#legally he was technically not allowed to be killed

[mediumgayitalian]

Lee does not immediately suspect something when he hears screaming.

That's his bad.

He will make it abundantly clear in his defense that the core value of this camp is violence. That is It. Not safety, not training, not worship or hard work or discipline or anything. It's violence. Didn't get the last croissant at breakfast? Violence. Someone used up all the hot water? Violence. Someone got in close to your face and insulted your dead mother? Violence. Can't decide whose nail polish colour is more well suited to their outfit?

You guessed it.

Violence.

His cabin is not immune. In fact, the Apollo cabin may be technically from some perspectives worse than every other. It is a little known fact that the solid gold walls of hubris are, in fact, sound proofed, and yet the midnight trombone continues to echo gently and unkindly over the midnight breeze. So when he hears, one beautiful and sunny July afternoon, intense, bloodcurdling screaming echoing from his very place of residence, he thinks: ah. Someone has once again used Leanna's sheet music for target practice and she is responding with brute force. Good for her.

But then, of course, the screaming pitches up high enough that four windows shatter and his hearing starts to go, and he thinks, again, ah. And then immediately begins to sprint.

"Whatever you're doing, cut it the fuck out," he barks, sprinting up the porch, and then very quickly turns to the side to wheeze silently. "Leave him -- oh, for the love of the gods."

Fortunately, his youngest brother is not being teased or tortured or in any other such way bothered. Technically. Unfortunately, the brother who he should have been more concerned about is pinning said baby brother to the floor, needles shining in hand, shrieking, "Sit still! Sit still! I swear to the muses, asswipe, sit still or I am going to end up impaling your brain!"

"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts --"

"I have not fucking done it yet!"

"Michael," Lee says, dragging a hand down his face, "watch your fucking language."

Michael bares his teeth. "He pestered me for twelve fucking days, Lee. He is getting his ears pierced or I am going to pierce him between the eyes from a hundred fucking feet."

"He's torturing me!" Will hollers, straining away. "He's -- sticking me like a pin cushion --"

"That is how piercing works you little shit --"

"I'm reporting you to child services!"

"Good! Call 'em now! It'll take them half a fuckin' hour to get here, I'll have lots of time to kick your ass!"

On one hand, Lee is Practically an Adult. He is seventeen whole years old. He can vote, if he chooses to break the law. Hell, in some countries he's legally allowed to kill people with no consequences.

"None of that is true," says Diana from her bunk, flipping a page in her magazine.

On the other hand, it is a truly beautiful day. He could just...leave. He could take a walk along the beautiful shoreline and reflect upon the days when he was an only child of a neglectful mother, blissfully lonely and unbothered. Oh, those were the days.

"Hold still!"

On the mysterious third hand, it is really kind of funny to watch Michael wrestle with a nine-year-old and lose.

"Move over," Lee says, walking over to his sister's bunk. She does, giving him approximately one square millimeter of space. Wow. She's feeling generous today. "Wager?"

"Twenty-six minutes at minimum," Diana says. She pats around until her hand hits maybe the massivest bag of sour gummi worms Lee has ever seen, shoving at least nine in her mouth at once. "And its uneven."

Lee reaches for a gummi worm. She kicks him in the spleen. He pulls his hand away.

"I'll take that. He's getting some leverage, I think he'll get them pierced in twenty-four."

"You're on."

They shake, then settle into observe. Diana passes him a set of rubber ear plugs, which he gratefully accepts just before Will screeches so loudly Michael's ear drums genuinely begin to bleed. At least he got closer, this time.

(It takes Michael twenty-two minutes and he somehow manages to pierce one ear twice. Lee accepts his gummi-worm winnings with grace and integrity and anything Diana claims otherwise is because she is a bitter sore loser who likes to start rumours and discredit his good name.)

(Obviously.)

-- -- --

based on this and this drawing by @cometjuice

more cabin 7

[thevoidstaredback]

Hey! So, it's been a while, but I finally remembered to come back to this! But, it's not gonna go the way you'd think.

If Danny had it his way, he'd be at his Aunt Alicia's house for the summer instead of New Jersey. This place is gloomy, grimy, and soaked through with so much crime that it's a Problem(TM). Like, seriously? New Jersey hasn't allowed the death penalty since he was seven, but can't they make, like, one exception? Get rid of The Joker and half of Gotham's problems are solved.

Unfortunately, he's only here as a guest, so he can't really do anything. Which, for the record, is a shit rule. Call a goose and goose, and that's exactly what Gotham City, New Jersey is.

It isn't all that bad, he supposes. Sure, the pollution blocks out the entire sky at all times, the buildings that aren't condemned are only feeding the rich while stealing from the poor, an entire twenty-four block are has been given up on by mostly everyone, the local vigilantes won't kill the recurring problems like the cockroaches they are- There was a good point to all this.

Oh! He has family here. That's it. That's the only silver lining, and it's bronze.

But, hey, it can't be that bad. From what he understands, his half-brother and company don't actually live in Gotham. Bristol, according to Talia is technically outside of Gotham City Limits, but is still considered as part of the city. Makes sense, aside from the fact that there's no bridge between Bristol and Gotham. Weird design, but he's not rich so he's not really inclined to care or understand.

Half brother, right.

Danny doesn't like Damian much, but that's because he's a clone...of Damian. Danny's a clone of Damian, not the other way around. Ra's makes that very clear

The only reason Talia wants him with Damian is because she's upset with Bruce Wayne. What is it with divorced parents and putting their kids on the middle of their fights? Or maybe that's just Talia?

Anyway.

Gotham, New Jersey is a dismal place. Danny's not germophobic by any means, he can't really afford to be, but even he's having a hard time being in the city.

It was so much easier hiding out with the Fentons.

Well, 'hiding' is a subjective term. Ra's and Talia knew where he was, so did Deathstroke, probably, but that was it.

Essentially, everyone he should be hiding from knows where he's been hiding, which means he's just been on some kind of twisted, extended vacation.

As far as Danny knew, Bruce Wayne had no idea he was coming. Damian knew because Talia had wanted him to pick Danny up from the airport. Weird because while Damian is technically older, Danny is still legally two years older.

Well, 'legally' is a stretch. He doesn't technically exist, outside of the LoA and Amity Park.

The point is that Damian is waiting for him at the end of the terminal, looking as much like an excited puppy as he can, with an older gentleman. Talia had given him nothing to work with, but Danny didn't really care who this guy was as long as he didn't try to make him do anything he didn't want to.

...living in the Midwest was doing wonders for his mental stability, but Ancients was it making him soft!

"'Danny', I presume?" the old man asked, his accent heavy.

Good, so Talia did give Damian his actual name. "Yep. You are?" He may not want to be here, but he still knows his manners. Even if he's only going to use the bare minimum of them. Malicious Compliance and all that.

"Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler." He didn't extend his hand to shake. Danny didn't mind. In fact, he actually preferred that.

Okay, so maybe he's a little bit haphephobic. Leave him alone!

"Danny," Damian greeted, a smile of excitement in his voice but not his face, "It's good to have you here. How did Mother convince you to come?"

"Bribery." Mostly.

Damian seemed to deflate a bit. "Father and the others don't know you're here."

"Do they even know about me at all?"

"No."

"Perfect! Then I can stay at a hotel-"

"For the entire summer?" Alfred raised his eyebrow, "I must insist that you stay at Wayne Manor while in Gotham. Master Bruce will most pleased to meet you."

"Why?" Danny scoffed, "I'm not his kid, nor do I want to be."

Damian slouched a little bit more. "Come, we must get back before the others send out a search party for us."

"Dramatic much?" Danny scoffed.

"Not at all," Alfred took both of Danny's bags before leading the way out to the car, "It' happened before in less time."

"I don't doubt it for a second. I'm calling Bruce a dramatic bitch."

Alfred smirked ever so slightly. "Quite right, Master Danny."

"Don't call me that."

"Alright then, what should I call you?"

"'Danny'. No honorifics, no add ons, no trying to fullname me, nothing else."

"And when you go out with the rest of the family?"

He scoffed again. "You really think they'd let me go out with them? I'm an assassin. In fact, the first thing I'll do the second I'm let out of the house is kill the clown bastard."

Damian rested his hand on Danny's arm. "They let me out with them and I tried to kill Drake. As long as you uphold a promise not to kill anyone, you'll be allowed to patrol with us."

They reached the car, Damian sat behind the driver while Danny sat behind the passenger. Alfred put the bags in the trunk. "So? What will you be called on patrol?"

Danny rolled his eyes, popping his headphones in and not looking away from the window. "Respawn."

Masterpost Part 2

[unsolicited-opinions]

I used to sorta' like Qasim. He's knowledgeable, and sharp- so this is particularly disappointing.

This is misleading on several levels.

"Iran has no nukes"

Technically correct, but deceptive.

Iran has enriched uranium to 60% purity, just short of weapons-grade (90%), and per the IAEA, has enough fissile material for several bombs if further enriched.

U.S. intelligence confirms Iran could build a bomb within weeks if it chose to.

"Iran never attacked the USA"

Straight up false.

Iran-backed proxies have killed over 600 U.S. troops in Iraq using advanced IEDs

Soleimani directly oversaw these militias. Iran also backed the 1983 Beirut bombing that killed 241 U.S. Marines.

"Iran offered to revive the deal"

Misleading. Iran demanded all sanctions be lifted before compliance, violating the JCPOA’s sequencing. Talks have stalled repeatedly over Iranian non-cooperation

"Iran allows full IAEA inspections"

False. Iran has denied access to key sites and disabled surveillance cameras since 2021.

"No approval from Congress"

True, but a legal gray area and common for presidents to do through broad Article II powers for such strikes.

Here's just the times Obama authorized strikes in/on sovereign nations without prior congressional approval:

1. Libya (2011)

Operation Odyssey Dawn / NATO Operation Unified Protector

Objective: Stop Gaddafi’s assault on civilians during the Arab Spring.

No Congressional approval; justified under humanitarian intervention and UN Resolution 1973.

Widely criticized for exceeding the 60-day limit of the War Powers Resolution.

2. Pakistan (2009–2016)

Drone strikes targeting al-Qaeda and Taliban operatives.

Conducted without the consent of Pakistan's Parliament or judiciary.

Not formally approved by Congress.

Included the 2011 raid that killed Osama bin Laden in Abbottabad.

3. Yemen (2009–2016)

Drone and airstrike campaign targeting AQAP (al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula).

No Congressional authorization for strikes inside Yemeni territory.

Often coordinated with Yemeni government, but with inconsistent legal clarity.

4. Somalia (2009–2016)

Airstrikes and special operations against al-Shabaab militants.

5. Syria (2014–2016)

No explicit AUMF covering Somalia.

Legal rationale extended from 2001 AUMF for al-Qaeda affiliates.

Airstrikes against ISIS beginning in September 2014.

No Congressional authorization specific to Syria.

Justified under the 2001 AUMF against al-Qaeda, even though ISIS had split from al-Qaeda.

Rashid's narrative collapses under scrutiny. It weaponizes moral outrage by omitting critical facts, flattening decades of Iranian aggression, and falsely portraying Trump’s controversial (but not unprecedented) strike as genocidal warfare.

Trump may well have been wrong, but this is a shit argument he knows is shit and is deliberately deceptive.

That makes this propaganda.

