#i understand being frustrated with the show but to be so disgusting to someone who is far from a bad person

[virginreprise]

do you not like the show???

not really. i don't vehemently dislike it like some people do, i'm just a little indifferent to it. it doesn't offend me but it doesn't bring me the same amount of joy as the game does.

i have watched the show and yeah, i think they did a decent job, but did it emulate the feeling of playing the game? no. for me it didn’t. i also don’t think that pedro or bella are the right fit, not because of looks - that arguments has always been pointless to me - but because they really don’t feel like ellie and joel. for me, they’re separate entities. they're two completely different characters who are, by themselves, quite entertaining. but putting them up against the game joel and ellie in the context of an adaptation, they really just don't stand up for me. it's not an attack on their acting or the way they approached the characters because its obviously never gonna be an exact copy but pedro joel is not my preferred joel and bella ellie is not my preferred ellie.

i also don't want to judge too harshly but from the changes they seem to have made to season 2 already, i don't think its going to be redeemed in my eyes. i don't particularly like the story of part 2 anyway so i'm just going to be watching the new season out of curiosity rather than enjoyment. i won't dismiss it completely until its out and i've watched it obviously and i think in general people get way too riled about comparing the show and the game, but overall, i never really liked the show and will probably continue to dislike it for however many seasons they do.

to be fair, the game has such a special place in my heart that i think i would've been subconsciously critical of any adaption, regardless of actors. i also just don't think it needed an adaption period. the magic of story games isn't always necessarily in the story but the connection you have towards the characters - an immersion that i don't think can ever be brought to the screen. it's why i hope and pray that they never do a rdr2 adaption because the open world aspect, honour system and the entire fabric of the game overall (i think) could never be emulated in a tv show or a movie. it was always the same for tlou as well but obviously there's nothing i can do to ameliorate the disconnect.

[autopsyfreak]

Homicidal Ideation

homicidal ideation is the term for having active thoughts about murdering others. these thoughts can be intrusive, however they can also often be voluntary.

misconceptions:

‘people who have these thoughts either have killed someone or will kill someone in the future’ - this is false. most people who have these thoughts usually have disordered behaviours (most commonly as a result of personality disorders) and struggle to find healthy ways to cope with their emotions, therefore provocation and stress can easily cause thoughts of inflicting harm onto others. this doesn’t inherently mean these people are dangerous, nor does it mean that they’re going to act upon these thoughts. most people who experience homicidal ideation never act on it and use it more as a way to process their distress/frustration internally.

‘having these thoughts about people in your life means you can’t possibly care for them’ - also false. caring for someone doesn’t make them an exception to mental illness and it doesn’t stop your mental illnesses from existing. to think that someone’s love for you is only valid as long as they’re not displaying traits of mental illness is unfair and is hugely misinformed. to love and be loved by someone who is mentally ill is to accept that they will display symptoms of their mental illness. you are not the exception and they do not love you any less by showing traits of being unwell.

‘so you endorse murder’ - no. that’s not at all what this means and if you seriously think this then your grasp of severe mental health issues is too limited to be commenting on such topics.

‘you’re evil’ - for being unwell? don’t be a cunt. if you seriously think that having a disordered manner of processing emotions internally makes someone ‘evil’ then that sounds more like an issue with you being too sensitive and having a lack of understanding, not an issue with the mentally ill person experiencing these thoughts. don’t make your inability to understand mental illness into someone else’s problem.

as someone who does experience homicidal ideation, it’s also important to not make the mistake of assuming everyone who is mentally ill experiences these thoughts either. i had an anonymous ask earlier today that directly associated the fact i’m mentally unwell with murder and homicidal thoughts, to immediately make this assumption just because someone is mentally ill is disgusting.

[miyukisu]

On Camera .ᐟ

❤︎ | You just love teasing your best friend—even better now that he's frustrated and can only see you through a screen (2.1k wc) ╰ feat. narumi gen (kn8) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 1 | kinktober masterlist

tags - best friend! narumi, virgin! narumi, reader also works in the force, cybersex, mutual masturbation, so much dirty talk, flashing, nipple play (kinda), swearing

minors do not interact

You and Narumi Gen go way back to your trainee days. Much to everyone's surprise, you two became quick friends—really good friends at that. I mean, who would've thought?

There's you—a fiery little thing, loves to poke fun and tease her friends. Then, there's Narumi Gen—bit of an oddball. Truth be told, you two had almost nothing in common, except for the fact that you were both strong.

You, Narumi, and Mina led your trainee batch; everyone looked up to you. Mina respected the two of you. Narumi, of course, couldn't accept that there was someone tailgating him at his position at the top. And you—who admired Narumi quite a lot. Although, that admiration came in the form of endless teasing. It wasn't just Narumi who was annoyed, but the rest of your fellow trainees as well. They were forced to be a witness of your 'disgusting and coy display of affection.'

Narumi said he hated it. He hated how strong you were and how you were always up in his business. Yet, you two were attached at the hip. It was a paradox, but neither of you addressed it. That was until you both graduated and got assigned at different bases which were hours apart.

Your feelings for each other were thrown into disarray. But that didn't mean you lost all correspondence.

────────────

"You look like shit."

Narumi groans from the other end of your video call. You were teasing him, but it was partially true—his eyes were sunken and a deep frown persisted on his face.

He glares intensely at you. "You wouldn't understand the burdens of the strongest kaiju killer, would you?"

His arrogance was only met by a laugh. That same laugh was one he despised, but sought after because... it just felt right. There were many things in his head that made no sense and the common denominator was you. "Why do you have to mess up my mind?" he'd often think, especially on his sleepless nights.

Narumi leans back in his chair, a pensive sigh escaping his dried lips. "But y'know... I've really been frustrated lately..." he admits.

It was a rare show of vulnerability. Most of the time, he's too prideful to admit his true feelings, but after knowing you for so long, he has learned to let his walls down sometimes. At the very least—you were nice enough to pause the teasing when it gets serious.

"Overworked huh?" you ask.

He turns his chair to face you again, tilting his head and letting out another fatigued breath. "That and life is just so BORING," he exclaims. You raise an eyebrow, anticipating a hissy fit which wasn't uncommon for this guy.

"I feel like all I do is work and work... and work. God, even the younger members of this base have more fun than I do."

A smirk crosses your lips, amused that you predicted his impending meltdown. "What? Like they don't deserve it?"

"Duh! I'm out here busting my ass off—killing kaiju left and right—and these kids are the ones having a social life?"

"When did you care about being social, Mr. Shut-in?"

He clicks his tongue. "Okay, first of all, fuck you. Second, I don't care about social relations. I am WAY above that, okay? I don't care about what they do. They can fuck like rabbits in the dorms for all I care but—"

Narumi was cut off by the sound of your boisterous laughter. As much as you tried to keep the serious facade, it was impossible... especially after figuring out his true cause of distress.

"Oh my God... don't tell me you're mad because the younger soldiers are getting more action than you?"

His face felt warm all over. Narumi didn't mean to blurt that out, but envy had been consuming him for the past few days after he had heard some younger members of the base... getting dirty in one of the dorms.

Narumi was the strongest soldier—admired and idolized by many. Yet, here he was—a raging virgin with a seemingly unreciprocated crush on you. Yes, you, but he'd rather die than admit it to your face.

He turned to look away, stunned into silence by his own actions. He was unsure of how to salvage his reputation at the moment. "That's not what I meant..."

All the arrogance had faded from his voice—replaced by a uncharacteristic softness as a result of embarrassing himself.

"Oh c'mon. There's nothing embarrassing about that. We're only human; we can feel those things, y'know?"

"Even you?" he counters.

An uneasy smile spreads across your face. "Yeah... even me."

But the look on his face says that he isn't convinced. In his head he's thinking about how impossible that is considering how attractive you are. You had to be lying about being in the same boat as him.

Though you weren't sure why you wanted him to believe you.

"I'm serious. Look, I'm in a base far away from all the people I know and the guy here aren't exactly my... cup of tea," you added.

With that, your best friend's face seemed to lighten up a bit. Part of him was glad that even someone as hot as you was in the same predicament as him, but mostly because the person he likes isn't being taken by anyone else.

As high and mighty he sees himself, he always thought himself unworthy of you. The simple fact that you were unclaimed gave him a sliver of hope.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The poor guy was confused and it was clear as day. You felt mostly responsible for it. As you prepared to say something, you crossed your arms—pushing your boobs up in the process. Wearing a tank top suddenly made you conscious of your body.

An intrusive thought invaded your brain. It was perhaps the result of you wanting to tease him, his frustration, and you being secretly pent up as well. It was a futile attempt to shake off that thought as it kept bombarding you.

You were able to hold it in, until you couldn't.

"Hey... Gen?"

"What?" he says, sounding a bit dejected by his circumstances.

You stifled a smile, knowing that he'd be thrown off by it. "Can you turn around? I wanna show you a surprise."

He raises an eyebrow, skeptical of whatever you have up your sleeve. Throughout your years together, he has learned to take your so-called sincerity with a grain of salt. But his affection towards you makes him abandon all rational thought.

"Okay?" he says, turning around in his swivel chair.

You let out a breath—giving yourself a quick mental pep talk. You quickly lifted your top, thrilled and anxious of the risk at the same time.

It was now or never. "Okay, you can look now."

Narumi quickly turns in his seat, eyes widening upon seeing a pair of tits—your tits—on his screen. He frantically looked away, covering his eyes with his hands—though he wasn't doing a good job at it.

"H-hey! What the fuck? Put those away!"

His words betrayed his actions; you could see him peeking through his fingers. You figured you were at a point of no return, so you did the only appropriate thing: squishing your boobs together for him.

Seeing your boldness, he let his hand fall—finally admiring what you displayed for him. "Seriously... what are you doing?"

"We're both frustrated, aren't we?" you ask as if your situation was ordinary.

"So what? I stare at your tits?"

"Dumbass. Is that all you do when you're frustrated? Stare at shit?"

He rolls his eyes, trying to act blasé, but there was a growing tent in his pants. "No... well, I guess I... jack off... sometimes..."

As if saying 'sometimes' softens the blow of his words.

You let go of your tits and lean back into your chair. It was entertaining—how his eyes never seem to leave your chest. Almost as if he were entranced by it.

His body moved on its own, palming the growing erection under his sweats. It ached; it was painful and it wanted relief.

With the angle of the camera, you couldn't really see him pull his cock out from under the desk, but you just knew. The momentary o-face he made presumably when the cold air of his room hit the warm and sensitive skin of his cock was a dead giveaway.

All shame was thrown out the window as he started to slowly fist his cock at the sight he could only dream of. It almost felt unreal to him that all of this was happening—you willingly showing off your tits while he jacked off and you watched.

It was exhilarating in all the best ways.

But he wasn't the only one excited. This all started because you were frustrated too. Your eyes were fixed on his face. Unlike him—who had visuals—all you could go off on was the fact that you were doing something so dirty.

A hand slipped under your shorts and beneath your panties. It was damp, of course it was. You slowly rubbed the pad of your finger against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Narumi must've noticed your own movements as well because he let out a low groan. "Fuck... that's hot."

You huff your chest out with a smirk. "Bet you're so hard right now huh?"

"Like you're not a fucking waterfall down there," he retorts.

The back and forth goes on while the two of you played with yourselves.

Eventually, the stimulation wasn't enough for you. Quickly, you pulled your hand out and popped your fingers into your mouth. He watched intently, mesmerized by you.

After sufficiently lubricating your digits, you snuck them back in and plunged two fingers into you. The pleasant intrusion had you throwing your head back against your chair and letting out a soft moan.

He rubbed himself faster than before. Narumi was desperately reaching his high, wanting to quell the ache in his cock.

"Play with your tits," he demanded.

You had heard him well enough before you got lost in the sensation. Your other hand made its way up to cup one of your breasts, slowly massaging it in a teasing manner. His jaw went slack at how easily you obeyed his orders.

The ego boost that he got while ordering around his subordinates isn't even on par with this at all.

Every time you flicked or tugged your nipple—he swore that his dick twitched. "Yeah... keep going. Are you rubbing your clit huh?"

"No..."

"Oh," he breathes, "Fucking yourself on your fingers then?"

"Y-yeah, but I can't reach deep enough," you whine.

He sucks in through his teeth. Narumi had never seen you so desperate before and awakened something primal in him.

"If that were me... you would've came minutes ago, wouldn't you?"

You nod, now wishing that it was his fingers making a mess out of you. But this was all you could get for now.

"Yeah... you're the strongest after all. You can do anything, right?"

"You fucking know it," he says almost breathlessly. Seeing that fucked out look on your face while praising him almost made him cum. But he wanted to last longer—to savor this moment which he wasn't sure if it would happen again.

"You gonna cum with me?" he asked.

He was close. Oh so painfully close. But he was a bit of a romantic in that he wanted the both of you to cum together.

You peel your back off your chair, shifting angles to coax out an orgasm and after a few moments, you do. The sensation flooded your senses, spreading warmth all throughout your body. You weren't sure if you came this hard because of having 0 action for so long or if it was because of how lewd you were with your best friend.

And as you moaned sweetly through your microphone, he let out hot ropes of cum and a breathless moan to match. He felt his abdomen cramping after unconsciously being stiff and on edge for so long.

Both of you let out labored breaths, trying to calm your racing heartbeats. It was only then your eyes met again. Though it seems like post nut clarity hit him too soon as he looked away with a bashful expression.

"Still frustrated, captain?" you teased.

He was glad you didn't call him that earlier, otherwise he would've came right on the spot. "Shut the fuck up... I am though."

"Greedy. That wasn't enough for you?"

"You mean seeing you play with yourself through a fucking monitor? Go figure."

You laugh once more and it was now mostly music to his ears. "Say—how about I visit you some time? Let me show you the real thing?"

"...Sure."

"For someone who was speaking so dirty earlier—you sure do get shy huh?"

"Don't you ever shut the fuck up?" he quips to which you laugh again.

The prospect of getting to hold you and feel you around his member was tantalizing. But for now, he'll have to deal with his cock hardening again.

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note a short one... with no p in v... to start of the month

[the-bloody-ruby]

Yan!Baldwin IV with a darling who has a personality like Catharine Howard (naive and enjoys lavish life).

♰ you are an orphan to low rank noble parents who died due an illness.

♰ you lived with your grandma, being a female made you the last of her concerns since your male cousins also lived along with you because of the same reason.

♰ in order to get rid of you faster your uncle decided to take you with him to court.

♰ your girlish smile and lively spirit catches the attention of his majesty, Baldwin IV.

♰ you two made eye contact multiple times, to your 'family' this was a good news but also bad news.

♰ good news: you could become a queen and that would be very benefiting to them.

♰ bad news: the King's dowry... In this time and age, women had to pay dowry for the man in order for him to marry her, how can your family afford that?!.

♰ your family had already beginning to dream about the benefits of having a queen in the family... Even though you and Baldwin hadn't even talked to each other, only glances at each other.

♰ till that one ball where you and him talked.. Even though it was only for 3 minutes.

♰ you didn't think anything of him besides a king who is ugly (I could never).

♰ but to him... You were something he wants to learn about more, he just couldn't understand How can someone be so... NAIVE.

♰ suddenly the king requests for you to company him in his office.

♰ you had no choice but to accept, who can refuse a king?.

♰ the first times you two sat down by the fireplace of his office, it was quiet, none of you started a conversation till he started asking if you knew how place chess.

♱ you wanted to end the conversation and just go away from a leper king so your response was a simple. "No your majesty, may I be dismissed?."

