#Righteous error

[player-code999]

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ALPHAVERSE

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TW: blood (1 character)

My hardest, biggest and longest art work. Thank's to Shadikal15 and his Team for this project (Alphaverse)

ALPHAVERSE by: @vibeless15 and team Lavender

Art made by: @player-code999

[atlasthemilk]

May I interest you in some:

[cubbihue]

“He knows Timmy will come around eventually. It's only a matter of waiting for his clock to run out. And HP is very patient.” Hey uh.. WHAT DOES THAT MEAN HIS CLOCK TO RUN OUT is he waiting for Timmy to become a full fairy (Pixie?) and when that happens Timmy forgets about being a human entirely?

Sometimes Timmy wonders why he has grudges against certain fairies. Some of them, he can understand- like his dislike of Dr. Rip Studwell. But other ones, like with Cupid, it's a bit of a blur.

He must've been a very very vindictive 10 year old! Ah, well! Timmy's learned that he has to pick and choose his own battles wisely.

And uh. Fighting with the man who decides his paycheck and vacation days is not a battle worth choosing. Talk about a hostile work environment!!

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[scalpelsister]

Introducing Theodora Larson- my outlast trials oc! A 22 year old nursing student in the year 1960, who's just recently landed into the lap of Murkoff's project lathe trials.

template is by @chocohybrid, and you can find it here. as a note- language used in this file is meant to be as period specific as possible, including diagnostic terms from the dsm-1. as a result, parts of it are kind of a grim read, but I attempted to toe the line as best as I could. I also stayed up late to complete this, so don't look too hard at spelling or grammar <3

[jojotier]

oh yeah that too

no but karkat being bad at coding is actually instrumental to his characterization because coding means having an excess of patience, being able to pay attention to absolutely minuscule details, working in small, manageable chunks rather than focusing on the picture, and also trying not to get too pissed because Javascript keeps putting an extra ' even though i typed \' BECAUSE I WANTED THE CONSOLE TO PRINT THE FUCKING QUOTATION MARK NOT BECAUSE IM DECLARING A NEW STRING WITHIN A STRING but its LITERALLY just a shitty little mark, it barely even counts as quotation, it has no fucking business having the authority to quote someone because when i run the STUPID Fucking Code Javascript starts SCREAMING AT ME about shit being Undeclared and it's YOU. YOU ARE THE ONE DECLARING IT YOU PERSNICKETY MECHANICAL FOOL. DON'T YOU DARE PIN THE BLAME ON ME BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD FILL IN MY CODE EVEN BEFORE I HAD A CHANCE TO FILL IN MY CODE. AND WHO THE FUCK IS GIVING YOU THE RIGHT TO AUTOMATE SHIT? YOU CAN BARELY RUN A SIMULACRA OF WIPING YOUR OWN GAPING ASSHOLE WITHOUT SCREAMING IN ABJECT HORROR WHENEVER I ATTEMPT TO LINK MORE THAN THREE SCRIPTS. BUT SURE! FUCK! YOU KNOW BETTER THAN I DO I FUCKING GUESS!!!!

[comicaurora]

I've been reading some stuff on punitive justice, and it made something click for me that I've observed a lot online but haven't been able to put into words before.

When someone does something wrong, that's bad, and the damage it does needs to be repaired while the person needs to try to do better in future to minimize repeating harm. We learn it in preschool - say sorry, don't do it again. If they keep at it, remove them from the situation where they can do the harm until they prove they're responsible enough to go back in.

So if it turns out someone DIDN'T do anything wrong, that should be a relief! There's no damage to fix, no internal errors to correct. Less work for everybody, literally no harm done. False alarm, all good.

The thing I've observed is, lots of people want them to have done something wrong. There's almost disappointment when it turns out there's no harm done. And I think that's because of this general undercurrent of punitive justice as morally righteous and desirable: someone does something wrong, you get to punish them. Turns out they're innocent? That's disappointing. Find another reason you get to punish them, or find another bad person you get to punish. But at the core of it is that desire to punish someone. Someone you can hurt in a way that makes you a better person for hurting them.

This particular brand of almost cannibalistic pseudo-justice is super common in tumblr, one of the most ostensibly liberal spaces on the internet; I see more borderline savagery in online discourse here than in the actually toxic parts of the internet that are just openly cruel for cruelty's sake. It's always thrown me for a loop, and has frankly also hurt me, because on the rare occasions I get personally dogpiled, it only actually stings when it makes me worry that I've legitimately hurt someone. If I did something wrong, or more realistically when I inevitably do something wrong, that would make it good and right for people to give me shit about it every day until I'm dead.

The thing that clicked for me most recently was this bit in Ijeoma Oluo's Be A Revolution:

Punitive justice is specifically, uniquely appealing to people who have suffered injustices. Of course it's the Tumblr zeitgeist. Everyone here is a marginalized person failed by at least one system. Punishing someone for perceived injustice is how someone the system has deemed worthless proves their value in blood, even if the person being punished hasn't harmed you directly - even if they haven't harmed anyone. "Righteous" anger isn't about the target in these cases, it's about the inflicter. This is how much my pain is worth.

And that kind of violent validation is so alluring and so very dangerous. It seeks an outlet, wearing the justification of justice. Who's in reach? Who's an acceptable target this week? What's a good reason to use?

Is there anything they could do that would make me stop?

[psychotrenny]

It's certainly true that one shouldn't uncritically and unconditionally support any group or nation, regardless of their previous achievements. Errors can occur even with the best of intentions, while ideological changes on both personal and organisation scales may lead any group into all sorts of disagreeable directions. You should evaluate things in terms of how they are, their material impacts on the world and genuine reasoning behind them, and not what you wish they were or what you claim them to be.

All that being considered, it's funny how consistently the most useless sorts of Western Marxists* will attack actually existing Socialism using all manner of distortions and outright lies, and when pointed out "this just isn't true" they resort to accusations of "factionalism" or "campism". They seem to think their criticisms are so correct and righteous that people only ever disagree because of a mindless devotion to badist fake commies. The idea that they're just repeating Imperialist propaganda with a thin Marxian coating is never one that seems to get through to them.

I suppose that wouldn't sit well with their self image of detached intellectual enlightenment i.e. the most important thing about being a communist as far as this sort of person is concerned. They seem to think what Marx actually meant to say was "Philosophers have only changed the world in various ways; the point, however, is to interpret it"

*as in those who follow the strain of Marxism that emerged in Western Europe as diverged from Marxism-Leninism (Frankfurt school and the like), who are not necessarily themselves citizens of Western Europe/their settler colonies

[snail-day]

Hello 🩷

Can you write gojo with a crybaby reader

Have a nice day!

TW: SMUT, p in v, oral (m! receiving), spanking, cum swallowing, he's kinda mean but he does love his little crybaby. Use of 'cummy ache'. Mentions of squirting. Dacryphilia, Unedited/Potential Grammatical errors.

