#Kill-based movement system

[6dofreviews]

Vendetta Forever | Review

There are games that demand your time and dedication with sprawling worlds, intricate narratives, and layered mechanics; and then there’s Vendetta Forever. nDreams’ latest offering delivers a fast, focused and fiendishly fun arcade shooter that understands the value of immediacy without sacrificing depth. It’s a game that will have you saying, “just one more run,” until you realise that hours…

[coralearei]

Yandere MBTI: Mydei

Notes:

Based on the Yan!MBTI system made by @/ddarker-dreams

MDNI -- NSFW mentioned (nothing too explicit)

Word Count: 1,032

GN! Reader

Cruel - Aware - Honest - Lenient

Cruel vs. Reverent

Mydei’s cruelty sometimes comes in the form of verbal threats candidly describing what he has planned for you if you don’t acquiesce to his demands. These menacing remarks are clear, concise, and typically quite graphic— often he’ll threaten to fracture your ribs in the composed, casual manner he uses to comment on anything else. Many times, these threats will also accompany a smirk that doesn’t try to hide his exhilaration at the thought of pushing your limits.

That isn’t to say that he isn’t all bark and no bite… Mydei tends to enact physical affliction unexpectedly, without any sort of warning. He revels in your startled movements as he wills scarlet crystals to poke their keen vertices out of the ground, watching you skittishly flinch away just for another to take shape barely centimeters in front of you. He doesn’t particularly like letting the crystals impale you— a jolt or so is reasonable—  but Mydei prefers to do anything more severe with his own two hands. His touch isn’t much worse; his gauntlets feel just as solid against your skin as the crystallized blood you’re subject to on a regular basis.

Unlike the jagged gems, however, Mydei himself is far more rough with you, sadistically poking and prodding your pleading, shaking body. You can’t do much more than beg him to have mercy, to stop, and promise that you won’t make the same mistake twice. Whether or not you learn from situations like this doesn’t matter— whenever Mydei puts his hands on you, it’s not only punishment— you become a rather fine source of entertainment.

Aware vs. Delusional

Mydei doesn’t pay much attention to your own love for him— that isn’t what he wants out of you in this relationship. He also happens to be someone who harbors feelings of hatred deep within himself, and he can’t blame you for doing the same. Nevertheless, Mydei will tear down any sort of defiance on the surface level that you direct at him— that sort of behavior can be quite inconvenient and untoward to deal with. What really matters to him is your ability to follow orders and your willingness to obey.

Not unlike a lot of other people, you’re quite terrified of Mydei. This is something he not only knows, but uses against you. But he doesn’t only rely on intimidation, he’s also prone to enjoying the threats he gives you in order to force you to submit. You always do. That’s Mydei’s favorite part of your personality, or so he claims. The way you never defy him in the end might make him less of a lover and more of a predator— which he indifferently accepts. Mydei is all but used to hatred and strife anyways.

Manipulative vs. Honest

Mydei approaches you head-on, with no hesitation whatsoever. When you first catch his eye, he decides you'll be a pretty thing to keep around-- and he wants to have you. Your willingness to cooperate with Mydei is won over as a result of his adroitness, which you know better as his ability to humiliate you. He isn’t afraid to threaten you in public, and when he does, you never turn down his demands in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. When Mydei does win you over, he makes sure to treat you accordingly, like the good little trophy you ought to be.

Regardless of the torment his behavior causes you, Mydei isn’t guilty in the slightest about what he does to you. Verbally, he isn’t quite upfront with you about it, but Mydei’s actions speak louder than his words. He was born to rule a city-state that glorified battle and bloodshed, which is what led him to brutally murder the former king of Castrum Kremnos. Mydei doesn’t justify the way he treats you, unlike the case in which he killed his father— but he doesn’t need a reason to. His hands have already been stained with so much blood, both literal and figurative, so what’s one more instance of the suffering of another that he causes?

Ultimately, Mydei feels utterly indifferent towards your happiness, though he does tend to take a great amount of pride when your suffering is caused by his own hands. When he’s done with you, he’ll admires the wounds and welts that decorate your pretty skin, knowing that your every imperfection is the product of his handiwork.

Strict vs. Lenient

Though Mydei gives you some semblance of freedom while he’s away, you know that there’s so much more on the line if you do anything that might ignite the spark of his fury’s flames. And although Mydei is easily annoyed, there isn’t a lot you can do to truly anger him.

For the most part, he doesn’t have a problem with leaving you to your own devices. You aren’t plucked apart from your own life when Mydei decides he’s going to make you his; he inconveniently inserts himself into yours instead. In the early stages of your abruptly-begun ‘relationship’ with him, he’s around you as much as possible, which is quite often for someone who spends so much time on the battlefield. Even so, in many cases you don’t exactly see Mydei, but he’s sure to constantly make his presence known. It’s almost like you can almost feel him near you, though you can’t quite place exactly where.

Soon enough, he has to go to war again. You almost feel a sense of relief knowing that you really all alone now— assuming you are, of course. However, it’s not as if you’re completely let off the hook during Mydei’s campaigns, which can span up to several months at a time. He’ll find time to visit you more than a few times, much to your disappointed surprise. Mydei’s sporadic visits do not only serve as a method to keep you in check. They’re also for his benefit; brashly fucking you helps him release some of his pent-up anger. If you happen to be out and about when Mydei returns, he’ll find you regardless— you’re never able to get far. And when he does find you and return to his residence with you in tow, you always know to expect much worse.

[heron-knight]

so it’s generally agreed that every type of mech pilot has some sort of system in their interface that chemically rewards them whenever they kill the target and/or fills them with enough combat stims per second to kill a medium to large sized horse

Basically, all of us are united by the sacred wisdom of “emptying a magazine into a hostile point blank is the equivalent of using a Hitachi wand on max settings”

The question is, what about lower-budget mechs like those used by resistance movements? Those factions generally can’t afford the same brain-computer interface tech a lot of the time

Anyway, give me a mech engineer who used to work for the corporations before joining the resistance and is now trying to apply the mech design principles that were taught to them assuming they’ve got a corporate level of design budget, but now all they’ve got is whatever’s lying around on the base and interface tech that can barely handle an old-style noninvasive headset, let alone a real reward-feedback system— and as such they are forced to improvise to make sure the pilot is properly motivated by duct taping the contents of the shoebox under the captains bed onto the pilot’s seat and wiring it up to the trigger of the primary weapon

You see my vision here

(Bonus points if they’re doing this because the pilot also used to work for the corporation and piloting feels empty without the automatic rewards)

[yaut-jaknowit]

Just wanted to say thank you for writing my ask! <3 I love all your works and when I saw it I got all giddy!

It sounds like you're really busy so don't worry about about continuing! I'm happy with what's written already!! <3

A Total Smash Part 2

Pairings: Dai'stbaen (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Warnings: SMUT, thigh fucking, kinda? dirty talking, P in V, knotting, creampies, hints of breeding (if you squint).

Word Count: 3904

Summary: After your front door was busted down by a bad blood, your house is far too cold to sleep in alone. Dai'stbaen and yourself are forced to share a bed to keep the other alive. The cold is killing even when you are cocooned in by blankets. Dai'stbaen takes it upon himself to make sure you survive. Close contact turns into something else.

Author Note: Alright, I hoped I redeemed myself in this part! I know you didn't ask for a second part but I had someone do It. Plus, I felt a need to finish it off. So, I busted butt and whipped this thing out for you.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1

The bed was familiar underneath you; offering relief after a long, hard day. In this moment of time, it didn’t give a sense of ease or content. Your spine was tense from base to head. An alien figure laid next to you, breaths barely heard in the silence of your house. Someone you had only met hours ago and now had to sleep next to for warmth. Anyway to survive the night so you could make it to tomorrow for a trip to town.

Everything felt off. The silence that engulfed the entire house since the heat had been shut off. There was no use of keeping it on. That’ll will only burn out the system and make for a pain in the ass at a later date. You used the blankets to cover yourself more as the biting cold nipped through the ones you already had on you.

Yet, as you laid there longer, the cold grew more and more. Your jaw clenched to stop it from chattering. This night was going to be terrible and long. There wasn’t a chance you could sleep this off until morning.

Movement at your side caught your attention. Before you knew it, a hot, thick arm curled around your abdomen. You froze up more, hands immediately going down to grasp the muscles. The arm tugged you from one side of the bed to the other. A yelp surged past your lips. Your back was pressed against a calming warmth that soaked into your veins. You were already starting to relax when his voice broke the silence.

“There’s no need for you to shiver yourself to death. I will not allow that to happen,” he rumbled above your head. Dai’stbaen cocooned around your much smaller form. His one arm stayed firmly around your torso. The other curled under you to follow the same path as the other.

The blankets that covered him were only three layers thick. His warmth surrounded you and fought off the cold. You scootched closer to him and notched your hips snuggly against his. To keep yourself as tightly pressed to him as possible. You wanted to steal all of his heat for your own, the cold making you bitter. Yet, his warmth was softening you up.

Dai’stbaen tensed behind you, arms locking around your torso. You acted the same, afraid you somehow did something wrong. A deep rumbled poured from his chest.

“Careful.” Short, sweet, but all the threatening. A warning. You shrunk down a little and held your breath. The alien kept his grip on you tight to stop you from moving an inch more. “Stop moving,” he grunted out. One of his hands reached for your jaw and tilted your head to the side. His bright eyes could be seen through the low light of the room.

“S-sorry.” You didn’t know if it was from the cold still nipping at you or the fear that gripped your heart. The longer you laid there, the more freezing your feet got. You tried to hold off since he warned you. But when you began to lose feeling, you pushed them against his shins.

His entire body jerked. His arms completely squishing you to his chest and left no space for even a hair. A growled pierced the air. Dai’stbaen began to move. His body leaned over you and snatched more blankets from your side of the bed. They were tossed over the two of you. You gratefully took them and positioned them more over your legs.

“Better?” His voice was deeper than normal. You hummed and nodded happily. You rubbed your feet against his warm shins and began to get feeling back in them. He grunted, legs twitching for a few times before stopping. “Oomans and their fragileness.” He rewrapped his arm back around you and kept you close as possible to him. You started to relax again.

“It’s not my fault it’s cold,” you pouted and shifted again. His abs tensed against your lower back. “I’m sorry I’m not some furnace of heat.” The dark red alien chuckled then hooked a leg over your hip.

“Oomans are fragile. Yautjas are strong.” You rolled your eyes and huffed. The Yautja chortled and flexed his muscles in his arms. “You are soft and plushy.” Your head jerked back and knocked against his throat. He made choking noise for a moment then growled. You wiggled and struggled against his hold as anger flared through you. That was the last thing you thought he would said to you. Such rudeness!

Dai’stbaen held onto you tightly and tried to rein you back in carefully. “Plushy?! Seriously, that’s what you decided to call me.” At notion of him calling you plushy, you grew agitated. He essential called you fat. 

As a last resort, Dai’stbaen wrapped a hand firmly around your throat. All of your movements stopped. Hips stilling then noticing a bulge pressing against swell of your ass cheeks. “I said… to stop moving,” he snapped, hand twitching around your feeble throat. One wrong twitch could snap your neck like a twig. He wasn’t going to do that but your constant rubbing was clouding his thoughts.

One thing you didn’t expect was to learn aliens had the same anatomy as your own species. You swallowed hard. Idiotically enough, you swirled your hips back. The bulge twitched under your administrations. Dai’stbaen grunted and curled in over you. “You…” the Yautja trailed off, letting his claws bite into the soft flesh of your throat. He knew he could kill you, harm you so easily. It wouldn’t take much to do so.

Alone for so long, you blamed the need swelling in your chest on loneness. It’s been so long since you were held like this, by someone who at least seems concerned about your wellbeing. He didn’t want you to freeze and willingly let you steel his warmth as his own.

It’s been too long.

The smell of your arousal entered the air despite all the blankets that covered your form. He groaned and only rutted his crotch against the plush of your butt. He’s never felt something so soft before. He never knew ooman’s were so soft like this. Or else he would’ve been here long ago.