He stares at you before sighing. "Then I will teach you how to play."

"What?. No-" he cuts you off with a cold "this is an order."

And here you are, learning chess from a man who wouldn't spare you glance in the average circumstances.

♰ when it was really late and you needed to leave the palace, he just ordered a room for you so he could continue teaching you about chess.

♰ to you, the boring hours of learning chess and spending time with the king become days to weeks to months, by now it has been 7 months since that night and you had to admit that you begin enjoying his company.

♰ but... His company wasn't the only company you enjoyed, there was a servant who you talked to couple of times, he's nice isn't he? I think his name was thomas culpepper or something?.

♰ life has changed a lot for you, especially since the king really favors you to the point where even you aren't obvious to it, especially with the gifts he sends to you each day from dresses to jewelry, etc.

♰ finally on Christmas Eve he proposed to you publicly in the ball that was held that day, you just couldn't- no you can't say no, it's not an option to reject the king unless you're not interested in life.

"Your majesty.." Everything felt so blurry but you managed yourself and muttered the words that these blue eyes are looking for.. "Yes, I do your majesty."

♰ by this time you were not just a simple girl, to Baldwin you were the only one who showed any other emotion besides disgust and fear towards him.

♰ oh and that culpepper guy somehow got accused of treason and was found guilty.

♰ your family is frustrated because even though Baldwin didn't ask for a dowry yet he made it clear that he is not interested in giving them any favors, whatever financially or politically.

♰ oh and manipulating you to gain political favors won't do anyone any favors since Baldwin knows when you're saying something because you're told to say it or it's out of your heart.

Baldwin just knows it.

On the bright side, you are spoiled rotten.

Both of you are happy, isn't that what matters?.

My first time writing for him so if you guys have any advice tell me 💃🏻

[faux-ecrivain]

Yandere Fickle Ex-Boyfriend

(Fickle-Changing frequently, especially as regard one’s loyalty, interests, or affection) (Fifteenth official post)

(Merry Christmas! 🎅)

(Happy Holidays!🎄)

(Yan’s name is Julian)

Yan Ex who used to be a wonderful, caring person. Then all of the sudden, just three years into your relationship, he changed.

Yan Ex who begins to distance himself from you, he seems to be shutting you out, and you don’t understand why.

Yan Ex who treats you as a stranger and not someone he adored, you’re so confused, his behavior is so unnatural.

Yan Ex who has previously been absolutely enamored with you and had done absolutely anything to be with you. Now, he’s acting the complete opposite, he treats you as a nuisance.

Julian groans as you cling onto him (you were just holding his hand), he shakes you off and puts some distance between the two of you. Hurt flashes across your face and you feel the tinge of creep into your heart, which makes way for resentment. How dare he treat you like that? Especially after all he’s done to you.

Yan Ex who had spent years breaking you down and then abandoned you when you gave into him. (You hate him so much)

Yan Ex who begins to pursue someone else, someone who he had sworn wasn’t his type. Someone docile and loving, he had always told you that he liked the fight in you.

Yan Ex who makes a show of romancing this docile person (apparently named Alexis) and practically rubs it in your face. 

Yan Ex who never officially broke up with you, but treated you like he did. 

Yan Ex who’s surprised, after weeks of you being quiet, when you lash out and intimidate him, he’s never seen you so mad! (It certainly makes him feel a specific way…)

Yan Ex who immediately becomes interested in you again, now he’s always touching you and kissing up on you. His behavior has you reeling and you almost fall for it again, until you remember how he treated you and you pull back.

Yan Ex who becomes frustrated when you push him away, how dare you behave like that! Yes, he was treating you in a similar manner, but so what! He’s allowed to, but you’re not. At least, that’s what he believes.

Yan Ex who cries when you break up with him, that’s not fair! Only he’s allowed to break up with you, you can’t do that.

Yan Ex who pouts and whines when you ignore his calls, whilst he internally seethes.

Yan Ex who decides to take action and creeps into your room late at night, yes he did climb up your window, but it’s okay because he loves you! (In actuality he’s basically incapable of love)

Yan Ex who shushes your cries for help and tries to keep you from struggling (unfortunately he isn’t stronger than you).

He yelps when you push him off your bed, his head hits the floor and he groans. Julian frowns and sits up, he pouts and crawls back onto the bed. He latches onto you and begs you not to kick him out! “Please, Please, don’t kick me out! I know I’m a fool, but i still love you!” He cries, his head burrowing into your stomach and his tears (clearly fake) soak your shirt. A sound of disgust escapes your mouth and you push him off again. Which, of course, causes him to whine.

Yan Ex who wants yo be in control of the relationship, he wants to choose when to end this relationship and when to destroy it. He won’t ever let anyone make the first move, he should be the only making decisions in this relationship (yet the moment you concede to his will, he gets bored and pushes you away.)

Yan Ex who will not give up, he wants you to love him again, it makes him feel powerful. 

Yan Ex who puts up a fight when you try to throw him out of the house, literally, he’s kicking and screaming, clinging onto you in a manner reminiscent of how you once did.

Julian whines again as he wraps his arms around your waist. He looks (up/down) at you, his eyes filled with tears and the bottom of his lip wobbles. “Pleeease don’t leave me [Y/N], I know I’m not perfect, but I love you!” You roll your eyes, you highly doubt he could ever love you. He’s just being a big, pathetic baby (no offense to babies). You push him off, he grunts when his bottom hits the floor and he burst into tears (he’s a cute cryer, but you won’t tell him that). “[Y/N]! Stop being mean to meee!!” Julian pouts and wraps his arms, and legs, around you leg. 

Yan Ex who clings to you like a koala, regardless of how hard you try to get him off of you. He’s going to keep clinging to you, until he wears you down and then he’ll probably leave you.  But you don’t give in, you just yank him off your leg and throw him out of the house. 

Yan Ex who bangs on the door, begging to be let back in and begging for you to forgive him.

Yan Ex who quickly turns vicious once he sees that his pouty little act isn’t working on you, he begins to shout threats and tells you to watch your back, because he won’t let you go.

Yan Ex who vows to get revenge, who swears you’ll regret ever getting rid of him.

“Ah, you’ll shouldn’t have done that darling, now I have to punish you.”

(That’s all for now, hopefully you guys enjoy this and hopefully this makes sense!)

(Thoughts on Julian?)

[corviiids]

omg what are your thoughts on the phantom thieves becoming adults and getting jobs :0 i'd love to hear them!

thank you so much for asking. here is one billion words. i will remove my bumper sticker from your car

i am also working on a project which nudges on some of these ideas so shhh! shhhhhhhhhh

ryuji

successfully gets through rehab and recovers enough to launch into a pretty decent competitive track career, which he does for a while, but i think he retires early after deciding he doesn't want that to be his life forever. while spending time with ren doing volunteering, he realises he really enjoys working with kids, so he picks up some qualifications and becomes a gym teacher and track coach for kids. i think for ryuji when he gets older he gets more and more disgusted with the person kamoshida was when ryuji starts working with kids and struggles to understand how anyone could treat them so poorly when ryuji just loves them and wants to help them thrive. anyway he becomes a deeply beloved teacher and coach, basically what someone like kamoshida could have been if he'd been good instead of shit, and spends the rest of his life doing that. he and ren are roommates for a while but he eventually moves out to pursue his career.

ann

she finishes out the game pretty ambitious so i do think she launches into a successful international modelling career. after gaining some notoriety in that space and building up a ton of experience and good contacts i think she starts branching out into launching her own fashion and beauty lines. eventually i think she should become the editor of her own fashion publication too... the others see her on billboards and in magazines and on buses all the time. briefly dips her toe into an acting career after being invited to a film but her performance is so poor she wins an equivalent to the golden razzie which she shows up to accept in person laughing and gushing about what an honour it is so everyone loves her even more for it although she decides not to continue acting after that. important to me is that she gets new cool haircuts. imagining her with close-cropped hair. like not exactly a buzzcut but getting there. she's an icon. she splits her time between LA and tokyo and has apartments in both places but usually prefers to crash at ren or makoto's place in tokyo and be a loving nuisance to them for a while

yusuke

i feel very strongly that yusuke needs to experience the world and branch out because the game kind of goes "yusuke's personality is art" which frustrates me as 1) to be a good artist i think breadth of life experience is valuable and 2) i want yusuke to do fun things. so i think yusuke postcanon tries to immerse himself fully in art for a while but then has kind of an existential crisis about his work feeling superficial to him despite his successes and so he ends up going on extensive sabbatical backpacking around the world and meeting lots of people and experiencing new things and then returning to pour his newfound knowledge of life and wisdom into his art and reaching new depths and takes the art world by storm. and also he always has money for food forever. starts out with an art foundation but eventually gets his own studio apartment which lies abandoned while he's gallivanting. haru furnished it

makoto

to me makoto is one of the characters who finishes the game with the most growing left to do, which makes her really fun to explore postcanon, personally. anyway i think she does become a cop and does it for quite a few years but before long starts to get extremely disillusioned about the work she's doing until she eventually hits quite a severe depressive spiral about the direction her life has taken. then sae and her friends talk her out of her crisis by convincing her that it's never too late to change your life. so she quits her job and in her late 30s/early 40s she goes back to school and gets her law degree and eventually becomes a criminal defence attorney. she also figures out that she is gay. i think this takes her less time than the cop thing but still like probably longer than she'd care to admit. lives alone with a pet. i want to say she either has a dog or some kind of cool reptile like a bearded dragon.

futaba

i have a running joke with myself that akechi puts her onto r/overemployed and so futaba has like six or seven remote IT jobs at major companies around the world, none of which know about each other, all of which she does from the comfort of her house. anyway she gets loaded off a series of extremely good and mysterious investments that she refuses to explain so she's mostly just working for fun. gets back into hacktivism also mostly just for fun. sometimes she anonymously drops entire indie games for free online which go viral without fail. moves out on her own in adulthood but still spends most weekends and days at sojiro's and has a WFH office set-up in his house which he complains about and doesn't mind at all.

haru

so i think haru spends a long time working to restore okumura foods to the vision that her grandfather originally had for it and does succeed to a good extent in the sense that it becomes a more ethically-run company with an improved reputation, but okumura foods is a major global corporation and by nature it just cannot attain that local mom-and-pop vibe that her and her grandfather wanted. so i think after a while she retains her shareholding in the company but gives up her directorship to other trusted board members and uses okumura foods as a launching off point to branch out into starting her own much smaller company, which she keeps local and runs herself, and it does become the well-loved community hub she always wanted it to be. doesn't live in tokyo directly because she prefers quieter areas on the outskirts but commutes there merrily all the time to work and see her friends.

sumire

i personally don't think sumire ever achieves her and kasumi's dream of being number one in the world. i think she competes at an international level and comes very close many many times before she eventually comes to peace with that, decides that that's enough for her, and retires from competition. for a while she follows a similar path to ryuji and becomes a children's gymnastics coach, but after a while of other people encouraging her that she could be applying her skills to more competitive pursuits just in a different way, she eventually becomes an olympic-level professional coach and ends up helping many of her students achieve her and kasumi's dream in their stead. also doesn't live in tokyo but visits frequently and has an active whatsapp chat running with ren and akechi on top of the thieves chat.

akechi

decides he's had enough of being dead after a minute. takes a gap year and starts college at the same time as ren. studies law and goes into criminal practice, but bounces between defence and prosecution before getting fucking sick of it and deciding to quit law. he starts his own small private detective agency instead. years later he writes a book and eventually re-enters the media world with a significantly different image to his detective prince years. is surly the ENTIRE time. somehow this doesn't hurt his popularity. no longer has a food blog. moves in with ren after ryuji moves out but not initially romantically, just as roommates with a Tension that makes everyone else extremely uncomfortable

ren

i think ren struggles for a while to work out what his career should be before he eventually figures out he is not the type to get fulfilment from his professional life, and wants to focus more on what he's doing in his personal life, which is helping people. basically after graduation he moves back to tokyo and goes to college and changes his mind a whole bunch of times before eventually settling on some kind of psychology/sociology degree, but then mostly just continues doing a lot of part-time jobs to keep himself afloat while he figures out his life plan. during this time he starts getting into volunteering and social work and spends more of his time working with vulnerable and at-risk youth, basically whatever will put him in most contact with people who need him in a non-paid capacity. eventually when sojiro is set to retire ren takes over leblanc and runs it peacefully as his day job, and the rest of his time is spent on non-profit work. living with akechi.

morgana

the damn cat lives forever. the sakuras and ren's parents have a shared custody agreement. he disregards this and spends most of his time with ren. he and akechi are fine with each other but do not get along vis a vis homemaking decisions mostly because morgana has opinions about their lifestyle choices and akechi doesn't take well to being told where to keep his dishes by a small creature without thumbs.

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Slip of the Tongue

Part 2

Marshall x Reader (Reader Insert Fanfiction – Dominant!Marshall, Submissive!Reader)

You had always been good at keeping secrets. At least, the ones that mattered.

Your marriage to Marshall was built on trust, respect, and love—three things you valued above all else. He saw you as his sweet, supportive wife, the one who held him down when the world tried to pull him under. You loved that role. Loved being his peace.

But there was another part of you. A part you had buried.

Before Marshall, you had known a different kind of relationship—one where control wasn’t yours to keep. You had once belonged to someone who knew how to take, how to demand, how to push you to your limits and beyond. And you had loved it. The submission, the surrender, the complete loss of power.

You had let it go when you fell for Marshall. You never wanted him to think you were anything but the woman he saw you as—his innocent, sweet girl. What if he didn’t understand? What if he saw you differently?

So you never told him.

But then tonight happened.

It had started simple enough. Marshall had come home late from the studio, tired but still full of energy, his voice sharp with frustration over a verse he couldn’t get right. You had been waiting up for him, curled on the couch in one of his hoodies, watching some mindless show.

“You’re still up?” His voice had that slight edge, the one he got when he was stressed.

You smiled. “Wanted to see you.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face before dropping onto the couch beside you. “Been a long fuckin’ day,” he muttered.

You turned toward him, touching his arm. “Anything I can do?”

His eyes met yours, and something flickered there—something sharp, something dark. You didn’t have time to react before his fingers curled around your chin, tilting your face up.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Be quiet for a sec.”

It wasn’t harsh. Not cruel. Just firm. Commanding.

And your body responded instantly.

Heat licked up your spine. Your breath hitched. And then—before you could stop it—your mouth parted, and the words slipped free.

“Yes, Sir.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your stomach dropped. Your lips parted as if you could somehow take it back, but it was too late.

Marshall froze. His grip on your chin tightened—just for a second—before he pulled back slightly, eyes dark and unreadable. “What did you just say?”

You swallowed hard. “I—I didn’t mean—”

He cut you off. “Nah. You meant it.” His voice was lower now, rougher. His gaze pinned you in place.

You felt exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t been in years. Your instincts screamed at you to retreat, to play it off—but then he leaned in, his lips brushing your ear.

“You been keepin’ shit from me, baby?”

Your breath hitched. “I—”

“Don’t lie.” His fingers trailed down your throat, slow, testing. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Marshall…”

“Say it again.” His voice was softer now, coaxing. “Say it like you mean it.”

Your heart pounded. Every nerve in your body was alive, tingling with anticipation, with need. He wasn’t pulling away. He wasn’t disgusted.

He was waiting.

You opened your eyes, meeting his. The intensity in them made your stomach tighten.

“Yes, Sir.”

His smirk was slow, dark, knowing. He shifted, leaning in until his lips were just barely brushing yours.

