#not entirely but like. it seems like the more main area if that makes sense

[danielnelsen]

hold on. since i’m playing as gale he doesn’t get his regular camp setup so i don’t know what that’s like, but looking around the elfsong tavern camp at the very few empty beds……… does he get the bed across from astarion?

[icewindandboringhorror]

Lineup of all of the characters that appear long enough to need a visual representation of them in the game lol

[stick2vamp]

Urmmmmm Haiiii … You’re my favorite Seb writer , absolutely adore yr stuff !!! Was wondering if I could req Seb and a reader who like …. Gives him a bouquet of coral and plants they find around the facility ……. If that makes sense …… (;´д｀)

𝜗 ˖ ❝ hm, for me? ᵕ ♡

— in which you have a gift for sebastian. ✧

↷　 766 wc 𓈒 sfw 𓈒 kind of implied sebastian has a soft spot for you ?

‿ A/N im glad to hear you like my stuff <3 gave up like halfway thru this i cannot lie

The Blacksite seems barren.

The only recurring theme of life present appears to be the monstrous and mutated entities that roam the halls, but you are unsure if some of them are alive. Any simple organisms no longer exist down here. Perhaps the pressure was too much for them to withstand in the first place, or maybe they were all destroyed during the breach. You're unsure: they won't bother to tell you minute details like that.

Yet, you've found that your original assumption was wrong. Exploring the multiple levels and rooms has allowed you to see the tiny glimpses of life still thriving here. The occasional potted plant—albeit wilting fairly quickly—stands alive in tiny rooms tucked away from most entities' eyes. Little chunks of coral float within the underground areas, likely broken off from the main body by the bull shark outside the windows. Tiny aquatic grasses, easily trampled on as you weave yourself out of a Searchlight's bright gaze.

You've wandered through the Blacksite many times, over and over again, with nothing new to see besides these little plants. They are the only unpredictable sight. The lights flicker to warn you of an Angler—but there are no warning signs of a simple plant. Squiddles make a gradual screeching noise as a warning—but there are no warning signs of a little flower. Perhaps that is why they are so beautiful down here: because you expect a monster, not a simple pot of grass.

However, no other beings here seem to hold the same sentiments as you. Most of them are mindless and have their minds set entirely on consuming. The only intelligent ones you can name right now seem uninterested, too. The bull shark with thousands of eyes littered in and outside themself? It seems they cannot see the plant's beauty even with their many eyes. The red face that warns you as they rush through and destroy the halls? Well, with how they mangle things in their path, you're not entirely sure if they care that much for them. The Painter?

. . . Well, the Painter probably likes flowers. But they cannot exactly interact with them.

Water trickled down your hand and dripped on the floor. You cradled a small fragment of blue coral in your palm. It had a rougher texture due to the little dips and bumps on its surface. The coral felt like nothing yet heavy at the same time as it rested in your hand. Its muted blue color looked even duller the more you looked at it.

It almost looked greenish, too.

The color reminded you of SEBASTIAN.

You forgot about him and his opinion on flowers. He seemed more uncaring and disinterested in small things, so you figured he probably wouldn't care for them. Yet, you knew he was once human. There must be a chance he may enjoy them.

You hadn't realized you pocketed the coral until your suit's legs were well-drenched.

Upon presenting the messy bouquet to Sebastian, he responded with a taunting voice, "Is this for me? You really shouldn't have." He carefully examined the bouquet under his esca, observing the colorful coral chunks and slightly wilted plants. He appreciated how the colors complimented him.

Sebastian quietly hummed as he inspected the gift further, using his claw with surprising gentleness to brush through and examine everything you'd collected. It was evident from his growing smirk and visible canines that he appreciated the gesture if only a bit. "Why, thank you, friend," he said, before placing the bouquet on his desk.

With a taunting tone, he mused, "Don't tell me you went out of your way to get this just for me, now." Sebastian paused and directed his gaze back to you. "You know, I'm sure I could bargain a good price for this with the other Expendables."

You couldn't tell if he was serious, at least not until you looked at how his tail swayed like a happy dog's. Or how his ears twitched when your smile grew. Or how his voice softened ever so slightly as you eventually left.

Unsurprisingly, the bouquet was still there on your next visit, neatly placed in the best glass Sebastian could find. It rested nearby him, neatly positioned to make it look fuller and beautiful. Of course, he wouldn't sell it. For as much as he teased you, he could not deny the fondness he felt when he looked at it.

Perhaps one day, you'd take the bouquet place and be right next to him yourself.

He cursed himself as his ears and tail twitched at the thought.

☆⠀⠀⠀ᛝ⠀⠀want to support my stuff? my kofi is here !⠀♡

[thedreamingdevil]

Assault In The Toilet

Dreamcatcher Handong | Male Reader

Trigger Warning: Rape, Slight Violence, Threat

Word Count: 2,471

You trudged through the dimly lit corridors of the venue, your security radio crackling occasionally as the night's main event drew to a close. Dreamcatcher, the K-pop group you were obsessed with, had just finished their set.

You couldn't believe you'd spent the entire two hours stuck backstage, missing the performance of a lifetime. The only solace was the muffled thump of the music and the distant, ethereal voices of JiU, SuA, Siyeon, Handong, Yoohyeon, Dami, and Gahyeon echoing through the hallways.

Your final sweep of the west wing was more out of habit than necessity. The crowd was dissipating, and the backstage area was quiet, save for the occasional clang of equipment being dismantled. That's when your luck, or lack thereof, changed.

As if fate had a twisted sense of humor, you spotted Handong, the Chinese member of Dreamcatcher, walking towards you. Her destination seemed to be the rear toilet, a more secluded option away from the throngs of people flocking to the main facilities.

She caught your eye and flashed a bright, endearing smile, her English tinged with a cute, noticeable accent. "Excuse me, is the toilet down this way... usable? The others are using the main one," she asked, her brow slightly furrowed in inquiry.

You managed a nod, trying to sound coherent despite the dryness in your mouth. "Yeah, it's all clear. You're good to use it."

Your gaze slipped, betraying your professionalism, drawn to the sports bra that hugged her torso, pants slid down, showcasing the waistband of her panties and the gentle curve of her hips. But it was the soft, slightly rounded expanse of her midriff that really caught your attention, making your mouth water in a way that had nothing to do with thirst.

Handong's gratitude was sincere, "Thanks so much!" before she turned to head towards the toilet.

You watched her walk away, your hand instinctively dropping to adjust the growing bulge in your cargo pants, the friction a slight relief. Your mind began to wander down dark, filthy paths, undressing her further with each step she took away from you.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, scanning the hallway with a mixture of paranoia and lust, your eyes finally settling on the toilet door as it closed behind Handong, enveloping her in privacy.

You lingered in front of the toilet, the seconds ticking by with an agonizing slowness. Finally, the door creaked open, and Handong stepped out, her smile still plastered on her face. But as her eyes met yours, her expression morphed into one of startled alarm.

A high-pitched "Eeek!" escaped her lips, followed by an unknowing string of Korean curses, "Aish—” She giggled nervously, composing herself, "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there. Is... is there something wrong?"

You shook your head, a sly grin spreading across your face. "Nah, nothing's wrong. I'm just a huge fan actually, and I was wondering if I could get an autograph?" Your voice was laced with a sincerity that was about to take a dark turn.

Handong's face lit up. "Of course! Umm, do you have a pen... and where would you like me to sign?" Her innocence was almost palpable, and your twisted excitement grew.

You roughly pushed past her, stepping into the toilet. "You won't need a pen for this," you sneered, your eyes locking onto hers with a sinister glint. "You can sign it on my cock... with your pussy."

The words hung in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, Handong just stared, confusion etched on her face. Fear began to creep into her heart as she stuttered, "W-what... Do you mean?"

But before she could grasp the horror of your suggestion, you closed the door behind you with a soft click and flipped the lock. Handong's eyes widened in panic.

"It's fine, slut," you cooed, "I'll make you understand." With lightning speed, you wrapped your arms around her stomach, spinning her around before slamming her deeper into the toilet.

Handong landed with a painful, audible groan, her breath knocked out of her. She scrambled to get up, but you were faster. Your fingers slipped into her pink hair, yanking her up. Your other hand closed around her neck, choking her as you pinned her against the cold marble wall.

Tears welled up in her eyes, "W-why... What do you want? Please, let me go!"

Your hand roamed over her soft stomach, a perverse caress. "You think you can just flaunt this like a whore and not expect to get fucked? There's no fucking way I'm letting you go."

A sudden, cruel movement, your fist clenched and punched into her stomach, eliciting a sharp gasp followed by a coughing fit, her eyes bulging from the choking grip.

You huffed, your breath hot against her ear, "There you go, that's the face I want to see. The face I'll make all of you make, but you're just unlucky to be the first, Handong." With a swift motion, you slammed your knee onto her pussy, her eyes snapping wide open in agony.

A heart-wrenching "Eeeeeee..." tore from her lips, tears streaming down her face as her legs instinctively clamped shut.

You tightened your grip around Handong's neck, slamming her harder against the wall, ensuring she stood upright. Her eyes welled up with tears as she weakly pushed against your chest, pleading, "P-please... stop... don't do this..." Her voice cracked, but you just smiled, enjoying her despair.

Your other hand made quick work of her pants' button and zipper. With a tug, her baggy pants slid down, pooling around her ankles. Her tight panties did little to conceal the shape of her pussy, especially as her toned thighs rubbed together in a futile attempt to cover herself.

You chuckled, "Keep begging, Handong. Nobody's coming to save you now."

Your hand dove between her legs, grabbing her pussy with a rough squeeze. Handong let out a muffled “Ughhhh!" as she squirmed against the humiliating touch.

Your grip around her neck prevented her from screaming for help, reducing her cries to mere, pathetic whimpers. You kicked her leg apart and began slapping her pussy repeatedly, the sound echoing through the small space.

Handong's body shuddered, tears streaming down her face as a burning sensation spread across her assaulted flesh.

In a degrading move, you spat into her open, gagging mouth, your voice laced with contempt, "Not so tough now, are you? Just a helpless, stupid whore, ready to be ruined by my cock."

Handong mustered a faint scream but it was quickly silenced by a punch to her ribs. The impact made her body jerk, and a wet patch began to spread on her panties as she lost bladder control, pee soaking through the fabric.

Your cock throbbed painfully in your pants, demanding attention so you tossed Handong to the floor, her body landing on her stomach. As you undid your pants and boxers, your huge, leaking cock sprang out, precum dripping.

Handong, in a sobbing mess, slowly crawled towards the door, attempting to call for help, her voice barely audible.

"Look at you... what a stubborn slut." From your jacket, you produced a pocket knife, its blade glinting.

Rushing over, you pinned Handong to the floor, her back beneath your weight. Grabbing her hair, you yanked her head back, exposing her sweaty neck. The knife pressed against her throat, its edge biting into her skin.

"Scream all you want, bitch," you taunted. "The members will find you in here, drowning in your own blood."

Handong's body froze, her sobbing escalating into body-shaking sobs. She squeezed her eyes shut, a barely audible "N-no... please..." escaped her lips, followed by a desperate nod, and a whispered, "Don't kill me... please..."

Backward glide, you positioned yourself at Handong's legs. The knife flashed, slicing through her panties with ease. You yanked the torn fabric off her crotch, exposing her vulnerable flesh. Her soaked panties were then lifted to your nose, and you inhaled deeply, savoring the scent. Your tongue darted out, licking the wet patch.

Several sharp slaps landed on her naked ass, each impact making her flinch. Your thick cock was then placed between the soft, firm fleshes of her buttocks, rubbing against her with an unspoken threat. Leaning forward, you pulled her jacket off her arms and used her torn panties to tie her wrists behind her back, securing her in a helpless position.

"Get up," you barked, grabbing a fistful of her messy hair and yanking her to her feet. Handong stumbled, dragged towards the lined-up sinks by her hair, before being shoved against one. "Look in the mirror, see how pathetic you are," you sneered, pulling her body against your chest. The position forced her to feel your cock, rigid and daunting, nestled between her thighs, inspiring a terrified tremble.

The knife poked her heaving stomach, and you asked, "Want me to rip your guts out?" Handong weakly shook her head, a plea for mercy in her watery eyes. You shoved her forward, "Good slut, now you will take my cock up your guts."

Her eyes widened in pure panic as she frantically shook her head, "N-no, no, no..."

You gripped one of her thighs, lifting it to prevent her from twisting away. Your other hand guided your swollen cock to her pussy lips. With deliberate slowness, you pushed it inside her slick yet tight passage. The extra fleshy blockage provided a snug, if not torturous, fit.

“Oughhhh!” Handong's scream was long and shaky, her body trembling as your thickness breached her inner walls, deeper and deeper, stretching and ripping her pussy apart. The pain was evident, yet you persisted, poking through her pelvis.

Her desperate "It hurts— God... stop... p-pull it out!" was met with your grasp on her hips tightening, laughter echoing through the space.

"Oh, I will pull out alright... after you're done shitting all over my cock." You seized one of her twin tails, pulling it taut as you thrust forward, burying your entire cock inside her pussy.

The tip curled slightly, blocked by her cervix, inducing a quivering response in Handong's body. Her mouth gaped open, eyes rolling up, as the painful, compact sensation overwhelmed her.

Pulling back, you then slammed your cock back inside Handong's aching pussy, penetrating her as rough and as deep as humanly possible. The sound of wet flesh echoed through the space, a cacophony of misery. A mix of her sweat, piss, and your precum – splattered everywhere, coating your thighs, her legs, and the floor.

The stench of Handong's soaking pussy, now molded to shape of your cock, mingled with the metallic tang of her blood, which trickled from her torn insides. Your nose flared, inhaling the putrid aroma, as you continued to brutalize her.

Each thrust was a masterclass in cruelty, designed to inflict maximum pain. Handong's pussy, once a delicate, inviting space, was now a ravaged, sloppy cavern, stretched to its limits by your girth. Her cervix, a deep, vulnerable well, was repeatedly pummeled, causing her body to shudder and convulse. The sound of your balls slapping against her clit, and your cock squelching in and out of her pussy, was a grotesque serenade.

You hugged Handong back, her body arching in an unnatural pose, to let her see the swell inside her tummy every time your cock moved in and out. Her belly bulged, a nauseating, fluid-filled balloon, as if your cum was already filling her womb.

"Look at that, disgusting slut.” You snickered, “My cock is making a mess inside you, and you can't even take it or do anything about it.”

Handong's body reacted with violent, uncontrollable spasms, her trembling, violated form a testament to the agony coursing through her. She gagged, vomit spewing from her mouth, as the overwhelming stress took its toll.

"Mmmphh-nooooooooo... stooooop... p-puuuuuuhhhhlease..." she wailed, her cries punctuated by anguished, guttural moans.

"Aaaaahhh... m-myyyy... ggggoooooodddd..." she whimpered, her body shuddering, as another wave of pain washed over her. "N-nnnoooo... p-puuuuuuhhhh... it's... it's too... too much..." Her vocal cords strained, producing a blood-curdling scream, “Eeeeekkkkkk...!"

You continued to degrade and insult her, reveling in her misery. "You're a nasty, disgusting whore, Handong. Your pussy is a trash can, and my cock is the garbage that's filling it up." Your words were acid, eating away at her dignity, as you used and abused her with reckless abandon.

However, the risk of getting caught was growing by the minute, and even your twisted desires couldn't override the need for caution. With a few, final thrusts, you unleashed a torrent of cum inside Handong's womb, filling her to the brim with your seed.

The excessive amount of fluid caused her belly to swell even more, a grotesque, inflated parody of a pregnant woman. As you withdrew, your cock slid out of her pussy with a wet, sucking sound, leaving behind a trail of destruction, and a broken, whimpering woman.

