#you would have to be doing something morally reprehensible

[eggsistential-breakdown]

HE FUMKIN SNAPPED

Seized by this scene from chapter four of @dril-cipher 's rb fic !!!! !! ! !!! ! ! !!

Video version and transparent gif??? flipaclip lets you do that??? version under the cut for all your transparent Ian gif needs if you have those. If you do please consult a doctor first

[catnippackets]

disclaimer: as a sex-repulsed aroace person myself--

on one hand, there is definitely a bit of a double standard when it comes to handling canonically queer characters like, from what I've seen in the circles that I frequent (if you've had different experiences then great but I'm just telling it how I see it). for example, you're morally reprehensible if you ship a canon lesbian with a man or refer to a canon bi character as a lesbian. people will be so angry with you. and it's understandable, since there's so little queer rep in comparison to cishet rep that when there IS a rare actual queer character, the unofficial rule is "don't take that away from them when you add more headcanons to them". like, respect that this one is REAL and NOT just a headcanon. I think it makes perfect sense to feel upset when people take that away, even if it is just fiction and not even canon to the original source. and yet, whenever there exists a canon asexual character suddenly it's all "oh well asexual people can still have sex so it's fine if we headcanon THIS canon sexuality as something different". it makes me feel so genuinely heartache-y and depressed to see ppl ignoring that aspect of a character.

and by "canon" I'm also including characters that were never specifically referred to with a label but are very obviously coded as something, because those characters will still get the "even if it's not stated it's pretty obvious!!" treatment when it comes to showing attraction to the same gender, but not when they DON'T show attraction to any gender. like aro and/or ace coding just doesn't count. I understand that it's kind of hard to represent an absence of something, especially when you're only implying it and not even directly showing it, but it's not impossible. there's a lot of characters that you could argue are aroace coded the same way you could argue a character is gay coded. obviously to a degree every queer identity gets disrespected in fandom and it's something you just kinda have to deal with, but it's easier to notice when it's something you personally relate to. I don't think it would bother me as much if we didn't have that unofficial "respect the canon" rule and everyone just went wild with whatever, but the double standard does genuinely hurt me, especially when I see people I thought were cool about this stuff participating in it. so whenever I see someone fiercely defending an asexual character it really makes me feel good, like I'M being defended, not a random fictional character that I might not even recognize the name of. I feel safe, like that person will respect ME.

THAT BEING SAID,

AS a sex-repulsed aroace person who enjoys thinking about the entire spectrum of intimacy and where a character may fall exactly on that spectrum, ALSO as a person who is aware that "asexual" simply means "does not experience sexual attraction" and not necessarily "is violently repulsed by anything sexual", sometimes I DO want to play out scenarios for my own enjoyment. sometimes I DO want to think hm I wonder where this ace character's line is, compared to a different ace character. I wonder if there is anyone who would be an exception for them, and how they could go about dealing with that exception. I wonder if they're favourable, neutral, or repulsed. if those aspects of their character aren't explicitly stated then what's to stop me from playing around with them and working through my own issues in a controlled and non-canon environment? if they have the same identity as me, I am way more likely to want to play around with them like a doll and perhaps play out scenarios that I might have thought about before but don't actually want to do for real. I'm not taking away their identity, after all; I'm just, in this scenario, imagining this ace character as an ace that might have sex on at least one occasion for whatever reason. either just to try it, or because they do have someone they'd make an exception for, or if they got bored enough, whatever the reason. it isn't quite disrespecting their truth unless it's explicitly stated either in canon or by word of god that it's something they're uncomfortable with. and to be honest, if I see another asexual creator headcanoning a character as somewhere on the asexual spectrum and depicting them in sexual situations, it makes me almost happy, to know that they're still acknowledging that character's canon identity and accepting and exploring the nuance that could come with it, even if I personally believe that this specific character would be repulsed instead of neutral or favourable. there's this understanding of "I'm doing a character study exploration thing", and not "I don't care I just wanna sexualize this character"

but I literally feel GUILTY when I want to write what is essentially a thinkpiece disguised as a fanfiction or original story on asexuality and take an asexual character (canon or coded) and involve them in sexual situations to explore different avenues of the spectrum. I feel like I'm betraying everyone who's like me and is frustrated with how aroace characters are treated within fandom. I'm like "am I being just as bad as those other people who will disrespect a character's canon sexuality just because they think that character is hot and want to ship them with someone? do they do the same thing with other types of queer characters? how does this reflect that person's view of people, if they're explicitly told someone feels a certain way and decides to ignore it for their own amusement? or is it just because they're fictional and not real people and I'm being really sensitive and thinking way too much into it? am I not doing the exact same thing? do I have more credence to explore scenarios like this because I am aroace and sex-repulsed myself and therefore have a pass to do whatever I want and it won't come off as a little weird the way it might if someone who's allosexual did it?"

and these two opinions are at war in my mind constantly. like both of them can and do co-exist but I still struggle to accept that lol

[the-modern-typewriter]

Your work inspires me so much! Could I request a villain x hero where they’re both mutually in love but the villain, is very much a villain and murders people and the hero feels betrayed, and hates the fact they still love the villain (bonus for the villain doing it out of jealousy 🥺💕) don’t feel pressured to write this ofc! Thank you for taking the time to read and have a good day / evening and thank you for the content you produce ❤️

The hero scrubbed harder at their hands when they heard the bathroom door open behind them. Their shoulders tensed. Their jaw locked.

They didn't look up at the mirror.

"You're upset," the villain said, finally.

The hero snarled, wordlessly. Their skin was beginning to look flayed. Red from the hot water. Clean. Not clean enough.

"You know who I am," the villain pressed. "You know what I'm capable of. I've never hid it, never pretended to be something other than what I am."

"You killed them."

"I've killed before."

"Oh, well. That makes it all so much better then, doesn't it?"

The villain stepped closer. They gently took hold of the hero's wrist with one hand and firmly closed the tap with the other.

The hero whirled, wrenching back and shoving.

Part of them expected the villain to instantly lunge; slam them right back against a wall, leaving the two of them struggling. It was worse that the villain immediately put their hands up in placating, 'okay, I won't touch you', surrender.

It was too damn reasonable.

The villain's expression, through the blurry fury of the hero's tears, was too damn concerned.

The hero swiped at their cheeks, teeth practically bared. "Fuck you."

"Oh, I wish that was the mood, right now."

"You killed them because you were jealous."

The villain's head tilted.

"Don't deny it," the hero snapped.

"I wasn't denying thing. Outside of a court of law, I rarely do."

"This isn't a joke!"

"I wasn't joking, love."

"Don't call me that!"

The villain folded their arms across the chest, and for a moment the hero thought they might walk out and come back later 'after the hero had calmed down'. They leaned back against the bathroom door instead, shutting it.

The hero gulped. They took a step closer, fists raised - wanting to - needing to - they ended up hurling their shaking hands back to their sides.

"You know," their voice cracked. "I defend you to people. Did you know that? I tell them that you're not so bad. Ruthless, yeah, but you're not a monster. You have a code. You love me."

"I do love you, which is why I would never ask you to defend me."

"Like that's the point here!"

"Then what is the point?" the villain asked. Calm. Implacable.

"You're better than this. You're supposed to be better. You don't just - just kill people. Not because of me."

"Ah." The villain's gaze flicked down the hero's arms. "You feel you have blood on your hands."

"No. That's not it."

"Isn't it?"

"It's about you being morally reprehensible."

"Yeah, but we knew I was morally reprehensible, didn't we? Just as we both know I pretend otherwise sometimes when I can make it easy for you."

The hero made a strangled sound. Even if they did know that. Especially because they knew that.

The villain shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, it's not your fault. Yes, I was jealous that you were spending a lot of time fighting them. But on the other hand, they were also a morally reprehensible person, so really if I'm going to kill anyone it should be the people like me. I thought you'd be pleased."

"Pleased?!"

"Well, that I'm channelling my violent tendencies in a societally friendly way. You wanted to stop them too. Does the end not justify the means?"

The hero stared at them, aghast. They genuinely weren't sure if the villain was joking or not. They did not look like they were joking.

"I hate you," the hero said. "So much."

"Yes."

"That's all you have to say? Yes?"

"I'm not an easy creature to love," the villain said, softly. "Of course you hate me sometimes. Otherwise loving me would be unbearable."

"It is unbearable."

Some of the calm slipped from the villain's face; a flinch of pain.

it didn't make the hero feel better. It just made their hands feel more bloodied, more like the villain's hands. Hurting things.

"You know," the villain said. "You're not easy either. I limit my nature a lot for you. I compromise for you all the time."

"It's not a compromise when my demand is asking you not to kill people!"

"I've never asked you to stop risking your life to save people."

"That's not the same thing!"

"Hurts the same amount.," the villain said quietly.

The hero didn't know what to say to that. The two of them stared at each other from across the bathroom, the hero still shaking violently. "I don't want to do this right now," they managed to say, and it was only a little wobbly. "I can't deal with you right now."

"I wanted to check you're alright."

"Yeah? I'm not."

The villain bit their lip. "I really didn't think you'd react this badly. I wouldn't have done it if I thought it would upset you this much."