MDNI

Non yandere for once. Gojo x Crybaby!Reader

It just doesn't make sense, does it? How the strongest, Gojo Satoru, ended up with a crybaby when he has never been the best at handling emotions—not his own, and certainly not someone else’s. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. Of course, he does. You’re so sweet, so soft, all mushy and endearing when your emotions spill over.

Take this morning, for instance. You came back from the store, eyes brimming with tears, your lips wobbling as you stammered out how they were sold out of your favorite drink. It was ridiculous, really, but also so painfully you.

Satoru just stared at you for a moment, caught between laughing and pulling you into a hug. “You’re crying over that? Seriously?” he teased, his trademark grin stretching wide.

And, of course, his little teasing remark set you off. “You’re so mean!” you sniffled, firing back with all the righteous indignation you could manage through your hiccups and watery glares.

It didn’t help your case that you were still so ridiculously cute, even while trying to be mad at him. If anything, it made him grin harder, biting back a laugh as he watched you unravel. Honestly? He can’t help it—you’re just a little too adorable for your own good.

Let's be honest, it's creating a tent in his pants. So, much that while you're crying about your day, he's stuffing your poor cunny with his cock.

Bouncing you up and down as you straddle his lap taking every inch he gives you, honestly just loving the way you mewl when his cock brushes against your cervix, watching the way those teary eyes slam shut, prattling on about how much you love him and his stupidly large cock. Satoru just adores the way you squeal out a whine when the palm of his hand smacks your ass, the way your pussy clenches down and sucks him deeper inside, such a greedy little thing.

If you kept mewling and crying like that, he was going to lose it—Satoru's lips crashing onto yours, sucking on your tongue, capturing every sweet, desperate noise you made. He just craved making you this cock drunk, his sweet lil crybaby!

"I just know what you mean sugar, such a bad bad day" He's practically melting into you thrusting upwards as your sweet walls clench onto him as you cry out another moan. Prattling on about how he’s being so extra—so mean and unfair! He has to bite his lip to suppress another groan as your poor cunt squeezes his cock. Fuck how did you even get so tight? Squeezing so much of his warmth out of him, your cunny really is just trying to suck the cum out of him. He knows you don’t mean to, not really, as you lean into him, practically dumping all your weight on him until he’s got no choice but to move your hips for you. And god, the way you’re leaving those sweet little marks on his pale skin, sucking like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded—it’s too much. Stretching you out, your walls squeezing him so tight, and those pitchy little whines you’re letting out? He’s barely holding it together, and honestly, you’re not making it any easier. God, he knows he’s being so unfair—fucking you too fast, too rough—but he just can’t help himself when you look at him like that.

It's taking so much for him not to just dump his load into your sweet cunt as he lifts you up, fucking you in the air with ease as you wail to him that it's too deep.

God, were you always cryin?

He's already got you squirting on his cock? Shouldn't that shut you up?

Sometimes, Satoru’s gotta find other ways to shut up those pretty little whines, like stuffing his cock so deep down your throat. “Breathe through your nose,” he murmurs, all smug as you look up at him with those teary eyes yet again, mumbling on his cock, "like this?" he can't even hear you, yet it's just so cute that you're really doing your best! So cute that he just has the urge to force the rest of his length down your throat, it's just his way of getting cuteness aggression, you understand right? When he finally presses his full length in, just enough to make your pretty eyes squeeze shut with a loud gag escaping your throat, he can’t help but grin.

He knows you can handle it—you learned from the best, after all.

The way he’s pushing himself in and out of your throat, your nails digging into his thighs as he keeps a steady, almost gentle pace, has him grinning down at you. He has to at least try to be gentle.

His long fingers tangle in your hair, guiding that pretty head of yours up and down his length just how he likes. Drool’s spilling from your lips, and those big, teary eyes of yours looking up at him? Yeah, they’re almost too much for him to handle.

You should honestly be proud of him—he’s really trying to let you adjust, giving you little breaks to gasp and gag around his stupidly big cock. He’s being so patient, so nice about it, even when every noise you make is driving him absolutely crazy.

You’re his little crybaby, after all.

His little crybaby that's going to swallow all his yummy cum, aren't you? So much that you might just get a cummy ache and come crying to him for more, his sweet little crybaby!

[rqbossman]

Rules

Hey everyone, I thought it would be a good idea to establish some ground rules to guide interactions on here so without further ado: 1) I get to change and or ignore my own rules as and when I like. It's my blog so tough. 2) I won't even consider answering an ask unless it meets the following criteria: a) I haven't been asked it before on Tumblr. b) It is worded as a question. c) It does not ask me to rule on canon for content I make. d) It does not ask for takes on real people. e) It has a positive tone (seeking to become positive counts) f) It is not a callout (e.g. why are you so rubbish etc.) g) It is not asking for confidential information on business and/or Intellectual property h) It is not just rephrasing a previous question because people didn't like the answer. i) It's respectful. j) It is not just a veiled story request (e.g. why don't you make these characters kiss etc.) 3) This is not a press conference or an interrogation. If you want to ask serious questions about Rusty Quill and other proper topics send them to mail@rustyquill.com 4) If you DM me I will ignore it on principal. Not because I don't like you but because I am receiving so many that I can't be fair with it and it's just generally unwise anyway. 5) Remember we are all human. That means we can make mistakes, change our minds, be flippant, have a bad day and give bad advice. Please show a little grace rather than trying to catch people out. I do not support dogpiling in any situation. 6) Be kind. The fastest way to get yourself blocked by me is being unkind even if you are in the right. Some of the cruellest and regrettable actions I have ever seen have been fuelled by righteous indignation. 7) Be wise. Internet culture moves fast. Not everyone knows everything you know and not everyone needs to know everything you know. You aren't helping me if you appoint yourself "chief brainbox educator supreme" and try to school people on how things should be. Let's just all keep it chill yeah? 8) Be patient. This is not my job. This is barely even counts as a good idea! I run my social media when I can but I don't have deadlines and I don't have sociability quotas. I might do a flurry of activity when I have time then go quiet for months. Just go ahead and assume if I am not posting it's for a good reason. 9) One question per person. Don't worry it doesn't annoy me, its just I don't know if its fair me using all my social media time budget on a single person and leave others unanswered.

This is hardly a complete or exhaustive list and no doubt I have made some tragic tumblr newb error but it'll have to do for now. I am happy to take constructive feedback on these but don't expect quick turnaround on anything.

[liveyun]

die with a smile | jjk

pairing. Jeon jungkook x fem/gn reader

genre. neighbours au, fluff, slice of life, light humor, slow-burn

rating. pg

warnings. late-night karaoke, mild annoyance, OC being conflicted and awkward, unspoken feelings, lots of staring at Jungkook (because who wouldn’t), implied military enlistment, OC lowkey simping (let’s be honest), “english isn’t my first language,” + not proofread, yearning . . .

wc. 1.7k +

🎧 die with a smile | bruno mars and lady gaga

The third night of incessant singing is where you finally draw the line.

You sit at your tiny kitchen table, surrounded by papers, half-drunk cups of tea, and the beginnings of a tension headache.

