#intentional infliction of emotional distress

[webmaster2k]

⚖️⚖️ Tasha K Apology To Cardi B After She Loses Appeal Against Her Guilt...

[lesbianlenas]

supergirl writers should unironically go to jail for not writing a second red k kara ep. in fact when i take criminal law next semester i WILL be looking for crimes to charge them on for that know this.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

two of the transfems youre friends with have been talking to you about the clinic they got their bottom surgery done at. apparently its dirt cheap, and the surgeon - despite some oddities and, your friends admit, poor hygiene - is incredibly talented. theyre more than happy to give you her phone number when you ask, and while it sounds simultaneously incredibly sketchy and way too good to be true, at this point youre just so broke, desperate, and tired of gatekeepers that you're willing to give it a shot.

you call on a thursday afternoon, and the call is picked up on the fourth ring, when youre just gearing up to hear an answering machine. the voice on the other end sounds like a middle-aged woman with a smoking habit trying to sound like a cheery, bubbly young girl, and mostly succeeding. hiiiii! what can i do for you? she asks. you say er im looking for a surgical clinic is this the right number? she says mhm! thats me. you say okay, i just have a few questions. she says shoot. you say do you take patients who arent referred to you? she says nobody refers patients to me so yes. then she giggles. youve never heard somebody pull off a giggle in real life. you ask okay, so ive been looking for a place to get my metoidoplasty done, can you do that here? she says i dont know what that is give me like five seconds. then the line goes silent. you can hear her typing on a mechanical keyboard and humming to herself as she reads. youre now convinced that this is not in any way a legitimate medical institution.

youre about to hang up when she comes back on the line. OH you need a dick she says. sure i can do that! does tuesday afternoon work for you? i have that morning free too but i HATE getting up in the mornings so id rather not schedule it if i have to. you say tuesday afternoon is fine, how long should i expect the visit to be? she says i dont know like seven hours? you say seven hours? she says yeah give or take a few, every person is different so i dont know what itll be like until ive got your cunt opened up. honestly probably best to take the whole day off just in case it turns out to be a tough operation. you dont respond to that immediately. she says oh shoot should i not use the word cunt, is that too gendered? sorry. you say no its fine. you say i thought i was just going in for a consult? she says i mean yeah if youd rather. i dont mind doing same-day but some people like having more time to think about their options. do you have somewhere to be tuesday night or something? you say no its just... no tuesday afternoon should be fine. she says okay great!

she gives you her address. she says knock three times so i know its you and not my parole officer. parole officer you ask? she says im being good i promise but i still hate talking to him hes boring. you say if you dont mind me asking what were you imprisoned for? she says the ones i plead guilty to at the trial were a hundred and ninety-two counts of first-degree murder with a parahuman ability, two hundred and fifty-six counts of physical and emotional torture with a parahuman ability, five hundred and six counts of intentional infliction of emotional distress with a parahuman ability, four hundred ninety-eight counts of aggravated assault and battery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty five counts of domestic terrorism with a parahuman ability and two hundred and twelve counts without, three counts of arson, two hundred forty two counts of burglary with a parahuman ability, three hundred eight four counts of robbery with a parahuman ability, four hundred twenty seven counts of abduction with a parahuman ability, a hundred eighty six counts of human trafficking with a parahuman ability, three hundred ninety counts of destruction of public property with a parahuman ability, eighty counts of possession of a controlled substance, more than three thousand conspiracy and complicity charges in various felonies, eighteen violations of the Geneva Conventions, and the unauthorized practice of medicine. i plead not guilty to the larceny, sexual assault, contempt of court, corporate espionage, and identity theft charges and the prosecutor didnt really try to fight it since i had already earned seventy life sentences from the other stuff so im technically innocent of those.

you dont say anything to that.

after three seconds of silence she says sooooooooo i'll see you tuesday? you say tuesday, yeah. what was your name again? Riley, she says. Riley Grace Davis. you say thanks again and then hang up.

you debate constantly during the intervening days whether you should go on tuesday. youre grateful your friend group is so slutty; it means youve already seen with your own eyes that this surgery is real and not just a lure to murder you. still, you have some reservations, which you think is perfectly understandable.

you call one of your friends whos been there already. she picks up and you say if this is a joke its only sort of funny. she says if whats a joke? you say the clinic. you say you DID give me the actual number to the place where you actually had your bottom surgery done right? she says yeah, dont worry the surgeons so sweet. you say she admitted to doing two hundred murders when she was on the phone. she says i dont know anything about that but i trust her. you say if i end up dead, kidnapped, or mutilated, its your fault. she says dont worry about it.

tuesday comes. you never agreed to an exact time so you show up as early as you can and still have it be "afternoon" in your mind - 12:30. you climb the rusted fire escape to the third floor door and knock three times. the door is answered by a woman six feet tall in casual but very nice clothes with frizzy brown hair and an expression you cant read. you say er, riley? she says nope. another girl pushes past her, exasperated. she's maybe five foot two and her wavy blonde hair is worn down, with a red bow in it. she's wearing torn jeans - naturally torn, not the sort that you buy with holes in them that youve always hated but the kind that were once normal jeans and now have worn through much of the fabric on the knees. her tshirt is faded and has stains that you cant quite place on it, but youre pretty sure it was once Eidolon merchandise.

she says damnit amy let me answer the door next time. the taller woman, amy apparently, shrugs and steps aside to let you in riley claps her hands together once youre inside and the door is shut. introductions! she shouts. amy, this is, er... I never actually got your name? you tell them your name. she says right! hes one of my clients. and this is Amy, my sister. dont worry about her, shes just a little awkward. amy says can you PLEASE not introduce me as your sister. riley says make me. then she grabs amys shirt and pulls her down, standing on her tiptoes at the same time. they kiss in a very un-sisterly way. you clear your throat politely.

riley breaks away and says right, yeah, sorry! i get distracted easy. youre here to get a dick right. you splutter a bit, both at the bluntness of the question and the fact that amy is still standing right there. riley follows your gaze. she says oh dont worry about her! sorry, i wouldve run her off earlier, i thought you wouldnt come by for another few hours. you say sorry. she says dont worry, its her fault. amy says you didnt tell me you had a client. riley says you didnt ASK. you clear your throat politely again. you say er yes, i did come in for metoidoplasty. she bites her lip and furrows her brow. she says metoido... oh right. well i dont really do that here but i can give you a dick. you say uh im not really interested in phalloplasty. she says whats phalloplasty? amy says its the construction of a penis, usually via tissue flap taken from another part of the body, often followed by the insertion of prosthetics to allow the constructed penis to achieve erection. riley says oh, huh. yeah i dont do that either. i can give you a dick though. she takes a second then puts on an exaggerated scowl. who would want that she asks? amy says lots of people prefer it to metoido for aesthetic reasons or because they dont think theyll be large enough for penetrative sex with metoido. riley says but it wouldnt feel like a dick! man, some surgeons are talentless hacks.

you clear your throat again. you say so if youre- riley says youre clearing your throat a lot, are you okay? you say im fine, its just- she says oh duh were being so rude! why are we all standing around here. come sit down in the living room, do you want anything to drink? she leads you into the living room. it has the unmistakable air of a room thats been cleaned recently, with vacuuming marks present in the carpet and the unmistakable scent of air freshener. the sofa that you're gestured to sit on is, by contrast, unbelievably filthy. stains of every sort are visible on it - some of them are obvious, like the patches of blood and vomit or the ring of a coffee mug. others take you a second to place, like the crusty streak along one cushion that you realize all at once is semen, or the sticky yellow parts that you hope to god are honey. some of them, like the muddy green handprint along one arm of the sofa or the deep black smudge along a seat, are completely foreign to you. you can smell it from several feet away.

amy notices your hesitancy. she says i keep telling her to throw that thing out. riley says and i keep telling HER that its a relic from earth bet! its an antique and itll be worth millions soon. it just needs a good deep cleaning. amy says what that sofa needs is a bullet, not a deep clean. you sit down. drink? riley asks. you say er what do you have? she says water, diet coke, vodka, coffee. no more beer though, SOMEBODY drank the last one. amy says you never said they were off limits! riley says they arent, im just teasing. you say waters fine. riley says aaaaaaaaaamyyyyyyy, could you pleeeeeeaaaaaaaase go get our guest a glass of water and me a diet coke? oh and can you grab the pill bottle on the second shelf of the spice cabinet. amy says sure, i'll be right back.

riley sits down next to you. she says sooooooo what do you want for your dick? you say sorry, if youre not doing phallo or metoido then what exactly are you offering? she says no offense but it would take like literally eight years to give you enough background info for you to understand my explanation, and i dont have that kind of time. im not getting any younger. except for when i am. she laughs louder than you thought a human could. you have no idea how to describe the sound of her laughter. she says just tell me about your dream dick and ill give it to you. trust me, im a doctor.

except that youre not, amy says, returning with glasses and pills in hand. she sets the water down in front of you and you immediately take large gulps, feeling very much lost right now. riley says am TOO, accepting the pill bottle and diet coke from amy. she frowns. why is it can diet coke, she asks? she says glass bottle is so much better. she says why did i even BUY can. amy says they are literally the same liquid, what do you mean its better. riley says theyre not the same, stop deluding yourself. amy says which of us is the REAL doctor? riley says both of us! the PRT finally issued me an equivalency. youre talking to doctor riley davis, MED. amy says oh really? congrats she says. riley beams. then she unscrews the lid of the unlabeled, dark brown glass bottle, grabs three pills, and pops them into her mouth.

what is that you ask. ectasy she says. you want some? you say no thanks. she says you sure? you say i probably shouldnt take drugs before an operation, what if it interacts with the anesthetic? riley says dont worry, i made my own anesthetic that has zero drug-drug interactions. amy says except with sudafed. riley says ok YEAH except with sudafed, how was i supposed to know? she glances at you. you dont take sudafed do you she asks. you say no. she says good. it was such a bitch cleaning the pus off the ceiling she says. you say huh? she says dont worry about it, you dont take sudafed. she says are you sure you dont want any ecstasy? i promise its pure. you say i dont want to get addicted. she says i can surgically remove the addiction pathway from your brain if that would help. amy says riley, no means no. riley says fine. do you want any ecstasy babe? she says no thanks. riley frowns. she says you guys are a bunch of squares. she pops a fourth one and starts chugging diet coke.

she slams the can down after drinking what must be half of it, wipes her mouth with her arm and grins. sorry, we keep getting distracted! she says. she says im getting into the start of a manic episode and that always makes me roll right over people in conversation. what do you want for your dick? you say um. i hadnt really thought about it. its not normally a choice beyond the type of surgery, you sort of just end up with whatever the doctors are able to make work? thats lame she says. why are normal doctors all so lame she says. ok, rude amy says. OBVIOUSLY im not talking about you babe riley says. and stop distracting me from my client! amy holds up her hands in mock surrender, an easy smile on her face.

you didnt bring a toy with you did you, riley asks. you say huh. she says sometimes people bring a toy that they want me to model it after and that makes everything a lot easier. you say no you didn't. you say i hadn't really thought about my preferences, can we go dealer's choice on this? amy pipes up. she says you REALLY dont want riley to go dealers choice. riley says shut up and get me another diet coke, i just finished this one. amy says yes princess. you honestly cant read whether it was meant to be mocking or endearing. riley turns back to you. ok, she says, lets start with basics. primate? canid? equine? suine? dolphin? i could give you a hyena pseudopenis but i dont know if that would be offensive. you say human is fine. she says please dont tell me you're gonna just be boring this whole time. you say define boring. she sighs deeply and starts massaging her temples. amy, having stepped into the room in time to hear the last bit of conversation, tousles rileys hair. she says sorry babe, customer's always right.

you work out the appearance of your soon-to-exist cock this way. riley asks questions about length, girth, hair, amount of semen generated, percentage growth when erect, and you try to give what you think are average answers every time. amy watches, bemused, the whole time. halfway through she leaves to get the bottle of vodka. she drinks five shots in fifteen minutes. you say i didnt think the human body had that much capacity for alcohol resistance. she says it doesnt. riley swats playfully at her arm.

eventually, riley grabs a set of crayons and a cocktail napkin. she says ok, i think we got it, scribbling furiously. she shows you a crayon drawing of a dick. this look good she asks? you squint at it. there are no measurements given and the medium does not allow you to make out any fine detail. you say yeah thats fine. amy tries and fails to hide a smile. riley chucks the napkin aside and rubs her hands together. boring parts done! she says. time to get messy she says. amy pours a sixth shot of vodka. she says dont forget the anesthetic first. riley rolls her eyes. she says OBVIOUSLY i didnt forget the anesthetic. she says ill be right back. as soon as she leaves the room, amy knocks back her shot. she turns to you. she says you mind if i stay and watch? she says i dont want to make you uncomfortable, but i like watching her work. shes cute when shes working. you say at this point youre not sure you would mind anything at all. you say at this point you dont think you would be fazed if she came back with a fully-formed dick wriggling around in her hand like a fish and sewed it onto me. she says dont tempt fate.

riley comes back with a black bag the size of her head, which she sets on the coffee table with a thunk. she points at you and says okay, clothes off. or pants off i guess. you can leave the shirt on. or take it off. i dont care. you take it off. she tells you to lie down and starts pulling things out of the bag. amy stands up from the sofa to give you the space to stretch out and sits on the coffee table instead, one leg pulled up to her chest with her chin resting on her knee.

