#i think once with a different character before her?

[borkthemork]

I know that the fandom jokes a lot about how much Togami and Kirigiri order Naegi around to explain the clues in the trials, but I absolutely love the way they utilized this during the 4th Trial.

Specifically, in how Kirigiri is able to pack so much humiliation towards Togami without even breaking a sweat.

Togami throughout the game, especially in the Fourth Chapter, has been continuously downplaying the capabilities, lives, and agency of his fellow classmates. He is elitist, he was born into a family where if you don't bite and claw to survive, then you won't win, and believes he got to where he is through sheer cunning, willpower, and cold rationality. The idea of cooperating with the other students was beneath him. The idea of seeing people such as Asahina and Naegi as equals disgusted him due to his perceived differences in their class, capabilities, status, and levels of intellect.

In Trial 2, specifically, we see him attempt to one-up the others regarding being able to showcase how powerful and assured he is as an influential player within the Killing Game. He even used Naegi as a pawn to get him on the trail of his fabricated crime scene, just to see how people respond and to make the game less "predictable" while keeping control on the situation. However...

In that same trial, we see that the moment Naegi was able to uncover something Togami himself couldn't catch, his resolve wavers. He is humiliated, angry at the idea of some commoner, who couldn't even read 11037 as an upside down 'LEON' at the first trial, was able to outsmart him and put them on a new, unexpected path of inquiry all together. We can see that this gets to him after the trial is complete, showcasing how even if externally he looks calm and assured, being put off guard cuts him deep within his pride.

Being outsmarted, taken by surprise, or not given power over a situation frustrates him, and the seeds of that get planted during Chapter Four through multiple characters such as Kirigiri, Asahina, and Naegi.

Keep in mind that during this chapter a few key points happen that set the stage for what's to come. I am talking about Kirigiri's critical comments towards him before the Class Trial, and that Asahina was able to slap and threaten him.

These series of events do four things:

One, Asahina's actions hardened his viewpoint on Asahina as emotionally reckless and stupid, someone who he will underestimate in the later parts of the chapter.

Two, this outburst makes him double down on the idea of emotion as inferior and childish.

Three, Kirigiri's warnings make him believe he can elude betrayal, that he only has to worry about the ones who are already suspicious to him.

Four, due to being humiliated still by Asahina's surprise slap on him, he wants to regain his composure and status again amidst the cast as someone unflappable.

To me, the last point is why Togami himself went to great lengths of drinking most of the poison bottle in front of everyone. It's a way to show how untouchable and smart he is as a player, that he can surprise the others once more and remain unscathed at the very end from thinking many steps ahead of them.

However, this is where Kirigiri's words and actions click into place with humiliating the crap out of him.

When Asahina is interrogated to be lying, Togami starts to lose his resolve. He fell for Asahina's downplaying of her own intelligence and how she made obvious tracks because he believed she didn't have the capabilities to make a cleaner crime scene, and never thought deeply on why personally she would commit murder on her best friend.

He has honed in so much on the idea of killed or be killed, that the obvious contradictions went right under his nose. It didn't help that Naegi had to point this out to him afterwards.

Enter Kirigiri.

Now that Togami has lost his footing with Asahina's reveal, she then tells him that there is new evidence, surprising him once again by adding another unpredictable factor to the trial.

Stacking on to that, she rubs in that he was the one who gave it to her, and that he was too busy acting like a smartass with the bottle that he didn't inspect the evidence closer in the first place.

Since Togami does have some respect for Kirigiri in being capable of deduction and yet sees himself still as one of the best within the group, Kirigiri hones in on this. She adds how she's "amazed" that someone like him would overlook this, adding in a feeling of his intellect and capabilities being looked down upon in disappointment by a semi-peer.

Togami notes this indirectly in his dialogue, but during this scene, Kirigiri is intentionally omitting the answer to the clue also.

Compared to how she omits info from Naegi in past trials due to wanting to observe his capabilities, Kirigiri wants Togami to get desperate in this moment. He is already feeling out of the loop with multiple factors outside of his control, and not being able to think of a proper conclusion on his own due to being put off guard.

Contrasted with his past lectures—about how you can't trust people, and that you have to do things on your own—she now has Togami begging other people for an answer on the situation. To the point where his anger and frustration makes his requests sound childish, as if he's the impatient one compared to everyone else in the room.

To add even more insult to injury, Kirigiri then diverts the answer to Naegi. The person who Togami has mocked multiple times for being a commoner, someone who will never be equal to him, and who he sees as dense as a rock despite acknowledging his past deduction skills.

By doing this Kirigiri puts Togami into a corner where if he truly wants the answer to his question then he has to beg someone who is the complete opposite of everything he defines as a successful person, and you can see Togami processing this for a few seconds before relenting angrily.

In previous sessions, Togami was able to have a say in the trials and even be a massive influence in how the line of inquiries followed through; the moment Kirigiri put Naegi on the spot and gave him the reins, the tide has changed and is now in their hands.

Trial 4 has Naegi and Kirigiri carrying the deduction phase in solving Asahina's betrayal and Oogami's suicide, and doing an amazing job tying up a lot of loose ends in rapid succession much to Togami's bewilderment.

He is completely falling behind, and this makes him even more humiliated and angry as he loses his cool during the second half of the trial.

He yells about Kirigiri giving him loaded questions, about how unfair it is that she knows more than him, basically watching this man go into a tantrum right in front of everyone he's previously mocked for being emotional. It is just an avalanche of continuous pathos triggering the same humiliated feelings with each second he reacts to them.

He has to listen in shock as Asahina is found out to have been the one who betrayed them, and that suicide was the only viable way for the crime scene to occur. Asahina and Oogami took him by surprise, and if it weren't for Naegi and Kirigiri to disprove the former's claims, they all would've been executed. Togami fell for all of it, and gets hit once more with the feeling of being wrong, of losing to people he never expected to best him while Kirigiri continues to refute him without hesitation.

He's then placed in a position where Kirigiri and Naegi have beaten down his arguments well enough for him to dejectedly apologize after yelling, which is huge for someone like him.

The best part about this is that the moment he does this, Togami takes a full backseat to the entire debate as Naegi and Kirigiri interrogate Asahina and reveal the truth over Sakura's death.

He interjects a few times, and he only jumps back into the conversation completely at the finale—all to ask Makoto how he was able to beat him.

And in the end, Kirigiri responds (in frustration, which is hilarious) by telling him the exact reasons why he never was able to solve this case. She didn't even have to go on a huge tangent, all she needed to do is hit him right where it hurts: his pride, his black and white viewpoints, his inability to win, and that he is just as vulnerable and volatile as the rest of the people he looks down upon.

These lines themselves wouldn't have gotten to him before. We have seen how resistant Togami was when the group tried to argue with him over his behaviors, but now, each sentence hits him like a stack of bricks due to being dragged through the mud multiple times all to prove Kirigiri's point that she was right, and that he was wrong.

There is so much humiliation just packed into every single back-and-forth of the trial, you can't help but wince (and cheer) at how effective it was in getting Togami to back down completely.

[errriiie]

The last practice before nationals

poly!yellowjackets x fem!reader minors DNI, all characters are 18 y.o

TW: smut, gangbang extra tags: porn with plot, praising, bodyworship, sharing is caring, fingering (r! receiving), oral (r! receiving), oral (r! giving), little bit of spanking word count: 5.1k not proofread english is not writer's first language! you've always been so nice and sweet to Yellowjackets, the one and only soccer team in your school, Wiskayok High. But you also were naive and innocent enough to constantly overlook the fact that every single girl on the team wanted your attention. And when, the last day before their nationals, they finally decided to make things clear between you and them.

When Coach Martinez first introduced you to the girls, they weren't too impressed. Average hair, average eyes, average height. Nothing special or anything to look at more than usual. You weren't even, roughly speaking, a full-fledged part of the team. At least that's what Taissa said. She was always like that - confident and sure of her opinions, even if they were somewhat offensive.

But you didn't mind, and even agreed. You were just an equipment manager, and you only became one because your mother and father were very close with Coach Martinez and asked him to find you a place out of old friendship. Of course, the coach made up a different story for everyone about how you came to be on the team - but every time you remembered the truth of your presence here, you wondered if you had the right to wear your signature yellow and blue bomber jacket. You felt ashamed, even though you didn't act like someone who got in because they got a pass. You were responsible, punctual, but you didn’t forget about empathy and responsiveness when communicating with girls. Over time, you began to be noticed by more than just Misty Quigley, who shared the same position with you.

Misty Quigley herself wasn’t too bad. Well, she was… weird. But you decided that everyone had their own cockroaches in their heads and she was just trying to make friends this way.

"You know, if we ever run out of food, I’ve always wondered what human flesh tastes like. I mean, they say it’s like pork, right? Maybe we should start taking notes just in case." Misty once said while you were cleaning up the cones after practice. You looked at her with wide eyes, full of confusion.

"Excuse me? Misty, this is a little weird…" You awkwardly continued to do your job, while Misty burned a hole in you with her gaze. Misty tilts her head slightly, her expression shifting from playful to earnest.

"Oh, come on! I was just joking… mostly. But think about it—survival is all about adapting, right? It’s just a thought experiment! Besides, we’ve got to keep our spirits up somehow. Want to talk about your favorite horror movie instead? I promise I won’t suggest cannibalism this time!”

But Misty didn’t always say such creepy things. She could talk about history, especially about Roman emperors, about her experience in first aid and medicine in general, about her interests, of which there were quite a few, but no one except you, apparently, wanted to listen to her. You didn’t understand the reasons and were patient with her. Misty immediately began to appreciate this - she did not throw away potential loved ones. Then Natalie Scatorccio appeared. Natalie did not have much experience with love, including the manifestation of care towards her. You didn't know anything about her, except that she lived in a van and was an extremely good and promising soccer player. But the more Misty shared the good news about your "endless love and care", trying to brag that she had such a tasty morsel and not the rest of the team, Nat couldn't help but become interested in you. People who lack love often don't quite realize how much they subconsciously want to find it.

She caught you after practice once and started talking to you. Nat herself didn't understand why she wanted to come back to you more and more every day - was it your manner of speech or how brightly you smiled at her after silly stories? She wanted to blush under your gentle gaze, and her heart beat strangely when you waved at her after she made a good pass to the other team members. But of course it wasn't always like that. The more attached she became to you, the more she focused on looking into your unexpectedly deep eyes, rather than at the ball.

"Natalie, don't you want to start playing properly? What are you constantly distracted by?" Lottie narrows her eyes when Natalie refuses to pass the ball to her and tries to dribble the ball to the goal herself, but hits the wall.

"Forget it, Lots. I'm just having a bad day." Natalie waved it off. It was odd that for someone having a bad day, she was smiling so stubbornly and persistently in the wrong direction. Lottie couldn't help but realize that she was looking at you. Perhaps you needed to have a heart-to-heart talk.

So, Charlotte Matthews quickly became next.

After practice, she caught you doing your job as you were supposed to, and called you out on it. She was annoyed, but more curious about your relationship with Natalie. You were blushing and apologetic, and it was hard to deny that you weren't to blame for Nat's deteriorating performance.

And then Lottie discovered that your shy face was extremely hard to get out of her head. Inadvertently, you began to talk after and before practice, Lottie sharing some details about upcoming parties at her house and inviting you. You, of course, refused. Your parents expected you to be decent, and Lottie didn't like rejection and didn't know what rejection was, being a rich girl. So she made it her goal to get you at least once. Or twice. So trying to get under your skin, subtly courting you, and trying to get through to your difficult parents was already routine. Including giving expensive gifts.

"Tai, have you seen the new hair clip in Y/N's hair? Those things cost a lot of money, I tell you, I saw it in the window of that expensive jewelry store." Vanessa was amazed at the new accessory you now had.

"I didn't really pay attention to it, to be honest. What do you… mean? Do you want one like that? I didn't think it was your style." Taissa chuckled, and Van rolled her eyes.

"Haha, very funny, but that's not what I mean… Hey, Lottie! Does Y/N have a rich mommy and daddy like yours?"

Lottie, passing by, chuckled, clearly filled with pride. "Not really. That was my gift. Y/N is very nice, you know. You shouldn't have doubted her, Taissa."

Then Taissa Turner and Vanessa Palmer appeared. They were already in a relationship and were amazed to see how quickly you changed the team's attitude for the better. And yet, from the very beginning, you were a black sheep for Taissa. Van, however, did not treat you with great disdain. She preferred to give people a chance to prove themselves first, and only then draw her own conclusions. However, they quickly liked you. Taissa was surprised that you had previously attended law and jurisprudence classes, and these topics interested her greatly. Van was pleasantly pleased with your taste in films and comics. You complemented their couple with something that they could not complement each other with on their own, after all, no relationship can simply be perfect. It was a matter of time before they both wanted your attention more than was possible. Van often invited you to her home to read or watch something, and Taissa loved to discuss social issues with you. You turned out to be more than either of them could have thought.

"Tai, I'm sorry, but I've already taken up Y/N's time for the evening with myself." Van smiled tenderly at Taissa.

