#at least if you were the bad guy you had autonomy

[lgbtlunaverse]

Obsessed with characters who portray themselves as worse than they are. Who are lying to everyone including themselves about it. People generally assume if someone's lying about themselves they're trying to look better but sometimes they're trying to look worse. They attribute agency to where they had none, add intend to accidents, try to convince everyone that this is something they did instead of something that happened to them.

[elizakai]

I like thinking about their more canon adjacent dynamic (character wise)

MINI ANALYSIS TIME

Because while I love the soft interpretations, even WITH those let’s be real; that’s not how they’d act off the bat

Horror would be extremely judgmental (fair) and hate Dust for what he did. He’d despise him and probably be very passive aggressive. Making jabs and making his disdain apparent when they have to interact. I think getting a read on Dust is also difficult and would piss Horror off. Horror is unpredictable and has a sadistic streak, if he was mad or manic and had Dust in a corner he’d have no qualms about manhandling the guy. (And Dust probably wouldn’t do much to stop him.)

Meanwhile, Dusttale’s creator was asked once how Dust may feel if he met Horror, to which they said he feels bad for Horror. He likes him, sees him as someone who went through something horribly undeserved. In my mind Dust is somewhat protective of Horror.

I interpret these clashing of dynamics as Horror’s just utter disdain for this guy, and Dust’s resigned acceptance of Horror’s judgment. He’d agree with him if he were to judge himself, but I think a part of him wants Horror’s approval. He doesn’t EVER expect to get it, but Horror is….

While he’s seen hell, he’s almost a less tormented version of Dust himself. Deep down they are the same. Horror has suffered greatly, but even still hasn’t hit the deep end dust has, and I think he’d want to protect that sort of innocence he’s granted. One could think of it as him protecting a piece of himself he himself has already sacrificed. And wanting APPROVAL from him, wishing to be forgiven, craving that small piece of validation or understanding as he tries to reconcile with himself.

Horror’s formed opinion makes sense, he agrees with it, and simply wishes he disagreed, that he could have proof of himself being a FRACTION worthy of forgiveness or understanding.

The judge in both of them has both formed an opinion of the other, and they happen to differ greatly. Horror sees Dust as an abuser and Dust sees Horror as a victim.

I like to imagine that, while reluctantly thrown into the same general vicinity, Horror would grow to be more understanding (again if we are going with a PROGRESSIVE plot line) and come to understand that, yes, he wasn’t WRONG, but there is nuance to the situation. They both have a very grim understanding of what it’s like to be trapped. I think he has the capacity to understand Dust better if he was given time. His hands aren’t clean after all, and he knows what it’s like to be forced into a situation and to feel backed into a drastic decision. He knows what it’s like to lose your autonomy and to feel your mind break itself under pressure.

I think the simple fact that Dust wouldn’t TRY to change his mind or justify himself would be part of why Horror could come to understand him. He’s devestated by his actions, he is by no means a sadist.

Horror coming to understand Dust and sort of reconcile/forgive him I think would be rather BIG for Horror, especially if you factor in other situations he now has to consider. (For example, his Undyne and her drastic attempt at freeing the undergroud…) reconciling his OWN arguably cruel decisions he has made with pure intentions, when he feels there’s no other choice (like his Papyrus and tricking him into doing something so outside of his beliefs, to protect him)

It would also be healing for Dust to get that reconciliation with Horror because again…Horror’s opinion actually may MATTER.

And in the same way that Dust may see Horror as a sort of person to be protected from further harm, Horror would probably pick up on all of the VERY bad habits Dust has that (in my observation at least) are EXTREMELY similar to his own habits/past habits (isolation, obsession, deprivation, paranoia, bringing harm to self etc) and I could see him being sensitive towards those and trying to prevent it worsening (it’s a sore subject💔) Horror is shown to prioritize taking care of those he cares about, even when he’s a bit mad, and he has the capacity to grow an understanding for someone he doesn’t like initially :))

I think they have potential to be VERY good for one another, Horror (while being fucked up) encourages (and maybe forces) better habits and actually has an opinion that matters to Dust, and Dust is inclined to be VERY loyal (Horror needs someone to show him loyalty.) to anyone who cares to give him the time of day, as it’s far beyond what he’d expect, and he’s got the sympathy/protective streak towards Horror as an actual in character detail.

And from there it would be wonderful to explore their dynamic in whatever way you like to interpret it🤫💥

I could go on but I’ll stop here, if you read this all CONGRATS!!!

Share your thoughts I love it

[kaitsawamura]

-> somebody come get her (she's dancing like a stripper)

-> SUMMARY

You have bills to pay. That's the only thing on your mind when you go in for your shift at the strip club. The only thing on your mind until you see Daichi.

Daichi doesn't expect to find you, the girl of his dreams, at the strip club. In fact, he's 99% certain he shouldn't be here. But now he can't stop thinking of all the things he'd let you do to him.

Will your mutual attraction pay off for the both of you?

-> STATS

Pairing: Daichi Sawamura x Stripper!Reader (get that bread!)

Rating: M for Mature, MDNI

Warnings: My take on a corruption kink except Daichi's the one getting corrupted

Tags: Corruption, strangers to lovers, smut I tell you, filthy filthy smut with my husband, strip club au, oral (m receiving), p in v, creampie, a bit of choking (like a tiny bit), hair pulling, nasty nasty f*cking with my husband, sex in public (sorta, it's in a public restroom), a little dominant confident Reader (if I missed anything y'all can let me know in the DM's)

Word Count: 6.3K

Author's Note: I knew the moment I saw Mint's post . : HERE : . that I had to write something about it. They obligingly gave me the go ahead to be inspired so off I went a-writing. Obviously, this might be considered mild corruption by some but to me? This was like I went into a blackout and woke up not knowing what year it was. So, here you go, enjoy some nasty filthy smut with my love!

-> LINKS

Main Masterlist

HQ Masterlist

Playlist

Moodboard

“Rent’s due on Monday,” your roommate reminds you, concern masked with sympathy clear on her face. She’s not trying to be mean or overbearing but damn it, the stress of the situation makes you want to snark back. But you don’t.

“Do you have your half?” She nods. You nod back decisively. “I’m working tonight. Fridays are good days to work. It’s my first one without shadowing anyone. I’ll have the rest of my half in tips, don’t worry.” Her face brightens as she pours herself a glass of orange juice, sunlight streaming in the kitchen window of the tiny two-bedroom apartment you share with her.

“Thank god. The landlord’s being an ass again. We’ve been late one time. I have half a mind to give him a list of all the things wrong in this shithole instead of the check.” You roll your eyes conspiratorially but in reality, you don’t know if you’ll make your half in tips or not. Maybe your boss will give you an advance. You’ll talk to him tonight. He was surprisingly reasonable so the odds were at least in your favor.

Either way, you’ll get the money. You just hope you’ll be able to put the nervous energy thrumming through your veins to good use.

Daichi Sawamura should not have come here tonight. The guys in the office had convinced him, said there was a new pretty girl who was exactly his type. But this place was not the sort he was used to coming to. It wasn’t that this establishment was a bad one or that he had any problem with it; people had to make money how they could. Empowerment and autonomy and all that. It was more that he felt a little inadequate if he was being completely honest with himself. He wouldn’t know what to do with someone from here. He was used to good girls, the ones who had a routine and didn’t like anything too kinky. Which was also fine. But there were things he wanted to try, had a suspicion he would like that he just couldn’t ask of anyone he’d been with. He scrubbed a hand over his face, realizing the conversation he was having completely in his head was stressing him out.

“Dai, bro, just relax. She’s pretty. You better tip her good but you don’t have to talk to anyone but me and the bartender if you don’t want to. Just enjoy the show.” Kuroo smirks at his friend; it has been a long week. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve to wind down. Part of him just wishes he was doing it in the comfort of his home, with his favorite ramen from around the corner and a good movie. But who knows, maybe he’s getting complacent.

So he sits in the seat Kuroo has pulled out for him, a front-row spot directly in the middle of the runway. Right in front of the center pole. The seats are comfortable and he’s got a whiskey neat in his hands. He can feel a little of the stress release from the muscles in his traps, can feel his jaw unclench just in the slightest as the first warm sip of whiskey flows down his throat.

This is fine, he reassures himself, pushing work from his brain. Kuroo takes a sip from his own drink, a fruity one that he insists is the most delicious ever but is just a little too sweet for Daichi. The place is in a lull right now, preparing for the next act. But soon there’s a growing murmur from the back. Someone whistles, and a few others catcall. Daichi bristles just a bit, but he can’t even see anything until you hit the steps and it’s then that Kuroo elbows him.

“That’s her,” he says, raising his voice so Daichi can hear over the now thrumming bass. He feels it in his toes, in his chest, in his head. But your steps, the bounce of your tits in a skimpy bright blue bikini top, he feels in his dick. It barely covers anything, just like the matching bottoms. Cute little bows keep them on your hips and your heels are a deep black. As you get closer, your walk slow and sensuous, he can see the peep toe and your fresh French manicure poking through. He tries to adjust his navy suit pants with little success. He’s in so much fucking trouble.

You strut up the steps, the blinking LED strips embedded into the floor blinking in rhythm with the bass and the rhythm of your hips. You put a little bit of extra attitude into the sway tonight, praying to any higher power that will listen that tonight will be a good one for tips, even though it’s your first show without any supporting performers. Part of you gets it; you’re new. The owner has to make sure you know how to use those doe eyes and amazing tits properly. The other part of you, the one that knows you’re hot and knows exactly what you’re doing, wanted to smirk a little when your boss had said you wouldn’t get a Friday on your own until you’d completed two weeks of bartending and shadowing.

Your hard work has paid off though, and when you take your place at the center of the runway, you know you have your audience hooked even before dancing. There’s one guy in particular, right below you. He got arguably the best seat in the house along with his friend. You’ve seen the friend before, all confidence, slicked-back black hair, and a steamy attractive smile. Your coworkers say he’s pretty regular and always tips well. Thank god. The one next to him though, you don’t know anything about him except for the fact that the five stages of something flow across his face as you make eye contact with him. The low lighting does nothing to hide the blush flushing from the open neck of his crisp white button up to his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. He’s got a wad of cash already set casually on the bar top in front of him.

You smile, bright and unguarded, knowing. You’ll have the rest of Monday’s rent if he’s an indication of the rest of the customers that will be coming in tonight. He turns away, uncomfortable. Aw, how sweet. So unlike some of the slimy patrons you’re used to. Something you don’t like trips low in your belly. The biggest rule was no sex with any of the customers. It was in place for a reason and a majority of the time was a good one. You remind yourself of it as the song for your first dance starts playing over the speakers.

Buss it, buss it, buss it, buss it

Is you fuckin’? Two shots, fuck it

You take a deep breath, hands on the shiny silver pole, and wrap one leg around it. The metal is cold to the touch but something else has goosebumps crawling up your bare skin. When you spin, turning in the new guy’s direction, your suspicions are confirmed that the feeling is not the rest of the eyes on you but his. And his are suddenly, somehow, the only eyes you want to perform for. So you do.

Daichi can feel Kuroo snap to attention next to him; he can’t blame him. You’re stunning and you know it. You look like maybe you shouldn’t know how to do this so well, but none of that matters as all coherent thoughts leave Daichi’s head when you spin and drop, rolling your hips so your ass faces him. You turn and look at him as you rise slowly, a deliciously naughty smile still all over that pretty little mouth. He rushes to take a sip of his drink, drums his fingers on the bartop, runs them through his hair, anything to occupy his hands. Because he knows the only place they really should be is all over you. Oh, the things he would let you do to him. He’d do anything for you. He takes another gulp of whiskey, disappointed when he drains the heavy glass.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. He knew you were making eye contact with him but when you get on all fours and crawl to him like some lethal jungle cat, the end of the song nearing, he knows he’s in for it. And he’s okay with that. Any doubts he had, about being here at least, have vanished completely. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him but he leans forward to meet you where you are at the edge of the stage. The crowd is roaring around him, the cheers only growing louder at the chemistry shooting like electricity through the air between the two of you. They’re jealous cheers he thinks, although he’s sure as hell not looking away long enough to check anyone’s expressions to confirm.