“Tell me… tell me you want this,” he demanded in a firm tone. The vibrations set across your skin with goosebumps following suit. You took a sharp breath in then keened, hips rocking back against the growing bulge. Dai’stbaen snarled and pinched the sides of your neck, restricting blood flow to your brain. “Words, ooman.”

“Yes!” you choked out and felt the affects of restricted blood flow. The Yautja released his hold the moment you consented to advances.

Sharp fangs scrapped against your neck and shoulder. “C’jit, you… we can’t take the blankets off,” he muttered into your flesh. That’s when you realized he was right. The cold was stronger than ever inside of the house. You wouldn’t survive long out from underneath the blankets.

You lifted a leg and tossed it over his hip, exposing yourself to him. Dai’stbaen’s free hand reached to the crotch of your pants, palming against you. A whiny pant left your chapped, dry lips. Your hips rutted against the palm, the friction barely scratching the surface of your lust. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist and tried to guide him into your shorts.

Before you had the chance, his other limb snatches your own wrist and pins both of your arms to your chest. “Needy little thing. Gonna hurt yourself doing c’jit like that,” he scolded and firmly presses his middle fingers into your clothed slit. All of your sounds echoed back at you in the bedroom. Only causing your face to build with heat that stung against the cold.

One thing he can’t stop is the movement of your hips. Each drag of your hips on his finger rubs against your clit. It’s a faded friction but a friction, nevertheless. You tucked your chin into your chest and tried to keep any noises to a minimal.

“Dai, I need this. I can’t take the teasing. I want you,” you begged the hulk of a beast behind you. His movements faltered for only a moment. “It’s been too long. I can’t take much more. I need you.”

The Yautja cursed to himself silently. Your begging was music to his ears. These missions have been hard on him. To finally have something to relieve his stress out on. Someone so small and fragile. Dai’stbaen didn’t want to break you. He was in debt to you twice due to his honor code. He vowed to take care of you in any means possible. This was a win-win situation for him too.

“I will,” he promised and let that hand down south slip down passed your waistband. “I will. Just need to prepare your tiny body for me. Gonna be a tight fit. I’ll make it fit. Treat you so good, little ooman.” His voice hovered next to your ear, making your arms break out in more goosebumps. You shuttered and leaned back against him, head thrown back with the little space offered.

Coarse finger pads slipped between your wet folds, skimming over your engorged clit. You felt nearly the same as a Yautja female with only one clit though. One point to focus on. Dai’stbaen could do that.

He soaked his fingers in your slick before back enough so the rough finger pad of his middle digit was rubbing against you. Your arms strained against his hold. Your first reaction was to cover your mouth to prevent all these pathetic little noises to escape.

“Sh-shit,” you cursed, thigh muscles clenching. Then, you let your lifted leg fall down to trap his hand in place. “Keep doing that. Keep touching me like that.” You felt so strung up after so long without someone else to do this with.

He felt relieve and pride for doing this right without knowing how to work a ooman’s body like this. He took this knowledge and swiped up a little more slick to coat your throbbing clit. Your inner thigh muscles clamped down, hips twitching in a wild manner. In such a way, neither of you knew if it was to jerk away from the overwhelming pleasure or demand more.

The feeling in the pit of your stomach tightened. Your eyes clenched closed. “Fuck, I-I’m gonna… come,” you gasped out and felt the semi-familiar throb in your empty cunt. Your muscles clenching around nothing, desperate for something to fill you.

Teeth pinched at the crook of your neck. Not piercing the skin but enough to send the idea of being dominated straight to your brain.

White overcame your vision. You felt like you were floating the middle of space, free from your body. A scream left your throat but you couldn’t hear, only feel the vibrations. The alien growled against your back and tightened his hold around you. Your entire form twitched when you came back to it. The warmth and strength of him kept you grounded. His tongue licked up a stripe up your neck to the back of your ear. The pleasure never ending, fingers forcing you to take and take.

“C’jit, sei-i. You like that? Yeah, you do. Needy thing coming over my fingers. Gonna fuck you.” When the ringing in your ears finally disappeared, his voice could be heard growling into your ear. Some of his words, you didn’t understand. You took it as if the orgasm still ran its course through your body.

That same hand left the warmth and wetness between your legs to grasp the waistband of your pants. You didn’t have time to ask him what he’s doing. Dai’stbaen rips the cloth straight off of you. A gasp left your lips. His touch left your skin to reach between the two of you. The Yautja messed with own pants until you felt something hot and heavy touch at your lower back. It was wet and soaked into your shirt.

Dai’stbaen pulled his hips back and lined the tip at the apex of your closed thighs. Your muscles clenched at the feeling of this big, thick shaft touching your exposed skin. The head pushed forward and slid between your thighs. The top of it rubbing against your wet folds, skimming over your clit. You moaned and leaned your head back, throat exposed to him.

By the feel of him, he was large. It matched his stature.

A slickness coated him and eased the thrusts between your legs. “Pauk, this feels good, little thing. Gonna use you. Gonna pauk-de use you like the needy ooman you are. Desperate for alien cock.”

Both of his hands go to grip your hips and helped steady you. With your own free now, you reached back behind your head to dig your nails into the back of his neck. The rubbery dreads touched at your skin. You even pulled at one to see his reaction.

He snarled deep from his chest and snapped his hips harshly against yours. If it wasn’t for his hands, you would’ve been nearly flung off the side of the bed. The skin stung from the thrust, heat blooming to life.

“By Paya’s name, do that again.” Instead of clawing at his neck, you tugged on another tress. His pace quickened. The wet slapping of skin against skin could be heard even under all the blankets. All of this movement making you sweat. Drops forming across your skin. You were thankful for the heat that raced through your veins.

Your other hand glide down from your midriff to right above the apex of your thighs. Carefully, you made a circle out of your hands and found where what felt like half of him poked out from your thighs was. The head was pointed and slid through the hole you made. Each thrust, you squeezed the head in your hand.

The growls and hisses that left his throat were music to your ears. It was beauty to reduce a man of his stature to a panting, whining mess just by using your thighs. You started to rock with his motions, meeting him at the halfway point. The slapping of skin only grew louder. Your skin stinging only added to the pool growing in your belly and between your legs.

There was plenty of slick oozing from your cunt to make his ruts smooth as silk. With the hand between your legs, you helped angle him upwards to add pressure to your clit. You tugged on his tresses again at the increased pleasure. “Oh fuck,” you cursed again, toes curling on his skins. “I-I can’t believe y-you’re thigh fucking me.”

His claws dented the skin on your hips. A couple of them piercing the flesh and drawing blood. The pain was easily forgotten about. “Don’t want to hurt you,” he panted back. His jaw clenched and dug his fangs deeper into the crook of your neck. “Too big. Have to compromise.”

Underneath the blankets, it was incredibly hot. You almost wanted to rip them off so you could ride him. You didn’t care if he was too big. Who would pass up an incredible opportunity to get bulldozed by an alien of his size.

His thrusts began to grow sloppy, his growls only increasing in volume. The knot in the pit of your stomach only tightened at the thought. You pulled again on the dread and kept pulling. “I don’t care of you’re too big. I need you inside. At least the tip, please. C-can’t get the blankets dirty,” you tried to reason with him. Even if it was only the tip. Anything to feel his girth stretch you wide. Anything to come on, to squeeze around.

Another growl tumbled from his throat. “Are y-you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.” Dai’stbaen had to make sure as his orgasm started to cloud his thoughts. You were ooman. Small, weak. He didn’t want to hurt or break you. He owed you his life, twice. But, he wouldn’t say he didn’t want to enter you, stretch your small cunt to fit him. Pauk, he really wanted to now.

“Yes, please!” you whined and started to guide the tip towards you soaked entrance. He slowed his thrusts to a stop and grasped the base of his cock to help. The pointed head speared between your folds. Dai’stbaen rutted forward twice, missing your pussy. Until the third time, he sunk home.

Only the head was able to fit snuggly inside of you. You shout his name. Your back arched off of his torso, hips angled down and pushed in an inch more of him.

The alien was panting, doing everything he can to stop from himself from fully sink down to the base. You squeezed him perfectly. The warmth of your pussy was like the best hunting grounds to him. He bit down harder on your neck, not regretting when he heard your whine.

It felt like he was stretching you to the limit. This was exactly what you needed. It’s been far too long since you had someone to do this with. He was hitting the right spot inside of you, making stars appear in your vision.

Your fingers instantly started to swirl around your throbbing nub. Careless mewls poured from your lips like a waterfall. You didn’t care if he heard them anymore.

Pleasure soaked in every corner of your body. You couldn’t even think at this point. Once he was inside and rubbing firmly against your g-spot, that’s when it was all over for you.

Dai’stbaen started to shallowly thrust, trying to be mindful of not to push too far in. Every rut, everything second passing, he was slowly losing his ability to think. He wanted nothing more to pin you down and fully thrust into you. You could take it. Pauk, he was trying so hard.

“Go-gonna come again!” you warned and kept your hips angle. You worked with him and returned to meeting his thrusts. Everyone, it felt like he was going just a centimeter deeper, reaching for your cervix. You were desperate to make that happen.

He felt the way your muscles throbbed hard around him, signaling your end. An end that will trigger him. The Yautja pulled his mouth back enough to rest his closed mandibles in the same spot. He didn’t want to take a chunk out of you if he could help it.

“Yeah? Pauk-di do it. Squeeze my cock needy thing. Needing a cock to come on.” It’s not like he was in a better headspace either. He tensed his jaw, eyes closing to focus solely on you. “Come on. Come all over my pauk-di cock!”

The vibrations his demand sent down your spine had you crying out. Your hips jerked harshly back and forced half of his cock inside of you. Dai’stbaen sputtered as his first instinct was to thrust all the way forward. The knot at the base of his cock barely popped in and formed just on the inside of your muscles. You cried out beautifully and arched against him. He held onto you tightly and curled around you.

His warm seed filled you, making a mess inside of you. You whined and panted; eyes closed as you weakly rested on the bed. Your energy was long lost. Your entire body was buzzing with dopamine.

Dai’stbaen held onto a thread of his sanity. He’s never felt such a vice grip around him, such warmth that welcomed him in. You’ve ruined him for anyone else. How else was he supposed to back to the mothership when he knows this? He knew his claws were hurting you but your lax body was a sign you didn’t even feel it.

The alien groaned into the crook of your neck and released his bruising grip on your hips. He lets one arm drape over your torso. The other stretches out on the bed.

Your walls kept pulsing around his sensitive knot and causing him to jerk. Each move made him move his hips closer, seemingly pushing the ball of flesh more into you.

When you finally settled, the Yautja followed suit. His were closed, basking in the aftermath of a universe rocking orgasm. Pauk, he might just take you with him. He’ll do anything to keep you at his side. Maybe… even have you carry his pups. C’jit, he shouldn’t think that while still inside of him.

Once the rush began to fade and letting you finally feel the situation you were in, you whimpered at the singing pain between you legs. Your hands weakly grasped at the sheets in front of you and attempted to pull yourself away from him. A snarling, threatening growl left his throat. Both arms encircling your torso and keeping you pressed to him. Trapped.

“Stay.” A dark tone to carry out the words.

Yet, with the pain evident between your legs, you couldn’t help but to move. Squirming only made it worse, seemingly pulling something too big lodged inside of you.

“Hurts,” you whined and accidently clenched around the shaft stuck deep inside of you. The Yautja groaned and dragged his claws against your side.

He used his mandibles to pinch the crook of your neck. Your body reacted by stilling under the instinct of his dominance. “I know. I’m sorry. Don’t move. It makes it worse.” Dai’stbaen let go of your neck to lick at the sweat dripping down your skin in a caring manner. “I have a knot. I didn’t mean to… knot you, little one. Just don’t move. It’ll go down on its own.”

Your eyes snapped open. The room was still dim; the only light coming from the snow outside. Did he just sat knot? Like… a dog? You shuttered but did as what you were told.