Taissa raised an eyebrow in surprise, seemingly hoping for something. "Damn. How did you manage to come to an agreement with her faster than me? Maybe you'll take me with you?" she said with awkward hope. "Of course, I don't understand a damn thing about your conversations, but still…"

"No way, babe. You'll steal her attention again." Van shook her head.

"Why do I keep hearing everyone talking about Y/N from every corner of the room?" Jackie folded her arms in displeasure as she found herself next to the couple. "I understand that she's new and all that… but what's so unique about her? I swear, we won't get to nationals like this."

Jackie Taylor was annoyed by your popularity within the Yellowjackets. She could see the effect you had on the girls - they were going crazy trying to get a piece of you. She wasn't interested in you at all, but she had a feeling that if she didn't get a little bit closer, they would dethrone her and make you the team captain and even make you their mascot. She had to do something, and fast.

One day, Jackie stayed with you after practice, kindly offering to help you clean up the equipment. When you both walked into the warehouse, she almost pinned you against the wall, demanding answers to her questions.

"Y/N, I can see something's going on. I understand that you want to be friends with everyone, sure, but… we're trying really hard to get to nationals. And you're being way too… outgoing, you know? You need to stop. For the good of our team, as captain, I'm asking you to…"

"Your hair looks great today. Even after playing so hard." You blurted out, unable to contain your genuine respect. "Oh. Sorry. Keep going."

Jackie froze, her combative attitude seeming to completely falter. "You… you think so? Finally, someone sees how much I work on this hair, trying to get it just right every morning! I use powder and hairspray literally all the time, and no one has even bothered to compliment me… until you, of course."

Jackie took pity on you after that. Not when you were willing to spend hours shopping for clothes with her, stealing your clothes and trying on what she told you to try on, making you her model. No one had ever shown such steely restraint with Jackie Taylor, and every time she put on your makeup, it was so hard for her to resist the pounding of her heart and the strange desire to cover your lips with hers. But there was a catch to being with Jackie. The amount of time you spent together didn't sit well with Shauna Shipman. She was the only one who showed no interest in you at all. She didn't care about you, and that was surprising. She never, not once, approached you. You doubted she even knew your name, although considering Jackie told her everything, your name was the only thing she knew about you.

And the fact that you were a real suck-up. That's what she called you when she decided to have it out with you.

"What do you have with Jackie? Do you think I can't see how you're trying to pull the wool over her and everyone else's eyes?" Shauna narrows her eyes, looming over you. "What is it about you? Are you such a good suck-up?"

You felt hurt, but even more so, you felt a seething injustice. "I don't know what you're talking about, Shauna, I was just trying to be friends with everyone. It's not my fault they saw something in me."

Shauna snorted, unsure of what to do with you. "Well. Fine. Just stay away from Jackie, okay? And you'll be fine." Shauna had already turned away from you, about to leave. She adjusted her backpack, but a book fell out. You quickly picked it up.

"You dropped…" You looked at the cover, sighing in surprise. "Pride and Prejudice? That's my favorite book!" You exclaimed, surprising Shauna. She rolled her eyes, simply taking it from you, pretending not to care, but in reality, she was even a little impressed. You were left standing in the hallway, not quite sure what you did wrong.

And then you were surprised when Shauna came to you wanting to discuss the book, as if nothing had happened. Perhaps she was so eager to discuss her interests with someone that she decided to choose the worst option of all - you (Jackie, as expected, did not like reading books at all). You liked to read in your spare time, and Shauna was pleased that you had read a lot of female writers from the 18th and 19th centuries. She sometimes shared her thoughts on them with you, but the main thing was that at one point she made you a playlist of songs named after you. You were flattered and too busy enjoying the gift to notice how much Shauna blushed as she tried to hold your hand.

You didn't even know it would be like this. It seemed like almost all the girls on the team were literally tearing you apart. You'd never received so many gifts, compliments, and, it seemed, hints? Of course, you were pleased. You were a girl, after all. And you suddenly had little free time. Sometimes you spent time with two or even three girls at once a day. Of course, sometimes this led to conflicts between them, but they never dragged you into it. You were untouchable.

But you didn't expect that they would all decide to fix it in one day.

Despite everything, training for Nationals continued. Luckily, the Yellow Jackets team still managed to get their game together and win the filtration game that determined their participation in the competition. Everyone, of course, was incredibly happy. As were you for your favorite team.

There was just one thing. Your parents forbade you to fly with them. You begged as much as you could, but they were adamant. They wanted you to stay home and use your free time from your team to good use, studying and preparing for college. You shed so many tears in front of them, almost begging, but nothing worked. Sometimes you wanted to curse your parents.

Tomorrow, everyone was supposed to fly to Nationals. You entered the locker room, terribly dejected. You were immediately noticed, and the girls were insanely worried. Lately, all of them had been very attentive to you.

"You don't look well, Y/N," Natalie said, her smile from earlier quickly fading.

"Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Maybe a stomach ache?" Misty jumped up to you as if your life depended on it.

"Get away from her, Misty. Y/N might need some space." Vanessa shook her head, and was just as concerned about you.

"I-it's okay…" you sniffed. "It's just… I couldn't convince them. I did everything I could, I begged as hard as I could, and they still refused me. You… you'll have to celebrate your victory at the nationals without me." your eyes sadly looked around at everyone. The shared sadness touched every girl present.

"Y/N… I'm so sorry." Lottie took your hands in hers, looking at you sadly, but Jackie quickly jumped up to her.

"How so? Do they not care at all that you want to fly with us?" she snorts, angry at your family. Being spoiled by her own parents, she did not understand this attitude, especially towards you.

"At least you will be here when we return." Taissa tried to find the positives, although she was disappointed too.

"It does not make much sense, she will not be able to share the joy of us taking the first place in the moment." Shauna said, shaking her head. There was silence between all of you. You were so upset that you didn't even notice how all the girls were looking at each other meaningfully and nodding silently. Suddenly Lottie ran a gentle hand down your cheek, took your chin.

"Don't be so upset, Y/N," Lottie said softly, looking soothingly into your eyes. "You know… in all this time that you've been part of our team, we've grown attached to you. You've always been so kind to us. I think we can come to an agreement and find a way to thank you properly."

You were very embarrassed, and suddenly you felt a little awkward. "I was just being myself, you don't have to do anything for me." You, of course, felt pleased. But you were surprised when you felt hands behind you, and out of the corner of your eye you could see blonde strands of hair, and then you heard the familiar voice of Nat, who decided to come up to you from behind.

"Don't be such a shy princess. Why don't you let us comfort you?" she almost purrs in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. It felt… oddly pleasant, like a wave of excitement had washed over you.

"I, um… I don't know… how are you going to do that?" you ask. You can already see and feel Misty wrap her arms around your right hand, stroking it, looking at you in awe.

"You see, Y/N, you have some kind of influence over all of us." Lottie continues. Jackie glares at Matthews, apparently annoyed that Lottie is in charge. While she's busy burning a jealous hole in someone else's body, Shauna approaches you, her hands stroking your neck, and you shiver, vaguely aware of where this is all heading.

"We feel an irresistible… attraction to you. It's hard for us to share you between us. Haven't you noticed how hard we try to please you?" Lottie asks, genuinely concerned. "And you still wouldn't give in to any of us. We tried to figure out what you wanted, but we failed every time. So we thought you'd have to try each one before you figured out which one of us you wanted to be with."

Your brain was already running out, and now that Van's hand was stubbornly touching your thigh, and Taissa was holding your waist, whispering something in your ear, you completely stopped thinking. You were surrounded by a crowd of girls with whom you spent all your free time so happily, and they were trying to get you all the time. Was it all of them? Each of them wanted you to be their girlfriend? These thoughts left you shocked and you didn't even know how close or far from the truth it was. You, of course, dreamed about them. About each of them at least once, though about some more than others. But for you it was not serious, you did nothing! Did they really want it that much?

You yourself do not notice how you let out a quiet sigh when Shauna kisses your neck. She does it roughly, as if she is having difficulty containing the desire that is accumulating in her. Shauna is silent, examining, analyzing and suppressing in herself, and then explodes like a time bomb. And now she wants to explode at any moment.

Misty's hand undoes the button of your pants in irritation, and Van and Taissa pull them down. You are brought back to reality, and you feel panicked. You were definitely not prepared for being undressed.

"W-wait, there's no need to go anywhere-" you break off with a groan. Nat, still standing and supporting you from behind, bites your ear, licks it, makes your sensitive earlobe wet. You sigh at the newness of this strange, disorienting sensation.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. Everything is going to be just fine." Natalie purrs, and you can't tell if she's stoned or not. Your pants are thrown to the floor. And then your panties. You are naked for all the girls, and they are looking at you so mesmerized, like this is the best thing they've ever seen in their lives. Even Jackie and Lottie, standing behind you, are watching you in awe.

This time, Van is first. Her tongue touches your already wet cunt, and she circles it, tasting you. You moan, and Natalie tugs your hair a little, exposing more of your neck. Taissa gives you a couple of loud slaps on your ass, interested in seeing your reaction. You shudder and your hips jerk, because you like it. Misty's hand goes under your shirt and gropes your breasts, pulling your nipples almost painfully, while Shauna leaves wet marks on your collarbone from her mouth, wanting to leave marks on you that will definitely last until their collective return from Nationals.

You are so turned on, and you feel stimulation from all sides. Your hand wants to reach for Van's red head, to press it harder, but Nat, watching you like a hawk, pulls you back.

"Let her do it herself." She whispers in your ear. You nod frantically, it's best not to argue with them. A few more movements of Van on your clit, her skillful tongue, which had probably done the same with Taisa before, could easily bring you to orgasm. You moaned more actively, your chest moved a hundred times more intensely, and then she pulled away.

"She's ready, Lottie." Van said, wiping her mouth. It was hard for you to understand what was happening, and you just whined, saddened that you were not allowed to come. For a moment, everyone broke away from you. Everyone was listening to Lottie.

"We'll help you after you help us, Y/N," Lottie says with a smile that sounds like she's some kind of prophet. "We've been waiting so long to get your attention. We think we deserve to come first. But I promise you won't regret it."

You nodded at her, mesmerized, but you felt like this wasn't quite the Lottie you knew. She was so mysterious, and you couldn't tell what was on her mind.

"Get away from her, all of you." Lottie commanded. "And you, Y/N, sit on your knees, please. Put something down so it won't hurt her to sit on the floor."

Van and Nat dutifully laid out their own jackets so your knees wouldn't hurt from what you were about to do. It was a pleasant moment of care. You obediently settled down on your knees in front of Lottie. You were literally being eaten with their eyes, and you were ready for what was to happen.

Lottie was already reaching for her shorts, but Jackie spoke up. "Sorry, Lottie… but I'll be the first." She said, raising her chin high. Jackie's voice was filled with nervous confidence, and she tried to withstand Lottie's and the other girls' piercing gaze. "I'm the captain of our team, and I want to be the first one to do this. What made you think you could lead?"

Lottie was silent, and you couldn't even understand what she was thinking right now. Then she nodded, and her voice was cold. "Okay. Be the first. But don't ruin it too soon."

You didn't understand the meaning of the words, but Jackie frantically replaced Lottie, pulled down her shorts, and the taste of her cunt quickly imprinted on your tongue. You didn't know what Jackie really wanted to achieve by this - to let you fuck her first or she just felt depressed because of how Lottie quickly took control and everyone, even Shauna, was ready to obey her. In any case, you didn't mind. You devotedly licked her pussy and tried to watch Jackie's reaction, just to please her. In your fantasies, you tried many times to make Jackie as good as you could. In your mind, Jackie was not the type to give - she liked to receive more, and if she had to be on top in your fantasies, she was so gentle and timid, afraid to make an extra move, that it only excited you more. But here she was — trying to have your whole mouth, like she had been fantasizing about it for so long that you were almost dizzy with the realization. Your drool and her juices were running down her thighs while she moaned, and the others were watching, some daring to stick their hands down their own shorts. A couple of minutes passed and Jackie came convulsively, sitting down on the bench. Now she wouldn’t object. She had no strength.

Shauna was next. She was never patient, not with what she liked - her hand grabbed your hair (no one protested, everyone decided she deserved it for scoring the final goal during the nationals qualifiers) and she pulled herself roughly-gently towards her vagina. Your eyes rolled back and you almost got lost in her thick dark pubic hair, but fuck, she was delicious and you were ready to continue as long as it took. You even forgot how to breathe sometimes - Shauna was a little rough, muttering something harshly under her breath and moaning, repeating your sweet name. She came quickly and took a step to the side, pulling up her shorts and retreating to the bathroom, apparently to rethink something.

Then there was Taissa… and Van. They were both allowed near you at the same time. You were dumbfounded, not knowing how to cope with taming two pussies at the same time, but you didn't even have time to wipe the saliva and cum from your mouth, as the red vagina was in your mouth. You had to change one pussy to the other every 15-20 seconds, trying to lick both like never before. You were forbidden to use your hands, but they both frantically encouraged you as best they could, while your tongue circled their clits, and the dirty noise filled the locker room, already filled with heat and languid sighs.

"You're holding up great, Y/N… Come on, help Van a little…" Taissa whispered, tearing you away from her pussy, because you stubbornly did not want to stop. However, upon hearing her order, you quickly set to work on Van, drawing a sigh of excitement from her, and ten seconds later, an orgasm. Taissa followed.

