any other means before that, even Death doesn't know what would happen to his soul.

(image description: an entity whose body resembles a heavy cloak of fur and feathers, with a gold collar at the top. Above the collar, a canine skull is floating. There are ragged lines etched beneath its eye socket, and a few smaller decorative lines along the top of the skull. it is also wearing a plume of feathers attached to the back of the skull. end description.)

[revenant-ao3]

The Hounds of Fate - Ch 7

Read on Ao3: here

Shoto sits in that empty room with only the soft buzz of the overhead light to occupy him. Time slips by, syrup-thick, and it’s always there; a faint hum that fills the void with white noise.

The light never goes out.

One hour or ten, it doesn’t matter. His captor sees fit to leave him drowning in fluorescents. It makes estimating how long he’s been here especially difficult. His circadian rhythm is going to be irreparably fucked after this, he just knows it. (Not that he had much of one to begin with. Thank you, undiagnosed trauma response.)

He wonders if it’s supposed to be a subtle form of psychological torture. Drive away his sense of time and ease of sleep, make him pliable in his captivity. Ridiculous and a waste of electricity – not that he’s particularly inclined to care about their expenditures. If they want to rack up an even higher bill on something ineffective, all the better. He hopes they look at the bill and weep.

Isolation is nothing new to him. Growing up, it had been a regular state of affairs, hardly a punishment. On top of that, he’s grown accustomed to finding sleep in the most unlikely of places at the drop of a hat. They’ll be quite disappointed, he thinks, to find these methods ineffective against him. He can almost certainly handle being alone here longer than Murmur can handle leaving him be. That man is far too chatty and interested in him to stay away. Unfortunately.

Though, he muses darkly, that also means Murmur won’t be tormenting anyone else.

Better him than one of the other captives here. He can handle that bastard, loathe as he is to take that burden. That doesn’t mean he has to be pleased, however. And he’ll be sure to let his opinion be known. He’ll just have to keep his temper in check, that’s all. A tall order he’s going to pretend is just as simple as coping with solitary confinement.

Wouldn’t want to get too violent, now would we?

He frowns at the waspish voice, a little too rough in tone to be his usual inner dialogue.

I’m not that violent, he reassures himself.

That reassurance feels fake, consolatory. He thinks of the wide eyes of Laelaps and that woman staring at him in dismay. Fear. A fear so genuine it begs for mercy, a plea for their lives. Of flesh rent from a body and a piercing scream. Shoto feels no rush of power from their submission, no joy or pleasure from inciting terror. That has to count for something, right? He doesn’t harm them because he wants to or because it tickles some perverse part of him. It was a necessity; always a necessity. The ends justified the means, at least he thinks so.

Isn’t that what they all say?

He’s only slightly familiar with the paperwork a hero has to fill out after an arrest that requires any measure of excessive force. His father has bitched one too many times about filing another misconduct report for Shoto to ignore them all. They’ve always found it in Endeavor’s favor – in every pro’s favor because a pro’s word is writ. It was necessary. For the greater good. I regret having to use such measures, but—

He’s heard it all before, from Endeavor and other pros alike.

I’m no better than they are.

It’s a sickening, gut-churning thought. He’s run and run so fucking far, trying to escape the snares and snakes waiting for him, only to find himself back at the start. Shoto stares at his right hand, expression vacant and chest aching. He’s poisoning his mother’s quirk, using it in the exact same unapologetically violent way Endeavor uses his.

Damn it. Damn it.

His thumb aches all over again as he clenches his fist in frustration. He wanted to do better, be better. Wanted to become someone his mother wouldn’t hate or see as a monster, but here he is, playing the part of the beast in her shadow all too well. At least she can’t see me now. She’d hate me even more.

He huffs at the thought.

Small fortunes, and all that, he supposes.

(Regret is a slow and bitter poison, he learns.)

---

Time passes funny when there’s no way to track it.

It’s been long enough that the pulse in his hand has dulled to barely noticeable and he's counted the speckles in the ceiling tiles twice over, give or take some miscounts.

He thumps his head against the wall and stares at the door. It seems to taunt him. He knows he can’t sit and bemoan his rancid nature or wonder about Dabi’s unnerving stare. Oh, certainly cannot twiddle his thumbs, counting the seconds until some pro comes to his aid. If they haven’t found this operation already, they likely won’t now. It’s too well-rooted to be new.

But Eraserhead, a voice pipes up in the back of his mind, Eraserhead must be looking. I know he’s looking. He wouldn’t let this go.

Shoto grimaces, trying desperately to muzzle that little voice. Hope, above drugs and hostages and manipulation quirks, is his most dangerous enemy. Because if he lets himself hope, lets himself fall into the role of a child waiting for a hero again only to be let down, he doesn’t know if his spirit will recover. It's hard to dim that spark and ignore his gut that wants to point out and scream, Eraserhead is different. He cares. He's good. Every interaction he's had with the hero so far only highlights that point but Shoto wants desperately to wash it away. Like a dog hit one too many times, he's grown wary of authority figures and hands extended like they want to help. They never do. They never do.

I need to focus. These people need me. Ignore everything else.

That, at least, is a decent motivator. Thinking of that dead-eyed woman and the unknown amount just like her being kept like animals in these halls ignites a spark in his hollow chest. He can do this. If he’s a monster – and he’s unfortunately certain he is – then he can turn his monstrous gaze on those responsible. Let him capitalize on his rage and power to save these people.

And that brings up a curiosity.

