#Segregation of Duties

[illumeo]

https://www.illumeo.com/courses/segregation-duties-core-business-processes

'Segregation of Duties' (SOD) within essential business processes, a linchpin for risk management and regulatory compliance, notably Sarbanes-Oxley (SOX). SOD ensures robust internal controls by delineating distinct roles to mitigate conflicts of interest. It elucidates SOD principles, dissects specific process intricacies, and empowers participants to pinpoint vulnerabilities, enact effective SOD strategies, and comprehend control mechanisms. By mastering SOD, individuals fortify organizations against financial improprieties and regulatory breaches, safeguarding integrity and compliance.

[noisilyimminentcore]

When to Redesign SAP Roles: During ECC or Post-Migration to S/4HANA or Rise with SAP

Migrating to SAP S/4HANA or adopting RISE/GROW with SAP is a strategic milestone for organizations aiming to modernize their ERP landscape. However, one critical consideration often overlooked during these transitions is the redesign of SAP roles. The timing of this redesign can significantly influence the success of the migration and the overall efficiency. Should you redesign roles during the ECC phase or wait until after the migration to S/4HANA? This blog explores the key factors driving this decision and introduces the S.M.A.R.T framework—a modern approach to SAP role redesign that ensures compliance, efficiency, and business alignment.

Understanding the Need for Role Redesign

SAP roles are pivotal in defining user access, ensuring compliance, and maintaining operational efficiency. Over time, roles in ECC systems often become bloated with unused authorizations or misaligned with current business needs. This can lead to:

Compliance Risks: Excessive authorizations increase the risk of segregation of duties (SoD) violations.

Migration Complications: Legacy roles with redundancies can complicate the migration process to S/4HANA.

Operational Costs: Since the licensing model is based on assignment and not by usage in S/4HANA and RISE, you may need to procure more licenses than required.

A role redesign ensures clean, streamlined, and compliant access structures, setting the stage for a smooth transition and efficient system post-migration.

ls.ECC vs. S/4HANA: When to Redesign Roles?

Aspect

Redesign During ECC

Redesign Post-Migration to S/4HANA

Compliance

Proactively addresses SoD conflicts and access risks.

Allows compliance alignment with new functionalities post-migration.

Migration Complexity

Simplifies migration with clean and optimized roles.

Reduces redundant effort, focusing only on relevant roles in the new system

Alignment with New Features

May require rework later to incorporate S/4HANA-specific functionalities.

Ensures roles are tailored to new modules, Fiori apps, and processes.

Timeline and Resources

Increases project timelines due to pre-migration workload.

Defers redesign efforts, potentially affecting initial system efficiency.

Business Process Analysis

Limited to existing ECC processes, with potential misalignment after migration.

Better aligned with current and optimized business processes in S/4HANA.

Redesigning SAP Roles with RISE with SAP

If you are moving to RISE with SAP, it is advisable to conduct a complete role redesign during the ECC phase. Once the migration is complete, perform a retrofit to align roles with the cloud-specific requirements introduced by RISE. This approach addresses the unique security, integration, and scalability considerations of a cloud-oriented transformation. You might have many questions at this juncture – What is the best approach? Which tools must be considered? Are there any accelerators that can be used? Can we use stock ready/ready to deploy role structures?

Challenges with Stock Ready Rulesets

Many system integrators offer pre-packaged or stock-ready rulesets as part of their role redesign services. While these rulesets might appear to save time and effort, they often come with significant challenges, making them unsuitable for many businesses. Here’s why the stock-ready approach is not recommended:

Lack of Customization: Stock-ready rulesets are designed to be generic and may not align with the specific needs of your industry or business processes. This can result in inadequate or excessive authorizations.

Compliance Risks: These pre-packaged rulesets may not fully address industry-specific compliance requirements, leaving gaps that could lead to audit findings or regulatory penalties.

Misalignment with Business Processes: Every organization has unique workflows and processes. Stock-ready rulesets may not account for these nuances, leading to inefficiencies and user frustrations.

Post-Implementation Challenges: Organizations often need to spend additional time and resources customizing these rulesets post-implementation, negating the perceived benefits of a quick deployment.

Instead of relying on stock-ready rulesets, organizations should invest in a tailored role redesign approach. This ensures that roles are aligned with specific business processes, compliance requirements, and future scalability needs, delivering long-term value and efficiency. This is where S.M.A.R.T approach/framework can be a life saver.

The S.M.A.R.T Role Redesign Framework

At ToggleNow, we leverage the S.M.A.R.T framework for SAP role redesign. This approach ensures that roles are:

Simplified: Designed to reduce complexity while maintaining operational effectiveness.

Mitigated for Risks: Focused on eliminating SoD conflicts and maintaining regulatory compliance.

Aligned with Business Tasks: Task-based roles ensure that access permissions directly support specific workflows.

Responsive to Change: Built to adapt seamlessly to future business or technical changes.

Transparent and Optimized: Designed with a focus on license optimization to eliminate unnecessary expenditures.

This framework delivers roles that are not only secure but also cost-effective and easy to manage

ToggleNow Advantage

ToggleNow brings a unique value proposition to SAP role redesign initiatives, ensuring a seamless and efficient process tailored to your business needs. Here’s why we stand out:

Customized Solutions: Unlike stock-ready rulesets, ToggleNow develops tailored role designs aligned with your specific business processes, compliance requirements, and industry standards.

Deep Expertise: With extensive experience in SAP role redesign, ToggleNow combines technical proficiency with a deep understanding of regulatory compliance and security best practices.

Innovative Tools:ToggleNow leverages proprietary tools such as Verity, Optimus and accelerators such as xPedite to streamline role redesign, risk analysis, and validation, ensuring faster project delivery.

Focus on Scalability:Our approach ensures that the roles we design are not only compliant and efficient but also scalable, adapting to your future business growth.

Proven Track Record:Trusted by leading organizations, ToggleNow has successfully delivered role redesign projects across diverse industries, enabling smoother migrations and enhanced system performance.

By partnering with ToggleNow, organizations can confidently navigate their SAP transitions, optimizing roles to drive operational excellence and long-term success.

Conclusion

The decision to redesign SAP roles during ECC or post-migration to S/4HANA or RISE with SAP depends on your organization’s priorities, resources, and timeline. Redesigning during ECC can simplify the migration process, while post-migration redesign allows alignment with new functionalities. For RISE with SAP, role redesign becomes even more critical to address cloud-specific requirements.

Moreover, organizations should avoid the pitfalls of stock-ready rulesets and opt for a customized approach that aligns with their unique requirements. By investing in a well-planned redesign, organizations can unlock the full potential of SAP S/4HANA or RISE with SAP, driving operational excellence and business growth.

Read more: https://togglenow.com/blog/redesign-sap-roles-ecc-or-s-4hana/

[recreationaldivorce]

In its historic ruling, the ICJ found that Israel’s occupation of the West Bank, East Jerusalem, and Gaza is entirely unlawful, that Israel practices apartheid and racial segregation, and that all states are under a duty to help bring this to an end, including by cutting off all economic, trade and investment relations with Israel in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. In other words, as a matter of international law, all countries are obliged to participate in an economic boycott of Israel’s activities in the occupied Palestinian territory and to divest from any existing economic relations there.

13 August 2024

[sunderwight]

Okay, so the canonically confirmed Cang Qiong peaks are:

Qiong Ding (leader peak, CEO peak, politician/diplomacy peak, admin peak, etc)

Qing Jing (scholar & artists peak, knowledge peak, strategic advisor peak, etc)

Wan Jian (sword guy peak, blacksmith peak, armory peak, etc)

An Ding (logistics peak, servants peak, peak of the cang qiong labor party, delivery guys & messengers peak, supplies & catering peak, etc)

Xian Shu (gender segregation peak: girl flavor)

UNKNOWN

Bai Zhan (shounen anime peak)

Qian Cao (healer peak, pharmacy peak, first responders peak, etc)

Ku Xing (gender segregation peak: boy flavor, ascetic peak)

Zui Xian (alcohol peak)

UNKNOWN

UNKNOWN

So we only have three peaks that are entirely unnamed and unaccounted for. This has pretty good utility if you want to do a transmigration fic where Airplane and Shen Yuan are there as peak lords, but so are OG Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu. You can just give them two of the three mystery peaks, and then there's only one peak remaining for an OC and kapow, you've got all twelve peak lords sorted.

But the question of course, is what should these peaks actually be? What should they specialize in?

Fandom has argued in favor of a Beast Peak, and I actually endorse this idea, although I think specializing in demonic beasts is more of a Bai Zhan and Qing Jing thing. But while we can suppose that between An Ding, Qian Cao, and (probably) Zui Xian the agricultural needs of the sect are being met (or met sufficiently for what they can also supplement through trade), there's no clear existing peak to outsource things like training spirit animals or keeping any livestock that the peak might require. And hey, if there is a Beast Peak, then them also having some expertise in demonic beasts would be interesting.

I think the Beast Peak would slot in most logically between Xian Shu and Bai Zhan.

For the lowest peaks, things get more interesting. While there are obvious roles such as talisman making, barriers, musical cultivation, etc, most of those things seem like they'd either be covered by one of the other peaks (i.e. Qing Jing and musical cultivation) or else would be strange things for the sect to acquire so late, literally after the peak that specializes entirely in brewing.

But, that actually can work out, if we assume that these peaks have taken as specialties things that were previously secondary or tertiary interests to other peaks. Perhaps even owing their origins to particularly capable disciples from the other, more highly ranked peaks who showed such prodigal skill or innovation in that area that they were allowed to establish new peaks focusing on it.

For my money, I'd go with a Barrier Peak, specializing in protective barriers, talismans, and spiritual cultivation that shot off from Qing Jing during some long-prior generation. This peak could also be responsible for guard duties in the sect, basically sending disciples to close off unsafe or prohibited areas, to manage things like access to the various branches of the Lingxi caves, sealing off dangerous items, and (probably) helping to maintain existing barriers, arrays, and other such systems throughout the sect.

I think this peak would be a decent fit for Airplane, as it would once again situate him pretty close to matters of daily sect operations, and put him in position to know a lot of the secrets and goings on beneath the surface of things. So a plausible explanation for his authorial knowledge and insights would simply be, Barrier Peak are the flies on the wall of a lot of high-level matters. If someone breaks into a restricted area, they know about it. If someone wants something hidden, sealed, or disguised, they know about it.

Bonus angst: this would probably mean that the Barrier Peak's head disciple assisted in sealing a young Yue Qi inside the Lingxi Caves with Xuan Su. If that's Airplane, well, that's twisting a knife a bit now isn't it?

Which just leaves peak no.12, which frankly could be any damn thing. After Booze Peak and Girl Peak, the field is wide open. Dance Battle Peak. Transit System Peak. Spiritually Infused Textiles Peak.

My personal favorite, though, is Sex Worker Peak. Not only because that is the most fanfic-y option, but also because it actually kind of makes sense.

