#i fucking hate titles

[golyadkin]

it's because i wouldn't let you kill the bounty hunter isn't it

[hungharrington]

Your last blurb has me thinking of Steve and soft early relationship smut where it’s still fairly new and exciting and he’s just so sweet and wants to be close to you 💔💔

this is basically the premise of a little less conversation BUT it’s also such a good prompt anyways that i wanna write something goofy n domestic hehe <3 u put heartbreak emojis but i’m making this goopy sry! and actually it’s not even soft god i’m sorry MDNI this entire blog is 18+

Steve sinks into you in one slow thrust and makes a noise like he’s been stabbed, his forehead to your collarbone.

For one very long moment, he doesn’t move.

“You… you okay?” You ask, all breathy yourself. Your cunt pulses wildly, eager for him to start moving, for some friction— but you’re worried he’s maybe hurt himself somehow. “Steve?”

“I’m good,” He hisses, voice all tight like he is very much not at all good. It blends away as a husky tone threads through his voice. “God, sorry, you just feel—“

He gives a little rock of his hips, pulling out an inch and thrusting back in and a beautiful moan pulls from his lips. He does it again, pulling out a little further and pushing himself back in to your wet, inviting cunt.

He groans again, “Oh my god, I like you so much.”

You startle a laugh, your arms around his neck sliding down so you can pull his head up a bit. Steve’s flushed and looking sheepish by the time you get him face to face. His hips haven’t stopped moving, still small, perfect thrusts in and out, driving you mad.

“Sorry,” He says again, half panting. “Not the best thing to say the first time we fuck but,” He huffs, a throaty moan slipping out in the middle of the sentence. “It’s true.”

You’re beginning to pant too, all your inhales sounding gaspy and high. Your thighs spread more instinctively, pulling them further back to your chest, letting him get in deeper.

“N-No, it’s good,” You say, smiling a bit as he focuses on your face, his lips parted and pupils blown wide. “I really like you too.”

Your words inspire another moan, particularly loud, and his hips rut into you with more fervor, a soft lewd squelching noise beginning to fill the bedroom. Steve moans shakily, peppering sloppy kisses up the side of your neck.

One hand shifts on your hip, sliding up to press your leg further out and unexpectedly, and there’s an audible pop of a joint cracking. Steve stills instantly, still inside you, as he stares down at your hip.

“Oh my god—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” You hastily interrupt, knowing what he’s thinking. You tug his gaze over to you and away from your leg, seeing the smidge of panic in his eyes. “It just cracks sometimes, you couldn’t know that, it’s fine, it didn’t hurt.”

Steve deflates rapidly, giving a relieved chuckle against your chest where he buries his face. When he speaks, his words are all muffled, “I thought I broke your hip.”

You can’t help it, you laugh a bit at that— imagining his panic at the thought. For the third time, you urge his face up and out of hiding, leaning up to nuzzle against his face.

“Quickest way to end a relationship ever,” He jokes, but you can hear the genuine worry beneath his humour.

“No, no, I’m sorry I should’ve told you,” You murmur tenderly, dropping little kisses along his cheeks and nose. His face blazes hot beneath your ardent affection. “But hey, we’re figuring it out, aren’t we? That’s part of the fun, yeah?”

You use your ankles, crossed over his tailbone, to press him into you and Steve gets the message quickly, starting up his gentle thrusts again with a grunt. The soft noises of sex resume, mixed with your combined low moans. The rhythm from before is easy to slip back into. Your cunt throbs hotly, pleasure starting to drool through your stomach.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes heavily, watching your face closely. “Part of the fun. Fuck, you’re so pretty.”

He says it so sincerely that it makes you gasp, clenching around him and eyes screwing closed for a moment. A low whine crawls out your throat.

“God, fuck you for saying that,” You say, with no heat at all. You can’t open your eyes just yet, you’ll combust if you see how handsome he looks right now.

