#all i see is a man who is never held accountable for his actions

[max-headroomfiles]

The more I sit. The more I let it stew, the more I look back and think about April. I truly realized something, I truly realized no matter what I can never trust the fandom. No matter how "normal" things may seem now, no matter how we can pretend to go back and do our funny shitposting or whatever, there is something I can never shake and it's how I can never truly look at the fandom the same way again.

I can never trust you guys, because when I look back, all I can ever remember is the vitriolic racism you guys spewed towards the two men of color (mainly Steven Lim) and yet let your precious white man off the hook all because he made some "funny" anti capitalist jokes.

I will never ever forget the way you guys made me feel, the extreme rage you projected all because you didn't like what they did. I will never forget how you all ruined something that gave me motivation and the inspiration to create. I will never forget how you ruined an interest that helped me out of a bad mental health space. And I will never forgive you for that either.

I was naive to think back then this community was "safe", that these were creative fans who shared a passion like me. But again, I was naive, I was so naive to think that wasn't I?

Because I had a life lesson alright, I learned that as a biracial girl, to never trust a white fandom.

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

All Yours. Only Yours.

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader

Warnings: smut

It's been a little over 4 months since you and Lewis were forced to part your ways. It's been a little over 4 months since you have not been feeling yourself.

You weren't officially in a relationship, but you both fell hard for each other, you saw a future with each other. You were his baby girl, the only woman he wanted everything with. And you, you felt the happiest ever with him, safe in his arms, in his embrace. His kisses and his soft touch were your safe haven.

But 4 months ago all of that stopped when your father found out you were seeing Lewis. Your father completely lost it when he saw Lewis' arms wrapped around your waist and his lips pressed against yours. He couldn't stand the fact that his little girl was with a man 14 years older than her. He didn't see you as the woman that you were and so for him that relationship between the two of you was unacceptable.

At that very moment he forbade you to ever see him again. He told Lewis that if he ever approached you again, he would not be held accountable for his actions. He didn't care that Lewis was a seven time world champion nor that you would be financially secure with him for the rest of your life and you would never lack for anything. In his eyes, Lewis was a slob taking advantage of a young girl, his daughter, he despised it as much as he despised him.

You tried to protest, to convince him that Lewis' intentions with you were pure, that he would never do anything to hurt you and the most important thing that you love him and that you are truly happy with him. You begged, you were desperate, but that only made him angrier so that's when he gave you an ultimatum - if you choose to be with Lewis, you can forget that you have a father. It was either Lewis or him.

Your father's lack of understanding broke your heart, and it broke Lewis to see you like that. He could handle many things, but seeing his girl suffering was not on of those things. Lewis decided that he was not going to be the guy who stood between father and daughter and destroyed their close relationship.

He was forced to make one of the hardest decisions of his life and get away from you for good. He pushed you away, pretended he didn't want to see you again even though he was dying to. Deep down you knew why he was doing it, but that didn't ease your suffering one bit.

One night you cried so much that you physically felt pain in your chest. You could no longer spend your days and nights wondering where he was, what he was doing, if he had found someone new or if he was still thinking about you. You felt like your head was going to explode from all those questions you didn't know the answers to. That's when you found yourself knocking on his door late at night.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?" He asked as he opened the door. His eyes quickly filled with worry when he saw you crying in front of his door, but little did he know that as soon as you saw him, you instantly felt better.

He was standing in front of you, shirtless, looking down at you and barely holding back from pulling you to himself.

"Lew..I can't..I can't take it anymore.." You sobbed. "Don't you dare push me away and tell me that I can't be here because I don't wanna hear it!"

His eyes softened at your words and heart hurt a little even though he felt relieved that you still felt the same way about him.

"Baby girl.." He wiped away the tears under your eyes with his thumbs before pulling you into a tight hug. The tightest one yet.

"I miss you, Lew" You whisper as you wrap your arms around his neck your eyes darting to his lips. "Don't you miss me too?" You ask tilting your head a little as he brushes the hair out of your face.

"Of course I do" He sighs leaning his forehead against yours. "Fuck, I miss you more than I thought was possible"

"Then let's not miss each other anymore. Let's put an end to this agony and be together" Your eyes pleaded.

"Y/n, I want that more than life itself, but you know it's not that simple"

"I don't care, I've had enough. I won't let anyone else decide my happiness." You stated. "It's you that I want. Maybe some people will find it hard to accept, but it's 10 times harder for me to be without you than to fight with my dad."

Your words somehow brought peace to his soul. They encouraged him to fight for you and your future because for him there was before you, but there is no after you.

"I never thought you were gonna get that much under my skin. I should be pushing you away right now, telling you you should find someone else, someone better for you. I just can't seem to.. Or I don't want to. Or maybe both."

After what felt like ages, his lips finally met yours again. The kiss wasn't soft nor gentle, it was hungry and passionate, eager for more. "Come here" He slammed the door before patting the back of your thighs to which you responded by jumping up and wrapping your legs around his waist. You never broke the kiss as he led you towards his bedroom and laid you down on the bed.

He helped you take off your clothes leaving you only in your bra and panties. He took a second to admire your body tracing his fingers over your hip bone. "You're so beautiful, baby"

You smiled at his compliment tilting your head to get a better look of him as he started leaving kisses all over your stomach. Once his lips reached the hem of your panties, he stopped for a second to look up at you while his hand caressed your leg.

"Can I kiss you here?" He asked softly.

"Please kiss me there" You quickly granted his request.

"Spread your legs for me"

He left a kiss over the lace fabric before tugging them down your legs and letting them fall to the floor. He started slowly, licking you lazily up and down your folds. You were so eager for him that you could feel your wetness trickling down your holes. You clenched your legs around his head giving him a perfect opportunity to grab your ass and bury his face deeper.

"Ahh, yes, yes" You moaned as his tongue swirled over your clit. He was changing his pace, leaving quick kitten licks and then attaching his lips to your clit and sucking on it.

You started to move too much from the pleasure that was overwhelming you so he put his hand over your stomach to keep you in place. His other hand found your entrance and the tips of his fingers started teasing you circling around it.

"Please" You pleaded.

"Please what? What do you want, baby?"

"Put your fingers in me"

The sight of you lying so spread out for him, whimpering his name, begging him for more made him grind his hips against the mattress trying to create any kind of friction to his rock hard dick.

Granting your wish he pushed his index finger in. His eyes were stuck on your parted lips and closed eyes, he loved how responsive, how obedient you were to him. You arched your back as he added another one pumping them in and out of you. It didn't take long for your legs to start shaking and squeezing around his head.

"That's it baby, cum around my fingers"

As you finished, he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his lips to taste you not wasting any drop as he licked them clean.

"You did so good" He said softly into your ear before he kissed you.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course"

"Have you been with anyone else since we stopped seeing each other?" You were curious. You don't know how you would react if he actually was. It would hurt you, definitely, but you'd still want him as much as you do now.

"No, baby girl, the other side of this bed belongs only to you." He smiled caressing your cheek knowing there was no other girl for him except for you.

"And what about you?"

"All yours. Only yours." He assured you once again bringing peace to your mind and heart. "Gonna prove it to you right now" He said leaving sloppy kisses down your neck. "Gonna show you how much I missed you"

Pulling down his shorts and boxers, he pressed his dick against your stomach slowly grinding himself up and down while holding his weight on his arms just above you.

Your hand slid down taking him in your hand and giving him a few strokes. Your touch made him shiver and groan in response. It was as if he was waiting for your permission.

"Fuck me, Lew" You whispered. Your hand led him to your entrance and he wasted no time pushing himself inside of you. He left kisses all over your face and stayed still so you could get used to him. Once you felt ready he started slowly thrusting in and out of you.

"You feel how hard I am for you? Only you can make me this hard, baby" You moaned at his words wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Uhh, yes baby, fuck me, fuck me hard"

"Fuck, baby, you're so dirty" Lewis got a little carried away at your prompting so he suddenly and strongly increased his pace. Your breasts spilled out of your bra as he pounded into you and he couldn't resist but to leave mark just above your nipple. "So fucking perfect"

Your brought your hands to your boobs squeezing them and playing with your nipples and the sight drove him completely crazy. It awakened the animal in him so he pulled out only to push his dick all the way inside you. You winced pushing your hand at his pelvis as he hit your deepest spot.

"You okay, baby? Want me to stop?" He asked with concern.

"No, no it's just you're so big and so deep inside" You whimpered.

"Yeah, baby? You feel me here?" He smirked putting his hand over your lower stomach. "You feel me in your stomach? Just a little more love, I'm almost there. You gonna cum with me?" You nodded as he started slowly moving again.

"Take it just like that. My good girl taking my dick so well. So pretty. Can't get enough of you." You moaned as your hand slid down your stomach adding pressure to your clit while Lewis continued fucking you.

"You gonna let me fill you up?"

"Mhm" You moaned.

"Yeah? Wanna see my cum dripping out of your pussy" The pressure in the pit of your stomach started building up again with every dirty word that left his lips. "Gonna get you full of my cum, fuck" That's all it took to push you over the edge and come undone around him. You screamed out his name and his orgasm followed yours filling you up to the brim.

Both panting, sweating, you could hardly catch your breath as a strong sense of pleasure coursed through your bodies. Still deeply immersed in you, he propped himself up on his elbows hovering over you and leaving a kiss on your cheek. "Are you okay, baby?" He asked.

"I'm more than okay" You smiled rubbing his cheek with your thumb as his eyes lit up.

"That's good to hear."

"Let's take a shower and cuddle until we fall asleep, yeah?"

"Wait, before we do that, I just wanna tell you something"

"Tell me what?"

"I love you, so much" And there it was. His first I love you to you. The first time he said it out loud even though he's showed it in so many ways already. "Wanna spend the rest of my life with you"

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise. I love you, baby."

[baby-tini]

do you have a part 2 of where Mikey is cheating?

I do now ❤️

TW- Yandere-ish behaviour, a bit of victim blaming, implied murder, slightly detailed scene of murder, violent behaviour, implication of past cheating.

Mikey was a mess ever since you left, he knows he brought it on himself by cheating, but he was still angry. He missed you deeply, thought about you every night and everyday, you were his first thought when he woke up, and his first thought when he went to bed. You were- are his everything, in his head, you're still his, and nothing is ever gonna change that- nothing. You guys are just... on a little break, that's all. You didn't actually wanna leave, you didn't actually mean it when you said, you never wanted too see him again... right? You couldn't possibly mean that, after all you guys have been through together? You can't be serious, there's no way. So he let you have your little break, even if your absence clawed at him every minute of everyday, but when you didn't... it all kinda went down hill from there, even more so then normal.

It took awhile for him too track you down, longer then he was comfortable with or even, willing too admit. You're everything to him, the reason he even still gets up in the mornings, so, when you left his life,it affected him more then everything else ever has. He was so irritated, taking it out on traitors, torching them slowly as he deflected his emotional pain into physical on the people who have done him wrong. When he finally found you though, or, rather his men found you, his heart started too hurt. He's never been so happy in his life, having heard the news of your exact whereabouts, it pleased him greatly, his eyes even have a little bit of life back in them. He found you living in a tiny little apartment on the outskirts of Tokyo, it was quiet- peaceful even, something his lifestyle greatly lacked.

He contemplated whether or not too just knock on the door... or just break in. But, he ultimately decided too just knock for now and if that didn't work for him, he'd have no problem forcing his way in. You were glowing when you opened that door, looking content- happy even, but the way your smile dropped and the look of delight turned to dread, it hurt, it hurt him so fucking much to the point he almost toppled over. But he held it together, his eyes almost pleading as he whispered your name, it almost sounding foreign with how long it's lacked coming from his lips. But it felt re-freshing on his tongue, like a shred of hope as you stepped aside and let him in. Although hesitant, as your steps lacked genuine want, looking more forced, knowing who exactly this man was and what he was capable of.

It was quiet for a while, as you both sat on your couch, the silence feeling awkward and heavy as you tried your best too avoid eye contact with him. The action feeling too intimate knowing what he did and the way you left, it might've not been the best decision or the best way too leave, but you didn't really have any other option, knowing it would, most likely, start a big fight that you really didn't feel like dealing with at the time. Or the worse option, he didn't care at all and would just let you leave, that would've hurt a lot more then just leaving it up in the air, but with him being here, you were betting on the former being the more obvious situation if you were too have confront him and try too leave at the time, also taking into account that Mikey isn't the most stable, and that would've most likely pushed him off the deep end and would've led to worse consequences for you then just being homeless for a while before you were able too get a shitty job as a waitress and live in a tiny apartment.

"I'm... sorry for what I did.." were the first words he chose too spoke, the first words you've heard from him in months. You knew he was sorry, his presence at the apartment told you all you needed too know, but you also knew that you didn't have too forgive him for what he did to you, you put up with a lot of his bullshit, let him get in your face and call you ugly names or let him get violent with men when they, very stupidly, thought it would be okay too eye-fuck their bosses girl. Watched him beat a man within an inch of his life as soon as his disgusting hands layed a slap to your ass, with a nasty smirk, you've never seen Mikey move so fast in your life, a kick to the man stomach as he beat him bloody, black and blue. Having replayed the mans screams in your head as begged and pleaded with Mikey too not kill him, that he was sorry, you know the man wasn't sorry for what he had done, only sorry that the consequences were so dire for him. That was the first and only time you've watched Mikey kill a man, he kept you locked away for weeks- months after that... incident.

You decided too keep quiet, which was a big mistake on your part cause it only made Mikey inch closer to you on the already small couch. His hands grabbing at your shaky ones, pulling them up to his lips as he left the softest kisses on the backs of them with the whisper of, "let me make it up to you, please?" You wanted him too, you really did, you missed when he was soft with you, although very rarely, he still was willing too show vulnerability. Your head was already clouded not having fully processed the whole infidelity on his part, but you did miss him and with his appearance at your apartment causing a wave of emotion too bubble in your chest and tear ducts, you did, you let him take care of you again. Just hoping and praying that you wouldn't regret everything when your head was a little bit clearer and your arms weren't wanting too constantly reach out and hug him, when your heart wasn't constantly begging you too let him touch you again, too take you again and have you so vulnerable under him as he whispered, hopefully, long-lasting promises in your ear.

So you did, you let him lay your back on that rough, uncomfortable couch as he left kisses on your face, leading down your neck and turning into love marks. Leaving spit-covered kisses down your chest as he hiked your leg over his waist, kissing underneath your ear as he whispered just how sorry he was to you, promising he'd never he look at another woman again, that what he did was a one-time stupid mistake. Whispering about, how it took him losing you too realise just how perfect you were, how rare you were too continuously stay by his side, too pledge your loyalty to such a bad man, such as his self- a monster. To a man who has taken more then he has ever given in his entire life, he knows that you're special, special to him, but just special in general. Letting him have- letting him take you in a place you now called home, knowing what he's done, he was selfish, he knows that, but he's done with it, now that he has you back in his arms, he's never letting you go again. Over his dead body- or, more like the dead body of the woman he had sex with, that led you both to this moment, no more.