riley pulls out a syringe from the bag, filled with pitch-black fluid. she says okay this will hurt for a second but only for a second. you say huh? she flips you over onto your belly and jabs the needle against your lower back, into your spinal column. it hurts like a bitch for all of two seconds and then you stop feeling anything at all in your lower body. you also cant move your legs, you realize. what just happened you ask, as she flips you onto your back again. she says i just killed all the cells in the nerves in your lower spine. she says its the easiest way to make sure none of the pain signals slip through, and she'll just replace them with living ones when she's done. you don't know how to respond to that.

she pulls more things out of the bag. a cartoonish array of different cutting implements come out. most of them are various sizes of medical scalpel, ring cutter, or saw, but you also see a pair of chunky pink safety scissors, a pizza cutter, a serrated bread knife, an x-acto, a drill with a comically long bit, a pair of wire cutters, gardening shears, and an awl. she says okay im gonna start operating so look away if you dont wanna see how your crotch looks while its being rearranged. especially if you think you might puke, i hate having to stop to clean up puke in the middle of surgery. you look away. you notice amy is watching transfixed.

for a couple of hours things go on like that. amy and riley make light conversation, with riley filling any silence by humming a wordless tune you dont know. the sounds and smells youre getting are enough to make you slightly sick; you continue not looking.

in the middle of hour two, riley stops. oh goddamnit, she says. what amy asks? riley says she forgot that shed need extra meat. amy says you started a surgery to give somebody a whole new organ and forgot youd need more tissue to do it? riley says shut up, im dumb. amy says no youre not babe. riley says ughhhhh now what. amy says just get his stem cells to grow the tissue you need. riley says nooooooo thatll take forever, and i have places to BE tomorrow, and if i stop putting pressure on him here hes going to bleed out through his cunt. you say wait, what? amy says well i dont know what you want me to do about this situation, i gave you my solution. riley says baaaaaaaaaaabe. amy says whaaaaaaaaaaaat. riley says i think we have some bacon in the fridge, will you pretty please with sprinkles on top go get it? amy says and what do i get in return? riley says a kiss. amy says id get that anyway. riley says my undying love and affection. amy says i have that already. riley says not making me angry at you so you can sleep under my roof without having to worry that ill turn your sweat glands into acid glands in the middle of the night. amy says that, plus i get to top tonight. riley says fiiiiiiiiine, just go get the bacon. amy gets up.

you say look uh i know you said not to question what youre doing but i kind of dont want a dick made of bacon, not to sound ungrateful. also did you say something about me bleeding out? riley says dont worry, if you bleed out ill put the blood back in, im a professional. you say thats not as reassuring as she thinks it is. riley says whos the doctor, mister? you say technically both of us. i have a phd in social sciences you say. she says wow, theyre just giving out doctorates for anything these days, huh? you say hey, rude. she says only teasing. you say anyway, uh, you didnt address the bacon dick thing? she says oh dont worry about it, my amys amazing, youll see.

amy comes back in with the package of bacon. do you need this in any particular shape she asks. riley says nah just give me a good amount of it. and make sure its spongy, so when he gets hard the blood can- amy cuts her off. she says dont worry, ive given you enough penises at this point that i think i know what penile tissue is like at this point. you say given her enough penises? what the hell does that mean? riley says hey, dont kinkshame! she sounds legitimately offended. you say sorry. amy pulls the bacon out of the package, holding it aloft in her left hand. you watch as the familiar look of a half-pound of bacon shifts and warps into a strange lump of fatty, spongy tissue of a waxy color. she hands it to riley. riley says thanks sis youre the best, love you! amy says no problem. riley says id kiss you if i wasnt elbow deep in this guys cunt right now. amy says kiss me after the surgerys done.

another two hours go by. the sounds of flesh being chopped, sawed, and stitched underscore riley and amys meaningless conversation about whether they HAVE to attend their acquaintance lisa's birthday party. riley says lisa probably wouldn't throw a birthday party if there wasn't some sort of scheme going on. amy agrees but says that doesnt indicate whether they should get involved with the scheme or not. you wonder dimly if you will ever feel your lower body again. you wonder if this is purgatory, an endless afternoon of lesbians bickering affectionately while one of them does surgery on you. you turn your head enough to look at the clock. its 5:26pm. where the fuck did the time go?

another hour passes. riley stands up. she is soaked up to her elbow in various bodily fluids - mostly blood, but youre not looking too closely. she says finally! she says just need to regrow your nerve cells now. you say is that going to take long? she says like twenty minutes maybe as she flips you over. you say ok. she jams a different needle into the same spot, injecting a strange yellow paste into your spine. she then flips you onto your back again. you feel brave enough to finally look at your crotch.

there is a completely normal human penis of average size there. you reach a hand down and touch it. you dont have any sensation in it yet since your nerves are all still dead, but it feels warm and soft under your hands. you smile, feeling tears come to your eyes. its over.

rileys talking. she says i followed your specifications except i had to cheat a bit on the nerves, you actually didnt have very many in your clit for whatever reason so your glans has maybe eight thousand fewer nerves than you wanted, sorry about that. she says i gave you balls in your scrotum for shape but since you said you didnt want kids they dont produce sperm. let me know if you want that changed she says. she says it should be fully functional in every respect, but if you notice any erectile dysfunction, incontinence, discoloration in urine or semen, priapism, or any other issue come back and we'll sort it out. if you notice it bleeding in ANY capacity, call me immediately. if im not answering call Amy, ill give you her number. if SHES not answering either then you can start seeing normal doctors, not that those idiots will know how to help you probably. if you want any changes to it call me and ill pencil you in to get it adjusted. get all that she asks. you nod. she says cool. she says itll be like $200, no rush if youre not able to pay right now. you say it might be a bit since youre still trying to pay interest on your student loan debt. wait, she says, they have student loans again? you nod. she says the world ended like thirty years ago, when did they set up student loans again? fuck, how much do you owe? you say a little under eighty thousand. she says jesus fuck, nevermind, its free. goddamn. you say thank you so much. she says yeah of course. do you want us to dress you or do you want to wait until you can move and do it yourself?

[twistiraki]

🎀The Twisted Wonderland housewardens save you from your bullies 🎀

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗ TᗯIᔕTEᗪ ᗯOᑎᗪEᖇᒪᗩᑎᗪ Characters Riddle, Leona, Azul, Kalim, Vil, Idia, Malleus x F!Reader Warnings bullying ‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The cold, oppressive atmosphere of Night Raven College bore witness to the relentless cruelty inflicted upon Y/n by the three Savanaclaw students. They were a toxic trio, reveling in the sadistic pleasure of tormenting the lone soul who dared to be different.

In the shadows of the twisting corridors, the bullies cornered Y/n with malevolent grins and whispered taunts. "Look who we have here, the little misfit," sneered one of them, his words dripping with disdain.

Y/n, a stoic figure determined to withstand the onslaught, clenched her teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing her crack. The leader of the tormentors, a sinister figure with a twisted smile, circled her like a predator closing in on its prey.

"What's the matter, Y/n? Cat got your tongue?" another jeered, causing the trio to burst into mocking laughter. The echoes of their cruelty resonated through the desolate halls, amplifying Y/n's isolation.

Their torment wasn't limited to words alone; the bullies seized every opportunity to strip Y/n of her dignity. One day, they snatched her bag, rifling through its contents like scavengers pillaging a carcass. They tossed her belongings carelessly on the cold floor, savoring the sight of her distress.

On another occasion, the trio targeted Y/n during a public event, exploiting the vulnerability of the crowded space. They humiliated her with disparaging remarks, their malicious words cutting through the air like a relentless storm. Y/n, standing alone amidst the sea of indifferent faces, fought back tears, unwilling to grant them the satisfaction of witnessing her vulnerability.

The torment escalated when the bullies, driven by an insidious desire to break her spirit, attempted to steal Y/n's clothing. The malicious intent behind their actions was clear, pushing her to the brink of despair.

In that harrowing moment, as they tugged at the fabric that shielded her from their malicious intent, Y/n's defenses crumbled. The tears she had fought so hard to contain spilled over, marking her surrender to the relentless darkness that engulfed her.

The bullies reveled in their perceived victory, their laughter echoing like a haunting melody. Y/n, now defenseless and broken, sank to her knees, a shattered reflection of the person she used to be.

Yet, as the trio reveled in their malevolence, the distant echo of approaching footsteps disrupted their sadistic revelry… 

The cold corridors of Night Raven College seemed to intensify as the bullies' attention shifted from Y/n to the unexpected intruder, Riddle Rosehearts. The leader of the trio, emboldened by a sense of defiance, sneered, "What's the Heartslabyul housewarden doing, playing the hero? Is this your new pet project, Rosehearts?"

Riddle's stern expression remained steadfast, a protective shield against the barbs directed his way. "I'm enforcing the rules, something you three seem to have forgotten. Now, leave her alone," he retorted, his tone laced with an unyielding edge.

The bullies, undeterred by the stern warning, turned their attention to Riddle, attempting to humiliate him in the same manner they had targeted Y/n. "Maybe Rosehearts has a soft spot for misfits. Or is there something else going on here?" one of them jeered, a malicious glint in their eyes.

Riddle's gaze hardened, but he didn't allow their words to rattle him. Instead, he focused on Y/n, offering her his cape for warmth and comfort. "Ignore them," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm in the aftermath of the storm.

Y/n, still recovering from the emotional turmoil, met Riddle's eyes with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity. "Why are you helping me?" she asked, her vulnerability laid bare.

Riddle hesitated for a moment, his stern exterior cracking to reveal a hint of sincerity. "No one should be treated like that. Besides, it's my duty as the housewarden of Heartslabyul to enforce the rules," he replied, though the subtle inflection in his voice hinted at a deeper, unspoken truth.

As the bullies persisted in their attempts to tarnish Riddle's reputation, he remained resolute. However, the time for words had passed. With a swift and practiced motion, Riddle invoked his unique magic, "Off with your head," causing ethereal sparks to materialize and collar the bullies as a consequence for their actions.

The trio, now restrained by red head’s signature spell, looked to Riddle with shock and fear. He addressed them with an unwavering gaze. "Learn to respect others, or face the consequences," he declared, his authority unshaken.

Turning back to Y/n, Riddle offered a reassuring smile. "You don't have to worry about them anymore. Let me help you and walk you to your dorm," he said, a subtle undertone of warmth in his voice.

Riddle thought to himself that the bullies were right. He did have a soft spot for misfits. In particular this misfit. He had always liked Y/n. As they walked to Y/n’s dorm Riddle tried to hide his face, which was now as red as his hair.  

In the dimly lit corridor, Leona Kingscholar, the formidable housewarden of Savanaclaw, stood between Y/n and her tormentors. The atmosphere crackled with tension as the bullies, momentarily taken aback, decided to redirect their malice towards the imposing figure that stood before them.

"So, the sleepy lion decides to play the hero," one of the bullies sneered, attempting to mask their unease with false bravado.

Leona's emerald eyes narrowed, a low growl escaping his throat as he stared down the trio. "You've got a problem with how I do things?" he challenged, his voice a menacing rumble that reverberated through the corridor.

The bullies, perhaps underestimating the fierce resolve that lay beneath Leona's laid-back demeanor, stepped back. "Why are you protecting her? Got yourself a new little plaything, housewarden?" one of them jeered, a sinister grin stretching across their face.

Leona's expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. "I protect what's under my care. That's all you need to know," he replied, his words carrying an implicit warning that sent shivers down the spines of the tormentors.

Undeterred, the bullies attempted to taunt him further, their words laced with a futile attempt at intimidation. "Maybe you've got a crush on her, huh?" another one jeered.

Leona's growl intensified, his dominant aura radiating an almost tangible threat. "You're pushing your luck, buddy" he warned, his gaze flickering dangerously.

As the tension escalated, Leona stepped forward, looming over the bullies with an imposing stature that left them visibly unsettled. "Consider this your only warning. Cross me again, and you'll regret it," he asserted, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

The bullies, realizing the gravity of their situation, hastily retreated, their bravado shattered in the face of Leona's unwavering dominance. As they fled the scene, fear etched across their faces, Leona turned his attention back to Y/n.

"You alright?" he asked, the harsh edges of his demeanor softening as he surveyed her. Y/n, still reeling from the confrontation, nodded silently.

Leona, surprising even himself with the depth of his concern, took a step closer. His hand gently cupped Y/n's cheek, his touch surprisingly tender. "I hate to see this pretty face upset," he murmured to himself, his voice a low, soothing rumble.

As the lion helped pick up Y/n’s stuff from the ground, the situation made him angrier and angrier. He’s going to make sure to teach those punks a lesson tomorrow morning during training.”Got yourself a new little plaything?” those words lingering in Leona’s head. Plaything. He scoffs at the idea. Y/n is so much more than that…

In the dimly lit corridors of Night Raven College, the relentless torment aimed at Y/n had attracted the attention of Azul Ashengrotto. As he intervened to protect her, the bullies, recognizing the charismatic housewarden from Octavinelle, shifted their focus to the unexpected adversary.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a hero," one of the bullies scoffed, a malicious glint in his eyes. The leader, emboldened by the presence of a new target, attempted to humiliate Azul. "What's your game, Ashengrotto? Trying to play the savior for this loser?"

Azul's gaze remained unfazed, his smooth composure undeterred. "I suggest you mind your own business," he retorted, his voice carrying a subtle warning. However, the bullies, now fueled by audacity, turned their attention to Y/n once more.