“Yeah?” Steve huffs, sounding a little smug. Your cunt gushes at the sound of his voice. “Oh, you’re right. Figuring this stuff out is the fun part.”

You whine as he fucks in a little harder, the angle just right to have your gut twisting up in pleasure. Your breath is ragged and you finally open your eyes again, swallowing back another sound at the sight of Steve. Messy haired, pink cheeks, reddened lips. He looks hotter than you’ve ever seen him.

“Shut up and hold my hand,” You say— because two can play that game. It works a charm. You can feel the stutter in his hips, see the ripple on his face, hear the whimper in his throat.

Steve keens, tucking his face down into your neck again. His hand searches the sheets til it finds yours, fingers intertwining before he presses your linked hands into the mattress and ruts into your snug cunt harder and faster, deeper.

“F-Fuck,” He stammers, a moan lilting the word. “I like you so much.”

You can’t even laugh this time round because your mind is starting to melt a little at the edges— but it makes the pleasure all that much better, knowing he means it.

[dollya-robinprotector]

Dress me up, make it tight, I'm your dolly You're my doll, rock'n'roll, feel the glamour in pink Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky~

Inspired from This post of @just-dol-headshots and this ask from @hakusins. Don't worry I'm still aiming for your ass Haku-Dean :) References and something under the cut

We all have to agree Bully Robin should have some softer and caring sides. When there's only them two and no one else is around to judge, he can let loose and slip back into that kinda of "Original Robin" we know and I love. I mean, that's what JDOLH made that got me into these swap messes from the beginning jsjkhskjhd you knowww the HUG!!

Reference: Barbie Girl (Aqua) and this cute ecchi Clamp Chobit piece

All in all I'm a pink bietch and Dollya won't be losing her V-card anytime soon that I can promise so hang in there okay mr.Bully.

edit: OMG THIS IS MY 1000TH POST TTOTT)) JKSDJLASKJKDLA

SELF-INDULGENT HERE WE GO

[dismas-n-dismay]

The amount of times Marcille will suggest blowing shit up with her magic is pushing me to the edge, like girl if you just wanna explode some shit it’s fine but not everything can be solved by using the Fuck-You-Pipe-Bomb spell when we’re in danger

[ensegnity]

I drew this over the course of three years. I did my research for example: like Hoody’s hoodie having no pockets and the blue t-shirt Tim wore in one of the entries underneath the iconic carhartt (which people always make four shades darker than it really is) but I think this is because Masky is always in the dark so it’s hard to distinguish the true colours unless you watch a good amount of Marble Hornets entries to see him in the daylight.

This just proves that the Creepypasta fandom has gone down the deep end. Pick yourselves up folks! Research the source material for crying out loud. My deepest sympathies to my fellow Marble Hornets enjoyers. For our beloved characters have been butchered!

Justice for Masky and Hoodie! Also stop babying adult men. Toby is a grown man and an unhinged mass murderer with no sympathy for other people’s well being. He won’t be your boyfriend. Y’all are weird.

Kastoway (Ticci Toby’s creator) thinks the waffle thing is stupid. Tim doesn’t like cheesecake. This is something Tim Sutton tried to shut down early on while Marble Hornets was still running because people were making fat jokes about him (cheesecake included) Creepypasta fans need to stop and look into the things they’re saying/using.

I made this to inform misinformed people. Thank you.

[shadelorde]

Why do so many people unironically think the Fire Nation is the misogyny-less “girlboss” nation. What the fuck.

[ikol-art]

Series writers stop taking meaningful things from the comics without giving your characters the same thoughtful storylines

[bonefall]

Will Jayfeather go to starclan? Cause he did fight against them his whole life... and then actually fought them (and didn't tell anybody, didn't get punished), AND had kits, plus a bunch of other things I can't think of right now

Like damn

I don't know. I don't write ahead or fix arcs until they are done. I only know that certain cats will eventually become Patrons.