They didn’t bother to cuff him again. In all the time that’s since passed, no one has come to restrain him. Perhaps they realized it’s useless to try. It makes him wonder just how many cuffs he managed to break while being transported because he’s almost certain that there was at least one. Four sets of stun cuffs at the minimum can’t be cheap to replace. It also must be pretty embarrassing to have a teenager fresh out of their pre-teens breaking out of your shackles and prison so easily. Best not give another chance to be shamed, he supposes.

Or, maybe Murmur is just being obnoxiously smug, waving freedom in his face while knowing Shoto has his hands metaphorically tied.

His brows slant as he glares at the door.

Asshole.

Like he's executing the world's worst party trick, the door swings open just as that thought crosses his mind and reveals Murmur. Per usual, the man is smiling all tranquil and friendly; a true poster child of Boy Scout benevolence. It wouldn’t shock Shoto if being called an ‘asshole’ actually summoned the man like he's some sort of shitty demon. It feels fitting for this wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The teen quickly stands and shifts into a defensive stance. There’s no weapon visible on Murmur and no aggression in the way he moves as he steps into the room, but that doesn’t relax Shoto’s tense posture. Nothing good can come from his presence.

He’s caught between the desire to glare a hole through the man (not yet successful, but further attempts may prove fruitful), or staring at the wall behind him like he doesn’t exist to irritate Murmur in a mild, non-inconvenient way. That’s when he notices two figures hovering just behind his captor. They frame the doorway, nearly out of sight but still visible enough to stare at Shoto. Clearly security of some form. And creepy security at that.

The quiet duo wears matching masks, one black and the other white, finely decorated and shaped to resemble kitsune. Now, Shoto isn’t exactly the religious sort, far from it, in fact. Even still, he’s well-read enough to recognize homages to Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi. If those kami exist, he sincerely doubts they’d be pleased two thugs are dishonoring their images. And what kitschy designs, too.

He doesn’t have time to wonder if their quirks relate to their chosen patrons because Murmur shifts into his direct line of sight. It’s as if the unremarkable nature of the man drives him to seek attention, discontent with being ignored or overlooked, especially by those he seeks out so hungrily.

That warring desire to be petulant rises in him again. To be, or not to be, that is the question. (His old tutor would be irate to learn he’s weaponizing Shakespeare to aggravate his captor.)

It’s only the thought of the other captives that keeps him from exercising the full extent of his bratty nature. No matter how deeply the desire burns in him, he can’t let them get hurt for his own petty whims. I’m not that monstrous.

Not yet, a different voice echoes back, too amused sounding to be anything less than malicious. Shoto makes a mental note to punch Dabi the next time they cross paths, because he's certain they will. The scarred man was pretty clear on that front.

He barely withholds a grimace, eyes narrowing into a glare as he watches Murmur approach. The door clicks shut behind him, separating him from his watchful guardians.

They’re alone now.

The way the man’s smile widens and how he wrings his hands in anticipation sets off Shoto’s nerves. There’s no telling what this bastard’s intentions are, especially with that odd look in his empty eyes. His defensive posture strengthens.

There must be a threat on Shoto’s face or in the sharp angle of his body because Murmur pauses his approach, hands raised placatingly. The pacifying gesture does nothing to soften the malice that radiates from him.

“Before you get any clever ideas, I’d like to warn you that I have someone monitoring us. It’d be unwise to attack,” he says pleasantly.

Shoto’s gaze narrows, honing in on the way the man’s jaw ticks around that smile. Discomfort? Uncertainty? Whatever it is, he’s wary of the danger Shoto poses, even in this position of uneven power.

Good. He should be terrified.

And he can’t attribute that biting comment to that new, venomous voice that’s taken residence in his head. No, that rancor is all his own. This time, he doesn’t mind it.

While there’s nothing more tempting at this moment than to freeze Murmur into a glacier so large, that global temperatures would drop, he knows better. It’s not his life on the line. He can feel frost creep up his fingers as he pushes back the biting, keening urge to attack. If getting out was as simple as taking down this one man, he’d have no hesitation in breaking the bastard into pieces.

Unfortunately, life is never that simple.

There are too many unknowns to account for. Who is monitoring the situation? How quickly would they react? Is another victim being held up as collateral? If Shoto can coax out some of that information, then he can make a more informed decision on what to do next.

That makes it slightly easier to will away the ice from his fingertips.

Murmur notices, grin sharpening as he steps closer. When he reaches into his coat, Shoto tenses all over again. That tension turns into confusion as Murmur pulls out a slender tablet and presents it to Shoto.

“Here you go.”

Shoto stares at the offered item like it might suddenly grow teeth and snap at him. Then, he glances up at the man, brows pinched in confusion.

“What is this?” he asks suspiciously.

Murmur sighs, but he sounds amused by Shoto’s distrust.

“Proof of my word,” he says. Then, he taps the screen to life.

Rather than take the tablet, Shoto tilts his head to get a better look. On it is a crisp live feed of another cell identical to the one Shoto’s in. Sitting on the floor, curled in a ball, is the woman Murmur had been threatening. It’s hard to tell from her position, but she seems no worse than the last time Shoto saw her. At the very least, he can see no wounds or blood on her clothes.

How terrible it is that this meager display of subhuman treatment is nearly enough to make him sigh in relief. The woman is alive, in one piece, and still in this facility.

If this footage is genuine.

He can’t be entirely sure of the validity of what he’s seeing, if it’s pre-recorded or actually live, but even the chance that she’s okay makes him certain he’d done the right thing.

“Perfectly unharmed, just as I said.”

And Murmur breaks his moment of peace by speaking. Naturally.