From the apartment next door, his voice—smooth, clear, and . . . warm — reaches you in a wave of melodies. He’s been singing for nearly two hours now, moving seamlessly from upbeat pop songs to heart-wrenching OSTs — with such ease and precision, you nearly feel both envy and frustration at how good he is and how he’s giving you his free performance at 3 AM.

You would’ve been impressed if you weren’t one sleepless night away from filing a formal complaint.

Your walls are thin. Your apartment is small. Every belt, falsetto, and perfectly sustained note crashes into your eardrums. You’ve stuffed pillows over your ears, slammed doors, and even loudly coughed against your shared wall, hoping he’d get the hint — but the man next door seems tireless . . . like a karaoke marathon champion who’s going to audition for the next survival show over some drinks at a restaurant.

Tonight’s song finishes with a flourish, and you hear a muffled sound of giggles — his own, perhaps — through the walls.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath, aggressively thumbing through your phone. Your irritation fuels you as you type up a complaint email for the building management, every sentence laced with righteous annoyance. You don’t think you’d care if they have any errors. You pause for a moment, fingers hovering over the send button.

“Maybe it’s just one of those guys. Moved in a month ago, right?” The voice of the kind old lady with her cute cat from the next block pops into your head. Earlier that day in the park, she’d casually informed you that your mysterious, musically obsessed neighbor was on a brief four-day vacation. “Poor boy — been serving his time in the army and just came to rest a little. He sings, you know. A real singer.”

You’d blinked at her words. “Wha. . . singer? Like… famous?”

The lady had shrugged. “Famous or not, his voice is beautiful.”

You remember standing frozen on the sidewalk, feeling guilt bubble in your chest.

That’s why you don’t send the complaint.

The clock reads 3:49 AM when the familiar, too-loud melody begins once again.

This time, you snap.

Throwing on your cardigan, you march to your front door and storm into the dimly lit hallway. Standing outside his apartment, your fist hovers above the door, second-guessing yourself for a beat. But then you hear him laughing — a soft, boyish laugh — and irritation wins out. You knock twice, firm and loud.

The door opens.

You’re unprepared for the man on the other side.

He’s wearing a black beanie, tugged low over his forehead, and an oversized black T-shirt that falls to his elbows. Tattoos trail like brushstrokes down his arm, stark and beautiful against his skin. His large eyes blink at you in surprise, framed by lashes so unfairly long they could sweep the floor. The corners of his lips lift into an easy, almost mischievous smile, deep dimples appearing like magic.

You falter.

This isn’t fair. Someone who sings like that should not also look like this. He looks. . . cute. Boyish. Innocent. But so undeniably attractive that you have to clear your throat because now you’re hyper aware that this man is nearly towering over you.

“Uh…” Your frustration stutters as you search for words. “Hi. I, uh—I live next door. And it’s 4 AM.”

“Yeah?” His voice, now spoken rather than sung, is just as soft and warm as you imagined. He tilts his head, curiosity dancing in his expression, his eyes wide like boba. “Something wrong?”

You blink at him, feeling ridiculous now that you’re standing here. “It’s just…your singing. It’s, um, loud.”

“Oh!” His eyes widen, and he steps back as though caught red-handed. “I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry.”

The immediate sincerity in his voice makes you feel like you’ve kicked a puppy.

“It’s fine,” you add quickly, backpedaling. “It’s just…the walls here are thin, and I’m not. . . uh, I’m not really used to it.”

His smile returns, shy. “I get it. I’ve been singing too much, huh? I just…” He scratches the back of his neck, sheepish now. “I haven’t had time to unwind in a while. Didn’t mean to bother you.”

His honesty throws you off balance. You glance past him into his apartment, catching a glimpse of his karaoke setup—a small mic stand surrounded by crumpled lyric sheets and snack wrappers. And a big. . . calculator. . . .? The space is much bigger than yours but still homely, lit warmly in contrast to the sterile hallway.

“You…you’re really good, though,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

He looks surprised for a moment, before the edges of his smile soften. You don’t even know this guy, but his smile seems genuine. Sincere. “Thanks. . . That means a lot.”

Silence stretches between you. You’re suddenly acutely aware of how he’s gazing at you — like he’s studying you just as much as you’re studying him.

“You know,” he says at last, teasing but gentle, “I could sing quieter if you have any requests.”

You snort involuntarily, the tension breaking. “I think I’d rather you not sing at all.”

He laughs at that—a full, bright laugh that tugs at something in your chest. “Fair enough.”

. . . ♡ 🐰 ♡ . . .

To your surprise, he sticks to his word.

That night, his singing drops to a near whisper. You can still hear it faintly through the walls — although, the song is more of a soft rock, but his voice is soothing. Sweet. Strangely, it doesn’t bother you anymore.

If anything, you find yourself listening a little too intently, sleep now long forgotten as you find yourself smiling so widely that your cheeks hurt.

I, I just woke up from a dream

Where you and I had to say goodbye

And I don't know what it all means

But since I survived, I realized

The next morning, as you head out for coffee, you bump into him again in the hallway.

This time, he’s wearing the same beanie and a plain hoodie, duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He grins when he sees you, lifting a hand in greeting, but his grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh,” you say, stopping in your tracks. “You’re leaving?”

And there it is—that faint smile, shy yet playful, tugging at the corner of his lips. Except this time, he’s fidgeting with it, thumb grazing the skin as though he’s used to something being there. A piercing, maybe. Did he have one before? You hadn’t asked but for some reason, the gesture makes him look a little younger, a little more uncertain.

“Yeah,” he says softly, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Heading back.”

His voice carries none of the energy that used to spill through the thin walls, none of the stubborn joy that once kept you awake at night.

And somehow, it bothers you more than the loud singing ever did.

You shift awkwardly, trying to think of something to say—anything that doesn’t sound as silly as it feels in your head. “That’s… soon. I mean, it’s only been a few days.”

He chuckles lightly, the sound soft and self-deprecating. “Time flies, huh?” His thumb is at his lip again, a nervous habit that seems almost out of place on someone like him. “Guess I didn’t get to bother you enough before I left.”

“I didn’t hate it,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. Your voice falters, quieter now. “The . . . singing, I mean.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, his dark eyes catching yours in a way that makes your breath hitch. You try to read them, but you can barely even look at them — thanks to his beanie pulled low.

“Well,” he says after a pause, his voice low and warm, “I’m glad to hear that.”

He nods — and turns slightly, as if to leave, and your chest tightens. You open your mouth — hesitate — and then, before you can think twice, the word slips out.

Wherever you go, that's where I’ll follow

Nobody's promised tomorrow

“Wait.”

He stops immediately, turning back almost instantly with a flicker of hope in his gaze, like he’d been waiting for you to say it. His eyes seem to sparkle, a boyish anticipation lighting his features, and you feel your stomach twist.

Your hands feel clammy as you extend one awkwardly. “Uhh, I— I never introduced myself. I’m ____.”

He stares at your outstretched hand for a moment before breaking into the kind of grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. The kind of grin that could make you forget the world for a moment.