[bella-goths-wife]

How the yandere Vs treat pet reader like an adult and child

Val, vox and velvette x platonic reader

Just a quick reminder that Vs pet died at the age of 18 and is technically an adult and has had adult experiences before she died but compared to everyone else in age shes much younger and they see her as a kid :)

Warnings: SA mentions, Vs sexualising pet reader, drugging, reader is uncomfortable, forced affection

How they treat you like a child:

You may have been legally an adult when you died, but that does not stop the Vs from infantilising you at any opportunity

You will have extremely strict rules put in place once they become obsessed with you, even if they regularly defy the rules themselves

You have a curfew that you must abide by and be back on the tower for, unless of course one of the Vs sent you to do something

You are rarely allowed to leave the tower alone, if you are given permission it’s most likely because one of the Vs need something doing or you’ve asked them when they are in a good mood

Your diet is also highly controlled by them, they choose how much you eat and what you are banned from eating

You have a strict dating ban, if they see you as much as smile at a demon with slight adoration your eyes then they will be killed or fired

This includes casual hookups too, your barely allowed any contact with other demons so you could imagine their anger if they found out you were having sex with someone

Your clothing is always chosen the night before by velvette and has to be pre approved by vox to make sure it isn’t too revealing

Your very rarely allowed time to yourself and your always somehow monitored by the Vs so friendships are off the table

You are not allowed to drink or do drugs by your own choice, they say your too young for it

They ignore the fact that you were a rave girl when you were alive and that you regularly drank and did many different drugs

Vox is the one who mostly upholds your rules, since he is the one who sees you in more of a surrogate daughter way compared to how velvette sees you as a pet and Valentino sees you as a toy/therapist

But the others can be just as infantilising

Velvette constantly treats you like you know nothing because of your age and Valentino pretends to ‘shield’ you away from any friendships with his workers because your too ‘innocent’ for them

If any of them caught you pursuing something outside of them then there would be very severe consequences

Especially if it were something that allowed you to act like an independent adult

How they treat you like an adult:

Even if you have a strict curfew set by vox, velvette and Valentino will command you to defy that curfew to accompany them to events or nights out

They mostly just bring you for entertainment purposes for themselves but sometimes they just want to not have to fetch their own drinks for the night

This drives vox crazy but the other two don’t really care and will continue to drag you away at a moments notice

You may not be allowed to leave the tower alone at all, but you can go pretty much anywhere as long as one of the Vs are with you

They’ve dragged you to bars, deals, strip clubs, anywhere you can think of

They excuse this by saying that your needed at all times so if they drag you to places that they previously forbade you from entering, it’s okay because they’re with you

Even though they have all placed a ban on you dating or having sex, Valentino has offered to get a lover for the night from one of his workers

You’ve always refused but that doesn’t stop him from offering when he’s in a good mood

He even once offered to let star in one of his films and claimed that you’d be a real hit but you declined and told vox immediately, Valentino got a very harsh scolding and beating for that one

They also make you edit the sounds for Valentino’s movies with your abilities but claimed that your much to young to be allowed to have sexual relationships

They don’t even recognise their own hypocrisy sometimes

Even if your wardrobe is pre approved by vox, sometimes for her own fun velvette will make you wear something revealing just so she can make vox angry

You could be totally uncomfortable but you’d still have to about your day with her in an outfit that showed off your chest and curves

Vox always puts his jacket on you when he sees you and demands that you go change, he also threatens anyone he sees checking you out or making sexual comments towards you

You aren’t allowed to drink or do any drugs, but they are all guilty of drugging you

Valentino always offers you mushrooms, molly or edibles if he’s having one because he finds your reactions funny whenever your desperate enough to accept

You’ve got quite a high tolerance because of how you participated when you were alive, so unfortunately you remember most of what happens to you during these times

When velvette gets bored or just has a very hectic day that she doesn’t think you can handle efficiently, she has drugged you with coke in various ways

She’d receive scoldings from vox but she’d quickly bring up that he’s guilty of similar crimes

Sometimes when vox finds himself being soft and wanting to have some type of father daughter affection with you, he’ll give you an edible without your knowledge to make you more pliable to his affection

All of them have slipped sleeping pills into your drink before to make you stop being rebellious and just go to sleep

You don’t understand how they can treat you like you are an innocent kid at one moment and then acknowledge your age but use it as a weapon against you

The Vs crave the control that these rules bring, they want to know that they have the final say on every aspect of your existence

No matter how they view their obsessions over you, you are theirs to treat or mistreat how they choose

They don’t care about your feelings, they care about what you can give them

Your a possession to them, something to make them laugh or something to hold after a lonely day

You are not in control, and that’s what they like most about this arrangement

Sometimes you wonder which would be better

For them to never acknowledge that your an adult and treat you like a child, or for them to acknowledge your age and have the option to sexualise your or exploit you at any given moment

But all you can do is sit and bark on command, like the mutt they’ve trained you to be

Your body isn’t your own, your soul isn’t your own, your appearance isn’t your own and your mind isn’t your own

And that’s what terrifies you most and what they crave most of all.

Tag list so far :)

@repostingmyfavs @buttercupfangirl

[sexhaver]

a few nights ago i went to my city's town hall meeting because they were voting on a resolution to call for a ceasefire in Gaza (mostly symbolic but our rep is close to biden) and like. jesus fuck dude participating in democracy is so exhausting

dude at the pre-meeting rally/speech session was passing out flyers about Bob Avakian. i vaguely remembered that being a cult so i googled it and ended up accidentally downloading a 256-page pdf titled "Against Avakianism". i love leftist infighting so much

one of the council members said he would be abstaining from voting because he's technically in the army and doesn't want to piss them off even though it would technically be legal for him to do

another one (George Scarpelli) said he would be abstaining and then immediately followed that up by reading a bunch of letters that "concerned constituents" had sent in to him about this bill. every single constituent was a zionist saying that calling for a ceasefire would "sow division" (?). this was in a format where public commentary was limited to 2 minutes per person, but council members had unlimited time, so these zionists were also bypassing the time limit because they know a guy on the council. eventually the moderator told him to cut that shit out so we could actually start

someone in the audience yelled "read letters from palestinians" and he replied something to the effect of "i talked to them but none of them submitted comments to me" and i shouted "gee i wonder why" and then he got really visibly mad and then the moderator moved everything along

only three people out of 40+ during the public commentary spoke against it. all of them mentioned "sowing division" (???). two of these people called in via zoom but one was dumb/brave enough to do that in person and everyone just stared at him in silence as he went back to his seat

the moderator had to stop three different people during public commentary to tell them that they technically weren't allowed to "address comments directly at any one member of the board". all three of these people were mad at George Scarpelli

multiple Palestinian speakers literally older than Israel talking about their friends and family who were killed and running up against the two-minute time limit because there were so many of them to list

Scarpelli ended up voting against it even though he said he would abstain

it passed anyways

i just learned this now while googling his name for this post but Scarpelli is a democrat? jesus fucking christ

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny Phantom Writing Prompt:

When she comes to, a silver haired man with a matching goatee greets her. Kind of. He’s disappointed.

She’s surrounded in neon green and she is so, so, so confused.

——

Her name is-

Well. It was something else.

What matters is that Vlad doesn’t call her by anything other than “Danielle” and “you.”

She thinks if she wasn’t who she is- if Vlad hadn’t ripped her out of her own life, poured her tattered soul into this imperfect body- she’d believe the father like figure he’s poorly pretending to be. But she knows. This is a show she’s watched many times. Vlad, even if she hadn’t had years of actual life and the foreknowledge of Danny Phantom, she’d eventually clock him as a villain.

“You can do it, Danielle.” He says.

“Obey, or suffer the consequences,” she hears. She knows manipulation when she hears it. Vlad thinks it’ll work. After all, little pod baby Danielle would know no different than the confining walls of her room. But she does know, and the voices of her loved ones bolster her in this delicate balancing act.

So, she pretends to let him mold her. Let him shape little Danielle into a puppet he could pilot as he wishes.

To act like her body’s template, but to be obedient in ways Danny would never allow himself to be. To turn trusting blue eyes up towards the drawling billionaire and pretend to take his word as gospel.

In return, he gives her more freedom. He thinks it’s control, that she returns even when he gives her ample chances to leave. She knows it’s a test, and she’s always been good at those.

She collects evidence, slowly. Because Vlad might have overshadowed people and signed their companies over to him, but he was sloppy. He was sloppy and she was a paralegal.

——

Vlad gives her the mission she’s been waiting for. She goes to Danny with a neutral mask and acts like a person who knows nothing of normal social cues.

It’s what Vlad expects of her.

The time is not yet right.

——

So when the time comes, Danielle makes a decision. She was never the baby Dani. She will never be. When she punches Vlad, she tears into him with everything she has. She makes him bleed and she breaks him and she slaps the anti-ghost belt on him to lock his ability. And she breaks more, just to make sure he might not heal all the way, all the while Danny watches in horror.

And then she starts the process of legally beating him up. Danielle bankrupts Vlad in two months with legal fees, and she takes vicious pleasure in rendering him destitute.

Hah. Try creating clones of your one sided love now, you creepy motherfucker.

——

She’s melting. She makes a joke, because Danny looked terrified and she got attached. Well, it’s hard not to get attached, considering he risked his neck for her even after learning she was there to…

Well.

He saves her. She knew he would.

She’s whole again. Stable. But something in her breaks, because she knows, with a sense of unfathomable knowledge, that she will never rid herself of the name Danielle again. She’s bound to this world. The price for her life was an eternity of imprisonment in a realm where she will never see the people she loves again.

——

“I’m not… I wasn’t always Danielle.” She admits to Danny, Tucker, and Sam.

“What does that even mean?”

She sighed, leaning against the window sill.

“The reason I was stable and my… siblings weren’t was because Vlad ripped my soul out from my body and shoved it into the body of a clone. He killed me.”

Danny stuttered to a close. Grief. She smiles at him.

“Technically, I’m older than you and Jazz.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, head buried in her hands. Tucker just stares at her.

“Yeah. Me too. But you shouldn’t blame yourself, Danny.” Danielle knows that look on his face. “I hate him, yeah. But… I can’t change it now. So, I’ll see what this world has to offer.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny says to her.

“I get it.”

And she does. Because Danielle knows what it is to die, now. So does he.

So she flips off the window sill, enjoying her always novel powers of flight, and laughs.

“I’ll be Nellie. You can call me Nellie.”

[koiiiso]

Sweetpea.

Batfam/Murderous Reader

Warnings: Based on Rhiannon Lewis from Sweetpea, yayyy, Possible NSFW, and uhh, deaths? R is just wrong in the brain.

Just a silly prologue deal, might make a series, this is just a combination of stuff I like and in specific, I’m paraphrasing Sweetpea from what I can recall. RHIANNON IS AN ASS SO R WILL BE ONE TOO, SO HAH. This was also rushed as hell and is real short because I was bored so yay!!

╰┈➤ ˎˊ˗

People are really full of shit, you decided that long ago and it cannot be more present than now. They feed off of compliments, some competition, and others, real freaks, like to be degraded and left alone, fuckers like pain.

Sitting across from you was your personal group of PICT, ‘People I Can Tolerate’. You didn’t really like anyone but you didn’t want to be a complete loner. If you were one that meant more people would be suspicious of you and that couldn’t stand, you still have people in your closet hidden deep down there in their own seven pits of hell.

They were ‘work friends’, some annoying, others not as much. Wayne Enterprises had everything really, and most recently, a news area. The most annoying would be your personal boss. George White. It was a basic name for a basic man. He was plump and red when he was angry, like an apple maybe.

He was full of shit.

They all were.

You hated your job, ‘recent’ by company means was four years, and you’ve been there for that long. Four fucking years and that asshat barely lets you do jack. You wanted to write but he remained ultimately fixated on denying you that. You gritted your teeth, silently smiling and glaring at him while your aggression with the fork and knife against your food increased, subtly of course. You needed to control yourself.

You could imagine his death really. He would be silently walking, take a shortcut through an alleyway, and with his back turned you would throw yourself on his back and stab him, getting soaked in his blood as his red skin looses the color, fading to the paleness he never allowed to reign show. He was constantly pissed on and could only stop being so shitty when he joins the few you’ve already killed.

Whatever.

The only reason he was at the table with the ‘PICT’ is because he wants to stick his dick in the newest edition of the group, a younger intern, barely legal too. Maybe that’s enough of a reason to kill him. No one would really notice because it’s Gotham of all places. He could be labeled an anonymous victim and no one could say otherwise.

He wasn’t important, he was forgettable and replaceable, you’ll have your chance later.

The dinner was a company one, all sections of Wayne Enterprises gathered one day a year for whatever shitty announcements were to arrive. You couldn’t really care, you hated your job, but it had some of the best benefits for your experience and degree.

You wanted a raise, yet you can’t ask for one or else you’ll never get one. People were weird about that. You were like an assistant to everyone in your section, nothing more than a face to demand things of and look pretty.

You were also technically the receptionist so when people came in to yell and whine and moan about the news and portrayal, you were the first face to be screamed at. It helped you more with containing your emotions though. It was that sheer training that kept you from killing the red, fat faced, Mr White.

The announcements came and went, Mr Wayne shifted the control of his company to his nepo baby of the hour, Tim Drake. Apparently your department is gonna be expanding due to positive reception and blah blah blah, all that. Apparently it was so well that George got a fucking raise and he didn’t even deserve it.

It was finally over, yet rain came and you’re back in that jacket. It was black and heavy, a raincoat in the sense it shielded you, and it also kept your identity safe. It was perfect.

Footsteps in front of you mixed with puddles, and Mr White takes a turn to that alleyway. You followed him, the pocket knife it ins rightful place of your hands seemed to boil. You could get away with it.

You slow your steps and approach, waiting and waiting until he goes to a halt at the dead end the alley, and you take your chance.

You push your weight upon him, knife going to his neck and pushing through the chubby skin, reached deeper and deeper until your remove it, your right hand fitted over his mouth. He screamed and kicked and bit, and despite your own stature, you succeeded.

His corpse laid down, now beneath you. You silently move him into the heavy duty trash cans with some strain. You can’t wait to get home, to Tink and all of your collectibles.

You finish the job, the rain washing away your mess. You wrap your jacket around your waist next. Blood stains are a commodity yet you won’t take any chances.

You left the alley, unaware of the eyes that watched you, curious and demeaning.

[sintogs]

Chaotix headcanons !! (mainly for my au :) fic still in progress </3) very self-indulgent so they're probably mischaracterized HAHA my bad

Subject to change/stuff might be added!