StarClan is a shifting entity, heavily influenced by the most recent cats who join it. Yes Jayfeather has been WILDLY disobedient, punching angels, breaking the code, and openly challenging their choices... but he also saved DOZENS of lives by dragging StarClan Angels out of the sky during the Battle of the True Eclipse!

You could even argue he helped doublekill Tigerstar. Without him, Firestar wouldn't have had his final face-off.

He also has been serving ThunderClan faithfully for years. StarClan damned Featherwhisker in spite of that, but since Ashfur they've had to reconsider a lot of things. Skypelt has even insisted on adopting certain Dark Forest warriors, like Ripplestar and his rebels.

So, we just don't know yet. It's going to be a pretty big trial though.

[foxgirlmoth]

So F1nnster just came out as genderfluid but still I super fucking hate him. Making trap content and constantly making money off of a performance of being a fake girl, getting a name change and gender marker change and posting about going through that all while basically shoving it in the faces of trans women who have struggled over years and years. You've been a performance and you've gained wealth essentially making fun of us and enforcing horrible stereotypes, and saying "Yeah I just don't care about gender" Does Not Make Me Fucking Forgive Any Of That. What fucking hatred you've tossed onto your channel towards trans women will not go away easily, and Fuck You.

[canibeanythingelse]

arcane incantation

[vasito-de-leche]

okay I read your analysis on Forget Me Not and I'm in tears now thank you. (No but really thank you, it's such a touching piece.) Can you PLEASE for salvation of our fans souls write anything to like,,, give him hope? Forget Me Not x reader but it doesn't have to be actually all-out with hugs and kisses. We may,,,,,,,, just show him a new hobby? Any hobby of your choosing or idk play an instrument together. Just to give him something else to focus on, to channel at least part of his energy from self-destructive activities to something less hurtful. I'd personally like to bandage his (not actually wounded but still) hands as if they were bleeding. Something of the kind. Sorry for mistakes writing is incredibly inconvenient cuz tears aaa.

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "hands, fingers, scales"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.3k words. self-harm implied You've befriended Forget Me Not the same one befriends a rabid, beaten, old dog. And while he's much too busy fighting his inner demons, you're more worried about stopping these "pernicious habits" of his. A casual afternoon trying to make sure he's taking care of himself turns into something deeper.

thank you so much for the ask, nonnie!!

I got a little carried away with this request because thinking about how fucking insufferable and confusing FMN has to be just to indulge in HAND HOLDING and GETTING A FUCKING HOBBY made me so deranged and feral as if hes not fucking TOUCHSTARVED lmfao. this guy's love language is straight up worshipping, mf is not subtle about it

either way, hope you like it! here's the lil preview!

Sometimes, Forget Me Not understands the reason men and women kneel at the pew to worship and pray.

Devotion is something arcanists and humans share, whether honest or not. He's witnessed the rich and the poor, the pure and the depraved, and every binary that rules this world - all of them begging, pleading and praying at the end of their lives, casting away the pride they've held on for so long for the chance of salvation. Once stripped down to their core, there is nothing to do but hope God has enough love in His heart to look their way. 

And sometimes, Forget Me Not prays that you’ll find someone else - anyone but him - to fill the role of devotee.

The gentleness in your eyes whenever you look at him is enough to bring him to his knees, and Forget Me Not doesn't know what to do with himself but to worship and pray. Praying that you'll continue to look at him for a little longer, silently begging for your attention until you finally tire of him. Do you think yourself holy enough to replace the vitriol in his veins?

He does.

On good days, he even hopes that you can save him.

You never asked him to become your one and only believer, of course. You're not even aware of the space you take in his mind, nor the conflicting images he keeps conjuring of you at night, he's certain of this. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, holding his hands and inspecting them for any injuries. This role is one of the many self-imposed tragedies in his life.

