#so she's being punished for something she's not responsible for and also being burdened with a quest simply for being her mother's daughter

[orellazalonia]

The Price of Saving Until You Care

Summary: You have the power to heal others by transferring their injuries onto you. After healing Bucky from a serious wound, he confronts you about constantly sacrificing your own well-being for him and you confront him about his recklessness in throwing his life away. (Bucky Barnes x Avengers!reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to transfer injuries onto herself. You and Bucky get injured in this. ANGST. References and/or talk of death & suicide. (It doesn’t happen here.) Bucky’s self-worth issues. You are responsible for the media you consume

Word Count: 1.5k+

A/N: Here’s that other version of Healer!reader where her powers can transfer injuries onto herself. I also had another thought while writing this. Same concept, but she can’t feel the pain she transfers. But this version had more depth to it.

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

Pain was a strange thing.

Most people avoided it, feared it, or resented it. You? You made peace with it, letting it in like a familiar guest.

Your hands could heal, not with any glowing light, magical song, or celestial warmth, but with quiet, invisible sacrifice. Every wound you closed on someone else opened in your own body. A broken bone, a stab wound, a punctured lung, you could mend them all. But the damage had to go somewhere, and it always chose you.

At first, it felt noble. Heroic, even. Like you were doing something pure in a world full of compromise. Over time, though, that feeling didn’t last. Not after your body started to break faster than it could rebuild. Not after people began expecting it of you. And not after he started looking at you with that hollow-eyed grief every time you touched him.

Bucky Barnes was the only one who never asked.

That’s why you kept doing it for him.

He never demanded your gift, never leaned on it. If anything, he flinched when you reached for him. He stitched his own wounds in silence, like penance, like punishment. But he bled so often and so deeply, and there was only so much you could watch before stepping in.

So you made the choice he never would.

You took the pain he refused to burden anyone else with and carried it like a secret.

The first time you healed him, it was a gunshot to the thigh. He’d collapsed behind cover, gritting his teeth, trying to keep firing with one hand pressed hard over the bleeding wound. You crawled to him, pressed your palm against his jeans, and told him to breathe.

He didn’t understand right away. Not until later, when he saw you limping and pieced it together.

“What did you do?” He had asked, panic breaking through the walls he always wore.

You lied then and said it was a stray bullet. Said you were fine. You weren’t, of course. But the look on his face, that was worse than any pain. So you kept the truth buried.

Now, you’d done it too many times to count.

You didn't talk about your ability much. People either praised it or pitied it, and you didn’t need either. To you, it was like… math. You had a body that could endure pain and a world that couldn’t survive without help. It wasn’t heroism. It was simple. It was balance.

But even balance breaks when it leans too hard in one direction. And lately, Bucky had been leaning too hard and the rest of the team noticed it too. He became too reckless, too self-destructive, too tired of being saved.

That’s why you stood in the medbay now, chest already aching from a gash you took earlier, watching him sit bloodied and bruised and already trying to push you away.

The medbay lights buzzed faintly above, casting a harsh white sheen across the steel counters and bloodied gauze. Bucky sat shirtless on the edge of the gurney, one hand clamped over a ragged tear in his side. Blood still leaked between his fingers. His metal arm hung loose by his side, stained red.

You stepped forward quietly and approached slowly.

He heard you though. Evident in how his gaze flicked up, icy blue and already narrowing. “Don’t.”

You didn’t answer as you just moved to stand in front of him, reaching into the tray for a cloth. His blood had soaked deep into the fabric around the wound. Too deep for bandages.

“I mean it,” He growled, more force behind it this time. “You’re not doing that thing again.”

Your hand hesitated in the air before dropping. “It’s not a thing, Bucky. It’s me.”

He flinched. Just slightly. A beat of hesitation long enough for you to press your palm against his ribs.

Heat bloomed between your fingers. Your power worked silently, no fanfare, no shimmer of light, just the subtle pull, the invisible trade. His flesh knit together, the muscle reforming under your touch, sealing like it had never been torn.

Then came the pain as your breath hitched, feeling it bloom sharply through your ribs, mirroring the exact placement of his injury. The gash tore itself into you now; hot, wet, and burning deep. You exhaled through gritted teeth, willing yourself to stay upright.

Bucky grabbed your wrist.

“Stop. Please.” His voice was hoarse now. “Stop.”

“It’s already done,” You whispered.

He stood up too fast, panic flashing in his eyes. His hand hovered just short of touching you again. “Why would you do that? You said… You said you wouldn’t anymore.”

“I didn’t say that,” You leaned against the gurney now slightly, murmuring your defense. “You asked. I didn’t answer.”

“You’re bleeding.” His voice cracked. “You’re always bleeding for me.”

You looked down to see blood was spreading across your shirt now, warm and slow, the price of one man’s survival. You’d felt worse. Your pain tolerance was higher than others' after all, but that didn’t make this easy.

“You don’t get to die just because you’re tired,” You let out before you could think of the consequences, staring at anything else but him. “You don’t get to throw yourself at death like it’s the only thing you deserve.”

“And you don’t get to keep hurting yourself just to prove that I matter!” He shouted, voice echoing off the sterile walls. “You can’t keep doing this. You’ll…. disappear.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say the correct word. You finally met his gaze, taking a trembling step closer.

“I will. If you keep doing this. If you don’t stop treating yourself like you’re expendable.”

His expression twisted, a painful, broken thing. “Why?”

“Because you won’t save yourself,” You whispered. “So I will. Until you start caring about your life… or until you realize I gave you mine.”

A long silence stretched between you. Then, quietly, like a thread unraveling:

“I care.”

You blinked.

“I care,” He repeated. “I just… didn’t know how to show it. I didn’t think I was allowed to.”

Your breath caught.

He reached for you slowly, fingers brushing the edge of your shirt where the blood had bloomed red. “Let me try,” he said. “Let me start now.”

He stared at the blood staining your shirt, the way your breath hitched with every movement. His hands hovered like he didn’t know how to touch you gently, like anything he did would break you more. So, you helped him out by sitting down first. The gurney was cold under you, the pain a dull, pulsing throb in your side. It would last a few hours, maybe a few days, like most of them did. But you didn’t regret it. Not when he was alive. Not when he was here.

Bucky slowly stepped in front of you. He moved like he was approaching something sacred. Or fragile. He unzipped one of the emergency medkits and grabbed clean gauze, then glanced up to meet your eyes as if to ask for permission. You gave a small nod.

His fingers trembled just slightly as he lifted your shirt, revealing the angry gash blooming across your side.

He hissed through his teeth. “It should’ve been me.”

You smiled at him, dry and tired. “It was you.”

“No,” He muttered. “I meant… it should’ve stayed on me. I could’ve taken it.”

You cupped the back of his metal hand, pressing it gently against your knee. “You already take too much.”

This time, he didn’t answer. Instead, he focused on cleaning the wound, his hands methodical, precise. You watched the way his brow furrowed, the way he avoided your eyes like he couldn’t bear to look at the pain he’d caused. A similar look to the guilt people wore when they found out how your power worked.

“You don’t have to punish yourself every day,” You sighed.

“I’m not trying to.”

“Then stop flinching every time I help you.”

Bucky let out a low breath. “I flinch because you matter. Because every time you do this, I remember what it feels like to watch someone choose my life over theirs. And… I’m scared one day, you’ll make that choice for the last time.”

He finished dressing the wound in silence before he rose slowly and sat beside you.

For a moment, the room was quiet, the soft hum of overhead lights still present, and the echo of shared breath.

“You said something earlier,” He began finally, voice low. “That I wouldn’t save myself. That I don’t care if I die.”

You looked at him, quiet.

He nodded to himself. “You’re right. I didn’t. Not for a long time. But watching you hurt for me? Watching you bleed and not even hesitate? That scares the hell out of me.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Then let it change you.”

Bucky was still for a beat. Then he shifted, slowly wrapping an arm around you, careful of your wound, careful of everything. It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just real. Warm. Grounded.

“I don’t know how to start,” He admitted.

“You just did,” Your eyes slipping closed.

And in that quiet room, beneath too-bright lights and the weight of too many regrets, he held you like someone trying, finally, to be worth saving.

[devildomwriter]

Why Lucifer is A Good Brother

*Somewhat chronologically in order everything is canon and if you want the reference I’ll give it to you*

*Heavy spoilers*

All angels consider each other siblings but out of the millions, possibly billions of angels. Lucifer chose to take five brothers and a sister (originally) under his wing.

He gave Mammon a challenge to become his apprentice and when he succeeded he welcomed Mammon with open arms and never rejected him afterwards even with all the trouble he caused.

He gave Asmodeus the nickname “Jewel of the Heavens” something he still loves to this day even as a demon.

He made Levi feel seen and useful even after the peace treaty between realms made his position obsolete.

He bonded with Beelzebub who was originally his guard and took him and his twin under his wings. He also introduced Lilith to the twins who became inseparable.

When Lilith fell in love he visited the Human World to see if this man was good and kind.

When Lilith broke a Celestial Law this man WENT TO WAR WITH AN ENTIRE REALM and GOD to save her. He asked his brothers to side with him and carried guilt for doing so after the war.

After the war, he pledged eternal loyalty to the man in control of the realm he was at war with for most of his existence all to save his sister despite the humiliation. He saved her even though she wouldn’t remember him and he could never see her again and he carried the burden for thousands of years until MC’s ancestry was revealed.

The Devildom and Celestial Realm hold very strict laws so he took whatever means necessary punishment-wise to correct their behavior. In the Celestial Realm, it was so his brothers weren’t outcast and in the Devildom it was so they weren’t imprisoned or killed.

His brothers believe he’s more loyal to Diavolo than to them but he does this FOR them.

When the brothers struggled with becoming demons he was there to comfort them.

When he accidentally created Satan he took full responsibility for the absolute murderous maniac and did his best to raise the personification of hatred.

He cared about Satan so much that when the brothers were offered the chance to return to the Celestial Realm, the realm he once ruled, he told them to return and he alone would stay with Satan so he wouldn’t be alone. Even though this decision meant he wouldn’t be able to see his brothers and they’d be seen as enemies, he wanted what he believed was best for them and what they wanted.

Lucifer did everything he could to master new demon magic, insert himself into Devildom politics, and befriend his enemies all for his brothers’ sakes to give them the same position of respect they had in the Celestial Realm.

In Nightbringer when he was incarcerated in Cocytus the fact his brothers were being held too enraged him to the point he broke free and even fought Diavolo believing he had something to do with it. And when Raphael cried having to sentence him, Lucifer wasn’t angry he felt sorry for Raphael—a former brother.

Lucifer continuously fights those many times stronger than him all for his family’s sake.

Even though it pained him to see his former angelic brothers for the exchange program he remained cordial even though it was at first awkward and a reminder of all the pain of the past. He did this for his former brothers.

When Belphegor threatened treason and war, he lied to the ruler of the Devildom and hid Belphegor away to PROTECT him.

He lashed out at Mc and nearly killed them because he saw them as a threat to his brothers. First when Luke held the Grimoire that could control them and MC got in the way; then threatened them because they were making pacts with all his brothers; then why they betrayed him and found Belphegor because this could reach Diavolo and Belphegor would be punished for treason. In Nightbringer he originally remained suspicious and cold because MC could control his brothers without a pact and then had the grimoire which could control them. Lucifer only attacked MC when he was being protective of his brothers.

When Lucifer had amnesia he immediately bonded with his brothers again and revealed many things he’d done secretly to help them like pulling strings to get Mammon the car he worked so hard for.

He was even willing to sacrifice himself to let MC live who became family (or romantic interest—up to you) and his final ask was that they take care of his brothers.

Lucifer’s methods seem strict, unforgiving, and cruel but remember this is HELL, the DEVILDOM. Law only recently was created and Diavolo may be forgiving but who’s to say his father or descendants would be just as lenient? If his brothers don’t behave it could mean the worst and he refuses to lose another family member.

[sugurouge]

── and we're still lost together. blade x f!reader

sfw‐soulmate au (physical sensations + emotions). ༚༅༚˳ . ♱ . ˳༚༅༚ cursing, foul language, mean! blade, he calls you belittling names (brat, my curse, my headache, little masochist, fool, "sweetheart"), height difference, somewhat clumsy reader 1.1k words

Soulmate Blade who hates your guts. Hates how he is suddenly responsible for more than his own miserable, immortal self. In all his years of living, he never stumbled upon this liability. Never encountered the phenomenon called soulmate.

Soulmate? More like another curse, a burden, there are many words he'd rather call you.

But now you're here and he has to keep you safe because of this awful god-forsaken tie between you two that makes him feel everything you experience, from pain to pleasure. And he has to stay focused, can't get distracted by your silly feelings. But oh, you're a clumsy one. Always tripping over or bumping into something. It grinds his gears.

But the worst of it all? How you look at him. He hates how you look at him; like you know he won't hurt you, like he is your prince charming, your destined partner. Of course he can't hurt you. This awful tie makes it impossible to hurt you. In the end he will only be punished for the consequences of his own actions while experiencing all these annoying emotions you constantly struggle with.

So what other choice does he have but to spit harsh words in your face to toughen you up? To tug you close and keep you at his side at all times just to make sure you don't hurt yourself and impact him in return?

Don't you dare point out that he is starting to behave overprotective.

You're following a few feet behind him as he walks through a crowd of people. Elegant like a feline he weaved his way around the bystanders until you just have to start talking again.

