#y'know nagging them do their work in a caring but persistent way

[yanderes-galore]

hear me out, Arthur with darling who's a bounty? Like one of the posters you can get in the various sheriff's offices

Oh! I like this idea since it's a bit hypocritical of him.

Yandere! Arthur Morgan with Bounty! Darling

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Threats, Overprotective behavior, Murder, Paranoia, Coercion, Dubious companionship/relationship.

It's ironic that Arthur, an outlaw, hunts down bounties.

Truthfully he's just doing it for the money.

It's not like he's a Pinkerton or anything.

The sheriff hires him as a gun to take down other outlaws tormenting folk.

Doesn't matter what they did, as long as Arthur takes care of them then he'll get his money.

Normally this job doesn't affect him.

He's used to shooting or lassoing folk.

Usually it gets him a nice sum of money to present Dutch.

Although... What if Arthur couldn't do one bounty.

Usually with bounty hunting, the only appeal to him is the money.

What if he finds something much better than... money?

I imagine Arthur would have to find some sort of... reason between to spare you.

Like maybe you aren't even that high value a target.

Or maybe you did what you did because you had no other choice...

If you want a more platonic view, maybe you're too young for him to want to shoot or give to the sheriff.

If you want a more romantic view, you manage to swoon him enough to get away.

Either way, if Arthur is somehow intrigued by you, it doesn't take much to make him rethink taking the job.

He himself is wanted dead or alive... So he understands the struggle.

Maybe after Arthur decides against it he can't get you out of his head?

He sees your wanted posters everywhere and a small part of him is almost... concerned.

After all, if he doesn't do something... Someone else will.

Arthur's first few encounters with you are often hostile or begrudgingly neutral.

You may have even paid him off a few times from your robberies just to keep your freedom.

Eventually Arthur uses these times as alternative ways to get money.

You keep your freedom, he gets paid, he even looks forward to you two meetings.

Yet there's a nagging fear in him.

You could still get hurt due to other bounty hunters.

Just because he hasn't harmed you... They still could.

This anxious thought might be what makes him obsessive.

He's concerned about you.

You're out there all alone and you can't bribe everyone.

Arthur wasn't expecting to get so worked up about some other petty criminal.

Yet here he is, staying up in camp with a million different thoughts running through his head.

It would not surprise me if Arthur continued to track you like he did when you were a target of his.

He follows you from a distance on his horse, watching you make camp quietly.

He isn't sure how he wants to approach you and tell you he's friendly.

Will you actually trust him or still try to bribe him?

While he typically watches you from a distance, he sometimes even sits at your camp to chat.

He wants you to trust him, he isn't after your bounty anymore.

Think of him as an ally... a friend.

Sometimes Arthur even finds a few bounty hunters after you.

He ends up taking care of them before they get to you... two well placed shots in the head usually takes them out.

Is it wrong of him to do this? It doesn't matter to him.

He can't get you out of his head... He doesn't want anything wrong to happen.

You can bet that eventually Arthur will try to invite you to Dutch's gang.

He knows you'll be well taken care of there.

You'll always be under his watch, at least.

You reject Arthur a few times, but the man is quite persistent.

He may be nice now... but what if he isn't?

What if Arthur was very adamant you joined.

It starts as a suggestion.

Wouldn't it be safer to travel in a group?

Then it becomes more of a subtle threat...

Y'know... Your bounty is pretty high now....

You won't be able to pay Arthur off forever, right?

So... why don't you come with him?

He can take care of you, you'll have company and food... and somewhere to go.

Bounty hunters are too much of a danger when you're alone.

If you don't come with him, well...

He'll stop accepting your money.

Then there's nothing stopping him from turning you in, right?

It's simple, isn't it?

You either come with him to join the gang...

Or he turns you in to the sheriff.

Is that a threat? Perhaps...

But you'll thank him later.

Arthur insists he's doing this because he cares.

Like he wasn't hunting you down months ago.

He'd drag his obsession to the gang if he has to.

You don't have much of a say in the matter once Arthur starts his threats.

It seems like you join him or you die... and you happen to like what little freedom you have.

So Arthur succeeds in dragging you to Dutch, saying you can be a good help to the group.

