#this will make no sense to everyone else but us

[snailune]

Here's how I've planned to help myself with this in the new year.

I'm not, you know, any person of real authority on anything this covers, but maybe my plans could help you. I don't believe there is ever an expiration on getting yourself back, or making a new self from the old.

1. Acknowledging why you became a ghost is important in treating yourself like a person. From what I've seen, it's more common to have multiple issues than just one when it comes to losing or not knowing yourself. It's more likely been something that has served you at some point that isn't anymore, or went too far, or something out of your immediate control. Acknowledging this is the first step to understanding that you are not a permeable thing, that cause and effect happen to you. If you've lost enough to believe that the things you do have no effect on the world, the first step in getting that sense back is this.

2. Are you safe? Judge whether you are materially unsafe from expressing yourself in any way that could come up. If you are, you might not be able to do everything in it's full capacity, but you will be able to tear down some constructs in your own head to be more yourself. You can still do something. It's important to note that you'll probably feel the urge to hide away or suppress things when you first start expressing yourself, but that is a bit different than being unsafe.

3. Stop the urge to hide all of your dislikes from yourself and start small. Allow yourself to dislike something (a food, maybe?) and don't try to force your will to be tolerant of it, even if you don't express that dislike to other people yet.

4. If you're transgender, and have the will and means to, transition. Pick out a name and only use it to refer to yourself when thinking. Ask trusted friends to call you something different to test it out. If you're questioning, allow yourself to think about how you want to be perceived without the fear of someone reaching in and judging you for them. There is no thought you can be punished for. Of course, you can do bigger things, like starting medically transitioning if you want (and that is encouraged), but you can start small if it's scary, too. I don't think there's one thing on this list that has worked better for me than medically and socially transitioning.

5. Look back on what you liked as a child and try it out again. Not everything will be winners, there's some things that were just better in the past than now, but you might rekindle something that is near to you enough to call a personality trait, too. If you don't have any memory of the things you liked in your youth, it's the perfect time to explore things, especially if they're hobbies that everyone else has seemed to be doing since childhood.

6. Be more social, and/or ask your friends to reassure you that they know you. Talking to people in any capacity can help make yourself feel more like a real person if you connect at all. If you have trusted friends, ask them if they'd list some traits about you that they know of. Help establish a foundation of moving around in the world.

7. Take special notice in the little things you like. I just realized I like cut up raw veggies instead of a lot of Actual prepared dishes. Thinking of this as a fun journey rather than something someone should have figured out about themselves years ago makes it easier.

These are in essence my resolutions for the new year. If you are also going through something similar, we are in this together! Good luck to you, I hope you find joy, happiness, and contentment.

oooohhhh ok. the more you deny yourself the more you lose yourself

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

One thing that irks me when playing the game is how silver’s sleeping disorder is reacted to by the other characters, especially the teachers. I mean like, I get on some level that they’re all based on villains so they’re not going to be the nicest, but you’re telling me you see a kid just passing out out of nowhere constantly and the first thing they do is say that he’s lazy and berate him for something he obviously can’t control? Even if his condition isn’t a medical one like narcolepsy and is part of his curse/blessing, it’s still debilitating and affects his daily life. I don’t expect twisted wonderland to have like, disability protection but give the kid a break man he’s trying his best 😭. It also bothers me when other students are like “yeah man I get it schools boring I get sleepy too”. Like, yall have seen him suddenly fall asleep standing up and in random places on campus, it is so obviously not the same thing! And then Silver apologizes for it like every time! no! stop it! don’t apologize for something you literally can’t control

Sorry for the rant. It’s just been something bugging me because its so similar to how real world disabilities that aren’t physical are often brushed over by people and it gets me feeling heated 😭

Oooh, that's an interesting analogy 🤔

Before I talk more on the topic, I want to open with a few disclaimers: I will be discussing various characters’ reactions to Silver’s blessing/curse-induced narcolepsy (for lack of a better term), which may parallel real-life reactionary behaviors related to persons with disabilities or disorders. Know what you are reading, and please skip this post if you do not feel emotionally equipped to take it in.

Additionally, I want to make it clear that I am NOT defending any of those behaviors in this post. I will be attempting to offer in-universe explanations, NOT excuses, for why characters may act the way they do in regard to Silver’s condition. This doesn’t make the behavior any less unacceptable.

That’s all! If you’re all set, feel free to proceed below the cut.

I think, from the perspective of the students, it may be difficult to know what's going on with Silver?? Of course, that doesn't make their reactions or their behavior okay, but it's more understandable where they're coming from. Many young adults (unfortunately) aren't educated on and don't have experience/knowledge of how to handle situations where a peer displays abnormal behaviors. This may be especially true at Night Raven College, where the students are described to be very prideful and primarily concerned with themselves, or, if they help at all, they expect something in return. Many of Silver's classmates may not know him on a personal enough level to be familiar with his affliction or care enough to intervene if he falls asleep standing up. I doubt that most students at NRC would think of a peer beyond how they initially present, much less even consider factors beyond their control.

Additionally, others may not feel a need to step in due to the "bystander effect", a psychological phenomenon in which people are less likely to offer aid if there are others present. The theory goes that everyone just assumes someone else will do something about the situation, which has the unintended result of no one doing anything. Since Silver often falls asleep in public places, this could, in part, explain why so few bother helping.

I guess another component of it could be that some of his peers have simply gotten used to it by now?? (Several characters, even first years like Ortho, indicate that they anticipate he will fall asleep like 80% of the time.) Silver's a second year, so maybe NRC students did notice and attempt to assist in the first year, only to become annoyed with it when the symptoms persisted and so it could have led to peers thinking it's a "normal" thing for him.

I get the sense that Silver doesn't exactly go around telling everyone and anyone about his condition in detail (not that he has to, but I'd imagine that this lack of communication probably doesn't help his classmates' perception of him). He tends to describe his condition as "a personal problem" or blames himself or a lack of diligence for his symptoms. And honestly, I don't blame him for that; he didn't learn about the origins of his curse until book 7, and no doctor Lilia took him to could help. What else could Silver feasibly believe when all else fails? It must be his own doing. Silver has numerous voice lines apologizing for dozing off again and actively seeks out ways to "correct" or counteract his sleepiness. When this is how one presents their own condition, it may naturally cause those around him to believe that the sleepiness is "his fault"/due to his own actions. "Maybe he stayed up late last night," Ruggie suggests. Even Kalim, someone I'd consider Silver's friend, makes similar assumptions.

I will say that not every character is rude to Silver about his sleepiness. Vil might berate Silver for "playing the part of a sleeping princess" and Floyd might tell him, "People walk here. Find someplace else to snooze," but Ruggie appears to show some concern/shock for Silver when he shows up in the school store barely being able to stand, Jade tries to wake him up gently, etc. I'm not sure if the writing being inconsistent here was on accident or not, but I do think that some of the... less than desirable... behaviors may be because the narrative treats Silver's condition like a charm point most of the time. Like... Silver's sleepiness is often used to "sell" his appeal to fans ("Look at how cute he is! Eepy boi!"), or used for comedy in-universe (like when he uses Sebek as a pillow or when Silver blatantly falls asleep in a conversation or in the middle of an important event like the race in White Rabbit Fest). Because of this, rarely is his condition actually treated with the seriousness it would get if this were a real-world disability.

I think there’s a debate to be had about these kinds of impolite comments coming from Sebek though. Sebek is Silver’s childhood friend, so Sebek must be accustomed to the narcolepsy at this point and we’d normally expect him to be most sympathetic about it. But nope, Sebek actually frequently criticizes Silver for letting his sleepiness get the better of him. The majority of other students’ harsh comments towards Silver actually come from Sebek. He drops lines like:

“Don't you dare tell me you're falling asleep again, Silver!”

“His blatant snoring is infuriating.”

“Wake up, Silver! You're blocking Malleus's path! It's absolutely disrespectful!”

“If you don't cease at once, I'm leaving you on the side of the walkway!”

“It’s not as if you've been enchanted by a fairy. You’re just lazy!”

This all sounds horrible and mean, doesn't it? And they definitely are. But hold on! Sebek also says things like, "You're nodding off while walking AGAIN? A proper retainer of Malleus should hold his head high! High, you hear me?!” and, “Please, don't [volunteer yourself for this task]. You'll just end up nodding off. You must accept this is beyond your capabilities and let it go.” The former can be seen as telling Silver to do his best as Malleus's retainer and the latter is advising Silver to back down rather than push himself past his limits. That's not just me being optimistic or giving Sebek the benefit of the doubt just because he's a character I happen to like--Sebek has a known history of phrasing compliments and encouragement in a very rude manner. It's a trait of his that earns him endless ire, and something that Silver often finds himself apologizing to others for. Sebek is also a person who values constant self-improvement both in himself and in others; his cold attitude towards even his childhood friend can be interpreted as his own way of wanting Silver to do his best in spite of his condition. This… isn’t always a good thing though, as this thinking is ultimately ableist and runs the risk of pushing people—himself included—into dangerous situations that may out their wellbeing at risk.

This isn't to defend every single thing Sebek says about Silver's condition though; some of them are definitely too much, even if Sebek is granted as much leniency as possible. Do his comments come off as ableist? Absolutely. Is it his intention to be ableist? I don’t believe so—but that doesn’t negate the fact that his words are needlessly cruel, even if Silver doesn’t perceive it as such or take offense to it. Oftentimes Silver agrees with Sebek’s assessment, which again loops us back to how he already blames himself for his state and could parallel real world disabled peoples’ guilt and shame for just… being the way they are. Us, as the outside onlookers, are of course more likely to perceive Sebek’s words as rude because we’re projecting our own experiences onto what we’re seeing. Of course we don’t want to see a friend saying these awful things to another friend—but between Silver and Sebek, they seem to be mutually okay with this dynamic of pushing one another to “be better”.

I understand that it can be frustrating watching Silver have to say sorry for something that he can't control, but this is most likely a deliberate writing choice for his character arc—and depicting that flaw isn’t bad in a vacuum. Silver is someone who struggles with his self-worth, something we very much see come into fruition in book 7. He worries that he's not doing enough to "repay" his father back, and that it will be too late for him once Lilia departs from NRC. Silver frequently apologizing for his "shortcomings" (ie his constant drowsiness) is probably an extension of that lack of self-worth. He blames himself for his lack of alertness and actively tries to "be better" for a reason. It feeds into the ever-so-ironic cycle of "Silver is sleepy" -> "Silver thinks he must work hard to not inconvenience his loved ones and prove his worth to Lilia" -> "Lilia loves him anyway and he just doesn't realize it yet". (The whole reason Silver is even here right now is because of Lilia's love for him; he would still be sleeping were it not for Lilia.) Perhaps they'll be able to formally reunite in the waking world and wrap up this arc with a neat little bow... with his father telling Silver that yes, he is enough as he is now. Maybe Lilia will even say something along the lines of, "Never apologize for what--or who--you are, Silver. You're my son, after all! You should be proud of that."

This makes me wonder if Silver’s curse will ultimately be lifted in the end or if it will persist…? Because if it does get lifted, then it loses some of its strength as a parallel to irl conditions (since some don’t just poof away). Within the meta of the game, Silver then also loses some of his “appeal”, since sleepiness is a cute trait associated with him. I can see why it would happen from a narrative perspective though—ridding him of the sleepiness could be the ultimate “proof” of Lilia being able to truly love him, which is the condition the blessing requires to be dispelled

What really baffles me, however, is how some teachers are depicted interacting with Silver. The asshole students of NRC, okay. I'd believe they'd be callous towards one of the few nice guys at school dozing off. BUT THE TEACHERS????? 💀 Usually it's not that bad (they tell Silver to keep his eyes open or to wake up), but MAN. In Silver's Labwear vignettes, Crewel berates him for nodding off in class again, grants him a makeup assignment, and says, "If you like sleeping so much, [formulating a sleeping potion] should be right up your alley." He even withholds Silver's credit for Potionology until he receives that sleeping potion. Crewel also berates and punishes Silver in other instances, such as his Dorm Uniform vignettes: "Naughty pup. You think you can sleep through my lesson? [...] What a quick apology. Are you actually sorry? [...] You don't look remorseful to me. Hmph. As punishment, you must collect the reports everyone is turning in at the end of class. Do not miss a single one, and you are to bring them straight to me. Is that clear?" It feels a little… much, especially considering that it’s not like Silver chose to fall asleep midclass, especially as a second year. Then again, Crewel probably doesn’t know about Silver’s condition either so he most likely attributes the behavior to laziness, as Silver does himself. I’d say that Crewel should still at least know a little better as an adult but 💀 many adults have no clue themselves, especially without a formal diagnosis.

Does NRC not have a, like... Disability and Accessibility Center to coordinate with teachers and give certain students assignment/exam extensions??? Therapy, healing potions, and medical mages + regular doctors and dentists exist in this world, so why wouldn't they also have disability support??? 😭 That seems like a HUGE oversight to me. (Get on that, Crowley/j) In all seriousness though, this may be the result of differences in culture?? It might be expected in western countries to have some disability accommodations, but from what I understand, there’s a loooot more stigma in Japan so these services may be lacking (not to day that western countries have perfect accommodations though). Yes, NRC is based on a British boarding school, but ultimately the game is Japanese in origin and therefore might be running off of Japanese notions of what constitutes as “appropriate” support for the disabled. (The way seating in classes are arranged in-game already derive from Japanese schools; alphabetically by last name.) Maybe that’s why Crewel didn’t seem to be willing to make exceptions for Silver…? But even so, this could mirror how western societies also have trouble identifying and adjusting to those with disabilities. It can be hard to get treatment or even mindfulness from peers, especially if you don't have a formal diagnosis (which is the case for Silver; no medical mage knows what's up with him).

Those are my thoughts on the topic ^^ Again, I completely get why seeing the staff and students reacting this way to Silver’s condition makes you (and others, I’m sure) upset. There’s many uncomfortable parallels with how people irl are insensitive to “invisible” disabilities or disabilities in general. It also doesn’t help that Twst tries to both present the condition as a serious matter while also using it for comedy and marketing as Silver’s major “cute quirk”. Getting mixed signals here!!

I hope that this was at least able to grant you some new perspective about why the characters behave as they do. Some of it does seem to be the devs struggling to balance the tone of the stories they want to tell, but some of it also feels like intentional characterization (whether of individuals or of a certain dynamic between a duo) or setting up for an arc.

It would be interesting if we got an event where we explored more of the health industry and attitudes about like… magic-induced conditions, illnesses, etc. Silver is one obvious case of this, but we also know medical mages are A Thing. I’d love to learn more about these!

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

More Mech Au-Au!

Swindle-orientated chapter, with sprinkles of TexAid.

Swindle smiled at everyone.

He smiled at those he was happy with, he smiled at those who had pissed him off, he smiled at those he was making deals with, the list was endless.

The only time he didn’t smile was when he was on his own. The door would click closed behind him, the lock automatically engaging, and the facade would slide from his face.

This all had to be worth it. It had to. He’d risked so much already, he was gambling at stakes he couldn’t pay. Failure would mean death, death for all five of them, and as such, failure was unacceptable.