Your thumbs knead and massage his palm, as if you could soothe the pain away, and yet you refrain from pressing down hard. He's at your mercy, why hesitate? What do you see that he cannot?

Something is bothering you. It's obvious in the way you touch him, like you're afraid of hurting him, as if you were the one with a body count between the two. Every so often, your movements come to a halt and you both sit in silence, until you return to your ministrations, filling the nothingness with your sighing and humming.

All he needs is to look up, right at your face, to know everything he wants to know - but he's too much of a coward for that. Instead, light grey eyes follow your index finger as it slides under the cuffs of his shirt. You trace over the bone of his wrist and continue upwards.

He can't tear his eyes away.

Normally, Forget Me Not wouldn't mind. There is an addictive thrill to witnessing the shock of anyone who dares get so close and personal, but he feels himself shrink when you brush against his scales and recoil away on instinct. That's when he raises his head and finds your eyes in the dimly lit staff room.

That expression on your face - surely, you were regretting every choice that led you to him. By now, you might've surely realized that there is nothing for you to salvage in this shipwreck he calls a life. All attempts to check on him were surely a façade for whatever ulterior motives you continued to withhold from him. He's stubborn, believing that he can read you like an open book, but now he's just as lost as you are. When he opens his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and he grows a little restless at your words.

"Sorry, sorry! Did I, uh, hurt you? Dumb question, you would've definitely told me if that were the case. Anyway, it looks like you're okay! I don't know why I was so worried, actually."

His silence prompts you to continue, and all Forget Me Not can focus on is the absence of your warmth.

You raise a hand to gesture dismissively at your behaviour, brush it off to ease your embarrassment, that much he understands - though it's painful to watch you fumble like that, to deny what he hides under his clothes. Forget Me Not thinks of filling the space between your fingers with his own, just to drag you back to that quiet, albeit suffocating, moment of peace. Instead of doing that, he retreats and places both hands neatly on his lap.

"Thanks for indulging me and, yeah uh, again - sorry about that? It just caught me off guard. I should've been more careful."

But you were never careful with his space or his rules, plunging in and out of his life and leaving him to figure out where he stood in his game of push and pull. Why were you being careful now?

"It's nothing, I understand," he lies. Everything you do means the world to him and he doesn't even understand why. "It cannot hurt to know what sort of things the person pouring your drinks might be hiding under their sleeves."

The word "hypocrite" lingers at the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out with as much venom as he can muster, but it stays lodged behind his teeth because he knows he's even worse: Forget Me Not prays that you'll stay with him, while also opening the door right out his life for you. As much as he wants to, he has no right of calling you out.

He's not used to receiving apologies and so he chooses not to think too hard on yours - though he's dreamed countless of times for the perfect situation in which he finally rips out one apology after another from the throats of those who wronged him, this one feels different. Undeserved, even.

His heart, that wretched lump in his chest, finally settles down and he prepares to end this interaction to save you the awkwardness of addressing his "deformities". But then you go and surprise him once more.

"Come on, I already told you..." You sigh and he inhales in tandem, but you're much too busy rolling your eyes to notice. "That whole thing you do, when you start scratching or, like, picking at your hand? You've been doing it more lately. It had me worried you might've been doing, I don't know - something."

Forget Me Not's eyes widen in surprise. The audacity to notice such things about him? And to put them on display without a warning? What else did you find out?

Part of him wants him to embrace his nature and scare you away, but that's the side of him that's been slowly losing this battle of attrition in his heart - you're a bad influence for him, after all. The other part... Well, it's still trying to sort itself out.

He settles for slowly undoing the buttons on his sleeve. It only takes a moment to roll up the fine fabric to his elbow, knowing you're staring right at him, through him maybe. The expression on his face is one of indifference, one he fights to maintain - this is the most vulnerable he's felt in decades.