He takes care of you like he says.

It's... actually a bit strange for you.

This is the very same man who hunted you down for money...

Now he's treating you like you're part of some kind of family?

You struggle to get used to the new life you were forced into...

You don't entirely hate it, but you are a bit intimidated by Arthur.

After all, now you have to be part of the gang.

At least this puts Arthur at ease, right?

Now he doesn't have to worry about you being killed as long as he keeps you in camp.

Sure, you may hate him now, but this is a good deal, right?

Arthur knows you'll come to enjoy the gang's company at some point...

You already enjoy his company too...

Isn't this better than the noose?

[angelbitezzz]

Don’t feel bad! You’re not obliged to have anon on! :0

Also, idk if it’ll let you answer this ask, but if so… I’ll take one of each, if that’s ok!!

💕👋⚖️⭐️⚫️❓

(If not then just whichever you’d like to share!)

Okay warning, this is way longer than I thought it would be! So I'm putting my answers under the cut here

For the 💕, I think this one [It Takes Two] works (ik in the source material its a song between sisters, but i read it differently for crossbones and starstruck. It's definitely a bit more high-energy and peppy than either of them actually are, but I see it more like the romantic dynamic between their heroic personas. It's all geared up to eleven--both of them have to act differently in costume.

For 👋, I like Hummingbird. The song is mostly just vibes but there's definitely lyrical significance for some aspects of their relationship, y'know? Plus, the whole scene that the song is from in Across the Spiderverse is two superheros taking time away just to spend it with eachother. Kinda perfect?

For ⚖️, Sunlight by Hozier definitely feels right. It's a sweet song, and there's significance in someone who's never known the sun ascribing it to someone in their life. Just saying :3

It is. SO HARD to find a good song for ⭐️. Maybe I should make a playlist...what do you guys think?

Anyways, Tarantula by Gorillaz. It's one of their sweeter songs, and it's about like...well, not settling for someone? More like choosing eachother even with the shit in either of their lives? Thats how i see it

Oof, I already posted a rather angsty one with another ask. For ⚫️, I think This December by Ricky Montgomery is a good one--though I almost considered another song from the same album, Snow. There's conflict, y'know, if internal--how do you separate someone you care for from someone who's sacrifice would mean so much to everyone you know? Morally, Sans is an interesting character (I'm talking largely of his Undertale iteration, but since ts underswap tries to keep things relatively unchanged in regards to personality, he also counts) because while he is someone who I'd consider a good person, he's the same guy who more than likely would've attacked frisk on sight if he wasn't such a loyal character. There's love here. There's also the persistent, nagging knowledge of what needs to be done.

And finally, ❓. For the miscellanious song, we have Stars In the Sky by Kid Cudi for the second Sonic thr Hedgehog movie. I know it's a little silly, but lyrically I consider it a fantastic song for Crossbones and Starstruck! Angel is no stranger to the villain that is being mentally ill, and being separated from everyone she knew and essentially becoming the local semi-homeless human in a place that, while very silly and kind, is still hostile to her sucks. Doing the superhero gig--or rather, participating in the saturday morning cartoon gimmicks as either Starstruck or Koffin K's Spooky Servant is a good distraction. She likes it, and she likes getting to spend time with Sans like that. In a way the Starlight Isles are something of an escape for her, a dream-like forest suspended in eternal twilight where she gets to play the hero or the villain on a whim, with no real consequences. For now.

AAAAND that's it! I actually...did not expect to write so much. For your trouble, here is a drawing of the goobers.

[figurativepieceoftrash]

Avid supporter of avoiding your wips.

Not sure if you have something you specifically want to write but Fiend!Aki has been rotting in my own drafts with no where to go

There were so many ways I could've interpreted this prompt and I'm almost 100% certain I did it wrong but here's an Asa/War spin on the Aki and Gun Devil situation, for, y'know, funsies

Sorry it took so long, I ended up procrastinating on this just like I do my wips, so y'know, obviously this exercise worked out super well :P

Here you go regardless <33

---

Aki doesn’t remember much about the incident.