Then there was Nat. You licked your lips, ready to receive her. You were surprised that her pussy was shaved, maybe she was getting ready and wanted to please you? This thought caused a sweet warmth in you. And Nat's pussy tasted sweet too. You sucked on her clit, wanting to please her in a way that no guy had ever done. Natalie moaned surprisingly softly, and it excited you so much that there was almost no dry spot left in your panties. She let you use your hands, and you held her by the hips, because she was shaking while your wet tongue caressed her tender folds, and the hot air from her nose came straight to her pubis. Needless to say, Nat came quickly, but for some time she did not want to leave your mouth? Misty didn't even ask your permission. Her head was wrapped around yours, her fingers tangled in your soft hair, and she was holding you to her bushy pussy like she was dying without it. You were taken aback, but that didn't stop you from wanting to please her, even if her actions were met with disapproval from the other girls. No one wanted to be played with more roughly than the rest. You licked her, trying to please her as much as possible - Misty looked like she was not easy to please, but she was whispering so sweetly in your ear, praise and advice, that your arousal literally flowed out of your panties.

"Yes, t-that's it, Y/N… That's just perfect, oh, you're so beautiful. You're just an angel, a little perfection." She muttered selflessly, her glasses falling to the tip of her nose as she came loudly in your mouth.

You were exhausted, but Lottie was still there. She was the last one. You looked up at her, tired, sluggish, and excited. She gave you a quick smile, but there was undisguised triumph in her eyes. She had you after all. Did we mention that Lottie hated rejection and not getting what she wanted?

Lottie lifted your chin, gently stroked your hair and tidied it up, wiped the tears of pleasure from your eyelashes. She let you dive into her pussy yourself, start licking it yourself, as if you were in some kind of licking contest and were going to take first place there. She let you keep glancing at her, watching every movement of her moaning mouth and trembling hands, just to please her. Your heart was beating so fast and it was so hot and you wanted to please her so much, plunging your sweet tongue into her pussy over and over again, that you had a hard time holding on. Lottie took the longest, savoring every second and apparently holding herself back. Eventually she pulled your head away from her, pressed her pussy to your forehead and came, covering you even more with her wetness. You were all for it.

"You did well, Y/N. You love us so much, you were ready for everyone." Lottie said tiredly. She nodded to the girls, and they sat around you. "Now you've earned a reward, huh?" You nodded vigorously, needing release. You were so wet, and almost whining with excitement. Your head ended up in Shauna's lap, and Nat, Misty and Jackie quickly found themselves at your feet. Misty nibbled on your calves and thighs, often not hesitating to do it quickly and hard, while Jackie, on the contrary, licked them like a kitten, gently nipping at the sensitive skin. This crazy contrast made you breathe quickly and roll your eyes, and all for the sake of Shauna watching this cute picture. Nat touched your pussy with her tongue, her two fingers slid inside your wet cunt - after such a long abstinence, taking two fingers at once was not at all difficult. You moaned, letting them all work on you while the others watched. Natalie's tongue was trying so hard to please you, playfully sucking and pulling on your clit, playing with your labia and purposely quickly driving her fingers into you, wanting to bring you to the peak and play on you like guitar strings.

"We love you, Y/N, such a gift for us." Jackie purrs, watching Natalie fuck your helpless pussy.

"You're the best!" Misty agrees with a smile, biting you and licking it slobberily.

"All that's left is to cum." Shauna says calmly, not hiding her smirk, constantly keeping her eyes on herself. "Come on. Nat's mouth is waiting for it."

As if on cue, you spill into Natalie's mouth with a loud moan. Everyone exhales relaxedly, and Natalie cleans your pussy with her tongue. "You're just sweet, princess." She smirks at her own abilities.

You let yourself sink into the girls' arms, catching your breath. You don't know yet that later they'll help you get dressed, each of them will kiss you on the lips, and you'll tell them to talk about it after Nationals. In the end, you still can't seem to choose one. You love them all, and you're waiting for them to return to Wiskayok, safe and sound, with victory in hand.

[fangdokja]

AEAWWAWAWAWAA I LOVE YOUR (WITD) OTOME ISEKAI WORK!!!

So a question that I have, how do you rank all of them in terms of strength, both physical and magical? Because honestly? If I put all of them in the same room, I think the only ones who will walk out unscathed might be the Supreme Mage, Demon King, and the Demon Assassin- but I can't be too sure since they're the only ones who I know have INSANE levels of magical strength.

(Supreme Mage-> Can literally turn back time

Demon King-> Can unintentionally destroy surroundings by just losing control of his emotions+Killed a Fallen Archangel+Won multiple battles

Demon Assassin-> Proves multiple times that he can potentially be on par against the Demon King)

I hate it here.

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in a reverse harem of overpowered, emotionally unstable warlords, I’ve learned three things: love is just a polite word for obsession, survival is a full-time job, and statistically speaking, I should have died five times by now. But sure—tell me again how this is every girl’s dream.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Various! Otome Isekai Characters x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. How to Survive a Reverse Harem (You Don’t) - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 2,242

♡ TW. Heavy Dark Humor + Satirical Comedy, Reader dissing everyone including you (I'm talking about all of you Readers)

♡ A/N. That was a very enthusiastic response. Sounds oddly familiar, and very ENFP. I could be wrong, but the intro reminds me of people. Anyways... This isn't a request, but an ASK. I genuinely do like world building. However, this ask requires a semi-formal answer. Hence, the organization. Also I'm shocked you showed me actual lore. Reminds me of this request for Yandere! Marine Corps. Though, this does have a different structure than my usual works. But still entertaining. Also, I worked on this quickly, because I enjoyed writing in this style tbh. Just once in a while. I also won't be too specific though.

♡ Their Story. One of them wants to marry you. The other wants to make sure he never does.

[BEGIN LOG]

Date: Irrelevant. Time: Wasted. Will to live: Nonexistent.

Not sure if it qualifies as survival or just prolonged suffering. Either way, I'm still here. Yay me.

For those of you who have found this document, congratulations. That means either one of three things:

You’re as desperate for answers as I was.

You’re already too deep into this mess and need a coping mechanism (writing helps, trust me).

You’re dead, and this is just some eldritch horror reading through my notes like a bedtime story before coming after me next.

If it’s option three, I hope you choke on my misery.

You ever wake up and wonder if, at some point in your past life, you pissed off some all-powerful cosmic entity? Like maybe you accidentally stepped on the Eldritch Lord of Relationships’ robe, and now you're cursed to live in the world's most EXHAUSTING social experiment?

No? Just me?

Well, sit down, idiots. Because apparently, you people find this entertaining.

Let’s get one thing straight. Reverse harems are not fun. You think it’s all, “Oh, she’s got multiple hot, dangerous men fighting over her, how dreamy!”—wrong. It’s like living in an active war zone but instead of actual grenades, it’s obsessive, overpowered lunatics with emotional damage so profound it could be studied in medical journals. There is nothing enjoyable about constantly monitoring the probability of spontaneous assassination attempts every time you walk into a room.

For whatever reason, some of you seem to think strength is the most important thing in this nightmare circus. Oh, how stupid. How naïve. If power alone decided the outcome of battles, then history books wouldn’t exist. But sure, let’s indulge your little power ranking delusions and talk about these walking natural disasters.

———

Before we begin, let me ask you, dear audience, one simple question: What is actually wrong with you?

No, really. Because I need to understand what kind of psychosis leads a person to actively seek out and romanticize a scenario in which one (1) socially detached, chronically exhausted individual (me) is forced to navigate an entire reverse harem of homicidal, magical, and politically influential lunatics.

You. Yes, you reading this. You think this is fun? You think it's "hot"? You think I'd enjoy this?

Congratulations, you're officially the reason why the world deserves to burn.

Now, since you refuse to let me die in peace and insist on knowing which of these disasters would hypothetically survive an all-out brawl (which, by the way, has already happened multiple times because they all suffer from incurable testosterone poisoning), I suppose I have no choice but to indulge your delusions.

────────────

❤︎ Disclaimer (because some of you can’t read).

Before you open your shriveled little mouths to cry about "power scaling" or "but actually, technically—" let me stop you right there. Everyone in this story is ridiculously strong. Their strength could shatter nations, rewrite laws of reality, and make lesser beings soil themselves at the mere thought of their existence. Compared to you? They might as well be extraterrestrial beings.

But compared to each other? Well. That’s where things get interesting.

So sit down, shut up, and try not to let your fragile egos get bruised when your favorite isn’t ranked as the ultimate all-powerful deity. You're lucky I even bothered to explain this, considering most of you wouldn't last five minutes in this world without crying, vomiting, or both.

────────────

Now, onto the subject at hand: Ranking the Men Who Have Made My Life a Living Hell.

Yes. Them. The supposed "love interests" of this so-called story. You ever wake up one day, and find yourself as the unfortunate soul caught in the crossfire of some overpowered, emotionally unstable men with enough magic, weaponry, and unresolved trauma to wage an entire war over you?

That’s me. Hi. Welcome to my breakdown.

Since I’ve managed to slip through the cracks (for now), I’ve decided to document their strengths. For research purposes? For future escape attempts? For spite? Who knows. Maybe all of the above. Maybe none.

Here’s what I’ve compiled so far:

———

❤︎ Physical Strength Ranking.

Because sometimes, magic isn’t enough and these men like to resolve their issues with their fists. Or swords. Or daggers. Or just brute force in general. It’s exhausting.

(Or: "Which One Would Yeet Me Across a Room the Farthest")

♡ Yandere! Master Thief – Listen. He’s fast. He’s slippery. He’s also the most likely to run away instead of engaging in actual combat. He doesn’t fight, he strategically retreats. If he has to fight, he wins by being an insufferable bastard. But brute force? No. If I had a rock, I could probably take him in a fistfight. (This is foreshadowing.)

♡ Yandere! Supreme Mage – He’s not weak, but let’s be real—he doesn’t train his body, he trains his magic. The only reason he’s above the thief is because he’s at least accustomed to lifting heavy grimoires and standing dramatically in high towers while the wind blows through his robes. That has to count for something.

♡ Yandere! Archduke – You would think someone of his status would have the raw strength to back it up, but let’s be real: he has People for that. Like, actual armies. Sure, he’s dangerous, but it’s not because of his strength. It’s because he can literally just send an entire brigade after you while he sits there sipping wine and making vague threats.

♡ Yandere! Crown Prince – A lifetime of royal training has made him decent at combat. He has discipline, skill, and years of experience with a sword. But would he win in a feral, no-holds-barred fistfight? No. Absolutely not. He’s still a prince. Which means at his core, he’s pampered. He would hesitate to fight dirty. And that’s why he would lose.

♡ Yandere! War Hero – Finally, someone who has actually seen some shit. He has the scars, the combat experience, and the sheer stubbornness of someone who refuses to die out of pure spite. Physically strong, absolutely. But he’s also very "by the book" when it comes to fighting. Which is unfortunate for him, because the next three don’t play fair.

♡ Yandere! Demon Assassin – Built different. Too fast, too smart, too unhinged to go down easily. He fights like he’s a glitch in reality—no wasted movement, no hesitation. Also the most likely to stab you first and ask questions never.

♡ Yandere! Demon King – Do I even need to explain this one? He is literally a demon king. He has killed celestial beings. His rage alone can shatter mountains. I once saw him accidentally break an entire fortress just because he got mildly irritated. Mildly.

♡ Yandere! Enemy Spy – …Ah. And here we are. The anomaly. The one that should not be this powerful and yet somehow is.

Listen, I know things. Things that you don’t. Just trust me when I say that if you think the Demon King is the most terrifying entity on this list, you are not ready for the truth.

———

❤︎ Magical Strength Ranking.

If I had a gold coin for every time I nearly died from spontaneous magic exposure, I’d buy an alternate dimension where none of these people exist. But alas.

(Or: "Which One Would Destroy Reality the Fastest")

♡ Yandere! War Hero – He’s strong, yes, but magically? Almost nonexistent. He’s a normal human being (albeit an absurdly powerful one). No magical gimmicks, just raw battle instinct. You could drop-kick him into another universe and he’d probably still survive off sheer willpower alone.

♡ Yandere! Crown Prince – Has magic. Uses it occasionally. But his real strength is in political manipulation and military strategy. If he’s using magic, it means shit has hit the fan hard.

♡ Yandere! Master Thief – Ah yes. Magic. The cheating tool of cowards. He doesn’t have raw magical power, but he has a frankly unfair amount of tricks that let him survive situations where he absolutely should have died. His whole existence is a scam.

♡ Yandere! Archduke – Refined, tactical, and disturbingly efficient. He does not waste magic. If he’s using it, it’s because you’re already dead.

♡ Yandere! Demon Assassin – Fast. Deadly. Unpredictable. The kind of person who would kill you with a single spell and not even stick around to see if it worked. Annoying.

♡ Yandere! Demon King – If raw magical power were the deciding factor, he’d be top three. He wields the kind of destructive force that civilizations fear. But he’s also emotionally unstable, which means he can be baited into losing control. Good for psychological warfare. Bad for literally everything else.