[asliceofzosan]

sanji has always known he loved zoro.

subconsciously.

it's hidden in the steps he takes to maneuver around the sleeping marimo on the deck. it's written in the recipes he creates to account for the amount of nutrients he needs for his frankly ridiculous workout routine. it's embedded so deeply in the way he fights, back to back, one leg swinging in perfect synergy with zoro's blade. how he stands on his blind side more often on the field. but stands on his good side when they have a conversation.

so the words "i love you" come naturally to him. it's like he was always meant to say it to zoro. his presence was an appetizer. his words, the entreé. his actions, a delectable dessert that even his sweets-hating boyfriend craves for after a long day.

but sanji has never heard those three little words from zoro. not even once.

and sure, it's not like he goes around saying i love you to every beautiful lady he meets. he knows the gravity of such words. he knows how someone saying it can affect you in ways that can barely be comprehended by the human mind. it stirs something within ourselves that awakens the age old yearning to be cherished. to be held.

to be worth something to someone.

sanji can remember the rare times someone said i love you to him. once held in his mother's arms in a tender embrace that weakens with each passing second, it was whispered against his temple, frail fingers combing through his hair, and he cries without knowing that it would be the last time he hears those words for a very long time. once shaking in zeff's arms as the nightmares roar louder in his head than the storm that rattled the windows of the newly opened baratie, the older man choosing to be gentle with the child he willingly gave everything to in order to survive.

he's never heard it from someone who loved him like a partner. loved him like an equal. loved him in ways lovers are supposed to love each other.

maybe it's because he never had one of those until zoro. for the longest time, he survived on fairy tales and myths and legends. oral tradition passed down through generations of every family he encounters on their adventures out at sea. and though his life as a prince was nothing like the pictures painted in children's books, he always longed for a princess of his own. someone he could save from the proverbial tower guarded by a fearsome dragon.

he wanted someone to love him like a hero. their hero. someone who admires him for all the things he desperately projects for others to see him as worth keeping around.

zoro isn't a princess by any means. he's honestly so much more like the dragon. but also not. fearsome as he is fearful. immensely strong as he is soft hearted. a steady pillar as he is the first to crumble at sanji's touch.

and zoro never admired him like a hero. never cared about the best foot forward sanji took care to show others. in fact, he saw right through him from the very moment they met. it irritated sanji to no end how someone like that stupid marimo could read him like an open book. he took care to make sure the pages of his story that he deems undesirable were sealed away under lock and key. no one needed to know the plot points that brought him where he is. he needs to be the hero. he needs to be seen as the hero in his story.

but who exactly was he trying to save?

what kind of hero has no one to save?

it took several years for him to realize that the person he needed to save was himself. and zoro knew that.

of course he fucking did.

he never mollycoddled him. never softened the blow. always blunt and direct with him. it drove sanji up the wall once with how little tact he had. eventually, he actually started to appreciate how zoro never once sugarcoated anything with him. if he was upset, he'd show it. if he was happy, it would shine in his gaze clear as day.

and if he was in love?

well.

sanji can admit it took him much longer to realize that the love he felt for zoro was not only reciprocated but was so much deeper than what three little words could possibly convey.

there's a permanent space for zoro next to sanji, right in front of the sink, when dinner is over and the soapy water goes up to his elbows. the windows are always open in the crow's nest when sanji's watch comes right after zoro's, just enough for the smoke to escape but the smell to linger. the wordless nod zoro gives him when sanji is combing through marketplaces and dragged him along to be his pack mule. the strategically placed shoulder for him to jump off of when sanji needs to launch himself at an oncoming enemy.

the 2am fights that devolve into holding each other and apologizing without saying any words at all.

the way zoro carries him back to his bunk when he's fallen asleep in the galley writing recipes down. the kiss to his forehead. the hand that runs through his hair.

and here sanji thought his actions were the sweet dessert. for in the dead of night, when no one is watching, zoro's devotion is blinding. zoro's love shines like a beacon in a dark, stormy night.

the dragon perched on the roof of the tower, breathing fire for the lost prince to find his way home.

so sanji lets zoro comb through the pages of his story that he doesn't tell anyone else. he lets zoro guide his hand to flip to the blank pages, allows him to convince him that the parts of his story that mattered are the ones written by his own hand. and if the pages are soon filled with endless adventures of the prince and his swordsman, no one else will really understand it.

no one except zoro.

so yes. sanji always knew he loved zoro and that zoro loved him back just as fiercely or maybe even more.

even if he never heard those three little words.

what sanji doesn't know, is that when zoro is sure he is fast asleep, zoro whispers those words against sanji's ear. like a revenant prayer to a god. zoro doesn't believe in god.

but he believes in sanji. he always did.

[helenanell]

Burn Away Like Mist

Aemond Targaryen

Burn Away Like Mist 

⫷⫸

Aemond Targaryen X Baratheon Wife Reader 

Summary: You despise your husband and that hatred is only compounded when you find him gazing up at the Iron Throne after the battle of Rook’s Rest.

Warnings: This is TOXIC, lots of cruelty and manipulative behaviour (on both sides.) Mention of child SA and a blade is drawn (Did someone say knife to throat?) - Enemies to Lovers, except they are so far from lovers in this. (maybe in a part two?) 

Notes: No use of Y/N - Spoilers for S2 Ep 5 - Also, I really am not and have never been an Aemond girly (I will see Luke and Rhaenys avenged!) But I do find Aemond so, so compelling and I just couldn’t get this out of my head. Enjoy?

W.C: 4k

⫷⫸

To those in Westeros who still held to the old Gods or to those who cradled superstitions close to their chests as though they were their own babes, the wind often harboured ill portent; it weaved across the sky, stitching the future there with fate as its thread.

And yet, it was not an ill-wind that had been the true portent of doom. You knew that countless foul fates had been ushered forth with a single foetid breath. 

The breath upon which the order to send dragons to war was uttered, was the breath that began the end. 

The Targaryens had survived the Doom of Valyria, fleeing from fire whilst using it to forge a path to the Iron Throne. And now they were to die in fire, of that you were sure. 

The dragons had begun their dance and a dynasty would die because of it. Your husband had already claimed the lives of two. Two dragons and two dragon riders.

You would never forget Prince Lucerys and how bravely he had stood before your father in the hall of Storm’s End, his chin tilted up defiantly and such an assured, level voice from a boy still so small. He had made you smile. Just looking at him had made you smile because in him you had seen…well, you had seen a boy who had been loved and so could love and care for others in turn. You had felt hope for the realm. 

But then he had been chased into the sky by Aemond Targaryen, a man devoid of love. 

You knew that your husband was a product of both his blood and his upbringing. Boys starved of love grow into men who hunger for something they have never tasted; something they do not understand. Fond feelings and affection cannot find root in inhospitable soil, let alone bloom there. That was not Aemond's fault and yet his actions as a grown man were. His violence and vengefulness was no one’s doing but his own.

The storm into which Prince Lucerys had fled had been a particularly terrible one, it had felt as though the sky was being rent apart with each roll of thunder, the stone beneath your feet trembling as though in terror of it. Or in terror of what was happening above. 

The moment Aemond had left your father’s hall in pursuit of his nephew, some part of you had known what was to come. And yet, when you had heard what had befallen him, you had cried for that sweet boy who had so loved his mother and affirmed his honour by so swiftly declaring he was already betrothed. 

Selfishly, you had wept for yourself too. Grief for the boy you had not known and grief for the life you could have lived had intermingled, the tears that rolled down your cheeks acrid to the point of toxicity upon your tongue. 

Not even a week later, Aemond had returned for you. His dragon blotted out the sun and you had remained in shadow ever since. 

Your father had promised you that the wedding would not take place for some time, but he had not accounted for your betrothed becoming a Kinslayer while his promise to wed you still echoed down the halls of Storm’s End. The greens needed all the support they could get and quickly.

You had been married the day after you had arrived in King’s Landing.

Now, if Aegon did not wake, your new husband would be a Kingslayer too. 

You did not know what had happened during the battle of Rook’s Rest and yet you had seen the truth of it in the brief glimpses you’d caught of your husband since his return. His brother’s state was not only down to Princess Rhaenys and the Red Queen, Meleys. 

Up until now, you had been grateful that Aemond seemed to have no inclination to even converse with you, let alone share your bed, but you couldn’t help but think how much easier it would be to plunge a dagger into his chest if he did. You were no soldier, and you would not waste honour on a man such as your husband, so you truly would have no qualms or quibbles over cutting his throat as he slept.

Ours is the fury. Those were the words of your House.

When you were a girl you had felt such great pride upon hearing them; they roused and emboldened you, filling you with such righteousness as you retained safe and protected in Storm’s End, with your only adversary the wind that battered the walls and howled down the corridors in dismay when it could not reach you. 

Now, when you heard the words you wanted to laugh. 

Baratheon fury was without a doubt that of a storm: irascible and unyielding. And yet…it was water and wind. To Targaryen’s, the wind was something to be ridden and all water was burned away like the morning mist by dragon fire.

You had known even before you had said your vows to Aemond in the Sept of Baelor that he wished that you were that mist. When he looked at you, his gaze harboured a flame that told you he wished that you too were so easily burnt away.

But you refused to burn. 

It was this rapidly growing hatred that drove you to seek him out, to look at him without baulking, if only so he could not sate himself on your fear as well as that of so many others. 

It was not a search that had taken much time. After all that had happened, what would your husband want to do but gaze upon that which he coveted?

You had first met Aemond during a storm and you found him now as another raged outside the walls of the Red Keep. It was an ill omen.

It was the first rumblings of a reckoning. 

Earlier in the day, Aemond had made you stand on the walkway alongside himself and the dowager queen Alicent when Meleys’ head had been paraded through the streets. 

‘Behold the traitor dragon Meleys!’

You had wanted to close your eyes and plunge yourself into darkness to avoid the horror of the sight, but those words would still have rung in your ears, so you forced yourself to bear witness to the tragedy. 

Aemond stood now as he did then, with his hands clasped behind his back and standing so still he might as well have been stone. The movement of his shoulders was almost imperceptible, as if taking breath was something less than vital to him. As though it were beneath him. 

He was standing with his back to you, gazing up at the Iron Throne. He stood at a distance from it, but not out of deference for his dying brother, you knew.

Aemond had considered himself a king long before his Aegon had fallen upon flaming wings from the sky, he was simply enjoying the sight of the seat upon which he would soon sit; the seat he felt he was both owed and that he had earned. 

Another bolt of lightning fractured the darkness and the tips of the swords that formed the Iron Throne glinted in the flash. The white strands of Aemond’s hair were for a moment threads of silver, shimmering like spun stars. 

Then, the lightning retreated and the shadows descended again. Your husband seemed just as comfortable in the light as he did in the dark. Why wouldn’t he be, when he appeared able to thrive in both?

You step forward, peeling away from the side of the room. 

When you speak, your voice has to contend with the thunder, but you are pleased with how indifferent you sound.

‘You may as well sit on it.’ You call out. ‘The arduous task is done with. What difficulty could climbing a few steps pose compared to killing your own kin? Again.’

Aemond’s head tilts as if in contemplation before turning just enough for you to see his face. His impassive expression is lit by a particularly violent bolt of lightning, his one violet eye flashing as brightly as you presume the sapphire in the other socket does when caught in the sunlight. His hands are still clasped behind his back.

‘You are ill-informed, wife. My brother yet lives.’ 

You do not miss that he does not say ‘the king’ and you dare to scoff in response.

 ‘Yes, I imagine you are irritated by that. It would be better for you if his demise was the result of Dragon warfare. That is easier to explain than, say, a pillow over the face? Or will you choose poison?’

Aemond hums, the corner of his mouth lifting in a deceptive manner. He is not amused, but you cannot say exactly what the small movement upon his face means. He turns to face you fully.

 ‘Poison is the weapon of women and cravens.’ Aemond says, his voice languid, almost bored. It infuriates you. 

You want him to be as angry as you are. You want him to burn from the inside out as you do. He is the cause of your pain, so you will be the cause of his. It is this desire that drives you to speak so recklessly to him.

‘Well, you certainly aren’t a woman.’ You answer snidely. 

Your silent implication has the desired effect. Aemond advances towards you, his jaw is clenched and the lines of his face are as hard as the carved stone that adorns the hall. You do not flinch or take so much as a step back. You stand firm, staring him down as he stops barely an arms length in front of you.

He is certainly breathing now, his shoulders heaving as he draws in air with the anger he has that is so often unbridled.

But just when you think you’ve succeeded in provoking him, Aemond lets out a steady exhale, his expression turning imperious as he looks down at you. 

‘Are you so listless that you must come to poke and prod at me as though you were a disgruntled infant?’ He says, his voice hushed and his tone belittling. ‘My good sister is surely in want of company and comfort during such a trying time. Go to her.’

You frown up at him, curling your fingers into fists, nails digging into your palms. 

You’re sure that he dons a mask of indifference around you because he knows it drives you mad. In his eyes, you are deserving of nothing, not even his contempt. 

It makes you that much crueller.

 As you recall an exchange you’d had with a very drunk Aegon a few days prior. Your lips lift into a nasty smile as you step up to Aemond, your chests almost touching. It’s the closest you’ve been since standing before each other in the Sept.

 There’s another low rumbling of thunder. It may well be a warning, but you take it as encouragement.

‘I suppose we have that in common then.’

Aemond’s head tilts to the side, humming with feigned interest. ‘And what is that, ñuha jorrāelagon?’ 

Your skin itches. You hate that you cannot know what he calls you, especially when he has that unknowable glimmer in his eye. You steel yourself and speak the words that you know will place you in peril.

‘It seems we are both prone to bouts of childishness.’ You say, smiling up at him. ‘I know what happened in the brothel, Aemond.  Aegon took great delight in telling me of how he found you: naked and cradled in the arms of the establishments madam as if you were a babe.’ 

The noise that comes from Aemond borders upon the animalistic. So much so, that when he darts forward, his hand curling around the nape of your neck, that you expect to feel the sting of claws piercing your flesh. 

You swallow down a gasp as Aemond drags you closer, forcing you to crane the neck he has in a vice grip in order to look up at him. Lightning gives you a better glimpse of his face that is now tight with fury. 

He does not utter a word, he just glowers down at you as his heaving chest brushes yours. 

You open your mouth to speak and his grip tightens, his nails digging into your neck. You do not know if he’s warning you or urging you on. You’re not entirely sure that he does either. 

Either way, it would not stop you. This is the closest you’ve come to feeling alive since you left Storm’s End. 

‘How old were you when it happened?’ You speak with a softness that you know he will not know how to contend with.

The jarring change in your tone and demeanour works. As Aemond takes in the concern that you force onto your face, his anger falters. It is only for a blink, but it feels like a victory all the same.

You are triumphant in the knowledge that he does not know you well enough to tell if you’re being genuine.

