#she does not feel any guilt or remorse over it

[herawell]

.

[transmascutena]

thinking about how akio sees his younger self in utena and wondering if there's any fondness there. doesn't change the horror of what he does to her obviously but i do wonder

[bi-writes]

so idk where i got this idea but mercenary!ghost x fem!reader because he's scary and mean and dangerous but then he sees some girl's ass in light blue denim.

notes about reader: as always, i tend to write readers described as curvy because im curvy and we deserve attention from 6'4 beefcakes who are soft only for us. reader is a civilian.

mercenary!ghost (part 1/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mentions of ghost's past canon trauma (domestic abuse + violence), mw3 spoilers, violence and gore + mentions of murder and extortion, mentions of reader + domestic abuse, protective!simon, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than simon, easily manhandled by him), pet names (luv, bunny + rabbit, puppy, angel face), reader learns she has a dark side and she likes it, nsfw thoughts about reader, suggestive touching (fem!receiving)

the sound of the burner phone pings on the desk in front of him. when he picks it up, he narrows his eyes as he reads the message displayed across the screen.

DEPOSITED.

when he opens his laptop, his eyes scan over the balance on an offshore account, and he relaxes when he sees the hefty balance climb just a little higher. he closes the device once he's satisfied with what he sees; and like always, he tastes the warmth of that satisfaction. it's a nice high, but it won't last, and then he'll need to feed the gaping hole that lives in him.

it remains hungry. he has never been able to close it--it has only ever gotten wider, ripped at the seams and torn at the edges every time another body close to him drops.

the high is poison. but even if it kills him, no one will miss him. so he picks up the handgun that lays haphazard on the bed, and he tucks it into the back of his jeans.

he passes by the mirror as he fits a dark denim jacket over his shoulders. he stares back at himself, a recognizable beast of a man staring right back. he pulls his hoodie up over him, and in the shadow of it, all he can see are his dark eyes, pale skin peeking through the eyeblack that has lightened up with the wear of it throughout the day.

he craves something strong and warm tonight. he itches for something soft, too, something that makes him forget the red on his ledger, even if for only a few hours.

there is nothing quite strong enough to wipe that kind of stain away. he is nothing if not a reaper, and he buries bodies with the same tenacity that he had when he wore his country's flag on his chest. this time, however, he does not take orders--he names his price.

he thinks something is wrong with him. some used to say that it was his courage that brought him back from the dead--that his heart is too strong, his will to live too much, and that is how he continues to open his eyes and live another day. but he doesn't agree with this thought, because he doesn't really think he feels anything at all.

he doesn't feel human. he doesn't feel alive. the only thing that makes him feel any sort of vulnerability is how red his own blood is when he bleeds. when his scars heal jagged and crooked, it is because there is something underneath the skin. but he feels nothing inside--no remorse, no guilt, he is not sorry.

he does not check to see if those men are innocent. he does not care about the names that end up on his list. he doesn't ask questions. and he thinks something is wrong with him because he sleeps at night just fine now; the nightmares have gone. he is alone, and it is peaceful.

there are no voices. there is only silence. and there is something wrong with him.

the pub is quiet. it is a weekday, and the only patrons are here after a long day's work, and they all look into the depths of their half-empty glasses hoping to find relief there. there is none, but they will finish their glasses hoping it might be dissolved in the alcohol.

he asks for two fingers of bourbon. it stings when it goes down, but then it settles warm. he is poured another two fingers of it, but before he can pick it up, someone else grips the glass and tips it back to swallow it down.

the glass hits the wood of the counter with an echoing thud, and you cough out a fuck as you settle into the seat beside him. you run a trembling hand over your face, and he notices immediately the red of your knuckles and the splitting of the skin there. they are fresh; the bruising is still new, and the blood is just barely beginning run down the back of your hand.

he leans over the bar, swiping the whole bottle of bourbon, and he silently pours more into the glass, hitting it towards you before picking up a new glass and filling it generously.

"who's the lucky bastard?" he asks, and your eyes flick to the cuts on the back of your hand before going back to the dark swirling colors of the drink.

"i'm sure he'll be coming in here any second to introduce himself."

the pub doors slam open, and there is a man coming in, chest heaving, dark hair falling over his forehead in sweaty curls that do nothing to hide the clear bruise on his face the split of his lip. his eyes move over the room before they settle on you, and his boots fall heavy as he makes his way over.

ghost sees his intentions clear immediately. the way his hand twitches at his side, the angry glare, the uncontrollable urge to hurt and to take and to control coming off of him like steam.

he has seen this kind of man before. this man was the one that kept him up at night as a child. this man was the one that scared his mum, that drove his brother to chase vices, that tore apart a house that should've been filled with something warm and sticky and kind into one marred with teeth, rotten and putrid and forgotten.

his hand goes for the back of your neck, and you close your eyes and tense in the anticipation, but it never comes. a strong hand grips his outstretched one, and the man cries out as ghost twists it behind his back and uses his other hand to slam his face into the wood of the bar, trapping him there.

the bartender does not even flinch, just continues to wipe down glasses. the patrons continue to stare into the abyss of their sorrow.

you jump a little, your head snapping to the side where the man squirms and sputters, his face going pale from the paw of a hand gripping him by the back of the neck and shoving his face into the counter. if he pushes any harder, you wonder if it'd splinter and fray, dig into the bones of his bruised cheek.

"this man botherin' ya, yeah?"

your eyes finally flick up. you do not know what you expect, but it isn't this. you can only see his eyes; they scare you. you do not lie because you aren't entirely sure how far his kindness will go.

"yes," you whisper, and when the man tries to spit at you, a rough gloved hand grips his curls and positions his head against the edge of the counter, forcing his mouth open until the top row of his teeth bite the wood.

"y'keep talkin' to her, n'it'll be the last time you talk, hear that, mate? y'talk to me, n'me only."

you swallow hard, and the man trembles. a strong boot hits the back of his knees, and then he's crumbling to the ground, his jaw straining as the counter is still forced against his mouth. hot, pained tears come down his face, and then he addresses you.

"what did he do?"

"bad first date," is all you can manage to sputter. he grips the man by the scruff of his neck before pulling him off to speak, tilting his head to the side as he observes the begging man on his knees.

"y'try to put your hands on'er?"

"i-it wasn't...like that! i-it was just a mis...a misunderstanding, please! please--please tell him--!"

"don't like fuckin' liars either," is the only warning given before his mouth is forced to bite the counter, and then a sharp elbow comes down on his head. you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and you close your eyes when you hear the crunch of teeth being broken. his scream is enough to rattle the pub, but when you look around, it's as if nothing at all has happened. it is quiet, and all the bartender does is shake their head.

when you open your eyes, he's crawling on his hands and knees out of the pub, and what he leaves behind is a mess of blood and teeth and fluid that are splattered against the floor at your feet. you shake as you look up at him, stiff in your seat and soft tears coming down your face.

he towers over you. you have to tilt your head back between your shoulders to look at him face-to-face. you cannot see his face; he hides it behind dark fabric, but his eyes talk loud. they are dark, and they are dull, and you realize as you stare up at him that he is not phased in the slightest by what he had just done. in fact, he steps into your space, and the squelch of blood under his boot doesn't seem to bother him. he wears black, and you wonder, momentarily, if he wears such a color to hide the red hiding between the threads of the fabric. the red he can't wash away.

"let me look at ya, little rabbit."

you flinch when he knocks your knees apart, spreading them to make space for the width of him. he reaches up with one gloved hand and grips your chin, tilting your head to either side to see if you are hurt anywhere but your hand. when he is satisfied with his observations, he cups the expanse of your throat, smoothing those big fingers along the pulsing vein there and feeling the way you swallow.

so alive. so soft. a pretty little bunny, dropped into his waiting hands.

his eyes fall, and he takes you in. wide hips that take up the seat you're sitting in, hugged so nicely by light blue denim jeans. they curve over the swell of your ass, and he wonders how much of it would fit in his palm--he thinks about how it might feel to spread them apart and taste the succulent sweetness that he knows exists between your thighs and how your mouth might look slack jawed and wide open for him.

you look like a good girl, even with bloody knuckles.

then he follows the line of your shirt. it's a simple t-shirt tucked into your jeans, but the neckline gives a nice peek of you and the curve of your tits--they sit so nicely there, all perky, and ghost thinks they look lonely. they would be better off in his mouth or squeezing his cock between them or pebbling between his dirty gloved fingers.

filthy. disgusting. he is scarred all over, and you look so soft and sweet, with those tender puppy eyes and the way your lips tremble, and he bets you kiss all soft and slippery. he bets your cunt is tight and with enough coaxing, he could make you drench his skin with something decadent and slick, with whatever drools into your panties. he imagines it is there now, even as you tremble and shake and plead with your eyes for him to let go of your throat.

but ghost is not a good man. he does not feel; he is not a man at all. he is a beast in the shape of one, disguised, and he brings misery to everything he touches. he knows he will do it to you, too--touching pretty girls, he leaves them with burns. they are not the same after they are with him, and he wants to feel bad about it, he wants to feel something, but he does not. he feels nothing.