♡ Yandere! Supreme Mage – Time. Magic. Literal reality alteration. And yet, he is still not the most powerful one here. Why? Because despite his ability to turn back time, he still cannot escape the cursed fate of being a yandere in an otome isekai narrative.

♡ Yandere! Enemy Spy – I refuse to elaborate. This man is an anomaly. He should not be this strong. There is no reason for it. And yet, here we are. Spoilers? Yeah, I have them. Will I share? No. Wallow in ignorance, as I do in despair.

As if I’d tell you. What, do you think I get paid to explain my personal torment to an invisible audience? No, I do this out of spite.

────────────

❤︎ Conclusion.

If, at any point, you read through this document and thought to yourself, “Wow, this is so cool!” I regret to inform you that you have lost all credibility as a rational human being. There is nothing “cool” about being trapped in a constant state of hyper-awareness, wondering which psychotic warlord is going to attempt a romantic gesture that results in a body count.

To those who still believe that my life is some sort of dream scenario: I envy your naivety. May you never experience the reality of what it means to be the object of multiple obsessive affections. May you never know the fear of realizing that every person in your immediate vicinity could, with minimal effort, end your existence in ways that defy the laws of physics.

And if you still insist on romanticizing this?

Congratulations, you have Stockholm Syndrome. Seek help.

Disgusting.

And yet. Despite it all. You’re still here. You’ll come back. You’ll keep reading. Because deep down, you are not normal. You enjoy this insanity.

And that? That’s on you.

I wash my hands of this nonsense. Goodbye.

I don’t even care anymore. If you want to simp, fine. Just know that I am staring directly into your pathetic, degenerate soul and judging you immensely.

———

❤︎ Final notes. Power does not equate to survival. Intelligence does. And if you’re reading this, you’re already at a disadvantage because they’re smarter than they look. Pray for me. Or don’t. At this point, I have no expectations.

[END LOG]

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. ♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

[kingsmoot]

ok we're back with ten more image slots to talk about joffrey's inherent badness because the text argues vehemently against this thing that people keep saying in my tags that joff is just uniquely bad and wrong and was destined to be a cruel, violent, spiteful despot. someone said that robert hit joff so hard he got brain damage and that's why he's Like That™️. this is no different than saying that joff is A Bad Apple because he is a bastard born of incest, abhorred by the gods. or that he is bad because his mother is a lannister and so he is of tainted, evil stock. the argument that joff is not only uniquely but inherently bad is refuted time and again by the text, and by me. let's discuss.

agot; chapter 30, eddard vii

above, robert confides in ned that he loathes his son and heir. cannot abide him. is terrified that he will one day take his throne. he claims that ned does not know him as he does (when ned has suffered far more for joffrey's actions than robert! his lady wife's hands disfigured by joff's hired catspaw, his daughter's soulbonded warg beheaded thanks to his lie that both his parents accepted) and crucially, robert blames cersei's parenting and joff's lannister blood on the fact that he is unfit for the throne.

yet joffrey is the image of his father (robert, not jaime). he acts in ways that he thinks will earn robert's approval. he acts out because of robert's disdain and abuse. robert (and many others) says he sees nothing of himself in his son, and yet this is time and again proven false.

asos; chapter 53, tyrion vi / asos; chapter 63, davos vi

cersei and stannis both recall the incident where robert was so enraged at joffrey that he hit him hard enough to knock out two baby teeth. hard enough that stannis thought he'd killed him with the blow.

and the act of animal cruelty that provoked this ire in robert was a clear mirroring of (genuinely i cannot remember if it was ser amory lorch for real or gregor clegane who did this idr which version of the story is a lie) presenting robert with the dead and mangled bodies of princess elia's children, who were viciously butchered in their beds. it would make perfect sense for joffrey to have heard that story more than once, and to have understood the pleasure robert took in seeing the dragons slaughtered. killing a pregnant cat and presenting robert with her dead unborn kittens is something a small child exposed to his father's brutality and violence would do to please and emulate him.

(much pithier post by @visenyaism about this same passage: https://www.tumblr.com/kingsmoot/724517618713837568)

and, of course, none of the three adults in the room with joff when this happened thought to teach him anything about why this was not something they wanted him to do. his father beat him while his mother (robert's property even more so than joff. understandably helpless in this situation) and his uncle (not helpless. should have opened his mouth) watched. there is always an adult in the room and they are always doing nothing.

and even after this. years after this!! after who knows how many more instances of scorn that would not have registered with the other adults present because they were not physical violence, joff still tries to emulate his father:

acok; chapter 53, tyrion vi

asos; chapter 77, tyrion xi

WELL A SON TAKES AFTER HIS FATHER :(

could it be that there is somewhere else in the text where we have seen a father disparage his cruel, violent, monstrous son on the basis of his inherent wrongness? absolving himself of his own responsibility for the boy's behavior? 🤔

asos; chapter 49, catelyn vi

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

i've made one post before comparing joff and ramsay as expressions of their mothers' rage and as characters driven by the entitlement their mothers sowed in them (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/723616029989896192/) but this time i want to focus on their fathers' culpability and denial

i do not draw the comparison between joff and ramsay to either:

absolve ramsay of his responsibility for his actions as a serial killing serial raper who tortures theon and donella until they lose every last shred of their humanity. he's like thirty. OR

compare or equate the actions of an adult man doing leatherface/otis driftwood shit to a little boy being supported in his terror and violence by the huge and powerful group of adults around him (ramsay's violence is his own. he is skinning and raping women in the woods. he is killing children. he is torturing theon and donella and raping jeyne. joffrey's violence is not his own. it is carried out by willing participants thrice his size and twice his age at least.)

i draw the comparison because roose and robert both blame the intrinsic, immutable, corrupted nature of their sons on why they are monsters, and yet both of them also acknowledge (subtly) that the fault is theirs.

robert's "jon despaired of me often enough, yet i grew into a good king! (...) ah, say that i'm a better king than aerys and be done with it!!" to ned is telling. he knows that he's a horrible king. he knows that he hasn't grown out of anything. (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/773495838881333248/) he claims to ned that there is something wrong with his son and he blames the lannister bitch for it, but somewhere deep down in the parts of his grey matter the light or the conscious can never touch... he knows what he is. and he knows whose son joffrey is. and he knows what that makes the both of them.

and roose, who blames his son's monstrosity on his bad blood, leaves us with the very obvious question of whose blood it is that's in him? roose's preoccupation with his own bloodletting takes on a very different cast after this exchange with theon. the leeches suck the bad blood away, all the rage and pain. the rage and pain ramsay is filled with would poison even the leeches... but how much rage and pain does roose need removed?

roose sent a serial killing serial rapist to raise the child of a woman he brutally raped and whose husband he murdered (https://kingsmoot.tumblr.com/post/757215882916265984/) and acts as if ramsay growing into the kind of man that he grew into is an issue of his low birth out of wedlock. robert is a huge violent wife beating drunk who delights in the gruesome slaughter of babes in their beds and acts as if joffrey's cruelty and violence is the frigid lannister bitch's fault. can you see how the text purposefully sets up two of its most vile and overtly hateable characters to have the exact same justification for their sons' actions and how by doing so it is suggesting that you, the reader, should not believe them?

overall, the asoiaf series stands in staunch opposition to the concept that your birth determines who you are (yes, even with the prophecies and the chosen ones and the many heroes' destinies). to believe that joffrey baratheon was born bad is to misunderstand the core of his character and also to forgive and absolve the many characters who have actual power of their responsibility for "his" actions, and to forgive (and praise!) robert, cersei, tyrion, and jaime for their abuse.

to believe that there was nothing anyone could do to stop joffrey baratheon's reign from driving westeros into the ground but to kill him, is to concede that the murder of children is justifiable and necessary, something that the text pointedly and repeatedly refutes (the murder of elia and rhaegar's children repeatedly defined as a fracture in ned and robert's relationship and a stain on his reign, jon snow switching gilly and mance's babies, stannis' refusal to burn shireen, davos' saving of edric storm, cersei's murder of robert's bastards, the list goes on and on and on and on)

joff is literally 13. how is this lost on the vast majority of asoiaf's audience. have you ever met a 13 year old? he's a 13 year old boy who was beaten and neglected. the fact that a traumatized child has the "power" to doll out life and death sentences is in fact a structural issue. the fact that a bunch of 30+ year old professional body guard attack dogs nod along and happily beat the living shit out of the 11 year old girl joff is engaged to is very pointedly not joff's fault. would you, tumblr user reading this, beat the shit out of a child if another child told you to? probably not, right? that would be fucking insane, right? you would feel that it was your responsibility to NOT beat the shit out of a child no matter what position the other child telling you to do so had above you, right? you know that the smallfolk of king's landing, who were literally being shot at and murdered by joff with his automatic crossbow, also said that it was the adults on the counsel's responsibility to reign in the boyking on the throne? ok well they are imaginary people being shot with an imaginary crossbow and you as the real flesh and blood audience have so much more perspective on this situation than them. OK, GOOD TALK.

[roguestorm]

Second Coming is delicious tasty amazing for many reasons, but one of those is that it's really doing some very good character work with Scott and responsibility.

I mentioned in the last post that he sent Cable on a suicide mission, but there's also this, in Uncanny X-Men #524:

Here, Hank is explicitly blaming Scott for Kurt's death. Scott's reply is "Thanks for coming on such short notice." He doesn't refute it. Earlier in the issue, when someone demanded that Hope bring Kurt back, he said:

Scott refuses to let Hope be blamed for Kurt's death or to have the burden put on her of bringing him back (which she cannot do). He's willing to own it, but he will not let a teenage girl who just got here (whether she's the Messiah or not) be made responsible.

Another fun aspect here is that shortly before Kurt died, he found out about X-Force, the black ops force that Scott sanctioned, and he said that Hank was right and he (Kurt) didn't know what the X-Men stood for anymore.

After Kurt's death, Scott announces the existence of X-Force in a strategy meeting:

(X-Force #27)

(What he is sending X-Force on is the aforementioned suicide mission, although he doesn't tell the rest of the X-Men that it will be a suicide mission until after X-Force is gone.)

This is a different sense of taking responsibility - not just taking on the responsibility of doing something but then also taking responsibility in the sense of owning up to it. While he has been doing the former (bearing the moral weight of having made X-Force), he has been keeping it secret until now.

So, to sum up the main types of responsibility here:

Scott feels responsible for Kurt's death, which is reinforced by Hank telling him that he's responsible for it.

Scott is responsible for sending Doug, Cable, and the rest of X-Force on a suicide mission. (Scott believes that everyone on the mission will die; in the end, Cable sacrifices himself to let the others come back. Cable also doesn't die, but that's just comics for you.)

Scott takes responsibility for X-Force, acknowledging their existence as he sends them away, possibly forever.

Something we see throughout the Utopia era that is made especially clear in Second Coming is the way that Scott has taken on the responsibility of balancing the morality of the X-Men with the needs of mutantkind. The whole arc of the Utopia era, from Manifest Destiny through AvX, is about the moral sacrifices it takes to build a place you can call Utopia. Scott is at once both a symbol of mutantkind as progressive and friendly and the person who is willing to authorize a black ops group. There's a very "head of state" feel to him here, in a way that feels distinct from anything that we saw on Krakoa. It's really interesting to think about how we get from the twelve-year-old boy in Classic X-Men #41 to this man, and how changing ideas of responsibility can be used to explain that.

*Side note #1: I could write a whole other post about how this relates to his relationship with Emma, but honestly, Dark X-Men: The Confession lays it all out extremely clearly. So I'd recommend just reading that.

**Side note #2: It's Fraction on Uncanny, and it's Kyle/Yost on X-Force (and Dark X-Men: The Confession). The scene I've excerpted from X-Force #27 is one of my all-time favorite X-Men scenes because it's just so rich, but what really makes Second Coming work is that there's a sense of coherence across the line.

***Side note #3: One of the reasons I find AvX so disappointing and so infuriating as a story is that Second Coming is an absolutely killer set-up, and AvX really drops the ball on following through.

[secret-fungi]

Pomegranate

Book: Thunderstorm saga Paring: Tai/ MC (Verena) Word count: 6000+ words Rating: M Warnings: sexual content, mentions of abuse, physical injury, bruising, and emotional harm. ooc characters.

He glanced at the thick, dark clouds that rushed like an angry tide. His room illuminated for brief seconds at a time with each strike of lighting. It cast his room in long dark shadows, making monsters out of chairs and enemies out of dressers. The once vibrant moon hid behind an opaque curtain. The chill seeped in through the stones and wrapped around him, and when the breeze hit his window, the curtains swayed and the candle’s flame faltered. Despite the hour and all the day's tasks, he lingered, taking a long sip from his glass he turned his eyes towards his desk. The letter with its seal broken sat lamely by a lantern. It was long overdue to sit on his desk, yet when it came, months too late, an indented line cut across her family’s crest, and the bottom of the page was torn. 