"You really hate me?" Blade hears you ask after he expected you to finally stay quiet. Did he not make himself clear that you were to keep your mouth shut while walking through the city?

Blade stops in his tracks.

It gives you enough time to catch up to him, to notice that he seems lost in thoughts. It's too tempting to lift your finger and poke his cheek.

A second later you remember why you shouldn't ever poke Blade's cheek. He turns to look at you, his eyes narrowing as he glares down at your innocent face.

Blade reaches up and grabs your wrist, his fingers wrapping around it tightly as he pulls your hand away from his face.

"Yes, I hate you," he growls, his voice low and rough. "You're a constant headache, a stubborn little brat who never does as she's told. You're a liability, a fucking curse that I can't shake no matter how hard I try."

He leans in closer, his face mere inches from yours to stare into your eyes with a burning intensity. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to keep you safe, you fool. That doesn't mean I don't feel the fucking urge to protect you from every single threat out there."

Your eyes widen in awe at his confession, at the way he practically seethes because of you. How he leans in to come eye-to-eye with you, how his eyes narrow as the hatred reigns over his emotions, and the venom that drips from his words...

He's hot.

And close. He's so close to you now you can feel his breath on your skin, can see the way his eyes flick down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "So yes, I hate you. I hate you with every fiber of my being. But I also... I also can't let anything happen to you."

You nod to his confession, seem to agree with him over how annoying you can be. You're aware of the pain in the ass that you are. But maybe, maybe, you always want to be just that. Just for him.

His brat, his headache, his liability, because nothing seems as attractive as Blade when he hates you.

He knows he should let go of your hand, should push you away and tell you to run as far as you can. But he can't. He's trapped, trapped by this fucking curse and his own damn feelings.

But then you just have to do it. Have to add another layer of your charm to make this damn soulmate bond act up.

"Can you hate me forever?" You mumble as you take just a tiny step closer, staring into his pretty crimson eyes like he just confessed his love to you.

He can see how flustered you are, notices how your eyes are shining with a fucked-up sort of adoration. Despite his better judgement, he leans, until your lips are barely a hair's breadth apart.

"Forever's a long time, you little masochist," he murmurs, his voice but a low rumble. "You sure you want to sign up for that? Being my hate, my curse, my nightmare for eternity?"

He reaches out and grabs your chin, his fingers digging into your jaw as he tilts your head back.

Fuck, but you're into this, into him hating you.

"Fine," he caves. "I'll hate you forever. I'll hate you until the day I finally die, and even then, I'll probably still hate you."

"Promise?" You mumble while searching his eyes for some sort of messed up reassurance. "Promise you won't grow weak and lovesick?"

He scoffs, a harsh, bitter sound that echoes through the narrow alley. "Lovesick? You really are a naive little thing, aren't you?" He shakes his head, a wry, humorless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm not going to grow weak or go soft on you."

His grip tightens, his nails digging into your skin hard enough to make you wince. "I hated you from the moment I first laid eyes on you, and I'll hate you long after you're nothing more than a distant memory. I'll hate you forever, just like I promised."

He releases you abruptly, pushing you away from him as he turns and continues down the alley. "Hurry up now, would you?"

But you stand there a little dumbfounded. Feeling the race of your heartbeat and wonder if he experiences the same inside his own chest. Until you realise he might actually leave you behind.

The panic in your voice sends shivers down Blade's spine in the worst way possible.

"Wait, hold my hand," you plea before you resume to catch up. "You always hold my hand when we go out!"

Blade can feel your eyes on his back, can hear the almost frantic tone in your voice. He knows he should just keep walking, should leave you to stumble along behind him like the clumsy fool you are. But he can't. He's trapped, ensnared by this bond and his own goddamn weakness.

"Fuck's sake, you're spoiled," he mutters, his voice rough and strained. But even as he says it, he's turning back to face you, his hand already reaching out to grab yours. His fingers close around your hand, gripping it tightly as he pulls you to his side.

"There, happy now?" he growls, his eyes narrowing the moment they meet yours. "Don't get used to it. I'm only doing this because you're a menace without someone to hold your hand."

He's already pulling you along. He knows he's walking too fast for you, knows you're probably struggling to keep up. But he can't slow down, can't risk stopping again. If he does, he might just lose his composure entirely.

"Keep up, brat," Blade snarls over his shoulder. "And watch your step. I'm not carrying your ass if you face-plant in the dirt."

He would carry you in a heartbeat if you were to hurt yourself. He could never reject you, not with the way you're burrowing under his skin, into his bones. Into his god damn soul.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[lilu787788]

I've been in this fandom for over two years. Long enough to notice patterns that repeat themselves and conversations that never seem to move forward. One of the things that has become impossible to ignore is the way Aleksander is treated, especially by younger often queer fans who immediately frame him as some kind of ultimate villain, a symbol of everything they want to reject. It’s not just criticism. It’s a refusal to engage with who he is at all. Aleksander is a character built on complexity. He is powerful, yes, but also burdened by history, loss, and a deep sense of responsibility. He is not driven by cruelty or ego. He is someone who has spent centuries watching his people suffer, being hunted, betrayed, abandoned. He holds onto his purpose because if he doesn’t, no one else will. That is not something to mock. That is something deeply human. But nuance doesn’t survive long in online fandom spaces. Especially not in TikTok culture, where everything has to be quick, obvious, loud. In that environment, Aleksander gets flattened into a single label: abuser, manipulator, predator. And once that label is placed, there’s no room for discussion. No one wants to hear about his pain, his motives, his love. It makes them uncomfortable, so they dismiss it. A lot of it comes from projection. Alina or the Crows is seen as a stand-in for the young queer experience—someone finding herself, fighting for space. And Aleksander is cast as the one trying to control her. But the truth is, he never asks her to stop being who she is. He sees her. He values her. He believes she has power, and he asks her to use it. That’s not oppression. That’s trust. This fandom has made it nearly impossible to say you care about Aleksander without being accused of supporting harm. And yet, many of the people shouting the loudest excuse much worse behavior from other characters, simply because it fits a more comfortable narrative. Aleksander is punished not for what he does, but for the way he makes people feel. For being difficult. For refusing to be small. It’s tiring to see him treated as a threat when he is one of the few characters who actually speaks about justice, legacy, survival. He carries everything alone because no one else dares to look at the world as it really is. He never begs to be liked. He stands in his truth even when it costs him everything. That isn’t abuse. For me? That’s strength. And I think the discomfort comes from exactly that. Aleksander is not a soft, broken man asking for forgiveness. He is whole, and he refuses to apologize for being who he is. That kind of confidence especially in someone marked as "dangerous" is seen as unacceptable. It challenges the black-and-white moral rules that many fans are desperate to keep in place. But life isn’t simple. People aren’t simple. And Aleksander, more than any other character in this story, understands that. So yes, I admire him, I love him. Not in spite of the fact that he’s complicated—but because of it. And I will never let the loudest voices in this fandom make me feel ashamed of that.

[causeimcrayzeebee]

holy shit that was one of if not the craziest tetro friday. this isn’t gonna be the most coherent but id like to ramble about just some of what i loved about this day. spoilers for day 35 of pink!

I think what these episodes have highlighted for me is how beautifully complicated these people are. these are teenagers who got thrown into a killing game, and that game AFFECTS them. one of my gripes with canon dr is just the lack of response to death and the tension and the pressure of the kg from the characters. this is something that tetro has really taken time to build up and show in every scene. it makes sense when tamba and hiroaki blow up at each other and one gets pushed down the stairs, it makes sense when hasegawa forgets what he said about the game because that’s information about kamimura fucking kazutoshi, it makes sense when hayashi tells everyone to give her their punishments.

(speaking of which… auditorium floor mention. I don’t even know how to feel about this and im sure hasegawa doesn’t know either. i am elated and devastes all at once. sigh. excuse me while i bawl my eyes out.)

the loyalty game was a really good way to display who everyone was. i think it highlighted both the good and the bad of everyone, showing that in the end, these are kids who just want get out alive. i think stairwell was one of my favorite episodes; it really showed that tamba and hiroaki are one in the same. …..honestly… they were both kinda real in their criticisms of each other. did they go too far? absolutely. telling him to kill himself?? holy shit that was insane. pushing her down the fucking stairs????? my god.

also can i say that yanagis confession to hayashi was actually so beautiful n i fr cried. yeah. wow.

in other yanagi news, im absolutely terrified for yanagi and hasegawa. how did the door even lock???? and being in there with the corpses…. with the lights off… god that’s horrible. if they don’t get out soon they might be fucked this chapter. it could very well be possible they stay stuck down there and we lose them down there. i feel like theories like the sole wada survivor theory aren’t gonna be too far off, especially if blue and white are coming after pink, so i can see them having to rot with the corpses worse comes to worse. but I’m not sure, they could still make it out.

i think hayashi has been a highlight of this chapter for me. her interview was rather touching, seeing her talk about the dead students n just really making me miss everyone we lost. seeing the game from where she’s coming from makes so much sense, and while i have been agreeing with yanagi that she has been putting herself in so much danger (esp with loyalty game), i also completely understand why she has been doing it. logically, that is the best plan as she is the most physically and mentally capable to hold that burden, and not only that, but that’s who she is as a person. i can’t even say i agree with hayashi or yanagi more because i think they’re both completely understandable; they’re human!

another thing i love about tetro that has shined especially recently: the characters are driven by their values. hayashi has been a fighter who protects people, yanagi is someone who wants to keep his loved ones safe, etc etc. all the tension of this chapter is due to the game pushing them so far that they have to act in accordance with their values at heart.

(i am also curious though, what is the purpose of a sole vote as a reward? if hayashi dies and the trial is for her, do they not get to vote and thus not make it out? been thinking about the possibilities of that one…)

there’s something so tragic about wada saying he doesn’t even know who hiroaki is anymore while wearing the outfit and hairstyle that hiroaki made for him. broke my heart a bit. it feels like we’ve come so far but realizing that it’s been just a month of the game.

i wanna end this ramble with a big shout out to von for everything she’s done. it’s absolutely insane that pink is almost done, but no episode has been wasted. every scene has been crucial for the story and the characters n just…. ugh it’s been a wild ride but ive been so so invested! ALSO A HUGE SHOUT OUT TO THE VAS!!!!!! they have been putting their everything into it and it truly has shown.

im beyond nervous for next week. “how can it get worse” i say as the universe prepares the worst to come.

[hellowyellow1]

Rewriting Adam from Hazbin Hotel

( Go check out the series it's not the best written but I do like it for all of its faults )

Okay, I’m going to be honest—the writing for Adam really pisses me off.Why does he talk like a frat bro? Adam is supposed to be the first human, and yet he speaks like a cocky twenty-something who just stepped out of a college party.

This man has existed since the beginning of humanity. He’s encountered every culture, every language, and yet his dialect is stuck in “wannabe alpha male” mode? That makes no sense.His language should be jumbled. He should be mixing Victorian English with British slang, maybe even tossing in some Australian or dead languages.

Instead, he sounds like a dude who sells protein powder on Instagram.And why does he act like he’s still in his twenties with zero wisdom? He’s literally been around since the dawn of mankind. The way he behaves—immature, arrogant, shallow—is a disservice to the potential depth his character could have. He should be unsettling, unrelatable, a man who has seen too much. Instead, he’s just… annoying.

So yeah. I’m rewriting him. Umbrella? Gone. Ingenue? Not happening. Let’s start fresh—with a new backstory.

✦ Adam’s Backstory ✦

Adam and Lilith were created from the same clay, meant to live together in the Garden of Eden. At first, everything was peaceful… until God gave them instructions on how to reproduce. Adam, being obedient, went along with it. But Lilith refused to lie beneath him during sex, arguing that they were created equal—why should she be submissive?

Adam believed disobedience to God was dangerous, even sinful. Lilith didn’t care. She fled the Garden in pursuit of independence.Adam reported her disappearance to God. In response, God sent three angels—Senoi, Sansenoi, and Semangelof—to retrieve her. But Lucifer intervened, helping Lilith escape. The two grew close, even forming a bond.

Fueled by bitterness, Lilith snuck back into Eden. She was shocked to find Adam with a new partner: Eve. In a twisted act of revenge, Lilith disguised herself as Eve and seduced Adam. During sex, she convinced him to eat the forbidden fruit, manipulating him with promises of love and happiness.Shortly after, she vanished. Adam and Eve were cast out of Eden for their "crime."

(Yeah, I took creative liberties here. I made Lilith a bit of a villain—not because I hate her, but because I think it’s unfair to vilify Adam while completely ignoring what she did. Plus, in many versions of the myth, Lilith isn’t even human. And beside eve is right there for a sympathetic woman who will get her own arc and personality.)

Everyone knows the story of Cain and Abel, so I’ll skip most of that. But I imagine Adam was severely traumatized after Cain murdered Abel. I think both Adam and Eve fell into deep depression—Adam more so, blaming himself for everything, especially for eating the apple that cursed them with mortality.He was abusive.

Let’s be real: he was the first man raised under the belief that sin deserves punishment. Given how many religious societies still justify abuse today, it’s not far-fetched to imagine Adam being harsh, even cruel.Cain bore the brunt of this.

Feeling unloved and burdened by guilt, he eventually took his own life in hopes of reuniting with Abel in the afterlife. Adam and Eve were devastated. This loss drove a final wedge between them—and between Adam and his daughter, too. (Deservedly.)