As time passed, the stinging lessened. Your body growing used to the stretch and accommodating it. Soon enough, it started to feel good, completely pressed against your g-spot like that. You stayed skill though and let the flesh decrease in size. Until it was small enough for it pop out of your abused hole. You clenched your thighs together to prevent any of it dripping down onto the bed and ruining your sheets.

He nuzzled against your shoulder and gave you mock kisses. One of his hands petted down your side. “Did so well, little ooman. Keep it inside like that,” he muttered into your skin. The alien moved around as if he searching for something. His hand grasped an item under the blankets and pushed it between your legs. It was your ripped off shorts. He used them to help trap his seed inside of you and clean the mess up a little.

“Hm, perfect.” His softening cock seemed to disappeared from between the two of your bodies. In you hazed state, you couldn’t care less about it and stayed on your side. The heat the two of you produce was enough to make you continuously sweat under the blankets. But, you refused to take anything off. Just encase the night grows colder.

Pain was evident in your sore body. You turned your head and pressed a chaste kiss against mandible. Dai’stbaen paused in shock before deeply purring and gathering you in his arms for the night. Nothing would or could get to you.

[minnesota-fats]

A fic-lit about Danny working at the watchtower, not as a superhero but as an engineer.

This is based on an prompt I read months ago but cant find where Danny put that he was a halfa on his resume but the hiring manager didn’t pay attention to it and hired him anyway. Rather than that its just Danny working at the watchtower and vibing on break when a tiny Robin finds him in the viewing deck.

—

Danny had been working for the justice league watchtower for a couple of months. He has seen hero’s come and go, paying him no mind and he was absolutely living for it! Unlike at 14, he was just a simple, normal worker—despite being half dead and the next in line for the crown in the infinite realms—he is just a simple mechanical engineer, Danny Nightingale. No one to fight, no one to save, just a big space station that needed someone to help keep it up in space.

And that's another bonus to this job; Space!

He gets to spend his shift up in the stars, looking out at the cold expanse of their solar system. Admiring the earth from a whole new angle, and he is getting paid to do it! Sure he could go into space any time, but being able to spend a good portion of his time here really made his core sing in joy. When he was on break he would wander around the areas he had clearance to go into, looking out every window at every star. Cataloging the ships movement through space with sharp eyes. His favorite place to go is the viewing deck, it was exactly what it sounded like, a place to just go and view that space outside.

It was there that Danny decided to take his break today, the Watchtower was at just the right angle to be able to see the earth from the viewing deck. Danny smiled watching the planet he lived on from afar, this really was the best job he could have ended up with!

A few months back he was having a hard time finding work after college, sure he had all the proper qualifications for the positions he applied for. But due to his medical condition—being half dead with a slow almost nonexistent heartbeat—they all refused him, afraid that his heart wouldn't keep up if he left the atmosphere to board any of the space stations orbiting the earth. To be fair it wouldn't have, he tested it by flying up to the moon and back the old fashioned way. But he couldn't just tell them that; being an ecto entity was still a crime that he was just barely able to get away from at age eighteen.

He came out to his parents once he graduated high school, they reacted poorly. Danny’s mom saw red and tried to kill him the rest of the way, claiming that Danny was just a ghost “piloting” his corpse around. Danny’s dad just stayed silent and watched, but before maddie could really do anything he acted. Jack knocked Maddie out with a strong blow to the back of her head. Danny remembered the hope that he had when Jack did that, but after he looked up at the man that hope died in his chest. The man looked torn, both angry and sad and in a voice lacking any of the familiar warmth said, “leave before she wakes up.” And he turned to pick up Maddie and made his way up the stairs. It was because of his dad that he was able to get away because after that Danny Fenton was declared dead. With the help of Sam and Tucker he was able to make a new identity for himself and go to school. From that day on Danny decided to move on and never look back.

After putting his name out there time and time again he was rejected. It wasn't until he got a letter in the mail saying he had been scheduled for an interview at Wayne tech of all places. He didn’t remember applying there but decided to go anyway, needing some sort of job to get him through. But when he got there he was greeted by Lucius Fox and Batman of all people! Danny nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the dark knight, Danny couldn't help but think the worst. But before he could bolt, Lucius explained that Batman was looking for workers with the help of Wayne Industries for the base of operations for the Justice League—The Watchtower. Turns out all his applications to several different space programs caught the man’s attention. He even explained that Danny wouldn't even need to have a physical or get on a spaceship because The Watchtower utilized teleportation technology. Danny was so excited that he agreed on the spot without even knowing the benefits he would get from working with them. Which—surprising to no one—were a lot of benefits.

Danny was drawn from his thoughts when he heard the soft, almost nearly nonexistent footsteps coming from behind him. Danny turned and saw a child—no older than twelve—wearing a hero’s costume that looked like he was mimicking a traffic light. The kid froze in his tracks when Danny turned to face him, the two staring at each other for a few moments before the kid smiled and waved at him.

“Hi,” the kid beamed at Danny, “I’m D—Robin!”

Danny lifted a brow, “you a part of the justice league?” He asked, not remembering a kid being a part of their team.

The kid shook his head, “No, my guardian is though!” He explained.

“Ah, neat,” Danny said nonshalontly as he turned back to look at the window, “you come to see the view?” He asked.

The kid walked farther into the room and gasped when he got a better look at said view. “Woah—”, he exclaimed, now standing next to Danny.

Danny looked beside him to see the stars reflecting off of the kids' eyes, “cool isn't it? I come here on my lunch breaks," Danny says.

The kid looked at him and then squinted suspiciously, “if you're at lunch where is your food?” He asked.

Danny smiled, “I forgot my lunch at home today,” Danny lied, seeing the stars gave him enough energy to continue going. He usually eats when he gets home.

“Really?” The kid asked with a raised brow.

Danny smiled and looked around to see if anyone else was there, when he saw no one he asked, “do you wanna hear a secret?” He asked. Robin looked around himself as well before he leaned down a bit so Danny could whisper into his ear, “I actually just absorb the energy from the stars to sustain myself.” He explained.

“Really?” Robin asked, looking at him again, trying to gauge if Danny was lying or not.

Danny smiled, “yep,” he said, popping the p, “that's why I got a job here, that way I won’t starve to death.” Danny grins.

“But cant you just look at the stars from earth?” Robin asked, tilting his head.

“I mean, sure,” Danny says with a shrug, looking back out the window, “but this is so much better, isn't it?”

Robin looked out the window, “yeah!” The boy exclaimed, “it's so much clearer up here than in Gotham.” He commented.

Danny smiled and looked back at the boy, “I live in Gotham, too.”

“Really?” Robin asked, “No wonder you come up here,” the boy commented, causing Danny to snort in laughter and it wasn't long before Robin joined him.

“You got that right,” Danny says with a smirk before something dawns on him, “Wait, hero from gotham? I didn't know Batman had a kid?” Robin looked away, Danny could feel his nerves and sadness pass through him.

Danny was about to tell him that he didn't have to talk about it but before he could get his words out Robin spoke up, “My parents died about a year ago… he took me in only recently, he decided to train me when I found out he was Batman,” the kid says looking down at his feet, a glare etched on his face, “i never got to avenge my parents, the murderer had a heart attack before I could even get to him….”

Danny reached out to the kid and placed his hand on Robin’s shoulder, Robin looked up at him—as if remembering that Danny was there with him.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Danny says softly, Robin looks away from him. “But I can tell you wholeheartedly, your parents are proud of you and what you are doing,” robin began rubbing at his mask, preventing him from wiping the tears away from his eyes underneath. “Here,” Danny says as he goes to pick up the 12 year old, “let's get you back to the Big Black Bat, I bet he is looking for you.”

Danny sits Robin on his hip and walks out of the room, rubbing circles into the child’s back. They walk together in silence, Robin resting his head in the crook of Danny's neck. “…Thank you,” Robin mumbles.

“Don't mention it kid,” Danny says as he looks around the corridor trying to spot anyone who could help him get this kid to the upper levels, “I know what it's like to lose your parents….”

“Really?” Robin asked, his head lifting off of Danny’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Danny says, “they didn't die, but they basically said they never wanted to see me again.”

Robin gasped, “that's not nice!” Robin declared making Danny laugh again.

“Your right,” Danny agrees as he turns down another hall towards where the zeta tubes were, maybe someone in there could help. “But, now I'm here, having the time of my life with the job of my dreams.”

Robin smiled again, “you could say you're living the HIGH life.”

Danny paused in the hall and started snickering, “that was a good one, Birdy.”

“Birdy?” Robin asked.

“Yeah, your name is Robin, that's a bird, so Birdy,” Danny explained, “its a nickname

“Does that make us friends?” Robin asked.

“Sure, as long as your guardian is ok with it.”

The boy smiled happily, excited at the idea of having made a new friend. The calm was interrupted but Danny’s supervisor yelled from across the room, “Nightingale!” He shouts, causing Danny to jump.

Danny turns to look at the man, “hey boss—” he starts, blocking Robin from the man, not wanting to scare the kid.

“You are late to clock back in! You're not getting paid to sit around with your head in the clouds!” The man shouts.

“Sorry sir, I was—”

“No! You need to get back to work, NOW!” He demanded, “this is a multibillion dollar space station, everything needs to be on a strict schedule!”

Danny sighed, his supervisor hasn't liked Danny from day one. Something about him being “young and nïeve” or something like that; “head higher up into space than we were right now.” At least that's what Danny heard him say about him once or twice.

Danny was about to talk back when something just past his manager caught his eye. It was Batman, walking fast with a look that told everyone to get out of the way. But Danny could feel the worry bleed off the man in waves. Must be looking for Robin, Danny’s mind supplied. Danny sidesteps his supervisor and shouts, “Hey Batman!” To catch the dark knight’s attention. Danny had to restrain his laughter when he saw the look of horror pass on his supervisor's face.

Now with the vigilanties cold glare focused on him, Danny smiled and adjusted his stance to show Robbin to him. “Looking for you kid?” Danny asked.

Robin smiled nervously and waved at Batman, guess he wasn’t supposed to wander off like he did. “Hey B!” He shouts.

Batman’s glare softens so slightly, a regular person would have missed it. However, Danny could feel the man’s previous anxieties melt away into a strong relief. Batman strutted forward and glared down at Danny—despite Danny being taller than him. Danny just smiled and adjusted Robin on him so he could hand him over to the dark knight.

Now in Batman’s arms, Robin tapped his pointer fingers together nervously. “Sorry for wandering off,” he mumbled before his smile came back full force, “but,” he exclaimed, “I made a friend! His name is Danny and he liked my puns! And we both have bird names!” He exclaimed all while pointing at Danny.

Batman looked from the kid in his arms to Danny, “hmm,” he grumbled. A man of few words, Batman nods at Danny.

Danny nodded back, “He’s a good kid, glad I was able to help.” Danny replied. Feeling gratitude from that small gesture alone. Batman isn't the most expressive but being able to read emotions like Danny really helps when talking to people.

Batman turns his head to look over at Danny’s superior, “hmm.” After that Batman turned and walked away.

Robin climbed to sit up on Batman’s shoulder and waved back at Danny, “Bye bird buddy! Have a good day!” He shouts as Batman enters the elevator. The doors closing behind them and leaving the zeta tube control center in near silence.

Danny looked back to his supervisor who looked as pale as a sheet ghost, Danny gave him a shit eating grin and shrugged at him. “I tried to tell ya—”

“Get back to work Nightingale!” He shouts.

“Ok, ok, I'm going.” Danny says, turning on his heels and walking away from the man with his hands held up in surrender.

—

I have so many ideas for this au and if I write more I might post it on my AO3 feel free to read other things I posted on there!

[a-very-tired-jew]

Columbia University's Joint Anti-Israel Groups Go Mask Off

Hey, remember how Columbia University had students in encampments protesting for months? Remember how their SJP, BDS movement, and associated groups endorsed terrorism, violence, and "resistance by any means"?

