#it's only when he's an active threat. it's self defense.

[lemm-moxx]

Nightshade is a parasitic and infectious mould/flora that could also be considered a computer virus comparable to the Morris worm. N.S lives off the destruction and consumption of AUS, utilizing a Host to do this. N.S is sentient, though this sentience is rudimentary and comparable to one of a feral animal. Nightshade's only goal is to infect, consume and destroy.

CREATION Nightshade was created from a rare mutation of the plant Belladonna Atropa (Deadly Nightshade) (Hence its abnormal colour palette and name) It slowly evolved to be more complex over time. Its creation could be described as “out of spite.” HISTORY N.S's presence in the multiverse has been long-term but negligible to any influential party due to its flawed system. This Commonly resulted in burning through hosts and because of this a lack of a stable income of AUs. N.S has been considerably weak for the major part of its life due to these flaws. Though recently gaining a larger presence as a threat due to its first successful and longest running host, this presence was destroyed by the disappearance of said host. Sending the virus into a 7yr dormant period. This period of dormancy has only recently ended via the reappearance of said previously missing host.

Going By the name Bell. ( Previously Sans A. Belladonna)

Bell originates from the now destroyed universe known as Monstale. His height being 5'2, using He/him pronouns and his age unknown.

Bell's general Demeanour is irritable, antisocial and defensive.  He could be described personality wise "like a wet cat". 

A major interest is botany and floristics. Also previously owning a flower shop/florists in the universe known as snowfall. (now defunct) His main hobby is pressing and collecting flowers. Other minor interests/hobbies include learning niche trivia, cloud/stargazing and listening to music.

INFECTIONS

N.S lives off the destruction/consumption of AUS and people,  it forces its host into becoming compliant with this need. This is done through a system of infecting something, and then consuming it.

WORLDS How worlds are infected Inanimate objects such as flora or buildings need to be in contact with an already infected person or object for N.S to spread. The bigger the infected object the faster N.S is.

Stages of world infection #1 N.S begins to spread through the world/code internally,  via something similar to a root system.

#2 Once infiltrating the majority of the world , N.S starts to further infect and then consume areas starting closest to the root system.

#3 N.S becomes visible hitting the surface of the world, N.S starts going for living targets. Root system starts to coat the surface of AU. 

#4 The Sky starts to look visibly infected, a visual mark for when the majority of the au is consumed, AUs risk collapse due to lack of vital code at this point.

BEINGS How Beings are infected Beings are much more harder to infect due to the more their intricate nature created by their sentience (and a soul) Hosts need get past the surface of their target to infect, this is mostly done by a host attacking a target (e.g biting, cutting or scratching them) or a target becoming injured by N.S growth (e.g. scraping them self on a more jagged formation) Someone can get infected purely via contact with N.S, but it takes prolonged contact due to its difficulty.

Stages of PASSIVE infection 1# Surface broken, N.S lays down a root system in victim. 2# Starting near the roots, N.S starts eating victims from inside out. 3# Victim's infection reaches the surface, visible, victims are normally mentally gone at this point. 4# Soul left for last, after consumption. The victim dies, infected body's take longer to rot/dust than normal.

ACTIVE infection N.S when used consciously by the host, normally offensively. Active use consumes a lot of energy compared to passive due to creating a cover of mold instead of  this results in more conservative use. Unlike passive, active goes from the outside in. Creating a sudden cast of mold onto the victim (freezing them in place and removing the need to break past the surface ) and then following the same basic process but in the opposite direction. 

Hosts role Hosts are an integral part of Nightshade, the two parties being dependent on each other. N.S relies on hosts to spread itself, and fill N.S's primary directive and need of destruction. Hosts function as a catalyst for the virus.

Host infection Becoming a Host is only possible when infected with no current host, the infected ideally needs to be in the 1st stage.

Stages of infection 1# The surface broken, N.S lays down a root system in the host. 2# Starting from the roots out, the host is hollowed out and replaced with N.S.  3# N.S inserts itself into the soul, then modifies or ceases functions to create an artificial codependency in the host. 4# N.S coats outside of the host and between joints, being thicker near more fragile areas.

Modification Hosts throughout their lifespan are modified physically by Nightshade. Initial modifications serve to create dependency between the two parties. The main modification being on the soul, a host's soul is turned into a connection point between themselves and N.S, losing its ability to keep its owner alive. This makes the host's ability to live reliant on Nightshades state. After this modifications can vary from a thicker coating near injury prone areas, or adding a tail. N.S mainly does this while repairing an injury or while in possession of a stable source of energy. Modifications mainly serve to make a host physically more adept at accomplishing N.S's goals. Nightshade finds it easier to replicate animal features, so repaired or "improved" parts of hosts may contain more animal qualities than their original form. (e.,g replacing knocked out teeth with fangs, or a host having a set of wings added if called for)

Survival states Being triggered by severe injury, emotional states such as extreme fear, anger or distress. Hosts in this situation are mentally overridden by N.S,  also creating an impermeant excess of mould mainly in vital areas as an attempt at defense.

 Hosts can be categorized into three states based on visual indication.

1# Wacan - The base amount of N.S on a host, normally a thin coating over the surface.

2# Drusian - This state is transitional in nature, you can tell if the host is closer to either state based on the amount of mold overgrowth present. Hosts are still in control but are influenced by N.S.

3# Somnus -  Characterized by Head being covered, signifying a near full loss of control (a host may still have a small influence on their own actions in this state) Somnus tends to act similar to a feral animal.

WANNA SEE A NICER VERSION? (google doc ver)

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

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[karenandhenwilson]

Let's talk about the 21st century and queer rights

Sometimes I see a post and wonder what kind of world people live in, how ignorant and hateful they are of the community they claim to be part of, and even the most recent history of that community.

I saw this post with this line in it: "Its the 21th century, are we still suppose to justify people who lie at their partners in order to protect their reputation?" And I'm not reblogging because I don't want to have it on my blog.

So, let's talk about the 21st century and queer rights in the US, shall we, @queershits?

Did you know that same-sex marriage in the US as a whole has only been legal since the Supreme Court decision on Obergefell v. Hodges on June 26, 2015? Prior to that, the first state to grant same-sex marriage was Massachusetts in 2004, while the first civil unions for gay and lesbian couples became legal in 2000. But at the same time, 28 states had banned same-sex marriage and the recognition of those marriages from other jurisdictions until 2015. In fact, the federal government had been banned from recognizing same-sex marriages by the Defense of Marriage Act in 1996, which had been voided by the Supreme Court decision in 2015 but has only been fully repealed by the Respect of Marriage Act in 2022. That's all the 21st century. And very recent 21st century!

When Hen and Karen adopted Denny in 2011, they weren't married. Because at that point in time, they weren't allowed to in California.

Did you know that until the Supreme Court ruling on Lawrence v. Texas on June 26, 2003, same-sex sexual activity was illegal in 14 US states? And that even with that ruling 12 of these states have not changed their state's constitution, so that these laws aren't executable but still on the book and regularly used to harass queer people? (And didn't the current Supreme Court just say after overthrowing Roe v. Wade they'd like to take a good long look at Lawrence v. Texas, too? People might lose their rights again in those 12 states if the worst comes to pass here.) That's all the 21st century.

Did you know that "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" came into effect in 1994, allowing gay and bi people to serve in the US military as long as no one found out about their sexual orientation? If they were found out, they could face dishonorable discharges or even prison time. Either would be a permanent burden on their records for the rest of their lives. DADT was repelled in 2011 after a long and hard debate. That's well into the 21st century.

Karen explicitely states that DADT is part of the reason she didn't become an astronaut. (Though, NASA was never truly subjected to the rule as it is not a military organisation. But on the other hand, many of the astronatus are active or former military.)

Tommy was at the 118 in 2005. We know he was in the Army prior to joining the LAFD. That means Tommy served under the rule of DADT, which would have been an immense burden on him.

Do you know that there is a defense called "LGBTQ+ panic" often used in combination with a defense of insanity, provocation, or self-defense? This defense tactic is only banned in 21 US states, and most of those bans are very recent. In 2018, only three states had banned this defense. In 29 US states people are allowed to say "this person is gay/trans/queer/etc and I felt threated by that fact alone so I saw myself with no other choice but to hurt them" in a court of a law and the jury has to consider that argument. That's the 21st century.

Let's take a look at the kind of world Josh, Michael, and Tommy would have been children and teenagers in. That's not quite the 21st century, but it's near enough.

Tha aids epemedic started in the 1980s, and is — for the record! — still ongoing. But in the 1980s it was very much deemed a problem of the gay community only. And many, many people claimed outrageous things like "they're getting what they deserve". Josh and Tommy are both 80s children, Michael was a teenager in the 80s. We know Tommy grew up with a bigoted and hateful man like Gerrard as a father. He probably heard the above quote and worse regularly.

Have you ever heard the name Mathew Shepard, @queershits? (If not, go and educate yourself!) Mathew Shepard was a young gay man tortured and murdered in October 1998. Josh and Tommy would have been teenagers or maybe young adults (as we don't know the exact age of either of them) when that happened. It was all over the news and there were, again, people not shying away from saying he got what he deserved. I've no doubt Tommy's father (and Gerrard) was one of those people.

That's the world Josh, Michael, and Tommy grew up in as gay men that Josh talked about. They didn't hide to protect their reputation, as it was put in the quote above. They hid to protect their life and well-being. Finding the confidence and security to let go of that kind of learned behavior to protect yourself is so hard. But all three did it!

There are still people today who have to hide like this in the US. Because they're born into the wrong family or the wrong neighborhood or the wrong religious community where being queer is still seen as a ground to hate them, to exclude them, to hurt them, to kill them.

The number of hate crimes is rising again. The hard-won rights and freedom of queer people are threatened again. It's the 21st century, but that doesn't mean we are always safe or that we don't sometimes have to do shady things to protect ourselves or that we can lean back and enjoy the rights we have. Because many of us all over the world either don't have any rights or are facing the very real danger of losing the rights again that those who came before us fought so hard for.

[shycoconutt]

you, more than anyone, know that satoru isn't invincible. as his closest friend, you see what those who call him “the strongest” miss.

they don't see him remove his blindfold at the end of the day, rubbing at his tired eyes. they don't notice how he spends each evening at jujutsu tech, staring out the window, watching the sun dip behind the mountains. they never question why his infinity is always active, even when there's no immediate threat. they don’t feel the tension in his muscles that lingers hours after he meets with the higher-ups. they aren’t aware of his sleep schedule, where he barely gets 1-3 hours of “rest” each night. they can’t imagine the countless scars he'd bear if not for his rct. they don’t realize that the only things he consumes are sweets to dull the constant ache behind his eyes, not food to nourish his body.

but you notice, of course you do.

-

after a late-night doom scroll, your eyes light up when you see an advertisement for a cooling gel eye mask. after purchasing one in a pretty pink color and storing it for 24 hours in the office freezer, you hold it behind you as you stroll casually into his room.

“toooooruuuuuuu,” you sing as you walk up behind his desk.

reclining in his chair, he lets his head lull off the back so you can see his face.

“i know you have something behind your back, weirdo. you can’t hide it from me, remember?” he says as he points to his eyes behind his mask with a goofy smile.

“tsk, just go along with it for a second, will ya?” you scold playfully.

not without a dramatic sigh, satoru folds his arms in front of his torso. suddenly, you feel the air around you still, signaling to you the drop in his infinity as he lets you have your way with whatever you plan on doing.

with one hand, you carefully peel off his mask and toss it on his desk.

“keep your eyes closed, okay?”

“mmmmm”

the short walk from the communal fridge to his office was enough time to freeze your fingertips. bringing the gel mask in front of you, you do your best to stretch it as flat as possible before placing it slowly on his face.

“oh! what the- it’s so, ah, cold!”

you smile, tugging the elastic band around his head to hold the mask in place as he jerks around in his chair. your hands naturally fall to rest on his shoulders to steady him in place.

“toru!” you laugh, “it’s okay, just give it a second to get used to it!”

slowly you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax under your palms. as if on instinct, you start to work at them, kneading the muscles between your fingers. satoru’s face flushes a soft shade of pink, probably a reaction to the harsh temperature on his skin.

“huh,” his voice soft, “this actually feels pretty good.”

“of course it does,” you scold, “things like this exist for a reason. it’s called self-care, toru. it’s this wild and crazy idea where you take care… of yourself.”

“sounds like a gimmick.”

a smile creeps to your lips but quickly falls flat. satoru is always dismissive about his health, putting on a playful tone with his signature smile. but it’s a mask covering the ugly truth–there’s no time for self-care when there’s no sense of self. self does not exist in a world where he is merely a pawn–a very powerful, unforgettable pawn–but one nonetheless. he is an atomic bomb in society’s arsenal, labeled the strongest with the security that there is nothing, no one that rivals his ability. we are all protected while he suffers, out there alone in scenarios absent from our nightmares, as none of it is fathomable.

no one cares.

no one knows.

they are all so ignorant.

we are all so ignorant.

“OW,” satoru gasps, snapping you out of your spiral.

“oh my gods, i’m so sorry! did i hurt you?”

he puts on a show for a few more seconds before relaxing again. “not really, but i can read your thoughts and you were starting to get a little intense there.”

bringing your hands off of him, you fold them in front of you defensively, “you cannot read my mind.”

satoru rolls his head side to side on the chair, teasing you. “yes i can, and i appreciate you worrying about me.”

you huff out the air in your lungs as he peels the mask off his face, gets up, and turns to stand before you. his size makes it difficult to take him all in at once–his proximity to you causes you to crane your head upward to look him in the eyes. the skin around them glistens subtly from the condensation there, making them reflect even more intensely somehow. getting lost in his eyes isn’t just poetry, the blue pools of infinity stare right back at you, so deep and real.

it’s selfish to think you have any ownership, any authority over them. but in this lifetime, you’ll be damned if anyone dares to take them away from you.

“but i’ll be okay.”

his tone is so soft. as you search his face for any sign of fallacy, you see now that there is no mask–no fake smile. his infinity remains down, confirmed by the hand you place above his heart. 

“you promise?” you question in a whisper.

suddenly, but not unexpectedly, his hand is placed above yours. 

“cross my heart,” he swears, lifting your hand with his own to draw an x over his chest.

humming in response, you bring your eyes to your intertwined hands. it’s difficult to not pry more, but, unfortunately, you know this has to be enough.

“in all honesty,” you begin, “i wish i could kidnap you to a remote, faraway island. i would chain you up in bed, feed you warm meals every day, and force you to get a solid eight hours of sleep.”

satoru’s laugh rings throughout the room.

“sounds kinky,” he muses with a wiggle of his brow. 

sighing dramatically, you continue “but, alas, i cannot. so taking you to my place tonight will just have to suffice.”

“huh?”

“fine, fine, i won’t chain you to my bed. but i am making you takoyaki and tucking you in at eleven.” with his hand in yours, you begin to lead him out of his office. quickly, he is in your step by your side, a wide grin on his face. 

“you know,” he tempts, “you can chain me to your bed if you want to.”

“don’t tempt me, boy,” you play along, “you know how i can get carried away.”

somehow, the shiver that escapes satoru’s body is even more intense than the chill of any ice-cold face mask.

a/n: i wrote this sometime after i read the thirty-three questions gege was asked about satoru gojo and was sad to learn more about his daily life. our overworked king deserves a little break, yeah?

[em1e]

万次郎 // GIVEN THE CHOICE ⠀ ༝ ༝ bonten!mikey ⠀ ༝ ༝ 8.4k words ⠀ ⚠︎ big brother!draken, mentions of violence, character death, manga spoilers, pregnancy, angst, suggestive?, implied fem!reader but no pronouns. ⠀ — you've always liked mikey growing up. how do you tell him years down the line that you've had his kid?

there’s not much to say about being the younger sibling to draken. 

even less about his delinquent friends he seemed to follow around like a puppy. 

but you could say a lot about his friend mikey. self-proclaimed leader at the age of eleven, you watched from the sidelines as he became the true leader of his silly group toman, saw how it’d develop to something more as you grow older. 

and as the years pass, you become more acquainted with those same people he’s always around - namely one baji keisuke, who made it very apparent from the start he wanted to be your friend because ‘only cool guys have a weak best friend’ and apparently no one else in toman was weak. 

days turn to weeks turn to years with you in their shadow, but you’ve never seemed to mind. 

you enjoy your view from the sidelines. 

“you can’t tell anyone.” you warn baji with a finger pointed in his direction, eyes narrowed as if that could somehow make your threat more lethal. 

he holds his hands up in mock-defense, taking a step away with his shoulders slouched, “you have my word.” 

you look away from him, arms crossing over your chest as you answer. 