He’d promised Onslaught.

Vortex was a source of pride for him - a prototype mech who had survived against all odds, plumping up his resume handsomely. The only surviving AI from that round and the round that came after - against all odds, Vortex had persisted. He hadn’t self destructed like his own cohort had, he hadn’t lost his sense of reality, he didn’t completely lose himself. He remained exactly who he was, for better or for worse. The discussions of destroying him once he’d begun to show his more aggressive tendencies were terrifying, sending Swindle scrambling for ways to extract Vortex from the mech. They didn’t get this far just to be treated like they were disposable. Had they forgotten that they were real people they’d trapped within the metal? What did it matter that they were slated to die anyway? That didn’t mean they could just be destroyed when they became inconvenient, there was supposed to be a due process. They were owed that much.

Swindle hung up his hat and ran his hand through his hair. Fuck. They’d gotten so lucky with that boy – Felix, right? That was his name, and Swindle has a vague recollection of his name meaning luck. Good for them that he lived up to it – they were lucky that he was persistent and determined, lucky that Vortex seemed to like him. His teammate liked to play with his food, and it seemed he was settling in to give First Aid a good long chew. Which was good! It meant Vortex was unknowingly buying himself some more time whilst he looked for ways to extract him and put him in something else. Anything else would do at this point - shit, he could be his toaster and burn his toast for eternity. At least he’d still be alive and he wouldn’t be left alone again.

Shit. How depressing. How did this become their only option?

Swindle kicked off his shoes, neatly placing them away onto the rack, and shrugged off his jacket

“I want to make them burn in hell.”

He’d done it because he had to. He took no pleasure in what happened to his team after he gave the wrong people the right intel - but it was this, or they’d all be dead. Like, dead-in-the-ground-dead. Skullfucked by maggots dead. Not on ice, not in giant suits of armour with guns and swords bigger than buildings, dead. Dead and forgotten, and it would be all five of them. Nobody alive to fight in their corner, nobody to keep them as safe as they could, nobody to do what needed to be done.

The screams didn’t haunt him like they used to. While they were still alive, skulking around the research centre with tags and monitors and cables and cameras on them at all times, people did terrible things to them. Trepan was the most frightening. He was enraptured with the idea of creating super soldiers. That’s what they’d tried at first - they’d needed warm, fresh, and living bodies - and who would notice if a mercenary group went missing? Everyone would just assume that they had died, and that would be that. They wouldn’t even look for their corpses.

Vortex had been the most difficult one for them to deal with. He was rude, unruly, and dished back what he was given. At one point they’d had to strap him down Hannibal style just to give him his injections - after they’d removed his prosthetic arm when he’d slashed through the restraints and three researchers with the hidden blade, he’d taken to biting down hard enough to rip chunks of flesh from the researchers instead. Vortex would laugh through the blood that dripped down his chin, but he’d always ended up screaming.

Brawl was freakishly quiet. He would press his palms to his temples, his eyes dull and face gaunt. Swindle would never admit how it made his insides churn, how guilt had ravaged him into sleepless nights. They all screamed, they all cried through the agony of it, but it was the worst when they were quiet. His team wasn’t meant to be quiet. They were always doing something, saying something. Vortex was always pissing off Blast Off, winding him up like a younger sibling did to an older one. Brawl was always playing music far too loud in his headphones. Onslaught was much quieter, but he was his own kind of orchestra of sound. A gun being cleaned, turning pages, the squeak of leather.

They weren’t in the research facility. They were shadows of themselves.

Onslaught had always given Swindle his looks though. No blame. No fault given. Thankful. They’d made a promise, after all. They’d agreed that this was what they would do, how it would happen. Anything that gave them longer to figure out what the fuck they were going to do.

The experiments were a failure. All it gave them were broken men. But that only gave them perfectly usable test subjects for something else, for another failing project.

Trepan had asked Swindle personally who he would volunteer as their first test subject. Who did he think had the best chance of success? Who did he think would make the best immortal warrior?

The cockroach, he’d replied. Vortex was fucking impossible to kill. He’d seen him getting himself blown up multiple times. He’d had to pay to fix his face, he’d had to pay to fix his spine, he’d had to pay for that damn prosthetic and every single hospital stay to stitch him back together. And not once had the man been touched by death. If a nuclear bomb were to fall on them, he was convinced Vortex would emerge unscathed and demanding a cigarette.

He was also extremely resistant to control. He despised being told what to do. Onslaught was an exception because he had actually made an effort to build a rapport with him, it was a relationship built on mutual respect and understanding. And Trepan? Every single scientist in this building? Vortex would rend them to dust and ash if they even entertained the thought of controlling him.

It was a hopeful moment, a glimpse into an optimistic future. Vortex would lose his humanity, but they would all regain their freedom.

But good things didn’t favour terrible men.

Fuck, he wanted a cigarette.

The photoshoot with Blurr was overrunning. It was already eleven o’clock at night - they’d been at this since 10 in the morning, working hard to get their perfect shots. The photogenic mechanics (paid actors). The intelligent engineers (more paid actors). The trustworthy medics (yet more paid actors). Their only non-actor was Blurr, but even then he was just their show dog. He wasn’t actually a pilot, not in the traditional sense. He wasn’t deployed, he was paraded.

Blurr would want to talk after, to natter away about something or other, to get a drink together and maybe a bite to eat, but Swindle just wanted to go to bed. He was tired. Exhausted. Going into his teammates lockers to grab a photograph had just dug up old memories from where he’d buried them, and he’d woken up with Vortex’s screams in his native tongue ringing in his ears, unable to get back to sleep. He could still hear it between the sounds of the camera shutter.

First Aid seemed to be a nice enough kid. He got on well with others, he did his job without complaint, and he was efficient. He didn’t dally around when he was to clamber into Vortex, he was quick and to the point - and, Swindle noticed with growing curiosity, he studiously avoided touching his controls.

If only the pilots were smart enough to pick up on that. Shame, really. It was starting to get real expensive to keep this quiet.

So it was with quiet horror that he watched as First Aid was trapped within the cockpit, the medic accompanying him collapsing to the floor as blood spurted up the glass from where his leg used to be.

He found himself hissing through his teeth. Don’t do anything stupid, Tex!

When First Aid stumbled out looking like his first pilot he’d ever had did, Swindle felt a grim mood take over him. How hard was it to fucking behave? To not do something so unbelievably stupid? To not get himself killed? Apparently it was too much for Vortex to fucking control himself.

But First Aid had been okay. The next day he was as chipper and chirpy as ever with full recollection of the previous day. He’d thought it was funny.

And that’s when Swindle knew that the boy was their chance. If he could survive Vortex, if Vortex was allowing him to live, then they had to seize the opportunity they could.

Nobody listened. Nobody fucking listened. They were repatriating children in biohazard bags, not even a hand left intact for their loved ones to hold as they said goodbye, and they weren’t listening to him.

They needed Felix Anwyl in that mech. Now. He was sick of watching lambs being offered up for sacrifice. Vortex was a malicious bastard but even he would get bored of it all eventually - and from where Swindle was standing, he saw a much better chance of getting their brothers online if Vortex settled down and stopped acting like he was possessed by the devil.

Seeing Felix sprinting towards Vortex in a pilots suit that didn’t fit him, Swindle discretely cleared the way. He distracted the officers with him, had them avert their eyes for a second to let him pass. He redirected people, he gave distractions, he delayed who he could to buy First Aid much needed time to get to the mech before that cadet took a single step inside. Vortex would kill them for the intrusion, he’d explicitly had enough of it and was demanding what was his. His words in the morning memos were enough.

Swindle was out of options. He needed to get First Aid into that mech before they stamped the paperwork to render the supposed AI obsolete and for the scrap heap.

He didn’t have a toaster ready for him yet.

Prowl had looked thunderous on the catwalk. So had Pharma. He had to fight to keep his grin at bay - he had to press his hand to his lips to hide it when Vortex began yelling ‘mine’ through the walkie talkie.

Oh, he really liked this one.

Pharma had kicked up the biggest fuss. He didn’t want to lose his precious medic.

Swindle checked his file. First Aid hadn’t been on any major medical assignments since the previous year, and there was no record of why. No particular displeasures, no signs of any faults or major errors, any need to retrain, or competencies lapsing and requiring reassessment. Pharma had just decided to force First Aid away from his job in some bizarre, inexplicable act.

He’d grabbed him by the collar and hissed into his ear that the blood was on his hands. That if he wanted to keep First Aid, then he could be the one to clear the mech out, that he would be the one to write to the families and explain what had happened.

Pharma had opened his mouth and begun to say something about a punishment, but Swindle placed his finger to his lips and shook his head.

“It’s not on his record.” He reminded him, tapping the file. “Do you want to incriminate yourself? Right here?”

And so he’d received the stamp of approval that evening. The ink was still wet as he shook Pharmas hand, the man holding his too tightly.

First Aid seemed to like Vortex too.

Pilots didn’t usually go and hang out with their mechs. They liked to be near them – apparently there was something about the connection that had them bond in such a way that they liked to be close to them, that they’d feel drawn towards them, but First Aid’s seemed to be almost excessive. At every free opportunity, he was there. If you couldn’t find him, the advice was to check Vortex – he’d probably be in the cockpit reading a book or listening to music, or he’d be elbow deep cleaning out the joints from the gunk the clean up crew didn’t manage to get. If it was a meal time and he wasn’t in his room or in the cafeteria, he was with Vortex.

His secondary role on base was still, technically, a medic – but Pharma had made it clear that he wasn’t welcome back in the medical bay. He’d made his bed, so to speak – if he wanted to be a pilot, then he’d be one, but it was at the sacrifice of his oath to medicine, so he wasn’t allowed to perform it. He was left to spin his wheels, to attend training sessions when they could run them for him (it was an open secret that he wasn’t a pilot, but a secret it was) and scratch his arse until the alarm went off and he was marked for deployment.

Swindle didn’t know that Pharma could hold such a grudge. He’d made a mental note to never piss him off.

A few times, when Swindle couldn’t sleep and was on a walk, he’d seen First Aid slipping into Vortex. He’d raised his brows at that.

Swindle didn’t know how Vortex hadn’t squished him yet.

Vortex fell back into the Shatterdome, rain thundering down on his armour sounding like the roar of a passing train. Sparks erupted from the gaping hole where his shoulder used to be, two of his back blades torn free and the remaining hanging on by rapidly breaking cables. The mech fell to its knees, catching itself on its remaining arm, its visor flashing a single message over and over.

OBJECTIVE ONE: PROTECT THE PILOT.

For the first time, Vortex had obeyed the objective embedded into each of their mechs. Protect the pilot. More than that, he’d brought him straight back to them.

Swindle watched him in quiet awe.

Wow. He really liked this one.

When the radio had cut out in a roar of static, Swindle had half expected Vortex to stay out on the front and continue his slaughter like he usually did when his pilot died, but instead he watched as the red dot that symbolised Vortex on the screen instead turned around and began sprinting back to the Shatterdome, ignoring all of the targets around him, ignoring when a quintesson got a good hit on him, barrelling past the other deployed mechs. Mission Control received multiple communications from the other pilots out in the field, confused calls from the crews of the helicopters monitoring from above - Vortex wasn’t responding. Vortex was moving entirely independently - his pilot was unresponsive and his life signal was so weak it could easily have been the electricity from the cables exposed to the elements being detected instead.

His walkie talkie crackled as Vortex looked directly at the large room Mission Control sat in overlooking the hangar. A voice he hadn’t heard in years ground out.

“He dies, everyone dies.”

Swindle swallowed hard, and nodded.

“Tex?” The voice was weak and unrecognisable. Swindle realised it must have been Felix. He was alive and conscious enough to speak - Swindle was already waving off people trying to get permission to do things, motioning for them to just get fucking on with it.

“Get that pilot out!” He hissed at them.

“It’s going to be okay.” Vortex promised. Swindle didn’t know his voice could get so soft.

“Stay put, Tex. Don’t move a muscle and unlock your emergency escape, the medics are here.” Swindle spoke into the walkie talkie. He received a few weird looks from those around him, but he ignored them. He’d field their curiosities later - for now, he had to focus on keeping Felix alive and figuring out how they were going to safely contain Vortex.

Fuck. He wished Onslaught had been activated. He’d know what to do. For a brief moment he wished their positions were reversed. He’d have handled all this shit so much better. Swindle would never tell him or ever admit it, but Onslaught was always the brains of the unit, he always had a plan. He’d probably have had all of them activated by now, brought the whole team back together again.

He chewed his bottom lip until it bled, the taste of copper stinging on his tongue.

The medic had to live. He had to. There was no protecting Vortex if he went on a murder spree - they could just about justify the pilots being pulverised inside of him, the difference between the cost to spec up and build and test a mech that was his equal vs the cost to train a new pilot was extraordinary. Vortex could, in theory, chew through a few hundred more pilots before they’d start to wonder if they should have just built a new mech. But to destroy a whole base?

Yeah. No. It would be significantly more difficult to justify it as a misidentified ‘protect the pilot’ protocol. Sure, he could argue that the base failed to save his pilot, but how would the mech know? Why did the mech identify the Shatterdome as a target? Clearly it was faulty, glitched, and needed to go.

Vortex was not one to be reasoned with. Swindle knew that all too well. There wasn’t going to be the opportunity to talk him down from his decision.

They succeeded, or they failed. That was it. One or the other. Felix survived, or everyone died.

God, he prayed that Felix was as much of a cockroach as Vortex was.

[beanlot]

wc: 1.3k

simon riley is a man who does not submit, except when he does.

for a few months, there was growing resentment between you two, stubborn competition, or.. conflicting power play, as soap would tease.

arguments, that were usually so fucking simple for simon to win, just by looming over them; using his size to intimidate, were a fucking nightmare with you. because unlike everyone else, despite being smaller, you didn’t falter.

so as he stares down at you in his quarters, doing what he does best - invading your personal space, trying to assert his big, manly dominance - he feels your tender fingers framing his masked jaw.

“you don’t intimidate me, fuckhead.” you mutter, staring up at him. “you speak to me like i’m shit at the bottom of your shoe. like i’m just this little girl playing dress-up whilst you big boys do all the work.” you lecture him, because it feels as though everyone seems to forget you sacrificed the same blood, sweat and tears to be standing here. “i don’t appreciate it, so if y-“

“i don-“ he tries to interrupt.

slap.

“i’m speaking. you listen, and you wait.” you state, fingers callously framing his jaw again. the slap wasn’t too harsh, yet it wasn’t entirely gentle either.

and you can see his pupils dilate, or maybe darken. you’re not sure. but he ever so slowly blinks, processing the sting on his warm cheek alongside the palpable tension. but he stood his ground, unflinching, jaw clenching beneath your fingers.

fucking ‘ell, he can feel his cock getting hard.

and as your eyes flicker down momentarily, you can see the abnormal mound protruding from his crotch. truly a man, after all.

“are you fucking hard?” you scoff in some disbelief, fingers gliding down his chest, feeling the hardened muscle through his shirt; the dips in his abdomen, uneasy twitches. “you like getting told off or slapped?”