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶

(under cut ↴)

Vector

→ 29

→ He's a straight ally 🏳️‍🌈 loves his little gay kids

→ Boston accent. This will never not be funny to me. Is he from New York? Does he just talk Like That™️? Who knows

→ Chronic gambler. Even if it's not money he's always gambling with something

→ Anger issues </3 he's me I am him he's working on them though and doing pretty good

→ Married Vanilla 💗 they're very sappy and do that thing where they show a lot of pda in front of each other and it annoys the shit out of their kids but they're adorable together so they get away with it

→ Eventually starts charging people for his services. Now that his family's expanded, he needs all the money he can get

→ Can't sing for shit. It devastates him he wants to learn so badly

→ Djs on the side. Pretty good at it

→ Despite having mostly sons, he's such a girl dad. Goes on daddy-daughter dates with Cream a lot he loves hanging out with her

→ Not allowed in the kitchen. He'll find a way to burn it down, blow it up, and kill every living thing within a five-mile radius

→ Likes boxing/stuff life boxing. Trains with Knuckles :)

→ Will jump you if you look at his kids wrong. Very defensive of them even though they can take care of themselves

→ Amy's like his daughter too? Vanilla considers Amy her kid and Cream considers her her sister, so Amy's technically in the family

→ His kids consist of (oldest to youngest): Espio, Knuckles, Mighty, Amy, Ray, Cream, Charmy. Gemerl counts as his kid too but idk where he would fit in the lineup. Only Espio, Cream, and Charmy are legally his but he considers the others his own too

→ Speaking of, when he broke the news to Espio and Charmy he adopted them, they both freaked out in their own ways /pos. Charmy started bawling immediately and Espio stood there silent and wide-eyed. He smiled eventually, then freaked out again because where did Vector get the money for that ??????

Espio

→ 25

-> Achillean, demiboy (he/they) but also low-key doesn't care what you call him

-> Japanese

-> Inherited Vector's tendency to gamble. He's not as bad but he would definitely run straight to the slot machines at a bar

-> Dating Silver </3 shameless Espilver propaganda um been dating for 9 years

-> Pretty close with Blaze as well since he's dating Silver

-> Trains with Charmy a lot, teaches him (forces him to learn) how to use kunais, shurikens, improve his stealth, etc. Charmy's actually not that bad a listener

-> Also teaches Charmy Japanese!

-> Autistic 💥 or some form of neurodivergent.

-> Semi-strained relationship with Charmy. They love eachother through thick and thin, but sometimes Espio wonders if Charmy prefers Vector's company over his

-> Low-key excited to have sisters after all the years Charmy's driven him insane. Let's Cream give him makeovers and bakes with Amy from time to time

-> Feels like he's not allowed to make mistakes. His family literally could care less but to Espio if he fucks up it's the end of the world

-> Loves to read. He likes poetry (really good at it too), classics, distopians, etc

-> Him and Knuckles fight a lot. At each others throats constantly they're eachothers #1 hater

Charmy

-> 15

-> Bi trans ftm (he/him but he also doesn’t care), started transitioning (socially) early childhood, 'bout around the time he started living with Vector

-> If he was a human he'd be black. He's black to me

-> Like Espio and Knuckles, he fights with Kit a lot. Like. A lot. More than Es and Knux ever do

-> Inherited the anger issues from Vector. It's bad. Very temperamental

-> Vector's gayest kid somehow ??? Even though he's like one of the only single ones

-> As well as training with Espio, he trains with Knuckles too

-> Archie comics are semi-canon to my au so his whole backstory happened </3 r.i.p. bee family (he was 6 when it happened though to keep the timeline of the games consistent, still fleshing that out)

-> Because of said incident ^ he has abandonment issues. Can't be left alone for more than 3 hours without tweaking

-> Besties with Marine. Don't leave these two alone they'll either find a cure for cancer or unleash a zombie virus on the world

-> Chronic copier. He studies and copies most of the adult figures in his life (his family, Shadow [especially Shadow], Don & Nite, etc)

-> Speaking of Don and Nite, they're like his 2nd dads! If Vector ever needs someone to babysit his kids, he sends them to the birds

More to come </3 I'm lazy

-> Only musically inclined one of the group. He loves singing (pretty good at it), playing instruments, writing songs, etc

[linkons-most-wanted]

While my friend and I were talking about Sylus and MCs' moral (and legal) leanings, it came up that while Sylus isn't necessarily 'good' by the standard definition, he certainly is honorable, and then it devolved into what 'honor' is for someone like Sylus. It's interesting how that works out for both his job (mostly illegal and morally grey) and his relationship with MC. Your thoughts?

(We'd rejoice if there's going to be a meta about this 😇)

Oooh yes I love this question! And it's your lucky day, 'cause this one got long! 🤣 here we go...

Subjective morals

I have sort of a funny relationship with the term "morally grey" because a lot of the time, in my personal morals, I interpret their actions as morally good but technically illegal. 🤣 A lot of laws are actually pretty cruel and unfair, and that's part of what can make morally grey characters so appealing. I think it is morally right to subvert and break laws that are unjust. (But not everybody does.)

For example, consider safe injection site programs. These provide fresh needles and safe areas to addicts in order to reduce the chances of them ODing, contracting disease, or otherwise dying. A lot of people "morally" believe these sites are bad because they "encourage" drug use. In reality, these sites make people more likely to quit because they're able to get the rest of their life stabilized and then access addiction resources.

If your morals say that helping people recover is most important, safe injection sites are morally good! If your morals say that all "crimes" must be "punished", then you'll think they're morally bad.

Morals get messy and morally grey characters point a big blinking arrow at this.

Honor among thieves.

"Honor among thieves" is a beloved trope because it allows us to feel safe (this person DOES have boundaries, there ARE lines they won't cross) at the same time as getting to see them break rules (which feels thrilling and freeing).

Society tends to condition femmes and women into compliance even far beyond the law, to the point that even saying something "rude" feels forbidden. (I put "rude" in quotes because often, something as simple as stating that you don't want to do something is considered "rude".)

I am not nice

Which leads to a second key aspect of the morally grey archetype, which is that while they may be compassionate they are not nice. They get to tell people to fuck off. They get to assert themselves. They get to do/be a lot of the things that society does not allow women to do/be.

One of my fave dark romance authors (Nenia Campbell) talks about how liberating compliments and kindness from "mean" men can be, because you know they're not just doing it to be nice or avoid hurting your feelings. You can believe them because you know they wouldn't say it unless they thought it.

This hints at how here's a fundamental honestly to moral grayness. Everybody wants something they "shouldn't", but only some people are honest about it. This is an explicit theme in Sylus's content, especially in Beyond Cloudfall when he and MC talk about how following their true desires makes them the only two of their kind.

Boundaries

Anyway, what honor ultimately comes back to is boundaries. What are the lines you won't cross? When a character crosses lines others don't (such as being unhesitating in killing people who threaten them) the lines they don't cross are given even more weight and meaning. It's a really interesting way to bring extra attention to those boundaries.

I feel like it's worth mentioning Ned Stark in Game of Thrones as a contrast. Here's a character that is fully committed to a certain code of honor, and it ends up fucking over his whole family. Honor can't magically protect you, and morally grey characters know that.

In fact, it can be really refreshing to see a morally grey character refuse to cross a line even when they know it's going to hurt them. It makes those lines seem way more important.

We see this from Sylus when he agrees to leave MC alone in Razor's Dance. He's willing to kill, but he's not willing to force his presence on someone who genuinely doesn't want it. That screams loud and clear to the audience, "what you want REALLY matters. it is ACTUALLY very important."

Ego and motivation

We hear from Sylus repeatedly, "violence must be used strategically." It's a little tongue in cheek at times, but ultimately he holds to it. He doesn't cut someone down at the slightest insult--but he also doesn't hesitate if they're threatening someone he cares about.

He also specifically says--and consistently demonstrates--that he doesn't like picking on the weak. There's no challenge in that, no interest. It proves nothing. So there's no point, unless you're sadistic. (And not that Sylus doesn't have a sadistic streak, he'd just rather explore that in a much more fun way. 😏)

I think we see a lot of his honor in things like Radiant Brilliance, where he craves a fair challenge. He's willing to set aside parts of his power and lose because it's interesting. It makes him stronger in more ways. He doesn't over-rely on any one skill--he's interested in getting better at whatever he can get better at.

What goodness remains?

For me, what these juxtapositions point at is that people are fundamentally cooperative, and that the "true" villains are the ones that repeatedly betray this cooperation. (Ever, capitalist ghouls, etc.) Even a crime family naturally values things like trust, mutual support, loyalty, togetherness. You can have extremely toxic families, for sure, but a lot of fictional crime families are actually pretty wholesome.

We can look at Luke and Kieran and see that Sylus's actions towards them are very caring, even if he's stoic about it. It's a refreshing contrast to many "good" people who make lots of promises but then don't follow through on them. (Consider the popular politician who's secretly taking bribes and cheating on his wife.)

It's interesting to ask, why NOT kill anyone who looks at you funny? Well, it'd kind of suck. Life is made fuller by our bonds and our friendships. Even when you're doing whatever it takes to survive in a cruel world, what's the point if you don't have people you can trust? Morally grey characters point us towards those questions.

They also point at choice. This person isn't kind to me because they know it will look bad if they aren't. They don't care what it looks like. (Sylus carrying MC through the mall 🥹) They are doing it because they want to.

If you're someone who does a lot out of obligation, it's easy to fear that others are only kind to you out of obligation. Morally grey characters subvert this fear.

Autonomy as sacred

Sylus does what he wants--which includes both ignoring laws that he thinks are dumb, and also pursuing meaningful, deep relationships. Humans contain both great selfishness and great selflessness. To get a little Jungian about it, we could see Sylus as a character who represents the "shadow" or "id"--all the desires that the "Ego" (which is calibrated by society, how we were raised, etc) deem dangerous and not-allowed. This is all but explicit in his characterization.

The thing is, the desires of the id aren't actually inherently bad. Take wanting attention, for example. "Oh you're just doing X for attention." Well, attention is a fundamental human need. Babies understand that if they're not getting attention, their lives are literally at risk. That can stick with us for a long time. Morally grey characters invite us to ask, is that really bad? Is that really something we should be avoiding?

Obviously, killing anyone who gets in your way doesn't make sense in the real world--the N109 zone is specifically set up to offer this exaggerated environment where the stakes are life and death.

But I can say from experience, just saying "no" to something you feel obligated to do can feel as bad as murder. (And I was literally raised to believe that it IS--the whole thing that "all sins are equal" is often used to shame people for completely normal and even healthy reactions!)

So part of what is so refreshing about Sylus's willingness to murder under certain circumstances is it symbolically represents the freedom of living boldly--of being honest about what you do and don't want, of exercising your autonomy.

And what a romance tells is us that doing these things can bring you closer to the people who matter, even if other people shun you. Our nervous systems deeply fear shunning because it's not so long ago that being shunned likely meant starving to death. And that's why found family is SO important to these stories.

Cruelty and mercy

I think for Sylus, the most explicit he gets in talking about his honor code is when he shares bits of his thoughts on cruelty and mercy. A quick death can be merciful--and, as he and Sorceress MC not in Beyond Cloudfall, the best way to make someone suffer is to keep them alive.

As I type this, I have the app open and Sylus just said his bit about how humans are fascinating because their capacity for cruelty far surpasses that of animals.

When animals fight to survive, they aren't cruel. They don't take extra joy in the suffering of others. A cat may play with its food, but it's because it doesn't really understand what it's doing.

Sylus is often compared to a wild animal--powerful, primal, but not cruel. Interestingly, when he offers in Beyond Cloudfall to raise the dead for Sorceress MC, we learn that he could have done this for his own satisfaction. He could have raised and then tormented the people who trapped him in the abyss. But he didn't. They were dead, and therefore not a threat, and therefore not worth spending energy on.

Humans, with our capacity for self-awareness and complex social dynamics, are able to be truly cruel--to inflict suffering for suffering's sake. Even this I don't think is "evil" in and of itself (there are no thought crimes) when someone is aware of the impulse and channels it in a way that it doesn't do harm to others (such as through kink).

So, while I think it would be perhaps missing the point to say that Sylus never has cruel desires, his actions are never cruel.

In conclusion

So, this ended up kind of being about honor, kind of not! 🤣 I think that's because focusing too much on an honor-code sort of misses the point of these characters--which is to break away from black-and-white definitions of right and wrong. We could imagine Sylus admitting that he's overreacted at times. He might not lose sleep over it, but he'd likely be more patient the next time, because ultimately he still cares about building trust with the people important to him.

Morally grey characters challenge strictly held beliefs about "right" and "wrong", inviting us into greater nuance. Maybe it depends on the context of the crime. Maybe it WAS a mistake but there's redemption. Maybe fiction is a way to let yourself want the "bad" thing without doing it IRL and dealing with the consequences, adding another meta layer to everything. (Sylus and blowing up buildings, lmao.)

Maybe protecting your family is more important than following unjust laws. Maybe honesty is more important than being liked by other people. Maybe it's better to make a mistake and then apologize than to suffocate yourself pursuing perfection. Maybe we don't have to be selfless all the time--maybe generosity and greed can exist in balance and tension with each other.

Maybe moral goodness is a lot less important than closeness, connection, trust, self-honesty, growth, loyalty, forgiveness, acceptance, and love.