The hero closed their eyes, because it was true and it was terrible. Another treacherous tear spilled over their cheek. They dashed it away.

"What do you need?" the villain asked. "You should have water or you'll get a headache."

"I want you to leave."

"Are you going to put your hands under the tap again if I leave?"

The hero glared at them.

The villain's defences were back up again, so they merely raised an eyebrow. "I'll be outside, then."

"I thought you were better," the hero said. "You were supposed to be better."

The villain paused, one hand on the door, considering that perhaps.

"No," they said, after a moment, like the hero was the one who had committed some great and grave betrayal. "You just started pretending."

They shut the door behind them.

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Opinions on owning pet parrots? I'm doing a degree in animal welfare and have pretty much come to the conclusion that the smaller species are fine if you can provide what they need but the larger birds like the greys, outside of being rescues, shouldn't be pets at all.

Okaaaaaaaay so time to make everyone mad at me again I guess

parrots have been human companion animals for longer than Judaism has been around, so, I don't think we can just say "it's wrong" and force everyone to stop doing a thing that's been done for that long. Like, this isn't a human randomly taking home a tiger, this is a long going process with many species of parrots now being near-domesticated in the strictest sense of the term

Parrot ownership is in fact ancient in many "tropical" areas and the idea that it's a new thing is... white supremacy! what a shock!

in the United States (I am not talking about other countries, just my own), literally no companion parrots are wild caught anymore. They're bred. Bred as companions. If we were to outlaw larger parrot ownership, many birds would be without a home, and that's morally reprehensible

in fact, the kind of backlash against parrot ownership that's risen up in the past decade has directly led to a shelter crisis. most shelters are overfilled and overstressed, which is a *lot* worse for the birds in many cases than home ownership

parrots are pets that have extraordinarily high care needs. They are not good pets for everyone. but no pet is! Every single companion animal has its pluses and downsides, and many of them have many more downsides than pluses. Doesn't mean they shouldn't have a home.

There are some people who are actually able to take care of companion parrots, adequately, in their homes. First of all, we've learned a lot in the past few decades. Second of all, there are lifestyles that work well with even larger parrots and their needs.

So, while the number of human beings on this planet who can adequately take care of large parrots is extremely small, it is not zero. Which means if someone thinks they can take care of a bird well, and has the space and resources and time, then they should be allowed to, if that's what they wish

Because birds in the USA are bred as companions, the vast majority of said parrots would be unhappy in any situation that doesn't involve close contact with humans. Admittedly, all my parrots are "small" (whatever that means), but I know for a fact that if you took them away from our home they would be significantly worse off, because they're bonded to us. That's how this whole flocking thing works

Also, our most recent rescues, who had been stuck in a shelter for 15 years, are definitely happier now getting more individual attention and space. Shelters are supposed to be temporary places for most birds, not permanent homes, because they can't get the adequate level of care and attention that they need.

also, I'll point out that being pets has allowed many parrot species to have thriving populations that are not threatened by climate change, which is something to their benefit. given. you know. climate change. not that pet ownership is conservation, but, it's not that far removed from it - the axolotl population owes a lot to both pet ownership and zoo captivity, for example.

like, it's a spectrum, right? And it doesn't really go along with size, at the end of the day. There are tons of extremely neurotic and high needs small parrots, and many larger ones that are exceptionally chill. So while the vast majority of humans on this planet should not have a parrot, that's not all of them; and while the number that can handle higher maintenance ones is even smaller, its not zero. And I think, given the fact that we have all of these captive bred birds in the states at least, it's not a good idea to tell people that there is no way to ethically practice husbandry with them.

and I'm not the kind of person who assumes I know everything about someone's life in order to tell them "no you shouldn't bring home that cockatoo", so I'm not going to. In fact, I give everyone on the internet the benefit of the doubt if they have a parrot unless a) that parrot shows signs of distress (like plucking) or b) there is clearly something wrong going on (like someone's smoking weed around their bird)

so, no, there's no commonly kept (and thus domestically captive bred) bird I think is a bad pet for every single human on the planet. And it's not my business whether a particular individual should or should not have a particular bird.

[enlitment]

I don't want to sound like an apologist for anything but I feel like it should be acknowledged that the question of morality in different periods of history is complex and not easy to answer.

If you do say things like 'marrying an underaged person was totally okay back in the 1700s so what they did was totally fine actually' it definitely does ring alarm bells (as it should!)

That is not the exactly the same thing as saying 'considering the historical context of the era this person lived in, their behaviour would have likely not been considered too far out of the ordinary'. And I believe you can probably replace this with people's views of slavery or domestic violence and get to a pretty similar thing.

Is it dark and depressing? Sure. It's also, to the best of my knowledge, often fairly accurate.

I mean, I would have to do an actual research on this particular question to make any more definite statements. But just look at Ancient Greece's societal norms concerning relationships. That is definitely a challenge any historian needs to grapple with, but saying that every other man living at that time was a monster just isn't very useful, and doesn't feel like great academic work either.

Sometimes you would need to take a step back and try to look at these issues with more of a dispassionate curiosity to try and understand them. (As with Ancient Greece - what role did these relationships served? How did they influence the Greek culture? The structure of Greek society? etc.) That doesn't mean you renounce your own sense of right and wrong.

I feel like the best approach would be to acknowledge your modern perspective and clearly mark it in the text (something like 'by our modern standards, this would of course be seen as...' or even focus on writing articles from the perspective of the affected/opressed). But then also write about the way such behaviour would have been viewed in the time it took place. This does not, in my opinion, excuse the behaviour - it just helps to put it in the necessary context.

The bonus of this approach is that it allows the historian to highlight when someone's behaviour is genuinely considered morally reprehensible even by the standards of the time (something like 'even in a misogynistic society, his treatment of women was marked as particularly reprehensible' -> well better than that but it's also midnight, I'm tired and I'm sure you get my point).

There is also the possibility that some behaviour that is considered totally okay today will be seen as completely reprehensible by someone reporting on it hundreds of years from now. Something to keep in mind as a historian.

TL;DR definitely don't want to excuse any problematic behaviour but I think we should treat the question of moral norms in history as the complex and difficult issue it is, rather than jumping to conclusions

(also saying that someone's opinion is automatically unworthy because they haven't taken history classes at a university level just feels kind of elitist. Sure, an understanding of historiography and a critical approach are incredibly important, but it is not impossible to get at least the basic idea just from your own reading. And in any case, it is better to explain it rather than to dismiss the person's opinion altogether.)

[brucewaynehater101]

How the Bats argue against Jason's murder in fics

Now, Jason's murders vary in fics on a spectrum. There's murderous killing even common goons up to only those folks who are repeat, violent offenders that are not able to be contained/do their time (whether due to a corrupt system or them escaping).

We are gonna chat about the second one [in simple terms, Jason being particular and only killing the really evil bastards].

Side note, this is neither arguing for or against Jason's methods. This addresses how Jason may relinquish killing in fics in a more realistic manner than simply because he was told to or he wants to make amends

I've seen the Bats arguing shit like:

"Murder is wrong"

"This is not how we operate"

"We are not judge, jury, and executioner"

"This makes you a villain/evil/a murderer"

These arguments, frankly, are shit. This should not convince Jason to stop. Red Hood is killing from a logical-based moral standpoint (by neutralizing the threat permanently, he is saving inevitable future victims). Jason believes his option is frowned upon, but ultimately the right path. It's a "I'm doing what's necessary even if it damns me" mindset.

Arguing it's wrong will simply make him scoff or laugh. He knows the Bats don't like it, and he know they find it morally reprehensible. He still finds his actions to be necessary.

Jason isn't a child that needs to be told "right" and "wrong." He simply has a different moral code. Instead, these arguments in a fic serve as a reflection on the Bat that makes those statements.

This is not a diss to anyone's religion, but a similar comparison is to folks who base their moral code on holy texts and then try to tell other people what's "right" or "wrong" based on what their scripture says. If the other person doesn't have the same religion, you simply can not make moral arguments based on texts they don't believe in... Cause that writing has no weight to them. You would need to argue why something is "wrong" without resorting to: because [] says so.

By only declaring it as wrong, all that Bat is doing is showcasing their inability to communicate/be morally flexible. They are showing an unwillingness to acknowledge Jason's points or try to engage in counterpoints to convince him. These arguments usually predate the Bats trying to force Jason to stop killing instead of allowing him to make the choice for himself.

That is a perfectly fantastic fic idea to explore, but this wouldn't persuade Jason to change his ways. In fact, it may make him dig his heels into his methods more.

For arguments to sway Jason's opinion on how to pursue justice:

There is no oversight for Jason's murders

Cops enforce with killing (regardless of how you feel about the truth of this statement, Jason would hate this comparison)

Killing takes away chances for reformation

The threat of death causes false confessions/fear-based responses

Unclear standards on killing leads to innocents fearing Red Hood and not feeling safe

Escalation can occur (especially in fucking Gotham) when people feel their lives are threatened

Killing takes a mental strain and is thus harmful to Jason

Death is permanent and they can't suffer

There is no remedy for human error if they are dead

I'm sure there's more, but these are starting points to stop Jason's murders or ween him off of it [such as requiring Babs or Tim or Dick or Steph or the Outlaws or fucking Alfred to double check Jason's work before the execution].