As you withdrew from Handong's ravaged body, she lay there, her leaking, bleeding pussy a grim testament to the atrocities you'd inflicted. Her body twitched and convulsed, the aftershocks of your merciless assault still coursing through her battered form.

Her eyes, once bright and full of life, now dull and unfocused, struggled to remain open as she teetered on the edge of consciousness.

"Stupid whore," you cursed, your voice devoid of empathy, as you stroked your softening, slick cock. The semen still dripping from its tip was a reminder of the devastation you'd wrought.

With a callous disregard for Handong's well-being, you raised your foot and brought it down on her swollen stomach, twisting it harshly. The sound of your shoe squelching into her distended belly was accompanied by a fresh gush of fluid, which squirted out of her wounded pussy, a horrific, involuntary response to the additional agony.

You didn't bother untying Handong, leaving her bound and helpless on the cold, hard floor. Your attention had already shifted to escaping the consequences of your actions. You swiftly dressed, the sounds of your clothing being donned a stark contrast to Handong's labored, whimpering breaths.

As you approached the door, the murmur of voices from around the corner hastened your departure. You rushed toward the back exit, the door's heavy metal weight slamming shut behind you, leaving Handong's broken form to be discovered by others.

The consequences of your brutality would soon follow, but for now, you'd escaped, vanished into the darkness, leaving behind a trail of devastation.

The last glimpse of Handong was etched into your mind: her twisted, agony-contorted face, the ragged, bleeding edges of her pussy, and the pathetic, bound pose of her battered body.

The memories of her pleas, her screams, and her suffering would linger, a twisted, perverse trophy, as you disappeared into the darkness, ready to claim your next victim.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Hey! I wanted to see if you'd want to do a band!au with marauders . I was watching the kool kids maneskin, Tokyo concert, I couldn't help but think how problematic it actually could be. Something happens maybe someone makes the fem!reader uncomfortable and stuff goes down, everybody's like she's too arrogant and disrespectful and so on. How the marauders defend and comfort her etc with some fluff. Thanks!

You're Strong

Platonic!Marauders x Reader (Minus Peter)

AN: I love this request sm

Cw: 3704

CW: use of {Y/N}, Sexual Harassment, Victim blaming, sexual innuendos, a lot of cussing and shouting

Latex and a shitty cologne seemed to cling to your nose like a taunt, even in the supposed safety of your dressing room. You clung to the small vanity top, trying to rid your nostrils of the foul odor that seemed to cling to you like an unwanted memory.

This wasn’t your first time experiencing something like this, but it was the first since you joined the band.

Back in college, James had gotten on his hands and knees, begging you to fill in for Peter on guitar after their falling out. At the time, you and the boys ran in the same friend group but never really collided- except for Remus, who would write his songs with you.

James didn’t have a clue who you were until Sirius told him you were the one who taught Marlene how to strum. It took some convincing, but after some gentle prodding from Remus and downright devious tactics from Sirius, you finally caved. One song. One gig.

You should have known that wouldn’t have been the case. The moment your first performance was a hit, they practically hounded you around the clock to join them for more. Eventually, after a few failed guitarists, you agreed to go on tour with them.

Never once in the six weeks you had been on the road did you feel unsafe. It was your main concern. You weren’t scared of the boys, but traveling to a new city every night as a girl was a nightmare. You voiced your concerns to them, and they swore they wouldn’t force you into something dangerous. They were always with you at every point- one of them tied to your hip from the moment you exited your hotel room to the second you entered it.

But tonight was different. The moment you stepped on stage, you could tell it wasn’t like your normal performances. The producers had sprung something on James last minute, and you could hear him arguing from behind the curtain while you and Sirius exchanged worried glances.

When James came back, he was red in the face but greeted the crowd with his bright smile. You relaxed slightly, falling into the rhythm of the performance. Then, James introduced two more bands to the stage local to the area. Not just their instruments, but their bloody groupies as well.

The stage was suddenly flooded with people. Men and women danced, far too close. You looked to Remus in a panic, trying to keep your strumming even on your cues. Sirius seemed shocked but into the act, and James continued singing as if nothing was wrong. But for you, the stage had become a personal hell. The noise was deafening, and the people were too close- men grinding on you, women making crude remarks that only worsened your anxiety. It wasn't something you hadn't experienced before. But your boys were there. And they were doing nothing. Sweat and cheap plastic glitter assaulted your senses, making it hard to breathe.

The mix of sounds and overwhelming amount of strangers in your safe space made the stage feel like a claustrophobic nightmare. You tried to focus, to keep playing, but each note felt like a struggle. The safety you had once felt with the band was slipping away, replaced by a rising tide of panic.

Then, a husky smell hit your nose. This cologne you couldn't place, and the smell of burnt latex, as a man walked behind you and grinded on you. But he didn't pass by after, no, he stayed and pressed his entire waist against your back. You felt like you could heave, but instead of sobbing like you wanted to, you lashed out in anger.

You turned and practically snarled at him, your shouts barely audible over the music. “Piss off!”

“Woah, woah woah, no need to be so feisty.” He chuckled as he passed, muttering a simple, “Fucking prude.” as he went.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the adrenaline surging through your veins like wildfire. The blaring attack of music, shouting, and laughter melded into a disorienting blur. Your vision tunneled, and it felt like the walls were closing in. You tried to focus on your guitar, to find some semblance of normalcy, but your fingers were trembling too much to play properly.

James, always the charismatic frontman, seemed to notice your distress. He made his way over to you, still singing, his eyes filled with concern. He offered you sympathetic eyes, but even then, in his understanding you were even more upset. How dare he not warn you?

James’s presence, usually so comforting, felt like a betrayal tonight. You wanted to scream at him, to demand why he hadn’t given you a heads up about the chaos that would unfold on stage. But you knew this wasn’t the time or place. Truly, you didn't know if he knew either.

Your breaths became shallow and rapid, your chest tightening with each passing second. The stage lights felt unbearably hot, and the noise seemed to amplify, each beat of the drums pounding in your skull. You almost snapped at Sirius, as he slammed the instrument worked in tandem with your throbbing head. The people on stage began to mutter and laugh, you didn't need to hear what they were saying to know it was directed at you.

With a deep breath, you forced yourself to keep playing, though your notes were shaky and uneven. You could see Remus and Sirius exchanging worried glances, sensing the shift in your usually electric energy. James, ever the performer, managed to keep the crowd entertained, though his focus never strayed far from you.

But it was too much. The world around you felt like it was spinning out of control, your vision blurring with unshed tears. Your hands felt clammy, your grip on the guitar slipping. The overwhelming sense of panic clawed at your throat, making it hard to breathe.

The second the fifth song ended, you shoved your strings at one of the other band members before walking off stage. You couldn't do it. You couldn't even think clearly on that damn stage, let alone play. The need to escape, to find a quiet space where you could breathe, was overpowering.

You made your way backstage, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. The noise of the crowd and the band faded into the background as you found a secluded corner, sinking to the floor. You hugged your knees to your chest, trying to ground yourself, feeling the cold, hard floor beneath you.

As you sat there, the adrenaline began to dissipate, leaving you feeling drained and exhausted. The panic attack had taken its toll, but in the quiet of the backstage, you could finally start to piece yourself back together.

You stormed off to your dressing room where you were now, finally allowing yourself to break down.

You had never had a panic attack so publicly before. Replaying the memory only made it worse, as embarrassment took over the panic remembering how harshly you reacted. But why did you feel guilty?

Suddenly there was a firm knock on the door. You looked at the clock and winced. Did they stop the show early? Fuck.. your poor fans.

You didn't answer, you never did. Walking over to the bathroom to splash water on your face as you heard the door open.

“The hell were you thinking, James!?” Sirius’s shouts filled the room and you shook your head, cleaning off the makeup you now made a mess of.

“I didn't know it was going to happen! They sprung it on me too, Pads!” James shouted and Remus huffed.

“You should of said no, James.” Remus scolded and James waved his hand dismissively.

He walked up to your bathroom door and knocked, leaning his ear against it. “Hey, you good in there, {Y/N}?” He asked cautiously.

You schooled your expression once more before you swung the door open. Looking at the boy in front of you, his sweaty body covered in glitter and giving you a startled look. “Since when did the stage becomes a fucking rave!?” Your voice was loud and you tried to sound angry, but you were on the verge of tears again. Clueless as to why this seemed to affect you so much.

James's eyes widened as he saw the raw emotion in your face. He took a step back, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I know, I know. It was a mess. I'm sorry, {Y/N}. If I had known, I would have stopped it before it started. Just- they were already in the back when Gideon told us, said it was a deal the producers made to get this place more attention, ya know?”

“Oh sob off with that crap! She's fucking scared, man!” Sirius snapped behind James and Remus scoffed.

“And you're not making it much better, Sirius.” Remus huffed before turning to you with gentle eyes. Ones you were used to, ones that always meant safety. You walked over and sniffed a bit, coming undone easily. Especially when he pulled you into a hug.

Remus rubbed your back and let you ruin his new shredded shirt. His bandaid covered hand slipping behind her head to let you muffle your sobs into his chest.

Eventually, your sobbing stopped, and Remus found himself inspecting you. “Hey..” He whispered after a moment of exchanging looks with the boys. “You're alright, pretty girl.” He cooed and you slowly smiled.

He took the chance to take a peek at you, only to see you smiling brighter at his glance. They had a way of soothing your more erratic emotions, so easily.

“Is she smiling?” James called out in a teasing tone. You rolled your eyes and pulled away from Remus with a sniffle.

“You guys always call me that.” You huffed and Remus laughed. “What? Pretty girl?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the lingering tension. "Yeah, 'pretty girl.' It's like you think I'm some delicate flower, I'm a big girl.”

Sirius grinned, his usual mischievous spark returning. "Well, you are pretty, and you are our girl. Even if sometimes you're abusive." He cheeked and you shot him a glare.

“See? My groupies would have lost their shit at that line. I just get death glares.” Sirius dramaticized as he looked at James who snickered.

James gave a fond sigh, shaking his head. "Well, to be fair, Pads, it just shows {Y/N} has standards."

At that, you laugh and Remus smiled at you. “There she is.”

“Oh stop that.” You gave a small nervous smile and pushed his face to look away. He laughed before he kissed your calloused palm, turning to face you. He gave you one last comforting squeeze before letting go, his eyes still filled with love and gentle concern. "Seriously though, {Y/N}, we never want you to feel like that again. We need to make sure our performances are safe for everyone, especially you. Trust me, we were shit without a guitar.”

You rolled your eyes fondly but let his words seep in. Knowing he truly meant them.

You took a deep breath, feeling a bit more grounded with the boys around you. "I appreciate it, really. Just... next time, let's make sure there are no surprises, okay?"

James nodded earnestly. "Absolutely. No more surprises. We'll make sure everything is run by you first. You're part of this band, and you deserve to feel safe and respected."

Sirius threw an arm around your shoulder and gave you a squeeze. “Yeah, I mean, if you weren't here we'd just be a bunch of dudes jerkin it.”

You gave him a slack jaw at his crude remark, before Remus rolled his eyes.

“Something tells me you wouldn't mind that, Sirius.” James laughed and you quickly shooed Sirius’s arm off of you.

“You two talk like virgins and it's starting to become sad.” You huffed. “But I'm ready to go back on stage. It's been a hot minute now.”

James barked a laugh and you looked at him surprised. You hit his chest and he held your hand with a playful wince. “Sorry, sorry, just trying to imagine going back on stage after Sirius busted that bastard’s lip. I don't think the show is still on.”

“You did what!?” You exclaimed in shock, turning to Sirius. He didn't look even the least bit guilty, just grinning ear to ear like some damned cat. He shrugged nonchalantly. "What can I say? No one messes with our girl and gets away with it."

You shook your head, a mix of disbelief and amusement. Not to mention the endless about of affection and safety you felt. "Sirius, you can't just go around punching people."

"Well, I can and I did," he replied with a wink. "He deserved it. Dudes still lucky he has a heart beat."

Remus sighed, though a small smile played on his lips. "Let's just make sure we handle things a bit more diplomatically next time, yeah?"

James chuckled, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “I'm sure {Y/N} has no problems with it-”

Before the quips could continue, suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Sirius huffed and turned to slam it open. “What?!” He boomed and came face to face with a very angry producer.

“The hell are you all doing in here mingling? You have a crowd out there waiting to watch you play!” He boomed. Despite yourself, you suddenly clamed up. Oddly, you were unable to speak. Even as you tried to force yourself, the words felt like they were trapped in your chest. Your breathing increasing.

“We had an issue with a guy on stage-” Remus started and the producer scoffed. “Yeah, we all saw it! That's no excuse! These people paid good money-”

“I-I'm not going back out there.” You finally stammered out. He scoffed at you and Sirius tightened his jaw.

“I'm sorry, princess, please continue to believe the world revolves around you. But do that on the stage?” He pushed and you choked out a scoff.

“He-”

“Isn't that what you kids do? You party hard you have fun, can't blend those two together?”

The producer’s words cut through the air like a knife, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. Your hands trembled as you tried to pull yourself together, but the panic was threatening to overwhelm you again.

Sirius, however, was having none of it. He stepped forward, his eyes blazing with anger. "Listen here, you pompous ass. She was sexually harassed on stage, and you think she should just suck it up and keep playing? How about you show a bit of human decency?"

The producer sneered, clearly unimpressed. "This is a business, Black. If she can't handle the heat, maybe she shouldn't be on stage."

Remus stepped in, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Sirius’s fury. “Sir, I think that a discussion needs to be had about our safety on stage before any of us return to it.”

“I refuse to work like this.” You challenged again and the Producer scoffed.

“Listen, kid, everyone deals with stuff like this in show biz. Don’t be arrogant.”

You took a shaky breath and tried to still the next shiver that rocked through you. Again, your words were gathering in your throat like film. “No-”

“Kid.” The producer spoke more sternly this time.

James had been standing quietly, his fists clenched at his sides as he listened to the exchange. But the producer's dismissive attitude was the final straw. He stepped forward, his usually bright and cheerful eyes now dark with anger.

"That's enough!" James's voice rang out, startling everyone in the room. He pointed a finger at the producer, his hand shaking with barely contained fury. "How dare you speak to her like that! She's not just some performer you can push around. She's our friend, our bandmate, and she deserves respect! If you want this fucking band to work how about you worry about that freak in the back with the bloodied nose? Get him the fuck outta here!”

The producer opened his mouth to retort, but James cut him off, his voice growing louder. "You think this is just showbiz? You think it's okay for someone to be harassed and then forced to keep performing? What kind of person are you? I promise you, if she wasn't overwhelmed enough as it is-”

"James-" The producer began, but James wasn't done.

"No. You don't wanna listen to her, you're gonna listen to me. We've put up with a lot of shit from you. But she is where I draw the line. Is that understood?”

James's outburst left the room in stunned silence. The intensity of his words hung heavy in the air, and even the producer seemed momentarily taken aback. But the anger in James's eyes was unyielding with that fire and familiar protectiveness he held for everyone, but it seemed to be focused purely on you.

The producer, clearly flustered, tried to regain his composure. "Look, James, I understand you're upset, but-"

"No, you don't understand." James interrupted, his voice steady but seething with controlled rage. "This isn't just about being upset. This is about basic human decency. You don't get to treat her like that. Any of us! If you can't guarantee our safety and respect, then we're done here."

Sirius had a moment where he stared awestruck at James. Clearly proud. “What the big guy said.”

Remus nodded in agreement, his eyes never leaving the producer's. "James is right. This isn't negotiable. If you can't ensure our safety and treat us with respect, we're not stepping back on that stage."

The producer, now visibly shaken, tried to salvage his authority. "Okay, okay, let's not get hasty here. I-I'll talk to the guy and make sure he's removed from the venue. We can... we can make some adjustments."

James took a step closer, his demeanor still tense but slightly more controlled. “Good.. bloody good, yeah.” He sighed and rubbed his temple. “Now-”

“Get the fuck out!” Sirius shouted over James as his tone turned polite.