Once again, he set his jaw, letting out an aggravated breath before he decided to pick up the torn letter once more. For the first time since receiving it, he opened it. Neat letters, formal greetings, how training was going. Any touch of goodwill they had built together seemed to have cooled the farther she was. Or, at the very least, the parts he could read were formal. The tops of some letters peaked from the tear. ‘I’ ‘T’ ….. ‘V’ or maybe it was a Y. He tried to guess the sentences as he drank his wine. Maybe the other half of the jagged page spoke of missing him, or how she spent her days, if she enjoyed the local food and slept well in the mountain air, if she enjoyed her time and regretted having to leave– unlikely. Maybe the page told of her anger, and how she was glad to be so far from his entire family, a formal goodbye and nothing more.  

Whatever she wrote at the end of the page, the knowledge of it was kept far from him. Another flash of lighting, as he frowned he looked at the back of the letter. The shadows flashed once more. He set the letter down, tucking it between the pages of a book as thunder rattled the stones and the leaves trembled violently outside as he sat to pen a response. 

She would be concerned if he told her the truth, So he made up a lie, and responded to the rest, once again reminding her that she needn’t write to him so formally. He asked if she enjoyed the company if she was kept so busy that she couldn’t write, how she enjoyed the sights of the empire if only to picture how she’d sit and try and come up with a diplomatic response. He set it off with a wave of his hand before he fell asleep.

I don’t know what to write. I’ve written to my king, the princess and all, but it is different to tell you about those things. Are you hesitant too? It seems   Undo to write to you with trivial things. It’s fascinating to be here. It is much different than back home. Sha’arnez is an excellent teacher but he keeps me busy. I am too tired to think of anything worthy to tell you. There are flowers here, they remind me of home. I’m told you call them something different than we do, for us it is a windflower. – Verena ey Vedtree  

But the days continued without much to say, the storm calmed, and then a new one appeared, the cycle unbroken as he sat, leaned back in his chair as he read. Once more, the night had held him hostage, and again he found himself returning to his thoughts. The sun had fled once more, and rain slowly began to beat down on the glass roof. Still, he stayed, unbothered by the change as footsteps passed him by. He lingered in the space full of blossoming life despite the hour and the dinner waiting to be served. The rain pattered against the roof, and when the stars above gave no light, the lanterns around the room lit up, wine was brought, and the rain rattled on, and Tai returned to the letter that had been tucked between the pages, something to mark his spot, a hidden treasure, and a warning. 

He knew it was a warning. A lesson not to interfere, He knew. All it ever was, was a threat to tell him not to be too eager. All it ever was, was a cane to the back of his legs.

The storm had worsened, the sound drowning out much else, and for a while longer, he enjoyed that peace, swearing to himself that he would rise in just a moment, but the air whispered its command, the howling of the wind and the song of the rain, its plead to make him stay just that much longer. And so he did until he was interrupted once again. 

  “Greetings, Your Highness.” Sha’arnez greeted, with a bow as he tried not to disturb the figure in his arms, the dark, thick fabric spilled over his arms like a waterfall, and only then, when he heard a familiar voice did he look up, dark eyes switching from resting on the figure in the man’s arms or the man himself, with a raise of his brow the other quickly spoke up. “She fell asleep,” Sha’arnez explained. “Did she not ride herself?” “No, she got hurt and is unable to.” He replied dutifully as if the pair weren’t making a small puddle as the man stood before the prince. 

Tai stilled, furrowing his brows and glancing at the sleeping woman before he looked at the other. “You’ve brought her home injured?” Tai asked, a deep frown tugging at the corners of his lips before he parted them once more, only to be interrupted. “This is not my home,” Verena interjected for the first time alerting the men that she was awake. She looked directly at him as she spoke, firmly, offense edged every inch of her statement. The prince made a strange face like he chewed his words along with the emotions that rose with them before he straightened out. “My apologies, I meant no offense.” He relented before slowly looking over the mage. “Can you walk?” “Yes,” she said before the other could speak for her. She stood on her own, drowning in her soaked cloak in front of him. 

He stilled for a moment, as she looked at him with a challenge in her eyes and raised a brow. “Come, Send for the physician.” “I’ve already been seen.” “And you’ll be seen again,” he said. She glanced at the rider before he nodded. A silent conversation that seemed so loud as he stood outside of it. “Have her things brought to her room for her.” Tai instructed, “Is there much to discuss?” She asked as if it was foreign. But the prince only offered his arm, and with some level of hesitancy, she took it before bidding the rider goodbye. 

The walk was strange, a heavy, thick silence surrounded them as she held onto his arm, his pace was much slower as they walked, and the sound of their steps upon the marble carried throughout the halls. She looked around, as if for an enemy that was hiding in the dark edges of grand arches and around each corner. And whenever she thought she found one she’d press herself just that much closer to him. “Did you have a safe journey?” He asked. “Yes, I am afraid it was very tiring, I doubt I'll be much company at all,” she replied. 

“I won’t keep you long.” he promised, catching the thought that flashed across the other’s face. She pressed her lips together before she turned away from him. “Have you been well?” She asked, watching him from the corners of her eyes as if waiting for him to strike.

His eyes dropped to the floor before he nodded. “Yes, thank you.” at this, she twitched, finally turning to look at him properly as they walked. A specimen once more. Maybe she caught the edge in his tone, or the response came half a second too late. He wasn’t sure what caught her attention in his words, but it was caught nonetheless. She followed him as they walked through shortcuts and weaved through hidden parts before they made it to his room. Servants rushed about to set the table as the prince led her to the lounge. Verena looked exhausted as she sank into a chair, hardly able to keep her head from rolling. But she smiled, resting her head against her knuckles as he spoke. 

A fire crackled in front of them, the warmth trying hard to beat off the chill the storm had brought with it. Her knee bent, her foot tucked under her as she looked at him. She was cold, chilled from the rain and that chill lingered around her. “Welcome back,” he said once again. “Thank you, Your highness.” “Have you written to your people?” he asked. She gave him a strange look before she nodded. “Yes.” She replied slowly, her speech slurred slightly. His words didn’t matter, they drifted from her and hung between them like blossoms in a tree. 

But she watched him, still. Nodding as she slowly blinked, her frost reddened cheek pressed up from under her knuckles and just for a moment he wanted to reach and run his fingers against the rosy flush. A maid came into the lavish room, followed by a proud-looking old man, thin and stately. The physician bowed before smiling politely at the pair, awaiting what trouble roused him from his sleep.

"Make sure she has no lasting damage." The prince commanded. On his command, Verena was shown to the adjoining suite. The room had already been prepared for her, a neat folded pile of her clothes sat on the bed and a maid waited with a smile. She wasted no time at all to tend to Verena, ridding her of her rain-soaked dress and heavy boots. The maid, quiet and knowing helped her into a robe before the physician entered.

He urged her to sit before he looked her over. He applied balm on her wounds and gave her a satchel of herbs, with it, he told the maid how to prepare the tea and that the lady must drink it three times a day. He was polite and quick, turning around as she fixed herself up.  

He left, lingering outside her door as he recounted the information to the prince. His words leaked through the doors as the silent maid dressed her for bed.

By the time she came out, the table had been set with an overabundance of everything. Tai, who had been sitting before, rose to his feet before pulling out a chair for her. She looked at him for a while before she sat. She watched as he moved around, placing things on her plate before pouring her a drink and finally sitting himself. The odd uneasy air did not dissipate as they ate, it lingered. She took a sip of the wine, glancing at it deeply as ripples cut through the dark liquid.  "Is it not to your liking?" He asked. "No, it's rather different, I was wondering what fruits were used." she covered easily. He raised his brows at her before nodding. "It has blossoms from a very famous cherry tree." He informed. She nodded slowly, taking another sip before a frown tugged at her lips.

“Did you enjoy your time?” he asked before he took a sip of wine. Her eyes flickered from her food to look at him before she nodded. She ate with small bites and spoke calmly. She looked, truly like she couldn't stand on her own. He half expected her to fall asleep right there in her chair. But she carried on with the conversation. She glanced up at him as he ate, a tired plea curtained with each slow blink.

"Am I staying?" she asked as he chewed. He nodded, covering his mouth with a fine table napkin before he spoke. "It's necessary," he said. Verena pressed her lips together before she took another bite. "I see."

"It is nice to see you again." he said "Thank you, You look well." He narrowed his eyes at her as she took a bite. “Say it.” he urged with a small smile. She paused, a questioning expression crossing her features. "You want to say something, do it," he explained.

"I have nothing to say." She denied. His eyes shifted across her features as he ate. They took turns observing the other, both circling the other with each interaction. It was known, expected, and accepted. Of course, the dearest thing they kept to their hearts but they allowed the other to observe. It was an unspoken agreement outside of their working together; it said they could and should be known to each other.

It was this knowledge that made Verena's anger so very obvious. It was the way she pressed her lips and held her tongue, the way her eyes narrowed and as she ate she seemed to watch him as if he had set a trap. Her anger was as obvious as her longing for her home, maybe they fueled each other, but he wasn't quite sure. But it was to be sure that she was upset and wanted to leave.  

“Do they enjoy bathhouses as much in Esshai as we do here?”  He asked suddenly. She looked at him, a confused look striking across her features before she took a bite of her food, Humming softly as she watched him as if trying to find where under his clothes he had hidden the dagger. She chewed her food slowly as she blinked at him. “Bathhouses are fairly common, yes.” She said 

“It is common to bathe with your rival, as well. As a way to wash bad blood.” She adds. He raised his brows high before he asked “Does it work?” “It is likely the wine’s fault.” she admits, watching him with a tired smile. “We have many sayings, poems, and such on it.” She adds. Tiredness had loosened her lips.

He watched her eat, and every so often she’d look up from her plate and cut the piece she had already cut in half before she slowed down. “Then, let me fix my mistake.”  She giggled, an odd free sort of laugh before she realized, after some time, that the prince was not laughing with her. No, when she opened her eyes once more she found his expression serious and genuine, that telling expression that must’ve been a family trait as it said to all that you’d better listen to them. 

“Royalty do not often participate in this sort of activity.” she explained after her breathing calmed. He tilted his head to the side and arched a brow. “You could if you’re very close, but it is uncommon.” 

He nodded slowly, undeterred by her attempt as he cut off pieces of meat. It took, and placed it on the other’s plate. All of a moment for Verena to concede, a silent look of reproach as he took a bite. it took only him to fill her plate, and she relented. A small smile appeared on his lips as he continued his meal. “It will not wash the war from our hands.” she said “I know.” he replied “But it would be unfortunate if we were to dislike each other after all the time we must spend together, so it is best to solve issues quickly.” She watched him with that same strange look, as if he had been replaced and she was trying very hard to find the difference. 

She raised her cup to him and nodded. “Then, may the waters wash our anger, and the wine replace the blood we have drawn.” she said with an amused smile as if she was waiting for the moment he pulled away. It worked in his favor, to have to call upon a servant to have a bath drawn. By the way, her lips curled, it was obvious she thought she understood.

When the food was eaten and they had finished chatting, he showed her to the bath. Tall, painted ceilings and lavish furnishings, plants and pots, sofas, and a few ornate changing screens, they were heavy and edged with carved gold. The tub was large and deep, It wasn’t far off from a bathhouse used by nobles, and as a maid left a tray of wine on a lifted spot in the tiled tub before she left with a bow, closing the doors on her way. Verena glanced at the prince who looked rather resolved. “You can change behind the screen,” he said as she started to undress. She glanced at it sideways before she continued her task, watching as he made his way behind a screen.  They hardly spoke, the sounds of ruffling clothing and the thuds they made as they dropped. “Do you have a tradition like this here?” she asked.  “Not quite.” he admitted.  “Are you very uncomfortable?” She asks “You’re not the first woman I’ve ever seen.” He shot back. He could almost see the expression, but if she said anything, it was muffled. 

She didn’t wait for him to come from the screen before she stepped into the water, a loud, pleased sigh slipping from her lips as the warmed water enveloped her. By the time he had come out, a towel tied firmly on his hips, she was sitting with her arms outstretched and her head resting on the edge. She closed her eyes almost immediately, her travel-weary muscles relaxed at once. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at a fairly nasty bruise on her shoulder, it blackened her tanned skin and raised beneath it. When he joined her, she didn’t bother to open her eyes or dip deeper into the waters, she stayed as she was, covered only by the towering bubbles that grazed her chest, as with each sway of the waters, her cover lessened. 

She seemed to forget he was even there– that she was even angry with him in the first place as she rested her eyes, only when he moved did she open her eyes to catch him. A brief pause as her eyes lowered before they quickly snapped back to his eyes.  “Were you very busy?” She asked, “Not so.” He replied. She hummed.  

For a while, they just sat a safe distance from each other, letting the lightning fill the room briefly before the warm glow was returned by the fixtures that hung about the room. He glanced at her as she stared at the ceiling, following her gaze before he spoke up, soft and low as if he wanted to bring her close to make her hear. "It depicts King Alas' life as he fell in love." "The lover king," she muttered in response. He glanced to the side to look at her. "It was my favorite story." she explained, not moving from her spot. He smiled, "It's a pleasant one." He admitted. It was one you tell children, the king who had fallen so deeply that he had fought the world to make her his wife. Everyone knew them, their love and life. Parts of their letters are quoted more often than not. "Do you think you could do it?" she asked. "Maybe once," he said

"Lovers, what becomes your body if not food for trees? What becomes of your blood if not to dampen the trenches? Lovers, what becomes of your cries if your voice is not your own?" She recited softly, lamely. He nodded, realizing she wasn't looking at him to see his response he remained silent anyway. They sat and laid out as they told each other history and poems, hands waved in the air as tales were recounted, and laughter encased the room. He gave her a drink and took his own, and the more they drank the more tolerable the other became.