That unsightly pattern begins exactly where his sleeves usually end, coiling around his forearm not unlike a snake and traveling upwards. The scales are dark, an iridescent black that reminds him of an oil spill in the middle of the ocean, and the ones at the edges fade away into lighter hues until they mix with the pale, sickly tone of his skin. He knows the sort of beauty he holds, one that can only be admired at a distance, turning into a grotesque imitation of a man when up close.

Forget Me Not presents himself to you and, with his free hand, gets ready to pluck one of the scales off.

"Wait, don't do that-!"

Seizing his arm and holding it close to your chest, you deprive him of the catharsis that comes with this level of self-mutilation. He knows you're connecting the dots, feeling the scattered, empty spaces from all the times you saw him pick himself apart and more. Your fingers brush against his bare skin looking for said spaces, counting them in your head, mourning their loss.

Some scales are in the process of regrowing like unwanted parasites, and he wishes he could feel anything at all just to be closer to you.

"God, what is wrong with you?! What was the point of that?"

Something compels him to laugh (perhaps it's your heartbeat reaching out to him loud and clear through your clothes, he feels it faintly) it comes across as sinister and condescending, the only way he knows how to express joy. Like he's making fun of your concern.

"Apologies," Forget Me Not begins to say, readjusting his glasses. The way you try to keep his own arm out of his reach doesn't go unnoticed. It's such a petty, childish gesture that makes his grin widen and your frown deepen. "I was under the impression you found this little oddity distasteful. There's no need to worry - they will return in a few days, they always do."

"Still, don't do that. It's not funny. It must...hurt a lot."

"Ah, but it doesn't. If else, I'd compare it to being pricked by a very small needle."

"You're just going to find something to nitpick and contradict everything I say, aren't you?" It's the least he can do to repay all the headaches you've given him, and for forgiving his transgressions too easily.

An intrusive thought makes itself known from the depths of his mind - would you forgive him just as readily if he were to kill someone in front of you? If he showed you just how destructive his arcane skills could be when given free reign? Where would you draw the line? And how much could he continue to push his luck before he lost you?

Before Forget Me Not realizes it, you've loosened your grip on his arm and returned to that previous moment of suffocating peace - the only difference is that you've gone from being deep in thought to troubled and miserable, one hair away from darting out the room and refusing to speak to him. At this, his pinky finger wraps around yours and neither of you mention it.

"Can't you... I don't know, do something else?"

"I could be doing my job, but alas, you're keeping me prisoner here." He says, like he's not delighted to be given your undivided attention. There are no complaints when you step on his foot with a huff, he deserved that one.

"I'm talking about the scales thing! You could wear gloves. If it happens when you get distracted then, I could hang around to make sure you stop in time." A pause, and then the sound of your voice becomes unsure and so very small. "Maybe if we covered them with bandages...? But that could be annoying. Band aids? No, no - too unprofessional. It would ruin the whole aesthetic you're going for."

You continue to trail off, coming up with many different ideas and solutions to a problem he caused. He doesn't understand why you'd even bother in the first place. For you to reciprocate the attention he gives you, to care about him? That's the hardest pill Forget Me Not has ever swallowed - it's something he twirls around with his tongue, as if deciding whether to poison himself with bliss or spit it out and continue latching on to his doubts and insecurities.

Outside, in front of everyone at The Walden, he's the one leading the crowd and talking for hours on end, commanding their attention and manipulating the flow of every conversation.

Behind closed doors, all he does is listen to every nonsensical thought, unnecessary opinion and strange anecdote you throw at him.

"...No, that won't work either." Absentmindedly, you fix and button his sleeve back into place.

You've grown used to his silence the same way you've adapted and grown used to his flaws.

"I mean, it worked on me - getting a little slap on the wrist whenever I started biting my nails, but..." Without even thinking, you rub circles with your thumb across his knuckles.

You might as well be the stupidest angel in heaven.

"Why don't you just get a hobby? That's good enough, right? It's been so long since I've heard you play piano, the one by the stage." And just like that, you're on your feet attempting to drag him outside for a demonstration. "You could teach me! That way, we get to do something fun and I get to keep an eye on you."