The producer mumbled something under his breath before he gathered what little pride he had and ran off.

You stood there shaking slightly, taking deep and steadying breaths when the door closed. James looked back to you and his eyebrows knit together with worry.

“Hey, sorry.” He cooed and muttered your name. Walking over only to give a soft ooph as you crashed into his chest with a tight hug.

This felt right. This felt safe.

It hit you why everything was crashing on you so hard. You have always been so strong, so determined, so ruthless. When the boys came along they smoothed out your edges with so much gentle care you forgot at times you needed to protect yourself.

Though, relying on them wasn't something you found unpleasant. You had been so strong all the time you forgot what it felt like to rely on someone. Let alone three practical guard dogs.

“I'm sorry you had to do that.” You whispered and James absolutely melted at the tender tone.

“Nope. You're not allowed to apologize for that.” James whispered and pulled you close and firm against him. You hummed and nuzzled your nose into his neck a bit. Not embarrassed to come undone in his arms.

“I'm still sorry. I hate to see you so upset…”

James sighed, his voice softening. "Seeing you upset is what makes me upset. Still debating going to give him another piece of my mind. I mean, who the fuck talks to someone like that?"

“James.” Remus warned and he huffed, nuzzling his nose into your hair. Finding comfort with you so close.

Safe.

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you quickly wiped it away, not wanting to let the emotions overwhelm you again. Sirius and Remus moved closer, forming a protective circle around you.

Sirius placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his earlier anger now replaced with concern. "You're alright, yeah? Come on, I hate seeing pretty girls cry.”

“Fuck off.” You choked out and Remus chuckled, rubbing your back.

Sirius gave a small, genuine smile. "That's the spirit. Just wanted to see a bit of that fire back."

You couldn't help but laugh through your tears, feeling the warmth and safety of your friends surrounding you. Remus continued to rub your back soothingly, his touch grounding you in the moment.

James pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. "You don't have to be strong all the time, {Y/N}. We're here for you. Always."

You nodded, taking a deep breath. "I know. And I appreciate it. I really do. I just... I wasn't expecting any of this tonight."

Remus gently wiped away a tear from your cheek. "I sure hope you weren't. It shouldn't have happened." He muttered, a bit guilty. Having seen it all go down and fighting every bit of himself not to move. You seemed like you had it handled- he didn't want to make a mockery of your strength. But when you left crying he almost screamed.

Sirius clapped his hands together, his usual mischievous grin returning. "Alright, sad sacks, enough of this sappy shit. Let's regroup, grab a drink, and figure out our next move. And if anyone else messes with our girl, they’ll have to answer to us. And I'm feeling high strung after Jamie’s lil proformance."

You smiled, feeling a newfound sense of strength and determination. The boys had your back, and you knew you could face anything with them by your side.

James nodded, his eyes still filled with concern but also a glimmer of hope. "Let's take a breather, all of us. We’ll decide what to do next, but for now, we need to make sure you're okay."

You took another deep breath, feeling the weight of the night slowly lifting. "Thanks, guys. I really don't know what I'd do without you."

Remus gave you one last comforting squeeze before letting go, his eyes filled with love and gentle concern. "You won't ever have to find out."

[tangibletechnomancy]

Doing It Wrong On Purpose: Episode 1 - The Un-Ship

Today's experiment: What happens if I prompt for something, and then negative prompt all the main keywords, plus various synonyms and related words?

The answer: Some gloriously weird stuff.

For example, let's look at a negative cat:

Positive prompt: A cat on a windowsill during a storm

Negative prompt: Cat, feline, felidae, kitty, kitten, animal, pet, windowsill, window, glass, pane, house, storm, rain, water, lightning, thunder, clouds, torrent, downpour, snow, blizzard, wind, windy

Interesting! Let's get a little more fantasy with it and try for an anti-deer:

Positive prompt: A deer in a peaceful flowery meadow, crystals, midnight, fantasy, colorful

Negative prompt: Deer, cervidae, animal, elk, moose, stag, doe, fawn, reindeer, antelope, cervid, antlers, flowers, night, dark, trees, foliage, bloom, stars, night, tranquil, fantastic, vibrant, cool, magic, blue, moon, sky, crystal, stone, statue, topiary, floral, blossom

Between these two experiments, including a few dozen other generations that remain unposted, one thing I can say for sure is that for living subjects, it's a great way to get the kind of anatomical wonk that older models are (in)famous for - and it makes sense why, the model is trying to make something that looks like a certain subject...but once it starts to look too much like it, well, shit, we told it NOT to do that! Break something up! Given that I love that kind of wonk, I think I've found a useful tool for myself.

One more living subject, and let's get even more abstract with our direction here:

Positive prompt: mind horse

Negative prompt: horse, equine, colt, filly, mare, stallion, bronco, pony, mind, brain, thought, essence, psyche, intelligence, consciousness, imagination, dream, soul, visualization, intellect, wit, cognizance

Now let's try something that isn't alive. One thing I love AI for is surreal settings and landscapes - lets try one now!

Positive prompt: A magic palace garden made of crystal and gold

Negative prompt: Palace, magic, crystal, gold, fantasy, castle, estate, stronghold, temple, garden, flowers, plants, blossoms, bloom, blooms, trees, grass, stems, foliage, leaves, greenery, branches, bush, bushes, hedge, hedges, metal, luxury, stone, glass, brass, rose, polished, jewel, prism, courtyard

I then tried to see if, learning from the animal subjects, I could make it more likely to return one of my favorite "mistakes" - making it impossible to discern the point where a water area ends and a sky area begins. I wasn't immediately successful, but I came up with some results I found pleasing regardless-

Positive prompt: Secret hideout in a cave behind a waterfall in the foggy forest on a floating sky island in fluffy clouds

Negative prompt: hideout, camp, campsite, home, abode, house, dwelling, rest, shelter, waterfall, water, cave, grotto, forest, woods, woodland, trees, fountain, cascade, pond, stream, lake, river, brook, puddle, creek, pool, beach, ocean, sea, cloud, clouds, sky, cumulus, cirrus, nimbus, fog, storm, rain, sunshower, falls

It seems that with landscapes it's got a much clearer and more specific "idea" of what a [SUBJECT] without [SUBJECT] looks like; it's more inclined to invent very specific, very consistent unasked for related elements. With the animals, I was tweaking the weight on the positive prompt to avoid getting straightforwardly just what I had positive (and negative) prompted, but with landscapes, I just get... almost something else entirely.

So how about inanimate objects? Let's try a ship, perhaps?

Positive prompt: A huge sailing ship with brilliant prismatic crystal sails on a stormy, turbulent sea of sunset clouds

Negative prompt: ship, boat, sailboat, sailing ship, pirate ship, galleon, ketch, schooner, sloop, cutter, sail, sea, ocean, storm, wind, rain, water, waves, cloudy, clouds, fog, sunset, dusk, dawn, sunrise, twilight, evening

...okay, I'm in love with the un-ship. It truly does manage to consistently give me results that look like, yet entirely unlike, a ship. It is everything I love about AI as a medium. More than that, it is my friend.

At lower positive prompt weights, they only get even more beautifully chaotic.

I want to live on one of these (in an alternate universe where they're geometrically possible and structurally sound, that is).

Failing that, I will be featuring them a lot from now on.

All images generated using Simple Stable, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

[cephalofrog]

been playing rain world and thinking about saint again recently

full rain world spoilers below

I hate the "saint is the triple affirmative" interpretation. hate even more how it appears to have become the accepted truth in the fandom

first off, my dislike for this interpretation is not logical. it isn't something I can be convinced out of using canon evidence, because my reason for not interpreting the story this way is not evidence-based, it's because I don't find it to be a satisfying conclusion to the entire story of rain world.

but here's some rambling about logical reasons why it doesn't make sense anyway

if saint was created as the triple affirmative by sliver, that makes them extremely old - they came into existence LONG before spearmaster's campaign even started. if they came into existence with the purpose of ascending iterators, they sure took a long time to ascend any iterators - like okay, travel time and whatever, but you'd think they'd get at least one or two more before all the iterator comms break down entirely post-spearmaster. SM and hunter managed to get from SRS and NSH to the pebbs/moon area pretty quickly.

they also have fur, which seems to be an adaptation for the cold judging by the lizards in the campaign, despite the world not being cold at the point at which they were created. this could be easily explained by sliver just being very forward-thinking, but...

if sliver created saint, their entire triple affirmative thing comes across as incredibly thoughtless, which imo contrasts with sliver being forward-thinking enough to make saint immune to cold. like they finally created the magical rat that will ascend them all but didn't even think to send out a message beforehand like "hey guys I'm trying something new if I send out the triple affirmative and die right after this it worked and you should be visited by a flying green dude with an ascension beam at some point in the future"

there's also the thing of... wait so how does this whole iterator ascension work again? cause saint's timeline loops. after they ascend, they end up back in sky islands, with the iterators back where they were. this could be explained by "later playthrough loops aren't canon and pebbs and moon are ascended if you got em" but there's literally a specific gameplay mechanic - carrying stuff in your stomach between campaigns - meant to make it clear that the campaign is a loop.

anyway. the real reason I hate the theory isn't related to any of this - it's that it absolutely destroys pebbles and moon's story, thematically speaking.

sliver of straw's triple affirmative/death is a random event that could mean basically anything. the futility pebbles felt around trying to solve the great problem caused him to assign meaning to sliver's death that wasn't necessarily there - they found the solution, and it was self-destruction. that's what they were trying to tell everyone. it wasn't a random event, the triple affirmative was real. one of the bugs in the maze found the way out, and he's going to prove it to everyone by following them and escaping.

and that's what leads to the events of the main story. this random event - this horrible tragedy, the death of someone who seemed to mean so much to so many people - was assigned meaning by someone desperate to prove that his entire existence, and the existences of everyone around him, are not futile. the ancients created the iterators without knowing whether the answer to the great problem could ever be found, and this is the result of that.

a nihilistic, hopeless person, abandoned by his creators to work forever on an unsolvable problem, assigns meaning to a random tragedy, and tunnel visions on what he has to believe is what he's been looking for - because it is an unimaginable understatement to say that the alternative would be worse than death. and then, in his self-destructive desperation, he kills his sibling* and dooms himself to the slowest, most painful death imaginable. this is the legacy of the ancients' dead society, the result of all of their stupid ideals and obsession with karmic perfection. (*as far as he knows)

but saint being the triple affirmative undermines all of that. not only does it make sliver's death less of a tragedy and more of a noble sacrifice - like yeah, sure, they were loved, but solving the great problem was far more important - but it also makes pebbles look less desperate and more just kinda stupid. like you thought that the solution was self-destruction? nah, it's a magical flying rat. in this version of the story, pebbles wasn't striving for something that didn't exist, he was just not smart enough to figure out the real solution.

even outside of canon evidence, that sucks. it causes pebbles' story to go from being about how you should value the people around you over the impossible striving that life always seems to expect from you or you're gonna end up hurting them and yourself to how you should just be smarter to find the right solution to all of your problems.

anyway as for my own interpretation of saint, I think that the campaign is just a representation of what it's like to be an echo. reliving the moments that led up to your failed ascension over and over, reaching maximum karma and gaining superpowers because you're just that karmically pure - you are a saint, after all - and then letting your ego consume you at the crucial moment of ascension, over and over again, cycling into infinity. (I don't think they actually had superpowers prior to ascending, I just think that they kinda thought of themselves so highly that they thought they should have those powers.) then contrast this with the world as the age of the iterators and the rain finally ends, and you have an unchanging echo reliving the same few cycles over and over contrasted with a world that is, at last, changing and moving on.

yeah it doesn't make sense with the joint iterator dialogue in rubicon (at least, the final line doesn't make sense). I don't care. it's what makes me happy as an interpretation. you can pry my morally dubious hypocritical ego-driven saint from my cold dead hands

[starrycassi]

Zaunite Sign Language

We see in the show that touching foreheads with one another seems to be a very intimate thing to do for Zaunites. It is not necessarily romantic, but signals to a deep, strong bond between those who do it. Well, since Zaun was clearly a mining town, I think this habit comes from those times. We also see Felicia putting her fingers to her forehead as a way to greet her children, which could just be coincidence but I am insane and refuse to believe that coincidences exist in this show.

I think that, as deeply clothed as miners have to always be, letting someone else touch your forehead and general face eventually became a sign of intimacy between them, since it was one of the completely exposed areas of the body. Now, I know we see young Vander and Silco with not-so covering clothes (edit: yeah they put on those big ass coats. for some reason I forgot while writing this lol), but I’m being a bit more realistic here. I have family that lives somewhat close to Mina del Limón, which is a mining site here in Nicaragua, and people usually try to cover themselves up to avoid getting dirt directly on the skin, since a lot of the times this not only gets them dirty but ends up in mean rashes or other sorts of skin infections, depending on what layer of soil they’re working on at the moment.

All of this to say: I think Zaunites have a lot of signs that involve touching your forehead and involve only one (the other one usually busy with a tool or doing something else), since the noise in the mines would make spoken communication difficult and you can not just stop and walk over to someone in the middle of an excavation and signaling on other parts of your clothes would be harder to see if your hands are covered with soot, since their main light source would come from the helmets, ergo: their forehead/face would be the best illuminated part of their bodies. I headcanon things like touching up their index and pointer finger to their foreheads to then flick them up would mean things like “I’ve got you”, dragging their finger across their entire forehead “This is over/We can leave”, dragging their fingers from top pf forehead to tip of nose would be “I’m down/Can’t keep going/Help me/I need assistance” and so on. In a lot of circumstances where normal communication is stunted, languages tend to develop in other ways (like the Silbo Gomero, a whistled language in Canary Islands developed due to the distances)

I also think that, eventually, this evolved in Zaunite Sign Language (in a similar way to how Nicaraguan Sign Language evolved), which is what I personally Isha as being able to speak. I think almost everyone would know the very basic signs, since their parents teach them before they start going to work (and we see a lot of children working, so, very early) and these children would eventually teach their peers, even the ones that don’t work on the mines, so it’s a fairly widespread way to communicate. Add to this the time after the revolution, where a lot of miners would surely need to go into hiding for a time if they survived, or even before that, when they were planning and could not risk people hearing them — those would be circumstances that would surely foster and improve these signs!

I don’t know, I just really like linguistics and am a huge sucker for the development of cultural communication methods. Does this make any sense. Does any care. Should I expand on this. I mean I probably will because this blog has become a warped version of my journal but I still have to ask. To be polite.

[maleyanderecafe]

Than Winter Came (Visual Novel)

Created by: Yanagami

Genre: Comedy/Dark

Than Winter Came kind of makes no sense at all, but it is also really hilarious and scary at the same time. You also get to play as a bird, which should tell you exactly the type of tone that this game is really going for. The entire time, I thought our main boy MJ was our yandere, but he is in fact actually the darling in this.

The story starts out with you as the player reincarnating as a crow, only to be hired by an abino crow into the Scare Crow Crow Inc. Their job is to essentially be guardian angels for different people, with the clumsy crow (that's you) being guardian angel to someone known as Mavi Sky Jazz (or just, MJ). Before the crow can even do anything or even just barely realizes that their memory has been wiped, they're sent into the real world to find them. They eventually do, with MJ being a bit unsettled that a talking crow is following them around. MJ ends up taking a bus to a snowy area with the crow following him. He talks to the crow about how this is a special place for him, as it's where him and his friend Than became friends. They end up hanging out in a secret place on the mountain, promising that they would always have each other's backs. However, in an unfortunate turn of events, Than got into an accident and died. MJ gets emotional as he thinks about it, wishing Than would come back so that they could hang out again. As it gets late, the two of them get a bit lost, and have to find their way back to the bus.