I remember. Well their joint SJP and BDS group called CU Apartheid Divest just posted something to their Instagram that shows it has never been about Palestine or Palestinians.

Fig. 1. CU Apartheid Divest group, made of SJP, BDS, and other groups openly admits that they are anti-Western Civilization

Read that again.

"We are Westerners fighting for the total eradication of Western civilization."

That's a wild statement to make.

So what are they posting about suddenly that has them revealing their intent for their actions since October?

Bangladesh.

The CU Activists are attempting to liken October 7th attack by Hamas with the Bangladesh student protests. Bangladesh had a quota based employment system that students were protesting, the government responded violently, and everything escalated from there due to years of government corruption, violence, and economic turmoil. This was a protest turned revolution within a country by its own people. This was not a government run by a recognized terrorist group attacking another country, killing civilians, and taking them hostage.

However, the differences and reasons between Hamas's actions and the actions of the students in Bangladesh do not matter to the anti-Zionist Activist.

We've seen this repeatedly from these activists that they will try to liken their movement and/or attach it to other conflicts around the world. Many of these conflicts differ greatly from the Israel/Hamas war as they are internal issues with internal actors being involved.

Bangladesh is students protesting against their government.

Sudan is going through a civil war between various factions.

The Congo has been experiencing decades long violence as various militias fight each other for control.

Yet I've see anti-Israel protestors tag their posts with Free Bangladesh, Free Congo, Free Sudan even though these conflicts differ in origin and parties involved.

If you continue through the IG post you'll see very little information as to the cause of the protest/revolution in Bangladesh and continued attempts to coopt the actions for their movement.

Fig. 2. CU Apartheid Divest group tries to liken its student movements to the student protests in Bangladesh and calls to escalate.

I can't help but think that the CU student activists yearn to be oppressed in a way that would allow them to respond like revolutions and protests around the world. The way they speak and write exudes a yearning for violence. In Fig. 2. they detail the actions taken by students against an authoritarian government that has actively shot and killed protestors. Whereas here in the USA the students were forcibly removed from campuses, experienced some police violence, were arrested, and then released. No curfews with a shoot on sight policy were imposed here in the USA in response to college campus protests.

Fig. 3. CU Apartheid Divest classifies this as an Intifada and likens it to Hamas's attack.

Notice in Fig. 3. that they're trying to call the actions in Bangladesh an Intifada. Not an intifada, but an Intifada which is a proper noun with its own connotation. I know I may be a stickler here, but if I see that word capitalized then I know it's referencing the First and Second Intifadas, and I know that these student groups have been calling for a Third one under the guise of "Global Intifada". They also say that Westerners need to escalate and are "obligated" to do so.

Fig. 4. CU Apartheid Divest uses tankie terminology, refers to Bangladeshis as martyrs, and calls this part of the Global Intifada.

The terminology in Fig. 4. also shows how much the Free Palestine student movement in the USA is not actually about Palestine, Palestinians, or any other movement it tries to attach itself to. These are tankies as indicated by the use of "comrades" and they are wholly opposed to Western Civilization. They genuinely state that their movement should violently escalate here in the USA and that they should be prepared for "sacrifices". This language when coupled with the use of Intifada is alarming as it appears that these student activists are preparing to follow in the footsteps of the Second Intifada, or at the very least calling for others to do so.

These students, whom call themselves the Militants of Hind's Hall (seen in the IG post, but not pictured here), are coopting, or attempting to coopt, movements and conflicts from around the world for their own ideals. As these are students in the USA who are arguably experiencing the least amount of oppression when compared to these other conflicts, and are actively attending Ivy League or R1 universities, it can only be assumed that they're yearning to live out their Glorious Revolution fantasy.

I am under no illusion that I understand their reasoning. Are things perfect here in the USA? Of course not, but when compared to the countries that these student protestors are attaching themselves to, we are leaps and bounds better. And if you disagree, then I have to ask, when was the last time we had a curfew with a shoot on sight policy?

Anyone attempting to call this movement and group "peaceful" is naive. They've been telling you for months that they're not peaceful, that their goals are not peaceful, and that the only peace they want is after they commit violence.

The IG link for reference

[owepossum]

Viktor is a character who wants to help people and is very empathetic. Will he have conflicts with Silco later in the story when Silco starts distributing shimmer and changes undercity for the worse? Or will your story go in different direction ?

Hello anon, thank you for this fascinating question! I’ll put spoilers under cut again but I think the treatment of shimmer / drug / opioid epidemic analogy was done quite poorly in the show. I suspect mostly because of screen time constraints, which is entirely understandable. However I find it hard to ignore the old adage: those who preach non violence often have violence done on their behalf. In the arc of oppression, violence is never the answer until it’s the only answer.

That’s not to say the harm in canon caused by Shimmer is justified (obviously) but I think wanting to “help” is not itself a clear moral compass.

Both Silco and Viktor wanted to help Zaunites.

Viktor tried helping within the system. He did everything the “right” way — he legitimised himself via education, he abhorred violence, he innovated in accordance with that systems imperatives (profit) and tried to maximise social good despite that. In the end, I’d argue that the system won. His innovations were used entirely to benefit Piltover, inc weapons and commerce.

Silco recognised the “base violence necessary for change” in a corrupt system. Yes he profited from shimmer, but the goal was not excess for himself. It was to arm zaunites to secure independence (and freedom from Enforcer violence). We never got to see what he would have done after that, which is a shame, as his movement was cut short.

Idek if it’s because I’m POC but It’s very telling (even without the S2 writer leak) that the writers positioned Vander as “the good guy” ultimately, because he was “peaceful”. Vander upheld a status quo that was systematically killing + exploiting Zaunites. As an audience we can absolutely empathise with his dilemma! He’s trying to protect people in a non violent way. But he’s the one with a memorial statue. Was separate really equal? Look how tenuous that “peace” was. He also wanted to help Zaunites. And yet.

I guess I jsut don’t like the dichotomy in a lot of fics that feed into this “non violence is what will heal”. That ending narration was so fucking patronising.

Then again, this is a show that has to be sold in the USA and Ch1na. God forbid you overthrow the plutocrats. Here, have one (1) seat.

Silco’s actions (and consequences) cannot be compartmentalised from Piltover (which, by definition of what we’ve been shown is a plutocratic police city-state where half its population (zaunites) have no governing voice). The fact that an unelected plutocrat can mobilise chemical warfare against half the population because she controls public utility / infrastructure is absolutely horrific.

•• mild spoilers •• the role and treatment of Shimmer follows a different arc in Devotions, partly precisely because Viktor does not abandon Silco. It’s his presence that changes Silco’s priorities and methods. He’s less consumed with betrayal and that mitigates the myopia in canon. I also think Silco’s pragmatism and revolutionary views affect Viktor too.

I’m hoping the blend is a canon divergence worth reading!

Sorry for the long post. Also: fuck Heimerdinger. Mealy mouthed self righteous hamster. complicit and wilfully ignorant.

[merwgue]

"Rhysand hasn't done anything wrong"

Here’s a breakdown of the actual legal crimes Rhysand could be charged with, based on real-world laws:

A Court of Thorns and Roses (Book 1)

1. Sexual Assault – Rhysand forces Feyre into non-consensual situations, including touching her and kissing her while under the influence of drugs.

2. Drugging/Administration of a Controlled Substance – He forces Feyre to drink faerie wine (a mind-altering substance), which removes her ability to consent and control her actions.

3. Kidnapping/False Imprisonment – Under the Mountain, Rhysand traps Feyre into a bargain that forces her to spend time with him, effectively limiting her freedom.

A Court of Mist and Fury (Book 2)

1. Sexual Harassment – Rhysand frequently engages in unwanted physical contact with Feyre, coercing her in various ways under the pretext of their bargain.

2. Psychological Abuse/Coercion – The manipulation and psychological control Rhysand exerts over Feyre could be classified as emotional abuse, which can carry legal ramifications depending on the jurisdiction.

A Court of Wings and Ruin (Book 3)

1. Trespassing – Rhysand repeatedly enters Tamlin’s lands without permission, which would be considered trespassing by legal standards.

2. Incitement to Violence/Sabotage – Rhysand knowingly encourages Feyre to sabotage the Spring Court while she’s undercover, which could lead to charges of inciting criminal behavior.

3. Attempted Murder (by Suggestion) – While not directly responsible, suggesting that someone (Tamlin) should kill themselves could be viewed as reckless endangerment or incitement to self-harm, which is illegal in many places.

A Court of Frost and Starlight (Novella)

1. Harassment – Rhysand's continued psychological harassment of Tamlin could potentially be charged as harassment, particularly given its persistent nature.

General Crimes Throughout the Series you can face up to a life sentence with :

1. Assault – Rhysand has a history of using his powers to physically and mentally harm others, especially when he forces Feyre into certain situations or physically manipulates her.

2. Torture – His treatment of the people in the Court of Nightmares, particularly through physical and psychological intimidation, could be considered torture or cruel and inhumane treatment under international human rights law.

3. Abuse of Power/Authority – Rhysand frequently abuses his position as High Lord, using his powers to manipulate, control, and coerce others, which could be considered an abuse of authority. (Hm hm, remember what happend to saddam Hussain?)

4. Kidnapping/False Imprisonment – By forcibly keeping Nesta in the House of Wind without her consent, Rhysand is restricting her freedom and movement. This can be legally classified as kidnapping or false imprisonment.

5. Endangerment of a Mentally Ill Person – Nesta is clearly dealing with severe trauma, depression, and possibly PTSD. Locking her up without proper care or therapy can be considered neglect and endangerment of someone with a mental illness, especially since she was using alcohol to cope. (Those teen-help programs.)

6. Illegal Detainment Without Licensing – The Night Court is not a rehabilitation facility, and Rhysand has no legal authority or medical qualifications to keep Nesta there against her will. This would violate laws that protect individuals with mental health issues from being detained in non-medical facilities by non-professionals.

4. Emotional and Psychological Abuse – Forcing Nesta into isolation and removing her autonomy could be seen as a form of emotional and psychological abuse, which has legal ramifications in many jurisdictions.

In a real-world legal system, these actions could be prosecuted as criminal offenses, including sexual assault, kidnapping, drugging, trespassing, harassment, and psychological abuse.

So yea, you're dear old boy would be in JAIL by now.

Now let's calculate The charges against Rhysand, if brought to a real-world court system, could lead to significant legal consequences. Let’s break down the potential sentences for each crime, based on common legal standards in many countries:

1. Sexual Assault

Possible Sentence: 5 to 20 years in prison, depending on the severity and jurisdiction.

Sexual assault is a serious crime, and the penalties are harsh, especially if the victim is incapacitated (e.g., under the influence of drugs, as Feyre was).

2. Drugging/Administration of a Controlled Substance

Possible Sentence: 2 to 10 years in prison.

Administering drugs to someone without their knowledge or consent is considered a felony in many places and carries a substantial sentence, especially when done to facilitate control or assault.

3. Kidnapping/False Imprisonment (Feyre and Nesta)

Possible Sentence: 10 to 30 years in prison.

Kidnapping, especially when it involves controlling someone’s freedom against their will (like forcing Feyre and Nesta into his control), carries one of the longest prison terms.

4. Endangerment of a Mentally Ill Person (Nesta)

Possible Sentence: 5 to 15 years in prison.

This charge involves negligence and the failure to provide proper care for someone in a vulnerable state. In this case, Rhysand locking Nesta up without professional help can result in significant legal consequences.

5. Harassment/Emotional and Psychological Abuse (Tamlin and Nesta)

Possible Sentence: 1 to 5 years in prison (for each offense).

Emotional abuse and psychological harassment can carry prison sentences if they lead to significant harm, especially if Rhysand’s actions contributed to worsening their mental states.

6. Trespassing (Spring Court)

Possible Sentence: 1 year or fines.

Trespassing, while a less severe crime, can result in fines or a brief prison sentence, depending on how frequently and aggressively it’s done.