“sorry?” he tilts his head, leaning forward, “didn’t quite catch that.” 

you feel yourself flush, hiding your face to mumble the reply, “mikey.” 

there’s a beat of silence for all of five seconds before he starts laughing. 

“you have a crush on mikey? of all people?” 

you shove him away from you when he leans against you for support, yet still manage to press your hand against his mouth because he’s so fucking loud, “quiet down,” you hiss out, “they’re supposed to be ‘round the corner, will you shut up?!” 

“just think it’s funny how you ‘nd your brother have a thing for each of the sano siblings-”

“quiet!” 

draken and mikey stumble upon you with a fist full of baji’s hair, the other hand pressed firmly against his mouth while he has his own shoving at your face to keep you away. 

and that’s just how most days go - when they aren’t terrorizing the city, they’re bothering you for one reason or another. 

until it isn’t. 

until kazutora gets released from juvie and baji leaves you in the dust and then dies after. . . it’s a lot to take in, especially for someone so young - so close to someone who suddenly drops it on you that they want nothing to do with you, and then you hear during the aftermath from your brother that he was begging for you to forgive him, for you to take care of mikey, too, because someone has to. 

until draken finds you curled in on yourself sobbing because even to the end, baji put other people above himself and it’s so fucking unfair that that’s how he meets his demise. 

you stay in your room for a week without moving. it takes draken practically dragging you out of the space to get you into the world again, mikey at his side with a frown. 

and maybe it’s from the mutual trauma of losing someone so close to you (despite it being a thousand times worse for mikey, since he was actively there at the scene), but you and mikey grow closer after baji’s death. 

you make sure one another eats, that you’ve done your assignments on time, that you’re getting enough sleep, that you’re taking care of yourselves. 

it stays like that for a while, you tucked behind mikey and draken like a secret, something no one else can touch or bother with emma at your side. 

and then she dies, too. 

her death was the breaking point for them, you think. 

unexpected and quick and cruel that mikey had to watch her pass, the tensions eating away at them and bursting at the seams from the announcement of her death. when draken came back home with busted knuckles and tear-stained cheeks, it broke you because your big brother was supposed to be the strong one. a piece of you chipped away when he crumbled in your embrace, sobs wrecking through his body while you held him close. 

the funeral isn’t any better, tensions still high, and draken steps away at the end when you move to talk to mikey. 

you promise to check in on him when you can, pull him into a hug while offering your condolences, and when you separate he doesn’t look at you as he says his thanks. 

when you make your way to draken, you will yourself to glance back at mikey and . . . he looks so small, standing beside his grandpa. unfocused on the people that come up, shake his hand with frowns, then leave. as if feeling your stare on him, he looks up to meet your gaze, and with such a small glance, you can see how heavily everything’s weighed down on him. how cruel the world has been to him, and how it remains unrelenting of punches. 

he looks away before you do, and draken pulling you close to him by the shoulder to keep you from walking into someone draws your attention away from mikey. 

weeks turn to months, passing without a hitch, and you do your best to check in on mikey when you can. some days you visit and his grandpa answers the door, turning you away because mikey’s out and he doesn’t know where he is - most days your texts and calls go unanswered. 

ken later informs you toman’s disbanded and he isn’t sure what to do with himself. despite your best efforts, getting in contact with mikey becomes harder and harder, until it becomes an impossible feat altogether. 

years pass with no contact - with everyone lives moving forward, with your brother owning his own bike shop and inupi coming to work with him, and you getting an insane job offer for your dream position. it’s crazy amazing for someone your age to see an opportunity like this, and you’re elated beyond belief by the proposition, except . . . it’s on the other side of japan. 

you’d have to leave everything you’ve ever known for the chance of a lifetime, and it’s your brother who encourages you to take it. 

“who knows if something like this could happen again,” he says with a smile, ruffling your hair in a way that big brothers do, “you’ll always have a home here to come to if things don’t pan out.” 

you see everyone you can in the weeks before you leave, even manage to pin down mitsuya for coffee before he leaves for another exciting runway event in italy (you tease how you wish you’d be going there instead - he offers an invite once you’re settled in your new apartment). 

the only person you couldn’t pinpoint a location for was . . . mikey. 

despite your many calls to the old number you have stored in your phone, searching for him at his old childhood home, even asking draken and the other friends from his old gang - no one knew. you amaze yourself with your own detective skills, though, by some miracle able to find an address - you applaud yourself as you step to the door, double checking the apartment number matches what you have written down before you knock. 

there’s a moment where you stand dumbly waiting for someone to open the door, and you think for a second maybe you have the wrong apartment, or maybe he’s not home, or -

there’s a click of the lock sounding, the door creaking open just enough for you to see the darkness inside. 

you brighten when mikey peeks his head around the door, leaning against the frame and just . . . staring, expression unreadable. 

“hi . . .” you breath out, “’ve been lookin’ for you.” 

“that spells trouble.” he says without missing a beat, looking down both ends of the hall before he pushes the door open further. an invitation to enter, one you take gratefully. 

“for who?” you can’t help but tease, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room as you spin to face him closing the door, “me? or you?” 

“depends on how this goes.” he shrugs, leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. 

you don't take his words as the threat they are, smile still as bright as when he first pulled open the door, “how have you been? it’s been a while.” 

“‘ve been better,” he looks away from you, “definitely been worse.” 

“wellll, “ you spin on your heel to get a look at his apartment, reaching for the wall where the lightswitch sits and flipping them on, “what have you been up to? s’nice apartment, even better with the lights on.” you chastise lightly, making yourself at home somewhere you surely could never consider it to be. 

when you turn back to face him, he’s already behind you, hand on your wrist, still touching the switch. 

“what do you want, (y/n)?” he asks. your gaze softens on him, now able to take in the light bags under his eyes, the way his frame is smaller than you remember. 

“to talk,” you answer gingerly, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, “to see you and know you’re not dead in a ditch in roppongi.”

“you can clearly see i’m not, s’there more?, ” the words leave his lips bitterly, contrasting how his eyes flutter closed, how he leans into your touch. 

“‘m moving pretty far,” you add after a moment of silence, “otherside of japan. just wanted to see you’re okay before i leave.” your thumb rubs gentle circles into his cheek, head tilting when his eyes snap open at the admission. 

“what for?” he pries, and the way he asks reminds you of when you were kids; when he’d beg and beg and beg to play with the toy you were already playing with if only for the fact that you were playing with it, how he’d whine and pout until you relented because you couldn’t stand the idea of him being upset with you. 

“a job,” you’re completely transparent as you answer, “‘the opportunity of a lifetime’. it felt . . . i dunno, wrong? to not share the good news with you-mph?” 

you're silenced by him suddenly pulling you to him, lips pressed to your own with his hands cupping your cheeks, and truth be told it’s everything fourteen-year-old you dreamed of and more. everything you ever wanted in life kissing you in his apartment before you go miles and miles away to start a completely different dream and it hurts. 

but you don’t have it in you to push him away, not when he presses you against the wall to deepen the kiss, or when he pulls your clothes off of you with a desperation that leaves you whining and begging, or when he guides you to his bedroom and continues his affection that holds the passion and emotion that’d been buried under fifteen years of dirt. he brings out each skeleton from the closet with every thrust until the both of you are spent, laying naked in each other’s embrace until you fall asleep. 

it’s surprising, almost, to wake up the next morning alone in a bed that isn’t yours. 

there’s no sign of mikey when you look around the apartment, the only tell of him even staying in the form of a stack of cash with a note in his familiar handwriting left on the kitchen counter. 

hope this helps you get started in the new city. - mikey 

a number sits in a smaller font under the note, in even smaller writing it says for emergencies, use this number. 

it feels weird, taking the money with no way to show your appreciation, so you rip a small corner from the paper and write your thanks out, the promise of visiting him soon when you’re back in town added with a heart at the end of your note. 

two days later, and you’re driving to a new city with your entire life packed in suitcases and boxes - a moving truck scheduled to deliver your belongings a day after you get to your apartment. 

almost two months pass, and you find you’re settling well; everyone at the company adores you, and the building your apartment’s in sits across from a nice ramen shop that you like to go to every tuesday night after you get paid. 

you come down with a stomach bug, one you can’t seem to shake, and after a week of calling out and forcing yourself to work despite being exhausted and crabby and ill, you go to the doctor. 

imagine your surprise when he tells you you’re fucking pregnant. 

two months, in fact, proven with the sonogram he sets you up with, and you’re calling your brother in hysterics in your car when the appointment is over. 

“pregnant?” he repeats over the phone, after taking the first five minutes of the call just trying to calm you down, “by who?” 

you’re chewing your lip raw as you answer, “mikey . . .” 

there’s a beat of silence, before you’re whispering out, “‘m scared, ken. i-i’m miles from home and-and i just started this job and i don’t even know if i can take care of a baby on my own-” 

“you’re gonna keep it?” he asks, tone genuine. 

“i . . . yeah, i think so - i-i mean, i want to . . . is that stupid? is that a stupid want for me to have?” your lip wobbles waiting for his answer. 

“no, but . . . s’lot of work, (y/n). if it’s something you do want, you know i’ll support you in any way i can, you just gotta tell me how to help.” 

“i wan’a come home.” you settle, and the way the words leave your lips remind you of a child, begging a parent for something so small when this is anything but. 

“we can do that,” draken promises, “i’ll get a flight and help you pack or get inupi to ride with me. we’ll figure it all out, don’t stress.” 

you sniffle, wiping at your face hastily, “kay . . . okay. thank you ken.” 

“f’course,” you can hear the smile in his voice over the phone, “s’what big brother’s are for.” 

and the next few weeks are filled with moving your life back home, with the help of draken and inupi. the people at your job are nothing but happy at the news for you, despite being sad to see you go - they wish you the best in life, though, and even offer another position to apply if you ever decide to come back to the area. it’s sweet, really. 

you move into draken’s house and have a healthy baby boy that looks so much like mikey, you think it might kill you. you name him shin. 

he makes you promise to not try to seek out mikey one night, after you’d rocked shin to sleep and put him down in his crib. 

“no one knows what he’s been up to,” he argues quietly when your brows furrow at the demand, “and frankly, the few ties i still have with gangs make me worried from what little things they tell me.” 

“but those could just be rumors,” you frown, “he deserves to know he has a kid.” 

“it’s dangerous, (y/n).” draken settles with the finality of a parent telling their kid they can’t have another cookie, “‘m serious. don’t try to contact him.” 

despite the weight the conversation holds, you can’t help but stick your tongue out at him childishly. something he returns, only to narrowly dodge the stuffed animal you throw his way in opposition. 

and though the warnings loom in the air, you can’t help but try to let mikey know - calling the number he left countless times, trying to use your rusty detective skills that aided you in finding him almost a year ago, just trying to make him aware that you had his son. 

you don’t seek child support, or demand otherworldly things that a parent could only dream of (a rocking chair that massages your back and automatically rocks? you drool at the thought), you just feel it’s something he deserves to know. something he should be given a choice to be a part of. 

except he’s known since you moved back. 

it was a difficult task, keeping tabs on you when you were so far away, but he knew from the day you settled into draken’s home by word of mouth from koko. it must’ve been a punishment for koko, to check in on all of their friend’s from their pasts, to make sure their lives are going how they want them to and make sure everyone is happy. 

mikey couldn’t stomach the photos koko would offer, waving them away and requesting the verbal update instead, and when your son is born, he’s only informed that there’s no father on the birth certificate. your attempts to contact him died in vein, the number he gave you belonging to an old throw away phone he got rid of a week after he left it with you. he didn’t think you’d ever need it. 

three years pass, and koko would be damned to say the kid doesn't look like a photocopy of mikey. wild blond hair, all bright eyed and sweet. 

you work at a diner now, usually leave shin with draken and inupi for your nightshift and ken takes him home when he’s done at the garage. 

it’s cute, the way they interact with him - they let him get in the way of their work, careful so he doesn’t get hurt, but allow his curiosity and grubby hands grab hold of tools and bolts and pieces they need. 

you're not overly fond of letting shin have his way with whatever he can pinch between his fingers, since usually whatever he does find ends up in his mouth like a chew toy, but ken and inupi tease you for being too overprotective. 

you still live with ken, despite insisting the need to get out of his hair, but he promises it’s okay to take your time since he adores his nephew and doesn’t mind helping, and inupi’s became a good friend by proxy. 

it’s rare for you and your brother to argue, especially in front of shin, and truly you’re not sure what sparked the conversation in the first place - all you know is you’re upset. 

“inupi, tell my brother it’s unfair for mikey to not know he has a kid.” 

“inui, tell my sibling if mikey wanted to be involved, he would be. simple as that.” 

“we don’t even know if he knows,” you groan out, leaving inupi to hold up his hands defensively. 

“i have no argument in this.” is all he offers. 

“but you have some insight, “ you counter, kneeling down when shin tugs on your pants, “you know the story-” 

“i’m just sayin’ you’ve tried for three years-” draken starts.

“four.” 

“-four years, “ he continues, “and you’ve gotten nothing. i don’t see a need for you to continue if you’ve come up empty handed for so long.” 

“because, ken-” 

shin’s lip wobbles for a second before he bursts into tears, gripping the front of your shirt until you’re shushing him and pulling you towards him in a hug, “shhh, baby, it’s okay. what’s wrong?” 

he continues to cry despite you rocking him, and it takes draken pulling him out of your arms while tickling his sides to make him stop. 

“prob’ly didn’t like the arguing.” inupi comments, dodging a wrench you throw his way with a glare. 

“we’ll talk about this later,” you sigh out, standing on your toes to squeeze shin’s cheeks, “i love, love, love you.” you emphasize each ‘love’ with a kiss to his chubby cheeks, happy to hear his crying replaced with giggles and incoherent toddler babble. 

your shift at work isn’t anything special - you have some regulars that come in at the odd hours of night, and by the end of your shift, you’re the last to leave; finishing out some paperwork the managers can’t be bothered to do despite getting paid far less than them to do it. 

you fish your keys from your bag, unlock your car, ready to begin the short drive home but . . . your car won’t start. 

of course it doesn’t. it’s an older model, one you were supposed to take to the scrap yard for a slightly newer model last month but couldn’t because shin unexpectedly got sick and you had to fork out some cash to make sure he got better. 

you sigh, pop the hood of the vehicle as if maybe some of your brother’s knowledge of mechanics could somehow transfer to you, and call the aforementioned male. 

it rings. . . and rings . . and rings. no answer. 

you try again. 

nothing. 

you kick at the front bumper in frustration, running a hand over your face in search of another contact. surely inupi is awake at two in the morning, right? 

the call rings out, and you’re really worried it’s going straight to voicemail for a second, but he picks up on seemingly the last buzz, “hello?” he sounds groggy, like you did just wake him up. you don’t have time to dwell on the thought when a group of guys appear from the sidewalk, spotting and attempting to talk to you in one breath. 

“car won’t start?” one asks, nudging his friend as they make their way closer to you, “we can help.” 

you turn away from them, “hey inui, can you come get me from work? ken didn’t answer and my car won’t start.” 

“hey.” the guys are much closer now, one stepping around to the front of the car while the other two stand off to your right, vying for your attention. 

“yeah f’course. there other people around you?” there’s some shuffling from inupi’s end, like he’s getting out of bed. 

“yeah. um, how long till you can be here?” 

“ten? minutes maybe.” you swallow at the answer. 

“great, i’ll see you in five.” 

you pull the phone from your ear slightly, turning back to face the two guys to your right, “i don’t need any help, i have a friend on the way-” 

there’s only a moment between you dismissing their assistance before the guy who was at the front of your car is shoving at your shoulder and pinning you to the side of your car, one hand pressed firmly to your mouth while the other squeezes your wrist until your phone falls from your hand and kicks it away. 

you shove a hand at his face, trying to reach into your bag for your taser or pocket knife or a really sharp pencil when the guy moves his hand from your mouth to your throat, squeezing hard enough you’re sure it’ll bruise, while tearing your bag from your shoulder and throwing it to sit with your phone. 

the smell of alcohol comes off of him in waves when he grins, leaning down to get a good look at you, “we can ‘elp ya,” he offers, “but not for free.” 

your nails bite into the skin of his wrist, the need to breath overtaking every other sense desperately while you continue to kick and claw at him.

his grip only relents at the sound of a motorcycle idling in the parking lot, but the pressure of his hand still keeps you in place by the throat, head turning to address who could see fit to interrupt this ‘exchange’. the man on the bike adjusts the mask on his face, tucks his long platinum hair to the side, seeming to ignore the eyes on him. 