Once again, I am not claiming any of these reasons are "correct" or that Jason's way is "incorrect." This is how a certain dynamic may be influenced by various conversation paths

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Barrel Bomb

Debut: Mario Kart Tour

I gotta be honest, all this time I thought this thing was just called Obstacle. That was much funnier to me. Is it ok if I start this post over and you all pretend its official name is Obstacle? Thank you so much.

Name: Obstacle

Debut: Mario Kart Tour

Yep. That sure is an Obstacle if I've ever seen one! They really named this thing Obstacle. I can't say I disagree! It has a bright red Bowser face, and best of all, its metal rims have spikes like the spiked bands Bowser wears. This barrel isn't just designed that way, it's wearing accessories! It's wearing spiked bands, and technically, it has a face, so I think Obstacle counts as a member of the Koopa Troop. It hangs out with them, and one day, hopes to maybe even drive a kart of its own...!

Obstacle is like the evil version of the DK Barrel. Donkey Kong? Now that guy is my funny friend. If one of HIS barrels is in the way, it's probably not too intrusive, and might even have goodies inside! It might also have him inside! Remember the recent confirmation that Kongs are not apes? That makes it more likely that wooden barrels are their eggs, and they are full of albumin. Be careful breaking them... you might be in for a Wet Surprise! Don't act like it's weird, Yoshi's whole brand is eggs and we let that happen!

Don't even think about crashing into Obstacle. You'll be obstructed if you do! Maybe you'd think "This obstacle is a bad guy and I should kill it by running it over with my car" (and you would have a point because this barrel is clearly the moral scum of the earth, quite frankly), but impact with Obstacle will cause you to Explode. It will also explode if it from afar with something such as a shell, which is utilized in some challenges to defeat large groups of Goombas. You might think Obstacle was just trying to hang out with the Goombas, but remember what an utterly reprehensible villain Obstacle is. I bet it stationed itself there on purpose, so that it could sacrifice itself to destroy its supposed friends. Irredeemable!

My favorite thing about Obstacle is that they are Bowser-branded at all, here in this game where Bowser and his cronies are playable. A Bowser face to communicate "Bad! Stay away!" when you could easily be playing as Bowser. It makes sense from a game design standpoint, but it's still silly! Obstacle will make no exception for its boss. Maybe the Koopa Kingdom is the most notable exporter of obstacles in the Mushroom World, and Bowser provides the Obstacles like BaNaNa Boy provides the bananas! He should have given them a better name, though. "Obstacle"? That's so vague!

[byoldervine]

Characters as People VS Characters as Characters

It’s no secret that people like villains, but why? And what about heroes that people generally don’t like? The answer is that you can like characters in two different ways; as a character and as a person. But what’s the difference?

You (generally) like a character as a character if you like them for:

• Their appearance

• Their voice acting

• Their role in the plot

• The way they’re written

• They’re interesting to watch/read about

• They’re funny to watch/read about

• They’re cathartic to watch/read about

But you (generally) like a character as a person when you like them for:

• Being someone you would get along with in real life

• Having moral values that align with real life moral values

Honestly, that’s largely all it is, and you can also like a character in one way without liking them the other way. I’ll give some examples based on the way I feel about certain characters

• I like Katara from ATLA as a character because she’s determined, resourceful and fun to watch, and I also like her as a person because she does her best to do the right thing and I share a lot of similar interests with her

• I like Valentino from Hazbin Hotel as a character because his voice acting is really good, he can be very funny to watch and he’s generally a villain that you really love to hate. However, I dislike Valentino as a person because he commits acts I strongly disagree with morally and takes pride in causing pain and trauma to others

• I dislike Octavia from Helluva Boss as a character because at times her writing can feel very repetitive and one-note since all of her appearances are generally just her putting the sole blame of her parents’ divorce onto her father despite knowing to some extent that her mother has also acted antagonistically towards him, which can be frustrating from a viewer’s perspective. However, I like Octavia as a person because she’s trying her best with the information we can confirm she has, she’s got similar interests to me and I think we’d get along if we met in real life

• I dislike Gabriel Agreste from Miraculous Ladybug as a character because he’s written as though he’s sympathetic and not an abuser to his own son despite his actions speaking very clearly otherwise, and writing him as the unspoken hero is complete tonal dissonance from the story we’ve actually been shown. I also dislike Gabriel as a person because his actions are morally reprehensible and not something I would ever wish to involve myself with

There is a huge difference between liking a character as a character and liking a character as a person, and we shouldn’t treat other people liking characters as characters to be indicative of immorality or an agreement with their negative actions. Additionally, this also explains why we can excuse murder and other horrific crimes from characters while still liking them, but if they annoy us rather than intrigue us then we drop them like a hot potato even if they’ve never done anything actually wrong in their life

[hamliet]

Less of a question but I was never an avid manga reader till 2019 and mha was the first manga I kept track of weekly, and I read Tokyo ghoul after it ended, and seeing everyone be dissatisfied with how Tokyo ghoul ended after keeping up weekly is something I’m reminded of after seeing the latest chapter of mha. So this is what it feels like to witness 6 years of a character you hold in high regard be undermined(to put it lightly). I’m rather sad, but I can’t help but feel fondness for shigaraki even if the way he ended wasn’t satisfying, how do u feel about how mha has gone?

Yeah it does feel very reminiscent of Tokyo Ghoul in that they just went "ah yes, killing the right people is actually how we solve world issues." Which I find morally reprehensible, but also genuinely bad writing because the story as a whole doesn't support this message.

@linkspooky explained in her meta yesterday why Deku has completely failed as a character, and why the manga has failed thematically as a story. I'm just gonna say I completely agree with Link.

To be fair, I'm not sure Shigaraki is dead dead, but either way, it's bad writing and it doesn't conclude his arc with any sort of satisfactory element. Like, why would Shigaraki see Deku as different than anyone else who tried to punch him? That's nonsensical and written from the POV of an audience, not from Shigaraki's POV. It's like in Star Wars when Rey calls herself "Rey Skywalker" when she knew Luke for 3 days and none of the people she was actually close to (Leia, Han, Ben) were Skywalkers. That's writing for the audience, with their perspective, ignoring the logic of your story. It defies believability because the character does not have that perspective. It's "forced" because the audience can see the hand of the author.

If Shigaraki is dead dead... Not gonna Star Wars this one again, but since I also hated the ending of The Rise of Skywalker, I must make a comparison. The idea that Deku may have saved Shigaraki's heart but couldn't save his body (which to be honest, nothing in the actual chapter supports, but if he stays dead might be the argument) is still bad writing. Why? Because to Shigaraki didn't even make the decision himself. He didn't sacrifice anything. How can his heart be saved if he had nothing to do with it? Saving an object is easy as pie. Saving a person is different, and that's what the whole story has been about. Like, in TROS, Kylo Ren gave his life for Rey! Was it stupid? Yes! But at least his "saved heart" did something. Shigaraki's saved heart did what exactly?

So then, is the message that Deku failed? Then why isn't it framed as a failure? Why was BNHA never set up to be a grimdark tragedy? If he failed, then shouldn't he have a miserable ending? Unless it's "heroes always become bad guys and life is unfair," but then shouldn't Deku be framed critically?

Basically, Horikoshi can't come back writing-wise from this in BNHA, and it's sad to see.

Horikoshi's biggest flaw throughout the entire story was that he kept flip-flopping on what he wanted to say, and made the characters more about his trying to please every single fan than about being, well, characters to explore important questions he has that are worthwhile. And you can do this while still having a "cool" factor!

Instead the characters tell us one thing while cocooning Deku in the sweet bliss that no one ever has on this earth--being 100% right all the time. And it's sad, because BNHA had so much potential as a story to challenge its audience and entertain too.

I thought even if it flopped in some aspects it'd at least get this right. It's disappointing.

Anyways every day that goes by I want to send Isayama and his editors flowers for actually writing a thematically coherent ending, even if some aspects were dropped or messy along the way.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids,

"Why do good people write about bad things?"

Well, before we get into that, it needs to be said that it's dangerous to sort human beings into either good or bad - everyone has the potential to be both. When we do not aknowledge that, we take away the responsibility to critically reflect on your own behavior (for the "good" ones) and the chance to grow and learn (for the "bad" ones).

So, let's rephrase it a bit to avoid that: Why do people write about things they would never support in real life? Why do people write about abuse, murder etc. without being (supportive of) abusers or murderers in the real world?

(I'll assume here, without any judgement or ridicule, that these are questions you struggle to answer. If they are easy (or even sound ridiculous) for you, then this letter isn't aimed at you. I have no intention of sounding condescending, I just want to answer a genuine question.)

The simplest - and perhaps also a bit confusing - answer is: they do that to tell a story. Which of course opens up the follow-up question: why do stories about murder even need to exist?

Let's take it away from some grisly, graphic, real-life-like murder here for a minute. Let's say I write a story about a fire-breathing dragon who burns down a house and kills the people living there. You probably would not assume that I write that because I want it to happen in real life. It can't happen in real life! Take a minute here to imagine how this story may unfold and what my motivation to write it may be before you read on.