"you olright, luv?"

you nod frantically, putting a hand over his wrist that holds you, and he almost laughs. your hand is so much smaller than his own. if he squeezes his hand just a little harder, he figures it would not take much to break what lies beneath it. he leans in, and you gulp when your thighs trap his hips. he is warm, a furnace that burns, but you relax when the side of his mask nuzzles against your face.

he is a dog, and he is fond of you.

you should run. you should hit him like you hit your wretched date, and you should run, far, away from him, swear off men for good and never allow one in your space again lest they be as beastly as this. you should run while you can, but you are a bunny not yet in his trap, and you still have time to escape.

but then both of your eyes open at the same time, and his eyes meet your own, and then--oh.

the cage snaps shut. it rattles around you. it is small and confined, but you don't realize what it is yet because you can still breathe, and it is still warm, and you are still soft and alive and here.

your face softens, and his eyes flicker down to your lips as you lick them. maybe he was right. liars are bad. men like the one you were with before were scum. you had been with men like that before, you had seen the destruction they brought to those they thought they loved. when they wrought fear and made others bleed, they never got in trouble. no one cared to do to them what they deserved because they silenced their lambs and slaughtered the light out of them.

it is biblical--an eye for an eye. if they take from you, why can't you take from them?

it is brutish men like this one that do what others are too timid to. your thighs close around his hips, and you feel something digging into your leg, something metal and heavy tucked into his jeans. a weapon, but you imagine it is a mercy because you have an inkling that what he does with his hands is so much worse. bullets are clean and fast; his hands are not.

johnny would tell him to let you go. he does, over his shoulder, spitting at him to leave, to let you slip through his fingers and find your way out, to open the cage.

the wee lass--look at 'er angel face. let 'er go--not meant for this, LT. she scares. 's in 'er eyes. won't last.

but he does not feel. he is not human. there is something wrong with him, he knows it, but he doesn't care. he will ruin you, and he should feel bad, but he can't, he doesn't. and then there it is--your eyes are flickering low, eyeing the mask, and you are wondering how much effort it would take to push it up and lick into his mouth, taste him, suck the warmth of the bourbon from his mouth and replace it with your own.

he will kill again. the cage is shut, it is locked, and he is watching the bunny in its cage, watching as it becomes aware of its surroundings, takes in what is new. but just like he figures, just like he knows, this little bunny has no idea what this cage is. she has no idea she is even in one.

fuck what johnny says. if johnny was like him, if he was not skin and bone but steel and reptile, he would not have died. he would have come back. he would have moved his head, shaken the blood off, and gotten back up, but he didn't, and he's not here, and he's not real--so fuck what he thinks, fuck what he says, fuck him because he left me, and i'm all alone, and if i don't devour and eat and tear apart, i will wither away because i am not me, i am something else--

he smiles under the mask. you notice it, the slight movement there, and you smile, too, suddenly. his hand falls, and the back of his knuckles graze over the swell of your breast, down your stomach, and then he's gripping your waist. that hand slips behind you, and you brace yourself with both hands on his chest as he cups one side of your ass. possessive and suffocating--you think maybe you should run again, but you don't want to.

you want something more. you want something a little rough, something a little sharp. you want something to tell you that a little blood is good sometimes. that answering blood with a little more blood was exactly how it should be. that we don't have to be docile, to back down. you want to be told that it's okay to bite.

there is something wrong with you.

[multiverse-menagerie]

Perchance… could I request the bg3 companions with a Tav who has a bleeding heart? They’ll do what they need to do, kill who they need to, etc. but they still are easily tricked by just basic human kindness and often feel guilty for killing folk and whatnot. They’re ridiculously caring towards the party as well, often putting their needs above their own.

Karlach

Karlach gets it. She really does. But she’s been through (literal) Hell and has learned to be a bit more cautious

But she adores how much you love and trust people

I almost see her as someone who would go behind after you to set people straight if they conned you or anything like that

Something about it is so heartwarming ;) to Karlach, watching you take care of everyone - herself included. She wants you to look after her forever while she does the same for you

Shadowheart

almost disgusted by your altruism, in the beginning. She sees no point in it and points it out readily to you

Deep down though, even in the beginning, she likes it and almost envies you for it. She feels bad for speaking down to you especially after she’s had time by your side

Shadowheart enjoys being doted on and care for. She enjoys that you treat your friends like family and that you’re all carving out a little place for y’all

She’ll pout if you’re fussing over someone more than her, though she tries to deny it

Lae’zel

Similarly to Shadowheart, I think at first Lae’zel would find your actions unnecessary and dragging. She’s on a time crunch and knows where she needs to go, and helping all these people isn’t helping y’all

I’m not sure Lae’zel would ever truly warm up to being so willing to lend a helping hand. But I think she would appreciate and commend (and come to respect) you for being able to care so deeply for others (she’s not so certain she’s capable of that magnitude)

Forces you to take care of yourself and won’t hear shit about it; no she didn’t cook this meal just for you to ignore it bc Shadowheart needs to traumadump some more, eat you doofus

Gale

Gale finds it endearing, if a little worrisome. He’s happy to let you fawn over your camp mates but he’s draws the line at being so easily swayed by strangers

He tries to be diplomatic when he’s urging you away from suspicious individuals bc he really doesn’t want to hurt your feelings or make you feel like you need to change, he’s just trying to protect you to his best ability

Gale’s not particularly used to being doted on, but it’s almost…relieving, in a way. Refreshing?

He does work very hard to make sure you’re taken care of as well, cooking good meals and forcing coercing you to bed at a reasonable time

Wyll

heart eyes

Wyll himself sees (or wants to see) the world through rose colored glasses so he’s enamored that you do

He’s also probably one of the only ones to really understand your guilt over killing, even when necessary. He’s happy to talk you through your emotions over it and never hesitates to reassure you that you’re doing the right thing

flusters when your attention turns to him, but doubles it back in repayment to you

Astarion

Astarion seethes at first. He hates your tender-heartedness, hates how kind and soft you are, how loving you are with everyone, it’s just grinds against him

As he sorts through his trauma (and comes to appreciate your care, towards him and your friends at least) he stops whining about it…as much

He will absolutely shut someone down if they’re trying to use, manipulate, or fool you. Astarion only refrains from more…permanent silencing solutions because he knows you wouldn’t like it

He does, however, preen under your attention. True, no-strings-attached care? It takes him a long time to comfortable with it but he cherishes it

Halsin

While he certainly adores your tenderness, he tries to caution you over being too willing to blindly believe someone

Halsin is happy to comfort you through any remorse or guilt of course, but is quick to remind you that this is simply the way the world works

Watching you take care of your little band of misfits makes him melt. You care for them and then he cares for you when you come to him at the end of the day

Halsin would carry your burdens for you if he could, instead he’ll travel by your side and help you help others (while giving you looks that make you swoon let’s be real)

[thediaryofaurora]

General HCs

=Tim Wright/Masky=

- Twenty seven, only a little older than Brian.

- 6’0, buff dad bod.

- White with a small percentage of Native American.

- His childhood was ROUGH. His mom just dumped him off at a psyche ward whenever he started having hallucinations and rarely ever went to visit. He grew up completely isolated other than the other patients, never had any parental care or real friends. At around fifteen he burnt down the hospital and lived on the streets for a few years.

- After he was able to get into college he met Brian, and they immediately got along. Tim can’t communicate his feelings or even know what he’s feeling, but Brian can easily read people, is easy to talk to, and open minded, which is exactly what Tim needed. In all honesty, Brian’s the closest thing he’s ever had to a family.

- He is so desperate to feel any sliver of normality. Living at a strange, paranormal mansion, not remembering anything he does on missions, and not being able to have any normal social life makes him physically ill. Occasionally the proxies get a month or two off and that really the closest he ever gets to feeling normal, or even happy. Being able to watch TV in a normal house, go grocery shopping, get a part time job, do anything without worry or guilt, it’s the only good part about his life.