“diner’s closed,” one of the other guys says, stepping towards the stranger, “and we’re kinda busy here ourselves-” 

he doesn’t get the chance to really say what they’re doing when the guy steps off the bike and just swings. 

his fist meets the guy's cheek with a harsh thwack while mumbling, “shouldn’t touch shit that doesn’t belong to you.” 

the guy holding you up releases his grip completely, leaving you to drop to the ground when your legs buckle under your weight, frozen and left only watching as the two remaining men are taken down easily by your potential savior. 

when the three stay unmoving on the ground, he crouches in front of you, adjusting the mask on his face once again while taking in your shaken form. 

“you okay?” you don’t trust your voice, so you only nod, “is someone on the way to get you? or d’ya need a ride?” 

you nod again, “i-inui’s coming.” you manage to whisper out, unable to catch the way his eyes widen slightly as he stands to his full height. 

he begins to walk away, back to his motorcycle that’s still running, but his steps hesitate when you call out, “is that you, koko?” 

he doesn’t turn to face you, doesn’t address if you’re correct in your assumption, “don’t worry ‘bout all this,” he says instead, “i’ll take care of it.” 

and then he’s climbing onto his bike, pulling out of the parking lot less than a minute before inupi’s pulling into it. 

you’re still on the ground when he rushes towards you to see if you’re okay, stepping over the unconscious bodies with little regard. you recount what happened, which inupi dismisses since he remained on the phone until he pulled into the parking lot. 

“do . . . was it really koko?” he asks, helping you up from the cement and gathering the items that spilled from your bag, offering your now cracked phone to you with a frown. 

“i’m not sure . . . i never really knew him like you did, “ you reach into your car to grab the important belongings and shove them in your bag, “it didn’t look like him but . . . it sounded like him. was his eyes, i think.” 

inupi looks away at this, “so what do you wanna do? ‘bout these guys?” 

you swallow, keeping your stare away from the three on the floor, “he said he'd take care of it and i don’t . . . i just wanna go home.”

“okay,” inui’s hand finds it place at the small of your back, guiding you gently to his bike and helping you on, “i’ll take you home.” 

when inupi walks you through the foyer, draken’s in front of you the second the door falls shut. 

you can see his worry in the crease of his brow, from the way he grabs your shoulders to give you a once-over and frowning at the way your neck seems to be irritated beyond belief, “are you okay? i-i had to put shin back to bed because he woke up ‘nd i didn’t have my phone on me but when tried calling back but you didn’t answer.” 

“‘m okay . . .” you assure, peeling yourself away from him, “gonna go shower . . um, inui can tell you what happened.” 

your voice is so small as you speak, ken can only nod and watch you disappear into the hall before he turns to inui, who delves into the story based on what he heard over the phone and what you told him when he arrived.

you scrub your skin raw in the shower, until it almost stings from how harsh you rub. you slip out of the bathroom quietly after, sneak your way into shin’s nursery and sit by his bed for just a second to decompress, rubbing the boys back softly while he sleeps. 

the peace is disrupted by ken peeking his head around the door, “c’mon, we gotta talk ‘bout it.” 

you almost pout, childlike, “do we have to?”

the look he gives you offers no leeway to argue, so you sigh and press a kiss to shin’s hair before standing, deciding now isn’t the time to start an argument. 

inupi’s gone when you come out to the living room, tucking your legs under yourself as you sit on the couch with ken beside you. 

you feel like a child they way you explain what happened, unable to look at him as you speak. ken visibly stiffens at the mention of the potential koko coming to your aid, interrupting you mid story to remind you, “you know it doesn’t matter that he helped you, right. you’re not gonna go out lookin’ for him or mikey or whoever else.” 

you frown at his words, opening your mouth to argue but he shakes his head before you can, “no, (y/n), ‘m serious. it’s too dangerous.”

you look down, defeated, but nod your head, “okay . . . fine.”

and really, you had full intention to abide by the warning. but . . . your boss called you the next day, said something about the diner being closed for the next few days because of something you couldn’t be bothered to remember and that you’d still be paid for the lost hours. 

the details don’t matter, really. you drop shin off with draken as usual, avoid mentioning the fact that you have the day off, and leave with the intent to use the next free hours just . . . looking. for koko or mikey or anyone who might know anything about either of them. 

it’s stupid, you think, to search and pry so openly, bouncing from bars and clubs asking anyone who’ll listen, but within three hours, you’ve gathered the following; 

mikey runs some big name gang. baton? batten? something. 

he has some executives that help run his gang, some of which own a few of the clubs in the shiftier parts of the city – haitani’s? you think they’re called?

the haitani’s are close to koko, who’s close to mikey, and really that’s the only thing you need. 

so you continue going from club to club, under the impression that apparently the haitani’s frequent their own clubs just about every night. you hear about a nicer club towards the edge of the city, one they favor to the other’s since the liquor is stronger and the girls are prettier – but these are all things you’ve heard from other people, so who knows how true it really is.

when you make it to the club, you wonder if your sundress is something considered to be ‘underdressed’. surely the juice stain on the front isn’t working in your favor as the bouncer gives you a once-over. 

“yer lookin’ for who, now?” he asks, one brow raised with his arms crossed over his chest. 

if you had any sense in you, you’d probably be scared of the way he eyes you down, but growing up around idiots who don’t know when to stop messing around has really ruined your fight or flight response. 

“the haitani brothers..” you reply, mocking the way he crosses his arms over his chest, “i heard they sometimes come by here, i thought maybe-” 

“you thought, huh?” his eyes rake over your form, and your arms shift protectively around yourself instead of mocking him, “well i think you should get outta here ‘fore you get hurt.” 

“i just need to know if they’re here-” 

he turns away from you with a hand pressed to the earpiece sitting in his ear, looking into the building before he turns to face you again with a squinted glare, “you sure they’re the right one? yeah. yeah. right. i’ll send ‘em up.” 

he gestures towards the inside of the building, nodding his head, “straight ahead, up the stairs.”

with those instructions, you head towards the back of the club and find a set of stairs, separated by a velvet rope with another bouncer standing in front of it. as if expecting your arrival, he unhooks the rope from its place and steps aside, gesturing for you to follow the stairs up. 

at the top of the stairs sits a closed door and when you push it open, peeking around it to get a look inside, you see a nice couch with two guys perched on them - one with a girl who you can assume is from the club sitting in his lap, while the other sips from the drink in his hand, eyeing you the second you’re past the threshold. 

the one with the girl in his lap openly squeezes her ass, grinning at you when you look away quickly. he leans forward, whispering something in her ear, and she stands with a pout, practically glaring at you as she leaves. 

the door clicks shut behind her, and you’re left in awkward silence with the thrum of music playing under your feet. 

after a moment, the one with a drink in hand tilts his head at you, “what’s a pretty thing like you doin’, askin’ for us by name?” 

“‘m lookin’ for koko . . .” you voice is smaller than you remember, making you almost cringe in on yourself at the way they eat it up. 

“why’re ya lookin’ for our koko?” 

“w-we’re friends.” you stutter out, “i just. . . need to talk to him.” 

“where’d all that confidence go?” the one who had the girl in his lap tsks as he stands, “we heard you over his comms, you were practically demanding to talk to us - now you’re a stuttering lil’ mess. what happened between now and then?” 

he stops in front of you, head tilted as he looms over you, “maybe you should get to know us first. ‘m ran, that’s rindou. thought we knew ‘bout all the nice things koko keeps hidden away.” 

though he isn’t speaking to you for the last part, his eyes don’t leave you while they rake over your face, over your body. he reaches to cup your cheek, almost pouting at the way you flinch away from the contact with a frown. 

“i’m just lookin’ for koko.” you settle with, leaning away from him. 

ran actually does pout at this, bottom lip jutted out. “you’re tellin’ me we can’t have some fun before he gets here?” 

“that’s exactly what they’re sayin’, actually.” someone says from behind you, and you jump when you’re being pulled away from ran by your upper arm. a glance behind you reveals the man you’ve been waiting for - koko, with his hair pulled neatly to the side and a scowl on his face. 

ran grins at the sight of him, clapping his hands as if he wasn’t just making you uncomfortable. rindou just clicks his tongue. 

“s’a shame you got here so quick. thought we’d have some time to get to know ‘em.” 

“as if you’d try.” koko accuses, fingers digging into your skin, “you know he’d be pissed if you did anything.” 

“who said anything ‘bout trying anything. just wanna know who’s got our dear boss so worked up all the time.” 

instead of giving him the satisfaction of a reply, koko fully faces you with his eyes narrowing to further slits, “you must be crazy to come here, even crazier to ask around for us in the first place.” 

“i need to see mikey,” you frown, “was the only way i could think of since it was you that showed up the other day, right?”

you can see the way he clenches his jaw, muscles tight, “doesn’t matter. do you know how dangerous it was for you to ask around for us? mikey isn’t someone you can just see anyways-” 

“why can’t they?” rindou, seemingly the only sensible guy in the room, questions, “they wanna talk to ‘im, he’d only be one call away.” 

“you know why.” koko snaps, heavy weight of his glare moving from you to the male, “we can’t just-” 

ran’s phone rings from his pocket, effectively silencing koko mid sentence, and when he pulls it out, he waves it in front of koko with a sharp-toothed grin, “speak of the devil.” 

you open your mouth to ask, maybe even demand the phone from ran as he answers, but a sharp squeeze to your arm from koko leaves you quiet - a silent warning heard loud and clear. 

don’t say a word. 

ran’s eyes rake over your form as he answers, licking his lips like you could be his next meal, “yeah? he just got here. no, i would never! i’m offended you think i would,” whatever mikey’s saying has him grinning like a schoolgirl, gaze moving from you to koko, “if ya wanted to talk to him, why didn’t you call him. yeah, whatever, whatever, fine.” 

he offers the phone to koko, who grimaces at the device. 

“wants to talk to you.” ran elaborates, as if the implication wasn’t clear enough. 

koko snatches the phone from him with a glare, letting go of your arm to turn away from the two of you, “hello?” 

you can barely make out the sound of someone on the other line, lip pulled between your teeth when you see how koko’s face pinches in distaste for whatever mikey could be saying. 

“are you sure that’s a good idea. no, that's not what i'm saying at all - okay, fine. yeah, i’ll take ‘em there. sure. bye.” 

he hangs up with a scowl, tossing ran back his phone as he turns to reface you, “come on, we’re gonna go somewhere.” 

“to mikey?” you ask, hope leaking off your tongue. 

he doesn’t reply, opening the door and gesturing for you to exit the room when you don’t immediately begin moving. 

you offer a small wave goodbye to ran and rindou, despite the fact that there was no pleasure in meeting them in the first place, and you miss the glare koko sends them once you’re walking down the steps. koko leads you out of the club, guiding you by the upper arm through the sea of people until you’re stepping into the cool night air outside. 

though you’re no longer in the middle of the thrum of people, koko’s grasp on your arm doesn’t leave until he’s stopping in front of a sleek black car. a cadillac, maybe? mercedes? you’ve never been good with vehicles. 

he opens the door for you, though, and you have enough sense to mumble a small thanks as you climb in. 

when he enters through the driver’s door, he pauses for a minute, letting the silence wash over the two of you while gripping the steering wheel. 

“it really is stupid of you to come around here, ” he says finally, still looking straight ahead while you move to carefully pull your seatbelt on, “i shouldn’t even take you to him, you know. i should just take you home.” 

“you don’t have room to talk about stupid decisions,” you snap in time with the click of the buckle, “inupi and i have mourned the loss of people we care about who are still alive and well, that’s not fair.” 

you see the way his jaw clenches, knuckles turning white from how hard he holds the steering wheel. 

“we made sacrifices for you-” 

“i made sacrifices too,” you frown, thinking about the lost opportunities to raise your son, “and i just want five minutes of talking to mikey. is that too much to ask?” 

“you have other people to look out for instead, “ koko clicks his tongue, grip relenting as he looks over to you, “just remember that you asked for this.” 

the weight of his words settle heavy in the air as he puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the parking lot. 

the car ride is silent aside from the soft music that plays from the radio, turned to low volume. koko doesn’t move to break the silence, and you don’t have it in you to disrupt the tension that builds, anxiety creeping under your skin until it pops into goosebumps on the surface when he pulls in front of a large apartment building. 

“you’re gonna go to the top floor,” koko explains, not looking over at you, “he should already be there.” 

“should?” you parrot, nerves catching up with you. 

“if not already then soon.” he clicks the button to unlock the doors for you, and your breath stutters at the sound, fingers dancing around the door handle. 

“okay . . . thank you, koko. it’s . . . it is good to see you again. inupi would be happy to know you’re okay.” 

you don’t stay long enough to hear the way he inhales sharply, don’t see the way he tenses from the words. koko doesn’t wait for you to enter the building before he drives off, and you don’t look back as you push open the doors. 

the lobby is cold, you note dully, and it must be the reason your hairs stand on end when you find your way to the elevators. you wrap your arms around yourself after stepping inside of them, pressing the button to the top floor and willing your heart to not beat out of your chest. 

you realize just how much money mikey must have when the doors open to a penthouse - the entire floor being taken up as the apartment. you slowly step inside, sliding off your shoes by elevator and peek around inside the open area, spotting a living room, kitchen, and dining room all in the space. there’s a hall that cuts off towards the right of the room and you wonder if that’s where the bedroom(s?) and bathroom are. 

it feels wrong, almost, being here alone. though the room is definitely well furnished (the couch itself looks like it costs more than your broken down car), it feels . . . devoid of life. like maybe it’s only a place for rest - not a home. there’s no comfort of connection anywhere in the building, no vulnerability in personal property. you make your way further into the living room, eyeing the art hanging on the wall as if it could mean something to you. 

“i really thought he’d take you home.” you jump at the sound of a voice, whirling around to face whoever could be speaking. 

your mouth dries at the sight. 

mikey, but surely not your mikey, with his hair cropped short and paler than anything you remember, with bags under his eyes and frame thinner than what could be considered healthy, steps into view from the hall, hands in the pockets of his jeans. 

words die on your lips when he stops beside you, leaning back as if really taking in the painting you were eyeballing, head tilting, “heard you wanted to talk to me. must’ve been important if you went through all that trouble just to find me.” 

you don’t know what possesses you to take the first swing, to hit at his shoulder and his chest with tears welling in your eyes, but you do. 

and by some miracle, he lets you. it probably helps your hits are weak, with no intention to really harm - only needing an outlet for the emotions you’d been harboring for four fucking years. 

“why didn’t you call me,” you whisper when you’re finished with your barrage of hits, letting him guide you to the couch and sit you down on it, placing himself on the other end, “i-i wrote to you, i texted, i called, i looked for four years, mikey, and i got nothing in return. do you even know what for?” 

when you look at him, his gaze is set straight ahead to the wall across from the two of you, to the flatscreen tv that’s been off since you’d arrived - and who knows how long before that. 

“i’ve been busy.” he offers instead of answering, stare unwavering despite the way you frown and sigh out your disappointments. 

"too busy to respond? to even acknowledge my existence? what kind of fucking answer is that!?" you’re heated all over again by his lack of concession, at the way his eyes don’t leave the screen of the tv until you’re standing up from the couch with your arms out beside you, then tucking them into yourself and turning away from him, “koko was right, he should’ve just taken me home-” 

“why’d you come?” he asks instead, gaze finally moving from the tv to you. 

the question makes you pause, dig your nails into your arms as if that could somehow ground you. 

“i . . . we have a son.” you say finally, not turning to face him as the words leave your lips. 

you’re met with a beat of silence before he says, “i know.” 

i know. i know. i know, i know i know i know. 

he knew. 

he knew. 

“you know?” you repeat, turning to face him, suddenly quieter than before. 

“that you had a son,” he clarifies, face unreadable as he continues, “wasn’t sure if he was mine.” 

“how?” you press, legs buckling under your weight and leaving you to fall back down to the couch. 

“we . . . i’ve had koko do check-ins on everyone, every now and then,” he looks away at the admittance, “to make sure their lives are going well. did you know mitsuya’s a designer now? hakkai’s even modeled a few of his designs, and chifuyu and kazutora own a pet shop together, too” he’s deflecting, you can tell from the way he keeps his stare even and away from your own. 

“i do know,” you snap, “because they visit when they can. they want to see their nephew when they’re able to come by.” 

the way you bite your words out should sting, should hurt in a way he can’t place, but they don’t. he’s done this to himself, he knows, he’s just reaping what he’s sown. 

“why’d you leave?” you whisper out, “w-why’d you just disappear? why didn’t you respond to me? why did it take me getting hurt for you guys to make yourself known?”

he opens his mouth to reply, to say anything, but he doesn’t have an answer that will satisfy you. he knows that, and that is enough reason for him to keep his mouth shut. 