Eventually, Adam died. When he woke in Heaven, he and Eve slowly drifted apart. They had never truly wanted to be together, and Eve left. Adam was relieved, but also quietly sad. He cared for her—but he had never loved her. (He’s aroace, though he won’t realize that until much later.)And that’s Adam’s backstory: messy, tragic, and complex. Poor baby. (Kind of.)-

✦ Adam’s Personality ✦

Adam is ancient—wise, but emotionally stunted. He suppresses his trauma, believing Heaven should be paradise, and he should be grateful.He's the old.man that says “Sinners deserve punishment. God says so.” yeah he's that guy.

He refuses to question it.

He can’t question it.

On the surface, Adam is charming and diplomatic. As the first man, he often has to act like a gracious host to other humans in Heaven. He’s good at playing nice, even when he wants to be left alone. He can be sweet, but he’s also deeply passive-aggressive, especially toward Lilium (Charlie’s rewritten name in this version).

He’s learned dozens of languages over the centuries. His original language has long been forgotten, but he gravitates toward Arabic and English. Arabic reminds him of something ancient and comforting; English is just convenient. Still, he mixes up modern slang, old Latin phrases, and archaic idioms all the time. He needs Lute (an angel character) to help translate and guide him through modern conversations.

Adam has, in many ways, forgotten who he really is. He’s spent so long trying to please others—especially God—that he’s lost touch with his own identity. He’s paranoid about making mistakes again. He genuinely believes that if someone sins, they deserve Hell. He doesn’t consider that Hell might be unjust—he just trusts God’s judgment blindly.But underneath that blind faith is someone deeply insecure and afraid.Adam is persuasive. He seems confident. But really, he’s constantly deflecting, invalidating others, and denying his own guilt.

✦ Character Arc ✦

His arc starts with him as a villain—a man who enforces divine punishment without remorse—but slowly shifts. Through his interactions with Lilium, he begins to question things.He starts to see moral grey areas. He reflects on his mistakes—not just the apple, but his cruelty to his children, especially Cain. He realizes how toxic and abusive he was.

He starts secretly helping Lilium achieve her goals, even as he struggles with guilt and self-hatred.Eventually, he reconciles with Cain and becomes a wiser, more compassionate figure. Not perfect—but trying. He becomes his own person and a mentor to Lilium and others, learning alongside them.

✦ Final Thoughts ✦

I want Adam to be sympathetic, but let’s be clear: he was a terrible person. His story is about how even someone awful can grow. It’s a reminder that good people can do bad things, and bad people can be redeemed.Adam was corrupted by faith, guilt, fear, and centuries of pressure. But he was also a victim—of divine expectations, trauma, and his own ignorance. That duality makes him interesting.If I can write him properly, he’ll show that even the first man was broken—and that people like him still deserve the chance to heal and change

[hebuiltfive]

Pandora's Box - Chapter I: The Truth Will Always Out

I began watching Smallville three weeks ago. Since then this AU hasn't left my mind. I'd originally planned it to be a one-and-done, but of course it wouldn't stay contained to 5,000 words. Hope you enjoy <3

AO3 link here!

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Scott Tracy liked to daydream. At high school it landed him in heaps of trouble. Teachers often complained to his parents that he was “away with the fairies” far too much and that his school work would suffer if he couldn’t find a way to focus better. His parents never cared for his teachers’ observations; they knew why he found himself staring at the sky, as though it held some sort of life-changing answer for him, and they weren’t going to punish him for doing so. So long as his grades remained steady — which they did — and he wasn’t stuck waiting on an answer from the past — which he’d learned was pointless anyway — Jefferson and Lucille Tracy didn’t mind him being “away with the fairies”.

That phrase often amused Scott. The universe rarely ever proved itself to be a fairytale. Every day the world threatened to crack his carefully crafted opinion of it, but, by some miracle, Scott managed to keep the optimism that had blinded his youth. Nothing is ever bad forever. There was always a reason to hold onto hope.

“Earth to Scott Tracy?”

The clicking fingers in front of his face snapped him out of his current daydream. He blinked as the familiar scent of amber invaded his space. Kathleen Cavanaugh, the Tribune’s most intrepid reporter, was stood in front of his seat, her back to his desk, with her legs crossed over at the ankles. Her press pass was dangling from around her neck as she leaned over him, as inquisitive as ever.

Her lips curved into a beguiling smile. “Where were you this time, flyboy?”

Scott had never liked that nickname. He’d never disliked it so much as to ask Kat politely to cease using it — though that could have been to avoid the question of why, which often found itself leaving Kat’s lips — but it had always made him uncomfortable.

No-one in the big city, with the exception of a brother who was rarely home, were aware of Scott’s special gifts. It was a secret he’d been keeping for almost three decades with only his family and a few exceptions also sharing the burden. So, the first time Kat used the nickname, Scott had almost had a heart attack. He’d been so careful when he’d moved to the city, so much so that he rarely used his gifts in public spaces, at least not when he was playing the role of civilian. It was safer that way. But Kat Cavanaugh had always had the talent of picking up the scent of something unusual. If anyone in the city were to discover his secret, Kat was at the top of the bill.

Fortunately for him, however, she had not devised the nickname because she’d found out that Scott was the Man of Tomorrow, but rather in response to learning of his teenage dreams of becoming a real life Maverick and joining the Air Force. The relief he had felt when he’d realised it was not because she knew he could actually fly was immense. He had laughed so hard from that relief that Kat had believed her nickname was a great success and proceeded to use it as often as she could, entirely ignorant to Scott’s actual aversion to it.

“Hello?” She was clicking her fingers again. “I asked you a question, Tracy.”

“Sorry.” Scott mumbled, offering up an apologetic smile. He shuffled himself in his seat, sitting himself more upright and less slouched. “I was, uh, just thinking about my brother’s birthday. It’s next month and I’m still figuring out what to get him.”

Kat’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a terrible liar, Scott Tracy.”

Her comment hurt him far less than it should have done, purely down to the fact that Scott knew he was a very good liar actually. If Kat was unaware of that then it was only testament to how good he truly was.

… Though, on second thought, maybe being an expert liar wasn’t something he should have been overly proud about.

Her finger prodded his shoulder hard but he barely felt it. “What were you really thinking about?”

Scott shrugged his shoulders and tried to brush off her continued questioning by turning back to his desk. “Nothing.”

She remained in place for a moment longer, scrutinising his expression. Scott felt as though he was under a microscope and found himself pitying the poor souls who were ever interrogated by Cavanaugh during an interview. She was nothing if not thorough.

“Fine!” With a sigh, Kat leaned herself back into a standing position, her palms lay flat against his desk behind her. “Keep your secrets. I’ll find them out one day.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“Hm. Are you still going home this weekend?”

Scott glanced up from his computer screen with an arched brow. “… Yes? How did you know about that?”

“I’m an investigative reporter, Scott. It’s my job.” Kat paused, her shoes suddenly appearing more interesting than him, before further admitting: “I also saw the vacation calendar earlier, where your name is scribbled in for the next few days. You never go away anywhere special so I just assumed, clearly correctly, that you’ll be visiting Kansas again.”

If there was ever a time for Kat to give him reason to doubt her talents, now wasn’t it. Scott beamed at her, impressed by her deduction skills, and let out a laugh. “You’re on the money, Detective Cavanaugh.”

Kat swiped at his arm. “Shut up! I was just curious, that’s all.”

The silence that filled Scott’s cubicle was deafening and he knew that reason wasn’t the entirety of why Kat was snooping.

He sighed, letting his head loll backwards until the base of his head hit the top of his spine. “Kat. No.”

“I promise I won’t gatecrash the Tracy family reunion! I just want to investigate around your fields a little.”

“You know that there was no link between GaatCorp and that chemical leak. My dad was thorough in his investigation and the police—”

“—were bought off by the company, yes.”

From behind his glasses, that were completely unnecessary for his sight, Scott narrowed his eyes. “That isn’t what I was going to say, Kat, and you know it.”

Pushing herself up from his desk to stand straight on her feet again, Kat’s fingers fidgeted with each other. It wasn’t a nervous tick so much as it was an impatient one. Scott noticed the gesture within the first week of working with her; when Kathleen Cavanaugh set her mind on something, she’d see it through, no matter what. It was what made her such a formidable journalist, and it was what scared Scott the most.

“I know that they’re hiding something, Scott. I know it! All I need is to find proof. Just one scrap of evidence!”

Scott spun his seat around to face her. Leaning forward, so his elbows rested upon his knees, he glanced up at her. “Kat, there is no evidence. There is no proof. My dad searched those fields for weeks and came up short. The authorities couldn’t find anything either. GaatCorp, for all that they are, were not the guilty party this time.”

He could see how the questions surrounding the Tracy Farm incident were eating away at her. It was painful to witness, but Scott had watched Kat worry over far more pressing stories over the last couple of years and he’d learned how to tune himself out of it.

Or so he’d thought.

“I suppose… Superman didn’t find anything either.”

Scott’s spine straightened. Her statement had the hint of a question in it, and he noticed it instantly. “How would I know?” He almost stuttered, suddenly unable to meet her eyes.

“Because it was your family farm? Didn’t he tell you? Honestly, Tracy, maybe you just don’t trust the guy.”

The question over whether Scott trusted himself was an interesting one, though it wasn’t something he was going to answer in the present moment. He tried to laugh off his swift change of tune but he knew Kat would see through it. “It’s not that. I’m just, y’know, not privy to the mind of Superman.”

“That’s probably a good thing. I doubt any of us mere mortals would be able to cope with the burdens that guy carries around. Having the weight of the world on your shoulders like that? Jeez, being a reporter is hard enough.”

“Tracy, Cavanaugh! I didn’t realise I paid you both to stand around, chatting all day!” Ned Cook’s nasally voice was yelled as he crossed the bullpen to reach the pair.

Like a schoolchild caught out, Scott hastily span his chair around to face his computer again and began frantically typing. Unfortunately this left him with his back to his editor, who didn’t appreciate the sentiment one bit. His chair was soon whirled back around to face Cook who was looking at the pair more curious than he was cross.

“Sorry, Ned. I was just running a story past old Smallville over here.”

“Oh?” He glanced between the two of them. “And what might this story be?”

Scott could feel Kat go rigid at his side. If she told their editor the truth of what story she was still chasing he’d crush it before she even had the chance to prove to him it was worth following.

But Kat didn’t have a choice.

“The chemical spill at the Tracy Farm last month.”

Ned Cook sighed. His eyes rolled as he geared himself up to put her story to bed once and for all.

Kat, however, didn’t give him the chance. “Ned, I know the two are connected, alright? Give me time and I can prove it! It’ll be the exposé of the year!”

“No, what it would be is a heavy legal battle between GaatCorp and the Tribune, Cavanaugh, and we all know which one would be crushed by the financials. Do not chase this story, d’you hear me? It’s dead! Done! Over! Now, get back to work, preferably on stories that won’t bring the lawyers after us again, please!”

Their boss turned on his heels to leave but Kat wasn’t through with her fight. She jumped in front of him, blocking his path back to his office.

“So you’re censoring me? Is that it?”

The conversation was not a new one to Kat or Ned, nor to their fellow colleagues at the Tribune. They’d both played this game a thousand times. Sometimes Ned would pull rank and Kat would eventually heel to his demands. Sometimes it would be Ned who would relent and Kat would see the story through. It was a popular show, one that always had the attention of the office. Occasionally there was a betting pool. Scott rarely participated, but when he did, his money was always on Kat.

“This story is different to the others, Kat.” Ned Cook looked exhausted. Despite the regularity of the arguments, that wasn’t something Scott was used to seeing.

Ned slid past his reporter and proceeded on his way.

Kat continued to march after him, arms folding across her waistcoated torso. “How? How is it different? You let me run the exposé on the city mayor last year!”

“Yes, because you had the proof to go with it! You keep going after this story and Gaat will personally seek to take you down.”

“He can’t threaten the press!”

“He can if you’re trying to defame him!”

Kat opened her mouth to offer Ned’s claim a rebuttal but he cut her off before a word was said.

“Enough, Kat! Back to work! Find another story to write, one that is less controversial and won’t leave us with hefty legal fees, or I'll put you on the high school intern programme again.”

The argument was over.

Ned Cook, Editor in Chief of the Tribune, had won, and Kat Cavanaugh slunk back to her desk.

With the show over, everyone else in the office returned to their work but Scott watched as Kat took her seat across from him.

She may have added to the performance by appearing defeated but Scott knew his colleague.

And, just as he’d expected, Kat began to pull up her research on GaatCorp with a newfound sense of determination.

Scott knew it wasn’t his place to get involved and so he refrained from wheeling his chair over to her desk. When Kat Cavanaugh was on a mission, there was no deterring her from it. If the opportunity came for him to talk to her he might opt to take it.

didn’t need to be at her desk to hear her muttered words.

“The truth will always out, Ned. The truth will always out.”

---------------------

The phrase lingered in Scott’s mind for the rest of his day.

The truth will always out.

It wasn’t Kat’s fault. She could hardly read his mind and see why it was such an uncomfortable phrase for him (and he was incredibly thankful that Kathleen Cavanaugh wasn’t a mind-reader for that very reason). The phrase was an unofficial motto for any journalist and Scott had heard it time and time again, but he couldn’t help but take it as a threat.

Not from Kat, by any means, but from the universe.

The truth will always out.