Shoto stares at the husk of a woman for a few breaths longer before dragging his gaze up to his captor. Murmur is far too pleased with himself for having done the bare minimum required to be only slightly better than actual roadkill.

His captor tucks the tablet away again, eyes only briefly leaving Shoto before darting right back.

“Do you believe me now?” he asks, sickly sweet.

What the hell is with him?

This can’t be normal, all this appeasement and reassurance. It’s doubtful he’s gone to such lengths for his other captives. Just seeing the state of that woman and her apparent disposability is enough to make that obvious. If he really wanted to, he could have drugged Shoto while he was unconscious. That’d solve this entire run-around before it even got to this point. But he didn’t. No, instead he’s trying to build some sort of rapport here, as stupid as that is.

Shoto brushes right past his question with no intent on answering. It’ll be a cold day in hell when he believes or trusts anything this jackass says. Instead, he narrows his eyes and lets his features fall into that stoic mask he’s perfected over the years.

“This is a lot of effort for one person. What do you want with me?” he asks, voice cold and demanding.

Murmur blinks at him, face momentarily blank with surprise. Then, his smile reappears, wider now and verging on manic. It makes Shoto want to step further away from him but he’ll be damned if he lets this guy know he’s unsettled.

When Murmur talks, his voice rings high with amusement. His words come out in a huff, like he can hardly believe he has to say them.

“I’d think it’s obvious. I want everything.”

He waves a hand vaguely in Shoto’s direction, as if that can somehow explain that incredibly vague declaration.

Everything?

A cold stone drops in his gut.

He has to re-evaluate the lengths he’ll go to pacify this bastard and protect these people, he fears. But even edging near that thought sends his heart skyrocketing. Threats of pain and torture are hardly terrifying to Shoto. He’s quite familiar with the many layers of agony, but this...this undefined everything conjures prospects that his young mind hadn’t thought of since being targeted.

Pride be damned, he shifts further away from the man and raises a defensive hand coated in spiking ice.

“What do you mean?”

His voice is far steadier than the rabbiting heart in his chest. He manages an air of disgust and rage when what feels is really fear. For once, he hopes that spark of anger finds him again because he doesn’t like this helpless feeling. He’d rather be consumed by the flames of hate than drown in fear.

Murmur’s face slackens for a moment before something in him cracks and he laughs. He laughs like Shoto said something extraordinarily comedic. His face is buried in his hands before he peeks between his fingers, eyes wide in such a manner that is makes Shoto’s skin crawl. For the first time, he sees a hint of the true madness driving this man.

“You really don’t know, do you?” he asks breathlessly from behind his fingers.

When he drops his hands and lifts his head, he is all sorts of ruffled. Shoto gives a sharp shake of his head, having absolutely no clue what tangent this man is on now.

Murmur’s smile is almost hysterical now as he continues, “How wonderfully perfect you are.”

Shoto’s unaffected mask cracks just a bit as he curls his lips in distaste.

“I’m not perfect.”

He spits it out and wishes it could strike the man like a punch.

The masterpiece, the prized one, the favored child, Endeavor’s crowning piece and magnum opus, nonpareil, perfect. He fucking despises those sentiments because it humanizes what it took to make him this way, softens his jagged, broken edges like they’re non-existent. Or, worse, like he is only his surface – his quirk, his strength, his name. He’s not perfect. He’s angry and tired and bitter and so fucking fucked that he can’t tell the difference between pain and safety, comfort and danger.

Murmur waves away his rage like it’s a gnat. Some of that frenzied energy has drained out of his captor and he looks closer to the composed man he likes to portray, but there’s still a malignant gleam in his eyes.

“I’m not speaking of your personality or other such arbitrary things. I mean physically, genetically,” he says as he glances over Shoto once more.

Warning spikes sprout from Shoto’s right side like a porcupine and his left side smokes lightly. That only serves to ramp up that instability fueling Murmur. He sighs, awed and starry-eyed.

“You are a marvel of nature.”

It sounds affectionate and far too kindly coming from this bastard. Yet at the same time, he sounds as if he’s speaking about a thing. There is nothing in his tone or his face that hints at understanding Shoto is a living, breathing person.

And Shoto cannot for the life of him understand what the hell he’s talking about. Sure, his quirk is strong and pretty rare, but to go so far as to call him a marvel of nature? That’s way more than a stretch. There are people out there with quirks that alter their entire body into something almost inhuman. Even the Iida family with their mild heteromorphic traits are more unique than him. For all intents and purposes, he’s a normal human with an abnormally strong quirk.

“Objectively speaking, I’m not that different from other people,” he says, voice pointedly disinterested. He doubts it will convince the man whatever fanatical ideas he has are wrong, but it’s worth a shot.

As he suspected, Murmur just seems to clench his jaw, almost angry that Shoto is denying this.

“Wrong. So, so wrong.”

He steps closer, crowding Shoto back to the wall. The spines of ice are the only thing that keeps the distance between the two. Shoto’s eyes widen and he bares his teeth like it’ll keep the man away. It doesn’t stop Murmur from gripping his chin and tilting his head left and right, inspecting him with fervent eyes.

“Chimerism is already rare among people, yet you have that and quirk chimerism. It presents itself so pleasingly and powerfully, too,” he says softly as he looks over his split features, eyes darting from smoke to ice, blue to gray. “That is a statistical improbability so unlikely, I’d sooner turn dust to diamonds than replicate you.”

That… Shoto didn’t know that. There’s no way that’s true.

And yet, Murmur is staring at him like he’s something divine.