Going onto the ice will lead the two into a strange creature as they get lost. If they run across the ice, they'll be able to escape and make it back to the bus stop. MJ thanks the crow for going with them as they were able to be with them when they were emotional. If they instead try to tread more carefully, they will end up being caught by the same creature.

A similar fate happens when going to the forest, where they see a trail of blood. Following this will not only lead to a body but also have them caught by the creature.

Finally going down the road will have them arrive in the forest. Continuing down this path, they end up going into a cabin to take shelter in the snow. They end up knocking and a man comes in to accept them in. The man introduces himself as Peter and the two end up retiring for the night. When MJ wakes up, he is tied up, with Peter watching over him. It seems Peter was jealous that MJ always talked about Than so he (likely)killed him, and planned it so that they would end up in his cabin. MJ can then ask about either him or Crow. In certain endings, the game will abruptly end with Peter forcing MJ to stay. He can also attempt to flirt with Peter to loosen the ropes and attack Peter, taking him down once and for all.

Did you understand what this game was about? No? Good, me neither, but I think that's what's great about it. The entire thing is pretty absurdist and surreal considering we're literally a bird the entire time (and the pictures used of said crow is pretty funny), though it does have some more emotional moments surprisingly especially when it comes to MJ's relationship with Than. The music and artwork work together to make a surprisingly atmospheric game, especially when contrasted with the more colder setting that they're in, and the horrifying creatures in some of the bad endings were also something that I feel were genuinely really scary at times.

The yandere himself basically kind of seems to come out of nowhere, and that's when the two eventually venture to the log cabin after they can't find the bus stop. I will say that the assets he did have for sprites were very cool, seeing that Peter gets more deranged as the story goes on. From what I can tell, Peter was the reason (or at least involved with) Than's death and has an obsession with MJ for quite a long time. He also ended up planning everything from the beginning to get MJ and to an extent, the crow into his cabin. Doesn't really explain the really creepy monster at all though, but maybe that's part of his plan as well? The monster really doesn't get explained at all. Peter is pretty obsessive though and kind of easy to trick of MJ shows any interest in him, but I still feel like he was kind of shoehorned in there. Hard to tell with this game because there's just a lot of randomness going on.

Overall, i think while it was a fun game, with the humor and scary moments, it was pretty confusing considering it's pretty surreal. It's a quick game jam game so of course there's no need to make it the best thing ever, but I think there could still be some clarifying points. (I also just noticed that "Than" is in the title name too lol).

[germesthegenie]

Can a “😍😙😁” gal and a “💀👿🩸” gal really be besties? Sure seems like it so far.

Based on a scene from Ward 3.3

Recently finished Ward Arc 3! Thoughts below:

Been a while since my first post on Ward, a couple of thoughts:

Arc 2

I like the slower pace so far (we’ll see how long that lasts i suppose). Nice to get little moments like Victoria going to interviews and visiting the kids at the hospital.

Zion really gave one last middle finger to humanity and said “You know what? Automated random horrific death triggers.” Jokes aside, the broken trigger scene was haunting, might draw something based on it in the future.

The therapy group superhero team premise is interesting. Nice to have a band of characters who have mental or emotional weaknesses but have each other’s backs! Now let’s see who they’re up agaisnt- oh, Tattletale? Oh no.

Not too many thoughts on the arc’s interlude, a lot of nice worldbuilding which is always welcome.

Arc 3

Capture the Flag was a fun premise for a friendly fight, and it delivered pretty well in showing off everyone’s powers, strengths and weaknesses. Also nice to see Victoria filling a more mentor/coach role and getting to flex the experience she’s gained with her power in a more positive light. Have some drawing ideas once I figure out how exactly I want to depict stuff like her aura.

Liking the new team so far, though still need to wrap my head around some of the finer details of the powers. Definitely gives me Jojo vibes in how the powers are more complex in the sequel/s.

I realized quickly that Kenzie’s powerset is a lot like my character from my friend’s Worm campaign (which I might write more about later on). Also a surveillance/drone Tinker, though with more focus on multiple drones and material efficiency than Kenzie’s big boxes of large scale holograms and photo-distortion.

Seems the group all have their own little secrets and/or problems they need to work through. Please Vic don’t let any of them near Tattletale they would practically be a freebie for her to take down.

Ok, no Birdcage as I learned from last post. But is there, like, a dead Earth with a one way portal to toss Carol into? Is Sleeper still occupying Earth Zayin? Maybe we should send Carol there on a free vacation I hear it’s a lovely time in… whatever the effect of his power is.

Evil Robot Grocery… ok how do you even fight that. I guess it’s an S-class Threat for a reason but like what option is there other than quarantining and bombarding the entire area they’ve spread to? Do EMPs work? Put Ghost Bakuda to good use and make that Arc 6 Bomb to knock them all out?

Silly rodent themed hero. Close enough, welcome back Mouse Protector Ratcatcher. Also gonna toss her on the list of “characters I should draw some time.”

Amy Dallon finally speaks, and looks like she’s making friends! Friends that are all (at least former) supervillains! That are encouraging her down a darker path! I can only see good things happening here. A little surprised we get her this early from an Interlude rather than from a main chapter, though I suppose it does make sense to flesh her out more now rather than waiting until Victoria directly sees her again in whatever state she’s in by that point (probably a bad one).

That’s all the Ward thoughts I could think of at the moment. Will be reading more, next update hopefully won’t take 2 months again (but probably will)

[sexsylexi]

He can be helpful.

Wally West x reader

The school hallway was a blur of chatter and movement as students filed out for the weekend. You were seated by your locker, hunched over your notebook, trying to make sense of chemistry notes that looked like they’d been written in code. Just a few days before a big science test, and the formulas you’d been trying to memorize seemed determined to slip through your grasp.

You sighed, feeling frustration bubbling up. So absorbed in your frustration, you barely noticed when Wally West stopped nearby, giving you one of his usual smirks. Even without looking, you could feel him rolling his eyes as he passed. You’d never gotten along with him—he was cocky, always messing around, and for some reason, he had this annoying habit of teasing you about anything you took seriously. You two had exchanged plenty of sharp comments in the past, and, frankly, you expected more of the same.

But then, Wally spoke up.

“Struggling with science?” he asked, his tone casual, like he knew the answer but wanted to hear you admit it.

“Yeah, and your ‘insightful’ comments aren’t exactly going to help, West,” you replied, tone clipped.

Wally only chuckled and shook his head, already turning to leave. “Good luck,” he tossed back, that easy confidence hanging in the air long after he’d disappeared around the corner.

The weekend couldn’t come fast enough. Between the stress of the test and the usual life-or-death team missions, you’d hardly had a moment to breathe. You were at Mount Justice that Saturday, sprawled on the floor in the main area, papers and textbooks scattered around you. You’d figured the cave would be quiet—perfect for studying. But so far, the empty pages in your notebook weren’t giving you any answers.

A loud static hum filled the room, and you glanced up to see Conner slumped on the couch, arms crossed, staring blankly at the TV screen that seemed permanently stuck on a static channel. He didn’t even seem to notice, just watching as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

With another sigh, you rubbed your temples, glancing at the jumble of formulas you had scribbled across the page.

"Am I seriously the only one struggling with this?" you muttered under your breath, mentally preparing to give up.

It was at that exact moment that Wally walked into the cave, his usual cocky grin in place as he looked around. He spotted you, sitting cross-legged on the floor with your notes, and raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing, exactly?” he asked, folding his arms and tilting his head.

You didn’t look up, figuring he was here for a quick laugh at your expense. “Science homework. What else?”

“Let me guess. Chemistry?”

You glanced up, expecting to see him laughing, but instead, his expression held a genuine curiosity. The smirk was there, but it was less pronounced. There was a slight glimmer in his eyes, almost like he was… amused in a way that wasn’t condescending.

“Yes,” you said cautiously. “You know, that thing that people actually study for.”

Wally raised his hands in mock surrender, then plopped down on the floor beside you. “Hey, I study science too, you know,” he said, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I mean, it’s kind of my thing.”

You looked at him skeptically. “Yeah, right.”

But he didn’t get defensive. Instead, he gave you a small shrug. “I’m serious. I actually like this stuff.” He glanced at your notes, then added, “Need a hand?”

You blinked, not entirely sure you’d heard him correctly. Wally West—your annoying classmate, the guy who couldn’t go two seconds without cracking a joke—was offering to help?

“Uh… yeah, sure,” you said, still a little stunned.

Without missing a beat, Wally leaned over, studying the formulas on your page with surprising focus. He didn’t make any snarky comments, didn’t laugh at your mistakes. Instead, he walked you through the concepts you’d been struggling with, breaking down the complicated chemical reactions in a way that actually made sense. Every so often, he’d throw in a joke or two, and you found yourself smiling despite the frustration.

“So, that’s how you balance a redox reaction,” he said, tapping the page with his pen. “You just have to remember to add electrons to balance the charges.”

You nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as the concept finally started to click. “Wait… that actually makes sense,” you murmured, almost in disbelief.

Wally grinned, clearly pleased. “See? Told you. You just needed a bit of Speed Force-level assistance.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Wow, don’t get too full of yourself there.”

As the hours slipped by, you found yourself relaxing in his presence. Wally was surprisingly patient, even when you made the same mistake for the third time. And though he kept up a steady stream of jokes, they were more playful than annoying, a far cry from the sarcastic remarks he usually tossed your way at school. Somewhere between balancing equations and decoding molecular structures, you found yourself actually enjoying his company.

By the time you’d gone through all your notes, the frustration had melted away. You looked up at him, and for once, the tension that usually marked your interactions was nowhere to be found.

“Thanks, Wally,” you said, genuinely grateful. “I… really appreciate it.”

He gave a casual shrug, but his grin was genuine. “Anytime. Chemistry’s no big deal when you’ve got it figured out.” He picked up one of your flashcards and pretended to quiz you. “So… what’s the electron configuration of sulfur?”

You snorted, shoving his hand away. “Please, don’t push it.”

---

On test day, you felt the familiar knot of nerves in your stomach, but Wally’s explanations kept flashing through your mind as you worked through each problem. Somehow, you felt… prepared. For the first time in a while, science didn’t feel like some insurmountable challenge.

A few days later, the test results came back. You stared at your score in disbelief—you’d passed, and by more than a few points. You barely contained your excitement, and as soon as you were free, you headed to Mount Justice, hoping to spot Wally. It didn’t take long before you found him in the main area, chatting with Robin, the two of them laughing over some inside joke.

“Hey, West,” you called, approaching them.

Wally glanced over, his face lighting up as he saw you. “Hey, look who’s here. What’s up?”

For a moment, you felt a bit awkward, but you pushed it aside. “I just… I passed my science test. Thanks to you.”

Robin raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you. “Wait, Wally helped you study?”

Wally gave a dramatic sigh, grinning like he’d been unfairly underestimated. “Believe it or not, I’m more than just the handsome speedster.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t get too full of yourself. But seriously, thank you, Wally. I appreciate it.”

Something softened in his expression, and he reached out a fist, offering a casual fist bump. You returned it, a warm feeling settling in your chest.

“You’re welcome. Any time you need a science tutor, I’m your guy,” he said, giving you a wink.

You shook your head, laughing. “Yeah, maybe. Just… don’t let it go to your head.”

Wally laughed, but there was a sincerity behind his smile that you hadn’t seen before. As you walked away, you felt the lingering warmth of his presence, knowing that you’d found an unexpected friend in Wally West.

[ddarker-dreams]

Hedonist.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader x Yan Feitan. 

Continuation of Declawed.

Warnings: Not SFW, dubcon (Reader is under the influence of aphrodisiacs), yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, unbalanced power dynamics. Word count: 7.5k. 

You are in a room with four walls.

How you got here does not matter. You know you may not leave.

Behind a closed set of drapes lies a window. 

In this room with no past or future, there is but one choice you can make.

Will you peer beyond the curtains or leave them drawn? 

For if you choose to look, there is no telling what you may see. 

… 

“... [First].” 

“Hm?” 

You’re someplace different than where your mind alleged. This is not your coveted room with four, blank walls, where no one can come or go. You’re sitting at a dining room table that tilts too far to the left. There’s an untouched meal in front of you, a cup of tea that’s gone cold, and a napkin folded over your lap just the way you prefer. 

A man sits across from you — Chrollo Lucilfer. He’s staring at you, his fingers steepled, and his body leaning forward. His meal has long been finished. You blink, feeling like a computer that’s booting back up. The fog covering your senses lifts too slowly for your liking. Eventually, a blueprint of your surroundings solidifies in your mind. 

There are three people in the surrounding area, excluding yourself. Two are a formidable threat. One is not. 

“You seem distracted,” Chrollo’s voice gives nothing away. His eyes do though, just a little bit. Concern? Intrigue? You cannot pinpoint where each ends and begins. “That’s unusual for you.” 

You hate when he’s right. “I’d pay more attention if you said anything worthwhile.” 

His lips quirk up. “Is your health not worthwhile?” 

He’s got you where he wants you.

“If you’re truly concerned about my health, then you’ll return my Hatsu,” you maintain unflinching eye contact. He exhales through his nose, belying slight exasperation. “The events of today should prove I’d do better with it from the onset.” 

“In emergencies, yes. And I did return it. Long enough for you to dispatch the threat… and to hurt Feitan’s feelings, evidently.” 

You ignore his last comment, seriously doubting its authenticity. 

“One of the threats, at least,” you make a show of looking him up and down. He sighs, probably heavier than he intended, the chaotic past twenty-four hours undoubtedly weighing him down. Sensing that this particular conversation is better off over, he reclines back into his chair. Instead of mirroring his posture, you cross your legs, fold your gloved hands together, and rest them on your lap. You’re doing everything within your power to give the impression nothing is amiss. 

Alas, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Something is very, very wrong with you. 

It all began with an ambush on the car ride to this safe house. Assassins are par for the course in your line of work, it wasn’t your first encounter and you doubt it’ll be the last. The main problem was that for the first time in your life, you were fighting without your Hatsu in a situation that would’ve strongly benefited from its use. The group focused their attention on you and the Manipulator must’ve met his conditions for his ability to activate. A strange sensation swept over and temporarily debilitated you. Chrollo was quick to notice how you staggered — truthfully, you played it close to the chest to see if he’d risk returning your Hatsu should you be in mortal peril — a gamble that did and didn’t pay off.

It felt like a piece of your soul had been returned to you. Your conjured sword sliced down your three pursuers, they were entirely caught off guard by its appearance. That left you without about a second to retaliate with your briefly returned arsenal until Chrollo realized what you were planning. Ideally, you would’ve preferred to attack Chrollo, since your win condition lay in either killing him or removing his ability to conjure Bandit’s Secret. He was aware of this and kept just enough distance for that very reason. 

It had been Feitan who risked getting the closest to prevent the assassins from doing you any major harm in light of your lackluster dodging. Both he and Chrollo must’ve recognized what you were trying to do and likely considered you more of a threat than the assassin trio. You tried not to be obvious about your intentions, but they’re too sharp. 

The second long window you had felt like more than enough to seriously injure Feitan. While your physical strength had been on the lower side compared to the other Troupe members, you were faster; far outclassing the others in that particular skill set. This boon came with its own share of disadvantages, such as your tendency to tire faster in a fight if it dragged on for hours. However, you were finally in a uniquely advantageous position. You had conserved your strength in case an opening presented itself, and although it almost landed you in hot water to not go all out against three opponents, it ultimately worked in your favor. 

You lunged forward at Feitan with what should’ve been a definitive strike. The speed was there, but the power was not; the Manipulator’s unknown ability weakened you far more than you’d anticipated. It was only recently that you realized his Nen must’ve strengthened in death. It felt mostly inconsequential when you first experienced it; you didn’t think to leave the Manipulator alive as a safeguard. 