“watch it.” he hisses, whacking your hand away when it gets a little too low for his dignity. “i’m not your fuckin’ toy you can play with. but you’d fuck’n like that, wouldn’ you?”

“you wanna know what i like? i like.. good boys, who get on their knees and apologise.” you murmur, hint of challenge in your eyes.

you can see him squint, as if processing your words, before he shakes his head and tries to reach for the doorknob. “move out my way-“

“get on your knees, and apologise.” you order, your hand covering the doorknob, preventing him from leaving. there’s an uneasy sense of authority about you; he’s not sure if he’s trying to refrain from fucking you senseless against the wall until your stomach bulges from being his fucking cumdump, or if he’s trying not to batter you.

“apologise for fuckin’ what?”

“for being a pain in my ass since i got here.” you’re quick with your answers, as if you’d premeditated this, fucking planned it. always two steps ahead - he hates how exceptional you are.

“i don’t fuck’n take orders from you.” he mutters, despite knowing he made your life harder on your first few days here, with intent.

“you want a good boy?” he huffs with acceptance, slowly sinking to his knees before you in defeat. you don’t believe your eyes for a moment, and he’s testing your wit, seeing if you’ll follow through on your own command. “fine, i’ll be your bloody good boy.”

his face is level with your clothed slit, and if it was his way, he would have torn your cargos off by now. make you stand there with your thighs exposed, shredded fabric dropping to the floor and his tongue gliding up and down your hips.

but he can’t have his way, he’s gotta be a good boy.

“that’s it. on your knees like a pathetic man.. you’re all the same.” you whisper, seductive and low lids peering down at him. “always thinking with your fucking dicks.” your boot positions between his thighs, teasingly rubbing against his aching cock. “there’s a good boy.”

the way you speak to him, it’s enough to make any lesser man cower. and simon thought he was no lesser man - yet here he was, on his knees before a woman, drooling like a dog in heat.

he exhales shakily when he feels the pressure of your boot gliding along his shaft, monumental size that bulges out and tightens. fucking ‘ell, it hurts.

“beg for it.” you whisper, your fingers loosening the zip on your cargos. “say, please mummy, can i lick your pussy? i’ll be a good boy.”

“don’t be a fuckin’ tease.” he mutters bitterly, yet he makes no effort to whack your leg away, instead shuddering with acceptance. when he looks up at you, his eyes dart along your pretty lips deliciously parted; can smell the perfume you’d used today, can hear the authority in your voice. he wants a taste, just one.

so he sighs, and feels his pride shredding beneath his fingers. “fine.. i’ll beg.” he inhales, trying to muster up the courage - he knew that business and pleasure were best kept separate, and he was not a man who mixed the two. ever.

but fuck, how can he resist when he’s so close to your pussy? when the chemicals in his body are reacting so innately to yours?

“please,” he whispers, eyes lazily opening; he looks up at you with low and seduced lids, smudged ink that only darkens them with yearning. “please let me eat your cunt, want your pretty clit in my mouth, baby.” his voice is low and tempting. “i’ll be your good boy, your perfect fucktoy. i’ll serve you, treat you like a fucking goddess..”

“almost good enough.” you whisper, egging him on. but his eyes turn sour as he looks up at you.

he looks fucking pathetic. you love it. big, scary simon riley on his knees with a hard-on, begging to suck on your clit. it’s almost tempting to ask him what his buddies would think of him, their superior officer, their commanding lieutenant surrendering to his lust.

“almost good enough, you say?” he scoffs, looking back down at the floor in defeat. he’s shaking his head with some disbelief, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t pain you not to just.. let him have his way. but after some moments of silent reconsideration, he looks back up with merciful eyes, pooled with desire and tainted yearning for you.

his hands, callous palms, settle at your clothed knees. his touch is gentle, ironically. “please, mummy. i’ll be a good boy, be so good to you.” he whispers, and you’re hypnotised as you watch his fingertips clutch at the hem of his balaclava, sluggishly dragging the fabric up to reveal his pretty lips. “just let me, let me, mummy..”

he leans in, and you can feel your cargos shedding, gliding down your raw hips and exposing your thighs. he’s slow and seductive, and you can see the outline of some faint stubble on his chin; years-old scars that create jagged lines along his jaw and neck.

“i must say..” he whispers as he watches your thighs subconsciously parting, your underwear slightly damp at your folds. “i may be the one on my knees here,” he pauses, fingers teasingly glissading along your clothed clit; thumb grazing ever so slightly over it in repeated motions.

your thigh instinctively raises to rest on his shoulders, his bulky arms supporting your flesh. he can fucking smell you, your arousal.

“but that doesn’t mean you’re in control, mummy.” he murmurs, leaning in like a fucking shark chasing the trail of blood, his tongue darting out and slurping messily at your clothed cunt. his saliva seeps into the material, wetting it lewdly.

all you can do is defencelessly whimper, shakily exhale at his mercy, your hands scrunching up his tactical jacket around his shoulders. you can feel the tip of his tongue lathering itself over your swollen clit through your underwear, and your eyes close at the fuzzy sensation.

i forgot to mention the part where simon riley makes you think he submits, but he always comes out on top.

[al3zthecat-blog]

Yeah, I was so confused the first time I saw that interpretation, because what?

Then I saw that for some reason the fandom interprets (some jokingly but some seriously) that female Kabru was the one to break up the group in the everyone else but Laios' is female scenario.

Like, what? 🤔🤨

Now, Kabru is manipulative, but he is not a bad person and he uses his abilities to help others. He changes his behaviour to make people comfortable and trust him, but he doesn't use that for evil. Even when he kills those guys, he clearly does it because they are unrepentant criminals that more than likely would not have been punished, and later we learn why he sees the dungeon situation so seriously (because it is) (also, we can't judge him by modern morality).

That aside, why the fuck would female Kabru break up Laios' party? Laios' party was one of the strongest, it would make no sense to break it since Kabru's intentions were to become the Dungeon Lord or make sure someone good became the DL. It would make more sense for Kabru to try and join the party before the drama or after hearing out Laios' version of the story and realizing it is all a misunderstanding and explaining to Laios' why the women in his group think he is a pervert and helping the group get back together.

Laios is a great adventurer and has extensive knowledge of monsters, but his group went a long way because all of their experience and abilities.

If Kabru were unable to get the party back together he would invite Laios to her party, but Kabru's party is less experienced so it would make more sense for Kabru to try and patch things up and then in exchange ask to join their group.

I love Kabru and is not like I think Kabru would not use her charm if she considered it necessary (because he does the same as a man 😒😂) but Kabru is amazing at understanding/reading people, and Laios is canonically oblivious to romantic advances, so Kabru trying to seduce Laios would not work up and Kabru would totally know/ realize that.

Do I think Kabru's objective would change because she is a woman? Of course not, why would they if her past is the same which probably is.

Do I think that she would break up the group in purpose? Most definitely not as it would serve no purpose but sabotage her own plans and slow her down.

Do I think female Kabru would also pretend to be interested in monsters? Yes.

Do I think she would try to seduce Laios? Probably, but only to realize it is a pointless exercise and become as obsessed as canon Kabru and genuinely wanting to be friends with Laios and not realizing that she wants that .

on the subject of "the fandom being weirdly obsessed with interpreting everything about Shuro in the worst way possible" i have to bring up the "what if we all got our genders changed" comic because today i learned that there's a significant amount of people who saw this panel

^this panel, which depicts

a woman in tears as she talks about a guy (making a creepy face)

to two other woman making expressions of shock and concern while talking about that same guy (making a creepy face)

while that same guy (not making a creepy face) watches the scene and observes "yikes, that looks bad"

and came away from it with the intepretation "wow, Shuro is such a hypocrite, because his female version is clearly in love with Laios here"

[gay-dorito-dust]

Just some big three pjo things I think about.

Percy -the little shit- would absolutely utilise his ability of water to mess with you.

100%

If you leave a water bottle unopened, expect Percy to surge what little water was left inside to spray you when you’re going in for a drink. Leaving you soaked and glaring at the boy across the camp.

He thinks he’s funny but he’s really not.

You can’t even try to do this back to him as it usually results in it being thrown back in your face, literally as you’re reminded that this dude can walk into waist deep water, and miraculously come back as dry as he was before entering.

So needless to say you keep your water bottles tightly shut when you’re near Percy in case he’s feeling funny that day or has that certain gleam in his eye.

Percy can’t be trusted near uncapped water bottles, it’s a rule to never leave Percy near them or be within sight of any un opened water bottles.

Percy is not allowed to participate in watergun fights…for very obvious reasons and even if he does, the bastard had to be prohibited from using his powers at all during the watergun fights!

Everyone else in camp will be soaked and he would be dry as fuck, everyone calls it cheating but Percy calls it otherwise. Smug little twat.

Also don’t imagine Percy using the water out of an water bottle to douse you and when your chasing him, ready to kill him, his excuse is that ‘it’s a hot day in camp and I thought you could cool off a little!’ As if that was going to save him from the ass whooping your about to give him.

Nico has silent footsteps.

He can travel through shadows.

This is a recipe for disaster as he can easily scare you without having to try all that hard. And it’s the worst feeling ever.

He won’t know just how silent his footsteps are until you point it out to him or else he’ll think that he’s more than made his arrival known. (He absolutely didn’t)

Nico could emerge from the shadow nearby and walk up to you and casually say ‘hey’ and you’ll almost come out of your own skin when you realised the pale Italian in the aviator jacket next to you.

‘Fucking hell Nico’ you’d groan as you grasp your chest, trying to calm yourself down from the initial scare. ‘Warn me next time.’ You would add and Nico would only look at you as though you had grown a second head.

He had no clue what you were on about but would continue his day like he would any other, doing the same exact thing to other campers and getting the same exact reaction he got out of you too many times to be coincidental.

Even when he’s not shadow traveling, his footsteps are quite enough to have you believe that he had just appeared out of nowhere, and not walked the entirety of camp just to tell you something.

‘You’ve got to stop popping up out of nowhere.’ You tell him.

‘I’m not doing anything!’ He’d reply.

‘You’ve got silent footsteps Nico! Can’t hear shit when you’re creeping up on me, do you want me to die?’ You’d say and all of sudden everything made sense to Nico as to why everyone seemed to be unable to notice him until he was standing nearby.

‘Oh.’ He’d say. Does this change anything? No not really as Nico finds it funny to see people get scared. It’s made even funnier when on Halloween when everyone is done telling their scariest stories.

Jason tends to electric shock people, not on purpose, it just happens without warning.

I’m talking rubbing your hands on a carpet super fact and touching someone’s arm, or rubbing a balloon against yourself and watching in awe as it makes the hairs on your arms stick up.

However he didn’t need to rub his hands on a carpet to give someone an eclectic shock, he can just reach out to you and make it happen.

You could just be reaching for his hand and zap! You’ve been given an electric shock by Jason grace! You flinch back to rub your hand and Jason thought you were hurt and was already reaching out to you to help when-

You guessed it another electric shock happens.

It doesn’t hurt, you’re not in any pain but still you were being zapped at the end of the day.

Jason isn’t aware of this ability until afterwards and he’s just as confused as you and will not reach out for you for a while until he’s certain he won’t shock you.

Which is a solid 50/50. It happens when he least expects it or it can strike twice if you were the unlucky soul to get an electric shock back to back.

Guess it’s a weird perk of being the child of Zeus.

[genderqueerdykes]

I promise this is just coming from someone who wants to learn, and I apologize if it sounds hateful or rude for what I'm about to ask that is not what I want at all,

but when it comes to systems, DID, plurality, from what I have heard, it is something extremely extremely rare, and something that most people under the age of 25 the body isn't even supposed to like "reveal" until older. I'm just confused and I would really like to hear from someone who actually is plural and not just from like Google

is being a system, DID, and plurality even the same? And the only plural people I have met irl have like 25,000+ alters of dsmp characters (I ofc know not everyone who is plural isnt just fictive and it's all different)

just a very confused person who isn't plural and I would really like to learn and be educated !! I would really like to understand more and hate unreasonably for something I don't understand

hello there!

you can be plural without having DID. there's not really much else to it. DID is one form of plurality. it's not the end all be all of plurality. there are even other dissociative disorders like OSDD that get cast by the wayside when people adopt this kind of mentality. there's so much more to plurality than DID. also, there is no set age at which the symptoms at DID become apparent on the outside. i've been having dissociative symptoms since i was a kid. my alters were active and present even as a teenager!

relying on medical statistics alone for DID is a bad idea because most professionals who are capable of diagnosing someone with a mental health condition don't even know what dissociative disorders are or what they entail. my own therapist has known that I have DID the entire time i've known her, but she has told me that currently, she can't help me with it, because she has not received training for it. dissociative disorders are nowhere near as rare as we think they are, one has to consider that a number even as low as 1% - 2% of the global population is an absolutely massive number of people!

saying that DID is "extremely rare" in this case in order to discredit non dissociative plurals is an appeal to authority. it's appealing to the medical industry who refuses to take it seriously in the first place. the amount of professionals i've had who pointed out that i have dissociative disorders vs. the ones who never commented on it at all is pretty staggering. this is due to a lack of proper research due to lack of funding, not because DID is genuinely that rare. the reason there isn't more research into plurality in general is because of a lack of funding. medical studies and organizations require funding. if they don't see money in it, they won't do it.

DID is still a heavily stigmatized condition. things haven't gotten much better since it was renamed from Multiple Personality Disorder. people with dissociative disorders are still treated like shit in medical settings, so to me, it makes no sense at all whatsoever to pit dissociatives against other plurals because no one takes ANY of us seriously, it's not non-dissociative plurals' faults that we're not taken seriously. it's the medical industry. there are no medications to push for DID. DID does not respond to medication. this already makes a lot of doctors not want to interact with it at all, because there's no commissions for medications prescribed.

"And the only plural people I have met irl have like 25,000+ alters of dsmp characters."

i'm pointing this out gently, i don't think you're a bad person, but this is sooooo mean, please don't be that mean and judgmental about other people, plural or not. please consider how those people would feel if they heard you talking about them like that. even if you don't view them as plural, you shouldn't think it's okay to discredit their lived experience. what are you getting out of phrasing it like that? even if that person turns out to not be plural, please do not judge other people based off of things like this. you don't live inside of their head. you don't know what's going on in there.

i'm not entirely sure why people think this way about introjects and fictives, but they're an extremely normal part of the plural experience! one of the most well known DID systems of all time, Truddi Chase and The Troops, had not only fictional alters (Elvira) but also factual ones as well (Mean Joe Green). this is not new, nor is it isolated to non dissociative plurals. introjects and fictives are extremely normal. it doesn't mean someone is faking just because they've introjected someone, or someones.

hope that helps, in general, please understand that the only lived experience that you are the arbiter of is your own and you cannot tell someone else what they're experiencing, no matter what. plurality will look different for every person, system and so on that experiences it! the sooner you accept that the easier your own life will become. it's not hurting you for someone to have headmates that you don't like. that's their business, not yours, and that's actually a very freeing thing!

great addition from the tags:

[its-avalon-08]

the paths we didn't take (cl16)

part3!

multipart story! part 1 part 2

Summary : Years ago, Charles Leclerc and Y/N promised to let each other go—for his dreams, for her freedom. No calls, no texts, just memories they buried deep. But when fate reunites them in Monaco, old scars and unresolved feelings resurface. Some loves are unforgettable, but can they find their way back, or is it too late?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Chapter 3: "The End of Us"

Graduation night was a blur of laughter, hugs, and the echoing sound of congratulatory cheers. The air was warm and thick with excitement, and the whole school had gathered for one last celebration. Charles and Y/N, though, barely noticed the festivities. The world around them felt distant, like they were in their own bubble, separated from the noise.