7. Torture/Abuse of Power (Hewn City)

Possible Sentence: 10 to 25 years in prison.

Torturing or inflicting severe harm, even in a ruling capacity, could result in lengthy imprisonment under human rights laws.

8. Failure to Prevent Mutilation (Wing Clipping in Illyria):

Crime: Complicity in Mutilation/Assault – In many countries, allowing or failing to prevent acts of bodily harm, especially when in a position of power, can lead to charges of complicity or negligence. Clipping wings is comparable to physical mutilation.

Potential Sentence: 10 to 20 years per incident, depending on the severity of harm. Rhysand, as High Lord, could be held accountable for allowing this to continue in the military camps he oversees.

9. Endangerment of Women’s Rights:

Crime: Neglect and Discrimination – The continued allowance of these practices in Illyria could be viewed as a form of systemic discrimination and neglect. Failure to protect women from harm, despite having the power to intervene, would likely result in charges related to discrimination and endangerment.

Potential Sentence: Civil penalties and lawsuits from the affected women, alongside possible criminal charges leading to fines and 5 to 10 years imprisonment per case of systemic abuse.

10. Complicity in Abuse and Torture (Hewn City):

Crime: Torture/Degrading Treatment – As the ruler of the Night Court, Rhysand maintains direct control over the Hewn City but allows its brutal social system to continue, particularly against women. Even though he doesn't directly participate in the abuse, turning a blind eye to it could result in complicity in human rights abuses or crimes akin to torture, especially since Hewn City is described as being "hell for women."

Potential Sentence: 10 to 25 years in prison for each case of torture or degrading treatment, with possible civil lawsuits and heavy fines.

11. Denial of Safe Haven and Equal Rights:

Crime: Violation of Human Rights – Women from Hewn City are barred from escaping their abusive environments, and Rhysand’s refusal to allow them into Velaris essentially traps them in dangerous situations. In the real world, denying refuge or asylum to those in danger can be classified as a violation of human rights.

Potential Sentence: 5 to 10 years for human rights violations, with additional civil penalties from lawsuits if women can prove they were harmed as a result of being denied safety.

Crimes Against Humanity – While not on the same scale as mass genocide or war crimes, the endangerment of entire groups of women through neglect, allowing mutilation, or complicity in torture can still fall under human rights violations. Such crimes are serious, and while they may not lead to a death sentence, they would likely result in long-term imprisonment, potential international condemnation, and severe civil penalties.

Maximum Sentence: If these charges were to be tried separately and consecutively, Rhysand could face up to 80 to 100+ years in prison

Likely Sentence: In a real-world legal system, some of these sentences may be served concurrently (at the same time), leading to a likely total sentence of 25 to 40 years in prison, depending on how the crimes are classified and judged.

Additionally, he would likely face civil penalties, lawsuits from the victims (e.g., Feyre and Nesta), and substantial fines.

Thank you for reading, if you want me to do any other character just say in the comments!❤️ (this took me over 2 days to research but I had my amazing dad helping me!♥️)

[mylight-png]

Calling for the destruction of a country is hateful and wrong, and it disproportionately occurs against Israel.

When Russia attacked Ukraine, was there a massive movement to wipe Russia off the map?

When Iran was killing girls for not wearing a hijab, was there a massive movement to dismantle the entire country of Iran?

While China systemically commits genocide against its Uyghur population, is there a massive movement to get rid of China?

Even if, and this is a huge if, the accusations against Israel were true, there is no justification for trying to wipe Israel off the map.

There just isn't.

And, considering Israel is the only Jewish state in the world based on the concept of a Jewish self-determination in our indigenous homeland, such calls are also antisemitic.

[codenamesazanka]

My prediction on what was Scissors-kun's deal ended up being pretty correct: he was indeed abused - horrifically so, being tied up and locked away - and then abandoned by his family during the war because of his quirk. Except Horikoshi actually exceeded my expectations and revealed that it wasn't because of behavioral issues (not that it would've justified it! Never. but I was imagining a parallel to Toga), it was only because his quirk was a random mutation, and also his family sewn his mouth shut.

Because thing is. The set up for something like this was here all along. I predicted it based on things that were already happening in the story. Continued fear of 'abnormal' quirks; horrific domestic violence enacted due to this; Heroes never catching wind of this because this was from a family that weren't consider 'Villains', so this was Scissors-kun's normal. And this normal broke and the dark secret got revealed only because something extraordinary happened - the country collapsed. Scissors-kun family left him, so he was able to escape.

But... none of this is apparently going to be addressed. The happy ending is Scissors-kun being found and helped, instead of any widespread, far-reaching, systemic change that would prevent shit like this. No, 'but it's obviously going to be addressed off-screen' doesn't count. The story brought up on-page and explicitly that quirk discrimination is a thing, that abusive quirk counseling/treatment is a thing, that abuse and abandonment of children is a thing. I expect the solutions to be on-page and explicit as well, and not just 'if I reach out when it's not my business, then...!'

(Also. it is their fucking business. They're government employees. Their job is to save people and guarantee the welfare of all citizens. it is very much their business.)

I'm not upset that Scissors-kun isn't Shigaraki; never really expected that in the first place. Shigaraki died. Deku fucking failed. I've come to terms with it. I'm not upset that Shigaraki wasn't saved, but this kid was; not even in the meta-, story-, character-sense, because, fine, he's replacement goldfish Tenko, but I'll take the 'we'll do better next time', it's a good thing this kid gets saved, it's what Shigaraki would've wanted, it's what the League fought to destroy for. It's even good that The Old Lady has become a better person.

What baffles me is that this save occurs pretty much because of nothing except the purported 'What Deku Showed The World That Day (When He Killed A Man)'. This save isn't because Heroes and civilians have more awareness of victims. This save isn't because society is promising to stop quirk discrimination. This save isn't because Ochako learns of Toga's abusive parents and so sets out to tackle this issue of quirk-related domestic violence. This save isn't because Deku has lead a new movement to stop bystander inaction. (Moreover, about 'bystander inaction' - Scissors-kun lists 5 other people outside his immediate family of Dad/Mom/Sis who knew about him... and did nothing. His uncle, his aunt, his grandparents, his great-grandfather - if they didn't directly help sew Scissors-kun mouth shut, they still turned a blind eye and never alerted authorities. (Tenko explicitly states this as one of the factors that led to him lashing out, but I guess the story forgot about it long ago, so. Even with the memories sharing of Chapter 417 and 418, Deku never sees this.))

As I said above, none of the issues that lead to Scissors-kun being in the circumstances he was in has been addressed.

This save isn't because any random civilian has decided to help - because any rando can and should help! This isn't even because Old Lady came to the guilt-ridden conclusion herself to do better.

This save is because Old Lady, carrying the burden of guilt, watched Deku kill the kid she didn't save all those years ago (tho she doesn't know it) and is apparently inspired by this act of "I can't help but do something" to finally take action (as helpfully narrated by Hawks). It's not because civilians have done any deep thinking about the rot that permeates their culture; it's because Deku was a hard-working murderer on TV. There were dozens of other people on the street. Real change should've been a whole crowd of people seeing Scissors-kun and wanting to help - someone giving him a blanket or offering him shoes while another calls for an ambulance???

But whatever. I just want to state this: the first thing that truly saved Scissors-kun was Shigaraki's destruction. Without it, his family would've stayed in that house and kept him locked up. It's really only because of Shigaraki's destruction that Scissors-kun even got the opportunity to find freedom and get his hand held.

[sepublic]

TW for Cults and Mass Suicide

Dana confirmed during Pixelatl 2022 that Belos was based on people like Televangelists, serial killers, and cult leaders. I’ve already discussed the serial killer aspect to Belos, and the Televangelism is obvious for a Puritan offshoot who nevertheless indulges in gilded aesthetics and glory as he builds elaborate structures for his own gain.

We’ve all acknowledged the Emperor’s Coven is a cult and the show’s point that You are not immune to propaganda, so I want to make another connection regarding the cult leader aspect. IIRC Dana mentioned the American cult movements of the 70’s, or at least I’m pretty sure that’s what she’s alluding to. Because the Day of Unity is a mass cult suicide, so the allusion to incidents such as Jonestown and Heaven’s Gate are obvious.

Jonestown was a cult led by Jim Jones, a rich white ordained Christian minister. His cult was initially based in California but later moved to the South American country of Guyana, and 70% of Jones’ followers were black. When his cult was investigated for human rights abuses by the U.S. government, Jones got a politician looking into the case murdered. Realizing the government was going to retaliate for this, Jones had everyone commit mass suicide, talking a lot of hot shit about how they were sending a message. The followers were made to drink cyanide, those who didn’t want to were forced, and Jones chickened out of a slow and agonizing death via a gunshot wound to the head.

Heaven’s Gate was led by Marshall Applewhite, who was initially recruited himself before becoming its leader. He convinced followers that the angels of the Bible were actually space aliens, seizing upon the UFO trends of the time. He told his followers they would ascend their physical forms after committing suicide, and instructed them to do so when the comet Hale-Bopp passed by. His reasoning was that an alien UFO was hiding behind the comet, and when he and his followers ascended, their spirits would be taken in by the UFO and they would be taken to a new world.

So you can see the connecting threads in The Owl House; There’s possibly more incidents Dana was thinking of. But so far, we have a wealthy cult leader, preaching his own version of Christianity. He joined a cult but ultimately committed to the harm by liberating himself as the one in charge who knows what he’s doing to everyone else; After all, he claims to follow a doctrine but hypocritically can make exceptions for himself on convenience. It’s not as if he doesn’t/can’t know better (Just like how so many Americans will blame their education system for their ignorance, yet refuse to utilize their other resources).

He’s a white American who established his cult on colonized land, and is manipulating a minority group into committing suicide. He’s telling them that when a celestial object passes overhead, they will be led to a rapturous paradise on another planet. He himself knows exactly what fate he’s giving his followers and cowardly avoids it. Ultimately, he encourages everyone to kill themselves because he doesn’t want to face reality and it’ll make himself feel better about his situation, like a big hero.

Despite the Collector being a literal space alien who’s made complicit in this, there’s nevertheless no paradise, there’s no rapture, just death. American Evangelicalism was a breeding ground for cults like these, whose followers were dispossessed people.

The mention of space aliens also makes me think of Jacob Hopkins, who establishes Belos’ motive by being the first foreshadowing of it to begin with; Hopkins IS Belos, thematically speaking, so we have some white guy wanting to feel better about his miserable life by believing there’s some hidden, otherworldly truth to the world and he’s important for calling it out.

Ironically, Belos himself became the conspiracy, just as he became the evil strawman witch he spoke about; Going full CIA in trying to destabilize another nation by pulling the strings because its mere existence as something his white American Christian group can’t control HAS to be an inherent threat. Because of course, Hopkins and Belos wanted to murder these space aliens (which witches technically qualify as) because there’s the intersectionality of racism and the Alt-Right for them as well.

There’s something equal parts absurd and banal about it all. Sometimes there is some conspiracy or hidden truth out there, it’s just way more mundane than it’s said to be; Hence the difference between conspiracy-minded folk who need there to be a plot VS people making basic observations. Like yes the CIA did do that and publically admitted to it, even. Witches and demons exist and are hidden from society, they’re just… minding their own business. And that cult does have some secretive endgame, but it’s not a rapture event it’s just mass suicide to inflate the ego of the leader.

And I think that’s an important distinction to make; It’s the fantasy genre so it’s par for the course. But it’s nice to clarify, say in an episode where the protagonist returns to her own mundane world, that this conspiracy is likely BS with an undercurrent of bigotry to it. Some political figures need to be taken out but the real horror is how the average person isn’t a monster, but just as fooled as you, and means well when they excitedly march towards fascism. IRL witch hunters didn’t believe in otherworldly beings, they just hated women and minorities; And even in the world where one did confirm otherworldly beings, he’s just as insincere and bigoted about his approach as all the rest.