Feitan withstood the hit with some minor injuries. Your Hatsu no longer heeded your call, proof that Chrollo had taken it back. You were subdued, Feitan being far rougher than necessary and grumbling under his breath. For the past few hours, you’ve refocused all your energy toward keeping whatever that Manipulator did to you under control without giving your captors a glimpse of your weakened state. This control is steadily waning. Meditation aided you for a time, but you can tell it's growing in intensity, hence your current predicament. 

Your body’s temperature is steadily rising. At first, you hypothesized the ability is supposed to make you mortally ill, but your gut tells you that isn’t the entire picture. Aside from feeling warm and not having all your strength, you don’t believe you’re knocking on death’s door. The symptoms don’t point toward anything that serious. It’s almost as if it made you want something — there’s this primal craving inside you, trying desperately to claw its way to the surface. 

Whatever you’re currently riddled with, it's excruciating. You don’t know how much more you can take or how to put a stop to it. 

There had been a fourth party whose tracking ability led the assassins to you in the first place. After watching his comrades get eviscerated, his Zetsu wavered, giving away his position. Feitan is playing with his new toy in the basement. It’s been in the back of your mind that this fourth man might know the Manipulator’s ability. That’s why you’ve been so desperate to keep the extent of your malaise under wraps, lest Feitan learns something imperative and keeps you in the dark about it. It’ll ultimately be Chrollo’s decision, but you know they’re both not happy with your little stunt earlier. If they learn it’s nothing too detrimental, they’ll let you suffer through it as a punishment. 

“May I be excused?” You inquire with the politest tone you can muster. 

Chrollo motions to your untouched plate. “You haven’t eaten.” 

You knew this would be a point of contention. Not due to any rampant concern on his part, you both know that you’re capable of surviving without food for long periods. He’s just using this as an opportunity to see what’s truly wrong with you — he has to have his suspicions by now. You glance down at your meal. Grilled chicken, leafy greens, and a scoop of rice. The ultra-healthy regiment that Chrollo knows you favor and Feitan complains about. You still remember the look the latter gave you when you wrote chickpeas on the grocery list. 

Lying is a useless endeavor when Chrollo’s involved, he can see past your poker face without issue. Telling the truth is your best bet. “I don’t have an appetite.” 

He makes a show of looking at his watch. “You always have dinner at this time of day.” 

“There’s nothing I can do if I don’t feel hungry now. I’ll eat it in the morning.” 

You know how he loathes food being wasted and try to redirect his attention toward that. This time, you phrase it as a statement rather than a question. Chrollo gives you a long, silent look. His gray eyes pick you apart without any subtlety. He parts his lips, preparing to say something, when his attention shifts elsewhere. 

A blur comes flying your way. From reflex alone, you catch it. A first aid kit? Feitan stands at the kitchen doorway where it must’ve been thrown, wearing a black sleeveless shirt. You stop yourself from frowning. You should’ve been able to sense his presence. Any other time, doing so comes as easy as breathing, but your senses are off-kilter. You can only hope that the ease with which you caught the first aid kit covered this blunder. 

Considering the weight of Chrollo’s stare, that might be a far-fetched dream. 

“Fix this,” Feitan nods at the untreated gash on his right arm, courtesy of your earlier attack. Cutting any synovial hinge joint would have proved helpful, especially against a swordsman like Feitan. Seeing the wound up close shows your aim was slightly off. The attack landed too low on his forearm. You can’t remember the last time you made a mistake like this — it must’ve been back when you were a child. If it weren’t for that Manipulator’s ability, you would be in a far better situation right now.

The chair scrapes against the floor when Feitan pulls it out. Not seeing the point in making his mood worse, you wordlessly take the steps to comply with his demand. You go to the kitchen sink, remove your leather gloves, and wash your hands. The cool water running over your skin feels heavenly. However, you notice a damning detail while you dry yourself off. 

Your hands are shaking. 

You don’t stare at the impending problem so as not to draw unwanted attention. Your body's homeostasis is deteriorating faster than you can manage it. Or, to be more accurate, the ability’s strength must be advancing over time. Any half-decent Nen user should be capable of controlling their body temperature, respiratory rate, blood pressure, and heart rate, or else your aura suffers. You’ll have to pick your poison here. If you focus mostly on your hands, you should be able to stop the shaking for a time. Consequently, that’ll leave your fever unchecked. 

You need to get this over with quickly. 

After putting on surgical gloves and a mask, you situate yourself next to Feitan. 

“Planning operation?” He asks, amusement in his voice. 

“This is far from a sterile environment. I’m taking the necessary precautions to prevent an infection,” you soak a gauze pad in saline solution then dab it against his wound. You’re glad the mask is covering half your face, since you’re unable to stop yourself from frowning. Beating yourself up over your past mistakes won’t do any good, yet you can’t help feeling mildly disappointed seeing your botched work up close. Who knows when you’ll get an opportunity like that again? 

You’re about to wrap it in a bandage when Feitan speaks up again. “Need stitches?” 

Your fingers twitch despite yourself. He’s intentionally trying to rile you up. You won’t let him. 

“... No.” 

He snickers, his eyebrows rising, adding to his air of condescension. “Why?”

“It’s too shallow of a cut.”

“Heh.” 

What a bastard. You momentarily consider the merits of stabbing him with one of the needles in the kit. The temporary satisfaction wouldn’t be worth the trouble it’d cause you later on, you decide. You’ve endured several torments from Feitan up until this point without ever acknowledging his efforts. Truthfully, you don’t understand what exactly it is Feitan wants from you. Chrollo is easier to understand in that one aspect. Your (former?) boss wants your relationship to return to what it was before — he said so outright using words sweet enough to make your teeth ache. 

Feitan has been far less forthcoming with his motivations. He barely talks to you aside from scathing remarks, doesn’t sleep in the same room as you and Chrollo, and frequently goes missing for days at a time. All you have to go off of is the conversation he had with Chrollo the night you gave up your Hatsu in return for Ash’s safe passage. He said he was ‘interested’ in you. It was Chrollo he told this, so you know he wouldn’t lie. He couldn’t have been vaguer if he tried. 

Did he mean ‘interested’ sexually? Romantically? It’s no secret that Feitan is a sadist, but he’s never made passes at you. You don’t think he’d be the type to beat around the bush if he wanted something like that. You’ve caught him staring a few times yet always chalked it up to him thinking you’re about to pull a stunt. Then again, you’re entirely ignorant to whatever agreement Chrollo and Feitan have over you. 

Outwardly, it looks the same as it’s always been. Chrollo gives orders and Feitan obeys them. 

So why is it that your instinct whispers there’s far more to the dynamic than Feitan being an uninterested third party? 

You secure a bandage around his forearm then turn away from him and Chrollo. It’d be nice if enduring the humiliation of tending to the subpar wound you inflicted is your entire punishment, but you somehow doubt that. You know your body well and your limits even better, loathe as you are to admit you have any. Exhaustion is nipping at your heels while the night is still young. The thought of lying down, even if it’s just for a few hours, sounds divine. 

“I’m finished,” you tell Feitan, sensing his eyes on your back while you throw the mask and gloves away. “Was there anything else you needed?” 

“Your hands. Show me.”

You stop turning the faucet on to spare him a glance over your shoulder. “May I ask why?” 

“You can. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” 

Your eyes flicker to Chrollo next, who has remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout this interaction. The closed-mouth smile he’s giving you promises nothing good. He knows you’re hiding something — they both know you are. They’re worse than sharks smelling blood in the water. You’ve been delaying the inevitable to the best of your abilities, but this game of cat-and-mouse can’t last forever.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you take a step forward, only for a bout of lightheadedness to come crashing down. You’re forced to grab the kitchen counter to steady yourself, the granite splintering beneath the intensity of your grip, crumbling to the ground in a noisy cascade. You swear you’re seeing double when you stare down at the ground, your heart rate accelerating and breathing turning erratic. Deep breaths are taken in an attempt to steady yourself.

Immediately, there’s a presence by your side, then a delightfully cold touch against your forehead. You try not to lean into it. 

“Burning up,” Feitan remarks. He moves his hand back, and you almost keen at the loss, a factor that is as mortifying as it is perplexing. You tell yourself it’s because your body wants to regain proper equilibrium by cooling itself off. There can be no other explanation. You’re coming down with a fever, you’ll rest, and this will be over. Simple as that. 

Chrollo makes his way over to you like he has all the time in the world, his countenance giving nothing away. “He was telling the truth, then?” 

“Guess so.” 

“What… what are you both talking about?” You inquire, all the while trying and failing to push yourself up. You, a person capable of wielding an ax that weighs 4,000 pounds with ease, can’t even stand up straight. It’s a miracle your legs haven’t given out beneath you yet. 

“Feitan has been interrogating the man in the basement,” Chrollo reaches into his back pocket to grab something, a napkin, by the looks of it. He holds it up at your eye level. You blink, having to strain so that the word scribbled on it can come into focus. The messy handwriting must belong to Feitan. “I wanted to wait and see it for myself before believing him.” 

You almost get sick when the word finally registers. 

Aphrodisiac.

Feitan must’ve scribbled this note down and handed it to Chrollo. You weren’t in a good position to be perceptive of your surroundings, otherwise, you would’ve surely noticed. 

Chrollo reaches out for you, his fingers settling beneath your chin and lifting it. Your eyelids flutter shut, the simple skin-to-skin contact exhilarating, made even better when his thumb brushes over your lower lip. He gives a content hum over your willingness to accept his touch for the first time in several months. It’s a surreal sensation — how your senses can be both heightened and capable of blocking out so much — your brain is unwilling to register anything aside from the men before you. You’re backed against the now broken countertop when Chrollo advances impossibly closer, his chest pressing against yours. 

“You must’ve been suppressing it through sheer willpower all this time. I’m impressed,” he sounds like it too. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, dear, but this won’t be going away on its own.”

Chrollo’s lips caress the shell of your ear, and his hands start creeping down your body while he speaks. “You need only say the word and we’ll satisfy you. Otherwise, it’ll progress to the point it’s unbearable. I don’t exactly enjoy watching you suffer, whether you believe me or not. So be a dear and—” 

However he intended to end that sentence will forever remain a mystery. It stokes something inside you, rekindling the dying embers of your pride. Bloodlust radiates off you in tangible waves, cracking the glass of a nearby window. The miasma surrounding you is thick and potent. Harnessing the remnants of your strength, you press your hands to Chrollo’s chest, shoving him away with all your might. He stumbles back yet quickly steadies himself. 

“Do not touch me,” you seethe, the words more of a growl than anything. 

Aura envelops Feitan, who must be anticipating further resistance. The flow stops as soon as it begins when Chrollo puts a hand up to stop him. Silence loudly resounds in the tight quarters you’re forced to share with them. You feel akin to a cornered cat, hackles raised and teeth bared. There’s nothing practical you can do — it’s maddening to acknowledge that. You’re entirely at their mercy. 

And you know neither of them have any to give. 

Chrollo sighs, straightening the wrinkles on his shirt your outburst caused. “You’re making this needlessly difficult for yourself, [First].” 

“Just… knock me unconscious until it subsides, or something,” you grit out through clenched teeth. The ghosts of Feitan’s touch against your forehead and Chrollo’s fingers upon your lips haunt you. It’s as if all levels of higher thinking ceased the second they came into contact with you. “I can’t… I refuse…!” 

“Stubborn woman. Not normally this stupid,” Feitan clicks his tongue. “It’s Nen. Doesn’t work like that.” 

You grip your head with your hands. It hurts. It’s hot. Lascivious need wraps its tendrils around you and squeezes. Your body is no longer heeding the orders of your mind. You can smell Chrollo’s cologne — sandalwood, amber — as well as the metallic scent of blood clinging to Feitan. You shouldn’t have pushed him away. You should’ve let him touch you, please you, satiate this voracious appetite that won’t go away on its own. It’s been so long, far too long. He said it wouldn’t go away on its own, didn’t he? How much longer can you fight it off? 

More importantly, do you even want to fight anymore? 

You take an unsteady step forward, your head hanging long, allowing for a shadow to fall over your eyes. Your hand reaches for Chrollo’s belt yet never meets its destination. An undignified noise leaves your lips as you’re scooped up, your cheeks burning and eyes shooting wide open. Your instinct is to struggle, but when you feel a hand press beneath your thighs to steady you, your brain turns to mush. The touch isn’t anything special, though your body acts like it is. You can feel an unnatural amount of wetness staining your panties. Consequently, you rub your thighs together, hoping to alleviate some of the desperate need for friction. 

A deep, dark chuckle reverberates in Chrollo’s chest. “She’s precious, isn’t she, Fei?” 

Feitan doesn’t confirm or deny, though you can feel his eyes boring into you. “Not mad at her?” 

“That can wait for later. For now, though…” he trails off, his voice lowering in pitch and volume. “Aren’t you interested in savoring her to the fullest?” 

You don’t remember the trip to the bedroom. 

There’s the faint sound of rushed footsteps, creaky door hinges groaning, shoes being thrown aside, and the rustling of fabric. Your heartbeat rises to a crescendo when you’re placed on the bed, anticipation gnawing at you. The room is dripping with tension and a sick part of yourself relishes in it. You prop yourself up on your elbows only to find yourself getting pushed not so gently back down. 

Feitan is leering at you from above, his eyes like that of a madman. 

Not a word is uttered as you glare back up at him. Without his cowl, you can see every inch of his countenance, the cruel curve of his lips, and the upward incline of his eyebrows. There’s no time to dwell on the negative emotions such a feral stare instills, for you register movement coming from behind. Familiar toned arms wrap around your torso. Chrollo pulls you onto his lap, your back flush against his broad chest. His lips lovingly caress the shell of your ear, grazing the sensitive flesh with his teeth. 

“Are you ashamed, [First]?” He taunts, his voice taking on a husky tinge. “A woman of your status offering herself over so willingly to two depraved men… I can’t fathom how bruised your ego must be.” 

This compromising position must do something for him. You feel his hardened length poking at your ass, betraying his arousal. 

“Neither of you are capable of harming my ego.” 

You exhale sharply when he tugs your head back by your hair. 

“Casuistry is unbecoming of you, dear.” 

“Is that what that was…?” You trail off, trying not to show how good it feels when Chrollo latches his lips to your neck. “Are you so caught up in your own delusions that you fail to recognize this is about satisfying a biological function, not an expression of passion?” 

You’re grateful for your high pain tolerance when Chrollo sinks his teeth into your skin, hard enough to leave a mark for the days that’ll follow. He lavishes his tongue against it afterward, his chest vibrating from a quiet chuckle. 

“Talks too much,” Feitan grumbles. For a moment, you wonder if he's referring to you or Chrollo. “Gag?” 

“Unnecessary. We wouldn’t want to miss out on the sounds she’s going to make, would we?” 

This line of reasoning seems to satisfy Feitan. Unlike Chrollo, who treats undressing you as if it were a form of foreplay itself, Feitan is rough with your clothes. You’d almost think they offended him somehow. You wince at the sound of ripping. The black fabric covering your torso flutters to the side, revealing the swell of your cleavage. Perspiration clings to you in a thin sheen from your body’s meager attempts to cool down. You swear you hear Feitan’s breath shudder when his sallow fingers descend on your chest. 

He’s far from gentle with his exploration of the soft flesh. He kneads and pulls, giving little heed to what you find pleasurable. Then his pointer finger and thumb find your nipple, visible through your nude-colored bra. A special sadistic delight is taken in twisting the nub and observing the subsequent parting of your lips in a high-pitched gasp. 

“... Cute,” he comments. Your fingers twitch, indignation spurring you on to try and strike him, a rebellion Chrollo ends prematurely by holding your dominant arm in place. He uses enough pressure that you wouldn’t be surprised if the skin bruises in the shape of his hand. 

“Now now, there’s no need to resort to violence, is there?” Chrollo’s voice is akin to nails on a chalkboard. The irony of a mass-murdering thief preaching this platitude isn’t lost on you. 