In the face of the renewed onslaught, Azul stepped forward, shielding Y/n with a protective stance. "It seems you're mistaken," he said, directing his attention to Y/n. "This isn't about playing the hero. No one deserves to be treated like this."

The bullies, sensing an unexpected vulnerability in Azul's defense of Y/n, attempted to exploit it. "What's the matter, Ashengrotto? You fancy this loser here?" they sneered, hoping to provoke a reaction.

Azul's gaze flickered, a subtle hint of discomfort betraying his composed exterior. However, he quickly regained his confidence, addressing Y/n with a more reassuring tone. "Don't pay them any mind. Let me take care of this."

Turning back to the bullies, Azul's expression hardened. "You might want to reconsider your actions. I have quite a bit of dirt on both of you, and I'm not afraid to use it. And let's not forget about the Leech Twins—they're always hungry for interesting tidbits."

The mention of the Leech Twins sent a shiver down the bullies' spines, their confidence crumbling in the face of potential repercussions. Sensing their defeat, they slinked away, leaving Azul and Y/n in the now empty corridor.

Azul turned back to Y/n, his usual confidence giving way to a more genuine concern. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Trash like them need people like us to torment, to make themselves feel better.”

Y/n, still reeling from the emotional turmoil, nodded appreciatively. Azul continued to guide her to the Mostro lounge, knowing she will be safe there. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the commanding presence he displayed moments ago.

As they navigated the halls together, Azul couldn't help but feel a twinge of awkwardness. He was normally confident and composed, but Y/n's presence seemed to unravel his polished exterior. He knows all too well what it’s like to be treated like that. And the thought that Y/n had to endure the same thing made him want to protect her more. Like a precious pearl he can’t stand to share with anyone.

In the dimly lit corridors of Night Raven College, Kalim Al-Asim's radiant presence cast a warm glow that contrasted with the shadows of cruelty that clung to the bullies tormenting Y/n. As Kalim approached the scene, unaware of the tension, he couldn't fathom the depths of their malicious intent.

"Hey, what's going on here?" Kalim's voice echoed with genuine curiosity, a beacon of positivity in the oppressive atmosphere.

The leader of the bullies sneered, seizing the opportunity to redirect their malevolence. "Well, well, if it isn't the Scarabian sun himself. What's it to you, Kalim? Lost your little guard dog?"

Kalim chuckled, oblivious to their attempts at humiliation. "Nah, I was just passing by. Just got back from the pop music club. What's got you so worked up?"

Unperturbed, the bullies turned around to face Kalim, attempting to exploit the vulnerability they perceived in his sunny disposition. "Oh, look, he's trying to play the hero. Say, does the housewarden of Scarabia like this little misfit?."

Y/n, still reeling from the earlier torment, looked at Kalim with a mixture of gratitude and surprise. Kalim, however, beamed back, seemingly unaffected by their insinuations.

"What? Well, who wouldn't want to be friends with someone as amazing as Y/n?" Kalim responded, his sincerity disarming in its authenticity.

The bullies persisted, their cruel words attempting to chip away at Kalim's unwavering spirit. "Heh. Do you hear that, Y/n? There’s finally someone willing to put up with your pathetic act of a personality! I guess our little otter here is too stupid to see how worthless you are."

It was when they directed their malice back at Y/n, their words a venomous assault, that Kalim's carefree demeanor faltered. His eyes narrowed, the red glow dimming as a protective instinct took hold.

"Enough is enough," Kalim asserted, his voice carrying an unexpected edge. "You don't get to treat people like this."

Undeterred, the bullies persisted, casting disparaging remarks at both Kalim and Y/n. In response, Kalim maintained his composure, shielding Y/n from the verbal onslaught with unwavering resolve.

When the bullies continued to escalate the situation, Kalim took charge. "That's it. We're done here," he declared, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. He offered a hand to Y/n, helping her to her feet with a reassuring touch.

"Let's get you out of here," Kalim suggested, handing Y/n her scattered belongings. "If you ever feel unsafe, Jamil and I are here for you."

The unease in the bullies' expressions was palpable as they realized their words didn’t affect their targets anymore. Kalim's protective stance and genuine concern for Y/n had disrupted their cruel narrative.

As the bullies slinked away, annoyed by the outcome, Kalim escorted Y/n back to Scarabia. Their walk was filled with moments of comforting silence, punctuated by Kalim's attempts to lighten the mood with his infectious laughter. When Y/n finally gave him a smile back he perked up. “It’s so nice to see you smile again!” The sight gave him new confidence to land a kiss on Y/n’s cheek. 

Within the dark corridors of Night Raven College, the tormentors faced an unexpected obstacle in their pursuit of cruelty: Vil Schoenheit. As the charismatic figure stepped into the scene, the bullies exchanged uneasy glances, momentarily thrown off balance by the interference.

"Are you so starved for attention that you resort to tormenting others?" Vil's voice, laced with disdain, sliced through the air. His steely gaze met the bullies', challenging them to proceed.

However, their malevolence knew no bounds. Unwilling to be deterred, the bullies redirected their scorn towards Vil, attempting to humiliate him for daring to protect Y/n. "Look at this, the pretty prince thinks he can play hero. What, do you like the little misfit?" one of them jeered, the venom in his words aimed at both Vil and Y/n.

Vil, however, remained unfazed, ignoring their attempts to provoke him. Instead, he focused on Y/n, helping her up with a gentleness that contradicted the harsh reality they were facing. His fingers delicately corrected her clothing, fixed her tie, and smoothed her tousled hair. Vil's eyes met hers, a silent reassurance passing between them.

"Pay them no mind," he whispered, his breath brushing against Y/n's ear, a gesture that held an undercurrent of intimacy. "They thrive on our reactions."

The bullies, frustrated by Vil's indifference, resorted to physically assaulting Y/n, grabbing her by the shoulder. Before their cruelty could escalate further, Vil's hand shot out like a viper, gripping the offender's wrist with an intimidating strength.

"It's in your best interest to leave," Vil asserted, his voice low and threatening. "I won't tolerate such behavior. Choose wisely."

The bullies, now cowed by the unexpected turn of events, hastily retreated, leaving Vil and Y/n in the aftermath of their confrontation.

Vil escorted Y/n to his dorm, a haven away from the oppressive bullying that had sought to consume her. Inside his room, he offered her a seat and gently handed her a towel, his eyes reflecting genuine concern.

"Take your time," Vil said softly, his hands meticulously tending to a small cut on Y/n's cheek. "You deserve better than the cruelty of those einzellers."

As Vil carefully cleaned the remnants of the bullying, his thoughts betrayed the secret that he harbored in the depths of his heart. He cared deeply for Y/n, and every gentle touch, every word of reassurance, echoed the silent confession he dared not speak aloud.

"You deserve to be treated with kindness," he murmured. “Just make sure to stay by my side, Y/n.”

The dimly lit corridor was transformed into a battleground as Idia Shroud stepped forward, his normally reserved demeanor overshadowed by an unexpected fierceness. The bullies, accustomed to preying on the vulnerable, saw an opportunity to assert dominance over someone they perceived as even weaker — the introverted Idia.

"You think you can protect her?" one of the bullies taunted, a malicious smirk on his face. "What's the weakling going to do?"

Idia, his disheveled hair falling over his determined eyes, stood defiantly, shielding Y/n from the impending storm. The bullies, sensing a perceived vulnerability, closed in on the pair, their laughter echoing through the corridor.

"Why are you even bothering, Shroud? What's in it for you?" another bully jeered, the air thick with arrogance.

Y/n's heart sank, anticipating the onslaught of mockery that was about to befall them both. Idia, feeling the weight of their poisonous words, clenched his fists, his usual anxiety exacerbated by the confrontation.

"Why would someone like you bother to protect her?" another bully chimed in, his tone dripping with contempt. "She's not worth it, and you're just making yourself look like more of a loser."

The bullies, emboldened by their perceived victory, closed in on Idia and Y/n. The pressure intensified, and Y/n's distress became palpable. Idia, however, couldn't bear to see her suffer any longer.

In a moment of unexpected defiance, the blue flames in Idia's hair intensified, shifting to a fiery orange. The air crackled with newfound energy as Idia's eyes blazed with determination. He had reached his breaking point.

"What do you know about worth?" Idia snapped, his usually timid voice cutting through the tension like a samurai sword. "You think you can just waltz around, tormenting others without consequence? Well, think again."

The bullies, now faced with an Idia they hadn't anticipated, faltered as he unleashed a verbal onslaught more cutting than their own. "You want to mock me? Fine. But lay off her. You have no idea what it's like to be her, to carry the weight of your cruelty every day."

As his words hung in the air, Idia's threat escalated. "And if you don't back off right now, I'll make sure your precious devices become my playground. Hacking is my specialty, and trust me, I can make your lives a living nightmare."

The bullies, genuinely frightened by the unexpected turn of events, retreated in haste, leaving Idia and Y/n alone in the aftermath of the confrontation. As the echoes of their footsteps faded, Idia's fiery aura subsided, returning to the familiar blue and turned his attention to Y/n.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softening as he reached out to gently wipe away the tears that still clung to her cheeks.

Y/n nodded, a mixture of gratitude and admiration in her eyes. "Thank you, Idia. I didn't expect..."

Idia cut her off with a dismissive wave. "It's not like I did it for you or anything. I just couldn't stand their stupidity."

As the tension eased, Idia reverted to his introverted self, a visible anxiety settling over him. "I... um, well, I should go. Just forget about it," he mumbled, glancing away.

But as he turned to leave, Y/n caught his hand. "Idia, wait. Thank you," she said, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "You didn't have to do that, but you did."

Idia's eyes met hers, a subtle warmth beneath the layers of his usual aloofness. "Just don't make it a habit of needing my help," he quipped, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Even though those words escaped his blue lips, in his heart he hoped that Y/n would come to him in her days of need. 

In the gloomy halls of Night Raven College, the three Savanaclaw bullies tried to justify their actions as mere play, their voices faltering under Malleus Draconia's piercing gaze. "We were just messing around, no harm intended," one of them stammered, attempting to downplay the cruelty they had inflicted upon Y/n.

Malleus, his patience exhausted, snapped his fingers. In an instant, the bullies were suspended above the ground. The Diasomnia housewarden wasted no time; his eyes met Y/n's, and the look on her face spoke volumes. This was not mere play; it was torment.

Outside, the atmosphere shifted, echoing Malleus's wrath. Lightning flashed, and thunder roared, a visceral manifestation of the storm brewing within him. The bullies, now terrified, were at the mercy of the fae prince's judgment.

With a graceful motion Malleus offered Y/n a hand to help her up. The warmth of his touch was a stark contrast to the chilling air of the college. "Are you hurt?" he asked, genuine concern evident in his eyes.

Y/n shook her head, grateful for Malleus's intervention. As they stood together, the fae prince surveyed the bullies with a cold, calculating gaze. "Explain yourselves," he demanded, his voice like the rumble of distant thunder.

The bullies, now realizing the gravity of their actions, stumbled over their words. Malleus's patience waned, and with another snap of his fingers, he immobilized them once more, this time freezing their levitating bodies.

Turning back to Y/n, Malleus took a step closer, his eyes softening as he surveyed the emotional toll the ordeal had taken on her. "I can make them feel the pain they inflicted upon you, Y/n," he offered, his voice low and filled with restrained fury.

Y/n, however, shook her head again, her eyes reflecting a mix of gratitude and reluctance. "No, Malleus. I don't want that."

Respecting her wishes, Malleus released the bullies, who fell to the ground with a thud before scrambling to flee. The housewarden, however, wasn't finished. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned Y/n's scattered belongings, collecting them with a gentle sweep of his hand.

"Allow me," he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers as he gathered her things. Malleus, his expression softening, lifted Y/n into his arms, carrying her bridal style.

As they navigated the corridors, Malleus's gaze remained on Y/n, a silent promise of protection and comfort. "No one should be subjected to such cruelty," he stated, his voice a low growl.

Once they reached a more secluded spot, Malleus gently set Y/n down. "If ever you need someone to shield you from the shadows, know that I am here," he confessed, his eyes revealing the depth of his emotions.

The lingering thunder outside echoed the storm within Malleus, but his gaze softened, and a hint of vulnerability appeared as he regarded Y/n. "Do you feel safe now?"

Y/n nodded “T-thank you, Malleus… You’re my savior.” Upon seeing her smile Malleus felt his worries wash away. To reflect this new found emotion the storms outside seem to lay down, making way for the sun to reveal its face once again. Malleus kneeled before her, cupping her face in his hand. “I won’t let anyone harm you ever again.”

[darkfluffydragon]

Shoving the Phantasmagoria Duo into the SCP foundation >:3

Item #: SCP-1029 Object Class: Safe Special Containment Procedures: SCP-1029 is to be kept in a reinforced glass display case within a secure containment chamber at Site-221. Access to SCP-1029 requires Level 2 clearance and authorization from at least one Level 3 researcher. The containment chamber is to be monitored at all times via surveillance cameras. Testing involving SCP-1029 must be approved by the Site Director and conducted in a controlled environment. Description: SCP-1029 is a sentient orchid flower resembling a wooden staff. At the apex of the staff is a single eye, which exhibits movements consistent with those of a human eye. The staff measures approximately 1.5 metres in length. SCP-1029 displays several anomalous properties:

Healing: SCP-1029 has the ability to heal any physical wound or injury inflicted upon a living being. The extent of its healing capabilities surpasses conventional medical treatment, demonstrating near-instantaneous regeneration of tissue and loss of limbs. It has yet to be tested whether or not SCP-1029 can bring back a subject who is on the brink of death.