Charles stood with a wide grin on his face, surrounded by his friends. He had received the call that morning. Formula 2 had offered him a spot, and as much as he should have been celebrating with everyone else, his thoughts kept drifting back to the girl who had always been by his side. Y/N was now talking to a group of her friends, but her eyes kept flickering toward him, as if they both knew this night would end differently than they had imagined.

Y/N stood near the refreshment table, trying to focus on the conversation, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the acceptance letter she had gotten just that afternoon. She had been accepted into her dream college, the one she had worked so hard for. But as much as she had longed for this moment, a part of her felt a sense of dread growing in her chest.

She glanced at Charles across the room. He caught her gaze and smiled that smile—the one that had been hers for so long. She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

The party continued late into the night, but as the evening drew to a close, the crowd thinned out. The music softened, and the chatter faded. Charles and Y/N, finding themselves alone once again, slipped away from the remaining group of students. They made their way to the same rooftop where they had sat so many times before, where their relationship had been built on the innocence of childhood and the promises of forever.

The city lights below them flickered like a sea of stars. Y/N sat on the edge of the roof, staring at the sky. Her hands rested on her knees, but her fingers trembled slightly. She could feel the finality of this night creeping in. The moment they both knew was coming.

Charles stood beside her, his gaze fixed on the same sky, his heart pounding. He wanted to reach out, to pull her close and say something—anything—that would make this easier. But the words wouldn’t come.

“You did it,” Y/N said softly, breaking the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to Formula 2.” She turned to face him, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he was struggling with the same emotions.

Charles nodded, but there was a bittersweet smile on his face. “I did.”

“I’m proud of you, Charles. You worked so hard for this.” Y/N swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath. “You deserve it.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said quietly, his voice laced with raw emotion. “You’ve always been here. I know I’ve been distracted, with racing and everything, but you’ve always been here.”

“I’ve always been here,” she repeated, her throat tight. “And I’ll always be here, even when I’m not with you.” Her voice cracked, and she quickly wiped away a tear, not wanting to break down in front of him, but she couldn’t help it. “I’ll always cheer you on, Charles. Even when I’m not right by your side.”

Charles turned to her then, his heart breaking at the sight of her trying to hold it together. He had always admired her strength, but right now, he just wanted to take all her pain away, even though he knew he was the one causing it.

“Y/N…” His voice faltered. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I wish things could be different.”

She shook her head, her tears now falling freely. “Don’t apologize, Charles. This isn’t about that. This is about our futures… and the paths we have to take.” She took a deep breath, wiping her eyes. “We’re not the same people we were when we started this. We’re growing into different versions of ourselves, and that’s okay. We can’t keep holding on to something that isn’t meant to be.”

Charles stepped closer, his hands shaking as he reached for hers. “I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to lose you.”

Y/N’s heart cracked open. She looked up at him, seeing the pain in his eyes that mirrored her own. “You’ll always be my first love, Charles. No one will ever replace you.” She closed her eyes briefly, taking a shaky breath. “But you need to find the right girl. The one who can give you the future you deserve. The one who’ll be there when you need her.”

“No,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t want anyone else. I’ve always wanted you. You’re the one I wanted.”

She smiled through her tears, shaking her head gently. “But you have a future that’s bigger than this. Bigger than us. You have racing, and you’re going to go far. I don’t want to be the one who holds you back. You deserve to be free to chase your dreams without worrying about me.”

Charles stepped back, his heart in his throat, and looked up at the stars. “I’ve always been so focused on my racing,” he murmured. “But you’ve been here, Y/N. And I haven’t appreciated it enough.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Y/N reached out and placed her hand on his cheek, turning him to face her. “You will,” she said softly. “You’re stronger than you think. And you’ll find someone who makes you happy. Someone who can be there for you in ways I can’t.”

The weight of the words hung between them like an anchor, dragging them deeper into the inevitable. The silence was thick with everything they couldn’t say, everything they couldn’t change.

Charles looked at her one last time, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll never forget you, Y/N. You’ll always be in my heart.”

Y/N nodded, her voice catching in her throat. “I’ll never forget you either.” She took a final, shaky breath before adding, “I’ll always love you, Charles. No matter where we go.”

He kissed her then, one last time. It was slow, tender, and filled with all the words they couldn’t say out loud. And in that moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Like they were the only two people left in the universe. But they both knew the truth—they couldn’t stay here forever.

When they pulled apart, both of their eyes were red, their hearts broken but full of love.

Y/N turned away first, walking toward the edge of the roof. She looked back at him one last time.

“You’ll be great, Charles,” she whispered. “And I’ll always be cheering you on, from wherever I am.”

And with that, she disappeared into the night, leaving Charles standing there alone beneath the stars, the weight of their love and their parting settling in his chest.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

taglist : @jenxjar @noam-rosier-icr @prttylight @gluecksbaerchieee

@janeh22 @tobucina @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @weekendlusting

@wisestarfishbouquet @ricciardosheart @leclercdream @sltwins

@vyctorya @mel164  @dazecrea @lol6sposts @raynetargaryan2

@ricciardosheart @leclercdream @sltwins @vyctorya @f1fantasys

[cupcakedieabetes]

Yeah, that's what I thought. It's all his survival that his mindset is that everyone is still strictly fictional that he ends up disregarding most of them. "Everyone is still book characters including him" is still his mindset.

But he doesn't really think that he's a canon fodder. Imo, he thinks his role as SQQ is a canon fodder.

I meant SY disregards GYX's death is that other than that, there's no actual mentions of GYX anymore bc he ends up so hyperfocused on his survival after bc of TLJ, ZZL, and LBH, that his existence just got erased. He treated GYX exactly like a canon fodder, 'Death that you'll get outraged at first, but soon get over it'

I remember this part exactly bc I was ranting to my mom (she reads it) about it like "Huh??? Did they just kill him off and he's never mentioned again?? Why did they have to kill him off like that?"

Also, the part where SQH says that they've changed, like, wouldn't students change a bit if your teacher (who is incredibly strict and does corporal punishment on you harshly) changed? This is an era where corporal punishment still exists, but bc LBH is the protag, of course he needs more extra.

I've always thought that bc there's little to no pressure on them anymore, there's no point in being little villain canon fodders anymore.

I mean, I was the same before bc during elementary school, I hated everything and was bitter and stuff bc the teachers full on had favouritism that they hated other students other than them. They say right to the student's face on how stupid we were. They often smack us, too.

Then, the students, there were groupie bullies everywhere, they would steal and beat up each other. I mean, we were 10 ish and violent bc the teachers don't give a shit about us. And bc it was a school from kindergarten to high school, there were some high schoolers beating elementary students too.

But I moved school, and the teachers were nicer, and thus the students were a lot calmer. I still didn't learn shit at all in this school so I got tutoring, but I was calmer.

I guess experience just makes me think differently about that part. They're not on guard anymore so they're not "bitter and full of resentment"

Edit: I reread that part, and it seems that "the flock of disciples" are just NYY, MF and LBH. Does he only have 3 of those disciples?

Its mentioned that they have disciple brothers, but they're once more vague bc they're a bunch of canon fodders

More edit: It wasn't bc the teachers were nice. Im saying that they were nicer in a sense that they don't hit students or call us stupid. They're nicer in a sense that they left us alone.

LBH being a scapegoat in SV is bc all the disciples are directing the punishment on him bc they don't want to be hit instead, which is common back in my school too. Direct the punishment onto someone else that the teacher doesn't like already in the first place.

Once SQQ stops hating, there wasn't any point in directing those punishment onto LBH bc there's no punishment at all anymore and they're all left alone.

They're left alone, and they don't have to fear any punishments at all. Their guards are down.

And to the sense that they'd defend him, of course they'd defend him. He's not that SQQ and changed. He's a nicer version of SQQ after all.

And to say that SY thinks of himself as SQQ. Yeah, that's bc he has to live an entire different life as him. He has to be SQQ or be punished by his system. But he also often curses SQQ as being an abuser and a lecher, completely separating them, until after the revelation. This dude absolutely has to be SQQ even if he isn't SQQ. It's all assimilated acting. You cannot get out of the role no matter how much you do.

He could at least break out of the OOC function, letting SQQ be more of himself, but it still isn't himself at all. He still has to act as SQQ to the expectation of others.

The only time he isn't SQQ is when he's Peerless Cucumber and you could see him going back to the SQQ act in front of others except SQH.

So yeah, that's what I meant as SQQ is a role and not himself.

Love that shen yuan is such a beloved and caring adult figure for the Qing Jing kids, Wei wuxian sacrificed so much to give Wen Yuan some semblance of a childhood, then you have xie lian who's like oh fuck right the kid. The ghost kid im taking care of. Forgot about that we should find him

[impval]

nervous

Victoria Neuman x fem! reader warnings: mentions of stalking, mentions of blood, illness (cold), stupid jokes, reader (and Vicky) is useless sapphics.

Victoria doesn’t like how nervous she feels around you.

Logically, it makes no sense for her to feel this way, for her heart to flutter whenever she catches your smile. You're just a ordinary woman who she met through a mutual friend - nothing more, nothing less. Maybe it's the fact that you're different from everyone else in her life, all the political snakes and heroes she deals with on a daily basis.

She's always had a soft spot for people like you, those who are slightly weird, but also smart. When you talk, your words flow like a river, and your eyes light up with an intense enthusiasm that is so endearing.

When you first met, Victoria was expecting the usual reaction from you, the typical swooning at her status, her money, her beauty. But no, you remained completely unfazed by it all. You just spent hours talking about Sylvanas Windrunnner of all topics, passionately discussing the portrayal of women in media. And it wasn't even a deliberate attempt on your part. To you, she was just a woman who had opinions on a game. A woman you could nerd-out with.

Her daughter approval was a significant factor. You didn't try to impress her, didn't talk down to her or make false promises. It wasn't some strategic move to win points with Victoria. You weren't trying to impress or manipulate anyone. You just treated Zoe like any other person - sincerely.

Zoe appreciated that. She was used to the fake smiles and the veiled attempts to get close to her mother through her. She is a smart kid, sharp and more mature than many kids her age. She is also cautious and wary of adults, a effect of her mother's fame and her own intelligence. But she seemed to... tolerate you.

Those casual meetings in a café, the occasional lunch visits, the funny memes shared back and forth. The way you looked at Zoe's homework with a mix of horror and awe, knowing that she was already taking advanced classes and soaking up knowledge far beyond her years.

The way the corners of your mouth would twitch up into a smile or down into a pout as you spoke passionately about something that fascinated you. Victoria could feel her heart skip a beat every time, but she convinced herself it was just the alcohol, just exhaustion, just something that was causing the flutter in her chest.

She found comfort in this little bubble of normalcy, in the charade where she wasn't the politician, the Head-Popper or Nadia. Just Victoria and you, no other bullshit attached.

And then Hughie Campbell ruined everything.

Victoria knew he had been your friend, after all, it was thanks to him that you and her had even met. She believed that he had left your life behind when he started running with The Boys. That your friendship would have faded into the past, like a distant memory.

Oh, she knew that Hughie and the Boys had finally figured out her true identity. It was only a matter of time, really, but she hadn't expected it to be this way.

But the silence from you... that, she hadn't expected. At first, Victoria didn't notice, as she was preoccupied with Homelander's bullshit and the pressures of politics.

Victoria couldn't help but know details about you, your routine, where you lived, who are your colleagues, your family, your friends. She told herself it was just a product of her paranoia, that she needed to make sure you were safe and unharmed, but deep down she knew it was more than just that.

It might have bordered on a bit too much knowledge for a regular friend to have, but Victoria couldn't help but want to keep tabs.

It was far from a coincidence that you suddenly fell ill just a couple of days after Hughie stumbled upon the truth about Victoria's secret. Your colleagues and boss mentioned that you were unwell, that you had taken work home. But Victoria knew better. You rarely got sick, and if you ever did, you never failed to keep in touch. Yet, since then, you had barely sent a text or even responded.

Anxiety, horror, nerves, fear - coursed through her veins like a toxic poison. You'd been quiet for days, she knew why - she understood why. That just didn’t make it hurt any less.

The secrets, the past, all the blood on her hands. It was laid bare, exposed for you to see in all its bloody and monstrous glory. Was this the end? Did you despise her now?

Maybe you were even packing your bags at that very moment, ready to flee from Victoria's presence, putting as much distance between yourself and her as possible.

Knock-knock.

Victoria tried to act as if she didn't notice the way your eyes widened in surprise, she tried to act as if her heart wasn't trying to escape her chest and her breath wasn't being caught in her throat. She tried to act as if she didn't realize how nervous she felt either.

For a moment, she just stood there, watching you, before she remembered herself and smiled slightly “Can I come in?”

You look genuinely unwell - pale skin, parched lips. You hadn't even cared to dry your hair properly after a shower, and your T-shirt still had remnants of dampness from the water. Oddly enough, you don't seem afraid. No fear etched into the lines of your face.

You just...smile. Softly, awkwardly, a pale shadow of your usual cheerful self.

"Sure. Come in."

Victoria had been there many times before - in better circumstances, of course.

Your apartment was always messy and chaotic like that, it was your way of being. There was a certain level of warmth and comfort in the chaos.

She looked around, taking in the current mess before turning to look at you again. Her smile faltered as she took in your pale skin. You looked like you hadn't slept for days, and judging by the pizza box, you clearly hadn't eaten properly either.

Usually, you would offer a warm cup of tea when Victoria visited, but today, you seem too exhausted, both physically and mentally. Instead, you let yourself collapse onto the couch.

She follows you to the living room and sits down in the armchair, facing you in the couch. She crosses her legs, pretending she's totally calm and relaxed, but she's not, she's dying to know what's going through your head. She wonders if you suspect anything, if Hughie told you anything.

"No offense, but you look like crap," she tried to make the comment sound casual and sarcastic, like usual, but it came out more concerned and worried than anything else, and she hated it. She didn't want to show how concerned she was.

What if you hate her? The thought makes her heart ache, but she tries to keep her face neutral. Victoria hates being like this. She always knows what to say, what to do, how to behave. She always knows how to be in control.

But now she feels so damn lost.

"You are as charming as always, Vicky," you laugh lightly, a small, quiet sound that fills the room.

Victoria's heart skips a beat at that little sound you make. It was such a familiar laugh, it was your laugh. She could be in a crowded room and still pick out your laugh in a heartbeat.