Mollified after his impromptu inspection, Murmur takes a step back and smiles sedately once more, like nothing more innocuous than small talk just occurred. His ability to snap back to this false state of composure is unsettling, like an actor switches masks.

Shoto barely has the presence of mind to subdue the shaking in his hands. Fear coats his tongue. He doesn’t want to look at Murmur, doesn’t want to see the rapacity in his stare or the dehumanizing way he appraises Shoto.

“There are people who’d pay a genuine fortune for you,” Murmur states, voice pleasantly neutral again.

Shoto’s gaze finally flicks over to catch his. He tries to force all his fear down and all his hate up so it can leak out of his glare.

“I’m not for sale,” he says through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes.

If he comes at me again…He can’t guarantee he won’t get violent. Shoto hopes and prays that doesn’t happen because he doesn’t want someone else to suffer because of him, but… But he can’t take those greedy hands on him. It disgusts him, makes him angry and rabid, and most of all, it makes him afraid.

He’s no good to these people broken or sold, he reassures himself. He’ll have to defend himself because otherwise no one will be able to help them. It’s logical, rational.

Fuck, he hopes it doesn’t come down to him or them, because he’s scared of what he’ll pick.

Either his blank expression is still holding strong or Murmur is entirely uncaring of his distress – either is viable – because the man just gives him a pleased look.

“Quite right. You’re not.”

And that gives Shoto pause. He isn’t sure if he feels more or less frightened at the assurance. Because isn’t that why he was kidnapped to begin with?

Murmur begins to pace, hands dancing across the air as he speaks.

“I’ve pondered over you in the past days. You’d make me a lot of money. In fact, several interested parties have already placed astonishing offers. But, well, I may be a bit greedy,” he says and pauses his steps to shoot Shoto a wry, hollow grin.

Shoto’s known logically that there are vile people in this world, the kind who buy and sell others like property. There’s unfortunate proof of that in his lineage. And he’s known that the situation he’s in means he’s going to be dealing with said people. Even still, the difference between knowing this academically and having to experience it firsthand, that people are trying to buy him – a teenager – is bone-chilling.

Horror tightens around his throat like an invisible noose and robs him of his voice as he processes it all.

“Seeing the strength you have, and so young too, made me realize what an opportunity I nearly passed over,” Murmur continues with that unnerving vacant smile, “I could loan you out. For an appropriate fee and a signed waiver you’ll return unharmed, of course. With time, I’d make several times the amount I’d get from a sale.”

There are veritable yen signs flashing in Murmur’s eyes as he imagines his future wealth wrought by exploiting Shoto.

And it finally clicks into place.

His cursed fate isn’t to be chased down and forced into heroics. No, that’s the palatable option. His fate, one determined since before conception and written into the tapestry of the universe is that of a tool, an object, a means to an end. To be used to fulfill other’s selfish desires regardless of his wants.

Maybe this is recompense for the hell he caused his mother or the fissure he drove into his family – this mockery of her fate. (Does he deserve this? Like the scar on his face? No, no, he doesn’t believe that. Can’t believe it.)

That realization finally, finally, brings a spark to life in Shoto’s chest. A trickle of righteous indignation bubbles up into a wellspring to flood over his fears and drown them out.

How dare he?

He ran from home to escape the fate of a weapon and he damn well refuses to let this jackass pick up where Endeavor left off.

Shoto slaps away the hand that reaches out for him again like he’s an animal at a petting zoo. The flash in Murmur’s eyes is a warning of impending danger but rage licks at his heart, too hot to care. That small part of him crying out to be rational is drowned out by his rampant emotions. Always the hothead, this mercurial boy. He'd been told quite often that his temper and his mouth would get him into trouble one day. Wouldn't those people love to see him now?

“I won’t—” he starts out, voice biting and frigid, only to get cut off by his visibly irritated captor.

“There is no end to that sentence that matters. What you will and won’t do is not up to you,” Murmur states just as coldly. Whatever delusion he’d been frolicking in has faded away with Shoto’s sharp rebuttal. There is no pretense of pleasantry as he stares at Shoto.

That only fires up Shoto further. He’s prepared to spit out another retort, something no doubt scathing and potentially idiotic – (be calm, be polite, be rational.) – when Murmur barrels on.

“I’m being polite because I’d prefer not to break your mind. It would be an unfortunate waste, but I will if I have to,” he says with a glare, staring down his nose at Shoto like he’s an unruly child on the verge of punishment.

Shoto scoffs, but a thread of unease tangles its way into the blaze of his anger. Breaking his mind sounds especially unpleasant and very real.

What if that woman hadn’t been drugged? What if it was Murmur's doing?

He supposes that can account for Murmur’s desire to play at friends. Shoto would be a lot less useful if he’s borderline catatonic. Though, it certainly sounds like the man would still find uses for him. A shiver races down his spine at the notion.

“It doesn’t matter what you say. I will never be your tool,” he says venomously, nearly on reflex despite the threat lingering between them.

Murmur raises a brow, unimpressed.

“Please, your rebelliousness has its charm but don’t think so highly of yourself,” he says with a huff.

The hand Shoto slapped waves in his direction, almost dismissive. Then, the beginning of an antagonizing smile curls Murmur’s lips. It brings back that well-known desire to punch the man. Just one punch, please. That’s all I’m asking for. (Fortunately, Shoto’s sliver of self-control holds strong and he resists the siren call.)

“All I have to do is put a gun to someone’s head and you’ll be crawling your way back to your kennel like a good boy,” Murmur finishes, smile widened to its fullest extent.