The sound of gunshots. Scattered screams. A stinging, smokey smell thick in the air, as dense and inescapable as the aftermath of Obon. Cold metal smattered across his taste buds, rife with the selfsame rust-touched exigency as blood.

He’d been dreaming, or so Denji relates from the bedside of a maximum security hospital room. A dream he’s certain he could recall, if he wished to. He doesn’t.

Makima had called him lucky, as she’d studied him with those hypnotic, unblinking eyes. Unharmed, save a few noncommittally lingering scars. 

She’d dragged a slow, lazy finger across the red band of his upper arm, and his heart had raced thrice as swiftly in his chest. Said something about them having to reattach it in the ER, about Denji having done quite the number.

Aki hadn’t heard a thing. He’d been far too busy staring into those eyes. They’d lit something in the back of his brain, a sharp, nagging spark of recognition, persistent and enduring. It was only then he’d thought to ask after the Angel Devil, only then that he’d been certain the two were conversing, when it’d happened.

The spark in the barrel. The moment of ignition. The suckerpunch recoil.

Makima had just smiled. Pressed a smooth, gentle fingertip to Aki’s lips. Somehow, after that, the question didn't matter. It still doesn’t.

“You’re a very unique specimen, Aki,” Makima had noted, head cocked and eyes alight with dark curiosity, “can you tell me why the Gun Devil has taken such a keen interest in you?”

He’d tried not to flinch at the name. He’s still upset that he’d failed. “No. Just that I wish it hadn’t.”

The corners of her mouth had twitched at that. Such a minute movement, so human, but Aki had found an impression of intentionality in it, somehow. The careful, premeditated performance of organic vulnerability.

“You’d rather it left you to die?”

He’d thought of Power, then. Of Denji. No. 

The death count still rolling across the wall-mounted hospital television, the footage of a gun barrel protruding from his forehead, his brother, his parents, his commitment. Yes.

What he says is “maybe.”

She’d laughed at that, high and clear as a bell, and Aki isn’t even angry for it. He can’t be. It’s Makima.

“I’m glad,” she’d said, “that you’re mine.”

Aki couldn’t agree more. He just wishes the back of his brain would too. It’s still sounding off even now, muted as it is. Still doesn’t like the look of Makima, of her eyes.

Still thinks of Angel, even when Aki finds he can’t.

“This sucks.” Power’s complaints had been predictably ineloquent. “The apartment is trashed so I can’t see Meowy, this hospital is super boring, and Denji doesn’t even have enough cash to buy me stuff from the vending machine. I’m hunggggryyyyy!”

She wasn’t trying to be insensitive, Aki knew. If things had been difficult for her after their run in with the Darkness Devil, they were even more difficult now that she’d seen one of the few enduring constants in her life behave unpredictably. Dangerously. Lethally.

He’d almost killed Denji. Several times he’d almost killed Denji. So he’d offered her an arm.

“Here. Only take a little. If you bite too hard I’ll knee you in the stomach.”

She’d been quick to accept the offer and even quicker to disregard the warning, needle-sharp teeth breaking over his skin and digging straight into sensitive nerves. He’d forced himself to take his eyes off the river of stray blood that slid down his bicep. It resurfaced too many memories. Memories of gunshots and screams, smoke and metal.

“Yuck!” The exclamation had taken him completely by surprise. Doubly so when Power had withdrawn to spit the contents of her mouth down the front of his hospital gown. “Fiend blood can be so gross. This stuff tastes like steel.”

“Thanks,” he’d muttered darkly, thoughts turning over the heart of her complaint as he’d risen to visit the bathroom. 

Fiend blood. 

It was the first time anyone had said it aloud, in those terms. He's fine with amalgam. With anomaly. Even threat is alright, considering that it is, for all intents and purposes, accurate.

And the fact that it, like its equally vague, shapeless peers, places distance between Aki and the thing he's become. A thin wall of uncertainty to shield the was from the is. The familiar from the unthinkable.

Aki always thought he hated false comforts. Now, he's beginning to suspect he'd just never been introduced to a truth worthy of delusion.

It visits him sometimes, the Gun Devil, always in the dead of night and always terribly, gut-wrenchingly accusatory. Vaguely translucent, it positions itself in the corner of his room and stays there. Mute. Gleaming. Inhumanely still.