- Genuinely has a smoking issue, if you couldn’t tell. Goes through like two packs a DAY and has to buy them in bulk like a middle aged woman getting almonds at Costco.

- Has a little apartment a few miles away from the mansion with Brian. They were originally going to get separate ones close by, but Brian was too worried Tim would sieze out or have an episode to leave him alone.

- He gets sick SO easily. Not just from The Operator, he catches a cold at least every other month.

- Has an old, rusty pick up truck him and Brian drive around.

- Gets along surprisingly well with Natalie, sometimes they smoke together. It’s hard for him to understand her accent, but he doesn’t mind her company nonetheless. He finds her super interesting, and extremely intimidating — but he’d never mention that.

- Doesn’t necessarily mind Toby, but he does think he’s kind of an asshole. They get along on occasion, however he can be a jerk. To Tim he’s a snarky, reckless teenager, and to Toby Tim’s a nagging older brother who won’t ease up. When they have to work together Brian is usually alongside them, and his demeanor somewhat evens them out.

- Shockingly enough, he’s a morning person. Especially in the spring. Right before the sunrise when theres a light blue haze, dew on the leaves and buildings, and a cool breeze, it’s one of the rare times he feels peaceful.

- Almost exclusively eats microwaved meals. He can’t cook for shit and he doesn’t care enough to try.

- When him, Brian, and Toby are stationed away from the mansion they stop at hole in the wall diners. He always gets a black coffee and scrambled eggs, he likes to see if the places make them any different than the others.

- He listens to country music.

- Can’t really figure out any new technology. He’s not old or anything, he just has no means to. Still has an iPod and listens to CDs.

- More onto Masky now!!

- Unlike Hoodie, this guy does have malicious intent. Can and will attack anyone who possesses him off or gets in his way.

- EXTREMELY short temper. Won’t put up with Toby whatsoever and has beaten the shit out of him, no remorse.

- He is aware of what happens in Tim’s life, rather than how Tim doesn’t know what happens when Masky fronts. If something or someone slightly upset Tim, Masky is FUMING. Any slight emotion Tim feels, he feels ten times stronger — and more aggressively.

- Hoodie gets on his nerves, but they work well together. Masky is ruthless and doesn’t care what happens to who, while Hoodie is only aggressive by order.

- Masky prefers Kate over any proxy, even though him and Hoodie work together the most. She knows hot to shut up and get shit done, and he almost admires her for it. She’s fast, efficient, and not empathetic when it comes to victims. The only reason they’re not always paired together is because their killing styles don’t line up. She’s a hunter, while Masky is a brute that focuses on how he kills.

- He can front for extremely long, sometimes up to a few months, and when he fronts he does not sleep at all, which bites Tim in the ass.

- Extremely high pain tolerance. He can get stabbed and still be focused on getting the job done, he’ll deal with the pain after the fact.

================

[ninguitar]

୨୧　𝓣AKE A BITE　˒˒　LR

─── ﹙🍎﹚when two lovers can't help but be addicted to one-another's lies.

pairing. lara raj x f!r genre. angst, bittersweet ?? wc. 1.4k+ notes. communication issues, toxic relationship, for @lararajjj 🗣️ italics = past events ( MASTERLIST )

now playing ⋆ take a bite by beabadoobee

LARA RAJ COULDN'T HELP but chastise herself for her sheer idiocy—more specifically, how she fell for you horrendously. with her hand interlocked with yours, an incoherent slur of words escape her breath. you two were sat out on your apartment's fire escape, seeking refuge in one-another—well, more so, as an attempt to mend your guys' relationship.

leaves wave against the trees, the breeze settling on the horizon. barely any words escape the two of your guys' lips, words lying on the tip of your tongue particularly. you two had just been in yet another argument for the month, hissing and huffing out incoherent curse words strung together with useless arguments.

"why- why are you acting this way! it wasn't even that big of an issue!" you hiss out, your words laced in venom, as you sigh, "you're just making it worse!"

"because you can't seem to do the littlest of tasks—i mean, forgetting to do anything i ask of you—how hard it be to do the stuff i ask of you!" lara observes flatly, her voice dreary, as you could practically tell she'd been biting these words back, waiting for the right moment to just explode.

"i've been busy with college, lara. you know that," you tell her, your hand reaching her shoulder, before she dismisses you, pausing in her movements. hastily, she takes your hand off her shoulder, a frown on her lips.

"look, i— i know i've been failing you lately, and you're sick of it, but i promise i'll stop using being busy as an excuse," you try to mend the already wounded and sour relationship between you two, your tone gentle, and your gaze filled with remorse.

the indian girl huffs, meekly shaking her head, anger sewn into her tone. an exasperated sigh escapes her parted lips, "it's not just lately. i- i've tried to ignore it, really, but god, i've done more shit for you than you have for me!" her face darkens, her frustrations towards you seeping through her skin.

"are you serious right now? i took time off of school just to take care of you when you were feeling down! everything i do has been for you. you act like i don't do anything to you at all," you raise your voice to match hers, glaring at the girl.

"it's not even just a matter of that—you always have no time for me, at all! i have not heard you say anything but the same excuse of 'i'm busy'!" her bitter resentment remains, remarking with force.

your expression crumbles at her words, as they settle in your mind, your chest blossoming pain. lara's face dons with an expression that displayed no regret for her words, making you scoff in response. you cross your arms against your chest, "fine then. be that way."

her lips tremble slightly at your words of agreement, her eyes widening, as the shock from your reaction sets in. by then does her anger tame itself, regret and worry washing over her features now. you brush past the indian girl, disappearing into the fire escape.

which, is what led the two of you to now.

"are we okay?" you murmur, turning to face the indian girl, as you swallow a lump down your throat, a look of resignation washing over your features. a sigh drifts from your lips upon waiting for her answer, both your hands resting on the railings.

she whispers, "'course we are, but not now, okay?" before pressing her lips against yours, her voice barely above a whisper and soothing. trying to ease your mind off of any concerns, lara's arms snake around your waist, interrupting any of your protests.

and by then, you were addicted to lara's lies.

guilt runs through your bones, as you meekly oblige, before trying to protest once again, "it just feels like we're always fighting an uphill battle, that we can never fix. it's always the same thing over and over again." worry lines crease your forehead, your stance stiffening, as you watch the smile falter from the red-haired girl's face.

before you could speak up once again, her finger finds your lips, shushing you. her words are laced with desperation, her voice quietly ringing in your head over and over again, "please, not now, pretty." she meekly grumbles under her breath, burying her head against your neck, murmuring nonsense while doing so.

you knew everything wasn't okay—hell, even lara knew that. but, things always go like this between you two. something goes wrong, either you or her confronts one-another, and then an argument follows. but then, it's forgotten almost instantly a few seconds after, and you're back to square one.

her eyes trace over your lips, before pressing her plush ones against yours, trying to melt away your worries. cupping your chin in a haste, she peppers your face with an abundance of kisses, coaxing praises under her breath. her lips trail down to your jaw to your neck, ruthlessly moving against them—a stark contrast to the way her hands entangle themselves in your cold hands.

"fuck—" her breath fans over your neck, making a chain of shivers run through your spine. leaving a trail of kisses down from your jaw to your neck, they leave small, pink-tinted stains, your fingertips dancing along lara's knuckles.

and you know it’s wrong—wrong to be in a relationship like this, where it's endless fighting between the two of you. and of course, two wrongs don't make a right, but how could you resist the temptation?

your breath stutters, unconsciously easing into the indian girl's touch, as she pulls you closer in an urgent manner. with the two of you standing against one-another at your fire escape, by now, the communication issue in your guys' relationship now seems like the last of your concerns. she pulls away from your neck, her head now facing yours.