[citygirlyuno305]

Why Mikoto would be found guilty irl and how the law/laypeople on juries justify imprisoning a host for the crime of an alter (as a lawyer) (cliffsnotes version bc I could go on for a long time about any of the prisoners)

Before I start, please dont take what I say as me agreeing with certain things or expressing a personal view on the crime itself. I’m strictly talking about how his case would be objectively viewed under the law, and i’m only doing it because I see everyone else’s opinions and i find the contrast interesting.

TW because I talk about murder (obviously) and bring in some examples to highlight principles with other crimes that might be offputting- im not accusing him of those or comparing the actual offenses, Im just highlighting different things with them. (robbery, felony murder, sex crime)

The basics/general applicable law

All crimes require 1) actus reus (physical criminal act) and 2) mens rea (guilty mind). One must commit the actual act proscribed by law, and must do so with the requisite intent, for them to be found guilty of an offense. Murder is broadly defined as the intentional killing of another.

Actus reus is pretty simple. Intentionally killing someone else. Intent to do the act that winds up killing someone else or intent to cause great bodily harm is sufficient. “I only meant to beat him up, not kill him” — the intent to beat him up is enough for murder.

The mens rea usually makes all the difference in charging and conviction. Thats why you could see someone who totally murdered someone else actually get manslaughter because you couldn’t prove willfulness or purposeful action, only recklessness or negligence, etc.

Defenses tend to target the mens rea. Self defense is acting under the reasonable belief youre in danger of death or GBI. imperfect self defense is when that belief is unreasonable (and will still get you with a manslaughter charge because its an incomplete defense).

Insanity is another technical defense but it is unimaginably difficult to succeed on it. Theres four tests for legal insanity under US law:

1- M’Naughten test- a defendant is deemed to be legally insane if he or she was unaware of what he or she was doing when the offense was committed or, even if the defendant knew what he or she was doing, that defendant was incapable of understanding that what they were doing was wrong. It also tends to require a sincerely held belief or delusion that the conduct was morally justified.

2- “Irresistible impulse” test- allows for a defendant to be found not guilty by reason of insanity if his or her mental illness meant that, although recognizing the wrongness of the offense, he or she was compelled to commit the offense anyway. The focus is on volition.

3- Durham rule (Only used in NH)- juries follow the diagnoses made by trained professionals in determining whether the accused is guilty. This test fell out of favor because it diminishes the jury’s role as finder of fact and places decision making in the hands of psychologists, who may- and often do- disagree among each other about the diagnoses at issue.

4- Model Penal Code (MPC) test- A little broader than M’Naughten. Psychiatrist diagnoses mental illness; The defendant must prove they lacked the substantial capacity to (1) understand the criminality of the conduct or (2) conform their conduct to the law. This test prohibits psychopaths and sociopaths from using the insanity defense.

The most commonly used tests are M’Naughten and MPC.

Mikoto satisfies actus reus for murder

When someone with DID commits a crime, it is their corporal form that commits that crime, ergo, under the law, that corporal form committed the actus reus, regardless of who was fronting at the time. While unfortunate, the offending alter is an inextricable part of that person’s physical and mental state of being, and as a matter of public policy, the law treats them as one as it relates to physical conduct.

Mikoto cannot satisfy the standard of self defense

To act in legal self defense, the defendant must actually and reasonably believe in the need to defend against an imminent threat of death or GBI. If the belief subjectively exists but is objectively unreasonable, there is “imperfect self-defense,” i.e., “the defendant is deemed to have acted without malice and cannot be convicted of murder,” but can be convicted of manslaughter. Self-defense “is limited to the use of such force as is reasonable under the circumstances.” Only force that is necessary to repel an attack may be used in self-defense, and force exceeding that necessity is not justified.

So view that as 1) reasonable belief 2) of imminent danger and GBI and 3) use of no greater force than reasonably necessary to defend against it.

Theres 0 evidence of it, but let’s assume the guy he smacked with the bat in MeMe hit Mikoto first. In that scene the victim appears entirely unarmed and has no gun, he’s flat on the ground, he’s not moving towards Mikoto. Mikoto walking towards him and beating him down with a bat is not self defense at that point even if he hit him first. It actually wouldnt be self defense even if the guy had a gun in his pocket and Mikoto knew that, because if the gun isnt out and in the dude’s hand, theres not IMMINENT threat under the law.

He fails on self defense.

Mikoto would not succeed on the insanity defense

Take the two most common tests for insanity, M’Naughten and MPC.

Mikoto fails M’Naughten because he did not act under a delusion. The alter is not itself a delusion. And absent any evidence to the contrary, Mikoto and John both appeared aware that the conduct was morally and legally wrong.

Mikoto fails the MPC because, again, it seems both he and John would know the criminality of murder and failed to conform their conduct to the law for a reason other than a delusion or lack of understanding.

I’ll add that in 100% of cases i’ve seen a successful lodging of the insanity defense, the defendant suffered a disorder that caused delusions and hallucinations. It’s still not even a guarantee but schizophrenia or hallucinatory disorders- most commonly where the defendant demonstrates violent hyperreligiosity outside of judeochristian norms- make it much easier to argue that you truly acted under a moral belief that you were behaving properly. For instance, a paranoid schizophrenic man who suffers delusions of demons surrounding his mother and hallucinates that she, too, is a demon, sent to kill him and everyone else, who he then kills because he believed he was saving the world, assuming he gets that diagnosis and has experts testify as to his mental state, is fairly likely to lodge a successful insanity defense… maybe.

DID doesnt fit the typical mold of disorders encompassed by the insanity defense because unless some other illness is present, both the alter and the host know that the conduct is criminal, they arent acting under a delusion, and they arent under a sincere belief that murder is moral and just. Mikoto would not be found legally insane.

Mikoto would be found to have the requisite Mens Rea because as a matter of public policy, the alter is treated as one with the host

Having negated any defenses, Mikoto is likely to be found guilty of murder as he would have the actus reus and mens rea necessary for a conviction. An inextricable part of the host did in fact intend to kill someone, or intended to commit the act that killed someone, or intended to cause great bodily harm, so theres someone here who undeniably satisfies the legal elements for murder, hiding within someone who had no clue.

The law views a guilty alter as a guilty host. The alter is inseparable from the host, they would not exist without the host, and they would not be punished without simultaneously punishing the host. And because John is guilty, Mikoto is guilty under the law. This means Mikoto must be punished as well. Even the rehabilitative approach to punishment for crimes, which I’d say is most defendant-friendly, would require the full and complete “removal” of the offending alter, which means punishing the host to some degree.

And the evaluation of it is ultimately left up to the jury, and I dont think there’d be a jury that acquits him. Mind you, juries inherently doubt both the victim and the defendant when they provide testimony if there’s no corroboration. Be it by physical evidence or an expert witness. With DID, it would be expert witness testimony that kind of makes or breaks it. Right now, viewing what we have as the evidence, we only have Mikoto’s words as evidence of his DID. Without an expert, there’s virtually 0 chance that the jury would accept it as true. And because of Mikoto’s shock, I don’t believe he’s diagnosed, so there’s no expert possibility there either (usually they do bring the diagnosing physician along with several others appointed by the court and both parties).

And juries have the power to simply ignore a defendant’s mental illness in most cases when coming to a decision, if that mental illness did not CAUSE the crime, but only contributed or maybe explains a mental state. but thats a complicated topic with a lot of moving parts. When it comes to most any evidence or testimony, a jury can disregard whatever they believe is incredible, insubstantial, unconvincing. They can rule out a defendant’s (or victim’s) entire testimony as untruthful, they’re allowed to ignore literally any experts that testify if they find them incredible, they’re allowed to cherrypick parts of someone’s testimony to believe or not. They actually have an insane amount of power, so because DID isnt insanity under the law, if even one expert says “No, he doesnt have DID,” they can ignore 2, 3, 4 other experts saying “This guy has DID for real” and conclude that he’s lying. There’s nuances here and there but this will generally hold true. When it’s not the insanity defense or some other way of establishing an element of a defense, mental illness or trauma only holds weight as a mitigating factor in sentencing. And even then, it’s only if you can still somehow try to connect it to the offense. But this is paradoxical, because there has to be a balance between using evidence of mental illness as mitigation and not offputting a jury, as bad as that sounds.

More than anything in some cases, jurors are driven by their sympathy for the parties. And here, a jury is unlikely to be sympathetic to Mikoto, and much more likely to sympathize with the victims’ grieving families. Usually, DID or any other mental illness only garners juror sympathy insofar as they feel bad for the trauma that gave rise to it. It’s like “i hate what you did but i also hate what happened to you that made you this way.” It wont get someone off, but it’ll likely lower their sentence. Perhaps dramatically if the original trauma is particularly gruesome. Juries are unpredictable, but one constant seems to be mercy in the face of objectively undeserved hardship. If what we have now is our entire wealth of evidence, there is a sincere lack of sympathetic material for the jury to draw from wrt why Mikoto fractured in the first place, and for that reason, it’s honestly a very likely scenario that they simply don’t believe he has it at all.

And I don’t want to start any arguments so please dont take this as me putting my opinion out, but there is a common belief among the public, which does not evade the potential jury pool, that people fake all sorts of mental illnesses to avoid accountability. So absent an expert to corroborate the existence of a mental illness and how it impacted your conduct, that belief also likely leaks in.

Again, I’m not presenting opinion, just trying to tell you all everything from where I’m standing to give you the whole picture. All of my colleagues and opposing counsel have discussed the relationship between “identity politics” and increased use of labels to describe oneself off the bat, and juror sympathy, because convincing a jury is almost like a game. You can have all the evidence you need to make an irrefutable case, but how its presented to the jury ultimately makes a significant difference in the outcome. From what I’m told, overreliance on a mental disorder that does not fall within the umbrella of insanity when testifying to describe your offense makes a jury less sympathetic and less likely to believe you. And oddly it seems that keeping self-description of the hardships caused by your mental illness to a minimum has the inverse effect of increasing credibility with the jury, likely because they see it as trying to accept some form of accountability.

I’ll give a few examples. My boss has had a case where a defendant brought up an entirely different mental disorder, not DID. I won’t give out what disorder it was, but it was one my boss described as becoming somewhat “trendy” in the earlier 2000s. No experts testified on the defendant’s behalf, but both the prosecutor and defense attorney did believe the defendant truly suffered from it. The jury did not, in part because it was “trendy” and also because there was no evidence other than the defendant’s word. Given his crime, they believed there was reason to lie about having it, and there was nothing for them to find mitigating because nothing other than his word suggested the mental illness exacerbated the crime. It wasnt even a disorder that wouldve gotten him off on an insanity defense, it was just one for mitigation of sentence, and it was completely rejected- he got something in the realm of 20 years. He succeeded on an appeal for reconsideration of it, and brought in a few experts, but the prosecution also brought in an expert, and the new jury believed the prosecution’s one expert more- who still said the defendant had this disorder, but just that it didn’t contribute to or negate from the commission of the offense. This was an aggravated rape case.

Another example, there was a defendant who kept her description of his mental illnesses extremely short, it had to be coaxed out during testimony. Honestly, he had a pretty shitty go of it from the sound of his childhood and testimony. In a surprise move after originally agreeing to the mental illnesses angle of defense, when he testified, he himself went against his own experts and said his mental illnesses did not make him do what he did, and defended himself in a different way. So his testimony on his mental illnesses mirrored the prosecution’s expert witnesses’ views, but he just tried to justify it another way. Why, I don’t know. But he acted ashamed of what happened to him and what he suffered from mentally and was very clearly uncomfortable discussing it at all. The jury ended up finding that the mental illnesses in fact did mitigate his offense. He had committed multiple murder.

I’m not saying its right or wrong, but juries have little sympathy for mental illnesses that hold no weight in the crime you committed. And if im honest, juries do not want to be there. They have jobs and families and lives, and i wouldnt be surprised if some animus comes in when a defendant puts up evidence of a mental illness or gives long testimony about it when the mental illness did not functionally contribute to the offense/has only a tenuous connection, because it just means the jury has to be there longer. I dont know for sure, but ive seen them get irritated over the prosecution putting up more evidence than they need to, even though thats kind of the whole point- guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, and all the evidence eliminates any doubt. So in the same way, introducing repetitive testimony about a mental illness that doesn’t negate any element of the crime could also be seen as a waste of time to them because it doesnt actually modify the verdict itself.

So the odds are stacked against Mikoto under US law at least. Based on what we have, his DID does not negate mens rea.

I’d like to briefly just discuss the public policy goal behind this, as courts have viewed it and explained. There are five main goals of criminal law- retribution (ensuring consequences are dealt), deterrence (discouraging defendant and other similarly situated people from committing this offense), incapacitation (keeping the defendant away from the public and ensuring they cannot hurt anyone further), rehabilitation (reforming the defendant for safe reentry into society), and restoration (providing the victim or their family with restitution for the specific offense committed, attempting to remedy their harm). Sentences are catered to meet these goals as they relate to different offenses. Taken together, the biggest theme is to give justice to the specific victim, and make sure it doesnt happen to anyone else.