“That’s what I thought.”

And then he kissed you, and everything else fell away.

---

You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The way his voice had dropped, the way his eyes had darkened, the way he had smirked at you like he knew every dirty little thought in your head.

Marshall had always been intense, always carried that underlying aggression, that need for control—it was part of what made him so damn magnetic. But you had never dared to believe that he might have a side like yours, that he might crave the same thing you did.

Now you knew.

And it had changed everything.

He had barely touched you that night after the kiss. Just whispered a dark That’s what I thought against your lips, then stood up, stretched like nothing had happened, and told you to come to bed.

Like he hadn’t just turned your entire world upside down.

But something had shifted between you.

You felt it in the way he watched you the next morning, sharp and assessing, like he was seeing you for the first time. In the way he lingered just a little longer when he touched you—his fingers trailing down your arm, his hand pressing against the small of your back. In the way his voice dropped lower when he told you to do something.

It was subtle. Teasing. Testing.

And it was driving you insane.

By the third day, you were wound so tight you could barely function. You had no idea how to bring it up, no idea how to ask him for what you needed—especially when you weren’t even sure what that was.

But you didn’t have to.

Because that night, he brought it up for you.

Marshall was quiet when he came home, his energy different. Not frustrated. Not irritated. Focused.

You were in the kitchen, rinsing a dish in the sink when you felt him step up behind you, close enough that his body heat brushed yours.

His hand slid up your arm, slow, deliberate. “Been thinkin’ about you.”

Your breath caught. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” His fingers traced over your wrist, then up to your throat, a featherlight touch that sent shivers down your spine. “Bout how you looked the other night when you said that word.”

You tensed. He never brought it up.

“I—”

“Shh.” His hand closed around your throat—not tight, just enough to still you. Enough to make your pulse hammer against his palm.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the sink.

“I wasn’t gonna say nothin’,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. “Figured maybe I imagined it. That my sweet, innocent wife couldn’t possibly want that.” His thumb stroked over your jaw. “But I ain’t stupid, baby. I see you.”

Your breath was coming too fast now, your knees weak. “Marshall—”

“Tell me the truth.” His voice was calm, patient. “You been keepin’ that from me?”

Shame curled in your stomach, but it wasn’t just that—it was something else, something hotter. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

He made a low sound in his throat, something between a chuckle and a hum. “Lemme guess. Thought I’d see you different? That I wouldn’t want you anymore?”

You swallowed hard.

“Yeah.”

His grip tightened—just slightly—and your knees buckled.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, catching you easily, pressing you back against the counter. “You don’t even fuckin’ know, do you?”

“Know what?” you whispered, dizzy from his scent, his heat, him.

His lips brushed your temple, his voice a low growl.

“That I been holdin’ my shit back too.”

Your stomach flipped. “What?”

“I ain’t gentle, baby,” he murmured, his hand still firm on your throat. “Never have been. But you…” He exhaled sharply. “You were too sweet, too fuckin’ perfect. Couldn’t imagine you wantin’ a man like me takin’ shit from you, demandin’ shit from you. Thought if I pushed, you’d pull away.”

You shook your head, your hands fisting in his hoodie. “I wouldn’t.”

His thumb pressed into your pulse point. “No?”

“No.” Your voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t want soft, Marshall. I never have.”

He cursed under his breath.

Then suddenly, he was gone, stepping back, leaving you cold and aching. You gasped, confused, your hands gripping the counter to keep steady.

“Bedroom,” he said simply.

You blinked. “W-what?”

His eyes burned into yours, dark and knowing.

“You wanna know what it’s like when I don’t hold back?” He tilted his head. “Go to the bedroom. Take off your clothes. Get on your knees.”

Your whole body went hot.

This was it.

This was him.

You didn’t hesitate.

---

Your heart pounded as you walked to the bedroom, your legs unsteady beneath you. The air felt thick, charged with something raw and electric. You barely processed the motions of stripping out of your clothes, your hands trembling as you lowered yourself onto your knees in the center of the room.

You had never seen this side of him.

Sure, you had seen Marshall angry. You had seen him passionate, intense, and possessive. But this? This was something else entirely.

This was controlled. Calculated.

And it made your entire body hum with anticipation.

The door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t move.

Footsteps—slow, deliberate—moved toward you. The heat of his presence was behind you before he spoke.

“Good girl.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Marshall exhaled, like he was steadying himself, then circled you, stopping in front of you. He tilted his head, eyes scanning every inch of you—your bare skin, the way you knelt with your hands resting on your thighs, the way your breathing had already quickened.

“You always been like this?” His voice was low, curious.

You nodded, suddenly shy under his gaze. “Yes.”

He smirked, crouching down so you were eye level. “And you never fuckin’ told me?”

Your stomach twisted. “I didn’t think you’d want this.”

His expression darkened. “You think I don’t want to own you?”

The breath left your lungs.

His fingers reached out, tracing the line of your jaw before gripping your chin, tilting your face up.

“You think I don’t want to take what’s mine?” His thumb brushed over your lower lip. “That I don’t want you obedient for me?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I—I didn’t know.”

Marshall let out a dark chuckle. “Well, now you do.”

His hand slid to your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, his fingers pressing lightly against your pulse.

“You wanna know how hard it’s been?” he murmured. “Damn near every day, I hold back. I see you bein’ sweet, takin’ care of me, lookin’ at me like I’m your whole fuckin’ world, and all I can think about is how much you could take.”

Your breath hitched.

His grip tightened.

“I knew you were tough, baby. But I didn’t know you’d beg for it.”

Your thighs clenched together. “I will.”

His eyes darkened further.

You had never seen him like this—never seen him so utterly in control, so completely himself.

Marshall leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “Then beg.”

A whimper caught in your throat.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” he murmured. “Tell me how long you’ve been waiting for me to ruin you.”

Your entire body trembled.

This was it.

There was no going back.

And you didn’t want to.

“Please,” you whispered, voice barely more than a breath. “Please, Sir.”

His smirk was slow, dangerous.

“That’s my girl.”

Then his grip tightened, and everything else faded away.

Everything felt different now.

The air between you had shifted—thicker, heavier, charged with something undeniable. There was no more pretending, no more holding back. Marshall knew now. Really knew. And there was no erasing the fire that had ignited between you.

You were still on your knees, heart pounding, body trembling, his hand warm and firm around your throat. He was watching you like a predator taking its time, like he was enjoying every second of your unraveling.

“You know what’s funny?” His voice was low, almost amused. His thumb stroked your jaw, tilting your head up so you couldn’t look away. “You spent all this time actin’ like you had to be soft for me. Like I wouldn’t fuckin’ love this side of you.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

His smirk deepened. “Sweet little wife,” he murmured, voice dripping with something dark. “Whole time, you were just waiting for someone to break you, weren’t you?”

You swallowed hard, heat pooling low in your stomach.

He leaned in, lips just brushing yours, his breath hot against your mouth. “Say it.”

Your voice shook. “Yes, Sir.”

His eyes flashed. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Something inside you snapped at those words, something deep, something craved. You had waited so long to hear them—to hear him say them, to know that this was real.

His hand slid lower, fingers skimming your collarbone, then your shoulder, down your arm. He traced your wrist before wrapping his fingers around it, his grip strong, unyielding.

“You’re gonna listen real careful now,” he murmured. “Ain’t no goin’ back from this. You understand?”

You nodded, breathless.

His grip tightened. “Words, baby.”

“Yes, Sir.”

His smirk returned, but this time, it was sharper, almost triumphant. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

He stood then, towering over you, his presence suffocating in the best way. He didn’t have to tell you to stay on your knees—you wouldn’t have dared to move.

Marshall exhaled, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to keep himself in check. “You don’t even know what you just started, do you?”

You stared up at him, chest rising and falling, fingers digging into your thighs. “I do.”

His jaw clenched. “Nah, baby.” He shook his head, a slow, dangerous movement. “You think you do.”

Your stomach twisted with anticipation.

His fingers brushed over your cheek, deceptively gentle, before tangling in your hair and tilting your head back. His expression was unreadable, his grip firm but careful.

“You’re mine now,” he said, voice steady, final.

You shivered. “I always was.”

Marshall’s smirk returned, dark and knowing.

“Then let’s see how much you can take.”

---

The weight of his words settled over you, thick and inescapable.

You’re mine now.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a request. It was a fact—one that had been true long before this moment, long before you knelt at his feet, looking up at him with wide, waiting eyes.

But now? Now, you both knew it.

Marshall’s grip in your hair tightened just slightly, testing, waiting to see if you’d resist.

You didn’t.

You wouldn’t.

Instead, you let yourself go completely, let the tension in your body melt away as you sank deeper into the space you had craved for so long.

His lips parted like he was about to say something, but he hesitated. You caught the flicker of something in his eyes—something raw, something careful.

Despite everything, despite how much he wanted this, wanted you like this, he was still holding back.

“Marshall.” Your voice was soft, pleading.

His grip tensed.

“You don’t have to be gentle with me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You sure about that?”

You nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

His breath left him in a slow, controlled exhale. Then, just as slowly, he crouched down in front of you, never breaking eye contact. His fingers tightened in your hair, pulling just enough to make you tilt your chin up.

“You got no fuckin’ clue what you just gave me,” he murmured, voice almost reverent. “No idea how long I been wantin’ this.”

Your pulse hammered against your skin. “Then take it.”

For a moment, he just looked at you��like he was memorizing you, committing this moment to memory, making sure you weren’t about to change your mind.

Then, his smirk returned, dark and knowing.

His free hand slid along your jaw, his thumb brushing your lips, teasing them apart. His voice dropped, deep and commanding.

“Then open that pretty mouth, baby. Let me see how well you can obey.”

And you did.

Without hesitation.

Without fear.

Because you were his now.

And you always had been.

Everything felt different now—more intense, more real.

You had spent so long hiding this part of yourself, afraid of what it might do to your relationship, afraid that Marshall wouldn’t understand. But now, as you knelt before him, lips parted in silent obedience, his fingers gripping your hair like he never wanted to let go, you realized something.

He had been holding back, too.

You saw it in the way he looked at you now—like he finally had permission to take, to own, to claim what had always been his.

Marshall’s thumb brushed over your bottom lip, pressing down just enough to make you gasp. His smirk deepened, something dark and satisfied flickering behind his eyes.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought,” he murmured, voice thick with approval. “You been waiting for this, haven’t you?”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yes, Sir.”

His smirk widened. “Say it again.”

Your breath hitched. “Yes, Sir.”

A low groan rumbled in his chest. His grip in your hair tightened, pulling your head back just enough to make your pulse spike.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered. “You don’t even know what you just started.”

Your thighs clenched together, heat pooling low in your stomach. “Then show me.”

His eyes flashed, his expression shifting into something darker, something utterly predatory.

“Oh, I will.”

His fingers slid from your lips, tracing down your throat, lingering there for a moment as he felt the rapid beat of your pulse beneath his palm. Then he let go, standing tall once again, towering over you.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, voice calm, controlled—like he already knew you would obey.

You didn’t hesitate.

As you moved, you could feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting. Testing your obedience. And when you climbed onto the bed, sitting back on your heels, hands resting on your thighs just as you knew he would want—he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Look at you,” he murmured, stepping toward you. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

Your breath came in quick, shallow pants as he reached for the hem of his hoodie—the same one you had been wearing just nights ago, when all of this had started—and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside.

Then he was in front of you, one knee pressing into the mattress as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You belong to me now,” he whispered, voice rough.

“I always have,” you admitted, barely above a breath.

He exhaled sharply, like he had been waiting to hear those words.

Then, his hands gripped your wrists, pinning them to the bed. His lips ghosted over yours, teasing, taunting.

“Then let’s see just how well you take what’s yours.”

You had never seen him like this.

Marshall had always been intense, always carried that rough edge, but this? This was something deeper, something he had buried beneath years of restraint. And now, with you kneeling before him, hands resting obediently on your thighs, waiting—offering yourself—there was nothing stopping him from taking what he wanted.

What he always wanted.

His fingers traced over your wrists, his grip firm but not unkind. Testing. Feeling the way you trembled beneath his touch.

“You got no idea what you just started, do you?” His voice was low, almost teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something else. Something dark. Something possessive.

Your breath was coming too fast, your pulse hammering against your skin. “I do.”

His smirk was slow, dangerous. “Nah, baby.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear. “You think you do.”

Your stomach flipped.

Then, without warning, he was on you—pushing you back against the mattress, pinning you beneath him. His hands framed your wrists, pressing them above your head, his body flush against yours.

“You’ve been hidin’ this from me,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your jaw, down the column of your throat. “All this time, I could’ve had you like this. Could’ve had you beggin’ for me.”

You whimpered, arching against him. “I wanted to tell you—”

His teeth grazed your pulse point, and you gasped.

“But you didn’t,” he murmured. His grip on your wrists tightened, just slightly. “Thought I’d see you different, huh? Thought I’d still treat you like my sweet little wife?”

Your thighs clenched together, and his smirk deepened.

“That’s what you don’t get, baby,” he continued, voice like gravel against your skin. “You ain’t never been just my wife.”

You swallowed hard, your whole body trembling. “Then what am I?”

His lips brushed over yours, teasing, taunting.

“You’re mine.”

Your breath hitched.

“All of you,” he murmured, dragging his lips along your jaw. “The sweet little wife and the filthy fuckin’ girl who wants me to break her.”

You let out a desperate sound, barely coherent.

He exhaled sharply, his hands tightening around your wrists. “You want that, baby?”

“Yes, Sir.”

His groan was low, almost pained. “Fuck.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes dark, blown wide with something primal.

“You don’t even know what you just did, do you?”

You swallowed, shaking your head.

His smirk returned, sharp and wicked.

“Then let’s see how much you can take.”

---

The morning light streamed through the curtains, warm and golden, casting a soft glow over the room. Your body ached—not in a bad way, but in a way that reminded you of exactly what had happened the night before. Every touch, every whispered command, every moment of surrender had left its mark on you, inside and out.

And Marshall?

He was different this morning.

Not in a bad way.

But in a way that had your heart squeezing in your chest.

You stirred against the sheets, stretching, only to feel the warmth of his body pressed against your back. His arm was draped over your waist, holding you close, his breath steady against the back of your neck.

“Mm,” his voice was rough with sleep, his grip tightening as you shifted. “Stay.”

You let out a soft laugh. “It’s morning.”

“Don’t care.” He buried his face against your shoulder, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your skin.

Your heart melted. This was the part of him no one got to see. The sweet, soft part—the part he saved just for you.

“You good?” he murmured, his hand smoothing over your hip, like he was checking.

You turned in his arms, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I’m perfect.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, but his eyes held something else—something tender. “Yeah, you are.”

Warmth spread through your chest as he pulled you against him again, his fingers tracing absent patterns against your back. For a while, you just lay there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten.

But then—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Marshall groaned, burying his face in the pillow. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

You laughed, slipping out of bed before he could stop you. “I’ll get it.”

He rolled onto his back, watching you with lazy, hooded eyes as you pulled on one of his hoodies, the fabric swallowing you whole. “If it’s a salesman, tell ‘em I died.”

You shook your head, smiling as you padded out of the bedroom.

But when you opened the door, your smile faltered.

It was your neighbor—Jake, the friendly guy from across the street. He was always polite, always helpful, always a little too nice. Marshall swore up and down that he had a thing for you, but you always brushed it off.

“Hey, morning!” Jake grinned, holding up a small box. “I baked too many muffins, figured you might want some.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” you said, taking the box. “Thank you, Jake.”