Forget Me Not knows he has nothing to offer to this world, but when his saint looks at him with such hope, he cannot refuse. The path to recovery seems almost doable when you bump your shoulder into his, challenging him to play the hardest song he knows.

The stars in your eyes whenever you recognize all the songs he plays becomes intoxicating, more so than the sweet, sweet revenge he's yearned for since he spiraled into decadence.

Some days, his patrons join with their own singing or humming, and he forgets that he hates each and every one of them for as long as his fingers dance across the keys - a momentary reprieve from the constant stream of negativity. It doesn't take long for his body to remember his training and soon, he's improvising.

A melody for gloomy, rainy days. A whimsical tune here and there for celebrations.

A song for you and himself - the first one he teaches you and the only one he plays in private, when he's all alone with nothing but his thoughts. Solitude has gone from a noose wrapped around his neck to the perfect time to compose and hone this long forgotten passion. For the first time in forever, he doesn't dread the silence of an empty room, the endless wait between his shifts at The Walden - not when he can simply fill them with more and more music.

And so, Forget Me Not plays, hoping that you'll continue to cheer him on. Hoping that this tiny spark you've ignited in him can truly become his salvation.

[clawfootcoffin]

loved hearing lena put her foot down in the newest ep….. gwen and her are quite literally an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object and it is So entertaining to watch.

can’t wait to see how their rivalry concludes (it will almost certainly end with one or both of them Dead)

[kingdom-dance]

Thinking about Chase being the person to coin the term “Hero of Haven”. Can you imagine if you had a key role in turning the person who would be the love of your life into a myth? Into a paragon? You had a hand in immortalizing someone you didn’t think would mean so much to you. Would mean everything.

Maybe you condemned them with a cheeky epithet.

[lynnbutlertron]

^^ might be getting a job at a cute little ice cream shop on the beach in my town GRAGGHHH. i have a trial shift tomorrow i hope i dont cock it up

[m1d-45]

new hopes

summary: shinobu and itto find you on the beach hiding from the shogunate, and decide to help

-> warnings: n/a! just general imposter sagau things

-> lowercase intended!

the night is calm.

shinobu walks along a road near the beach, taking itto from the police station again. they’re taking a detour so they can both enjoy the night, and the cool breeze is helping to soothe heated tempers. she’s less mad than normal, since this time he’s not in trouble for causing a ruckus, only for speaking up about the ‘imposter’ situation, but still. he should know better, especially when the authorities aren’t his biggest fans.

he suddenly stops, a hand tapping at her shoulder for her attention. “shinobu, look!”

she does, leaning forward to see you sitting on the beach. you don’t seem to be in the best of shape, and though outlander merchants are often left with nothing, this… feels different.

she’s not sure why, but she’s not going to get involved, that’s-

itto grabs her arm and pulls her with him as he walks over to you, and she sighs.

-not going to happen.

“hey there!”

you jump, violently, and shinobu’s eyes narrow. itto doesn’t seem to notice, continuing down the beach.

“what are you doing out here?”

you stumble to your feet, fear evident in the moonlight, and shinobu stops itto with a harsh tug.

“i- i’m not-“

“we’re not with the shogunate,” she says, putting you out of your misery, and you relax somewhat. “what are you out here for? you’ll get sick.”

“i’m… i was hiding.”

“hiding?“ ittos loud voice makes you flinch again, and he seems to notice, lowering his volume significantly. “what are you hiding for?”

shinobu rolls her eyes. it’s clear, at least to her, what happened to you, and she pulls him behind her. “don’t mind him. why is the shogunate after you?”

you stare, distrustful, and she doesn’t blame you. “i dont know. i don’t know what i did. i barely got to give my name and-“

she politely ignores the way you choke up before even finishing, looking you over. the tears on your clothes are too neat to be simple wear, but you don’t match any wanted posters she’s seen.