The PIDWorld is just chock full of fuck-or-die tropes, which makes there are countless substances, ailments, curses, etc that can only be cured via sex. Not just for cultivators, but also for everyone else in the world. Like imagine you're an NPC magistrate or something just out there managing your district, having only the most tangential connection to the plot, and one day you're going for a walk and you trip and fall and manage to land right in a field full of sex pollen that cropped up like weeds overnight. Because that's just how this shit works, it doesn't wait for the protagonist to exist in order to activate, it's all got to be out there all the time in order to be there when the wife plot happens, and also for various experts to have accumulated all the mandatory exposition points about how it works.

But you're just some normal guy! You don't want to die of Horny, but the best way to clear this up is not just to have sex, but to have sex with a cultivator who is at least moderately good at using the exchange of spiritual energy to purge your body of the sex pollen poison.

Unless you're lucky enough to know someone, you're probably going to be in the market for professional help here, like even apart from all the other reasons people like to hire sex workers. This is a situation that probably happens fairly often and for which "hire someone to fix it and then move on with your life" is probably the ideal solution. As a bonus, a professional sex cultivation expert is probably also going to minimize your risks for unwanted side effect like STDs and pregnancy, too.

So, imagine we have Qian Cao peak struggling under the workload of all these requests for help with dual cultivation. The problem isn't prudery, but that this stuff is so commonplace it eats up time that could also be allocated to things like research and other medical emergencies. Plus, you have political leaders (kings, princes, emperors, etc) always demanding to be sent your "best" disciples to attend to them, when quite frankly their condition is something even an outer disciple could handle in less time than it would take them to travel out to their location, and these fuckers are not-infrequently liable to try and steal your people away into concubinage too.

One day then, much like with Qing Jing and the Barrier Peak, the Qian Cao peak lord of yore gets fucking fed up and is just like, this requires it's own department. Zhangmen-shijie we're starting a new peak. I'm not asking you I'm telling you. It's a medical peak entirely devoted to sex work. My best disciple at sex, who is in the running for Head Disciple status almost entirely because of this shit, is going to be the new Peak Lord. Any time some princess gets her vagina cursed and needs dick badly, the new peak are going to handle it, while I get to finally fucking finish my research into organ transplants.

And the sect leader of that era, knowing what was good for her, was like yes okay rubber stamp that we have twelve peaks now. Twelve's a good number we probably should have done this sooner anyway. What do you mean we don't have that much mountain? Eh, we'll haul some dirt in and make it happen.

Other Sex Worker Peak Thoughts:

Obviously, raising disciples from the age of ten upwards into this kind of work is controversial at best. Depending on tone, a fic author could either accept that grooming children for sex work was a historical practice and examine the fucked-up-ness of it all, or, we could go another direction and make a case that this is generally the peak which takes on older prospective disciples.

After all, dual cultivation is actually good at helping with setbacks and restoring a damaged cultivation base. You could argue for it being the ideal cultivation approach for latecomers. There could even be a precedent for adult disciples from the other peaks transferring to the Twelfth Peak/Sex Worker Peak if they show an aptitude for the work, and for disciples to temporarily join them as part of repairing or preventing damage from qi deviations.

This could also be a contributing factor to Shen Jiu being like, I have to not only be on Qing Jing Peak but also be the absolute boss of Qing Jing Peak with as few people able to gainsay me as possible, because he's terrified of being ordered to pimp himself out.

Not that he would be, though, because I imagine the sexpert cultivators are pretty well aware of how trauma works and who does or doesn't actually have the right temperament for their business, or what jobs within that business. It's their specialty, after all. If someone is going to have a panic attack and qi deviate over doing the job, that someone is not a good candidate for the job, or for these types of treatments overall.

Sometimes Twelfth Peak loses people on account of them falling in love with their clients or deciding to take some king up on his concubinage offers, but it happens less than one might think. After all, it's basically like working for the best brothel in existence. They have rigorous hygiene and healthcare standards, you get access to all the generalized medical care from Qian Cao, travel expenses are covered and you don't have to work out of your home if you don't want to, your food and housing is supplied by the sect, you're trained in cultivation and martial arts, with a shot at achieving immortality, and you don't even have to work every day because the jobs are contingent on what's being requested, not on you making rent money. In addition to physical cultivation, you can also make and sell tons of erotic art or "love tokens" and it will sell for a lot because of the social mystique of sexy cultivators. A pair of twelfth peak lord's panties probably goes for just as much as one of Shen Qingqiu's fancy calligraphy paintings. So unless you really want to live with some dude, switching over to depending on him for your upkeep doesn't seem all that appealing as a prospect.

Additional fun with this idea is that it would also potentially be an interesting peak lord role for either Airplane or Shen Yuan to end up in. Airplane would probably be like, well I guess this is karma for putting so much gratuitous smut in my stories, and then actually manage the hell out of the whole peak and enjoy himself by only taking on the jobs he actually cares to. Not a bad gig, especially compared to his previous grind. On the other hand, Shen Yuan's internal freak out and subsequent attempts to somehow be the Sex Peak Lord while not actually having any sex would be a potential comedy/suspense goldmine.

[arunkumar011]

SAP Cybersecurity and Solutions - ToggleNow

Today, organizations are increasingly vulnerable to cyberattacks and the no. of attacks have tremendously raised after covid 2019. Hackers started targeting enterprises that are vulnerable and weak, especially the business critical systems such as SAP.

As digital transformation, hyper-convergence, new normal rules create unintended gateways to risks, vulnerabilities, attacks, and failures, a cyber resilience strategy can help your business withstand disruptive cyber incidents. It can help you defend against those risks, protect your critical applications and data, and recover from breach or failure in a controlled, measurable way.

Read More: https://togglenow.com/cybersecurity

[ryin-silverfish]

A Guide to the Chinese Underworld (and what it isn't)

As many FSYY and fox posts as there were on my blog, I am actually a huge fan of the Chinese Underworld mythos. Mostly because I was once a morbid little kid that loved reading about the excavations of ancient tombs, and found the statues depicting hellish torture in the Haw Par Villa "super cool".

Apart from the aesthetics, the history of its evolution is also fascinating. Most of us, Chinese or not, only know the most popular version of the Underworld——the "Ten Kings" system, yet that isn't always the case. So today, I'll start off with a short summary of that.

In pre-Qin era, there was already this generic idea of a "Realm of the Dead" called the Yellow Spring, Youdu, or Youming, but we know very little about it.

Then, in the Han dynasty, two ideas start to emerge: 1) the Underworld is a bureaucracy, 2) the God of Mt. Tai ruled over the dead.

This early bureaucracy might not function as an agent of punishment; the main focus was on keeping the dead segregated from the living so they wouldn't bring diseases and misfortune to the latter, as well as using those ghosts to enforce collective punishments upon people for their lineage's wrongdoings while they were still alive.

Post-Han, after Buddhism entered China and took root, its idea of karmic punishments and reincarnation and the figure of King Yama was merged with folk and Daoist ideas of the Underworld bureaucracy, and, came Tang dynasty, resulted in the "Ten Kings" system that first appeared in Dunhuang manuscripts.

It was very rudimentary and far from well-established, as seen in Tang legends, with some adopting the Ten Kings system, some sticking to the Lord of Mt. Tai and some favoring King Yama, and overall little agreements on who's in charge of the Underworld.

But the "Ten Kings" system would become the mainstream version from then onwards, used in Ming vernacular novels and made even more popular by folk religion scrolls like the Jade Records (Yuli Baochao).

As such, most points in the following sections will be based on the fully matured "Ten Kings" system of the Underworld, as seen in the Jade Records and JTTW.

What happens when you die?

(This is a fictionalized walkthrough of the posthumous fate of souls under the "Ten Kings" system. I try to stick to the very broad progression outlined in the Jade Records, but many creative liberties are taken on the details.)

Let's say there's a guy named Xiao Ming, and he had just died of a heart attack. Bummers. What now?

Well, the first thing he saw would be the ghost cops.

There isn't really an unanimous agreement on who these ghost cops are: they may be a pair of ghosts in white and black robes, wearing tall hats (Heibai Wuchang), they may have the heads of farm animals (Ox-Head and Horse-Face), or they can just be generic ghost bureaucrats. For convenience's sake, let's say it was the first scenario.

"Who are you guys and where are you taking me?"

"Glad you asked!" The taller ghost cop, being the cheerful one of the pair, replied. It wasn't very reassuring, considering that his tongue was dangling out of his mouth way further than it should. "I'm the White Impermanence, my sour-looking colleague here is the Black Impermanence, and we are taking you to the City God's office."

This City God, a.k.a. Chenghuang, is just like how it sounds: the divine guardian of a city, who also pulls double duty as the head of the local Dead People Customs Office. They are usually virtuous officials deified posthumously, and in JTTW, they fall under the category of "Ghostly immortals", together with the Earth Gods a.k.a. Tudi.

So Xiao Ming went with the two ghost cops——not like he had much of a choice, made his way through the long queue at the City God's office, and was now standing in front of a gruff old magistrate in traditional robes.

"Name?"

"Wang Xiao Ming."

"Age and birth dates?"

"21, April 16 2003…"

After he was done asking questions, the City God flipped through his ledger, then picked up a brush, ticked off Xiao Ming's name, and told him to go get his pass in the next room. More waiting in a queue. Wonderful.

"I never heard anything about needing a pass to get to the Underworld," the girl in front of Xiao Ming asked the ghost cops, who were standing guard nearby. "Is this a new policy or something?"

"Yeah. In the old days, we'd just drag y'all straight to the Ghost Gate." The ghost cop in black said, then muttered to himself, "Fuckin' paperworks and overpopulation, man…"

(This "Dead People Passport" thing was popularized in the middle-to-late Ming dynasty, as shown by the discovery of such documents inside tombs in southern China. )

(It might have evolved from similar passes to the Western Pure Land in lay Buddhism that recorded their acts of merits. Which, in turn, might be traced back to the "Dead People Belongings List" of Han dynasty, to be shown to Underworld bureaucrats so that no one would take away the dead's private property down there or something.)

Anyways, after he received his pass, Xiao Ming departed together with the rest of the bunch, to be led to the Ghost Gate. It was like the world's most depressing tourist group, where instead of tour guides, you got two ghost cops in funny hats, and the only scenery in sight was the desolation of the Yellow Spring Road.

They weren't the only travellers on the road, though. Xiao Ming noticed other groups moving in the far distance, behind the fog and the flickering ghostfire, led by similar figures in black and white.

It made a lot of sense; realistically, there was no way two ghost cops could fetch hundreds of thousands of dead people all by themselves.

(SEA Tang-ki mediums believed there were multiple Tua Di Ya Peks——Hokkien name for the Black and White Impermanences, working for different Underworld Courts.)

At last, the Ghost Gate stood in front of Xiao Ming, guarded by two towering figures. Normally, they'd be Ox-Head and Horse-Face, like what you see at Haw Par Villa's Underworld entrance.

However, older Han dynasty works like Wang Chong's 论衡·订鬼 also mentioned two gods, Shenshu and Yulei, as guardians of the Ghost Gate, who would use reed ropes to capture malicious ghosts and feed them to tigers, making them possibly the earliest incarnation of "Gate Gods".