His secret sat on a ticking time bomb. Scott knew it was childish and naive to have hope in it staying that way forever. Secrets were only ever truly safe with dead men, and Scott Tracy planned on staying alive for as long as humanly possible… or alieny possible in his case. He also planned on his family living their lives to the full as well, thus the weight of that impossibly large skeleton in the closet remained looming over him.

One day the truth would come to light —Superman’s true identity would be revealed and Scott’s life would become even more chaotic than it currently was — and when that day inevitably arrived Scott hoped that he’d be the one able to control the story. It was part of the reason why he had accepted the job offer at the Tribune — becoming the news, in more ways than one, meant he had more control over what was being said about him, over how much of a story was being released. It hadn’t been easy as an intern but his way with words and his farm-boy charm had carried him a long way. He’d been lucky Ned Cook was just as susceptible to the blue eyes and dimples as everyone else seemed to be.

For once Scott finished on time. The clock struck five and he was grabbing his satchel and his jacket, waving his goodbyes to Gallagher and Coulby before heading straight for the elevator.

He’d had to run to catch it, outstretching his arm to stop the doors from closing. Luck seemed to be on his side this evening. The doors slid back open with a welcoming woosh. Scott kept his eyes on the ground as he entered, partly from the embarrassment of being the one halting the elevator, even if by a few seconds, though he shot an apologetic smile towards the occupant. His eyes lifted and that smile of his turned into one of amusement, dimples on full show.

“Stalking me now, Smallville?” Kat Cavanaugh, fully entertained by his arrival herself, had her own teasing grin playing on her lips.

“Who, me?” Scott clasped his hands tightly in front of his body once he’d pushed the button for the reception. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The gentle hum of the elevator descending filled the small space, making Scott acutely aware of how small the elevators were in the Tribune. His hands fidgeted, his feet shuffled; most of the time Scott’s awkwardness was a conscious effort but, after a lifetime of hiding his gifts, it meant his mask was sometimes less controllable. Gallagher once called Scott a liability, a “calamity on legs”. He’d said he had no balance, no grace and was “an accident waiting to happen”.

What were friends for if not to point out the flaws?

At least Gallagher would never be suspect Scott was Superman. Every loss had it’s own win.

Kat Cavanaugh was an entirely different story, however. It wasn’t that Scott disliked being in Kat’s company. On the contrary, he found her often infuriating need for answers about any given matter somewhat endearing, if a little reckless. In her own way she brightened up the Tribune offices with her sailor mouth and her impatient manner. Without Kat, the Tribune wouldn’t have been the Tribune, and whilst Scott was sure that some days passed where Ned regretted hiring her, those days were far and few between.

He chanced a glance at her. She, like him, stared straight ahead, mesmerised by the steel grey of the elevator doors. Scott lowered his gaze to the papers in her hands.

ENVIROMENTAL REPORT .

GAATCORP END OF YEAR BUDGET .

SMALLVILLE PEDOLOGY .

Inwardly he sighed. Though Scott hadn’t held much hope of her dropping the story, actively seeing her still going through with it surprised him.

It really shouldn’t have. This was Kathleen Cavanaugh.

Perhaps he was more frustrated than surprised. She could never know the reason why investigating his family’s farm annoyed him which only made it worse.

“Nothing is going to stop you, is it, Cavanaugh?” Scott almost laughed.

Kat’s head twirled sharply. “There is a story here, Scott. I’ve just got to dig deep enough to find it.”

He’d heard that tone before. Sharp, barbed, defensive. Kat liked to prove her disbelievers wrong and had done so on multiple occasions. Scott could recall the multitude of times Kat had enjoyed telling the naysayers, ‘I told you so’, but she had never liked having to deal with the tribulations she had to overcome before that stage: the nagging, the denial of intel, the lack of faith.

Scott might have been biased but he had always felt that Kat’s blunt remarks were more vicious when it was him expressing his worries. He was aware of her opinion of him and that she saw him as the rival she needed to constantly top in order to impress Ned (or so she believed), but it didn’t mean Scott appreciated the  prickly responses. He was only ever trying to look out for her.

“Just remember: you dig too deep and you’ll run into magma. No story is worth getting burned over.”

The elevator doors dinged open and Scott, without another word, marched out into the lobby and then out onto the Metropolis streets beyond, leaving Kat and her story behind him.

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Metropolis was different to Smallville in so many ways. Scott wasn’t sure he’d ever truly get used to the city lights, the skyscrapers, the hustle and bustle, the cars and taxis, the clusters of people, the vibrancy of city life. It made him feel alive. In the midst of all the city noise, Scott could hide away. Growing up in the shadow of his gifts, for fear of being discovered, had meant Scott disliked being seen. He didn’t take too well to the spotlight. A small town was harder to hide in than the big city.

But he still found himself yearning for the simplicity that Smallville had given him. It was quieter in the country, not to mention that most of his family was still there. In Smallville there was no mass exodus of tourists every year, no large, blinding billboards, and far less crime. For want of a better phrase, it was a easier life, though Scott was sure his father would disagree.

21:40pm

Scott could have easily ordered the delivery to his apartment. Big Belly Burger only charged a few dollars extra for the convenience and Scott had used the service before, but with it being his last night in Metropolis for a few days, and after the stress of the working day, he had decided to walk the few blocks to pick up his order instead.

His mind kept replaying his memory of Kat in the elevator, so determined to prove to everyone that the story she was chasing was worth the risks the investigation posed. Scott wanted to admire her tenacity but the investigation wasn’t just dangerous for her to pursue; it was also dangerous for him.

The Tracy Farm held many secrets, Scott’s famed apple pie recipe being only one of them, but the biggest secret of all was literally embedded into the land. It had been a hard enough job for Jeff to keep the authorities from digging around too much when the chemical leak had occurred initially, but for Kat to start dredging up the past again? It was a risk far greater than she’d ever be able to know.

The heavens had opened up during Scott’s brief walk of two blocks. Puddles had begun to form on the pavement, reflecting back the bright street lamp lights. Huddled in his jacket, with his hair soggy and dripping, he picked up his pace. The sooner he could get to Big Belly Burger, the sooner he could make his way back to his warm, dry apartment…

CRASH—!!

“I swear to God, I didn’t… I didn’t mean nothing by it! Langley, honestly! I swear!”

With the help of his super hearing, Scott heard the pleas with ease. An alleyway a few strides ahead. He stopped in his tracks, expert ears listening in from the distance.

“I’ve had enough of your lies!”

“No! God, Langley, no!”

The wet crack of a punch. The heavy click of a gun. The slow and steady intake of a breath.

Scott moved through the rain at such a speed that he’d have been a blur to anyone who was passing by. But Scott was usually careful. There was no-one else on the street except for himself and the two men he was running toward. In the heat of the moment, he dove straight into the unfolding scene without changing out of his civilian clothing.

In a flash he arrived at the mouth of the alley and assessed the situation before him. Scott had less than five seconds. The attacker, a man almost the same height as Scott, with a slightly thinner build and clean shaven, was dressed in black. He blended into the darkness of the narrow passage as though he were just another shadow. Even for Scott’s eyes, he was hard to make out.

What wasn’t difficult for him to see was the glint of the glock that was aimed at the other man. Red blood oozed out from his temple, dripping down into his beard. He was barely standing, leaning awkwardly against the alley wall. From what Scott could make out, it appeared the man was being held up by an obscure railing that had been manipulated to keep him in place. He was unconscious now, as far as Scott could tell, and unmoving, completely unaware of the tragedy that was about to befall him.

Three seconds…

Scott hurried into action. He sped forward, the world around him moving in a haze. All he was focused on was the man, the gun and the trigger he’d just pulled.

Shit.

One second…

The sound of the bullet being shot sounded like a canon. In real time, to the human eye, the bullet wouldn’t have been seen until it was too late and was lodged in the unfortunate victim’s sternum. In Scott’s eyes he could see it fly through the air.

The attacker fired again.

Another bullet, then another, and another.

Scott jumped between the two men without a hesitation. He stood as still as a rock as the bullets tore through his shirt but recoiled as they hit his skin. He barely felt the impact. The bullets fell, clattering to the floor of the alley with a tinkle.

The attacker, with his gun now trained on Scott instead of the man who was behind him, faltered. To him, Scott had appeared out of nowhere, in the literal blink of an eye. His expression was one of pure confusion as he glanced down at the spent bullets, flattened and useless, before eyeing Scott wearily.

“What the hell are you?” He snarled, gripping his glock more tightly. It didn’t take him long to pluck up the courage to start shooting again.

Only Scott was faster.

With that same speed he’d utilised before, he reached out and caught the barrel in one hand with ease, twisting the attacker’s hand to point the weapon upwards. The bullets the man fired shoot off into the sky, far away from any other living person in that alley. Then, with his free hand, Scott’s palm forcefully pushed the attacker away.

The man went flying. He could have gone further had the dumpster not got in his path. With an almighty crash, the attacker careened into it and collapsed onto the floor, leaving a human-sized dent in the green metal. There he lay, as unmoving and unconscious as his victim had been moments ago.

Scott turned his attention to said victim who was groggily groaning and waking up from his impromptu nap. He lifted a hand to his aching temple, wincing as he felt the cut. In his effort to unhook himself from the manipulated fencing, the man slipped and fell to his knees.

“Don’t move too fast. You’re going to be alright.” Scott reassured him, quickly crouching down to the man’s eye-line. He assessed the man quickly for any further, visible injures but it appeared the man had been fortunate; from what Scott could see he had only suffered a knock to the head. “You’re safe now.”

“What happened?”

“It looks like you took quite a hit.”

Sirens squealed, crawling closer and closer — someone must have heard the gunshots and called the police. In a way, Scott was relieved. At least now he didn’t need to worry about cleaning up on his own.

Police cars swarmed the entrance to the alley in seconds, the blue lights illuminating the darkened space. Officers exited their vehicles with guns and torches raised, a precaution against any further dangers that remained.

Not wanting to be shot at again, Scott lifted his hands in the air slowly as he stood. Two officers moved forward to assess both the men on the floor.

Another officer, a deputy by the look of his badge, kept his gun trained on Scott.

“Keep your hands where I can see them and don’t move!”

Scott did as he was instructed.

“We’ve had reports of gunshots in the area. Can you tell me what happened here?”

“I don’t know, officer. I was walking by when I heard the gunshots. I came running as fast as I could to find that man barely conscious,” he gestured towards the man he had saved before pointing towards the attacker, still out cold by the dumpster, “and that man entirely unconscious. I was trying to help the wounded man when you arrived.”

After a lifetime of concealing the truth about his abilities and who he really was, lying was easy. It really should have worried Scott. He believed in the truth, fought tooth and nail everyday to present a clear reality to the readers of his articles, and yet he lied almost everyday to those closest to him with such practiced ease.

The deputy exchanged glances with a few other officers, all of them seeming to come to the same conclusion.

Superman.

He was usually the go-to answer when the ‘unexplained’ happened and Scott could hear a few of the officers whispering his name now. Little did they know they were pointing their guns straight at him.

“It was him!” The victim was now up on his feet, with the aid of the police officers, and was pointing directly towards Scott.

Scott blinked, a sudden panic rising inside. The deputy clutched his gun a little tighter, daring Scott to try something. It was madness, to be accused of injuring the man he had gone out of his way to help, but Scott wasn’t in a position to let the police know that. The only proof he had of being the saviour was the attacker who was still lying unconscious, and that would have create more questions than he’d like. If he had to, he supposed he could take down the officers as passively as possible and make his escape but the fallout from such an act wasn’t something he particularly favoured either…

It was to his relief, then, when the man continued with, “He’s the one who helped me. Stop pointing that weapon at him!”

Though the deputy was reluctant he lowered his gun and holstered it back into his belt. Then he turned back to converse with the officers of the vehicles behind his.

Scott smiled gratefully at the man. “Thank you for clearing that up.”

“Thank you for saving me.”

The panic set in again. “Oh! No… No, that wasn’t me! You were… You were already out cold when I arrived, and that guy was… pretty knocked about too. I didn’t, uh… What I mean to say is that I wasn’t the one who saved you.”

The man half-smiled. “Superman did.”

Scott nodded. He wasn’t entirely wrong. “Yeah, apparently.”

“Do you have any contact details?” One of the officers helping the injured man asked him. “In case we need to ask you any more questions about what you saw tonight?”

“Yeah, hold on.” Scott shuffled around in his pockets, retrieving his wallet. He flicked it open, fingers passing over out-of-date coupons and old photos of his family to find a crisp, white business card. “I’m out of town for the weekend but I should still be able to receive a call on my cell if you need to get in contact.”

The officer took the card from Scott with a curt ‘thanks’ before escorting the man to one of the cruisers. The victim waved a hand towards Scott, who obliged in returning the gesture.

With one last look at the attacker, who was finally coming back to the land of consciousness as the police handcuffed him, Scott slid past the police cars and continued on his journey to Big Belly Burger. His hunger hadn’t sated and, after the excitement of all that, he was looking forward to his meal.

---------------------

As the police led the attacker passed his victim, the bearded man did not flinch away in fear as one might have suspected. He eyed him critically, examining the man who had held him at gunpoint. Their eyes met, the victim still holding his gaze as his attacker was led away. He only took his eyes off the arrested man when he had been put inside the back of the furthest police car and was subsequently driven away.

The officer who had helped him to his feet pocketed his notebook and gently gestured for him to enter the cruiser they were standing beside. “We’ll get you to the hospital now, Mister… Uh…”

“Janus.” The injured man claimed, his lips curving darkly. “Martin Janus.”