“Got anything good for me, pretty boy?” Your voice is pitched low as you blink big eyes at him, a smirk playing on your lips. Because, goddammit, he is pretty. Prettier than any other patrons you’d ever catered to. You would not mind if he came to be one of your regulars, regardless of any funds that might be exchanged. You would not mind if he came regularly—in your cunt, on your ass, on your tongue… A girl could take her pick with a man like him. Thick dark hair, glittering brown eyes, full lips. A barrel chest and wide shoulders to boot. No sex with the customers, no sex with the customers, no sex with the customers…

You watch, heat pooling low in your belly, as he unbinds the cash you had noticed earlier. You can’t quite figure him out. Because he’s making eye contact with you as he spreads the folded bills, licks his thumb, and pulls out two crisp Benjamins but there is a nervous tremor in his large hands as he passes the bills to you. Your eyes widen, the act dropping momentarily before you catch yourself and push out your bottom lip in a pout.

“Hm, a girl should get a little more than that for such a good performance, don’t you think?” You are completely used to this, the schpeel. You’ve done it thousands of times at the last place you worked and hundreds more at this club. It’s part of the persona within these walls. Mystery man is apparently not used to acting this way. You can see the war within him as you take the bills and he leans back, trying to be casual but every line of him is taught like a rubber band about to break.

“You here all night?” Don’t give anyone your schedule. If they like you enough, they’ll figure it out on their own by being a regular paying customer. You nod, liking this new game. Toeing around something you would normally consider dangerous, if only for all the variables far out of your control. But that makes it all the more fun, especially when he clicks his tongue behind his teeth and replies “Good, then so am I. I have more where that came from. Do you?”

Kuroo is watching the interaction with a gaping mouth. Daichi doesn’t have a clue where this new side of him is coming from. Except. Except he does. And it feels damn good. Despite being sure it is glaringly obvious that he is leaping so far out of his comfort zone, you seem to be very receptive. He shouldn’t be entertaining the idea of staying all night. He could use some sleep. But he could also use that mouth around his cock. You probably have rules, rules that should be followed, for your safety. Daichi knows he’s safe, but you don’t. He most definitely should not ask for your number or give you his or ask what time you’re off. You shouldn’t answer him.

But you do, nodding earnestly when he asks if you’ll be here all night. He has no choice. There’s something about you that he can’t shake off. The extra cash is of no consequence to him, and maybe, just maybe… No, he won’t let that thought go further. He won’t imagine how you’d look on your knees, or bouncing on his cock. He won’t imagine you writhing beneath him or securing him to his headboard with those cuffs he’d bought but never gotten to use. He won’t imagine you breathily calling him pretty boy again even though, fuck, he wishes you would so, so bad.

“What’s your name,” you ask before you can stop yourself, before you rise to your feet. The rules here are good ones, meant to keep both the patrons and performers safe.  You’d worked at other establishments before that didn’t care so much about safety so much as they cared about money.  Your radar has never been off in the past and maybe that shouldn’t be enough for you but everything about Mystery Man makes you want to break every rule ever set before you.  There’s something about him that makes you want to risk it all.  You want to hear him whimper and you’d place bets that you could get him to do it in record time.  Even now, his breathing is shallow and he seems unable to answer you.  His friend leans over, elbowing him into action.

“His name’s Daichi.  And mine’s Kuroo.  Ya know, in case you wanted to know.”  His smile is genuine, not creepy at all.  You return the grin as you stand before turning back to Daichi.  He straightens a little, snapped back to reality by his friend.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say to Kuroo.  He is attractive, just not who you have your eyes set on.  But it’s good information to pass along to your coworkers.  Judging by his tailored suit that fits just as good as Daichi’s, you’d wager his job pays like his friend’s.  The music swells again, the DJ cueing to your next song.  “Kuroo, make sure your friend doesn’t go anywhere.  Tonight’s for him.”  Kuroo scoffs in friendly disbelief at Daichi’s luck.

“I’m hauling you to the club more often,” he says to Daichi, who flashes a quick small smile.  Oh god, that smile could bring anyone you know to their knees.  It could certainly do it to you.  That smile alone could get you to do anything Daichi would ask.  You point at Kuroo as you take your place at the center pole again.

“I’m holding you to that, Kuroo.”  You brace your hands one over the other on the pole, and shake your ass for all it’s worth.

Body crazy, curvy, wavy, big titties, little waist.

Daichi’s going to have a stroke, he just knows it.  He can feel the veins in his forehead and neck bulging.  The blood has flowed elsewhere too.  His cock is so hard it feels painful.  There are several different ways he could get relief, most of which he should not be considering seeking in a public area.  But it’s unbearable and there’s no way he’s going to let himself come in front of all these other people.  He waits for the end of your current number and then he’s standing so fast his chair screeches out behind him; a couple of people look his way but for the most part, you’ve got everyone’s attention.  Kuroo glances sideways at his friend; he doesn’t say anything, just smirks as Daichi tosses another hundred on the bar top, telling Kuroo to give it to you before rushing to the bathroom.

He makes his way down the hall and notices there are several doors marked RESTROOM in bold capital letters.  Thank god there are single-person stalls.  He stumbles into one, shutting the door and locking it with shaking hands.  The music is still audible, even here; it seems to have dropped to a low steady hum.  Intermission.  Perfect.  Daichi turns to the sink and splashes cold water on his face, one last attempt to snap himself out of this fucking trance.  Because that’s what this has to be.  He’s getting all hot and bothered over someone who he doesn’t even know.  And god, he wants to think that you like him but he knows he’s tipping good and he’s not one of those creeps that can’t recognize it’s your fucking job.

The image in the mirror is one that almost shocks him; his eyes are glazed, and his hair’s a mess.  Just once, he just needs to come once and then he can stay here until the end of the night like he said he would.  He’ll tip you like a good customer would.  Then he’ll leave and he’ll never come back.  Because this?  This is Daichi out of control and he’s not sure that’s a good thing.  Maybe he should go back to making love to nice girls in his king-sized bed.  Yes, that’s what he’ll do.  He’ll leave here and he won’t come back and he’ll never think of you again.

Daichi unbuckles his belt, the metal of the buckle clanking as he yanks his zipper down.  He lets out a pained breath, his cock straining against his underwear.  He slips his hand into the elastic band, taking it into his hand and bringing it out into the air.  He backs up to the wall, the cool air offering little comfort for the engorged head, and closes his fist around himself.  A breath comes fast and heavy out of his mouth as he starts jacking himself off slowly, trying to make the moment last.

You watch as Daichi stands abruptly, so quickly and sharply that he almost topples his chair over.  You watch as he tosses another bill on the bar top, leaning in to say something to Kuroo.  You watch as he throws one last glance your way before beelining to the bathrooms.  Idiot.  Absolute idiot is what you are because you’re making your way off the runway, ignoring the audience as a low boo goes through the crowd.  Your boss catches your eye from the end of the bar and waves you over.

“What the hell is going on?”  It’s not said unkindly but more with an air of annoyance.  This is your first Friday night on your own and you might be blowing it.  But you don’t care.  You put on a fake wince and point at your head, trying to look as contrite and imploring as possible.

“I’m so sorry, I know it’s my first Friday and I’m so grateful.  But I’ve really gotta pee and I’ve got this horrible headache starting.  Can I take ten?  Just ten minutes, enough time for an ibuprofen to set in while I go to the bathroom, and then I’ll be back out.  Please.”  You put those big eyes back to use, blinking slow and tilting your head slightly like you’re trying to relieve the pain of your fake headache.  Your boss squints his eyes but doesn’t protest as he pulls a bottle of Advil from behind the bar.  He hands you a couple with a glass of water.

“Ten minutes.  Go to the bathroom.  Take a breather.  Then get your ass back out there.  I’ve seen the business you’re encouraging after two sets.  You’ll be back up there as one of my main performers if you keep up the good work.”  You smile as you throw the pills back with the water and hurry in the direction of the restroom, pulling on one of the extra robes from the bar.  Now to find Daichi.

A couple is making out in the hallway; you brush past them and knock quietly on the first door.  A voice answers quickly that the stall is occupied but it’s not Daichi’s voice.  You knock on two more doors before getting to the last one.  You suppose he could have gone into the multi-stall restroom but you’d seen the look on his face when he’d stood and you’d bet all the cash he’d given you so far that he wasn’t coming back here to take a piss.  You rap your knuckles on the last single-person stall.  You’re rewarded with his voice coming from the other side.

“There’s someone-ha-there’s someone in here!”  He can barely get the words out; you know what’s going on in that stall and you want to help.  You rub your thighs together, realizing you’re already getting wet.

“Daichi, it’s me.”  This is stupid.  Maybe he doesn’t even like you that much.  Maybe you’re just some stripper at a strip club.  There’s a heavy silence now, almost solid enough that you could cut it with a knife.  Another pause and you’re getting ready to leave, cursing your confidence for all that it’s getting you, but then you hear the click of the door unlocking.  He opens it but only just so.  Still, it’s an invitation and one you are eager to accept.  You open the door just wide enough to slip through to shield yourself from any potential wandering eyes in the hall.  The scene inside the stall nearly wrecks you.

Daichi has backed up against the wall, as far away from you as humanly possible.  It’s so obvious that he’s been jacking himself off. His hair is messy, his eyes wild like he was already on the brink. He’s desperately trying to cover his cock with his hands and even though they’re large, they can’t cover it completely. You meet his gaze, which he tries to avoid, his eyes fluttering left then right with shame, before finally settling on you. Something trips across your skin.

“Babe, let me help you with that,” you whisper as you direct your line of sight to his cock. It twitches as you move closer, slowly, as if you’re approaching a cornered animal. Daichi groans a little when you reach him, one hand steadying on his shoulder and the other reaching up to touch his face.

“This is—this is not what it looks like, I swear. I promise I’m not some creep, I just—” You put a single finger softly to his lips, making sure he’s got his eyes on you. They widen just a bit. In the brighter light of the bathroom, you can see how rich the color of his irises are, golden brown like sunlight streaming through an autumn wood, or espresso, or something corny like that. Fuck the rules.

“Daichi, can I kiss you?” The question is out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. His mouth drops open but his eyes rove from yours down to your lips, then your covered chest, and back up. Finally, he nods so you guide his face down to yours and kiss him. His lips are soft and warm and pliable. He makes a little sound in the back of his throat, so unlike the image he’d put out walking in this place with his fine, tailored suit and stack of cash. Your hand slips from his shoulder and moves down the ridge of his pectoral, then lower still to the hard planes of his stomach. You trail your fingers over the now wrinkled fabric, close to his undone belt and open pants. His cock jumps against your abdomen past his hands and he gasps. “Is this okay?” You ask the question, certain that Daichi just needs the chance to give in. He nods again so you smooth your hand lower until it wraps around his cock.

Daichi’s head thunks against the wall of the bathroom as another sharp breath explodes from his open mouth. “Oh, fuck,” he growls quietly. You move your hand experimentally, softly, swiping your thumb across the head, gathering the bit of precome at the tip and smearing it about. You can’t decide what you want to look at more: the red bleeding over Daichi’s skin from the neck up, his heaving chest, or how his cock looks in your hands. He’s so… responsive. Each turn of your wrist has him shuddering beneath you. More. You need more. You want to see him beg. And part of you also realizes that he needs this too. You drop to your knees and his eyes snap back open as he watches you. “What’re you doing?”