So here, they were what Xiao Ming sees, standing side by side like proper doormen, silently watching herds of ghosts being funneled through the entrance.

The place was more crowded than a train station during the CNY Spring Rush; the ghost cops had already said their quick goodbye and left to fetch the next group of dead people, leaving the resident officials of the Underworld proper to maintain order and quell any would-be riots.

Now you started seeing the Ox-Head and Horse-Face guys, poking at unruly ghosts with their pitchforks and dragging away the violent ones in chains. Among their ranks were other monstrous beings, blue-faced yakshas and imps, but also regular dead humans who look 100% done with their jobs, like the lady who stamped Xiao Ming's pass when it was finally his turn.

After this point, Xiao Ming had entered the Underworld proper, and his next destination would be the First Court, led by King Qin'guang. Here, his fate should be decided by what is revealed in the King's magical mirror.

If Xiao Ming was a good guy, or someone who had done an equal amount of good and bad things in life, he'd be sent straight to the Tenth Court for reincarnation. However, if the mirror, while replaying his life events, had displayed more evil deeds than good ones, he'd be sent to one of the 2nd-9th Courts for judgment and then punished inside the Eighteen Hells.

Each of the Ten Kings was also assisted by ghostly judges. Many of them were righteous and just officials in life who had been recruited into the Ten Courts posthumously——Cui Jue from JTTW is one such example, while others were living people working part-time for the Underworld, like how Wei Zheng, Taizong's minister, works part-time for the Celestial Bureaucracy in JTTW.

We decide to be nice to Xiao Ming, so, after reliving some embarrassing childhood incidents and cringy teenage phases in front of a bunch of dead bureaucrats, he was found innocent and sent to the Tenth Court.

The queue here was almost as long as the First Court's, stretching on and on alongside of the banks of the Nai River. King of the Turning Wheel made his judgment without even lifting his head when it was Xiao Ming's turn:

"Path of Humans, male, healthy in body and mind, ordinary family. Next!"

Exiting the Tenth Court building, Xiao Ming saw the Terrace of Forgetfulness, standing tall before six bridges, made of gold, silver, jade, stone, wood, and…some unidentified material. Before he could get a good look at them and the little dots moving across those bridges, he was hurried into the Terrace by the ghostly officials.

Now, both JTTW and the Jade Records mention multiple bridges across the Nai River. In the former, there is 3, and the latter, 6. The bridges made of precious materials are for people who will reincarnate into better lives, as the wealthy, the fortunate, and the divine, while the Naihe Bridge is either the common option or the terribad shitty option.

However, the Naihe Bridge proved to be so iconic, it became THE bridge you walk across to reincarnate in popular legends.

Anyways, back to Xiao Ming. He found himself standing in a giant soup kitchen of sorts, with an old lady at the counter, scooping soup out of her steaming pot and into one cup after another.

This is Mengpo, the amnesia soup granny; according to the Jade Records, she was born in the Western Han era, and a pious cultivator who thought of neither the past nor the future, only knowing that her surname was Meng.

Made into an Underworld god by the Jade Emperor, she cooks a soup of five flavors that will wipe the memory of the dead, making sure they do not remember any of their past lives once they reincarnate.

It tastes awful. Like what you get after pouring corn syrup, coffee, chilli sauce, lemon juice and seawater into the same cup.

Such was Xiao Ming's last thought, as he gulped down the soup, and then he knew no more.

Things you should know about the Chinese Underworld:

1. It's not the Christian Hell.

Rather, the Chinese Underworld functions somewhat like the Purgatory, in that there are a lot of torment, but the torment's not eternal, however long the duration may be. Once you finish your sentence, you get reincarnated as something else, though that "something else" is not a guaranteed good birth.

Other people can also speed up the process via transferring of merits: hiring a priest/monk to chant sutras and perform rituals, for example, or performing good deeds in life in dedication to the dead, or they can pray to a Daoist/Buddhist deity to save their loved ones from a dreadful fate.

Interestingly enough, a thesis paper I read mentions that, whereas Buddhist salvation from the Hells was based on transference of merits——you give monks offerings and pay them to chant sutras, so they can cancel out the sinners' bad karma with good ones, Daoist ideas of salvation tend to involve the priest going down there, sorting it out with the Underworld officials, and taking the dead out of the Hells themselves.

(The paper also stops at the Northern-Southern and Tang dynasties, so the above is likely period-specific.)

2. Nor is it run by evil demons.

Underworld officials are not nice guys and look pretty monstrous and torture the sinful dead, but they are not the embodiment of evil. Rather, the faction as a whole is what I'd call Lawful Neutral, who function on this "An Eye for An Eye" logic, where every harm the sinner caused in life must be returned to them, in order for their karmic debts to be cleansed and move on to their next life.

They can absolutely be corrupt and incompetent and take bribes——Tang dynasty Zhiguai tales and Qing folklore compendiums featured plenty of such cases, but that's a very mundane and human kind of evil, not a cosmic/innate one.

This is just my personal opinion, but if you want to do an "evil" Chinese Underworld? It should be a very bureaucratic evil, whose leaders are bootlickers to the higher-ups, slavedrivers to their rank-and-file workers, and bullies who abuse their power over regular dead people.

Not, y'know, Satan and his infernal legions or conspiring Cthulu cultists.

3. The Ten Kings are not Hades.

Make no mistake, they still have a lot of power over your average dead mortal. But in the grand scheme of things? They are the backwater department of the pantheon, who only show up in JTTW to get pushed around and revive the occasional dead people.

When Taizong made his trip to the Underworld, the Ten Kings greeted him as equals——kings of ghosts to the king of the living. If they see themselves as equal in status to a mortal emperor, then, like any mortal emperors, they are subordinate to the Celestial Host, and the balance of power is not even remotely equal or in their favor.

Also, it isn't said outright, but under the Zhong-Lv classification of immortals JTTW is using, Underworld officials will likely be considered Ghostly immortals, the lowest and weakest of the five types, much like Tudis and Chenghuangs.

Essentially: they are ghosts that are powerful enough to not reincarnate and linger on and on, spirits of pure Yin as opposed to true immortals, who are beings of pure Yang.

It's pretty much the shittiest form of immortality, the result you get when you try to speedrun cultivation (the Zhong-Lv text also made a dig at Buddhist meditation here), and if they don't reincarnate or regain a physical body, there is no chance of progressing any further.

Oh, and fun fact? In the Song dynasty, commoners and literati elites alike believed that virtuous officials in life would get appointed as ghostly officials in death.

However, the latter viewed it as a punishment. Which was strange, considering how they still held the same position and the same amount of authority, just over dead people instead of living ones, so there should be no big losses, right?

Well...it was precisely the "dead people" part that made it a punishment. See, a lot of the power and prestige they had as officials came from the benefits they could bring to their families and kins and native places, as well as the potential wealth and reputation bonuses for themselves.

A job in the Dead People Supreme Court would give them the same workload, but with none of those benefits. Since all the dead people had to reincarnate eventually, they couldn't have a fixed group as their power base, or keep their old familial ties and connections. At most, they could help out an occasional dead relative or two.

Like, working for the Underworld Courts was the kind of deadend (no pun intended) job not even living officials wanted for themselves in the afterlife. That's how hilariously sad and pathetic they are.

4. In JTTW at least, they aren't even the highest authorities of the Underworld.

That would be Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha, who is technically their boss, though he seems to be more of a spiritual leader than someone who is actually involved in running the bureaucracy.

Which makes sense, since he has sworn an oath to not attain Buddhahood until all Hells are empty, and his role is to offer relief and salvation to the suffering souls, not judging and punishing them.

Now, historically...even though Ksitigarbha in early Tang legends was still the savior of the dead, he seemed to be unable to interfere with the judicial process of the Underworld, merely showing up to take people away before they were judged by King Yama.

However, in the mid-Tang apocryphal "Sutra of Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha" (地藏菩萨经), he had evolved into the equal of King Yama, with the power of supervision over his judgements. By the time the Scripture on the Ten Kings came out, in artistic depictions, the Ten Kings had become fully subservient to him.

5. Diyu usually refers to the prison-torture chamber part, not the courthouse, nor is it the entirety of the Underworld.

And for the majority of souls that haven't committed crimes, they'll only see the courthouse part before they are sent to reincarnation. That's why I personally don't like, or use the name Diyu for the Chinese Underworld: I prefer the term Difu ("Earth Mansions"), which encompasses the whole realm better.

Also: even though historical sources like the Scripture on the Ten Kings and Jade Records seem to suggest that the dead were just funneled through this Courthouse-Prison-Reincarnation pipeline with no breaks in between, in practice, that isn't the case.

According to popular folk beliefs, after the dead were done with their trials/sentences, they stayed in the Underworld for a period of time and led regular lives, while functioning as ancestor spirits and receiving offerings.

Which would imply that the Underworld had a civilian district of sorts, populated by regular ghosts, making the whole realm even less of a direct Hell/Purgatory equivalent.

6. It is located in a different realm, but still part of the Six Paths and doesn't exist outside of reality.

In Buddhist cosmology, like the Celestial Realm, the Underworld is part of the Realm of Desires and thus subject to all the woes of samsara.

The pain and misery of the Path of Hell may be the worst and most obvious, but becoming a celestial being isn't the goal of serious Buddhists either: despite all the pleasures and near-infinite lifespan they enjoy, they are not free from samsara and will eventually have to reincarnate.

So if, say, the world is being destroyed at the end of a kalpa, all beings of the Six Paths will perish alongside it, leaving behind a clean slate for the cycle to start anew. The dead won't all end up in the Underworld and face eternal damnation.

7. The Black and White Impermanences would not appear in the Underworld pantheon formally until the Qing dynasty.

The concept that when you die, you get fetched to the Underworld by petty ghost bureaucrats is already well-established in Tang legends, but these were just generic ghost bureaucrats in all sorts of colorful official robes, with yellow being the most common color.

The idea of there being two specific psychopomps in black and white would only become popular in the Qing dynasty. Mengpo is kinda similar: although she existed before the Ming-Qing era as a goddess of wind, venerated by boatmen, her "amnesia soup granny" incarnation came from the Jade Records.

[altcvnningham]

canis major

adler x bell!reader

summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3

tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k

a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')

Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.

Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.

The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.

Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—

The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.

The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.

But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.

He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.

Not like Arctic air. Not like—

The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.

But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.

The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.

He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.

And you step out of the car.

A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.

Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.

He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.

And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—

Bell.

It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—

—you feel someone watching—

—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—

Open the door, Bell, open the door—

—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.

The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.

There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.

You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.

Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.

The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.

And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.

You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.

You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.

Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.

But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.

And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.

But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.

Maybe, then, he’s a fool.

But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.

(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)

The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.

Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.