She inhales deeply, and there it is again - your familiar scent, now tinged with the unmistakable aroma of medicine. You smell of the shampoo she gave you, the same one she bought specifically because she saw you eyeing it in a store once.

As she looked around the living room, Victoria could see bits and pieces of her everywhere. A cup from the mug she got you two Christmases ago, the blanket from last year's birthday.

The memory hits her - the way you held that Sylvanas Windrunner figurine, the pure delight on your face, how you had thanked her over and over again. The ugly, disgustingly pink slippers she gave you as a joke. Each gift holds its own memory - laughter, gratitude... love.

Those pink damn slippers were stupid. They should have been the first thing you threw away after finding out the truth about her.

"But I'm fine. The cold is almost gone, I feel much better than I look."

"Bullshit," Victoria says immediately, a little sharp.

Her heart is almost beating out of her chest. She's dying to ask you if you know. If you've found out the truth. She even opens her mouth, almost asking, but closes it at the last moment.

"Why did you ignore my texts?" She asks instead, trying to keep her voice steady.

A beat of silence passes between two of you, and in that moment, everything becomes so clear.

Silence is not your thing; you thrive on noise, on conversations, on laughter and music. Your words always flow freely, unfiltered, and yet right now, you're silent, thinking, contemplating how to frame the next words.

You know who she really is. She's exposed, vulnerable, naked before you. What are you going to say? Are you afraid of her now? She's the Head Popper, after all. Or maybe you feel betrayed? Deceived?

Victoria clenched her jaw, hating how her mind started to consider the option of eliminating you. This was the way she had been trained, conditioned to think by Stan. She can almost hear his voice in her head, as clear as if he were sitting next to her. Your safety is priority. Eliminate every source of danger. Never leave a risk.

"Well, I was very unwell the entire time. I suppose work got to me. Fucking reports," you rubbed your temples, even now cursing at the endless paperwork. "And then Hughie with his british boyfriend unloaded a bomb on me."

Yep, you said this.

Honestly, you were freaking out at this plot twist. You love Victoria, both as a person and as a friend (and maybe a little more, but you try to ignore that part). When Hughie told you his story, it sounded so unreal.

But then he brought proof - a folder bursting with photos and even videos on disks, like some kind of old-school spy movie. Who even uses disks anymore?

You spent every waking hour staring at the blood-stained pictures and text in the folder, the horrific details of what her past and present. Your tea intake had reached a record-breaking level, and if your illness hadn't been holding you back, you probably would have drowned yourself in alcohol.

Conflict warred within you. Anger for the things Victoria had done and for the fact that she’d kept it hidden. Confusion over how to feel about all of it. But most importantly, the pain of being deceived by someone you held so close. You trusted Victoria, saw her as the most important person in your life.

But at the same time - how would she have even told me?

The enormity of her secret, the danger it posed, it was a crushing burden. You knew deep down she couldn’t have told you. She probably didn’t know how to.

You vividly remembered the day of the court, how your heart was in your throat as you watched the live broadcast at home. You recall the day clear enough. Wanting to be there to support her...only for her to gently persuade you to stay home. You gave in, thanks to a simple kiss on the cheek that had your brain short-circuiting.

During the broadcast, you found yourself praying to any and every deity, even though faith had never been a part of your life. You prayed for her survival, to see her again.

You thought that Victoria slept so much after the court because of PTSD, but fuck, she likely needed all that sleep to recover from the effort of exploding a whole shitload of heads.

A cruel, bitter joke indeed.

The memory replays in your mind, and suddenly you remember something - something that was so insignificant at the time, but now takes on a whole new level of significance.

You recall the time you was at her office, and you noticed a smudge of blood on her clothes. You remember the unease, the concern, how she’d made you think it was just a small, unimportant thing. And at the time, it had been easy to let it go, to trust her. But now?

And how carefully, casually, Victoria probed you about your thoughts on super-powered humans. Unlike others, you don’t idolize them as infallible heroes or hate them as dangerous threats. After all, they were all just people. It was only after that conversation, it seemed, that she opened up more, allowed you glimpses behind her masks.

As you look at Victoria, it's like seeing her for the first time. All the little quirks, her tells, everything about the person you've come to know so well...unmasked.

She's wearing the dark red suit (blood, your mind whispers), the one she usually chooses for tough debates. Another armor. A defense.

But you know her much better now, past her careful masks and smiles. You recognize the tension in her jaw, the dark flicker in her eyes. She's preparing for the worst.

"What bomb?" She asked despite knowing the answer.

The small smile you offer is careful. You raise your eyebrows and gesture towards the pile of papers on the table by the sofa, the folder among them, buried in notes and drawings.

"I think Victoria fits you better," you remark, voice soft. "But you know, Nadia sounds beautiful too."

Hearing you speak her real name sends a shiver down her spine. No one had called her that in years, and from your lips, it sounded too intimate, too personal.

It's all there, the documents, the evidence, the photos. Things that should never have seen by anyone, much less by you.

"I prefer Vicky," she says carefully, but when she looks at you, she doesn't see fear or anger. You just seem tired. “You've read all that?”

Death, blood, shattered lives - you used to think red suited her, but you hadn't comprehended just how much.

"Of course. When have I ever left anything unfinished?" you murmurs, with just a hint of irony in the voice.

She doesn't know if she should be amused or offended by your comment.

On one hand, it's a normal reaction from you, sarcastic and cheeky. The same person she got to know during all those days and nights spent together in each other's company. On the other hand, you're talking about her greatest secret like you're talking about a crime book.

"And?" She asked quietly, hating how nervous she feels.

She's acting almost as awkward as that time she got soo drunk and you stayed up all night holding a bucket next to her, so she didn't puke all over the carpet. Now that you think about it, she's downed a lot more alcohol than a human ever could. The memory bubbles up, almost making you want to laugh.

You reach up to rub at your throat, grimacing slightly at the lingering soreness. Your cough hasn't quite gone away yet, and you pick up a bottle of water from the table, taking a few gulps to soothe the ache.

You place the bottle back down next to you and your tone is calm and measured as you speak.

"I've got exactly two questions," you state, eyes fixed on her.

Her fingers dig into the fabric of her pants, knuckles turning white. How can you be so calm, so matter-of-fact? She wants to snap, yell, scream at you, for how can you look normal after everything?

"Ask."

Another fact about you that's worth mentioning: you're a fucking clown. If Victoria ever dragged you to any important event, you would have been easily mistaken for a court jester or shot down as a threat to the sanity of every politician there. It's how you cope with the cruel world of capitalism and heroes, after all - if you can't laugh, you'd probably cry.

"So you felt it every time I had a period?"

What the fu-

She can practically feel a vein in her temple ticking in annoyance. You know her secret and this is what you're asking her?

Typical you, to focus on something as unimportant as this.

"What do you think?" she replied bluntly, her shoulders relax.

Somehow, the tension in the air has lessened. The conversation has fallen into more familiar territory, much like a well-practiced dance. You and Victoria have often discussed the powers of various supers, real or fictional, and now is no different.

Blood manipulation. You can't help but admit that exploding heads is a impressive move, yet horrifying all the same. It was a dramatic and effective ability, perfectly fitting for Victoria, the woman who always loved a good show.

The file had mentioned that she used to struggle with controlling it, but clearly, she'd mastered it now. It fit her personality perfectly: she always needed to be in control, no matter what.

"I think you can feel everything around you," you say, your voice quiet but sure. "You can hear the beating of hearts, can't you? That's why you always know when someone is lying. But for details, you need to concentrate."

You had always been good at puzzles, connecting the dots, thinking. That's why she love you.

You're surprisingly spot on in your assumptions. Victoria can feel blood, she's always felt it, even if she hasn't always been able to control it. She felt your periods. She's felt your heart rate changing in times of excitement or fear.

But what surprises her is not the fact that you've figured that out, but the fact that you aren't afraid of her even knowing all of this.

"Sometimes I try not to pay attention to much," she confessed, her voice almost a whisper, like she's sharing a secret. "It's... overwhelming."

Oh, Vicky.

Your eyes soften, a gentle understanding. All this time, this power of hers, and you hadn't noticed. Or maybe she just never let you see this side of her, this hidden weakness. Something inside you aches.

Victoria used to think you were simple, naive. You wore your heart on your sleeve, you trusted everyone too easily. She didn't see it, didn't realize that deep down, beneath that all, there was a sharp mind, capable of seeing through all her bullshit facade. Now she sees it especially clearly.

"Second question." She demands, her voice almost a whisper.

Vicky, Vicky, Vicky.

You should be afraid. After everything, the lies, the manipulation, the hidden life...you should fear her.

But you can't.

She's woven into the fabric of your life, tangled up in a web of memories, gifts, and shared moments. She's the one who showers you with gifts just because she thought of you, the one who patiently listens to your theories and debates.

Vicky, Vicky, always Vicky.

Your lip quirks slightly, a soft smile touching the corners of your mouth. You feel like you see her better now, more than ever before.

And so, your second and final question rolls off your tongue, quiet and calm. "Will you kill me?"

Victoria's heart practically stops at your question.

She was prepared for anger, sadness, disappointment. But this? Not in a million years.

"You..." Her voice is choked, a thousand thoughts swirling in her head. She looks at you, searching for something, anything in your eyes, that you're not serious.

But, ironically, this is possibly the most serious you've ever been.

"Well?" you continue. "Don't deny it. We both know you're paranoid and I know too much now. It would be logical for you. So answer the question. Will you kill me?"

Logical is exactly the kind of word that Stan had used to describe Victoria. It's who she is. So yes. This is exactly what she would have done a long time ago. Of course you think she would kill you. She should. You know too much.

But you're you, with your soft smiles and endless patience, stupid curiosity and unwavering loyalty. Despite everything, she loves you.

How can she kill the one person she loves?

Finally, in a low, strangled tone she answers.

"No, I won't kill you."

Wow, you must be utterly and hopelessly in love with her, considering how willing you are to accept death at her hands. A sick, twisted kind of humor bubbles up in your mind as you muse to yourself that it's nice that Victoria won't be exploding your head anytime soon.

Your shoulders sag a little. Okay.

Your entire body aches and throbs from the sickness that's kept you in your apartment for the past week.

And the fucking folder has only made the simple cold worse. Right now, all you want to do is disappear under the covers, crawl into the warm darkness, and shut out the world.

You gesture to the papers on the table, your voice tired but steady. "I need some time," you say, a hint of hurt underlying your words. "Will you take the folder with you when you leave? I don't want it here."

Victoria drops her gaze, averting it to look at the table, the stack of papers, the folder that started this whole mess. She feels an irrational urge to throw it all out, to burn it, and she will. Later.

Part of her is too wary to say something she'll regret, and the other... she's just too cowardly. Victoria nods slowly, standing up to grab the folder.

So all she does is watch you a moment longer, the folder clenched tightly in her hands, before walking out the door.

Time drags out slowly. Never before has a month felt so long and painful. Even during your worst fights, both of you would still text each other, however small the dialogue might be.

But now, you don't call. You don't text. You don't even send her memes filled with passive aggressive hints of your anger.

Every time her phone vibrates, her heart skips a beat in foolish hope. She almost feels like a teenager with a crush, looking at the screen eagerly, only to be disappointed every single time.

You had asked for time, and Victoria knows she should honor that.

However, you've been kept under close watch. She's not worried that you'll reveal her secret, no - that option was clearly not even in the cards. The surveillance now, the protective measures, it's not to keep an eye on you. It's for your safety. To make sure you're okay and not in any possible danger. You were right when you called her paranoid.

Her daughter starts to notice. Even she's beginning to look at Victoria differently. It's no secret that you usually spend plenty of time visiting, but it's been a whole damn month since you've vanished.

Zoe isn't your biggest fan, but she can see how much it hurts Victoria not to have you around.

"Mom, did you screw something up?"

"Language."

Victoria practically jumps when she receives a text message, inviting her to meet in a local cafe. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a simple request for cocoa and conversation.

That day, you both chat about nothing and everything, carefully avoiding the painful subject that weighs heavily on both of you. It's not much, but it's a start. A fragile first step.

When she sees the vampire memes you've sent, a wave of relief washes over her face. Victoria breaks out into loud, relieved laughter, startling her colleagues with the unexpected outburst.

She almost feels like she's back in your apartment again, sprawled on the couch, arguing about which anime to watch, or which one of the characters you're obsessed with is the most attractive.

You're insufferable, just as Victoria had expected from you. You torture her with a nonstop fload of puns, innuendoes, jokes, and memes all related to blood. Even Zoe joins, to Victoria's combined amusement and horror.

Victoria endures through Zoe's torturous plan to force her to watch the Twilight, making it her own personal mission to survive the whole series without jumping out of the nearest window.

You'll find out that Victoria has genuinely been trying to ignore the rhythm of your heartbeat since your friendship became genuine. But, before that, yeah, she used to monitor your heartbeat all the damn time.

When she casually mentioned it, you damn near choked on your tea. How in the world could Victoria, the most intelligent woman you knew, not recognize that you were madly in love with her all this time, even with super-duper powers?

After clearing your throat (with a bit of help from Victoria's powers), you laughed until your ribs hurt. Then you granted her permission to listen to your heartbeat whenever she wanted.

One day, while enjoying a casual lunch together, she asks you why you haven't run away to some sunny spot in Spain. After all, she has killed people, and it's not something that's likely to change. You rolled your eyes so hard it genuinely hurt. Seriously, your favorite characters are female war criminals for whom committing murder is just as natural as blinking.

Jokes on you, Vicky, I'm into that shit.

Of course you didn't say that. You're not ready to come out (ha!) of the illusion of friends yet.

You didn't have a damn clue how messed up the world truly is. Of course, you knew it was a cruel, cruel place, you're not naive. But, fuck, it's worse than you could have ever imagined.

And Victoria, she knows this better than anyone. She can now share her own personal horror story, revealing the truth about Vought, her father, the sadistic experiments, and her genuine desire to change the world for the better.

Things are strangely different now, better now that there are no more secrets. She finds herself hyper-aware of your heartbeat, your eyes on her, the way you move, the sound of your voice. It's like she's suddenly woken up to a new reality, where the line between friends and something more is slowly starting to blur.

And just when things were finally beginning to settle back into a shaky sense of normalcy, that fucking Hughie had to show up again.

hey, herm o. globin

you know who and his british boyfriend were at my house again

im fine btw

Victoria doesn't even bat an eye at the stupid pun, her mind immediately focusing in on the second part.

Hughie and Butcher was in your house again. Again. And somehow, her security had missed their presence. She clenches her jaw at the thought. How incompetent can they be? Stupid amateurs.

But she'll deal with them later. Victoria rearranges her schedule, sends a text ordering you to stay home, and quickly hops into her car, driving over to your place.

Victoria arrives at your apartment in record time. She can feel the tension coiling inside her, the need to make sure you're safe, to see you with her own eyes. Without even a knock, she pushes the door open and steps inside.

You're predictably sitting in the kitchen, calmly sipping away at a cup of tea. There's not a single bruise or scratch on you, no sign of fear or distress etched on your face. It's as if you didn't have two wanted terrorists in your damn house.

You glance up at the clock on the wall, "Wow, ten minutes. You won't get any fines?"