Power and Denji can't see it, of course, which means that one way or another, it resides in Aki’s head. This should be comforting, according to Makima, the fact that the Gun Devil is contained, and better, under control of the Japanese government.

There's no real control to this though, Aki thinks, the strange pseudo-peace between himself and the time bomb ticking within the fragile confines of his skull. Just the illusion of it.

He doesn't recall anything leading up to the inciting incident. Doesn't know how he died or what allowed the devil to take control. Why it lost it, following his concussion. When it might try its luck again.

This is why Aki has been forced to reside in the Commission’s headquarters, subject to intrusive levels of surveillance and constant physical surveys. Partial host autonomy isn't unheard of, in the case of fiends, but it is exceedingly rare, especially regarding beings of the Gun Devil's caliber.

Aki imagines he can't be as singular as Denji, but then again, Denji isn't quite so unpredictable. The Gun Devil can't be sated by the promise of simple pleasure, can't be reasoned with, or even communicated with, to Aki’s most meticulous observation.

It's as thoughtless as it is brutal, the epitome of action without thought. Maybe this is because it's technically incomplete, or maybe it's because the concept it represents is ultimately more tool than perpetrator. Aki can't say.

Can't force himself to care, either.

He glares at the thing when it shows its presence, hurling the occasional obscenity in the case that he's certain of his own seclusion. Nothing impacts it though, not really. It just stares, and stares, and stares.

Makima’s visits are sporadic at first, cursory and seemingly meaningless, but they grow with time, both in consistency and purpose. Oddly enough, most of her inquiries don't relate to Aki’s condition. They relate to Denji.

“Is he progressing socially with the staff?”

“How attached would you say he is to his new accommodations?”

“Is he happy?”

Aki doesn't question Makima's seeming obsession–in all honesty, he suspects he couldn't if he wanted to. He just nods along or shakes his head as required, answering swiftly and candidly as he's able.

Giving Makima the things she wants is second nature, simpler and more automatic than breathing. He never thinks to question it, if he even thinks at all.

The Gun Devil appears sometimes, just after she leaves the room. These are the only occasions in which it seems to display agency, or at the very least, some degree of behavioral variation. Because then, it doesn't stare at Aki. It stares at the door.

It stares after Makima.

“Does the Chainsaw Devil ever do that?” He can't help but ask over a tray of bland hospital food. Power and Denji already swiped up everything with flavor. “Manifest visually?”

“Like, can I see him? Nah.” Denji frowns, the expression oddly melancholic. “Wish I could, though.”

And Aki is just as lost as ever.

The doctors tell him his vitals are normal. That his brainwaves are consistent. Obviously his head isn't a gun.

“You can't transform at will?” One asks, eyebrow raised. “That's unusual, based on what we've observed.”

Aki just shrugs. What about his situation isn't?

He gets the impression that the commission is dissatisfied with his lack of control over the Gun Devil, presumably because it means they can't effectively employ it.

“We've lost more than we've gained here,” one surveyor whispers to another when they think he's asleep, though he isn't quite lucid enough to catch the rest of it. He does think on though, at least until Makima returns and his mind, once again, goes numb.

Things are consistent, for a good while. Predictable. Almost comfortable, if he ignores his midnight visitor. Power finds a hobby in harassing the hallway guards. Aki learns the weekly rotation schedule of his doctors. Denji is relaxed again. Contented, just like Makima seems to desire.

And Aki, too, is happy. Until one night, without warning or prior fanfare, something changes.

It's dark outside, far past one in the morning, and silent for it. Nothing distracts Aki from his mute, late night musings aside from Power and Denji’s soft, even breathing and the familiar background whirr of facility electronics.

And then, something speaks.

“You should run.”

Aki jolts up, ramrod straight, in bed, stirring, but not waking, Denji and Power with the motion. The voice is foreign, deep and grating like rebar dragging across concrete, and it sets every nerve in his body immediately on edge.

His gaze lands, immediately, on the figure in the corner of the room. His body with a full pistol for a head. The thing is stone-still. Expressionless, insofar as a gun can be.

But somehow, he's absolutely certain he heard it talk.