[sillysiluriforme]

Heya just wanted to say I love your Miraculous Monster High AU! Are you a big MH fan or just kinda think it's cool? Any chance of bringing other MLB characters into it? Kthxbye👋

I was the prime target demographic which is sad weirdo bisexual girls under 12 in the 2010s so I got unhealthily obsessed with it. (I had TWO dolls. Which doesn’t sound like a lot but they were all like 30 euros each and like that seems like a lot to spend on toys for a 9 yr old. )

I still love the movies and the web series…. I love the cheesy monster puns the visuals the characters the fashion and the retcons in the world building that all add up to a dystopian hyper segregated world where the sheriff of à town has the duty to publicly execute teenagers because they graffitied a wall and they have animal control for people. if I had to give the La terreur treatment to a different media property it would be monster high and it would be glorious

[empressdede]

Whispers of Magnolia - 11

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A/N: This is a love story set during segregation times. The languages are harsh but please be aware that I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible for fictional content. Racial slurs will be used, and some chapters involve really dark content: Death and Non consensual sex. Please read at your own will.

Chapter Eleven

The small room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across the thin walls. The sound of distant footsteps and muffled laughter from the main house felt like an insult, as if the world had already moved on while Evangeline lay here in ruins.

The bathwater had long gone cold, but Lena didn’t stop.

She dipped the rag into the basin, wrung it out, and gently ran it over Evangeline’s bare shoulder, washing away the invisible filth that no amount of scrubbing would ever truly remove.

Her daughter didn’t react.

Didn’t flinch at the coldness of the water.

Didn’t turn to face her mother.

She just sat there, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold herself together.

Like she was trying to keep from breaking apart completely.

Lena’s throat felt tight, the words she wanted to say tangling inside of her.

She wanted to ask if she was in pain.

She wanted to tell her she was safe now.

She wanted to promise her that this would never happen again.

But the words felt meaningless in the face of what had been taken from her.

Instead, she simply kept washing her, as if wiping away the filth of tonight could erase what had happened.

Evangeline’s skin was soft beneath her fingers, but cold.

Too cold.

Lena fought the urge to wrap her in a blanket, to shield her from the world, to somehow undo the damage that had been done.

But she couldn’t.

She had already failed to protect her once.

And now, all she could do was try to put the pieces back together.

Evangeline still hadn’t spoken.

She hadn’t moved.

Her eyes stared past Lena, past the candlelight, past the walls—

Like she was somewhere else entirely.

And maybe she was.

Maybe she had left the moment Seth locked that door.

Lena clenched the rag in her hand, feeling the sting of her own nails pressing into her palm.

Seth Rollins had done this.

He had stolen the light from her daughter’s eyes, taken something he had no right to take, and he thought he could get away with it.

That he could keep doing this—keep hurting her, keep breaking her, keep making her into something small and afraid.

No. Not again.

Lena would not allow it.

If it cost her everything, she would make sure he never laid a hand on Evangeline again.

Even if she had to kill him herself.

Even if she had to die doing it.

Because that was her duty as a mother.

She had failed once. She wouldn’t fail again.

Lena pressed a soft kiss to her daughter’s damp hair, her lips trembling against her skin.

“Don’t worry, Line,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Today, I wasn’t brave… but tomorrow…”

Her arms wrapped around Evangeline, rocking her gently, the way she had when she was a child.

“Tomorrow, Mama’s gonna make sure he leaves you alone, okay?”

The words hung in the air.

Waiting.

But Evangeline didn’t respond.

She just kept staring.

Blankly.

As if she hadn’t heard her mother at all.

Lena’s heart clenched.

This wasn’t her daughter.

This wasn’t Evangeline.

Evangeline had been full of light, full of softness. She had been gentle and kind, had always whispered “good night, Mama” before bed, had always smiled when she caught Lena humming a tune.

Now, there was nothing.

Just a girl who had been hollowed out and left empty.

Lena held her tighter, pressing her face into her daughter’s hair, trying to will some of her warmth back into her. Lena cupped her daughter’s face, her thumbs brushing away the stray tears that had fallen onto her hollow cheeks.

“I’m gonna protect you, baby,” she whispered. “I swear it.”

And as she pulled Evangeline into her arms, rocking her gently like she had when she was just a child and Evangeline let her.

But she didn’t move.

Didn’t hold her back.

Didn’t whisper good night, Mama.

She just let herself be rocked, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes—

While Lena vowed, in the depths of her soul, that Seth Rollins would never get the chance to do this again.

Not to her daughter.

Not to anyone.

And no matter what it took…

She would make him pay.

She was done being afraid.

Seth Rollins would regret ever laying a hand on her daughter.

The room was silent. Too silent.

Only the faint chirping of crickets crept in through the cracked window, mingling with the rustle of old curtains dancing lazily in the night breeze. But even the soft night air couldn’t cool the fire that lingered in Evangeline’s skin—a burning she couldn’t scrub away, a filth that still clung to her even after her mother had bathed her with trembling hands.

She lay on the narrow cot, her back pressed to the wall, knees curled close to her chest, thin blanket tangled around her legs. The air was still, but the weight of everything pressed down on her like an iron slab across her chest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it. Felt it. Heard him.

Seth’s voice.

The room.

His hands.

The sickening whisper in her ear as he shut the door behind her, as if he were doing something romantic, something tender—“I can’t take another minute without makin’ you mine.”

Like she was a prize to be claimed. A thing to possess.

Her stomach churned violently at the memory. Her lips pressed together hard, a silent sob choking its way out of her chest as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. She didn’t even bother wiping them away. There was no point. They would fall regardless.

She’d cried all she could cry earlier, when her mama scrubbed her skin raw, rocking her like she was a baby again, whispering sweet nothings that tried to stitch her back together. But even her mother’s arms couldn’t hold her broken pieces in place.

Because something inside Evangeline had splintered.

No—shattered.

And she didn’t know if it could ever be put back.

She hadn’t moved since she was laid down on this bed. Hours ago? Maybe more. Time didn’t make sense anymore. She didn’t care to ask. Didn’t care to know.

All she knew was that if she laid still enough, maybe she could disappear into the mattress. Maybe she could drift far enough from herself that the pain wouldn’t reach her.

But it did.

Over and over, like waves crashing against a crumbling shore.

She flinched at every creak of the old house, every burst of laughter from the drunken men in the estate echoed loud enough for her to hear. Her breath hitched when she heard heavy boots walk past the door. Was it him? Was he coming back?

Her hands curled into the sheets.

Don’t come back.

Please don’t come back.

But sleep wouldn’t take her.

She was too tired to be awake. Too haunted to fall asleep. So she existed somewhere in between—trapped in the space between reality and memory, the moments bleeding into each other like spilled ink on fragile paper.

Her legs ached.

Her arms felt numb.

Her neck stung from where he’d gripped her too hard, too fast. She winced and turned her face into the pillow, trying to block it out. Trying not to scream.

She had screamed before.

She had begged.

And no one came.

No one had heard her—or maybe they did, and were too scared to act. Too afraid of the Rollins name. The power. The consequences.

But she had paid the price.

Evangeline trembled, fingers twitching as she recalled the coldness in his voice when he was done—like she was nothing more than a meal he’d finished. A craving finally satisfied.

She wasn’t a person in his eyes. Not a woman. Not a daughter. Not a soul.

Just a thing.

A body.

Something to possess.

Her throat ached with the weight of all the words she hadn’t said, the screams she’d swallowed down just to make it stop. And now… she couldn’t speak at all. If she tried, the words would choke her.

She didn’t want to talk.

She didn’t want to see anyone.

Not even Mama.

Especially not him.

The fear clung to her like sweat. She could still feel him even now—his scent, his breath, his hands. Her skin crawled and she rubbed her arms through the blanket, desperate to shake it off, but it stayed. It always stayed.

Evangeline had always known men like Seth Rollins were dangerous.

But she never imagined he’d take something from her she could never get back.

She curled tighter into herself, blanket pulled over her head like a shield. She didn’t want to be seen. Didn’t want to exist. If she could vanish into the cracks of this old house, she would. She wouldn’t fight it.

And yet…

Even now, through the fog and ache, one face still lingered in her mind. Not Seth’s.

Roman.

Her eyes squeezed tighter, her jaw locking as confusion warred with pain in her chest. Why did she think of him now? Why was he the only one who made her feel… something else?

Why was the only moment that didn’t feel tainted… that kiss?

That kiss—stolen in secret—haunted her as much as the horror that followed.

Not because it hurt.

But because it didn’t.

It had been soft. And warm. And… forbidden.

And she hated herself for clinging to it now like it was some kind of lifeline.

Like it meant anything.

But he hadn’t taken.

He hadn’t hurt her.

She wasn’t foolish. She knew what happened to girls like her. The world was cruel to those who forgot their place. A colored girl messing with someone like him? That was a death wish.

Still…

The way he’d looked at her, the way he’d held her face before kissing her, so careful, so deliberate—it felt different.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Maybe she was just another thing to him too.

She couldn’t afford to believe otherwise.

She couldn’t survive another man with power deciding he had the right to her body.

She couldn’t survive it again.

He was a Samoan man with the white man’s blood flowing through his veins. Just like Seth. They both had the power and lived in the same world.

And yet… Roman was the only thing on her mind to bring a difference to her reality.

That night, Evangeline was able to fall asleep off the fantasy of being with Roman. His tender approach actually making the difference for her now, in this fantasy. She felt safe with him, and maybe she was a fool for allowing herself to think about it. Even if it was just a dream.

But for now, Evangeline thought about Roman, and how softly he spoke to her, and how tenderly he caressed her body.

And that alone was enough to help her fall asleep.

Lena never knew what time it was when she was in the servants’ quarters.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Time didn’t exist when you were trapped, when you spent every waking moment surviving rather than living. But tonight, she wasn’t waiting for the morning light.

She was waiting for Evangeline to fall asleep.

The moment her daughter’s breathing softened, Lena pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering there as if trying to transfer every ounce of strength she had left.

Then, she moved.

Silent. Calculated.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the door, hesitating for a second before slowly pushing it open. She strained her ears, listening for anything—footsteps, whispers, anything that signaled someone was watching.

Nothing.

Only the stillness of the night greeted her.

Lena stepped out, barefoot against the cool dirt floor, and pulled her shawl tighter around her thin shoulders. The cool air bit at her skin, but she ignored it.

She had a mission.

And she prayed—God, she prayed—that if He cared, if He truly saw the suffering of His people, He would let her find who she was looking for.

Because if He had cared just a little sooner, maybe He would have saved her daughter.

⸻⸻

She ran.

Lena didn’t know how long she had been moving.

Her feet ached, her breath came in sharp bursts, but she didn’t stop. Every time her body begged for a break, she forced herself to keep going.

She had wasted too much time before.

She had sat back, telling herself that keeping her head down was the only way to protect Evangeline. And yet, when it truly mattered, she had failed.

She wouldn’t fail again.

With every step, she tried to retrace the path the bus had taken when the Bloodline came to collect the Rollins’ maids. She had barely looked outside during the ride—too afraid, too exhausted—but desperation had a way of sharpening the mind.

She remembered glimpses. The twists of the roads, the large church they had passed, the wooden bridge over the slow-moving river.

She used them as markers.

But time was a cruel thing, stretching on endlessly as the night deepened.

Her legs burned. Her throat felt raw.

And still, she ran.