“have you seen him?” you’re still whispering, appalled he couldn’t assume your son was his - as if you didn’t pick the name shin for him. mikey shakes his head and it has you pulling out your phone with shaking hands, shoving it in his face until the lock screen photo of you, your son, and draken glare brightly back at him. 

his gaze moves from you to your phone, eyes scanning over the photo before they flit over to your face. 

“i didn’t know he was ours.” he defends, looking away, and you push the phone further into his face so he can’t escape it. 

“i’m telling you now that he is. “ you’re leaning into his space now, emphasize the need to look at the photo with another shake, and when he looks at you, really looks at you, his eyes trail from your own to your lips, to the bruises that marr your neck from the night prior. 

he tips your chin up to get a better look at them, setting you with a look when you offer some resistance, “did those guys do this to you?” you nod, “they won’t touch you again. no one will.” 

you frown at the implication, pushing his hand away with the hand not holding your phone, and he grabs that hand by the wrist when he spots the bruises decorating the skin there, taking it in with a still expression. 

“i can take care of you guys,” he settles, “make sure you never need or want anything. you won’t have to work at that shitty diner anymore. our kid would have anything he could ever desire.” 

his hand comes up to cup your cheek, wipes the stray tear that falls from your eyes, and against your better judgment, you lean into his touch. 

“i’m not asking that of you,” you explain, closing your eyes and willing any other tears that want to fall away, “you don’t even know his name.” you remind him, opening your eyes and standing when your phone starts to ring. you wipe at your face hastily, looking at the caller id, and only get a glance of the name ken before mikey’s pulling you down into his lap. 

you make a noise of disagreement, phone falling from your grasp to the couch beside the two of you from the sudden movement. 

“tell me his name.” he says, one hand still holding your wrist while the other keeps you in place by the hip. 

he practically demands it, eyes boring into your own as they search for the answer. 

“shin,” you reply after a moment, pulling your lip between your teeth, “i named him shin.” 

the hand at your hip grips it tighter, fingers digging into the flesh until it almost hurts. 

“after?” 

“shinichiro, yeah.” you don't know if it’s really necessary to clarify, but you don’t have a second to think about it when he suddenly surges forward, capturing your lips with his own. 

you falter for only a second before you’re returning the kiss with fervor, the hand not being held by mikey gripping the front of his shirt to pull him closer. 

“i will take care of you guys,” he promises when he pulls away from your lips to press his own to your chin, trailing down to your jaw and settling at the junction of your throat, peppering kisses at the free expanse of skin until it’s decorated pretty with hickies. 

his fingers dance under the hem of your dress, pulling you flush against him until your senses are full of nothing but, “can give ‘nother, you guys’ll have everything you could ever want.” he continues, the hand moving under your dress skimming across the tops of your thighs and pressing against your stomach. 

you whine, quiet and high in the back of your throat that leaves him grinding against you, hand moving from your stomach to your bare hip to guide you. he’s saying so many things, whispering so many assurances in your ear, and for a second, it’s too much. 

too overstimulating and happening too fast, but the way he holds you is so familiar, so comforting and warm and god you’ve missed him so fucking much. your phone buzzes to your right from the couch, and you pull away for a second to see it light up, see your brother’s contact pop up in that short amount of time before he’s forcing your attention back to him with a pinch to your hip, fingers pressing into your cheeks to turn your head back towards him. 

“eyes on me,” he demands, “keep your eyes on me.” 

[fuckyeahisawthat]

The failmarriage hatesex fic is growing a second chapter which is very funny to me because Paul/Irulan was a ship I was actively not interested in. But apparently I just needed to unlock the Secret Good Ship Dynamic in my head that makes it compelling to me personally.

Calm, cool, collected ice queen Irulan, effortlessly manipulating things from behind the scenes? Boring to me apparently. Irulan who is frustrated, furious and scared, desperately trying to find a lever to exercise some control over her situation but extremely aware of the fact that she is trapped on the space cocaine death planet under the control of a man who has recently become the most powerful person in the universe and seems rather inclined to violence? Fucking catnip.

And then combine that with Paul being cold and kind of mean but never physically violent, which leaves the threat implicit, which is often scarier (and Paul is always most interesting when he's scary), and leaning into that ambiguity of never exactly knowing how self-aware he is about how much power he has over her.

And then the final element being that Chani is not there. Which seems counterintuitive because I am Chani's #1 defense lawyer. But the thing that I always found unappealing about Paul/Irulan was the idea of the blonde offworlder princess supplanting the indigenous woman canon love interest both in terms of narrative focus and as Paul's primary or ideal partner. And I could never quite make the threesome dynamic work in my head with the book characters because I could never figure out why Chani would ever like or trust Irulan, especially after the whole, y'know, feeding her birth control without her knowledge or consent FOR YEARS thing (which is horrifying enough on a person to person level, but add in the racial/colonial dimension to it and f u c k i n g y i k e s d u d e.)

But ironically once Chani removes herself from the situation--for completely justified reasons--her place in the narrative becomes irrefutable. Because Paul and Irulan both know that he wouldn't give her a second glance if Chani were still around; that he's only fucking her because she's there; that he is just using her as a stand-in for the person he'd rather be doing this with, and she's an inferior replacement as far as he's concerned. Chewy chewy chewy.

And the cherry on top is Irulan belatedly figuring out that she maybe possibly has a tiny bit of a humiliation kink, and the only person who's ever clocked it is Paul. RIP girl but he is gonna be SO fucking annoying about that.

[bonefall]

God I am so tired of Bramble fans who refuse to use critical thinking and believe that brambleclaw and squilf are equally bad. Many also hate on moonkitti's video which they most likely haven't even watched or misconstrued points in it. You can like a character without defending all their actions please I'm begging you

And people will sometimes jump to their defense, saying that people just dogpiled them for liking a character the fandom doesn't like, and while that can happen, sometimes people are actually dogpiling them for ignoring abuse and insulting creators with different opinions

(Some discourse happened on Twitter recently about this but it's something I've seen happen before, I'm not specifically talking about anyone)

I'm going to be honest and drop my feelings.

Never have I ever actually SEEN a Bramblefan "get dogpiled" for liking Bramble.

I come out here on my massive soapbox every couple of weeks and drop whole essays on this guy, I chat casually about how important he is to me as a character, both as someone who was abused in a way similar to Squirrelflight AND as someone who can relate to Bramblestar's situation, and before BB got so large and my attention was easier to divide I even ran an AU called Sweet Nothings which had a "big brother" Bramble take in it.

There is no shortage of Bramblestar-related posts around here, yet, I have never, NEVER gotten shit for when I talk positively about Bramble.

In fact, he's commonly cited as one of the favorite cats to see on this blog from my audience. I get praise for addressing him with nuance, explaining how his actions are abuse while also keeping him human, talking about how his life is a painful cycle of self-doubt that makes him double down on his worst decisions. Every time I post about him, I get an influx of comments centered around how my takes on him are appreciated.

What I DO see is people who make art where they try to bothsides him and Squirrelflight, or say something completely false about his behavior, or straightup post DARVO tactics to defend their fav's honor. When someone makes a comment that goes "uhmm? Bit strange innit?" they call it "harassment." Or when people block them, they call that "receiving hate."

OR when someone makes a vaguepost like "Heyyy, DARVO is an abuse denial tactic where the abuser or their apologists Deny the abuse took place, Attack the accuser, and then Reverse Victim and Offender to claim they were actually the person harmed. Bramblestans are playing this out, step for step, and that's bad!" they call THAT dogpiling.

Meanwhile Moonkitti got death threats and was actually harassed for posting Bramblestar Is Worse. To the point where she is hesitant to ever make another video on the topic.

So y'know what? Hot take? The stans don't actually like Bramblestar. They like the vague idea of a sadboy character who broke free from his dad's legacy so they slurp up the framing of the notorious abuse apologist writers, and they get mad when people who have critically engaged with the books don't see what they desperately crave.

How can you really LIKE a character if you can't engage with their actions? If you need to surround yourself in an unpoppable bubble and can't accept anything he's done in the 20+ years he's been active? How can you truly love a man without all his mistakes?

It's sooo hard to be me, Tumblr User Bonefall, the ONLY one who likes Bramblestar correctly. It's rough out here.

[qierxing]

Determination

A/N: Finished the LaDs story if you couldn’t tell. If you asked what came over me to write this, I could not tell you because truly I think I was in a trance because I’m not exactly a Sylus stan Yan! Sylus/Qin Che x Reader Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest. CW/TW: Dub//Con touching, Manipulation, Power Imbalances, Disability issues, Unhealthy relationships, Obsessive behavior, Reader is not in-game MC but MC is referenced and reader is lowkey Longing(THEY HAVE TWO HANDS OKAY), kind of Alt! AU following the storyline

—

From the moment you were born, your life had been planned out to the end.

You would grow up, become useful, and then once you lost your usefulness; be ushered to handling petty things to earn your right to exist, and then you would die. Just like everyone else in the N-109 zone. Cremated or dissolved, of course. No one is dumb enough to leave behind evidence or traces, or even worse, parts for grave robbers with no morals and a penchant for quick gold. That was simply the circle of life here. 

Your future had been set in stone as soon as your father had settled here. On some particularly trying days, you resent him for it. Other days, you know enough that he had no choice. 

“Is the old man in?”

The voice makes you tense reactively before you relax, recognizing the familiar low cadence. 

“He’s out on an errand, should I pass on your message?”

The leader of Onychinus and your boss by proxy, shakes his head. You didn’t bother to ask twice. Your focus once again is drawn back to the shiny red protocore on your desk. It’s a tiny thing; requiring meticulous care, lest it be shattered by too much pressure. 

“Is there something I can do for you while you’re here then?” 

A shuffle, then several clinks in your hearing peripheral. He must be looking through the backlog or the recent projects. It’s a habit whenever he felt restless and after some time, you learned to push down the feeling like your work was being dissected bit by bit by his intimidating eyes. 

The prolonged silence makes you forget your own question, too engrossed in the protocore in front of you. When Sylus speaks again, a tremor runs though your hands and make you almost lose your grip.

“What do you think I should do with a kitten that keeps hissing at me?”

You look over with wide eyes. Of course, there can only be one thing he’s referring to–the fact that the Onychinus’s leader is in possession of a valuable asset is not a secret. An outsider, of all things, too. Some would shake their heads in pity, others would sneer and say she had only herself to blame, and even more would only care once her dead body was laid bare and the aether core in their hands.

To you, though? You thought she was amazing. 

She was like the chivalrous heroes in the few scrappy picture books your father had. Dashing, fearless, and always fighting for justice. What was it like to be a hunter? You’ve never seen her, yet you daydream constantly about the life she led, and how you wished it could be yours.

“I feed some stray cats here and there. They usually warm up once they realize I’m not a threat and I’m trying to help them.” The sincere advice has him snorting in cynical disbelief. 

“And if that kitty still shows their claws?” You shift uncomfortably at the way his voice dips. When he was angry, Sylus was terrifying. But he wasn’t angry, not yet, and you wish you weren’t the factor that could change that right now.

“Usually time will do its work.” You try to sound casual, but you can feel Sylus’s eyes piercing through you. You try to swallow the saliva clogging your mouth. You don’t want to imagine what kind of methods the boss would utilize to make people talk. You distanced yourself from such violence, even if it was naive and stupid to do so. Still, there was a clear difference from self-defense and actively inflicting violence. The twins that shadowed Sylus made that crystal clear.

“Hmm…if you say so.” The heavy gaze lifts off of you and it’s like a weight lifts off your throat, letting air back into your lungs. 

Another few seconds pass in silence, with you praying for nothing else of note will happen.

”The old man told me that you’ll be benched soon.” 

The pointed sentence makes your hands freeze. The bright gold protocurve gleams in the dim workshop, and for a moment, the blood rushing your ears is all you can hear. 

“I’ve been unable to keep up with the workload, sir.” You keep your eyes firmly fixed on the ruby red core, forcing your hands to keep moving while you modify the curve. “I don’t think I can be any more help to my dad.”

Not entirely a full lie. You’re not sure if it’s because the rough and tough life of N-109 is wearing you down like sandpaper or if it’s your body collapsing in on itself due to its condition, but most days it’d be a miracle if you could get one modification done without mistakes. 

One time when you were still an immature child, you disobeyed your father and snuck out of the house during dawn. Your life had always been the pitch black of night, with the brightest natural light being the moon and its silvery clouds wrapping around it like a translucent shawl. When you asked your dad what happened when you slept, he simply stated the moon also went to bed. So then, what exactly happened while it slept?

The sun was blinding. It seared you to the bone as the heat increased with the hours passing and it rose above the horizon. It was so hot, yet you could not help but feel at peace, as if the rays were cleansing you. The landscape under its light was depressing as usual; metal scraps and rusted junk scattered and embedded in dull colored dirt and rocks. This much didn’t surprise you, but it still reminded you of the bleakness of your world. 

It made you feel helplessly trapped.

“If that’s the case, why didn’t you talk to me?” 

You blink once, then twice at Sylus standing in front of you, with an unreadable expression on his face. He had stated it as if it was common sense to bring up a grievance with him. As if he wasn’t the most terrifying power within the N-109 zone. As if you and your father weren’t subject to his whims.

”I…I’m sorry,” your eyes cast downward in guilt again. You wish your boss was as evil as some of the rumors make him out to be. It would make things so much easier. “I just didn’t think you need to be bothered with something this trivial.”

If possible, the expression on his face sours even more. “One of my researchers is not trivial. You help me, and I help you.”

You bite your tongue. Of course he was practical. It is true. Without you and your father, he would lose a quarter of his manpower in tech. But this just hardens your resolve even further. 

“Thank you for your concern, sir,” you plaster a sickeningly polite smile on, straining to keep the facade of a lackey who was happy to live another day. “But it’s alright—even if I can’t directly assist my father anymore, I can find other ways to be helpful.”

Why you were significant enough as a cog in his many machinations is still plain weird. But that doesn’t matter. Soon enough, you won’t be one if at all.

Sylus gives a bark of harsh laughter, startling you and making you drop one of your tools. Your skin crawled, but you willed yourself to stay calm, to maintain a calm demeanor that belied none of your true thoughts. It had been the only thing you kept from the many street smarts of N-109 when you grew up. 

He reaches out his hand. His evol wraps crimson red smoke around his outstretched fingers, and when it clears, there’s a slip of crinkled white notebook paper. Your heart immediately plummets into your stomach.

”Are you sure it’s not because you finally found an out to this hellhole?”

You hadn’t fully realized it, but you’re no longer sitting, and the next thing you know, the world has flashed into white and ringing. You’re no longer even thinking at this point, running on pure adrenaline and instinct. Sylus may be the one running the show, but even he couldn’t know all of the labyrinth of secret exits this workshop had. 

You got exactly ten steps in the direction of one before your face met the concrete floor. You don’t need to look to see what’s pinning you down. It’s almost insulting, but most of all, it’s aggravating to know how close freedom was in reach, only to be stopped short of it.

“You really thought something like that could stop me?” Sylus’s voice drawls above your struggling body. You’re wrenched up to stand in front of him, arms held up like a crucified deity. He fiddles with the now broken protocore in his fingers, turning it this way and that, so that the dim lights caught the cracked grooves and threw reflections on the grungy walls around you. Finally, he drops it and with a crack, his polished shoe has grinded it to nothing. “Well, it’s certainly a novel idea.”

You don’t bother to say anything, but a sob nearly wells up, just barely held back by clenched teeth. You were so, so close. Now you’ll never know what it felt to be in bright city lights and live a normal life. 

“I thought it was clear that the only place you had was by my side.” Sylus clicks his tongue, tilting his head. You’re forced forward, and then your head was buried in his shoulder as his hands found their way onto your waist, tight and unyielding. The acrid smell of gunpowder and alcohol from his ironed button up makes your nose wrinkle and although you try to turn your head away, one of his hands presses your head even closer. “I should’ve known better that you would get your hopes up when that hunter came.”

Hot breath ghosts your neck, sending goosebumps up your skin, and before you could stop him, his teeth are buried inside tender flesh, making you cry out in pain. Your struggling starts up again, but Sylus doesn’t acknowledge it, instead lathering a lithe tongue over the wound, causing pleasurable shivers up your spine. 

“Then, if you want to leave so badly, how about you stay with me?” he whispers with a tenderness that makes your head spin.

No matter how much you want it, you could not fight the fate that was set for you.