"You seemed offended that I didn't undress in front of you," he announced after the fair amount of wine had its effect on him. "Yes, It is a big part of this tradition, you show and are shown that the other hasn't brought any weapons,” she informed. He nodded slowly before he glanced at the wine. "What else do you do?" He asked. "This is enough," she said with a small smile. "Then tell me out of curiosity," he said. "You typically wash each other's hair." "Typically?" "Others choose something different," she said with a vague wave of her hand, laughing as he understood.

He nodded once, setting his glass down before reaching for a golden vase. "Sit up," he said. She rolled her head to look at his, her eyes dropping to the vase in his hands. She looked at him strangely but he only raised his brows. Relenting, she sat up, moving farther into the tub with him.

He brought up a pitcher, his free hand tilting her chin up before he moved to shield her face from the water. The surprisingly gentle movement made the other giggle as she looked up at him. "What?" "It's much more intimate when you do it this way." She says. He raised his brows high "How else do you do it?" he asked "I dunk my hair in." She said with a grin. He paused for a moment before pouring more water on her. She reached out in front of her, grabbing blindly until she felt his arm, she held him, her nails sinking into the muscles in his arm as she cackled, the bubbling sound as she tried not to inhale the water.

Once she had stopped coughing he had already poured out some shampoo into his hands, he messaged the shampoo into her hair, it lathered and foamed, and as it did she let out a hum. "Lavender." he nodded in response, watching as her shoulders slowly dropped once again. She leaned into him as he worked, closing her eyes and letting a small, pleased smile grace her lips. He doubted that she knew that she was even smiling, but he made no moves to let her know. He watched her expression shift and change, how her thick lashes twitched and fluttered every so often. His eyes dropped down to her lips, her lips pressed together as if she were trying to hold in a smile. She failed at the corners. They twitched and kept turning upwards no matter how she tried, but she tried.

"You are willing to do much for diplomacy." she muttered "You too." He replied after a beat. She laughed a bit “Is that a demand?” “An observation.” His hands dropped to his side and she opened her eyes. She laid back and stared at the high ceiling once again. She didn't expect him to return, his fingers combing out the long dark ribbons.

Her head pressed further into his fingers as he massaged it. “Why are you angry?” He asked. She muttered, her voice low and unintelligible. “I’m not mad.” she said clearer. He hummed softly, its skeptical rhythm made the other smile softly. He lowered her head into the water, rinsing out the lavender wash. From her spot, flat on her back she looked up at him, watching as his tiredness looked much more severe when the lightning hit, but when the room was once again only lit by the candles, he was tired no more. She would not admit it, not even for a moment but, there had always been something melancholic about the prince’s appearance, something haunting in a strangely beautiful way, like a flame catching on a painting, a flower as its dried, darkened petals fell to the table. Something fleeting and out of reach.

She wouldn’t admit it, but there was beauty in the empire. 

She caught his eye, his brow twitching as closed her eyes again. There was beauty. But she would refuse to see it. Block her ears to muffle his words and close her eyes to hide from his. What beauty is there in devastation? Some morbid beauty, draped in a cloth soaked in the blood of all that she loved. Despite the blood streaking down his body, drawing lines across him– there was beauty in the empire. There was devastation in the empire. 

And What beautiful carnage He was.

"Prince?" She called. He hummed. "You don't have a tradition like this, do you?" she asked. He paused for a moment. "No." he admitted. He watched for her reaction, anger, amusement... anything. But she had none at all. She remained still for a while before she parted her lips again. 

“I’m going to die here, aren’t I?” she asked suddenly, tilting her head back to look at him. She watched as he stilled his face, his whole body frozen as if he tried to come up with a lie. She liked to pick out his expressions, guess what they meant. With each twitch of his lips, every raised brow, every subtle movement his eyes made, he gave away the thoughts he held on his tongue, and with each one she decoded, she felt an odd sense of victory, pride at somehow coming closer to the heart of him. But as she watched the truth still behind his teeth, no victory was found. 

“Peace is a sacrifice,” he replied. “In time, you’ll find something you like here.” He added. She frowned deeply, swallowing a few times before she let out a sigh, her lips moved subtly as she whispered a silent prayer. Then, she nodded, closing her eyes for a moment as he returned to washing her hair. That moment was all she took, and with the breeze, it was gone. 

She rose from the water before she took the vase from him, her eyes glancing at the top of his head before he nodded. He tensed for a moment as he laid back into the water, but as he stared at the ceiling for a moment it was nice. Hesitantly her fingers combed through his hair. She didn’t know what she expected to see when she looked at him as close as she was now, but it wasn’t him. At this distance… he was real. The warmth from his body crept up against her, his naked chest moved as he breathed, he was real, and with one strike  she could kill them both. Kill her friends. Kill her home. 

The sounds of the world were muffled by the water, and as he listened to its song he let out a sigh. When he had to return, he did so reluctantly, rising from the water before he sank to accommodate her. She watched the water as it made its path before she reached for him. Ignoring the way he raised his brows at her before he glanced down at her, he was much less ashamed, he didn’t rush or even hide his eye’s slow movements down her frame before just as slowly his eyes returned to hers. As if he teased her with doing what she hadn’t the courage to. She was less hesitant this time as she brought him closer. 

“You never wrote,” she said. “The letter was lost for a while.” At this she glanced at him again, studying his eyes as she scrubbed his scalp. “Was he angry?” She asked. Tai’s eyes fell to her collarbone before, and with a lazy blink, he met her eyes again. 

He hid the truth once more with a twitch of his brow that reminded her of their positions. He wasn’t sure why he did, truthfully. Everyone knew. All it ever was, was a lesson, he knew. Everyone knew. Even before he was called to meet his father, a smile on his lips as he asked if his lover had written to him. Even before he told the prince she only spoke of him in the presence of the emperor. It was a taunt, a show of arms. All it ever was, was a threat to tell him not to be too eager.

Don’t be too wise, too involved. Don’t step on his toes or look like you wish ill on him. But by the gods, don’t you dare slouch, boy. 

Maybe he wanted to pretend to be better than he was in front of her.  Prove that he’s more. 

But the truth was simpler; A king cares for nothing but power. But He was not a king, nor the emperor. But He could hold nothing of his own, and should he acquire something for himself, it belonged to the prince not the man under the crown.

She looked at him once more, meeting his eyes as she continued to wash his hair. She gave no reply, and she didn’t bother apologizing, she just kept looking as if there was something to find beneath his skin. He swallowed, fixed to his spot as she worked. 

It was still, just the sound of the water being pushed around softly, not a creak or scratch at the door, somewhere the word had fallen away. She forced him to slouch, as she scrubbed his scalp. He stared at her, his eyes moving around her features as she worked. It wasn’t exactly hatred that tugged at the corners of her lips— though it was there, it lingered between her brows and hung from her teeth. — But it wasn’t exactly fondness — that was quicker, it flashed in her smile and left with a blick, it settled in her eyes, before looking away. —  more a strange sense of curiosity as if she watched some form of torture be inflicted. 

His eyes dropped to the bruise on her ribs that disappeared under the water, his fingers moving on their own to graze the skin. She tensed under his touch, letting out a sharp intake of breath as she cast him a warning look, but despite it, she remained, letting his fingers settle into the dips of her ribs. “Does it bother you?” he asked, his voice low. “When I lay on it.” she replied, matching his tone. His fingers traced around the dark edge.

 “One of the oils added helps with it.” He said, watching her reaction as his fingers moved. “Did you ask for it?” She asked softly. He nodded. There it was. Almost fondness, he watched as it spread into her smile and flitted across dark eyes before it was gone. His fingers slid across her wet skin and her eyes dropped to his lips. She was drawn to him, like an idiot to a flame, like seeing a storm and waiting to see what it brought, a morbid curiosity that begged to watch him take hold of a weapon, and draw blood so she might see what he does next. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the devil’s hunger, but with all his curiosities, he interested her. 

So she let him slip closer. She put up no fight when his lips finally met hers. She straightened, her hands still in his hair. Firm. Insistent. Urgent. He pulled her closer. She flinched, pushing towards him to avoid him touching the mark on her back. A muttered apology was breathed into her open mouth as she stretched to meet him. In that half a second there was an agreement, an understanding of sorts. A silent agreement to leave the troubles at the door. The storm continued outside, and with each flash of light, each crash of thunder the pair didn't bother to part. Heavy breathing and splashing waters cut through the stillness.

His hand slid down her back like a feather, fingertips not truly pressing against the sensitive skin. It urged her forward. Hate and attraction seemed to fight within the mage. One moment she was demanding, her grip on his hair almost painful, her teeth on his lips just a touch too harsh, and the next she held him with a look she wouldn't have let him see if she hadn't drank. But he didn't mind, his grip on her only grew firmer as they dove deeper.

The already warm room seemed to only get warmer as the prince took a step back, retracting his hand to feel the step behind him before he pulled her to sit with him, his hand knocking over a glass of wine as they settled against each other once more. She chased him without parting, pressing herself against him, as they stepped. 

The change didn't bother the pair, continuing as if nothing had changed, her knees bracketing his legs as she sat, pushing into him until he was leaning fully on his elbows. This action did not make the smug smile fall from his lips, somehow, it grew. She could feel it, as her hand encased his cheek, she felt it in the curve of it. She could feel it as his hand rested against her hip. She parted from him, just enough for their noses to still be touching, enough to still breathe the other's air. She found his eyes already opened, half-lidded and smug. 

His heart beat rapidly against her roaming hand. Her eyes flicked from watching her hand’s movements to watching his expression. Daring, encouraging, longing. She didn’t go lower than his naval. He watched her as she made her exploration as he made his own. His movements were less based in curiosity than they were based in affection. His fingers ghosting over her clavicle before they started to dip down. She strained to keep silent, her back tense as his fingers trailed lower.

He looked up at her, as his fingers circled her navel, she had stilled against him, her hand curled against his chest. Her brows furrowed and deep frown pulled at her lips, despite her efforts she was given away by the soft trembling as his fingers moved up again, and the way his name started to form on her lips. 

He opened his mouth to speak but whatever it was, was swallowed as she kissed him again. She wouldn't let it happen again, once the wine wore off and she had left this would never happen again. Each moment was a tick in the clock. One second closer for the moment to end. If asked, she'd leave this part out of the story of her time in the empire, she'd deny it.  

Because beauty was one thing... But Tai was another.

He parted if only to catch his breath for a moment. For a while, they stared at each other, trembling and flushed. She blinked at him, long lashes fluttering as she did. Her mouth fell open as she heaved. He watched as a multitude of micro-expressions tugged at her features. He could almost read her thoughts spiral before he rested his head against his shoulder, his eyes flicking up to the painted ceiling. "If you gave me time, I could." He promised before she could regret it. She looked up, before with a sigh she looked behind him at the spilled wine before he looked lazily and shrugged. She opened her lips again but closed it softly.

He watched as if he already knew the thoughts in her head. He sat up again, dipping his head down to place soft, open-mouth kisses against her shoulder. "It's late." She said as he smiled against the top of her breast. "You should sleep." He said. “You don’t seem angry anymore, You said some prefer other ways?" he asked. She paused for a moment, gathering her scattered thoughts to understand what he asked, and when she did, she laughed heartily. "Yes. No," she said as she stood up from him. The absence of the other’s warmth was immediately felt, marked by an odd stuttery movement and fingers grazing a toned leg. A strange, out of mind sensation as they reach for each other in small barely noticeable ways before they return and carried on. The hand dropped and the woman continued to walk up the steps beside the prince. 

He watched her with naked interest as he pointed to the towels. He gave her a wolfish grin from over his shoulder as she dried off. “Then they do not sound like rivals.” She laughed. “No, back home we say they are lovers who are the last to know they are in love.”  He raised his brows high before the sound of his laughter filled the room, it wasn’t overly boisterous or anything of that sort, it was a low, soft sound. Like the rain against the roof. “I should work to anger you more often.” He said “You needn’t change a thing, prince.” she replied quickly. 

He gave a knowing look before he laughed again. “Then, until next time.” he said, his back still turned to her while her wet steps crossed the path to the towels.

she limped slightly, favoring the uninjured leg much more than she had when they walked together. He realized that she was either too tired or found it to be useless to try and keep up the facade now. 

His eyes followed the path of her towel before he nodded. “Esshai was right, with this tradition.” “I’ll make sure to tell the king of your approval, then.” “oh, I’m sure you will.” 

“Verena?” He asked. “Yes?” “Consider me.” No response came. He doubted a verbal one would. 

He stayed where he was, with his back to the edge. as she dressed and left for bed. He listened to each sound, the rustle of her clothing and the soft words muttered under her breath, to the sounds of her footsteps and the closing of the door. He listened for the second door to close and waited for her voice to carry to where he was, but she made not a sound for the rest of the night.