He wraps a protective arm around each form at his side, trying to ignore the persistent shaking that's overtaken his hands. “Are you threatening me?”

It cocks its head to the side, as if in contemplation. Waits for a moment. Makes an odd noise somewhere between a click and a whirr.

“She's coming. You should run.”

Aki blinks, perturbed. “She?”

“She.” It nods, slow and self-assured. “You won't like what happens after.”

“I– what the Hell is that supposed to mean?”

As if in explanation, the thing raises a hand, ring and pinky finger pressed to the palm, and points purposefully at first Power, then Denji, performing short, jolting upwards motions towards each. A firing fingergun.

Aki's blood runs icecold.

“You're going to make me hurt them again, aren't you?”

“No.” It somehow has the gall to sound offended. “She is.”

“She? Who the fuck is she? I don't–”

“Control.” It says the word with such fearful, adorant gravity. As if it's speaking of a superior. As if it's speaking of a god. “She approaches.” Then, in a sharp, purposeful whisper, a bullet from a barrel, it utters the word again. “Run.”

Aki doesn't trust the thing. Not even moderately. But hearing this thing, this vast, limitless, horrible, inhuman thing, express terror, of all emotions, is enough to light a fire under his ass. To force adrenaline through his veins. To break him from his odd, trancelike haze.

He shakes Power with one hand and Denji with the other.

“How dare you wake the great, indomitable Power while she's resting, you absolute–”

“Hey, what the hell, man? I was dreamin’ about tits–”

“Shut up.” And like dogs at a whistle, they do. “We're going out for a run. Get your shoes, we can't take anything else.”

There must be something in his tone, because neither protest. Just nod with varying degrees of enthusiasm and run to the mat at the doorside to retrieve their sneakers.

The halls are labyrinthine, and Aki doesn't know them well. Navigating them is a guessing game in broad daylight; after dark, it's an impossibility.

But Power seems to know where she's going, either by smell or by sound, and when she decides to lead the way through the Commission facility's winding corridors, Aki makes the bold decision to follow her lead.

Usually the place never sleeps, constantly outfitted and operated by federal pencil-pushers and devil-hunters alike, but tonight, it's completely and utterly empty. Even the guards outside of Aki’s room are absent.

“Somethin's off,” Denji voices Aki’s concerns between hastened breaths, “like, really off. This place feels… weird.”

It would be impossible to disagree. The difference may be strange and implacable, aside from the lack of personal, but it does.

“How'd you know?”

Aki tried to shrug. Tries not to look at the thing keeping pace besides him. It may look calm, but he knows that the truth is anything but. Fear is radiating off it in waves, fear and a cold, overpowering desire for liberation.

“Just did.”

The thing at his side offers updates, as they run.

“She knows you've left the room.”

“She follows, close behind.”

“It is likely she will catch you.”

They aren't particularly helpful.

Not until, the trio turn a corner, exit suddenly in sight, to hear a fourth tactile presence enter the hallway.

“She's here.”

And she is. The approaching clack of heeled footfalls confirms it. The sense of oppressive calm that washes over Aki, a blanket. The familiar voice that wraps around the walls to reach his ears.

“Stop running.”

And he does. How couldn't he? It's Makima.

Denji stops too, turning on his heel with a massive, world-spanning grin, but Power doesn't. She keeps running until she hits the doors, only turning to cast a terrified scowl over her shoulder.

“Not safe!” She growls, animalistic, “keep running! Keep running!”

“It's just Makima.” Denji sounds so sure of himself. And he should. All is right in the world. All is calm. Makima will fix things. She always does.

And then, she's in sight, cheerful and unblinking, and Aki can't help but grin in turn.

“Come here,” she orders him, arms outstretched. And the order is for him, he knows, he can feel it. “Not you,” she adds, likely to Denji, “just him, for now.”

So instead, Denji speaks. “Makima, something weird’s going on, the place is totally empty and–”

“Shhh.” Soft and gentle, that's how the sound escapes her lips. Like silk Like a sigh.

“You walk to your death.” The Gun Devil, again. Only this time, its words mean nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. “You readily embrace it. Do not be so foolish.”