You did that? Great! Maybe something that came to your mind was that this event is probably not the only thing happening in the story. For example, the story could be about the people in the village dealing with the looming danger of the dragon coming back and burning down another house. Or it could be about someone who lost a loved one in that fire. Are they grieving? Are they seeking revenge on the dragon?

Putting characters into bad situations can propel the story forward and lets us write about their emotions, feelings, inner lives.

Or maybe you thought about this fantastical story being a metaphor for something in the real world. For example, the dragon may have burned down a poor family in a straw house while the rich people in this story live in big castles that are fire-proof. While dragons do not exist in real life, injustice does. If we only wrote happy stories where all characters are always safe, we couldn't ever call out injustice with our writing.

Putting characters into bad situations can shine a light on important topics and inspire the reader to learn and care about a real-world problem.

Your thoughts may also have gone a different direction: it may be a pretty entertaining story! You could just escape reality by immersing yourself into this world where fire-breathing dragons threaten the village. You do not face any real danger here, so you can get a exciting but safe thrill from imagining how scary such a creature would be.

Putting characters into bad situations can simply make for an interesting story, especially because we know it isn't real and we are therefore safe to explore their world in our minds without real-life consequences.

Of course you could argue now “The last point may be true about dragons, but murder is real. It would be morally reprehensible to be entertained by murder.” and that is a good point - when we are talking about a real life murder with a real victim. In a fictional story, human characters are equally as fictional as dragons. Any characters, human or animal, exist as tools within the stories, within our thoughts.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] DIO x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] This is for @cherrykamado's Scumbags Collab. Thank you so much for letting me join and giving me an excuse to write a morally reprehensible insert! I mean... she's not that bad. (Yes, this is a repost.) [ SYNOPSIS ] A strange man has an even stranger proposition. [ WORD COUNT ] 6.5k [ CONTENT ] Canon AU, y/n is a stand user, innocent people get killed, size kink (y/n is implied to be on the taller side though), fingering, finger sucking, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, blood, knifeplay, creampie.

“I think we’re being followed,” your date said nervously.

It was just past midnight, a brisk night in your city. You had spent most of it languishing in various bars with some guy, one whose name you didn’t bother to remember. He was a momentary meal ticket, one to be tossed aside the second you were bored.

So far he had proven to be overwhelmingly uninteresting, talking mainly about his job as a security guard and being a single father to four children. Under any other circumstances you would have ditched his ass, but you were plagued with hunger. You planned on goading him into buying you some street food once he shut the fuck up.

“I think you’re tripping,” you replied, voice full of smug confidence.

There was no way you were being followed. Earlier that evening you deployed your stand, A Deal With God, to keep watch while you made your way through the city streets. The extra layer of security allowed you to relax in the absence of surprises. It was like having an extra set of eyes to see through… Sometimes even more than that, as your stand’s true form was a glowing cluster of iridescent black wings with three indigo eyes at the center.

“I’m serious. Some jacked blonde guy.”

“You sound insane,” you said as your palms began to sweat. “C’mon. Let’s go eat something.”

He shook his head. “I’m not hungry. Why don’t we go dancing?”

You frowned, but decided to play along. You stepped into a high-end nightclub, and immediately got assaulted by flashing lights and the indecipherable, mechanical squelches of some acid house remix.

“Oh my god, I love this song,” your date cheered.

You rolled your eyes and mumbled something about going to the bar. A complete lie as you were actually going to the bathroom to figure out a new game plan. You brushed past a few people before glancing out the window, spotting a tall, foreboding figure leering at you from the other side of the street.

You briefly glared and slipped away into the bathroom, shutting yourself away in a stall. You took a seat on the toilet and held your head in your hands.

“Head’s killing me. Just wanna eat,” you whined, snapping your fingers.

A Deal With God appeared in the cramped stall, its large eyes fixed on you. It looked about as weary as you did.

“Figure out if that weird guy in the street was actually following us. I don’t think he was but… fuck it. Might as well be sure. Not like you got anything better to do, right?”

“Veeerrrrry trrrruuuue,” it drawled after turning into a mirror image of you.

You very well could have sent your stand out in its true form, but you worried that one day you’d come across someone that could actually see them when they were a mass of wings and eyes.

A Deal With God turned around and kicked the bathroom stall door open, and marched back out into the club. You carefully shut the door and resumed your previous position, trying to relax. You thought about your empty fridge and bare cupboards, cursing yourself for not going grocery shopping earlier that week. Paying for your own food was always an option, but you preferred to spend your money on things that lasted, that were more tangible.

You groaned. “Fuck it. I’ll go buy my own damn—”

Before you could even finish your sentence A Deal With God kicked the stall door in, making it fly off its hinges. The door hit you square in the nose.

“What the fuck?!” You said, wiping away the stream of crimson blood dripping from your nostril.

“Th—there—I—I saw.”

“You saw what?!”

“Th—th–the man.” You could barely understand a word it was saying as its teeth chattered away. “He found me. One second he was outside, the next h—he was behind me.”

The poor thing dropped its human facade before simply disappearing into the ether. 

“Shit,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Shit!”

You stumbled out of the stall and scanned the crowd for your date and the strange man. They were nowhere in sight and you made a beeline for the exit. You ran down the street, still pinching your nose even though it didn’t help in the least. The cold breeze stung your skin and heightened your anxiety. Everything around you felt like a threat.

The vast nature of the street made you uneasy so you sought refuge in a more sequestered area, ultimately settling on an alley. Your eyes darted around, checking for any unwanted presences, before slipping into the darkness.

“How did he sneak up on me?” You asked no one in particular.

You snapped your fingers and A Deal With God appeared before you. Its numerous eyes looked terrified and wet.

“Stop being scared,” you said, knowing full well your stand’s demeanor was your own doing.

But what could you do? You were utterly spooked. You didn’t have a lot of enemies, but you weren’t exactly a magnet for pleasant people. There was no way the man following you held good intentions. And the more you thought about it, the less safe you felt in a poorly lit alley. Who would’ve thought?

A Deal With God fluttered about before peering out into the street. It turned to you and used one of its wings to gesture towards a nearby nightclub. It seemed like a decent enough place to disappear.

You tore across the street as fast as you could and barrelled through the club’s entrance. You were surrounded by a thick haze of tobacco and cloves, and you could feel the rumbling bass emanating from the large speakers positioned throughout the space. It wasn’t nearly as abrasive as the first one. 

Before you could even sigh in relief you spotted the strange man across the room. Initially you felt paralyzed with fear, like your legs were going to give out from under you. Every hair was standing on end. Your stomach was eating itself, churning away into nothing.

The man smirked.

Of course he was positioned by the only exit, essentially cornering you inside the club. You found it in you to move and bolted up the stairs, hoping you could lose yourself in the crowd and make your way out a window.

You were disappointed to see the upper floor wasn’t nearly as populated as the other. Suddenly you felt a chill climb your spine and a pair of large, cold hands on your shoulders.

“There’s no point in running from me,” the man whispered in your ear.

His hushed tone was like a siren’s song, dragging you out to sea.

“I just want to talk. That’s all.”

He spoke to you like you were a child, though considering how scared you were it wasn’t a bad course of action.

He whispered. “You seem smart. You’re capable of having a little talk, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” you said shakily. “What do you want to talk about?”

Your words were stilted and it left you feeling powerless.

“I’m interested in your special ability.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He dug his talon-like nails into the flesh of your shoulders. “I’m certain you do.”

“And what if I don’t want to talk about my special ability?”

“Trust me. You will.”

His tone was threatening. Your eyes darted around, hoping someone was showing some form of concern for you and your current situation. But not a soul seemed to care. You swallowed hard, it was like a rock had wedged itself in your throat.

“I wanna talk here. I’m not letting you drag me off somewhere.”

If you weren’t so scared, you might have laughed at your remark. Depending on his intentions you would not have minded if the beautiful stranger dragged you off into the night.

He released you from his grasp and walked ahead of you towards the corner of the room furthest from the stairs. You followed after, staring at his statuesque shoulders, muscles barely contained by his cropped black shirt made of indeterminate mesh material.

“Okay, what?” You asked, desperately trying to hide your nerves.

The man leaned against the wall. “Tell me about it.”

“Can you give me, like, a prompt? A question? Some direction? What do you want to know?” You sneered, putting your hands on your hips.

The man was growing frustrated with your attitude. You could tell and you weren’t sure if you wanted to maintain your faux bravado. Was rousing the weird man for your own sick pleasure worth potentially dying by his hand? You didn’t know what he was capable of. And it’s not as if you were having much fun.

“Why are you being so hostile? It’s unbecoming.”

You exploded. “You were following me around like a fuckin’ creep! Tell me you wouldn’t be a little on edge if you were following yourself around!”

He raised an eyebrow in amusement. “I suppose you have a point.” He stood closer to you effectively boxing you in. “Funny you mention that considering you’re capable of following yourself around.”

You backed up, bumping into the wall. The man seemed to have no concept of personal space. Though you had to admit it wasn’t completely unwelcomed. The longer you looked at him, the more you felt yourself craving his touch.

His golden blonde hair seemed to move on its own, ebbing on incomprehensible breezes. You noticed not a window was open nor was any fan blowing the hot air around the room. There was no way what you were seeing was real.