[lunabug2004]

Why the Troy and Angela Situations Should Not Be Compared (+ Why Mike's Reaction Is Valid)

One of the things that gets my blood boiling as a Mike defender is when people try to compare the bullying/El's reaction to said bullying between the Troy and Angela scenes. They are not the same thing, not even close! Yes, they're both cases of bullying, but two very different levels of extreme.

Yes, I understand that words can hurt just as much, if not more, than a physical weapon, and Mike understands this too, that's why he tries to connect with El the morning after. But in the real world, one without monsters or powers, the one they believe they're living in at the time, violence is almost never the answer, it only makes things worse, as it did. Mike also understand this. Now, yes, it took him a minute to figure out that El didn't quite understand this yet, but he works to fix his mistakes as soon as he does.

Now, let's look at season 1's incident. Troy is threatening to cut Dustin with a knife if Mike doesn't jump off the quarry cliff. Two lives are in immediate and direct danger in this situation. El, literally at the last second, saves Mike as he's falling, so that's one problem fixed and one less life at stake. By this time, yes, Troy has moved away from Dustin, but he is still holding the knife! And then he aggressively steps towards El, threatening her with it, so she snaps his arm and makes him drop it. This is self defense, as well as defending her friends from a dangerous situation.

In season 4, Angela publicly humiliates El. Yes, it's awful, and yes, she deserves the smack that she gets for it, but it's nowhere near as bad as what Troy was doing. Angela isn't putting any lives in immediate danger, she's not brandishing a weapon! Legally, El smacking Angela is assault, because at the point of the roller-scate-smack, the ordeal is done with, and there was no physical harm done. I'd like to add that I'm aware of El falling, and that she may have been hurt, but technically no one touched her, so it still isn't technically self-defense (I may be wrong here, pls correct me if so). This is a very unfortunate situation, and I feel terrible for El, as should everyone, but I'm a firm believer that when it comes to bullies, you shouldn't fight fire with fire, and Mike seems to carry this belief as well, as he repeatedly tells the boys to just ignore their bullies in s1. @foodiewithdahoodie has an old post (can't find it irl, but it's stuck in my brain) in which they say El treats Angela, a normal girl who is not a serious threat, with the same extreme hostility she shows the UD monsters, and I completely agree with this. El is flawed, and Mike's not a bad person for reacting to those flaws, that just happen to include unnecessary violence, the way a normal person would.

Anyways, what I'm getting at here is that these two situations are completely different (again, Troy has a literal weapon, two peoples' lives were being actively threatened!) and Mike's reaction in both circumstances were completely valid! In season one, he was seconds away from death, and so when El saved him and made the threat go away, he was eternally grateful for her defense. In season 4, he tries so hard to get to her when he realizes what's going on despite having just found out she'd been lying to him for months, and he was even completely on El's side, trying to find and comfort her, until she hit Angela, then he believed she went too far (she did), so he made that known. He's never been one to sugarcoat when he disagrees with certain behaviors, and he doesn't start here, he tells it like it is: Angela doesn't look fine. It also is just a lot to process, so it doesn't surprise me that it takes an overnight thought-session for him to figure out where he went wrong, and again, he tries to make it up to her! To connect with her, bringing down some of his walls in the process! She just disregards his experiences, then brings up him not saying ILY, so he gets defensive and puts back up his walls, and they never get to continue this conversation! (This is an analysis for another day in and of itself tbh)

To reiterate, it just irks me when people compare these scenes to try and make Mike out to be a bad person, when they are nowhere near the same situation! His reactions being different makes total sense, esp when adding the shock-factor of it all! I'll stop talking now cuz this could go on forever and I lowkey feel like I'm just repeating myself now.

Pls tell me your thoughts on this!

[itsabouttimex2]

Read your villain thing, just to be clear, do you think redemption means a character had to be punished? Because you talked a lot about punishment and I think you mean that if a character isn't punished as equally as they harmed, it's not a redemption. Which I guess is a view you can take, but it's not mine at all

A punishment is literally anything that counts as a “consequence for being an evil person who hurts others for fun/power”.

The only qualification I have is that they have to happen outside of being immediate self-defense. Losing a fight doesn’t count.

They don’t have to be equal- but having characters face something as simple as generic consequences for their actions helps polish a redemption arc and make it seem more authentic- the world feels more alive and real when characters are allowed to have negative responses to those that have hurt them.

Here’s a few “punishments/consequences” Red Son faces for all the shit he’s pulled:

(And thinking on it now, I might move Red Son into my “actually redeemed list” if I ever remake it. He goes through quite a bit of development- I might be being way too harsh on him. Then, he’s still totally unrepentant for hurting innocent people and trying to take over the world… hmm.)

(Footage gathered for Red Son)

Vocal and vitriolic distrust from at least two people who have every reason to distrust him. These people dislike the idea of working with someone who has openly and happy hurt them.

MK at least questioning working with him- he vouches for Red Son anyways, but it’s clear that he has at least some doubts, too.

Clear and open distrust from someone he was constantly hurting/trying to hurt/actively working to subjugate to his family’s whims by attempting to take over the world. Mei performs a “team-up” because the world is in danger, but still actively dislikes him.

Physical assault (played for comedy).

Teasing and mockery (played for laughs).

The butt of more disrespect- the characters have no reason to trust or respect this guy, and it’s portrayed very clearly that they don’t.

It takes an entire training arc that leaves Red Son sincerely opening himself up for this to changed- Red Son has to actively work to help Mei before she’s willing to cozy up to him.

And even after all this?

He isn’t given an immediate and universal pass that makes every character magically okay/friends with him.

THIS is what “punishment” is to me.

I don’t want these characters to break and bleed and die. I don’t want them getting dragged to the underworld while screaming in terror. I don’t want them on the ground with their teeth broken and their pride destroyed.

Consequences don’t have to be violent. They don’t have to be vengeful. They can be, but I don’t need them to be.

So what do I want?

I just want; in-universe, for people to care enough about how they and their loved ones have been hurt to have negative reactions to the pain and suffering they were caused.

And Red Son is actually a pretty good example of that, as it turns out.

As opposed to Macaque, who actively has potential consequences REMOVED-

Tang telling Wukong to not attack him after Macaque forces Tang to complete the Samadhi Fire ritual under the threat of ending Mei’s life.

Why? Why does Tang blame himself for something he was forced to do to prevent a dear friend from being murdered in cold blood?

Tying him up was good- especially with how MK snapped at him to be quiet and how Sandy flipped him around- they dislike him for his crimes, so treat him as a pest- that’s nice!

And then one of the worst moments in the series occurs-

MK giving him an awful “you aren’t a bad guy” speech before Macaque has done a single kind thing for anyone.

Macaque is not “playing” at being a bad guy. He IS a bad guy.

Up to about 27:49, Macaque spends nearly every last moment he gets being an unrepentant and murderous individual who takes open joy in hurting others. It’s not like he’s trying to spare unrelated individuals or going out of his way to avoid hurting people- he openly revels in attacking Ao Guang, assaults Tang, etc.

HE IS NOT SECRETLY A GOOD GUY DEEP DOWN.

“Not meaning it” or whatever is not an excuse for doing evil things!

Like, the most “kind” thing he’s done by now is drag an extremely exhausted and injured Mayor to the team- with no effort or work put in on his part. It’s not like he was out fighting the guy.

It’s the equivalent of your cat dragging in a dead bird and pretending they caught it themself.

Like, oh, “he doesn’t get a bowl of noodles” from MK or whatever, but it’s pretty clear MK was saving those for himself- and Wukong steals them to be petty.

And then comments on the caliber of Wukong’s character in Season Four like Macaque has any right to say anything about anyone- especially the people he’s openly tried to murder and in general be unpleasant towards.

“Wukong was power-hungry,” whines to MK the simian who was so power-hungry that he spent days/weeks manipulating MK to steal his powers.

How does MK respond to this?

Oh, he doesn’t. Because if you’re Macaque, the writers… I don’t know, actually.

Why wouldn’t they have MK defend his mentor, or call out the blatant hypocrisy that he was a victim of?

Seriously, what the hell?

How does Mei respond to a team-up with the guy who violently attacked her uncle and held her life hostage, leading to a chain of events that very well could have killed her?

She doesn’t! Because if you’re Macaque, the writers will write out character traits like “fiery and prone to losing her temper” or “loves her friends and family” to justify her not having a negative response to him doing genuinely awful things so they can have a team-up.

Like, revisit pictures one, three, and four.

Mei is not a gold-hearted sweetie who “simply can’t bear to hold a grudge”! or anything. She should absolutely have a comment here. She should be distrustful. She should be at least cautious.

But she’s not, despite Season Four working to exemplify her negative traits like being trigger-temper and impatient.

Because she’d be going against Macaque-

And the writers will do anything with him BUT acknowledge his crimes or genuinely having intriguing or complex moments between him and his victims.

——

There’s one last comment I’ve got to respond to, and then I think I’m done with the “redemption talk” stuff. ​

I’ve pretty much spilled out all my feelings on Macaque’s arc by now- there’s nothing left I can say.

But I’ve enjoyed talking on it, and I’ve enjoyed seeing the counterarguments! It’s been nice to see why people like his redemption arc, even though my own personal feelings on it are unchanged.

One person pointed out that Pigsy does at least have a moment of apprehension about trusting Macaque, which I hadn’t remembered, and I’m glad they brought to my attention! (This only makes the writing worse. Pigsy cares more about a secret being kept by Wukong than someone trying to murder him and his son in cold blood, because… because.)

I also noticed that I got something else wrong- Macaque wasn’t yet infected with the Lady Bone Demon’s power when he sieged Ao Guang’s palace- which actually makes it harder to justify, because we can’t even say that he was “rushing to save himself from an internal and imminent threat. He was just being a monster.

Also I’m pretty sure people are getting sick of seeing it, haha.

[intelligentinsomniac]

As an older fan of creepypasta back in the earlier years of 2000, it still baffles me how no one ever really addresses the fact that the parents of Jeffery Woods were going to shoot their own son.

When you actually stop and think about it, in the original story, or most well known one by the internet, Margaret and Peter didn't really pay too much attention to their sons.

Yeah, okay, it might've been them being included when the plot called for it. But when it comes down to it...

The kid was in the bathroom, originally being no threat whatsoever to his family. Even when his mother finds him after the point where Jeff's lost his mind, all he'd done was ask Margaret if he was beautiful.

It wasn't until after he heard her saying to Peter "Honey, get the gun we-" that Jeff went in for the attack. Not until they threatened his life first. He was only a kid.

Just... Think about it. When looking at the bigger picture, Jeffery Woods only did what he did out of self-defense. In both the cases of Randy, Keith, and Troy... and his own parents. He killed people, yes. But he's just as much, if not even more so, a victim in that scenario.

The only bit I cannot excuse on the character's end was him also targeting Liu. That boy had done nothing to warrant Jeff's murder attempt on him. I'd even argue he was his brother's biggest support throughout it all when he was actively there,, as well as Liu going to juvy in Jeff's place.

Anyways, that's all I had to ramble about here. I like to sometimes analyze these old things that a young me used to read a lot of when looking back on them. If you read this far, thank you for reading the whole silly ramble about this old story.

[just-some-friendly-fun]

✦ ᴀ ᴅᴏᴠᴇ'ꜱ ᴡᴀʏ ʜᴏᴍᴇ

: ̗̀➛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1: ꜰʟʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ꜰᴏɢ

current, next chapt

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Awakened after the fall of Iacon--four weeks after, Silversong finds herself in a new environment, spared from a trip to the Allspark. Here she laid in her recovery confused, and alone. Where is D-16? Where is Sentinel Prime?? And what has happened since?...

■ ᴛᴀɢꜱ/ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: OC x Canon, post-canon, pre-established relationship, a lotta mentions of background OC characters, mentions of violence, graphic stuff (explicitly: a bot losing their legs, getting crushed alive, nearly dying, etc...), D-16 and Sentinel Prime are mentioned (but not actively in the chapter), angst, hurt/comfort

✎ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7,653

ׂ╰┈➤ A/N (if needed): Hii, this one was a bit hard to churn out given my initial reluctance but I managed to push forward and plonk! Here it is! Please lmk what else I should tag, I'm still getting back in the groove of writing. Reblogs and any comments are hella appreciated, I've been loving some of the responses on Ao3 <33

I appreciate ygs sm!

▶︎ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɢᴏᴅ ᴄʀʏ? ★ - ɴᴇꜱꜱᴀ ʙᴀʀʀᴇᴛᴛ

Silversong was never one to be attuned to battle, she never had a fighting spark, not in the way that relied on blazing guns, blades, or fists. Her body crafted and forged like all others, for self-defense, and yet she found her weaponries lying on the tip of her metal tongue.

Words her were strongest suit and when they grew dull,

She was left weakened. Exposed, until someone else came to save her from the consequences of her determined, naive spirit. And yet, here she laid with no savior.

Crashed, beneath weighted rubble of golden pillars that slowly lost their luxurious touch into now becoming a burdening weight on her back, crushing her beneath stacks of stone that made for an uncomfortable cushion.

She was standing beside D-16 for a moment, attempting to harbor that same rage he held for the traitorous face they both once praised--worshipped. And although her emotions paved the right path, the world told her--told it to her true and painfully so.

That she wasn't meant for this battle, never was, and should never have intervened.

And they told it to her in the shape of Sentinel's reaching servo as it grabbed her from the air when she hurled herself towards him in a feeble attempt to tackle him off of D-16. She felt his digits seize to her chassis, digits mercilessly locking to the nooks and crannies of her armor, burying the blunt digits between to demand space for himself, to steal himself some purchase in her armor. The metal squealed sharply, causing a sharp wince to exit from her.

An unimpressed expression washed over his features and he tilted his helm mockingly, examining her like some special "bug" he found beneath the sole of his pede.

And like a bug, he flicked her away.

Without a mocking speech, without an arrogant quip—he pitched her away from her intended target, straight into a double set of pillars that crumbled as did she.

She never knew a need for oxygen, nor a breath, but for a moment. She could've sworn she was left gasping and choking for something she's never prayed for, struggling for life as a sickening creak of metal along her back rung loudly in her audial receptors.

Her intervention to a battle far out of her range bit hard at her with its consequences, with fate's teeth snapping down upon her in the threat of tearing her into two.

Her body thrown aside, her feather light frame—made for flying and dancing, speed and performance—now became her most consequential asset.

She could feel her body bend in places it shouldn't have. The screech of metal and steel began to adjoin her agonizing chorus of a weakened cry of pain that cut too soon.

Her optics were pried open out of discomfort, only to watch in horror once the ceiling fell from a stray blast. She screamed, hastily tucking herself further into the shelter she's made before it became her coffin. Silversong could hear D-16 scream, digits outstretched while he laid weakened beneath Sentinel's overbearing pede in the final moments of light.

"Silversong—!"

—and then, her world had gone black... Hopelessly squashed beneath rubble and debris, and sent to the Allspark without falter. No final breaths, no goodbye.

She didn't even get to feel the briefest sliver of relief, nor a chance to even bear hope that her servo would've somehow managed to reach D-16's.

Perhaps, it would've been nice to have believed she had a chance to feel the warmth of his palm in hers. Just one last time...

At least, that's what she remembered her last moments to be. Cold, trapped beneath and becoming nothing but collateral.

Succumbing to the darkness, blanketed by dust and stone, atop a pillow made of the ceiling and ground beneath. She was sure to have died there, nearly certain of it.

. . .

Yet, now as her optics came online for the briefest of moments. Her world changed, a new perspective was painted for her.

With a soft ringing in her audials, she awoke to the sound. Her processor buzzing sharply to keep her online for a moment, to urge her to see this new picture that lay before her.

She was staring at a new palette, gold pieces decorated the ground in various shapes—armor maybe or pieces from the walls, spilt energon not of her own that came steadily from the small fountain of an armless soldier, and the reflection of her weakened state mirroring off the plating of another unfortunate death tracker who shared the same space she did, providing... A strange sense of comfort—company, in replacement of lonesome dread.

Her processor felt fuzzy, faintly buzzing on and off again. Her systems fighting to keep her alive despite all odds.

Her optic-lids felt heavy again and when she blinked,

She was blinded by white fluorescent lights that washed over her in waves and chatter—so much chatter, and distant muffled noises of agony, sorrow...

Who knew her travel to the Allspark would feel so... Crowded, painful, and sound so... Frantic?

Someone called for her, a hazy cry from afar that grew softer and softer while she was pulled from consciousness again.

It felt like a hand was guiding her away from the voice. She felt like a sparkling again, watching a star flicker from afar—or maybe it was never a star at all.