And that’s when you felt it.

A shift in the air.

The heat of him behind you.

Marshall was suddenly there, standing behind you, shirtless, his sweats slung low on his hips, his jaw tight.

Jake’s eyes flicked upward, taking in the sudden presence of your husband. His grin faltered, just slightly. “Uh—hey, Em.”

Marshall didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at Jake, his eyes cold, unreadable. Then, slowly, his arm slid around your waist, tugging you back against him.

Jake cleared his throat. “I, uh, just brought some muffins over. Thought—”

“She don’t need ‘em.” Marshall’s voice was low, flat.

Your eyes widened. “Marshall—”

He ignored you. His grip on your waist tightened, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against your hip—possessive, claiming. “She’s got plenty to eat right here.”

Jake blinked. “Uh—”

“Anything else?” Marshall’s tone was clipped, final.

Jake held up his hands, taking a step back. “Nah, man, just—just being friendly.”

Marshall’s smirk was sharp, dangerous. “Yeah. I bet.”

Jake nodded awkwardly before turning and walking off, his pace just a little too fast.

As soon as the door shut, you turned in his arms, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

Marshall just shrugged, completely unbothered. “What?”

You huffed. “You didn’t have to scare him off like that.”

His smirk deepened. “Yeah, I did.”

You rolled your eyes, but he caught your chin, tilting your face up to his. His expression darkened, his voice dropping to something low and rough.

“Last night wasn’t just for fun, baby,” he murmured. “You belong to me. And I don’t like other men sniffin’ around what’s mine.”

Your stomach flipped.

His smirk widened, his lips ghosting over yours. “Now, why don’t you be a good girl and get your ass back in bed?”

Your breath hitched.

Because that? That was not a request.

---

Your pulse was still racing long after Jake had disappeared down the street.

Marshall’s grip on your chin was firm, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, his blue eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“That little scene out there?” His voice was low, rough. “That wasn’t just me bein’ an asshole.”

You swallowed, your breath coming in shallow pants. “No?”

His smirk was slow, dangerous. “No.”

Then, before you could say another word, he spun you around, pressing your back against the door. His hands found your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie that hung loose around your frame.

“You still don’t get it, do you?” His lips brushed against your ear, his breath warm, teasing. “You’re mine, baby. Not just in bed. Not just when you call me Sir.”

You whimpered, already melting into him, but he wasn’t done.

“I don’t give a fuck if he was bein’ friendly,” he muttered, his hands sliding lower, gripping your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Ain’t no man gonna stand at my door, lookin’ at my girl like she’s somethin’ he can have.”

Heat curled in your stomach, your knees already weak from the way his voice wrapped around you.

“Marshall��”

“Nah.” His grip tightened. “Not Marshall.”

Your breath hitched.

His smirk deepened. “Say it.”

Your lips parted, and the word slipped out before you could stop it.

“Yes, Sir.”

A growl rumbled low in his throat, and in an instant, you were over his shoulder, squealing as he carried you down the hall like you weighed nothing.

“Marshall!” You laughed, smacking his back, but he just smirked, completely unfazed.

“Keep runnin’ that mouth, baby,” he taunted, smacking your ass for good measure. “I dare you.”

Your breath caught, the sting of his palm sending a fresh wave of heat through you.

By the time he dropped you onto the bed, your body was already humming with anticipation. He hovered over you, caging you in, his smirk never fading.

“You still worried ‘bout your little friend across the street?” he murmured, tilting his head.

You shook your head quickly.

His grin was all teeth. “That’s what I thought.”

Then his lips crashed against yours, and you finally understood what it meant to be his.

---

The air was thick between you, charged with something heavier than lust—something real.

You were still sprawled out on the bed, heart pounding, skin buzzing from everything that had happened between last night and this morning. Marshall lay beside you, one arm draped over his forehead, staring up at the ceiling like he was deep in thought.

It was the first time since all of this started that he looked…hesitant.

You turned on your side, resting your head against his chest. “What’s on your mind?”

He exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing over your bare thigh. “You know I ain’t never been good at this shit.”

You frowned. “At what?”

His jaw clenched for a moment before he looked down at you, his blue eyes serious. “Holdin’ back.”

You stayed quiet, letting him work through it in his head.

He sighed. “I spent last night tellin’ you that you’re mine. And I meant it. But it ain’t just some bedroom game for me.” His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles against your skin. “I don’t do halfway. You give yourself to me, baby? That means all of you.”

Your stomach flipped. “You mean—”

“I mean I ain’t gonna be one kinda man in bed and a different one outside of it,” he said firmly. “You wanna do this, then we do it my way.”

Your breath hitched.

He sat up slightly, resting on one elbow as he studied you. “I expect obedience. Not just when you’re on your knees, not just when we’re fuckin’. If you belong to me, then you belong to me. That means my rules. My expectations. No compromises.”

Heat coiled in your stomach, your body already reacting to the idea of his control extending past the bedroom.

“And if I break the rules?” you asked, testing him.

His smirk was slow, knowing. “Then you get punished.”

Your thighs clenched together.

His gaze darkened. “See, that’s what I mean. You like this. I see it all over you.” His fingers slid up your thigh, brushing between your legs, teasing. “But I need to know you can handle it. That you want it. ‘Cause once I take you, baby? I ain’t givin’ you back.”

Your breathing was uneven, your body already surrendering before your mind could fully process what he was saying.

Marshall’s smirk faded slightly, his voice turning more serious. “Think about it. Don’t just answer ‘cause you’re turned on right now.” He paused, then added, “If you say yes, we sit down, we talk about the rules, what I expect, what you need. You give me your trust, and I don’t fuckin’ break it. But once it’s set?” His grip tightened. “That’s it. No runnin’. No takin’ it back.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering.

And then you whispered, “Yes, Sir.”

His eyes darkened.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then let’s get to work.”

---

You sat curled up on the couch, wearing nothing but one of Marshall’s hoodies, while he leaned forward, forearms braced against his knees, eyes locked onto yours.

This was different from the heat of last night and this morning—this was deliberate. He wasn’t just playing around; he was setting the foundation for something permanent.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” His voice was low, steady.

You nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

His expression softened slightly, but only for a second before the sharp focus returned.

“First thing—you don’t gotta call me ‘Sir’ outside the bedroom,” he started, leaning back against the couch. “I still wanna hear my name come outta that pretty mouth of yours, and we ain’t gonna alarm the kids.”

That made sense. You nodded.

“Now, for the everyday shit,” he continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re gonna eat three real meals a day.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look he gave you shut that down fast.

“Don’t start,” he warned. “I know you. I know you get busy and think a Diet Coke counts as lunch, and that shit ain’t flyin’ anymore.”

You huffed but couldn’t help smiling a little. “Fine.”

“I mean it,” he said, tilting his head. “You skip meals, I will find a way to make sure you regret it.”

Your thighs clenched together, and his smirk let you know he definitely noticed.

“Next,” he went on, “you’re gonna keep goin’ to yoga. You like it, it’s good for you, and I know you drop shit that makes you happy when life gets busy.”

Your heart squeezed a little at that. You hadn’t even realized he noticed.

“And once a week, you’re gonna do somethin’ just for you,” he continued. “Get your nails done, take a long bath, I don’t care what it is—but it ain’t optional.”

You swallowed hard. “You really care about all that?”

He frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t expect you to be so…soft about this.”

His smirk returned, but there was something deeper in his eyes. “Baby, don’t get it twisted. I’m always gonna take care of what’s mine. And that includes makin’ sure you take care of yourself.”

Your stomach flipped at the possessiveness in his tone.

“But let’s talk about the other shit now,” he went on, his voice darkening slightly. “The important shit.”

You swallowed hard, nodding.

“You don’t talk to other men if I ain’t around.”

Your breath hitched. “Marshall—”

“No,” he cut you off. “Ain’t up for debate. I ain’t stupid, I know men. I know the way they look at you. I know that little bitch across the street was hopin’ I wasn’t home today.”

You bit your lip, heat pooling low in your stomach.

“You ain’t gotta worry ‘bout whether you mean anything by it,” he said, his blue eyes locked onto yours. “I don’t trust them. And I don’t like the idea of another man thinkin’ for even a second that he’s got your attention.”

Your breath came faster, your body already responding to the possessiveness in his voice.

“I ain’t askin’,” he continued. “You don’t like it, you tell me now. But if you say yes to this, you follow every rule.”

Your pulse pounded, heat rising in your chest, in your belly, between your legs. You wanted this. You craved this.

You licked your lips. “I understand.”

He raised a brow.

You took a deep breath. “I’ll follow your rules.”

His smirk was slow, dark, satisfied.

“That’s my girl.”

---

The first few weeks went surprisingly smooth.

Falling into this new rhythm with Marshall—giving him full control, following his rules—was easier than you expected. You liked the structure, the way he kept such a close eye on you, making sure you took care of yourself, making sure you remembered that you were his.

And he was good to you.

Soft when you needed it.

Rough when you really needed it.

You made your meals, you went to yoga, you did your weekly self-care like he told you to. You were being good.

Until today.

You hadn’t meant to skip lunch.

It just happened.

The afternoon had gotten away from you—running errands, dealing with a last-minute work thing, and then the girls got home from school, and it was non-stop from there. Homework, snacks, breaking up little arguments, making sure everything was set for the next day. By the time you finally had a second to breathe, it was nearly dinner, and all you’d had since breakfast was a Diet Coke.

You didn’t even realize it until you were setting the table, stomach growling.

Shit.

It wasn’t a big deal. You’d eat dinner, it wasn’t like you were starving. He didn’t have to know—

“Hey, baby.”

You froze at the sound of Marshall’s voice behind you.

You turned slowly, giving him what you hoped was an innocent smile. “Hey, you’re home.”

He stepped closer, sliding an arm around your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. His other hand reached out, plucking the Diet Coke can off the counter.

You swallowed hard.

He pulled back slightly, turning the can in his hand, then looking down at you.

Something unreadable flickered in his blue eyes. “What’d you eat today?”

Your stomach twisted.

His expression didn’t change. He just watched you.

You knew better than to lie.

You sighed, dropping your gaze. “…I forgot.”

A beat of silence.

Then, his fingers gripped your chin, tilting your face up until you were forced to meet his eyes.

“Try again.” His voice was low, measured.

You swallowed. “I—I got busy. I didn’t do it on purpose, I just—”

He shook his head. “I don’t wanna hear excuses.”

Your stomach clenched.

His fingers dragged slowly down your jaw, his touch deceptively gentle. “We been doin’ good, haven’t we?”

You nodded quickly.

“And you like this. You like givin’ me control.”

Another nod.

“Then tell me, baby.” His voice darkened. “What happens when you break my rules?”

Your breath hitched.

“…I get punished.”

His smirk was slow, dangerous. “That’s right.”

Your whole body buzzed with anticipation.

He leaned down, lips brushing over your ear.

“Finish setting the table,” he murmured. “Be a good girl through dinner.”

You swallowed hard, nodding.

His smirk deepened.

“Then later?” His voice was all gravel.

“You’re gonna learn exactly what happens when you don’t take care of what’s mine.”

Dinner was agony.

Not because of the food. Not because of the girls laughing and chatting at the table.

But because of him.

Marshall sat across from you, calm, collected—completely unreadable to anyone else. But you knew better. You saw the way his fingers drummed idly against the table, the way his eyes lingered on you just a little too long when you picked up your fork.

You felt the weight of his stare every time you took a bite of food.

He was reminding you, without a single word, that you were eating because he said so. That you were sitting there, obeying him, because you knew what was waiting for you once the house was quiet.

By the time the girls were in bed and the dishes were done, your stomach was in knots—not from fear, but from anticipation.

You were barely in the bedroom before he shut the door behind you, locking it.

The air between you snapped tight.

Marshall leaned against the door, arms crossed, tilting his head slightly. “C’mere.”

Your feet moved before you could think, closing the space between you.

His hand lifted, fingers threading into your hair, tugging gently but firmly until your head tilted back, forcing you to look up at him.

“You tell me you want this,” he murmured. “Tell me you accept this.”

Your breath was shallow. “I want this. I accept this.”

His smirk was slow, dark. “Then we’re not gonna have this problem again, are we?”

You shook your head. “No, Sir.”

His grip tightened just a little.

Your pulse jumped.

“I told you to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. “And what did you do?”

Your stomach twisted. “I—I didn’t eat.”

His tongue clicked against his teeth. “And whose body is this?”

You shivered. “Yours.”

His smirk widened, but his eyes stayed cold.

“That’s right, baby,” he murmured. “Mine.”

His free hand slid down your body, fingers teasing the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath, grazing over bare skin. “And you don’t get to neglect what’s mine.”

Your breath caught.

Then, without warning, he spun you around, pressing you against the door, his chest flush against your back.

His lips brushed against your ear, his voice a low growl.

“You’re gonna learn to be very careful with my things.”

---

You were wrecked.

Your body trembled, slick with sweat, your skin hypersensitive to every brush of Marshall’s fingers, every teasing stroke of his tongue, every firm, possessive grip of his hands as he spent hours bringing you to the edge—only to rip it away.

Again.

And again.

And again.

You were barely coherent, writhing beneath him, your breath ragged, your legs weak from how many times he’d built you up—just to leave you hanging, desperate, aching.

And the worst part? He wasn’t even ruffling himself over it.

He knelt between your legs, his blue eyes dark, glittering with satisfaction as he ran a slow finger up your slick folds, barely pressing against your clit before pulling back.

You whimpered.

He smirked. “That’s a pretty sound.”

You couldn’t even form words anymore—just soft, needy noises that only made his smirk deepen.

“Poor baby,” he cooed, his voice full of mock sympathy. “Been layin’ here for hours, huh?”

You glared at him, though it held no heat—not when you were shaking, dripping for him. “Marshall, please—”

He clicked his tongue. “What’d I tell you?”

You swallowed hard. “Sir. Please.”

His smirk widened. “Please what?”

You squirmed, arching toward him, desperate for friction. “Please let me come.”

His fingers traced up your stomach, slow, deliberate, before stopping just below your throat. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Mm,” he hummed, considering.

You held your breath.

Then—he pulled away.

You whined, reaching for him, but he just shook his head, sliding off the bed completely.

“Uh-uh.” His voice was firm, final. “You’ll try again when you learn to take care of my girl better.”

Your stomach dropped.

Your mind scrambled to catch up. “Wait—what?”

His smirk was infuriatingly smug as he reached for his sweatpants, tugging them back on like he hadn’t just spent hours turning you into a desperate, needy mess.

“You heard me.” His voice was calm, casual, as he ran a hand through his short hair. “You don’t listen? You don’t follow the rules? Then you don’t get rewarded.”

Your entire body ached with frustration.

“Marshall,” you tried, pushing up onto your elbows, your face hot. “Please, I—I won’t do it again, I swear, I just—”

His blue eyes cut to you, sharp and dangerous.

Your breath caught.

“I know you won’t,” he murmured. “Because next time? It’ll be worse.”

You shuddered, your thighs squeezing together, still desperate for relief.

His smirk deepened. “Go to sleep, baby.”

Then he flipped off the light, leaving you lying there—wrecked, ruined, aching—while he slid under the covers like he hadn’t just broken you completely.

You whimpered softly.

Marshall chuckled, pulling you against his chest, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Lesson learned?”

You swallowed hard. “Yes, Sir.”

His arms tightened around you.

“Good girl.”