By the time she reached the city, her body was close to giving up.

She could barely lift her feet, her thin dress damp with sweat and clinging to her skin. Her vision blurred at the edges, dark spots flickering in and out.

She needed to stop.

But she couldn’t.

Not until she found someone—anyone—who could lead her to the Bloodline.

The streets were eerily empty at this hour, the city settled into its quiet, undisturbed slumber. The few people still lingering in the shadows paid her no mind, either too drunk or too lost in their own miseries to care about a desperate woman wandering the streets.

And then—

A voice.

“Hey!”

Lena’s head snapped up so quickly she almost lost her balance.

Her vision swam, but through the haze of exhaustion, she saw him.

A man standing beneath the dim glow of a streetlamp, arms crossed, his expression a mix of confusion and suspicion.

He wasn’t Roman.

But he was Bloodline.

Lena knew his face from that night at the palace.

Jimmy.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Her body trembled violently as she forced herself to move forward, her legs feeling like they would collapse beneath her at any second.

Jimmy took a step toward her, his brows furrowed. “What the hell—”

He never got to finish his sentence.

Because the moment Lena reached him, her body gave up.

She fell to her knees.

And then, she broke.

Sobs wracked her body, raw and unrestrained.

Jimmy froze, caught off guard. His hands twitched at his sides as he stared down at the woman who had collapsed in front of him.

She was crying so hard it shook her small frame, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress as if holding onto herself was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

Jimmy wasn’t good with crying women. He never had been. But this? This was different.

This wasn’t some woman faking tears to get her way.

This was agony.

Real, soul-crushing agony.

His chest tightened.

“Hey, hey,” he crouched down, trying to get a better look at her face. “What’s going on? What happened?”

Lena couldn’t speak.

She tried—God, she tried—but her words choked on the sobs ripping out of her throat.

She could barely see him through the blur of her tears, her body shaking uncontrollably from exhaustion and anguish.

Jimmy hesitated for only a second before his instincts kicked in.

He reached out, gripping her shoulders firmly, trying to steady her.

“Who did this to you?” His voice was quieter now, but there was a dangerous edge to it.

Lena sucked in a sharp breath, trying to find the strength to answer.

When she finally forced the words out, they came out broken, almost unintelligible.

“My daughter….”

Jimmy stiffened.

“Please,” she gasped, lifting her head, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the dim light. “I need to see Roman.”

Jimmy stared at her, his mind racing.

He knew Roman had taken an interest in the maid—Evangeline. He’d caught the looks, the way his cousin’s attention always gravitated toward her. But this?

Something had happened.

Something bad.

“Alright,” he muttered, exhaling sharply. “Alright, get up.”

He hooked an arm under her, pulling her to her feet. She swayed dangerously, her legs barely able to hold her up, but Jimmy kept her steady.

“You got lucky it was me out here,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Come on, I’ll take you to him.”

Lena barely heard him.

Her body was shutting down, her vision flickering between consciousness and darkness.

But she had done it.

She had found help.

And now—

Now, it was up to Roman.

The drive back to the Bloodline palace was silent.

Jimmy’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove, his foot pressing just a little heavier on the gas pedal than usual. The road stretched before him, dark and empty, yet his mind was anything but.

His mind was running a mile a minute, questions circling around and around, all leading back to one thing—

What the hell had happened? What could’ve happened that was so bad that this woman—Evangeline’s mother—ran more than 30 miles from home?

He kept glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

Lena sat slumped in the backseat, her hands clenched together in her lap, her body trembling even though the car was warm. She had barely spoken since he helped her into the car, only muttering out a broken “thank you” before exhaustion silenced her.

And yet, even in sleep, her body twitched.

Her fingers clenched and unclenched, as if she were bracing for something, preparing herself for another fight.

Jimmy exhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

The Rollins household was fucked up—he knew that. He had seen enough, heard enough from Roman, to know that Seth Rollins had a twisted sense of entitlement when it came to the people beneath him.

But whatever happened tonight was different.

Different enough for this woman to run in the middle of the night with nothing but the clothes on her back.

Jimmy swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.

Something bad happened.

And whatever it was, he knew—he knew—that once Roman found out, he would light the whole damn city on fire.

Roman was going to lose his damn mind.

Jimmy had seen his cousin lose his temper before. He’d seen him destroy men without a second thought. Roman was calculated, but his rage? It was absolute. He could already see it. The way his cousin would stiffen, his jaw locking, his nostrils flaring. That quiet, terrifying anger that settled into his bones before it exploded.

Jimmy wasn’t sure how the hell he was going to keep Roman from burning the whole damn city down.

But he knew one thing—

Whatever Lena had to say, it wasn’t going to be good.

And he knew, no matter how he said it, it was going to end in blood.

⸻⸻

The drive felt longer than usual, despite Jimmy pushing the car to its limits. When the massive gates of the Bloodline palace finally came into view, he let out a slow breath through his nose, preparing himself for what was about to unfold.

The tires crunched against the gravel as Jimmy pulled up to the palace.

He parked near the entrance but didn’t immediately move, glancing over at the woman through the rearview mirror behind him. Her face was relaxed in sleep, but the dried tear tracks on her cheeks hadn’t faded.

Her eyes were barely open, exhaustion pulling her under, but she forced herself to stay awake.

“Stay here,” Jimmy told her, his voice low but firm. “It’s safer for you in the car. I’ll bring Roman to you.”

Lena didn’t argue. She simply nodded, her fingers twitching against the fabric of her dress.

Jimmy sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before pushing the car door open.

The night air was cool against his skin as he stepped out, stretching his stiff muscles.

The palace was eerily silent. At this hour, most of the guards were stationed at the front, and the inside was calm. But just as he was about to head inside, he was greeted by an unexpected face.

Jey.

His twin stood just outside the entrance, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of Jimmy standing there at 4 a.m. with a running car behind him.

“The fuck?” Jey tilted his head. “The hell you doin’ back so late?”

Jimmy turned to see Jey standing on the front steps, arms crossed, head tilted in confusion.

“Who the fuck is that?” Jey added, nodding toward the car.

Jimmy exhaled sharply, debating for a second how much he should say before deciding he didn’t have the energy for a long explanation.

“Go get Roman and come back,” he ordered instead.

Jey’s eyes narrowed, his lips parting as if he was about to protest, but something in Jimmy’s expression made him pause.

There was no playfulness, no teasing.

Just a heavy, serious weight that made Jey straighten slightly.

He hesitated for two seconds before turning on his heel and heading inside.

Jimmy leaned against the hood of his car, arms crossed, eyes scanning the area. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking for—maybe just a moment to collect himself before Roman showed up.

His mind raced.

He didn’t know exactly what Lena was going to say, but he already felt it in his bones—this was bad. And bad didn’t sit well with Roman.

A few minutes passed before the door swung open again.

Jimmy straightened up as Jey returned, and this time, Roman was following close behind.

The Tribal Chief looked half-irritated, half-confused, a deep frown settling on his features. He was still shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips, clearly having been woken up and not pleased about it.

“The fuck’s the emergency?” Roman asked, his voice rough from sleep.

Jimmy didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he turned and gestured toward the car.

Roman’s steps faltered when he spotted the figure inside.

For the first time that night, his body went completely still.

Jimmy watched his cousin’s shoulders tighten, his jaw clenching as realization started to set in.

Jimmy didn’t need to explain—his cousin was already piecing things together.

Still, Jimmy cleared his throat. “Found her in the middle of the city,” he said. “She begged me to bring her here.”

Roman’s face remained unreadable, but Jimmy could see the slight twitch in his jaw.

“And why,” Roman asked slowly, “would she do that?”

Jimmy hesitated before answering.

“Something happened with Evangeline, I think.”

Roman’s entire expression darkened.

The air around them shifted.

Without another word, he strode toward the car, the intensity in his steps making both Jimmy and Jey exchange quick looks before following him.

Jimmy pulled open the door, stepping aside as Roman slid into the backseat beside Lena. Jey leaned against the open door, arms crossed, silent but observant.

Roman’s voice was lower when he spoke, but it carried a dangerous weight.

“What happened?”

Lena stirred at the movement, blinking blearily, confusion flickering across her face as she registered where she was.

But the moment she saw Roman, her body stiffened.

Her eyes welled with fresh tears, and her lips parted, struggling to find the words.

“My Tribal Chief,” she whispered.

Roman’s head tilted slightly at the title, but he didn’t speak, allowing her to gather herself.

“My Tribal Chief,” she repeats, voice hoarse and heavy, “you have expressed some kind of fondness toward my daughter.”

Roman’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t say anything.

Lena swallowed hard, her fingers twisting in her lap. “If you really care about Evangeline, you’d do me a favor. I will forever be indebted to you if you made the Rollins boy leave Evangeline alone.” Her voice cracked. “He—” She choked, shaking her head as if saying the words was too painful.

Roman was already angry before Lena got the words out, this was a mother begging for mercy on her daughter’s behalf. He didn’t even want to know what Evangeline had to endure for her mom to come all the way here.

Jimmy saw the way Roman’s fingers curled slightly, his breathing slowing.

Lena sucked in a shaky breath.

“He took Evangeline without her permission,” she whispered. “And I couldn’t stop it.”

Roman’s entire body went still.

Lena broke.

She sobbed into her hands, her shoulders shaking as the words spilled from her mouth. “I tried—I swear I tried—but he’s—he’s untouchable, and I had to stand there and listen while my baby—” She choked on the sentence, unable to finish it.

Jey shifted uncomfortably, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. Jimmy had to look away, staring down at the gravel as anger curled in his stomach.

Roman, however, didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Lena’s voice broke completely.

“So I’m here to beg.”

A sob bubbled in her throat, but she forced herself to keep going, her hands clenched together so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“Please.” Her voice cracked. “Please help Evangeline.”

And then—

Silence.

Roman’s fingers twitched where they rested on his knee.

The air in the car felt suffocating, like all the oxygen had been sucked out.

Roman’s face was unreadable.

But Jimmy could feel it.

The shift in energy.

Like a storm was forming right in front of them.

It started in Roman’s hands.

His fingers curled into a slow, deliberate fist.

Then his jaw.

His teeth clenched so tightly it was a miracle they didn’t crack under the pressure.

And then—his breathing.

Deep. Controlled.

A fragile attempt at keeping the monster at bay.

Jimmy exchanged another glance with Jey, tension lacing the air between them.

Roman didn’t look at either of them.

Instead, he reached forward.

Lena barely had time to react before he took her hand in his—large, warm, strong—and held it in his grasp.

His voice, when he finally spoke, was steady.

“I need you to go inside and get some rest,” he said. “Jimmy and Jey will take care of you.”

Lena blinked in surprise, as if she wasn’t expecting him to care for her.

“B-But Evangeline—”

Roman squeezed her hand.

“I’ll handle it.”

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down Jimmy’s spine.

There was no uncertainty in his tone. No hesitation.

Just absolute certainty.

And that’s when Jimmy knew.

Knew that the city would not be standing as it was by the time the sun rose.

Roman was going to burn everything to the ground.