As Aki draws near, her arms wrap around him like a cradle, head resting against her shoulder. The low, warning roar grinding through his mind fades to nonexistence. 

“It wasn't supposed to happen like this,” she breathes in the crux of his neck, “so suddenly. You were meant to die then, you know. Now, I don't think I'll let you die at all. That might be more effective, hm? At least as a failsafe.”

Aki nods. Of course Makima is right. She always is.

“Makima?” Denji doesn't sound scared. Not yet. Just confused. “What's going on? Is this–”

“Denji?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Shut up.”

They're odd words, coming from Makima’s lips. Odd, and callous, and just upsetting enough that the Gun Devil's words are able to find an opening, one last time.

“Run.”

Aki would like to say he tries. But he doesn't.

“Transform.”

And then, Aki's world goes black.

[notajoinerofthings]

petition to ban all group projects from universities in 2k18 everywhere with immediate effect

[madexinxheaven]

@whoxyouxhate said: 💊 - Is your character on medication? If so, why? @ the mains

"In this line of work and after everything we've been through? How could I NOT?"

Seriously, no one saw the kind of things Caitlyn had seen without developing serious cases of PTSD, SEPARATION ANXIETY & PARANOIA. She couldn't even HUNT these days without being hopped up on meds. After all, the last time she went out on the hunt, she'd come back to a BLOODBATH; With every last servant DEAD and her parents MISSING. Since then she'd risen up the ranks of the L.G.D as far and the way most prolific SNIPER they had. And from INFECTED to MURDER to RAPE to THIS VERY WAR, well... They hadn't made the nightmares any easier... The meds did, though. (Kinda...)

"This world breaks people. One way or the other."

"I, uhh... Texas says I SHOULD..."

Hyperactivity, blunt impulsion and a struggle with maintaining her own attention had LONG been problems that had cast Exusiai into danger TIME & TIME AGAIN. The youthful Sankta had a whole list of bad run-ins, mistakes, REGRETS, to her record. Yet, still, for the most part, she remained UNBOTHERED -- UNBURDENED. Fact also remained that she'd grown RECKLESS, CARELESS & IMPULSIVE in many things. Definitely didn't get enough sleep at night. And had a tendency for getting herself KNEE DEEP IN SHIT. But she meant well, and had fun, and only hurt the BAD PEOPLE, right? So it couldn't have been THAT IMPORTANT... -- RIIIGHT??

"But... What's the WORST that could happen?"

"I... What exactly are we counting as medication here?"

Did they count the CANDIES & TREATMENTS that protected against FROSTBITE? Did they count the various ways she'd tried over the years to actually feel some level of WARMTH? To warm the CHILL that was in her deathly rattling bones? Or were they just talking about the medications that Rhodes Island filled Infection with to pretend like they were actually making a DIFFERENCE. Then again, maybe they WERE making a difference... And it was all just so much harder for FrostNova to see from so far away. Irregardless, the answer was: No. she DIDN'T take any official medications. But she had her own self-medications. For what they counted for. 

"I make do."

"Mmh? Oh, no..."

Shake of her accompanied her simple answer. Sometimes she wondered if she should have. Mostly whenever her personality PISSED OFF Blaze, but in truth she spent more time ADMINISTERING medication than TAKING IT. After all, she may have been a designated SNIPER, but she still was an operator working for Rhodes Island. And every last INFECTED in the world NEEDED medication. In fact, the more she thought about it... Maybe they should've been screening people more closely on a PSYCHOLOGICAL basis rather than observing their levels of ORIGINUM CRYSTALIZATION, no? Not to say they didn’t. They absolutely did. PRTS was surprisingly adept at it. But... But just like with treating the Infected, couldn’t they always do a better job at that, too?

"It's surprising, really. Or... Or maybe we're just not thinking about that kinda stuff? Maybe it's just become the new normal, y'know?"

"Medication? Me? Oh, no. I'm not any medication."