That fragile hold he has on his self-control wavers dangerously.

It incenses Shoto, this smugness, and the utter insult Murmur throws at him, mostly because it’s true. Shoto’s so mad at his captor and this situation, but he’s mostly mad at himself for being so goddamn predictable.

Murmur revels in his unspoken victory over Shoto by deftly slipping back into his sycophantic role. When remorse takes shape on his face, Shoto feels violence in his veins.

“I don’t wish to be mean, but you must understand your place. We can avoid this unpleasantness if you simply accept your role here,” Murmur says softly, saccharine and synthetic in its inflection.

The quirk worms its way into his mind, twisting his thoughts into agreement. If Shoto wasn't already aware that the man would use his quirk on him, it'd become blatantly apparant in the way Shoto nearly nods along. It takes more effort than it should to keep himself still and to drown out that invasive thought.

Shoto’s fingers twitch as he forcibly resists hitting the man again – even if it would be so, so satisfying.

Not yet. I don’t want anyone else hurt.

No one else but him, of course.

That rough, snickering voice in the back of his mind finds company as Shoto imagines what it’d be like to break the man’s jaw. How euphoric it must be.

“Never,” he finally says after forcing down the compulsive need to agree and trying to (still unsuccessfully) glare a hole through the man.

Despite the unshakeable certainty in his voice and the aggressive defiance dripping from his body, Murmur just smiles softly, right back to genial in another whiplash of emotions. Keeping up with the shifts is nearly as exhausting as resisting his influence.

“Of course, Shoto. Of course,” he says kindly, amusedly. He reaches forward to pat Shoto’s shoulder only to yank his hand back quickly as a flame sprouts to life before he can make contact. The man looks at his red fingers, glances back at Shoto with that look in his eyes, before he chuckles and walks toward the door.

“Get comfortable. Our first session will begin soon,” he says over his shoulder before he exits. Just around the door frame, two monochromatic masks watch him in silence.

The door clicks shut and Shoto is once again left with nothing but the buzz of the lights and the sting of his thoughts.

Shoto doesn’t relax for several minutes. He watches the door like a hawk, prepared in case Murmur comes back in or some other bastard is sent to ‘convince’ him. When it becomes clear no one is coming, Shoto sighs and slides back down to the floor with a knotted gut and trembling hands.

He needs to get out and fast.

If Murmur is being honest about rending his mind, then that makes time more precious.

But if I act rashly, someone innocent will pay for it.

He grimaces as he stares at his hands again.

What if that’s what’s necessary?

On one hand, he knows the longer he’s here, the more dangerous the situation becomes, the more compromised he may be, and the more people will be sold. Sitting around is just as bad as putting these people up for auction himself.

He clenches his left fist, feeling the heat of his aggravation and helplessness cycle through him, bringing up the temperature on his fire side in increments.

But, on the other hand, if that tracker is still here or those guards are outside his door, the moment he gets out, someone will suffer. They might actually die. Who is he to decide someone’s fate like that?

He clenches his aching right hand, fingers coiled in an arctic fist.

If it came down to it, could he make a sacrifice? Could he cross that line, surrender one to save the many? When push comes to shove, will he do what it takes? He’s growing less and less certain he’s strong enough for this.

He thinks back on Dabi’s harsh words, on death being the preferable fate.

Guilt hits him like an avalanche. No matter how he looks at the situation, he feels like he’s at a loss. Someone is going to get hurt and it’s his fault. His next breath stutters in his chest.

If I’d been better, I could have prevented this. If I’d been smarter, I’d already have a plan.

(He’s a child, he shouldn’t be turning lives into statistics and shouldering the responsibility.)

(But he’s not really a child, is he? He never was. Fate didn't write that into his path.)

He rubs a cold fist against his eyes and it comes back dry. Shoto feels like crying but he isn’t sure he remembers how. This isn’t a situation he can brute force his way out of, an enemy he can overwhelm with raw power. It’s too intricate, something he wasn’t trained for. He was told what to do if he was held hostage, being the son of a high-profile hero would make him a target, after all. But active hostage situations were theoretical and saved for heroics class.

He doesn’t know what to do.

All this coveted power, and for what? To be caged like a toothless animal? So, so useless.

He feels despair dig its claws into him, self-hatred biting at his throat. And then irritation at himself for letting these weak emotions find root so easily. What’s he to do, wallow in self-pity? Give up because it’s too hard? What’s the point of all his pain if he calls it quits so easily?

He was made for this. If all he can be good at in life is heroics, then he might as well lean into that.

I can’t just give up. I have to help the victims here or they’ll be gone forever.

And maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll get to punch Murmur in his smug mouth on the way out.

---

True to his word, Murmur comes by again.

He’s like a leech, Shoto thinks with no small degree of disdain.

But that meeting is just as unsuccessful as the first.

The third meeting is nearly hostile. It results in Shoto experiencing the true extent of Murmur’s quirk as the man jams thoughts into his brain like spikes. It’s nauseating and makes his skull feel like it’s splitting in two. The foreign ideas are so vibrant, lit up like neon lights in his mind, and so hard to ignore.

Shoto’s left curled in on himself, cradling his head in his arms and blood leaking from his nose.

It’s the first time he experiences the raw force of that quirk, but it won’t be the last.

By the fourth, both Shoto and Murmur are sick of this game.

“I’m growing tired of this. Aren’t you?” Murmur asks blandly, no longer caring to keep up his kind act.

Shoto scoffs from his position on the ground. He’s stopped rising to meet the man, barely even glances in his direction.