[msklassickilla]

Delirious | J. Uso|R. Reigns Seven

Summary: When Titania buys an old typewriter from a closing thrift store, she thinks it’s just a vintage gem—until the words she types start coming true. However, the typewriter doesn’t just bring fantasies to life—it twists them. Giving Titania way more than she bargained for.

Pairing: Titania Marshall (Black OC) x Jey Uso x Roman Reigns

Author’s Note: This story is another AU thing. So, it might align, or it might not. I will try my best to keep it current enough. Nonetheless, it’s mash up of a few things: That one episode of Goosebumps. That one episode of the Twilight Zone. And that movie by the same title, Delirious featuring John Candy. I’ma make it work. Plus, I like mystical spooky shit with a bit of Jerry Springer type mess.

Warning(s): Will be updated each chapter. None for this.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Seven

Titania thought that with Jey back on the road, she’d be able to breathe again.

She was wrong.

The house felt different without him, but his presence was still everywhere. The sheets still smelled like him. His sneakers sat by the door, waiting for him to return. Unread messages lingered on her phone—pictures of condos, houses, neighborhoods in Florida, all sent without her asking.

She had tried to ignore them, but they sat there like unopened doors she wasn’t sure she wanted to walk through. Jey was gone, but the weight of his choices was still pressing down on her.

Titania sat at her desk, fingers hovering over her keyboard, the half-finished article on the screen blurring in her vision. She had told herself she would get back to work, reclaim her normal routine, but the words wouldn’t come. The house was too quiet, too still, and her mind wouldn’t settle.

Her gaze drifted toward the spare room. The door was shut, but she could still feel it. The typewriter. Sitting there. Waiting.

The thought had crept in more than once. If she used it again, maybe she could make things easier. Maybe she could soften Jey’s sudden obsession with moving. Maybe she could make it so that she actually wanted to move, erase the tension twisting in her gut every time he brought it up.

She could fix this.

Titania exhaled sharply and rubbed her hands over her face. She was lying to herself. The typewriter had never been about fixing things. It was about control. And the terrifying part was that she wasn’t sure she had any.

Her phone rang, breaking through the silence.

Titania jumped, her heart hammering as she grabbed it from the desk. When she saw the name on the screen, her stomach twisted.

Mom.

She stared at it for a beat too long. The last time they had spoken was before she bought the typewriter—before everything changed. Titania hesitated, debating whether or not to answer. But letting it go to voicemail wasn’t an option. Not with her mother.

She took a slow breath, pressed accept, and brought the phone to her ear.

“Hey, Mama.”

There was a pause on the other end, but not the warm kind.

“You wanna tell me why I had to be the one calling you?”

Titania closed her eyes. She could already picture her mother sitting at the kitchen table, arms crossed, eyebrows raised in that way that always made Titania feel sixteen again.

She had forgotten. Not on purpose. Not intentionally. But that almost made it worse.

Titania had always been good about checking in, calling at least once a week, making sure her parents weren’t worrying about her. It had been part of her routine. And yet, she had let weeks slip by without a second thought.

“I know,” she sighed, sinking deeper into the chair. “I should’ve called.”

Her mother didn’t let up. “You should’ve called weeks ago. You know better than that.”

Guilt curled in her chest, thick and heavy. She did know better. But what was she supposed to say?

That she had been so caught up in the world she created with Jey that she had forgotten about the one she left behind? That she had rewritten herself into a life where nothing else mattered?

“I’ve just been busy,” she said instead, hating how weak the excuse sounded.

Silence stretched on the other end. Her mother knew her too well to believe that. Finally, Teedria exhaled, her voice softening just a fraction. “What’s going on, Tee? Something wrong?”

Titania swallowed.

Where would she even begin?

What could she possibly say that wouldn’t make her sound insane?

Well, Mama, I bought an old typewriter, wrote myself into Jey Uso’s life, and now I think reality is slipping away from me. Oh, and I might be moving across the country against my will, but I’m not sure if I actually agreed to it or if the universe is deciding for me.

Yeah. No.

“I’m fine,” she said, forcing lightness into her voice. “I promise.”

Another pause. Then, “You know you can talk to us, right? Me and your father?”

Titania closed her eyes, fingers tightening around the phone.

She did know that.

She had always known that.

She could tell them anything.

But she couldn’t tell them this.

Because her mother was still real. Her father was still real. The typewriter hadn’t touched them. It hadn’t rewritten their memories, hadn’t pulled them into the illusion she had built for herself.

She had been so quick to rewrite Mia. So quick to mold Jey’s life to fit her own. But she couldn’t do that to her family.

Could she?

The thought lodged itself deep in her mind, sinking its teeth in. If she just wrote one line, maybe she could smooth things over. Maybe she could make it, so they weren’t upset with her, so they didn’t ask too many questions.

Her pulse jumped at the idea.

She wouldn’t do it.

She couldn’t.

But the fact that she had even considered it made her feel sick.

“I know, Mama,” she said quickly, pushing the thought away. “I promise I’ll call more.”

Her mother let out another long sigh, the kind that said she wasn’t completely convinced.

“Alright, baby. You better.”

Titania let out a slow breath. “I will.”

The conversation wrapped up soon after, her mother reminding her to eat, to rest, to take care of herself. When the call ended, Titania stared at the phone in her hand for a long moment before setting it on the desk.

The guilt sat heavy in her stomach.

Not just because she had neglected her family.

Not just because she had been so consumed by Jey that she had nearly forgotten them entirely.

But because the idea of using the typewriter had crossed her mind.

And it hadn’t left.

----

It had been a few days since Titania spoke to her mother, but the guilt still clung to her, heavy and unshakable. She had been trying to lose herself in her routine—wake up, work, eat, sleep—but none of it felt the same. There was a hollowness to it now, an awareness she couldn’t escape.

Jey was still sending messages. More houses. More neighborhoods. Every time her phone buzzed, she half-expected another listing, some beautiful home in Florida with a message like “This one’s perfect for us, Tee.” She hadn’t responded to the last few. Maybe he noticed. Maybe he didn’t. Either way, she wasn’t ready to deal with it.

She had just settled on the couch when her phone rang again. Without thinking, she reached for it, but the second she saw the name on the screen, a strange unease crept up her spine.

Naomi.

Her fingers hovered over the screen. She had never spoken to Naomi personally. They weren’t friends. But somehow, Naomi’s name was already saved in her phone.

Titania hesitated, a tightness forming in her chest before she pressed accept.

"Hello?"

"Finally! Took you long enough to pick up."

Naomi’s voice was bright, warm, effortless, like they had done this a hundred times before. Titania sat up a little straighter, thrown by the easy familiarity in her tone. "Uh—hey?"

Naomi laughed. "Girl, don’t act surprised. I had to call because Jimmy told me the big news! You and Jey moving out here? I am so hyped! We are gonna have so much fun."

Titania’s stomach twisted, her fingers tightening around the phone.

"You…" She wet her lips, forcing her voice to stay even. "You have my number?"

Naomi made a playful sound, like she was rolling her eyes. "Duh. You’re family."

That word should have settled something inside her. It should have felt warm, reassuring. But it didn’t. Because Naomi was speaking to her like they had a history. A real one.

And the more she talked, the worse it got.

She mentioned the time Titania and Jey went to a family cookout, how she had supposedly beaten Jimmy at Spades and never let him live it down. Then there was the time she and Naomi stayed up late on the phone, talking for hours because Jey had passed out early.

Titania felt lightheaded. None of that had happened. She had never been to a cookout with them. She had never played Spades with Jimmy. She had never spent hours on the phone with Naomi.

But Naomi remembered.

Titania forced out a weak laugh. "Oh yeah. That was fun."

Naomi giggled. "I still don’t know how you pulled that win off. Jimmy is still mad about it."

Titania nodded, even though Naomi couldn’t see her. She barely heard the next few things Naomi said, too focused on the way her fingers had started trembling in her lap. Then Naomi said something that made everything stop.

"Jey told Jimmy y’all are moving soon."

Titania’s breath hitched, her entire body tensing.

"What?"

Naomi hummed like she hadn’t just shattered the floor beneath her. "Yeah, he said y’all are looking at places already. Girl, I told him it’s about time! You’re basically family anyway."

The blood in Titania’s veins felt thick, slow-moving. Jey had told Jimmy they were moving? They had never agreed to that. He had only mentioned it before leaving. That was it. A conversation. Not a decision.

Her nails pressed into her palm, grounding her as her mind raced. Jey had already made up his mind. He had already told people. Like her answer didn’t even matter. Like it was already set in stone. Like it had already been written.

Titania barely made it through the rest of the conversation. She laughed where she was supposed to, agreed when Naomi said they would have so much fun once she got to Florida. She played along, just like she always did.

But the second the call ended, she sat there, gripping her phone like it might slip from her fingers. Jey wasn’t just deciding things for her. His entire world was swallowing her whole. And the worst part? She wasn’t sure if she had ever been able to stop it.

----

Titania hadn’t moved from the couch since Naomi’s call. The phone sat in her lap, dark and silent, but the conversation still echoed in her mind. Every word, every laugh, every memory Naomi swore they shared replayed on a loop, and no matter how many times she tried to shake it off, the same question remained.

How much of her life was still hers?

She ran a hand over her face and let out a slow breath. She was spiraling. She knew that. But what was she supposed to do? Pretend this wasn’t happening? Ignore the way reality kept shifting around her? Jey had told Jimmy they were moving. He had told Naomi. He had sent pictures of houses, sent messages like it was already decided, like she had already agreed. But she hadn’t. Had she?

The walls of the house felt too close, the silence pressing in on her. She needed to get out, to clear her head, to do something other than sit here drowning in her own thoughts. Without thinking, she grabbed her keys and headed for the door.

The drive was a blur. She barely registered the turns she was making, her body moving on autopilot while her mind spun in a hundred different directions. It wasn’t until she pulled up to the curb and shifted the car into park that she realized where she had gone.

The thrift store.

Her pulse jumped. Of course. She should have come here sooner. If there was anywhere that held answers, it was here. She stepped out of the car, half expecting to see the familiar storefront, the cluttered window display, the old man behind the counter. But the second she turned to face the building, her stomach dropped.

The store was gone.

Titania stood frozen on the sidewalk; her breath caught in her throat. The wooden sign that used to hang above the door was missing. The windows, once dusty and cluttered with antiques, were now spotless, empty. A large "For Sale" sign hung where the entrance should have been, swinging slightly in the breeze.

No. This wasn’t right. She had been here a few weeks ago. She had bought the typewriter here. The old man had stood behind that counter, had spoken to her, had—

Her pulse quickened. Had he known? Had he known exactly what he was selling her? The possibility made her stomach twist.

She moved closer, pressing a hand against the cool glass of the window, peering inside. The space was gutted, nothing but an empty shell. No shelves, no furniture, no trace that a business had ever existed there. It was like the store had never been there at all.

Her head spun, a sharp panic clawing at the edges of her thoughts. What did this mean? Had the store been erased, rewritten out of existence like everything else? Had she imagined it all?

She turned abruptly, scanning the street, half expecting to see something—anything—that could prove she wasn’t losing her mind. But the world moved on around her like nothing had changed. Cars passed, people walked, the sun hung bright and steady in the sky.

Titania gripped her arms, trying to keep herself from coming undone. If the store was gone already, where did that leave her? And worse—where did that leave the typewriter?

Her fingers curled into fists. She needed answers, but it felt like the only thing she was getting was more questions.

----

Titania stood outside the empty storefront, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as the cool breeze slipped through the street. The “For Sale” sign swayed gently in the wind, mocking her with its presence. The building was stripped bare, no sign of the dusty old shop she had stepped into not long ago. It was like it had been erased.

She didn’t know how long she had been standing there, staring at the empty space where the thrift store used to be, willing something—anything—to make sense. The logical part of her brain told her businesses closed all the time, that it wasn’t unusual for stores to shut down, for owners to retire, for new tenants to take over, and that she knew the store would close for good one day. The old man couldn’t have sold everything that fast though.

This was where she had found the typewriter, where everything had changed. She needed the store to be here, but it wasn’t. Gone.

A door swung open beside her, drawing her attention. A woman stepped out, locking up behind her. Titania recognized the logo on her blazer—some real estate company, probably the one handling the sale of the building. Her throat tightened as an idea formed.

She hesitated for only a second before stepping forward. “Excuse me?”

The realtor turned, offering a polite but distracted smile. “Yes? Can I help you?”

Titania’s fingers curled into her palms. “I know this might sound weird, but do you know what happened to the old man who owned the thrift store here before this place was put up for sale?”

The woman’s brow furrowed slightly, like she had to think about it. “Oh, the antique shop? Yeah, the owner sold the business a while back. I think he was looking to retire.”

Titania swallowed. “Do you know if he stayed in the area?”

The realtor shook her head. “No idea, sorry. I never met him personally. I just handled the listing after the sale was finalized.” She gave a small shrug, shifting the folder in her arms. “It’s a great location, though. Are you looking to buy?”

Titania forced a tight smile and took a step back. “No, I was just… curious. Thanks for your time.”