Victoria is not amused. Your humor would have usually been endearing, but right now it's just fueling her anger. She steps closer, her voice strained from the effort to keep her temper in check.

"You had Hughie and Butcher in your house, and you didn't think to call me?"

You set down your cup on the table with a weary sigh. Of course, you weren't particularly thrilled about the surprise visit, but there was no point in stressing about it now that they were gone.

"I was too busy trying to decipher british accent." Yikes, more jokes. "They were just trying to figure out why I was still hanging out with you. You know, after I discovered your secret."

Victoria's hands curl into fists, her patience with your humor wearing thinner and thinner with each passing second. Victoria doesn't even understand why her anger is slipping out of control. Perhaps it's because you were in danger. Or maybe it's because she's still at risk of losing you.

"And what exactly did you tell them?"

You can't help but flinch ever so slightly at the question. Damn it, you suck at hiding your expressions, even when you really want to. Victoria's eyes flick down to the slight flinch that you tried to hide, her shoulders tensing at the sight.

Oh, Hughie, always trying to be gentle. He attempted to appeal to your sense of morality, your humanity. It's unfortunate that he doesn't grasp how deeply, how foolishly in love you are with Victoria.

It's a shame, really, since he's known you practically since school days, he of all people should have understood. When it came to the people you cared about, your moral principles usually went on vacation.

But, like what fuck, Butcher understood.

There's something about him, something rotten and dark, that sets off alarms in your head. This man is dangerous, like a ticking time bomb waiting to burst. And when he explodes - because sooner or later, he will - he'll take a hell of a lot of people down with him. 

Amor caecus. That's all he said and led Hughie out.

You swallow, forcing down the memory and pushing it to the back of your mind. Are you really that blind?

"I told them to go suck Homelander's dick," you manage to say, and even to your own ears, your words sound pathetically weak.

Victoria almost lets out a bitter laugh at your response. Trust you and your blunt, unapologetic attitude. But the way your voice falters when you speak, tells her everything she needs to know. There's something you're not telling her, something that clearly shook you.

"Is that all?" She asks, her tone firm. "Or is there something else they said that's got you rattled?"

Fuck.

It's a harsh reminder of the tension between you when you discovered the truth about her and how uncomfortable things had become.

You stand up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a sickening screech. Nope, you're not ready to confess your love to your friend right now.

That instinct to flee, to hide, an almost primal urge to run away...it influences your choices. How many times could you have confessed your feelings to Victoria? You're not stupid. And she's not stupid either. What's between you is not friendship, not really.

You're just afraid.

You try to walk past her, insisting, "That's all, Victoria. I didn't tell them anything else."

Victoria despises the way your blood sings with anxiety, fear, and fatigue that has seeped into your very bones. Victoria reaches out on instinct, preventing you from walking any farther, her grip tight around your wrist. She's not letting you run away, not this time.

There were so many words on the tip of her tongue, so many things she wanted to say. Like ‘Do you know what you’re doing to me?’ or ‘I think I love you.'

"Stop," she commands, her voice betraying a hint of desperation. "I know you're hiding something, dammit. I can feel it. Please, just tell me."

It's ironic, really, for her to expect such openness and trust from you when she kept an entire box of sketches from you for so long. But when she turns those big, sad eyes on you, silently pleading for trust... love truly is blind, isn't it?

You're weary and exhausted. You want it all to go back to the days when you were still oblivious, when she was simply Vicky, your ambitious friend who could down a shot of tequila without a second thought and feel fantastic.

Life was simpler then, and it was easier to suppress your longing, to resist the urge to touch her in ways that friends shouldn't.

You're just so damn tired. Maybe it's time to stop being a cliché, a useless sapphic who fell in love with her not-so-straight friend.

"Just promise you won't blow my damn head off?"

Please, just promise me that everything will be alright. That nothing will change between us.

You don't give her a chance to respond, quickly pulling her close and crashing your lips against hers.

Victoria freezes for a moment, her mind struggling to catch up with what's happening.

Oh.

Oh.

Friends my ass.

But then her body responds, her arms wrapping around you before she even realizes it. She's kissing you back, her lips moving urgently against yours, years of pent-up yearning and love, fear and desire, finally finding a way out.

When you break away, both of you gasping for breath, Victoria meets your eyes.

You're fully aware of the path you're heading down. Love may be blind, but you're perfectly aware of her paranoid nature, the blood staining her hands up to her elbows. She's a monster, there's no denying it, and you just offered yourself up to her on a goddamn silver platter.

There's no turning back now, but even if there was, you wouldn't change a damn thing.

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Love Triangle from Hell (1)

Steve Harrington x F!Reader / Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Synopsis: Nancy is with Jonathan; Steve is still in love with Nancy; You're in love with Steve; Eddie's in love with you; Robin just wanted to have a movie night but everyone is making it weird.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: messy messy feelings; unrequited love; cursing; arguments; crying; angst angst angsty angst; drinking; Robin literally just trying to live her life but her friends are all idiots

A/N: I'm going to let y'all decide who our reader ends up with for this one- please let me know who you think our reader should pick! I think this will be another 5 part series. Please let me know what you think! Comments and reblogs and hitting up my asks are always so so so appreciated.

This series with be 18+ in later chapters MINORS DNI

It was always Nancy. No matter what it always came back to Nancy. It happened over and over and over like a broken record. Like a glutton for punishment, you always went back for more thinking to yourself this time it’s going to be different. Squished on the lumpy loveseat with Robin, you watch Steve as he watches Nancy. You were pathetic and you knew it. Hopelessly in love with someone who’d never in a million years look at you the way he’s looking at her.

Eddie sits on the floor between your legs with his back rested against the front of the couch as you aimlessly braid his hair. You run your fingers through his hair, carefully navigating through the tangles. You pull strains and weave them together without needing to think about it- you’ve done it a million times before. Eddie would let you do whatever you wanted, he loved the feeling of your hands in his hair. He’d lean his head back as far as he could manage, and shoot you an upside down smile. It always made you giggle before you would use your palm to gently put his head back into place. 

It was quite a sight for Robin, like the most fucked daytime drama never written, if she knew how to read the room and pick up on the very obvious clues before her. Steve, her platonic soulmate and best friend, pining over his ex-girlfriend while you, her other best friend, pine over Steve and all the while Eddie, Steve’s roommate and your other best friend, pines over you. It was enough to make her sick. All the while, Nancy is completely oblivious as she checks her watch, waiting expectantly for Jonathan- her actual boyfriend- to arrive. Despite the mess before her, Robin was none the wiser. 

She knew Steve was still hung up on Nancy, because he never shut up about her during their shifts. However, you felt you kept your lovesick crush on Steve under pretty good wraps. Unfortunately, Eddie was so preoccupied with you that he felt it every time your eyes were on Steve or he’d witnessed all the small things you’d do that convinced him you actually liked Steve. 

He’d watch as you couldn’t make eye contact with Steve, looking everywhere but him when he spoke. He’d watch the way you’d steal glances at him when you thought no one else was looking. He’d see the way you’d take a deep breath to compose yourself when you’d see Steve looking at Nancy. The same way you’d break your own heart looking around for Steve, he’d be doing the same looking at you watching him. 

You’d watched one too many movies where the guy realizes the right girl all along was his best friend. You thought if you were patient, Steve would realize he’d been in love with you the whole time and he never realized it. If you’re there for him in his times of heartbreak, he’d see that you’re so much better for him than anyone else. He’d see you, really see you, and know you were the one who was always there. 

“This movie doesn’t make any sense,” Robin said suddenly before reaching for the bowl of popcorn at the coffee table.

“Anthony Michael Hall is making a robot girlfriend because he can’t get girls,” Steve explains, coming off a little perturbed that Robin was talking during the movie again. 

“They could’ve just asked out a couple of more girls- they didn’t need to let their end all be all be two girls with boyfriends,” she continues and Steve scoffs. He couldn’t believe he was really about to have a debate on realism with Robin right now over fucking Weird Science. 

“This’ll actually happen one day,” Eddie muses and is met with four heads whipping around to give him the same weird look. “You’re telling me that like fifty years from now, no one will have this figured out? AV geeks are desperate enough- Ow!” You’d hit him playfully on the back of the head. 

“You’re not one to criticize anyone for being desperate, Munson,” Steve chuckles and Eddie promptly flips him off. “You don’t exactly have them lining up for you either.”

“It’s been a pretty dry few years yourself King Steve,” Eddie mocks, and you see Steve crack his knuckles nervously, hating the conversation going down this road. No one meant for it to happen, but now you’re all wrapped up reflecting in your own loneliness that the mood of the evening was almost completely dampened. 

“Can you guys be quiet,” Nancy chastises, “Some of us are trying to actually watch the movie.”

“You cannot be serious?” Robin giggles, “It’s a stupid movie, Nance.” 

The night took a weird shift. Jonathan did eventually stroll in and Nancy was understandably hurt that he was so late. He pulled a kitchen chair over to sit next to where Nancy sat but she promptly decided to ignore him, silently stewing instead of causing a scene. Steve recoiled back into his own head- Eddie’s King Steve comment affecting him more than he thought it would. He watched Anthony Michael Hall and kept wondering if this would be his fate- no bitches. Had he really been that guy to have peaked in high school and then is destined to end up alone?

Steve’s comment towards Eddie made him also get lost in his own stream of self deprecating thoughts. He knew Steve was joking- but there was truth to it that made it sting. Eddie didn’t have a lot of experience with girls, most girls- hell including the one he was actually in love with- wanted really nothing to do with him. He wasn’t that guy. Girls didn’t look at him like that like they looked at Steve- how you looked at Steve. It made him jealous and sad and made him feel so painstakingly lonely despite being in a room full of his closest friends as you played with his hair. He could scream. 

And as usual, you preoccupied yourself with Steve- thinking about what Steve could be thinking about or watching the way Steve anxiously rubbed his palms against his jeans. Was Steve thinking about Nancy? Maybe, just maybe, you could catch him looking at you, even if just once. Maybe Steve would get up and go to the kitchen, and it could be an opening for you to check in with him since he’s seemed off tonight. You felt hopeless. 

Robin just assumed most people were quiet because they genuinely were watching the movie, but she realized something was wrong when she was the only person laughing. It couldn’t be that she was the only one who wanted to crack jokes or laugh at this godforsaken movie. She eventually caught on to something brewing in the air amongst her friends and it was incredibly unsettling. 

“GOD! I can’t take it anymore!” She exclaims, and everyone jumps. “What is wrong with everybody tonight? You all are acting so effing weird and I can’t stand it.” 

“Everyone’s fine, Robin,” you offer, trying to diffuse the tension. She shooks you a look. A “do you think I’m fucking stupid” look that could kill. Fair enough, you think to yourself. 

“Clearly something is wrong,” she reiterates. Annoyed with Nancy, Jonathan takes the bait and casts the first stone. 

“I don’t know,” Jonathan muses, looking at Nancy before letting out his irritation, “Might have to do with the fact you hang around with your ex all the time- and it’s clearly obvious he still has feelings for you.” 

Nancy gasps, offended that Jonathan would bring a fight that they’d had before into the room for everyone to comment on. Jonathan knew how Steve felt, and Nancy’s refusal to acknowledge his concerns on numerous occasions has finally made Jonathan hit his breaking point. He needed her to realize that he wasn’t jealous of Steve- but Steve was jealous of him. Nancy denied that Steve still held feelings for her. She was actually oblivious. 

“Steve and I are just friends!” Nancy insists, “I have told you that and told you that! It’s like you don’t trust me!”

“I don’t trust him!” Jonathan emphasizes. “Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, he still likes you and you still keep hanging around with him when you’re supposed to be with me, Nance.”

“I am with you! I’m your girlfriend, not his,” she snaps. “Steve, come on, please tell him he’s being ridiculous.” 

Most unfortunately, Steve stutters. He hesitates and fumbles, and couldn’t lie fast enough. The pregnant seconds where he’s at a loss for words tells Jonathan everything he needs to know. It doesn’t feel good to know he was right. 

“Sounds about right,” Jonathan scoffs.

“It’s not her fault-” Steve tried to interject. 

“Stay out of it Steve,” Jonathan sighs, “please.”

This fight was not about Steve, and everyone knew it. This was about Jonathan, and the way he hurt when Nancy dismissed his feelings. It was about how she didn’t take his concerns seriously or ever was willing to talk about it. He was sick of being dismissed as paranoid or jealous. He knew Nancy had no idea how Steve felt, but it wasn’t an excuse to inadvertently gaslight him when he knew something felt off. 

“I’m going home,” Nancy says, sitting up suddenly in hopes of making a swift exit to save her pride. 

“Nope!” Robin interjects, “We aren’t done. I’m not letting any of you leave until all of it is out in the open. I can’t go on like this. You guys are my best friends and we are working all of this shit out.” She takes a steady breath and Nancy surprisingly sits back down calmly. “So props to Jonathan for getting the ball rolling,” Robin quips, “let’s actually keep talking things out, yeah?”

“Steve?” Nancy looks at him, and she looks hurt. She feels so betrayed- like all of the times they’ve spent together as friends has been a lie. A ruse to win her back- she feels lied to and like she’s simultaneously lost a friend in the same breath. It guts her. She’s too stunned to even know what to say. 

Steve keeps his head down, too ashamed to look at anyone. He holds his head in his hands. You watch him intently, you absorb all his hurt like a sponge. You keep your gaze on him, wanting to reach out and comfort him. You look like a puppy who's been hit on the nose with a newspaper and Eddie scoffs. 

“Something you’d like to share with the class, Munson?” Robin turns, picking up on Eddie’s disgust. He shakes his head and avoids her knowing gaze. Fuck it, he thinks to himself. 

“I’m fucking pissed,” Eddie announces, standing up. The braid you were in the process of making slowly unravels as he moves. He looks to you and then to Steve. “I’m not even pissed at anyone, I’m just stewing in my own self-hatred because I’m in love with her.” Eddie points to you dramatically, not even realizing how much he’s revealing as his emotions get the best of him. “But she’s so in love with you,” Eddie points a finger at Steve, “That she doesn’t even notice me.”

“I don’t even blame anyone- of course you love Steve, you know? It just fucking sucks because I watch you and you’re always watching him and you keep hoping he’s going to see you and he never does. Meanwhile, I’m so in love with you that it physically hurts and I can never tell you because you’re my best friend and Steve is my best friend. And if you like her back, Steve, you should go for it. I can’t even put myself out there cause scenario one, I lose you,” Eddie gestures to you. “Scenario two- Steve gets his head out of his ass and you two finally get together. I lose both of you, because I can’t put myself through watching someone I’m in love with be with someone else. Or scenario three- you and I do get together and I’m all in- I swear to god, I would be all fucking in. But would you ever even love me as much as you’ve loved him? I don’t know.” 

It’s your turn to be stunned. For the first time, Steve’s looking at you and it’s not at all what you hoped it would be. You recognize the look in his eye, it’s the same way Nancy was just looking at him. Pity. You know then and there that Steve never once thought about you the way you hoped he secretly did. It was all made up in your head. Eddie looks defeated, and mortified all at the same time. He shocked himself at his outburst. He’d always been one for dramatics but never at your expense. He feels so guilt ridden that he could shrivel up and let the world swallow him whole. 