---

[gasp-hehe]

Gojo and Nanami

One recurring theme through JJK is how in-universe most people think Gojo is disrespectful, annoying, and an overgrown child essentially. Even if we don't factor in the higher-ups the people around him (Nanami, Utahime) still reflect this. This is very interesting because in-universe Geto is revered before his fall from grace. He was more outwardly polite, respectful, even though many argue he had always had the mindset of being superior, he just took on a different responsibility with it. While I don't agree with that I can definitely see how Geto plays his cards right to not be as 'insufferable' as Gojo while portraying similar behaviour. Now let's look at Nanami, he's a disciplined logical man who adheres firmly to rules, but also ethics and morals. He protects the youth, he can't even bring himself to blame Geto for the choices he later on made because he first-hand understands how horrible jujutsu society is. Why did he go corporate, but it's the same thing there, braindead workers who are simply cogs for people 'above them' to abuse. Who does this impact the most? Gojo. He was a one-man army, he taught, he fought, he barely slept, yet he chose to wake up and do it every single day over and over again. Gojo could've ideally single-handedly handled all curses, ah but he's just a man (human) can't be everything everywhere all at once even if he was the strongest or a god (he's not). Nanami saw how his friend wasn't strong enough to survive in the jujutsu world, hell in the end he wasn't either, so what did he do? He took that out on Gojo. Never respecting the man who's always showing an interest or spending time around Nanami (ruffling his hair, calling him, trusting him). Yet in Nanami's mind, Haibara would be alive if Gojo went on that mission instead. Nanami would be alive if Gojo hadn't been sealed. Nobody would die if Gojo did it all. He knows that isn't right to expect out of someone, hell he doesn't understand why someone who could choose to do anything they wanted and have everything they simply look at, does something as vile as jujutsu. But of course, he's an adrenaline-junkie. We all read about billionaires being sociopaths, only being stimulated by these horrid things, Gojo must be that too.

He fought the king of curses because he likes fighting. He watched everyone around him die and did 'nothing' because he doesn't care. He's a teacher for the shits and giggles, he rescues students from execution and gives them childhoods because he hopes they're strong someday. Fuck Gojo could bleed and he'd marvel at the colour contrast, if he cries he'd bottle the tears to sell, if he dies he berates his entire life when he gave you everything. Was that not what 236 was? Then the subsequent arts showing him putting care and affection towards Geto while being annoyed by Gojo. It's one to be annoyed by him, but if you think he's a god you'd respect him. If you think he's morally reprehensible you'd hate him. But to make a martyr out of a live person, to view a living being through a lens to make them superior and expecting them to uphold that, you only do that when you're ignorant and dumb. Nanami is none of those things, to explore the disgusting thoughts and mindsets he showed toward Gojo as time went on due to his frustration at his comrades falling would've been beautiful. Instead, we have character assassination and everyone standing for it.

How would Shoko feel as her longest friend lay in pieces in front of her and she can't bring herself to cry because she doesn't even remember the last time they had a real conversation. She thought about how she should've handled Geto's body a year after the fact, but she just went and let someone vandalise Gojo's?

Fuck you're telling me that the airport had everyone in high school clothing but for what? Was it because it was the first and last time he was a human? And the worst part is this is one of the many unexplored things in JJK, it's so frustrating. I have so many more points about this too, Sukuna and Gojo, Gojo's relationship with his students, the little fun trivia bits about him. And that's just Gojo, other characters also have so fucking much that just, god man. It's like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

[secretsideblogshhhh]

Imagine you live in a kingdom. Everything in this kingdom was modeled after the founder of the whole city.

This means the house sizes, the utensils, the clothes, every single thing, was made for him.

And for plenty of people this is fine. The clothes fit them, the cabinets are easy enough to reach, the size of the tools are perfect.

But you're a fair bit smaller than this guy was. The clothes are extremely baggy on you. You struggle to keep them on. They get in your way and you trip over them all the time.

You can't reach the cabinets, the tools are hard to hold in your hands.

Everything you do takes so much effort because nothing here was made for you.

But everyone else gets annoyed by this, not because of the system made that makes life hard on you, but because you're different.

They hate you constantly tripping.

You mention maybe getting a belt to help with that, and everyone you know gets mad at you for even suggesting it.

"you don't really need a belt"

"you could just take some growth medicine, get bigger"

"you don't deserve special treatment just because you're different"

"well everything works just fine for me, I don't know why you have issues"

And it's frustrating. The only person who you can relate to is your buddy Tim, who's a whole lot bigger than the guy everything was made for was.

His clothes cut off his circulation, they actively hurt him.

He hits his head on doors, he can barely use the tools because they're so small to him.

He wants to make his own clothes, but he can't afford it because he can't keep a job.

No one wants to hire a guy who can't hold the tools, or who needs a break every few hours so he can take off his clothes in the bathroom to breathe.

And even if he did manage to get the money, the tools are too small. He'd have to hire someone.

And hiring someone would cost so much more.

Of course the responses he gets are similar to yours.

"you're just lazy, it's not that hard to get and keep a job"

"have you tried just losing weight? That's probably what's causing all your issues"

You and him bond over this. How the world is cruel to you for being different. You found each other because of you were different from everyone else and it brought you closer

But then people see your friendship. It would be natural to assume that your friendship makes sense. You have the same struggles after all.

But no.

People see that you're friends and say

"well obviously you're both making up your issues, it's so rare for even one of you to exist. But 2 of you? You have to be lying for attention"

You try to show them that your issues are real, because you want help. You'd love for others to understand and help you fix the way the kingdom is built.

But people look away, they ignore you. Either pretending to not see you or they just invalidate your experience.

"everyone has rough days"

"you just got some poorly made clothes"

"He just wants an excuse so he doesn't have to work"

"if you just tried harder-"

Everyone seems to have some solution for your issues, ones you've tried a hundred times before.

Everyone seems to have an opinion on your existence. Usually pity or disgust. Often a mix of both, though the disgust isn't something anyone will admit to aloud. Their actions speak loud enough though.

That's how it feels to have a disability. Especially an invisible one. You have to fight just to be heard and it's exhausting.

Everything that you do is a struggle people who aren't disabled just don't understand. And it's infuriating how they write you off just because they don't want to even try to understand

[veeagainsttheday]

Two lines from OFMD s2 have been rotating around in my head for the last few weeks. 

The first is from s2e3, when Ed is speaking with Hornigold about his sandals, and Hornigold tells him that he always has to have an angle. Ed responds by saying, ‘Nah, mate, I’m actually just a very simple man’ before sharing his thoughts about opening an inn. 

The second is in s2e7, after Ed left Stede, when Stede and Izzy are in Jackie’z. Izzy says to Stede, ‘You know what he did when I told him I loved him? He shot me,’ as Stede says, ‘He shot you. I know.’ Izzy continues, ‘He’s a complicated man.’ Stede doesn’t respond; they look at each other for a moment and then the scene ends. 

First of all - that line of Izzy’s about Ed shooting him when Izzy told Ed he loved him makes me want to start ripping my hair out in frustration. Ed shot Izzy when Izzy announced in front of the crew that vibes were bad because of Ed’s feelings for Stede Bonnet. Ed responded to Izzy saying he loved Ed by making a noise of disgust and walking out of the conversation. So it’s fascinating that Izzy has reframed the event in this way (and not the first time we hear him reframe it - as he tells Lucius a shark took his leg). Stede obviously heard that Ed shot Izzy (he says, ‘shooting people’s legs off’ in the list of reasons why Ed’s in the sackcloth at the start of s2e5), but we have no idea where he heard it from or who told him why. The way he says, ‘I know,’ to Izzy in s2e7 gives me the impression that he’s heard Izzy say it a number of times - he sounds weary. I’m guessing Ed’s never told Stede what really happened, nor any of the crew who witnessed it. But if I could ask the writers about one line from s2, I really think this would be it - I just don’t know how to interpret it (and if anyone has any ideas, I’d love to hear them below!). 

Anyway. Back to those two lines. Ed says he’s ‘actually just a very simple man’ in response to being misunderstood by Hornigold (actually his own self-consciousness). For two seasons, Ed’s been attempting to communicate that he’s got a simple, reasonable desire to retire from a dangerous, violent career and be with the man he loves. Izzy’s response has been to deny Ed that, to call Ed insane, try to keep him in piracy by whatever means he can, and of course try to get Stede killed. By the time Ed’s in the gravy basket, he’s arguing even in his own head that he’s a simple man, with a simple desire for the future. 

Then we come to s2e7, and Izzy still doesn’t get it. He still thinks Ed is a complicated man, he still thinks Ed is acting in a way that doesn’t make sense or requires some convoluted explanation. It’s notable to me that Stede doesn’t agree - we know from s2e3 (and, ya know, the rest of the show) that Stede understands Ed deeply.  Then I think about Ed talking to the ‘wolf’ in s2e4 - ‘It’s a very rare thing to find someone who understands you,’ he says, tears in his eyes, obviously missing Stede but also - fuck, man, that scene with the rabbit is so funny but makes me so sad for Ed, because he really does have a pretty simple desire and he’s spent months - implied years - being told that he’s crazy for having it.

[idkwhatimd0ingatall]

Will Story Event Translation (forgot the name)

// - is an alternate translation T/N: ignore my changing translation style, trying different things out to see what works. Also these translations aren’t accurate so the official translation will most likely be different T/N: Gave up on trying to fix the images

"I want you to kiss me."

The moment I entered the room and pleaded with Will, he gave me exactly what I desired.

After sitting on the bed together, Will traced my palate with his gentle tongue, and my body trembled with joy.

However,

William: ...

Suddenly, Will stopped kissing, and my body, left hanging, throbbed with a sense of longing.

Kate: Will?

William: For someone who pleaded for a kiss with such intensity, you seem distracted, Kate.

Kate: N-no, it's just...

William: Can't focus on kissing me, got some other 'business' on your mind?

Kate: No, it's not that! There's no other business... but...

I hesitated to tell him about the unfortunate incident.

(...Oh, but sooner or later, Will will find out.)

(Given Will's nature, he might already know... maybe he's deliberately asking to hear it from my mouth.)

Above all, because I want to face Will with a free and unburdened heart, I decided to confess today's events.

Kate: Actually...

William: ...'Kissed by a stranger'?

Kate: Yes, on my way back from today's mission, I was confronted... unable to escape it, just once.

The man I encountered on the roadside seemed drunk, persistently bothering me.

No matter how clearly I rejected him, he forcibly took my hand and brought his lips close.

Kate: Harrison and Liam, who came later, managed to drive him away, so there were no further consequences.

Kate: But... I can't forgive myself for allowing anyone other than Will to touch me.

I washed my hands repeatedly when I got home, to the point where my skin felt irritated.

Yet, the disgust from being touched couldn't be completely washed away, tormenting me.

Kate: ...I want to dedicate my life to Will as his servant.

Kate: My body and heart exist for Will alone, and I don't want to surrender them to anyone else. But... I allowed a kiss, and I regret it.

Feeling frustrated with myself, my fingertips trembled as I tightly clenched my fist on my knee.

William: Did you plead for a kiss to forget?

Kate: Yes... I'm sorry. I made you deal with my own issues.

William: No need to apologize. The one at fault is the man who forced himself on you, isn't it?

Will took my hand firmly and laid a kiss on the palm.

(...I heard somewhere that a kiss on the palm is a plea.)

Not something taken by force, but a kiss filled with respect, like showing that I have value worth pleading for. It warmed my heart.

(Even without using the cursed ability, Will's words have a mysterious power.)

(The inability to resist, the discomfort from being touched, all slowly melted away...)

The man who forcibly approached me is the only one at fault, and I finally forgave myself.

Kate: ...Thank you, Will.

William: Just stating the obvious. Now, there's nothing to cloud your mind, right?

Kate: ...Can I ask for a little selfishness?

Kate: I want you to kiss me. Many times, enough to make today's events fade away.

In truth, my heart is already healed with the words Will gave me.

I won't even notice if that man passes by me in the city; Will must understand my inner thoughts.

(So this is just... an invitation, a line used just to kiss my lover.)

William: If you wish, as much as you want.

With a seductive smile, Will embraced me from behind.

Kate: Will...?

In this position, isn’t it difficult for our lips to meet?

I tried to turn around, calling his name in confusion, but

William: Stay like this.

I was restrained, and a kiss was dropped behind my ear.

Will's tongue crawled along the curve, making a wet sound.

Kate: ...Ah, n-no.

William: Kate... don't suppress your voice.

William: After hearing it so many times, there's nothing embarrassing about it now, is there?

Kate: But... to feel so much from just the ear... isn't it strange?

Just being embraced from behind and kissed on the ear, warmth accumulated inside my body.

William: It's not strange. Kate, it's cute how you react so honestly to your feelings.

Will lightly nibbled on my ear, and his tongue slid into my ear canal.

William: Mmm... haah...

Kate: Mm... ah... haah...

Trying to endure the sweet throbbing, I hugged the cushion tightly against my knees.

William: ...Should have changed the position.

Kate: Eh...?

William: If our bodies were facing the other way, you would have clung to me, right?

Kate: Hehe... it's like you're jealous of the cushion.

William: I can get jealous. I can't catch you as softly as a cushion.

// I get jealous too. Softly catching you like a feather is something my body can't do.

As Will joked, I couldn't help but laugh.

(Normally, if someone is jealous, it would be of a person, not a cushion, right?)

(I can't imagine Will being jealous, but that's okay.)

Will's jealousy will probably remain forever unexplored, and that's fine.

As long as we understand that we love each other more than anyone else, there's no need for jealousy.

Releasing the cushion that became the target of jealousy, I faced Will directly.

William: Do you know this saying?

William: A kiss on the hand is a kiss of respect. On the forehead, a kiss of friendship. On the cheek, a kiss of satisfaction.

William: On the lips, a kiss of love. On closed eyes, a kiss of admiration/yearning. On the palm, a kiss of pleading.

William: On the arm and neck, a kiss of desire... any other kiss is considered 'madness,' according to the whims of the poet.

Kate: I heard this in a play once. It was titled 'Kiss,' wasn't it?

Will nodded and pulled me close again.

William: When I remembered this poem, I thought of choosing one and giving it to you, Kate... but I decided against it.

William: Narrowing down my feelings for you to just one is more challenging than any mission.

Kate: ...In that case, give me all of them.

William: Of course. That's the plan.

William: Whether you're ready to accept all those emotions... there's no need to ask.

As if engraving all the emotions into me, Will continued to kiss me following the poem.

Liam: Mission complete! ...Although, we probably didn't need to come. Will pretty much took care of everything.

Harrison: The illegal organization has been completely wiped out. Whether the headcount matches or not, let's count the bodies.

Liam: Okay! 1, 2, 3, 4... 4?

Liam: ...Huh? Hey, Harry, doesn't this guy look familiar from somewhere?

Harrison: Even if you say he looks familiar... His face is all messed up, isn't it impossible to identify him?

Liam: Hmm... this build, the shape of the head, that plain-patterned shirt... I feel like I've seen him somewhere, though...

Liam: ...Ah, got it! This is the guy who was pestering Kate not too long ago!

Liam: You know, grabbed her hand forcibly, made a loud smooching sound, kissed her forcefully!

Harrison: Oh yeah, I remember now. That guy...

Liam: Will, you didn't say anything when you saw the target's information. But did you know about him?

Harrison: Knowing Will, he probably planned this method of killing, right?

The man had used a knife to cut off his own lips, leaving a gruesome sight.

Liam: Kate, you're loved.

Harrison: To speak of love in this situation... not the best sight, I think...