“Only what you want me to do, Daichi. Unless you don’t want me to?” You don’t even finish your sentence before he’s shaking his head. He wraps his hand around yours, enveloping it, and moves it once, twice, over himself. A thought occurs to you, one you’re denying even as you ask him “Daichi, have you ever come down anyone’s throat?” The answer is obvious but you still feel incredulous as he tells you no. The veins in his hands are bulging and he’s still, like the calm before the storm. You lean in, maintaining eye contact, as you blow a breath over his cock. “Do you want to?”

It’s like you flipped a switch. Daichi, slowly now so you have time to pull away if you want to, curls his fingers in your hair, stroking them along your scalp. “Yes, please.” He whispers it, certain this is a dream. This has to be a fucking dream. He’s had a blow job before but never has he ever asked to come in someone’s mouth. He’s a clean guy but he’s not clueless; he just assumed most people thought it was gross and never had a problem with the fact that no one wanted to do that. At least not anyone he had been with. But, oh, he’d thought about it, lots of times. Most of those times in one night.

His pupils are blown wide as you lick your lips and take just the tip, swirling your tongue over the head. His skin is smooth, molten hot. The way your eyes never leave his is something else entirely and when you hollow out your cheeks and relax your throat to take all of him, he thinks he might die. He’s trying to maintain some semblance of control but it is already dwindling to nothing. There’s a coil building in his abdomen. Not yet he thinks viciously. Not yet. You take a few more pulls before releasing him with a pop. Frantic, he feels frantic. Maybe you decided you didn’t want to do this and he’d have to be okay with that, he couldn’t blame you but god damn—

“Daichi, eyes on me.” The man’s Adam’s apple bobs as he locks in on you again. “Let go, babe. Show me how you want it. Pull my hair. Set the pace. And when you’re gonna come, you come down my throat. Nowhere else, you got it? I’ve got five more minutes. Think we can get you there, pretty boy?” He nearly blacks out when you say those words he needed to hear again. Oh, yes, yes he’s sure you can. His eyes search yours once more before fisting his hand in your hair, tightening experimentally. You smile around his cock, deep-throating him once more, but waiting expectantly. He’s not going to come back from this. You’ve ruined anyone else for him. And he’s accepted his fate.

The moment he lets go, the moment he breaks down whatever wall is holding him in place, you can sense it. You place your hands on his thighs as he pulls you nearly all the way off before shoving you back down. Your eyes water just a bit but you feel the slick gather between your thighs. Yes, the girl inside of you that wants to see him to the end hisses. He sets the pace, a strong and quick one, but somehow still gentle. If you said you needed to stop now, you somehow know he’d do so immediately. He twists a little more, angling your head just how he wants it. You set your teeth down ever so lightly just to see….

Daichi whimpers and gasps, the sound nearly a sob on his lips. You swirl your tongue again and suck. “Ha—shit. Just. Just like that,” he grits out as he grips tighter. It hurts a little, your hair and your knees, but the pain swirls with the pleasure in a delicious slide of skin against skin. Your nails dig into his thighs again before he takes one of your hands and closes it around the base of his cock. You grip, working your wrist along with your mouth. He bucks against you, a jerky movement. “I’m close, fuckfuckfuck I’m close. I’m gonna come.” His voice lies somewhere between a bark and a whine. He can’t decide if he wants you closer, or farther, to stop or keep going. His brain is short-circuiting. He tries to pull back just a little bit, but you won’t let him in the best way possible.

You quirk your wrist and tilt your head in just a certain way… Daichi cries out, long and broken, as he curls in over you, his orgasm washing over him in waves so intense his vision goes black. His entire body shudders with his release, his form towering over you as he spurts ropes of come all the way down your throat. You milk him for all he’s worth. Not a single drop is getting away from you, no way in hell. Next time, you want him to come in your pussy. Next time? God, you want there to be a next time. He’s still leaning over you when his breathing slows and steadies; his hands are bracing themselves on your back rubbing soothing circles there with his thumbs. He helps you to your legs and steadies you for a moment.

The silence stretches on as you look at each other, both a little shocked at what just conspired. Daichi slowly puts himself back into his pants and you help him buckle his belt. You’re both on the verge of saying something either extremely brave or extremely stupid with each moment that passes. You’re about to make the first move again when he reaches up and takes your jaw in his hand, running a thumb along the corner of your mouth to gently push the last of his spend into your mouth. You lean into the touch and welcome his finger, sucking it clean just like his dick. He thinks he might be in love with you.

A breathless giggle comes out of you as you back away just a fraction, trying to give yourself space from the startling sensation fluttering in your stomach like butterflies. Your boss is gonna kick your ass if you don’t get back out on the floor. “I would invite you to my place to continue this after I’m off but it’s a little crowded and the walls are thin,” you say, hoping against hope that he wants more just as much as you do. There’s no room for doubt when he leans in and kisses you, deep and slow, tasting himself in your mouth.

“That’s no problem, princess. If you’re still feeling this when you’re off, I’ve got a penthouse all to myself.” Oh, there it is—the swagger you expected him to have. Your eyes glitter as you smooth out your hair, knowing it still looks good enough to perform. If anything, the smell of sex and the appearance of your swollen lips will get you better money, as long as your boss doesn’t catch on. You don’t think he will. “I’ll find you at the end of the night.” You nod, suddenly the bashful one.

Somehow, everything that just transpired did so all in your ten-minute break. In fact, you have one minute to spare as you strut back to the runway, giving your boss a wink and blowing a kiss to the stupefied audience.

“Harder, Daichi, harder.” You can barely get the words out as he thrusts inside of your aching cunt. Your face is pushed into the pillows on Daichi’s king-sized bed, your ass in the air. The sound of skin slapping on skin in the quiet of his room is pornographic but you can’t waste any thoughts on being even remotely embarrassed. Tears stream down your face as he continually hits that spot inside of you that you’ve only been able to hit with a dildo and even then it never came close to this. Daichi’s a machine, the way he keeps going. After you sucked him off and he came so quickly earlier in the night, he was determined to make this one last longer. One of his hands is gripping tightly into the plush of where your hip meets your ass cheek, the other is splayed over your back, even now caressing the skin, alighting it with goosebumps. “Oh, fuuuuuck,” you whine as that same hand snakes around to your neck to pull you up.

His fingers and palm ghost over the skin as he thrusts up into you and it’s all you can do to hold to his thighs for dear life, your nails digging in so hard you’ll know they’ll leave a mark. “Are you close, princess?” He whispers it labored into your ear, his breath hot, his mouth even hotter as he leans in to nip at your pulse point from behind. You nod frantically, almost unable to answer. “Can I come inside, baby? Will you let me? Will you let me be a good boy for you?” His hand moves from your throat to your clit, stroking one slow circle over the oversensitive nub. Thank god for birth control.

“Yes, Daichi, yes, come in my pussy. Oh, god, yes be a good boy for me.” You squeal as he thrusts hard, once, twice, swiping his fingers over your clit again in a more concentrated pattern and you feel your first orgasm of the night sweep over you as Daichi finds his own release with a mangled, animalistic groan.  You think he’s done, especially when he pulls out leaving you feeling way too empty.  But you’re wrong, so, so wrong.  He proceeds to flip you over and push back in, a ring of white forming around where he’s begun thrusting inside of you again.  

“I thought about this all fucking night.”  He surges up over you, grabbing your wrists and pulling them above you.  “I thought about that pretty little cunt around my cock.  I thought about how pretty you’d look laying in my bed.”  One thrust, slow and teasing.  You roll your hips up to meet him, even though your thighs are weak and shaking.  “I’ve never–I’ve never fucked anyone like this before, it’s,” he leans in to suck on your pulse again, runs his tongue over the salty skin there, “magical.”  You whimper beneath him when you feel the familiar coil tightening once more in your belly.  

“Do you think I can make you come again, Daichi?  Can you come for me one more time?”  He groans, sealing his lips over yours as he releases your hands so that can pull him closer into you.  You scrape your nails from the nape of his neck into his hair, and grip, breathless, as his rhythm becomes choppy again.  God, you don’t know how he’s still going.  The two of you are so frenzied, the blood in your veins hotter than a blue flame.  “Look at me when you come, baby, look at me,” you whisper, bringing your hands to his cheeks.  His eyes are glazed, his face strained but still beautiful.  “I’m going to touch myself now, okay?”  His mouth pops open again as he nods, before watching as you wrap one arm around his shoulder and bring your other hand to your clit.  You swipe around his cock, collecting some of the mess you’ve both made there.  You know how to pleasure yourself and with Daichi’s expert stroke, it doesn’t take long before it snaps over you, the walls of your pussy squeezing around him forcing spend from him one more time.  It’s not as explosive as the first time but still enough that you can feel the wet leaking out onto his sheets.  “So good for me, Daichi, look how good you are for me,” you chant as you wring the last of the pleasure from each other.

When it’s over, he stills, pulling out of you and collapsing onto the bed beside you.  There’s a sheen of sweat covering you both.  The cool early morning air coming in Daichi’s open window creates the perfect juxtaposition of sensations.  He reaches over to trace patterns into your palm.  “Can I hold you?”  The question is so sweet, it makes you huff out a laugh.  The man just blew your back out and he asks if he can hold you.  But you are more than willing to oblige him so you roll into his open arm and lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.  You wait a moment before looking up at him, relishing the feeling of his fingers now tracing patterns into your arm and shoulder.

“Didn’t you mention something about handcuffs earlier?”  He looks down at you jerkily, a sheepish grin on his face.  You smile mischievously.  You’re going to ruin him.  He’s going to let you.  And he’s going to love it.

“Let me make you breakfast first, yeah?”  You nod and breathe in the smell of him, all sex and musk and expensive cologne.  Neither one of you knows where this is going to go but right now, it doesn’t matter.  You yawn and snuggle closer.

“Just so you know,” you intone sleepily, “I like French toast.”  He laughs softly, his own body relaxing into a lazy slumber.

“Hm, French toast?  I pinned you as a pancake kinda girl.  Good thing I also like French toast and always keep the supplies in to make it.”  His breathing is slow and shallow, matching the rhythm of yours.  The sun peeks over the cityscape around you as the two of you go under, cradled in each other’s arms.

This work and its digital elements (photo credit to photographer) are © Kait of @kaitsawamura 2024. Please do not alter or copy this work. Please do not repost this work to other platforms without my express permission.

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #53: Healing Right

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery, (past) vampire whumper, broken bones, past loss of bodily autonomy, offscreen surgery, emotional whump

Whumpmas in July Day 18: Ache

back to this guy :)

-

Jim rubbed at the bump on his arm where the bone didn't heal quite right, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. The bone on his forearm went at an angle, up and up, before suddenly dropping off where it met misaligned with the rest of it going to his elbow. Bones, they'd told him there were two, but it was easier to just think of it as one.

It hurt, but it wasn't a bad hurt. Jim knew bad hurt. It was a dull ache he'd gotten used to over the past two years. It didn't hurt like the snap when Kane cracked Jim's arm open with his bare hands anymore, and he had pain meds now anyway. He'd tried to get on some stronger ones, but Liz had told him it wasn't a good idea, that he'd get hooked. Jim wasn't very good at disagreeing with people anymore, so he just took her word for it.

But he'd get some now for sure. Even Liz said it was okay this time. Because he had to get his arm re-broken.

Every day as the operation got closer, the dread grew more and more. He knew it wouldn't be like the first time. He'd be conked out, and he'd be allowed pain meds, real pain meds. It wasn't a punishment, and if all went well, his arm would be fixed. No reminder of Kane every time he looked at it. Probably no dull ache. It was even his own choice.

They couldn't fix the scar on his neck, neither the mark or the pain, so this was the best he could do to scrub off any lasting reminders Kane had left on his body. Liz's friend Laken had suggested a tattoo to cover it, but the idea of a needle going into his neck was so horrifying that the thought made him want to throw up.

But he could do this, at least. Even if breaking his arm again would be scary, he needed to claw his body back for himself. He needed to know it was his again, not Kane's. No matter how much it would hurt.

“I don’t belong to anyone. My body is mine. I’m out," Jim whispered to his reflection. Afraid to say it any louder, like Kane would be able to hear and swiftly correct him.