“Jungkook,” he says simply, taking your hand in his. His grip is warm, firm, and entirely too brief, but it leaves a strange warmth spreading through you. His hands are slightly rough - but they feel pleasant. “Hi again.”

You nod, feeling a little silly but unable to pull your gaze from his. For a second, your chest tightens with an inexplicable urge to step closer, to wrap your arms around him. . .

Wait. Where did that come from?

So I’ma love you every night like it's the last night

Like it's the last night

But before you can really think of what you’re thinking — he lets go of your hand, stepping back with another small smile.

“Well, I should go,” he says, voice soft but final. His grin lingers, playful but tinged with something else, something quieter. “Take care, ____.”

He turns, and then he’s really gone. Leaving you standing in the hallway with your hand still half-raised, the warmth of his touch lingering like a ghost against your skin, the muscle near your left eye twitching and a weird feeling wrapping around your chest.

When you finally retreat to your apartment, the silence feels impossibly loud.

You sink onto your couch, hugging a pillow to your chest, and wonder if his hand had felt as warm as yours had—or if it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you.

If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you

If the party was over and our time on Earth was through

I’d wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile

If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you

[zorciarkrildrush]

I think the essence of what drives me crazy about current Enlightened Online Leftist Discourse Regarding My Life Personally And Whether This Time Killing Me Is Morally Correct (as in, commentary about the latest episode in i/p violence) is this:

I want a free Palestine.

I don't personally know a lot of people that don't! They might bristle at the tagline, because it's co-opted by people who do in fact want them dead, but as soon as I lay out why it's in literally everyone's best interest, how a non-free Palestine is horrific both to the people of Israel and to the people of Palestine, how pragmatically ridiculous the occupation of the west bank and the siege upon Gaza are (and I am a very pragmatic person), they get it. And I don't mean I debate people online about it - this, too, is a ridiculous concept - I mean having, time and time again, the deradicalization conversation with my friends, and colleagues, and my family. Obviously not only now - I've always been a very principled and argumentative Jew, ever since I became an adult - and I've been alive for, I don't know, a dozen flashpoints and operations and wars at this point, and I don't stop being argumentative and loud in peacetime either, but especially now.

But that's not what "from the river to the sea" means.

When you, gentle soul from across the sea, echo this slogan, you are either:

By apathy or will, ignoring that the sentiment cheers for the mass expulsion and killing of Jews. Indeed, any non-Muslim present from the river to the sea. This doesn't even begin to cover how even Muslim arabs still will not be safe under Hamas rule - and trust me, I don't care if a Hamas apologist told you different. A victory for Hamas (And we're ignoring the fact they do not have the military capacity for it - I hope you are aware of the privilege inherent to not understanding military conflicts) means exactly that. No "rule by the people". No socialistic, Palestinian utopia to be had, which is a fantasy I'm seeing alluded to a lot recently. Just an extension of the horrific power structure in Lebanon and Syria, where Hezbollah - friends and allies to Hamas - have been playing a tango for decades of both refusing to participate in actual government and betterment of civilian lives, while still draining their resources and controlling them with no real contest. "From the river to the sea" is not a sentiment for freedom fighting - it's a sentiment for a final solution to the people living here who are either Jewish, or for some Very Strange And Weird Reason would rather not submit to Hamas rule. You know - Israeli Arabs, secular and Muslim and Christian, Druze, Circassians, Bahai, take your pick. Their suffering, and my suffering - you know, a person who made the strategic error of being born in Israel while Jewish, which is inherently problematic and not okay of me - don't matter to you. Just the fantasy of an easy, morally correct cleanse of the land.

Are well aware of all of the above! You just don't care. You either smugly chuckle that I, and anybody else who will die, deserve it - or that it's an acceptable loss for the aforementioned fantasy. "Decolonization is an inherently violent process", you'll say to me, chillingly, before implying I have a summer home in Brooklyn I can just retreat to when things get tough. Israel is basically Rhodesia, a very popular blog here mentioned flippantly, so what's the issue with all of those lily-white Jews fucking off back home before the righteous freedom fighters strike them down? Well. This might be the part I urge you to open a book, or even Wikipedia or any god damn thing that will explain to you these upsetting, dense things you clearly struggle with.

It's easy for me to discount islamophobes. Like, very easy. It's very easy for me to discount insane evangelistics who "advocate for me" simply because I'm a pawn in their religious rapture. It's easy for me to fight against Israeli and Jewish fascists - I have been long before this news item came across your feed, as did the insinuations that some civilian deaths are okay, actually.

It's easy for me for me to see promotions for donations to non-political aid in Gaza. It's easy for me to see the sentiment that hey! Palestinians deserve safe, healthy lives. That they have deserved an independent state, and were unfairly denied one, for decades. It's easy for me to see people saying "You know, the Israeli government is shit, actually, and their actions endanger and promote to the misery of innocents". Because that's right! I wouldn't be voting and protesting and donating for all of these sentiments otherwise!

It's not easy for me to see people, who I honestly held in high regard and saw having well thought out opinions on important matters, inadvertently echo the sentiment that my death is acceptable. That a terrorist organization, who rule over their own territory with fear and violence, are righteous freedom fighters, vox populi, only out to establish a free state. Like hey, their manifesto said otherwise, so it must be all there is - right? That Jews are just hysterical, they can easily live elsewhere - ever since that nasty holocaust business everything's fine abroad. Besides, it was just so long ago who even cares stop talking about it. Hamas, Hezbollah, ISIS, the Ayatollahs in Iran, the fucking Islamic Jihad - are not interested in freedom. They aren't, and echoing their slogan tells me you are either ignoring that, or support them anyway. If antisemitic rhetoric, half truths and lies by omission work on you today, they would have in any period of time. I'm sorry this makes you uncomfortable. I'm not, not really.

So finally:

Know what your fucking words mean. Have a cursory glance at the history of the MENA and why it's so fucked, one that doesn't boil down to "The Jews, with American help, rolled into where they don't belong". This isn't even a joke. I've seen this braindead, history-revising sentiment repeated so many times, both online and in actual textbooks, that I feel I'm going insane. So many well-meaning people handwringing and assuring each other that repeating genocidal slogans is fine, that calling the i/p conflict "a simple problem" (which means it has a simple solution, right? Just kill the Jews.) is a well-adjusted and intellectual take. That "only the Zionists should die! The rest will be fine :)" I dare you to say that and also give me a correct definition of what Zionism is. Why I, a Jew that advocates for Palestinian statehood and rights and safety and always have, won't also face the wall in your little fantasy.

Freedom to Palestine. Peace in the middle east, fucking yesterday.

A curse and a plague on those who don't want either of those, and just want to cheer on the death of "the other side".

A curse and a plague upon you, when you tell me, smugly, from somewhere safe and far away, "from the river to the sea".

[picthos]

If it’s true that James bullied Snape because he aspired to become a Death Eater.

I believe that this interpretation doesn’t make James Potter a brilliant hero, but rather a petty hypocrite.

It paints him as someone who is weak to the strong and strong to the weak—a braggart, so to speak.