You aren’t, of course; you do not care for your husband. But that does not stop you from feeling sad for the boy that he was.

You have no doubt that the brothel all those years ago was Aegon’s doing; his was no doubt the lecherous hand that had forced Aemond into the arms of a grown woman. Undoubtedly, the sexual act had become conflated with tenderness for Aemond and for a comfort that he had never had. 

Aemond manages to rebuild his cold exterior, but it is not as well fortified as before. He leans down, holding your neck tighter as he forces you to maintain eye contact. 

‘You speak as though it is something which should torment me.’ He says quietly, sounding unconvinced by his own words. ‘As though it was something inflicted upon me, instead of something that I desired.’

‘You didn’t desire it. You were a boy.’ You answer,  disgust dripping from your words at the thought of it. 

Aemond’s hold on the back of your neck loosens, but he does not remove it completely. 

‘Boys must become men.’ He answers flatly.

‘Yes, but that is something that time will take care of without interference. Boys become men, that is an inevitability, it is not a change that can be brought about by abuse-’

‘It was not abuse.’ Aemond hisses, nails digging into you once more.

Aegon had delighted in telling you a great many things.

During the wedding feast–if the rushed, dismal affair could even be afforded such a title–the King had been deeper into his cups than you’d thought possible and he had delighted in telling you any story he could conjure in order to diminish Aemond’s manhood in your eyes. He had spoken in great length about the disappointment you were soon to suffer in the bedchamber, but he had also regaled  you with stories of his brother’s youth that had been rife with ridicule. 

In what you had thought was preparation to defend yourself against Aemond’s coming attempt to bed you, you had sharpened your teeth on the tales of his childhood torment. But after he had spurned you, leaving your marriage unconsummated, you had not been able to bite anything.

Now, you were going to take the chance to bloody your mouth with those sharpened teeth. You meant to take a chunk of flesh.

 ‘Aegon did not make you a man, Aemond, nor did that woman, because you are still that little boy who was given a pig to ride–”

You choke on your own words as air rushes about your ears as you are forced up against the nearest pillar.

Your back slams into the cold stone as Aemond draws a familiar Valyrian steel dagger and presses it up against your throat. The muscles in his neck strain as he lets out a low grunt, as though the effort he is exerting to stop himself from killing you is physically painful. 

 You keep your eyes on your husband’s face, revelling in seeing his mask shatter, even as you feel the blade press into your skin. 

You glower up at him and eagerly continue your tirade. At least if he kills you, you’ll be free of him: ‘Did you have to take the dagger from Aegon’s body, or did it fall to the earth alongside Sunfyre after you attacked them?’

Aemond’s knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip. ‘You wield your tongue as though it were a weapon, wife. It is impressive, truly. But you would do well to remember that only the real thing can cut.’  Aemond’s whisper skims across your cheek as he leans, your neck beginning to sting as he presses the dagger deeper. ‘Only one can draw blood.’

You fail to suppress a hiss of pain as you feel a bead of blood roll down your skin. And Aemond does not cease, almost spurred on by the sound of your pain. He leans in a little more, exerting further pressure on the blade. 

The Baratheon fury that is your birthright flares within you and your hand shoots up. You wrap your fingers around Aemond’s wrist, attempting to stop the press of the weapon. It does not. Your reaction only serves to lift his lips into a sadistic smile. 

‘Do you see now, how useless your words are?’ He coos, lips skimming the shell of your ear. You feel the vibrations of his words in your very bones. ‘How doomed of a rebellion your vitriol is?’ 

You answer by curling your fingers and digging your nails deep into his wrist as he had done with your neck. Nothing happens at first, but as you dig and dig, he leans back to peer down at you, his thin lips pressing into a tight line. 

‘And what of your blade, Aemond?’ You goad, nails digging deeper. ‘What use does it have when you won’t use it? My throat is still yet to be slit.’ 

A shadow that has nothing to do with the darkness of the throne room passes over Aemond’s face. ‘Do you so wish for death, that you would offer yourself up like a lamb to the slaughter?’ He seethes. 

‘But that’s just it, Aemond. You can’t slaughter me, can you?’ You say, sounding almost manic. Your blood has been drawn and both of you can taste it in the air. ‘My hand won Baratheon swords and my death would turn them against you.’ 

‘It would turn them against the Crown. I could cut your throat right here, right now and any retaliation your father offered would still be nothing more than treason. You are of no true consequence.’ 

‘So do it.’ You challenge, perversely energised by the feel of a blood trickling down your neck. ‘You are already a Kinslayer and a Kingslayer too if Aegon succumbs to his wounds. What does an oath sworn to my father mean to you? What are the vows you said to me? Although, now that I come to think of it, you are not truly my husband, are you?’ 

Aemond takes on an expression of mock pity, and tuts at you. ‘You may wish that to be true, but in the eyes of the gods and men, you are mine. My wife.’

You laugh bitterly, tightening your hold on his wrist, almost willing him to dig the steel further into your neck. ‘Am I? Without consummation I belong only to myself.’ 

Aemond lets out another of his characteristic hums that could just as easily signify danger as it could amusement. Another flash of lightning sends his one eye glowing. 

‘You call me a boy and yet it is you with such infantile notions.’ He says. ‘You have never belonged to yourself. Before any man beds you, you belong to your father. You were his to give away the moment you were born and he has…to me.’ 

‘And you sneak out of the Red Keep and into the arms of a woman who you pay to hold you. Do you even know that affection can be something freely given?’ You lift your free hand and place it against his cheek, just below his eye patch. You could swear he flinches. ‘True comfort need not come as part of a contract.’ 

‘Is that what you are offering me?’ There is still a derision dripping from his words, but they lack their usual potency. ‘Affection and comfort? You would give this to me freely?’ 

‘No, I would not.’ You snap. ‘ If I were truly free, I would have taken the knife sheathed on my thigh and plunge it into your heart.’ 

For all your fantasising, you knew what harming, let alone killing your husband would mean for your family. For your dear sisters.

Something flashes in Aemond’s eye at your words. He eases back, the blade lifting from your skin by barely an inch. The wounds stings fiercely as the air hits it but you manage not to wince.

Your husband is tall enough that he can take his free hand and lift up your skirts, all while maintaining eye contact with you. Your breath hitches in indignation as his warm fingers run up your calf and over your knee, splaying out into a flat palm to run up your thigh as he searches.

You do not move.

 When Aemond finds nothing he shifts his hand, moving to the opposite leg. When his fingers land on the dagger contained within the sheath, you see his own breath falter. 

A grin spreads out onto your face. He hadn’t believed you.

You had surprised Aemond Targaryen.

With his eyes still on you and one hand still clutching the sheath on your leg, Aemond returns the Valyrian steel dagger to his belt. The now free hand moves to your neck, the pad of his thumb catching the bead of blood as it rolls down towards your clavicle. 

With his eyes still on you, he pulls back the thumb now stained crimson and takes it into his mouth, lips closing over it and taking part of you into himself. 

Your cheeks flush in fury, feeling that something else has been stolen from you. 

He looks so satisfied, as though what he’s just consumed of you–both emotionally and physically–will feed him for years.

Letting out a furious groan you reach beneath your skirts and pull his hand from your thigh. You know he lets you do it, just as he lets you take your hands and hit out against his chest, shoving him away from you.

And yet, you still feel pleased with yourself when you see his eye widen slightly at the force of your push. He only just stops himself from staggering back, his now clean thumb falling from between his lips.

Aemond takes another step away from you, the carefully crafted impassivity returning to him.

But, the way he’s regarding you has changed. There’s a predatory glint in his eye that had not been there before. The sight of it makes your throat close up. You already miss his emotionless stare. 

‘You should not concern yourself over the lack of consummation. If my brother dies, I will be King. And a King needs heirs. As does a Prince Regent.’ Aemond muses, revelling in the horror that blooms upon your face. ‘Enjoy the solitude while you have it, ñuha jorrāelagon. You may soon bear the burden of a queen.’

And with that he’s turning his back to you, the sound of his footfalls bruising you in a way the storm’s din couldn't. 

But then, just before the towering doors, Aemond stops. He does not turn and yet you feel his attention on you all the same.

When he speaks, it is a whisper. A whisper that you should not hear at such a distance and over the thunder and yet somehow, you do. 

You do not understand him, but you hear your husband's words.

‘Aōha perzys gaomas daor zālagon nyke, ābrazȳrys. Yn nyke raqagon se ōdres hen ziry’

(Your fire does not burn me, wife. But I enjoy the pain of it.)

And then, just like the first time you had met him, Aemond Targaryen departs a hall besieged by a storm, leaving you breathless with hatred in his wake.

[ponett]

wait, you could have gotten a follow up with Ken himself? did that go very far or were you not interested? i getta imagine even if you dont like his work, asking the man himself about his days on the comic would be illuminating.

I could have. Part of me was definitely curious, since there's so much we don't know about what was going on behind the scenes at Archie and Ken's one of the few people still interested in talking about it. But it's also like... I dunno, I just like to keep some distance between me as a critic and him as a creator. I can talk about his work, I can talk about things he's said publicly about his work, but I don't need to drag him directly into it. It's the same reason why I've never interacted with him directly on Twitter, even though people loooooooove to get into arguments with him about Sonic shit. As critical as I've been of both him and his work, I have zero desire to grill him in person.

Were I to interview him, there are basically two paths I see here:

Option A: I do a totally cordial softball interview, magically putting aside my well-established opinions on the guy from my decade spent running TKP, and use it as an opportunity to get some more insight into the creation of the comics from him. And then what? I go right back to poking fun at him on my Tumblr blog that has his name in the URL? I'm pretty soft on the guy these days compared to all the Sonic fans out there who think he's The Literal Devil, but still, there's no way for this to not feel like entrapment to me. Like I'm just playing nice so he can give me ammo for when I turn around and continue poking fun at his work and his occasional legal threat. And even if I never use anything he says in that interview against him, since I finished covering his Archie Sonic run for the blog years ago rarely have any reason to even bring him up, my audience will sure as hell comb through every word he says to find more coal for the hate train.

Option B: I'm more critical of him to his face, in which case I'm basically just bullying a kinda pathetic old man, who's already alienated most of his peers and committed career suicide, for writing some children's comics I didn't like 20-30 years ago. There is not a single iota of me that wants to turn into Ken's equivalent of that asshole who paid to be a guest on the BumbleKast just to ask Ian Flynn a bunch of questions that boiled down to "hey so this story you wrote sucked, why'd you write it that way?"

It just doesn't feel right to me no matter how you slice it. Ken's not some monstrous public figure who needs to get held accountable for his actions in an interview or something. At the end of the day, it's just comics. It's not that serious. He can continue making his weird little Lara-Su Chronicles comics and putting his foot in his mouth of his own accord, and I can continue being like "lol remember when Knuckles got called a 'proud man-child' at his own funeral" as a side thing to my own creative career, and never the twain shall meet

[rubylovessharks]

Azul x reader, smut, fem-reader, dom reader, reader is not MC, they have been in a relationship for a long time so Azul might look ooc (?) depends on how you see him in a very close relationship they had a fight before this so its porn with plot

You were standing Infront of the VIP room in Octavinelle. Just before you were about to knock on the door you thought to yourself, Why did it take Azul so long to apologize? Does he even want to apologize? His text said so but what if he wants to break up? Why would he though? he was the one who started the fight so he is the one held accountable.

You knock once, twice and wait for an answer.

"You may come in." Once you hear that you open the door to see Azul, sitting in his chair with papers on is desk. "You sent me a test to come here. So what is it?" Your words come out bitter, just because he might apologize doesn't mean you are going to be sweet and nice before he does.

He looks up at you and opens his mouth to speak. "Pearl, I know we had this awful fight and I know I was in the wrong. But I beg of you to understand that I'm willing to never speak to you like that ever again." You've been together with Azul for a very long time, and at this point you have seen his more crybaby side. Of course he might not be crying at the moment, but he might tear up any moment. After all he does love you and doesn't want to lose you.

At this moment you remember something that Azul said awhile back. He mentioned that he likes make-up sex and things like that. So you decided to take the opportunity. To test the water you ask "are you willing to do anything to make up with me?" You ask. "Yes! I really don't want to lose you.." You sit down on one of the sofas in the VIP room and look at him. You do a hand motion for him to walk over to you and once he stands before you tell him to get on his knees.

As he does so you can see his red face, you don't know if it's from embarrassment or from how hot he finds the situation to be. You open your legs a little bit and look down at him. "If you actually mean anything I think the best thing you could do for me right now is to pleasure me with your tongue." You can see his face get completely red, his blush even goes up to his ears.

Azul gets into action and pulls down your pants and after that your panties. You are already wet from where this going and the thought of his lovely tongue on your privates gets you more and more excited. You can see that he is nervous so you give him a guiding hand and push his face closer to your cunt. "Azul I don't have all day. If you want to make up then get to eating me out."

Once you finish your sentence you feel his tongue make contact with your lower area as he starts of slow and steady, getting used to this feeling. After all you are going to keep him in between your legs for quite some time. You put your legs on his shoulders and pull him closer, a sign that you want a lot more then his kitten licks.

After a few minutes of Azul getting used to this new position he starts eating you out like a starving man, like you are his last evet meal. And you react perfectly to the situation, mouth agape, sweet sounds coming out of your mouth and of course your hard grip on Azul's scalp. All Azul can think about is making you feel good because what else is he other then a toy for your pleasure? You can feel his fingers go into your cunt as he moves in and out of you, the feeling of both his tongue and his fingers make you feel overwhelmed as you close your legs on his head. All of this pleasure makes you see white as you come on his face, relaxing your body Azul can now move a lot more freely.

He doesn't clean up his face, instead he looks over at your body, so breathtaking. An idea pops into his head as he sees you start to sit up, you want him to pleasure you right? Well Azul is willing to give you this pleasure for hours on end with no signs of stopping. Even if you beg he won't stop until you are passed out from pleasure.

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! Part 39 (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Don't be mad at me, ok!

TW- talks of R*pe, SA, Violence, talks of assault, (please let me know if I missed any).

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, not hate to anyone involved.

Tag list: @imusicaddict, @b00ks1ut , @mstiemountainhop, @awaterfalls, @lovememadly92 @lucyfromtheoldhouse @blueberry-ovaries, @next-autopsy anyone else please let me know.

It felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room. My body shook with each second that ticked by in silence. The room had frozen, I looked from face to face, each with its own horrified grimace or rage filled stare. I glanced over my shoulder, Bull and Martin still held me steady but their faces had paled in colour, Bull appeared as if he was going to be sick as Martin’s had turned from grey to crimson.  

No one uttered a word, the decision of what we were going to do hung on the Captain's shoulders. Speirs still hovered over the man, his glare set firm. He looked like a man ready to kill, and I was ready to see it happen. 

Speirs cocked his gun, the only sound that filled the room. I stilled. Waiting with anticipation, yes kill him! 