He got dressed, hiding his neck and arm under a turtleneck. He'd started dressing in them every day, though he knew he would need to take it off for the surgery. One more thing to dread about it, but he told himself it was worth it.

"You ready?" Liz asked as he came downstairs.

Jim shrugged. "As I'll ever be, I guess."

-

The operation was a success. If there was anything at all to thank Kane for, it would be that he'd made a relatively clean break.

Jim's arm hurt like hell when he woke, but he knew it wasn't as bad as it would be without the meds. He had a cast this time, and a real sling, not one he had to make himself. His friends kept wanting to sign the cast, but something about it made him wildly uncomfortable in a way he couldn't explain.

He knew the old him would have jumped at the chance to have all his friends sign it. Probably would have given out points for who could draw the best doodle. He was practically a social butterfly when he was nineteen, before Kane got to him, but now it just seemed like he kept finding more and more disconnects with his old friends. They had jobs and babies and memories of the past five years together, and all he had were Kane and panic attacks.

Even though his friends kept reaching out and inviting him to stuff, he was too neurotic to act like his old self. It felt like putting on an act, it felt wrong. And being his real self was even worse: he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want them to know.

His cast remained unmarked.

-

He woke with a scream a week after his surgery, his arm exploding with pain, far worse than it'd been during his recovery.

Jim looked around wildly, but couldn't see the source of the pain in the dark of his room. He sobbed, clutching his arm protectively to his chest. He'd been so badly-behaved lately that he couldn't even pinpoint what it was he was being punished for.

He flinched back into the headboard with a whimper as the door flew open. "Please don't," he begged, trembling.

"It's okay, it's just me," Liz soothed. She sat down next to him. "Nightmare again?"

"No, I don't- I don't think so?" Jim struggled to catch himself back up to reality, but with the haze of sleep leaving his mind and Liz's presence grounding him, he came to the conclusion it wasn't a punishment at all. "I hit my arm in my sleep," he realized. "Sorry for waking you. Didn't mean to."

"You're all good," Liz assured him. "I wasn't even asleep. Getting myself back on schedule for when I go back to work."

Jim's stomach turned at the thought, even though it was no surprise. "What if something happens to you?"

"Someone's gotta protect people from 'em. Plus, I know we live in the cheapest place in the country, but I've gotta get back to work," she pointed out.

"There's other jobs. I'll get one again too, once I'm better. You could just... not go back." As much as Jim hated living by the border, the fact that it was so cheap to live here at least gave them some leeway. At least they didn't have to worry about rent, even though selling the house was nearly impossible if they ever wanted to move.

Liz patted him on the back. "Not for me, there isn't. It'll be okay. I won't be alone, and I've been doing this for years with no issues."

"What about that?" Jim pointed to the scars on her face, faded claw-marks running dangerously close to her throat.

"That barely even counts. You should've seen the other guy. Dead, for what it's worth. Most vampires won't even fight us, they just decide it's not worth the trouble and run back home. It's gonna be fine." She gave him a quick hug. "You gonna be okay to go back to bed?"

"Yeah. Just... be safe. I can't lose you again," Jim said quietly.

Liz gave him a sad smile. "I know how you feel. I'll be as safe as I can. Just go back to sleep."

True to his disobedient streak, Jim couldn't manage to fall back asleep, mind racing with fear. Liz getting taken by vampires, subjected to the same hell as him, or having her mind stolen from her entirely. Kane showing back up to steal him away in the night while Liz is off fighting other vampires, arriving home too late to help. Jim reached a shaking hand under his pillow and took his stake- a real one this time- and held it close as he sobbed, trying to be quiet and not disturb Liz again.

He could only hope his arm would heal better than he was.

-

i'll be putting out two one-shots next! one about a fairy whumpee on friday, and one about an alien whumpee on monday. after that, more Jim in Distress!

event: @whumpmasinjuly

taglist in reblog!

[dr3amofagame]

yeah like cdream is someone who is not very good talking and has problems with communication, he never was someone that made other characthers want to follow him and stuff and sometimes was a dick but the thing it's how people just used him being reserved to talk over him and stripping him out of his autonomy and humanity and treating him like less than a animal

like ... to be fair to people, dream was dogshit at communicating for like, a lot of the server. he really didn't let anyone on that things bothered him until pressed, and then when pressed framed things in practical objective ways that made him come off more authoritative than bothered by the way he was treated. really, honestly, it's not even until like, around the exile conflict where he's communicating at all abt his feelings and by then he's also lying half the time and purposefully crafting a dishonest mask of himself to project towards people to make them think that he's a crazy murderous person that has to be locked away? and also was losing his whole mind.

even if we look at stuff like, lmanburg, isn't it telling that the only people he's talking about being bothered by lmanburg to is ... like, skeppy. or being upset abt his houses being bulldozed and griefed to sapnap and george. he's not really made it a habit of communicating to other people, especially the people that are doing the things that are bothering him, that he's you know. got an issue with it? and when he does do that communication it's like, stuff like "give me back the things you stole immediately. or i kill your pets" ASKFJLAS like

like, and even then, right, c!dream still had quite a lot of friendly interactions with people on the server? i wouldn't say he was all around hated early on--but he was seen as someone kind of unpredictable, kind of Weird As Hell, kind of morally eeeeh with lmanburg's influence on his reputation. He was the big bad in lmanburg but mostly he was just, a guy that was around and could sometimes give you lots of shit and could sometimes be kind of a dick. like it's just--there's a lot w/ c!dream where people did stuff that freaked him out not really meaning to, because there's a sort of trophy-like nature attributed to THEEE dream, and then c!dream didn't exactly communicate either and would sometimes play into people's assumptions there, but overall the balance of it all was sustainable and people generally were able to interact peacably (or at least, solve their disputes so they wouldn't be permanent issues) until manberg/pogtopia up to november 16th really had everything get really serious for everyone in a short period of time. between the revive book's effects on c!dream's, everything, and the way that manberg/pogtopia is really the nail in the coffin for his reputation (and you know, a natural consequence of his guy not telling anyone shit except for apparently like the people he absolutely shouldn't have been telling shit? and also literally DIED???) and just everyone being a mess after the whole debacle, things just...snowballed out of control in a way that they couldn't really re-settle back to being normal the way they had before

[theerurishipper]

I still remember when s5 bible leaked and in it, the ending stated : "Marinette will lied to Adrien about his father and she will use his amok to change his perspective toward his father." Or something along the line since I forgot the exact line.

And people were like "Lmao, there's no way she will do that. She knows Gabriel is a bad father."

Except now it's trully happened and people saying "She did it for him, out of love!" And "Even if she did give him command, "be yourself" isn't a bad command anyway" as if the idea of someone giving other a command isn't inherently wrong. Not a suggestion or motivation, it is a command! She has no business to control Adrien's life, even more so since she only know a surface level about his life.

Just because Adrien said "Only Marinette understand me" doesn't necessarily means she trully understand him, especially when she barely talk to him prior dating and her understanding of him is mostly from the magazine (and I bet a groupie group).

I don't think the bible mentions anything about Marinette using the Amok. I just read it through right now and it doesn't mention anything about the Amok, so it's up to personal interpretation. Personally, I don't believe Marinette used it, but the scene itself is rather ambiguous on that front. And the show is so broken in its view of the morality of using a mind control device on a fellow human that I wouldn't be surprised if it was revealed that she had done it.

But if people who believe that she did it are defending that decision, that's fucked up. There's no justification for controlling someone's mind like that without their consent. If she wanted to help him be himself, she could let him figure himself out on his own terms and support him, or she could, you know, ask him if he would like her to help him that way. At the very least, doing it with his full and willing consent is better than essentially violating his autonomy and free will.

Marinette does know that Gabriel is a bad father. She may not know the extent of it, perhaps, but she does know that he locked his son up for years and controlled his mind with a magic ring for years, and she still makes the choice to respect Gabriel's wish and lie to Adrien. There is no justification for this, I'm sorry. There just isn't. "Doing it out of love," is the most pitiful and frankly ridiculous excuse there is. Gabriel was also abusing Adrien "out of love." That doesn't make what he did any less horrible.

And you're right that Marinette doesn't understand or know Adrien that well. The show likes to tell us that she understands him like no other and that he feels free with her and all that BS, but it doesn't show us that. What it does show us is that Marinette does not have a clue that Adrien isn't perfection personified until Risk, after which she never put in the effort to get to know him as a person ever again. Instead, he chose to pursue her and literally felt obligated to change himself for her sake. Which is like, fucked up, cause his narrative is about learning that he doesn't have to change himself for other people and he's explicitly trying to be the perfect guy who asks nothing of Marinette for her, and the show pretends this is all fine and dandy.

This is a very unhealthy relationship, even more so now that Marinette is gaslighting Adrien into loving his abuser. This is super fucked up.

And for those who believe this will be dealt with in the future, the bible does have this to say:

So much for that lmao.

Thank you for your ask!

[orion-nottson]

I shamelessly believe in the Decepticon cause tbh. Like sure, their honors gotten dulled and replaced by Megatron's hunger for power. But you can not deny their cause. It started off with good intentions. Like all they wanted was to rebel against an unfair, overpowered council and have equal rights for their people.

Plus, it's clearly stated pre-war Cybertron was horrible and plagued with discrimination. I hate to be a Megatron apologist. But if I was a cybertronian in the great war? I'd choose the Decepticons too.

(Pretty sure I'd regret it later tho)

i do believe i've had this ask marinating long enough. (you taste scrumptios btw! 😋) so please enjoy this mini-essay. i've been thinking about it for. years. oh authoritarian fascist regime that is the decepticons, how intensely you've strayed from your original goal and manipulated your followers via appeals to social frustration and promises of identity... oh megatron, you never stood a chance did you? the power got to his head! 😃

...truly a you either die a hero or live long enough to become a villain the dark knight christopher nolan moment in the studio today...

So, the Decepticons are often framed as the unambiguously evil "bad guys", and the Autobot cause is unanimously righteous and just for standing up against them. The Great War is often labeled as a fight between good and evil, that there are two sides that are fundamentally and morally different.

I think this is a disingenuous characterization, and very essentialist too. It omits a lot of internal history and nuance that many TF series employ (maybe with the exception of classic G1, which was your average 1980s military propaganda cartoon for kids) when attempting to answer the questions: What happened for the war between the Decepticons and Autobots to start, and for it to become how it is? Why are they fighting?

A lot of TF series throw in this backstory that the Decepticons were essentially, at the beginning at least, revolutionaries. As you said, pre-war Cybertron was rife with discrimination— Cybertronian society was plagued with severe class determinism, manifesting in cultural elitism and the institution of slavery. Inequality and unfairness were givens. There was a strict, immutable caste system with very very little class mobility (if, really, at all).

In TFP, Megatron was a slave— He had no rights, was oppressed and controlled by the elite upper class, forced to perform manual labor in mines, and was not a recognized citizen. Later, he did "climb the social ladder" to become a gladiator, but he was still, ultimately, a member of the lower caste, a nothing. Gladiators are still just as expendable, replaceable, and morally worthless as a slave. His function simply switched from forced manual labor to forced violent entertainment, and in both roles Megatron was oppressed. It's then also implied in TFP that, at the start, many Decepticons came from similar backgrounds, being members of Cybertron's oppressed and marginalized.

So the movement starts with, admittedly, very good intentions; All Megatron wants is to be recognized as an equal, to be free, to have control over his own life. He values self-determination, autonomy, and freedom. Megatron wants others in his same position to be able to choose. He wants to exist in a society not at his expense, but because he is a valued member of it. A valued member, like Orion Pax.

Orion Pax does not come from this background. He is an archivist living a very comfortable life as a member of the socially sound, from Cybertron's capitol city no less, Iacon. He isn't wealthy or a noble, but he's genteel and of an acceptable function. Orion Pax is civilized. He's one of the good ones.