“you didn’t do anything?”

“n-no, i just- i barely had a chance to walk into the city before i was stopped by guards.”

itto crossed his arms with a huff. “well, that’s just wrong! at the very least they should tell you what rules you broke, and to try and arrest you so quickly? i’ve barely met you and i know you’re trustworthy!”

“boss, you shouldn’t decide things so rashly-“

“oh, don’t be silly! and even if they end up causing trouble i’m still the one and oni!“

“boss-“

“come on, you really think it’s wise to leave somebody out like this? what kind of oni would i be if i let somebody walk around in winter like that without even trying to help?”

shinobu is not sure when or why the conversation shifted to ‘let’s help you’ instead of ‘who are you’ but… itto was right. you would quickly get sick with such clothes, and the shogunate would swiftly catch you without proper shoes. considering that they didn’t even list out your charges(something she’s fairly certain is illegal, but she might have to check with heizou on that) and that she herself feels like she can trust you..

she takes off her jacket, as small as it is, and puts it over your head. though you tense, she notices that you don’t move away when she gets close. odd.

“that should help hide you from any guards. when we get to the base, i’ll get you a proper mask like mine.”

you smile.

it’s late, so most of the gang is asleep, a fact shinobu is very grateful for. considering how much itto frightened you.. she doesn’t want to subject you to the raucous chatter of the whole gang just yet.

she brings you to the bathroom, showing you which bottles are which before promising to return with clothes.

hopefully genta won’t miss a set.

when you come out, collar askew and holding the extra layers in the hat, she wants to smile and punch a shogunate official at the same time. how could you be a threat? how could they need to arrest you when you apologize as she straightens out the ribbons? how could they take such drastic action against somebody who could barely figure out inazuman clothing?

she sits you down and gives you a plate of her specialty, omurice waltz. sure, it’s late, but she doubts you’ve eaten anything of substance in a while.

the speed with which it’s gone, almost like you’re afraid she’ll rip it away before you’re done, confirms it.

she’s definitely keeping you from the shogunate. anybody with eyes could see you’re not a threat, but it appears the police force has gone blind.

you weren’t sure how your life had taken so many wild turns after another. first you were almost arrested by the tenryou commission, and then you were resting by the beach, and now…

you sat in the corner of the gang’s dining room, some bowl of meat and rice in hand. though you’d been ushered in by itto—whose booming voice made you jump so high you’re surprised you didn’t hit the ceiling—and sat swiftly, he hadn’t spoken to you since. it was shinobu that had passed you your food, and the spoon you held since your grip wasn’t strong enough for chopsticks. she was not, however, the one to defend you when the gang started asking questions.

somebody sitting close to your corner turns, throwing an arm over his chair to point at you. “who is that by the way, boss?”

shinobu’s mouth opens, some diplomatic remark already on the tip of her tongue, most likely, but itto beats her to it.

“thats a refugee we found on the beach!” you’re a what-? “they were gonna get sick with the weather, and were hiding from the shogunate, so we took them in. shinobu told me that even her doushin friend didn’t know why they were being arrested, and he even helped divert the police!”

‘doushin friend’?

wait.

besides him, shinobu nods. “the most we could gather is that they were charged on no evidence, which is against the law. detective shikanoin is certain that they haven’t committed any crimes, and so they will be staying with us until it gets settled.”

‘detective shikanoin’…?

did shinobu know heizou?

you could feel your chances of survival rise with every second that went by.

“oh, alright then. what’s their name?”

“well you see, we kinda didn’t really have time for introductions since we were worried about the shogunate more than anything, so-“

shinobu sighs, and you’re suddenly frozen by her eyes on yours. “what’s your name?”

you remember your run-in with the guards, about how you barely got your first name out before they drew their spears-

you lie, give a fake name, and shinobu nods.