The spark of a wire in a dark alley, the pull of her sisters' servo adjoining both her own. She could hear their voices now as her siblings urged, "Come on! Creator's waitin' on back home!—"

Silversong lazily nodded, her helm swaying to the side as the overbearing light above became too much for her optics. Slowly, but surely she gave in and fled her mind once more to chase after her sisters, fleeing from consciousness. Her optics had gone offline with a gentle flicker.

One.

Two.

Three—

. . .

"-BZZZT—!!"

Every nerve and part of her form was suddenly lit with life, a volt of electricity flooded her frame and she jolted awake. A sharp gasp tore through her throat and she sat up abruptly, only to let out a pained cry. Her body was restored enough to feel the ache and dull pain in every wiring, the sensation leaving her processor to sting uncomfortably along with the rest of her body. Her optics barely managed to adjust enough to make out the blurs that hurriedly pushed her back down onto the flat surface, from what she could feel was, a medical table. Her ventilations kicked in, panic settling into the front seat of her mind and she rolled her helm around, shaking it to clear her vision, "Where-Where am I? What is this!?..." She bleated, lost and confused, moving her arms to grasp at her visually incomprehensible "attackers".

The internal cries of her body resumed, helpless grunts and short screams escaped her. A set of gentle yet firm hands tried to keep her down, their voices coming out in distant bursts of white noise and a verbal mess.

Her spark drummed against her chassis, her optics shot open once again to search the room. Machinery, medical instruments, and all sorts of wiring were hooked up into her and she watched as a diagnostics screen nearby jumped a sharp beep or two at her rising spark-rate. The sharp strokes forming mountains and dipping to low trenches, reflecting back in her eyes.

Her chassis raised and fell rapidly, then a sharp needle struck her chamber as if the very air carried shards. She swallowed a gulp of air and this invisible dagger tried to spear its way out of the cage of her body. She let out a loud wince, forcing herself to lie back against the table.

The blurs slowly took shape, forming into the faces of strangers that cooed and coaxed her to relax, but paired with the awkward feeling of their palms keeping her pinned to the cold, steel table proved to be less than comforting. She wanted nothing more than to arch and shudder.

"Please, stay down," One of them pleaded, though it came out more automatic—robotic even, ironically enough, "You've been severely damaged and it is highly encouraged if you just try to calm down and relax, please," They said, amidst her attempts to shift for a more comfortable resting position.

She was still left partially weakened, attempting to move her legs to further support herself up, but as she tried to kick. She could feel... Something, yet nothing at all.

Silversong stopped her movements, slowly settling again to ease the grasping servos that clung to her, a breath of relief was caught in the air.

Her gaze raised up to the ceiling, avoiding the white light that threatened to blind out her optics, remaining still. The medical-aid bots eased back for a moment, gradually explaining whilst she shifted slowly, trying to move again—steadily this time, to not spring the hands dead-set on pinning her back down, "You're in the Iacon Medbay. You were brought in after the attack on Iacon Tower," They reported, whilst Silversong tried to move her leg again, slowly this time, lifting it up to view. Her optics adjusted in the meantime.

When had her legs felt so light?

When did her body feel so... Free?

No.

Free wasn't the right word. It felt odd—off, something was unnaturally wrong yet she could not figure out what it was.

She tried to twist her frame, much against the suggestions of the nurse bots who tried urging her not to strain herself—to rest and lie but the uncomfortable feeling that something was amiss would not leave her. Curiosity buried its claws into the very top of her processor and she just couldn't let go, nor would it–of her.

In pursuit of her curiosity, and against the better judgement. She turned on her side with a groan and focused her optics in traversing down her body to her-

Her legs.

They were prominently absent from the knee-half down, cleaved off with nothing but ghostly presences to substitute its place. She was left with nubs, uselessly swinging one of them up and down, to and fro to examine the mobility.

She tried not to panic, desperately, but her body was already racing off without her before her processor could even hold to the thought. Her legs were gone—not entirely—but having one-half of each side of her—usually whole—legs as a remainder did not bring her any solace whatsoever.

Her optics shrank and she hastily tried to further sit up—to straighten herself out, or to move away from the scene altogether, stretching back as far as she could. Her spark drummed loudly against her chassis as her faceplate remained frozen in shock.

"o-oh..." She shakily whispered. Her processor was a mess, strings of curiosity latched to one side of her mind and downright, dreadful, fear gripped the other side, pulling her apart steadily by the seams. Silversong was almost internally grateful for whatever pain-numbing, pacifier of a code was running through her systems right now. She glanced steadily over to the wires hooked into her arm.

Luckily, there was no pain, despite all else numbly traversing through her body, like a ghostly sensation of a burn she found no real threat nor energy to spare in reacting to.

She finally looked up to the medibot assistances, one left to patch in for someone to come to the room while the other remained on standby.

"What... What happened to me?" Silversong began steadily, swallowing hard, "How did I end up like this? Where is..." Her self-preservation wavered for a moment, and the only thing she could jog from her memory just right before the crash, was Sentinel and D-16 battling it out.

... D-16!

She pursued to her concern and hastily inquired, "W-Where's Dee... D-16. Where's D-16??" She asked, as the bots gave her confused looks, sparing a glance at each other, tensing once she leaned forth—sparking fear in the medical-aid bot at the possibility of her falling off, "Have you seen a mining bot anywhere named 'D-16'?" Silversong pushed, her optical ridges knitting into the other, "H-He's got yellow optics, and-and..."

Silversong shook her helm, having to remember the newer version of him, "-and a silverish color scheme, a bit of red on 'em, black, a roundish top helm with... angular..." Her description slowly lost its confidence once she saw the continuous expression on their face, lost in not her description, but simply unknown altogether on what—or even who she was talking about.

It pained her to see this look again, and she swallowed hard. She let out a weak, "... No?... Nothing?"

Their prolonged silence and shaken helms gave her an unsettling feeling of confirmation.

She gripped the edges of the table. The nurses exchanged glances at each other, and only one gave a shook of her helm as the other strode to her side, laying their servos carefully on her arm to urge her back to lying down. Silversong tensed briefly, but nonetheless cooperated, taking a deep, steady breath. Their voice filled the closing space between whilst she was getting settled, "I'm... Not sure we have D-16 in the medical bay," They whispered, shaking their helm, "... But I can check for you if you'd like." One of the medical-aid bots offered.

Silversong contemplated for the moment, it'd be a start. The femme took a prolonged inhale and nodded, before shooting off her next inquiry, "... Then do you perhaps know where Sentinel Prime is?" She asked, quietly. For a moment, she bit her inner cheek–wondering for a split-second if she'd been too quiet or sounded too aggressive, and yet. The looks on their features almost appeared as though she screamed the very name at them.

The bots froze in place, one stiffened and the other stepped back—whether from the question she bore or from the mere provocation that came with such an utterance of the designation.

They gazed to one another, sharing a silent exchange, quietly mouthing off to the others too hastily for her to catch a thing that was flying between them. It grew vastly awkward for her to sit and lie in silence, so she nervously ached—to ask and pry.

Yet before she could ask any further. Her parted lips remained open, and no word escaped her as another voice spoke in her turn, "Easy now, Silversong. Everything's okay,"

In a desperation for a sense of familiarity, she whipped her helm to the other side to the voice, having spotted a recognizable face. The heavy burden and dread that gnawed at her, began to recede. The weight nearly disappearing right off her pauldrons. Her optics brightened, life restored from within and her features softened, "Sire..."

Razorcase stepped in through the doorway, looking towards the other nurse-bots for the moment as he quietly mouthed, "could you give us a moment?"

Without further command, they nodded, slipping out in a single file line, servos tucked before them to go attend to other matters. The doors automatically closed off behind them with a quiet hiss, and by then. Silversong finally bore a moment to let out a sigh of relief as Razorcase approached her. She lazily stretched her arms out and welcomed his frame against her own.

Her body was nearly freezing from being housed in the medical room for so long. She wasn't even certain how long it had been since she'd arrive, or how long she'd been at rest, but one thing was for certain. It was good to finally recognize someone.

Silversong pulled back and tilted her helm, her gaze of relief steadily melting away into a woeful expression. Perhaps Razorcase would know what was going on, "Sire, what's... What's happened?" She began, "Where is... Where is everyone? Anyone? What happened?? Why am I..."

Their gazes followed back down her legs, or lack thereof.

She swallowed the tension in her throat again and Razorcase sighed, guiding her face back to his. He plastered a soft smile, laying his digits flat against the side of her head, concealing her gaze from straying too far back.

"Hey-Hey, just look at me right now, okay? Just- pay attention to me, okay. Don't look," Razorcase plead, cradling her faceplate.

In turn, Silversong meekly nodded, sparingly glancing at his digits that narrowed her view back to him before focusing as he sighed and gazed around the room. Upon finding a suitable chair of sorts nearby. He kept a hand on her cheek and stretched out his arm and digits as far as he could touch, grazing the stool with his fingers before coaxing it on over to sit upon. He drew closely once again to Silversong as he began to speak up and answer back on her previous questions; one of them at least.

"For starters, you were recovered from Sen-" He paused, disposing the name off his glossa, "Iacon Tower, you were recovered from Iacon Tower after the big attack. You were-" He sat back and watched his daughter sit up to listen further.

He struggled for a moment before holding out his servos to animatedly gesture to each word, to paint an empty picture in the air, "supposedly, you were found crushed beneath a couple bits of rubble, and debris. Someone pulled you out from the wreckage while sifting through the mess to attend to any of the injured caught in the crossfire," He laid his hands back to his knees and continued on, "Your sister found you amidst the wreckage and-"

At that, Silversong stiffened and instead of gratitude a stroke of distaste settled on her glossa. She let out a pronounced echo of the designation—the answer was hardwired into her very veins, "... Sunblitz?"

Unaware, Razorcase nodded, his audial finials flicking shortly, "yes, she's at home right now. All of us are a little shaken up at the moment from all that's happened," He hummed. And he would've continued on, explaining how worried sick her family had been for her absence, her disappearance and for their near loss.

But at the moment, Silversong's mind grew steadily vacant while she began to roll back into the depths of her mind, nodding emptily without a thought. Her internal thoughts began to war on in the back of her mind.

Silversong slowly curled her servos into fists, laying them onto the table she rested upon. Her expression fought not to scowl.

She didn't necessarily see to Sunblitz as a personal savior of sorts, gratitude lay last on the back of her tongue of the multitude of things she wished to say, to ask, to even scream at her sister. Had she had returned to Iacon earlier than she did, had she not gone at all with D-16, Orion, and the others, maybe once she would've leapt at her sister and sobbed with joy for being saved but, now where her mind laid. There was a twisted feeling in her spark that lay pronounced, weighing in on the vines and tangled circuitry, pulling inwards on herself and threatening to choke her like a vice.

She closed her optics for a moment and pushed back into the depth of her memory core.

✦ ✦ ✦

"No, no, no! Let—go of me! They're going to kill them! He's going to kill them, Sunblitz!" She cried, furiously kicking her legs and squirming as Sunblitz hauled her off as if she was no better than a sack of powder over her shoulder. She was being treated like a child—a stubborn child who would not leave nor obey and nothing but fear and anger filled her systems.

She could see the golden gates shrinking further and further before they turned a corner, and Silversong furiously tried to break free from her sister's claw as it caught on her back to secure her in place.

Her sobs filled the hallways, and she stretched her arms out, twisting and writhing without the fear to fall, so long as she had a mere inkling that it would provide her an opportunity to escape, "Why aren't you listening to me—!?" She wept loudly, voice shrill, "He's going to kill them! We have to stop him, please. Listen to me! Sunblitz—!!"

With every struggle and helpless push to pry herself from her eldest's unyielding grip, Sunblitz gritted her dentas at the squirming. She subtly quickened her pace and adjusted her grip to secure Silversong more properly. Sunblitz needed to evacuate Silversong off the premise, immediately.

The last thing Sunblitz wanted to do at the moment was to have Silversong run back just to get herself shot down the moment those doors opened, but she'd hardly doubt even with such an explanation. Silversong would merely brush it aside to run headfirst back anyways, even more proudly with a sign strapped to her that said "shoot me" above all else.

Sunblitz's patience wore thin and her frustrations rose amidst the other conflicting feelings that whirled through her mind, fighting—albeit in a limited manner—to keep her sister still, "Stop- moving!"

In response? Silversong persisted, flailing and kicking- screaming out in frustration between broken cries. Sunblitz scrunched her expression. She could've sworn her audial receptors were nearly blown out from the noise and briefly paused in her steps to get a better handle on her.

Sunblitz gasped and hastily raised a servo to block the knee that nearly struck her in the nose, grunting with frustration, "I—ugh—this is for your own good, Silversong. If you go back there, you're going to die!" She expressed firmly, reluctant to gripping her any tighter in fear of her claws damaging the metal of her back.

As a result of her fear, Sunblitz was nearly struck again in the faceplate with Silversong's knee, hastily blocking it once more and nearly dropping her.

Silversong grunted and continued to fight back, protesting as she furiously wiped her optics, "but they're in there, Sunblitz! Why are you doing this!?" She said, curling her servos into fists and slamming it down onto Sunblitz's back, "Sentinel Prime is going to kill them, he's going to kill them like he did the Primes!"

Sunblitz stiffened, nearly dropping Silversong down onto her pedes to look at her sister for such a confession, throwing her gaze over her shoulder. Her optics were blown wide to the skies at such a critical accusation, or perhaps. It had been a truth too devastating, nearly disrupting her processor workings entirely.

Sunblitz breathed and looked to her lost gaze, searching for the lies in the coolant droplets spilling down Silversong's face. In return, Silversong had her own discoveries when she held Sunblitz's gase, her lips pursing.

You didn't know, she thought,

But regardless, she took to the distraction and shook her helm raising it to knee Sunblitz in the nose as she let out a loud, "ACK!-"

Successfully, Silversong was dropped to her knees and the flier attempted to rush past but Sunblitz servo seized around her wrist; the other covering her now bleeding nose. She reeled Silversong back in, forcing her confusion away to prioritize bringing Silversong home, away from the danger she was looking to dive straight into, "I can't let you go back!" Sunblitz said, eyeing at the frantic femme who tried to pry open her digits.

Silversong cried out again, "But Dee's in there!" She screamed.

Not a single budge.

"I can't have you going back in there, this is for your own good!" She chastised, attempting to resume her steps, now flinching as the sounds of Silversong's pedes firmly planted into the ground began to echo across the corridor in metallic screeches that joined her protesting wails.

"What good?!" She wiped her tears with the back of her servo and stomped into the ground firmly to find a position of purchase, something that'd catch her pede to stop the harsh dragging, "You're going to let a room full of people- a-a bunch of the royal High Guard, betrayed by Sentinel Prime, abandoned by Sentinel Prime—die!?" "He's going to publically execute them all! He's going to publically execute my conjunx!" She urged, why wasn't Sunblitz understanding this?!

She kept pleading with Sunblitz as she hoped Sunblitz would falter, to listen and heed her plea.

Yet, she looked up to meet Sunblitz gaze, a look of indifference at the mention of her mere conjunx slowly washed over her, and not a scratch of sympathy resurfaced the same for the High Guards. Her spark dropped at the cold look, even with the sunlight pouring from the windows to wash against Sunblitz's face. It was no better than looking to a cold statue. With stiff, and yet again purposeful steps, she yanked Silversong forward and proceeded on—willing to drag her off if it meant getting her away from those. That. Room.

In her disbelief, Silversong nearly forgot to fight, to pull away- to do anything in the face of what she had just witnessed. Sunblitz's face hadn't changed, not one bit and for a moment, Silversong wondered if she was merely keeping herself indifferent, merely faking it, lying and merely pushing forward on this. So, she persisted, "You'd let that happened!? You'd let this all happen?!"

Nothing.

In her sodden state, she shook her helm. This couldn't be her sister! she cried out. Her voice rang off the walls, "YOU'D LET THEM ALL DIE LIKE THIS—?!"

Sunblitz stopped, momentarily. Her wing lightly flicked and slowly, she looked back and stared directly into Silversong's optics. Her spark plummeted even further, deeper into her chassis until she could hear the soft "plop!" as it struck into her tank and sank further.

Sunblitz almost looked... Agitated—or worse off yet, bored, a recognizable feature she had seen occasionally, once—maybe time and time again in her younger years, but she never cared to hold her words long when she made that look. It was ridiculing, frustrating at times. But by now as Silversong looked at her kin's face, it merely read clearly throughout the thick silence that drifted between them.

Her gaze was nearly shadowed over, a patient yet impatient look in her gaze. Her lips pressed into a thin line, subtly forming to a soft frown. Sunblitz stared down at her, and Silversong felt no better than she did as a sparkling long ago after a tantrum. Her eyes read clear:

"Are you done yet?"