Speirs raised the gun to the man’s head, finger on the trigger. The men stepped back, turning away from the scene. But I watched never taking my gaze off the replacement, I wanted to watch the light leave his eyes. If Emily was really dead like he said, I needed to watch him die just like he had her. 

The thought alone almost broke me, he was the last face she saw. So many questions flooded my brain, did he drag it out? Did he make her suffer? What was she thinking of when she had died? The questions alone filled me with so much fury I clenched my teeth together so hard they felt as if they were going to crack. 

How was I going to survive if Emily wasn’t here? Speirs’ actions hushed my racing mind.  

Speirs stood still, raising the gun at the man, a slight tremor to his hand. I could see him fighting with his morals. But this was Speirs, the ruthless killer. Or were those just tales. The Speirs we had heard about wouldn’t have hesitated, he would’ve pulled the trigger without a blink of an eye. But I watched the Captain, as he stared down the man. The man that had killed multiple other people, had shot Grant, had raped my Emily and murdered her in cold blood. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shoot the man who had done the most awful things to innocent people. So maybe they were just tales then.   

He pulled the gun back, the soldiers in the room letting out the breath they were holding. Speirs glanced down at his hand covered in the replacement's blood, he wiped it on the man’s shirt. Looking disgusted. He took off his hat, straightening himself. 

I couldn’t hold back anymore, I ripped free from my fellow soldier’s grip. Striding forward I took a hold of the Captain’s collar, I was foaming at the mouth with rage. 

“What are you doing?! Shoot him! Kill him!” Ron’s face remained neutral as if I wasn’t screaming in his face. 

“Malarkey, two wrongs don’t make a right.” Speirs slipped free from my grasp. 

“He killed people! He deserves to die! I thought you cared about Grant and Em?” I threw insult to injury, I wanted a reaction from him, he was too calm. 

Ron’s head whipped around as he stalked back to me. 

“I do care.” His finger prodded at my chest. “He’s a drunk piece of shit that should be held accountable for his crimes, killing him would be putting him out of his misery. I care for my soldiers, Emily included, and that is why I will not kill that man.” Ron’s voice echoed around the room. 

“But they're dead, he took them from us, so now we get to take what is owed.” I challenged him.  

“Have the MP’s take care of this piece of shit.” He ordered the other men standing around us, not giving me an answer. 

“Grant’s not dead Malarkey. His shot wasn’t fatal. I didn’t kill him, because I have every hope that Emily is still alive.” Ron didn’t let me utter another word, he turned on his heel marching from the room. 

“Grant’s alive?” Tab asked the Captain as he left. 

“Kraut surgeon says he’s gonna make it.” The Captain reported. 

“We have to go find her.” I tried to dart from the room but hands held me still. “We’re running out of time! Let me go!” But the man's hand never let me free. 

“LET GO OF ME!” I yelled, but Bull shook his head. 

“No, Don, we need to make a plan. You can’t go running off trying to find her by yourself.” Johnny said as the rest of the men nodded. 

“We don’t have time!” I argued. “She’s hurt, she’s alone.” 

“We know, but Don if we don’t think about this we are increasing her chances of not making it back.” 

“Don, we will find her, she’s tough!” Babe said from over Johnny’s shoulder. The rest of the men agreed. 

They started making plans of teams of people and where they would search for her. I sat staring at the door. Everyone’e voices fading into the background, why didn’t the two men who witnessed it say anything about her being with them. Why didn’t I check on her before we left? I should’ve had her with me in the first place. I was frustrated, and angry. 

How hurt was she? Was she still alive? What if she isn’t alive?

I felt like I was being suffocated. My breathing was shallow and fast. I was panicking. I couldn’t hear anything over my own pounding heart. 

“Ok so Lieb, Babe and Malark are going to go to the road.” I heard Johnny say, I didn’t even wait for him to finish, I was up and out of the room. I heard footsteps behind me as Lieb and Babe fell into step with me.

Emily POV:

“Captain Speirs! Captain Speirs!” I called running up to the man who had left the main building. 

It had taken me quite some time to walk back to the base after the replacement had driven away. I didn’t make it my mission to get back as fast as I could though. I used the silence of walking to process. 

I couldn’t really, it was too hard. It hurt too much. So I grounded myself as I walked, what could I see, hear, touch and smell. Every time I fell back into the event I would ground myself. For now it was something I would push to the back of my mind. The man looked shocked to see me, shit.

“Emily?” The man stopped in his tracks as I approached him. 

“Sir, is Grant alright?” I asked puffing from my run. 

“He’s alive.” He stated, his eyes scanning over me.

“Good! I’m glad! Th-the man?” I asked hesitantly. 

“MPs are sorting him.” I nodded, sighing. 

“Emily, he admitted he hurt you too.” He uttered softly. I nodded again, unsure of what to say. My left hand was clamped over my right shoulder, but I knew that wasn’t the injury he meant. 

“Right.” I hadn’t really thought of what I was going to say, I didn’t really think I was going to make it back. The last thing in my brain had been how I was going to deal with the consequences of his actions. I truly believed that this was my last night here on this earth.  

But here I was standing back at the base, in somewhat of one piece. 

“The replacement hurt me, yes.” I uttered. Ron looked weary, his eyes sunken into his face as lines of worry formed on his brow. 

“I’m ok though, I think.” I couldn’t see the one man who had been so steadfast in all my times of need, looking so distraught.    

Concern marred his face as I lied through my teeth. I wasn’t ok, but I was still breathing, that had to count for something. 

“Em, you don’t have to be brave.” Ron stepped forward, his hand coming to cup my cheek. I stared at the ground unable to look him in the eyes. I knew if I would I wouldn’t be able to hold it together. 

I took a deep breath trying to steady the swell of emotions that tightened my chest.

“I know.” I uttered, my voice not sounding as solid as I needed it to be. 

“Where are you injured?” Ron’s had still held my face, his fingers gingerly titling my chin up so that my gaze met his. 

“Shoulder, throat, cheek, I think that’s everything.” I stated my injuries like they were items on a grocery list. 

“He shot me in the shoulder, strangled me, and hit me over the head with his gun.” As well as violated my body and soul, but I didn’t add that to the conversation. I wanted to keep some semblance of dignity. 

“You need to be treated.” Ron replied in a monotone voice. 

I studied his features, his cold mask had slipped back and was set firmly into place, looking down at me as if I had only scraped my knee. But a flicker in his eyes told me all I needed to know, he was holding it together for me, but only by a thread. 

His stare looked ready to kill, the slight clench in his fist at his side before he flexed his fingers trying to shake loose the rage that rippled through his body. With each breath he took his nostrils flared, like an angry bull. Ron wanted to hurt someone, but he didn’t, for me.  

“The men are planning to look for you, I’ll tell them you’re back.” He turned quickly, going to head back into the main building. 

“Ron.” I called after him. 

At his name he froze, his back still facing away from me. 

“Let me tell them.” My voice was weak, I felt small again, I had been through war literally but in this moment I had never felt more vulnerable. 

Ron turned his eyes scanning me up and down taking in my demeanour. I stood straighter trying to show I was fine, but my face seemed to give me away. 

“I can tell them.” I tried again, putting some strength behind the words. 

Speirs hesitated before nodding. He marched off to where he was going in the first place before I interrupted.    

I took a deep breath before heading to the building I had been only hours before, happy and unaware of my horrific future. Funny how things could change so quickly.  

I made my way into the building, the foyer was empty, but I could hear voices murmuring. Following the sound of the voice I find the men huddled in the main lounge, before I can announce myself I am hit by a solid wall. 

My eyes travel up the figure I barged straight into, trying my best to hide the wince of pain that shoots through my shoulder from the impact. 

Wide-eyed and shocked Don stares down at me, looking at me like he’s seen a ghost. Babe and Lieb peer out from behind the man curious as to why he had stopped so abruptly. Their faces also pale at the sight of me. 

A tight smile finds its way onto my lips, trying to pretend that I am fine for the sake of the men who all look as if they are going to hurl. 

“Em.” Don says softly, moving forward slowly. 

“Hi.” My voice sounds hoarse, I swallow the sharp pain in my throat. 

“EM!” Web calls from behind Don, as he sees me, he surges forward with open arms. 

The sudden movement sent panic rising in my chest, I knew it was only Web but the alarm bells had already been raised. 

I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, as I gasped for air. My brain was only shouting one thing, survive! Survive! Survive!

I stumbled back, raising my hands to fend away his attack. 

“No!” I yelled hysterically. I pitched backwards, my back harshly colliding with the table behind me. The table tipped as the contents that were scattered over it clattered to the floor.  

My breathing was ragged, outstretched hands shook violently, the only sound I could hear was the erratic pounding of my heart. 

Web stopped in his tracks, watching me with concern on his face. As did the rest of the men, they looked at me like a wounded deer. 

I gagged, my stomach churning as it did so. I clutched my hand over my mouth and sprinted back out the front door. I desperately searched for somewhere to hide, I scrambled over to the hedges that framed the front of the property. Keeling over I emptied the contents of my stomach into the bushes. My hands clung to my pants as I reached, dry heaving until there was nothing left. 

A soft hand landed in the middle of my back causing me to turn around in fright. Don held his hands up showing me he was no harm. 

“Sorry, you startled me.” I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. He stepped forward again but I raised my arm out keeping him at a distance. 

“Just let my panic attack finish and then you can touch me.” I begged, I hated that I had to push him away but I feared if anyone was to touch me at that moment it would trigger another episode. 

I knelt to the ground gracelessly, my jelly-like limbs not leaving much support. My shook with such vigour it chattered my teeth, my breaths were shallow and fast, as the waves of nausea made my head spin. 

Panic attacks weren’t uncommon for me, but I hadn’t had one this bad since my mum died. After she passed I had at least one a day for years. With some anti-anxiety meds and some therapy they finally died down. 

I practised my grounding techniques, focusing on slowing my breathing and distracting myself with my surroundings.    

“What can I do?” Don asked cautiously as he sat at my side. 

“Talk to me, tell me a story.” I said in between my breaths. 

“I will tell you about this girl I met-”

I peeked out of the corner of my eye and a confused look pinched my brow. Don chuckled. 

“Just listen before you get upset.” Don looked over at me, his charming smile shining through the darkness that clouded my mind, a simple gesture eased the pain slightly in my chest. I nodded confirming for him to go on. 

“I met this girl on a tank. She sat up front looking nervous and a bit shell shocked, and for some reason I just wanted to make her feel better. So I asked her where she was from, just to distract her, but I also wanted to see her face clearly in the daylight.” 

New tears welled in my eyes, but it wasn’t from the horrific events prior. He was telling me about the day we met. Right from the start he had only wanted to care for me, he didn’t even know me. 

“We talked for a bit before all hell broke loose, I was kind of in a daze after I had spoken to her. The way she smiled and laughed at my jokes, that’s all I wanted to make her do, smile.” 

I was so focused on his soft voice I forgot completely about the panic that had been strangling me from the inside. I felt my muscles relax and my heartbeat steady. 

“Then we were tossed into battle, she had been ordered to hang back and pick up the strays, but then all of a sudden she was in front of me tending to my best friend. She wasn’t the nervous girl I had met on the tank, she was a force to be reckoned with.” 

“Don.” I whispered. 

“Yeah?” He paused his story, turning to look at me. 

“Thank you.” Reaching out I took his hand that rested on the gravel we sat on. We sat silently, our hands intertwined looking up at the stars in the sky, his fingers brushing over the back of my hand in a soothing manner. 

“Em.” He breathed, I glanced over to him, his brown eyes glazed over as tears brimmed. 

I shifted forward, kneeling beside him as I took him into my embrace. His arms wrapped around my back as he held me tightly, burying his face into the crook of my neck. Don’s body shuddered as he wept, my fingers tangled into his hair as I pressed kisses to the side of his head. 

“I’m ok, Don. I’m ok.” I soothed him. 

“I could’ve lost you.” He pulled back, his wet tears stained his soft checks. Don’s eyes held so much sadness it broke my heart. 

“What would I do without you?” The comment made me think of my decision that loomed over my head. Was I staying or was I going if the time came. 

“I’m here, I’m safe. You have me.” I squeezed him tighter as he sniffed, his hand stroking down my back.   

“I’ll let the guys know you’re safe and then let’s get you to Doc.” He pulled away, letting me dry his tears with my fingers. I bent down pressing the softest kiss to his lips. 

Don’s POV:

I stopped in my tracks, trying not to run into the person who appeared in front of me. My heart almost burst from relief as I took in her face. She wore a blank expression, her cheek cut open and bruised, blood had stained the side of her face, but there were tear streaks that ran through the crimson. 

She gave me her tight lipped I’m-ok smile, which almost always meant she was not ok. I could tell she wasn’t ok just from her eyes. They looked haunted and lifeless. Em’s eyes usually sparkled with joy and light, now that light had been put out, and it killed me. 

“Em.” Her name fell from my lips with ease. I stepped forward slowly, like she was a scared kitten so skittish one false move would send her under the table. 

“Hi.” Her voice was hoarse. Her eyes searched mine, even from here I could see the horror of what they had endured. Web startled all of us, when he yelled her name, running towards her. 

The look of pure panic etched into her features. That moronic idiot didn't even notice until it was too late. She clung to the table, her body shaking as she gagged. Em’s face paled, her pupils  were so big you would think her eyes were black. 

The “no” that wretched itself free from her lips was haunting on its own. But paired with the way she had shaken her head so furiously trying to get her point across, crushed my heart right there in my chest. 

She didn’t feel safe. 

Web stopped, finally taking in her demeanour. But it was too late, she was already out the door quicker than anyone could yell for her to stop. 

Eyes fell on me, but I was already marching out the door, sending a glare over my shoulder in Web’s direction. 

I came outside to find her kneeling on the ground, her body heaved as she vomited. 

Em asked me to distract her, the only thing that came into my head is the first day we properly met. She had sat right on the front of the tank, nervously taking away to Bull, who had been distracted. I watched her realise that he wasn’t listening and let her conversation die on her tongue. 

She nervously shook her leg, even from behind I could see her shoulders were tense as she tried to find anything to distract her. So I had, it was more for selfish reasons really. I wanted to be the one she nervously rambled too, not Bull. 

The whole tank ride we had spoken to each other, she talked so animatedly, her bright blue eyes shining in the warm sun and her rosy cheeks that flushed when I told her jokes. Em was the most beautiful person I had ever seen, inside and out. I think I had fallen in love with her then. 

But then I got closer to her, she made friends with my friends and I found she was the only thing that I could think of, day and night, it was only ever her.  

But I hadn’t told her all of that. I couldn't form the words. 

I sat beside her until she had declared it was over. Pain still haunted her eyes. I was losing her again. I had just gotten her back. I couldn’t lose her. I needed her. I don’t think she even knew the impact she had on me. 

I remembered one night when she woke screaming from her nightmares, she said she had felt selfish. I dismissed her idea immediately. Never had she ever been selfish, she gave everything to me, she leaned on me when she needed and I did the same with her. 