[hibou088]

Is the emancipation of the spirit caused by self-responsibility?

I. What is self-responsability / accountability ?

Being afraid of taking responsibility is very common. So common even that it has an actual name  : hypengyophobia. Taking accountability for our choices means choosing freedom. When we feel responsable for ourselves, we become the master of our life. Once an individual takes back the power she has been giving to others or external influences to control how she feels, she finally finds freedom. Whether you suffered childhood trauma or not, your life can change only by taking ownership of it going forward ! 

In Clear Thinking, Shane Parrish writes :

'Self-accountability means taking responsibility for your abilities, your inabilities, and your actions. If you can’t do that, you might never move forward.  You might not have someone in your life who holds you accountable, but that doesn’t matter. You can hold yourself accountable. Others might not expect more from you, but you can expect more from yourself. No one else need reward or punish you into it.'

Having defined what self-responsability is, I will try to explain how and why feminism is counterproductive and totally kills women's self-growth.

II. How feminism holds women back

A) A culture of apology

We know that majority of our core beliefs come from our childhood. How we perceive the world, others and ourselves is based on the beliefs that were implemented in our minds when we were young. Adults, on the other hand, are able to use and to rely on experience to make decisions. They are able to withstand pressure from their peers and to use their judgement.

Unfortunately, this difference is not something that feminists accept. They indeed always resort to infantilizing women and using "socialization" as an excuse. It does not matter how feminists identify themselves (liberal feminist, radical feminist, black /white feminists...), they all have the same goal : absolving the collective of women of any responsability. While nobody can deny that socialization DOES play a huge role in shaping people's perceptions, it is NOT an excuse, at least not when you are a fully grown adult. I am always dumbfounded anytime I hear a woman who is more than 25 years old telling that she is a victim of the "patriarchy", that she has been manipulated by the men around her, that she is not to be blamed for her choices... Imagine being 50 and saying that your shitty life is men's fault or society's...

B) A hidden contempt for women

If you do not take accountability for your life and own your mistakes, no self-growth is possible. Absolutely NONE. Unfortunately, feminism works hard to make sure women, as a collective, never try to better themselves by telling them that nothing is ever their faut. 

Feminists want society to feel pity for women. They desperately want to portray women as poor victims who are always wronged AND cannot possibly do anything wrong. And if they do anything wrong, it is OBVIOUSLY because they have been brainwashed or coerced into doing it... right ? It reminds me of the time when Billie Eilish posed in lingerie for Vogue Magazine in 2021. Dumbasses all over the Internet were screaming that we should not blame her for objectfying herself because she is "a VicTiM oF ThE PaTriArchY". Classic example of infantilizing and deresponsalizing women... If a woman does something cool, she is a "GirL BosS" but if she does something embarassing or that contradicts feminism (whatever it is), it is "MuH PaTriArcHy" that is to blame, as always. Adults make adult choices, period, stop whining.

However, I undertand why feminism/women are using this strategy : there are tons of social and emotional benefits to portraying oneself as a victim. First, it totally absolves the individual of the burden of personal responsibility for improving her circumstances or character AND it also provides the feminist / woman a sense of community with other women who have similar experiences or beliefs, which satisfies an emotional need. If someone or a group tries to portray you as a victim, they are not doing it because they want to help you, they are most likely doing it because they DESPISE you and/or to fulfill a narcissistic need (feeling superior to you and appearing righteous by supposedly "caring" about your situation.)

Staying a victim is for the weak, strong individuals work on themselves to make their life better.

C) The solution : killing the double moral standard

The only way for women to do better on a collective scale is to bring back SHAME. Yes, I said it. SHAME ! "Shame motivates learning, growth, and a desire to change the self (Kelly & Lamia, 2018). Shame also has a social purpose : the prospect of experiencing shame can keep us from behaving impulsively and doing something that might be considered socially inappropriate."

Men are more respectable than women when it comes to holding each other accountable :

'Keeping your brothers accountable is a product of love, not hate. Pointing out your friend’s flaws has the goal of bettering them, not judging them for the sake of antagonizing them. Men have a duty to one another to lift each other up by highlighting each other’s shortcomings, whilst actively assisting one another in their battle with evil. Without men keeping one another accountable, there would be complete and utter chaos. You should love your brother as yourself, so keep him accountable.'

'Being accountable means being willing to accept the consequences of your actions, both good and bad. It's important to make good choices, but realize that sometimes you will make mistakes. What matters is how you respond to your mistakes. own up to them, apologize for them, and learn from them so that you don't repeat the same mistakes in the future.'

That is what the collective should do towards WOMEN ! A small victory was achieved when somebody coined the expression 'pickme', which rightfully shamed women who behaved like carpets in front of men and threw other women under the bus. Unfortunately, this necessary shaming has obviously being criticized for being 'SeXisT', as too many women interpret rightful criticism as persecution / 'MisOGiNy' :

'How do feminists critique women’s harmful internalized sexism without engaging in the same sexist tactics they are trying to put an end to ? How do they address pick-me behavior without humiliating or degrading other women ? A compassionate approach likely means first recognizing that demeaning other women isn’t useful to the feminist movement, even if it is done in retaliation or to make an important point.

Although calling out pick-me behavior might feel good, perhaps even validating, it seems to only further the divide among women. It is not likely there will ever be true sisterhood in feminism (and, arguably, sisterhood shouldn’t even be the goal). That shared purpose is to put an end to structures that uphold and enable sexism and sexist oppression. That work starts at the root cause, not with individual women within that oppressive system. 

BOOM ! Once again, the classic argument of "DiviDiNg wOmeN" has been used. To the average feminist, pointing the finger at a shameful behaviour is what is WRONG, not the behaviour itself ! And once again, what is the ROOT cause of enabling sexism if not the women who pander to men ? The pick-mes, the handmaidens, however you want to call them ? This mentality is in direct contrast with the linked article telling men to hold each other accountable by pointing out their flaws ! It is precisely because feminism and society, in general, have coddled women and used "a compassionate approach" that society got worse ! By claiming that society is the cause for women's miserable state is a LIE that has been preserved for way too many years. Women ARE the cause of their misery, not men or society. Women can ONLY blame themselves for the Hell they have created and birthed on Earth. It is time to hold everybody accountable and stop feeling sorry for the wrong individuals !

It’s your life, you get to decide what to do with it. —Danielle Bernock

And a little tip for the average 'feminist' :

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

The Burden of Proof

'When the NYPD fails to act in multiple SA cases, journalist!reader is there to investigate, but when the assaults become murder, (y/n) is faced with a dilemma and her path crosses with the SVU squad and ADA Barba who is less than happy with her involvement'

AN: This chapter is brought to you by a very tired, very hungover writer, it's not my favourite so apologies. TLDR Rafael and reader come to an agreement, the squad is on the verge of cracking the case and everyone is onto their situationship. Happy reading everyone! :)

TW: Mentions of r*pe, victim blaming and misogyny. Dr*gs, Alcohol, Strong language

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Chapter 8

Rafael was discordant. He had strayed far beyond the point of return, he’d fucked up. He couldn’t help making a list in his head of all the ways it was wrong. It was a conflict of interest, that was undeniable, he didn’t want to imagine how this could affect the case if it went to trial. Not to mention he was over ten years her senior. The thought that he was too old, not attractive enough for her had rooted itself firmly in the back of his mind. He punished himself with the image of Amaro holding her close, of Carisi’s hand on her arm.

But for every con he could think of there was a pro to counter it. It was a conflict of interest, but so was her whole involvement in this case, so he felt less guilty than he probably should have. Yes, she was also younger than him, but there was a keen understanding between the two. He knew, for example that (y/n) shared his zeal for justice, his passion. She was empathic, but didn’t suffer fools, she could keep him on his toes. And if he thought he wasn’t good enough for her then why had she folded into him so easily, kissed him with such fervour. Him, not Amaro, not Carisi.

Besides, no matter how wrong or right this whole situation was, he knew none of it mattered. If there was one thing Rafael knew, for certain, it was that he couldn’t resist her for much longer. Not when she had looked at him like that, when he had finally discovered how sweet she tasted. Or how, when she had fallen asleep, curled into his lap, something inside him had shifted. He was a starved man and she, the forbidden fruit.

…

When he had returned home in the early hours of the morning, after depositing (y/n) safely in her bed, it was with the best intentions of sleeping. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to be getting a lot of free time over the coming weeks with the new development in the case, so he may as well take advantage of it while he could. However, in spite of himself, he spent more time periodically checking his cell for any messages. He tried to fool himself that he was waiting on an update from Liv, but truthfully, he was waiting for a reply from (y/n). It was a casual suggestion, a lunch date to talk about what was developing between them, but Rafael felt anything but casual, refreshing the screen every so often. As time went on, he tried to assuage the nervousness in his gut, she would still be sleeping, she might already have plans, she might just not be interested. He was finally dozing off when his cell pinged.

Can you meet at 2? I have a little place in mind :)

He quickly replied that yes, he could, and then he salvaged what little sleep he could, unable to fight the smile on his lips as he drifted off.

…

You had instructed Rafael to meet you at a tiny, hole in the wall tapas place in Greenwich village. It was intimate but casual enough that it didn’t scream ‘date’. Truth be told, you had no idea what the nature of this meeting was going to be, what it meant for your ever-changing relationship with the ADA. The more you had thought about the previous night’s events, the more confused you became. You knew he was attractive, that you couldn’t help the primal urges that reared when he was near you. You also knew, that when he wasn’t being a condescending ass, that he was a great conversationalist, always ready with a witty response. But this was work, no matter how unconventional and you knew, without a doubt that the job had to come first. Maybe he was going to let you down gently, apologise for his heat of the moment paroxysm. You knew it was for the best, the rational thing to do. It was just a shame that Rafael made you completely and utterly irrational.

Despite arranging to meet at two pm you were pleasantly surprised to see him, already sat in one of the booths, when you arrived. He had gone to the liberty of ordering a bottle of wine for the table, you noted (a sweet white which you guessed he’d chosen on account of you, Rafael seemed to be the opposite type of drinker).

“You’re early.” You said, making a show of checking your watch. You had arrived ten minutes early yourself and judging by the condensation leaking off of the bottle he had been sat there for a while.

“Punctuality is the politeness of kings” He poured you a glass and pushed it toward you. “Drink.” Before you could start the conversation that you had come to have, you ordered some food, pointing out and recommending some of the different plates. His expression softened as he listened to you enthuse over the menu, at this new piece of your personality revealing itself to him. When the waitress had left the table, he chuckled.

“I wouldn’t have picked you as a foody.” You shrugged.

“There isn’t much that can’t be fixed with a good meal.”

“Ah, my Abuela would be inclined to agree with you on that.” You cocked your head. You had assumed that he would be drawing a line in the sand of whatever this was but were starting to think you’d guessed wrong. Rafael had turned up early, ordered your favourite wine and had casually mentioned his family - you tried not to overthink it, he was probably just being nice. A nervous quiet settled between the two of you. You both opened your mouths to say something, cutting each other off cringingly.

“You go first.” You offered; this meeting was his idea after all. He was thoughtful for a moment, the cogs turning in his brain, your body tensed, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“This situation is less than ideal.” He started; even though you had expected it, your heart still ached treacherously. Before you could mutter your understanding, he continued, “If my boss finds out, I may have to recuse myself, so discretion is important, for now at least.”

“I’m sorry?”

“What?”

“I don’t understand?”

“What don’t you understand?”

“You’re not breaking this off?” He expression was one of bafflement, like he hadn’t even considered it. “I thought…”

“(Y/n) do you think if that was an option, I wouldn’t already have… This whole situation is senseless, you think if I had a choice-“

“Well, it’s not like I’m holding a gun to your head.” You huffed, feeling mildly offended at his outburst. He rolled his eyes, jaw clenching slightly.

“This is your fault!”

“My fault?”

“If you weren’t so…!” He tailed off, looking defeated, you almost felt sorry for him. “Whatever this is,” he gestured between you, “it’s complicated, I just wish I had met you under different circumstances, but I didn’t, so here we are.” You wanted to argue with him, but you understood his conflict, there was so much on the line and yet… At that moment, the waitress appeared with the food you had ordered, offering a little reprieve. You were both quiet again, tucking in and stealing the occasional glance at the other.

“So, what are you suggesting?” You asked eventually. He chewed thoughtfully.

“You’re a part of this investigation, despite my objections.” You opened your mouth to argue, but the look he shot you made you bite your tongue. “And, as much as I’ve tried to… prevent it from happening, I can’t help the way I… The attraction.” He looked lost, suddenly self-conscious.

“Very eloquent Counsellor.” You teased. He sighed.

“See! This is what I mean, you’re infuriating has anyone ever told you that?” Your smirk spoke for you. “I know when to accept defeat.”

“I find that really hard to believe Rafi.” His cheeks burned a little at the nickname.

“It’s Barba in front of everyone else, do you understand?”

“Right, discretion.” He visibly calmed at your understanding; you felt a giddy kick in your stomach. Before you could lay down any more ground rules, your date was interrupted by his ringing cell.

“Liv… Right, of course, I’m on my way.” He hung up and reached for his jacket, pulling his wallet out. “I’m sorry to cut this short, that was Detective Benson, I’m needed at the precinct.” The giddiness you had felt moments prior was replaced by a steady focus.