Silversong's optics began to dry as a wringing sense of dread took hold of her at the upcoming realization, "... oh my god..." Her voice escaped her intake like mere dust to the wind, soft and carried off with everything she had left and knew of her sister once then.

She wasn't even sure if this was the same femme now either, perhaps a new spark under old skin.

She didn't like it, not one bit.

Sunblitz gently squeezed her arm and Silversong whimpered at the slightest trace of pain. Her servo didn't even ease for a klik, instead her gaze hardened and Sunblitz mustered up her words, "... Family comes first, and they are not." She bitterly addressed.

"-B-But Dee was with me, he's mine. He's apart of this family!-"

"He was never apart of anything." She swiftly interjected, burying words as sharp as a steel dirk straight into her chassis. And by then, she felt no satisfaction, deciding to twist her words even further until they gutted the younger's spark, "He's just some dusty, insignificant mining bot, a rusty cog—you can find a new one just the same down there. Better yet, find a real, cogged bot!" She said, harshly pulling once more at the empty, husk Silversong felt to be, standing in complete shock as this... Stranger took hold of her and tried to tug her again.

She didn't want to leave anymore, not like she had an inkling of an idea to do so but now? There was no argument, she won't leave, not with this thing that called itself—'Sunblitz'.

For a moment, the yellow-eyed femme's gaze softened, creeping down from the high and demanding pedestal she stood upon before, to speak once again in a hushed voice. She released Silversong's arm for a moment, instilling a cautious piece of trust that she wouldn't run back.

Silversong retracted her arm and rubbed to it, not a word escaped neither of them. What could she have even said in response?!

She spoke of D-16 as if he were a mere toy to her, her own conjunx—a replaceable thing? How could she?! She talked of him as if he meant nothing to her! All the years she spent with a partner she openly loved thrown away, and then replaced?!

She spoke like...

Her spark began to slowly gut itself and the realization dawned upon her.

... Exactly like how Sentinel Prime would.

Sunblitz took a deep sigh and her indifference tucked away behind a lightly sorrowful gaze. She reached out again, "I'm sorry, Silversong." Sunblitz began, as her sibling began to take a step back.

"...Sorry?" She scoffed, as Silversong shook her helm and narrowed her glossy eyes back at her, "You won't even say what you're sorry for! Are you really sorry?? Are you truly sorry about it? What are you sorry for?"

"Look, I-"

"Oh, 'I'm sorry for not giving a damn about your conjunx!' or maybe is it 'I'm sorry for talking badly about your conjunx, who I don't care for and who's about to die by the hands of a traitor!' could it even be 'I'm sorry for taking you away in general and turning tail away from the big problem that is Sentinel, and fleeing—like a coward!'" She shouted, spitting back what was mere flecks and embers of the flame that seared within her frame. Rage burned through her fuel lines and threatened to ignite her very body.

Sunblitz's soft gaze faltered in slight surprise before holding face while Silversong stepped forth again to punctuate every unanswered question that came out, the rapid fires saving no room for answers. Only with the intent to provoke and pull the answers right out of Sunblitz, did she continue, "Aren't you supposed to be apart of the Iaconian Security Division?! Aren't you supposed to be protecting the people?!" Silversong boldly claimed.

"I am your sister, and your family first and foremost above all!" Sunblitz argued back, "it was the very reason I took this job, to protect us! The citizens came second!" She emphasized, indulging in this argument, "Of course, I care about them. But not as much as I do—you, can't you see that?! You are- if you keep up with this... Reckless charge into a battle that you clearly can't—handle!" Sunblitz lunged out with her servo extended and snagged Silversong's arm, pulling her forth again, face to face, "You are going to get yourself offlined!"

She scoffed, "But this is how I have to keep you, and our family safe, like it or not." The steady and resisted march was upcoming again, but Silversong would refuse it this time. She will be going back to that room if it was the last thing possible.

Sunblitz pulled her again, and the soft screech breached the air again, forcing them both to cringe, "You have to understand this. I-"

Suddenly, out of shear anger and adrenaline, Silversong allowed Sunblitz to pull her forth and with the momentum, she hopped up before swinging her helm forward as hard as she could—a crack rang through the air as her fore-helm smashed against Sunblitz's nose, again.

"AUGH! WHAT THE FFH-"

Sunblitz shouted in pain as she released Silversong who wasted no time in spinning back on her heel, nearly slipping and facing the wrath of Sunblitz's hurriedly outstretched claws. She dodged the sharpened digits that came down to clutch at nothing but the air.

Silversong took a deep breath and accessed Sunblitz crouched form, jumping up and aiming her pedes right in Sunblitz face, the thrusters attached by the ends flickered to life before igniting, further blinding her sister who screamed out, her servos clutching at her optics.

Sunblitz swung blindly, knicking her heel as Silversong fled away, her afterburners kicking into high gear. She winced at the sharp pain that rested on the back of her pede, and she could hear Sunblitz scream aggressively down the halls, "SILVERSONG—!!"

With every word traveling down the corridor, she could've sworn a heat wave traveled with the echo. Silversong could feel the metal of her skin melt at the very heat of her voice, but she refused to look back, focused on returning to D-16. Sunblitz's cries echoing down the hall one last time, searing sounds of her rage formulated into four commanding words that branded themselves into her memory.

"GET- BACK HERE—!! SILVER—!!"

She had hardly remembered when her sister had ever sounded so brutally guttural, and it left her to shudder what would happen even if if she did go back.

✦ ✦ ✦

"... But eventually, we were waiting for you to wake up after awhile and-"

Silversong shook her helm to reel herself back to reality, nearly giving herself whiplash for the moment. She lifted her helm from the surface of her dream-like state and gazedto him, the rings in her optical lenses shrinking for a moment,

"A-Awhile?" She echoed, "How long was I out for?"

Razorcause paused in his words, gauging on his memory core for a moment, "Four weeks, and four days, give or take," He said.

Her optics dimmed and her optical ridges raised. She dropped her optics down to her servo and then back to her legs, casting a scan once over to the room that surrounded, four weeks and four days?—she thought, having initially suspected she was only out for two days, maybe three but four, and four weeks?! How much had changed???

"Four weeks and four... No, that can't be right," She shook her helm with disbelief, looking to her sire who remained indifferent. He flicked his wrist and lazily gestured through the air, "time flies fairly fast when you're asleep," He tried to reason, before pausing again to fold his servos back into his lap. He swallowed hard and reluctantly began, "we weren't even sure if you were going to make it.. Really." He admitted, "the doctor said you had suffered severe damage along through every part of your body. You had struck the ground pretty hard, knocked your processor silly, nearly crushed, and half of your body had been pressed at an awkward angle and the shifting mass on top of you ended up trying to slowly slide down and sever your legs from your mainframe. The paramedics had arrived to stabilize you enough, before taking you to the medical bay."

His servos became his brush, illustrating through the air with blunt movements, framing a crude picture for her, "Unfortunately with how you were beneath the rocks, it was either we- or more properly they had to either save the upper half of your body or your legs and so, evidently. They had pulled your upper half free to save your functioning processor but..." His words became adrift, and his optics guided her back to her current situation now. Silversong slowly lifted one of the nubs of her legs, allowing Razorcase to continue, "your legs were severed as a cost and crushed inevitably,"

He cleared his throat and plastered a more reassuring look upon his gaze, smiling halfheartedly, "but don't fret. I've already taken care of it. You'll be getting new replacements here, and soon. They'll hardly look a speck bit different than your old ones, but it will require some adjustments to get used to the-"

"Sire," She quietly interjected, and yet the sound of her voice alone made all of Razorcase's thoughts quell to silence again. He casted a gaze back to his daughter who'd been patient, but the features and the anxious look beyond her eyes gave away the curiosity that took root behind her complacency for remaining on the sidelines.

For the moment, Razorcase retracted from rambling any further, and slowly but surely offered the floor for Silversong's personal inquiries. A look of gratitude washed over her features as she drew in a breath, and sighed, "what... Happened, while I was out...? Where's..." She swallowed, "Where's D-16? What's happened to him? Please, please tell me you know where he is," Silversong urged, reaching for her creator's servo.

He said nothing of the sorts, looking to her with an unreadable expression. His silence left her features to grow more fretful and she gently squeezed his digits, beginning to sputter up again, "O-Or perhaps a mining bot named 'Orion Pax'! Or 'Elita-1'! Maybe a particular bot named 'Bumble-'"

"I-I'm afraid I'm not exactly sure about... D-16's whereabouts at the moment. Or... Any of these bots you're referring to. He..." He threatened to bite down on his glossa, but the sorrowful look in Silversong's gaze wrung his spark out. He couldn't lie to her like this, he just couldn't.

He fought to twist his own words, gritting his dentas before pushing it on out from his mouth, "He wasn't recovered,"

"What?!" She sat straight up and the slight strain from her sudden movements caused her frame to creak along her lower side. She grunted in discomfort and fell to her elbow. Razorcase shot up from his stool, knocking it over to help ease Silversong back into lying down. He quickly made amends for the vague response, hurriedly reassuring her, "I-I mean that his body wasn't found, my dear. Not yet! He wasn't buried where you were, nor anywhere in the tower," He said. Silversong locked gazes with him and gripped to his hand like her life had depended on it.

A thousand and one thoughts flooded her mind, and Razorcase only had as many answers as any bot did to this entire ordeal. He had solely wished he knew more, the very thought of sparking fear into his daughter was the last thing he wanted. Swallowing harshly, he continued pushing forth what little explanations he did bear privy to, "I'm sorry. I do not have the full grasp nor understanding of everything that's happened, my dear, Silversong. I truly wish I did," He squeezed her servo in turn, "Despite the cycles that have passed, I don't know what happened... Not completely on what went down in in the center of Iacon city. We were told things but, the city isn't quite certain with what to know as the truth and..." He paused, a brief sour expression on his face, "a lie..." He said, holding her close, "So you must understand why I am... hesitant in answering you."

Silversong slowly reciprocated and gripped to his back, her spark thrumming loudly in her chassis. It echoed into the cavity of her mind. She closed her optics and pursed her lips, trying deeply to call out to his spark with her own.

Surely if he were still alive, he'd respond back, wouldn't he?

She didn't want to—Silversong refused to believe her conjunx had died in the mix of things. She couldn't accept that!

Her spark called out for his in the dark, yearning, aching for a response back. It pulsed and internally cried out for his, making everything else around her seem far beyond. It brightened and burned in her spark chamber, trying to find for a sign, a signal, a message only she could recognize and translate.

She waited and held her sire close, squeezing his frame in a tight hug that he slowly returned, knowing well what was happening.

Her spark screamed for D-16's.

...

And all she could hear back, was the sound of her own beats, a steady yet faltering rhythm.

A song meant for two, now left unfinished. Nothing responded. Not a glimmer, and not a glimpse into his soul.

He was either too far away, or too far gone.

She released her arms from Razorcase, her helm shaking slightly. Her optics were beginning to steadily pool while she whispered to herself, "No, no, no, no... This cannot be...!"

Her sire sighed and he gently cupped her face to gather her attention back to him, picking up the pieces of his shattering daughter, "Silversong. Silversong, listen to me, please, whatever is toiling in the depths of your mind, whatever woes and fears you have of your conjunx's spark being extinguished. You cull them, immediately. It does not mean he is... Offline." He tried to reassure, drawing his thumbs back and forth on her cheeks simultaneously to every tear that leaked from the edge of her optics. It wounded him gravelly as he frowned and his spark became choked at the sight, "He's just lost, not found yet. There is a knowing chance, he is still with us," He whispered, gently wiping her tears, "You need to take care of yourself at the moment. It's what D-16 would've wanted-"

"But my sparkmate! I cannot just neglect him, sire! He would be looking for me all the same, and maybe he is!" She protested, pulling her face away from his servos, and mulling heavily to the idea.

"Silversong, please." He gently held to her arm and urged strongly, holding her pauldrons. She reluctantly looked back to him, more eager to act rather than to think. Silversong breathed, her expression full of nothing but concern, "You are in no condition to be going anywhere, young femme. So, please... I am begging you to stay here for just a bit longer until they can piece you back together. Unless you decide otherwise to go crawling about Iacon in search of your beloved," He tried to reason, deeply sighing, "... That wouldn't be very efficient now, would it, my dear?"

Slowly, but surely, her processor gave into submission, forfeiting on a desire to act for more of a cautionary and reasonable approach. Her mind was scattered, her woes on one end, her concerns and fears bouncing along the other, and she didn't know what to do and where to begin uncoiling every wire and thread that looped into knots within the sanctuary of her mind, but at the forefront of it all. All she could worry on at the moment was about her conjunx, whether he was hurt, scared, confused just as she was.

Primus, she'd hope he was safe and alive.

"I understand and I know, how much you lay your concerns for the bot but you must put yourself first," Her father tried to continue easing her thoughts at the moment, pushing aside the foggy mess that lay beyond her forlorn optics. His thumb strayed along the underside of her optics, wiping away any trails of coolant-filled tears that had yet to dry, smearing the trails, "Think of it this way, if... You stay here long enough, maybe he'll come looking for you here, and once you're fully recovered and repaired. You can go look for him and you both will find each other, reunited again at last!" He hopefully chimed, his optics brightening with encouraged enthusiasm, hoping they'd mirror over onto her sympathetic, blue optics that glowed dimly beneath his watch.

He held her, cradling her expression gently again, "Wouldn't you like that, Silversong?"

Her gaze flickered, running through the maze of her mind to find one sole response and in reply. She quietly sighed and nodded, resting a servo on the back of his own while he held her face, "I suppose," She admitted.

Her creator softened his gaze and gradually released his touch from her face, spinning around to mindfully collect the stool he had previously knocked over in his sudden rush.

Silversong sighed and held her servos together, sitting up once again to look into her lap. She took a deep breath and closed her optics, tilting her helm back. Everything was a complete mess, and she certainly wouldn't be going time soon to look for her answers.

So, she sought to the most immediate source to try and put together her thoughts all in one coherent picture, calling upon her sire who settled beside the medical table,

"Would you care to tell me, in the meantime of... What's happened?" She anxiously started up, then hurriedly pushed out the rest of her words before Razorcase met her gaze once more.

She fidgeted, resting her servos just short of behind her. Silversong brushed her index digit against the steel platform she laid upon, continuously with each passing klik, almost trying to scratch and dig into the metal with no real effort, "I remember a couple things, but, ever since I blacked out during the attack on Sentinel Prime's tower, I-I... Don't remember much that happened after," She admitted, her mind blooming with a multitude of concerns—namely her sister.

She hadn't seen of Sunblitz, until in regards of their last interaction that ended rather bitterly.

Her own agitation and initial vexation giving away briefly for a moment of concern for Sunblitz and whether she recovered from their "interactions", but for now. She hid it amongst the other overflow of inquiries to speak upon later, and maybe- perhaps with Sunblitz.

"I know... of a lot of things, an overwhelming amount, since I've left with D-16 and the others to venture out of Iacon but, it seems that I've missed out on a whole lot more during my recovery. Could you help me?" She asked, lifting her helm to gaze at her father.

Razorcase's optical ridges raised and after a moment or two of silence. He nodded gradually and pulled his stool closer just until his knees would touch against the steel legs of the table,

"Of course. Why don't we start with what you remember?" He began, "And I'll help fill in the rest after you tell me of your part of the story, hm?" He seemed willing to help her complete this puzzle.

Relieved, Silversong smiled softly and nodded in turn,

"... That would be lovely, yes,"

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

The obvious needn’t be said but the one tiny thing that Veilguard cleared up is why Solas is like that, i.e. why, despite being the cause of the fall of the elves, he is still so critical of the Dalish in Inquisition (besides the fact he got beat up that one time lol).

To him, the Dalish are arrogant, ignorant, and close-minded. Their pride as elves is that they believe themselves to be closer to the true Elvhen than city elves because they have deeper knowledge of elf history, when in reality what they possess is propaganda, misinterpretation, and half-remembered folk legends of powerful entities that time crystallized into gods. What’s more is that they are actively hostile or otherwise unreceptive to any non-Dalish observations and perspectives of their history.

But the Dalish are “ignorant” because centuries of the empire’s decay on top of centuries of enslavement eroded clear and distinct memories of the past. Those who broke out of cities and formed what would become the progenitors of the Dalish clans had to piece together their peoples’ history while crafting traditions out of practical and symbolic necessity. They were the ones who, by way of their self-taught amateur archaeology, were able to craft an Elf-centered history free of human, Chantry, imperial prejudice.

Solas, whose core is that of a spirit of Wisdom, instinctively—or as Weekes says, “genetically”—bristles at the presence of pride, ignorance, and arrogance regardless of the context, regardless of why the ignorance or arrogance may have come about.