This is the foundation for all the reasons why Megatronus of Kaon and Orion Pax of Iacon would eventually split, leading warring factions, calling themselves by different names. Yes, they believed in each other enough to be dear friends and allies. Yes, they called each other brother.

No, they were never equals. Orion Pax didn't have much to lose; he had the safety net of a good upbringing, a good step on the societal ladder. Megatronus could lose everything. He tasted freedom and opportunity and decided he'd never go back as long as he lived. It would be like willful suffering, a misery of knowing everything he could never have.

It shouldn't come as a surprise, then, when the ideology shifts.

Megatron is consumed with jealousy when Orion Pax is chosen to be a Prime. Of course its the respectable and civil Iaconian clerk that the Council chooses to become a Prime, this position only attainable by those worthy of it, because the level-headed and moderate Orion Pax makes a better poster child than that brutish, angry extremist Megatronus. Orion Pax is the reasonable one, he's the better orator, better at appealing to the sensibilities of the upper class because he's a member of it.

Megatronus, to the system, is still just a gladiator, a slave. He just talks too much. Is too loud, too opinionated. Didn't conform to the status quo. Why should they reward disobedience? That would set bad precedent, you see. We don't want more people to question things, don't want them to ask for more than they deserve. We all have our place in the world, and Megatronus should've learned to stay in his.

"Be more like Orion Pax, Megatronus, he does things the right way."

This decision solidified two absolutes for Megatron:

One, that Cybertron's elite will stay the elite, and everyone below them will stay below them. The caste system can no longer be changed or dismantled or reformed— It is too powerful, too deeply engrained. It must be destroyed entirely.

And two, Orion Pax was never his friend. And Optimus Prime, who stands in his place, can never be his ally.

Optimus Prime is a mere extension of the Council's will. A pawn who will never seek to disobey it.

Megatron is betrayed on two fronts: Once by the false promises of his homeworld, and then by the person he thought was his best friend and dearest ally— His brother. He realizes he has to now rally his forces around the idea that true freedom, individual self-determination and self-actualization, will come only from the elimination of Cybertron's corrupt government. If it cannot be fixed, it must be reborn.

The Decepticon cause arises from the failures and disappointments of a skewed, unforgiving, impossible system. The cards were always stacked against Megatron and his people—

"Don't you see, fellow Decepticons? They have always kept you weak. Starving! Take what should be yours— What is yours!"

It's easy to see how 'bots in Megatron's position are drawn in. They feel the heavy hand of oppression too. They have wants, needs, and desires that won't be met by elites and nobles who care less than slag about them— Take Optimus Prime and his newly-formed Autobots for example: They want the Decepticon cause to fall back in line, to keep their heads down, to conform and stay quiet.

The Decepticons are galvanized by Megatron, their frustration and sorrow weaponized into action. Any true Decepticon would follow Megatron's lead— He is their hero, after all, and he is a hero that fights back.

It's time the Decepticons bite the hand. It's time they start making noise. It's time they take down the Council, the elites, the Autobots, and Optimus Prime— All who oppose their freedom.

See... it's easy to get drawn in.

It's harder to escape.

(So yeah. You'd regret it. It should've been a warning sign that you had to start calling him Lord. Isn't that what you were fighting against in the first place? Power corrupts, after all.)

[m-s-justice]

Warning for Unpopular Opinion:

I kinda hate Primis Richtofen

As a character, he's fantastic. But if I were to ever cross paths with him, he would be on the receiving end of at least 28 stab wounds.

Strap in for another Long Fucking Textpost.

I have three main gripes with the guy.

1. How he treats Victis/The Rest of Primis

Richtofen manipulates Victis into doing his dirty work, actively putting their lives in danger by siccing Undead Ultimis Richtofen on them, and then puts them on ice in a parallel to his Ultimis self doing the same thing to his teammates. Not to mention Victis is frozen in a HELL POCKET DIMENSION. And EVEN THEN, he’s not even the one to wake them up; it’s Ultimis Richtofen, likely prompted by Primis Nikolai. 

As for how he treats his team, holy shit. He deceives them the entire cycle. Sure, he didn’t technically lie to them, but omission of information is just as bad. The other three had no idea what they were walking into. They didn’t expect to have to kill themselves. And that’s the fucking thing. They didn’t sign up for this. Richtofen clearly never asked if the other three wanted to live in Agartha with him. Richtofen never considered that they have lives of their own, outside of the cycle. Richtofen considered his own goals above the lives of his team. In ZnS one of his opening lines is “Do you trust me, [whichever of the three he is talking to]?”, to which both Dempsey and Takeo respond that they feel like they have no choice but to and Nikolai who basically says no. And yet, RIchtofen keeps charging ahead, doing “what he has to”. Sure, he ensured that they didn’t get wiped from existence, nevermind the fact that they wouldn’t have even been in danger of that without Richtofen leading them there. Instead, Richtofen leads them in a fucking circle. They’re going to do the same song and dance, forever. Now, no matter how much personal beef I have with BO4’s writing, it’s implied that the only way peace could ever be achieved is through the Motherfuckers’ deaths. Accepting his own death is something Richtofen could never do, we even see it happen. When he dies in Blood, it’s not graceful. Rather than subject himself to death, he instead has everyone go through something arguably worse, a never-ending loop of suicide by proxy. What the actual fuck.

2. Dimensional collapse

Richtofen lets Dimension 63 (Morg City [SoE]) get eaten by Apothicons. To give him some credit, there’s probably not a lot he could’ve done by himself. Apothicons are known for gobbling down dimensions like rednecks at a pie eating contest. But also. There was Keeper intervention. Maybe let the Keeper use the Incredibly Powerful, yet Loosely Defined MacGuffin #52 to save the dimension before swooping in, stealing the Key, and then dipping? I don’t know man, the general lack of remorse in his actions, the whole “I have a universe to set right” line before dooming the entire place just rubs me the wrong way.

3. General Assholery

Richtofen is a bit of an arrogant prick. The apparent reason the others can’t peek at the Big Book of Plot Convenience is because they’re too stupid. He also refuses to answer any of their questions. No wonder the other three don’t trust him, what with his complete and utter lack of transparency and his compulsive need to beat around every goddamn bush in the Forest of Equivocation.

On a slightly different note, there’s one quote of his that stood out to me. It’s a start of session conversation with Takeo.

Takeo: “I fear that denying Dempsey the chance to better understand himself may have… consequences.”

Richtofen: “Even had he been conscious before his death, I do not believe that Dempsey had any… great knowledge to impart.”

What the hell. My Brother in CoD, you made him that way. An alternate you literally experimented on and tortured him and then froze him taking away all autonomy from him. Not only that, you selected that dimension. You chose that specific Dempsey. If you wanted a "smart” Dempsey, then literally go anywhere else and murder him instead. Holy fucking shit. And Primis Dempsey is also there. Mourning himself. And you’re out here insulting a dead man that you murdered behind his back. Richtofen did murder him; Dempsey was coerced into doing it. Even fucking worse, is that Dempsey confesses to Nikolai that he’s starting to trust Richtofen. The one thing Richtofen wants most and he doesn’t deserve it.

However, the actual worst part is that nothing comes from Dempsey not being able to properly meet with his other self. Dempsey pulls himself together by himself, which is very admirable, but does have the unfortunate outcome of confirming Richtofen’s position. There were no ramifications. That Dempsey was simply an idiot who had nothing of worth to contribute, other than his death.

PART 4: END OF POST WHERE I SAY MORE RANDOM BULLSHIT IN A SLIGHTLY INCREASED INCOHERENT WAY AS A MOCKERY OF A CONCLUSION

Ok now to preface this I’m not attacking anybody who interprets Primis Richtofen differently.  He's a fictional character and other people viewing art in a different way than me will not cramp my style.

I do think that he genuinely loved his friends and wanted the best for all of them. The way he goes about it is just one of the worst ways possible. Comedically terrible, falling on his face, fucking Looney Tunes-ing it up. 

Simultaneously, however, I think at his core, Richtofen is a selfish character. And that’s shown in both version’s actions. Ultimis is pretty blatant in his egoistic pursuits. I spent the entire post pretty much draggin Primis in the mud, so I’m not going to repeat myself.

To end this: I hate him so much I want to rip him to pieces. But I also really like him as a character, so I would sitch him back together. And then his insufferable face would send me into an irrepressible rage and I’d shred him again. Rinse and repeat.

[2x4plank]

I'm absolutely going out of order going over these episodes but if I don't talk about Season 2 it will kill me.

⚠️This post is very long. It's a commitment to read, so be ready to scroll if you wanna!⚠️

We start with Omid getting shot. I feel like how it played out was pretty realistic. His quiet sneak-in--it made sense. I don't know if I entirely feel bad for Michelle, but I don't feel good about her getting shot neither. And then Christa dies off screen. Maybe not the choice I would've made, but I'ma let it slide--if only because Clementine was trying to be outta there! I love Clementine's lil backpack. I wish she kept it.

I honestly don't dislike Clementine as a protagonist. In fact, I like spending a lot of time with her and letting her have more autonomy in the story. However...it does bring its own set of problems.

The theme of this story seems to be dangerous incompetence--which is a personal pet peeve. There is so much reliance on Clementine and this burden of accountability the adults around her make her take. Like, it was good of Luke and Pete to carry her back. I liked Pete (and then he died real soon after). But then they fumble on locking her in a shed. To die of either illness or the walkers that surround her. And Nick almost shoots her too! It was cool of him to draw the walkers toward him, but like...you're very trigger happy buddy. I never really warmed up to Nick before we turned his head into a salami log. He was on a streak of poor decisions (see: Matthew's murder).

Leaving Clementine to do her own sutures in the cold and rain instead of just having Carlos at the very least fix up the obvious animal bite is really stupid of them. I felt like I was CPS reviewing a case while playing this game, and I'm not even a decade older than Clementine here. So to find out that these adults (with Luke, apparently one of the younger members at 26-27) were okay with leaving her there? That makes me mad! She shouldn't have had to do that.

Then we have Sarah, the tall dork kid, who is willing to help you out because she has more than an ounce of good sense and understands that this is unfair. But then they do her real dirty! She is abused and dies a horrible painful death after being riddled with anxiety and watching her dad get devoured. And then everybody just...forgets about it! Not even a forlorn look at her pair of glasses or whatever remains of her. Wow! That is awful! I completely disagree with those choices. Sarah absolutely deserved better. I mean, I don't really care about Carlos, but Sarah deserved better. Forget Arvo! We need more cute fanart of her.

Then there's Carver. Pretty good and believable antagonist. He has a doctrine that is unfairly and irregularly enforced. Less a ruleset and more of whatever he feels like at the time--which is mostly anger. He does some recon before striking which is also pretty cool. And maybe it would've gone better if Carlos hadn't let two children stay home alone. Ain't that like...Parenting 101? If you're so keen on protecting your daughter, why ya leaving her alone in the apocalypse? Maybe she wouldn't be taking photos if you were there with her. Maybe she would've been better about not opening the door. Don't force children to watch children.

And then Bonnie does the second round of recon, which was really obvious. If I walked around the corner of the lodge and saw some guy looking into the window and acting real surprised to see me...I would probably think they were counting how many people were inside to launch some sort of attack. I knew she wasn't a good person, and that remained true to the very end. Despite her sorry attempts to make amends, she really wasn't nothing. She ruined Christmas! I'm not even religious, but the decorations were so pretty...and she was an agent of its destruction.

Reuniting with Kenny at the Ski Lodge was nice. I felt happy to see him. As I said before, I was absolutely sitting at his table because he is Clementine's secondary dad. As we'll find out later on, he kinda toxic, but I was still loyal to him because...the devil you know, right?! That is literally one of the worst perspectives, don't listen to me, but it's the one I had. And also I felt like he wasn't really going to hurt-hurt the kids, but he did still hurt Clementine emotionally. I felt like he was the best guardian out of the ones presented to us (outside of maybe Rebecca).