“An update on the case?” He nodded, throwing a wad of notes down on the table. “I’m coming with you.” He laughed mirthlessly.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, c’mon Mr Barba.” You emphasised the name, “I’m a part of this investigation, right?” You could see the momentary flicker of something sinful in his eyes. He thought about it for a second, eventually acquiescing.

“If anyone asks, I bumped into you on my way there.” You smiled devilishly at him. This is going to be fun.

…

Rafael Barba had faced down with some of the worst society had to offer. Serial killers, sociopathic manipulators, child traffickers; his life had been threatened more times than he’d like to admit and yet he’d never wavered. He fought against criminals, uncooperative victims, sleazy defence lawyers even his own squad on the regular – it was his job to come out on top, a personal point to win in every situation. So, he couldn’t understand why (when it came to one, vexing journalist in particular) he was losing the battle. He was an honest man, could admit that he had a fair share of weaknesses, for example, he was known to be arrogant, even ruthless when necessary. He was fairly isolated, in part due to his demanding job, but also because of the duality of his own personality, a poor kid suddenly thrown into a world of galas and high-profile reputations, which left him oddly detached. He was stubborn. But (y/n) was a veritable Achilles heel it seemed, always undermining him with a witty comment and he had to be honest with himself, despite his best efforts he just couldn’t say no to that face.  

It was because of this, that he walked into the 16th precinct with her at his side, some poorly concocted excuse ready on his lips. He had prayed that the squad just wouldn’t notice but who was he kidding? They were detectives after all. He wasn’t ready though, for the astute silence that fell over the bullpen when they entered, the wide eyes weighing up the scene in front of them. He had two options, he could address it, or he could pretend like everything was normal. He was saved from having to make a choice by Carisi, he was smiling dopily at (y/n).

“Hey doll, how are you feelin? Last night was pretty crazy right.” Doll? Doll? Rafael could feel his irritation clawing at him. The newest detective was annoying enough, with his constant legal expounding and overly jolly demeaner but here he was, shamelessly flirting? He could feel his lips twisting into a scowl, preparing a barb to knock him down a peg, but he was stopped in his tracks when he caught the gleeful look Rollins was shooting him, her eyes skipping over the three of them.

“I’m okay, thankyou for asking.” (y/n) was smiling warmly at the taller man and he had to breathe deep to abate his jealousy.

“What are ya doin here? Did the Sarge call ya?” She gave Rafael a surreptitious side eye.

“Oh, not exactly, I was just… enjoying a walk when I bumped into Ra… Mr Barba here, he said that he was on his way here, so I thought I’d tag along.” Carisi might have been an idiot, but he wasn’t stupid, and he certainly wasn’t convinced by what she said.

“What a coincidence.” Amaro stated, shooting the ADA a mean look.

“Yes, a coincidence. Tell me I didn’t waste my Sunday by coming all the way here. You found something?”

…

As it turned out, the detectives had found very little. The main reason for him being called to the 16th was because Cole Mills, the runner who’d been lookout, was starting to crumble under the pressure.

“What’s their story?” Rafael asked, surveying the boy, who he’d just discovered was only eighteen, from behind the two-way mirror.

“Martinez lawyered up almost immediately so we couldn’t get much out of him, but this kid? He’s terrified Rafa.”

“Spare me, you saw it with your own eyes Liv, he was the lookout for an in progress.” (Y/n) was staring intently at the kid, who was scrunched in on himself, pale and shaky.

“He’s so young.” She said quietly.

“Eighteen, he’s a legal adult.” He corrected her.

“Oh please, how much of a man were you at eighteen.” She shot him a look, but he could see the concern hiding in her eyes. “Has he said anything? Does he even know he can ask for a lawyer?”

“We read him his rights.” Olivia moved to stand next to the journalist, “(y/n) maybe it’s best if you head back to the squad room, this might be difficult for you to watch.” She shook her head.

“Unless you kick me out, I’m staying.” The ADA part of him wanted Liv to turf her out, knew that that was the correct thing to do, it was a violation of God knows how many rules and regulations to have her there in the first place. But the Sargent just sighed and yielded. Amaro and Rollins entered the interview room, to take another crack. Liv informed him that while at first, he’d tried to play stoic, Cole Mills was starting to open up a bit, struggling to keep the façade in place.

…

The ADA, the Sargent and the journalist watched as the detectives worked the boy. It was slow going. Cole maintained that the girl had asked for it, wanted it despite being so high on whatever they had spiked her with that she was barely conscious. He was only looking out for their manager, or another member of staff who might get Martinez in trouble for having sex while he was supposed to be serving drinks. The other rapes? What rapes? He didn’t know anything about that! He was just looking out for his buddy, that’s all it was. Amaro switched tactics.

“Your buddy Alex? He’s lawyered up Cole, he’s working out a plea deal. He’s spinning this all on you. He’s claiming that it was you that drugged that girl, that this was all your idea.” Cole shook his head.

“No, no Alex wouldn’t do that, he’s my bro right, he’s got my back.” He buried his face in his hands.

“Why would he need to have your back Cole? You weren’t doing anything wrong right? It must be hard, seeing all those pretty girls all night, they’re drunk, all over the place. It must hurt a little bit that Alicia chose Alex over you?” Rollins countered, playing the sympathy card. He scoffed, folding his arms protectively over his chest.

“It’s not like that.” He said, but his eyes betrayed him, and Rollins had her in.

“No? C’mon, you’re a good looking guy, but you’re a bit shy, is that it? They look past you?”

“See Alex is the bartender so they’re all over him, trying to get free drinks? But you,” Nick let out a soft whistle, “You’re just the barback, the only time they want you is when one of their girlfriends is puking or when their table gets a bit dirty. They don’t see you, Cole.” He shook his head, colour flushing his neck.

“They think they’re so much better than us guys but they’re not.” He said bitterly, “All that empowerment shit, it’s a cancer, it’s destroying our society.” The words were falling out of him then.

“Right, so you thought you’d show them how it is.”

“Someone needs to, why dress like a whore if you don’t want to get treated like one?” Amaro pulled open a case file and spread photos from the other women’s rape kits across the table.

“Like you showed these other women?” Cole balked, averting his eyes. He was sweating profusely, and he started fidgeting.

“No, I don’t know nothing about those other girls.” The back and forth continued like that for a while, much to Rafael’s frustration. He knocked on the window, pulling the detectives out.

“This is a waste of time.” He barked.

“Not so quick Barba, we’ve just got to get him at the right angle, there’s obviously something deeper going on here, we’ve nearly got him I can feel it” Rollins pleaded. (Y/n) looked up from where she was sat, holding onto a case file.

“This says he’s only been employed at the bar for just over a month”

“Give me that.” Rafael snarked, grabbing the file out of her hands, readying himself to admonish her for overstepping a boundary.

“What are you saying?” Liv stepped in then, causing his frustration to crest. There was stretching the rules and then there was whatever this situation was. He wondered how he ever managed to get cases prosecuted when this is what he was up against.

 “You saw how he reacted to those pictures, he looked scared, like he’d been caught out. But he wasn’t working at the bar when the other rapes happened. So why react like that?”

“Have you ever considered getting into policework?” Amaro chuckled.

“I like breaking the rules a bit too much sorry.” She gave him a playful wink, making Rafael’s frustration turn to hot anger. So that’s how it’s going to be. In a desperate attempt to move things along, he ordered the detectives back into the room, instructing them to pressure the kid with the threat of a hefty charge.

…

Later, while (y/n) was grabbing them a coffee (“Real coffee, not whatever that swill is” she said after taking a sip of the stuff that had probably been sat there since that morning.) Liv rounded on him.

“So, you just bumped into her on the street hm?” He huffed a breath; his lack of sleep was catching up to him.

“That’s what she said isn’t it?” Liv sized him up, that knowing look playing across her features again.

“You’re a terrible liar Raf.” Her tone was only half accusing.

“No comment.”

“And last night?”

“Nothing happened, we had a drink, I made sure she was okay and then I went home.”

“Admit what you can’t deny, deny what you can’t admit. I get it.” He shot her a warning glance. “I get it Barba; I’ve been in some situations… You know what I’m saying, the rules are the rules, but if she makes you happy.” She let her words sit in the air for a second before adding, “I like her.” He pondered her words, he trusted Liv’s opinion implicitly, even if she took advantage of that fact regularly.

“I like her too.” He said it so quietly it was almost inaudible. But it was the truth, he did, perhaps too much. Rules be damned.

[charkoal]

Hi I'm curious with your op. What's do you think w/ Vi's thought about the whole Cait's legacy Kiramman and massive mansion aftermath war. Do you think Vi finally realize or understand how big responsible Cait burden and is there any tiny tiny guilty from Vi to pressure Cait the whole avoid full attack on Zaun with solutions with team Strike and the Gray? Thankyou so much!

Hi! Forgive me for the super late response. Also forgive me if I am misunderstanding your prompt, but in terms of Vi's feelings in the aftermath about being away from Caitlyn during their separation between Acts 1 and 2, I think Vi obviously feels a lot of guilt. Caitlyn wouldn't want Vi to feel guilty, Caitlyn herself feels incredibly guilty for their split. Still, I don't think it stops Vi from feeling bad about it. She would have wanted to be there for Caitlyn and regrets that she wasn't. Yes, Caitlyn pushed her away; yes, the blame is mostly on Caitlyn for the way that they parted; still, Vi is a character who cares so deeply about her loved ones.

I don't think Vi feels any guilt over telling Caitlyn to find a way to call off the invasion. Ambessa was pushing for the full invasion and Caitlyn's strike team idea was a hindrance to her plans, which was good. The Grey may not have been the best way to handle it because even though they only targeted the chem-barons, it's hard to control a gaseous weapon. I'm not saying they were justified in using it by any means, I'm also not saying they were carelessly gassing all the civilians either; it's a layered moral subject that I won't get into other than to say I think it is more compelling the more complex it is.

Back to the topic at hand, I think after the finale Vi sees how much weight and guilt Caitlyn carries. She sees all the ways Caitlyn throws herself into her work, the habits she seems to have formed, and wonders with a heavy heart how she's gotten used to shouldering everything on her own. She sees how hard Caitlyn works to right her wrongs from her six months as the Commander. She watches her fall asleep at her desk countless times, pen in hand, ink smeared on her face from the papers resting under her cheek, and feels something tug at her chest. Because as she drapes a blanket over Caitlyn's shoulders, as she lifts her into her arms to tuck her into bed, she wonders how many nights Caitlyn had fallen asleep like this while they were apart. How many times she jolted herself awake in her chair because no one was there to care for her, how many times she tried to rub the sleep from her eyes and continue her work because no one was there to stop her. She wonders how many times Caitlyn ran herself into the ground, cut herself on her own jagged edges, and picked the pieces of herself back up alone.

At some point she had heard about the coronation, the way Ambessa called Caitlyn forward in front of everybody, and Vi's blood boils just thinking about it. Vi knows Caitlyn has always been burdened by power, and when called upon in front of everyone to bear that responsibility, to bear the weight of the cape, of course Caitlyn would say yes. She felt like it was her duty; her duty as a daughter to avenge her mother, her duty as a Kiramman to protect her city. She didn't take the shot. She didn't take the shot and the world imploded. And so, to Caitlyn, she was the one who had to put it back together by any means necessary. Her sense of duty, it's what blinded her, drowned her like a stone tied to her ankles.

It's a cycle Vi finds continues even now. Caitlyn wore the cape, so Caitlyn must be the one to fix it. This sense of responsibility is so different from what Vi has seen from most topsiders, it's part of why Vi fell for her in the first place, because Caitlyn is just and empathetic and cares. But it's also something that can be self-destructive, especially when she starts punishing herself for her shortcomings. But now, Vi is always there to remind her that she can't, and shouldn't, bear the world on her shoulders. And Caitlyn fulfills that same role for Vi.

Those are my thoughts, hope you're well!

[vanillinwrites]

Hi!! I’ve got some thoughts about yandere!Neon x nen-user + bodyguard!Y/N that I wanna share with you

It all started with something like: "She’s pretty, I want her to be my bodyguard!" Yeah, she liked Y/N just as a "decoration" that’d look good next to her.

Later, she wanted Y/N to be her friend. Moreover, it was important for her that it was Y/N who first suggested that she go beyond the relationship of “bodyguard and boss”.

Neon is spoiled by her father. She gets everything she wants, so maybe she’d think that Y/N's favor can be bought with expensive gifts. Her first gift was new clothes, because according to her, Y/N's old clothes didn't fit her at all! One of Neon’s last gifts was a ring with beautiful pink gemstone (Neon’s got the same, but with gemstone of Y/N’s eye color).

After some time, her sympathy grew into an obsession and a desire to be the only one who owns Y/N's heart and mind. Neon's father burdened Y/N with more and more responsibilities, which led to Y/N starting to feel like a maid(wife) rather than a bodyguard.

At this point, it's too late to try to get rid of Neon. Now she will never let go of her beloved Y/N!

If Y/N already have got a lover, Neon’ll ask her father to kill them.

Also, I think Neon is romantic. I'm 100% sure that if she falls in love, she'll be like Illumi in some way—it'll be important to Neon that Y/N acts according to her vanilla fantasies. However, the punishments for long-term "disobedience" will be her tantrums and scandals. (Also Neon's wishes are much more obvious than Illumi's XD).

I’m sorry for mistakes, eng isn’t my first language and I was a little nervous while writing this

Thank you so much for sending this in, it was a joy to read! I was so inspired I had to sit down and write something out immediately before my thoughts got away. Please don't be nervous to send me things! 