“I, uh, need to get some air,” you say. You grab your jacket from the hook and slide on your shoes in one fluid motion. “I’ll be back,” you say quickly, slamming the door behind you as you left Eddie and Steve’s apartment. You can’t help as the tears stream down your face uncontrollably. It’s one of those cries where it’s so hard you can’t even make noise as it takes all of your breath away. You’re practically doubled over in the midst of a panic attack when Eddie finds you leaning against the building. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry,” he says earnestly, “That was so fucked up. I am so, so sorry. That wasn’t fair to you, that was such a shitty thing for me to say.” 

You manage to nod to let him know you heard him, but you’re blubbering and you’re still struggling to get your breath back. Hiccuped breaths finally catch up to you and you feel your lungs slowly begin to refill with air. The night’s cold air helps to clear your sinuses in one big breath. You wipe your face with the sleeves of your jacket. You can’t bring yourself to look at him just yet. 

“Steve is so lucky,” Eddie says after another few moments of silence. “To be loved by you?” He chuckles, taking a lean on the wall next to you. “Lucky bastard,” he jokes, and you manage a forced smile through the tears. “Must be the best damn thing in the whole world and he doesn’t even realize it,” he continues more seriously. “Well, until now, when I ruined everything,” he finalizes, sheepishly. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it either,” you mumble, “God, what Steve was doing to me- I was doing to you? Fuck.” 

“Fucked up, right?” he teases. “How’s it feel, heartbreaker?”

“Really, really shitty,” you settle on and he laughs. 

“Yup,” he agrees, making a pop sound at the end. “Really, really shitty. Indeed.” 

“God, I wasted so much fucking time,” you admit to yourself. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he says softly, helping fix the collar of your jacket. It was tucked in because you put it on so fast and didn’t bother to fix it. “That I wouldn’t be able to trust you with Steve or whatever if we hypothetically got together or whatever- it was just a really, really ugly insecurity that bubbled up. If after this all blows over and you don’t completely hate my guts, and maybe by some miracle you wanted to give us a chance, I wouldn’t hold your feelings for Steve over you like that.” 

“Did you mean it that I’d lose you?” you ask, looking to him. He shakes his head. 

“I was talking out of my ass,” he admits, “I was emotional and just letting my frustration get the better of me. I won’t stop being your friend if you don’t like me back.”

“I’ve been doing that already,” he jokes and you swat his arm. 

“Not funny,” you grumble, but you can’t find it in you to actually be upset. 

“I don’t want an answer from you now,” he says, shifting back to a serious tone, but you can hear how nervous he is. “But if and when you get over Steve, and you realize I’m not that bad to look at- maybe you and I could go out sometime. I’m putting the ball in your court. I just want you to be happy. If you end up with Steve, I’m your best man. You end up with me, I’ll work my hardest every damn day to make you so fucking happy. No matter what, I will be your friend. You aren’t losing me.”

“Thank you,” you smile, and you pull him into a hug. You finally start to feel okay again. You feel like you could get over Steve, but then you remember that everyone inside is waiting for you- including Steve. The anxiety begins to stir and you can’t imagine facing everyone now after all of this. 

“I got you,” Eddie whispers, taking your hand, “We’ll go back together.” 

Eddie’s held your hand a million times before, but it wasn’t until now that you realize how well your hand fits in his. You shake your head to erase the thought from your mind for now and try to relax. The walk back up to the apartment is much longer than it’s ever felt before.

No one says anything when you both come back. You and Eddie kick off your shoes and he helps you take your jacket off. You sniffle, and quickly take your seat back on the loveseat. Eddie slips into the kitchen and grabs a six pack from the fridge. He holds it up like a fish he’s just caught triumphantly. 

“I think we all need one, yeah?” He jokes and he diffuses the tension as everyone agrees in tandem. He pulls them apart from the plastic ring, tossing them out. He throws you a wink when he tosses you yours and you can’t help but smile. 

“Can I just say,” Robin says, “Had I known you all were upset about actually serious stuff- I wouldn’t have opened this can of worms. I thought you were just pissed at each other about the comments about not getting laid.”

Nancy and Jonathan must have made up while you were outside because instead of separate seats, Jonathan sat on the living room chair and Nancy was perched on his lap. Steve was just watching you. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that Nancy was there. He was fixated on looking at you. He was taking in everything about you like he was looking at you, really looking at you for the first time. 

Fuck, if you weren’t beautiful, Steve thinks. He always knew you were, but he never really thought about it until now. Even after crying, you just look so pretty. He’s pained knowing he’s caused you so much pain. He looks to Eddie and feels jealousy rise irrationally. He’s jealous of Eddie for realizing how perfect you were before he did. It’s so fucking petty and he knows it. Eddie’s had all this time to adore you, while he’s squandered it following around Nancy like a simp. He’s loved you and lost you in the same fucking night.

“Let’s keep going,” Eddie jokes, trying to make light of the situation, “Air out more grievances- Buckley, you need new shoes. Those fucking chucks are abhorrent- please, get new ones. They are why your back hurts all the time.” 

“Okay, Mr. Same White Reeboks Since Senior Year,” she taunts, feigning offense to his jab. “Keep my converse out of your mouth!”

“I have boots now,” he says, pointing to the leather boots by the door. “Much more metal.” 

“Cause it’s fucking January, Eddie,” Robin says with a laugh, “Of course you’re wearing fucking boots.”

“Yet you strolled into my house wearing Converse,” he says walking over the the floor and pointing at Robin’s worse for wear Chuck Taylors. “It was snowing this morning, Robin! Please, as your friend- please let ME get you new shoes.”

“You can pry those shoes off of me when I’m dead,” she raises her voice. The lighthearted air has returned to the evening. It felt like it had been salvaged for now. Everyone seemed to be feeling better, except Steve. As the world began to pick up again, he was paralyzed- burdened with the knowledge of your feelings for him and knowing he might be too late to do anything about it. Was it?

[tojisth3rdwife]

JJK men as content creators

Toji: very unserious fitness vlogger/foodie

Toji was no stranger to exploitation for financial gain. Nor did he have any shame over it. The idea to start making content stemmed from people approaching him in the gym for advice after seeing his impressive physique.

He wasn't much of a talker, although his dry sense of humor became his trademark along with his abs, so the majority of Toji’s content consisted of workout and nutrition advice. None of it he recommended anyone do since he wasn't a professional, stating that if it didn't work for you, don't go blaming him for it. One of his most popular segments was when he went to different restaurants in the area for food reviews on his cheat days. When owners noticed how a position review from him brought in a lot of business, they stopped charging him meals if he ever returned. And we all know how much Toji loved that.

"Alright, listen up. You want results? It’s not about fancy machines or trendy diets. It’s about putting in the work and pushing your limits. No shortcuts. Just grit and grind. Today, we’re hitting those weights hard and showing those excuses the door. Let’s get it."

Nanami : cooking/ASMR

Upon first impressions, one would think Kento wasn't the type of person who uses social media. He had Facebook like most millennials and has an Instagram but barely uses it. He wasn't the type to share his life with the world in that way and found the concept too invasive and troublesome for him to be bothered with. “What the point of telling strangers what I'm doing? I have no interest in what anyone else does.” he’d say.

But one day after allowing one of the teachers at Jujutsu High to try one of his homemade baked creations, it was suggested that he had his cooking show. Noting that he has the wholesome ‘husband/boyfriend’ aesthetic going for him, as well as a voice that sounded like a hug from behind after a long day at work. Kento started his channel slowly walking viewers through his favorite recipes , as well as some new ones he’d been meaning to try, while speaking gently into a highly sensitive mic that added an ASMR element to every video.

He doesn't show his face, feeling the anonymity made him most comfortable to be himself, but the way his audience swooned over the fixed view of him in his button-up and apron with the sleeves rolled up his veiny forearms, or his deft hands/fingers as he used a knife or kneaded dough.

Kento earned himself a whopping 400k subscribers in less than a year.

"Welcome back, everyone. Today, we're going to create something simple yet satisfying. Just listen to the gentle sound of the flour as it sifts through my fingers... The perfect blend of precision and comfort. Let’s start our journey into baking together, one soft whisper at a time."

Geto - podcast bro , the toxic kind

We all know with the global pandemic came the need for creative streams of income. Especially via social media. With somewhat of a platform of his own, being a cult leader and all, Suguru was approached by his daughters with the idea to reach more people by starting a podcast. Skeptical at first, Geto wasn't very enthusiastic about the idea of getting in front of a camera just to talk for an hour.

But with his dashing good looks, easygoing personality, and controversial views, it was no surprise that he amassed such a fanbase overnight. His show consisted of him tackling hard subjects, discussing world news, and hot topics, reading fan mail, and offering his candor, as well as having the occasional guest that may or may not know what they got themselves into.

"Welcome back to the show, everyone. Today, we’re diving deep into the topics no one wants to touch..the uncomfortable truths and the gray areas that challenge our perceptions. Let’s be real: society loves to paint everything in black and white, but the reality is far more complex. So, buckle up as we unpack some hard-hitting ideas that might just make you rethink everything. And remember, if you can’t handle the heat, youre probably a monkey."

Gojo- vlogger, travel, fashion, aesthetic, hauls.

Being someone who comes from money, old money at that, Satoru has access to more cash than he knows what to do with. So it's no surprise that outside of work( and sometimes for work), he spends his days traveling and shopping.

Vlogging came easily for him since he enjoyed talking about himself so much anyway, and with an audience so invested in his daily life, Satoru recorded everything. Him waking up. His skin/hair routine. What he ate in a day. Going on missions. Comedic skits with some of the first years who would participate. Travel vlogs and clothing hauls. There was a little bit of something for everyone on his page.

“Whats good my faves, its ya boy Satoru..back at again with another clothing haul. Im fresh off the plane from when I was Paris for fashion week, link to that vlog in the top right hand corner, and man am I jet lagged. But I wanted to show you all what I brought back while I have the time..”

Megumi- gamer/streamer on twitch.

After a talk with Gojo about him needing to find things to do outside of trying to advance as a sorcerer, Megumi picked up video games as a hobby. He was gifted a gaming PC and a PS5 by his mentor and began playing to blow off some steam after training. When he was injured after a mission, Megumi had not much else to do. Yuji was the one who suggested he stream on Twitch after watching him beat an entire game that took most people days in one night, praising him on his skills and suggesting letting others watch him play too.

After a while, his obsessive need to be good at everything he tries turned into him becoming one of the top-watched gamers. His dry personality and snide comments made for entertaining dialogue during game play and he often would give his critique on the game once he’d beaten them. He’d even get chances to be a beta player for unreleased game demos.

“The graphics were ok. Combat mode is a little glitchy but overall it’s a decent game. If this is just the demo, I’m interested in what they’ll do for the full game release. Otherwise I gave it a 7 out of 10.”

Sukuna- reactions

This started as a joke when his nephew wanted him to react to some viral trend and while the king of curses was rarely impressed, his archaic way of expressing himself was what made people most interested in his opinions.

Sukuna began a series of reactions where he sat upon his throne, gazing at the camera with all four eyes blazing with contempt and boredom as he watched viewer recommendations. Those ‘try not to laugh’ challenges were his most viewed.

If something managed to make him smirk or even chuckle, he gave it 4 thumbs up and would congratulate the OP for their talents in entertainment. Majority of his audience was comprised of women between the ages of 25 and 40. He acts like he has no clue why.

"This is, without a doubt, the most extravagant display of foolishness I've ever witnessed in my life. Yet, I recognize that many humans find cats charming and entertaining, so I suppose this video could be seen that way. Regardless, it's utterly pathetic. On to the next video..."

[hisui555]

EDIT and note because I mulled it over a bit and it seems important to add : I'm talking about people deliberately chosing that role, being complacent to it, not the actual victims preyed on in a moment of vulnerability and need by a cult-behaviored structure, group or person. Everyone gets their moment of weakness in life and not knowing what to do or feeling lost and unstable happens to ALL of us. The difference is that the latter is actually abused by such cult behavior, while the former is part of the abuse or contributing to spread it.

Conspirationist are persuaded they are the victims and digging that hole themselves, because if given a chance to dip out of that system, they'd rather stay, as cult behavior encourages their paranoia (and such, sense of being "right", a comfortable feeling), it's the devil they know and they'll chose it over new horizons, since the unknown scares them. Someone dragged into a cult behavior by a structure, group or person generally had no choice, suffers from it (whether they're aware or not), and may follow the cult setting as a trauma response.

Both are vulnerable and (made) dependent, but one doesn't know anything else or is prevented from knowing it, yet under normal circumstances wouldn't be averse to expanding knowledge and vary life experiences, whereas the other doesn't even want to know : there lies the difference.

Tying back to what OP said, as a conclusion : cult-behaved structures, groups or people actively encourage conspiracy theorist types of thinking and mindsets, as it allows them to better manipulate and keep people under their thumbs.

Anything or anyone presenting themself as the "Sole True Thing You Should Devote Yourself To No Questions Asked" (or the representant of it) is the biggest red flag of them all. Again, this can be a societal structure (national-wide or worldwide movement, army, school, religion, family, business, etc), a group (political or non-political party, association, council, etc), or a person (parent, partner, friend, boss, colleague, country ruler, etc).

There's no "elite chosen one(s)". No "promised land waiting for only us". No "our race is better than the others (and we should eradicate/colonize/'civilize' the 'inferior' ones)". No "only I know how to make you special" and "nobody else would see your potential (or want you)". No "tainting of our knowledge with others' knowledge". No "reward if you do what I say exactly how I want it". No "better place/reward to go if you do as told and are a good [insert appellation here : member, believer, citizen, worker, person, etc] and if you don't you go to the worst place/punishment because you're a bad person for not doing as told".

There is no "only we know the truth and our version of the truth is the only valid one that MUST be accepted and uphold at all costs".

Bottom line : cult behavior and conspiray theory drink from the same mug at the bar they often hang out to, and their favorite is root fear.

The Conspiratorial Mindset

So, I've always had a bit of an interest in scams and hokum, and what people call "Cults".

One of the common refrains when you talk about religious Cults is, "If you think about it all religions have beliefs that seem odd to outsiders" and this is true, but as I read more about cults I started to think,

"Wait, a lot of these groups aren't united just by having unusual religious or supernatural views; a lot of them also seem to have matching patterns of behaviors that have nothing to do with belief in psychic space aliens"

I'm talking about things like,

Having a leadership structure which is absolute, where the top leaders cannot be disciplined or even openly criticized by lower members;

Exerting tremendous control over the dress and behavior of adherents;

Telling adherents that outsiders are untrustworthy and that contact with outsiders should be strictly limited and heavily monitored by organizational leadership;

The extensive and common use of shunning and reprogramming in response to violation of any of the above rules.

In some groups, failing to adhere to the dress code and spending a lot of time with outsiders is, at worst, the subject of a few little jabs at family gatherings. In other groups, those same behaviors are treated as Defcon one crises and become the central issue of the adherent's relationship with everybody else in the organization until they can be bullied back into doing the organization's bidding.