The woman nodded before walking toward her car, already focused on something else. Within seconds, she was gone, leaving Titania alone again in front of the empty building.

She exhaled sharply and rubbed her temples. The man had vanished. No trail, no answers, just another loose end in a story that was slipping further and further from her control. Had he known what he was selling her? Had he realized what the typewriter could do? And if he did, why hadn’t he warned her?

The thought sent a chill down her spine.

She turned away from the empty shop and headed back to her car, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary as she sat there in silence. The old man was gone. The store was gone. But the typewriter was still there, waiting for her at home, waiting to be used.

She had come here for answers.

Instead, all she had found was another reminder that she was in too deep, unsure if she could swim.

----

A week passed, and Titania still hadn’t made peace with everything she had learned—or rather, everything she hadn’t. The thrift store was gone, the old man had disappeared, and there were no answers to be found. Every time she thought about it, frustration built inside her, sitting heavy in her chest like a weight she couldn’t shake. But what bothered her more was the lingering question she refused to fully acknowledge. Had she ever really been in control? Or had the typewriter been leading her here from the start?

She was still lost in thought when she heard the familiar sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Her heart stuttered, and she turned toward the window just as Jey stepped out of the driver’s seat. He stretched, rolling his shoulders before grabbing his bag from the trunk, and despite everything—despite the anger simmering beneath her skin—her stomach fluttered at the sight of him.

She hated that.

By the time he stepped through the door, Titania was already bracing herself. Jey had been gone for a week, and she should have been happy to see him, should have melted into his arms the way she always did. But the moment he walked in, flashing that familiar grin, all she could think about was the way he had been making plans for their life without her input.

“What's up, Tee,” Jey said, dropping his bag and pulling her into his arms before she could protest. “You miss me?”

His body was warm, solid, familiar. For a second, she let herself sink into it, let herself believe things could be normal. But then she remembered the dozens of unread messages sitting on her phone—pictures of houses, neighborhoods, a future she never agreed to—and the anger bubbled back up to the surface.

Jey must have felt her body stiffen because he pulled back, studying her face. “What’s wrong?”

Titania stepped out of his grasp and folded her arms, keeping her voice steady. “You told Jimmy and Naomi we’re moving.”

Jey blinked, looking momentarily confused, like this wasn’t something that should have been an issue. “Yeah?”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “You kept sending me pictures of houses while you were on the road, like we’d already made a decision. Like I agreed to this.”

Jey exhaled, running a hand down his face. “Tee, come on. You knew this was happening.”

“No,” she snapped, her frustration boiling over. “You mentioned it. You assumed. But you never asked me, Jey. You didn’t even give me a chance to think about it before you started telling people we were moving.”

Jey was quiet for a moment, then let out a short laugh, like she was overcomplicating something that should have been simple. “I know what’s best for us.”

Titania’s stomach twisted.

There was no hesitation in his voice, no doubt in his expression. He believed that.

“I know what’s best for my girl,” he added, voice softer now, like that would somehow make it better.

Her breath caught. He was watching her closely, waiting for her to give in, to let it go, to let him be right. Maybe a week ago, she would have. Maybe she would have convinced herself that he knew what was best for her, that she could trust him to make these decisions.

But that was before she realized how little say she actually had in her own life.

Jey tilted his head, sensing her hesitation. “You just need time to come around. I get that.”

Her heart pounded harder against her ribs.

He was so sure.

So, patient.

Titania took a step back, putting space between them. “And what if I don’t?”

For a moment, Jey didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Then a slow smirk curled his lips, but there was something unreadable in his expression, something just beneath the surface that made the hair on the back of her neck rise.

“You will,” he said simply.

Titania swallowed, the air in the room suddenly feeling thinner.

Jey took a step forward, closing the distance she had just put between them. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping low, smooth, deliberate.

“Tee, you mine now,” he murmured. “You need to come to terms with that.”

Titania’s breath stalled.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, her mind screaming at her to push him away, to argue, to tell him he was wrong. But the words never came. Because deep down, she wasn’t sure if he was.

Had the typewriter predicted this? Or had it decided it for her?

She wasn’t sure anymore. And that terrified her more than anything else.

----

Read Chapter 8... click here

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[wren--bee]

I would love a sketch if you're willing and able! (And if not thank you for giving me an excuse to show them off because apparently I need an excuse). I've only played through once so far (and I'm not one of those screenshot wizards that sometimes pop up) so I don't have a massive range of screenshots! Firstly: Esha Aldwir! An elf originally from the Free Marches, they've lived in an alienage, a Circle tower, two Dalish clans, the College of Enchanters, and finally with the Veil Jumpers- none of them long enough to settle, to find a place of belonging. They want to be open, considerate, and think well of people- but know they're not what they want to be. They were slightly obsessed with elven lore, history and Dalish culture, unconsciously using it as something of a substitute for a feeling of home, acceptance or purpose. This meant that the revelations before Veilguard hit hard, and they definitely don't have a Fun Time(tm).

Secondly, Kalais Mercer really needs to be played so I can get more screenshots of her! (And so she can develop more as a character.) Daughter of an Orzammar casteless dwarf who fled to give her daughter a better life, only for them both to be snatched up by slavers. Kalais' mother ensured she escaped- at the cost of her own life, and with the help of the Shadow Dragons. They ensured Kalais had a home, a place- and they had her unwavering loyalty, and her willingness to do whatever she had to as she grew up. Cynical and angry, she hides it under a layer of sarcasm. She grew up wish such mixed feelings about dwarves- wishing things could have been different, knowing that she'd have been casteless if her mother had remained, but wondering how things could have been if there were no casteless. The revelations around the dwarves cut deeper than she would have expected. (You have no idea how happy I was to be able to make a dwarven lady with a beard! Is it lore appropriate? I don't care one iota. I love her. <3)

“Neve, meet Rook… thought we could use an expert in trouble.” DAMN but they set that banter up early, don’t they? Really enjoying the near-constant references to trouble in my second playthrough.

Eann “Rook” Aldwir, chaos goblin and spellblade extraordinaire 💕 Expression studies from screenshots, because I love her and I can.

(P.S. Does anyone want a sketch of their Rook in this style? I could use the practice! If you send/link a screenshot I’ll give it a go and post them here.)

[dykedvonte]

One of my mutuals opinions is the "bro code" thing, that Curly is one of those guys who wouldn't care about the victim because the perpetrator is his friend and I'm really banging my head on the wall like that other anon. I've only played through the game once but Curly's behaviour/reactions etc read completely different from the "bro code" thing and I have to wonder if my mutual and I even played the same game.. like the constant digs at him from Jimmy, his body language in his face reveal and so on like you mentioned in your post. While this game is a little different obviously, it kind of reminded of a point in Alice Madness Returns that makes it very clear that Alice's pain blinded her to the abuse of the other children and her failure to act earlier because of it. Curly is guilty of a similar inaction but it doesn't change the fact he was a victim of Jimmy too. I don't think I can look at it any other way because both of these games have really stuck with me.

I genuinely think it really is the idea that people want a simple easy to blame problem and the idea that the only relatable victims of abuse are those that "surpass" it or do a lot to help others. When it comes to victims, especially those that don't fit the typical demographics, who either accidently perpetuate it, enable it or aren't ideal in some way shape or form, people jump to ignore what they went through as it's easier than dealing with those conflicting sentiments.

The bro-code conversation in Mouthwashing stems from a concept I generally dislike that there had to be something about Curly that made him meet or keep being friends with someone like Jimmy. I think people genuinely underestimate how many like decent and good people just know an asshole or are friends with someone who is really bad outside of their view/established dynamics. The game makes it clear none of the inaction against Jimmy is because of a lack of care, it is a lack of understanding from the privaleged postions they have as men to not have to worry about what Anya does/went through and the type of extremes men like Jimmy will go through to cover it up. They are all too preoccupied in their own strifes.

Another thing I see being oversaturated the idea that you have to be a freak, misanthrope or have a disorder to do the thing Jimmy does. The game is an escalation, it's a spiral that I don't see people comment on that Jimmy was not likely having the mood swings and episodes of rage/frustration we were seeing in the game. This is after they all start experiencing the worst moments in their lives that he got THAT openly bad. Of course, this is just my interpretation but much like in real life, people that go to extremes like that usually live mundane lives. It's a pressure cooker affect to where the stress made them pop. It's self inflicted but still the case.

I really think people need to be more willing to acknowledge that not everything needs to be an extreme or in black and white or easy to understand. It doesn't need to be happy or have an answer or solution, especially in the cases where the abused sadly helps perpetuate what they experience. It's not he should've known better from experience or shouldn't he have known what could've happened because victims tend to not like to think in matters of the worst. Not to mention, especially in cases of abuse where it feels so personally directed that you don't expect to happen to someone else.

[dariusaurs]

i think dinostar is such an interesting ship right now even if i've kind of turned away from it after this season. the problem is that it's complicated, and fandoms historically don't like nuanced situations or takes. i don't think it's fair to say darius is putting brooklynn on a pedestal, since from his perspective, she hasn't done anything wrong, and kenji has been framed as this unfair partner to her. it does feel like his feelings are very immature and more of an infatuation right now ("if he loved you half as much.."/"unless?"), especially when you compare them to kenji's own feelings for brooklynn - his girlfriend who he's loved for 6 years - but that isn't a horrible thing, it's just different. i do completely understand if people dislike the ship right now, and even criticize darius' way of handling the accidental confession, but i just think people have been way too harsh on all three of them without being willing to see that all of their perspectives are different

[aroanthy]

i love how fraught and complicated discourse around various utena characters ‘dying’ is when anthy is literally stabbed to death eternally by a million swords imbued with human hatred. and then utena gets stabbed to death by them also. like. ‘death’ is incredibly interesting in rgu because most of the time it’s this ambiguous figurative thing that has interesting implications re: ohtori as a closed-off world one can escape. we are all trapped in our coffins. mamiya is the only named character with a grave. nemuro memorial hall functions as one all the same. ruka is implied to have died in the hospital— was he dead all along? who was the boy we saw for these two episodes? is this dead boy the same boy, or is this just another coincidence from the shadow girls, cutting like a knife? it’s heavily implied that akio and anthy murder kanae by poisoning her, adding to the previous implication that they were poisoning mr ohtori too, but there are no perceptible consequences of this. kanae’s absence is not felt. she’s fed an apple slice. what happens to the bodies? we know what happened to the 100 boys, but what about everyone else? and so on and so forth. ‘death’ is a tricky thing in utena, i think it’s constantly functioning on figurative and literal levels in very different ways for very different purposes. dios died. dios was dying. dios didn’t die. he grew up. etc etc

[batbeato]

Phenomenon not unique to Umineko but starkly showcased because of it: the difficulty with separating discomfort of a character from analysis, and from judgement of others.

There are so many characters in Umineko that make people uncomfortable - Rosa is one of the first that comes to mind, but Kinzo does as well. They are such well-written, human characters - and also terrible abusers. They are uncomfortable to watch, they are uncomfortable to analyze, because it feels uncomfortable to remember and acknowledge that, yes, the abusers are human too even though they are terrible.

And there are people who will love characters like Rosa because of how well-written she is, just as there are people who will dislike or even hate her because she is uncomfortable, she is abusive. Some people will then go on, as they hate Rosa, to also hate people who enjoy her character, equating their enjoyment of her character to condoning or ignoring her actions.

I've also seen the opposite, wherein people who love a character will be upset that there are people who heavily dislike or hate a character who, while well-written, is abusive and uncomfortable. They may even equate this dislike to a lack of understanding of Umineko (a common way people are attacked for their opinions, and one I'm trying to move away from using).

People should respect that people may enjoy a character they do not, and that does not always reflect on their views regarding real-life treatment of others. They should also respect that people may not enjoy a character they do, and that does not reflect on their understanding of the text. Again, not a problem unique to Umineko fans, but I've noticed it amongst us.

[silusvesuius]

n*loth not being able to bag anyone over the (human term) age of 25-30 at most is the only logical and real conclusion to me because it can be just explained away as him wanting to prove and control everything and anyone (Cus he's a man!) but being stuck in that demographic because his unbearable and vile personality is a force that nobody can look past once they've outgrown the possible fear and idolization period of anyone but also n*loth in particular.

[okiria]

I have thought in the past that, right after Sougo and Ria get together, he'd find excuses to leave her behind on certain dangerous missions, because he's suddenly way more aware of how much she means to him and he can't risk losing someone again. In typical Sougo fashion, he would rather do risky things under the table alone rather than bring anyone else into it.

Anyway last night I had a dream that he had to go somewhere really risky but he didn't have an excuse for Ria not to go, so he handed her a huge bowl of rice and said she had to count every grain. And she just stared at it and asked if this was part of some sadist thing he was into.

[amorvincitomniamore]

upset because every time I see tiktok about j**nsa getting viral/more popular, I think about the possibility of people loving jonarya if only show was more like a books

[razzledazzletrassh]

no major fic updates just yet guys TAKE MY WOY OC I MADE LIKE. April of last year IM PLUGGING SOME INFO ABOUT THIS GUY IN THE TAGS.

I may also redesign her soon or something. Make her more bug-like with some stuff. I can cook guys let me cook !!!