James Potter didn’t exclusively target Snape; he also bullied other anonymous students at Hogwarts simply because they annoyed him or for his own amusement. For instance, there’s a student named Aubrey who was hexed by James, but it’s never mentioned whether Aubrey was a Slytherin.

On the other hand, individuals like Mulciber, Avery, Evan Rosier, Lucius Malfoy, and even Sirius’s younger brother Regulus were all clearly aspiring Death Eaters, and they came from powerful pureblood families.

There is no evidence that James went after or bullied individuals from pureblood families either. If some fans imagine that James bullied Snape because Snape aspired to become a Death Eater, and that James did so with a "righteous heart," then that would indeed be amusing.

"It would mean that his fans have transformed their favorite character into someone who, under the guise of justice, targets the poorest and loneliest person while ignoring others with greater power. Such an interpretation only turns James into the very hypocrite they would likely despise."

Even if they use Dark Magic as an excuse, James himself maliciously used jinxes and hexes on others, and there’s no story of James Potter punishing Mulciber, who tried to use such a terrifying Dark Magic spell on Mary Macdonald that Lily said it was horrifying.

When will those who praise James for bullying others at school realize this truth?

Honestly, I hope they never realize the contradictions and logical fallacies. They haven't noticed it so far, and I don't think the snaters people who would read my post are smart enough to acknowledge those errors.

—I hope they never know. Let James remain that hypocrite forever.

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 29. karma's a bitch

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. naoya's anger issues continue. infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. mentions of physical violence. family drama.

word count: 3.2k

notes: my sixty-hour work weeks have been taking a huge toll on me, so i apologize for this incredibly slow update. the good news is that i cannot take this corporate america bullshit anymore and will resign in the next two months. thank you for being patient! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Naoya had never felt this humiliated in his entire life.

When people said karma was a bitch, he never thought that it would actually make its way back to him. While he was not the most righteous person in the world, he was the Zenin CEO, for god’s sake! He was the leader to a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, the heir of a centuries-old bloodline. 

Yet, here he was, charging back to his apartment like an irate animal.

He startled the lobby doormen upon his loud entry, and once he returned to his penthouse, he had to will every muscle in his body not to tear apart his abode in a rampage.

In his head, his encounter with Toji looped like a broken record, fueling his chagrin.

When Naoya sought to confront his cousin for the first time in months, he thought he had been prepared. He did not expect to end up digging himself into a deep hole surpassing the world's layers due to a judgment error—a slight miscalculation. 

Correction: this miscalculation was anything but 'slight' because he wildly underestimated what felt like everything. Now, he bore the consequences of his mistakes after inadvertently turning himself into a laughingstock. Because his ego was his hamartia, he had become a mere jester in a story where he was meant to be the sole hero, and thus his ill feelings burned hotter than the surface of the Sun.

As much as he hated to admit this, Naoya had been shortsighted. He should have known better. Just weeks ago, he saw a vision filled with saccharine promises of a happy, comfortable life as the most powerful man in Japan imbued with power and wealth. He had been confident—a hundred percent certain—that absolutely nothing could go wrong in the trajectory he worked hard to create. But, what the actual fuck just happened at the therapist's office?!

He did not expect his mistress to make a complete fool out of him. Her very existence was an anathema to him, and he hoped to never be in contact with that woman ever again. In hindsight, Naoya should have taken the hint a while ago. He had previously forgiven his cousin's ex-wife, dismissing her blissful but intentional ignorance. Mari had never been too keen on actual intellectual and corporate matters, for she took far more interest in the money and comfort that came with starting from the bottom and sleeping her way to the top. Despite that, Naoya trusted that she at least had half the mind to not publicly discuss their affair, only for him to be proven wrong in front of none other than...Toji Fushiguro.

"Fuck!" Naoya screamed into the void of his empty living room. His reality was a nightmare as he thought about his despised cousin again—the assured gleam in his viridescent eyes, the smug smirk that tugged across his lips. The imagery soured his mood beyond measure. "I'm going to fucking—"

He did not finish his sentence.

Instead, he kicked a nearby lamp in an angry bout, toppling the fixture over and sending tiny shards cascading across the floor accompanied by the dull thud of the shade. Whatever. His housekeeper tomorrow morning would come in and clean that. 

What he instead focused on was how he had never been this infuriated, this belittled, this undignified.

The entire apartment echoed with Naoya's loud huff.

'About ‘your wife’ or whatever you want to deem her, there is not a single chance in hell that she’d ever think about calling you her husband anymore.' These words from Toji affected him more than he would have liked.

What did he mean?

That bastard is bluffing, the blonde had to tell himself, yet even he could not believe in his own consolation.

He needed to do something about this. 

No, no, Naoya wasn’t scared.

He couldn’t possibly be, right?!

Yet, after he could feel his ears begin to cool and breathing start to re-regulate, he stared at the emptiness in his halls as he came to the realization that had no better choice but to talk to you.

You didn't want to be here.

The moment you read Naoya Zenin's text to meet up for a 'quick chat' at the café near his office, you already knew that the upcoming conversation was going to be anything but 'quick.' The last thing you wished to do was to be in the same vicinity as that very man again.

After spending the last few days at your family residence, you had been showered with warm attention from aunts, uncles, cousins, and even house attendants who—despite naturally wondering the reason behind your stay—welcomed your visit with open arms. To your relatives' many inquiries, you forged a pretense that all was well even if all was not. (Besides, all did seem well in your family estate, away from the incessant pandemonium that was the Tokyo city center.)

While you knew that this peaceful break was not meant to last forever, you did not anticipate returning to the capital just to sit with the Zenin CEO alone.

Naoya had specifically chosen a corner table in the Hong Kong-inspired establishment, distanced from potential eavesdroppers. He seemed to have been waiting for a while by the time you arrived, his right leg crossed over his left knee as he twiddled with his thumbs impatiently. Sprawled on the table were a freshly brewed pot of jasmine tea and a platter of warm custard pastries.

He remained quiet as you took the seat across from him, observing with a crease on his forehead and a knit to his brows.

Anyone could tell that the blonde was not the least bit happy.

"Giving me dirty looks is not going to get this conversation anywhere," you pointed out while helping yourself to a tart.

From your comment, the inverted slope on Naoya's lips twisted into a deeper frown. 

He did not understand where your annoyance came from. 

Fine, he never treated you nicely either, but he did not expect you to snap at him when the discussion had hardly begun. You offered him no greetings, and Naoya also took great offense at how you chose not to look at him as you talked.

Truth be told, your neglect reminded him of all the other upsetting things that he was dying to bring up, and your unpleasant attitude whittled away the little restraint he had left.

“You didn’t try to ask where I’ve been. Not one text or call. Guess it would not have mattered to you if I disappeared, huh?" he lashed out through gritted teeth. He hated being forgotten, hated being looked over, and hated how easy it was for him to prove you to be a neglectful and apathetic wife.

Which was why there was no better option than to cut him off.