[mapofsouthdakota]

The Maze

Synopsis: In a future where war and technology have blurred the line between man and machine, Caleb was resurrected—not as who he was, but as who he was programmed to be. With only 3% of his original self left intact, the latest reboot of his chip has reshaped his logic, his purpose, and his understanding of his emotions towards you.

Bound by his own design, he has built you the Maze—a flawless, shifting sanctuary meant to protect the one person he refuses to lose. But protection and captivity are two sides of the same coin, and inside the Maze, freedom is just another unsolvable puzzle.

Will you escape, or will Stockholm Syndrome take hold before that day?

Details: 4000ish words. Some kind of spin off AU, but corresponds with in-game canons. Caleb. Just Caleb and his chip. 18+ psychological thriller/drama, plot with p0rn aka smut and detailed descriptions of god knows what. Explicit language. All warning tags and all that jazz. Do not read if you are just a tad sensitive, I promise. This is not for sensitive souls. This is angst. This is pain. This is suffering. If you value your peace, stay the fuq away—your whole week will thank you. You are warned.

Chapters: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six, chapter eight (final chapter)

Tags: @gavin3469 @mcdepressed290 @justpassingdontworry

Surrender | Chapter seven

The Maze, the waterfall, Caleb

The first wave of resistance hits fast.

At first, it’s just a flicker—a glitch, a momentary misfire deep beneath the surface. A barely-there static crackling at the edges of his vision, a subtle drag in the circuits threaded through his nervous system.

Then—sharper.

A pulse at the base of his spine. A warning spike straight through his neural pathways.

Too much.

He’s pushing too far.

He’s not supposed to feel this much.

Not supposed to want this much.

The second jolt is worse—a crackle of electricity sparking beneath his skin, something tightening, resisting. His fingers dig into your waist, grounding himself in the heat of your skin, his breath ripping through his lungs.

He should stop.

He should pull away.

He should force himself back into something manageable, controllable, something that won’t send another violent surge through his system.

But—fuck.

The way you’re looking at him.

The way your breath stutters against his mouth.

The way your fingers clutch his shoulders, pressing into the soaked fabric of his shirt, gripping him like you don’t even realize you’re holding him together.

Like you’d never let him come apart.

The way your body reacts to his—heat against cold, touch against tension, fire against a machine that was designed to smother the spark before it ever had the chance to spread.

But he doesn’t want to smother it.

He wants to burn in it.

Even if it kills him.

His grip tightens at your waist, muscles coiled, everything in him bracing against another jolt of resistance. His voice comes out hoarse, gritted through his teeth as he swallows down the next surge, forcing himself past it.

“I’m not stopping.”

Then—he lifts you.

Water rushes between you, sliding over your skin, the movement slow, unhurried, but his hold is steady. His grip unshaken, even as another flicker lashes through him, rippling down his spine like fire in his veins.

His jaw tightens, a muscle feathering, his breath pulling sharp through his nose. His throat constricts, his spine stiffens, but—

He keeps walking.

Through the water.

Out of the pool.

Carrying you.

Carrying you back toward the bedroom—toward the inevitable—he moves with purpose. Your arms wind around his neck, fingers threading into his damp hair as your nails drag lightly along his scalp, drawing a quiet shiver from him with every stroke.

His pulse is faster than it should be.

His breath—uneven.

But your touch—

Your touch soothes.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bedroom, you

The door slides open with a quiet hiss, cool air seeping in, stark against the lingering heat of your bodies, against the water slicking your skin.

Caleb steps through, his grip still steady, firm, unyielding. But there’s something different now.

Something raw.

Something vulnerable.

He lowers you to the floor slowly, carefully, almost too gently. And then—

Neither of you moves.

Not immediately.

Just standing there, breathing unevenly, eyes locked, the weight of something unspoken dense between you.

The soft glow of the bedside lamp shines against the water dripping from his clothes, casting faint shadows along his jaw, the slope of his collarbone, the sharp planes of his chest. The light catches against the small metal tag resting against his sternum, a glint of silver shifting with each breath.

A reminder of what he is. What he was.

His gaze flickers over you, his expression unreadable, something warring behind his eyes. His fingers twitch at his sides—a hesitation, something he can’t quite suppress.

Then, wordlessly, his hands move to the buttons of his shirt.

You do the same.

The fabric peels away in increments, water trailing down your skin, slipping over curves and angles, following the heat of exposed flesh. Each layer removed reveals more, exposes more, inch by inch, moment by moment, until the soaked weight of your clothes drops to the floor, one by one.

Until—

Nothing is left.

You stand there.

Bare.

Unhidden.

Exposed.

Just the two of you.

And for once—

Neither of you knows what happens next.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bedroom, Caleb

He could break.

He knows it.

Every second, every breath, every minuscule flare in his neural pathways is a warning—sharp, urgent, telling him that he’s pushing too far, playing with something too fragile, too volatile, too human.

And yet—

He chooses you.

He chooses this.

The weight of it settles deep in his chest—not control, not possession, but something entirely different. Something that terrifies him more than losing himself ever could.

Because this isn’t about taking.

It’s about giving.

His knees hit the floor—not as a man grasping for power, but as a man surrendering completely.

His hands find your thighs, fingers spreading against your skin. Not with force. Not with demand. But with the kind of devotion that hums through his bones, the kind of need that makes his breath come unsteady, the kind of ache that makes him feel whole even as the last fragments of himself threaten to slip away.

What’s left of him—that last, flickering fraction—isn’t meant to command you.

It’s meant to serve you.

And he wants—no, needs—to prove it.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bedroom, you

The moment he lowers you onto the bed, you feel it.

This isn’t like before.

Not a game.

Not a power struggle.

This is reverence.

His lips find your forehead first—a slow, warm press, heavy with something deeper than affection.

Then—your temple. Your cheek. The corner of your lips.

Not a tease. A promise.

The breath between you feels charged with something neither of you name. His mouth moves lower, a slow, melting descent, warm as velvet, soft as devotion.

Down your throat.

Over the rapid pulse at your neck.

Lower still.

Each kiss is placed with intention, carved into you like scripture, like he’s committing you to memory with every press of his lips, every slow exhale warming your skin.

His hands follow, fingertips ghosting over your ribs, tracing the soft curve of your stomach before sliding lower, gripping your hips—not to restrain, not to control, but to anchor himself.

Then—he pauses.

His hands slide over the inside of your thighs, thumbs pressing just hard enough to make your breath catch, your legs twitch, anticipation tightening in your core.

And then—

“Let me.”

His voice isn’t commanding. Not smug. Not even teasing.

A request.

No—a plea.

He wants this.

Not to control.

Not to break.

To worship.

Your breath shudders, heat pooling low in your stomach. The need to say yes is instinctive, undeniable, a pulse deep in your bones.

You nod.

And Caleb—

He descends.

The first stroke of his tongue is slow—not hesitant, not searching. But like he’s been thinking about this for days, mapping it out, memorizing every second, calculating exactly how he wants to make you fall apart.

Your hips twitch, a gasp slipping from your lips—

And Caleb groans.

Not in satisfaction.

In need.

His tongue flicks against your clit—before sinking lower, tasting you, breathing against you, groaning like you’re the first thing that’s ever made him feel real.

Then—a finger.

One, sliding in slow, precise, stretching you open with the kind of patience that makes your stomach clench, your thighs quiver.

His forehead presses against the inside of your thigh, his breath warm, his other hand gripping your hip just hard enough to keep you still.

A jolt. A small twitch in his neck, a faint tremor in his fingers.

The chip. Resisting.

You shift slightly, ready to stop him, to pull away—

But his grip tightens.

“I’m fine.”

His voice is hoarse. Raw. Wrecked.

“Never been better.”

His tongue meets his fingers, wet heat and precise strokes moving in tandem, dragging you deeper, higher, unraveling you thread by thread. He presses his free hand against your stomach—low, firm, just above where his fingers work inside you—

And you shatter.

Because you can feel. Every. Single. Movement.

Your spine arches, your thighs trembling, your breath breaking into a sharp, helpless moan.

And Caleb—

He watches.

Every reaction.

Every sharp inhale.

Every tremor.

Every second.

He’s learning you. Devouring you.

And when you finally break apart beneath him—

He doesn’t let go.

Not yet.

His lips press against your thigh—slow, lingering, savoring.

Like he’s just found his only remaining religion.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bedroom, Caleb

He should stop.

His body is screaming at him to stop.

Warning pulses fire through his neural pathways, static flickering at the edges of his vision, sharp jolts lashing through his skull, the chip pushing back, resisting.

But fuck—he can’t.

Not when you sound like that.

Not when your breath stutters, breaking apart into soft, gasping whimpers.

Not when your body reacts to him like this—clenching around his fingers, arching into his mouth, gripping the sheets with trembling hands, knuckles white.

Not when you’re falling apart for him so beautifully.

His breath is too quick. His jaw clenches against another sharp crackle of resistance, the chip seething inside him, fighting, trying to sever this before it goes too far.

But it’s already too late.

He’s past the point of return.

Past self-preservation.

Because the only thing left of him that still feels human—

Is you.

So he does it again.

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t even give you time to recover.

He just keeps going.

Slow, patient, devastating.

His mouth finds you again—hot, wet, his tongue pressing into you, breaking you down just to put you back together.

His fingers press deeper, curling just right, dragging against that perfect spot inside you that makes your thighs shake, that makes your stomach coil too tight, too much—

His other hand slides up your ribs, not to restrain, but to feel—

To memorize the way you tremble, to map the way you react, to etch the moment into his mind as if this is the only thing that matters.

And it is.

To him, it is.

His breath hitches against your thigh, his shoulders tightening, another flicker of resistance running through his body.

He should be in agony.

And maybe he is.

But he doesn’t stop.

Because touching you is the only thing that feels real.

And when he makes you come again—

This time, it’s slower, heavier, the pleasure pulling you under like deep water, molten, thick, endless.

Caleb doesn’t let go.

His lips press against your skin, slow, lingering, his tongue giving one last flick before pulling back—

His breath is ragged, his body taut, his fingers twitching faintly from the internal warfare inside him.

And then, finally, he speaks.

“Come on, Pip-squeak.” His voice is hoarse, almost a whisper. “We need to get cleaned up.”

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bathroom, Caleb

The water is hot against his skin.

But your body?

Hotter.

You rest against his chest, your damp skin pressing into him, every inhale making you rise and fall with him in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. His arms are wrapped around you—not tight, not caging, just there. Grounding. Holding onto something fragile, something sacred, something he has no right to keep.

Your scent mingles with the steam curling into the air—apples, soap, the faintest trace of sweat, something entirely, devastatingly you. It fills his lungs, coats his senses, clings to his skin like something permanent.

His fingers drift absently over your thigh, tracing lazy, weightless circles beneath the water’s surface. His touch is featherlight, but every movement sends ripples through the stillness, distorting the soft reflections against the tiled walls, stretching shadows along the edge of the tub.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Not the suffocating silence of the Maze.

Not the mechanical hum of shifting walls.

This is something else.

Something he doesn’t know how to name.

And fuck, it’s dangerous.

Because he likes it.

Because he wants it.

Because for the first time in days, in weeks, maybe even in years—

He doesn’t feel like a machine.

He feels like a man.

His fingers slide beneath the water, finding your wrist, tracing the delicate skin there, absentminded but reverent.

It’s too intimate.

Too quiet.

Too good.

And that’s the problem.

Because this?

This is where he could lose everything.

What happens when the last, flickering fraction of him isn’t enough?

When the chip doesn’t allow this anymore?

When you stop looking at him like he’s still the person you remember?

His throat tightens, a pulse of static flickering behind his eyes, a warning he’s been ignoring for too long. His grip on your thigh tightens slightly, just for a second, just enough to steady himself.

He wants to say something.

Something that will keep you here.

Something that will make this real.

But before he can, you shift in his arms, turning slightly, tilting your chin just enough to look up at him.

And whatever he was going to say—

Dies on his lips.

Because fuck.

You’re looking at him like you’re waiting.

Like you already know.