I’m sure she didn’t even notice when she was doing it. Her small jokes, the way she touched me gently, her look of concern and care, the way her eyes found mine in every room she walked into. We looked after each other from the very start.

Em was a light in the darkness. But even sunshine could be covered by clouds. 

I told her I would inform the men she was safe and then take her to get treated for her injuries. I’m sure they had questions, we all did. But she would tell us with time. We wouldn’t push her.

**************************************

Chapter 40

[bonefall]

I'm sitting and looking at somebody's take about the scene of Willow Tail's death

"Clear Sky is fabulous here, and the deaths look karmic. Willow Tail dies blind bc she was so blinded by her wish of revenge she put innocent cats under threat and led to deaths of a medicine cat and an innocent kit. And Wind Runner, who prevented Moth Flight from saving Tiny Branch, lost a life to an injured leg just like he did. Beautiful."

Ig I'll just leave it here like a tribute

"the deaths look karmic" is the only correct thing in this passage. Yes, the writers ARE obsessed with punishing women, gruesomely zooming in on how much pain and suffering they're feeling when those horrible bitches finally get their comeuppance. Glad they can at least recognize torture porn when they see it.

Go one baby step further-- why do the writers keep choosing to frame the women as primarily responsible when Clear Sky is the same violent, egotistical tyrant he always was?

Willow Tail does die blinded-- by Clear Sky. The way he is constantly brutalizing every woman and foreigner in front of him. Just like how he was smacking Moth Flight before he ordered Red Claw to go up into the tree to beat the shit out of Micah and confiscate medicine, because he doesn't care when people die of treatable illness.

But, sure. Sure, it's Willow Tail who caused the death of Micah, when she sees Moth Flight's face sliced open by a known serial murderer and jumps to her defense, and then learns that Red Claw has been ordered to attack a doctor.

For those who haven't read Moth Flight's Vision, btw, Willow Tail is revealed to be the villain all along because she was planting rabbit bones on the border. This made Clear Sky mad because Wind Runner said "make your cats respect the borders YOU invented, bc MY cats didn't eat those rabbits" and she didn't just accept his answer of "nuh uh."

That's why it's totally the WOMEN'S fault that Clear Sky was throwing this tantrum, and not his own. Being offended is a totally valid reason to deny medical treatment and do assault and battery. Why would you ever hold a man in a position of power accountable for his own actions?

Wind Runner also didn't kill Tiny Branch through medical neglect. Clear Sky did. Can't believe I'm still saying this.

HE was the one who prevented Acorn Fur from getting help. He keeps insisting that he never needed Micah or any other foreigner to heal Tiny Branch's ailments. He didn't want Micah when it was a cough, and he didn't want Moth Flight when it was a fox attack.

-Said in the Sap Confiscation Scene

-Said as Tiny Branch is dying, confirming that yes, he DID stop her from getting the help right away.

Wind Runner PROPOSED an embargo at a meeting that SkyClan was absent for, AFTER Clear Sky had already insisted on denying medical treatment to Rocky and got Micah killed. Wind Runner's hypothetical embargo was broken less than a minute later when it's revealed SkyClan was late by several hours because Tiny Branch got attacked by a fox.

Here's how long they're held up by Wind Runner, though. All 214 words, less than a full page in dialogue, of it.

How long would you guess this took? Was everyone here speaking at 0.025 speed? Did someone hit the slow motion button? Were they escaping out of a time bubble?

Why's Shattered Ice never mentioned as killing Tiny Branch, btw? The one who actually did physically hold up Moth Flight (but not the other three Medicine cats, Dappled Pelt, Cloud Spots, and Pebble Heart), even if it was for less than 30 seconds? When he's not even from Wind Runner's Clan? CURIOUS INNIT?

I need to remind you that he was also responsible for preventing Acorn Fur from being fully trained. That was HIS choice. HE closed the border. HE stopped Moth Flight from completing Acorn Fur's training. HE is in the middle of a book-length hissy fit about being told what to do.

And, yet, Moth Flight is held up for less than 5 minutes after Clear Sky forced Acorn Fur to save his son alone until signs of infection set in, and this is all Wind Runner's fault.

So he later kidnaps Moth Flight, expecting Wind Runner to just trust that THIS time he takes a hostage he's not starving them like he did to Jackdaw's Cry, and not launch the two Clans into war. Redemption arc, btw.

And then he gets to be framed like a hero even though he is 100% responsible for every single one of his actions and escalated the situation at every turn. ZERO consequences for him, because him letting his own baby suffer and die was "punishment enough."

The bloodthirsty tyrant, child abuser, woman beater, and known liar was totally justified because It Made Him Sad When Wind Runner Didn't Trust His Word :( This was all actually an evil, scheming woman's fault for planting bunny bones, lol. So she totally deserves getting her eyes ripped out.

At MOST, the narrative considers Wind Runner and Clear Sky "Equally Bad", but only Wind Runner and Willow Tail get personally punished. With death and agony. Surely, SURELY this is not because of writer misogyny? In the Arc of 7 Fridgenings? Perish the thought.

Anyway, glad that I've curated my dash enough to not see that take out there in the wild. Who would even write something so ridiculous, Gray Wing?

[philtstone]

16 (nose kisses), Anne/Gilbert!

The unspoken laws and loyalties of bosom friendship notwithstanding, Anne has been inching nearer and nearer to the edge of her patience with every subsequent Post-Date Diana who enters their humble apartment.

"Oh, Anne," she says the first time, admittedly Diana-ish in the rosy, stalwart flush of her cheeks. "I just had the best time. We got spaghetti, and he held my purse, and I think I laughed all night long."

Fred Wright is nowhere near funny enough for Anne to believe this a sustainable laughter, but Diana is happy, and if one isn't expecting a date to go anywhere -- which Anne is not -- the best outcome of the whole thing would be an enjoyable old time. Anne says, "A grand old success, then," while Diana goes, smiling, to the bathroom to get unready, and that is that.

So Anne thinks, anyhow.

"Anne," says Diana after the second date. "Oh, I keep thinking about him. He's got such nice eyes, and such lovely hair --" (It's so very flat and straight, which Anne has never found alluring, but she holds her tongue) "-- and gosh, Anne, all I could think of was how desperately I wanted to kiss his nose. I felt like a heroine from a romance, Anne, I really did!"

This is less like the Di Anne knows, but she allows that years of being exposed to Anne might have predicted such behaviour -- his nose, really! No one has so alluring a nose that you'd want to kiss it, let alone Fred's flat and snub one -- Diana's is so much more aristocratic -- but Anne manages to smile and nod. She has twelve readings due tomorrow, so she decides -- whilst on a semi-regular video call with recent chum Gil Blythe -- that she'll deal with it later.

"Diana's sensible," Anne tells him, stoutly, while she braids her hair for bed and he squints at his Anatomy 412 flashcards by the sink with a toothbrush in his mouth. "Not like I am, Gil -- she'll grow out of this Fred thing. I mean, she has dreams, for God's sake, and Fred is so -- so -- Fred."

"Fred's a nice enough guy," Gilbert says, muffled around his toothbrush. He spits. "Accounting's got steady income. And, you know, Diana's mom's got to like him -- not like the last few guys."

It's true, of course, that Fred Wright goes to the same Korean Church the Barrys have patronized for years, but Anne sees this as immaterial to Diana's dreams of becoming a self-made creative marketing director in the modern age of womankind.

"We've got exams in a week," Anne says with confidence. "I'm sure she'll be back to herself in no time."

The third date comes and goes, and Diana admits -- after a whole two days of secretive private sighing -- to a make-out session of the most agreeable kind. There was over the clothes action. Anne howls with such violent shock that her prized 2014 MacBook almost flies across the room.

"And it took you two days to tell me?" she shrieks.

Diana is only a very little bit repentant.

Anne becomes convinced. She is losing her closest friend in the world -- to a man.

To Fred Wright. And his perfectly average nose!

Oh, calamity!

"Anne," says Gilbert, for the tenth time, a week after Diana's gone on her fifth date. Well -- they're not really dates anymore. Anne's been informed that her best friend is in a whole relationship with the dreaded Fred. After three days of a stiff upper lip (she had two papers due for women's studies) she has broken down in tears in Gilbert's dorm. Thank God Josie and Moody left an hour ago, because Anne doesn't think she could've borne the humiliation of Losing It in front of them.

Gilbert, somehow, is different.

"Anne," he says once more, gently. She can feel his hands rubbing carefully against her back, and it is helping, really. She hiccups a few times.

"I'm just -- we had these dreams together, Gil. What if she goes off and gets married before me and never becomes duchess of digital marketing, and I'm left alone and friendless and -- and -- alone -- and, oh, I haven't even started my third term paper. Alone!"

At this, Gilbert sighs fully and pulls her into a hug. Anne hiccups weepily for a while longer against his chest, which is surprisingly solid. She supposes she ought to have expected this -- just as she ought to have expected Diana's romantic escapades -- because, as evidenced by the old football jersey he's currently wearing, Gilbert the pre-med student was until very recently something of an athlete. Anne tripped over her own feet the last time she tried running, and so has long since given up the stuff. This noted contrast is suddenly and inconveniently allowing a queer feeling to enter her stomach.

"Anne," Gilbert says a third time, somewhere around the vicinity of her forehead. "You're not alone. You goose. As if Diana would ever forget about you."

"But things might change," Anne says.

It comes out in a far smaller voice than she intends it to. And then, as if inspired, she looks up.

She doesn't mean to, and perhaps she is compelled by some greater force; in that moment, she comes the closest she ever has to Gilbert's own nose. It is far nicer than Fred Wright's, Anne's mind manages to notice. Long and straight and brown, and -- well, there is a freckle or two there, from the sun, but they're much sweeter than Anne's own and something about their proximity is making her stomach flip. His arm is warm against her side.

She could kiss his nose, pops the thought into her head, so very unwanted.

"Not all change is a bad thing, Anne," Gilbert says, his low voice scattering that awful intrusion to the four winds. He is as quiet as she had been, but more steady, somehow. Gilbert is often steady, these days, and steadiness is something Anne has never thought, actively, to crave before, but she has -- well, she has.

Anne takes a deep, querulous breath and pretends her head isn't spinning. Gilbert's expression shifts; she stops staring at his nose. A very small part of her, perceptive in spite of herself, thinks that he is about to take pity on her.

He does.

"C'mon," Gil says, untangling them and helping Anne to her feet with a decidedly chummy arm up. "You've got your paper and I've got this bellringer. I'll put on some tea, we'll focus, and then I can come with you tomorrow to stage a Diana Intervention."

And it won't really be that -- Anne loves Diana too much to want anything but the best and happiest for her -- but she is comforted, all the same.

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 49 Burnt Cereal with Milk Posting

Alright, dear void. It's time. I put on my powerscaler hat and turned on the stove.

Never ever let me cook again though- apparently I'm just as shitty at it online as I am IRL. We are going to Eye Scars at the temple next. Well, "we" meaning Hakuri, Uruha, and some fodder since the train fight DIDN'T HAPPEN. Yet. Is it too delusional to think that we could get the super cool stuff with Uruha fighting off the mooks somehow? Because damn, I was really looking forward to more than what we got...

It's alright though. I can cope with the power of even stronger delusions.

Wasn't there LITERALLY any better way to do this than pulling on Uruha's hair, Hakuri?!

Still enjoying the fact that Chihiro can yell out a random word and Hakuri will instantly understand his full intent. They don't have to plan shit- they just figure it out and it works.

Yeah, they both would know that "Centipede" is referring to Kyora's usage of Magatsumi's ability, but Chihiro improvising the move on the spot and Hakuri adjusting perfectly is awesome. Sad they're separated for now, but hopefully we get more of this stuff through the whole series. They're so busted when they work together because soulmate coding.

But this new Kuro technique is probably why John keeps pressing the assault and forcing Chihiro to act: he adapts and improves at an incredible rate when he's under pressure. Still don't know why John needs him to be extremely powerful and full of hatred for his plans, but maybe Hiruhiko will spill the beans. He's a chatty bastard who gets his jollies from extreme methods after all.

Fuck these guys.

Hiruhiko is the king of "it's just a prank bro, don't get so upset brooooooooooo" assholes everywhere. His origami powers are pretty neat though, I gotta admit. The editor's note for this week was something along the lines of "Uruha's will is also carried on [Chihiro's] blade"... I want that pretty face to get bloodied and beaten, man. I actually detest flippant long-haired guys as an entire character archetype so please let him have an agonizing death. I want to look forward to it no matter how long it takes.

Speaking of the Hishaku, do they have the world's freakiest training camp for new members or something? Ch. 32

Ch. 49

Literal bloodbath of a series.

This is the second time Chihiro's been blinded with blood in a fight. It's a cool and intelligent tactic but like, why? Use the wrong person's blood and Chihiro will die to some horrible infection or disease before those seeds of hatred can mature, my dudes. But I kinda wonder... Chs. 32 & 49 again:

Hiruhiko proceeds to taunt Chihiro like nothing happened after being violently stabbed out of a moving train.

There's something freaky about how the marked Hishaku members are totally OK with being skewered and losing limbs. Even Chihiro winces in pain when he's hit hard enough to lose his arm, y'know? Is it just because this is an ultra-violent action series and the villains need to stay threatening?

No insights, just pure glazing. This panel absolutely stunning... I can clearly see the motion and imagine exactly how it's happening. I held my breath in anticipation while reading this and was not at all disappointed by the gorgeous spread on the next page. God I love the fights in Kagurabachi.

Yet another "Hakuri needs time to recover" reminder. It's been constant since the arc started in Chapter 45... just for the dramatic tension, probably. I've already said my piece about relying on this particular tool too much, so let's move on.

As this site's #1 Hakuri Agendaposter, I think he's gonna be okay in the short term. We don't know if the Hishaku have accounted for him or not, but the focus right now is on the Bearers. He'll be fine. Surely. I can see him going too far to be "useful" and knocking himself out to transport Kumeyuri and possibly Eye Scar's blade- or maybe Hiyuki to their current location if Hokazono-sensei's feeling funny-, but no torture or suffering flags have been raised. Yet. He's just going to be running on fumes for a while...

Official Tier List Drop

Chihiro corrected Hakuri's "nonsense" estimations for all the powerscalers out there, how kind of him. I kind of went on a fuckhuge tangent here but I can't be assed to retake all the screenshots to post separately. So suffer (or skip if you're sane)!

But who could beat Goku?!?!?!/1/1 Obviously, equipped nuke bearers and Hiyuki are in a class of their own. A step down are uniquely strong fighters like Azami, Shiba, Hiruhiko, and John. Then there's the endless Datenseki fodder who are only scary when they're in a group and not exploded yet.

I don't give a flying fuck about who would win against Ultra SSJ Gigaturbo Pepsimaxx'd Goku. However, I do like it when there are clearly established tiers of power. NOT the graded tiers style where things are neatly ranked from coughing baby to hydrogen bomb, mind you. That is the laziest way to explain a universe's relative power dynamic. It also lets me know that the protagonist is going to single-handedly wreck the balance via powercreep not even halfway through the series (unless it's HxH, which only applies to one series: HxH).