“You ordered me to leave you alone, Naoya.” Only slightly did you turn your head to glance at him. Stirring sugar into your tea, you kept your attention otherwise on the nearby window and watched businesspeople scurrying about on the streets on their lunch breaks. "You can live without my attention since I'm not the only woman you have around. What happened to your lady friend? Hasn't she been entertaining you long before our marriage? I am sure she would love your company, so why not pay her an impromptu visit?”

From a slanting angle, you could tell that the transformation from your normally calm demeanor dismayed him. Naoya, not you, was typically the one to make snide comebacks, but he could not deny your latest comments. Evidently, he wanted you to go back to your submissive and passive self, but that was precisely what you no longer could be for him.

His silence prompted you to reach into your purse and retrieve a thick manila envelope, and you presented the package on the table.

Naoya's gaze snapped to the parcel. 

He was curious, but cautiously so. He had invited you here, expecting to control the narrative, to dictate the terms. As a result, your unexpected move threw him off balance. 

"What...?"

“Take a look and find out for yourself.”

A puzzled Naoya demonstrated no hesitation.

He snatched the folder, tearing the top open and greedily grabbing the curated pieces inside. He stared for a long time at the first item: a photo. But he recognized the image of him and his mistress, boarding a private jet for their most recent trip to Mexico. Then, he flipped through the stack rapidly, barely registering each item before he turned to the next. Some were printed-out pictures and others were cutouts from news articles, but all featured him and his paramour. The confusion on Naoya's visage slowly morphed into aggravation, and when he finished his inspection, he forcefully threw the items back onto the table.

In the end, Naoya sat back and went still, not even blinking, thinking, or doing anything but pressing his tongue along his inner cheek. "How did you get these?"

No apologies. No remorse.

Hell, based on his response, the man could not even bother to deny your accusations, a telling sign of how little he could care for his relationship with you. Obviously, you must be a joke to him.

In one firm motion, you placed down your teacup.

"You're missing the point.”

While one's eyes may be the windows to the soul, Naoya's offered nothing in his current state. His pupils looked at—no, examined you in intense dark pools despite the iridescent glow from the lights above.

"Toji gave you these, didn't he?" Naoya continued with a disdainful laugh, himself insistent on getting answers to his own questions. "You can't find this shit on the internet anymore since I've had them all taken down. But Toji's fast. He has eyes everywhere, I know he does. Look at him. Months later, and he's still hung up on reclaiming a position he should've never had the right to in the first place!"

Thankfully, you didn’t flinch from his loud voice. What you did do was become more indifferent as if you were placing a wall to separate yourself from him, mentally bracing for his emotional maelstrom.

"You are missing the point," you said once more. This time, you shook your head in disappointment, and your tone was far more frustrated than the last. "Aren't you shameless?”

"Me? Shameless?!” His brows pinched closer from fury. "Take a look at yourself, woman! What did you do to get all this dirt from Toji and his henchmen, hm? Ha! Know what? I bet it’s because you're so willing to spread yourself for them,” he rambled with a nasty sneer plastered on his expression. At his comments, your jaw fell open before snapping shut as the meaning behind his words sank in. The way this man disregarded how he had an affair (that began many months ago!) only to redirect the spotlight onto you was repulsing, implying that the sole reason the therapists talked to you was that you had slept around. “A whore like you love taking all them all, don’t you? Well? Well? Am I right? Goddamn, you’re such a—”

The harsh scraping from your chair as you stood was what finally interrupted him. Unable to tolerate his vilification, you counteracted his anger with the venom in your rancorous glare. 

"How dare you talk about me like that!”

In the meantime, prying eyes started to turn in your direction from the commotion: teenage girls, sharing nervous glances across their table; a lone businessman, stopping mid-sip from his cappuccino; even the barista, pausing mid-grind such that her arm froze inches from the hopper.

"That man...doesn't he seem familiar?" a distant voice asked.

"Is he a celebrity or something?"

"No, wait. He's the person on the cover of last month's Fortune magazine. Naoya Zenin!" another replied.

"Isn't that lady his wife?"

While the onlookers' curious glances turned into full-on stares, their regard steeled your resolve rather than bothered you. Instead, you wanted the crowd to take in the spectacle. Corrupt tricks and dirty money had long painted the Zenin heir as 'the most perfect man in Japan,' and the public deserved to understand the fraudulence and cruelty that underlaid his facade.

"For months, I trusted you. I respected you. I put aside the harrowing loneliness weighing on my heart all because I tried to understand you. You told me that finding the time or energy for our marriage was not easy because board meetings kept you late in the office or business meetings required you to spend several nights abroad. Fine! So, I had been patient. But," and your voice overflowed from anger as you pointed a shaking finger at the pictures on the table, "Taking another woman to Michelin restaurants for dinners? Spending nights with her at Ritz-Carltons and Four Seasons? Going on entire vacations with her across the Pacific? All while you had a wife at home? Are you out of your fucking mind ?!" 

The man's nose flared with deep-seated rage, his eyes mirroring the same bitterness in yours. "At the end of the day," he began sternly, "we're still married."

Ridiculous.

“On paper, ” you had to clarify. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be cheating on me with your older cousin's ex-wife."

Immediately, louder murmurs rippled through the crowd. Naoya turned stiff, uncomfortable with the attention. So much for selecting a quiet corner in the café. He wasn’t stupid enough to sense that he had to be careful. Saying one wrong phrase would condemn him to a public meltdown. 

However, you were already steps ahead of him when you loudly declared: “I’m filing for a divorce.” 

That caught him off guard.

Your announcement even drew audible astonishment from bystanders as they stopped their meals, turning to each other and drawing out their phones.

In literal milliseconds, the vexation once riddling Naoya's demeanor shifted into denial.

“No. We’re not going to talk about a fucking divorce right now. We’re going to fix what we have, and you’re going to come back to me. We’re...We're married for a reason, and we’re going to keep with it!”

"That's a bullshit reason,” you had to snap. “Listen to yourself. Do you hear how selfish you sound!?" At this point, nothing could hide your bafflement. "Naoya, you were the one who said that if I wanted to leave this marriage badly, then I should leave. Ask Mai and Maki! They heard the entire conversation. Didn't you also say that you didn't give a fuck anymore?"

The man attempted to salvage some semblance of control. "I was just joking!"

"No, you were not." Picking up a photo of Naoya and Mari together, you pressed the picture to his face. “How much more can I take? How many days would I still have to go through alone in the penthouse, all because you would be spending your sweet time with the woman that you love?”

Unloading all this emotional baggage, not only for Naoya Zenin but also for the café spectators to hear, took courage. Previously, you would have let the burden gnaw at your soul. You would have rather wallowed in suffering rather than even think about speaking up.

But the past was the past, and you had grown immensely since then. Currently, you were stronger, more confident. You knew that, in Toji's words, you deserved better. Life was too beautiful to waste on a man who did not love or respect you and, with that in mind, you relaxed your clenched fists with an exhausted and fatigued sigh. 

You broke me first, you said through a deserted gaze. 