You’re 100% right about neon, her spoiled and bratty nature makes her a doting and controlling yandere who needs constant attention from her beloved darling.

 I may actually write some more stuff for yandere neon, because I think she’s perfect for it. 

------------------ 

I’ve always loved the idea of neon falling for someone who works for her, either as a bodyguard or a maid, it feels natural that someone like neon- who is always surrounded by people she could be considered above- would fall for someone who works for her and who is paid to put up with her. Because she has so few friends, or even people who care about her, I can imagine her getting attached fairly easily. 

Afterall, you’re a breath of fresh air to her, as you're likely not involved in crime or the mafia, and you're brand new to her life. She sees you as somewhat innocent, not unlike herself, and she wants to protect you, no matter how strong or capable you are. To neon, you're a kind person, and people like that need to be protected and looked after. 

I imagine working for neon would be draining; she totes you around like your her newest handbag, showing you off to anyone who will listen, eagerly dressing you up in outfits to match hers, eagerly buying you gifts, even when you say you don't want them. She insists you be with her constantly, throwing tantrums if you try to take days off. 

Her presence is suffocating- but some part of you still feels bad for her. Neon is a girl who is treated like an object by everyone around her, and because of that, you feel sympathy for her. Sure, she’s spoiled and bratty, but deep down she’s a nice girl with a big heart- you’ve seen firsthand how loving she can be towards those she cares about-- even though you haven't seen the half of it yet. 

Despite neon being your boss, it’s possible you may actually start to see her as a friend- even with her obsessive tendencies, neon can be very sweet and endearing, and it’s possible she may win you over by being friendly with you. She buys you gifts, expensive things she knows will impress you, but you're more impressed with how she always seems to know what sort of thing you’d like- it’s like she knows you better than you know yourself. It’d be creepy if the gesture wasn't so kind. 

The ring neon gets for you is beautiful- pink gemstones that glitter in the light, but you feel you can't accept it, afterall, this must have been expensive, and it was more so the kind of thing you would buy a lover than a friend. But neon insists it’s fine, that she bought it just for you and she wants you to have it. How can you say no? It takes a couple days before you notice she wears a matching ring on her hand as well. 

Neon is a lot like illumi, in several ways. 

First, they’re home lives are a little bit similar- both coming from families involved in crime, both possessing nen abilities, and both being rather wealthy. 

Another way they’re similar is the desire to make you a part of their family- both neon and illumi would desperately want you to like and get along with their families. They both share a fixation on the idea of marriage, neon’s gifts of matching rings is the first hint that she desires to be your wife. 

Neon craves a domestic life with you, one where you can truly love her as she’s come to love you, one where your days are filled with nothing but each other, as are your nights. She wants to spoil you and dote on you, and any refusal of her wishes is met with tantrums and fits. 

So just play along with her, it’s easier that way, and deep down, you know that. 

[extremely-judgemental]

People like to argue that Cassian showed his love through actions, not words, in ACOSF, so no 'I love you' is fine. But, if actions over words is the theme of ACOSF, then what about Nesta's actions from like, acomaf onwards? Even her encouragement of Feyre to be with the man/fae she loves, and to do what she thinks is right, in ACOTAR, right before under the mountain? I suppose none of that matters then. Oh, also what about Rhysand's actions in prostituting Nesta to Eris, or keeping the pregnancy from Feyre, or laughing at Nesta being punished for something Feyre forgave her for pretty much instantly? Some sjm fans need to get their heads out of their asses.

That’s a lot to address! You just pointed out everything I hate about SF and this fandom. (I’m trying so hard not to rant but sorry😅)

People like to argue that Cassian showed his love through actions, not words, in ACOSF, so no 'I love you' is fine.

It’s interesting how they instantly came up with this justification when these books are romances. The entire plot leading up to that one ‘I love you’ in the end is the point of a romance. When half of the plot is sex and their attraction to each other, how can one accept the MC not saying the three words to the FC (which most of them are imprinting on) even once? These reasons are similar to abuse victim talk, ‘X doesn’t say it but he takes care of me’, ‘X can be a bit rude but at least he doesn’t hit me’, ‘We don’t get along much but at least he doesn’t leave me cold at nights’. This is what Nesta is doing at the end of SF, and also the BC of HOSAF with Ember (I haven’t read it, so fact check that). If throughout the book, Cassian had supported her, took her side, cared for her, been gentle and kind with her, okay, no words are needed, but he openly flamed her insecurities with ‘I don’t know how anyone could love you’. It’s pivotal moment in Nesta’s journey and their relationship which is completely dismissed. Nesta is grovelling for his affection while Cassian is declaring his love for Rhysand instead. I’m sorry, that only happens if the guy comes out and says he’s gay for his bff. Also, let’s not forget this is a guy who is supposed to be emotionally adept and expressive. (I have so many thoughts on this and Cassian’s behaviour but I want to keep this answer about Nesta.)

But, if actions over words is the theme of ACOSF, then what about Nesta's actions from like, acomaf onwards?

I completely agree with you. ‘Action speaks louder than words’ apply to Nesta more than anyone else in the story. Even Feyre does most of the sacrificial acts because of her trauma response. Ignoring the new details added in SF because stans argue those were only included to uplift Nesta, there are many moments to prove this.

1. Nesta takes care of the household. It’s her duty but she has no resentment towards her sisters for not helping her. She even dotes on Elain and that takes a lot of strength for a child.

2. She starves herself to force her father into being a parent. It’s not a selfish act to get burdens off her shoulders, it’s her way of getting her father’s attention so her sisters don’t starve to death.

3. She has a terrible encounter with a mercenary in the past and still lurks close to Feyre afraid to leave her alone with one when she could have bolted.

4. She throws herself in front of Elain when the beast shows up in the hovel.

5. She goes to the Wall looking for Feyre alone with a mercenary (whom she doesn’t trust). At this point, Elain and her father are under the glamour. If she’d died, no one would know how or why.

6. She broke off her relationship because Tomas wouldn’t care for Elain or look for Feyre with her. She puts her family first.

7. The first thing she does when Feyre returns from SC is apologise to her. She’s the one to make the first move to fix their relationship. Knowing Feyre loves to paint, she asks her to teach her. She could have suggested reading or dancing which she enjoys but she puts her sister’s interests first.

8. She encourages Feyre to pursue a life and love with Tamlin knowing her sister isn’t happy in the mortal lands anymore.

9. Her only request in exchange for helping Feyre/IC is to protect Elain. After they are transformed, she sacrifices her own healing to care for her sister and ensuring no one traumatises her more.

10. High Lords meeting, scrying was all so Elain was left out of the war. She wants revenge on Hybern because he hurt Elain and destroyed her life. She isn’t even thinking of what was done to her.

11. She abandons the plan of getting to the Cauldron because she sensed Cassian is in danger, also exposing her location to Hybern who’s been looking for her.

12. She throws herself over Cassian knowing she’ll be killed but still does it anyway. ‘I’d rather die with you than see you die’ (Like come on! You have to be blind not to see this and still take the man child’s side.)

13. She leaves River House because she doesn’t want to burden her sisters. It’s what Feyre always wanted, her exact words in ACOTAR were ‘another mouth to feed’ which is what Nesta is trying to avoid.

14. She scries again when she’s afraid of her powers so that Elain can stay away from the Cauldron.

15. She stands up against anyone who disrespects Cassian, Elain or Feyre.

16. She saves Emerie and Gwyneth in the Blood Rite knowing she’ll probably die.

17. Her love for Cassian is so strong that when she believes he died, she unleashes her powers which she kept hidden until then. (Her powers are new too and this woman never lost control and hurt anyone unlike Rhysand, Tamlin, Feyre.)

18. She sacrifices her powers to save Feyre and her child—a power she stole as a vengeance, a power that’s part of her—because her sister is worth more than all that. For this, she makes a bargain with the Cauldron which she has spited more than once and is afraid of.

These are her specific acts of love and not ‘it’s the right thing to do’ or ‘my sister wants it’. If there’s anyone who’s proved their love in healthy way in this series, it’s Nesta. There’s no condition for her love or limits. She’s unapologetic and fiercely protective of the ones she truly cares about. Also, despite being reserved, she expresses her love and admits her mistakes in words—with Feyre, Cassian, her friends.

Oh, also what about Rhysand's actions in prostituting Nesta to Eris, or keeping the pregnancy from Feyre, or laughing at Nesta being punished for something Feyre forgave her for pretty much instantly?

These stans don’t even hide their hypocrisy. When Rhysand/Feyre/IC do something, their ‘reasons’ count and so their actions can be overlooked. When it’s anyone else, they should be judged on their acts alone. Pick a fucking side already. Nesta considers selling her body for money to care for her sisters—that’s gross. Rhysand sells Nesta to Eris without even hinting at it to anyone, not Feyre, not the WOMAN INVOLVED—feminist king giving power to women. Rhysand endangers Feyre with pregnancy—‘he cares about her!’ Is he the one going to labour? Is it his body growing a killer spawn inside? Is it his body going to tear itself apart to let that child out or bleed to death? ‘Oh, but he didn’t want to put pressure on her’ More than finding out the child is going to kill her when the hormones are riding high and she’s on the brink of labour?

And Nesta being punished is ridiculous. Who is Feyre to forgive Nesta in the first place when it was Nesta making meals for her and doing chores? All Feyre did was hunt and paint, she says so herself. Anyone who hunts knows you can’t and shouldn’t do it everyday as it’s not good for kill. So Feyre was doing nothing on some days and still didn’t know how to do chores? If Nesta deserves Feyre’s forgiveness, Feyre should apologise too and make up for treating her sisters like maids.

AND why does Nesta need Rhysand’s forgiveness? I have sisters too and we have broken up with guys for far less than this shit. It’s not romantic. It’s a red flag and a sign of immaturity, manipulation and abuse. It shows the guy is incapable of seeing perspectives and understanding others who aren’t directly related to him or beneficial to him. That he might very well isolate you from the ones who truly and deeply know you so that you’re left with no one else but him. No woman will sit around and watch her sister get punished by a man for something that happened between them unless she hates her sister and is indirectly feeding off of it.

This fandom is toxic af. If they sat down with their grandmothers, mothers, aunts, sisters, girl friends and had an honest talk, they will see how similar all these are to the ABUSE they live with. Nesta’s story is very close to my heart even if I hate to admit it. Not because I loved the book or even Nesta, but it’s the story of the women in my family and the one my cousins and my sisters are trying to avoid. Whenever anyone romanticises Nessian relationship, it’s hard to hate/be angry with these girls when I know some of them will live this and that’s when they will face the harsh reality. It doesn’t matter how hot Cassian is, how hot their sex is, none of it matters when he doesn’t care or even respect a woman for than her body.

[mothergold]

| If I Killed Someone For You |

Pairing: Shigaraki x Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, No pronouns for Reader, He/Him pronouns for Tomura, Murder, Death, Grief, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Heavy on the hurt, Guilt, Angst, Reader scratches as an emotional response just like Tomura, Idk if you can consider this a happy end tbh, 1k words.

A/n: I love Tomura Shigaraki just about as much as I love making him suffer <3 This is also my piece for my Help Me, Hold Me collab!

Summary: Upon watching the news you find yourself having a gross realization. 

Tags: @auphelia @suyacho @tighnarly @fleur-de-leap @themovingcastlez sorry i've been such ass about tagging my pieces lately aoijdoaisj

You thought nothing of it at the time, it was simply another day for you and the League of Villains, but in the days that followed after it became truly clear that it was no ordinary day. All of you gathered around the tv, climbing onto the couch and grabbing some snacks and other various foods and drinks before settling in to relax for the night. Tomura curled up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist while he kissed your neck. Silently praising you for all the good work you’d done for him and the league over the past few days, and you beamed from his sweet affections, but that joyful moment was quickly shattered as you watched the television closely.

Watching the screen you quickly recognized a young girl that was being interviewed by a news reporter. She was crying, her school uniform dirty, tattered, and covered in blood. The girl wiped her tears away with her fist as she forced out her words in between sobs. 

“My parents w-were killed by the League of Villains.”

A picture of her parents embracing the young girl flashed onto the screen. 

“They weren’t heroes.”

Your heart pounded hard in your ears. Why couldn’t you breathe or think?

“They weren’t even doing anything.” 

Something warm fell down your cheeks. Tears? You weren’t sure and quite frankly didn’t care at that moment.

“I just want my mom and dad.” 

The world stopped. 

“They didn’t deserve to die.” 

Before you could hear another word from the young girl’s mouth the tv was shut off. Most of the league avoided eye contact with you save for Tomura who held your face, pressing his forehead against yourself in hopes it would ground you, and Dabi who watched you with a solemn expression. Tomura tried to get your attention, calling out your name hoping to snap you out of whatever miserable trance you were caught up in. You didn’t respond, not uttering a single word until Dabi and the League had slowly walked back to their respective rooms. 

Tomura looked deep into your eyes, using the pad of his thumbs to soothe your soft cries and anxious mumbling. Your eyes scanned the room frantically as Tomura shushed you, talking in a soft voice as to coax you into a calmer state, but it was a fruitless attempt. It came back so fast and you could barely contain the guilt and shame which overwhelmed you. You wanted to scratch so bad. Itch away at your flesh which was tainted with the blood of a corrupt sinner. You wanted nothing more than to rip yourself from your body, a punishment befitting of someone who so willingly chose to end another’s life. 