Feitan quirks up an eyebrow when you jut your head to the side, your teeth clenching and cheeks burning. Damn them both. 

“Ego hurt yet?” Feitan croons. 

You recenter yourself to the best of your abilities, considering every cell in your body is screaming for a return to primal instinct. They’re both dead wrong if they think you’re going to roll over and take everything they dish out. Perhaps it’ll spell more trouble for you further down the line, but the logical side of your brain which normally dominates is waning. You wrench yourself forward with enough force that Chrollo has to lessen his grip on your arm, lest he dislocate it. Maybe there is some truth behind his earlier claim that he ‘doesn’t enjoy watching you suffer’, or maybe the lack of bloodlust clues him in that you aren’t up to anything nefarious. 

Whatever the case, this momentum and easing up of your restraints grants the freedom to do what you plan next. Your hands, marred with dark lines along the veins from Corruption’s improper usage many years prior, hold Feitan’s face in place. His shock is evident by the lack of movement on his part when your lips press against his. Your clammy skin derives satisfaction from how unnaturally cold his body is. 

This is the closest thing you’ve gotten to relieving the gnawing need that’s been threatening to devour you from the inside out. 

In the millisecond it takes for him to comprehend what’s happening, he secures back what little power you temporarily held over him. His kiss is rough, demanding, and clearly inexperienced. You’re too far gone to care. You make a show of kissing him with every ounce of languid affection you once bestowed upon the man behind you, your head tilting to the side and back arching to press further into him. Something between a groan and a grunt leaves Feitan when your hand seeks out his clothed length, palming at it until it fully hardens. 

This temporary rebalancing of power mixed with finally feeding the carnal hunger within you is invigorating, sending adrenaline through your veins. Feitan nips at your lower lip and you grant him access to your mouth. His tongue seeks out yours in a dance you never thought you’d willingly participate in. The world is fuzzy, an unintelligible string of blurred shapes and colors you can’t make any sense of. All that registers to you is an all-encompassing desire to succumb to lust’s bittersweet embrace. 

Is this what it’s like to be drunk? Stuck in a pleasant haze where the slightest stimulation feels far better than it should, potential consequences be damned?

When you part for air, a thin trail of saliva connects you. 

“Still wish to gag me?” You goad, unwilling to resist making a jab at his expense. He enjoyed that far too much for you not to sneak in a snide comment.

Feitan smirks. “Not with rag.” 

He then looks to Chrollo, as if silently asking permission for something. Evidently, he must receive it, for the rest of your outfit is torn from your person. What would’ve irritated you in any other circumstance comes as an immense relief now. The heat enveloping you is stupefying. Cognition is overshadowed by a primal need you never could’ve thought yourself capable of. You’ll do anything to offset this unique torture, the likes of which you’ve never been forced to endure.

You’re left in nothing but your sheer black tights and bra, your chest heaving in a desperate bid to get enough oxygen. Sweat trickles down your temple. 

Every inch of your body is so unusually sensitive, as if your nerve endings have multiplied. The science behind whatever the Manipulator’s ability did intrigues you. Did it decrease activity in your prefrontal cortex, making long-term planning near impossible? Excite the endocrine system in a way that encourages sexual arousal? Trick your brain into activating fight or flight if you’re not being stimulated? 

The relationship between science and Nen has always fascinated you. Regrettably, you’re not in the headspace to conduct research. It’s growing increasingly difficult to form so much as a coherent thought.

Behind you, Chrollo undoes the clasp of your bra, revealing your chest in its entirety to both men. If there was ever any doubt that Feitan’s interest in you is lascivious in nature, his current expression dispels it. He looks at you like one would a piece of tantalizing meat. You never would’ve thought Feitan was sexually attracted to you by the indifferent air he normally held. In retrospect, you wonder if that was his way of trying to keep his impulses under control until the timing was right. 

“Lift yourself up for me, dear,” Chrollo uses such gentle words, but his tone tells you this is an order. You do as he requests. From this angle, he’s able to help pull your tights down by the waistband. It’s a slow, tedious process; he acts as if he has all the time in the world, inching the delicate fabric down to reveal your thighs. You shiver when his fingernails scrape at your skin. It takes everything you have to hold back a sinful moan at the teasing contact. 

“I hadn’t realized tights were so sacred to you,” you say. He had no objections when Feitan tore at the rest of your custom-tailored outfit. 

You can hear the smile on his face when he replies, “There’s only this one pair, whereas we have other clothes for you. It’d be a shame to not see you in something that complements your features so well.” 

“How very considerate.” 

Feitan helps pull it off once it gets to your knees, using a degree of care you thought him incapable of. It must be because his boss willed the action. He spreads your legs without any resistance, his eyes fixating on your covered core. Evidence of your arousal seeps through. It’s a sight that causes Feitan to mutter something in his language that you suspect to be an expletive.

A silver streak soars through your vision. You go motionless, allowing Chrollo to slice through your panties with his Ben’s Knife. 

You glare at him from the corner of your eye. “Are you trying to kill me? What strange paraphilias you’ve developed since we’ve last been intimate.” 

“I was confident in your ability to stay still,” Chrollo’s fingers linger right above your clit, refusing to touch the one place you begrudgingly desire him most. “Besides, we both know a little poison wouldn’t put your life in serious danger. Give yourself more credit, sweetheart.” 

The audacity of this man is astounding. 

Chrollo spreads your folds for Feitan’s viewing pleasure. 

“Isn’t she just lovely?” Chrollo practically purrs, his baritone voice causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin, despite the internal heat afflicting you. “You can touch her, Fei. She won’t bite.” 

It’s an invitation he can’t turn down. 

Without warning, two fingers are thrust inside you. You tense at the unexpected intrusion and have to tell your muscles to relax. Fortunately, there’s enough natural lubrication that it doesn’t hurt as bad as it could’ve. You suppose it should come as no surprise that the man with an affinity for torture isn’t tender in bed. He cackles at your visceral reaction, but you have no chance to retaliate, for he pulls his fingers back out and slams them back in. Dull discomfort quickly transitions to a deep, satisfying feeling. Chrollo further enforces it by finally rubbing precise circles just the way you like on your clit. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and lull your head to the side. Digging deep into the recesses of your hazy mind, you try to block out who exactly is touching you like this, wanting to focus on the pleasure and nothing else. 

Chrollo must have a rough idea of what you’re trying to do. He sighs, as if disappointed, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to face downward. 

“Open your eyes, or we’ll stop,” he whispers. You bite down on your lower lip hard enough to almost bleed. “Oh, [First]. I know very well that you aren’t a prude. Come now. Don’t make me ask again.” 

Your eyelashes flutter open like butterfly wings. From the position he’s holding your head, you have nowhere to look but at Feitan’s fingers slipping in and out of you, a lewd sight that makes you whimper. Maybe you’ll berate yourself for your weakness when you’re in a lucid mindset. For now, however, you’re starting to lift your hips to meet his relentless assault. You feel no better than a vacuous animal, yet embarrassment is the furthest thing on your mind. The word has been wiped clean from your lexicon. 

With how sensitive your body is in this state, it doesn’t take long for that knot in your stomach to tighten. You’re panting, your head is thrown back, taking in each wave of overwhelming stimuli. Chrollo’s lips caressing your neck’s pulse, the friction on your clit, and Feitan’s fingers exploring your insides. It’s too much. The air is heady with the scent of sex, Chrollo’s cologne, and the metallic blood splattered on Feitan. 

You’re so close, your walls clenching and the muscles in your thighs going taut— 

—When they both abruptly stop. 

Breathlessly, you murmur ‘wretched sadists’ in your native tongue.

“Him more so than me,” Chrollo replies. In your frustration, you forgot he was making good progress in learning your country’s language. Soon you won’t even have that to keep for yourself. He’ll have invaded every inch of your life and claimed it for himself. 

Feitan brings his slick-covered pointer and middle finger close to your face. He parts them, observing the string of your arousal it forms with an amused expression. 

“Needy thing,” he snickers. 

He takes his fingers into his mouth, then gives a low hum, apparently enjoying your taste. When the digits slide back out, they’re coated in both his saliva and your essence. You grimace when he places them on your closed lips next, your obsession with hygiene temporarily triumphing over the aphrodisiac’s effects. Feitan frequently poked fun at how you wiped away blood and viscera should any have gotten on your person after a kill. You’ve never been partial to uncleanliness, although you could deal with it just fine when necessary. 

Knowing Feitan, he’s likely getting off on your discomfort. 

“Open,” he demands. You do with some reluctance, tasting yourself on your tongue. Your unusual obedience seems to please him. “Good girl.” 

You narrow your eyes into slits then, warmth flooding your face. He’s the last person you’d ever want to give you a compliment like that. Condescension is an area that both Chrollo and Feitan excel in. Chrollo’s is often more subtle, taking a moment’s consideration to fully comprehend, whereas Feitan is cruelly blunt. You can’t decide which is worse. 

The bed dips as Chrollo readjusts himself. Feitan moves to the side, giving Chrollo plenty of room to do whatever he wants with you next. Your former boss unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside. His hands go to your shoulders, pushing in a silent communication for you to lay back. If it weren’t for the unfair condition you’re currently plagued with, you would’ve had some choice words at the ready. Especially when he strokes your cheekbone with the back of his knuckles, softly, as a lover would. You internally curse at how your traitorous body leans into his touch. 

The distinct sound of Chrollo undoing his belt catches your attention. 

After ridding himself of his remaining clothes, he lifts your left leg over his shoulder, an enigmatic gleam in his gray eyes. You feel his tip rub teasingly over your folds, gathering your abundant wetness. Proving to you just how desperately your body wants this — wants him. He’s trying to make a point. You imagine you must be quite the sight to him, all disheveled like this. Forcefully dragged out from your icy shell of propriety. Your hair which is normally styled in an updo is loose and forming twirls against the bed, your chest is rising and falling erratically, and your aura is a mess. 

In this moment, you’ve essentially been reduced to a civilian. 

You both let out content noises when he enters you. Your walls convulse around him, taking him in with ease, despite how long it’s been since you’ve had sex. It’s as if your body is telling you that it remembers him, no matter how hard you try to forget. In the dark of night, you sometimes wonder if Chrollo knows you better than you know yourself. He’s committed every little nuance about you to memory. Your preferences, likes and dislikes; he’s showcasing his mastery over you by providing the pleasure only he can. 

You shudder when he fully sheathes himself inside you. It makes the aphrodisiac swallowing you whole slightly more bearable, quelling the fire just enough that you no longer feel you’re being burned. 

Feitan lazily jerks himself off at your indecent expressions, breathing heavily as he pumps his reddened cock up and down. 

“You’re a cruel woman, depriving me of this for so long,” Chrollo takes both your wrists in one hand and pins them above you. “I’ve longed for your body terribly, love. It belongs here — underneath me.” 

By the way your face contorts, he must be able to tell that he won’t like whatever your reply will be, so he sets out to steal the air from your lungs. An undignified whimper leaves your lips at the rough pace he establishes from the onset. You’d almost think it was him under the influence of the aphrodisiac and not you. There’s no gradual, sensual buildup, just skin slapping against skin as he fucks you without mercy. You want to grab ahold of something, anything to steady yourself in the unforgiving onslaught of ecstasy, but his grip on you is unrelenting. Your limbs feel like jello, incapable of displaying your usual strength to break free from his hold. 

Sensing your intentions, as he almost always does, he coos, “If you want something, then be a dear and beg.” 

There’s a darkness in his voice that’s never been directed at you before. An underlying desperation. Chrollo craves you, longs for you, and you’ve denied him his greatest desire. He has no right to sigh and brood over your refusal to go back to how things were, before he betrayed your trust. You let him into your world. Granted him access to parts of yourself that have never seen the light of day, tentatively opened your heart bit by bit. 

Only that alone couldn’t satisfy him. He needed more than your heart. Your mind, your soul, your body; your very being. And you weren’t willing to give him that. Not then, not now, not ever. So you purse your lips, glaring up at him with all the defiance you can muster in this weakened state. 

He chuckles at the ferocity in your eyes, though it’s a humorless sound. Bitter, almost. 

“My stubborn girl,” Chrollo whispers in your native tongue. “Try as you might, you’ll never be rid of me. I won’t even let you go in death.” 

“I’ll— mm— have to test that theory.” 

Something passes over his face then. Is it exasperation? Dismay? Hurt? 

“Go ahead then,” he says. You’ve never seen this look in his eyes. “Do your worst.” 

An odd sensation sweeps over you then. You furrow your eyebrows together, trying to place it, all the while Chrollo increases his speed. This is a phenomenon you’ve experienced and recently at that. It’s akin to puzzle pieces fitting together, everything falling back into its proper place. Then it hits you, the realization causing your eyes to widen and your breath to catch in your throat. 

This bastard just returned your Hatsu. 

You try (and fail) to lift your head. You can barely think straight, much less properly harness your mess of an aura. Being condemned to an eternity of hunger and thirst with food and drink receding from your reach would be preferable to this. It’s wicked; it’s Chrollo making good on his surname. His cock twitches inside you at your futile struggle. He hits a spot in you that makes you keen, you ruined orgasm from earlier growing closer and closer. 

“What are you waiting for?” Chrollo challenges in between soft pants. “Have I rendered one of your country’s best fighters incapable of making a single strike? Hm?” 

“That isn’t—” your own mewl cuts you off, “This is… not fair…!"

He shakes the hair covering his eyes so nothing can obstruct his current view. “I can’t be, darling. Not with you.” 

If you didn’t know any better, you might think he sounds apologetic. 

This is quickly disproven when his fingers find your clit and rub it just right. 

When you come, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Your back arches into him, your lips part in a silent scream, and you manage to exert enough strength to free your hands from Chrollo’s grasp. You scratch your fingernails down his back, leaving angry red streaks in your wake. Chrollo curses under his breath in a rare instance, given his proclivity for formal speech. Your walls squeeze down on him like a vice. 

His hips stutter and his grip on you becomes bruising. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, quietly moaning your name as if you were a deity; and he, your most devout follower. 

Warmth floods your insides not long after, a seemingly endless stream of cum painting your walls white. Chrollo holds you in place, absentmindedly rubbing circles into the skin he just bruised, a satisfied smile on his lips. You feel him go soft inside you, yet he still makes no sign of pulling out. To add insult to injury, your Hatsu slips away like sand between your fingers, back into his wrongful possession.

Then thick ropes spurt across your tits, accompanied by something like a growl from Feitan. Seeing you come undone must’ve pushed him over the edge. He pumps himself to completion while you struggle to make sense of what just happened. What you just did. 

The aphrodisiac is still active in your system, you can feel it clouding your senses and diluting your judgment. However, it’s far less potent than it was earlier. At its peak, it threatened to fray your sanity. What a dreadful ability. You regret killing the one who used it on you. Had he still been breathing, you would’ve flayed him alive for doing this to you. 

Feitan must not be the pillow talk type. He’s quick to redress, slinking out of the room after giving you an additional once over. He smirks and then leaves you to the whims of his boss. 

Chrollo places the back of his hand against your forehead. “Your fever’s gone down.” 

You avert your eyes and he tilts his head. 

“Don’t tell me you’re upset,” he comments, while finally pulling out. You feel his release seeping out in thick globs. “You would’ve been far worse off had we not intervened. Our guest in the basement can attest to that.” 

When you stay stubbornly silent, he sighs your name. “I know your vocal cords are working just fine. Whatever it is you wish to say, say it.” 

Your head snaps back so you can properly stare him in the eye. There’s a trembling of your lower lip that takes him aback, although he smooths his expression to one of indifference almost immediately. You aren’t the crying type. If anything, he’s probably cried more than you have in the time you’ve known him. He goes to wipe at your lash line, but you smack his hand away. The hit barely has any force behind it. Unexpectedly, he stills, his gaze boring down. 