“If you’re tired, maybe you should go to sleep,” he says back just as tonelessly. He’s pointedly staring at the wall, keeping Murmur in his peripheral but not gracing him with his full attention.

“Cute.”

By the irritated way he says it, Murmur definitely does not think his snark is cute. Good.

With the pretense of equality gone, Murmur forgoes his usual conversation and dives right into his mind.

“You are a tool. Do you understand that?” he says like it’s a universal fact.

I am a tool.

Shoto groans and drops his head into his hands, fingers tangling in his hair as the idea is forcibly pounded into his head. It pervades every crevice, reaching even the furthest, darkest corners of his mind.

“No, I’m not,” he grits out even when everything in him says he should agree. Just saying that small refusal makes him feel like choking.

He barely registers Murmur’s presence as he fights to separate this invasive thought and what is really his mind.

“Yes, Shoto, yes you are,” Murmur says, closer now. “You are a tool, perfectly designed to be used by others. Why else would you have been formed so? Your quirk, your appearance, your skills, it’s all curated by fate to be used. Do you see?”

And wasn’t he thinking exactly that not too long ago? How his entire role in the world is to be used by others? It makes it so much harder to drive a wedge between Murmur’s manipulations and him.

“Shut up,” he says, nearly hissing as he presses his hands to his head like he can hold his splintering mind together.

“No. Not until you understand,” Murmur continues. The thought reinforces itself in his mind like a jackhammer. He feels his entire body twitch as he fights the intrusion. It feels an awful lot like his nose is bleeding again.

“I am not a tool. I’m not my quirk,” he says firmly, more as a reminder to himself than a statement to Murmur. He just has to remind himself of who he is. I’m a person, not a tool.

“You are.”

...He’s right. When have I ever been anything other than my quirk? Mom, Toya, Fuyumi, Natsu, they all suffered for my quirk. Endeavor made me for my quirk. I was taken for my quirk. That’s all anyone cares about. It’s all I’m used for.

He shakes his aching head like a dog.

No, shut up. Stop it. It’s not true. I’m a person, not a quirk.

And the war continues as he fights within himself. His quirk fluctuates as he struggles to find stability. His head feels like it’s cracking apart, like his brain will melt and drip right out of his ears.

“Stop it. Stop!” he yells as he tries to keep himself together. Voices, vicious, snarling things that whisper his worst thoughts and remind him of his place, echo one after another. It’s a cacophony so overwhelming, he nearly misses his captor’s chuckle.

“Oh, dear one, I wasn’t using my quirk that time.”

And Shoto doesn’t know when he leaves because he’s too busy fighting his own brain, doesn’t know how long he’s cradling his head and dripping blood onto the mat.

“I’m a person,” he reassures himself, voice hoarse like he’s been screaming this whole time.

An object, it hisses back.

“Not my quirk.”

It’s all I’m worth.

Even the fluorescents can’t drown this out.

The cycle repeats.

---

Before he’d been caught, Shoto had been under the assumption that being discovered and thrown back into Endeavor’s clutches was his worst possible outcome.

He was wrong. So very, very wrong.

The idea is compounded in the fleeting moments of cognizance before it’s inevitably chased away again when Murmur rips into his brain like he’s trying to lobotomize Shoto. It grows harder to distinguish reality from his captor’s woven fantasy. All he can do is cling to his repetition to ground himself.

My name is Shoto. I am a person, not a tool.

He doesn’t care if Murmur hears his persistent muttering as he keeps his eyes closed, focusing on his mantra to keep back any creeping doubts. Even if the ideas had been his own – this uncertainty of self – he chases it away viciously with his mantra because he can’t let Murmur have even the tiniest foothold in his mind.

(Even in the deepest throes of this conditioning, Shoto still manages to dredge up delightfully petty satisfaction knowing his stubbornness is annoying Murmur. Had the man thought he’d be easy to break because he’s young? Idiot.)

With each visit, the voices get harder and harder to drown out. Like sirens at sea, it grows ever more tempting to listen to them.

Give in, they say in a beguiling sing-song, we know it’s true.

And like always, he wills himself away, knowing it’s a trap but his will weakens under the unrelenting barrage.

My name is Shoto. I am a person, not a tool.

False. People are born. Tools are created. He created me to fulfill a purpose, just like people make weapons for war.

My name is Shoto. I am a person, not a tool.

Mom didn’t want a thing like me; like him. Wouldn't it be better to be with someone who wants me?

His refusal remains steadfast against the quirk and his body rebels. Murmur takes unkindly to his continued resistance.

It's unfortunate that it takes him vomiting blood and speaking to an unseen presence for the visits to slow. Murmur pulls back those mental talons and leaves Shoto crumbled in on himself, fighting to get a hold on reality.

My name is Shoto...

---

Meanwhile in Shinjuku:

Someone slips a note with a two-way radio into the middle of a particular hero's patrol route. The paper is nearly blank, but the coordinates it holds may as well be a gift from above.

When the hero reads this letter, it trembles ever so faintly in his grasp. Like a vengeful spirit, he turns on his heel and takes to the night. He'll test the validity of this note, see if it is what he suspects. (Oh, does he hope.)

If it proves true, a reckoning will follow.

(Besides, there's a certain aggravatingly unlucky non-vigilante he needs to speak to.)

[thebibliosphere]

I was, yeah. I did chiropractic care for years because it’s what my previous MD recommended and it was covered by my insurance. And it worked great for me, because, as it turned out, I had actual misalignments from my joints being out of the sockets from undiagnosed Ehlers Danlos Syndrome. They were literally popping my joints back into place and relieving a significant amount of my pain in the process.