"you're perfect," the red-haired girl whispers, running her hands down your arm.

a lie.

lara fixates on you, her lips pressing against each and every crevice of your face, wanting to reassure you, "so, so perfect—my gorgeous girl. can't let anybody else have you."

another lie.

and from her soft, tender touch, you can't help but let yourself drift off into her world, letting yourself believe in her lies. every single, small kiss of hers leaves you remembering the moment you knew lara raj was the one. her charming words from that day ring in your head—"i promise to never break your heart; i'll do anything i can to make my girl happy."

also a lie.

for as long as you were in a relationship with lara, you felt like you were high in a daze, feeling as light as a feather whenever you were with her. you thought—no, knew—that even in another lifetime, you two would inevitably find each other. and lara, likewise, knew so too, finding herself irrevocably in love with you—with everything that embodies you.

you were everything she wanted, and she was yours as well. you know how the indian girl looks when she genuinely professes her words to you—when she talks to you with sincerity laced in her words in general.

and your eyes desperately glaze over hers, already knowing she was meekly telling you lies. you mumble, "i love you too, forever." before you could manage to murmur another word out, lara captures your lips in a ruthless attempt, moving against yours fervently. her kisses leave you breathless, her hands running up and down your waist. the cool night breeze whistling only serves to make the red-headed girl kiss you feverishly.

you think that you two are perfect for each other—well, at least in terms of ignoring the underlying issues in your relationship. either one of you could speak up, but you guys don't, or one of you interrupts the other. it's the same cycle, and it ends up like always—the two of you fixing it with a kiss on the lips.

the red-headed girl drags you to the bedroom, not letting you protest with any words, as she sits, letting your head rest on her lap. the deafening silence through the room leaves you tense, your cheeks and ears flushed. her hands find their way to your hair, playing with your hair every few seconds.

thus, you call it yet another night of endlessly moving backwards instead of forward, stuck in reverse, and inevitably fixing it with a kiss on the lips, accompanied by words that mean little to either one of you. it's wrong, but lara's willing to do anything to not let your relationship go south, and vice-versa.

it gets harder to breathe

but i take it and i want it and i love when it bleeds

taglist. ୨ৎ @lararajjj @kisshae @sed7ction @yeetaberry127 @vrtualstar

@jellaaa @artrizzler19 @falling-intoo-deep

[pickingupmymercedes]

"dont ask me that" from yours and "i dont even know if any of that was real" from my own. one where lewis overheard a conversation between reader n her brother/family after his breakup with her. in which the breakup broke and changed her so much shes become a different person who just doesnt believe shes worthy for love anymore. and it hurts her so much that she cant even believe that any of her happy moments with lewis was real, maybe it was just a game for him. angst and pleasee sfw

Asshole Lewis incoming. He does try to make things a bit better in the end though.

Also, this is only the second time I write from his perspective, and it's hard ngl.

"dont ask me that" and "i dont even know if any of that was real"

The cacophony of the paddock was a familiar background noise as Lewis weaved through the throng of team personnel and sponsors; a practiced smile plastered on his face. Yet, the usual thrill of pre-race anticipation was muted. All he craved was solitude, anywhere he could escape the prying eyes of the media.

He ducked into a secluded corner; a sliver of shade offered by a towering hospitality suite. Quietness for a few seconds, only to be instantly replaced by a gut-punch of surprise. Y/n. She was just on the other side of the wall of tires, face illuminated by the glow of her phone, a serious expression etched on her features.

He should've known retreating wouldn't guarantee escape. And the sight of her, so unexpected, made him suddenly regret his decision and long for the fans and media.

But he couldn't help eavesdropping. It wasn't intentional, not at first. Her voice was laced with a vulnerability he had only witnessed once before. The other voice on the conversation was her brother, he gathered, and his tone was laced with concern.

“You sound exhausted, Y/n,” the man's voice cutting deep into the silence. “Seriously, you need to take a break. The team won’t crumble without you”

Y/n sighed, the sound so different from the girl he remembered. “I’m fine, busy season. That’s all.”

“Is it just the work, or…” He trailed off, the question hanging heavy.

“Don't ask me that,” Y/n cut him off, her voice cracking slightly, and Lewis winced. That wasn't the Y/n he knew. The bubbly, optimistic girl who'd lit up a room with her smile.

Lewis felt a pang of guilt. He knew exactly who she was trying to avoid mentioning. The one who'd left without a real goodbye, the one who'd taken a piece of her with him.

“You know I can't help you if you don't talk about it,” her brother continued gently.

“There’s nothing to talk about” Y/n said, a hint of defiance creeping in. “It’s over. And honestly, maybe I’m glad it is. I don't even know if any of that was real for him.” The anger in her voice barely masked the underlying hurt.

The air grew thick, suffocating. His blood turned to ice. The weight of his actions, the cowardly way he'd ended things before they could get too serious, slammed into him. He'd been the one afraid. Afraid to let himself care, afraid to risk another heartbreak. He'd ended things abruptly, afraid of getting too attached, afraid of the very thing Y/n was now questioning – how real their connection had been.

“Focus on your career, then,” her brother said. “It’s the one thing that won't let you down.”

“Yeah,” Y/n agreed, her voice distant. “At least I can trust that.”

A few days later, a bouquet of lilies arrived at Y/n's desk. Nestled amidst the pristine white blooms was a small card. The note was short, filled with a remorse he couldn't express in words:

"Y/n,

Those moments were real, to me. I never meant to led you on but I was too afraid to admit I was letting myself get too close. I hope you find someone who’s unapologetic about his feelings. You deserve the world.

Lewis."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf @priopp123 @jajouska

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[kawaiipienerdfreak]

I'll never believe your tears, Sunday.

edit: i was given a great analogy to zuko from avatar, and now i'm not so critical. thanks everyone for your attention

I want to say this upfront: as a character, Sunday works perfectly fine for me. But I absolutely can’t stand how the fandom obediently swallowed such a stupid retcon of his character. And I can’t stand fandom stripped him of all blame. Time and time again, I see posts like: “Oh, my precious little sunshine! Don’t cry... Oh no, he’s crying in his ultimate! He didn’t deserve this, poor thing!”

And I’m left wondering: what the hell?

What the hell was HoYoverse thinking when they gave us a dictator with a god complex (borderline chūnibyō syndrome) as an antagonist? A character who defended someone who sold children into slavery. Someone who mocked a slave for their origins. Someone who placed himself above the local police and even above the very creator of Penacony. All while chaos reigned under his (and Family’s) rule in Penacony. Within Penacony, everything’s a mess: banditry, alcoholism, shady financial dealings. Criminals hide from the hounds in the Dreamscape, and Sunday defends them, driving the hounds away. Many people work for pennies, losing any chance at a better future. And some have even been dragged back after death, turned into lifeless husks just to serve as local attractions.

Sunday knows how to act righteously, but he chooses to do things his own way instead. That’s his whole arc. He became a god (boss version) for the Dreamscape and felt zero guilt over the fact that Penacony under his rule remained a pit of sin and filth, far from any kind of paradise.

And then, we defeat him. He regrets... but only regrets losing. His remorse isn’t about what he did—it’s about being beaten. He’s ready to do it all over again, just with a different strategy.

So again, what the hell?

Why does HoYoverse give us a character like this (admittedly fascinating because he’s ridiculously stubborn, manipulative, selfish, and unhinged), only to suddenly turn him into a martyr, a lamb, and a tragic victim we’re supposed to feel sorry for? Poor Sunday, who only wanted the best but ended up dooming everyone to suffer. They’re so insistent about making us pity him that it’s disorienting. What’s the point? No one’s going to believe it. He locked his own sister in a cage, justified slavery, carried out vigilante justice, and controlled the fates of millions. No one’s going to believe he’s a victim...

Except they d i d. And that’s what pisses me off the most. People have forgotten that just a year ago, he was the thorn in everyone’s side, deliberately hurting those around him with glee. Now they call him “sunshine,” “poor thing,” “precious baby.” They wipe his tears during his ultimate move, saying he doesn’t deserve to be imprisoned, doesn’t deserve to face the consequences of his actions. Are you all out of your minds?

Why didn’t Kokolia get a chance? Why didn’t Tisok 2 get a chance? (Tisok 2 is from a side quest about a ruler whose memories were erased. In it, we’re shown that she was a tyrant before losing her memory. The NPCs ask us, “Does she deserve redemption?” And no matter what, the NPCs will yell, “No, absolutely not!” Funny. She doesn’t deserve it, but Sunday does?)

The idea that he isn’t to blame is also questionable. He and Robin grew up under the same person’s wing. Robin was constantly told her perspective was wrong, yet did she grow up as a submissive follower? No, she grew into a truly strong person capable of thinking for herself. But Sunday? He basked in the praise for his bad decisions. He’s just an overgrown brat who decided the world is his playground.

So no, I will never believe in his redemption. I will never believe he’s changed. HoYoverse can’t convince me that he’s repented or truly regrets his sins, because as long as he’s free and has done nothing for society, it’s all meaningless.

He will never have a place on my Express. The Express will never be his home. He will never stand among the people who’ve become my family.