“Yeah, and?” You asked, trying to shove your racing thoughts out of your mind.

“How long have you—”

“Ever since I was a kid. Can I ask why you care?”

He brushed a few errant strands of hair from your face, his fingers were soft and the color of fresh cream.

You felt like his red eyes were staring right through you. “Go ahead.”

You smacked his hand away. “Why do you care?!”

“I already told you.”

“I don’t remember.”

“How could you not remember? I literally just told you.”

“I don’t know. You’re not very memorable,” you lied.

He narrowed his eyes and exhaled. “I said I was interested in your special ability. I could use someone like you.”

“For what? Something fucked up?” You taunted, anticipating some disgusting act. “You gonna force me into depravity?”

His annoyance was palpable, filling the room and drowning you in it. 

“If that was my intention, I wouldn’t have wasted my time talking to you.”

You felt like a coyote with its paw rotting in a trap.

“Good point. M—may I ask what you need me for?” You asked, forcing a smile.

“I’d rather not discuss that here. Come with me to my suite.”

He spoke so plainly and with such confidence. He annihilated any defense mechanism you had, rendering them useless. If any other person dared to be so bold, you would have kicked them in the taint. But he was different, otherworldly even. The longer you looked at him, the more you felt compelled to stick around. You had never encountered someone so alluring, someone capable of bewitching you with ease.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said.

Apparently the trepidation in your face wasn’t something you could mask.

“Nah, like… I know.”

His lips curled into a foreboding smile.

“Let’s go,” he purred, placing his hand on your back and guiding you out of the nightclub.

His hand was cold, the chill traveling through your jacket. Once outside you tried to get the attention of a cab driver with little luck. Much to your chagrin a drunkard positioned right next to you managed to hail one with a simple wave of his limp hand.

The blonde seemed to take personal offense and grabbed the man by the back of his collar and tossed him aside like he was a mere rag doll. The drunk’s limbs flailed as he was sent through the window of the nightclub. It all happened so fast and you nearly got lost in the chaos. If it weren’t for the blonde pulling you into the cab you likely would have stood there in shock, mouth agape, until the cops showed up.

“Whoa, whoa!” The frightened driver cried out. “What the actual fuck was that?”

You looked expectantly at the strange man, curious as to how he would explain away his behavior.

“Drive.”

“Wh—what? Dude! You can’t just do some shit like that and expect me to be okay with it!”

“Why not?” He laughed.

“Because it’s fucked up! You could've killed the guy,” the driver said, pointing at the bleeding body hanging halfway out the nightclub window.

“And? Was he important to you?”

“No. I don’t know him. But I don’t have to know someone to think what you pulled was rude!”

“It was more than rude,” you said matter-of-factly. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m just happy to be out of the cold.”

The blonde smirked and scooted closer to you, eschewing his seatbelt.

He redirected his attention to the terrified cab driver. “Drive or I’ll kill you.”

“Dude, can you at least tell me where?!”

The blonde clenched his fist. “... I guess.”

The drive was spent in relative silence. The nervous cab driver flapped his jaws on occasion, posing benign questions. He quickly clammed up after receiving a few glares from the strange man through the rear view mirror. Paying attention to their tension made your stomach hurt so you focused on the barren trees that lined the city streets, their leaves rotting in rusted gutters.

“I feel like fall came faster than usual,” you pondered aloud.

Neither of the men responded, too wrapped up in their own bullshit.

The barren trees ceased, soon replaced by evergreen ones unnatural to the concrete cityscape. You sighed, unsurprised by the fact your stalker was posted up in a ritzy area. However you were still wowed by the luxurious hotel and its sprawling design as the cab pulled up to the curb. The alabaster facade glimmered under the everpresent streetlights. You contemplated getting the strange man drunk and robbing him once he passed out in a haze of whiskey.

“That’ll be forty bucks,” the cab driver said, craning his neck around to look at the two of you.

Rather than pay the driver, the blonde jammed two of his slender fingers into the man’s neck and sucked the life out of him. You stared wide-eyed and mentally begged your body to move, to jump out of the car and run back to your boring date.

“Let’s go,” the blonde murmured, exiting the cab.

You stepped out and whined as the autumnal breeze chilled your bones. Despite the blonde’s apparent cruelty, he wrapped an arm around you. It didn’t do much considering his body was cold to the touch, but you appreciated that he hadn’t opted to kill you for shivering.

“Aren’t you cold?” You asked.

“Not really,” he responded, not bothering to look at you.

He led you inside the hotel and into a gilded elevator. The interior was mirrored, forcing you to confront your situation. You looked positively miniscule next to the hulking blonde. You weren’t a tiny person by any means, but the strange man was just that big.

“You never told me your name.”

“I didn’t, did I?” He said coolly.

“Yeah. It feels, um, weird not knowing it.”

“There’s a subset of people that delight in lacking that kind of information.”

You gazed up at him and grimaced. His red eyes met yours. The elevator pinged, alerting you of your arrival, and the doors slid open.

“It’s Dio.”

The suite was beautiful with floor-to-ceiling windows, giving a breathtaking view of the city. You only knew this because you peaked behind the thick, ornate curtains that shielded the room. 

Everything was concealed in darkness, the only light coming from the world beyond the window through the little crack you created. Dio was quick to slink around, lighting candles, to give the suite a warmer touch.

“You got a migraine or something? A hangover?” You asked, coming out from behind the curtains.

“Sure.”

You inhaled the cloying scent of sandalwood. “Liar.”

He smirked and took a seat on a chaise-lounge, essentially draping himself over it like a fancy throw blanket. He beckoned you near. You sat on the very edge, keeping some distance.

“Do you know anything about Anubis?”

“That dog god guy?”

“In a sense.”

“Yeah, uh, I don’t know a damn thing about him.”

“Hmph. What about art theft?”

“... Again, not a damn thing.”

“Are you much of a reader?” He said, sitting up.

“Depends.”

He got up and returned with two books: Rogues in the Gallery: The Modern Plague of Art Thefts and Teach Yourself Egyptian Mythology.

He stood over you smugly. “Read these and we’ll talk once you’ve finished them.”

“You want me to read two books right now?”

He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. Your eyes lingered on his chiseled abdomen.

“You can do it,” he said, walking away. “I believe in you.”

His words did little to inspire you, especially because he punctuated them by closing the door to his bedroom. You felt shut out and vulnerable. How were you supposed to read two books come morning?

Lucky for you Dio slept through the day, giving you ample time. He traipsed out of his room as you scanned the final pages of the required reading. He was in a pair of burnt umber-colored silk shorts that left little to the imagination.

“You must have been tired,” you said as you closed the book about art theft. “This book was boring as shit, by the way.”

“I know. I didn’t even bother finishing it.”

“Then why have me read it?!”

Dio’s expression practically screamed, Because I fucking could. He smiled and resumed his place next to you on the chaise.

“Hush,” he said, holding a finger to your lips. You thought about biting it off. “I’m trying to steal a shamshir.”

“A what?”

“It’s a type of sword.”

“Should have made me read about swords then,” you muttered.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Is it like… your swor–I mean, shamshir?”

“Absolutely not, but it should be,” he said, his voice sickly sweet. “I’ve heard a great power is bound to it.”

“I see.”

“And I’d like to possess that.”

“Uh-huh.”

You were barely paying attention to his words. All you could focus on was your throbbing clit and the wet spot blooming in your underwear. Everything about him exuded sensuality. The simplest movements, things that were not inherently sexy, sent you spiraling. You wanted to please him, to crawl into his arms and melt into him. You were completely at his will and you hoped he didn’t realize that.

“And I find it to be aesthetically pleasing.”

“An aesthetically pleasing shamshir for an aesthetically pleasing man. How quaint.”

“Oh, you find me to be aesthetically pleasing?”

“Why else would I come over?”

“How naive of me to think you came because you wanted to help me.”

“I never said I wouldn’t help.”

“So you are helping me,” he seemed to command.

Dio dragged his fingertips down his chest and along his abs before slipping them underneath his shorts.

“I also never said I’d do it for free.”

“Hmph.” 

Dio stared into your eyes. 

“You have,” he lazily held up two of his elegant fingers, “two options. I either pay you or I fuck you.”

“What about both?”

“No. It’s one or the other.”

“Are you really that good in bed?”

He gave a coquettish pout. “I’ll never tell. You’ll just have to take a chance, won’t you?”

Money was a fleeting notion in your life, more of a concept than something tangible. You usually kept yourself afloat by living off of eager to please boyfriends and rich women that thought you had a nice ass. A steady job was out of the question; you could never allow yourself to be tied down. Nothing could beat the high of being free. It came at a price though. Your rootless life wasn’t stable and frequently left you out in the cold.

You knew taking the money was the right decision, the smart one, the good one.

But you were never one to make good decisions, sound ones doused in logic. No, you were a idiotic hedonist deep down in your black hole of a soul. You sought out ecstasy in the shadows, always looking for an opportunity to submerge yourself in murky waters of desire.

Dio interrupted your minor moral dilemma. “Usually when they take this long it’s because they want to fuck me.”

He briefly tugged down his shorts, revealing a few wisps of dark pubic hair at the base of his cock.