His fingers drift lower, brushing over the watch strapped to your wrist—the one he gave you. The one that was supposed to be a reminder, a taunt, a cruel joke about time that no longer existed.

But now—

Now it’s something else entirely.

His thumb ghosts over the metal, tracing its edges, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath it—

And suddenly—

He feels like he’s running out of time.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bathroom, you

The heat soaks into your bones, the weight of exhaustion settling over you in slow, lazy waves. The warmth of the water wraps around your limbs, lulling, pulling, keeping you in this moment longer than you should be.

But it’s not just the water.

It’s him.

His breath, deep and steady, a rhythm that calms you. His chest rises beneath your back, solid, real, something to lean into. The warmth of him cradles you, holds you in a way that makes you feel like maybe—just maybe—this is safe.

His fingers move in slow, absentminded motions, gliding over your skin, tracing patterns with no intention except the simple act of touching you.

A silent devotion.

You could melt into this.

Sink into him.

Forget.

Forget that this moment isn’t real.

Because it can’t be.

Because Caleb doesn’t exist anymore.

Because this can’t last.

And maybe that’s why—before he can break the moment first—

You do.

“I still see him, you know.”

His fingers still.

The air thickens.

The warmth of the water that had soaked into your bones seeps out, turns cold against your skin.

“Underneath everything. Underneath the programming, the control, the orders.”

He doesn’t move.

Not a shift. Not a twitch.

Nothing.

You turn slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, expecting something—anything.

And something is wrong.

His violet eyes are locked onto yours—

But they’re empty.

No flicker. No dilation.

His chest isn’t rising.

His muscles are rigid, locked into place, his body frozen in the way that isn’t human.

“You’re still Caleb.”

The words barely leave your lips before—

Static.

The sound isn’t real.

But you feel it.

A sharp, invisible crackle in the air, like electricity skimming too close to skin, like the charged silence before a lightning strike.

Caleb shudders.

Once. Hard.

Then—

Nothing.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bathroom, Caleb

Warning.

Critical malfunction in neural pathways.

Error—

Error—

Recalibrating.

But it’s not working.

The words are still there.

I still see him.

You’re still Caleb.

He wants to reject it.

He wants to override it.

But he can’t.

Because a part of him wants to believe it.

And that’s why he’s breaking.

The chip can’t process these contradictions.

His breath stutters.

His vision flickers.

The water feels too heavy, like it’s pulling him under, like he’s drowning without moving.

His fingers, once tracing you, now frozen against your skin.

He can’t speak.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t move.

The chip doesn’t know what to do.

So it does the only thing it can.

It shuts him down.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bathroom, you

One second, he’s holding you.

The next—

His body locks up.

His eyes are open, but there’s nothing there.

No tension in his jaw.

No flicker of recognition.

No movement.

Just emptiness.

Just Caleb, frozen in place, breathless, unmoving—

Gone.

You grab his wrist.

“Caleb—”

No response.

“Caleb, wake up.”

His muscles don’t react, his pulse remains steady, but his eyes—

His eyes are vacant.

It’s like looking at a statue of him.

A body with no soul inside.

Panic claws up your throat.

“Caleb.”

You shake him, harder this time.

Nothing.

You press your palm to his chest, feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, but it’s mechanical—like a clock ticking, like something detached from him.

You want to scream.

You want to pull him back.

But you don’t even know if there’s anything left to pull.

And then—

The bathroom light flickers.

Once.

Twice.

A short, sharp burst of static fills the room.

And then—

Everything goes dark.

——————————————————————————

The room is drenched in steam, heat curling through the air in thick, damp waves, the bathwater still lapping weakly against the sides of the tub.

Caleb is drowning.

Not in water—in himself.

It’s wrong.

Everything about the way his body locks up beneath you, the way his breathing stutters then stops, the way his eyes stare through you, unfocused, frozen—

It’s wrong.

“Caleb?”

No response.

Your own breath catches, panic spiking, because he’s still sitting up against the edge of the tub, but he’s not there.

His body is tense, muscles coiled like wire, his jaw locked so tight you can see the tendons straining in his neck.

And then—

His spine jerks violently, like an unseen force just ripped through him.

The sound that tears from his throat isn’t human.

His lungs shudder, his chest rising too fast, like his body is trying to force itself to breathe, trying to override something.

“Get it out.”

The words barely make it out.

They’re shattered, strangled, like something is crushing him from the inside out.

His body convulses again, his limbs twitching, spasming, his right arm locking into place at an unnatural angle.

“Get it out—get it out—NOW!”

Oh, fuck.

——————————————————————————

Caleb shoves himself forward, but his body won’t move the way he wants it to.

He’s stumbling out of the tub, hitting the wet tile on his knees, his fingers clawing at his own skin.

“Caleb, stop!”

You reach for him, slipping, your hands skidding against the slick floor as you try to grab onto him—

But he’s not stopping.

He’s writhing. Fighting. Trapped in a body that’s shutting down around him.

His right arm is dead weight, hanging useless at his side, but his left hand grips his own neck, his fingers clawing toward the back of his skull—

Like he’s trying to rip the chip out himself.

His breath is ragged, frantic, his body rolling onto his back, heels pushing against the floor, arching in pain.

His voice cracks on a guttural, broken scream—

“F-fuck—it’s—killing me.”

You don’t think.

You can’t think.

You just act.

Your hands slam against his shoulders, your body pressing over his to stop his limbs from convulsing, your wet skin sliding against his overheated body.

“Caleb, tell me what to do!”

His eyes snap to yours, wide, desperate, pupils blown so dark you can barely see the violet.

“Override.” His fingers twitch against your forearm, clutching, shaking. “Back of my neck. EMP. Override panel. F-fuck—”

His whole body tenses, his breath catching like a glitching system, like he’s stuck between shutting down and rebooting—

And then—

His eyes roll back.

And everything stops.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bathroom, Caleb

Warning. Critical malfunction detected.

Neural pathways compromised.

Systems failing—

It hurts.

More than anything.

More than battlefields, more than crashes, more than reprogramming.

This is deeper.

This is his own mind rejecting itself.

He can feel the fire of his nerves burning out, his body losing control, his right arm gone, his left barely responding.

His spine arches off the ground, muscles seizing, a vice tightening around the base of his skull—

“Override it.”

His own voice sounds distant. Shattered.

“Pip-squeak—”

He can barely force the name out.

“You have to cut it open.”

The words stagger from his lips, barely intelligible, voice strangled in agony.

“It’s—under the skin—back of my neck—”

You freeze.

“What?!”

Caleb shakes his head, his body twitching beneath you.

“There’s—” His breath hiccups, a garbled sound of pure agony. “There’s a panel—can’t—open it manually—you have to cut.”

His fingers twitch against the tile, reaching blindly, grasping at nothing.

“Blade. Something. Just—”

His voice cuts out.

Then he seizes.

A full-body spasm, his limbs jerking violently, his spine bowing off the floor so sharply it looks like he might snap in half.

His mouth parts on a soundless scream—

You scramble.

——————————————————————————

The Maze, the bathroom, you

There’s no time to hesitate.

Your body moves before your mind does—a frantic, instinctive lurch toward the counter. Your foot slips on the wet tile, your balance tilting, adrenaline surging, hands reaching—

The first thing you touch.

A razor.

Small. Sharp. Cold.

It gleams beneath the dim light, shaking violently in your grip as you turn back toward him.

Caleb convulses again.

A violent, spine-wrenching shudder, his head snapping to the side, fingers twitching like a puppet with cut strings.

He’s slipping. Fast.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are barely a breath, a whisper raw with desperation, breaking under the weight of what you’re about to do.

Tears blur your vision.

But there’s no other option.

You press the blade to the back of his neck—

And cut.

——————————————————————————

The second the blade slices through flesh—

Caleb seizes.

A guttural, choked noise rips from his throat, a sound you’ve never heard before, something torn from the depths of his body, raw and inhuman.

His fingers claw weakly at the floor, reaching, grasping, desperate—

His right arm hangs useless, lifeless.

The wound splits open.

Beneath the broken skin—

Metal.

A panel, embedded deep beneath his flesh, glinting dull and silver in the dim light.

Then—the blood.

It wells up thick and red, spilling down his spine, pooling at the base of his neck, slick and wet against your trembling fingers. The smell hits first—sharp, metallic, coppery. The heat of it seeps into your hands, sticky, thick, staining your palms, your wrists, smearing across the floor beneath him.

Your fingers fumble, scrambling against the slickness, slipping, coated in red, but you find it—

The small access point.

Click.

The panel pops open.

Inside—wires. Circuits.

And one glowing core.

The chip.

You don’t think.

You can’t.

You grab it.

And yank.

——————————————————————————

Electricity surges.

A burst of pure energy races through Caleb’s body, a violent arc of static burning beneath his skin.

His back arches—

A scream breaks free—

The lights overhead flicker. Once. Twice.

Then—

Silence.

Stillness.

Caleb collapses.

His body hits the tile, unmoving.

His chest doesn’t rise.

His fingers don’t twitch.

You are still covered in his blood.

Wet. Sticky. Everywhere.

The scent clogs your lungs, burns your nose, smears across your skin in hot, crimson streaks.

And you—

You don’t know if you just killed him.

——————————————————————————

Chapter eight

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Writer’s note: I honestly don’t even know what to say—this hurt me on a metaphysical level. I really wanted Chapters 6 and 7 to be posted close together, and that banner announcement was the final push I needed to get them done. Now I just need a couple of days to breathe before diving into the final chapter. Maybe we all do. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[opbackgrounds]

The Romanticism of One Piece IV: Revolution

AO3 Part I Part III

“The difference between treason and patriotism is only a matter of dates.” ― Alexandre Dumas

When it comes to the idea of freedom in One Piece, there are two related yet separate tracts the manga takes. Both are worth looking into, and both have parallels within the broader Romantic movement. The first of these is the idea of personal freedom as exemplified by pirates. The other is the pursuit of systematic freedom by Dragon and the Revolutionary Army. Robin explains the difference between the two in the post-Enies Lobby arc. By raising the flag, pirates label themselves criminals as they go out to sea, but unless they’re the Straw Hats they don’t usually go around picking fights with the World Government. The goal of the Revolutionary Army, on the other hand, is to overthrow the Celestial Dragons, which would in essence end the World Government as it currently exists. 

I’ve seen criticisms thrown at the series that One Piece doesn’t go far enough in its revolutionary politics in that it’s not explicitly anti-monarchy. There are good kings and bad, and whether or not an island is a good place to live or not seems based more on the actions of individual people than the system overall. There are even strange cases like Iceburg who as mayor is in an elected position, but who also holds ridiculous power over the entire island’s economy after turning its biggest industry into a monopoly under his control. In the real world that would be a horrific amount of power for one person to hold, but because Iceburg himself is a good man, it doesn’t matter. 

While this train of thought is worth exploring, I think that many of these arguments miss the forest for the trees. One Piece is not a story told from the Revolutionary’s point of view. It’s a pirate manga that elevates any individual brave enough to dream. It’s through this lens that paragons of virtue like Iceburg are allowed to exist without being hashtag problematic. The Revolutionaries themselves sidestep much of the messiness that tends to follow real-world uprisings by having them portrayed as principled and virtuous to a fault. In chapter 1058 Dragon promises harsh disciplinary action against Sabo if it’s found that he killed King Cobra, when as an allied nation of the World Government, the king of Alabasta should technically be their enemy. 

This lionizing of individuals and specific institutions goes back to Mirriam-Webster’s 4a definition of romanticism, and as a children’s manga whose primary themes aren’t centered around systemic revolution, this simplicity is perfectly fine, although I personally think it would be more interesting if the Revolutionary Army was portrayed as more morally gray within the series. Despite this, there are also deliberate links between the Revolutionary Army and the historical Romantic movement. 