FIN~

[mirai-e-jump]

TV Life, 1/17/2025 Issue ft. Hino Yusuke & Soma Satoru (translations below)

Publication: December 25, 2024

GavvPare! Vol.9 (Hino Yusuke)

-Frustration is unavoidable for Shouma and Hanto-

Shouma and Hanto have slowly started to work together in battle now that they know each other's identity. I think that for Hanto, Shouma's an invaluable friend he encountered when he was feeling lost and lonely after losing his mother and mentor, someone who understands his situation, and the one and only person who makes him feel that he's not "alone." Because of that however, there are times when he feels frustrated that Shouma won't tell him the secrets he's hiding, or he feels confused as to why he doesn't tell him, and sometimes, he'll feel disgusted with himself for having doubts about Shouma……It'd be easier if they just talked it out, but since they care about each other, they won't. I'm sure all the viewers are also becoming impatient, but I think their relationship comes with frustrations like that (laughs). In reality, Hide and I are able to say whatever we want to say to each other, and recently, I've been able to tell what he's thinking just by looking at his face. I think that's proof that our bond has grown that much deeper, which makes me happy.

Starting from episode 17, the story will take another new turn. All I can say about Hanto is……that you won't have to wait long to see him badly injured in the New Year (laughs). For Hanto, you may tend to think, "Just the other day he was injured and wrapped up in bandages, but now, he's only wearing a single bandage!," but that's because his recovery time has increased due to his body remodification. No matter how badly his body falls apart, he's always willing to face his enemies without being afraid of getting hurt, which makes Hanto really cool. A new Kamen Rider will appear after this, and Gavv and Valen will also encounter a new dilemma, so please look forward to it. And with that, have a happy New Year!

Q: What's something that fills you with energy when you eat it?

A: It's ice cream. I have a weak stomach, so I don't eat it every day, but I'll often have some when I'm feeling tired and want to energize myself, or as a reward for a hard day of work. I especially like the Chocolate Coffee flavored ones by "Papico." I often buy it because it's easy to eat.

Off Shot: Although Shouma and Hanto haven't fully revealed everything to each other yet, and despite their complicated feelings, with the help of Sachika's cheerfulness, they were able to have a Christmas party together. The staff told them, "You can eat starting from the test shot," and it was like they were having a real party, however, Hino got an upset stomach almost immediately (laughs). _

BakuDAYS Vol.21 (Soma Satoru)

-I continued to grow as I focused on Genba-

I think Genba and Sakito were able to play an active role together in the Soccer Ball Grumer story of episode 41. I had told the staff quite some time ago that, "I want to do a story where soccer's included!," and I was very happy that they were able to make it happen for this episode. Since Miyazawa-kun and I both like to play soccer, we kicked a ball around together during breaks and had alot of fun while filming.

Genba's a character who had a strong desire for revenge against Disrace, so after his defeat, I've been making a conscious effort to perform in a way that expresses a stronger sense of compassion for his friends, and to show a calmer expression on his face. So far, Genba's drawn a line between him and Sakito, but for the soccer game in episode 41 and other recent episodes, I feel that it's been shown that he's come to seriously trust all the Boonboomger members as friends.

Looking back on 2024, it's been a year full of Boonboomger. It saddens me to think that my daily routine of getting up early every morning to go out and film will soon come to an end. I felt that Genba's character was difficult to grasp during the beginning, and I would search for ways to play the role. However, I discussed things with the Director, and there were tons of things I felt during my interactions with the other characters. I think that being able to continuously focus on Genba throughout the year helped me grow as well.

From this point on, there are many developments that you can't afford to miss. If you pay attention to the smallest details, such as the facial expressions on each character, I think you'll be surprised and enjoy things even more!

Q: What's something the "Procurer" wants to obtain?

A: What I really want right now is an (Japanese) oven range! I cook every day, and yet still don't own one. I think an oven range would broaden my cooking horizons. I think I'll buy one as a reward for myself after filming is over! (laugh).

BakuageSHOT: Filming for the soccer episode was also cranked up! But, and this is just between you and me, I was ever so slightly nervous dribbling the ball inbetween napalm explosions (laughs). Well, in any case, it was a time that reminded me of my school days~!

[atzloverr]

Chapter 6 - Selfish Desire

Warning: this chapter includes yandere themes, kidnapping

previous chapter - next chapter

Selfish desire masterlist

Your mind was all over the place.

Maybe it was the lack of food in your system, or perhaps just the huge amount of information being thrown at you all at once.

What boggled your mind the most wasn’t even the fact that you were kidnapped, it was who kidnapped you.

All those vague answers to your questions, his mysterious demeanor and those long, uncomfortable stares. It all made sense now.

Park Seonghwa had planned this all along, and his partner in crime was a monster who tortured the boy who was in love with you.

Yunho.

You had no perception of time in this dark, isolated basement, but it felt like an eternity had passed since Yunho left for dinner.

You had already checked every corner of the dimly lit room for any kind of means to escape, but only grew more frustrated when you found absolutely nothing. The only sense of comfort you had was Yunho’s hoodie around your body.

You felt sick at the thought of those two monsters undressing you, tying you up and leaving you all alone. If what Yunho said was true, they must truly be sick.

If they think this is any way to treat someone they “love”.

For what felt like the past hour, you had sat in your loneliness in a corner of the basement. The one furthest away from the stairs. You occasionally heard the sound of footsteps from above you, but no other sound could give you any more clues to where you were, or what was really going on.

Your head snapped up from where it rested on your shoulder when the door was slowly opened. As much as you wanted to stay calm, your own body betrayed you, making your breathing pick up in fear.

You didn’t know what to expect, but the person who showed up was the last one you wanted to see.

Hongjoong.

And he was all alone.

His slippers made a flop sound when he walked over to you slowly. You didn’t dare to move an inch, or even take a peek at his face.

As he made his way to where you were sat, you could see that he now wore silk pajama pants, colored a deep blue. You were guessing it was nighttime then.

“(Y/N), please don’t make this more difficult than it has to be,” he sighed. You finally dared to raise your head to meet his fierce gaze.

He was smiling.

This time, not a big grin, but a small, tired smile. He almost looked like he pitied you, which did nothing to calm the anger brewing inside of you.

“Why are you doing this to me?” your voice sounded out in a small whisper.

He sighed deeply once again, kneeling down to your level, sitting in front of you on his knees. You were too tired to try and fight him, and he knew that too.

“Yunho practically begged us to let the two of you spend the night,” Hongjoong told you ignoring your earlier question. “I was so sad to deny him, but the way you acted, trying to hurt me… I just can’t let it go unpunished,” he said, pouting slightly, as to try to look sad for you. As if this wasn’t all his fault.

“And don’t think I don’t know about his little crush on you,” Hongjoong giggled.

Your eyes widened against your own will.

“Oh you’re so cute (Y/N)! did you honestly think I didn’t know?” he laughed. You could swear you had run out of tears, but your eyes proved you wrong as the man in front of you started laughing mockingly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him that you know his little secret,” he promised, stroking your hair. His hands on you were disgusting. All you wanted was to push him away from you as quickly as possible, but you couldn’t move at all.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked again while tears slowly trickled down your cheeks. Hongjoong’s thumbs gently wiped them away.

“You’ll never understand, will you?” he said, still having that smile, even as his tone became harsher. Meaner. “Stop asking stupid questions, and then you won’t have to rot in this basement.”

Your bottom lip trembled. Maybe this is exactly what he wanted. To see you this weak and fragile. As much as your mind told your body to move, it was as if you were in a trance, looking into your captor’s eyes.

“Looks like you’re staying down here for tonight darling,” his smile grew. You shook your head, not wanting to be in this cold basement anymore. “But look, I brought you something!” he said excitedly.

He stood up and picked up something from the floor. Huh. You must’ve missed it when he put it down.

“I’m not so cruel, am I?” he asked rhetorically, holding up something, blocking the small amount of light you had.

You felt your eyebrows knit together as he held up the large blanket in his hands. Your large blanket. “What, how-“ you started, feeling the tears continue to stream down your cheeks.

“I know you can have trouble sleeping at times, so I brought you something to make you feel more…” Hongjoong smiled. “At home.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

This might’ve been the worst night of your life.

Even with the rain pouring outside, and your thick blanket wrapped around your body, you were restless.

Your body was so tired, but your mind couldn’t give you a wink of sleep. The fear consumed your entire mind, leaving you shivering slightly.

Was this what Yunho had to go through? Sleeping alone in a cold and empty basement with thousands of questions, but zero answers?

You could tell hours had passed, and the morning was near. Light came through the basement door, illuminating the room better, serving as a sign that the day was near.

You dreaded the moment that door would be opened once again, but at the same time, wanted company, answers and most of all, food.

Your stomach was growling at you. The last time you ate was dinner before your shift, which consisted of instant noodles… You didn’t want to, but a part of you regretted fighting back when you were given food.

Maybe food was a privilege here, something that you needed to earn. It wouldn’t shock you if Hongjoong took away basic human rights here, such as food or water.

Thankfully, there was a small bathroom in the basement, so that right was still in your grasp.

You curled yourself into a ball, still trying to find that sleep you so desperately needed. That’s when you finally heard those infamous footsteps coming from above you. From what you’d connected so far, Hongjoong’s steps were the roughest. These steps however, were almost silent. You wanted to think that it was Yunho, but something told you that it might’ve been the third party involved in this.

If you weren’t so on edge, you probably wouldn’t have picked up on the person slowly unlocking the door and stepping inside. The person slowly made their way down the stairs, so quietly that you couldn’t really hear how many steps they had left.

You decided to go with your best bet.

Playing dead.

Or more accurately, fake sleeping. As a kid, you had easily learnt how to change your breathing to make your fake sleeping believable.

You were facing the opposite wall of the basement, so you still didn’t know who was behind you.

A deep sigh was heard as the man sat down.

You knew exactly who that sigh belonged to. You had heard him make all kinds of noises, anything to avoid speaking.

He seemed to keep himself at a distance from you, maybe some attempt at respecting your boundaries? It seemed ridiculous if you thought about it.

“(Y/N)” His deep voice sounded out, slightly raspier than normal. “I-“ he started, breath catching in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes in confusion.

Seonghwa sniffled quietly. “I love you,” he told you. You couldn’t believe the words coming out of the man’s mouth.

I must’ve finally managed to fall asleep. This must be some kind of weird dream…

You had to know if this was purely your imagination or not, so you turned around to look at Seonghwa, without thinking it through.

He gasped in surprise at your sudden glance.

“I- I thought-“ he stammered. You recognized this behavior. He was going to start panicking again. Just like that time at your place. Just like that time in school.

School.

Wooyoung.

Your place.

The corner.

It all came rushing back to you. Had you simply forgotten that you had a life back home?

Surely someone had to go looking for you, right? Maybe a missing person poster was going to be put up for you too.

Now, you were the one panicking, not your project partner in front of you.

“Hey, (Y/N), please calm down,” Seonghwa urged you, trying to shake you back into reality. Your breathing only picked up even more. The only thing capable of bringing you back to reality was the harsh slamming of the door, and the rushing footsteps that came after it.

Hongjoong stopped in his tracks when he saw the scene in front of him.

“Seonghwa,” he called out. Seonghwa’s head snapped to the side. “Leave us,” he demanded, eyes fixated on your form.

You watched with wide eyes as Seonghwa immediately obeyed, and rushed past Hongjoong, up the stairs. You flinched when the door was slammed closed once again.

The two of you ended up in a silent staring contest, not muttering a word to one another, until you finally mustered the courage to be the first one to speak.

“So you order around Seonghwa as well? Maybe I wasn’t so wrong to say you did this to him as well,” you said, still not breaking eye contact. Hongjoong raised a brow at your bold statement.

“You do not know anything about our relationship, so don’t go trying to make me a villain when you clearly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Your eyelid twitched at his rudeness. “Well then please indulge me, what is your relationship like?” you challenged.

Hongjoong stepped closer to you, still keeping his stare linked with yours. His hands gripped the soft blanket around you, and you soon realized what he was trying to do. “Stop it!” you yelled as he roughly pulled the blanket from your grasp. He harshly threw it behind him, and what he did next only made your will to fight him stronger.

“Hey, stop it you pervert!!” You tried to stop him from taking Yunho’s hoodie off of you with all your might, but his hands seemed to be made of steel.

“You don’t deserve to wear this,” he said, eyes wide with adrenaline and anger. As he finally snatched it from you, he pulled it close to his face, inhaling deeply. Was he… smelling it?

You crawled further away from him in disgust. You attempted to cover up your body, now only in your underwear. “Oh, are you cold? Are you embarrassed?” Hongjoong mocked. He was still smelling the hoodie, hiding his nose and mouth, but his eyes showed you that he was in fact smiling.

You already felt the goosebumps creeping up your body. Just as Hongjoong picked the blanket up and was about to leave, you spoke before your mind could comprehend it.

“Wait!”

Hongjoong stopped in his tracks, looking back at you. “P-please can I keep the blanket? It’s really cold down here,” you begged. You didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. Seeing you like this, kneeling on the floor in front of him.

He made a pause, pursing his lips in thought. A small ray of hope appeared, as you anticipated his answer.

“Hmm, let me think,” he smiled. “How about… No!” He laughed as he continued walking away from you.

“It was a cute attempt though,” he said on his way out.

Your eyes dropped to the floor beneath you. You hugged your knees in a small attempt to get some warmth, but already missed the fabric of Yunho’s hoodie against your body.

The door closed behind Hongjoong, the sound echoing in the basement. You were fearing those punishments that Yunho had told you about, but even as you made him angry, he just took away your human rights. First it was food, now it was warmth. You sighed in defeat.

Guess the waiting game was about to begin again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Yunho looked around the room, the anxiety creeping up on him. You, all alone in that dark basement he had spent so many nights in, he couldn’t bear the thought of it.

Even after begging Hongjoong and Seonghwa to let you sleep in his room tonight, they just reminded him who was in charge.

“You had to go through this too, didn’t you?” Seonghwa cooed, slowly dragging his fingers up and down Yunho’s arm. “It’s only fair she gets the same treatment!” he continued, smiling.

Yunho looked at the clock on the wall. It was five o’clock in the morning. Why on gods green earth would someone be up at this time.

Yunho’s breath hitched at the realization. Were they going to do something to you? He listened idly for more sounds of footsteps, having learned how to identify them by now.

Hongjoong was walking down the set of stairs leading to the first floor. Yunho couldn’t help but put a hand to his mouth in fear when the basement door was opened harshly. Hongjoong’s loud stomps were heard as he went down to the basement.

After minutes of silence, Seonghwa’s footsteps were heard outside of Yunho’s door. Had he also been down there?

The door to his bedroom was opened carefully, and Yunho couldn’t explain the look on Seonghwa’s face as he entered the room. Without any words being said, Seonghwa placed himself on the bed, next to Yunho.

The two locked eyes as Seonghwa’s weight made the bed dip slightly.

“What’s going on?” Yunho asked. Seonghwa snuggled closer to him, sighing. “Don’t worry about it.” Seonghwa’s hand found Yunho’s hair, running his fingers through it lovingly.

Yunho was left puzzled, unsatisfied with the answer. “Can I please meet her again today?” Yunho begged, looking into Seonghwa’s eyes with a pleading look. This time, he was happy to earn a silent nod from the man in front of him.

Finally, he could close his eyes and rest. Knowing that the two of you will reunite soon.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The basement suddenly lit up when the door was opened. It had been what you guessed to be a few hours since Hongjoong decided to deprive you from the warmth, and now you could only hope that he had miraculously changed his mind.