“There’s no need to be shy,” he said, pulling you into his lap.

He had one hand on the small of your back and the other gripping your nape. He brought his face close to yours, his gaze hungry and expectant. Your stomach was fluttering; no one had made you feel like this before. You could barely form a coherent thought, too distracted by his touch. His hand slid down your back before settling on the crest of your ass.

Your eyes were trained on his lips as he spoke. “Why don’t I give you more time to think about it, hm?”

Words tried to fight their way out of your mouth, ones that begged him to act now. But you were silent, only giving Dio a slight nod.

He abruptly stood up, causing your body to collide with the floor. Your limbs a mere jumbled heap at his feet.

“We’ll break in tonight,” he said, staring down at you. “I’ll pay you once Anubis is in my hands.”

Dio’s suite wasn’t far from the museum. It was a short walk, a few blocks at most. There was little fanfare which left you vaguely disappointed. You had hoped it’d be a bit more exciting, more sexy. In your mind robbing a museum seemed like the sexiest crime, but the experience thus far was… pedestrian.

Even your inconspicuous outfits were yawn-worthy. You thought a man with such luxe taste would have more flourish, but no. He wore black 501s with a tasteful hole in the left knee and a tight black turtleneck. A ski mask rested on the crown of his head like a beanie. You had to admit it was practical and he wore it well.

“We’re close. Pull your balaclava down.”

You quickly yanked yours down, obscuring everything but your eyes. It smelled like Dio. You borrowed one from him along with a chunky black cashmere sweater that looked more like a dress on you. You had the sleeves folded up countless times so you could actually use your hands freely.

He pulled his down and let out a little sneeze as the fabric covered his nose.

“Bless you,” you giggled.

“... Thank you.”

The two of you took shelter behind a tree and scope out the employee entrance which sat at the back of the drab building.

“Kinda unimpressive. I didn’t even know this was a place, and I was born and raised here.”

“They don’t have anything of much importance.”

“Except that funky sword you want.”

He sighed. “Yes.”

The plan was to slip in through the back of the building. You would be going in alone, but only far enough to have Anubis’s location within your stand’s range. Dio didn’t mention where he would be exactly, but you assumed he’d be skulking around the entrance and keeping watch.

As the two you broached the museum’s parking lot a wave of nausea enveloped you.

“You’re not gonna leave me out to dry, if I get caught in there… Right?”

“You won’t get caught.”

His distinct lack of an answer did little to set you at ease. Your legs were shaking as he picked the shoddy lock. It was almost comical how easy everything seemed to be. The absurdity of it all wasn’t lost on you.

Once inside the situation didn’t feel as precarious. You deployed A Deal With God, letting your double stalk around the museum.

When seeing through your stand’s eyes you were rendered somewhat immobile, or at the very least distracted and sitting down. Invoking auto-pilot was an option, but standing around and doing nothing would have done nothing for your nerves. You decided to find a corner and take a seat.

The layout of the museum was a breeze to navigate. Dio hadn’t been lying when he reassured you how simple a task robbing the place would be. There wasn’t anything cool on display. Just poorly maintained antiquities and depressingly dusty tapestries that should have been under glass. The halls were dead quiet, disturbingly so. Every step you took felt like it carried the weight of the world.

“Oh thank fuck,” you whispered when you spotted a series of swords mounted on a wall.

You fast-walked to the display only to be greeted by the distinct lack of a shamshir.

“No.”

You stepped closer and carefully eyed each sword on the wall.

“C’mon…”

None of the blades were even slightly curved. You panicked and called off your stand, your consciousness returning to your physical body. You slowly pushed the door open and looked for any sign of Dio. Surely he would know what to do.

“Did that bitch leave me?” You whispered, unnerved by zero signs of the blonde.

But then you heard a familiar voice.

“Uh, sir, the museum is closed right now. I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the premises.”

Your eyes darted in the direction of the voice. You saw your date, the one from the night before, the father of four, lover of acid house, clad in a beige security uniform.

“Hey, wait. I’ve seen you bef—”

Before he could spit out his sentence Dio punched his jaw clean off. Your throat dried up, almost like you swallowed a bunch of cotton. You could barely remember how to breathe. You weren’t the biggest fan of your date, but he didn’t deserve to die.

A small squeak fought up your throat and alerted the blonde of your presence. He turned to you, red eyes seeming to glow from the slit in his balaclava. He cocked his head to the right, before asking, “What?” with a soft tone of voice. If he hadn’t done something so ghastly seconds before it would have been cute.

“Anubis isn’t there. It’s gone.”

“Oh,” he said. “Did you check the storage?”

You hated how casual he said it, how he made it sound like such an obvious thing to do even though you hadn’t discussed it previously.

“... No.”

He shooed you away and dragged your date's body out of view.

“What the fuck,” you whined as you shut yourself back inside the museum. “What the fuck am I doing.” You couldn’t even manage to say it like a question.

You resumed sitting in your previous spot and sent out your stand. The storage room was in the depths of the building down a spiral staircase. It was rusted and the metal squealed with every step. Once down you flipped a lightswitch and hoped there wasn’t a closed-circuit camera running somewhere.

You opened various cabinets and peered under plastic tarps covering poorly maintained sculptures. You felt a jolt of electricity when you finally came across Anubis. It was beautiful in its scabbard with its gold hilt and red jewels.

You sighed in relief and decided to let A Deal With God handle the rest, again returning your consciousness to your body. You could have cried when your stand presented the shamshir to you.

“Nice,” you said, admiring it.

You stood up and took it from your stand’s hands. You knew the right thing to do was to hand it right over to Dio, but you wanted to sneak a peek at the blade unsheathed. You pulled off the scabbard and marveled at its double-edge.

“... Is it ringing?”

You held the sword close to your ear and heard a distinct hum emanating from it. It didn’t take long for it to sound like it was calling out your name. You found yourself transfixed by your reflection in the blade.

I am the god of the stand Anubis, he who is upon his mountain. Lord of the sacred land. You have unsheathed me and now you will wield me.

You rubbed your forehead. There was no way the sword was talking to you.

You are now my body. In return I will make you a master swordsman.

Becoming a master of the sword never crossed your mind, but suddenly it felt like it had been a lifelong goal.

Not a soul will be stronger than you! Use me and kill!

You felt yourself swelling with pride, with validation, with incomprehensible joy. You felt like electricity was running through your veins, like you were unstoppable. You thought of your poor date and how Dio maimed his flesh without a care.

It enraged you, his entitlement. Why did he think he deserved to wield such power? He wasn’t fit to even gaze upon Anubis. Only you were worthy enough to slaughter with its exalted blade. To bathe in the blessed blood that would weep from your victims’ wounds.

You returned Anubis to its scabbard and set out to take down Dio. You found him outside, looking up at the sky. He turned his attention towards you.

“Ah, so you found it then?” Dio said, adjusting his balaclava.

You stared at him, eyes transfixed on his neck. You couldn’t wait to swing the blade through his skin and watch his pretty little head fall to the floor unceremoniously. You unsheathed Anubis and admired its blade.

Kill him. He is nothing in comparison to you. You’ll slice through his flesh like a hot knife through a pat of butter. Slaughter him! Do it now!

You raised the blade and went to slice Dio’s head off. However in a blink of an eye it was as if you were never holding Anubis in the first place.

“Tsk, tsk,” Dio said, returning the blade to its scabbard.

“Huh?” You said, looking down at your empty hands. “Wait…”

“I should have told you to keep it in its scabbard. My apologies.”

You tried to remember what had happened, why you felt a hint of vexation, but your mind was tabula rasa. “Di—did… Was I doing something?”

He placed his hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it.”

You were thankful Dio’s suite wasn’t far from the museum. The whole experience left you exhausted. Once inside the hotel he took it upon himself to carry you up to his suite. He laid you down on his bed, giving you permission to sleep beside him. You started to undress yourself as he reflected on the night’s events.

“I didn’t realize how formidable Anubis was at possessing people,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head.

You yawned. “Is that why I tried to kill you?”

He nodded and unzipped his jeans before kicking them off, revealing that he skipped wearing underwear.

“Damn.” You exhaled to regain composure. “Well, fuck. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. It’s not like you would have been able to defeat me,” he teased, stroking his flaccid cock.

You looked up at him, his appearance like that of a god. He looked so handsome illuminated by candlelight.

It was true you stood no chance against him in a fight. He could crush your skull with his bare hands if he willed it. It left you a confusing mess of fear and passion. You wanted to be by his side even if it guaranteed you an early death or prison time. There was no need for self preservation so long as he remained ethereal.

He caught you staring at him and simpered. Your cheeks were hot with embarrassment. He leaned over you and left you shrinking in his shadow. He ran his thumb along your jaw, his cold touch a welcome sensation.

“You’re so cute.”

He rubbed your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb before forcing it into your mouth.

“Suck.”

You rolled your tongue along the underside of his thumb.

“Good girl,” he cooed while stroking his cock.