I much prefer Kagurabachi's fuzzy approach. The stakes are clearly established: the Enchanted Blades and Hiyuki's Enkotsu are a Big Fucking Deal. They are incredibly strong and all the characters treat them as such. So Chihiro, Hiyuki, and armed Bearers are at the top.

Yet even within that small selection there's a notable differential in power between those who have mastered the weapon and those who haven't. Chihiro is hella strong, but Shiba let us know early on that he's still got a long way to go before he's truly formidable. We've seen Chihiro get bodied by Sojo, a genius who only had Kuregumo for a few weeks; he's in tune with Enten, but he's got a hell of a lot to learn about fighting strong opponents still. He's probably closer in strength to an Elite Sorcerer than a veteran Bearer like Uruha. (The whole thing about hardly ever fighting fully healed and rested up is also a sticking point, but not gonna digress on that.)

Beneath that tier are strong Elite sorcerers. Azami was noted by Uruha as being as "reassuring" as Hiyuki in terms of his abilities, and Chihiro put Shiba, John, and Hiruhiko on par with him. So I think it's reasonable to infer that the strength of their sorcery and their experience as fighters would put them so close to the Bearers in terms of power. The elite Kamunabi guards and task force, by comparison, make up for their shortcomings by working together as a team. They'd be at the bottom of this category -possibly another step below- individually, but their teamwork and experience put them much closer to a Bearer's strength. The Sazanami Tou would be in this category too despite mostly being off-screened by Shiba (he's just that good).

And then there are run-of-the-mill guys like the Trauma, Mud Clone, and regular Sazanami sorcerers. They're very strong compared to an average person but need those Datenseki shards to compete with the elites. This is the true "miminum strength" floor in Kaugrabachi. If you can't hold your own against a rando sorcerer hireling, you have no business being involved in the fights. Of course the Hiruhikos and Shibas of the world will outclass you horribly, but that's the risk you take when being unnamed fodder in Kagurabachi.

This high of a power floor is why I'm glad we don't see regular people like Hinao anywhere near the skirmishes- a sorcerer can easily manhandle them, and the fights Chihiro gets involved in are far more lethal than they can safely stand around to provide commentary for. This means all the insightful remarks come from the fighters themselves and only rarely an omniscient narrator, which is so much more interesting than listening to a non-combatant give a play-by-play. It's refreshing to see the fighting left to the warriors while the regular folks actually run away to safety for once, you know?

That's a key component of why the fights in Kagurabachi feel so different from other shounen so far. I don't need someone who's never thrown hands telling me how amazing Chihiro looks and explaining what he's doing: the author is showing me while Chihiro himself tells me what he's thinking. And when we do get third-party commentary, it's limited to providing vital context. We aren't wasting panels to glaze the fighters and explain everything in excruciating detail. We just see it play out and understand that yes, this is absolutely awesome and it works because of the quality of the composition. And because we don't need a door stopper of a novel to explain what each ability does (this is JJK shade, come at me).

OK, tangent within a tangent aside... where does that leave outliers like Hakuri, Tafuku, Ice Lady, and unarmed bearers?

Tafuku's sorcery has insane utility, but it looks like he himself doesn't get any direct combat boost. So he really needs a partner like Hiyuki to make the most of it.

I'd say he's probably in the Elite tier considering he has no issues dealing with the rank-and-file sorcerers and guards at the auction. He's plenty used to defending himself while Hiyuki wreaks havoc at least. So the combination of skill, utility, and experience make up for the lack of raw power.

So far it seems as though folks like Char and Ice Lady aren't much better off than non-sorcerers. In fact, we've only seen these traits cause a great deal of suffering at the hands of people who want to exploit them...

Their natural traits seem to provide passive benefits that can negate sorcery side-effects in specific situations (like the nausea caused by Shiba's teleportation in Char's case), but so far there's no evidence that they provide any advantages against actual techniques. They're below the minimum power threshold but a smidge above average civilians for now. This could change if we get more information and examples, though.

So Chihiro said, but...

Dude's still looking mighty fine to me.

If all the former bearers are on the same level as Uruha, then they're not truly "defenseless". However, they definitely do need help when facing Elites and many average sorcerers. They're probably in the middle of the "ordinary" sorcerer tier without their blades- competent against the minimum, but at risk against anything tougher.

So yeah. Uruha's not gonna get shanked by a regular non-magical enemy- he's just defenseless compared to most of the relevant combatants in this universe right now. And as soon as he gets Kumeyuri back, he'll be at the apex. He should be able to handle the trash still on the train just fine until then.

Potential Man incarnate

Hakuri's in a weird spot.

He's the first genius in his clan's 200-year history since the OG patriarch and has a huge amount of potential. Even in the wider world he's quite exceptional for having two sorcery abilities available to him. But the actual mechanics of how he allocates his sorcery and trains it are big unknowns right now. Hakuri's basically got infinite potential, maybe enough to put him in the same tier as the Bearers and Hiyuki. But will he have the time and narrative attention to get there? We don't know. He can't even use his powers without knocking himself out at the moment, so it'll be a while before we see any movement on that too.

He's off to the side with a big question mark over his head for now. I need more information and screen time of him fighting while rested to place him. Which reminds me, actually... Kazane's in the same position. He was supposed to be the trump card in the Sojo fight but lost his arm and most of his comrades before he got to do anything. So he and Hakuri can chill on the sidelines until it's time to see them in action once more.

Thanks for tuning in to the worst cooking show on Tumblr, dear void. Next up: Eye Scars, maybe! Chihiro fighting through the streets to get vengeance on Uruha's behalf! Uruha and Hakuri possibly also making an appearance! Stay fresh, bachibros.

[mlmxreader]

let's talk about konigsblog. like, seriously.

if you're in the COD fandom, you probably already know exactly who they are and what level of depravity and disgust that they engage in. so let's talk about it.

for those who don't know: konigsblog routinely writes rape and pseudo-incest fic and tries to brush it off as "dark fic" and as "dead dove", whilst simultaneously trying to negate and undermine the experiences of irl survivors of incest, rape and other abuses by claiming that bc they're writing fiction, it's fine. anyone with a brain worth 2 pence can tell you that their excuses are bullshit and that they're just a fetisher who doesn't actually give a shit about the people who are genuinely hurt by such disgusting material.

now. I write dark fic routinely, I have written about topics such as trauma, heavy gore, serial killing, etc. what makes dark fic dark is the fact that it is about a topic of which you would expect in something akin to a horror film or a horror novel - something like the Dexter Morgan novel series or Thomas Harris' Red Dragon trilogy. dark fic is not, and never will be, the promotion, fetishisation and romanticisation of rape, incest, and pedophilia. the usage of "dark fic" within those circles is merely to avoid accountability and to avoid any and all criticism.

konigsblog thinks that they cannot be held accountable, as they're writing fiction, but when you look at genuinely dark novels from across the spectrum, you can see that they're nothing like whatever abhorrent fiction that konigsblog write. let me give you some examples:

in the Red Dragon trilogy by Thomas Harris, Mason Verger (an incestuous pedophilic rapist) is never written to be seen as someone who is desirable or whose actions are anything but disgusting. Hannibal Lecter (a cannibalistic serial killer) even says this openly several times that Verger is, essentially, a piece of shit.

in American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis, Patrick Bateman (a misogynistic, homophobic, racist serial killer who sexually assaults several women before killing them) is never written to be seen as someone who you want to be near or want to know. he is written as a depraved, disgusting, human being, and is treated accordingly - the novel is written from his POV, but Ellis makes it clear that his actions are VILE.

in Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, the male lead (a pedophilic rapist) is routinely written in a way of which makes audiences DESPISE him and his actions as much as they do his ideology and his thought processes surrounding a child. Nabokov makes it clear that rape and pedophilia are something that should be condemned and can NEVER be something romantic or appealing in the slightest. (side note: Nabokov was a piece of shit who wanted Russia to colonise Ukraine, so he wasn't exactly a good guy anyway)

in The 120 Days of Sodom, Marquis De Sade makes it clear that the rapists and pedophiles within the novel are awful people and he makes it explicit in their actions as well as the way of which they speak; you are not supposed to side with them, or to feel anything except disgust and horror that someone can commit such atrocious acts without having a second thought. the rape scenes are written to PURPOSEFULLY make you (the reader) feel disgust and to feel hatred for these characters.

do you see the difference?

dark novels surrounding topics such as pedophilia, rape and incest are written in a way of which does NOT condone these actions and does NOT treat them as desirable or as material used for one to masturbate to. whereas what konigsblog writes is explicitly written to be the opposite - its written to be desirable, to be something that you (the reader) should find attractive and WANT, it's written for you to masturbate to.

how abhorrent can you be that you would sit there and try to condone such vile and depraved writings? how apathetic towards your fellow man can you be to engage with this?

and there's no point in saying "Well, don't like, don't read" - no. because this is genuinely harmful material of which promotes and fetishises the most abhorrent and morally bankrupt acts known to mankind. this is genuinely harmful, its not a kink that people aren't into and is tagged properly (bc konigsblog RARELY tags accordingly), it is taking the WORST thing that can happen to somebody and turning it into pornography.

if you engage with or even support konigsblog, you do not support or care for rape, incest and abuse survivors - you do not. and don't try and pretend that you do. so many survivors routinely, openly and honestly, talk about how rape pornography, especially in fanfiction circles, is abhorrent and should NEVER be celebrated, engaged with, or supported - and its a travesty that we have to keep doing it and we have to keep saying "no, stop it, this is harmful".

if konigsblog continues to produce these works, and continues to improperly tag and continues to expose these themes as desirable and attempts to normalise this - it is going to hurt people. it is going to cause someone to actually get hurt.

I'm gonna tag a couple of mutuals in this, if only so that they can add their 2 pennies as well; @mockerycrow @kivino

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

I just read your response to star-anise and I wanted to say thank you. It's horrific how NPD is demonized. People will paint every move as malicious, i.e if you make a sacrifice and you're not a narcissist, you're selfless and kind, if you are, you're playing martyr for praise and attention. I find it interesting that people can be labeled as either bad or good for the exact same actions or reactions depending on your likeability and prior labels

when I was in my first anthropology class, my one-day thesis advisor started interrpgating us about WHY certain observed phenomena happened. He asked us why it is that societies tend to send men off to war, and we gave him a million different answers and he tore into everyone, forcing us to look deep into our assumptions of what reality was. He asked us about why we jail homeless people and he did the same thing, ripping apart the explanations our class had been taught from childhood. He asked us why incest was generally considered morally wrong and even then none of our answers could withstand his interrogations.

We were 16, 17, 18, and 19 year olds mind you, he wasn't expecting us to be debate geniuses. But he picked emotionally impactful topics on purpose and held us all in that classroom looking into a mirror and explaining to ourselves what we believed and why while he undermined everything we thought we knew.

Lass was a dick in so many ways, and my decision to respond to his assholery with spiteful rivalry and dogged refusal to cower before him and his smug interrogations of our conceptualizations of reality made me one of his favorite students. He met my wife back when we were still dating (she sat in on my thesis peer-presentation at the end of my senior year) and told me she was a keeper because of the questions she asked me and the other presenters during our Q&As. He was a man who liked living in the uncertain and prickly, and I have to admit that his approach was contagious in some ways.

When I think about the origins of the language of "narcissist", of Narcissus the lover of beauty and the admirer of rare treasures, of the vengeful and insecure Greek gods who tended to dole out vicious punishments to any human who dares to see humanity as equal to divinity, of the angry backlash that hegemony always has to anyone who is unable or unwilling to buy into its inflicted premises....

Well. What seems more likely? That there is some class of people biologically incapable of comfortable coexistence with other humans due to moral debauchery? Or that there is a group of people whose willingness and ability to be subjugated by hegemonic power structures is incompatible with social structures that normalize systemic abuses and violations of self?

I'm not saying that means someone is a perfect flower who has never done anything wrong, but like. Maybe individual accountability for systemic mechanisms of interpersonal and social abuse is still bad even when it's against people who do wrong/bad things sometimes.

I dunno. I think people are comforted by easy moral answers, but I spent 8 year working with Lass in various capacities and never met anyone who could fully step up to the task of defending their beliefs against his interrogations. Like. the man was a moral-grey-area metal-detector of a human being, and no matter how nuanced we thought we'd gotten in our analysis, he was always able to pull a further assumption out for us to examine. I learned to distrust my own feelings of confidence in really interesting ways. At this point if I think I have something all figured out, I take that as a sign that I should take a step back and look for my blind spots. Which I think was the point of Lass's trial by fire approach to teaching in many ways, damn the man.

People are really confident in their hatred of and rage towards "narcissists" and that tells me that the blind spots aren't being monitored. That's all I really need to say that I'm unwilling to take anyone's assertions about narcissism on faith. I don't pretend to have answers (though I continue to find the pursuit of those answers in conversation an admirable and enjoyable process) but I think it's important to be loud about that so that people don't gloss over that element of what I'm saying when I'm communicating about functional interpersonal dynamics.

[many-but-one]

Trauma Informed Biases and TERFs

In light of my ex-best friend being outed as a TERF, I think I want to have a series of discussions. Mainly about the biases that we (community "we") can have and that trauma and biases work hand in hand, and how we cannot allow trauma-informed biases impact our decision making or critical thinking skills, but also a bit about my experiences as a trans man and how being trans yourself doesn't mean you automatically escape transmisogyny. (Spoiler alert: while I'd never say I was transmisogynistic in action, I was in some part biased due to my past traumas, and having a transfemme partner and seeing the way she's treated by others just for existing had to make me rethink everything I understood about what it meant to be a trans woman, which has made me a better person--and I believe a better partner, too.)

First, I'm going to talk a bit about trauma-informed biases. As trauma survivors, we all have them. For example, we were primarily abused by white, Christian men. By all accounts, when we encounter a white, Christian man, we are immediately wary of his intentions. Often without even knowing him or trying to know him, we will already assume he's just like our abusers deep down. While that may sometimes be true, more often than not, a white Christian male who hasn't done much self reflection and growth will mainly just be misogynistic to various degrees and probably not understand the weight of his privilege. That doesn't automatically make him a pedophile who tortures kids like our abusers were.

Branching off from that, and narrowing it down, we get to the meat of the problem, which is men. We have met and known cis men who are by all accounts nothing like our abusers, in fact, the exact opposite. They are sensitive, they are caring, they know their privilege and use it to uplift the voices of their female friends. They are avid supporters of the queer community even if they aren't a part of it. While they are sometimes misguided, they are also always open to learn more and be corrected and change. There are good men out there. However, this doesn't make our bias towards men change. We were hurt by men, we know others who have been hurt by men. People both AFAB and AMAB have been harmed and subjugated by men for centuries, so it's not like it's coming from only our experiences with men.