[solivagant242]

losing you pt. 1

remus lupin x f!reader

warnings: strong angst, losing a relationship, minor swearing (?)

my first fanfic ever!!!

amberly is used as the MC here since i used to write a lot of fanfics with her, but feel free to self-insert or use whatever name you like <3.

pt. 2 is out!

_______________________________________

Amberly was used to Remus’ bad days by now.

At least, that was what she thought. 

The days before the full moon always held an unspoken tension, like a thick, sticky film that hung over their relationship and slowed her every move and action. She’d learned how to handle it- leave food and tea and chocolate on the counter, curl up on the sofa, and read or study to let Remus rest. Trying to talk gave him a headache, and being in any position that wasn’t lying down left him irritable and short of breath. 

She was used to it.

What she wasn’t used to was the feeling of isolation that always accompanied it. Of being left behind, forgotten, all the happiness and expectation she’d been harboring dashed in one moment and left for nothing. 

“Love, we’re leaving at seven, right?” Amberly’s hair swished against one shoulder as she tilted her head to slide in a pearl earring. An excited smile lifted her lips- glossy, for once, as she was finally wearing the makeup Lily had gotten her for Christmas. “I think Pads said he might be there early. We could stop by Flourish and Blotte’s, maybe”-

His gravelly voice sighed from the bedroom. “I don’t know. I’m not feeling so great.”

Concern flooded Amberly as she hurried out of the bathroom, sitting next to him where he was lying on the unmade bed. His eyes were dull and his hair was dry and messy, not soft like usual. “Are you doing okay?” She rested a hand on his forehead.

Remus jerked away, closing his eyes. “Your hands are cold.”

“Oh.” Amberly stared at her hands, at a loss for words. “I’m sorry. Do you not want to go, then?”

“I don’t know,” he replied wearily, turning his face to the wall. “I’ve got such a headache.”

A pit grew in Amberly’s stomach. But it’s our anniversary.

She quickly pushed those words away, guilt flooding her at even the thought. Putting a smile on her face, she leaned forwards to pat Remus’ foot beneath the blankets. “It’s okay. We can stay home, watch a movie? Would you like that? I could order us food. Or make some brownies”-

“Can you just- stop?” came Remus’ voice from under the blanket. His head appeared a second later, hazel eyes blinking at her with a trace of remorse. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap. It’s just kinda loud, and I’ve got a monster headache”-

Biting her lip, Amberly nodded, sliding off the bed. Turning back to the bathroom, she pulled out her earrings, tugged her hair up into its usual messy bun. 

It’s okay. It’s okay. He’s just having a bad evening, that’s all…

It’s not always like this, of course. When it’s not the full moon, when it’s not that fateful week leading up to it, he’s the sweetest boyfriend known to mankind. He holds her hand, kisses her hair, swings her around and buys her roses that he charms to smell even sweeter from the little corner shop down the road.

But now…almost every week now. It feels like the full moon weeks have been growing longer and longer, taking away her Moony and replacing him with an irritable, cold stranger.

She knows that it’s hard for him. She knows how he pushes people away when he’s hurt or in pain, not wanting to show any emotion, receive any pity.

But why does it always hurt her too?

Now, she sits at the kitchen table and stares at her dark phone.

Remus hasn’t answered her text for the better part of three hours. 

Nothing even serious, just a question: hey, do you wanna go to that bakery down the street? It might be fun, I saw they have the hazelnut cake you like so much.

Even though what she wants to say is I miss you, I feel like you’re slipping away, I’ve had such a long week and I want to spend time with you, I feel so lonely and pathetic waiting for your response…

The clock ticks loudly on the wall. 6:27 p.m., two and a half hours past the time he was usually home.

A single tear slides down Amberly’s cheek.

He hasn’t answered. Still.

Something clicks at the door and she jumps, sitting up straight. He’s home. 

Hurriedly wiping at her face, Amberly slides off her chair and goes to the door as it opens, a smile cracking her face for what feels like the first time that day. “Hey. How was work? Bad traffic?”

Remus pulls off his coat and slings it over the counter before answering her. “Fine.” His voice is short, clipped.

Amberly’s chest twinges. “Are you okay?”

He shrugs, kicking off his shoes. “Just tired. Long day, and full moon soon. All that shit.” Glancing around the kitchen, he rummages in one of the cabinets. “Did you get that chamomile tea?”

For a moment Amberly remembers how he used to come home, how she’d throw her arms around him and he’d bury his nose in her hair, the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg flooding her as he held her to his chest.

She can’t remember the last time he held her like that.

Biting her lip, she moves towards him and opens the cabinet to pull out the little yellow box of tea, holding it out. “Here. It’s Twinings.”

Remus blinks at her before taking it. “Thanks.” He turns his back and pulls out a mug, filling up the kettle.

Tears fill Amberly’s eyes and she blinks them away before they can overflow in a hot, sticky waterfall over her sweater. “Do you- do you want to sit for a while? I can make us dinner.”

Remus shrugs, a tiny movement beneath his button-down. “If you’d like. I’ve got an awful headache, though, so I’ll probably lie down.”

“Okay.” 

The word wobbles and breaks as it leaves her lips, but she knows he won’t notice. Turning, Amberly makes her way to the little library they made down the hall, just beyond their bedroom. Every single picture, every cushion, every book was one they’d picked out when they had moved in a year ago.

A year ago…

Had it really been a year?

It felt like much, much longer. 

“Someone’s going to see us!” protested Amberly, laughing as she tried to push Remus away. The white blanket she’s holding slips to the floor of the little furniture shop. 

He pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her lips. “So what? I can’t kiss my girlfriend now?” Reaching out, he picked up the coverlet and draped it over her dark hair. “You look like a bride now. My Mrs. Lupin.”

Amberly smiled up at him, big brown eyes melting into the warmth of his hazel ones…

Now, she blinks tears from her eyes, pulling off her glasses to smear them away. 

It’s not his fault. That’s the thing, what she keeps telling herself. She should be grateful he wants to be with her, for trying to manage the beast within him and still have a relationship at all. He’s trying, isn’t he? She would never be able to manage the pain that he has to endure.

But it hurts for me, too.

[abyssmare]

Nico vs. Hu : A Bird and a Cage

How being ‘protective’ of another can result in infantilization, and how Hu’s depiction of Nico is going to create a inevitable disaster.

With the conclusion of trial two of DR Despair Time, I wanted to explore an under-talked dynamic and my thoughts on how they will continue to explore them, given much of the fandom ( in my experience ) hasn’t spoken about a relationship that is clearly unhealthy. Please be patient with me, thank you.

Since the beginning of the game Nico has been depicted as someone that’s been seen as more of a innocent soul than the rest of the cast, whether due to their design, their often quiet appearance and nervous habits, or their identity upon reveal. This is clearly shown through several interactions, where they’re being treated a as a beacon to be protected or flat out ignored when speaking up.

A great example of Hu’s beacon of protective light against Nico’s character actually begins with Hu being the one to tell everyone their identity, admitting to being open to resorting to violence if anyone speaks against it. Necessarily kind words, yes, but in Nico’s own words : They don’t believe they were ready.

( This serves as a great example of their emotions being ignored in favor for the ‘positives’ of the actions that just happened as well. )

This creates the idea that Hu was ready to have an excuse to defend Nico, but not the alternative. Nico is open about having been bullied for their identity, which only creates a more significant wall between Nico’s real self, and the way Hu sees Nico. Hu sees Nico as a innocent naive person, maybe even child, and she can be the one to create the cage to save them.

This savior complex-esque attitude does not go ignored. This is a heavy discussion in chapter two’s trial, especially toward the latter of the trial where it is revealed Nico tried to frame Hu for the murder. What does go ignored, is any form of redemption on Hu’s behalf. This isn’t to say Hu is some evil person, there is clearly good intent behind her words, but her actions are only creating a larger and larger barrier on Nico, marking a cage between the two.

When Teruko initially speaks up on the idea of Nico’s murder attempt, the first one to speak up on the idea that it is ‘painful to Nico’ is Hu Jing, initiating the rebuttal showdown between them.

Firstly, you’ll notice that initially in the trial Hu refused to refer to it as a murder attempt— rather a ‘lost temper’, an ‘episode’, a ‘fit of rage’— an ‘attack’. This belittles the attempted murder that Nico did, and actually treats it more-so as a lack of impulse control and as if Ace had been the one to initiate the attack. This isn’t to say Ace’s treatment of Nico didn’t warrant some consequence, but he has repeatedly been proven to be incapable of physical fighting, which they likely took to their advantage if anything. The murder was pre-planned, fully thought out, and then treated as an impulsive embarrassing fit of personal anger you’d expect from a hurt child.