“I can’t believe I actually l—” you cut yourself off with a shake of your head. You’re exhausted, not thinking straight, and you probably won’t be able to move without help. Whatever lapse in judgment that almost caused you to admit an intimately held secret closes as soon as it opens. 

Chrollo studies you. Whatever he feels then is a mystery, though you hope it cut him deep. Through flesh and sinew, down to the bone. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he eventually says. “I know you hate feeling dirty.” 

When he lifts you up, careful not to aggravate the bruise on your person, you mull over a single question. 

Did he change the subject for your sake, or for his? 

[alpaca-clouds]

Something I find super interesting when it comes to the way Durgetash is depicted in fanwork, is how differently it gets depicted in terms of power dynamics depending on whether it is a male Durge or a female Durge.

Most people do seem to very much agree that Durgetash is an inherently toxic ship - where the fun of the ship is that it is toxic. I very much agree with that.

However, the thing I find very interesting, is the fact that Gortash x female Durge tends to have a dominant, sadistic Gortash with a more submissive Durge, while Gortash with a male or even non-binary Durge (though I have only seen like two or three of the latter kind) tends to end up with a submissive Gortash and a dominant Durge. And that is... very fascinating to see.

Fascinating, because it kinda does fit into the entire Dark Romance theme there, and into societal expectation, that women have to be submissive to men, and also cannot want sex and stuff. (It is a whole big research area apparently for sociologists.)

And now, judging by anything but the main tags on Ao3 is not perfect. Because a lot of people do not properly tag the kinks and stuff in their fics. (And just to note this down here: Please tag your kinks when you write smut. For one, it helps people with those kinks to find them, but also it helps those for whom these are squicks to avoid them. Just please.)

Generally there are about 1700 Durgetash fics on Ao3. Of those about 830 are E-Rated. (Not a big surprise.) Generally speaking most Ao3 Durgetash fics are M/M (probably because canon Durge is male), though generally speaking F/M is not that far behind - even though of course the statistic can be a bit messy due to some fics having multiple categories attached. If you just look at the E-Rated fics the Categories look like the right image.

Now, as I said, a lot of folks don't properly tag all the kinks and stuff in their fics. Just for general reference: The ten most common tags in those E-Rated Durgetash fics are like this:

All kinda makes sense in the context of the fandom. Duh.

Now, the interesting thing happens, when I go "Sub Enver Gortash".

Suddenly there is only 20 fics left (again, I do assume if people actually tagged this stuff there would be more), but the statistic looks like this:

While before M/M and F/M with the ship were kinda comparable, now... Well, now it isn't.

Meanwhile, when I use the tag "Dom Enver Gortash" instead, I end up with 51 fics and this line up:

And as I said... It is fascinating. I do not meant that in any judgemental way, but it is a really interesting ship to see this phenomenon on.

Because it really fits well with some theories put out by social scientists on patriarchy, gender dynamics and how it interacts with smutty literature.

[forallnumbersosc]

Gaty!! didja get any intresting information from the "exitors" ??

- 🍁Maple Anon

[OOG IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I HAD TO PROCESS TPOT 11 WHEN IT CAME OUT IM STILL ON AN AUTISM HIGH FROM IT]

ALRIGHT!! I've gotten what I can from the EXITors and compiled all of my notes, it's time for me to show my findings on!!

The EXIT!

So what IS the EXIT?

The best thing I can gather having not been there myself, is that it's an extra-dimensional space that exists within Four. Whenever something is eaten (or... in Four's words "zooped") by Four, they shrink down to accompany the initial "space" of Four's mouth, AKA the only place in his body that is closest to following the laws of Physics... Once you enter that door, things get WAY stranger....

I should also preface that we don't know for sure if every algebralien has such a space, as we have only observed these in Four, who seems to have far more power, or at least.... he decides to use far more power than other algebraliens... It's entirely possible that Four is the only one who has the ability to house a space like this!

LAYER ZERO: The Entrance

Diagram legend:

Four's mouth, one of the entrances to the EXIT. Appears much, MUCH higher up once anything enters Layer 0. This diagram does not show the true depth of how far the floor is from Four's mouth.

Four's OTHER mouth. His main tool of contestant transportation when contestants get eliminated... It's not very visible at all, you'd have to pull back Four's mane to even see it, and even then it's also invisible from the other side!

Skin?? Layer?? Honestly I don't know what makes up algebralien skin aside from the fact that in Four's case it acts as the catalyst for the initial "shrinkage" of anything that enters the space... It also seems to give Four a weakness to fire!

The EXIT door... The entrance to the rabbit-hole...

Strange trees. I don't fully know why these growths populate this area and beyond, as they don't seem to have any sensing function such as taste buds or stomach cilia, but I believe they were the first creations Four practiced on when constructing his inner world... he does think about himself quite often.

LAYER ONE: The Classrooms

Starting with a simple algebra classroom, Layer One is a seemingly endless collection of rooms down a long, winding network of hallways that range from other typical classrooms, to portals to areas outside of the EXIT, and even strange, nonsensical collections of things that are.. well... according to Pencil, "don't deserve a description"...

This layer was the only one accessible to the EXITors for months on end before Liy decided to take a peek behind the curtain... Since I believe the EXIT's vast characteristics were created from personal aspects of Four, it makes me think of just how much Four keeps hidden away about himself... Why does he like school so much??

LAYER TWO: The Fourest

Feeling claustrophobic? Take a trip to the scenic and expansive Fourest! I consider this a bit of a "hub" of the EXIT, as it seems like the most widespread place to put different entrances to other, deeper areas, as well as, of course, the pathway out...

Compared to the classroom, this area is the most "organic" in terms of literally being comprised of Four... The classrooms themselves contain a percent of material created from his own body, but it seems a lot has been taken from outside and placed within... This area, however, is pretty much all him. its thanks to this area that I was able to take some small samples stuck to the EXITors clothing.. and i am SO excited to study it! Ahh!!

LAYER THREE: Below...?

[can you tell this is when mod's hand started to get tired/lh]

The descriptions I got from Match, Liy, and Stapy were pretty... odd... to say the least for this wacky pocket dimension, and its certainly where my knowledge of the EXIT seems to come to a close, as the closest the EXITors got to any deeper level was this strange little castle full of even stranger secrets.... You must admit, Four might be cruel but he has an eye for architecture!

Out of the other layers, this one seems to be a combination of both Four material and outside material, making me wonder if this is where Four keeps his best kept secrets or... maybe even his insecurities?

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

Oh yeah... I heard about this... thing that some of the EXITors encountered... From what I know it seems to be simply another part of Four rather than a thinking creature of its own, but it's certainly hard to say!

I'd like to give a thank-you to Pencil, Match, Stapy, Liy, David, and 8-Ball for your contributions to my research!!

...and an apology to Bracelety, Dora, and Firey Jr for er... bringing up such a frustrating and-- well... traumatic event for this information--

...While I must admit I don't enjoy the fact that the EXIT left these fellow contestants a pretty awful impression of algebraliens, I really am glad we have them back!!

PHEW!!! Now that I have most of my information on the EXIT finally on here, time to get back to some of the other questions I got!!

[intothegenshinworld]

Fate’s Destiny ~ Chapter 15 || Fated

You somehow, not being able to explain it, had fallen into the Genshin world you know oh-so-well. You were no new player and had explored most of the nooks and crannies of the world. When you first had woken up in Windrise you wondered; it might be a dream, after all, you were behind your screen usually, and now- here? It made no sense, and the world was keen on keeping it that way.

Warnings: Spoilers for main story.

Word count: 3.6k+

Auteurs note: Posting all that's left in one go <3

↺ PREVIOUS CHAPTER || ↻ NEXT CHAPTER || MASTERLIST

The night continues to last, casting an eternal shadow over Teyvat, yet it can’t compare to the empty void that lingers above where calamity had struck. 

As you return onto the roads, you move your head over your shoulder. Closer than you had hoped, you see smoke creep up between the buildings and mountains that make up the majority, if not the entirety, of Liyue Habor. Different greys with different densities fly up from the flames, each cloud adding more dread and intensity to the fire that swallows the city whole. In the middle of it all, standing proudly and tall, the nail that had fallen from the sky is the only thing that remains intact. You estimate that the size could have split mountains in two. 

And while there is a vast distance between you and the destruction, the gap does nothing to ease your fears. 

Where did the nail come from?  

You narrow your eyes as you try to focus on the screen—hoping you could spot anything that could give you a clue. After a few seconds, you realise that the sky seems to have collapsed onto the world like a roof without supporting beams. The darkness of the night is entirely different from the darkness sprouting out of the rift above Liyue.

After a second you cave in. You can’t help but ask Dainsleif for his thoughts.

“Do you see it?” You skip forward until you fall in step with your companion. Your bag is slung over your shoulders and thuds against your hip until you slow down again. 

This morning, Dainsleif had given you one of the two waterskins he owned. Before crossing the main roads, you had stopped to refill them both at the water stream, close to the camp where you had rested—as he had mentioned. Despite the newly added weight, it feels lighter than it used to be. You had checked your belongings before leaving and found all you could remember owning. Your second set of clothing to sleep in and some hygiene necessities… nothing fell out of place, but it felt like you left with half the things you used to carry. 

As you turn your head back over your shoulders, Dainsleif moves to copy your movements. His glance towards Liyue is shorter than yours. 

“Can I see it? It’d be hard for anyone not to.”

His tone shows disinterest in the subject you’re trying to bring forward. Ever since you had woken up in the night, he had insisted it’d be better to make haste as your arrival in Mondstadt would be best to occur sooner than later. If you didn’t know better, you had assumed he wanted to return to the city of Freedom, despite him repeating his doubts about the abilities and genuinity of the anemo Archon.

You turn back towards the roads and the trees. 

Regardless of everything working against you, you are lucky that the area ahead remains abandoned. Whoever fled the destruction had left hours ago, leaving nothing but dust behind; and whoever didn’t has found their place under the rubble. 

Feeling discomfort in the silence that follows Dainsleif’s answer, if only because it makes you aware of what goes on behind your back , you voice your thoughts out loud. 

“If we’re lucky, Wangshuu Inn hasn’t been yet abandoned. I imagine many people took shelter there when the celestial nail struck. We could ask for information there.” 

Dainsleif turns his head to you. Because you’re walking on his right side, his blue mask covers most of his expression. However, you can still see weariness in his eyes. “If we’re lucky, we won’t be meeting with anyone at all.” 

“If I had my cloak, I could–”

“You don’t and I won’t have you wear mine so you can risk your life with impulsive choices again . If you want to play the hero, save yourself first.” Dainsleif’s voice has lost its patience throughout the night. You hadn’t seen him rest, so you assume it is to blame on his lack of sleep—something that seeps through his sluggish movements. 

A huff escapes your lips and you bite back the words threatening to escape your mouth. There is no reason to argue or fight with the only companion you have left. In truth, there are bigger problems. Escaping the destruction became a priority over finding Lumine and Paimon or figuring out why the calamity had happened. You understand it from Dainsleif’s perspective but wonder where his priorities lie. With escaping, or with you—the Creator.

Your eyes land on Dainsleif. As you walk next to him, you notice that he takes shorter steps and moves slower on purpose. He is adjusting his pace to you. 

A smile creeps up on your face and you turn away before he notices you staring. While he continues to be tense, alert for something you can’t anticipate, you wonder if his losing patience was ever your fault or caused by something else. 

Strands of hair frame your face when you hang your head low. With each step forward, you feel like the world surrounding you becomes distant. You move your hand in front of you and squeeze it tightly to ground yourself before turning your gaze up once more. 

Wangshuu Inn is in sight, but still far away from you. The only comfort of that is the fact that the inn wouldn’t be your destination. Surely, before the night ends, Dainsleif would get tired and decide to make camp.

As you return onto the roads, you move your head over your shoulder. Closer than you had hoped, you see smoke creep up between the buildings and mountains that make up the majority, if not the entirety, of Liyue Habor. Different greys with different densities fly up from the flames, each cloud adding more dread and intensity to the fire that swallows the city whole. In the middle of it all, standing proudly and tall, the nail that had fallen from the sky is the only thing that remains intact. You estimate that the size could have split mountains in two. 

Your eyes move up. They narrow, and you focus on the skies—trying to see if you could spot something, anything , that could give you a clue. Your eyes gaze over the red lines and small pixels decorating the sky like the stars should have. The sky has collapsed.

“Dainsleif?” You turn your head back to your companion. He seems tired and he doesn’t respond to your call. “Do you see it?”

“... the nail?”

“Yes.”

He stays silent. You wonder if you had said anything that upset him.

Your legs have a tingling and numb feeling by the time you find an excuse to stop. A carriage, simple but elegant in design, lies on its side near the treelines of the forest. 

Both Dainsleif and you stand still from a distance, while you can't think for him, you find the smoke coming from the forest a sign of hope—a confirmation that there are still people in this world beside you and Dainsleif. 

You point at the area. “We should check that out.”

“I thought you would prioritise going to Mondstadt over finding potential friends. Do you recognise the carriage?” He points his gloved finger in the direction.

Your eyes scan over the wooden frame. The white fabric that once separated the inside from the outside had blown away, holding onto the single nail left in the wood keeping it from the winds. You notice a dark liquid escape from the wagon. 

When you step forward, Dainsleif stops you. “It'll be a waste of time.”

You huff. “Not for me. People might be hurt. Knowing that I can't leave them.”

“Is it because you’re ‘The Creator'?” his eyes scan your face. You can see the resolve leave his eyes, and he settles into acceptance—albeit unwanted from the furrow of his brows. 

“It’s because it is the right thing to do,” you answer,

The hand, which Dainsleif had moved in front of you, lowers to his side. Right after, he turns his head towards the treelines and unsheaths his sword.

A tug pulls you forward, and despite feeling safe, you keep your guard up—thanks to Dainsleif. 

Through the darkness of the night, you move towards the carriage. The scene is set with an eerie silence and an unknown reddish liquid coming out from underneath. It is unnerving and you wonder what happened before the carriage broke down. 

When you come closer, you figure out what the liquid is. 

“Wine,” you state as you relax. 

One of the barrels inside had broken when the carriage tipped and turned on its side. You realise the glow from the red rifts in the sky had reflected on it—making it seem like something else. 

Dainsleif moves the white cover away and reveals the other barrels, some of which had remained out of view minutes before. He turns to you as he lets his hand, and with it, the cover, fall to its original state. “You want to head towards the smoke.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

When you turn to him, you see him cross his arms. “Even now, you’re not frightened by the situation?”

You turn your head. Closer than you could imagine, you see smoke creep up between the buildings and mountains that make up the majority, if not the entirety, of Liyue Habor. Different blacks in different shapes fly up from the ground, each cloud adding more dread and intensity to the fog that obscures the city. In the middle, right above the city, a rift has sliced the air in two. Red particles and lines glitch in and out of existence, all coming from the black slit. 

It will engulf Liyue sooner than later.

You turn back to Dainsleif. Hesitation is clear for a moment. Many people have died because of what had occurred, and many more people will die as it continues to spread. Going towards the smoke meant wasting time, and looking at the situation, did you have any time left to waste? 

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips as you fight the blur in your mind. Your thoughts are dimmed and you find it nearly impossible to focus on anything. You close your eyes, trying to remember what had happened. What was the reason why you left in the first place? Looking back on the days before you left Liyue Habor, could you have known what would happen? 

“Your Grace?” An uncertain voice coincidentally interrupts your thoughts. It isn’t the same voice you recognise as Dainsleif’s. When it calls out to you again, it gains confidence, the voice being a mix of relief and joy.  

“Your Grace!”

From the treelines, a familiar companion stands next to a slightly smaller and bulkier male. The situation seems familiar, almost as if it had happened a few times before—as if he is meant to find you wherever you are—as if this interaction was fated in the first place. 