Roman inhaled sharply through his nose, the muscle in his jaw twitching violently.

Jimmy saw the moment restraint snapped.

Roman turned on his heel, moving toward the palace.

“Roman—” Jimmy called, but the warning was pointless.

He was already gone.

Already walking with a purpose.

Already deciding how he was going to burn the Rollins family to the fucking ground.

And Seth Rollins?

He was already a dead man.

Surprisingly I am back with this story sooner than I thought. How we feeling?

Shoutout to Lena running to the devil himself for help lmfao. She didn’t like Evangeline giving him any attention but now she see, she don’t got no choice, huh? 

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[karlachismylife]

Duty Free

#PriceGazWeek

Day two: Duty

Here comes the promised fluff! I also asked my comrades for additional prompts and they gave me: beach, sunscreen, bucket hat.

Sitting in an uncomfortable chair at the gate with his arms crossed and chin tucked to his chest, Price comes to the conclusion that civilian airports move agonizingly slow. Back at the base a helo in reliable Nik's hands would've already taken them high into the sky, eating the distance confidently - yet here the number of their flight is stubbornly staring at him from the big screen against the "Check-in" still glowing lazily and clearly in no rush to change to "Boarding". He bounces his knee impatiently, antsy and not used to having absolutely nothing to do - Kyle in the seat next to him chuckles softly and places his warm hand on the shapely thigh, calming it down like a wild animal with too much energy to burn.

"There's a smoking area down the hall, sir," he murmurs with an amused smile and nods at the long hallway guarded by vending machines with overpriced water. "Reckon you could use a walk, eh?"

John grumbles into his beard - most definitely cursing this airport and potentially a certain young Sergeant that convinced him in some mysterious way to spend their leave frying themselves under the seaside sun - and gets up, stretching his long legs and marching to the promised haven of condensed tobacco smoke.

He should think twice next time instead of allowing Garrick to weaponize his big beautiful eyes against him, decides Price.

John doesn't notice a Duty Free plastic bag tucked into Kyle's backpack as he returns right in time for them to board the big shiny plane with a friendly blunt nose - Gaz must've browsed through the store while his Captain was enjoying a cigar before the flight like some posh buisnessman in the segregated lounge.

The sea is beautiful.

Kyle has somehow scouted a secluded, wild beach not too far from the tiny family-owned hotel they stayed in, and they dragged their restless arses out there practically at dawn to ensure they get to enjoy some peace away from the noisy tourist crowds, relatively small in an unpopular vacation destination town, but still flooding the more "civil" beaches closer to the noon. And now it's just them and the rich blue sea shimmering with blindingly white reflections under the freshly risen sun. And it's beautiful.

Price, despite all his protests and indignations about the prospect of laying and doing absoltely nothing, is doing exactly that: propped onto a trusty backpack, he's resting on the ochre yellow sand quietly and watching the small playful waves bubbling in the surf zone. There are seagulls circling above the water in the clear skies, not too bothered by two humans out in their wilds amongst brown rocks with green seagrass clinging to them where the tide is slowly retreating; their cries mix with the grainy rustling of the waves and taste like salt on the lips.

Kyle is sitting facing the vast body of water that pours over the world's end slightly diagonally, so he can watch John relax too. His dark skin is shining with sweat under the bright rays and he keeps his head tilted with a lazy squint of the eyes to protect them from the light - the view is too hypnotic to tear his gaze away. Breeze draws rippling wave patterns in the dry sand, gathering tiny rock after tiny rock at Kyle's feet, toes digging into the soft warm surface and anchoring him as if a huge wave is about to crash into the shore and try and drag him into the open sea.

He's looking at John, his broad chest with dark curls of hair growing in a hundred different directions, just as unruly as the soft strands on his head; his finally almost fully relaxed shoulders, big hands with a trusty old watch on the wrist resting clasped together on the softness of his lower belly. It's obvious that Price is at least halfway asleep, lulled by the repetative song of the ocean and the weight of the heat.

Sweat soaks through Kyle's eyebrow and makes him wince a little, and it distracts him from the beautiful man laying on the sand enough to notice his skin prickling already under the sunbeams. Gaz gets up silently, leaving indents in the volatile soil, and digs up their bottle of the strongest sunscreen they could find. Rubbing the cool milky cream into his skin at least in the most exposed places, he lands himself into the sand next to John and brushes his fingers, now smelling of the nice, slightly sweet lotion, against his Captain's cheek to wake him up a bit before startling with more insistent touch.

"Sunscreen, sir," he explains quietly - this place makes him want to be no louder than the gentle breeze - when Price jolts and clears his throat. John blinks, covers his eyes with a big palm, his scrunched against the sun face a beautiful mosaic of expressive wrinkles, and sits up, allowing Kyle easy access to the pale skin with dots of freckles everywhere - like a shell that got stuck on a rock ledge next to their spot and faded in the sun, becoming white with soft peach leopard spots.

Gaz gets sucked into the process, running his hands over the bulk of muscles and fat and kneading out the knots Price brought with him to their vacation. He works out some grunts and hums from his Captain and gets him relaxed enough to slump forward and lose the everlasting boonie hat with a slightly stronger gust of wind.

Too melted under the sun and Garrick's skillful hands, Price doesn't reach for his hat immediately, not even opening his eyes, glued shut by the heat and the lazy caress, and barely finds enough restraint to muffle down a groan, when Kyle nuzzles into his dark hair and kisses behind his ear, tickling thin skin with his moustache.

"Got me wrapped around your finger," mutters John, unable to even pretend like he isn't fully content with the situation, and leans back as he's guided by Kyle's gentle hands. Gaz places a hat back onto his head and kisses him.

"You don't say," he purrs, slowly spreading the sunscreen down John's body, watching dark hair get stuck to it and prepare to turn gold in the sun.

The breeze sprays him with a few cold droplets, as if pretending to reprimand him for his mischief, but John Price stays oblivious, dozing off again in his fancy new frog bucket hat from the duty free store.

[iliketangerines]

I love your writing so much- like literally the first thing I do in the mornings is check if you’ve posted 🩵

Also here to request- I had an idea of maybe the Earthrealm boys ((like liu kang, Raiden, Kung Lao, Johnny, Kenshi, Tomas, bi-han, and kuai)) all go to a hot springs and invite reader ((it can be male or female)) and they all thought it would going to be segregated by gender but it’s actually like all genders bathe together in the springs- so it’s just a bunch of horny ass guys and reader who’s just a small petite person ((with a busty chest and thick ass thighs 😍))

what i want

a/n: mmmmm, save me earthrealm defenders, save me, save me earthrealm defenders

pairing: liu kang, raiden, kung lao, johnny cage, kenshi takahashi, bi han, kuai liang, tomas x gn!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), breeding kink, nipple play, pregnancy kink, degradation kink, blowjobs, slight bondage, electrostim, overstimulation

the Earthrealm champions settled into the springs, groaning as the warmth enveloped their muscles and surrounded their senses

Kung Lao and Johnny were in the corner talking about something ridiculous, and Kenshi shoots them a glare for splashing the water as Raiden watches on in amusement

Tomas, Kuai Liang, and Bi Han sat in the other corner, simply basking in the heat and taking a break having to lead the Lin Kuei

Liu Kang sat alone as he observed his champions, and he sighed as he sunk a little further into the water, closing his eyes and humming as he relaxed

none of them had any duties for the day and had decided to pamper themselves for the time being, and it was proving a wonderful decision

Liu Kang opens his eyes at the sound of someone entering the hotspring, and he turns around to find you wrapped in a white towel

the hot springs go quiet as you enter and give out an apology about how you couldn’t find the location and that you got turned around

you slip off your towel and fold it neatly before stepping into the springs, giving them a view of your plush chest and toned legs

your stomach slightly bulges out, and Liu Kang wants to do nothing more than grip onto the soft flesh and pepper kisses onto it

the god smiles as you settle in the water right next to him, and he feels a flush creep up on his face when you let out an appreciative moan at the heat

you talk Liu Kang’s ear off about something, but he can’t really hear you, not with the way he can still see your chest and legs submerged in the water

and your skin is unmarked, only a few minor scars littering here and there as a testament to your training, and Liu Kang wants to kiss and suck hickeys into your skin

he wants to see your skin marked in his bitemarks and know that he was the one who did that

he wants to grab onto your hips and dig his fingertips in to see bruises bloom and wants you to know that he had put them there

he can imagine how you’d sound, high-pitched and whiny as you beg him to cum, and Liu Kang hopes that the red flush on his body can be passed as the hot springs

in the corner, Kung Lao and Johnny look over at you and quiet their conversation to admire your body and all its toned muscle

your neck is bare and soft, and they want to sink their teeth into the flesh and show to the world that you are spoken for

your legs are plush and toned, and Johnny wants nothing more than to have them squeezed around his head

he wants to taste you, please you, watch you squirm as your hand grips into his hair, and you let out pitiful whines as your hips buck into his face

Kung Lao wants to grab your chest, pinch and roll the nipples between his fingers and listen to you yelp as he nips at your chest and sucks on your chest

he wants to fuck you, breed you with his heirs and watch your stomach round out

he wants to watch the cum leak out of your abused hole and them push it back in with his fingers as you whine from the overstimulation

Kenshi and Raiden can’t help themselves from having their eyes roam over you as well

Raiden wants to have you on top of him, riding him as he holds onto your waist and bounces you on his thick cock

he thinks you’d look so pretty all  fucked-out and drooling as you lose your senses when he shocks your most sensitive parts with electricity

he wants to have you desperate for him as you blabber out incoherent nonsense as he fucks up into you and teases you with his fingers

Kenshi bites his lip as he imagines how you’d look on your knees, plush lips wrapped around his cock as you bob your head up and down

he’d grip onto your hair and move you up and down when you get too slow, and he wants to push your face down until your nose buries into his pelvis

he wants to watch tears stream down your face as you gag and moan around his cock, and he wants to fuck into your face and watch your eyes go glassy

you’d swallow his come like a good whore, and he’d drag you up and kiss you as he teases you with your fingers

Bi Han, Kuai Liang, and Tomas sit in the corner and watch Liu Kang in jealousy as you talk to Liu Kang about some new project you’re working on

Bi Han wants to drag you away from the god and sit you in his lap, hook your legs over his and spread you so that he can show everyone how he fucks you well

he wants to wrap a hand around your throat and use his other to pinch and tease your nipples

you’d be such a desperate whore, begging to cum as he denies you your release over and over again

he’d cum inside of you over and over again, using you as a cumdump, until there’s a slight bump in your stomach

he’d keep you plugged up with his cum until it takes, and he wants to see you round with his child as he fucks into you

Bi Han think your chest would look pretty all swollen with milk, and he wants to see the milk pearl on your nipples and suck on them as you moan in pleasure

Kuai Liang is thinking no better than Bi Han

he wants to drag you out of of the hotsprings and have you on your knees and tie your hands behind your back as he fucks into you

he'd smack your ass and watch it redden underneath his large hand, and you’d look so pretty drooling and crying as he fucks you

you’d sound so pretty as you cum over and over again, whining that you can’t cum anymore, that it’s too much, but he’d keep fucking you, telling you that pretty little sluts don’t get to decide whether or not they get to cum or not

Tomas squirms in his spot, and he imagines kissing along your scars, worshiping you and your body as you whine and moan for him to do more

he wants to please you, nip at your soft plush thighs and listen to you yelp and have you bury your fingers in his hair

he’d fuck into you slow and deep, making sure to hit all the deepest parts of you as he lavishes you with kisses

he wants to have you fucked-out and cockdrunk as he watches you whine and beg for him to go faster, to please make you cum

he’d give in, but only after he’s had his fun teasing you with his slow thrusts, cock stretching you out deliciously

all of them are snapped out of their stupors when a ringing echoes through the air, and you jump out of the water and grab onto your phone

you answer the call, and the defenders can only stare as the water droplets trail down your soft skin, down your chest, down in between your legs

you clumsily wrap a towel around you with one hand as you wave goodbye to them and thank them for inviting you before walking away

none of them can relax once you’ve left

all they want to do is fuck you

[noisilyimminentcore]

5 Hidden SAP GRC Pitfalls That Could Jeopardize Your Compliance Strategy

1. “One-Size-Fits-All” RuleSet Syndrome

Many organizations implement SAP GRC with out-of-the-box rule sets and assume they’re covered and are completely Sox/SoD compliant. The problem? Standard rule sets don’t always reflect the unique business processes and risks of an enterprise. They must be utilized as a baseline.