You cant force an alter to front or control their decision to front, so there’s no way to truly tell if that alter will front and do it again if the same stressors causing the front arise, even if you put the host in therapy. Because its not like a bit of therapy will make the DID go poof, I’m gone now, it’s a long and intense process that takes years because you have to target that incredible amount of trauma that comes with the formation of the alter in the first place. There’s concerns on the other end about how therapy to cure or get rid of DID is harmful to the host or simply impossible, and if that’s so, then clearly putting the host in therapy will do nothing to protect the public or bring justice to the victims.

Ultimately, the law prioritizes the rights of the victim and the potential for recidivism. Although it was an alter and not the host, the alter cant be punished without also punishing the host. So being left with the option of letting the host walk free with no relief to the victim because the murdering alter is also free, or imprisoning the host for the sake of imprisoning the alter, which is the proper choice? There is no “fair” option. But where there is no guarantee that this will not happen again, it is in the interest of avoiding recidivism and preserving public safety to isolate and imprison the host so the alter can be addressed.

There’s no direct example, but its kind of like if you took conjoined twins, and one commits a murder while the other had no control over the body parts used to murder that person, didn’t want to, and didn’t plan it or conspire to do it. There’s one conscious being that committed a murder, and imprisoning them means we must imprison the other conscious being of the same body who had no part in it or control over it. Is it more justiciable to let them go, knowing that the other twin may offend again and that the innocent twin cannot control the body enough to stop it? Or do we imprison them both, knowing one of them is innocent?

Likewise, how do we ensure deterrence, justice, rehabilitation, restoration, or incapacitation in the case of an alter committing murder?

The short answer is we really can’t without simultaneously imprisoning the host.

So under the law, he satisfies the actus reus, and he satisfies the mens rea. I’d think there’d be some mitigation because he seemed to genuinely not know, but you never know with a jury (which is why I think it’s wise to submit the factfinding for factors in aggravation/mitigation to the judge instead of a jury but that would be waiving your right to a jury trial on those matters). For these reasons, he’d be imprisoned notwithstanding whether an alter committed the offense.

[alexanderlightweight]

this is literally just malec fic ideas and verse bullshit - lumine

I was writing the beginning of this new verse for a prompt and it reminded me of another idea that i'd dreamt of briefly during last years brain fog.

Colosseum (and primarily active only) shadowhunter style but it's also basically tied with the whole mating runs trope. which I think I have a prompt from someone about gladiator style shadowhunters fights so like.... I could fill that with this idea I think. it's just courting gladiator style instead.

basically when you hit a certain age, you get sent in rotation to the colloseum because 1) its good training 2) its a good way to connect all the younger active duty Shadowhunters who normally are stuck at their respective Institute 3) allows for the mingling of bloodlines and testing of chemistry

once you reach a certain rank/essential work you only have to go for like, events or if you're specifically called out (because they fight for the right to court as a part of this whole thing)

alec is so far unbeatable. not necessarily because he's better than the rest but the sheer rage and energy of 'i'm not marrying you. perish or die' kind of make it hard for anyone to hold up well against him.

yes Alec knows that both of those options are unreasonable.

he doesn't care.

you expect reason out of him when he keeps having to fight off shadowhunter women looking for strong/lineage/good position/really good with kids-handsome, who want to have sex with him?

like they want to marry him but that's not the only bad part. the worst part is the sex okay. Alec knows exactly what those kind of shadowhunters are here for and it's to have babies. they're looking for a stud but they want a competent one, hence the fights.

technically by the rules of the colloseum Alec could fight a guy and propose that way completely legally but he uh.... there is no one he wants to fight in Idris. like he sometimes subs in for shadowhunters who don't want to risk losing and are too outmatched by their opponent. typically that because of politics or family dynamics they don't say no to the whole fighting mating dance.

and sometimes in a daze the Shadowhunters Alec beats are just like 'oh wow' and Alec is just like looking down at their prone forms, the match already called 'stomps their face and hopes he did enough damage that they forget the last five minutes' (he's gotten really accurate over the years okay. at some point it's mentioned that Simon needs to forget the last few minutes and alec's just like 'oh I can handle that' and everyone is just like "NO ALEC HES A MUNDANE'

Alec: well.... it still would have handled it

--

anyway so yeah alec does not need more suitors. even if one or two are the gender he actually likes

he has standards

currently nephilim are not up to his standards and since broadening his horizon (he didn't broaden shit. its just that Magnus is the skyline) he realized that Magnus is not just up to his standards but was in fact the blueprint and mold for those standards.

magnus finding out that even though the entire shadowworld knows they're together, Alec is still getting courtship fight requests.

Magnus: I see, I see. so first i'm going to nearly kill every single one of your opponents in your name, then i'm going to fight you and personally ensure that every single nephilim in attendance witnesses your submission when I win.

Alec who is absolutely tired of the colosseum and clave bullshit: k, wake me up when it's my turn to lose. I need a nap.

i like to ramble about verses and fic ideas I have no idea if anyone is interested but sometimes this stuff will pop up lol. also questions and asks about fics and verses are always welcomed, they're a lot of fun to answer

lumine

[hectorthedoggo]

this truly was our milgram (wrote it because ao3 was down) (some deltarune references in here) (also very cracky and barely proofread) (read at your own risk)

Es somehow got access to mitski. They just woke up, and there was a phone (they only knew that from Fuuta's MV) and some earbuds.

They put the earbuds on, and Lush started to play. Wait… this is kinda… waittt this kinda sounds like something that's inspired my mental breakdowns… waittt…

They started directly at me. "Enough fourth wall breaking" I said. Then I threw them against the wall and they made a small squeaky toy noise. Whoops. I disappeared.

Es completely forgot about all of this, and then suddenly saw a bottle of alcohol on their desk. Who put this here? Eh.

Better than crack. I'm probably like, 21 if you discount the time loop. Time to drink my sorrows away.

One drinking sorrows away later, they slammed open the door of their room, still blasting music. "GUYS. HEHE…"

Shidou immediately noticed them. "Es what are you doing"

"I got drunk."

He clutched his heart. "No- no, you didn't! I can't allow that to happen, I'm gonna have a heart attack, Es. This is technically guilt tripping but I am genuinely so shocked right now-"

They walked away in the middle of his impassioned monologue. Wait… wait a second, isn't he supposed to be dead?

They looked back. In his place was WD gaster. "hands hands hands"

Oh dear is this what an inno verdict does to an mf? well, all guilty it is. "heheh. Um. Hands to you too."

They hit him (for the third time in their life), and he collapsed into bones. Wait wasn't I just grieving his death? And I just killed him again? Whatever.

Amane clapped, wacthing the show. "Es, yo… you drunk?"

"Hehe… yeah! I don't know how I feel though." (I don't know how to write drunk people just bear with me).

"That's alright. Join my cult?"

"Sure! I can't drive though. Wait, I'm technically 15. Or, am I legally…"

Mahiru walked by, then her skin shedded and then she was sans undertale. "e. e. e. e. e. Yo kids…"

Es felt their heart beat out of their chest. "Um. You're not real."

"Right. I forgor. silly me." She grinned and waved good bye and disappeared (FUGUE REFERENCE).

They and Amane then engaged in mutual maniacal laughter. The two had finally connected with each other in a meaningful way (accidentally bringing mahiru close to death).

Yuno banged open the door to her room. "GUYS WHO IS BLASTING MITSKI. BANGER MUSIC BUT I'M TRYING TO SLEEP. IT'S 3AM."

"hehe… amogus potion at 3am…" Fuuta snickered, getting out of Amane's shadow. He held a glass of water like the guy nobody invited, but the kids (who somehow had the most power in the room) tolerated him.

Mu faintly screamed something about being tired of brainrot from the other room. Es finally didn't feel much guilt, kinda still on a high?? why did i write them drunk i have no idea how it works (sunk cost fallacy we're in it now).

Kazui and Mikoto peered out from their rooms, and Es grinned. "The whole family is here! Guys, join the cult! Haha, it's gonna be so fun. I love you guys."

"Aren't you the warden?"

"Not anymore. HAHAHAHAHAH."

Then, a comically large anvil hit them, and they were mashed into the ground like a bug. But, they were actually a cockroach.

Despite their resilience, they still lost their memories when they woke up. And maybe some other things were messed up. Amane was the only one there watching over them. "Yo… what's this wacky-ahh prison."

"You are in the care of kami-sama."

"Totally radical brother…" Se grinned. Se really liked their sense of self. Se never wanted to be a warden. "So like… where's my like… sense of self. I don't want to blindly follow an organizatoin, yk? And I want to express my emotions. Also I hate all of you guys but i will pretend to love you."

Amane clearly found something wrong with Se, and then she rearranged the letters of their name. Es was back. "What… happenned?"

"Kami-sama saved you."

"Ok. So when do I get to build my feeble sense of self off of a cult created by a twelve year old?"

"Right now!!"

Fuuta then emerged from her shadow (again???) and then sewed them a new cult uniform then victory music began to play.

"Well, I'd say this Backdraft really brought this appare march on! And by appare march, I mean a found family."

"S t a r w a l k e r . " t h e b e i n g a g r e e d .

"I guess." Amane and Es did not acknowledge the original starwalker. "Yo, guys, this is so much better than my warden kick. I mean, losing your sense of being with friends is like, so much better than doing it alone."

"Let's get spirally eyes together!!"

"Yayyy!! hahahAHHAHEHAEHA!!?!?!#EL#J FIUSDHJHAWHE" Es punched Fuuta because he was being too loud. Nobody cared.

Meanwhile, Yuno felt 9 months of her life tear and drop away from her soul.

The trio then tried to run off into the sunset, but hit the wall like birds on a window.

They didn't notice. Maybe if they kept walking, they would no-clip eventually.

Or maybe, this insanity was meant to be kept inside this prison.

This truly was our Milgram.

[dame-zoom-a-lot]

Treasons

Prompt: Too many beds | Word Count: 7084 | Rating: T | POV: Eddie, Steve, Dustin, Female OC | Relationships: Steve / Eddie | CW: off screen child death, familial murder, and intense grief, suicidal ideation | Tags: love confessions, arranged marriage, royalty au, getting together

this is a prompt fill for @corrodedcoffinfest

ao3 link

Thank you @fkinkindagauche and @alwaysurvalentine for reading over the terrible terrible first version of this fic, being very nice about it, and helping me figure out what I actually wanted to say so I could do a rewrite. I'd been struggling with this fic since February, and this would not have seen the light of Tumblr without their help. And thank you Gauche, for finding all my capitalization mistakes despite the tight deadline <3 you're the best If you liked the fluff of this fic, go check out Gauche's Sweet Honey Buckin' then their entire murder sibling series. The Stobin in that series is absolutely gorgeous, and the plot is to die for. Valentine also writes great domestic fluff. Check out bad days were meant to be shared if you want some comfort after the offscreen angst of this fic The fic itself is mostly fluff and light angst, but there's detailed conversations about messed up shit (like executing children) that happened in the past. Please mind the tags!

Eddie Munson, the Queen’s tongue, yapper extraordinare, he of the poisoned barbs, had not anticipated making friends in Kingdom Plaid. The impression he’d had was that the entire country was a backwards death cult, more interested in upholding tradition and dead people and old legends than taking care of each other in the here and now. Not… that his own kingdom, Meow Two, was in much of a position to be picky about allies. But he is, surprisingly, actually enjoying himself. Steve’s friends—Lady Buckley, court seamstress, and Lady Wheeler, her ‘roommate’ and court doctor, are decisive and hilarious. It’s making even the long, frantic night of wedding planning rather less terrible than he would have assumed.

Not that Lady Buckley agrees.

“This is insane,” Robin says as she tears at her hair. “I thought we’d have at least a week to plan this wedding. A day?”

“Technically speaking, a few hours,” Nancy says ruthlessly. “A half day if we don’t sleep.”

“I still think that Queen Henderson was exaggerating,” Eddie says with a pout. “King Harrington has been trying and failing to off Dustin for…”

He trails off as three pairs of eyes turn to look at him with varying degrees of condescension.

“That’s because he had to be sneaky,” Steve sighs out. “My father, long may he reign, killed three of his brothers in a fortnight, and the last two were ready for him. Trust me. The faster we skip town to Meow Two the better.”

“And I think you’re all overthinking how complicated a wedding needs to be,” Nancy says, nodding. “The bare minimum shouldn’t take too long to gather. We just need at least two witnesses, the ancestral plaques, and some food to lay out as offerings.”

“We should get Queen Henderson as a witness,” Steve says, “that way my father can’t… you know.”

Nancy nods. “She’s an early riser. We should be able to get the wedding done by sunrise.”

Eddie hums and nods discreetly to one of Queen Henderson’s assassins hiding up in the rafters. He watches that one disappear, presumably to warn her grace to start getting ready for the wedding. Queen Henderson the merciful, the peace bringer, the punctual, would wring his neck if he let her show up to her own stepson’s wedding with half-done hair and sleepy eyes.