The unplanned reunion makes you lose your train of thought and joy bursts from your chest. The feeling of newfound hope makes you run up to him, “Kaeya!” 

Two arms engulf your form and lift you from the ground before gently aiding your landing. You press your cheek against his shoulder. The navy blue hair is a welcome sight, but you had grown familiar with the star-shaped pupils over the past weeks. It was something you had Dainsleif to thank for.  

When you step back, moving out of his arms, Kaeya’s lips are pulled into a tight line. His eyes skim over your figure with worry and you feel self-conscious. Because you lost your cloak, you could no longer hide your real face.

You clear your throat. “I was near Liyue when the world broke down.”

Kaeya’s eyes quickly move back to yours. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, but I won’t look my best.”

A frown appears on his face and he looks over his shoulder at the gruff male behind him. Fierce red hair is tied in a low ponytail and his black outfit makes him able to hide between the shadows of the darkened world. He crosses his arms and huffs out, “After all you had sworn to Jean and me, I’d nearly believe you doubt the legitimacy of the Creator by fussing so much.” 

Kaeya rolls his eyes. “At least I care for our Creator. That is more than you do.”

“Hard to say with all that’s been happening,” Diluc retorts. 

“Can you at least try to be nice?” 

Dainsleif coughs and cuts the two off. He turns his head to Kaeya. “I believe an introduction is due. Your ‘creator’ seems a bit confused.”

For a second, you see Kaeya’s eyes narrow. He plays it off with a smile and shifts his weight from one leg to another. “Have we met before? You seem familiar, and I am certain I’d remember someone who dresses as uniquely as you do.”

Dainsleif remains neutral. “Unlike yours, my memory works as it should, but it is intriguing you’d that.”

The redhead steps forward and puts his hand forward for you to take. “Diluc Ragnvindr. Acting Grand Master Jean has requested me to apologise in her stead. The anemo Archon and the Knights of Favonious have been searching for you since your disappearance.”

You reach your hand to meet Diluc’s. It seems like he did listen to Dainsleif. Either that or your confusion was evident on your face. His grasp is firm but never painful or suffocating. Instead, it feels protective and strong. You also notice the warmth of his body escaping the confines of his gloves. From his hip, on his left side, dangles a pyro vision. That explains that... 

“Who is the ‘Acting Grand Master Jean’?” You ask. 

When everyone stops their bickering, the eerie silence takes over again. You take your faded hand back to your side. 

Dainsleif patiently jogs your memories once more. 

“Mondstadt is governed by freedom. Its archon isn’t publicly known like Rex Lapis. Instead, the Knights of Favonious hold the peace. Its current Grand Master is gone, but the one he called to present in his absence is Jean. Hence, ‘Acting’ Grand Master.”

You move your head towards him and nod, thankful for the explanation and now making more sense of what had been told. You wonder why ‘Jean’ wanted Diluc to apologise in her name, but you don’t ask. The revelation that all four present were headed towards the same goal, made you feel happy. 

“Mission succeeded. So, now we can all continue to Mondstadt?” You turn to Dainsleif who nods his head once. He didn’t quite agree with the others following you but acknowledged what you said.

“It appears to be that way.” He says.

Kaeya sighs, “We used to have a ride—” he turns his head towards the carriage. Wine continues to drip out and has since tainted the white fabric into a dim purple-reddish hue. “—but the blast wave has taken it from us. As it tipped, we had no choice but to set the horse loose.”

Diluc sighs. “We were camping, hoping to find some wild animals since our rations had been stolen. Treasure hoarders, I’d say.”

“Let me guess,” Dainsleif starts. “Not a single insect was to be found?”

Diluc nods and Kaeya moves his fingers to rub his forehead. He turns to Dainsleif. “We were feeling lost before we heard sounds from the roads. Diluc believed it might be the treasure hoarders, coming back for another barrel of wine since no one was there to prevent them from taking it, but we found you instead.”

You turn your head over your shoulder. The red tear seems to stare at you. You can’t see anything beyond the horizon. When you turn back, you ask Dainsleif, “Do we have any food left?”

He shakes his head instantly. “None.”

“Well then,” you look at the abandoned roads and Wangshuu Inn in the distance. “The only way forward is North. We can only hope to run into someone or something while we’re at it.”

Kaeya grabs your arm and makes it intertwine with his. He smiles down at you and you feel lighter despite the dark situation. “Doesn’t sound too bad to me. At the very least, I’ll have good company to cheer me up.”

While you continued your journey to Wangshuu Inn, recurring sights made you feel uneasy. Boots, jackets, empty bags; all the littering on the road. It was a result of the calamity and the evacuation that had occurred. 

Kaeya had told you what had happened to him, where he was and what he remembered. In turn, you did the same. Talking to him was the only way you didn’t feel as if you were walking in circles.

Kaeya moves his hands as he talks. “When I first saw you with Dainsleif, I imagined Lumine and Paimon to be around. Either scouting ahead or catching up as they protected you from the rear. I can never imagine them leaving you of their own free will.” When you frown, Kaeya leans closer until his shoulder bumps into yours. He smiles, turning his head to you. You feel warm puffs of breath caress your neck and ear when he speaks, “Don’t worry. The traveller is quite capable. I am sure they’ll find you.”

A troubled sigh escapes your lips and Kaeya makes some distance when he sees your serious expression. “It’s not that. I… find it hard to not know anything for certain. I think they were with me before calamity struck, but I can no longer remember what happened in the first place.” 

Diluc turns his head and cleverly interjects his thoughts on the matter, “Considering the destruction came from above, I can only imagine it to be Celestia’s repentance.”

Kaeya adds, “We heard about Rex Lapis’ death and rebirth. Diluc argues that had been the catalyst of it all.”

You nod your head. It makes sense, but Dainsleif is quick to turn it down. When you hear his voice, you turn your head over your shoulder. Since he’d been walking a few paces behind your group of three, you had assumed he wasn’t interested in the topic—or your friend, Kaeya. Despite his insistence on guarding you, you argued no danger was left on these streets—which is half the truth. 

Dainsleif’s company was growing on you fast. You didn’t want to separate from him.

“This was not Celestia’s doing I fear,” he states factually. 

Light blue eyes turn away when they meet yours, and you feel estranged from him. How could he appear so protective and warm one moment, but create a distance that made you unable to reach him the next? 

“Oh?” Kaeya raises an eyebrow. He jests, “I suppose you’d be an expert at that?” 

Dainsleif doesn’t react to him, but the longer you think about his words, a feeling inside starts to agree with him. You might lack any memories regarding Celestia, but you are certain they remain incapable of bestowing calamities such as the current upon Teyvat.

And now that you think about it…

Your eyes move up towards the black sky. There are no visible clouds, no stars, and no Celestia. The only thing left to see is the giant hole in the world behind you, followed by the string of red lines and dots, and even more fragments spinning in and out of existence.

After a while, Diluc continues his initial theory. “I would’ve suspected that your appearance urged the world to collapse, but ever since the anemo Archon confirmed you to be the Creator, I suspect you could’ve been our warning instead of the cause. Of course, it’d help if you had your memories to confirm–”

Before Diluc can finish his sentence, Kaeya cuts him off with a strained chuckle and a lazy excuse. His interruption is rewarded by a glare from Diluc, who seems to grow more frustrated at the travel arrangements as time continues to stand still.

Another wave of silence falls over you, and you’re back where you started. 

Kaeya sighs loudly and turns his gaze towards Wangshuu Inn before turning it back over his shoulder. “Am I the only one feeling like we’re not making progress? I’m certain we passed this area twice already…”

Diluc abruptly stops, and everyone else follows. Red eyes scan the area as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately, not.” He turns around and focuses on Dainsleif. “You seem more familiar with this area. Do you have any suggestions?”

“I suggest splitting up.” Dainsleif starts, and you immediately want to turn the idea down. He adds to it before someone can argue against him. “This is a straight path, after all. Proving your theory wrong should be easy.”

The cavalry captain, who stands by your side, moves his weight from one leg to the other. “I don’t know. It sounds counter-progressive.”

“If that may be, we won’t be progressing either way. It’s up to (Y/n) to decide.” 

You frown at Dainsleif. “What? Why me?”

Diluc grazes his eyes over the landscape. His eyes land on a carriage that’s been tipped over the side. A dark reddish liquid comes out underneath it. He agrees, “I don’t reject the prospect of splitting up, only if it’s temporary.”

Your mind weighs out the two options. 

Now that you’re facing Liyue Harbor again, you see the destruction coming for you . Closer than you could imagine, you see smoke creep up from the forest and heading towards the roads. Different blacks in different shapes fly up from the ground, each cloud adding more dread and intensity to the fog that obscures Liyue Harbor and the southern border of the Guili Plains. In the black void, a cut has sliced the world in two. Red particles and lines glitch in and out of existence, all coming from the black slit. 

You turn your head towards your companions. “Let’s split up.”

If you liked this chapter and think I deserve a comment, please leave one behind! I appreciate it a lot and it'll make me more motivated to write in the future ♡

© intothegenshinworld. Do not copy, repost, translate or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thanks for reading.

[thechibilitwick]

As an honorary Shidou apologist, I am breaking my silence. I’ve finally decided to go on a rant on why I don't think Kirisaki Shidou is an organ harvester.

(fair warning I like absolutely suck ass at organizing my thoughts, so if some of this is incoherent or if it seems like i'm repeating myself my bad 😭 I mainly wrote this for fun)

So, I'm aware that this theory is the most popular consensus when it comes to Shidou (and tbh, I think part of it is because a lot of people kinda look over him? Like at least a tiny bit more than the others, considering a lot of people also don’t realize how his main victim was probably his son and not his wife, but I digress) (plus I think all milgram characters are looked over to a certain extent). While I do think parts of it are probably accurate in some way, I don't think he was a full-on organ harvester (as in he actively stole from patients through illegal means. emphasis on actively) and that the theory in and of itself is flimsy at best. He's morally questionable, yes, but it’s more in the sense that he’s a somewhat apathetic guy who lacked understanding on how his own set of morals and values (i.e. pushing for organ donation) could be seen as wrong. So if he were an organ harvester, wouldn’t he be aware that it’s illegal? That’s what confuses me whenever people bring it up. I don't actually doubt that he may have done something illegal for his family's sake, it’s just that I still highly doubt it was something he actively did. And that seems to be what a lot of people think when they refer to the theory. (if i’m wrong please forgive me, i just assume organ harvester shidou = people think he did it as a job)

Anyways, more under the cut for those interested (it's a bit lengthy my apologies)

It then kinda trickles down to how his guilt stems more from the consequences of his actions rather than the actual action of taking organs. The root of his guilt comes from the realization that basically asking families to pull the plug and use their loved ones' organs for donation is a very, very hard decision; one that he kept pressuring for. If he was an illegal organ harvester, and was aware that his actions were in fact illegal, why the hell would he feel so guilty to the point that he’d start having suicidal ideations? That’s the key difference between his profession and his possible criminal activities; one is a burden both emotionally and morally, the other is more or less a literal burden. And based off of Shidou's character, he seems to be much more emotionally affected. That's also why I think a lot of people jump to the conclusion that his guilt stems from his actual actions rather than their effects. (does that make sense oh lord i am going ☝️🤓 so hard rn)

I get that some parts of his MV or lyrics seem to be suggesting that, but also it’s important to note that Shidou has a very strong bias against himself and definitely painted himself in a negative light. I mean, that's why he thinks every single preceding patient before the final incident is a victim to him, why he shows himself staying professional in a professional setting as apathetic (minus the pressuring part), and why he literally equates his job to STEALING. Not only that but, imo, it's also a little too unrealistic and might not actually fit the criteria of Milgram. Milgram is for crimes that are in a morally grey area. So if it really was organ harvesting, is it really in a grey area? (though I guess you could say that doing it for family's sake would be, but that's only for his family. He'd have no reason to do it otherwise). Plus, it'd make more sense and fit the theme of touching upon social issues (i.e. abortion, bullying, societal standards, mental health, etc.) if shidou’s entire dilemma was in regards to (albeit questionably done) organ donation, a complicated ethical topic in Japan.

Throw Down actually gives a pretty good rough idea of Shidou's thoughts towards his crime and his feelings in regards to it. He felt like he was blinded by his own values, and that inadvertently caused him to be unaware of the suffering he caused through his job. It really does shock me that he somehow was able to pull-off getting a forgiven verdict in T1 because he certainly comes off as cold and uncaring in regards to his work.

I think the final bridge in Throw Down kinda summarizes his entire mindset, actually.

​​Now slowly close your eye, put your regret on display Wishing you for someone else's sake With the same expression no matter who comes I don’t feel scared because I don’t know

Shidou doesn't quite understand the feelings of his patient's families, and therefore he acts remorseful and sympathetic more than he actually feels. Why? Well, because he didn't know. Up until that point, he never understood the weight of his actions, and focused on his role as a doctor. "This is an upsetting subject, yes, but it's for the greater good, right?” A braindead person has little to no chances of living, so why not use this as an opportunity to donate their organs? Moreover, as a doctor I believe it’s typical to be "emotionally detached” (for lack of a better word) since I’d assume becoming emotionally connected with a patient would make things at least a bit messy.

His mindset comes crumbling down though, presumably because he experienced the same or a similar situation. This part remains muddy for me, since we don't know much about what the actual cause for Shidou's guilt is. There are several possibilities, with the most plausible ones being:

he lost his own family member and had to go through with the same decision,

he tried to save a family member using donated organs, but failed, making it seem like everything he has done as a doctor was in vain

(a secret third option would be him making someone he cares about make that decision but it's very unlikely and also requires too much mental gymnastics)

But no matter what exactly he did, it all trickles down to the validity of his morals. After realizing the pain of losing a loved one, the struggle of trying to save them, and the unfortunate failure which left all efforts practically pointless, Shidou would understand the actual weight of his actions and why all those families were so reluctant to let go of their own.

This is even more evident in his T2 voice drama, Asclepius.

"In order to save the life of someone you don't know, please let me kill your family," I told them. It doesn't even take much thinking to realize how cruel that is, but… I didn't realize it until the very end.

This is the gist of Shidou's crime, or at least part of it (considering he says "Well, about halfway" when Es asks if their judgment was right). Again, this tells us that Shidou's guilt comes from the act of the effects of organ donation rather than the literal action. And this also implies that his "murders" did in fact have to do with being in a medical situation, it's just the way he went about it was at the very least morally questionable.

I will also acknowledge that he says he killed for selfish reasons, which most likely relates to trying to save his own family member. Here he could possibly have actually done something illegal such as tampering with patients or illegally taking their organs (latter is a stretch imo). Plus, his distorted T2 voice trailer line is literally "You're in the way, hurry up and die" which would only make sense in the context of waiting for a patient to die. But it could also just be him continuing to pressure for organ donation, but now with his own selfish motives.

Going back to the "halfway" comment, while I personally believe it might have to do with how Shidou views his crime as more than just taking organs, it more likely implies that something else happened that Shidou would consider murder. That being the actual death of his family member. It's implied through Throw Down that he was trying to save someone but failed, which he was responsible for. Then from there it'd make sense to assume that he would feel some form of guilt for the rest of his patients, either for the reason of failing to actually utilize donated organs even with the opportunity of being able to save them, or for just realizing the what it actually feels like to have to give up on your loved one. (does. does that make any sense.)

So yeah, I don’t think he’s an organ harvester due to what’s known regarding his crime, the reasoning for his guilt, and with the way he is as a character. The most I’d personally believe is that he decided to harvest organs for the sake of his loved one, but even that seems like a stretch to me. Thus, that is why I believe Kirisaki Shidou is not an organ harvester.

Anyways I’ve rambled on long enough, thank you for reading if you did and remember to drink water and vote shidou innocent in trial 3 because i will shit my pants if he doesn't get inno