Compulsion: One of SCP-1029 most notable effects is its compulsion to compel truthfulness in individuals who hold it. Subjects holding SCP-1029 report an overwhelming urge to speak only the truth, often confessing thoughts or feelings they would otherwise keep hidden. This effect persists until the staff is released. Attempts to deceive while holding SCP-1029 result in discomfort or pain for the subject. Many resisted the idea of even attempting to lie while under the influence of SCP-1029 due to finding the thought “nauseating” and “disturbing”.

Sentience: SCP-1029 displays signs of sentience, exhibiting awareness of its surroundings and reacting to stimuli in its vicinity. Additionally, SCP-1029 demonstrates a degree of control over its anomalous properties, selectively activating its effects based on the intentions of those interacting with it.

Magic: SCP-1029 showcases additional unexplainable ‘magical’ properties, including the ability to emit a soft, soothing light and to create a shield. It has been observed to manifest minor telekinetic effects, such as moving objects within its vicinity. Testing is still being done to see what else SCP-1029 can do.

However, if SCP-1029 is used to intentionally harm another being, the item exhibits signs of distress. The eye appears to express sorrow or disappointment and SCP-1029 emits a faint sad chiming or bell noise. Continued misuse of SCP-1029 results in heightened emotional distress, with the staff actively resisting attempts to use it for harmful purposes. SCP-1029 has been in existence for an indeterminate amount of time, with historical records dating back several centuries and the ancient ruins by the ████████ Forest that it was found in being theorised to be perhaps even older. Dr. ██████ believes that SCP-1029 is related to [DATA EXPUNGED] Occasionally, certain individuals are able to perceive a faint apparition holding SCP-1029, adorned with a golden crown. This phenomenon occurs sporadically and seemingly at random, with no discernible pattern or trigger. Individuals who experience these sightings report feelings of warmth, safety, and tranquillity. This figure has been named SCP-1029-1 Addendum 1029-1: SCP-1029 exhibits the ability to influence the wielder’s mental state, as during a recent test where the previously aggressive subject was asked to hold SCP-1029 for a prolonged period of time, the subject’s behaviour was recorded to slowly become abnormally passive. SCP-1029 was removed from the subject before the test could further continue, and we are waiting for further instructions. Addendum 1029-1: Other SCPs are more capable of seeing SCP-1029-1 than regular people. Further testing is required to see if subjects undergoing anomalous effects are able to see SCP-1029-1.

Name: Dr.Phantasmagoria (SCP-1067)

Occupation: Senior Researcher (Level 3) Part of the Antimemetics Division

Current Status: Phantas is currently kept within Site-221 after being transferred from the Antimemetics Division by [REDACTED] due to [DATA EXPUNGED]. Phantas's eccentric demeanour and unconventional methods contribute to his effectiveness in handling anomalies. However, his propensity for unorthodox approaches requires additional oversight to ensure compliance with Foundation protocols and containment standards.

Special Considerations: Phantas's status as SCP-1067 introduces unique containment challenges, as his anomalous properties render others susceptible to antimeme and amnestics symptoms. Despite having been deemed safe and having dedicated a long period of time working as a researcher within the SCP Foundation, regular monthly evaluations are essential to mitigate potential security breaches and safeguard sensitive information both for Phantas and those who come in regular contact with him.

Additional Notes: Phantas must undergo regular psychological evaluations to ensure his mental stability and resistance to anomalous influences.

He will never be allowed to receive a higher clearance level.

[604to647]

Kiss It Better (Drabble)

0.87K / Din Djarin x Princess!reader

Summary: Din tells you he's leaving.

Warnings: None! Some angst, secret relationship, kissing, some Mando'a nicknames. They are in love 😭

A/N: Look, all this new content of a certain General has had me itching to write, but I have a hard time writing for characters I haven't watched. However, the General also gives me some vibes that remind me of this idea/outline I have where Din is dispatched by Carson Teva to train the armies of a New Republic stronghold planet - and there he falls in love with the King's daughter. It's supposed to be semi-canon compliant and also kind of Medieval-y? Maybe I'll rework it for Acacius in the future or just write it as is, who knows? 🤷🏻‍♀️ In the meantime, here's what fell out of my head this morning 🤭

Optional soundtrack at the end; Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always 😘

You look at him with a mixture of sadness, disbelief and disappointment that you know you have no right to feel.  He watches the swirling waves of emotions in those expressive eyes of yours that he loves so much, conveying so much distress even as you remain silent to his announcement.

“What would you have me do, Princess?” Din asks gently, his own feelings prickling hot on his skin, nearly vibrating the shiny Beskar metal that lays atop: desperation, resignation, defeat.

Though your eyes soften a little, head tilting now so that they bore into the visor of his helmet, you continue to say nothing – mouth still set in a hard line, the corners of which threaten to pull down into a full out frown sure to overtake your pretty face. 

His question isn’t entirely rhetorical – if you have the answers, Din wants them.  He’s at a loss.  “Do you really expect me to remain in your court while you marry another man?  Think it possible for me to stand idly by as he takes your hand and proclaims you his own in front of the kingdom?  How am I to bear knowing that another man is taking you in your bed when I know its softness and heaven so well?  Endure as you smile at him, love him?  Carry his children?”

These last words are practically shouted, Din's incredulity barely concealed by his helmet’s modulator.  You flinch at the harshness of his tone; Din never raises his voice at you.  To your father’s troops he so deftly commands, yes.  To those he sees inflicting casual cruelty or unkindness upon innocents in the villages he protects, yes.  But never to you.

Din slumps, deflated when he sees the stiffness of your body and how you’ve shrunk away from him.  He tries another approach to make you come around, understand his anguish.  Reaching out, he gently pinches your chin between his gloved fingers so you’ll look at him, “And if I were to stay, how would you feel if I took a wife?  Some noble woman from court, perhaps?  One whose home and family you know well, so you would be familiar with where I lay my head every night?”

A hot bolt of anger surges through your chest and you shake your head furiously, jerking away from Din’s light touch.  Eyes flashing with possessiveness and jealousy fueled rage, you practically snarl, “I would have her and her entire family killed.”

Din chuckles, his feisty cyar’ika.  Even if it was meant to drive home his earlier point, you both know it’s all talk - there will never be anyone for him but you, “No you wouldn’t, mesh’la.”  Gently cupping your face, Din strokes your cheek with his thumb, mollified that you let him.

Closing your eyes, you lean into his hand, the warmth of his palm radiating through the leather bringing you back to yourself.  To Din. 

When you finally open your eyes, there’s no more fight left in them - only tears.  He’s right of course – it’s selfish and cruel for you to want him to stay, and so you beg of him something that would be lesser so, “Though it is my father’s intention for me to wed, I am not yet betrothed, Din.  Please.  Will you at least stay until I am?”

How could he ever deny you anything?  Even though you’ve never exercised your right to command him as his sovereign, he would gladly follow you anywhere, adhere to your every wish and whim as all your loyal subjects do; benevolent and kind (he knows your earlier threat of violence to be completely empty), you will make a wonderful Queen someday.  One he would proudly bow to, lead armies for, and love only from afar if you asked.  He would do anything you asked of him, which is why he knows you won’t ask him to suffer the agony he described.  But this, he can do – he will happily serve you on bended knee, in the throne room during the day and in between your legs at night, until the very day it’s no longer his place.

Bringing his forehead to touch yours, he pledges his fielty to your heart, “I will, cyar’ika.  I will stay until you’re no longer mine.”

Unable to hold them back any longer, tears cascade over your cheeks as you close your eyes and swear to your own allegiance, “I’ll always be yours, Din.”

You stay like this, skin to Beskar, heartbeat to heartbeat until you hear the telltale click of Din’s helmet unlocking.  Eyes still closed, you nudge up the bottom brim with your nose just enough so that your mouth can find his; needing no addition guidance apart from the familiarity of this intimacy and your desire, your lips easily locate its mark.   

Din kisses you soft and chaste, a gentleness that behooves the prim and proper princess you are, but when you open up to him, he deepens to devour you, hungry and wolflike – paying homage to the wild and passionate fire that he knows burns within the woman he loves.

You kiss like the two of you have forever; both knowing, but unwilling to acknowledge in this moment, that you don’t.

Optional Soundtrack: Kiss It Better by Rihanna

🎶So I argue, you yell, but you take me back Who cares when it feels like crack? Boy, you know that you always do it right

Man, f- your pride Just take it on back, boy, take it on back, boy Take it back all night Just take it on back, take it on back Mmm, do what you gotta do, keep me up all night Hurtin' vibe, man, it hurts inside when I look you in yo' eye

What are you willing to do? Oh, tell me what you're willing to do (Kiss it, kiss it better, baby) 🎶

[isnotwhatyourethinking]

The Warrior & The Healer - Chapter 2

Cassian x Winter Court Healer Reader

Summary: Y/n's healing powers are unparalleled, a gift from the Mother that she wields with precision and care. Sent to Velaris under the guise of a diplomatic mission, Y/n is secretly bound by a darker duty—spying for the Winter Court's ruthless war general, Isarn, to protect her imprisoned mother. But as she works to heal the wounds inflicted by Hybern, a chance encounter with a certain Illyrian warrior changes everything.

Word Count: 2.6K

A/N: thank you so so much for your support, never thought I'd finish chapter 2 so fast but this fic is consuming my body and soul and yea I got a little carried away, hehe

Warnings: all aboard the angst train, no stops. a dash of sexual tension, little language warning

The early morning sun was just beginning to cast its golden rays over Velaris as I approached The Sanctuary. The previous day’s whirlwind of activity still echoed in my mind. I hadn’t slept, consumed not only by Isarn’s deceit but also by thoughts of my mother. She was still captive, her safety hinging on my compliance with Isarn’s cruel bargain.

The agreement was to gather information about the Night Court for him, trading secrets for her well-being. The toll of this pact pressed upon me. Was she safe now? Was she suffering? Isarn's silence was an intentional torment, leaving me to imagine the worst, both about my mother's fate and the guilt of his lies about Rhysand’s court.

I pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped into the cool, tranquil interior. The Sanctuary was already alive with the hum of magic and the soft murmur of healers tending to their patients. Scents of ginger and calendula filled my nose. I inhaled deeply, drawing strength from the soothing atmosphere.

On top of the storm of emotions within me, I had spent the night in restless turmoil, my thoughts entangled with Cassian's emotions. Waves of his distress about the impending war and bursts of frustration echoed through the bond we shared, a constant undercurrent that I couldn’t shut out, and each surge of his concern was like a shout of desperation in the silence of my mind, keeping me on edge until the first light of dawn. My heart ached with the need to comfort him, to lose myself in those warm hazel pools. My mate. The words threatened to escape from my mouth. 

C’mon now, Y/N. Get your shit together.

"Someone had a rough night," a voice greeted me warmly, with a hint of worry. I turned to see the Night Court’s most trusted healer, standing a few paces away. Her short, piercing green eyes seemed to miss nothing, and her no-nonsense attitude was evident in her sharp, perceptive gaze. Her bulky frame and tan skin exuded strength and resilience, yet there was a comforting motherly presence about her that put me at ease.

“Good morning, Madja” I replied ignoring her comment, ice mask in place while offering a reserved smile. I couldn’t afford showing any weakness. “I’m ready to get started.” Madja nodded, her mossy eyes still studying me.

“Right. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. Follow me.”

We walked through the bustling hallways, passing rooms filled with patients in various states of recovery. The first floor was dedicated to triage, with an entrance hall where healers registered new arrivals and assessed their conditions, and the triage area was divided into sections for different levels of care, each with multiple cots and egg shell-colored linen screens for privacy.

Emergency treatment rooms were equipped with essential supplies, while a nearby waiting area provided comfort for those awaiting care. Supplies were stored near the loading dock, where deliveries were processed. I steered clear of that area, the mere thought of it sending a chill down my spine. How could the Cauldron be so cruel? The gravity of my secret hit my throat, my eyes burning with panic. I forced the frost in my veins to shake the feeling, and kept walking behind Madja.

The second floor focused on healing and rehabilitation, with patient rooms, healers' stations, physical therapy rooms, and a common room for social interaction and visits. Herbal storage and preparation areas ensured that potions and remedies were readily available. The third floor reminded me a bit of the offices at my own healing center, it housed healers' quarters, administrative offices, training rooms, a meeting room, and a library for study. I was impressed. The Night Court had truly spared no effort in providing every possible resource to aid their people. 

I also noticed that despite the severity of the trauma, there was an underlying sense of hope and determination that seemed to permeate every corner of The Sanctuary. As Madja led me into a room where the most seriously injured were being treated, many of them elderly, unable to walk or leave their beds, their faces etched with pain and weariness, my heart ached for them.

“We’ll start with these patients,” Madja said, her voice steady and reassuring. “They need our help the most.” I nodded, steeling myself for the work ahead.

I approached the first patient, an elderly fae female with a deep gash across her abdomen, and I concentrated, letting my magic flow through me: I focused my thoughts and emotions towards my hands with a gentle touch I knew could knit wounds with the chill of winter, mending flesh and bone with a breath of frosty air. Tendrils of crystalline ice seeped from my fingertips, curling around the laceration like delicate vines, and icy filaments dissolved into her flesh, numbing the pain and sealing the tissue with a cold that felt like the first snowfall of the season.