“As for the ancestral plaques…” Nancy frowns. “Steve, remind me which of your ancestors you’re legally allowed to name?”

“Anyone above my grandfather is fair game,” Steve says, “and anyone in my dad’s generation and below…” he trails off as he makes a slashing motion across his neck.

“Good. Not that many plaques to prepare then,” Nancy says smoothly. “Eddie. Which ancestors would you like to invite to the wedding?”

“We’re inviting dead people now?” Eddie asks.

“Obviously? They’re the family guardians,” Robin says.

Eddie starts laughing, much to the confusion of his Plaid Kingdom co-conspirators. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes between wheezes, “just the thought of my ancestors guarding any family is… laughable.”

Steve and Robin look at him with a mix of something that’s not quite pity but not quite not. It rankles. “I come from a line of alcoholic assassins alright?” he bristles, too tired to put on the jester persona. “I got disowned when I dropped out of assassin camp for clown school. The only family I’ve got is Wayne and he doesn’t count because he’s alive.”

“Great! Let’s do just one plaque for King Harrington the first then,” Nancy says. Robin kicks her in the ankles and she startles. “Oh, right, yeah, sorry about your family. Thanks for sharing that with us,” she adds sheepishly.

“No need for condolences,” Eddie says. “Now, you mentioned something about offerings? Do any of us, the living, get to have food?”

Eddie forces himself to relax as the discussions turn to how they’re going to scrounge up the five different types of food that you apparently have to offer up to dead family members for a wedding to be official. Weird people. Weird place, this kingdom they’ve acquired. There’s frequently more care and love shown to the dead than to the living. Like, Steve for instance—King Harrington’s never had a kind or soft thing to say to the gorgeous prince. But the same king had waxed poetic for hours about how noble and brave and brilliant his late father had been during his wedding to Eddie’s monarch, Queen Henderson. Eddie tunes out the discussion around food and observes the way Steve's face shifts when he's listening intently to something. His straight brows are furrowed. His swoopy hair bounces when he nods. He throws his head back to laugh at something Robin said. Eddie counts three moles along Steve’s extended neck.

“Earth to Eddie?” Robin says, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes and obstructing his view of Steve’s crooked smile. Rude.

“Yep, present,” Eddie squeaks. He’s got to get a grip.

“We were talking about who’s going to be the bride,” Steve says kindly. “Figured you might want to weigh in.”

“Oh? And what does the bride do in this situation?” Eddie asks.

“Mostly sit around looking pretty,” Steve says with a shrug. “Most nobles tape the bride’s eyes down to the ground, but we don’t have time to set that up. The groom asks the ancestors for blessings and makes the vows.”

Well that’s just fucked. Why bother having a bride in that case? Why not just put up a sexy broom? Eddie opens his mouth to say just that but Steve barrels on.

“And, and you don’t have to be the bride, don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be the bride. You know me, the one thing I’m good at is being seen and not heard.” He finishes off with a chuckle that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No, none of that,” Eddie says savagely. “You should be heard all the time. I’ll be the bride. Can’t guarantee I’ll keep my mouth shut, but I’m going to be the bride.”

Steve looks at him, pretty mouth open in confusion. Eddie can see the moon starting to wane behind the man. Fuck, it’s late. Nothing good comes out of his mouth with this little sleep. But now Eddie can’t stop thinking about whether anyone else in Steve’s life ever gave him any type of verbal affirmation. Robin seems like the sort that loves through soft actions and harsh words. Nancy seems like the sort that loves silently with a knife at your enemy’s throat.

And he can’t stop thinking about how he’s going to take Steve away to Meow Two where Nancy’s fierceness and Robin’s softness can’t reach him. So Eddie barrels on. It’s not like he got a job as court jester to stay silent.

“Robin, you know right? You’ve told him? The Prince of Plaid is brilliant and humble with a voice of honey that blesses the ears of its recipients?”

Robin flushes and bites her lips. Eddie clears his throat pointedly. Nancy is watching intensely.

“Lady Buckley,” Eddie tries.

Lady Buckley feels wrong.

“Robin,” he starts again. “Steve and I are getting married shortly after sunrise. Then we’re escaping King Harrington’s wrath, away to the Kingdom of Meow Two.” He rises on unsteady legs so he can grab both Steve’s and Robin’s hands. He knits them together. “If there’s anything you haven’t yet said to the prince. How much you’ll miss him, how much you appreciate him, how much…”

Robin and Steve are looking at each other now, eyes misty. Eddie clears his throat and backs away. A weight he didn’t know he’d had around his lungs lightens a bit. Nancy gets up to pull him away. They leave the room. Eddie can hear Robin haltingly saying something to Steve behind him.

Nancy leans against the wall and sighs deep.

“You sure you don’t want to go in there with them?” Eddie offers, “I can stay out. Give you some time.”

“No, they need time alone,” Nancy says. She gives him a withering look. “Besides, it’s not like Steve is disappearing. Nothing’s stopping us from visiting you in Meow Two.”

“Oh, right, right. There is that possibility,” Eddie admits. “Sorry about the false sense of drama. Occupational hazard you see.”

“Thanks though. Robin needed that,” Nancy says. She shifts uncomfortably and looks away. “We were going to steal him back,” she says after a long silence.

“Steal him?”

“I guess, not… steal him. But we were going to sneak him back to Kingdom Plaid. Disguise him as Robin’s assistant. We had a whole plan. Robin already started a mood board for Steve’s disguise. She was going to dress him up as a laundry wench.”

Eddie makes an extremely undignified squeak at that. Nancy chuckles.

“I don’t think we’ll need to anymore.” Nancy looks at him, eyes steely. “Am I right?”

Eddie’s about to say something grand, something about how he’ll finally give the handsome prince a fairy tale ending, something about how he’ll move the moon and pluck the stars, about how Prince Harrington will never want for anything again. But Nancy looks at him with such earnest fear and hope that for once, the court jester can’t think of the next stanza.

“You’ll be good to him.”

Eddie glances back through the windows. Steve is wiping his eyes while still grinning bright. Even with zero sleep, even with his hair flopping all over the place, even in the dim twilight, he shines. Robin is making wild, complicated gestures, miming some weird approximation of a curtsy. Eddie turns back to lock eyes with Nancy. Sees the fear and anticipation and love for the man he’s about to fake marry and whisk away.

“I will.”

----

Prince Dustin Henderson, fifth of his name, soon-to-be crown prince, terror of the libraries, is more perceptive than Her Grace, Queen Henderson, gives him credit for. Honestly, if he had been as naive as Her Majesty wants him to be, he would have abdicated his position as crown prince a long time ago to follow in Eddie’s footsteps and run away from a life of luxury and predictability into the great, impoverished unknown.

Or at least, so he thinks. Dustin’s never had to worry about his next meal a day in his life (he did have to worry if he’d be alive to have a next meal, but that’s a different matter). He’s pretty sure he can handle it, but he doesn’t know .

Dustin jots that down in his notebook of research questions. He looks up from his notebook and sighs. He and Queen Henderson, her grace, she who brings bountiful harvests and peace throughout the land, are too early. Eddie and Steve are busy decking the halls with black and purple roses. Robin is hanging off of them, making last minute adjustments to their bridal gowns (why are they both wearing bridal gowns?). Nancy and Queen Henderson, her grace, are working together to set up the wedding offerings.

Prince Dustin knows that the correct thing to do here would be to stop sulking in this corner and help . It’s not befitting his station, sitting curled up in the corner like this, refusing to lift a finger while the Queen herself is doing manual labor.

But he didn’t want this for Eddie.

Dustin doesn’t believe in true love. After seeing his mother literally carve out his father’s heart to placate the Peasant rebellion, he’s not sure he even believes in marriage . But he always assumed that Eddie, of all people, would find something like true love. Eddie would find his soulmate in the courts, or maybe from one of his peasant friends. Then Eddie would sweep the lucky lady off her feet, have a grand wedding full of mirth and wine and dancing, then ride off with her into the sunset and come back with grand stories to tell. But now that’ll never happen.

He didn’t want this for Steve either. He likes Steve (loves him maybe). Dustin doesn’t think anyone else would have stepped in front of him to shield him from death as many times as Steve has.

He would have made a great king too. Steve has a way of putting people at ease, of listening, of caring . He’d cared about Dustin so much he jumped in between Dustin and a poisoned dagger hours after they’d first met. Steve deserves someone who sees him for who he is, who loves and cares for him as deeply as Steve cares for those around him. And now that’ll never happen either.

His favorite (only) brother and his mentor (though Dustin would never admit that) are falling on the sword of marriage, for him , so he can be king . And the kicker is that Dustin doesn’t even know if he wants to be king. Not that it seems to matter, not for anyone.

At least Dustin can do what he wants right now. And he wants to sulk. So he sulks. He sulks in the corner as the wedding prep continues to happen. He sulks when he’s placed next to his mother to witness this sham union. Eddie and Steve don’t seem to notice. They keep staring at each other in this excessively intense way. They’re probably trying to get the other to please put a stop to this madness.

But the wedding train keeps chugging along. They’re kneeling on either side of the offering table, both with their eyes down, as this kingdom expects for brides (it was a huge scandal when her grace flat out refused to do that and spent the entire ceremony staring down King Harrington). They share their goblet of marriage wine after offering it out to the lone ancestral plaque with King Harrington the first’s name on it.

Then it’s time for the final step. Dustin shifts in his seat. This is his last chance to object. Queen Henderson, Her Grace, she of the poisoned tongue and sharp wits, puts a warning hand on his thigh. And at the end of the day, Dustin is a coward. He’s not like Eddie and Steve. So he stays seated.

Eddie stands and bows deep to the ancestral plaque. He adds some flourish to the standard bow to make his bridal gown flutter dramatically.

“Eddie Munson, first of my name,” he starts. He shifts and turns to Steve, not the ancestral plaque that he’s supposed to be addressing. His eyes are twinkling. His gaze is warm. Steve looks up at him in surprise, eyes wide. “I’m afraid I don’t have any ancestors to strengthen the family,” he says, to Steve, “nor much wealth, nor station, nor castles.”

Nancy and Robin are staring intently. The ancestral plaque sways on its flimsy stand, as if it’s nodding.

“But he said he would have me nonetheless,” Eddie says, “so I pledge myself.”

Her Majesty, Queen Henderson’s, beringed fingers tighten momentarily on Dustin’s knees. Dustin glances at her. Her lips are tight, shaking in fury. He’s not sure why Eddie would say such stupid things. Eddie’s already pledged to Queen Henderson. A marriage doesn’t change that, especially not a sham one Eddie’s going into for the benefit of her grace… does it?

Eddie gets back down to a kneel. The ceremony is over. Queen Henderson moves to rise next to him then hesitates when she sees Eddie making a bunch of gestures at Steve. Steve rolls his eyes, shakes his head the way he does for Dustin, and rises.

Dustin settles down and prepares for a long boring speech like the one King Harrington delivered during his wedding with Queen Henderson, her grace, she whose fire shall not be quenched. He’d stopped paying attention after the third story about how brave and clever the Harrington ancestors were. He sighs and prepares to pay attention this time, since it’s Steve, and this will be the last time in a while they get to be in the same room.

“Steve Harrington, last of my name,” Steve starts. He stands and bows low.

“Descended from King Harrington the first, island conqueror, uniter, he who could not be fooled.”

Steve chants the familiar verses robotically. Then he pauses. “But also,” he stutters out, “you must be sick of hearing about your exploits. Your brave deeds. How you and your sons tied the nation together to form this great dynasty. Formed a government that endured through chaos. How Queen Henderson and King Harrington will follow your steps and form a great nation out of the glories of Kingdom Plaid and Kingdom Meow Two.”

“So I’d… as I leave to cut the direct Harrington line, I’d like to claim a different ancestry.” Steve clears his throat. “I’m Steve Harrington, last of my name, descended from King Harrington the first, loving grandfather, who helped me fire my first arrow when I was a wee lad. From King Harrington the first, who danced for joy the day the princes who shall not be named were born, who always left the best bites for the servants to finish, who loved the sound of the wind blowing through the weeping willows in the courts.”

“And as I take my leave, I implore you.” Steve bows again. “As you watch over me, my lo—husband, the newly combined kingdoms. As you guide us with your wisdom, let us be guided by your kindness as much as your cunning.”

Steve kneels back down, and the ceremony is over. Her grace finally lets Dustin rush over to the two men. Steve and Eddie pull Dustin, Robin, and Nancy into a final embrace. Through his tears, Dustin notices two things.

First, Queen Henderson, her grace, is standing in the corner, looking uncertain and flustered, a thing Dustin didn’t know could happen.

And second, Steve and Eddie can’t stop smiling at each other. For the first time, Dustin wonders if this wedding really is a sham.

-----

It’s a common myth that King Harrington never sleeps. Steve’s realizing why that myth persists despite all evidence to the contrary.