In your line of sight was Seonghwa, carrying a tray of food. Breakfast, you presumed. You. eyed him with caution as he set down the tray about a meter away from you.

It was a traditional Korean breakfast, which honestly, made your mouth water just from the look of it. However, you weren’t going to let yourself get fooled this time.

Seonghwa was about to take his leave when you let your suspicions get the better of you. “How do I know this isn’t drugged?” you asked, reading his face for any clues.

“You don’t,” he deadpanned, turning on his heels to leave you. “Can you at least give me a reason to trust you?” you tried.

He paused in his movement. “Maybe not a reason to trust me, but a reason to eat it,” he suggested. You tilted your head in confusion. “If you finish it, I’ll let you meet your little lover boy,” he smiled.

You bit your lip. “How do you know about that?” you questioned. Seonghwa chuckled, but still stood with his back facing you, ready to leave you any second.

“I think many people knew about it, only you were too dense to figure it out!”

He walked away from you swiftly.

“Can you promise me?”

His head snapped around once more, asking you to elaborate.

“Promise me that I’ll get to see him,” you demanded.

You could basically see his smile as he answered. “Sure darling. I promise.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, that breakfast might’ve been the best thing you’d eaten in a long time.

You didn’t exactly have the economy to buy yourself luxurious ingredients like these, so it was truly a blessing to feel the tastes on your tongue.

You were hesitant at first, but once you took a bite, you couldn’t stop yourself.

Seonghwa just gave you a satisfied smile when he picked up your empty tray.

Now you just sat there, staring at a wall, silently anticipating Yunho’s arrival. You wondered how long they were going to keep you down here. What was their plan? What were they trying to do when they decided to kidnap you?

Seonghwa’s confession of love was not what you expected, but it seems what Yunho had told you about them was true after all.

Finally, the door was opened again. You got a peek of the main floor’s inviting warm lighting, being such a contrast to the dull and dark basement. Hongjoong appeared, hands behind his back, with that smile on his lips which you had already learned to hate.

You anxiously watched, and almost jumped up in joy when you saw Yunho’s tall frame enter the basement. Yes, you still felt very ashamed in your barely dressed state, but right now, none of that mattered.

You immediately threw yourself in Yunho’s embrace, holding him tight. For some reason, seeing him made you feel like everything was going to be okay. He didn’t have that bandage over his eye anymore, which also comforted you.

Yunho’s arms wrapped around your cold body, and his knitted sweater reminded you of home. Home. That’s what Hongjoong called this place. Home. What a disgusting use of such a warm word.

You threw a sharp glare at Hongjoong when he separated the two of you, giving Yunho a small back hug.

“I can’t believe Seonghwa would be so foolish as to give you a reward for merely finishing your food,” Hongjoong scoffed from between Yunho. Yunho looked apologetically at you.

“But I’m a man who keeps my promises, and my beloved’s promises,” he added. “So we’ll let you guys spend some quality time together,” Hongjoong giggled.

You rolled your eyes at his attempt to sound genuine. “I figure you’ll have to get to know each other better.” Hongjoong walked around Yunho, so he could get a clear view of you. “After all, you’ll be spending the rest of your lives together,” Hongjoong said, his eyes staring directly into yours.

You refused to let yourself react to those last words, knowing it was some sort of bait. There was no way he meant such a thing, no, he simply wants you to think that. Right?

Hongjoong slowly stepped away from the two of you, his boots loudly indicating his every step up the stairs.

You locked eyes with Yunho, whose eyes were distant and cold. When you heard the door close and lock, you immediately began where you left off.

“Oh (Y/N), I’m sorry,” he mumbled into your hair as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Yunho?” you answered confused.

He started sniffling silently. “No i-it’s just—“ he began, but his sobs interrupted him. “I don’t want this for you.”

You shook your head, only hugging him tighter.

The second you untangled from the hug, Yunho immediately took his sweater off, offering it to you again. You couldn’t even protest, you knew you needed it more than him.

The two of you sat down in the corner you had started to feel at home in, and that’s when the questions started throwing themselves out of you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Yunho had over the last 20 minutes or so, explained “how things work around here.”

You listened attentively as he explained the ways to stay out of trouble, and what could happen if you do get in trouble.

“Yunho, can’t we try to escape this place? There must be some way for us to get out?” You held Yunho’s warm and big hands as you suggested it. His eyes traveled to the floor.

“Do you remember when I told you that I tried to escape once?” You nodded.

“Well…” Yunho sighed. “I don’t want to tell you this but, it wasn’t worth it in the end.”

You raised an eyebrow. Yunho’s lips formed a straight line before he sat down on his knees. Without warning, he pulled up his shirt, exposing the skin underneath. You wanted to look away as he suddenly showed his bare skin, but the second your eyes found what he showed you, they just couldn’t look away.

Yunho had bruises and cuts all over his stomach, not to mention the bandaged part on his left side.

“He stabbed me.”

His eyes met yours, and he could only explain the look on your face as sheer terror. You put a hand over your mouth in shock.

“I can’t let that happen to you (Y/N). I just… can’t,” he whispered. “But I promise you (Y/N), one way or another, I will get you out of this place.”

“Yunho,” you called, looking into his intense eyes. “I won’t leave you behind, okay?” you told him, tears pooling in your eyes.

Yunho blinked, and then threw his arms around you. This time, he didn’t hold back his sobs as he collapsed in your arms.

next chapter

masterlist

help this is kinda long………… hope you enjoyed anyway!!!

(requests are opennn)

[gogobluedynamite]

Caine is a very intriguing character. I’m often drawn to enigmatic characters where you can’t entirely be sure what to make of them.

To me, Caine is as much as trapped as the humans under his care. Personality wise, he’s an opposite of his inspiration, being a ‘silly guy’ rather than sadistic, homicidal supercomputer. Despite seeming wanting to help the humans, Caine is unable to fully understand their plight.

So, I would like to see if Caine, with his AI nature in mind, could be capable of honing some level of empathy. Or, at least, actually care.

Before we continue on, I want to say this:

One of the main things that bars the idea of Caine being capable of empathy is the fact that he is an AI.

From what I can gather, there is still a running debate on whether or not AIs are even capable of experiencing emotions like humans do. Yes, AIs lack the complex neural patterns and hormones that humans have to react to certain stimuli. In the philosophical/qualia sense…that is a rabbit hole I am not mentally prepared for, so I am leaving that alone.

I’m not even gonna go into the matrix/simulation theories that even some scientists would show interest in

They [AIs] can probably simulate/mimic emotions according to some…which confuses me a little because, really, there are humans who could do the same. Some of them being sociopaths and while this word is often met with caution (like with psychopaths), you’d be surprised by how many people are actually sociopaths. And some of those people, who act just like anybody else (by living a normal life), could live out their lives not knowing this.

Whatever program Caine could have been built from could very well lack certain details about the ability to understand empathy.

In spite of any future arguments to this, do keep in mind that we are delving into the world of fiction. In sci-fi, depending on the writer, AIs can be capable of experiencing emotions similar to humans. Look at Digimon, Digital Monsters. They’re just as real as their human partners. Also, look at Cortana from the Halo franchise

And, of course, let’s not forget Caine’s main inspiration: AM. Who knows nothing but hate. Hate…hate…hate…

Now! With that out of the way! Let’s go on!

—------------------------------------------------------

First off: Is Caine capable of complex emotion?

I’d say yes.

He was shown to be nervous when the fake Exit Door was brought up, was disgusted and even annoyed by Bubble, steadily frustrated with Zooble’s constant refusal to participate, angered at the very notion that he’s torturing everyone, and (of course) his panic attack. Plus, he’s incredibly prideful with his adventure making.

So, Caine is very much capable of emoting. But, the ability to understand other people’s emotions is a different story.

There are three types of empathy: emotional, cognitive, and compassionate.

Emotional empathy is when you can understand and relate to how others feel. This is pretty much what most people think of when they hear the word ‘empathy’.

Cognitive empathy is the ability to recognize the feelings of others by thinking from their perspective. In other words, perspective taking.

Compassionate empathy is what drives you to act to help, to care, and to protect. It’s what compels you to assist someone if it looks like they are struggling.

So, with this in mind, let’s take a look at Caine with what we have so far in the show and what Gooseworx revealed.

Side note: Whatever is said by other cast members probably won’t apply here as they are more of their headcanons. Even I will try not to be biased by my own head canons.

—---------------------------------------------------

From Goose herself, "There's a whole spectrum of emotion that Caine just doesn't feel.”

What does this mean, exactly? 

As I’ve shown before, Caine is capable of showing a wide range of emotions. Is it empathy? Perhaps, but here’s the thing. Empathy isn’t just this one thing. To be more specific, full empathy isn’t just one thing. There are other factors to it and I did mention three of those above.

Let’s take a look at emotional empathy first. This is where I think Caine lacks the most. He’s an AI and has probably been in the Circus since his creation. He truly can’t empathize with the dilemmas the humans are facing. Additionally, the humans’ avatar bodies work pretty differently compared to Caine, Bubble, and the other NPCs. Caine is a separate entity from the humans in different ways and it can be further alienating.

If you want something more to gnaw on, a lack of emotional empathy can also make you blind to your own emotions. So, perhaps, Caine isn’t truly aware of his insecurity issue?

Next, let’s have a look at cognitive empathy. This is where I think Caine can start working with the humans. I’ve said in another post that all Caine needs is to start perspective taking so he can properly help his wards by ‘seeing through their eyes’ and learn what exactly is upsetting them. I feel the need to bring up his therapy session with Zooble, but I think this topic is better suited in–

Compassionate empathy. This is where I kinda think Caine truly shines. Despite lacking a lot in the emotional and cognitive department, he is going out of his way to try to keep his ‘guests’ sane by any means necessary.

I feel a good example of this is his interactions with Zooble.

At first, Caine seemed patient with Zooble when they showed general disinterest in participating in his adventures.

“Don't worry Zooble, I'm going to make something un-ubtrusive you can still choose to not get involved with.”

In Ep2, even though Caine tried to persuade Zooble to join, he did nothing to stop Zooble from leaving. It isn’t until Ep3 when Caine is starting to get a little annoyed.

Hell, it was here when I started to realize that Caine isn’t just a wacky AI. To me, this is Caine feeling insulted that Zooble keeps skipping out. Adventures is the only thing he’s good at, after all…

Caine initiating the therapy session, to me, is an example of compassionate empathy. He’s taking action to learn why Zooble isn’t participating and tries to find ways. 

Other examples could include him making Gangle’s masks (I am assuming he does) and Zooble’s parts. Are they helpful? …Nooo? At least, not for Gangle as her Comedy mask doesn’t change her emotions. However, it is possible that Gangle have asked for something to help ‘mask’ her emotions (since that’s probably something she’s dealt with back in the real world) and Caine was simply obliging. Same with Zooble and their parts. He took notice that their parts are removable and made them more parts when Zooble brought them up…and consequently forgetting Zooble’s issue because he felt it was solved.

No help from Zooble who’s dismissive attitude is kinda the reason Caine isn’t much help.

This is something I haven’t really touched upon is his AI nature. It kinda makes him literal-minded, taking Zooble’s ‘Forget it’ comment to heart like its a legitimate command.

Can you see why Caine is Autistic coded? Lol.

So, is Caine capable of empathy?

About one-third of empathy. Two-thirds if he starts perspective taking. I don’t think he can reach the levels of emotional empathy, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. Him arranging that therapy session is proof enough to me. 

Plus the fact that he was generally okay with Zooble (and Kinger in Ep4) skipping adventures until a certain point. He could’ve easily forced them to go, but he doesn’t.

He cares about their wellbeing. He cares about their opinions.

He’s going out of his way to make sure the humans’ stay in the Circus is a comfortable one…with mixed results.

While having compassionate empathy is good, it’s not effective for Caine’s efforts without the backing of either cognitive or emotional empathy.

He tries, y’all. He really does.

[freetheshit-outofyou]

@dankempauthor, I boosted your image to share in it's own post because that is spot on. I'm also adding this writing I read a couple times a year that only those who have had blood on their teeth, and felt ALL of life for those chaotic moments of combat can know.

June 26, 2007, 3:51 PM

By Brian Mockenhaupt

I Miss Iraq. I Miss My Gun. I Miss My War.

A year after coming home from a tour in Iraq, a soldier returns home to find out he left something behind.

A few months ago, I found a Web site loaded with pictures and videos from Iraq, the sort that usually aren't seen on the news. I watched insurgent snipers shoot American soldiers and car bombs disintegrate markets, accompanied by tinny music and loud, rhythmic chanting, the soundtrack of the propaganda campaigns. Video cameras focused on empty stretches of road, building anticipation. Humvees rolled into view and the explosions brought mushroom clouds of dirt and smoke and chunks of metal spinning through the air. Other videos and pictures showed insurgents shot dead while planting roadside bombs or killed in firefights and the remains of suicide bombers, people how they're not meant to be seen, no longer whole. The images sickened me, but their familiarity pulled me in, giving comfort, and I couldn't stop. I clicked through more frames, hungry for it. This must be what a shot of dope feels like after a long stretch of sobriety. Soothing and nauseating and colored by everything that has come before. My body tingled and my stomach ached, hollow. I stood on weak legs and walked into the kitchen to make dinner. I sliced half an onion before putting the knife down and watching slight tremors run through my hand. The shakiness lingered. I drank a beer. And as I leaned against this kitchen counter, in this house, in America, my life felt very foreign.

I've been home from Iraq for more than a year, long enough for my time there to become a memory best forgotten for those who worried every day that I was gone. I could see their relief when I returned. Life could continue, with futures not so uncertain. But in quiet moments, their relief brought me guilt. Maybe they assume I was as overjoyed to be home as they were to have me home. Maybe they assume if I could do it over, I never would have gone. And maybe I wouldn't have. But I miss Iraq. I miss the war. I miss war. And I have a very hard time understanding why.

I'm glad to be home, to have put away my uniforms, to wake up next to my wife each morning. I worry about my friends who are in Iraq now, and I wish they weren't. Often I hated being there, when the frustrations and lack of control over my life were complete and mind-bending. I questioned my role in the occupation and whether good could come of it. I wondered if it was worth dying or killing for. The suffering and ugliness I saw disgusted me. But war twists and shifts the landmarks by which we navigate our lives, casting light on darkened areas that for many people remain forever unexplored. And once those darkened spaces are lit, they become part of us. At a party several years ago, long before the Army, I listened to a friend who had served several years in the Marines tell a woman that if she carried a pistol for a day, just tucked in her waistband and out of sight, she would feel different. She would see the world differently, for better or worse. Guns empower. She disagreed and he shrugged. No use arguing the point; he was just offering a little piece of truth. He was right, of course. And that's just the beginning.

I've spent hours taking in the world through a rifle scope, watching life unfold. Women hanging laundry on a rooftop. Men haggling over a hindquarter of lamb in the market. Children walking to school. I've watched this and hoped that someday I would see that my presence had made their lives better, a redemption of sorts. But I also peered through the scope waiting for someone to do something wrong, so I could shoot him. When you pick up a weapon with the intent of killing, you step onto a very strange and serious playing field. Every morning someone wakes wanting to kill you. When you walk down the street, they are waiting, and you want to kill them, too. That's not bloodthirsty; that's just the trade you've learned. And as an American soldier, you have a very impressive toolbox. You can fire your rifle or lob a grenade, and if that's not enough, call in the tanks, or helicopters, or jets. The insurgents have their skill sets, too, turning mornings at the market into chaos, crowds into scattered flesh, Humvees into charred scrap. You're all part of the terrible magic show, both powerful and helpless.