Naoya Zenin was the reason why you had become the way you were: a cold, seemingly heartless wife who cared none for her husband. The misery that he placed on your shoulders finally reached its limit, and while you could forgive, forgetting the memories in your scarred heart would be a task over months, years, and even a lifetime. 

“Listen,” you began, tone terse, “this divorce will set you free. Mari is the person whom you need—”

“The hell. No!” the man interrupted in a violent outburst, taking your breath away as he slammed the table and hissed. “I don't give a damn about her right now! We’re…We’re over!" he snarled with incredible anger such that he almost appeared to growl. "I don’t need her, I need you! That...That whore doesn't give a flying fuck about my shit! All she cares about is...is...Fuck this. All she wants is the money. Why else do you think she married and then later divorced Toji? She doesn't want to hear about all the shit in my family because she had not been brought up to deal with all the fuckin' drama in my household. She can't understand because, unlike you, she wasn't born with a silver spoon shoved down her goddamn throat!"

Quietly, you absorbed his words, stunned.

So this was how their relationship had been.

You had not expected him to reveal all these entrenched feelings willingly, but his concoction between reckless rage and sheer desperation had allowed him to spill the ugly side of this extramarital affair. Naoya could not afford to lose you, and not just because this marriage solidified the respect of those around him. While Mari offered him an outlet for physical indulgence, only you could offer the cornerstone to Naoya's mental and social fortitude.

“So you ‘need’ me now, but what happens when you find another reason to hate me again? What will you do if you don’t think I can fulfill the role you want me to have as your partner? Or if you wake up one day and suddenly want your cousin’s ex-wife again? Or if you meet another woman? Am I supposed to stand there again, and watch this all happen?" 

No answer.

The fact that he couldn't respond hurt.

"My decision is final. Looking back, I despised every single second married to you. In fact, I feel sorry for myself. The fact that I blindly put up with your manipulation, betrayal, and blame for all these months.” With your belongings collected, you prepared to leave. “You would be stupid to think you're the only one with options, you know.”

Only when you turned around did Naoya react, scrambling to his feet.

“What the fuck are you—”

In any other situation, he would have grabbed you, lunged at you, did everything in his power to stop you from going. Yet, given all the witnesses, all he could do was call you back like a helpless child, trying his best to not escalate the scene (although, at this point, even passerbys outside have stopped by the window to spectate).

"Hey!" Naoya called after you. “Hey! I’m still talking with you!”

Pathetic, really, to see him desperately beg for you to stay in his life.

There was a certain satisfaction in finally having the control at your fingertips. The feeling was empowering—electrifying, even—and you became so focused on the gratification that you barely registered Naoya's last question.

“Where are you going?”

At this point, you already stood by the exit.

“That’s not something that my soon-to-be ex-husband would need to know,” and you hardly gave him another glance as the door closed behind you. “Thank you for showing me everything I hope to never find in another man again."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Part of why this update took so long was because I wanted to have an encounter between Naoya and Y/N to showcase Y/N’s development, from someone who thoughtlessly defended her husband to someone who could stand up for herself (all while alone!). I envisioned this interaction many times, and I thought about different ways to approach the scene, the delivery, the dialogue, the choreography, etc. It took me a while to go for what I currently have. Thank you for reading!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[idrawweirdstuffnominors]

So I've decided to reread the comics for the upteeth time and it got me thinking, how do you think the tec would react to having a s/o that's just as toxic and degenerate as them >:3c

(Lol them meeting their match is gonna be- Oh boy)

Bill Dickey x equally toxic/degenerate S/O:

Bill wouldn’t just like a partner who’s as rotten as him—he’d worship the ground they stomped on, at least at first. He’s the kind of guy who wants a partner who can match his rage rant for rage rant, quote obscure media just as obnoxiously, and humiliate others in the name of "fandom superiority." If you're verbally destroying some poor soul online while yelling about canon continuity errors, he'd probably say, “That’s my girl/guy/them!” with tears in his eyes.

But here’s the thing—Bill is a control freak. He sees himself as the alpha nerd in any room. So when his partner starts out-toxic-ing him, stealing his thunder during a nerd tirade, or calling him out on his hypocritical gatekeeping? Oh boy. That’s when the fireworks start.

He’d be:

Enraged, but also weirdly flustered.

Petty as hell. Like purposely misquoting your favorite sci-fi monologue just to piss you off.

Constantly trying to one-up you, even in mutual destruction.

Arguments would be legendary. You’d both yell until someone’s voice cracks and someone else’s collectibles get flung across the room. Then you’d probably hate-makeout or angrily binge-watch Babylon 5 like nothing happened.

And yet, despite (or because of) the toxicity, he'd brag about you to others like:

> ��You wouldn’t get it, Jerry. My s/o’s real. They threw a slur at a Funko Pop collector once. I almost proposed.”

Bill wouldn’t admit it out loud but you have his ass whipped and you are his worst enemy, but he'd need someone just as messed up as him to feel less like a loser. Someone who validates his degeneracy and still somehow sticks around. It'd be co-dependent, angry, and probably end in broken furniture—but he'd secretly consider it the most meaningful connection he's ever had.

Josh x equally toxic/degenerate S/O:

Josh is the kind of guy who thinks he wants a sweet, understanding partner who “gets” him—but when he actually ends up with someone who’s just as bitter, neurotic, and fandom-addicted as he is? He spirals.

You two would be that couple who get kicked out of comic book shops for arguing about canon loud enough to scare the employees. You’d both spew venom online under different usernames, then gas each other up like:

> “That takedown post you made about that guy who likes the Abrams Trek movies? That was beautiful. I left a comment with a .GIF.”

He’d act all defensive and cranky when you’re around others—bragging about how your relationship is based on “mutual intellectual superiority”—but deep down, he’s addicted to the chaos. You'd enable each other’s worst habits. Obsessive collecting. Screaming fights over which anime arc sucked more. Using fandom as a weapon in your actual relationship fights.

But Josh is insecure. Big time.

If you ever criticize him the way you do the rest of the world, it’d cut him deep. He'd lash out with one of his self-righteous, borderline-incoherent rants, calling you a “fake nerd elitist dilettante traitor” (yes, he’d say all that in one breath). Then sulk for three days while obsessively rewatching DS9 and quoting Garak at you passive-aggressively.

Still, he'd be helplessly attached. Even when things get toxic, he’d need you around like a comfort blanket he can also scream at.

You’d probably:

Get in fights at conventions and high-five about it later.

Argue about ethics in game journalism during making out

Make each other mixtapes full of spiteful punk songs and anime OSTs. And classical star wars sound tracks.

At the end of the day, he'd rather fight with someone who gets him than be with someone who doesn’t care about the real stuff. You’re poison in the same flavor. And he’s never letting go.

Pete x equally toxic/degenerate S/O:

At first? Pete is in heaven.

He meets someone who rants about “casuals” and punches holes in Funko Pop boxes with the same fire he has? Someone who lights up like a Molotov cocktail when someone says “I liked the live-action adaptation”? He’s into it.

> “Yo, my s/o threatened to spit in a guy’s eye for calling Alien 3 underrated. That’s f***in’ hot.”