It was girthy and of considerable length. The skin was smooth and pale, almost as if it was made of porcelain. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, completely overwhelmed by its presence.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth and got on top of you. He rubbed your clit through your underwear. The muscles in your thighs contracted. A small whine fell from your lips. You could feel his erection brushing up against your body. His dominance lorded over you, engulfing you and holding you hostage. He pushed your underwear to the side and slid two fingers inside you. He curled them, pressing up against the walls of your cunt.

Dio pressed his lips against your ear and purred, “It’s like you were always meant to be beneath me.”

You laughed nervously. “I guess.”

He let out a pleased hum and kissed your neck.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” he said as he sat up.

Dio licked his fingers clean before pulling off your underwear. He stared down at your aching cunt with pity. He lowered himself and positioned his face in between your legs. With a single swipe of his tongue you were utterly mesmerized. He gave your clit slow licks with a soft tongue. You felt like your heart was pounding against your chest.

You watched as he arched his back while he ran his tongue between your folds. His ass was magnificent.

You threaded your fingers through his blonde hair and rubbed his head, letting your hand rest on the base of his skull.

“Feels good,” you babbled.

He looked up at you, gaze radiating warmth. It was the first time he’d ever granted you such softness. It quelled your anxiety and you were able to let yourself relax, something you had not done since Dio came into your life.

You felt weightless, like you were floating above the clouds. The pleasure was insurmountable as he sucked on your clit, lapping up the sweetness of your arousal. He began to rut against the bed, driving his cock into the mattress. He moaned, his vocalizations vibrating against your cunt.

“Fuck,” you whimpered as he flicked the tip of his tongue against your throbbing clit.

Dio chuckled before giving your clit a kiss. He got back on top of you and grabbed ahold of your chin, forcing you to look him dead in the eye.

He smirked and asked, “Do you think you’re ready for me?”

“Yes,” you said in a rather pathetic tone of voice.

You were desperate and there was no hiding it.

He sank his cock down into your cunt. You wrapped your arms around him and held onto his upper back as he began to thrust. You could hardly catch your breath as he drove his cock deeper inside. Gone was the brief bout of tenderness, it was as if he couldn’t stop himself once his pleasure came into the picture.

“Ah—i—it’s too much,” you said, eyebrows knitted together.

“You can take it,” he grunted.

You clenched your jaw and tried to breath through the pain. It wasn’t that you didn’t like it, you just weren’t expecting it. No one had ever been so rough with you before. Most of your partners treated you like you were made of thin glass, but Dio manhandled you like you were made of diamonds.

He pulled down your bra revealing your breasts. He grabbed a hold of one, pinching your nipple between his fingers.

“Dio!”

He shushed you and began to suck on your neck, grazing it with his inhumanely sharp teeth. You yelped and all he did was chuckle. He started to fuck you harder, groaning as he bottomed out. You locked your legs around him, holding onto him like your life depended on it. You dug your nails into his back as his thrusts became more urgent. You gazed up at him, falling apart at the seams. He stared at you, almost as if he was plotting something.

Dio groaned. “Hold on,” he said, pulling his cock out of you.

He reached for something under the bed. You couldn’t imagine what he was searching for. Maybe a vibrator. Maybe a last minute condom. You really didn’t care. You were so close to coming all you wanted was him to be fucking your limp body into the mattress.

You were shocked when he pulled out a dagger. His eyes held a devilish gleam. You swallowed hard, trying to come to terms with your impending demise. You must have looked terrified because Dio started explaining himself.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m going to cut you.”

“Th—that sounds like it’ll hurt.”

He slid his cock back inside you. “You won’t feel a thing, my pet. It’ll be quick. I just need you to bleed for me.”

You nodded and focused on the sensation of his cock kissing your cervix. He bit down on the inside of his bottom lip and slashed you across the chest with the knife, leaving behind a superficial cut. Warm blood beaded out from the thin cut, sitting on your chest like tiny jewels. He let the knife drop to the floor.

Dio lapped up the blood flowing from the cut, moaning as he savored the taste. He was right. You felt no pain. It wasn’t anything close to that. It was ecstasy; you couldn’t register it as anything but delight.

You held his head close to your body as he continued to drive his cock into your glistening cunt. You felt like every cell in your body was singing, screaming out in euphoria. Your breathing grew laborious, and you caught yourself almost laughing as you ascended further and further into the heavens.

When you finally came you couldn’t help but think every moment in your life led up to this very one, that this pleasure, this rapture, was the end of it all. Nothing would top this, no one would ever make you feel this incredible again.

Dio gave your wound one last lick. “You’re mine now, you realize that don’t you?”

He tossed his head back as he filled your cunt with his cum. He collapsed on top of you and buried his face into the crook of your neck.

“You’re coming with me to Cairo. You’ll be of great use to me there.”

“What will I get out of it?”

“Me,” he replied proudly. “All you’ll ever need is me.”

Egypt didn’t sound so bad. You didn’t have any friends or family around. Nothing tied you to this place; you couldn’t even think of a single reason why you stuck around so long. You would have been lost without Dio. You never would have realized your power. Through his greatness you saw your own.

“All I’ll ever need is you,” you quietly repeated to yourself.

[theshadowsingersraven]

some people in this fandom need to realize that just claiming something is "setting a boundary" isn't a get out of jail free card to avoid accountability for bias. it's a gross misuse of a legit psychological expression, and I think most therapists would be able to tell that using it in a circumstance where users are hosting something that is not for them and instead for the community is just manipulation.

Saying it's "for all" means that it is actually "for all", not who the mods deem worthy of participating in an event based on their own personal interpretation of the text and if they're applying real-life morality standards to fiction or not.

You can take a look at plenty of other events hosted by other users, and this rule doesn't exist. It was already bad enough to try and censor art and dictate whose art is valid or whose trauma deserves protection and whose doesn't. Now, they're using "survivors boundaries" as an excuse to justify their bias.

As a survivor of abuse at the hands of my dad, I relate to Lucien heavily. I'm not going to sit here and act as though people who make art featuring Beron or shipping him with someone are morally reprehensible or that they are fans that don't deserve to be included in their own community or have their art celebrated.

My triggers are my responsibility to navigate. As they are everyone else's responsibility, too.

They can claim they're "protecting survivors" all they want, but they're certainly picking and choosing what survivors are worthy of that protection.

As a survivor, they do not speak for me or my trauma, and they have no place to decide the appropriate way for myself or others to cope with their trauma through art.

What is their place, though, is to go outside and touch grass. Maybe they should live their own life for two minutes instead of projecting themselves onto Elain and insisting that what they want is what's morally correct.

[pawberri]

you have proship dni in your bio, but you also don't intimidate me in the way a lot of people who say that do, so I'd like to ask: what does that mean to you? i don't call myself proship, but i worry that i am in the same way "I'm just not political 🤬" people are often just conservative. i think saying fiction doesn't affect reality at all is a bit silly, but i feel like it often turns into being against anything but the softest kinds of play between adults, and pedojacketing people for, like, being diaperfurs, or calling people abusers for liking cnc. I've been in proship spaces before, though, and i think people who are entrenched in that community tend to be aggressive and sometimes follow this weird policy of "nobody ever does anything bad if it's sex actually". i get very confused on when people mean "proship dni" as "dni if you believe fiction can portray bad things in a self indulgent way without it being morally reprehensible" or "dni if you are proship and see yourself as part of that space/ideology". i am always worried people will be morally disgusted by my dog girl intox yuri and stuff, and i don't want to put myself in front of those people and try to become acquainted if they would be.

I'm glad I don't intimidate. I feel like the problem with these labels is they are so euphemistic as to enable miscommunication and paranoia. I put it there not because I believe "fiction=reality" or something, or because I think kinks make you evil, but because... well I'm a victim of the internet and (most of) those people just trigger the fuck out of me lol. But also because I don't think it's ethical to post everything online without moderation and I don't like ideology that implies so. And also because saying this just stops me from getting weird anons or requests for things I'm uncomfortable drawing, because people assume I don't draw XYZ thing. Which usually I don't.

[nothorses]

What is your opinion on terf blocklists, where every one on there at the time had clear and intentional radfem beliefs pushing shitty ideas about trans people and easily identifiable as to what exactly they believe via what they say and circulate and who they constantly reblog shitty things about trans people from?

I promise this is a genuine good faith question; I want to understand if the thing I've been taught be others to do with the purported intention of eliminating platforms for terfs to protect ourselves and others is actually helpful or if that also has far reaching consequences I hadn't considered before. I'm trying to think about it but struggling with the idea I got taught to do them/follow them (blocklists) for being to identify correctly and block, not harass. But do the harms of encouraging that approach actually outweigh the benefits and that doesn't change even if the blocklist is for actual bigots?

Again, genuine question. Trying to learn.

I think the problem here is less in how a blocklist is constructed; it's not hard to imagine that a list can be made under strict enough criteria, with enough careful vetting, to contain only Genuinely Bad People- or at least people who would not object to being placed in the category of that list. It's also not hard to come up with categories of people that feel morally reprehensible enough, and unattached from any marginalized identity enough, to be "safe" to target: it would be absurd to argue against a "Nazi blocklist" that contains only self-proclaimed Nazis.

The problem also isn't really in how blocklists are intended to be used; it's pretty fair that someone might want a list of people to block pre-emptively in order to avoid harassment, particularly when that harassment is bigoted. It's not hard to imagine that someone making such a list is doing so with the intent that it only be used for blocking, and that they might even make an effort to say as much in the post. And at that point, is it really their fault if someone goes against their clearly-stated wishes?