It turns out the whole “your spine is out of alignment” thing is very convincing when your spine is literally out of alignment due to a subluxated tailbone, hip, shoulder, etc etc.

And then, again on a recommendation from an MD doctor for my chronic migraines, I got my neck adjusted, very gently I might add, and I ended up having to get an emergency MRI for a possible brain bleed because something in my neck tore.

Thankfully it wasn't a brain bleed and I wasn't about to die.

Unfortunately, they’d torn every inch of soft tissue on the right side of my neck from my upper trap muscles all the way around the right side of my skull. I could barely hold my head up for weeks. Everything was agony.

Its been several years and I’m still dealing with the damage.

The spinal specialist I saw during recovery was very adamant about never letting anyone touch your neck like that, no matter how gentle they are. He told me the majority of his patients used to come from motoring accidents, and now a good solid chunk of them were from people being irreparably harmed by chiropractors. From torn ligaments to strokes, he’d seen it all. All because chiro is cheaper than physical therapy.

When I was finally diagnosed with EDS and started getting proper help, the horror that went through every EDS-aware physical therapist when I told them the chiropractor story was palpable. One straight up told me I should be paralyzed.

And then we started working on stabilizing my joints and muscles so that they don’t dislocate/subluxate as much because while the chiro might have been putting my joints back in without knowing it, they weren’t actually doing anything to address the root cause or stabilize the area.

It was just a weekly stop-gap measure that was inadvertently helping my immediate pain but ultimately lengthening my long term recovery.

I SHOULD have been recommend physical therapy from the start, even before we knew I had EDS, but because chiropractic care is cheaper, that’s what my insurance agreed to cover.

And now my head sits at a slight angle from scar tissue at the base of my skull and sometimes my fingers feel a little numb.

Don’t let people adjust your neck. You might fucking die.

Periodic reminder that you should never trust a chiropractor with your body under any circumstances

[ashadowofburnedoutstardust]

And yet again it looks as if the troll had another article put out on a no name site to get her name out by using Chris’ new movie and his GQ interview since no one looks when it’s only her mentioned. No one look at that crap article. It’s nothing new, it’s mostly mentioning her and his old GQ interview. No new info or new interview with him.

Al Jazeera

Israel War on Gaza

‘This court is a failure’: Palestinians in Gaza decry ICJ’s interim ruling

Palestinians in Gaza say they need a lasting ceasefire; aid amid continued Israeli bombardment is not enough.

[Abdelhakim Abu Riash/Al Jazeera]

More than 26,000 Palestinians have been killed in Gaza since October 7 and some 1.9 million have been internally displaced [Abdelhakim Abu Riash/Al Jazeera]

By Maram Humaid

Published On 26 Jan 2024

26 Jan 2024

Palestinians in Gaza say they are devastated by the International Court of Justice’s (ICJ) decision not to order Israel to cease its near-four-month bombardment and ground invasion of the strip during a case brought by South Africa accusing Israel of committing genocide.

On Friday, the World Court issued a series of provisional measures requiring Israel to comply with the 1948 Genocide Convention, allow more humanitarian aid into Gaza and act against those who issue genocidal statements.

But the court fell short of ordering an immediate ceasefire or insisting that Israel cease all military activity in the strip.

KEEP READING

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ICJ orders Israel to prevent acts of genocide in Gaza

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ICJ ruling on South Africa’s case against Israel in Gaza: Key takeaways

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World reacts to ICJ interim ruling in Gaza genocide case against Israel

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Many in Gaza say they are disappointed, but not surprised. They say they do not trust the international community, nor the global justice system, as they have so far failed to end the bloodshed in the enclave.

More than 26,000 Palestinians have been killed in Gaza since October 7 and some 1.9 million have been internally displaced, according to the United Nations.

Among them is 54-year-old Ahmed al-Naffar, who was intently following the court’s announcement outside the al-Aqsa Martyrs’ Hospital in central Gaza’s Deir el-Balah on Friday.

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“Although I don’t trust the international community, I had a small glimmer of hope that the court would rule on a ceasefire in Gaza,” al-Naffar told Al Jazeera.

[Abdelhakim Abu Riash/Al Jazeera]

Ahmed al-Naffar, 54 and a father of six, has been displaced and is currently sheltering outside the al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital [Abdelhakim Abu Riash/Al Jazeera]

His high hopes came crashing down when he heard the precautionary decisions that emerged from the court’s session. He refused to continue listening in, saying, “The court is a failure.”

The father of six has been displaced and is currently sheltering in the hospital’s courtyard, along with hundreds of other Palestinians.

“It’s shocking that, unfortunately, no one can handle calling for a ceasefire. Everyone is watching our annihilation without taking action to push for a serious ceasefire,” he told Al Jazeera.

“We do not want aid or food. We want a ceasefire, an end to the war, and a return to Gaza [City].”

‘Let them kill us all and relieve us of this torment’

Earlier this month, South Africa asked the ICJ to order an emergency suspension of Israel’s devastating military campaign in Gaza.

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It argued that provisional measures are necessary “to protect against further, severe and irreparable harm to the rights of the Palestinian people under the Genocide Convention, which continue to be violated with impunity”.

South Africa filed nine injunctions to the court. Among them was one that would also direct Israel to facilitate and not impede the delivery of humanitarian aid into Gaza.