Example: A global company using a generic SoD rule set might flag conflicts that aren’t actually risks in their specific operations, leading to unnecessary firefighting and role redesign efforts.

What is the solution? It is always recommended to tailor the rule set to align with your business needs. Involve process owners and auditors to ensure relevance. Disable those which are not relevant and add the ones what needs to be part of the rule set. For example, your custom transaction codes.

2. Over-Reliance on Automated Controls

Yes, automation is powerful, but blindly trusting automated GRC controls without proper oversight is a recipe for disaster.

Example: Automated access reviews might seem great, but if managers are just clicking the approval button without understanding the risk, you’re inviting compliance issues.

What is the solution? Combine automation with human intelligence. Train reviewers on what they’re approving and implement periodic audits.

3. The “Too Many Firefighters” Problem

Firefighter (emergency access) access is meant for temporary, critical access. But in many companies, they become a backdoor for permanent privileged access. I’ve seen in some instances where the FFIDs have SAP_ALL, SAP_NEW assigned

Example: If every second user has firefighter access “just in case,” then what’s really being controlled?

What is the solution? Reduce firefighter usage with strict policies. Ensure that the Firefighter IDs have limited and relevant access, not SAP_ALL. Look at how often your users are asking for such access. Set expiration dates, and enforce approvals before access is granted. A detailed review is must after the usage.

4. Role Design Nightmares

Ever seen a single SAP role with 500+ transaction codes? It happens more often than you’d think. Poorly designed roles create access chaos, security risks, and audit nightmares.

Example: A company that grants “Display All” access thinking it’s harmless—only to realize some reports contain sensitive payroll data.

What is the solution? Follow a least privilege approach. Display tcodes does possess risks. Design roles based on business functions, not user demands and assumptions. And, no, giving everyone SAP_ALL is not a solution!

5. The “Check-the-Box” Compliance Trap

Many organizations treat GRC as a compliance checklist rather than a risk mitigation strategy. The result? A false sense of security.

Example: An enterprise that passes an audit but later discovers a critical access loophole exploited by an insider threat.

What is the solution? Shift from a compliance-first mindset to a risk-first approach. Ask, “What’s the real-world impact of this control?” rather than just checking off audit items.

Final Thoughts: GRC is Not Just About Tools, It’s About Mindset

SAP GRC isn’t just about implementing Access Control, Process Control, or Risk Management modules—it’s about adopting a security and compliance culture. The best GRC strategies combine technology, process rigor, and human intelligence to create a resilient, risk-aware organization.

Readmore: https://togglenow.com/blog/sap-grc-hidden-pitfalls/

[lunarlianna]

Pluto generations

Aries (1823 - 1851)

The presence of Pluto in Aries defines a generation marked by a pioneering and assertive spirit, reflecting a profound longing for independence. Those influenced by this placement often take on key roles in instigating social change and revolutionizing established systems. Historical events from 1823 to 1852, such as the Wars for Latin American Independence, the First Opium War, and the Women's Rights Convention, exemplify the transformative impact of this astrological configuration.

Taurus (1852 - 1881)

Pluto's position in Taurus defines a generation characterized by unwavering perseverance, determination, and a profound connection to the material realm. These individuals prioritize stability, security, and the sustainable use of resources, leaving a lasting imprint on economic systems and environmental consciousness. Notably, during Pluto's transit in Taurus, the Industrial Revolution surged forward, marked by the rise of corporate structures in industries like railroads and steam engines.

Gemini (1882 – 1913)

The generation under the influence of Pluto in Gemini witnessed the dawn of the Second Industrial Revolution, aptly named the Technological Revolution. These individuals, marked by intellectual curiosity and adaptability, excelled in communication and media, significantly shaping cultural and technological progress. The era marked the birth of influential figures like John Maynard Keynes and Benito Mussolini, along with German scientist Robert Koch's identification of the tuberculosis bacterium. Notably, the First World War occurred during this period, bringing significant changes in all areas of life.

Cancer (1914 -1938)

Pluto in Cancer signifies a generation characterized by deep emotional sensitivity, nurturing instincts, and strong family values. Living through World War I, the Spanish flu pandemic, and the Great Depression, they grew up in a challenging era that shaped their conservative outlook. This generation, often referred to as the "Greatest Generation," prioritized family, spirituality, and adherence to societal norms. While their emphasis on politeness and chivalry had positive aspects, it also gave rise to dark elements such as sexist gender roles, racial segregation, and cultural supremacy.

Leo (1939 – 1958)

Pluto in Leo defines a generation marked by a quest for self-expression, creativity, and a hunger for recognition. Born during historical events like the Nazi invasion of Poland and the Battle of Stalingrad, these individuals challenged authority, imprinting their influence on art, entertainment, and leadership styles. Ruled by the Sun, Pluto in Leo symbolizes a fresh start after periods of war and chaos, fostering a sense of self-value and confidence. This prideful, generous, and naturally leadership-oriented generation, however, tends to resist change and stands firm in their philosophies as a fixed sign.

Virgo (1957 – 1971)

Pluto in Virgo defines a generation marked by a robust work ethic, practicality, and an innate drive for perfection. Born during pivotal events such as the first documented AIDS cases and Martin Luther King Jr.'s iconic "I Have a Dream" speech, these individuals contribute to societal shifts in health, wellness, and environmental consciousness. Ruled by Mercury, Pluto in Virgo emphasizes efficiency and hard work, fostering reliability, trustworthiness, and empathy. This generation focuses on rebuilding and technology, epitomizing an era of research and preparation, notably during the Cold War.

Libra (1972 – 1983)

Pluto in Libra defines a generation marked by a profound yearning for harmony, justice, and equality. With Venusian qualities, these individuals are inherently social, compassionate, and value connections with others. The events during their time, such as the end of the Vietnam War, the introduction of VHS, and the rise of personal computers, align with their commitment to justice and duty for the collective. This generation, while not necessarily seeking radical societal reshaping, is more focused on preserving law and order, offering assistance to those in need, and rectifying wrongs through the pursuit of justice.

Scorpio (1984 – 1995)

Pluto in Scorpio defines a generation marked by intensity, depth, and profound transformation, playing a pivotal role in societal shifts related to power dynamics, sexuality, and psychological exploration. While the preceding Pluto in Libra generation advocated for balance, Pluto in Scorpio pushed the limits, ushering in events like the Gulf War, the end of the Cold War, and the advent of the World Wide Web. Resilient and empowered, they navigated constant transformations, developing a keen ability to adapt and thrive through each metamorphosis. This generation also contributed to a shifting cultural perspective on sexuality.

Sagittarius (1996 – 2008)

Pluto in Sagittarius shapes a generation marked by a thirst for knowledge, cultural exchange, and a global perspective, contributing significantly to societal shifts in education, philosophy, and belief systems. This generation, embodies the archer's bravery and fearlessness, fostering a spirit of rebellion and outspokenness. Sagittarius' affinity for networking and socializing with individuals from various nations aligns with the rise of the internet, a tool that facilitates global connectivity. Key events during this period include the successful cloning of Dolly the sheep, the introduction of the Euro to financial markets, and the groundbreaking launch of the iPhone in 2007.

Capricorn (2008 – 2023)

Pluto in Capricorn defines a generation marked by ambition, pragmatism, and a distinct focus on challenging traditional structures, leading to transformative changes in politics, business, and governance. Ruled by Saturn, this era, encompassing events such as the launch of Bitcoin, the Syrian civil war, Edward Snowden's revelations on mass surveillance, and the COVID-19 pandemic, unfolded amidst the Great Recession and the rise of social media. The influence of Saturn instils a commitment to rules, regulations, and social changes that align with a desire for structure and order.

Aquarius (2024 – 2044)

Pluto in Aquarius heralds a generation marked by innovation, individuality, and an impassioned pursuit of freedom and social progress. The current era unfolds amid a new global order, carrying both anticipation and uncertainty. Emerging from the constraining Capricorn era, Aquarius brings a promise of hope, healing, and a future-focused mindset.

Pisces (2044 – 2067)

Pluto in Pisces gives rise to a generation marked by empathy, spirituality, and a deepening of the collective consciousness, contributing to societal shifts in compassion, art, and transcendence. As one era concludes and another begins, this period signals the resurgence of spirituality, with people connecting profoundly to the universe through meditation and prayer. Anticipated as a peaceful time with minimal conflict, technological progress may temporarily slow after the Aquarius era's boom. This wise generation is poised to challenge traditional norms, potentially leading to the disappearance of gender roles, marking a significant chapter in human evolution.

[zeroseuniverse]

The Chase Is Half Of The Fun

Word Count: 2.0 K Summary: “You know the drill, officer,” you said with a wink before turning to make your escape. Pairing: S.coups X Reader

Disclaimer: Please be aware that this is apart of the from the ashes series. This series will have aspects of violence, weapons, angst, blood, injuries, killing, and will heavily focus on oppression and segregation of mutants, Look after your mental state if any of these make you uncomfortable please.

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You were known by many names. Some called you a criminal, others, a hero. You didn’t care what they thought, though—your only concern was getting justice for the people who were being forgotten. The corrupt, the greedy, the ones at the top of the food chain, who took and took and never gave back. You took from them, always making sure to give to those who needed it most, the oppressed, the ones left behind by society. You weren’t a saint, but you were doing the world a favor.

It wasn’t easy, but it was your purpose.

And then there was him.

S.Coups, or rather, Choi Seungcheol—law enforcement’s top officer, the one who was always a step behind you, yet somehow never managed to catch you. He wasn’t bad at his job, not by a long shot. He was disciplined, sharp, and incredibly dedicated. But every time you managed to slip through his fingers, there was this fleeting look in his eyes—a look that was more than just duty.