This treatment of prioritizing Nico’s feelings over discussing the odd coincidences both murders held together is unlike CH1’s Hu Jin, who was open and even helped with discovering Min as the killer, despite befriending her initially.

Despite Hu’s attempts to defend Nico in the trial, they openly admit to the attempt at framing and only apologize after Ace yells at them to. They admit they don’t feel a sense of remorse on who they chose, and understand why they did what they attempted to do, but do regret the guilt and shame such an action brought. But even then—-

They only admit to feeling shame, not necessarily remorse. The difference in this is a necessary distinction. Because Nico didn’t feel remorse for Ace, Nico felt shame for the way the others would see them for the act. This is different. Nico is the same age as the rest of them, yet Xander is a murderer. Ace is a murderer. Nico was a naive, innocent child.. according to Hu, at least.

Inevitably, overall, I think Hu’s savior ideals is going to enact self-sabotage. She is prioritizing being seen as a savior of Nico over her own morals, the others even point this out during the trial that defending Nico is only harming herself and ignoring the gravity of the situation. I feel like Nico will have to be more blunt in the future about how this makes them uncomfortable, because the way they reacted in the trial to Hu’s constant belittling of their actions was clearly out of discomfort.

I just wish this was talked about more as a fandom. I’m not sure where to end this off, but I do hope they get explored more in the future! They were heavily overshadowed by David and Ace this trial ( maybe even Eden ) so I can’t wait to see how they’re explored.

[lunariasecret]

Désolé

A week had passed since Michéle’s brother had punched the boy who had played a joke on her. Of course she felt anger and embarrassment when water soaked up her entire school clothes but now that her brother was on the brim of getting expelled and her classmate had possibly lost an eye, she only felt utter guilt.

Her mind was clouded with all the possible outcomes that could come with her brother getting expelled. Would she even be able to keep staying at her new school? Would her parents also blame her? My god, Jean-Pierre will hate me forever! She thought when suddenly an arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“Morning!” Simones smile was brighter than ever that it could even make her feel a little better. “Morning Simone” Michéle replied but her voice came out different than she expected. “Oh my, are you still thinking about that dumb boy? It’s been a week, everyone’s already forgotten all about him.” She reassured her friend although it didn’t help much. “I’m not really concerned about him but more about my brother.” Michéle dragged her feet to school which she dreaded more than ever, her teachers and classmates all assume that she’s stuck up and gets a free pass because of her uncle now. Way to start off the new school year.

Can this get any worse? She thought to herself. “Don’t worry. I’ll always be by your side.” Michéle smiled, at least one person was making her feel less awful. As soon as the two friends entered through the school gate it was chatter all over the place. Yet the real talk of the school would enter minutes after. There he was, Joseph Descamps with an eye patch covering his left eye. It was dead quiet while he walked towards his friends, not missing a single glance at Michéle. She felt intimidated and scared although she was convinced he wouldn’t try doing something to her again because of her brother.

For a week she had been trying to reassure herself that he had it coming and that it wasn’t really her fault in the first place. She pressed her lips together tightly, her brows furrowing as she glanced at her friend once more, a similar expression on her face as well. Arm in arm they walked to class silently even though Simone tried to change the topic from time to time it was no use.

Time had passed and Michéle was sat in Latin for her second period. For the whole day she had been glancing at Joseph from time to time, even though he pretended not to notice he shared her glances a few times which left Michéle embarrassed and scribbling on paper, pretending to do something. “I’m so not ready for pe in third period. My bruise is so big! You cannot imagine how embarrassing it’s gonna be if people notice.” Simone whispered. “I don’t think it matters that much. That’s noting compared to Jospeh’s eye.” Although Michéle hadn’t intended for her reply to sound funny , Simone who felt absolutely no remorse let out a small cackle which caught the attention of the teacher.

“Is something funny?” Mr Douillard asked with an irritated tone which left the girl’s shaking their heads profusely. “You can stand outside if my lesson is boring you two!” He demanded and pointed at the door. Good, got in trouble once again. Michéle shut her eyes tightly as she and Simone left the classroom to stand out front. “He really needs to tone it down a bit. So dramatic!” Simone exclaimed in a louder tone than necessary which made Michéle alarm her to keep her voice down. “We have thin walls here, he can still hear us!”

Not a second later the door opened and left Simone and Michéle wide eyed. Had he really heard them?! A tall figure with his hands in his pocket appeared in front of them. It was Joseph. His eyes landed on the red haired girl as he stood there for a few seconds, watching her play with her fingers. Michéle averted her gaze as he walked past them, his shoulder intentionally bumping into Michéles smaller frame. “Watch it!” Simone yelled in an angry tone. “Who does he think he is?!” But Michéle knew that he was angry and was probably going to let his anger out on her…

————————————————————————————

It was during break in which Michéle noticed her brother looking nervous and sweating profusely. Yes, today was his disciplinary hearing. “Are you even listening?“ Simone asked. “Huh? What?” Michéle looked at her friend that was sitting across from her. “No, sorry what were you saying?” “Ugh, I was talking about the new movie that just came out!” Simone’s voice faded into the background as she scanned the whole school yard but her brother was nowhere to be found. Then she saw Joseph walking to the bathroom, even though it seemed normal something was odd about the way he walked nervously looking around. As soon as their eyes met she knew something was wrong. Before she could do anything the school bell rang. “Simone you can go first, I’ll be running a little late, okay?“ “What? Why?” “Just go.” She said and ran to the boys bathroom as the yard was getting emptied.

Her hand reached for the doorknob when the door suddenly opened with a mischievous laughing Joseph. His smile disappeared once he saw Michéle standing in front of him. “The hell do you want?” His gaze was filled with anger and disgust. Gosh, he really hated her. “Oh, did you wanna go in for a quickie?“ he smirked but was only met with Michéles confused face. “Is my brother in there?” She ignored his weird statement and tried to look past his shoulder before the door closed. The only thing she could see was a broom locking a door and few faint yells. Panic set on Michéles face as she put the pieces together. “Did you lock my brother in the toilet stall?!” She yelled and tried to push past him.

“Oh no, leave my brother alone!” He mocked her voice as he blocked her way into the boys bathroom. “Stop it! Both of you!” Michéle and Joseph looked at Mr Bellanger who would definitely not let Michéle in or get into the bathroom as well. “Have you lost your mind? Fighting like this on the school yard!” “But Uncle, my brother-“ “I will be seeing him in the teachers office for his disciplinary hearing. Don’t make this any harder for him, Michéle. His options aren’t looking too good right now.” Michéle looked at him, brows furrowed as she felt the guilt she tried to suppress resurfacing and swallowing her whole. Suddenly the three of them heard a commotion in the bathroom and then a loud yell. The door opened and an angry Jean-Pierre was met with three surprised faces.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Bellanger. I was.. locked in the bathroom stall by this idiot! My Jacket, it’s ruined!” He stated. “Am I late? Do we still have time?” Michéle had never seen her brother this distressed before. He was usually so put together calm and rational but now she was causing him trouble. “You can wear my jacket and you two better get to class right now!” Her uncle exclaimed as she made her way to the gymnasium with Joseph.

“You’re horrible!” She stated and gave him a dirty look which he did likewise. He suddenly stopped in his tracks and grabbed the girl by the arm, yanking her back to him. His finger pointed at his eye patch. “I’m horrible? Look at what your fucking brother did to my face!” He said, his tone angry but he didn’t yell. “All because of you.” He whispered. “You started it!” She yelled and tried to push him off of her. “I felt bad in the beginning but now I realise you completely deserved it!” She retorted which only made the boy tighten his grip around her arm.

“Let her go!” A voice appeared behind the two of them. Michéle looked past Joseph’s shoulder and met eyes with Laubrac. A wave of relief washed over her as Joseph let go of her and she quickly made her way over to her classmate. “Well if it isn’t the foster kid and the deans niece.” Joseph smirked, putting his hands back into his pocket.

a/n: i’m really not sure if this was written okay and I hope you guys like the idea! I really wanted to ask you for ideas but I thought I couldn’t keep you guys waiting any longer. Im really open for any visions and stuff that you guys have just comment them or put on my ask thingy (I’m not even sure I have one tbh). Just bombard me with some ideas I’d really like that<3 i hope you guys liked this

tags: @ssnowville @

[snakes-and-fluff]

Contemplating when blood is explictly shown in Milgram MVs and for what purpose. (Plenty of shots of blood and bloodied people below the cut)

Both of Muu's songs show a pretty clear-cut image of the murder, blood and all.