The female sighed in relief, her pain easing as the cut finally closed. I moved on to the next patient, and the next, my powers flowing with a rhythm that was both instinctive and sedative. I could draw out poisons and infections, encasing them in frost before shattering them into harmless shards. With a mere thought, I had reduced their fever to nothingness, the heat of illness vanquished by my frozen gift.

Madja watched me closely as we kept working, her sharp eyes noting every single detail.

“You have a remarkable gift,” she said, her tone impressed. “The way you control your powers… it’s extraordinary.” 

"Thank you," I replied, feeling a warmth in my chest at her comment. Somehow, her praise reminded me that the ice of my powers was more soothing than burning, because I knew I was using them to do the right thing, or at least that's what I had told myself in an attempt to release some of the guilt I had been carrying around with me these past few days.

We continued to work side by side, tending to the most serious injuries. There was a quiet camaraderie between us, a mutual respect that made the long hours seem less daunting. By the time the sun was high in the sky, we had treated most of the patients in the room. I was exhausted but satisfied, my powers drained but my heart somewhat lighter. For the first time since arriving in the Night Court, I felt a glimmer of peace. 

“Take a break, Y/N.” Madja said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’ve done more than enough for now.”

I nodded, grateful for the respite. As I stepped outside into the courtyard, I let the warmth of the sun wash over me. I took a deep breath, allowing the sun's rays to seep into my bones, slowly melting away the residual frost that always seemed to linger.

The courtyard was quiet, a rare moment of peace in the bustling Sanctuary. I found a secluded bench and sat down, unwrapped the biscuits the House of Wind had so kindly given me for lunch, and closed my eyes, letting the scent of lemon verbena and the sounds of the city wash over me.

The week passed in a blur of activity. Each day was filled with healing sessions, consultations, and endless rounds of the Sanctuary’s various floors. I was always on the move, my powers in constant use as I tended to the wounded and sick. Thank the Mother above, the work kept me busy, too busy to dwell on the gnawing anxiety that lurked beneath the surface.

In the evenings, I would return to my quarters at the House, exhausted but fulfilled. I kept my distance from Cassian, avoiding him as much as possible. The bond was a constant presence, a gilt thread that tugged relentlessly and reminded me of the connection I yearned for, although could not afford to acknowledge. I focused on my duties, on finding a way to secure my mother’s release.

By the end of the week, as I made my way to the office floor of the Sanctuary, I noticed Rhysand and Feyre standing near a window, deep in conversation. They didn’t seem to notice me as I approached, their voices low and serious. I hesitated, then moved closer, keeping my mental shields firmly in place. This was an opportunity to gather information for Isarn, and I couldn't risk passing it up.

“…Amren’s illusions were crucial,” Rhysand was saying. “She wove them into the minds of Hybern’s soldiers, making them believe they were drowning in the Sidra River.”

Feyre nodded, her expression grave. “It was terrifying to watch. Some of the soldiers were convinced they were reliving their worst nightmares. The illusions were so powerful they couldn’t distinguish them from reality.”

My heart pounded in my chest as I listened, my ragged breath coming in short, shallow gasps. 

Amren. The Ancient One, as she was called in the Winter Court. I had heard tales of her powers, whispered in hushed tones among those who dared to speak of her. Stories of her origins were shrouded in mystery, but the fear and respect she commanded were undeniable. I had never had the opportunity to meet her; she was always locked away in her apartment, immersed in some secret task given to her by the High Lord. Feyre had mentioned it to me once over breakfast, her tone casual but laced with apprehension.

The thought of Amren’s powers, of her ability to manipulate the mind and body so completely, sent a shiver of fear down my spine. What kind of creature could wield such abilities? And what could she possibly be working on, under Rhysand’s orders? This was my chance, I had to relay this information to Isarn. Perhaps it could be used as leverage in my negotiations for my mother’s release. If he knew the extent of Amren's powers and how the Night Court was planning to use them, he might find a way to exploit them, turning them to his advantage. Not that this thought made me happy, but it might release me from my bargain, so I needed to find a way to communicate with Isarn without raising suspicion.

Rhysand continued, his voice grim. “We need to be prepared for anything. Hybern’s forces are unpredictable, and we can’t afford any missteps. I’ll check with her tomorrow to see if we have any updates on the book.” 

If the task given to The Ancient One was to work with this book, it had to be relevant to the war, more so to Hybern. Carefully, I retreated down the hallway, my chest pressed with the weight of the new information. 

My thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and determination as I made my way back to the healing wards, until I saw the towering, bulky Illyrian walking in from the loading dock. I had to remind myself to breathe, to ignore the thread painfully tightening like a thick rope around my heart. Gods above, what is he doing here?

Cassian spotted me before I could turn away, his hazel eyes lighting up with recognition. “Y/N!” he called out, his voice a mix of surprise and warmth. “How have you been? Settling in okay?” 

Fuck, why is he always so nice?

I forced the ice mask onto my face, hiding the turmoil inside.

“General. Can I help you?” I replied swiftly, my tone freezing cold, as I intended.

He frowned slightly at my sharpness but didn’t back down. “Just checking on the supplies,” he said, his voice still friendly. “All good?”

“Fine.” words coming out of my mouth like shards of ice. I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I’m busy.”

He assessed me with those beautiful eyes, a mesmerizing blend of molten gold and earthy brown, like the first rays of dawn kissing the rugged terrain of a mountain, like a dance of light and shadows, a promise of passion, of unyielding lov—“talk later, General.” 

I had kept our interactions short and concise, barely acknowledging each other, despite his friendly attempt to reach out. I couldn’t blame him when his expression hardened, his usual warmth replaced by a flicker of irritation.

“You know,” he said, his tone sharp, “you don’t have to be so damn difficult all the time. I’m just trying to help.”

I kept my gaze steady, refusing to let his words pierce the icy facade. “I don’t need your help,” I replied coolly. “I can handle things on my own.”

His jaw clenched, and he took a step closer. I visibly winced when the shadow of his ominous wings covered the sunlight on my face, his presence looming and intense. His eyes studied mine with predatory intent, slowly lowering to my lips, forcing a smoldering rage to simmer in my inner thighs.

Mother help me.

He must've perceived my inner struggle, his lips slightly curving upwards.

“Fine. But just so you know, pushing everyone away won’t make you any stronger. It just makes you alone.”

The words hit harder than I wanted to admit, that same rage raised to my cheeks but I did not falter. Not now. Not in front of him.

“And why, by the Cauldron, do you care?,” I said, my voice laced with annoyance but barely above a whisper.

Cassian’s eyes softened for a moment, but then he straightened, wings barely shuddering, his demeanor shifting back to that of the disciplined warrior.

“Whatever, sweetheart. Suit yourself.” 

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, closing my eyes to the intoxicating scent of cedarwood that clung to the air. I drew in a long breath, trying to steady my racing heart, but the effort was in vain. His presence lingered, a ghost of warmth in the cold, a reminder of what I was pushing away.

The weight of his words settled heavily on my shoulders, a burden of truth I didn’t want to acknowledge yet. I watched him disappear from sight, my heart aching with every step he took, while the need for his touch burned under my skin, an itch I couldn’t scratch, a longing I couldn’t deny. Mindlessly, I reached for the silver drop resting on my chest, seeking its familiar weight as a way to anchor myself. The cool metal against my skin offered a semblance of comfort.

I couldn't permit myself to let him in and no matter how much it hurt, I had to stay focused, strong.

Words of a fool, I thought.

When I finally returned to my quarters that evening, I was too exhausted to think. I collapsed onto my bed, my mind spinning with worry and fear, as I looked out the tall window, admiring the sight of Velaris from my room.

And what a view that was: the streets were alive with what felt like distant laughter, and the soft glow of faelights were casting a warm, inviting aura over the city, making me sigh with heaviness in my heart, wishing I could walk those streets without a care, to feel the freedom and joy that Velaris offered its residents. Yes, the Winter Court was my home, but somehow the thought of strolling through the city of Starlight unburdened by the weight of my mission, my mother’s arm interlaced with mine, her laughter mixing with the sounds of locals, felt like a dream. A fantasy. The vision brought a bittersweet comfort, a reminder of what I was fighting for. 

My eyelids grew heavy, and I felt myself slowly blinking, each blink longer than the last.

I gathered the last bit of strength in me and I wished, I wished to the stars for a way out of the bargain with Isarn, for a way to help both the Winter Court and the Night Court in the looming war, despite Isarn’s selfish motives.

Tomorrow, I would go back to the Winter Court using the excuse of fulfilling my unattended duties there. The thought of facing the cruel fae responsible for my cursed fate filled me with dread, nevertheless I knew it was necessary. I had intel to relay, to see if it could be used as leverage for my mother's release. The risks were high, but the stakes were higher.

My vision blurred as I struggled to keep my eyes open, the comforting darkness of sleep beckoning me. As I drifted off, I prayed one last time to the Mother for the strength to continue, for the courage to see this mission through, and for the wisdom to find a way to protect those I loved. 

Chapter 3

taglist:

@bravo-delta-eccho @yamisuke @randomperson1234sblog @anxious-cactus @lilah-asteria

dividers by @estrelinha-s

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

The Grand A-Z List of Whump 3/3

This list contains 194 items listed R to Z

As always, I heavily encourage people to research topics thoroughly when writing as it is important to avoid stereotypes/misinformation. This list's intention is to not glorify/romanticise sensitive topics in any way.

This is a comprehensive list of injuries, Illnesses and tropes - including those from the Whumptober 2023 trope vote!

All submissions are listed in italics, and those who wanted to be tagged will be included at the end. If you have any more submissions: please send them via DM/my ask box.

[A-H] [I-Q] [NSFW List]

List below the cut:

R

Rabies

Radiation Poisoning/Exposure

Radio Silence

Ransom Note/Video

Rashes

Recovery

Reducing breaks or dislocations (bonus: out in the field with no painkillers available)

Reflection

Rejection

Reluctant Caretaker

Reluctant Whumpee

Reminded of trauma

Reopened Wound

Repressed Emotions

Repressed trauma resurfacing

Rescue

Rescued by the enemy

Rescues gone wrong

Respiratory Distress

Restraints

Reuniting

Revenge

Ringing Ears

Ritual sacrifice

Rockslides

Role Reversal

Rope Burns

Running fingers through hair (maliciously or comfortingly)

Running Out of Air

Ruptured eardrum

S

Sacrifice

Sadistic Choice

Sartorial constraints

Scars

Scoliosis

Scraped Knees

Scratched corneas

Scratches

Seasickness

Second impact syndrome

Secrets

Sedated

Seeing double

Seizures

Self esteem issues

Self induced injury to escape

Self sacrifice

Self-aid

Self-inflicted injury (to escape)

Semi-consciousness

Sensory Deprivation/Overload

Sentimental Items

Separation

Sepsis

Servitude

Setbacks in recovery

Severed Artery

Shaking Hands

Shipwreck

Shivering

Shock

Shock collar

Shot (gun, arrow, dart, etc...)

Shrapnel (blast/wounds)

Sick/injured at a party

Skull fracture

Slapped

Sleep Deprivation

Sleep Paralysis

Sleeping in the cold

Sleeplessness

Smashing their head into a wall

Smoke Inhalation

Snake Bites

Sneezing

So sick they can barely even stand or stay awake

Significant other taking care of wounds

So weak they have to hold on to something or someone to walk

Solitary Confinement

Special object being ruined/torn apart

Spinal Cord Injury

Split lip

Sprains

Stab Wounds

Stabbed (sword, spear, knife, TRIDENT!, etc...)

Stabbed through the back by the only person the whumpee trusted

Stage fright

Stalking

Status epilepticus

Stiches

Stings (insect, creature, plants)

Stitches

Stoic/Defiant Whumpee

Stoic/Rude/Harsh Reluctant Caregiver!Mentor & Ball of Sunshine Hurt!Mentee (platonic)

Stomach ache

Stomach Ulcers (a cause for vomiting up blood)

Stomach virus

Straight Jacket

Strangling

Strangulation resulting in bruised or swollen vocal chords and loss of voice + the process of regaining your voice and everything that comes with that trauma.

Stress (this could induce headaches/general illness)

Stress Position

Stumbling

Sucking chest wound

Suffocating

Sunburn

Super glued to toilet

Surgery

Surgery gone wrong

Surrendering

Survivor's Guilt

Swollen Lymph Nodes

T

Tachycardia

Taking the bullet

TBI (traumatic brain injury)

Team as a family

Team has a certain amount of time to get to their Whumpee before they’re killed

Team teaming up to take care of sick teammate

Temporary Loss of Sense(s)

Tendonitis

Tetanus

The Final Straw

Thrown from an explosion

Time Loop

Tiny whump

Tonsillitis

Tooth knocked out

Torn Ligaments - Achilles, Meniscus etc.

Torn Muscles

Torture

Touch Aversion/Touch Starved

Tranquilizer Dart

Trap

Trapped (whether this is after an explosion, car accident, natural disaster…)

Trapped Limbs

Trapped underwater

Trauma reveal

Tremors

Trust Issues

Truth spell/serum

Tuberculosis

Twisted ankle

U

Undead (vampires and ghosts and zombies, oh my!)

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Unresponsive

Upper respiratory infection

Used as bait

Usually big, strong and boisterous whumpee becomes quiet and weaker as the whumper conditions them.