There are many nuanced definitions of what Wisdom is, but two key features that are extremely relevant to Solas’s negative response to the Dalish are:

- Adept at active listening (listening to understand the information being presented) and reflective listening (being capable of accurately summarizing the speaker’s points back to them in your own words)

- Intellectually humble (Aware and accepting that their knowledge is limited and fallible; open to other perspectives; not defensive when their ideas are challenged; acknowledge mistakes; do not hold their beliefs as objectively better than anyone else’s)

To Solas, the Dalish openly and aggressively eschew intellectual humility. They do not allow for alternative perspectives of their history from non-Dalish; they believe their ways to be better and more true than what the city elves believe; they shut down any critique or criticism of their ways from non-Dalish; they exist in an impenetrable state of confident wrongness.

Solas’s core Wisdom nature is vexed to agitation by the mere presence of this behavior. When confronted with such qualities, his temperament dramatically shifts from placid guru to mocking, acerbic nemesis. His rebuttals can only be characterized as chastening. He tells Vivienne ‘dirthala ma’—may you learn. Spoken with the virulence of a curse. ‘You who thinks he knows all, who acts without prudence, without awareness. You do not understand how insignificant you are, how infinitesimally scant your perspective is.’

His immediate instinct is to rectify this discrepancy of metacognition, to troubleshoot this glaring flaw in his reality. Arrogant people don’t make for good students, nor good conversation partners. If ignorance is a fallow field, arrogance is salted earth. Wisdom can never take root in the latter. It is lethal to it. That is why Solas seems to jump from 0-100 so easily at the slightest sniff of hubris, why he seems to have a barbed insult loaded in the chamber at all times. The presence of Pride, Arrogance, Ignorance, they are all states of being that stifle or outright extinguish Wisdom. They are natures that most likely posed the greatest existential threat to him during his life as a spirit. Censure serves as his claws and teeth.

But people are far more complex than simple arrogance, or pride, or ignorance, as these traits are closely tied to external factors such as upbringing, nationality, heritage, socioeconomic class, education, personal psychology, etc.

Just as how Cole, a spirit of Compassion, has trouble understanding why some people refuse his help to ease their emotional pain (Solas post-breakup), or why someone can love and detest someone at the same time (Dorian and his father), Solas struggles to keep necessary context in his purview when exposed to these disagreeable attributes. It does not occur to him in the moment that there may be a storied explanation because to him there is no reason that it should exist in any capacity or in any context. It needs to be neutralized immediately. The corrective paw needs to descend and swat down the insolence.

Now Solas does possess the ability to reflect and acknowledge his mistakes, and he does so with a high approval Inquisitor of any race and especially with a romanced Lavellan. This is a facet of Wisdom that I would argue requires the most conscious effort. Reacting to someone’s haughtiness with a scornful “you know nothing” as he does with the Dalish, Dorian, Vivienne, and an uncurious, dogmatic, brash Inquisitor is easy. It’s effortless to him. Truly reflecting on his presumptions and adjusting them based on new information and experiences has been made a more laborious process ever since he took a body because instead of having a pure spirit brain whose existence is solely devoted to embodying wisdom, he has to contend with all the extraneous bits and bobs that come with having a personality. Ego, resentment, guilt, bias, etc.

But yeah, Solas’s hypocritical dislike of the Dalish is rooted in his spirit nature’s autoimmune response to natures that would have been genuine threats to Wisdom. His “arrogance” is often simply him matching you bar for bar + Wisdom, when given a mortal body and a personality that possesses a functioning ego, can look and act a lot like Pride when viewed from certain angles.

[worlds-least-responsible]

I HOPE THIS HURTS.

[Polle says, "Sorry!"] ... Don't ask how I got here. Curly convinced me that it'd be fun and I need better entertainment than just staring at the walls. You can call me Jimmy. I'm the co-pilot of the Tulpar. Our crew consists of him as captain, me, Swansea as our mechanic, Anya as our nurse and Daisuke as Swansea's intern, I guess. Who's idea was it to bring five in a ship of four? Don't talk to me about sardines. Or horses, for that matter. Some of you need to learn how to take a fucking joke.

//ooc info

TW FOR BLOOD, MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE/VIOLENT TENDENCIES, REFERENCES TO CANNIBALISM, DEREALIZATION, SUGGESTIVENESS, ARACNOPHOBIA/BUGS/INSECTS, MENTIONS/REFERENCES TO SEXUAL ASSAULT, MENTIONS/REFERENCES TO SELF HARM AND/OR SUICIDE, MILD HORROR. Pre-crash Jimmy blog. Maybe not for much longer. Made to pair with @ponyextulparlog. ;; except i'm way more active here i'm sorry . main is @hellishkittycat, if you follow me here i might starting following you back from there. uhh. all things i've listed as rules for the Curly blog are valid here too but stricter. you can be mean to him, sure, go ahead. but do NOT get me involved in it. i am merely here to have fun, i DON'T condone this man's actions and i hate him as much as you do. THIS IS A FICTIONAL CHARACTER AND WHILE HIS CRIMES ARE REAL HE IS NOT. HE ISN'T REAL!! NONE OF THESE PPL ARE!! >DO NOT MAKE SA/RAPE JOKES. you aren't funny. you all know how Jimmy is in canon, aka a rude asshole who only cares for people when they benefit him. literal parasite. he is USUALLY NOT going to be kind, or even remotely nice. neutral at best. please don't be startled if he's mean to you!! that's just how he is and any/all threats are in character entirely. (see tolerance points for info.) JIMMY EMOTIONAL STATUS GUIDE: Green dialogue is just his usual sarcastic self. Blue dialogue is in mention of Anya, or things relating to Anya. Orange dialogue is in mention of Swansea, or things relating to Swansea. Pink dialogue is in mention of Daisuke, or things relating to Daisuke. Non colored dialogue is in mention of Curly, or things relating to Curly. Purple is related to tolerance or defensiveness. Red is related to aggression or a strong, compulsive emotional reaction to something. DO INTERACT!: fellow mw rp accs, whether it be canon, ocs, aus, you're all cool here. hell, even accounts from other fandoms too as long as you know where you are. the jimmy enthusiasts™, are also allowed here (as long as you don't condone what he did, ew). cry about it. DO NOT INTERACT: anyone under 16, anything that usually falls under dni criterias. i check everyone that interacts here, and if i find out you fall under any questionable labels you'll get blocked. nsfw accounts and accounts with major gore too if you don't filter your shit. jimanya, jimsuke and jimsea shippers. if you exist. EXTRA INFO: This Jimmy is 36, 5'11, metalhead, unlabeled closeted queer, 'Merican, arachnid/reptile enthusiast. mod talk will always begin with //. Jimmy talk will have the dialogue font and be colored green. tags for this blog include:

takeresponsibility: for in character posting/rp starters yimpy's yapping: for asks/ continued rp yimpy approved: for art/rb yimpy's art/doodles: might change this later but it's for mod-posted art. recent art pieces only jimsby: why did i word it like that it sounds like i'm in a pokemon game. uhh. (jimby reacts to asks) toleratedmuch: above the #yimpy's favorites tier, you are now willingly tolerated. exclusive to those with 15+ tolerance points. yimpy's favorites: tag exclusive for those with 5+ TOLERANCE POINTS. dear god what have you done goodnessgracious: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU (50+ tol pts). officiallyresponsible: i hope this hurts. TOLERANCE POINTS: if ya interact one too many times often, or just do something cool, ugly little roach here might be slightly, SLIGHTLY less of a dick to you! only proceed if you're okay with the consequences of such acts being you as this parasite's next host, though. inspired by another blog. THIS POST HAS BEEN UPDATED (most recent update: 12/28/24).

[aestariiwilderness]

Any Appeal to Objective Morality (“Should”/ Rights /Bodily Autonomy) In Defense of Abortion is Inherently Self-Contradictory & Illogical

Not intended to be confrontational! Just, hopefully, thought-provoking to anyone who happens to mosey on by my little corner of the Internet. I noticed a very common fallacy in "pro-choice" arguments and had some thoughts about it.

For abortion supporters: 

I have to ask, where are you getting this “should”? This common appeal to bodily autonomy as an intrinsic “right” that all humans should recognize and observe? The very concept of intrinsic rights flies in the face of the popular pro-abortion belief that must assume that the value of a human is extrinsic and thus arbitrary (i.e., must fulfill certain conditions or criteria to have worth sufficient to live, such as being wanted, being a certain age or size, having a certain degree of independence, or being in a certain location, being a certain “race”, being a certain sex, etc., etc.). Since biology and science are very clear that the reproductive product of two humans is a unique human from the moment of conception, it follows that an unborn child/ “fetus” is a human from the moment of conception and thus also has those intrinsic, inalienable rights – the same ones which you claim somehow give you the right to transgress her inalienable right to life. This, in itself, is all you need to show that this pro-abortion belief is inherently self-contradictory. Even beyond that, the point is moot regardless – every civilized society recognizes the need to restrict the lesser right of bodily autonomy in the case of its expression becoming a direct/active threat to another’s primary rights (i.e., the right to life). (Otherwise – murder? Meh, a matter of opinion. “I was expressing my bodily autonomy to hack her into pieces and stuff them in a trash bag, officer! What are you gonna do about it?” Secondhand smoking laws? Violations of the smoker’s bodily autonomy. Laws against underage drinking or driving under the influence? Don’t even try it. Seatbelt laws? No, because bodily autonomy!) 

But there’s still more than that! Any appeal to recognize bodily autonomy or any other “inherent” or intrinsic human right must be an appeal to an objective morality – a moral standard from a higher authority that applies to all humans, regardless of belief, culture, time period, or other factors. Without this appeal to a morality that all instinctively recognize, there could be no “should” about anything. Might would make right, and only the evolutionarily fittest individuals or societies “should” survive. Without objective morality, no one would care about anyone else’s rights to anything, because those rights themselves would be a nonsensical concept. 

Even better – this particular higher moral standard to which you appeal is unique and easily recognizable. It is that of the God of the Bible (see Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis for a more step-by-step process to that conclusion). This is the same God in the same Bible that commands “do not murder”, says that He is our God from the womb onward, provides unborn children with the same legal protection that is given to born people, and consistently speaks to, refers to, and interacts with the unborn in exactly the same way He does with the born. 

In short, the pro-abortion belief appeals to an objective morality it usually claims not to believe in and the moral standard of the same God they usually also say they don’t believe in (and the same God who says “don’t murder” and that unborn babies are people) in order to say that murdering other people is an intrinsic right for some people. 

Make it make sense! :D  Sources:

https://acpeds.org/position-statements/when-human-life-begins https://www.tumblr.com/life-advocate-feminist/622491663491842048/life-begins-at-conception-masterpost?source=share Abortion: A Matter of Choice? · Videos · Creation.com  

https://issuesinlawandmedicine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Jacobs_36n2.pdf https://www.supremecourt.gov/DocketPDF/19/19-1392/185346/20210729162737297_19-1392%20BRIEF%20OF%20BIOLOGISTS%20AS%20AMICI%20CURIAE%20IN%20SUPPORT%20OF%20NEITHER%20PARTY.pdf https://www.str.org/w/what-exodus-21-22-says-about-abortion https://biblearchaeology.org/research/contemporary-issues/2243-abortion-and-the-ancient-practice-of-child-sacrifice https://resources.care-net.org/pro-choice-christians/?utm_source=lifenews.com&utm_medium=display&utm_campaign=abortion_hotline_pledge https://youtu.be/P3j0raroDqM https://www.openbible.info/topics/the_value_of_human_life https://bibleteacher.org/2019/08/08/all-human-life-is-precious/

Proverbs 31:8 

Luke 1:44 

2nd Kings 17:17 

Jeremiah 19:5 

Genesis 9:6 

Exodus 21:22-25 

Matthew 7:20 - 23 

John 15:14 

1st John 1:5-10, 2:3-6 

Exodus 20:13 

Mark 10:13-15 Leviticus 20:3-5 (https://biblehub.com/hebrew/mizzaro_2233.htm) 

Matthew 18:10, 14

Psalm 22:10

Jacob & Esau, John the Baptist, Samson, etc. Judges 16:17

[buttercuparry]

I now know why the idea that courtesy is the answer to every conflict is so prevalent in the fandom. You have a handful of tumblr intellectuals who would rather discuss if Arya should have been feeling guilty about killing the Bolton guard or the degree of it ( he is just a guy standing around, we don't know anything about him, hey maybe he doesn't get paid enough to stop 3 prisoners from leaving!), rather than acknowledge that Arya had gone through hell to survive and she more than any other Stark kid knows the cost of war. Arya's list is called fucked up ( they add the "understandable" adjective immediately after but reiterate that it's fucked up). And the prevalent idea then, in use of all these words is equating Arya to violence. Which is why all those incorrect quote posts of 'Arya's every solution being violence' get so many notes.

Arya's list isn't the measure of her violence. It instead is the proof of her trauma. And she tries again and again to leave the nightmares behind: the countless times she tries to reach Jon, her feeling what good does Joffrey's death do if her mother and brothers are dead, her wanting to stay on with the crew of Titan's daughter.

They would talk about how fucked up her list is hence insinuate the tremendous capacity of violence and draw up theories after theories about Faceless Men but won't ever be conscious enough to recognize that Arya never truly wanted anything to do with the FM ( even after reaching Braavos she tries to stay on the ship).

So imagine knowing all these. To have read all these chapters and to get stuck on the ethics of murdering the Bolton guard. Mind you this is brought up because it has been admitted that previously Arya has had to kill in self defense and for others. There has been a reiteration that there these kills are pardonable since there had been an active threat on her. But the murder of the Bolton guard is a matter of ethics!

And you know what I am not even arguing about that. It is a grey area. But it's the extra scrutiny placed on the female character that gets to me. A clood blooded premeditated murder committed!! As if this murder exists in vacuum. As if this girl who the world around knows to be a commoner would have been allowed to leave Harrenhal by that guard just standing around. As if prisoners and slaves have a say on what is to be their fate. As if each day and every day Arya isn't surrounded by the violence wrought in Harrenhal. As if this violence wasn't necessary for her to make a safe escape.

They would argue it wasn't and here I realize that the issue goes deeper than that. Here is an excerpt of their dialogue:

They maintain that only Gendry and Hot Pie had been in danger here. That Arya was actually safe as she could have just revealed her identity anytime and apparently there were ways of proving it without one recognizing her face ( I doubt that).

Somehow this makes me realize that this sort of thinking is what dismisses Arya's entire arc. This is what had been going wrong in the tv show which reduced all of Arya's trauma to ✨adventure✨because they think all the suffering Arya went through was intentional and could have been stopped anytime! All she had to do was reveal her identity.

I honestly do not know what Arya could have done to prove she was a Stark. When they sent guards to hunt her down and Arya realized that maybe in convincing her two friends to run away with her, she has in turn condemned them- Arya makes a decision to reveal who she is and let herself taken hostage. But here's the thing and no matter how many so called intellectuals throw up shit that her identity could have easily been proven-there would always, always the matter of chance. They could believe or they won't. And what would happen if they won't? Arya would be killed.

Now let's see what would have happened if Roose had ahold of the real Arya? Wouldn't she be in the place of Jeyne Poole. Jeyne has had to suffer under a monster, under a sadist. And those cries that echo around Winterfell now, would have been Arya's. This is what the fandom wants. I mean to say this is what the fandom wants from its female characters. Be the passive recipient of all that is to happen. There is no admiration in taking yourself promptly out of a situation that can be dangerous by actively interfering in the storyline. Act only when an action has been committed against you. There would have been more sympathy for Arya if she bled the way they wanted her to. If her cries echoed through halls. If she wasn't an active participant in her own storyline.

The other thing is the matter of could have. There is always the matter of could have when it comes to Arya. Arya could have tried to be more courteous. Arya could have just let Joffrey cut Mycah's face. And now Arya could have hatched a plan keeping in mind the safety of not only her party but of everyone else ( the Bolton guard) and snuck past. Every decisive control Arya takes is countered with a could have. That Arya chose to simply eliminate the risk in a situation that begged a safe escape isn't taken well. There is always a could have even when the text itself provides us with no definitive answer to this alternative could have.

I never understood how people could judge Dany when she actively brings down an empire of slavery. But now I think I can. There is no passivity. There is unapologetic action against the slave masters. They too perhaps are just some guys standing around to many in this fandom. And every decisive move against them, every violence against them also brings about the compulsion of the could have.

These female characters refuse to be a part of the could have. Of passivity. Their grey actions are to take back control of their storyline. Hence are they vilified. And hence should there be guilt and remorse on their part.