But it's interesting to note that, while Muu does show realistic blood in both MVs, in After Pain it's only for a single shot: most of the shots of Rei's body have her covered in a neon green liquid instead - the same liquid inside the hourglass. But in It's Not My Fault, while the hourglass does return, it's not used as a stand-in for blood this time, only showing realistic shots of blood at the scene.

Realistic blood is again shown in The Purge March and although this whole scene is metaphorical, it is highly likely that this is what the state of the actual weapon would have been.

Some of the blood in MeMe appears to be representative of real events (though the circumstances around the murder are still so vague I can't say for sure), but some of it is clearly over-exaggerated for dramatic effect and not a representation what literally happened.

Sometimes blood is purely symbolic, like in Cat (in addition it is coloured pitch-black, even on Hinako's face when the lighting should make it appear brighter).

Similar to the above, the blood in Bring It On is symbolic of Fuuta's guilt, but is portrayed with more realistic colouration.

Then you have Haruka's weird midground, where he has blood in both his MVs, and both are heavily stylized (albeit in different ways). If the shot at the end of All-Knowing and All-Agony is any indication, he strangled his victim which should have been a bloodless death, but he has engaged in literal bloody activity before (killing pets), so his blood appears to be both metaphorical and literal.

At the end of Deep Cover, Kotoko stands covered in neon pink blood, chess pieces representing the other prisoners scattered about her feet. But the only pieces that are shown are those voted Innocent in T1 - those she has not yet attacked. So the blood here is not representative of any particular event, but rather her intentions.

But if that's the case, what does that say for Double, which portrays John standing in a train, dripping with blood the wrong colour as he attacks mannequins? Is this merely a mental block he has because he cannot clearly remember the events? Or, like Kotoko's similar theming above, is it purely metaphorical, indicating his emotions rather than his actions?

Then we get to Milgram Enigma Number 1, Mahiru. I Love You undoubtedly shows realistic blood, but whether it is literal or not is left very unclear. If the only bloodstain present was the one on his torso I'd be more inclined to believe it was truly all a metaphor; a betrayed or bleeding heart. But that doesn't explain the stain on the sleeve. And of course, it begs the question: if it is metaphorical, what is it representing? Fuuta showed guilt by recoiling at the blood on his hands, and Kazui showed remorse and how he feels like a monster by tearing a dove apart. But we don't see Mahiru cause this wound, nor does she react to it. As of right now I don't understand enough about Mahiru to form a concrete conclusion but if the trend in the other MVs is anything to go by, I'm afraid that these bloodstains might be more literal than I want to believe.

Interesting to note that Fuuta is the only character to show blood in his T1 MV but not the second, and both Yuno and Shidou show no blood in either MV (ironically enough for Shidou, as things like rotting fruit have to take the place of organs and blood instead)

[verdantwyrm]

hello!! i always love your takes and you are truly a joy to read. i hope you know that and you haven't been getting any harassment for your opinions at all. <3 you are a gem of this fandom and i read your blog like the newspaper.

i just wanted to get your take if you would like to give it - today i read a thread on twitter where someone said that the reason anya's ID is in the cockpit's locker is because curly stole it to prevent her from going to hr. and i had to just sit there stunned for a solid while because people are uncritically retweeting it saying it changed their view on curly and how he's pure evil etc etc when... even aside from the fact not having an ID would not stop her, the ID positions in the game are pretty obviously (at least to me) a metaphorical device? otherwise how is curly's in utility post-crash for example. they always seemed to me like they were showing up in moments/chapters and in places where that character had a connection. the choice of which ones are/aren't visible in the weird ID corridor later in the game (curly and anya's being covered by jimmy's) certainly makes me feel like they're not to be taken at face value, they're there to represent something. curly's whole sad enabling style is inaction as well, not direct and malicious action. he fails anya but he's not like that. and even aside from all that - why would anya even go to HR? pony express is a defunct company that punishes people for HR complaints. she's not going to get anything out of that. she seems mostly just to want to get through a harrowing time of her life with as little conflict as possible.

sorry for rambling majorly lol. just wanted to see what your thoughts were. peace and love on earth

＼(≧▽≦)／ Thank you!! I'm so glad people actually like my analysis' even though I think they're very scattered and all over the place. I have been receiving some hate here and there, mostly people who haven't even bought the game for themselves and only know of it through streamers who aren't very bright to begin with. I've actually been receiving an overwhelming number of people sending in asks and giving me praise, and my inbox has never been this busy!

As for your actual question, I too saw that post and I rolled my eyes so hard they almost fell out of my head. (ーー;)

Curly doesn't take Anya's ID to stop her from reporting to HR or anyone else about being raped or harassed, he took it because of the gun incident, and how he mentions that none of this has to be on their record, he's taking her ID to ensure that doesn't happen. I don't know how people constantly miss it, but not once in the game does Curly ever doubt Anya, blame or even try to praise Jimmy. Anya does not want to create conflict, she has a lot of worries about telling Curly about the possibility that he doesn't even believe her or worse, report her to HR himself.

But your point about them being metaphorically placed is correct! I'd honestly say it could be a bit of both, but it is definitely a storytelling point and how they represent something in the current chapter they're found in. Just like how the state of their ID cards also reflects on their character in a way. Anya's is perfectly untouched, a reflection of how Jimmy feels no remorse or guilt towards what he did to her, whereas Curly's is completely destroyed.

But thank you so much for your question! And thank you for the kind words, It's all so very appreciated! ٩(｡•́‿•̀｡)۶ That post was very dumb, and the number of likes on it is even more stupid. Bush you really did leave some kids behind...

[natasha-in-space]

Every so often, I can't help but think about all the dirty jobs Saeyoung had to do during his time as an agent. I'm not talking about the usual digital crime stuff he feels comfortable enough to mention openly. I'm talking of those missions he'd rather just shut up and never speak a word about. What about all the missions that went wrong for him, back when he was still young and inexperienced?

The fact that he has blood on his hands is apparent to us. But, do you ever think about whether or not he was forced to kill an innocent? Be it by some cruel accident or by direct order from the higher ups he had no choice but to obey? Have you ever thought of him having to make a quick elimination on yet another corrupt member of society, only to realize that his family, who has nothing to do with this, had seen him?

Have you ever thought about him doing everything he can to fix this: coming up with shaky lies on the spot, attempting to fabricate evidence, eventually resorting to pitiful begging that goes nowhere. But there should not be any witnesses. It's too late to turn back now. He got sloppy. His DNA is already on the scene of the crime. If he refuses, he not only puts his own safety at risk, but these people will get eliminated regardless. The least he can do is make it quick and painless. Have you ever thought of him still having to come back to his sad parody of a home and pretend like everything is fine? Like this was just another Tuesday, and not one of the most sickening things he had to do and witness?

Have you imagined him sitting down, staring at his bloodied hands with a blank and glassy look to his eyes, his weapon still in his grasp, and his ears ringing from every shot he has fired? Have you ever thought of him feeling so utterly disgusted and ashamed of himself that it almost seems like the silver cross on his neck that has always brought him a sense of security, is burning through his clothes and straight into his flesh? He won't take it off, no matter how heavy it feels. He wears it as a constant reminder of the sins these hands have committed. He knows that God has seen it all. He knows that, much like Lucifer, he will never be allowed to step foot over the Heaven's Gates. His soul is too sullied. Too dirty. Too sinful.

I feel like these are the days when he goes complete MIA. He tells everyone in the RFA later that he just slept through these few days.

He maintains contact with V, just in case. But, really, he spends these few days just... in a daze. Luciel has no remorse for selling his entire life away to guarantee his brother's happiness. He does not regret sullying his hands in the darkest sins this world had to offer, if only it means that Saeran's hands will get to do all the good things he has always dreamed about. He does not regret forsaking his own childhood, because he never thought of himself as a child in the first place.

But, in these moments... as the events of what he has done continue to unfold in his head over and over again, like he never even left, he feels it. Regret. Guilt. Disgust.

Luciel harbors a deep hatred towards his parents. He hates his joke of a mother, who has brought nothing but endless torment on her own children for ruining the life she foolishly destroyed all by herself, something he despises with all his heart. He hates his father for forcing them to live in constant fear and paranoia, just for the unforgivable crime of being born into this world. He hates every bystander who has done nothing to correct such an unfair act of pure cruelty unfolding right in front of their eyes.