Currently, the aid coming into Gaza through the Rafah border crossing meets less than 30 percent of the enclave’s needs, Gaza’s health ministry has said. Both the quantity and type of aid are controlled by Israel, which has imposed a complete siege on Gaza since the start of the offensive.

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Al-Naffar said he feels especially disappointed for his wife and five daughters.

“I don’t know what to say to my daughters who were left alone in Gaza City under these frightening conditions,” he said.

Al-Naffar said he had a small glimmer of hope that the court would rule on a ceasefire [Abdelhakim Abu Riash/Al Jazeera]

He was forced to leave Gaza City when Israeli forces arrested him and his 19-year-old son at their home on November 20. They remained in Israeli detention for 24 hours.

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During that time, al-Naffar said, they were interrogated, “severely beaten” and mistreated before they were eventually released and ordered to make their way to the south of the Strip.

Al-Naffar called his daughters earlier today, promising them that the court’s decision would be “positive and in our favour”, and that it would likely rule to end the assault.

“But I was wrong,” he said. “I feel sad and frustrated. I hope we all die, let them kill us all. Let them drop a nuclear bomb on Gaza and relieve us of this torment.”

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Being separated from his family, al-Naffar spent most of his day thinking about them and trying to reach out to them.

“My girls are alone with their mother. They desperately need me to be by their side in such horrific circumstances.”

‘No one can stop Israel’

Meanwhile, displaced Palestinian Mohammad al-Minawi said he felt it was pointless to even listen to the ICJ’s ruling.

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The 45-year-old father of five is currently sheltering in a tent outside the al-Aqsa Martyrs’ Hospital. He was forced to flee his home in the al-Mughraqa area, east of Gaza City, when it came under attack.

Like hundreds of thousands of others, he headed south as per the Israeli military’s instructions.

“I am not optimistic … Unfortunately, no one can stop Israel,” al-Minawi told Al Jazeera.

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Mohammed Al-Minawi, 45 and a father of five, believes that ‘no one’ can make Israel stop its ongoing assault [Abdelhakim Abu Riash/Al Jazeera]

He nonetheless expressed his gratitude to South Africa, describing what it did in filing its lawsuit against Israel as “unprecedented”. But, he added that in his opinion, if other countries remain silent, then the move is insufficient.

“There is no deterrent for Israel. All international and diplomatic decisions support it, and there is no accountability,” al-Minawi said.

If Israel cared about international law, its forces wouldn’t have killed “so many women and children in Gaza and destroyed all of our homes,” he said.

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“Everyone says ‘we will send aid.’ Israel is killing us and you are pressing to send aid? How about providing us with protection.”

‘We will be exterminated in a month’

Israel has dismissed the accusation of genocide, and frequently boycotts international tribunals and UN investigations, alleging they are unfair and biased.

The ICJ has required Israel to submit a report in one month outlining the steps it is taking to show it is complying with the provisional measures ordered on Friday. South Africa will then be given the opportunity to respond to this report.

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While Israel will come under more scrutiny over how it conducts its military assault on Gaza, it will not be violating the court’s decision by continuing its bombardment.

“How can Israel be given a full month to submit a report on not targeting civilians? We will all be exterminated during this month,” al-Minawi said.

Several rights organisations and international bodies have urged Israel to protect civilian life, but the majority of victims in Gaza have been innocent women and children, people in the strip have said.

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At least 183 people have been killed and 377 wounded throughout the enclave in the past 24 hours alone, according to Gaza’s Health Ministry.

Since October 7, Israel’s attacks have targeted medical facilities, healthcare workers and ambulances, as well as thousands of internally displaced people sheltering inside hospitals and UN-run facilities.

‘The whole world approves of our annihilation’

The military assault and the blockade on the strip have especially affected pregnant women in Gaza, many of whom have been forced to give birth in dangerous and unsanitary conditions amid the collapse of the healthcare sector.

Tahrir Sheikh Khalil is among the thousands of women who are currently pregnant amid a severe lack of food and clean water. She is now staying in a tent near the al-Aqsa Martyrs’ Hospital, along with her husband and five children.

Her husband was listening to the ICJ’s judgement on Friday. Shortly before the verdict, Khalil said her husband was “optimistic”, but she was not.

“I am not optimistic about anything,” the 35-year-old who fled Shati refugee camp, told Al Jazeera.

Hassan Khalil, 40, and his pregnant wife, Tahrir, 35, say they are living in ‘tragic conditions’ with their five children [Abdelhakim Abu Riash/Al Jazeera]

Her husband, 40-year-old Hassan Khalil, was hoping he would have been able to “immediately” return to Gaza City if the ICJ had ordered an immediate ceasefire.

“We fled to five places before we ended up here. First, to UNRWA schools in the city centre, then to the al-Maghazi area, then to an area on Maghazi Roads, and now we’re here in Deir al-Balah,” Tahrir said.

“What is happening will not change anything about our suffering. War, killing, and destruction will continue,” she added.

The couple echoed the sentiments of everyone else around them, saying, “We don’t want them to bring in aid.” They once again called for a lasting ceasefire.

“We are living in tragic conditions here and we cannot continue living in these conditions,” Hassan said.

“We have no one to support us. No one can stop Israel, no court decisions or UN resolutions. As long as the US supports Israel, we will continue to suffer,” he said.

The United States has continued to provide military aid upon which Israel is reliant to continue its offensive. The US has also provided diplomatic support, and has vetoed several UN Security Council resolutions calling for a ceasefire in Gaza.

“The whole world approves of our annihilation. That’s the sum of things,” Tahrir said.

SOURCE: AL JAZEERA

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