However, this is where the problem lies. While it's okay to be wary of men for our safety, outright hating ALL men is where it gets dicey. That's where radfem ideology will suck people in, specifically AFAB people. They feel wronged by men, they have been hurt by men, so of course in their mind, men have to pay in some way. Feminism on its own sets to destroy the patriarchy and keep everyone on even ground, whereas radfem ideology often trickles into spaces related to that vengeance aspect of men needing to pay for what they have done in some way. And truly, I can understand. From the bottom of my heart, I can understand. I want the men who hurt me and hurt my friends to pay too. Vengeance (or justice, as many would prefer to call it) is a tantalizing concept, even if only in theory due to how shoddy the justice system is at actually bringing any justice to survivors' lives.

And when an AFAB person enters a radfem space, they will immediately be in danger of developing TERF ideology. This is what happened to the aforementioned friend. Most people will already know who I'm talking about. I think they started in a good place, but the biases that they already held within them were taken advantage of, and they let their trauma-informed biases take root and allow them to follow that TERF path. For the record, they still deny being a TERF, but as everyone has already seen, they most certainly are. TERFs will *rarely* actually self-identify as a TERF, even if they are spouting the most clearly TERF-ridden ideology known to man. The reason for this is because TERF is a "bad word" (rightfully so) and the baby radfems out there who are trying to avoid becoming a TERF are going to start by avoiding anyone who self-identifies as a TERF. Which of course, is not what TERFs want. They want baby radfems to feel welcome and not immediately shun what they teach them, because TERFs do eventually want those anti-TERF baby radfems to eventually become TERFs just like them.

[As a side tangent: I know I sound like I'm calling TERFs predatory in the way I describe their tactics, but I'm going to be completely honest in the way I believe a lot of TERFs utilize cult tactics to find new radfems or radfems who are on the fence between feminism and radical feminism and get them to join their cause. If you examine the BITE model (Behavior, Information, Thought, Emotion)--what is often used to define a cult--it's very clear that TERFs WILL use emotion-based tactics and manipulative tactics to get baby radfems to join their cause, and once their thought processes get changed and they lose their friends who don't jive with those beliefs, they get stuck in the echo chamber. And then they'll get pressured to believe more and more extreme things with the threat of ostracization from the "in-group" for not agreeing. And if someone has already lost all of their friends for joining this in-group in the first place, where else to go but to stay? See what I'm getting at, here? While they may not be as damaging to their own members as some cults, they DO cause a threat to others, namely transfemmes. People in power who share those beliefs make laws that distinctly work to harm transfemmes, e.g. JK Rowling providing massive amounts of funding towards anti-trans legislature.]

So how does this relate to trauma-informed biases? How do we get from disliking or hating men to becoming a TERF? Well, because TERFs utilize bioessentialism as a weapon. They reduce everyone down to the parts that they have (or were observed to have) at birth. While a TERF may not outright say "everyone born with a penis deserves to die" they WILL outright say things like "well, I just think AFAB people ("real women") should be allowed to have spaces that are only for them, you know? They shouldn't be forced to be around women who aren't AFAB" (if they will even acknowledge that trans women are women at all, more often they consider trans women to be men masquerading as women or accuse transfemmes of outright trying to invade women's spaces to hurt them). This is especially apparent in the lesbian side of TERFdom, where they try to use the justification of "not being attracted to penises" to explain that trans women shouldn't be allowed in their spaces. Which, to be completely honest, I do think it's fine to be attracted to certain genitalia and turned off by other people's genitalia, but you also shouldn't let that guide you toward completely excluding trans women from lesbian spaces. You can just choose to not date trans women and call it a day. Is it pretty lame to reduce someone to a set of parts and only date someone based on a set of parts? Yeah, it is, but you're within your rights to date who you want to. You just shouldn't exclude them from the entire space altogether based on your preferences.

For the record, I used to be part of this group of people right here. There was nothing I had against trans women, I was just extremely terrified of the parts they have due to my past traumas, and I didn't want to make a trans woman feel like I was afraid of them for the parts that they have. I didn't want my fear of sexual situations with her to ruin whatever romantic attraction we could have, and I was certain for a long time that this would be true forever.

Until I met my current partner, who is a trans woman.

I'm going to segue into how being a trans man (technically we are genderfluid but we usually present as a trans man to most people) doesn't automatically mean you cannot hold biases against trans women or even be outright transmisogynistic, and that while I do believe trans men have their own slew of issues related to being trans men (such as being perceived as a traitor to your AGAB, or the first time you get clocked as your correct gender but not in the gender affirming way, in the way that the women that you have always held so much community with think you're a cis man and are afraid of you. That's a tough one to come to terms with, personally, and is also why our system tends to lay within the "butch lesbian/faggy trans guy" section of transmasc, so that while we definitely do get clocked more often, it also helps the women we care about so much in our communities know we're not cis. Because no, our goal is not to be to be as cis as cis can be and so our gender ambiguity that we express does us a lot of favors while also opening other doors for trouble, like harassment for appearing as a faggy trans guy or as someone who's clocked as a lesbian) they are a completely different ballgame than what trans women have to deal with on a daily basis just for existing as they do.

Things I've learned about trans women's experiences that I never knew before:

-They may never be able to fully pass and that puts them in danger of harassment or even death for the rest of their lives

-if they come off as too loud or too intense for someone, they will immediately see them as a danger even if the transfemme in question is one of the kindest human beings you've ever had the pleasure of meeting

-if they don't talk in the somewhat-stereotypical "quiet, demure, trans girl" voice or for any reason dress in a more butch or non-hyperfeminine style, they are going to be seen as a threat despite any actions they will have done to prove they are not a threat

-if a trans woman likes to be around kids, some people are going to immediately assume they're a pedophile. This one deeply saddens and disgusts me more than I can even describe

-if they are talkative or ask a lot of questions about something and they come off as a little too pushy or are socially awkward/autistic, people are going to immediately assume they need to be afraid of her despite there being no evidence of that being a conclusion that needs to be jumped to, or they may label her as "creepy"

-if she decides not to opt for sex change surgeries then she's clearly just a man pretending to be a woman, if she opts for sex change surgeries, she's a trap. Same for if she passes well or not. If she passes well, she's a trap, if she doesn't pass well, she's a freak

-people will assume she's always trying to manipulate them in some way, as mentioned above. If she passes well, she's manipulating them and tricked them (usually for sex, but could also happen in a romantic situation). If she tries to disclose that she's trans early on, she might risk out on them leaving her just for being trans and not actually getting to know her as a person

-if she's into sex or hypersexual and comes off strong, at best she might be labeled as pushy or creepy, at worse she may be labeled as a rapist

-additionally, trans women are extremely fetishized, but once she has autonomy and is seen as an actual person and not a fetish object, all of that attraction goes away and she's seen as a trap or gross or whatever other vile concoctions people have come up with to describe trans women in a sexual light.

-many, many more things that I couldn't even begin to list in this post.

All of these affect a trans woman every single day. She's at nearly just as much if not just as much at risk of attack as cis women are. She's much more likely to hear the word tranny in a negative context than a trans guy is. While a trans guy could get called a tranny, sure, they're significantly less likely to be attacked or even killed for being trans. Trans men are often labeled as "confused little girls" which is infantalizing, yes, but trans women are often labeled as creeps, rapists, or manipulative/evil people. Imagine what that does to a person's sense of self? Their self image? Even if she's never done anything remotely that bad, she's going to be labeled that anyway.

And gods forbid she ever does anything that could be seen as kinda "weird" or "bad"--not in the morally reprehensible sense. I mean like she cheated on someone or she does drugs or she says something a little tone deaf ten years ago. Trans women are forced to live life on their tiptoes for fear of being told they are evil monsters. I've seen with my own fucking eyes someone who I thought was an ally to transfemmes (they were dating a transfemme!!!) who immediately demonized another trans girl because she was socially awkward and autistic. Tried to make assumptions that she must be abusive to her partner, tried to claim that because of one interaction with this girl, they already knew that she had antisocial behavior (which I find funny that she says this to us, someone who has significant ASPD traits), which to me alludes that they believe she could be manipulative and hurtful. All because she was a bit awkward in a social gathering! I was appalled and disgusted by this, and it really opened the door beyond what I'd heard from my partner already the types of things that trans girls have to deal with from people that are within their own community that they should be able to trust.

So what does this have to do with not letting our trauma-informed biases rule the way we think about others? I'll keep it as simple as possible with this little flow chart:

Someone (usually AFAB) has trauma with men -> they hate men -> they join the feminism movement -> they veer into radfem spaces because of how vocal radfems are about hating men and they feel they are justified to believe this because of the harm men have caused them personally -> they become a TERF because radfems see people as a set of parts rather than what they actually are -> TERFs spread hatred and vitriol towards trans women in particular -> that hate and vitriol leaks into the LGBTQ+ community because a large number of TERFs are lesbian cis women -> trans women are unable to feel safe even in their own communities

Trans women deserve to feel safe in their own communities. You can be the biggest trans woman supporter ever and still not be a good ally. I thought I was a great ally to trans women before I realized that I was equating trans women's struggles with my struggle as a trans man. And until you really understand what they go through and see it with your own eyes, you may never truly realize just how difficult it is to exist as a trans woman AND you may realize you had biases you didn't even know you had. Existing as a trans man =/= existing as a trans woman. I didn't even realize I had any bias towards trans girls until I realized that I had decided (rather young I might add) that I wouldn't date a trans girl because of the fact that she was AMAB. I didn't realize how much this completely screwed up my view of trans women until I examined it under a microscope, AFTER I fell in love with a trans girl. I don't want y'all to feel like you have to fall in love with a trans girl to understand their struggle and to question your own biases. (though I will say, dating a trans woman has been the best relationship of my life, I love her so much).

Examining your biases and understanding what is trauma-informed and what is an actual issue is paramount. Being wary of cis men is kind of a given, considering the amounts of violence cis men do upon people and have been doing upon people for hundreds upon hundreds of years, but you can't let yourself get into the rut of outright hating cis men just because you've been hurt by cis men in the past.

Interestingly, I've also been abused by cis women, though rarely in as violent of contexts as cis men. I've made myself look at that under a lens too and it made me realize that I greatly distaste old women, and for me, especially if they are 50 and older--though some parts of my system also struggle with any woman older than her mid thirties. I will almost immediately assume an old woman doesn't have my best interests at heart, though it's different than with cis men. While I may assume a cis man might violently assault me in one form or another, I typically have different assumptions with older women and it's definitely something I'm going to have to also examine under a microscope and try to pick apart to really understand if my assumptions are based on verifiable truth ("all old women are bad," like the "all men are bad" assumption) or based on my traumas. My traumas are my own personal truth, but I can't let that affect my relationships I have with men and older women for the rest of my life. Or I could end up a TERF, or like one of those people who were happy that old people were dying of COVID. What a miserable way to live, you know?

-Delphine (she/her)

[animesmolbean]

A World of Pure Imagination

Author's Note: Get ready because this is the longest chapter!

Side note: I saw Wonka at my college theater two nights ago (March 24th. It was my sixth time seeing the movie), and I was so ecstatic to experience it a second time in a theater! It was so much fun watching it with others in my college, they all really enjoyed it too!

Side Note 2: The moment in the GIF when Willy tells Noodle that she did teach him to read was so sweet. He’s so adorable! 🤧♥️

Hope you enjoy this chapter! ♥️

Chapter 13: Operation Change the World

The couple walked all throughout town, talking about what they would do to make sure The Chocolate Cartel and Scrubbit and Bleacher were locked up for good. Willy told Yin about his theory about the rings Slugworth and Noodle owned. Yin told him that he figured out who poisoned the chocolate. Willy told him that he knew because the Chocolate Cartel told him when everyone left after the shop was burned down.

Soon, the sun came up. A new day has started. The two young men were getting closer to the wash house.

"Are you ready to change the world, my dear?" Willy asked Yin.

Yin looked at Willy. "Do you promise it will work?"

"I Pinkie Promise." Willy stuck out his pinky, and Yin did the same, hooking their pinkies together. As they did, Willy frowned a little.

"What's wrong, babe?" Yin asked.

"Oh, Yin, I broke one of our promises. I promised never to leave you alone again. And I did." He whispered.

"Aww, Willy." Yin cooed. "You didn't break your promise. You came back. You came back to me. That's what matters."

Willy still looked a little guilty. "Really?"

"Really really." Yin chuckled.

That brought out a soft laugh from Willy. "I don't deserve you, gumdrop."

Yin blushed lightly at the nickname but smiled. "I don't deserve you, either. You're so amazing."

Willy smiled.

Then, Yin got an idea. "How about we make a promise... together?"

"What would we promise?" Willy asked curiously.

"To love each other always."

Willy chuckled. "We don't have to make a Pinkie Promise for that. I'll always love you."

Yin blushed. "And I'll always love you."

Despite them not needing to make a Pinkie Promise, they did. As they hooked their fingers, Yin brought their hands closer, and he kissed Willy's pinky finger. The chocolatier gasped softly at the intimate action, blushing lightly. But he smiled sweetly and did it back, kissing Yin's pinky.

The couple giggled, and they made their way to enact their plan, still holding pinkies.

(Time skip)

After getting everyone together, Wonka described the plan he came up with while swimming in the cold water after escaping the boat explosion. They were going to use their talents. Noodle, the ingenious orphan, Abucus the Accountant, Piper the Plumber, Lottie the Telephone Exchange Operator, Larry the Man Who Can Speak Underwater, and as Willy lovingly dubbed Yin, His Determined Chocolate Partner. So they could pull off what Wonka called "The Heist of the Century."

Change the world, he said.

As they others walked to start their plan, Noodle and Yin held back momentarily. The pair hugged each other.

"Thank you for coming back for me." Noodle said.

"Of course. I could never leave you. You're my best friend." Yin told her.

Noodle smiled at the sweet boy. "Come on. Let's go help your boyfriend." She teased.

Yin laughed. "He is my boyfriend."

Noodle nodded. "By the way, nice attack on Bleacher. You left a bruise."

Yin chuckled, smirking playfully. "I try."

(Transition)

The game was afoot.

First, they had to go to the cathedral. They had to trick the priest, Father Julius.

As he stopped at the entrance of the cathedral, Noodle, dressed as a beggar, approached him.

"Excuse me, sir, could you spare a piece of chocolate for a straving orphan?"

Father Julius replied, "I'm sorry, my child. I don't have any."

Noodle acted sad, sighing.

He turned secretly, eating a piece. While he wasn't looking, Noodle snuck up behind him. "Then have some acacia mints." She whispered to herself as she slipped the candy into his pocket.

"Yes." She muttered in success.

Meanwhile, at the zoo, the security guard eyed another Big Night Out chocolate, which was delivered with a note.

"Basil Bond, Employee of the Week! That's lovely..." He put the chocolate into his mouth and passed out. Willy, Yin, and Abucus slip into the security lodge and grab some van keys.