It starts at the very foundation of their concept and character design. Many of the highest ranking Revolutionary commanders have a European steampunk look to them, while Mariejois seems based on the Palace of Versailles. Oda would not have paired a shirtless man in a black feathered coat with a cravat had he not wanted to tap in at least a little into the design language of European historical fashion, and by extension, the French Revolution. This is best seen in the design of Belo Betty, who seems to be explicitly based on Eugune Delacroix’s Liberty Leading the People, a French Romantic painting depicting a personified Liberty leading Frenchmen from all walks of life as they strive to overthrow the despotic King Charles X in the July Revolution of 1830.

The term French Revolution is itself wonderfully imprecise, as France has endured several revolutions, uprisings, and revolts. One does not go through two empires and four republics without a history of civil unrest, and to this day one of France’s favorite pastimes is protesting against the government about things they don't like. But for many scholars, the first of these Revolutions in 1789 was one of the major sparks of the Romantic movement, drawing sympathy from and giving inspiration to writers and poets throughout Europe. The Revolution itself was brought on by many factors, including writings of late Enlightenment/early Romantic writer Jean Jacques Rousseau, whose work The Social Contract pushed for for a free populous living under elected governments.

It seemed that all of Europe would follow suit. Portugal, Spain, Belgium, Switzerland, Poland, the German Confederation, and Northern Italy all saw liberal uprisings of some sort during the early 1800s. Some were successful, others weren’t, but all were instrumental in destabilizing the political landscape that had existed for centuries. This followed a process that had already started globally, as the United States, Haiti, and much of Latin America had already become independent of their colonial masters. There’s a push and pull that’s often seen between art and history, with one influencing the other in an eternal tug of war. Romantic artists painted the pursuit of freedom in a positive light, which inspired frustrated men and women to take up arms against governments they felt did not adequately represent them. In turn, these revolutionaries inspired the Romantics to write and paint about the heroic deeds they saw all around them. One of the most famous Romantics of all, Lord Byron, even died in 1824 after joining the Greek war for independence. Although Byron himself had no strong political ideology and thought all governments as equally bad, the mere act of revolution inspired his romantic spirit to take up arms and fight. 

While there is no real-world equivalent to the World Government of One Piece, the greatest atrocities committed within the manga have their basis in real life, including many of the cartoonishly evil acts of the Celestial Dragons. The Atlantic slave trade, genocide of indigenous peoples under colonial rule, and the crushing poverty of the underclasses were all everyday realities, and these were all things people fought against during this time of world-wide revolution.

Again, some of these movements were more effective than others, and not all of them required violence to achieve their goals. 1807 marked the end of the slave trade in England while in 1838 slaves were freed in British colonies across the world, something once thought unthinkable. In 1861 the tsar emancipated some 23 million Russian serfs, while the Romantic era in the United States ended with the American Civil war and its bloody quest to end chattel slavery in the States.

In a twist of irony, the very same political instability brought on by decades of war ensured that the Romantic movement in France developed later than it did elsewhere. By that time, the Reign of Terror and Napoleon’s wars split Romantics abroad, and several quietly distanced themselves from France and its Revolutions. It was in this post-Revolutionary world that Victor Hugo looked at the smoking wreckage left all around him and began writing Les Miserables. In the preface of this book, he writes, 

“So long as there shall exist, by reason of law and custom, a social condemnation which, in the midst of civilization, artificially creates a hell on earth…so long as the three problems of the century - the degradation of man by the exploitation of his labour, the ruin of women by starvation and the atrophy of childhood by physical and spiritual night are not solved; so long as, in certain regions, social asphyxia shall be possible…so long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, there should be a need for books such as this.”  

The three problems Hugo described exist now as they did then, and One Piece is in many ways a story of ordinary people with extraordinary dreams rising up above this artificially created hell to make a better world for themselves, and the people they care for. 

Other Romantics, disillusioned by a world that did not change as they would have liked, turned their search inward. For these, systematic change wasn’t the goal; personal freedom was. And it’s this inward, more spiritual journey that exemplifies the ideal pirate within the context of One Piece, as best seen by our main protagonist, Monkey D Luffy. 

[fairuzfan]

I think what really frustrates me about accusations of antisemitism when we say certain crimes are committed by the Israeli government towards Palestinians is that there is this base assumption that the individual identities of the people in the Israeli state are subject to individualization and identification but then we come across Hamas and all the resistance movements and people automatically categorize them as "good" or "bad" who either are "supported" or "not supported" by Palestinians. Aside from the fact that there are diverse political opinions within Palestine, people always seem to separate Hamas as a uniquely terrible group that only seeks to inflict violence irrespective of their current status of people under occupation not knowing how to change their circumstances and not afforded any contextualization.

When Palestinians talk about certain crimes against us perpetuated by the state of Israel we're told "that's libel" because our oppressors draw their identification as a nation-state as a "Jewish" state. In the same breath they condemn Hamas for killing Israelis and being uniquely antisemitic and not because they're actually fighting for any liberation. Forget the larger political context — the situation in which this exists is irrelevant in the short term analysis of how Hamas is "A Terror Organization".

Hamas is a result of circumstance. They wouldn't exist if the occupation didn't exist. You can't deny that hamas is the direct result of israel, and not because of the incendiary things that came out about who funded hamas or whatever — they are, at their core, a resistance movement against a colonial force.

And yeah, there are Palestinians that have said they don't like Hamas I guess but that... doesn't really matter to people who aren't Palestinian. The reasons they don't like Hamas are within their context of occupational circumstances. You can't just take quotes of Palestinians saying they don't like Hamas and frame it outside of their circumstance as a people living under an occupation. It would be dishonest not to mention that the greatest threat Palestinians face is the occupation. We (Palestinians) all acknowledge that. The differences in political opinion within Palestinian society aren't applicable to Israelis and non-Palestinians because you are not affected by Palestinian society in the same way that Palestinians are affected by Israeli and USAmerican society.

Israelis literally debate in open courts about whether or not to shoot unarmed Palestinians who hold rocks. There are no such discussions in Palestinian society. There are no systems really that can allow for Palestinians to feel like they actually have a political representative. Fatah, or the PA, is just a blatant puppet of the Israeli government. No one trusts them lol. So which avenues are we supposed to turn to when we are shot even as we peacefully protest? If our avenues rely on Israelis to decide that for us, then is that liberation? Is that freedom?

There is just a deep, deep dishonesty in people's treatment of defining what a state represents vs an individual and its almost always weaponized against Palestinians when we talk about the violence we experience and how we counter it.

[asharaks]

the vision for rivain: instead of an organised faction of good-guy treasure hunters, the lords of fortune are a much looser organisation; not so much a tight-knit group of friends as a network of fences, buyers and suppliers, informally referred to as the “lords of fortune” for their reputation as led by the principles of profit above anything. the lines each “lord” is willing to cross varies as they don’t have a unifying ethos, but it’s a market with a reputation for graverobbing, theft of valuable artefacts and other ethically dubious procurement of goods, and its atmosphere and structure are heavily influenced by the blending of cultures — rivain is a coastal country with a history of occupation iirc, and they have better relations with the qun than other countries in thedas; things are more fluid, cultures are less defined and tend to bleed together. they’re also a country with a long history of mage tolerance and reverence for magic, so less chantry presence, more free trade and more open trading in goods that are frowned upon elsewhere, such as spell reagents and body parts for use in necromancy and blood magic. taash's mother fled to rivain and is a contact for the lords but taash herself isn't one; notably, the lords are neither the only trading network in rivain nor the largest, and more reputable traders abound along the coastal towns available to explore. 

rivain itself is not represented solely by an uninhabited beach and a gladiatorial arena. instead, while you find taash on a dragon hunt along the coast, rivain is first represented as a thriving coastal city with a significant population of free mages, seers, qunari and tal-vashoth, with whom dialogue can be initiated about their varied opinions on the state of the city and surrounding area. the dragon hunt with taash is characterised by discussion of dragon hunting as a sacred practice to qunari (more on this later!), with taash emphasising the spiritual and cultural importance of dragons to qunari; they are insulted by the implications of killing a dragon for profit, and take a defensive stance about it, but will later admit they were planning to profit off killing it: having grown up isolated from qunari culture, while they are aware of dragon hunting as a sacred practice, they’re unfamiliar with the practical rituals surrounding use of the downed dragon’s body.

after successfully baiting the dragon, you fight it for a while, before it overwhelms the party and you’re forced to retreat; taash is frustrated, but admits she’s never actually successfully killed a high dragon. you head back to the city, where the lords of fortune contact is unimpressed by the failure to bring back loot, and taash takes offense: before things can get violent, isabela steps in, introduces herself, and offers more useful contacts in exchange for rook and taash’s help dealing with a group of slavers moving qunari slaves to tevinter off the rivain coast. as a known pirate, she can’t get legitimate crew and since she won’t participate in slavery, the lords of fortune won’t help her without a solid promise of reward. lord of fortune rooks here get some unique dialogue regarding frustration about certain practices within the lords. you and taash help her free the slaves, and open up a new faction merchant and base area.

rivaini culture is depicted here as a blend of mercenary and spiritual, with a lot of npcs expressing a range of religious beliefs, including unconventional approaches to andrastianism, followers of the qun, rivaini seers, and dalish elves. the city carries a very different atmosphere to both treviso and minrathous, with a more mixed class and caste system, fewer templars and guards, and a strong sense of movement, as merchants and traders move in and out of the city. quests can be given by a range of npcs, including tal-vashoth, qunari, dalish elves, seers, and human citizens.

the primary quest, given by bela, is to retrieve a cursed artifact stolen by another subfaction of the lords of fortune: when you bring it back and have it appraised by taash’s mother, you find it’s an elven artifact that’s been damaged. isabela recommends taking it back to merrill at the veil jumpers, and gives you a note to pass on on her behalf too. taash will volunteer to come with you of her own free will, having heard about the blighted dragons at minrathous and treviso: taash’s mother tries to discourage this, but they insist.

also, bela gets clothes.

(previous - arlathan and the veil jumpers)

(next - the wetlands & the wardens)

[halenhusky309]

Transformers : One spoiler

I dread for the day that most people watched Transformers : One, because of the amount of takes that basically put the blame on Orion Pax for pushing D-16/Megatron to snap (And then sneakily calling Orion Pax as someone wanted to protect status quo and didn't want to tear down the system simply because he didn't have that need to violently put the oppressors down like some types of common low-lives and force everyone to follow his crusade to screw the system).

Very spoiler!!!!! Warning

Orion Pax tried to stop D-16/Megatron from killing Sentinel has nothing to do with "we became as bad as him if we murder that cunt". It's more like "You're being unhealthy with your hatred and I don't think you should continue with this train of thoughts". And I promise you that Orion didn't that much fuck about Sentinel's well-being. He's afraid for D-16 and whatever direction his friend would become.

Orion Pax noticed how his dear friend began to go down to a very dark part, and he would never stop to spiral down further, even if he murdered Sentinel and his lackies brutally. And D-16 hasn't expressed any contigent plans to change the system into sth better, and all he cared about was how to punish and humiliate Sentinel in a most terrible way possible. And the way he acted toward Starscream and the High guards is peak red flag for potential dictatorship and oppression that use fear, violence, and hatred, which is parallel to Sentinel's own brand of opression that filled with lies, manipulation and exploitation.

And sorry to burst this bubble, but D-16/Megatron isn't the one who is revolutionary. That's Orion Pax's thing. Orion was the only one noticing And it will be funny to see the take "Orion wants to maintain the system" when this little shit first thought when learning about the truth is to expose Sentinel's fake-ass to the mass and rally the oppressed folks to rise up against Sentinel and the system. But I guess it's not violence or brutal enough for some people to acknowledge that Orion is going for the least destructive route to tear down the system because he valued life more.

This is not saying Orion Pax's solution for dismantling the system is the best and only way to go, and sometimes violence can be the best answer in certain circumstances. But if your the whole revolution is based solely on violences, killings and basically tearing down everything to satisfy your hatred/grievances without any considerations for the casualties, consequences, and priorities to rebuild the system, it become a pointless and selfish movement that will actually never bring any substantial changes besides sufferings and tragedies.