Maybe it was fate or pure coincidence that you saw that young girl on the television that day. Perhaps it was a realization that needed to occur, or maybe it meant nothing at all. Although, if it truly meant nothing, if you really had done the right thing as you had thought you did, then why did you feel burdened with such anguish? You thought back to when it had all happened, remembering the faces of the parents that had been murdered, and felt something swell up in your chest. Guilt? Anger? Sorrow? Whatever the feeling was it suffocated you and left you choking on your own questions. How could you let this happen? How could you be so careless? So destructive? So evil. 

“Hey, listen to me.” Tomura’s voice snapped you out of your self-hating trance. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. If you want out I will give you an out.” 

His voice and words reassured you that what he said remained true, but it simply wasn’t enough. 

“It’s not that. It’s just.. it’s complicated and fucked up, Tomu.” You replied.

There was a brief moment of silence before either of you spoke again.

“You’re not a bad person.” Tomura reassured you.

He pressed his temple against yourself and looked at you with a soft expression.

“No I am and that’s part of the problem, Tomu.” You insisted. 

He pulls away and looks at you with a sad and frustrated expression. 

“I killed someone, Tomura. Don’t you get it? I murdered people, people who had a life and family and friends.” You paused. “They were people too, Tomura. They didn’t deserve it.” 

Tears started to flow down your cheeks, and everything was hitting you all at once. Tomura understood, he was the one person who would know what you were feeling more than anyone, and yet, he had no idea how to make it better. Sure, he could hold you and rub your back as he usually did, but that would not take away the pure agony you felt. It would not fix what happened or heal what had been broken. There was nothing he could say to save those that had been lost. 

You frantically wrapped your arms around his waist, firmly gripping his shirt in your fists as you cried.

“It should’ve been me. It should’ve been me, Tomura!” You yelled, pushing your face into his chest as you sobbed. 

He said nothing and instead caressed the back of your head calmly. There were no words he could possibly utter that would carry your pain away. That guilt that you felt, the sensation of your chest feeling as if it was being crushed, would live with you until you were six feet underground. That he was sure of. Without a doubt he would try and try again to fix your problems, but it would ultimately be useless. There would be nights where Tomura would wake up to the sound of your hushed cries and quiet mumbling, and he too would feel a familiar ache in his chest as he realized that it was all his fault that you were wracked with such anguish. 

It was all his fault, he thought, it was always all his fault. 

[relleytrots]

TALK ABOUT HORNT VAMPIRES, PLEASE!!!

This is about the Compulsion thing, isn't it?

OK. Compulsions are born out of the Hunger - they are a consequence of Messy Criticals - but they are also evidence that the Beast isn't about the Blood and only the Blood and nothing but the Blood. The basic Compulsions "form the core of the vampiric personality" and they are Hunger, Harm, Paranoia... and Domination.

Vampires want control. It's how they stay safe, it's how they stay fed, it's one of their core drives. Of course they're going to lean on one of the cores of the human personality to establish that control, and they're going to Discipline their prey - what a choice of terms for the vampiric power set! - to maintain it.

We can talk about the raw power of the Lasombra - they're stronger than you, they can break your mind to their whim, and if you will insist on struggling, the deprivation of sight and movement and the critical but not lethal pain offered by various iterations of Obetneblivion.

We can talk about the horror that is Auspex and a mental Discipline. Tremere, Malkavians, Tzimisce and especially Toreador can read your desires off the back of your head and compel you to fulfil them and, in the latter case, you won't even necessarily know you're being played. Everything will feel... natural. For all that I love the overt hypno-kink potential of the Tremere in particular (it's wired into their relationships with each other, either part bound to enable Dominate or reliant on it because they can't bind), it's the Toreador who I find most horrifying and alluring here. My Ravnos and Setite characters wish they were that good.

We can even talk about meat crimes, if you want, but the rest of Vampire fandom on Tumblr has kinda got that part down already.

Let's go deeper, though, and get into the Compulsions of specific clans.

Judgment. Look, I don't want to spell this out for you, it seems too obvious. Transgress, and a Banu Haqim can't help themselves. They are responsible for you, you awful brat, and you keep on baiting them like this. It's a dangerous dance, working your lover's levers like this, but if you're into punishment you're going to get bitten.

Rebellion. Feral Impulses. I'm loading two Anarch pillar clans together because what unites the Brujah and the Gangrel, for our purposes, is their brattiness, the urgency and spite of their desire. The Gangrel one even goes so far as to mention that clothes are constricting: there's an exhibitionist thing waiting to get out here.

Morbidity. Don't even start me on the snuff movies. That's easy street. The Hecata can kill and resurrect something more abstract - like the desires of the jaded and the weary. When nothing excites you any more, when you feel like pleasure has lost its edge, here's a sadistic fucker with a bite that'll give you some perspective on yourself. A dangerous game, especially for mortals, but - OK, now we can talk about the snuff movies.

Transgression. What's a Minister without a boundary to kick down and slither over? You say vampires don't fuck and half the Setites have their kit off just to spite you. This is to say nothing of religious adulation, the stereotype of the serpent queen adored by pliant, presenting bodies. I actually find this one a bit tired - I'd like to see a Minister who's more of the World and the Devil than the Flesh.

Delusion - the Malkavian sensory overload, writhing in the embrace of imaginary lovers and less able to resist further... stimulus. You don't need to touch a Malkavian to set them off. But you know what I really think of, when I think about Malkavians? Power. She's beauty. She's grace. There's pain writ on her face. She carries such a terrible burden but with you, beloved, little one, with you she can let go. Unmask, and bask in the sensations she spent all night repressing. Why was Malakai so close to brother Saulot and brother Set? They both wanted to help her release. Set just wanted her to do it in public.

Cryptophilia - what does your Nosferatu lover want? What do you want? They're not going to be happy until they've turned over the deepest stone in your soul, put you in your space and found the tick you didn't even know you tocked. You lucky monsterfucker. You're going to be here a while.

Tempting Fate. Oh, Ravnos. You always want what you can't have. You just have to kiss the diva while you're taking off her necklace. You just have to make sure the Seneschal's secretary really wants to come and find you a second time. And a third. And... look, Ravnos have trouble with the word no and they can make you have trouble with it too.

Affective Empathy. Was there ever a clan so cursed as the Salubri? Ever a Kindred so driven to share, to ease, to comfort? The Salubri sex worker. The Salubri surrogate. The Salubri who cares for you so much. Won't you find solace with them? Please? Please? There's a desperate selfishness to their kindness that feels deliciously complex.

Obsession. Covetousness. The Toreador admire your beauty for itself. The Tzimisce admire it because it's theirs. They want to transform you, enshrine you, possess you absolutely. Hope you like being spoiled. Hope you like feeling beholden to the object of your Desire in a way the others will never understand. Only you appreciate it truly. Spoil it. Cradle it. Never let it go.

Perfectionism. Ruthlessness. I wasn't expecting the Tremere and the Lasombra to have so much in common, but both of them want to do the thing right. Again. Again. Again. Until it's perfect. Critically, it's them doing the thing - for all that they like giving commands, their Compulsion finds them wanting to fulfil them, to exceed them even, and Lasombra aren't the aloof hands-off kind of domme. Leave that to the Ventrue. They're going to work you over.

Arrogance. Basic as ever, the Ventrue love being the boss, but there's a catch. The order has to be given without supernatural aid. So this Compulsion forces the Ventrue to cultivate loyalty, respect, obligation, love and lust like a human, just so they can feel more like a good vampire. This is how you crack open the dignitas and get under their skin. This has a lot more potential than you'd think. If the Ventrue doesn't understand the limitations, at first, the poor bastard could be grinding his fangs night after night wondering why the cold instruction of Compel or the deliberate cruelty of Entrance isn't doing it for him. What does the Beast want that its powers do not provide?

God, I'm thinking about the erotic potential of Clan Ventrue now. Eff Emm Ell.

And Duskborn? You're mostly human anyway. Most of you are walking around with a thrill in your very veins! It hits like vitae, just about, but with no consequences. You gorgeous little snack packs. You have something the old thiccos want, and can't admit to taking. Isn't that delicious? Isn't that almost power? Isn't that how you get your Mawla sugar daddy? Isn't it fun to look these "real Kindred" over and realise that their Hunger is your Dominance? Who really has the power in this room: is it really the person giving all the orders?

[fra080389-2-me]

This chapter was kind of depressing. To see Todoroki's family all burned up was terrible. Also, the entire thing with Touya, Enji... it was expected, but something in the way it was made... it was so dry and tragic in a desolated way.

Also, I don't really get why suddenly Touya is apologizing to Shoto. He wasn't exactly repentant the last time we saw him. He being suddenly remorseful is kinda random, it's like they wrote that scene just because people wanted it.

I don't know why, but Natsuo saying he doesn't want to see Enji never and ever shocked me. I mean, he SAID it was a truce until they didn't bring back Touya, but I didn't realize he would never see him again after that. I imagined he would not forgive him, but I didn't think the family would be outright separated like that with Touya in hospital. It's also weird to match that declaration with Natsuo saying he thinks Enji did enough and was punished enough and should move on... like, whut. Is that the way of the plot to tell us a reconciliation is possible after all, or Natsuo is just uncomfortable with the idea Enji keep to punish himself after he cut up him from his life?

Weird for weird, it's weird also the fact Rei and Enji seem to be together again. I got they resolved to be there for Touya as parents, so they have to plan and work together... but it's weird to see her staying with Endeavor while the children go for their way, when Enji built the house for the entire family to be without him. I suppose that project crumbled too, like all Enji's projects for his family.

The kids just have to go and create their own life independent from their parents, and stop to think they eventually will be a big happy family, even with one or two members missing. That ship sailed.

I suppose Rei and Enji being together and separated from their children in that scene it is to remark the responsibility of both of them in the family they created (the kids can move on, they are not supposed to do that).

And Rei picking Endeavor's phone with Hawks messages make almost to think she is there just because Keigo couldn't be there.

But how much messed up is that the people who Rei said smugly are watching over them... are all people who are there because they are friends with Endeavor? Hawks, his sidekicks... behold, his TRUE family. Enji is not alone, but what about Rei? That woman has NO friends. It's tragic but beside her children (who are her "victims" too, in a way, so she can't burden them), her only emotional link in all this is Enji himself. I got they couldn't exactly to pull a supportive family and friends from the hat for her NOW, it still sucks for her, at this point let her to have the children, even thinking is not their work to comfort the parent.

I thought the family would stay together, even brittle and broke like it is, to watch over Touya. It doesn't look like that now, they won't work on it together. Endeavor is supposed to face it "alone", with the support of his circle of hero friends... and Rei, who looks SO out of place. It MAKE SENSE for her being there, but it would make more sense with the rest of the family there too. To play the route "it's time for your kids to care about yourself" makes sense on a side, it's weird on the other.

And I should really pickup that from the beginning of the chapter, with all the "you should not be there" bouncing around.

[messymindpalace]

DOWN TO THE LAST ONE

first of all, i just wanna go ahead and say that it's been a long time since i saw a series in the molds of old television show and what a delight it has been

now, as you know it, here are the compilation of my thoughts on this week's episode, the season finale:

so... Langdon is an addicted, as we all expected him to be. i really hope he takes the opportunity Robby proposed to him, and i truly hope we have him next season going through his recovery

DANA! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, PLEASE DON'T LEAVES US! but on the other hand, i get it. as Whitaker has said, i don't know how you've done it for so long

and speaking of him, WHITAKER, MY SWEET FAVORITE PATHETIC HUMAN BEING, I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART ❤️ he feeling embarrassed to be topless was so in character with him, i love you my big eyed pathetic little man 🤍

and couldn't speak of Whitaker without mentioning Santos...ok, i didn't like her attitude at first but i think Dr. Elis really checked her into reality. pretty sure Santos and Whitaker will be a great combo on next season (not surprised since Whitaker had chemistry with every single person he has worked with)

Javandi being so lost with her own tiredness and questioning her decision as if she should continue in medicine was so real. also, Matteo asking her to join him them for a drink got me giggling a bit ("he's my Utah")

Mohan looking stoned during the first have only to crashed out later as McKay said is a great representation of what trauma response could present itself

and speaking of McKay that speech to David? 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 sorry Robby, she was right from the start with this one

i felt so sorry for Mel having to live the burnout of the caregiver that she spoke about in earlier episodes. she's so tired and in desperate need of relaxation but she still has to take care of her sister. and as she said, it's not like is something she feels as a punishment but the burden is real and we can clearly see it as she puts as smile on her stoic face as soon as she sees her sister and how she does her best to keep it up on her was home

the measles kid getting the lombar tap was such a relief, i seriously don't know how doctors and nurses deal with people like those parents on a daily basis. i know Robby was out of line but i'd probably would've done the same in any given situation to be honest (probably a good reason as to why i don't work with healthcare - but it worked though, so...)

Dr. Abott i could write a book about how much i love and admire you at this point. i will make a separate post (HERE) only to speak about this man alone

Robby crashing out at the end of all with Jake making it clear he resents him [Robby] for Leah's death was so painful to watch. we watched him do what he could through out the whole shift and, yet, Robby feels he hadn't done enough

the finale episode of the season having Abott and Robby switching positions as to where we first saw them together was so poetic

i cannot believe we got to see the last two rats running through the ER

All in all, this was definitely a great show and i cannot wait for season 2. it was a pleasure to be with all of you in the tag! see you in season 2 🤍