“How the… we left right away?!” Steve exclaims as he yanks down yet another wanted poster for Eddie. The reward is… the reward is substantial. He’s not sure how his father’s men managed to outpace them, to get the time to put up wanted posters for Eddie all over the main routes that connect Kingdom Plaid to Kingdom Meow Two. And he can’t keep pulling these posters down. He already almost got caught once. The only saving grace is that the posters were made in a hurry. The image barely captures the essence of Eddie Munson. It’s missing the long, elegant neck. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. His dimples. His lashes. The wild and beautiful cascade of his curls.

But it’s still accurate enough that they’re not going to be able to get an inn for the night. His horse, Beemer, is starting to run more resentfully. If Steve pushes her much harder, she’s going to start looking for low-hanging branches to punish him and Eddie with. And she’s not the kind of horse that’ll consent to roughing it. He needs a solidly constructed stable with hay and clean water. He needs to keep his promise to Dustin that he will not let any harm come to Eddie.

And… they just got married, fake married sure, but still married. Steve wants Eddie to spend his first wedding night on a clean bed, or at least a bed.

“Hey,” Eddie says as they walk away from the second town, despondent, back to where Beemer is hiding, “I don’t mind sleeping on the ground. We can take turns keeping watch. We’ll be in Meow Two tomorrow.”

“Beemer is a sensitive girl,” Steve says, as he pets her neck. Beemer huffs as if in agreement. “She needs her beauty sleep in a nice warm stable with plenty of hay and water.”

“I can sleep on the ground then?” Eddie offers. “I can find a hiding spot. You can come out here in the morning and I’ll find you.”

“I don’t… what if someone gets you and I’m not there?” Steve says. This was a terrible idea. He should have stuck with his original plan of continuing to throw himself between his father’s sword and Dustin until his father finally kicked the bucket so he could hand the crown over to Dustin.

Eddie makes a frustrated sound and Steve feels even worse. He racks his brains, trying to think of someone, anyone, who might be able to put them up for the night. He could beg random peasants living on the outskirts of town, but if they get caught harboring Eddie, even unknowingly, his father would behead them at best. All the other members of the royal family, any relative that may have been willing to help, are dead, killed at his father’s hands.

Except one.

“There is someone,” Steve breathes out.

“Who?” Eddie asks, confused.

“The Queen Mother, of the family that shall not be named,” Steve says. “She’s the only one I can think of that my father won’t kill for harboring us. And she lives just an hour or so away.”

“That’s great right? So we’ll go to her place?” Eddie says. He pauses. “What did you mean of the family that shall not be named? Isn’t she your family?”

“The situation’s kind of complicated,” Steve says, biting his lips. “She was my grandfather’s final wife. Got married to him when she was in her late teens and he was nearing his sixties.”

“That’s…”

“Yeah. Apparently it was true love,” Steve says with a grimace. “And my father and my uncles were fine with it at first. A king needs a queen, and my grandfather was too old to have children, or so they thought.”

“But he wasn’t,” Eddie says nodding.

“Yeah, he wasn’t. And he loved his new sons, enough to make them crown prince.”

“Ah,” Eddie grimaces. “A classic blunder.”

“Yeah, sometimes I wonder if all those stories of my grandfather’s brilliant strategic mind are really all that true,” Steve whispers after looking around the empty forest to make sure they’re really the only ones here. “And that kicked off the whole prince's war, which is how my father took the throne, and I guess… here we are.”

“And the Queen Mother? She escaped alive?”

“Well, my father wasn’t going to kill his mother, even if she’s only technically his mother. So he err… wiped out her entire family for ‘treason’ and exiled her to a summer home on the edge of the borders.” Steve talks rapidly, as if saying it more quickly will make the whole topic less uncomfortable. “So there’s… that. She’s already disgraced, and she’s not someone my father can touch since she’s the Queen Mother, at least not in a beheading-y or jailing-y sort of way.”

“But I can’t imagine she’s a big fan of you,” Eddie supplies. He puts a warm, comforting hand on Steve’s thigh, traces up and down. “I’m still open to my idea by the way. I can stay out here in the forest. Let you and Beemer get some rest. You’ve seen me sneaking around.”

Steve swallows and considers that option. Considers the possibility of coming here the day after to find Eddie’s head on a pike, the possibility of Eddie dying here alone in a forest only a day away from home.

No.

“We’re going to go see the Queen Mother,” Steve declares.

And if Eddie dies, he'll die too, Steve thinks. ------

The disgraced Queen Mother, of the family who shall not be named, has a bad feeling.

But then, she always has bad feelings. It’s kind of a constant, in her situation. So she buries her nerves and tries to focus on the feeling of the rough floorboards beneath her feet instead. It’s supposed to be grounding. Supposed to be.

Maybe she is grounded. Maybe she’s been grounded all her life, in this cursed land and cursed kingdom in this cursed body that insists on staying alive.

“Your nightcap? Your grace?” Charlotte, her new maid, says hesitantly. Her arm shakes under the weight of continuing to offer up the heavy goblet.

“Ah, yes, thank you Charlotte,” the Queen Mother, who shall not be named, says as she relieves the girl. She tips the goblet to her lips. Sips. Waits.

Alas, it is still not poison.

The Queen Mother flaps her hand elegantly, dismissing the girl. Charlotte makes to leave then hesitates. She hovers at the doors.

“You’re excused Charlotte,” the Queen Mother sighs. “As you were yesterday, and as you will be tomorrow.”

“But your grace! What if… what if there’s need for me in the night? You don’t even have guards…” Charlotte trails off. The Queen Mother, the unnamed, the disgraced, resists the urge to throw her wine at the new girl’s head. The only things she has to fear are her own servants and guards, hired and trained by the beloathed King Harrington (long may he reign). Death would be a welcome friend. She’s been waiting for it for the last decade.

“Then I will accept my fate gracefully, as would fit my station,” she tells Charlotte. Charlotte squeaks when the Queen Mother actually gets up to shove her outside her chambers. It takes two more shoves until Charlotte finally bows her head and leaves. The Queen Mother puts her ear to the door. She listens as the tap tap tap of Charlotte’s heavy peasant footsteps get farther and farther away.

She counts to three hundred before she moves to commit her daily act of treason. She tugs at a floorboard to reveal the hidden compartment she’d carefully hacked out. Pulls out the dozens of funeral candles. She lights them one by one.

Two for her parents who sold her to the king, who got thrown off a boat into who knows what seas.

Five for her uncles who froze in their cells.

Six for her siblings, whose heads cannot be found.

One for the old king, who was kinder and more useless than he’d seemed.

Two for her princes, torn from her arms.

And lastly, one for her, a living corpse of only thirty-three.

The Queen Mother whispers their cursed names, forcibly wiped from history. She gives each a moment of silence as she tries to remember their faces, especially her sons. They were five and six. She closes her eyes as she recalls the few years immediately after she gave birth, when it felt like she could do no wrong, when everyone adored her, when her family had a name.

There’s a breeze. She opens her eyes into darkness. All the candles are out. Someone’s standing behind her holding a knife to her throat.

The Queen Mother squeaks. The knife moves a little closer.

There’s another presence in the darkness. It lights a candle to reveal Crown Prince Harrington, kneeling in front of her as if nothing’s wrong. He bows deep then looks up at her with King Harrington’s (ancestors bless the king) loathsome face.

“Please forgive me grandmother. I beseech your silence,” he says, bowing again.

“Slit my throat and be done with it,” the Queen Mother hisses.

“I am not here for death grandmother,” Crown Prince Harrington says quietly. “I come begging for a boon.”

“This is an odd way to ask for a boon.”

“Eddie. Please. Release her,” the Crown Prince says to the person behind her.

There’s a deep sigh and a click of the tongue. The knife moves away from her throat. The Queen Mother stands taller and holds her head high. She glares at the prince. The person is still behind her.

“You have one minute. Why should I not scream for my guards?”

“Grandmother. I’m marrying my true love,” the Prince says hurriedly. “It’ll mean the end of the Harrington line for good. My father would rather murder the love of my life than let that happen. We’re leaving for the Kingdom of Meow Two and I beg you for one night of safe harbor. Just one.”

The Queen Mother scoffs. “And who is this true love?”

“That would be me,” the man behind her says.

The Queen Mother turns slowly, carefully, to mind the knife. She studies the man who grimaces awkwardly under her gaze. He is long of face. His curls are wild and unkempt. He smells like horses and his jaw is too large.

“Him?” the Queen Mother says, rolling her eyes. “You’re ending your line for him?”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?” the Prince bristles, caught in a lie.

She knew it. The Queen Mother glares. It’s yet another Harrington trick. She opens her mouth the call the guards, evidence of her treasonous rites be damned. Prince Harrington immediately bends even lower to grovel at her feet. She steps back in surprise into the supposed love of the Prince’s life.

“This is not befitting your station Crown Prince Harrington,” she hisses. She leans forward and grips him by the shoulders, trying to get him to stand back up, too uncomfortable to think about guards or murder or getting super-exiled.

“I am no longer Crown Prince your grace,” the prince sighs.

“Please,” he begs.

The Queen Mother looks down at the former crown prince then back at his lover then back at him. She can’t imagine why anyone would risk leaving the throne, not when the fallout is so huge, so ruinous. She looks at her feet and thinks and thinks of how this might be a trap, of the potential knife between the teeth, and comes up empty.

She can, however, think of how to play this to her advantage.

“I’ll give you shelter,” she says, “in exchange.”

“Anything, grandmother.”

“Tell me,” she swallows. She’s afraid she already knows the answer. But she has to find out, to know for sure. This is her last chance. “Do my sons live?”

The answer lies in the way Prince Harrington’s face falls, in the way he droops. “Do not lie,” she prods, mouth dry.

“They were both executed your grace,” the Prince admits.

“And how did they…” the Queen Mother hears herself say, “did they accept their death with honor and poise befitting their station?” Images flash before her eyes, of her sons, whose faces she can barely remember, stepping up to their poisoned bowls with heads held high. The kings that could have been.

“They…” the Prince licks his lips, head hanging. It’s odd how different this boy is from his father, despite their striking resemblance. King Harrington (may the ancestors guide him well) would never slump and beg like this. The Queen Mother fights a strange urge to reach out, to touch. Maybe she wants to strangle him. A child for a child.

“They died as children do, unwillingly,” the Prince chokes out.

Oh.

Visions of her princes gracefully accepting their deaths turn to visions of her children, Ron and Sean, wailing under cruel hands as poison is forced down their throats. The Queen Mother glares down at the Prince, who dares to weep for children that died because of him . Would it be satisfying to see him lose his love? To gloat as King Harrington lops off that long neck?

Or would it be achingly familiar?

The Queen Mother looks at the prince at her feet, and his lover behind her back. The lover has moved a few feet away. He stands relaxed, watching, totally at her mercy.

And she’s suddenly desperately tired.

“Do not be seen in the morning,” the Queen Mother orders.

“Of course,” the Prince nods.

“The upper floors are mostly abandoned. There’s a larger servants' quarter that’s no longer used. It will give you cover. Stay quiet. We never spoke.”

The prince nods and leaves out the window, hands linked with his lover.

And the Queen Mother, Emileh Jones, village sheep knuckles champion, who knows seven different ways to make flower crowns, who can declaim a dozen raunchy monologues from memory, who got eaten alive by mosquitoes when she braided her sister’s hair naked under the full moon to wish her a happy marriage, who held her sons’ little fingers and promised them the world, sinks to her knees and finally weeps for her sons and herself.

------

A good jester knows when to hold his tongue, and Eddie Munson is the best in the game. So he holds his tongue as Steve tucks Beemer away with gentle hands and honeyed words. He holds his tongue as Steve leads them through a window and up the stairs, shoulders tense, brows furrowed, a hand on the hilt of a sword. The wooden boards whine and squeal beneath their feet. Fortunately, the rest of the house is louder. Loose doors slam against their hinges. Wind shrieks through the broken windows. Something skitters inside the walls. The mansion wails for death.

Steve still jumps at every shadow and noise.

The silence continues when they reach their destination—a large-ish, abandoned servants' quarters. There are six beds. The window is cracked. Dust dances in the moonlight that streams through the dirty panes. Steve sweeps each bed then arranges the pillows and sheets to make them look like the bed is occupied at a glance. His movements are precise and efficient, as if he’s done this a hundred times.

Maybe he has.

“You sleep here,” Steve says, pointing to a bed in the middle. “That gives you a few seconds to escape no matter where they come in from. Don’t wait for me alright? If they come for us, get out. I’ll be close behind.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie protests, “who are they? Why am I abandoning you?”

“Assassins. The Queen Mother’s guards. Anyone. A lot of people. You know,” Steve sighs.

“All the more reason for me not to leave you behind,” Eddie declares. “And where are you sleeping?”

“Under here,” Steve says, pointing to a bed next to the one he wanted Eddie to take. “They’ll probably come through the door right? So if anyone gets in, I’ll stab at their ankles from below. Buy you some time. See?” He rolls under the bed in one fluid motion to demonstrate. Eddie watches as he swings his sword as he rolls back out from under the bed. It’s impressive. But not that impressive.

“No,” Eddie says, “I’m watching and fighting with you.”

“Eddie. No offense, but…” Steve chuckles weakly as he gestures at Eddie’s spindly arms.