UTI (Urinary Tract Infection)

V

Vampire whump

Vampires Thrall

Vehicular Accident

Venom

Vertigo

Very badly hurt and on life support - with slow recovery

Virus

Visions

Vocal chord paralysis

Vomiting/Vomiting blood

W

Waterboarding

West Nile virus

Whip scars

Whipping/Flogging

Whumpee being psychologically tortured via fake escape scenarios so when they are actually getting rescued they don't believe it. bonus point if they still don't think anything is real.

Whumpee dreams of a loved one happily inviting them “home” (They're actually dying IRL)

Whumpee getting the upper hand over whumper.

Whumpee stabbing whumper or beating their head into the ground over and over while sobbing, even when they’re clearly dead because they NEED to take their emotions out.

Whumpee turned Whumper

Whumpee watches caretaker take a bullet/hit/poison for them.

Whumper turned Caretaker

Whumper turned whumpee

Whumper with a crush

Wincing/Flinching

Wing whump

Wisdom Tooth Removal

Withdrawal

Withholding Medical Treatment

Witnessing. (Whumpee sees someone die in a brutal way. Whumpee sees someone get possessed/turned into a zombie/some other horrifying thing and they just stare horrified.)

Working for the enemy

Working through injury/illness

Working to Exhaustion

Wrists rubbed raw

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Wrongfully Accused/Arrested

Wrongfully fired

X

Xeroderma. (Extreme sun sensitivity)

XMRV is a newly identified human retrovirus that is similar to a group of mouse retroviruses (called murine leukaemia viruses, or MLVs)

Y

Yellow Fever

Z

Zombie virus, etc.

Zoonotic Hookworm

Zoonotic illness (It’s a disease carried or transmitted by animals to humans like tularemia or psittacosis)

Zosler (Shingles)

Zygomycosis (Fungal infection)

TAG LIST: Thank you very much to the following people for submitting ideas! (I apologise if some tags did not work, I'm not sure why tumblrs not letting me tag you!)

@I-eat-worlds | @greygullhaven | @letsgowhump | @cyberwhumper @firapolemos05 | @originaldeerhottub | @whumpilicious | @drawing-dinos82 | @carenrose | @stellarinuscronicles | @gottheseasonalblues | @marvelflame2010 | @sowhumpful | @avamcu | @courtneygacha | @lordofthewhumps | @autismmydearwatson | @kuddelmuddell | @the-most-handsome-ginger | @whirls-and-swirls | @painsandconfusion

[moibakadesu]

I have been rotating one of Haruka's lines from the earphone collab in my brain for a while now, because it stood out to me as very important.

And that would be the line in which he apologizes to Amane in a very distressed and tearful voice.

So, Yamanaka had mentioned that these lines are important to canon or "critical to uncover the secrets of the prisoners", which is also why I think they made sure that they are not hidden behind a paywall, you can read up on all of them on the website of the collab.

And I think this line gives us hints for things to come in t3.

//cw for the topics of suicide and Milgram-typical violence

Alright, so let's assume that the restrictions of the guilty prisoners don't work the way we imagine. For context, I always assumed that they are not physically bound (after all they still have to eat, use the bathroom etc), but it's more of a emotional barrier that keeps them from inflicting violence or defending themselves. But we never got a confirmation on that, this is just what I combined by observation, but it might as well just be that they consider the longer straps (and in some cases sleeves) as restriction, which is ... well, that is not something that is stopping someone with the intent to kill, that is for sure.

So I would say we are all terribly aware about Haruka's threat of suicide. But I think his plan might have changed a bit, he had a long time to ruminate about it after all. And he clearly does not want to die (AKAA even has the lyrics "I don't want to die" translated as "Don't wipe me out", but we are all aware how scuffed the translation for that song is). His conversation with Kotoko on her birthday already made me rise an eyebrow. My first assumption was that he is planning a murder-suicide with Muu, in a way to safe her both from being scared in Milgram and from being alone when he is gone.

But what if he came up with a third option? An option that would show he is serious without destroying the time with his mother. (I still think Muu won't want to hang out with him anymore in t3, but that is beside the question here.) Our blue boy once stated that "he can kill anything that is smaller and weaker than him", and who fits that description the most in the prison and also has a bit of an overlap with his presumed victim? Amane.

An important detail is, that Amane is a prisoner that Haruka had no interaction with whatsoever. He does mention her, in his t1 VD explaining that he is not good with children of her age and in the t2 VD that he apparently does not have problems with her anymore. Still, he seemed to (understandably) always keep his distance from her.

So why of all things does he get a line in this collab addressing her directly? It doesn't feel like a "sorry I'm not interacting with you" kinda line, it's very pained, you can feel the tears in his voice there.

And this lead me to think that Haruka will attempt to attack Amane, which ... oh boy, it will be all kinds of messy. We know Amane is armed, even with the overwhelming strength disadvantage she could easily stab him with her scissors in a death-struggle. Not to mention the conflicts that will bring among the prisoners (I don't even want to think about how that could sour how Fuuta thinks about Haruka tremendously).

And it would be a very interesting turn story wise, instead of going the way too obvious and telegraphed path of Haruka attempting to kill himself and Amane planning an attack on Shidou etc.

It would also be a very mean and ironic way to repeat Haruka's misery (I am crying), getting abandoned by Es/us and very possible his second mother Muu and trying to change things by taking the life of a young girl.

[idalenn]

Day 14 - Telling

Venat finally allows Lillian to heal her following their previous bout, and emotions leading up to their fight come spilling out. (6.0)

Major characters: Warrior of Light, Venat, Meteion, Hythlodaeus Note: Descriptions of injuries, spoilers for a particular character death in Heavensward, First Person POV, some funky formatting in one section if you're reading this on Tumblr/on mobile/not Ao3.

Full text below the cut

Grimacing, Venat lifted her arm to allow me closer. Along the ribs of her robe was a line of smeared rust-brown, a light copper tang wafting from the red wetly dotting along the centrum like teardrops soaked into parchment. As I crouched there, wondering, of how I might preserve her dignity in front of Meteion and Hythlodaeus, if such a need even bore considering, given what I’d learned of the ancients, the sullied white cloth rippled before my eyes and parted to allow me perceive the damage’s full extent. A sour smell struck my nose; I tasted humidity on my tongue.

An inflamed laceration, burning red, ran along the cage of Venat’s chest. Thick webbing of veins pulsed in the borders of the damaged flesh. Remnants of an attempt to heal, I suspect, disrupted by ancient and primal will. From its mouth wept drops either a sickly yellow or were tinged with scarlet. The corner of the swollen lips leaked a thin rivulet of blood.

To think the combined aether of Emet-Selch and Ramuh had proven so effective.

Gerolt would be giddy. The Adjudicator had split the ancient’s seemingly invulnerable hide easily as any and inflicted more damage in the breadth of a heartbeat than my magic and fists combined across our spar. Had I not made my intent blatantly obvious at so crucial a moment and therefore warned her to turn the attack…

“Were you to gawk at mine injuries,” Venat hissed. Strain had thatched a nest in her voice. “Remedy what you’ve dealt me as promised.” Shade from Elpis’ trees cut across her form, blackened the shadows pooling beneath those piercing eyes hobbled with pain. And, for me, revulsion.

White aether surged around my palms. From sternum to back, the trail of damage dealt me sung reminder of the telling blow that had almost claimed us both. My own prodigious aether had been too poor an amount. An entire field’s worth had withered into dust to preserve me, trees, fruits, beasts, and insects all. Healing this scratch should be comparably small in cost – should being the operative word. “Stand back,” I urged the others. Meteion hurried behind Hythlodaeus to clutch at his robes. A kinder hand than mine patted her head. Facing Venat, her skin veiled in moisture, I planted my hands on the wound to a murmur of distress.

Close. Close, I willed, exhaling as the wave of fatigue struck heavier than I’d predicted: enough to feel a bell’s worth of hiking across the Shroud.Nothing so intense as to necessitate drawing more aether from the land, however. Venat’s flesh rolled back together forming a hill stained red and bruised before a healthy tone seeped in, the path cut by the Adjudicator filled solid and smooth as the webbing of veins dissolved into the new, unblemished skin. A sigh of relief left Venat’s mouth.

“Never in my time have I suffered a wound similar. From the minute to the incapacitating, none have ever refused my touch.” Though her gaze looked to the trees above, I could still feel a touch of its held malevolence. “Not once.”

“The staff I carry negates the body’s ability to heal itself.”

She swallowed, eyes refusing to meet mine – understandably so. “Yet you are capable of mending what I cannot. How is this?”

I offered a shrug. “White magic differs from yours, I suppose. As I’ve come to understand, the means of healing through conjury are rendered ineffective by certain powers, as is the body’s own methods of which conjury is intended to bolster using small amounts of aether siphoned from the land. White magic, however, steals exorbitant amounts instead to alleviate the strain on the body, often requiring their wielder’s own aether – their life force – in tandem.”

Venat nodded. “You avert your weapon’s inimical nature by providing an alternate means to sustain separate from the process it inhibits.”

“Precisely.”

“At the cost of your own life.”

“’Tis only a risk to overdraw from myself. Your wound poses no threat.”

She tapped two fingers against her knee. “But if it were deeper. Higher, perhaps. Skewered a rib and ripped it from me; you would fare poorly.”

“Well enough. Farce or no, Elpis is abound with aether for my use, so unless we were both dying –” I stop myself. With her wound almost gone, the last I needed was to become agitated. “Capable of saving another from the clutch of death, strength enough so reliance will imbalance the star: that is white magic.” When my hand finally dimmed, I gave Venat’s wound one last inspection, prodding where the flesh had previously smiled. No bruise; no mess. A satisfactory work.

“But not all. Not all can be saved.”

Venat cocks her head at the speaker. A familiar lump coalesces in my throat, and I pause. The sun has dipped low on the horizon, turning the sky orange as flame. A frigid wind had begun to gnaw. In hindsight, I should have demanded Hythlodaeus drag that child away.

“Meteion?” He asks.

“Because in doing so,” that warbling child’s voice finished, “…you would have died.” Her words brought the world to a crawl. No longer was I breathing air so much as inhaling a clear, viscous syrup, a sharp pang in my airway as it started to tighten. Will you never listen to what I ask, about keeping yourself from my head?

I was there again, kneeling on the mosaic stones, his chest rent and weeping warm over my hands. Smile splattered with red.

“His death is on my hands.” The words escape before I think to stop them.

“Come now, that’s less than correct,” Hythlodaeus attested, and wrongly. “As I understand events, the wound dealt him would merit a grievous end to any struck and you were unawares of the assailant. Any one of us would do the same for our friend.” (Ancients would gladly sacrifice themselves for comrades.)

“No. That’s not it, not at all.” My voice had become a whisper.

“Enlighten us, then.” Venat’s gaze had softened away anything resembling a once baleful mien, the corners of her eyes crinkling as though she were about to break into sobs. By the Lover, it was pity. How dare she look at me so after what I’ve done. Were I less claimed by despondence those eyes would be left in bloody scraps for the soil.

“Because I looked at my friend… I looked his wounds as he bled into my hands and I, for the first time…” The words were bile in my throat. Hot tears intruded into my vision. How it burned, the cruel pragmaticism.

“I realized the value of my life.”

All of it came rushing back in a blizzard of dragon wingbeats and clamor of armored limbs on stone, our pursuit across a bridge of brick and mortar and centuries of prayer, eyes trained in every direction but the one we were attacked from. Fragments of his shield skated across my face cutting shallow lines from which only one dripped crimson, my ears still ringing with his shout of alarm. I was blinded; my vision naught but a taut white thread, but I could smell him burn. Bleed. Cauterizing. The stones shone white where bones should have glistened, where crimson should have flown.

“Help him!”

“What are you doing?”

“Have you lost your senses? Why have you stopped?”

“He’s gone pale…”

“Was she caught, too?”

But… if I continue…

“Move her aside! Lay a hand here. And another here!

“Lord Haurchefaunt!”

“We must away.” “Go. Azys Lla awaits.”

“We can’t let them escape!”

“Lillian, he’ll be lost if you don’t act.”

“Find someone more willing! Anyone!”

“Oh, do not look at me so…”

For a long time, the only sound was that of the wind; leaves and branches, blades and flowered stems, hair and cloth, in and out. Loud was this ancient world far removed from mine, but those around me offer quiet enough. It is underserving for the wretch I’ve been.

“I weighed his against mine: what he could accomplish against the Ascians; the forces he would muster against the dragons; the support, resources, and might he could supply Eorzea, his family’s combined assets; beyond Ishgard, beyond Garlemand, the weight he might help us carry; his capacity for compassion, love, duty and honor; willingness to sacrifice for the good of all who lived and breathed.

“And when I could not bear to weigh anymore the logical part of me continued on counting. Analyzing – until there was nothing left. Then again, and again, until we’d hammered out our list a malm long of advantages he might contribute in my stead.

“And I deemed my own survival paramount to his.”