Granted, for every pill Makoto DIDN'T take she had a line in her contract with JOHANNA that all but unshackled her from the constraints of her greatest mental battles. Including her OBSESSIVE COMPULSION, PERFECTIONISM, CODEPENDENCY & INABILITY TO SAY NO BORN OF NO SMALL AMOUNT OF SELF-DEPRECATION. But then, didn't Johanna make everything in Makoto's life turn monochrome? Flirting in that moral grey area, caught between her duty as a Lungmen Guard and her own INFECTED VIGILANCE. In many ways, she supposed she was LUCKY for that. Every last inch of that self-deprecation came with another inch of herself she GENUINELY didn't like. And since Johanna had come into her life, Makoto had step-for-step came closer & closer to someone she could be PROUD OF.

"But I don't blame people if they need it. This... This world is... It's hard... So very hard..."

"Huh? Medication? What on Terra possessed you to ask a question like that?"

For once, Swire was NOT acting out of self-defence but, rather, asking very genuine questions. Albeit... She still didn't exactly ask them WELL. Confrontation was Swire's life. The bitch wore her heart on her sleeve, and her heart was big but easily wounded. To answer: Swire was not presently on any medication. She'd had her BOUTS of issues and therapies, usually when those insecurities ADDED UP, and she stopped being able to SIT ON HER FEELINGS, but largely she remained clean. At her standard, she liked to think she was HANDLING IT WELL... ALL THINGS CONSIDERED... But deep down? Well... Her episodes DID speak for themselves. (And it was usually Ch'en picking up the pieces.)

"Not right now. But sometimes life just gets to ya, y'know?"

"Medication? Hm. Sounds almost novel at this point, in all honesty. One might say, NAIVE."

If ANYONE was a poster-child for SHOULD BE ON MEDICATION, it was far and away TALULAH ARTORIUS. The girl had been broken for one or two decades far too long. & now she was FAR TOO FAR GONE. Pretty sure anyone who rallies together a radicalized group of freedom fighters to take over Lungmen & Ursus through TERROR TACTICS with a central goal of enacting revenge on the friends and family that HURT THEM as a child most certainly qualified for needing therapy. (Or maybe an ASYLUM.) Maybe if people had cared back when she was still BREAKING, all of this coud've been avoid. And, no, Ch'en DIDN'T count. How could she? What was her baby sister SUPPOSED to do about her abused sister who had been driven to psychosis by their very own family?

"We're far beyond the point of no return by now. Sometimes tells me I'm going to die before even taking one pill."

"Kee-Ahaha... Haha... Ahahahahahaha... Oh... That's cute."

Holy. Fucking. Shit. They really had to ASK that question? No. Of course she wasn 't on MEDICATION. The psychotic bitch didn't even let Rhodes Island treat her for Oripathy and she'd SIGNED ON AS THEIR MERCENARY. Of course, being feared by every last motherfucker in the galaxy kinda had some BENEFITS in that sense. Now, should she have been? Of course she should have been. Girl had one of the highest Originum densities in all of Rhodes Island. Oh, and there was the little tid bit of her being a PYROMANIACAL, MURDEROUS LITTLE PSYCHO. Yeah, that level of destructive psychotic mania PROBABLY needed a maximum security INSANE ASYLUM, let alone anti-psychotics and sedatives. But as they say somewhere else in the world: Y.O.L.O!!

"I'd like to meet the doctor that can actually make me take my pills~~!!"

"..."

Silence spoke louder than words, as they always say. And the truth was... Yuhsia was on SEVERAL medications as a result of the youth she spent alone in Lungmen after the disappearance of TALULAH and the abandonment of CH'EN & SWIRE. Would anyone really be surprised to learn that? Probably NOT, in all honesty. Mafia girl was left alone with some of the corrupt narcissist this side of the Ursus border and later forced to do all of the Rat King & Wei Yenwu's DIRTY WORK. Not to mention the sting of BROKEN PROMISES. To this day, Yuhsia had never EVER let anyone get remotely close to her. Most of all, Ch'en & Swire. Though they persisted like nagging little GNATS. But back to the question at hand... Yuhsia had developed a certain... TEMPERAMENT that she liked to keep on top of. The Rat King saw the worst of it. But she'd be damned if she EVER let Ch'en and Swire see it in the slightest. Meds HELPED with that.

"You should be careful asking questions like that to people like me. Who knows what might happen to you..."