Eddie pouts theatrically to put Steve at ease, who makes a ‘what are you gonna do’ kind of shrug. Then when Steve startles at some small noise and looks away, Eddie lunges for Steve’s left. Steve turns to receive him with a raised brow, only for Eddie to pivot at the last minute and spin around to his right. Steve squeaks as Eddie tackles him onto the bed. Eddie reaches into Steve’s shirt and finds a dagger. He wiggles the handle, just to show that if he wanted , he could . Their faces are inches apart. Steve smells like horses and sweat and something sweet.

“Was that a satisfying demonstration my prince?” Eddie says. He meant to say it smoothly, husky and dangerous. The effect is ruined by how hard he’s breathing.

“Erp,” Steve squeaks again, face flaming. Eddie sticks out his tongue then wiggles under the bed Steve picked out for himself. He hears the bed squeak then the floorboards creak as the other man settles himself into the same cramped space. They shift closer to each other to avoid letting anything poke out.

The bed they’re hiding under is barely big enough for one person, and they’re not even on the bed. They’re laying on the half-rotted floor that probably hasn’t been cleaned in decades. They both smell like dirt and horse with a strong layer of dust. Eddie shifts a little closer to Steve to avoid a big rusty nail poking out by his waist.

It should be uncomfortable, but it’s not. Steve’s body is warm and solid against his. They wiggle to wrap around each other. Strong arms creep around his side. Eddie can feel the thump of Steve’s heart on his back, traveling down his spine. He barely registers how the floor is crushing his hip bones.

They breathe in sync. Eddie’s mind starts to go fuzzy. He wonders if he should try to keep himself awake. Or maybe they should figure out a watch schedule. He could take first watch, take the chance to gaze at Steve’s face, see what he looks like when he’s not stressing out about protecting Dustin or Robin or him. Maybe he’d be able to keep himself awake long enough that Steve wouldn’t have to take his own watch at all.

“Sorry,” Steve whispers.

“What?”

“I’m sorry about all…” Steve pulls his hand away from Eddie’s chest to make some gesture that Eddie can’t see. “You could have had anyone. You could be consummating your marriage in a soft bed right now. You could have had a real wedding. You could be a free man.”

“Steve. I wanted to—”

“And you’re here instead,” Steve hurries on. “You’re hiding away with me on the floor. You’re a wanted man everywhere in Kingdom Plaid. What if… what if that spreads to the Kingdom of Meow Two?”

“Steve. I’m widely beloved in Meow Two. They’d never—”

“And what if… what if Queen Henderson changes her mind about me?” Steve continues. His voice goes an octave higher. “You’ve seen what happened to the Queen Mother. What if that happens to you? What happens to Wayne? What happens to Robin? I…”

Steve’s breathing is getting harsher. Eddie can feel Steve’s heartbeat change from a pleasant thump thump to a sudden staccato so harsh and so fast he’s worried Steve’s heart might burst. “I shouldn’t have done this. The King was right. I’m reckless. Stupid. I put everyone in danger. It would have been better for everyone if my uncle managed to kill me. What am I doing ?”

Eddie turns around to face Steve. He feels at the darkness, following the sound of Steve’s panicked panting until he finds soft lips. He jabs a thumb between Steve’s lips.

“What—” Steve mutters. Eddie presses his thumb into his bottom lip.

“Suck. It’ll make you feel better,” Eddie says.

“The fuck?”

“Suck. It’s a jester trick,” Eddie says with a wink Steve can’t see. It’s not really a jester trick. Not traditionally anyway. But what is a jester’s trick, but the ability to do something so unexpected that it turns the recipient’s world upside down and sends their thoughts tumbling?

Steve huffs but does start to suck. Pressure. Release. Pressure. Release. Eddie sneaks his other hand onto Steve’s chest. Spreads his fingers wide and pushes in sync with the rhythm of Steve’s lips. He listens to Steve’s heart and breathing even out as Steve loses himself in the task of sucking Eddie’s soul out by his thumb.

“Better?” Eddie asks.

“I think so?” Steve whispers back.

“Told you,” Eddie says. He can feel Steve’s tentative smile. Eddie sneaks his other hand inside Steve’s shirt to gently scratch his chest, his belly. Steve groans and leans farther into his touch. “Jester tricks.”

“Mhm,” Steve nods. Eddie gasps when he feels Steve’s long fingers roam his body, returning the favor. Callused fingers, hardened from years of sword training, rub up and down his back, on his ass, massage away the tension in his lower back. Eddie pulls his finger away from Steve’s lips. Moves his own lips to Steve’s. They kiss, deep and slow as they let their hands roam, or as much as they can given the tight space. Neither of them are hard, not that it matters. This touch is meant to soothe.

“Steve,” Eddie finally says.

“Yeah?”

“Remember when I pledged myself?”

Steve’s fingers stutter for a moment before they go back to rubbing circles along Eddie’s ribs. “Yes. I remember.” He pauses. “Is that a Meow Two tradition?”

“No, it’s not,” Eddie says.

“Then why?”

“It was a message to Queen Henderson,” Eddie says. It’s a shame he can’t see Steve in the darkness. But it’s also a blessing. He’s not sure he’d feel up for saying all this while actually facing Steve. “I know things about her. Things I said I would take to my grave.”

Steve nods into Eddie’s collar bone.

“And I was going to. Until I pledged myself to you,” Eddie continues. He squeezes Steve tighter into himself. Kisses him along the jaw with each word. His skin tastes like salt and bliss. “My heart. My ears. My songs. My soul. My lips. All yours.”

Steve clutches Eddie just as hard. Gives him the courage to keep going.

“So no. Queen Henderson will not harm you. I won’t allow that. Do you trust me?”

Steve doesn’t say anything back. He makes a strangled sound and buries his nose into Eddie’s collarbone so hard Eddie’s surprised he hasn’t broken his nose.

Shit. Shit. He came on too hard didn’t he? They barely know each other. Steve’s presumably entered this marriage for Dustin. He thought they were having some moments during the wedding, but this wouldn’t be the first time Eddie horribly misjudged a situation.

“You don’t. You don’t have to pledge anything back obviously,” Eddie stammers. “I’m just telling you how I feel and what I did. So errm… no need to worry about Queen Henderson coming for you out of nowhere. She knows what’s going to happen if she does. And… actually, would you like me to fuck off and go sleep under a different bed? You should get some sleep and I’ll—”

Steve cuts him off by jabbing a thumb into Eddie’s mouth so suddenly he nearly bites it off. “Hey, hey, I was overcome alright? Big feelings and stuff,” he says with a quiet, adorable sniffle. Salty fingers explore his teeth, along his gum, press into his tongue.

“Thank you,” Steve says, “I’m not sure if I’m ready to pledge myself back right now.”

Eddie hums in agreement as he suckles at Steve’s thumb. Steve pulls away and replaces his thumb with lips.

“Ok, I think I’m ready now,” Steve says after what was probably just a few more minutes of their careful, exploratory kisses. “I pledge myself.”

“Were my lips that magical?” Eddie manages to sputter out between mortifying squeaks of joy.

Steve snorts and drapes himself over Eddie completely, squishing him into the hard floor. Eddie’s losing feeling in his limbs. But that’s alright. Steve can have them.

[agentrouka-blog]

While I don't think Dany is a hero in ASOIAF, it stills icks me when some of her Antis claim that Dany allowed Drogo to kill Viserys. I think Drogo killed Viserys because he threatened to kill Drogo unborn child and Dany in Vaes Dothrak. Dany didn't had a say in it. She already tried to protect Viserys before. I don't think in this situation Dany has any agency.

I agree. Viserys doomed himself and the only thing Dany did in that moment was quit trying to save him from his own self-destruction. There was nothing she could have done to save him, and he gave her every incentive to feel relief at his demise.

This moment isn't about Dany failing him. This moment is mainly interesting because what Dany takes mental refuge in during this traumatic display is the idea of the "true dragon", and it gives us a glimpse at what danger there is in a sense of personal invulnerability and exceptionality. Viserys feels safe to indulge in a deeply disrespectful tantrum, because of a legal technicality, because he is bitter and he has suffered, because the feelings of the distasteful business partners he has acquired don't matter to him. Because he has a story in mind for himself, and this is not it.

He is very wrong. And Dany only sees the dragon he isn't, the dragon she is. There is a lesson in there she will have failed to learn down the line.

[tim-burton-bitch]

You know- another aspect of ratiorine rarely considered is simply the fact that- Veritas knows he cannot free Aventurine.

First off- chances are Ratio would need to buy Aventurine himself first in order to hold the right to free the man at all. By technicality Aventurine is still the IPC's slave. While he does get money that he can spend and all- he has to abide by what he is told to do. He has limited rights and freedoms. the IPC will always come first or Aventurine will face punishment that can be as bad as simply- being killed. For Ratio to FREE Aventurine he would either need to convince Diamond and the IPC to let Aventurine free themselves (extremely unlikely. They're greedy and powerful and corrupt-) OR he would have to BUY Aventurine himself. So now HE holds the rights over Aventurine and can then legally set him free and let Aventurine be his own person again.

But then we run into problem two- Aventurine is a VALUABLE asset to the IPC now. He is GOOD at his job and gets tasks done that had very low chance of success. Meaning even if Diamond WAS willing to give Aventurine up and sell him off to someone- Aventurine would be REALLY expensive now. And not ONLY because of all he has done for the IPC and how valuable he would be- but also because the IPC has an image. It would ALREADY look bad if they SOLD a stoneheart- but with Aventurine being Sigonian they MIGHT be able to spin it a way that minimizes the backlash. However if it came out that he was also bought CHEAP then that would throw into question the powerful position of stonehearts in general. Between wanting to keep public image and the value Aventurine would have to them- they would not let him off for any sum of money that Ratio would be likely to afford.

Now say- somehow- for some reason- Ratio COULD afford this price. This would all then come down to trust. Aventurine TRUSTS Ratio. Something that is not easily earned. And as much as Aventurine can possibly love Ratio and throw himself into trusting the doctor- his life experience will bring doubt into it all. For at LEAST many more years. If not forever (to a degree). If Aventurine got word that Ratio had BOUGHT him- he would likely panic. Perhaps not outwardly- no that would be a carefully controlled performance. Even if he lets the anger slip into it. But he WOULD panic. He would question if the Doctor has been seeking this outcome since they met. How much of their relationship was real? This would all come with the risk of Aventurine trying to run or leave before Ratio could explain. Ratio would have to either free him before he finds out what happened or tell him before hand. Telling him first though- if they are overheard then runs the risk of if he'd be allowed to buy.

Thus as of right now- Ratio has no choice but to watch the man he loves continue to be puppeteered about by the IPC. Watch as he risks his life, gambles on little chance and flirts with death. All while knowing that he cannot do much to stop it.

[not-that-dillinger]

"We're married"

《 from Raye Penber @first-frost-fallen-snow because that would be the funniest route to me also sorry for like disappearing I was focusing on moving out and now my fatigue is killing me 》

Ed awoke for once not slumped over his keyboard, yet also not in the empty apartment he'd moved into when he first moved to Japan. Though he supposed technically, the apartment he was in belonged to him, as did the bed he lay in, though both truly belonged to the man laying next to him. He squinted at the clock on his nightstand, at red LED numbers so blurry, only years of practice allowed him to decipher the time without having to put his glasses on. He still had time before he had to get up, a couple of hours before he had to get to work.

A flash of gold on the nightstand drew his eyes from the clock to the ring next to his glasses. It was the only piece of jewelry he owned, and far more expensive than anything he would ever purchase for himself. There was a similar ring on the other nightstand on the opposite side of the bed that belonged to the other occupant--Raye Penber.

Ed... still didn't know what to make of his new situation, let alone the man he was now legally bound to. He didn't hate him, certainly, though whether he trusted him was yet to be decided. Their marriage hadn't been Ed's idea, nor had it been Raye's. A necessity to facilitate the Kira investigation, it had been called, and Ed had only begrudgingly agreed to it for fear of opposition somehow being used against him as evidence and landing him in prison.

Thought of their marriage left an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He'd sworn when he got his job at Encom, and finally escaped his father's control that he would never put himself in any sort relationship where there was a power imbalance and they were not equals. He wouldn't put himself in a situation where he could be abused again. And yet here he was, a foreigner, far from anyone he could call a friendly face, barely understanding the language and culture, and though their partnership was supposed to be one of equals, it didn't feel that way.

Not that he had anyone on the other side of the Pacific he could call for help if he was able, anyway. His therapist, maybe. Though he didn't trust that the call wouldn't be monitored. Or an old rival, if he was desperate.

He felt trapped. He was relying on a man he barely knew to keep him from being falsely accused of mass murder. He was at risk, not just from his partner, but from the people in charge of the investigation as well, People he felt like were treating the investigation as nothing more than a game, where both his and his partner's lives were nothing more than disposable pawns.

How strange it was, that such a tiny band of metal could hold so much meaning. To others, it would have been a symbol of joy as bright as it's polished surface, but to Ed it had just replaced the physical handcuffs that had bound him to his legal partner to with a symbolic one.