The addition of Sarita brought some problems too. They did not flesh her out. She deserved better also, outside of being Kenny's new wife. I know that:

She likes...Christmas.

She found Kenny somewhere.

She thinks his beard got bigger.

She had to listen to Kenny tell his sad backstory before she went to sleep at night.

She got bit on the hand.

Sarita didn't get enough space outside of Kenny--who I still like, for some reason.

Then there's Kenny's other friend, Walter. After watching Breaking Bad, I was not ready to trust this dude. I mean, he mixes peaches and beans for Pete's sake. But he was actually factually nice! Not even taking vengeance on Nick after he shot his bestie--that was a real kindness. And yes, I did tell him. Seems kinda hypocritical considering my position on Ben telling the truth, and maybe it is, but I think he deserved to know and that he'd find out pretty soon otherwise. I felt like it was wrong for Luke to cover for Nick so hard--especially sending Clementine out there to do so, putting her in the line of fire as they so often do. I mean, they're friends...but your friend has a history of going off and killing people with no real reason. I completely forgot where Nick was during the Carver Cult situation, so no more about him. But back to Bill Depot.

We meet some dude named Mike and another one named Jane. They help the crew escape while Kenny absolutely defaces Carver with a crowbar. He deserved it, no question about that. I think it's hilarious how if Clementine just insists, she can stay and watch. "No, you can't watch this guy get massacred. Okay, only if you really want to."

Carver's behavior towards Rebecca is extremely disgusting. This ownership of her is gross and the entitlement towards AJ, regardless of their prior relationship is gross. And while I do not blame Rebecca one bit, it's all Carver's fault, I couldn't help but keep thinking: "If I hadn't got mixed up with this group, this wouldn't have happened to me! I don't even really care about these people!" It was moreover the group's collective incompetence that made me feel that way.

Reggie was pretty funny. One thing this game is never lacking is in humor, and I liked Reggie...kind of. Course, his cavalier attitude towards imprisonment is not good, but he had been left there. I'm still confused as to how his arm was cut off. Was it really a walker bite, or a punishment? I really felt like he was lying to make Bill Depot look like a better place to be, and as we can see with Lee, amputation doesn't typically work. But maybe it's a time thing and something to do with using sterilized tools.

Clementine being the linchpin in their escape is kinda cool, kinda not. She is the smallest and least likely to get noticed. But they let her out in that bright ass jacket. Get 'er in something darker, at the very least! And of course, I was thinking: "Lee wouldn't let her do this. Lee wouldn't make her do any of this." But Lee did let her sneak through the vents, so...? I don't know.

Mike & Jane are pretty cool at first. Mike is funny, seemingly reasonable, and Jane is strong and collected. That definitely changes pretty soon with catching Luke and Jane fooling around and the introduction of Arvo.

I was completely against robbing Arvo and disagreed with Jane escalating things. She did still rob him of his gun, but not his medicine, but that put Arvo in danger on his return so I understand him being mad at HER about that. But the way he treats Cleemntine no matter what and holds the wrong people accountable really soured me on him. He held Clem at gunpoint first, even though she's not even a preteen in a rainbow sweater.

However, the way Kenny beat on him? I didn't agree with that, nor did I agree with leaving him in the cold. Additionally, the xenophobic names Kenny called him were rude and nonsensical. You're calling him a commie but you want to go to Wellington? A supposed COMMUNE?! Aight.

But Kenny's anger is not unjustified. It's not like Arvo didn't lead a crossfire that put everyone, including the kids in danger. If they weren't shot, they could've died of hypothermia. And in Kenny's eyes, being held up might've led to Rebecca turning.

I didn't want Arvo to be tortured regardless. He was young and there really wasn't any point to beating on him. That is, until the very end--but it's not like Kenny knew what was going to happen.

When Kenny is talking to Clementine alone in that truck, my soul was screaming. I know exactly how she feels, what position she's in, and God it is icky. I still like Kenny for the most part, somehow. I still feel like he was there for the kids, kind of. However, this bouncing off of Clem to make serious decisions after snapping at her, telling her she was at fault for Sarita's death (he did apologize at the very least, which is more than I've gotten most of the time). This isolation and weight Clementine felt is awful. Not to mention he was so consumed by anger at Arvo that he let Clementine sit there freezing and wet for longer than she should've had to instead of finding a log or something. Some of the burdening on Clementine is realistic. Children of color especially are often expected to act more adult than they should, but uh, don't ask me why I know what that feels like. On the other end, some of the decisions Clementine has to make are purely done for story reasons.

The betrayal? I thought it was pretty good. I don't think it came out of nowhere and it riled me up. I know Mike seemed like a nice guy, but his connection with Clementine was shallow. People normally have the common decency to protect kids, but it's hard to tell until you gotta. And he'd been talking to Arvo, seeing how Kenny mistreated him, he wanted to get them away from Kenny. But he was content to take away all the food that could've been used for AJ and Clementine. In the cold. In the snow. He thought less about protecting the most vulnerable and more about taking his favorites with him. And then there's Bonnie!

I knew she couldn't be trusted. She clearly didn't know her place after being part of the reason the crew got kidnapped. And then she pulls that stuff, after blaming Clementine for Luke's death. Saddling the pre-preteen with something else. By the way, I didn't feel much at Luke's death. Maybe he should've got some skis from the lodge. The only thing Bonnie did was give her a cool jacket THAT SHE STOLE FROM THE SKI LODGE!!! I hope she didn't make it. Flaky-like-a-pastry-ass-Bonnie.

Then comes Arvo's shooting of MY BABY! MY LITTLE RAINBOW BABY CLEMENTINE! HE SHOT HER! WITH A RIFLE! A GUN THAT WOULD GIVE YOU TIME TO NOT SHOOT A CHILD! OOH, I WASN'T OKAY WITH BEATING HIM EARLIER, BUT I THINK HE DESERVED A PUNCH FOR THAT!

But then they make you mild with that Lee flashback. Lee is just so concerned with keeping this child safe and comfortable. He really was father of the year.

I'm glad Clementine survived, but then comes another ordeal. Jane v. Kenny. Okay, I was half with Jane. She wasn't completely clean (seriously? you were so willing to give up on Sarah twice), but neither was Kenny. She seemed to want to get Clementine out of a possible volatile environment. But that stunt she pulled? You heard of leaving a baby in a hot car. Now how about LEAVING A BABY IN A COLD CAR TO DIE AT SUB-ZERO TEMPERATURES! I wasn't willing to shoot Kenny because I didn't know what Jane did to AJ. "Just trust me," told me nothing. I was certain he wasn't dead, but I still didn't know if he was in danger. So I let Kenny kill her. Guess I'm going with truck freak--at least he won't leave me in a car.

Now, Kenny did make me uncomfortable. Especially with his steep change in emotions, like saying, "Race ya!" after violently killing someone Clementine was close to. Like, I understand why, but still.

Finally, Wellington. Kenny's last good deed. He does what's best for Clementine and AJ without giving Clementine shit about it. He helped her get there and seemed genuinely happy to make sure they'd be safe. That's one reason...I still kinda like this guy!

But damn, Clementine has to watch another person she trusted and felt like watched over her disappear. That is very bitter, slightly sweet. I hope they have apples at Wellington.

[freelanceexorcist]

OK, one last Remake bit of speculation before Rebirth drops.

Cut for spoilers and length (Remake, Game of Thrones and Split).

TW: discussion of mental illness and child abuse.  

This one is only half serious, I think. I just REALLY can’t accept that Sephiroth went from a great guy to 100% Chaotic Evil in Remake/Rebirth. The original game’s version? Sure. I could totally buy that he was a ticking time bomb.

But the good guy buildup Ore Sephiroth is getting just doesn’t happen with designated villains. It doesn’t align with a complete change in personality.

Even on Game of Thrones, the golden girl with the dragons had hints that dark things were in her future (oh, she was plenty cruel, murderous and power-hungry all along, she just did it to bad people who had it coming until she ran out of bad people. There was plenty her more level-headed advisers had to talk her out of. There were screaming hints all along that her story would end that way.). Sephiroth? Not so much. It’s as though they’re going in the opposite direction with him and beating us over the head with what a mensch he was.

Anyway.

So I’ve been thinking. And you’re probably going to think this is really stupid, because it is. This is me reaching.

Both Ore and Watashi have dissociative identity disorder (DID) with vastly different outcomes.

For those who don’t know, DID-or multiple personality disorder-is characterized by the presence of two or more distinct and enduring personality states in a single person. This ranges from the ego state to alters, which is two ways of saying “alter ego.” The former is distinct behaviors and personality traits that possess boundaries while the patient retains their sense of self. In the latter, each state has its own autobiographical memory, autonomy and sense of self. Think of movies like Split and Identity for the last one.

There are two schools of thought on what causes this disorder, and one of them is the trauma model, which deals with severe early childhood abuse or other traumas. Ever Crisis tells us that Sephiroth is a survivor of child abuse both physical (“endure the pain, Sephiroth”) and psychological (being isolated from others, generally having to interact with Hojo, who gloats about how much better it is to destroy a subject psychologically). There’s also the trauma from witnessing war, either as a civilian or a child soldier.

I think you can see by now where this is going, and I’m no shrink, so I’ll get to what I came here to talk about.

My proposal is that there are at least four separate personalities rattling around in Sephiroth’s head besides the mind he was born with.

The Core is Sephiroth. We already know him.

Then there’s The Mother. She is who he didn’t have as a child so she emerged to protect him. She is kind and helpful to others and fierce when it comes to protecting her child. She may emerge when Sephiroth sees someone who had a similar background to his, either an abused child or an adult survivor.

Next up is The Boy. He’s about fifteen years old, the age Sephiroth was when he first went to war. The Boy doesn’t come out much. The other alters keep close tabs on him to protect him. He only sees daylight at times in Sephiroth’s life when he is completely calm, in control and around people he trusts.

Then there’s The Smart One. This is the one who steps in when Sephiroth is stressed and nervous in front of others. He emerged after Sephiroth met Glenn, Matt and Lucia and is the result of Sephiroth seeing how normal people interacted with each other and him. The Smart One combines Lucia’s sass, Glenn’s smart mouth and Matt’s wisdom. He’s the one who explains things to people and handles the social aspect of Sephiroth’s life. He’s the one who’s there to help Sephiroth get through those tedious Shinra parties and media events. He’s the one who claps back when Genesis’ claws get too sharp. He’s the one who explains the concepts that Sephiroth has trouble with. He has gotten good at matching Sephiroth’s core personality even though he’s the type to verbally shoot first and ask questions later. Wouldn’t want Sephiroth getting in trouble or anyone suspecting that something is off about him, after all.

Finally, there’s The Conqueror. This is the one to be afraid of. This is the rage. The bloodlust. The cruelty. The god complex. This is the one that the others work hardest to keep down. He is the one who believes himself to be Sephiroth’s greatest protector, and if he thinks you’re going to hurt him, he’ll make you wish you died as a child if he can fight his way out of where the others keep him.

Sephiroth’s mental defenses were down at the end of his time at the library, and that made it easy for The Conqueror to get past the others and emerge. He was the one boiling with barely-contained rage that spilled over as he read the passage about Jenova’s discovery. Those shaky breaths were the others trying to drag him back in, but they failed and Nibelheim suffered for it.

Watashi Sephiroth is the integration of The Conqueror and The Core and the utter destruction of the other three. Even mother. He found his true mother, and she’s real. He’s helping her. They’re working together to burn away the old world and create a new, perfect one. He's "cured."

Ore, on the other hand, was the result of the alters getting the reins back on The Conqueror and stuffing him back in the box. The lock isn’t as strong as it used to be, so the alters have to work a little harder to keep him under wraps. The Smart One doesn’t hold back anymore and is quick with a caustic comment when he thinks someone is getting to close to Sephiroth. The Mother fiercely protects The Boy and Sephiroth. The latter can’t come out anymore because it is so unsafe out there now.