He’d act like the mature one in public, rolling his eyes when you go on a tirade—but the moment you’re alone? He’s telling you how cool it was, laughing with you while you both trash on someone’s fandom take like a roast session from hell.

But here’s the catch: Pete wants to think he’s better than everyone, including you, sometimes. If you get too toxic, outshine him, or drag him into your messes?

He’ll get defensive. Like:

> “Why the hell would you post that? Now they’re gonna think I agree with you! Jesus, babe, tone it down—”

Which is rich coming from the guy who once threw a Slurpee at someone for misquoting Army of Darkness.

Still, he’d never fully stop you. You’re his chaos twin. The Tiffany to his angry Chucky. He respects that you don’t take sh*t and that you’ll always take his side—even when he’s objectively wrong. (Which is, let’s be real, often.)

You two would:

Chain-smoke after vicious internet fights like war buddies.

Laugh meanly at cosplayers you hate together.

Have intense, hormonal-charged arguments about whether practical effects are superior (you agree—but still fight anyway).

There’d be some real loyalty under all that aggression. Pete’s the type to stand behind his s/o in a bar fight, even if it was your fault. Especially if it was your fault.

And if someone else insults you?

> “Hey, I can call them a self-righteous poser. You can’t. Say that again and I’ll staple your tongue to a box set of The Thing.”

In short? It’s loud, it’s petty, it’s defensive—but somehow, it works. Against all odds, Pete finds love in a mirror made of nerd rage and bad coping mechanisms.

Jerry x equally toxic/degenerate S/O:

At first, Jerry would act like he’s above it.

> “I mean… yeah, my partner gets a little heated online, but it’s just because they care about integrity in fandom, you know? They’re really passionate.”

Meanwhile, you’re live-tweeting death threats to someone who said Evangelion was “mid.”

Secretly? He’s obsessed with you.

You're the only person who makes him feel seen. You watch hentai and don’t flinch. You roast bad animation and toxic fan communities with surgical precision. You quote Berserk at him during foreplay. He’s sweating. He’s trembling. He’s yours.

But he’s also deeply insecure.

When you start getting more attention than him in fandom spaces? Or when you make jokes about his creepy little figure collection he’s pretending isn’t creepy? He’ll get all sulky and weird about it.

> “It’s not, like, weird to have a full resin cast of Ryoko from Tenchi Muyo. It’s art. And the panties came like that.”

He’s the type to spiral emotionally if you call him out, then try to guilt-trip you with his “sensitive guy” schtick. But you, being just as rotten, clap back harder. Suddenly he’s flustered and crying.

Still, your relationship would thrive in the shadows. You’d spend nights:

Watching trashy OVA VHS tapes from the ‘90s while you both pretend it’s for “aesthetic.”

Arguing about which magical girl transformation was more badass.

Co-writing long, disturbing fanfiction under anonymous handles—then reading it to each other in bed.

You both would Build each other OP Magic the gathering decks.

Jerry is pathetic, but with an equally degenerate s/o? He’s emboldened. Enabled. You let him be a little freak without judgment, and that’s more love than he’s ever gotten.

He’d never leave. He’s too scared he’ll never find someone who can both match his depravity and bully him just enough to feel alive.

[volkoss]

I need you to know that I am now giggling and kicking my feet imagining them linking up toward the end of Veilguard to take over the world

do you think the flayed skull of hezenkoss and the lava lamp meredith lives in could make it work

I DO!!!! I believe in women supporting women’s war crimes 🥰

[nemesis-writer]

Alphabet Boy

Masterlist

Always aiming paper airplanes at me when you're around You build me up like building blocks just so you can bring me down You can crush my candy cane, but you'll never catch me cry If you dangle that diploma and I dead you, don't be surprised

Damian was never as special as he thought he was. He had his errors, and you had yours. But yet your errors were considered as a tarnish to the Wayne family. You're always better than him, yet your talents were always considered as beneath him.

Your pain was even worse than him, yet you didn't complain, and you didn't shed a tear. All of your talents were God-given, and you never had to practice since it was so perfect.

But, if you're so perfect why won't they look at you?

I know my ABCs, yet you keep teaching me I say fuck your degree, alphabet boy You think you're smarter than me with all your bad poetry Fuck all your ABCs, alphabet boy

You were the first to learn gymnastics, all the martial arts training to defend oneself, cooking, hacking, and more. But yet you always seemed so useless, so weak.

You grew up in the streets till you were 12, and had learned their language, their style, and how they were able to get money. But with all these self-taught talents, no one would give you the satisfaction of looking at you.

The only talents that truly helped you are, pickpocketing, hacking, and killing. You learned all of them from the streets and from training at school. You could've been the best vigilante for the city, you could even be more talented than Robin Hood.

I'm not a little kid now, watch me get big now Spell my name on a fridge now with all your alphabet toys You won the spelling bee now, but are you smarter than me now? You're the prince of the playground, little alphabet boy

You didn't get what you deserve, because of that thing. Since no one gave you your reward, you'll take it yourself. You never needed their help for a long time. Everything you did was for yourself and for murder.

You were never envious of them, since your talents were considered as an era-defining genius, but yet you remained untouched and unloved.

Apples aren't always appropriate apologies Butterscotch and bubblegum drops are bittersweet to me You call me a child while you keep counting all your coins But you're not my daddy and I'm not your dolly And your dictionary's destroyed

No one can hear your cries, no one can see your tear-shedded eyes, no one can see your fragile body filled with scars and demons of your past.

You remained haunted by the memory of your late parents wishing you could join their utopia. But no, no one would grant that wish, not a genie in a lamp, not a fortune cookie, not even the Joker could grant you that quiet satisfaction.

So you did the last thing that seemed so erratic for a person in your position...

You fled

Alphabet boy, oh, alphabet boy Alphabet boy Alphabet boy, my alphabet boy Ooh

You've become a villain of every story, you've become an urban legend that everyone feared. You've become top of the ladder of criminals, criminals and heroes alike have been searching for you. So much, that the Joker fears you and plans to eliminate you.

The Bats have been expecting your demise without even knowing what you really were, and what you became. You're known in the underworld as, 'Eurus', because it described the unlucky east wind, and that''s what you were.

Unlucky.

"Eurus! That's enough, no where to run."

"Cmon' bats you can't kill me even if you wanted to."

"We can and we will."

*cackles*

"Still righteous as usual Robin, or should I say,

'Richard'."

"Who are you?"

"Your demise."

"We know who you are", Damian

"You don't know shit. Damian."

"How do you know our names?", Jason asked.

"Because unlike you I made an effort to know Mr Wayne, or should I say. Dad."

"Y/N?"

You took of your mask and they were shocked.

It was their child.

I'm not a little kid now, watch me get big now Spell my name on a fridge now with all your alphabet toys You won the spelling bee now, but are you smarter than me now? You're the prince of the playground, little alphabet boy

A/N: I kinda rushed in this fic, but I hope you like it!

Taglist

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194,@thesehandsarerated-e, @eyeless-kun, @errorunfound1, @gwyneveire