But, as his vacant gaze keep drifting back to the equipment he has stashed away in one of his many drawers, a grim thought claws at his insides, tearing him apart piece by piece like a vicious parasite feeding on his flesh: is he... really that different from them?

Vanderwood ends up being the one find him, slouched in his seat, his hands still caked and crusty with blood. They just sigh, already knowing what happened. It's something they all had to go through. They just sit next to him, letting the younger agent know he's not alone. And, once Luciel's shoulders start to shake with choked, painful sobs, they don't say a word. They just let him break down into their arms.

It's one of the rarer moments of tenderness between the two.

[hellaversity]

I see so many people say that Blitzø doesn't feel any guilt or remorse for robbing Verosika in the past, that he willingly goes out of his way to publicly humiliate her for no reason, and that he doesn't take any accountability for his past actions, and it baffles me to no end.

There are many bad HB takes that make me say "Are we watching the same show?" but this is the one i've been wanting to talk about lately.

Blitzø never denies or corrects what Verosika says about him. He says "Goddammit w**re, you will NOT let that go!" Implying that he DID do it. His bad trip in Truth Seekers shows her not only angry at him for pushing people away when they try to get close to him, but he doesn't retaliate. He doesn't even respond. He just has a look of regret on his face when she calls him out.

That broken heart on her cheek, which mind you, looks like a normal undamaged heart in reality, is an indication that Blitzø KNOWS he broke her heart. All he tries to do is run away from her instead of making excuses or trying to defend himself. Deep down, Blitzø DOES feel bad about hurting Verosika.

When she talks shit about him in Ozzie's, again, he doesn't even say anything. He looks guilty and ashamed of what he did to her.

And for the record, Verosika doesn't come off much better than Blitzø for not moving on and subjecting him to public humiliation at every chance she can get to the point of assaulting his employees just for being associated with him. Moxxie didn't deserve to be gangbanged against his will. He had nothing to do with Blitzø and Verosika's breakup.

She also didn't have to willingly steal their only parking space left and spray paint on their logo. It's not like she didn't know her ex was working there. She did that on purpose. Nobody forced her to summon a gaint sea monster on Earth. She did that on her own accord.

To people who say that Blitzø subjects Verosika to public humiliation just as much as she does to him, no, he really doesn't. In Spring Broken, he didn't even know that it was her who stole his only parking space available for him until she stepped out of her car. He was just mad that ANYONE would have the nerve to purposefully take his only place left to park his car. It's not like he yelled at her just for being there. He didn't even say anything to her in Ozzie's until she joined Fizz and Ozzie in on their roasting song. He was actively trying to avoid her and almost forgot she was even there up to that moment. The only time he publicly humilates her is when he gets her arrested on Earth, and even that was done out of revenge for sexually harassing Moxxie.

The only thing you could really count as Blitzø "not taking accountability" for stealing Verosika's car, spending her credit card on horse riding lessons and breaking her heart is that he hasn't really apologized for it yet. But just because he hasn't apologized, that doesn't necessarily mean that he's proud of hurting her or that he doesn't feel any remorse for it.

Verosika also needs to get over it already, because it's been YEARS since they broke up and not letting Blitzø forget about it isn't doing any good for her mental health. And no, it's not victim-blaming to say so. Brandon Rogers said that Verosika was just as responsible for their relationship ending on bad terms as Blitzø was and that she wasn't a flawless girlfriend any more than he was a flawless boyfriend. I haven't actually seen the source for this, but I can imagine that once it becomes undeniable evidence that Verosika wasn't a completely blameless saint and that Blitzø was also possibly hurt by her just like she was by him, her stans will NOT take it very well at all.

Also, if either of them isn't taking responsibility or being held accountable for their actions, it's Verosika. I haven't seen her bring up anything she might've did to Blitzø in the past (the only reason he doesn't is because he's clearly moved on and she hasn't) nor I have seen her feel any remorse for what she did to Moxxie. It's totally possible that the reason for that is because she knows that as a rich and famous musician, she'll get off scot free and her in-universe fans will take her side no matter what. Not because she "did nothing wrong".

I wonder how many people would absolve Verosika of her own actions if she were a man and Blitzø was a woman. Imagine a man who was still bitter at an ex-girlfriend for something shitty she did years ago back when they dated, sexually assaulted one of her employees just to upset her, and bragged about how passionate of a lover he was in bed while she "did no reciprocating" just to publicly humiliate her because he won't let go of the past even if she already has. Or, imagine an ugly poor woman doing the same instead of a beautiful celebrity with big boobs. I'm pretty sure only THEN would people realize that Verosika isn't exactly as innocent as people make her out to be....

This is the look of regret in Blitzø's bad trip that I mentioned earlier. You CAN'T tell me that he doesn't look guilty here.

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

In the TFP Zombie Apocalypse AU, what would happen if during a rather intense raid or mission involving the dead, one of the kids quietly walks up to the bots privately to show them a fresh bite mark on there arm?

-Optimus feels defeated. He feels like he's failed another innocent soul and this time, someone so young. But for all the despair he's feeling, Optimus promises to stay with the kid until the very end, to keep them company and provide them the comfort they deserve until they... he can't bring himself to finish the sentence. He will express his sadness, his feelings of guilt, but he will stay strong for the child, because he knows that they need him. He tells them about Cybertron, the legends of old, weaving magnificent tales full of wonder and magic. He knows that he's only distracting them (and in certain extent, himself) but he does not want them to spend their last moments afraid. It's only afterwards that Optimus will allow himself to break down, to grieve.

-At first, Ratchet considers amputation of the arm. It's a fresh bite, it might not be too late. If this does not work, he still refuses to give up. He becomes determined, almost obsessed, with finding a cure and saving the kid. He can do it, he just needs to work harder, needs a little more time, more resources- It's only when the symptoms progress to a stage that any potential recovery is impossible that Ratchet breaks down, forced to accept reality. He hates himself, hates how despite all his proclaimed knowledge and skill as a medic, he still can't save them. He apologizes to the kid, tells them how sorry he is that he's so useless. Will stay with them till the end, making sure that they are comfortable and in as little pain as possible, and afterwards he doubles down on his research into a cure.

-For a few seconds, Bumblebee is in denial. This is not funny, stop that, you're not bitten, shut up, you're ok! But he's quickly forced to face the truth when he sees the expression on the kid's face. He races back to base and begs Ratchet to please, do something! Bee knows that there is no cure but he's not ready to accept it, still in denial about what's going on and what's going to happen. When Ratchet tells him that there is no cure, Bumblebee breaks down. He holds the kid close and he wails, begging them for forgiveness for not being able to protect them. Knowing that they only have a short while left before they succumb to the infection, Bee takes the kid out on a ride. It doesn't feel right for them to stay in base, in some sickbed and just waiting to die, so he turns on the radio and plays their favorite music the entire time. He only stops driving and lets them out after its over.

-Bulkhead feels powerless. He's used to problems he can confront and solve with his fists, to powering his way through any situation and using brute force to save the day. There's no fighting his way through this. There's no enemy he can beat that will save the kid. He can't do anything so help them, he's helpless to do anything but watch. Bulkhead talks to the kid, expresses his remorse but dares not yet to grieve, not while they are still alive because grief is for the dead and gone. So he asks them, is there anything they want to do? Maybe shoot one of his guns, blow up a building, or maybe just talk? Whatever they want, he'll do it. Anything so he won't be reminded of just how useless he's feeling. When the time is close, Bulkhead will put them out of their misery. They will die human and with the peace of mind that they won't hurt anyone.

-In a way, Arcee had always suspected that things would turn out this way. The people she care about, those she tries to protect, always seem to die the saddest deaths. Now the kid is just the latest in a long line of people that is probably going to grow even longer. It doesn't make this any easier though, maybe because she expected them to have more time. Arcee makes it clear that she's sad but stays strong and takes the kid to a location with a nice view. If they're lucky, maybe there's a sunset or a clear night sky. She will talk with them, really talk with them, honestly answer every question they have and open herself up in a way she's never done before. And then, she will ask them if they want her to put them out of their misery. If they don't want to, then she will just resume talking. But if they do... she will tell them just how much she'll miss them before ending them with a single shot. Afterwards, Arcee grieves the only way she knows, through violence and revenge, which manifests itself as her going out of her way to kill as many zombies as possible.