“hm… you mentioned them getting aggressive immediately after you introduced yourself, right?”

did you? you don’t really remember.

you nod anyway.

“i don’t remember seeing any cases with that name recently, but i’ll pass it on to detective shikanoin anyway. we’ll see what we can find.

a downside to having such a brilliant detective on your case was that he could expose you to everybody within an instant, and could probably predict your next move with pinpoint accuracy… but the possibility wasn’t as awful as having the shogunate itself after you. even if he ended up finding whatever file the tenryou commission had on you, being arrested at the hands of somebody you knew was a much better fate, in your opinion.

hed be a fatal enemy, for certain, but a perfect ally all the same.

the conversation had turned away from you, redirecting to some other crime the gang had accidentally committed. itto was waving around a half-empty glass, shinobu watching with amused eyes despite the harsh words coming from her mouth.

“you shouldn’t speak of the shogun that way.”

“why not? if she really had a problem with it, she’d strike me down with her lightning!”

“boss…”

the gang was loud, shouting across the table at each other and shoving those at their side in jest. the room was filled with the scent of spices and the sound of laughter, a sense of camaraderie and friendship settling in that you haven’t felt in a while.

perhaps…

perhaps you’d be alright.

[shrimp1y]

Can someone with brains please please PLEASE talk about the disgusting portrayal of cops, crime, court proceedings, justice system and prison incarceration in genshin impact's fontaine update because I cannot SIT HERE and see people completely destroy their brain cells just so they could play a mediocre game and make some fictional men fuck in their mind

I'm deadass surprised there isn't more people talking about it??? I'm honestly so ??? It's literally presenting prison labour as a good thing. Wriothesley, the prison administrator, got rich off of making his inmates build police robots for the state AND HE'S PRAISED FOR IT. AND THEY'RE PAID IN COUPONS THAT CAN ONLY BE USED IN JAIL. HE WAS REWARDED FOR IT WITH HIS DUKE STATUS.

The fact that the fucking MC's mascot was like "oh the prisoners get one free meal a day? you're making life too good down here what if no one wants to leave :(" what in the bullshit. What in the. There's also a fighting ring in the prison, by the way, and you can bet on it with your coupons you just can't bet on both fighters.

The. This is a scene people think is hot. "But that's a bad guy!" THAT'S HOW THE NARRATIVE IS WRITTEN. THEY ARE ALWAYS THE BAD GUY IN FICTION. THAT'S HOW COPAGANDA WORKS, they make you think people in power can just beat the shit outta anyone and of course the person deserves it because they are clearly always the bad guys! And the people in power are always right! This is sarcasm btw.

Neuvillette and the magic judgement machine are literally seen as undeniable justice ordained by magic and NO ONE KNOWS HOW IT WORKS. NEUVILLETTE HIMSELF HAS NO CLUE WHAT HE'S DOING HE'S ACTIVELY FIGURING SHIT OUT AS WE SPEAK. And yet it's what sends people to The Worst Most Dangerous Super Scary Prison Ever Where There's No Laws [but 1 meal a day's great /s].

"But he feels bad!" Genshin has repeatedly chosen to highlight the pains and troubles of the oppressors [Eula] [Ei/Shogun] and there's literally never any repercussions for them aside from when they portray The Haterz clearly as villains or they turn it around and say "Well it was a misunderstanding all along! No one's to blame here!"

I'm not smart enough to go into details I'm just saying. This. needs to be talked about. I'm not telling you to stop the game bc Hyperfixations not really smth that can be controlled or whatever I get It I Got Back into the game when the first trailer dropped I drew neuvillette fanart and then everything just went downhill since then and I'm like why the fuck did I expect anything better than racist, pro cop dogshit from Mihoyo It needs to be talked about ESPECIALLY by people who still cares about it to critically. assess what the fuck you are absorbing because this shit isn't okay. This is literally paw patrol for weebs they just didn't call anyone a "cop"

PLEASE. TALK ABOUT IT.