[skeleton-mischief]

Error Sans

The harbinger of destruction, the pain of fulfilling your duty will never go away. Error, you were never meant to be happy

(headcanons below. TW: mentions suicidal ideation and attempts but very lightly touched upon)

- Official Height is 5'6

- He/They/It

- Despite everything, he follows Fate, a theist

- Cynical, erratic, sarcastic, cunning, confident, blunt, perceptive, loud, easily irritable, distrustful, detached, stubborn, theatrical, reserved, cocky, sassy, violent, and self interested

- Makes bracelets for those he tolerates (Blooper. Just Blooper)

- Has dolls for every Sans and Papyrus

- Plays with his dolls regularly, even making shows out of it

- Does not let anyone touch his dolls without permission

- Is fluent in Spanish because of Undernovela

- Hardly ever dresses up, he likes the clothes he has

- He can act childish when angered easily, but calms down overtime

- Hates Fresh, a very specific fear

- Has a mutual hate but respect for Ink

- Has only ever truly befriended Blooper

- Carries a lot of mixed emotions for the Multiverse

- Carries the burden of being the destroyer of timelines and universes. Yes, he has to destroy as many as possible, there is only so much space in the multiverse

- Is actually quite lonely, with very faint memories of his past

- Has dreams of other versions of him, but can never find them. They haunt him, whether because they're good or awful

- Does not like touch unless it's from someone very specific, and only then he can only handle small amounts of it

- Has beef with Red, the two trash talk each other

- Will steal chocolate from other universes, absolutely loves almost any of it except white chocolate

- Has a strange but strong liking for Outertale, it's better than the void

- Does not like small, cramped spaces or the emptiness of voids

- HARDLY ever shows vulnerability in front of others despite how emotionally unwell he is, if he does it's against his will or he's too emotionally distressed to hide it

- Emotional Constipation is his last name

- Erratic and violent fighting style, he's unpredictable and often is emotionally driven

- Curses but funnily has a habit of having his glitches censor it

- Is far from a pacifist, he's never spared someone from a timeline due to the suffering it could inflict on their mental state(Well...except Blooper)

- Glitches the more angry he gets until he just straight up crashes

- Can act like a man baby when arguing with Ink

- Knits and crochets, he's actually pretty good

- Wears sandals (sadly)

- Awkwardly supportive of Blooper

- Talks to himself or his dolls out of loneliness sometimes

- Will ramble about Undernovela because it's a special interest, no one can disrespect it

- Magic smells of battery acid, magic tastes of artificial blue raspberry with a tinge of apple

- Very direct, he is one of the least deceitful Sanses due to not bothering to hide his intentions. After all, he's THE destroyer of universes, timelines, etc

- He is awful at apologizing, but he puts in effort when he does it since he never apologizes unless he feels that they are deserving of it

- Let's others judge him even if he doesn't like it, since it feels like they're right

- Incapable of dying, even when he has tried a few times to kill himself

- His stringed features are glitched tears that stained him. They originally hurt, but not much anymore since he got used to it

- A God, capable of destroying any soul. It's why he can't "dust" Ink or Fresh, however, along with Nightmare or Dream

- Is only a fan of Outertale and OG Undertale

- Stargazes a lot, it's something he does when he needs to reflect or needs comfort

- Has red reading glasses that are taped together, but he still has them nonetheless and uses them occasionally

- He has smacked his own glasses on Blooper when Blooper was originally Blue. He later gave Blooper their own pair

- Has a fear of touch so he has to be the one to initiate it. Even then he can't tolerate it and glitches out. He gets shaken up and the most he can do is use his puppets or offering his pinky as a way to "hold hands" with Blooper

- Nearsighted canonically so he squints his eyes a lot

- He dreads Fresh's company as he's the only one that can snap him out of his serious nature out of distress of his presence

- He has actively ran away from Fresh

- He steals shit all the time and I mean all the fucking time. He can't create so he has to get shit to fill the void somehow!

- He stalks Vanilla and other timelines of UT

- If he was able to destroy every AU, then he'd finally be able to kill himself. Thus, he could finally rest. For now, he just has to think about what it would be like to die and to be dead

- He is chaotic neutral, so he will work with others if it benefits him somehow, though this happens to be rare

- Has memory issues at times and reminds himself with little notes around the antivoid with string

- Has thrown many tantrums before, even throwing Ink a few times because he was angry

- Ink and him when battling is filled with snarky banter despite neither being able to properly die, he just is more sarcastic than Ink

- Cats are the only animal he can touch and then rapidly pet and squish. He secretly loves them

- He will dress up in this pink scarf he got ahold of and he will play dress up when bored

- Magic is infused with his crocheted items and bracelets, which can have different intent depending on his emotions and even count as "marking" someone

- Hates scissors because of Ink

- One out of two to know Ink is soulless, he actively taunts him as well for it

- He actually associates the fear of touch, haphephobia, to be what he has. I hc that because all the touch he's experienced has been violent, he's developed his fear of it. He developed it if you will, and there would have to be a lot of patience before he lets someone close enough

- He actually loves certain puns and jokes, especially if he favors the person saying it at the time

- He prefers long distance combat since he can use his strings more effectively. He's not the most physically strong, but he has a few perks of summoning bones and teleporting/glitching in and out of one location

- When he sees something new, he just stares and prods at it

- If he gets too close to something with tech, it will start to glitch out and form static due to his magic despite the involuntary act

- He's the type of guy to turn around if someone points and says Fresh or Ink are present, actively falling for it just enough to let someone narrowly escspe

- He'll throw a fit if someone tries running away from him

- Sometimes he can reboot, and this leaves him vulnerable at the worst of times. He doesn't actually have a pattern for why it happens, but he goes ragdoll because of it

- He believes that what he's doing as the Destroyer is just, especially because he knows the consequences of why it would be important for him to stop the collision of universes

- He targets most AU's that are small, lack content due to its abandoned creator, or self destroying AU's because they're easier to eliminate without Ink actively noticing too much. He doesn't really go for active AU's unless Nightmare, Dream, or Ink fucked it up via fighting and destroying things. I actually have my own hc for Blooper and how he came to be in Error's possession, but that's for another time. Let's just say it wasn't a kidnapping, but rather a mercy

- His strings become thicker when crying, spilling out and causing him to glitch out without the inability to stop - even if it physically hurts him

- His voice often speeds up or reverberates, especially when stressed or excited

- He's very stubborn and has tried killing both Nightmare and Dream respectfully at some point or another, but he can be bribed with the right price

- He can hear creators and anons inside the void, whispers loud enough to echo in his skull especially when alone. A constant hum where he'd have to pay attention in order to understand all of them. When traveling to other universes or timelines, he can only faintly hear them and tune them out easier

- He doesn't realize that Fatal and Geno are past forms of him, but he recognizes it and in fact I hc that they hardly interact because they actively are constantly glitching in and out inside the anti void. It's a weird science, but it's like a constant blinking within the coding that caused the very slim chance of these skeletons to meet. Memory gaps are present to begin with because they never have the previous memories to begin with, at least...somewhat. Coding is a bitch after all, and one never can erase their past

- He is suspicious of anyone trying to get along with him, building trust between him and you is nearly impossible unless through bribery or a deal. In Blooper's case, it was a special exception

- If something doesn't go his way, he is an active bomb going off with how he's altering the world around him. He'll destroy anything within his vicinity and has even reached points where he alters his surroundings via glitching. I headcanon that with enough charged magic, he can cause massive glitching that starts to "eat" an AU or timeline, which makes the fighting more intense between the Gods

- If he likes someone, which would be practically never, he'll glare at them and side eye them without actively threatening their life. He'll and be more quiet, watching you

- He will use his strings to bend souls to his will, whether that was to make monsters fight, be restricted, or to dust the soul. He used to make some souls go into the anti void as a trophy to be hung above him with string, but not anymore. At some point he stopped being delusional about having to be the Destroyer, and just-....gave up trying to find pleasure with it. He's actually never really enjoyed destroying worlds, especially because he used to want to go back to his original one and knows that he's forever erasing something so special. He's just forced by Fate and desperation to actually do his job. In truth, he hÆt3s Fate

- He doesn't let others see him inside their timelines when he's traveling, stalking, etc. he's les social, but also just doesn't find himself to be a presence anyone wants to be around. He knows why he's there, and even if he doesn't destroy that world, it's easier to just hide

- He's on the aroace spectrum, and mainly just wants to be alone due to his own trauma. I think he would be aroace before, but that trauma just was an extra shove towards avoiding any romantic or sexual attraction/interests

- One thing that he feels extremely guilty for is what happened to Blooper, or originally a Swap Sans. In my hc, I actually think the reason he was left alone was because of a war happening, which caused him to try and keep him safe but ended up being gone for too long. Even when Blooper was losing it, causing havoc, he couldn't bring it in himself to hurt the one person he cared for intentionally even if he already did unintentionally. (DW though, things were resolved at some point)

- He loves Coraline or any odd little movie like that, because when Undernovela isn't playing he likes to watch them. Coraline just has cool dolls, symbolism, and overall fun animation to him. Don't let anyone find out however because he'll never trust you again

Closing Notes: heourghg....OURGH....groughg.....

Okay seriously though he's always been my bbg, my beloved, ohhhhhh my stars do I love him and want him to be okay he makes me so sick

[the-type-a]

Gonna go claim the legal rights to Duncney and make everything as it should be by claiming it was Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress

Marcus said I wouldn’t have a case but idc

We riot at dawn

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Growing up I never understood why the road to hell was paved with good intentions. Good thing art is such a big part of my life, because I didn't learn that lesson from experience, but through fiction.

The lesson in question is that your intention alone is worth very little. I'm not saying here that good intentions are utterly worthless, 'cause hey you didn't mean to. However, the consequences of your actions can't be erased or reverted just by the cry of "This is not what I wanted to happen".

Now, I'm very aware that I'm writing this post on a bnha blog. You might ask: hey Shan, what does it have to do with anything?

I just want you to think about how bnha plays with the intentionality of the characters vs the consequences of their actions. Forget for a while that you know those characters at all and study them on the basis of what they wanted to do and what they ended up doing.

Example A:

Nana Shimura gave Kotaro Shimura in adoption when he was still a little child.

While she intended to keep him from being hurt by AFO and while she did it out of love and care for her son, her abandonment traumatized him. She left him with a letter to excuse herself and Kotaro grew up knowing that her mother would rather go to save strangers than stay with him.

In consequence, Kotaro was unable to trust in the system of the Hero Society. He became a sad, bitter man with a lot of repressed anger and self-worth issues. He ended up pouring all those thoughts poisoning him into his role as a father and started abusing his kids.

Kotaro had good intentions: he didn't want his kids to become like Nana. He didn't want them to abandon their own families for strangers and act like it was a selfless act of love, instead of a cowardly act of selfishness.

In turn, Tenko Shimura grew up in a house full of abuse and repression. He didn't understand why his dad got so mad whenever Tenko said he wanted to be a hero. No one ever explained it to him. He kept on resisting the rules his dad had set, causing the punishments to become more and more severe.

At the age of 5, Tenko's quirk manifested and reacted to the accumulation of hurt and anger within him. Being a kid and as it was usual in the bnha world, Tenko couldn't control either his quirk or his emotions: the outburst killed most of the Shimuras. Unprepared to deal with the situation, when Tenko reached for Kotaro —his dad— to help him, Kotaro hit Tenko in the face and told him to stay away. It was a familiar gesture between them. It further triggered the kid, tho. Tenko killed Kotaro in his blind fury.

Tenko was now alone, confused, in distress and severely traumatized.

The perfect state for someone to groom him and manipulate him into becoming a weapon.

I don't doubt Nana loved Kotaro and that Kotaro loved Tenko. In fact, if Nana and Kotaro hadn't loved their sons, they wouldn't have reacted the way they did. Both identified a threat (AFO or the Hero Society) and decided for a course of action that would "keep their children safe and sound".

If good intentions were enough, the Shimuras would still be alive, right?

Here's another saying: "ignorance is not excuse".

We have three generations who inflicted great damage on the people around them. A pro-hero, a common man and a villain. The only difference is that Tomura is the least hypocrite of them all: he intended to cause damage right from the start. He was being manipulated by AFO, of course, but he never ignored how his actions impacted other people and he never claimed to be innocent.

Was Tomura right / morally correct? Nope. That's not my point.

What I'm trying to say is that some actions can't be forgiven/erased on the basis of intention alone. This simple fact is one of the side themes of bnha. Pro-heroes cannot be ignorant because there'd be no excuse for their wrongdoings. No matter how much they want to do good, if they hurt people by accident, they still would have to answer for it or well, deal with the consequences themselves.

Example B:

Although Enji, Touya and Shouto's intentions were very different, they all caused (different levels of) damage with their actions.

Shouto recognized that his cold behaviour was having a negative effect on others. He didn't want that, so he became more aware of how he interacted with others.

The entire world got caught up in the middle of Touya's revenge mission. Dabi knew very well he was affecting a lot of people and he knew to what extent his actions were hurting others. He still thought he was willing to pay the price for it, meaning he didn't intend or not to hurt those people in the first place. In order to make Enji's life hell, everything was allowed.

Finally, Enji's journey goes from him being very ignorant on how his actions affected his kids to him realizing just how deep he had fucked up. It was a matter of admitting he had the chances to not do what others told him was wrong, but he still did it 'cause (like Touya) he thought that the end justified the means.

Even if his intentions were different, he turned the blind eye to the damage he was causing.

And like these there are many other cases in the story. Do you remember that time Inko called out All Might on Deku's safety? Or even when Deku left on his own because he wanted to keep his classmates safe? Do you remember Overhaul and his intention/motive? What about Aoyama?

The fact that they didn't mean it doesn't mean that they weren't wrong for doing it. That simple fact is instrumental to define what differentiates Deku's hero style from his predecessors.

Like I said, go back, re-read the story and decide what you want to think about it, okay? Right.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

I want to talk about a classic phrase for a hot minute, because I think the conversation will be more complex than people give it credit for.