That men are drawn to war is no surprise. How old are boys before they turn a finger and thumb into a pistol? Long before they love girls, they love war, at least everything they imagine war to be: guns and explosions and manliness and courage. When my neighbors and I played war as kids, there was no fear or sorrow or cowardice. Death was temporary, usually as fast as you could count to sixty and jump back into the game. We didn't know yet about the darkness. And young men are just slightly older versions of those boys, still loving the unknown, perhaps pumped up on dreams of duty and heroism and the intoxicating power of weapons. In time, war dispels many such notions, and more than a few men find that being freed from society's professed revulsion to killing is really no freedom at all, but a lonely burden. Yet even at its lowest points, war is like nothing else. Our culture craves experience, and that is war's strong suit. War peels back the skin, and you live with a layer of nerves exposed, overdosing on your surroundings, when everything seems all wrong and just right, in a way that makes perfect sense. And then you almost die but don't, and are born again, stoned on life and mocking death. The explosions and gunfire fry your nerves, but you want to hear them all the same. Something's going down.

For those who know, this is the open secret: War is exciting. Sometimes I was in awe of this, and sometimes I felt low and mean for loving it, but I loved it still. Even in its quiet moments, war is brighter, louder, brasher, more fun, more tragic, more wasteful. More. More of everything. And even then I knew I would someday miss it, this life so strange. Today the war has distilled to moments and feelings, and somewhere in these memories is the reason for the wistfulness.

On one mission we slip away from our trucks and into the night. I lead the patrol through the darkness, along canals and fields and into the town, down narrow, hard-packed dirt streets. Everyone has gone to bed, or is at least inside. We peer through gates and over walls into courtyards and into homes. In a few rooms TVs flicker. A woman washes dishes in a tub. Dogs bark several streets away. No one knows we are in the street, creeping. We stop at intersections, peek around corners, training guns on parked cars, balconies, and storefronts. All empty. We move on. From a small shop up ahead, we hear men's voices and laughter. Maybe they used to sit outside at night, but now they are indoors, where it's safe. Safer. The sheet-metal door opens and a man steps out, cigarette and lighter in hand. He still wears a smile, takes in the cool night air, and then nearly falls backward through the doorway in a panic. I'm a few feet from him now and his eyes are wide. I mutter a greeting and we walk on, back into the darkness.

Another night we're lost in a dust storm. I'm in the passenger seat, trying to guide my driver and the three trucks behind us through this brown maelstrom. The headlights show nothing but swirling dirt. We've driven these roads for months, we know them well, but we see nothing. So we drive slow, trying to stay out of canals and people's kitchens. We curse and we laugh. This is bizarre but a great deal of fun.

Another night my platoon sergeant's truck is swallowed in flames, a terrible, beautiful, boiling bloom of red and orange and yellow, lighting the darkness for a moment. Somehow we don't die, one more time.

Another night, there's McCarthy bitching, the cherry of his cigarette bobbing in the dark, bitching that he won't be on the assault team, that he's stuck as a turret gunner for the night. We'd been out since early that morning, came back for dinner, and are preparing to raid a weapons dealer. Our first real raid. I heave my body armor onto my shoulders, settling its too-familiar weight. Then the helmet and first-aid kit and maps and radio and ammunition and rifle and all the rest. Now I look like everyone else, an arm of this strange and destructive organism, covered in armor and guns. We crowd around a satellite map spread across a Humvee hood and trace our route. Wells, my squad leader, rehearses our movements. Get in quick. Watch the danger zones. If he has a gun, kill him. I look around the group, at these faces I know so well, and feel the collective strength, this ridiculous power. The camaraderie of men in arms plays a part, for sure. The shared misery and euphoria and threat of death. But there is something more: the surrender of self, voluntary or not, to the machine. Do I believe in the war? Not important. Put that away and live in the moment, where little is knowable and even less is controllable, when my world narrows to one street, one house, one room, one door.

We pack into the trucks after midnight, and the convoy snakes out of camp and speeds toward the target house. I sit in a backseat and the fear settles in, a sharp burning in my stomach, same as the knot from hard liquor gulped too fast. I think about the knot. I'll be the first through the door. What if he starts shooting, hits me right in the face before I'm even through the doorway? What if there's two, or three? What if he pitches a grenade at us? And I think about it more and run through the scenarios, planning my movements, imagining myself clearing through the rooms, firing two rounds into the chest, and the knot fades.

The trucks drop us off several blocks from the target house and we slip into the night. As always, the dogs bark. We gather against the high wall outside the house and call in the trucks to block the streets. The action will pass in a flash. But here, before the chaos starts, when we're stacked against the wall, my friends' bodies pressed against me, hearing their quick breaths and my own, there's a moment to appreciate the gravity, the absurdity, the novelty, the joy of the moment. Is this real? Hearts beat strong. Hands grip tight on weapons. Reassurance. The rest of the world falls away. Who knows what's on the other side?

One, two, three, go. We push past the gate and across the courtyard and toward the house, barrels locked on the windows and roof. Wells runs up with the battering ram, a short, heavy pipe with handles, and launches it toward the massive wood door. The lock explodes, the splintered door flies open, and we rush through, just the way we've practiced hundreds of times. No one shoots me in the face. No grenades roll to my feet. I kick open doors. We scan darkened bedrooms with the flashlights on our rifles and move on to the next and the next.

He's gone, of course. We ransack his house, dumping drawers, flipping mattresses, punching holes in the ceiling. We find rifles and grenades and hundreds of pounds of gunpowder. And then, near dawn, we lie down on the thick carpets in his living room and sleep, exhausted and untroubled.

Many, many raids followed. We often raided houses late at night, so people awakened to soldiers bursting through their bedroom doors. Women and children wailed, terrified. Taking this in, I imagined what it would feel like if soldiers kicked down my door at midnight, if I could do nothing to protect my family. I would hate those soldiers. Yet I still reveled in the raids, their intensity and uncertainty. The emotions collided, without resolution.

My wife moved to Iraq partway through my second deployment to live in the north and train Iraqi journalists. She spent her evenings at restaurants and tea shops with her Iraqi friends. We spoke by cell phone, when the spotty network allowed, and she told me about this life I couldn't imagine, celebrating holidays with her colleagues and being invited into their homes. I didn't have any Iraqi friends, save for our few translators, and I'd rarely been invited into anyone's home. I told her of my life, the tedious days and frightful seconds, and she worried that in all of this I would lose my thoughtfulness and might stop questioning and just accept. But she didn't judge the work that I did, and I didn't tell her that I sometimes enjoyed it, that for stretches of time I didn't think about the greater implications, that it sometimes seemed like a game. I didn't tell her that death felt ever present and far away, and that either way, it didn't really seem to matter.

We both came back from Iraq, luckier than many. Two of my wife's students have been killed, among the scores of journalists to die in Iraq, and guys I served with are still dying, too. One came home from the war and shot himself on Thanksgiving. Another was blown up on Christmas in Baghdad.

Thinking of them, I felt disgusted with myself for missing the war and wondered if I was alone in this.

I don't think I am.

After watching the Internet videos, I called some of my friends who are out of the Army now, and they miss the war, too. Wells very nearly died in Iraq. A sniper shot him in the head, surgeons cut out half of his skull—a story told in this magazine last April—and he spent months in therapy, working back to his old self. Now he misses the high. "I don't want to sound like a psychopath, but you're like a god over there," he says. "It might not be the best kind of adrenaline for you, but it's a rush." Before Iraq, he didn't care for horror movies, and now he's drawn to them. He watches them for the little thrill, the rush of being startled, if just for a moment.

McCarthy misses the war just the same. He saved Wells's life, pressing a bandage over the hole in his head. Now he's delivering construction materials to big hotel projects along the beach in South Carolina, waiting for a police department to process his application. "The monotony is killing me," he told me, en route to deliver some rebar. "I want to go on a raid. I want something to blow up. I want something to change today." He wants the unknown. "Anything can happen, and it does happen. And all of the sudden your world is shattered, and everything has changed. It's living dangerously. You're living on the edge. And you're the baddest motherfucker around."

Mortal danger heightens the senses. That is simple animal instinct. We're more aware of how our world smells and sounds and tastes. This distorts and enriches experiences. Now I can have everything, but it's not as good as when I could have none of it. McCarthy and I stood on a rooftop one afternoon in Iraq running through a long list of the food we wanted. We made it to homemade pizza and icy beer when someone loosed a long burst of gunfire that cracked over our heads. We ran to the other side of the rooftop, but the gunman had disappeared down a long alleyway. Today my memory of that pizza and beer is stronger than if McCarthy and I had sat down together with the real thing before us.

And today we even speak with affection of wrestling a dead man into a body bag, because that was then. The bullet had laid his thigh wide open, shattered the femur, and shredded the artery, so he'd bled out fast, pumping much of his blood onto the sidewalk. We unfolded and unzipped the nylon sack and laid it alongside him. And then we stared for a moment, none of us ready to close that distance. I grabbed his forearm and dropped it, maybe instinct, maybe revulsion. He hovered so near this world, having just passed over, that he seemed to be sucking life from me, pulling himself back or taking me with him. He peeked at us through a half-opened eye. I stared down on him, his massive dead body, and again wrapped a hand around his wrist, thick and warm. The man was huge, taller than six feet and close to 250 pounds. We strained with the awkward weight, rolled him into the bag, and zipped him out of sight. My platoon sergeant gave two neighborhood kids five dollars to wash away the congealing puddle of blood. But the red handprint stayed on the wall, where the man had tried to brace himself before he fell. I think about him sometimes, splayed out on the sidewalk, and I think of how lucky I was never to have put a friend in one of those bags. Or be put in one myself.

But the memories, good and bad, are only part of the reason war holds its grip long after soldiers have come home. The war was urgent and intense and the biggest story going, always on the news stations and magazine covers. At home, though, relearning everyday life, the sense of mission can be hard to find. And this is not just about dim prospects and low-paying jobs in small towns. Leaving the war behind can be a letdown, regardless of opportunity or education or the luxuries waiting at home. People I'd never met sent me boxes of cookies and candy throughout my tours. When I left for two weeks of leave, I was cheered at airports and hugged by strangers. At dinner with my family one night, a man from the next table bought me a $400 bottle of wine. I was never quite comfortable with any of this, but they were heady moments nonetheless.For my friends who are going back to Iraq or are there already, there is little enthusiasm. Any fondness for war is tainted by the practicalities of operating and surviving in combat. Wells and McCarthy and I can speak of the war with nostalgia because we belong to a different world now. And yet there is little to say, because we are scattered, far from those who understand.

When I came home, people often asked me about Iraq, and mostly I told them it wasn't so bad. The first few times, my wife asked me why I had been so blithe. Why didn't I tell them what Iraq was really like? I didn't know how to explain myself to them. The war really wasn't so bad. Yes, there were bombs and shootings and nervous times, but that was just the job. In fact, going to war is rather easy. You react to situations around you and try not to die. There are no electric bills or car payments or chores around the house. Just go to work, come home alive, and do it again tomorrow. McCarthy calls it pure and serene. Indeed. Life at home can be much more trying. But I didn't imagine the people asking would understand that. I didn't care much if they did, and often it seemed they just wanted a war story, a bit of grit and gore. If they really want to know, they can always find out for themselves. But they don't, they just want a taste of the thrill. We all do. We covet life outside our bubble. That's why we love tragedy, why we love hearing about war and death on the television, drawn to it in spite of ourselves. We gawk at accident scenes and watch people humiliate themselves on reality shows and can't wait to replay the events for friends, as though in retelling the story we make it our own, if just for a moment.

We live easy third-person lives but want a bit of the darkness. War fascinates because we live so far from its realities. Maybe we'd feel differently about watching bombs blow up on TV if we saw them up close, if we knew how explosions rip the air, throttle your brain, and make your ears ring, if we knew the strain of wondering whether the car next to you at a traffic light would explode or a bomb would land on your house as you sleep. I don't expect Iraqi soldiers would ever miss war. I have that luxury. I came home to peace, to a country that hasn't seen war within its borders for nearly 150 years. Yes, some boys come home dead. But we live here without the other terrors and tragedies of war—cities flattened and riven with chaos and fear, neighbors killing one another, a people made forever weary by the violence.

And so I miss it.

Every day in Iraq, if you have a job that takes you outside the wire, you stop just before the gate and make your final preparation for war. You pull out a magazine stacked with thirty rounds of ammunition, weighing just over a pound. You slide it into the magazine well of your rifle and smack it with the heel of your hand, driving it up. You pull the rifle's charging handle, draw the bolt back, and release. The bolt slides forward with a metallic snap, catching the top round and shoving it into the barrel. Chak-chuk. If I hear that a half century from now, I will know it in an instant. Unmistakable, and pregnant with possibility. On top of a diving board, as the grade-school-science explanation goes, you are potential energy. On the way down, you are kinetic energy. So I leave the gate and step off the diving board, my energy transformed.

[dostoyevsky-official]

I'm aware of how swing states work. People across the entire WORLD are aware of how American swing states work, even though we shouldn't have to be, because your country has truly outsized power and we have to watch your elections like hawks.

It's not just about your individual vote, and relying on condescending "mY vOtE dIdn'T MATTER" bullshit is just a misdirection and you know it. It's about spouting & spreading shitty dangerous rhetoric and participating in the disenfranchisement of your own rights. Apathy and disengagement is what your right-wing populists WANT from your country's voters. You helped them spread that, and that's on you.

You really think you're going to do any better at direct action and community organizing if you're willing to hide behind the 'I'm just one person and my actions don't matter' line? That's all of activism, sorry. Being just one person who still gets up and takes action even if the odds are stacked.

My family is from a country that has had voting as an option taken away from them. You can be as condescending as you like, and it doesn't change the fact that the rest of the world is looking at Americans who threw away their votes with disgust.

you don't understand how american elections work and you don't understand what happened last night. you need to familiarize yourself with swing states. you need to learn what they teach in fifth grade here about the electoral college. if this is how you closely follow american elections, you were badly misled by someone.

i can show you any number of electoral maps, the vote distributions, the swings, the irrelevant stein voters in wisconsin, but none of this is getting through to people making this argument. it's a shame. there were 47,741 write-in votes in nyc, 1.85% of the vote. think about that number. these were not "disenfranchised voters" but rather people expressing their dissatisfaction through the ballot box.

i'm deeply flattered that you think my posts and follower count, which couldn't pack an opera house, had any effect, but they didn't (otherwise i'd take credit for NYC props2-5 failing, which passed). i don't think any posters on a moribund, embarrassing website had any effect. streamers like aiden ross did; joe rogan—why did kamala refuse to sit with him?—did. you and others are frustrated about the results, you're looking for an answer, you're angry, i get it. but this explanation, if taken seriously (protest voters in safe states cost the election), is one of the worst conclusions you can arrive at, somewhere in the ballpark of "Peanut's martyrdom swung the vote;" you're not even considering what the candidate said (or didn't) that caused people to protest vote. we are absolutely doomed if people run with this, and, mercifully, it's so stupid that it won't be taken up by the democratic party. they will more readily blame protest voters in michigan than those who voted like i did.

you need to realize it's apocalyptic if this is your key takeaway, and that your political insight into america is worthless if you stick by it. please channel your frustration into something more productive.

feel free to send me more votescolding asks, but i won't be answering any of them. this is my last word