Maybe trust Ore Sephiroth to have the party’s back, because he has all his ducks in a row now and he has “people” to help him.

My pet crack theory these days is that Sephiroth is essentially the Kevin Wendell Crumb of the FFVII-verse, but without taking on the actual physical traits (Jade’s needing insulin, Orwell and Dennis needing glasses, The Beast’s superhuman strength, etc.). Fight me all you want, but I’m sticking with this until proven otherwise and when/if it does get Jossed, I may dust off my godawful writing skills and get started on an AU fic with this as the plot. Because seriously, Sephiroth’s Heel Face Turn in the trilogy’s story is as inexplicable and makes as much sense as Genesis’ redemption arc with the way that character was written.*

Look, I get it. He’s the Designated Villain. He killed some people’s favorite character and is super mean to their other favorite character and for that he’s irredeemable forever and ever amen. It’s hard to hate a villain that may have some sympathetic traits. It’s not as much fun to gleefully destroy a Final Boss when you come to the realization that this is the final moments of a life that was fucked before it even began. Just let everyone else look for nuance and maybe hope his story might turn out a little differently this time around. There’s Hojo if you want an irredeemable monster, he just wouldn’t look as good in black leather. And I doubt we’ll be seeing any backstory to explain that he is the way he is because he didn’t get enough hugs growing up.

*And what I mean by that is that the potential for a sensible redemption was possible with Genesis just as it is with Sephiroth, but the writing was whiffed so badly it actually makes me a little mad that Genesis was handled with such kid gloves and given a pass in any other media he’s appeared in. Fight me on this if you want, but I blame G*ckt’s involvement.

Anyway, another long one on the books. As always, if you’ve made it this far or read it at all, thank you.

[pageofheartdj]

Honestly when I watched the final I always saw it as Collector giving everyone the space needed to recover, whilst still visiting often enough.

Like, here's the thing. The Boiling Isles are traumatized by his actions. They don't know how Camila feels about them. The "No one argued" bit could be like, arguing is directly opposing. Asking "Are you sure" isn't arguing, and these guys respect personal autonomy too much to shut the kid down.

Not only that but like, the growing up thing could be a different way of saying "Needs to release who knows how much pent up energy before sticking around in order to avoid unleashing it on the Isles."

After that's done? They would probably stick around. Live a bit more of a nomadic life because he probably has made friends all over, but now they have a place to call home.

Or at least, that's my interpretation.

Yeah I get that. But it still feels wrong. At least for me. It just doesn't make sense and doesn't work for me. TOH gave me high standards to 'treat kids as kids'.

'Need to give everyone space', they are a kid. They made a big mess, that's true. That's not the reason to shun them away, especially if they want to be better and did bad because there was no one to explain things to them. And this will also continue because they'll keep not having people who would explain things to them.

'Nomadic life', again, a kid. They need support and structure, not isolated way of life. They need socializing to be developed in a healthy way.

'Respect personal autonomy', kids don't know what's best for them. Luz should have been allowed to distant herself from everyone because it's her choice? But the show had Camila trying to talk with Luz about it. Because Luz had a problem, and she had a support that cared for her and wanted the best for her.

It wouldn't be a problem for an adult or even at least a teen. A child is simply not developed enough and they are not supposed to develop and mature on their own. The knowledge of what's right and wrong, the experience to deal and regulate your emotions, and so on, these things don't just appear from thin air. Adults help them with this, guide them and support them.

It just doesn't make sense.

Collector is a parallel to Luz. Both were distructive because they lacked people who would support them and try to understand them(Camila had her geekness, but by that time she was more preoccupied in making Luz 'normal', not to hurt her, but from fear she will be even more hurt in the future).

Luz did not mature because she left mom. Luz matured because she met weirdos just like her and they met her on her level and gave her acceptence and support.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

This is part of my Splinter Cell au, following up on Jak meeting his alternate timeline parents for the first time

Mar peered at the crowd from the safety of his uncle's arms and frowned. That was a lot of people! They looked normal, not dressed funny like the people in this city, at least. But what were they all crowded around?

A tall lady moved aside for an instant, and Mar almost could've shouted in excitement if his throat hadn't seized up.

Mama!

He smacked Sig’s arms, his shoulders, frantically, pointing at the crowd and then himself. With a shaky breath, Sig crouched and set him down on the sand.

"Go on," he said thickly, "Go to your mama."

Mar didn't have to be told twice. He ran as fast as his short legs could carry him. Some of the adults heard him coming and turned to see him, only to step back out of his way with wide eyes. Mar slammed into his mother's legs and clung to her skirt. He didn't understand why he was about to cry. He was happy! He'd missed his mother so much! So why was he crying?

Mama gasped, and then her arms were around him, warm and strong and just like he remembered.

"Baby!"

Mama's voice bounced up and down, like she had the hiccups.

"Oh Minnow, we were so worried about you! Who took you? Are you okay? Do you remember what happened, baby?"

Mar buried his face in the crook of his mother's neck and shook his head. He didn't remember much about the night they all got separated, just mean faces and an ugly bird and people yelling at him to be quiet. Probably because the weird people in Haven were so loud that they couldn't hear themselves think already. Mar thought he maybe used to cry out loud, but it wasn't quiet enough.

"Where's Jakky?" Mar asked, and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Hadn't Jak had a mission today? Did he come back okay? He'd seemed scared before going.

"Your br- your older brother?" Phobos asked. She smiled, but her eyes were damp. "He came out to meet us when we got here. Your daddy is talking to him."

"Where?! Where's Daddy?!" Mar whipped his head back and forth, searching the crowd for his father.

He spotted Jak, looking really nervous and doing the thing where he scratched his arm a lot. Mister Kor used to call it a Nervous Tick, which was a weird thing to say, because Jak wasn't pretending to be a clock at all. Jak looked down at the sand and mumbled something.

Why was he nervous? Jak wasn't afraid of anything!

"Is Jakky sad?" Mar asked, confused. "We found you! Why's he sad?"

His mother's arms tightened around him. "I don't think he's sad, sweet one. But Jak hasn't met us before. He's a little shy, and that's okay."

Well that didn't make any sense, and Mar wasn't shy about saying so.

"Mommy," he signed, matter-of-factly, "You're Jakky's mommy too, remember? You remember? Why you said he hasn't met you?"

Phobow frowned and slowly rose from the sand to settle Mar on her hip. She looked to her husband, speaking quietly and gently to the skittish teenager, and sighed.

"Jak...got taken away a long time ago. Just like bad guys took you away. I think he was too little to remember us."

Righteous indignation rose up in the little boy's chest and spilled over his cheeks in hot tears, even while he fought to keep his lip from trembling.

"That's not fair!" He almost hit the Spargan next to Phobos with the vehemence of his signs.

"It's not," Phobos agreed. "But we're here now, and I promise, Mar, we will never lose either of you again."

Jak met her eyes at that moment, and he pointed at himself in disbelief. Phobos's heart ached seeing the shock in this newfound son's face. It wasn’t that he didn't believe they were his people. Phobos had seen those eyes in the broken before the rebellion finally toppled the old regime of Spargus: Jak didn't know he was worth saving. He didn't understand why anyone would want him -- or was it that he was used to being wanted as a weapon? An object, a tool with no autonomy or feelings of his own.

Phobos would find the people who had taken her baby, and she would find the people who had broken this boy -- this spitting image of Damas -- and they would pay in blood for every tear they'd caused to fall.

For now, she simply held Mar to her breast. She closed her eyes and let herself feel the pulse in his skin where it lay against her neck, warm and alive and proof that this was real. He was so much taller now, and thinner than he ought to have been. A gangly tangle of arms and legs, wound around her neck and waist. Phobos buried her face in his hair and let the tears fall at last.

Relief and joy and the pain of two lost years -- two years of milestones they would never get back -- and it was finally over.

Jak watched the woman crying softly into Mar's hair, feeling unbearably out of place. This scene wasn't meant for him. He wasn't Mar.

He was as much a stranger to these people as they were to him. They didn't know each other. He couldn’t just pretend to suddenly have memories and emotions that had been ripped from him ages ago. Whatever he'd been like as a little kid, who was to say he had been anything like Mar was now?

Panic began to build in his throat, ringing in his ears and drowning out whatever Mar's father was saying to him.

They have some version of me in their heads. Everyone does. What do they want me to be? What'll they do the first time I screw up? Sure, they're nice now, but what happens when I don't fit in their box?

Suddenly Daxter was there, weighing down his shoulders, digging in his claws just enough to bring Jak back down to earth. And he felt something else, something he'd only experienced once before.

Light eco.

The eco washed over him like a warm wind, soaking into his muscles and down into his core. It met the darkness head on, and a violent surge of nausea rocked Jak. His knees hit the sand unexpectedly, and his jaws ached with the force of holding back bile. Every nerve, every cell burned like he was back in the Chair again. And then, just as quickly, the pain was gone.

The ugliness, the boiling acid that flowed between his veins and arteries, was...different. Farther away, almost. As if it had been neutralized by something. The light eco?

"Easy, easy there, pal."

Daxter patted his back.

"Just take some deep breaths and let Spike here work his magic."

"Don't call me that."

Mar's father sounded mildly irritated, like he was distracted.

"It fits, doesn't it?" Daxter retorted.

"Call me Spike, Scar, or anything that isn't my name," the man grunted back, "and I'm calling you "rat"."

Daxter crouched low against Jak’s neck and muttered in his ear, "Touch-y! I can see where you got your sense of humor, Jak."

He turned to give Damas a wry look. "Bigfoot here gets the same way when Krew's goons call him "prettyboy"."

Jak gritted his teeth. "You call me dumb names," he rasped through numb lips, "nobody else does."

He finally found the mental wherewithal to raise his eyes and discovered that Damas knelt in the sand across from him, one hand glowing slightly. There was a very grim look in his eyes, one that spoke multitudes.

"Never let them take your name from you," he agreed solemnly.

Jak averted his gaze again with a bitter snort.

"They already did once. But this name, I chose. It's mine."

Precursors knew he'd gotten to choose precious little in his life. He wouldn't give this up.

Damas leaned back and settled both hands on his knees.

"All the more reason to fight for it," he said.

Then he tilted his head and frowned.

"Is your eco core stable now, young one?"

A cold chill squirmed in Jak’s gut. He swallowed hard, and the words stuck in his throat as he turned to Daxter.

"How close was I?" he signed as dread rose to squeeze his lungs.

Daxter winced. "Fangs and claws, but no horns," he whispered.

Oh rot.

Mar's father had seen the Thing. Barely a glimpse, but it would be enough to seal his fate.

Trembling, Jak looked up.

Damas’s expression was still grave.

"No one else saw it," he said quietly, "It's alright. You're alright. Do you often lose control in fight or flight situations?"

"Lay off! It's not Jak’s fault!" Daxter leaned out from Jak's shoulder, fur bristling.

"I never said it was," Damas answered. His face softened, and he leaned forward.

"When was the last time you absorbed light eco, son?"

What kind of question was that?

"...two...two years ago," Jak mumbled.

That seemed to satisfy the exile king. He fell back on his heels with a nod.

"Self-taught mastery over dark eco hasn't happened in generations, and never without the balancing influence of its sister element. I'm amazed you can battle-shift at all with an unbalanced core."

Jak and Daxter stared at the man with dull shock stamped across their faces.

Slowly, Daxter turned back to Jak.

"Did...did you get any of that?" he asked.

Jak grimaced. "I understood all those words separately," he muttered back.

"Sig, has he done this before?"

Jak craned his neck as Sig pushed through the crowd to sit down beside Jak. He dropped a comforting hand on Jak’s back and clicked his tongue.

"Just give him space. He's got this. Right cherry? You got this."

He waved off the other Wastelanders with a brusque gesture and shifted to one side, sitting as if guarding him.

Damas visibly relaxed and nodded once.