"I don't want to hear any excuses."

I, and many others, are used to hearing this phrase and immediately cowering. It's a phrase that says "you have disappointed me with your actions/inactions and I am unwilling to tolerate that" which is technically a value neutral boundary statement EXCEPT

"I don't want to hear any excuses" is a bit unique. It is ALWAYS said to someone who is experiencing disempowerment. Whether that disempowerment is "I need help to effectively do a thing and lack that help/accommodation but am still blamed for my perceived failure" or "i am presenting barriers to my changing behavior with the intent to make you stop asking change of me" or any number of other forms and manifestations of disempowerment, the person being told that their explanations are excuses is being told this because the other person requires change and we cannot or will not make that change.

And the thing is, sometimes we cannot because we need help to make other changes first. Sometimes we will not because we don't believe we should have to or because it would be too distressing for us in some way. And sometimes we genuinely cannot make the change at all whether we want to or had all the help in the world.

"I don't want to hear your excuses" lumps all these different versions of this conflict in together when, actually, the effective approaches to each are pretty substantially different. It locks the conflict into the dynamic of the people and disallows the possibility that explanations are anything but a speed bump that someone WON'T fuck up your undercarriage if you charge over it at 50mph.

And the underlying tension of that dynamic is that change is hard and requires discomfort which can be easily used to obscure when change is being inflicted vs self-determined, leaving people even MORE resistant to change because they no longer feel able to tell what change is reasonable or within their realm of influence in the first place and often fall back on reacting to discomfort as if it is unilaterally inflicted harm.

On the other side of that though, you have someone who has, potentially, similar emotional experiences of boundary setting who finally gets around to actually asking change of another to meet their needs, only to be constantly met by reasons that change cannot be expected to happen [yet, at all, ever, who knows] and feeling increasingly resentful of how much effort you put into meeting OTHER people's asks and wondering why "excuses are okay when it's my needs" and other painful thoughts.

And on an entirely other side you have the sort of. Compulsion we all develop to justify ourselves to others when we perceive the possibility of failure or rejection because of how absolutely fucked people in our society are when they become "rejected by the herd" so to speak. The fear we feel at the possibility puts a lie to everything we think we know aboutself-sufficiency or social trauma or interpersonal emotional conflict or anything else, because so many of us truly PANIC in that moment of possible rejection and will desperately seek any escape from that feeling of being cornered for excommunication [a feeling that is fascinatingly medicalized by a lot of older and even modern interpretations of Borderline Personality Disorder as a concept]

The one thing medicalization gets right is that the more we justify ourselves to others, and experience ourselves as needing justification for taking up space or resources, the more dysfunctional and distressing our lives become for reasons that we both do and don't have influence over.

That desperation will have us seeking to avoid looking inward at what we may actually have control or influence over in a situation where our choices may have harmed or been in conflict with another, because we cannot square the two truths that we may have fucked up in some way or missed some important context and that we are still people worthy of love and belonging. And somehow at the same time it will have us constantly seeking to control things we can't and "do better" at being worthy of love and belonging because someone has assigned us unreasonable blame and we know deep down that we don't trust our own judgement of what is and isn't "okay" enough to trust that we had the right to make the ask we did or to set the boundary we did. It's the world's most toxic and self-perpetuating catch-22 imo.

The trouble with "I don't want to hear any excuses" is that it simultaneously names [solidifies, makes real] the reality that excommunicated humans suffer and die from their excommunication and we can "earn" excommunication for reasons entirely beyond our control, while denying that a threat has been made, regardless of the speaker's intention.

I don't have the magical solution to this conflict/tension area. Lord knows humans have spent thousands of generations searching for one I'm sure. But I do think it can sometimes help just to think over this stuff from time to time and understand *why* we might feel the way we do about certain interpersonal exchanges.

It's not that doing that will suddenly make you capable of changes you weren't before. But it will allow you to at least start learning to see doorways you might have reflexively written off in the past. Clarifies what choices you may actually have available to you, and how you want to make best/preferred use of them.

The trouble with asking for change from another person is that you never actually have any control over whether or not that change happens. There are choices you can make, steps that can be taken, to influence or reinforce infrastructural access to certain change/choice you want someone to consider. But there's no control over outcome, at least not for the person making the ask. Sometimes we DO need something to change, and the fact that the person we are asking that change of may GENUINELY not be able to do it despite making every effort doesn't matter. We need it to happen. And yet every party involved in that kind of a moment seems to be encouraged to feel ashamed of that possibility. As if it means one, the other, or both of them simply didn't try hard enough.

Why are we so ashamed of how much we need each other to get by? How much trauma around need-meeting must how many of us have endured to develop the blanket of fear around how we experience change and the intractibility of amorphous human nature? Why do we deny our interdependence and fight to be islands within ourselves? When was the last time any of us was actually taught how to change for ourselves, how to resolve conflict without fear, how to communicate and negotiate around our needs?

Are there ways we can extend opportunities of shared growth and learning with each other WITHOUT holding ourselves to account for each other's outcomes? What would it actually look like to heal the fear and the stress of our current interpersonal experiences?

How many of us have actually reckoned with our specific forms of internalized trauma from the past 5 or so years of intense global resource instability, mass pandemic death and isolation, and political fear-mongering? With what it does to a living thing to carry that much stress in its body for that long, what happens to a living body-mind when it becomes sure it is about to die? Beyond the work of crisis response, what proactive, preventative work as organizers are we doing to heal the accumulation en masse of ceaseless intergenerational traumas for a future that may one day escape or become resilient to the infliction of threat against ourselves and each other?

Change was never going to be easy or comfortable, but that doesn't mean that brute forcing your way through distress during efforts to change is anything but harmful to you and the people around you. How do we learn to let our old selves die without doubting the joyous aliveness our next selves will have the opportunity to explore?

[the-eternal-quest-for-balance]

James O'Keefe Launches Countersuit Against Project Veritas, Alleges Defamation, Breach of Contract

"Yet, in a bewildering turn of events, the very institution O'Keefe had nurtured from its inception turned against him."

By: The Post Millennial 

"James O'Keefe of OMG has launched a countersuit against Project Veritas, a company he founded and helmed until February 2023. Project Veritas sued their founder in May of that year, and now, O'Keefe is bringing his own claims against the group. O'Keefe was put on leave, at first for two weeks and then indefinitely, which he has said was an attempt to force his resignation, and he later offered that.

In the countersuit obtained by The Post Millennial, O'Keefe accuses the Project Veritas Board of materially breaching the employment agreement when he was stripped of his position, compensation, and ability to do his work, "which proximately and directly damaged" him. O'Keefe offers a counterclaim of defamation, alleging that the "Board members acted negligently, at minimum, in regards to the truth or falsity of their statements."

Tweets from Board members are included in the documentation, showing remarks and assertions they had made publicly about O'Keefe during the course of the dispute and the suit brought by Project Veritas against O'Keefe. These include calling O'Keefe a "sociopathic liar," stating that "everyone who ever worked for/with him feels exactly the same on this point." O'Keefe was called "evil" and accused of "criminality" in these public tweets from Project Veritas Board member Matthew Tyrmand. Further, private facts were published by Board members, the case reads. "Project Veritas published personal and private communications of an intimate nature, by providing them to wrongdoers for that express purpose, including but not limited to the Twitter Account 'James O’Keefe The Panty Thief.' In doing so, PV published matters concerning O’Keefe’s private life," the suit reads.

"The disclosure of O’Keefe’s private messages was a gross violation of O’Keefe’s privacy and highly offensive to a reasonable person," the suit reads. Additional claims include the intentional infliction of emotional distress, that "Plaintiffs intentionally inflicted severe emotional distress on O’Keefe by deliberately humiliating him in front of the PV staff to create an unbearably hostile work environment and force O’Keefe to resign." Other breaches are also alleged. The suit also gives a glimpse into the background of the case, and O'Keefe's account of what happened during the period of time when he left the company. The document lays out a timeline of events that led to the removal of O'Keefe and the demise of Project Veritas.

It all began, the suit states, in early February 2023 when O'Keefe was confronted by the company's CFO over a pricey helicopter trip. O'Keefe, who had used helicopters before with no issue, fired the CFO, Tom O'Hara. The board, comprised of O'Keefe, Matthew Tyrmand, and John Garvey convened an emergency meeting, during which Tyrmand proposed adding more people to that board. O'Keefe objected, but they were added anyway. Additional people were added to the meeting.

"Ahead of the meeting, Tyrmand had lined up cherry-picked disgruntled current and former employee 'observers' to attend by phone and speak. Other employees, previously happy in their positions, were invited to attend and listen," the suit reads. Grievances were read into the record, along with transgressions by O'Keefe. The board reinstated the fired CFO, put O'Keefe on leave, removed his ability to hire or fire people for 180 days, took his credit card, and restricted his access to the company's "proprietary information."

As O'Keefe was on leave, the board determined that he had engaged in "serial misspending." Shortly thereafter, a letter of employee complaints was issued. O'Keefe's leave went from two weeks paid leave to indefinite unpaid leave in what the suit alleges was an attempt to "force O'Keefe's voluntary resignation." O'Keefe said he could resign or the board could, and when the board did not, he tendered his resignation from the company he founded in 2011. He was replaced at the helm by the woman he founded it with. Those with Project Veritas maintained that O'Keefe was not ousted.

"Over a matter of a few days," the suit reads in the introduction, "a Board — ironically, dedicated to truth and transparency— engaged in a calculated ambush of its founder, stripping him of authority and publicly humiliating him in front of the very team he had assembled. This was not a measured response to legitimate concerns, but a premeditated coup that ignored years of successful leadership and the unique value O'Keefe brought to the organization."

"The Board's actions," it continues, "cloaked in the language of corporate governance, revealed a profound and willfully obtuse misunderstanding of what made Project Veritas special. They failed to grasp that O'Keefe was not merely an employee, but the beating heart of an organization that thrived on his vision, his connections, and his public persona. In their myopic focus on alleged expense reports and management styles, they lost sight of the forest for the trees, jeopardizing the very mission they were sworn to uphold."

"These counterclaims are not merely about contractual disputes or corporate governance," the suit goes on to say. "They are about the willful destruction of a unique institution in American journalism. They are about a small group of individuals who, entrusted with safeguarding a vital public watchdog, instead chose to put it down. The Board's actions have not only harmed James O'Keefe personally but have deprived the public of a crucial voice at a time when investigative journalism is needed more than ever."

[mizandria]

Not a troll, genuine question: I thought Johnny Depp was good? Like all his wife's allegations against him were fake? Did he do other things?

no, no, he definitely is not... her allegations against him were that he's lying when he says she "defamed" him by writing an article in Washington Post about having been a victim of domestic & sexual assault. but she didn't even use his name ONCE in the article, plus she didn't say anything untrue and this is corroborated by an UK court who found Depp guilty of 12 out of 14 counts of abuse against Amber in 2020 when he sued The Sun for calling him a wifebeater. basically it was proven that he is one. some instances of this:

- in 2014 Amber was shooting a movie with James Franco, Depp got jealous, taunted and kicked her; proven by texts from his assistant to Amber he sent afterwards talking about how sorry Depp is for doing this to her

- in March 2015 they both were in Austrialia where Amber allegedly threw a bottle at Depp and the bottle sliced his finger off; but he also texted his doctor about slicing his own finger off later ("I cut the top of my middle finger off") + he admitted this in an audio

- in December 2015 he dragged her by her hair, slapped, head butted, punched; proven by the pictures of injuries she took + their marriage consuelor saw the pictures and the injuries in person (he admits to headbutting her in one audio)

- in 2016 he trashed their condo and again assaulted her, and there are pictures of the trashed condo, Isaac Baruch for one saw the condo and testified about it (even thought he was one of the pro-Depp witnesses)

- their neighbour (Raquel Pennington) testifies that she saw Amber cowering in fear before Depp during one of their fights and she covered Amber with her own body to protect her. when he attacked Amber, she was on the phone with her friend, causing the friend to call 911. Amber texted a nurse about that and a medical report confirms the injury. that's when she decided to file for the divorce.

there's more, but these are the ones there is evidence for. but based on what we know about Johnny as a person I believe Amber about all the counts of abuse she cited (including the rape allegation). he's a raging misogynist (for example he texted Paul Bettany that he wants to drown Amber, burn her corpse and then rape it, tried to submit Amber's nudes and proof of her working as a stripped for some reason, threw a bottle at his ex, Ellen Barkin), an addict, an alcoholic, he's pathologically jealous (confirmed by almost all his ex girlfriends/wives), prone to turning violent and throwing things or assaulting others.

he also lied about Amber abusing him, as in he tried to paint her as the perpetrator all while this is what you can find in the unsealed documents: "Depp’s team shielded him from undergoing a psychiatric evaluation on grounds that he “does not allege a specific cause of action for intentional or negligent infliction of emotional distress; does not assert that Ms. Heard’s actions caused him a specific psychiatric injury; and does not claim that Ms. Heard’s actions caused him to experience unusually severe emotional distress.”". then he sat in the courtroom acting like he's traumatized by all the abuse he suffered from her, a not well known actress half his age back when they were dating. he was also so traumatized and scared of her that he started walking up to her as she was leaving the courtroom, causing her to take a step back out of fear and then he just turned around while laughing at her. demonic behavior!

for more I really recommend this timeline of their relationship and @justiceamberheard 's masterpost of the court proceedings summary (with links, so you can verify and see for yourself)!!