It was gratifying to learn that other people have noticed these patterns (Some people prefer the term "High Control Group" to "Cult" because it highlights what the actual problem is)

I am starting to notice similar dynamics in what are commonly called "Conspiracy theories".

The thing about conspiracy theories is... Well, conspiracies exist, and sometimes groups of powerful people get together to do something in secret which would get them in big trouble if they were to do it openly.

But I am starting to notice a particular, I don't know, a particular way of conceptualizing the organization and purpose of conspiracies which is unique to some people and which characterizes the kind of conspiracy theorist who takes Alex Jones seriously.

I kind of think of it as a "Witch-Hunting mentality".

For certain people in more primitive times and places, if they, say, slipped off a ladder and hurt themselves, their first thought would be, "That must have happened because a witch cursed me. We need to find and punish the witch who cursed me."

And this isn't just the attribution of malice that characterizes this idea:

One malicious conspiracy that might make you fall off a ladder is a manufacturer who doesn't care about safety ratings. Imagine that the manufacturer is really deliberately malicious here. A subordinate comes to him and says, "Our ladders can't reliably hold the weight of a person and a lot of them will probably break and cause people to fall and hurt themselves." and he says, "I know that but who cares, by the time people figure it out it'll be too late to get their money back."

That's a malicious conspiracy, but, importantly, if Bob buys a faulty ladder and falls off, the conspiracy wasn't trying to hurt Bob; it merely didn't care whether Bob got hurt.

Now, this distinction doesn't take away the malice and hostility towards Bob, but if you go to the ladder manufacturer and say, "Hey boss, Bob bought one of our faulty ladders, but he's really skinny so the ladder didn't break" the manufacturer will go, "Who the fuck is Bob? And good, that's one less angry person."

Whereas imagine Bob's ladder has been cursed to break by a witch. The witch did it because she hates Bob, and wants him to fall, and if she finds out he didn't fall, she'll go, "Curses, I'll have to find some other way to hurt Bob."

Conspiracy theorists, it seems to me, are far more inclined to conceptualize conspiracies as acts of deliberate malice aimed at them rather than acts of negligent malice.

@loving-n0t-heyting posted this article from the New York Post which contains a good example of what I mean:

“I thought I was on the cutting edge of promoting rights for gay people,” Yang said. “But then I started looking deeper into where this was coming from and who was paying for it, and I started to get very disillusioned...

I assume the people paying for it are LGBT advocacy groups? Did you, uh, not know that the people you were working for were paying you to work for them?

“When you really dig down you can see how much of this comes from documents and plans at the United Nations,” Yang said, referring in part to the UN’s “Gender Equality” initiative. “It’s part of a global agenda to restructure society, re-structure our social norms and the economy,” Yang claimed. “They are undermining the sexually dimorphic nature of reality and breaking down the differences between the sexes to break down our identity. They are constructing identities for us and they want us to adopt them.”

Oh, I see.

This is exactly what I mean. LGBT rights efforts make Yang and others feel disoriented, like society is being restructured and that they are being left behind, like they aren't quite in control of social norms and that stable identity categories can't be relied on anymore.

Now, one kind of conservative might look at that and say, "These are bad second order effects of LGBT people trying to assert their lifestyle in public and that's why we should oppose them."

But another kind says, "These changes make me feel unstable. Therefore, the main purpose of the changes is to make me feel unstable. In order to understand these changes, I need to figure out who wants me to feel unstable and what they would gain from making me feel unstable."

The idea that Yang's feeling of instability is simply a side effect of a series of efforts mainly focused on LGBT rights is incomprehensible. Instead, she believes that there is a series of efforts focused mainly on making her feel unstable, with LGBT rights as a kind of side effect to the main goal of making her feel unstable.

This kind of thing is, to me, a big red flag that indicates that we are starting to float away from reasonable conspiracy thinking into crazy town.

I am particularly curious if folks can recommend any writers or researchers who have noticed this dynamic.

[soft-beams]

Hellooooooooo

Ok first off I LOVE YOUR WORK THERE SO GOOD AND SO WELL WRITTEN THAT I WANNA EAT THEM TO GAIN POWER

Second I wanna submit a request if that’s ok

An x reader with Vi where the reader is touch repulsed but at the same time touch staved?? How would Vi react to that and how would they as a couple get through it and make reader comfortable with being touched in an affectionate way ?

I have no clue if this makes sense

This is me self reflecting and it shows I’m sorry

If you don’t want to write it I completely get it you don’t have to if you don’t want too.

Thank you

aah thank you so much, lovely!! YOU'RE TOO KIND!!! and this was such an interesting prompt to get, thank you for sending it!! hope you enjoy!

vi notices that you don't like being touched.

she sees how you shy away from her hands, how you can only last in a hug for a second before you need to escape.

it confuses vi in the beginning, makes her wonder if it's her fault somehow. maybe she's too rough, too heavy-handed. maybe you can only tolerate her from a distance; only allowing her to get close for a moment before it's too much.

it hurts; it fucking does.

and it leads to an argument that has both of you screaming at the top of your lungs. she's furious and confused, and you're furious and crying. it doesn’t end until you're storming out of your shared home, disappearing for hours.

you don't come home until it's midnight, and by that point, vi's called everyone that she knows if they've seen you. she's about to go out herself when the front door suddenly opens, revealing a puffy-eyed and sniffling you. you stare at each other for a moment before vi's reaching for you, her own expression crumpling with the weight of her tears.

you allow her to draw you in, only this time you don't pull away. this time, you withstand it until vi's had her fill. until vi's sure that you're alright and safe and home.

one am finds you both on the couch, facing each other as you fidget with your hands. vi watches you carefully, sees how you struggle to form words before you sigh.

"it isn't you," you begin. "it's never been you. it's just something i've struggled with since i was young." you stay quiet for a second. "being touched freaks me out. i don't like being held for too long because it feels like i can't escape. makes me feel vulnerable..." you close your eyes. "that happened once and i just don't want it to happen again."

vi's heart shatters in her chest, millions of pieces raining down on the pit of her stomach. she feels sick; she feels like she wants to throw up. she wants to punch something, scream, hunt down the very bastard who dared laid their hands on you in such a way.

you who is the sweetest, kindest person she's ever known. subjected to be trapped against your will.

vi swallows, feeling tears well up behind her eyes.

"i'm so sorry," she murmurs softly, and you aim a weak smile her way. "i didn't think that—"

you shake your head. "you couldn't have known," you say. "the sad thing is that i love it when you touch me. when you hold my hand or curl your arm around my waist. when you pull me in for a hug...i love all of it." you then pull in a shaky breath. "but my body can't seem to recognise your touch as safe, and it hurt so much because i want to—" your voice chokes up around a sob and vi's flying across the couch, sitting close to comfort but not close enough to startle.

"hey," she soothes. "i love you so much, y'know that? and love goes beyond touching. it's about how we feel towards each other, and that goes above anything else." she takes a gentle hold of your finger, ensuring you can let go if you wish to. "do i love touching you? yes. but do i love you? more than fucking anything. so don't worry about this, okay? whatever you want to do, we'll do it and go at your pace."

at this point, you're freely sobbing now, tears rolling down your cheeks as you take in shuddering breaths. you use your free hand to wipe at your tears, giving a wobbly smile as you say, "how did i get so lucky with you?"

vi huffs a laugh, eyes soft as she squeezes your finger.

"i ask myself that question about you every single day."

[guided-by-the-skies]

Where shadow work glitches and how to fix, by pluto house

another post in the meanwhile because i got bored...

... next after this will be the one you guys chose on the poll! thanks to everyone who answered, means a lot to me :)

Ok, so your pluto sign may be pretty nuch the same as everyone else in your generation, but even if there isn't much diversity in pluto signs, there is definitely diversity in pluto houses

pluto is the planet of the shadow and all that we are unconscious of. however this will have it's own specific vibe or colour depending on house. shadow work and making this stuff conscious (so it does not control you!) is way harder than it needs to be because unfortunately our modern lifestyle is totally screwed up and has disrupted our ability to introspect spiritually or embark on any form of personal development. so what are your common pitfalls/your achilles heel based on the house your pluto is in? and how can you transform it into something positive?

HOW IT WORKS - by house - YOUR SHADOW WORK GLITCH OR MOST LIKELY PROBLEM | followed by - HOW YOU CAN REFRAME IT OR TRANSFORM IT INTO A POSITIVE

🌌 pluto in 1st house - over intellectualising it. transform into: you have an amazing capacity to build struggles into a new identity ans grow from the difficult things which have happened to you.

🌌 2nd house pluto - being too hampered down by what people may think of you. transform it into: noticing projection and reflection, a powerful ability to influence those around you for the better

🌌 3rd house pluto - talk and no action, blurting things out, need to concentrate on thought before action. transform it into: an incredible ability to 'read between the lines' and subtly work out how to say the right thing in ANY situation

🌌 pluto in 4th house - childhood baggage. transform it into: an ability to break patterns not just for yourself but for other people. you have the ability to be a good influence to those around you - not by giving too much of yourself, but naturally, by your energy.

🌌 pluto in 5th house - being ruled by your emotions to the point of them becoming unbearable. transform it into: an ability to use your darkest emotions as a powerful drive for good. basically, they can fuel you, as opposed to controlling you.

🌌 6th house pluto - somaticising emotions so you don't know what you feel. transform it into: being able to reconnect with your body, strengthening energetic boundaries, and a strong ability to sense energy and understand how to use your 'gut feeling'

🌌 7th house pluto - 'one true problem' / magic bullet fallacy. you keep searching for the one thing that will helpp, without knowing the answer may lie on multiple places. transform it into: powerful focus and dedication, yet without losing yourself in one goal. an ability to follow any resolution you set yourself through to the end

🌌 8th house pluto - expecting immediate results and ignoring small changes. you guys are INTENSE. when results from shadow work are not similarly intense, you may feel as if mothing has happened. transform it into: an ability to notice and draw from the snall and subtle changes, getting as much potential from them as possible

🌌 9th house pluto - getting too into it. sounds weird because it can be hard to confront your shadow. but the intellectual stimulation shadow work gives you can often mean you may start identifying with it. transform it into: an ability to share your bravery with others. you don't have to become the therapist friend, but you can definitely help thise who are less confident at confronting themselves

🌌 pluto in 10th house - focusing on achievement and results, not your feelings. transform it into: setting emotional goals, an ability to master your emotions without suppressing them, a real skill that will support you through many situations

🌌 pluto in 11th house - lacking a sense of self before you start. transform it into: a genuine opportunity to find your trye self without the need yo create a mask or have a persona you show to the world, in the shadiw work process uou have the ability to synthesise both the desired and less desired parts of yourself into a complete whole

🌌 12th house pluto - not knowing what shadow work looks like or means for you. transform it into: a genuine opportunity to be totally OBJECTIVE with yourself, seeing what you TRULY need and not what you want to see

this is part of a series on 'how to shadow work in the modern world'. over the past 100 years humanity has gone through immense social changes, and not all of these are aligned with human nature spiritually. thus, we experience more blocks, life seems harder, and shadow work encounters more blockages.

hopefully these posts can give a hint as to how to realign. as with everything, take what resonates, leave the rest. for the post masterlist, see here.

[yoroshiu]

Legit THIS! I've had thoughts about the perception others had of Sora in-universe throughout the series, especially during this time period! It's the way he's portrayed as a distant almost divine being with barely any of his joy and down-to-earth whimsy, so looking at it from Xion and especially Roxas' POV, he comes across as colder.

So many characters and things in general seem to have a specific use and view of Sora, and on the surface, it's usually good and for the greater good, but KH has gone out of its way at multiple points to give the audience the notion that this has affected Sora negatively. As time passes, the consequences start making the scars more noticeable.

It always stuck with me how 3D brought up Sora being "next on the list" whether it be for the Organization (which initially went for Riku, then even Roxas (which in itself is interesting to think about), then finally Sora) and even the keyblade (Riku to Sora). Sometimes it feels like, even if unintentionally from the others most of the time, view Sora in a sense of "what he is capable of doing" rather than Sora as a person with his own opinions on things.

I'm reminded of the many times I've heard players refer to Sora as a reactionary character. Things tend to happen to him rather than him starting things in many cases. It reflects well with the personality he's introduced with in KH1, but interestingly, I feel it plays into how he keeps getting pulled into things whether he'd want to or not. Sora doesn't get a choice—he has to save the world, he has to be the one others are sacrificed for, he has to be the one. The universe banks on the fact that Sora is just so good and loving that it will ignore any potential damage that will be inflicted on him.

And what sucks even more is that Sora believes that all of his value and strength comes from everyone else. He feels that he can't do anything without them. Time and time again, Sora is never given the breathing room to properly process anything. It's one battle after another, and even if he does say something, there isn't enough time to linger on it.

(In a way (I can't stop saying it), I think this actively affects how people in-universe and in real life view Sora. How you usually don't see as many people talk about the more tragic aspects of him and his journey. If you ask others in the general fandom, you're much more likely to hear about Roxas and Aqua (for good reason!). But not often do we think about how Sora was being used in CoM-Days (or just throughout the series).)

Anyone else find it fascinating that whenever we're shown Roxas's feelings through Sora, it's just kind of melancholic and wistful, but the reverse scenario always feels like you just walked into a psychological horror?

Seriously, the way it's presented, it's like we're meant to see Roxas as an old friend that we miss talking to, but Sora - our original "old friend" that we would have reasons to miss - is hardly even shown as a person. The contents of his memories feel less important than the effect they're having on Roxas, which is usually Extreme Distress and/or physical pain.

And it's insane to me because KH1 was so whimsical! The memories that Roxas and Xion are experiencing are literal Disney magic! But the way they're shown, with the fuzzy filters and the glitch effects, sort of removes the emotions you associate with them and makes them come across as eerie and unsettling.

Not to mention, Sora's memories rarely prompt any feelings of happiness, the way Roxas's might make Sora extra fond of the Twilight Town crew... which might say more about how KH1 affected Sora's mental health than anything.

(I personally stand by the idea that the story revisits it so much as an analogy for how repeating events in your head over and over can alter your perception of them)

But like. how wild is it that this series found a way to take its cheerful protagonist, and without changing anything about him, turned him into this constant, unnerving presence that haunts the lives of two other characters?

And I think another reason Roxas doesn't feel like he haunts Sora in the same way is because no one really... treats Sora like a person while he's asleep. He's either a tool or an object of affection, and regardless of which you pick, his feelings are seen as secondary to the goal of waking him up. As a result, the narrative focuses entirely on Roxas and Xion's personhood, and unlike Sora, they never stop being treated like people once they're made inaccessible due to the plot.

It's probably a bit late in the story to bring it up by now, but I still wonder if we'll ever see Sora be upset with Riku for sacrificing people in his name. Sure, it worked out in the end, and I'm not sure if Sora's even aware of what happened (how likely is it that he's properly sifted through all of Roxas's memories at this point?) but there's a list of things he could still conceivably be mad at Riku about that he hasn't processed, and I want this to be one of them