"I'm afraid this many of us at once may have overwhelmed him."

Jak slotted his fingers into his hair and an inappropriately hysterical giggle burst out of his throat, startling him and Daxter both.

"Ye- yeah, you could say that."

Sig frowned sharply. When Jak’s eyes drifted away, he quickly signed to Damas, "He's known little kindness and much suffering. He barely remembers how to be a kid."

Damas winced ever so slightly. He let out his breath in a few short puffs, then rocked back on his heels again.

"Jak," he said slowly, "I...apologize if this question is intrusive. But do you have any recollection of your parents from your original timeline?"

The boy's eyes hardened, and he shifted, drawing his knees to his chest in an almost protective gesture.

"No," he said sharply. "I didn't know my parents. Wasn't part of Samos’s plan."

Samos.

The name clearly meant something to the exiled king. Anger flashed briefly through his eyes, warning of an approaching storm.

"Meddling acolyte," Damas muttered under his breath with a vicious curse to punctuate it. "He has much to answer for."

Shaking off the dark look, he tried to settle to something more neutral.

"If that is the case, then we really are starting at the beginning, aren't we? I...understand that we have not yet earned your trust, Jak. But would- that is, would you permit us the chance to do so? To get to know you?"

Jak tightened his arms around his knees and resisted a childish urge to bury his head in them. To hide. This was so much attention, so unlike anything he'd become accustomed to. They weren't treating him like a monster, but they sure weren't treating him like Sandover and the Underground did when he was a "hero", either. No demands, no assumption that he was going to fall in line and see things their way just because they told him it was the right thing to do. Someone was asking for a chance to prove himself to Jak!

Unable to properly form his thoughts into words, Jak bounced one shoulder. It was a silent cue to Daxter, a plea to answer on his behalf. The ottsel sat up and folded his arms with a grimace.

"Is this some kind of trick?" Daxter asked suspiciously. "People don't normally ask -- or care -- what we think. Tess and Sig excluded. They just bark orders at us and complain."

"Sounds like Haven alright," Damas answered dryly. "Let me guess: "go there, do that, fetch this, kill them, everything's all your fault", right?"

Daxter squinted at him. "You sure you only just met us? Cause you're basically reading off our script."

With a humorless smile, Damas shrugged. "Even kings are not exempt from their demands. Or perhaps it is especially kings who are not exempt from their demands."

He looked like he was about to say something else when the breath was driven from him with a loud "oof!"

Mar barreled into him, knocking Damas back onto the sand.

"DADDY DADDY!" Mar's hands shouted, then he flung his arms as far around the man's chest as he could reach -- which wasn't far, frankly.

Damas caught Mar up in a fierce hug, and curled his body around the little boy as though he could hide him from the world.

"Mar! Oh, let me look- let me look at you!"

He smoothed back Mar's hair, traced his fingers along round cheeks, memorizing every detail.

"Sweetheart, you got so big! When did you get so tall?"

Jak was pretty sure it was a rhetorical question, but he couldn’t help answering anyway.

"That's um, that's pretty recent. Just since moving in with the Babak."

He hoped that was at least some comfort to the man. In just the two years they'd been apart, he'd found himself shocked by how much Keira had changed. He couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to miss your own kid's milestones like that.

Well. Maybe he could.

After all, the Explorer he'd called Uncle had traveled so often and so far that Jak had experienced most of his milestones alone.

A small, warm, hand slipped into Jak's and squeezed. He looked up, surprised, to find Mar leaning out of Damas’s arms. Mar was frowning, eyebrows knit together. He pursed his lips and tried several times to make a sound.

"Dz- ss-" he swallowed hard and tried to remember how to use the muscles in his throat. "J- Ja-k?"

Jak's mouth fell open.

He knew Mar preferred to be nonverbal, just as he had been at the same age. Speaking out loud was reserved for when they felt safest. When they were fully comfortable with their surroundings. Mar had never felt safe enough to verbally talk to Jak before.

Are we safe? He's safe now, what about us?

Damas’s eyes widened, and there was a suspicious moisture in Sig’s single eye as they both stared at Mar. They knew Mar Didn't Talk To Strangers. He didn't speak to people who weren't family. Which meant that Mar had fully accepted Jak as family.

Well, that streamlined things a bit.

"Jak's okay, Lil Man," Sig said, clearing his throat. "Just give him time to adjust, okay?"

[toaster-trash]

have you see the 1992 bram stoker’s Dracula?

I haven’t yet the full way through, I just know a lot of the general premise and I’ve seen a lot of clips from it. From what I’ve seen they absolutely and utterly butchered Mina beyond belief and were completely up-their-own-asses pretentious about all of it as they did it. Even her basic character design is completely off, aesthetically pleasing, sure, but not Mina Harker at all. And Keanu Reeves, love the poor guy, can’t pull an English accent to save his life. From what I’ve seen, bad pacing, albeit pretty visuals that don’t match the material it’s supposed to be adapting whatsoever, meaninglessly humanising Dracula and doing the stupid “shipping him with Mina” thing all over again, wrong plot focus, offensively turning assault scenes into stupid sex scenes, being so self righteous about “fixing” Mina’s portrayal when all that involved was over sexualising her and removing all her autonomy she had in the original novel, Gary Oldman looks ridiculous, Coppola would have been better off making a Phantom of the Opera adaptation. And the fact they had the audacity to slap “Bram Stoker’s” Dracula on there is the icing on top of the disastrous cake. But hey, at least Anthony Hopkins looks like a great Van Helsing.

[inflammatory]

( @deactivated1987 ) LOL it’s time for my eternal sunshine treatise. I think the premise made me expect way too much of it cause it sounded up my alley - memory stuff, unconventional structure, the whole brainscape thing, and most importantly I’m really into messy breakup plotlines. but i feel like a lot of the potential was squandered

Main offenders imo were the script and the score, i hate to use the word “cringe” because I’m tryna be credible here but to me it was. You could write it off as the awkwardness of navigating relationships, but I think with the heinousness of the first few scenes of them and the non-linear progression it set for me a weak foundation for the skip to them broken up and her memories erased. Kate winslet said “I apply my personality in paste” and i went naoooouuuuuurr noooaaaaoooo this cant be happening. I get that for most people it seems to work though judging from the 4.2 on letterboxd. However i get secondhand embarrassment really easily and cant deal with persistent awkwardness

I also feel like the emotional core of the movie hinges on the chemistry of the relationship and i couldnt see a single thing either of them might like about each other. He’s a white man with a journal and she’s a girl who dyes her hair, ok. Script comes into play again - with relationship dramas I attest that it all depends on how your leads talk to each other - just straight up talk yknow. Both Winslet and Jim Carrey were quite definitely cast against type and in my opinion it shows because the line delivery rarely hits smoothly. Here it’s difficult to skilfully portray a relationship breaking down if your justification for them being together in the first place is poor - breakups hurt because of love, and most of that is done through scenes of them lying together on the frozen river (pretty scene, I liked it at least), being physically intimate, and, again, the weird timeline conversations that I loathed. So i wasn’t sold on their connection beyond the surface level. Felt like when my friends have boyfriends who are bordering on invertebrate organisms

With a connection that’s weak I think the punch of the argument scenes falls short. And there are so many of them, so to me they just fall out of the sky like birds. And that’s crazy of me to say because arguments are probably in my top 3 best things in the whole world. I feel the autobiographical nature of the male lead keenly in his regular just some guy eyes. His contributions to the supposedly vicious arguments are mediocre. Because I think the movie leans towards the vilification of the lady. Where she’s the unreasonable one, claiming she’d be a great mother and everything when she’s like deeply fucked in the head et cetera. I support the sentiment of manic pixie dream girls asserting their personhood and autonomy (but i also prefer my off putting women with swag and self awareness). Overall I don’t think she’s well written per se, but she’s definitely the most written out of everyone else there. If pressed i can respect that they made her thoroughly unlikeable on purpose and leave it at that. It’s still a paean to the age old story lick that goes “this pretty and interesting young woman approaches you, yes, you, ordinary man, and is interested in you, you, journal writing white man who is a vehicle for the man writing the journal of this story, and your breakup will be 90% her impulsive fault and not yours”.

Bits of the movie that are also meant to be comedic i think? Really didn’t work for me either. When the medical staff were partying in his house I was too deeply scandalised to suspend my disbelief. When he was his toddler self under the table I had to politely avert my eyes. The score exacerbated all of this

Before this movie I didn’t have a rating system because i felt bad rating movies and the reason I have one now is because I wanted to rate eternal sunshine 1 star. In all fairness the 1/2 star is because i realised i could make it even lower and did so out of the rage of freshly finishing it. Retrospect I’d maybe add a star for the scene where he lifts the pillow up from smothering her and she’s disappeared. But i won’t because i think my vendetta is set in stone by now

[sanguinifex]

Y’know the “classic children’s literature” canon is largely pretty fucked up.

C.S. Lewis was racist and homophobic and sexist, not to mention Extremely Christian and trying to convert you (seriously, there are exactly 2 books where the bad guys aren’t women or Muslims by another name, and one of those 2 doesn’t even have an antagonist once Eustace gets un-dragoned)

Roald Dahl was notoriously antisemitic and just kind of misogynistic in general. Keeps trying to sell the idea that ugly people are inherently evil and pretty people are inherently good. Also like the Oompa Loompas are a) canonically black in the books and b) slave labor, and this is promoted as positive? Charlie’s dad would’ve had a job if Wonka hadn’t been literally stealing people to avoid paying workers. Also, like, the nerve of leaving a chocolate factory to a random kid who knows nothing about chocolate except it tastes good, when probably at least a dozen of the Oompa Loompas are qualified to run the place. Like, Dahl is great at giving people nightmares, but the inherent assumptions begin the worlds he builds are not something I want to give to a 10-year-old and tell them it’s Great Literature and something to emulate, the way I was. (Also, I was actually 8, come to think of it.)

JKR. Well. Besides the TERFery and racism/antisemitism. There’s just a complete disregard for bodily autonomy that’s so present in her work that it becomes obvious it’s part of how she views the world? Like, it’s supposed to be a funny joke to slip someone a potion that turns them into a canary. Admittedly the delivery of that line was 109% but like. What if he’d got stuck like that? You can’t just transmogrify people like that without asking them. You also shouldn’t do the “muggle” equivalent like putting Nair in someone’s shampoo. That’s assault, Joanie. I think this also feeds into her transphobia, because she just doesn’t seem to have anything that would hold her back from swapping someone’s gender for giggles if she were able to. It’s not just the HP series, either, it’s her works aimed at adults as well. Like, she’d be the type to barge into the bathroom while you’re peeing and then get offended when you’re upset by this because “We’re all girls here.” But oh it’s a modern classic and you have to read it to understand nerd culture…well, you could make that argument 10 years ago but it’s a bit less solid in 2023. I wouldn’t ban a kid from reading it, but I wouldn’t give them a box set. If they brought it home from the library I’d give a quick talk that I’m not mad at them for reading it but they should be aware that the author is a jerk.

Stephanie Meyer: Completely inescapable if you were a tween girl anywhere between 2005 and 2010. You had to plough through 4 doorstoppers of toxic Mormon heterosexuality just to understand what anyone was talking about. Like, I think it should be shelved with a pamphlet about healthy vs unhealthy relationships in it. Also, like, Meyer profited off the names of Native people and didn’t give them a cent. Also Bella you need a vampire like a fish needs a bicycle, just take some vitamin D supplements and you’ll get over him

Again, I’m not saying “don’t read these books.” Many of them are well-written and have historic and sociological and literary value. This post is about how we tell children that these demonstrably bigoted authors, whose bigotry shines through in their writing because they’re too unaware of it to file it down, that these are Great Writers and suitable to emulate. It’s not just that bigotry could be absored by young readers, it’s also that ir build a false foundation that will crumble under literary analysis, creating a life of doubting one’s own word choices, among other problems!