It confused you, at first.

But the more you danced this dangerous game with him, the more you realized that his eyes weren’t just watching you like a criminal. There was something else—something softer, something that made your heart race every time you saw him.

The chase had been going on for months now, and you both knew how it would play out. He’d find you, corner you, and then... let you slip away at the last second. The pattern was becoming all too familiar, and it was driving both of you crazy.

Tonight was no different.

The warehouse was located on the outskirts of the city, a place no one dared to venture to unless they were part of the right circles. It was rumored to be a storage point for some of the highest-ranking criminals' illicit dealings—stolen goods, secret information, and even worse. You couldn’t let that stand.

You’d spent weeks infiltrating their network, gathering intel, and now it was time to make your move. You knew S.Coups would be there, though. You always did. It wasn’t a question of if he’d show up, but when.

You slipped inside the darkened warehouse, moving like a shadow. The guards were easy to deal with, and within minutes, you had access to the secure vault where everything was being stored.

As you worked quickly to get what you needed—documents, files, and money—you could hear the distant sound of footsteps. It was the kind of step you’d learned to recognize by now: heavy, determined, and purposeful.

You smirked.

“You always do this,” a voice called out from behind you, low and steady.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t turn around. Instead, you focused on securing the final bag of money, making sure the weight was perfect for the escape.

“You know I’m not going to let you leave, right?” Seungcheol’s voice was closer now, his footsteps stopping just behind you.

“Of course, you’re not,” you said with a slight smirk, turning to face him. “It’s not fun unless you chase me.”

His eyes narrowed, but there was no anger there—only a resigned amusement. “You make it too easy.”

You tilted your head, your expression teasing. “Am I really that predictable?”

“Yes,” he replied, his tone firm, but there was something softer in his gaze. Something that said he wasn’t as convinced by his own words as he wanted you to believe.

You took a step toward him, your eyes locked on his. “Then why haven’t you caught me yet?”

Seungcheol took a deep breath, his gaze intense. “Because you always know how to slip away. It’s infuriating.”

A flash of something—vulnerability, maybe—passed through his features, but you were already moving, already aware that your time was up.

“You know the drill, officer,” you said with a wink before turning to make your escape.

But as you reached the door, something unexpected happened.

Seungcheol didn’t follow.

Instead, you heard the sound of his footsteps stop completely. You glanced over your shoulder to find him standing still, watching you, his gaze filled with something deeper than just duty.

“Are you really going to leave without a fight this time?” you asked, a bit breathless.

His silence was heavy, but he didn’t stop you. He didn’t arrest you. Instead, his eyes softened, and for a fleeting second, you saw the conflict in them.

“I should arrest you,” he said quietly, his voice strained.

“Then why don’t you?” You were so close to the exit now, the cool night air just beyond the door. But you didn’t want to leave yet. Not with that look in his eyes.

“I can’t,” he admitted, almost too quietly.

You froze, the words hitting you harder than you expected. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

“Because every time you get away, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re... you’re not a criminal. Not in the way they say. You’re... trying to make things right. But I’m not sure if I can help you.”

His words hung in the air between you both, thick with tension.

You stared at him for a long moment, feeling the weight of his confession. There was no smug grin, no teasing remark—just the raw honesty of a man caught between his duty and his feelings.

Without a word, you turned and walked back toward him. Your movements were slow, deliberate, and you could see the confusion flash in his eyes as you came closer.

You stood in front of him, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the heat of his body. There was no chase now. Just the two of you, standing at the crossroads of right and wrong.

“You know,” you said softly, “I never asked for your help. But I think you’re already helping me just by letting me go.”

Seungcheol’s breath hitched, his gaze softening even more as he met your eyes. “I don’t want to stop you,” he whispered, his hand brushing against yours. “But I can’t just let you keep doing this.”

“You don’t have to,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just stop chasing me for a while.”

He didn’t say anything, but the way his hand lingered near yours told you everything you needed to know. It was a truce—a quiet understanding that, for now, there were no winners in this game, only two people standing together in the blurry line between right and wrong.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

Days passed before you found yourself once again in the thick of it. The adrenaline rush of your last heist still lingered, but you couldn’t deny the nagging feeling that stayed with you—the memory of his gaze, soft and full of conflict, had been on your mind since that night.

Your next encounter with Seungcheol wasn’t planned. In fact, you hadn’t expected to see him so soon after your last interaction. But fate, as it often did, had a way of throwing the two of you together when least expected.

It was a simple job—break into a secure building, swipe a few important documents, and get out. But of course, nothing was ever simple with you around.

As you crept through the shadows, your heart skipped a beat when you heard the faint sound of boots on the ground. Your instincts kicked in, and you hid behind a pillar, holding your breath.

Sure enough, the familiar figure of Choi Seungcheol appeared, his sharp eyes scanning the area as he walked with purpose. Your pulse quickened—his presence always did that to you. And you knew that tonight, he wasn’t going to let you slip away as easily as he usually did.

You stepped out from your hiding spot, a smirk spreading across your face as you walked directly toward him.

“Well, well,” you said, your voice dripping with teasing confidence. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Seungcheol froze for a split second, his eyes narrowing. “You’re getting bolder, aren’t you?”

“Maybe I like living on the edge,” you replied with a wink, taking a step closer to him. Your gaze locked with his, and you noticed the way his jaw clenched as if he was trying to hold back something—something more than just the desire to catch you.

“You’re not leaving this time,” Seungcheol said, his voice low and firm. But there was something in the way he said it—something that made you doubt if he really meant it.

“Oh, I think I am,” you teased, standing just a few inches away from him now, enjoying the tension that crackled between you. “I’m not so easy to catch, Seungcheol.”

He stepped forward, closing the space between you even more, his body just barely brushing against yours. “I don’t need to catch you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Not when I can keep you here, just like this.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to let him see how much his closeness affected you. You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a challenge. “And how do you plan on doing that, officer?”

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened, and you could see the way he was fighting to keep his composure. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he took a slow step back, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You like playing these games, don’t you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, the edge of frustration seeping in. “But at some point, this is going to stop being fun. And when it does, I don’t know if I’ll be able to let you go.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, the playful mask you wore slipped. The seriousness in his tone, mixed with the heat in his eyes, made you feel something you hadn’t expected. The mission. The chase. It all seemed so far away in that moment. It was just the two of you now, standing in the middle of this tension-filled game that neither of you seemed willing to back down from.

“I’m not the one who’s going to get caught, Seungcheol,” you whispered, your voice softening. You took a step closer, closing the distance again, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

“You’re right,” he replied, his voice low and almost intimate. “You’re always one step ahead of me. But one of these days…” His hand brushed against your arm, a subtle touch, but it sent a jolt through your body. “One of these days, you won’t be able to slip away.”

You tilted your head, your eyes flicking to his lips. “Is that a promise, officer?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his gaze dipped down to your lips as well. The air between you felt charged, the heat of the moment rising.

“Maybe,” he said, his voice barely audible. “But don’t get too cocky. The next time we meet, I’m not letting you go without a fight.”

The challenge in his words was clear, but so was the underlying tension—the attraction that neither of you had been able to ignore for so long.

Before you could say anything else, Seungcheol stepped back, turning his attention to the mission at hand. But there was a lingering look in his eyes, one that told you this game wasn’t over yet. He was letting you go again, but not without that silent promise.

You watched him for a moment longer before stepping back into the shadows, a smirk crossing your face.

“I’ll be waiting, officer,” you called over your shoulder, your voice laced with both playfulness and challenge.

As you slipped out of the building, you couldn’t help but wonder—just how far would Seungcheol go to catch you? And more importantly... how long would you both keep playing this dangerous game of cat and mouse?

The next encounter was already in your mind. And this time, you weren’t going to make it easy on him.

[fairuzfan]

For Liefer to pull up a Camus quote like this is quite laughable because of how the dynamics mirror each other. In the modern day, we have a status quo where Palestinians continue to be imprisoned and murdered and raped and segregated, denied basic medical care for years on end, all on their own land — while Jewish Israelis (to make distinction from Palestinians with Israeli citizenship, as many liberal zionists love to point out) suffer no consequences for anything, even if they play a direct role in the continued erasure and genocide of Palestinians. So if given a choice between suffering no consequences while benefiting from the status quo (that will not change unless the oppressed take it upon themselves to change their circumstance) and suffering consequences in the form of direct personal loss (with the strategy of forcing things to change by ennacting the same type of violence that the occupied experience on a daily basis onto the occupiers), of course someone who stands to lose nothing from the continuation of the status quo would rather the status quo continue if he has something to lose otherwise. Camus, when he said this quote, was not being righteous or overly sensitive. If anything, it shows how little he understood at the time of saying this quote. Because he didn't understand that an Algerian will suffer in both scenarios even if he (Camus) is safe, and for him to say something like this when people lived generations worth of violence for his and his family's (social) benefit is annoying and just plain offensive. Who is he, as a Frenchman born in occupied Algeria, to say what is worth justice when he only stands to lose anything in one scenario but not the other? He did not experience life as an Algerian native in French occupation. He might have observed it, growing up poor, yes, but he never LIVED it. Liefer might have observed the horror of settler colonialism, but that's nothing like experiencing it firsthand. To be the object of hatred to people who have higher status and more rights than you. It's just not his place as a person with nothing to lose if the status quo continues to comment on anything like this. What's the underlying meaning of this quote? "I'd rather others continue to suffer than myself experiencing suffering once."

I'm not saying Liefer doesn't have a right to mourn whoever. Im not even saying he has a duty to accept the consequences he experiences. But to say something so heartless as "I prefer the safety of my own rather than justice" within the larger, nearly century worth of context, is just insensitive and really belies his true opinions of the liberation of Palestine if he's so comfortable saying this outloud with moral authority in the middle of what is an outright bloodbath of Palestinians across Palestine. It's the timing of saying something like this because to say it now of all times when the entire world ignores or even encourages the violence in Gaza but mourns the death of Israelis? An Algerian born Frenchman and Israeli are going to be mourned on an international scale... but Palestinian and Algerian natives? Their deaths are regarded as facts of life by the rest of the world.

This makes it seem like I hate Camus, but I honestly don't, but I think the way Leifer is holding this quote up at face value and as the height of reason really is annoying. People like to mention Camus' "if" in this case as proof that he's actually saying "this is not real justice so therefore I do not have to accept it," but who is he to say what is or is not justice? The point I'm getting at is the people who benefit from occupation, in this case, Camus and Liefer have no right to determine what is or is not justice, despite their personal beliefs. The occupier has no right to tell the occupied what they should do to get freed. That alone is an arrogance in assertion that is so offending — the assertion that the occupier knows how to free the occupied in what *he* considers justice and the occupied just need to do whatever the occupier tells them to do. Because whether they both like it or not, they still benefit from and are part of the occupying force, and therefore have no real reason to fight the occupation at their own expense — the occupation is a violence that they are alright with inflicting if it means they cannot lose anything or anyone.

Also the idea that liefer indirectly compares himself to Camus is a little funny to me.