The problem is that a blocklist is, by fundamental design, "free research". It's put forth entirely so other people do not have to do their own research, which means the entire premise discourages people from doing that research.

You aren't offering up a list of people that others should go look into and form their own opinion about, you're offering up a list of people you already did the research on so people can copy/paste and be done with it. It would be counterproductive- and frankly silly- to post a blocklist with some "but make sure to double check these yourself!" disclaimer, because like, that's not the point of the list. Nobody is going to do that. Even if they did, they're looking into these people under the assumption that there is something to find; everything is going to look suspicious in a way it never would have without that framing.

The question isn't whether a blocklist can be made with good intentions and due diligence; the question is whether it can be made with ill intent or sloppy execution, whether anyone can tell the difference, how likely they are to actually check, what you're doing with that list, and what impact your choices have.

If I make a list, the message I send is, "you can trust me. I did the research, I did it right, and this is a Good Blocklist. If you trust me, you should trust this list."

If I reblog a blocklist, the message I send is, "I trust this list. I may have even checked it myself. This is a Good Blocklist. If you trust me, you should trust this list."

The majority of the people who follow me probably believe they can trust me to some extent; oftentimes, people just trust that whatever is on their dashboard is trustworthy, because someone they follow put it there. Those are their friends, and their friends are trustworthy!

This should make you nervous. You should not be comfortable with this. People make mistakes all the time, and even if they did do the research (it's so much more likely that they did not, especially if they're not the original creator), someone else's standards of what kind of person "deserves" to be on a list like that are very likely different from your's. Are you going to double check every single name on that list yourself?

Well, if the accusation is bad enough, probably not. Especially if the accusation is something like "Nazi" or "TERF". And if you do start checking, how likely are you to check every single name? If the first 3 or 5 seem to check out, will you bother with the other 50 on the list?

What if OP hid someone in that list who doesn't belong there; someone they just have a personal grudge against? What if OP defines "TERF" to mean "anyone I assume doesn't think trans women are the most oppressed", and after the first 15 actual TERFs, the list is just a bunch of transmascs- many of whom don't even disagree with OP in the first place? What if they define "TERF" to include anyone who has ever been a TERF, and one of the people on that list is a trans person that has been rumored- without any foundation or grain of truth whatsoever- to have once been a TERF?

Will you know? Will you check? Even if someone you trust reblogs it? Even if someone you trust made it?

A blocklist may not have the same kind of obviously punitive intent as a callout post does, but it's a tool from the same toolbox. People think callout posts are about "safety", too. Lots of people also think that about the criminal justice system, about prisons, about the death penalty.

The question is not whether that could be true, or whether there could be a world in which justice is administered correctly with these tools. The question is whether it could fail, and who it hurts when it does.

Who can abuse this system? How easy is it to do so? Who is most likely to be hurt; is it the intended target, or people who are already disempowered by our systems and society?

What is the best way to go about this?

Even done correctly, a blocklist is not the most effective tool here: people can remake their blogs, change urls, and often have sockpuppets ready to go anyway. The list is rendered useless and inert as soon as enough people change their strategies to evade it. A more effective tool is education; teaching people how to recognize a TERF, or TERF ideology, on their own. Teaching them why those ideas are problematic. Encouraging them to block and disengage, and teaching them why engaging is harmful and counterproductive. Talking about de-radicalization, cult recruitment and radicalization tactics, and how to fight this epidemic.

Telling people what to think does not solve the problem, but teaching them how to be critical might.

[letteredlettered]

Stupid ways CQL changed the story from MDZS:

First on most people's list is gonna be the gay, and I agree on a political and societal level that this is an egregious change I can't get on board with. I will say though that on a personal preference level, I don't think the romance really adds much; the magic of this story is not the gay and I'm just as happy with WWX/LWJ have the intense, weird, unstated relationship they have in the drama as I am with the ultimately gay relationship they have in the book.

The Yin Iron plot in the drama is so bad, you guys. So bad. This includes a) there being multiple parts of the Yin Iron, b) WRH having some of it and creating puppets with it, c) LWJ/WWX going to search for it. Did they add this so WWX looks less terrible? So it looks like all he's doing is fighting fire with fire? I hate it. There was a knife fight, and WWX invented guns. That's literally the point of him; that's why he's terrifying; he invented something that was beyond his means to control and it got out of hand and everyone wanted the gun and there was only one. The plot in the drama is just SO STUPID. I like WWX and LWJ getting to bond when they search for it and the trip to the bunny cave, but you could really have them bond and get bunnies a different way.

The most egregious thing, imo, is how the Wen remnants are first portrayed in the drama. After the Wen Clan is defeated we see constant abuse of these prisoners, often pretty much in front of everyone's face. At one point they are even paraded in front of everyone and WWX is the only one who has a problem with it. I get that WWX is the hero, but it makes everyone else look super morally reprehensible. Like, how are we supposed to get behind LWJ if he can stomach that. Actually, forget LWJ, because I actually think the scene in the rain with the umbrella establishes that LWJ is simply unwilling to defy social convention/popular opinion, and while I think it is a slight twist on LWJ's character, it's not a big of one as you might suppose, given the novel. But Lan Xichen? The character who is supposed to be the absolute paragon of kindness, goodness, and compassion? It's always sat wrong with me. Anyway, the novel basically shows that the poor treatment of the Wens is mostly hidden from view of the public, and WWX only finds out because WQ goes to him for help.

Replacing NMJ's dismembered arm with an angry sword spirit was super confusing. Why does the sword spirit attack people's arms, and why does it ONLY do that at Mo Manor? It's stupid and confusing. I assume this was censorship as well? Unwilling to show some dismembered corpses?

Speaking on NMJ, the character is pointless in the drama. I think you really needed to show the way he helped and trusted Meng Yao and how utterly betrayed by Meng Yao NMJ was to really understand his character.

Speaking of which, it is so completely ludicrous that the Wen Clan attacks the Unclean Realm before the Wen Sect Training/Tortoise of Slaughter sequence. It does say in the book that the Wen Clan and Nie Clan are kind of in constant skirmishes, but that's why the Wen Clan heavily attacks Cloud Recess first and then goes for Lotus Pier; the point is that the Unclean Realm is too well defended. That said--I still find it outrageous that in the book everyone (except WWX, perpetually clueless) seems to know about the attack on Cloud Recesses but sends their children to the Wen Clan anyway. Like I get they're all intimidated but that is too much.

WWX falling off the cliff. So silly. LWJ never would have allowed that to happen. What was JC even doing? That said, the actual death in the book is so unclear; I get that it was the spiritual rebound, but what was JC doing then? What did it look like? I found it really weird how the book just did not illustrate a few very key climactic plot points.

Weirdly, JFM. I actually like the guy better in the drama, but that's a problem. He really is a terrible father to JC, and his terribleness really helps explain why JC is like he is.

[qqueenofhades]

One of my more "radical" leftist friends admitted after the 2016 election that they voted for Jill Stein. I asked them why and they said, and I quote, "I don't really know."

Anyway, thank you for the thoughtful post about polling. I'm still terrified of another Biden-Trump match up, but I suspect you are right that many of these online leftists yelling about sending a message to "genocide Joe" were not likely voters to begin with.

Well I mean, in Online Leftist world, voting is an essentially meaningless act anyway, so if they do bother to do it, why not make some sort of "protest" against the Corrupt System, even though (as I said) Jill Stein is literally a Manchurian candidate sponsored and funded by Russia precisely in order to dupe gullible leftists who want to Send a Message to the Democrats. She has no platform and no policies. She just exists to hurt Democrats and she is another part of the reason HRC lost in 2016, but hey. That sure showed us, or something.

And the thing is, while I'm not discounting that there could be some slippage of the youth vote, it would be much more effective as a threat (much as I would still deeply disagree with it, since the stakes are far too high with Trumpian fascism to fuck around with this bullshit) if we had literally any shred of evidence that they were planning to vote at all, that they were planning to vote for Biden and this is somehow the one thing that made them decide otherwise, or that their arguments were at all widespread beyond their tiny hermetic internet echo chamber. As I have said, I have not thus far seen compelling evidence that any of this is true, and believe me, I am ALSO keeping a close eye on things because this year will probably kill me before it's over. But when the Online Leftists have already spent three years lying about and trashing everything Biden has actually done, it is difficult to believe that they were in fact intending to vote for him, that they should be priced into any election analysis, or that they are as impactful as they think.

I suspect they're mostly being used to try to convince other people (who may or may not have planned to vote) that it is morally reprehensible to vote for Biden solely because of Gaza, no matter how illogical that is and how many orders of magnitude worse Trump would be on literally everything. And while I'm not denying that they may well peel off a few of the wishy-washy leaners and that's why their rhetoric is dangerous, I deeply doubt that they themselves were ever any kind of electoral or voting participant at all, because they keep telling us loudly that they're not. The media is running hard with this angle because they desperately want more Biden in Trouble stories, but actual election results keep proving them wrong, over and over. For all our sakes, let's hope very much this trend continues.