Abucus drove the tall and rickety zoo transport van. In the back, Willy and Yin tended to the giraffe.

"Everything alright back there?" Abucus asked the couple.

"Everything's fine, isn't it, Abigail?" Willy asked the giraffe as he petted her to soothe her. Yin giggled when Abigail snorted in response.

They were approaching a low bridge.

"Oh! Tell her she might want to duck." Abucus warned.

"Might want to what?" Willy asked.

"Duck!!" Abucus exclaimed.

Abigail ducked as the tall van just scrapes under the bridge. She came back up with a shake of her head. Yin petted her. "Good girl." He praised.

Abucus parked the van in a deserted alley. Yin slowly guided Abigail to the front of the cathedral.

"All right. You ready, Abigail?"

The giraffe snorted, nudging her snout against Yin's face. Yin chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes." He gave her a scratch underneath her chin. "Now, go get them." He encouraged as he ran back to the van.

"All set." He said as he got back intot he back of the tall van. "Good job, my dear." Willy said, kissing his cheek, making Yin smile.

(Transition)

Everyone went back to the zoo, waiting for Larry to get a call after Lottie directed Julius to the zoo, to do their next part of the plan. Willy, Yin, Noodle, Abucus, and Piper stand around Larry.

He gets the call. "Hello, zoo?"

The rest of the group started to make various animal noises. Piper did an elephant, Abucus did a snake, Noodle did a bird noise. Meanwhile, Yin growled and snarled like a tiger or tried to, as Willy's very accurate impression of a monkey was making him slip a little. He had to resist laughing.

"Quiet down, you animals!" Larry exclaimed. "You too, octopus." He added in his underwater voice. "What? Oh, yeah, I think we did lose a giraffe."

Everyone was still doing their impressions, but more quietly. Yin gave up and was just snickering into his hand.

Okay, geez, I'll send the guys around." Larry hung up. Everyone stopped and looked at Larry. He gave them the okay. Their plan worked.

The wash house workers got into disguises, while the main trio got into the back.

"Nice tiger impression." Willy told Yin, laughing a little.

"Be lucky I wasn't an actual tiger." Yin playfully said, with a gentle smirk.

"Please don't bite me." Willy backed away, but still smiling like an idiot. Yin shrugged. "All right."

The group drove the tall van back to the cathedral. Abucus, Piper and Larry took the tall crate into the cathedral, opening it.

"All clear." Abucus signaled.

The main trio popped out from underneath the hay and got out of the crate. Abucus pulled the lever in the confession stall, activating the elevator. Yin slipped a Big Night Out chocolate on the seat before he got on top of the elevator, followed by Willy and Noodle.

They get down to the bottom, where the crypt is. The Mistress of the Keys looks up, surprised to see the elevator door open with no one inside. She approached it cautiously, only seeing the chocolate with a note.

"With thanks for all your hard work, Father Julius and the Chocolate Cartel." She read. "Oh that's sweet." She eats the chocolate.

Before the trio knew it, she hit the white wine and red wine layers, and she started to sing and dance. The song was one that Yin recognized as the one Cartel would sing to anyone they were bribing people with chocolate. He had to admit, the song was catchy, but for the wrong reasons.

"Wow. She can really move." Willy muttered.

Yin and Noodle gave Willy a side eye look and Yin poked his side.

"Watch it, pretty boy." He warned playfully.

Noodle snickered quietly at Yin's "warning".

Willy only smiled softly. "Don't be jealous, marshmallow. You're the only one for me." He muttered sweetly. Yin smiled shyly.

The Mistress of the Keys hit the whiskey fudge layer and got upset. She called someone on the phone; it turned out to be Basil, the zoo security guard. The trio were surprised.

"What are the chances?" Noodle whispered. Willy and Yin agreed.

After the call, the lady passes out. The coast was clear. Willy slipped out from the gap above, landing on the floor. Yin followed after, then Noodle.

They walk to the vault. Noodle snatched the keys and unlocked the lock. Then, Yin and Willy turned the handle, and the vault door opened, revealing the inside of the vault.

"Cool!" Noodle exclaimed.

"It is, isn't it?" Yin asked.

"Now, we have to find that ledger." Willy said as he placed his cane onto he ground, turning it into a hanger, before hanging his coat and hat on it.

Noodle and Willy started to look around. Yin stayed back. "Hold on. One of us should be back up there. To keep watch."

Willy knew where this was going. "Yin, I can't let you do that." He said worriedly, approaching the boy. Yin cupped Willy's cheek. "I'll be alright. Besides, I can run and get help if something goes wrong. Besides, the Cartel probably thinks I ran away after you "left" last night."

"You do make a clever point there, my dear Yin." Willy agreed. "All right. But please, gumdrop, be careful." He kissed Yin's nose.

Yin chuckled and did it back. "I will. Find that ledger." He said. After that, he pulled away and went back to the elevator and got in. He pushed the button to go up. As it did, he played his hands and feet on the sides and climbed up to the roof of the elevator to hide himself.

As the elevator stopped, it opened, and he hoped no one would investigate it or see his magenta coat peeking out from above as he held himself up.

The elevator door closed after a few agonizing seconds, and he sighed with relief. He climbed down and sat on the seat, waiting to hear anything suspicious.

After a few minutes, he heard Julius talking to someone. His ears pricked up when he heard him name drop Slugworth.

'Oh no.'

Then, he heard many cars approaching as the people in the cathedral were forced to leave. Yin took this opportunity to leave the elevator and blend in with the chaos.

As he neared the entrance, he heard a click behind him.

"Stay where you are."

That voice. That familiar, slimy voice. Yin gulped nervously and turned to see who it was.

"You."

(Transition)

Willy and Noodle searched the vault to find the ledger.

"Anything?" Willy asked.

"Nothing!" Noodle replied.

"Well, keep looking." Willy continued his search.

"It's not in here, Willy."

"Abucus said that it was here."

"Abucus has been in the wash house for the past four years. Maybe all of the scrubbing has gone to his head. Cause all that's down is a bunch of stupid old chocolate!" Noodle chugged a box of 'Slugworth' chocolate at the wall.

When it did, it opened a secret panel. Noodle steps over to it, and in the open panel, was the green ledger.

"Willy, look!"

Willy came over.

"We did it, Noodle. Got them."

Just as they were about to celebrate, a gunshot sounded in the vault. They turn around and see the three chocolatiers standing in the doorway. Slugworth has fired into the air. He slowly stepped forward, his gun raised.

As surprised as the duo were, what made them freeze in horror was the sight of Yin, tied by his wrists with a necktie, being held begrudgingly by Fickelgruber.

"Yin!" They exclaimed in horror.

Slugworth smirked evilly. "Naughty, naughty, Mr. Wonka. You've caused us quite a bit of trouble."

He turned to look at the tied up Yin. "We caught your little partner trying to escape the cathedral. I thought he wouldn't be of any trouble, but he has more drive than we gave him credit for."

Yin struggled in Fickelgruber's arms, but he held him in a tight hold. He looked at his boyfriend and best friend, guilt evident on his face.

"Him and your... urchin."

Willy, despite the situation, stood tall. "But she isn't just an urchin, is she, Mr. Slugworth? You're family."

Noodle and Yin looked at Willy in confusion. "What? What are you talking about, Willy?" Noodle asked.

"You know that ring? The one you got from your parents? Well, Mr. Slugworth has one just like it, don't you, Mr. Slugworth?"

Noodle looked at the ring in surprise.

Slugworth stepped forward. "As a matter of fact, I do. That belonged to my brother. Zebedee."

Noodle looked at Slugworth. "Was he my father?"

"A hopeless romantic is what we was. Fell in love with a common little bookworm, but died before they could marry, leaving me sole heir to the family fortune, or so I thought..."

Slugworth went on to explain that nine months later, a woman came to his door, asking for help for her newborn. That newborn was Noodle. He agreed but instead threw baby Noodle down a laundry chute where Mrs. Scrubbit found her and named her Noodle. She saw the ring, thinking it was an N, but really, it was a Z.

When the mother returned, Slugworth told her she died, making the woman howl in sadness. But, he paid her and escorted her from his property.

As Yin listened, he felt sadness and anger well up in him. Sadness for his best friend. She didn't deserve anything that happened to her. Anger because it was Slugworth who caused her misery. He struggled again, lowly growling, but Fickelgruber held him tigher.

Noodle, with tears in her eyes, asked, "What was her name?"

"Eh?"

"My mom? What was her name?"

Slugworth thought about it. "Ooh. Now let me see, umm... No, I don't think I can remember that. I'm sorry. But you have to understand, she was very poor."

Fickelgruber retched.

"Sorry, Felix." Slugworth said.

Yin scoffed, shaking his head.

"Her name was Dorothy. Dorothy Smith. It says so, right here." Willy read the ledger.

"Dorothy?" Noodle whispered, smiling softly. Yin gasped softly. "Willy.." He whispered.

"Well, what do you know? I guess you did teach me to read, after all."

Noodle smiled at the eccentric chocolatier. Yin smiled as well, happy for his boyfriend.

"Well, this is all very touching, but back to business. We'll take that." He gestured to the ledger.

Fickelgruber roughly pushed Yin onto the ground. The action caused Yin to yelp and land on his hands and knees. Before he could do anything, Prodnose grabbed a hold of his bound hands, holding him in place. Fickelgruber took he ledger from Willy and returned it to the secret compartment.

"How much chocolate have you got at your factory, Fickelgruber?" Arthur asked.

"About eighty thousand gallons." Felix replied.

"Prodnose?"

"And I've got one fifty. Should be just about enough." Gerald replied.

"For what?" Noodle asked.

Slugworth smirked evilly. "Death by chocolate."

Yin's eyes widened in horror. "No!" He exclaimed, trying to escape.

Arthur pointed his gun at Yin. "Silence, brat."

Yin panted softly, seething with anger and desperation.

"Gerald, deal with this urchin." He gestured to Yin.

Gerald dragged the struggling Yin towards the entrance of the vault as Yin watched Willy and Noodle ushered into the chocolate tank. He looked at Gerald as he proceeded to bind Yin's ankles with a few cloth napkins. He could hear the others talking as he spoke to him. He knew negotiating with Prodnose was hard because he was almost as willing as Arthur to rid the competition. He struggled with the man, moving around a lot. Prodnose had to hold his legs down to keep him still.

Once he finished, Yin looked at Gerald and growled at him. Gerald stepped back, scared of Yin. He saw Fickelgruber walk towards the controls of the tank, Prodnose joining him.

"Let them go! You're going to kill them?! Just because Willy can make better chocolate than any of you can in your lives?!" Yin exclaimed in anger.

Arthur closed the tank door and pointed his gun at the young man again. "That man would've put us out of business. We can't have that. So, this is a necessary precaution. We gave him many warnings before but he didn't listen. So, this is the best thing we could do." He said, a sickly smirk on his face.

"You all are monsters."

Arthur only chuckled darkly, and together, the three turned three handles, presumably to release their chocolate to fill the tank.

As they turned to leave, walking past Yin, not caring that they were taking two innocent lives, Yin growled at them.

"Mark my words, you greedy, spiteful slugs, I will make sure you three are held accountable. I don't care how long it takes. You won't get away with this."

Arthur looked at the boy one more time. "Oh, Yin, we already have."

With that, they left.

Yin growled and struggled against his binds. They were really tight. He fiddled with the cloth bindings. He growled and used his teeth to undo the binding around his wrists. Eventually, they came undone, freeing his hands.

With his hands now free, he untied the cloth around his ankles. Once his ankles were free, he got up from the floor and ran towards the chocolate tank, pounding the door.

"Hold on, guys! I'll save you!"

He started to turn the handles, trying to turn off the chocolate. They weren't moving.

"Come on!" He said, his voice shaky.

After a minute, nothing budged. Yin yelled in frustration.

He was not going to give up. He won't lose the people he loves the most. Not again.

"Well, I was certainly not expecting to see Mr. Wonka's partner here."

[lyledebeast]

Dirty Fighting and Slanted Storytelling

I would venture to say that one of the most aggravating things about The Patriot for Jason Isaacs fans is the narrative's refusal to acknowledge what we can all see: Tavington is objectively the best fighter in the story. He just is. He defeats every foe who crosses his path in the river scene, including the one who shoots him. He beats Benjamin Martin to his knees after being wounded by him numerous times. Martin only wins because he's the hero (and because he is nearly pelted with helpful props!)

It's especially grating when the heroes are held up as martial paragons in spite of their conduct. It seems the audience is meant to judge their combat tactics by their morality even when those tactics are dirty. During the fight in the woods after the British take Gabriel, Martin knocks a British soldier down and tomahawks him in the face while he's trying to get up. After he stabs Tavington's horse out from under him, he fires a shot at him while he's disoriented and empty-handed. But when Tavington sucker-punches him during hand to hand combat, the camera moves in on Martin's pained expression, inviting the audience to sympathize with him. Poor man. Who could've guessed that choosing violence would put him on the receiving end of it?

A particularly good example of this reading is the river scene in Stephen Molstad's novelization, which is as much an interpretation of the film as this meta. He describes Tavington as being so rattled that the priest is reloading his weapon as fast as he is that he spills his powder and later fleeing on his horse in terror after he stabs Gabriel, looking over his shoulder in expectation of being pursued. And yet between the moments so described we have Tavington, wounded in the side, lying perfectly still with his back to his assailant waiting for him to approach so he can flip over--from the ground, mind!--and stab him, like this is something a jumpy coward could manage. Tavington has balls of steel to match the buns the camera so lovingly frames in these shots.

Of course, Molstad does not write this scene from Tavington's perspective. He describes this part in third person as follows:

Tavington suddenly flipped himself over and drove the point of a sword into Gabriel’s gut, stabbing upward toward the heart. It happened so suddenly, the young man never had a chance to defend himself.

This sentence immediately follows a paragraph from Gabriel's perspective where he contemplates whether he should butcher Tavington alive the way his father did the Cherokees and French at Fort Wilderness. He briefly considers that he may be "too good a man" for this, but when he considers what his wife must have felt perishing in a burning church with her family and community, he decides he's justified. This scene not only frames Gabriel's choice as Tavington's fault but suggests that blame for Martin's gruesome actions also lay with his victims. That Tavington is framed as the aggressor for defending himself from such a fate is the cherry on top of the reality-averse sundae.

Gabriel and Tavington's deaths are often connected by people who see the second as making a right out of the wrong the first represents, but what we see on screen indicates that Tavington wins both of these fights by being stronger and more resilient than his opponents. But that does not matter because he's a bad man. That Martin regularly brutalizes men who cannot defend themselves, and Gabriel attempts to follow in his footsteps, is treated as equally irrelevant to their status as good men.

What this reading fails to account for is how satisfying it is to see Martin's dirty tactics fail. When we compare his first fight to his last one, Martin looks less like the noble hero and father and more like a high school bully who has been beating up seventh graders to take their lunch money and now has to fight the captain of the boxing team. It is euphoric!