#implicit operator

[unnonexistence]

ok i hate those ambiguous math notation ragebait posts so so much. however. it's worse when the notation is not ambiguous and someone is insisting that it is

[hballegro]

taking my psych exam so i can go out and have fun later, and im going 'dr amari said the hippocampus is related to memories in fallout 4 so im picking that one' and its genuinely helping

[ot3]

'you are not immune to propaganda' is true but sometimes the way people deploy this particular soundbite reveals a complete unwillingness to attribute any agency or ideology to people who espouse some pretty heinous bigotry.

like there was a post going around recently talking about people whose parents became increasingly radicalized by fox news and it had one of those tumblr style comments on it along the lines of "REMEMBER! THIS COULD BE YOU! You are not immune to propaganda either. STAY VIGILANT" and the implication here is always that right wing radicalization is something that somehow happens to otherwise pleasant people without their consent or knowledge. But perhaps some of you guys just need to grapple with the fact that your parents might be more bigoted and reactionary than you want to believe.

nobody is immune to bad information ecosystems or groupthink or poor science or anything else that makes radicalization possible, but i do think the idea that anyone is just a bad news pipeline away from supporting white supremacy does a lot to let white supremacists off the hook. it's the same kind of line of thought that gets people to talk about how bad things in fiction shouldn't be 'romanticized'. its a kind of worldview that operates under the implicit belief that a human being is a vessel being uncritically filled with whatever you pour into it and does nothing to grapple with what the actual appeal of these far right talking points is to the sort of otherwise ""normal"" seeming people that can be sold on them.

[girlfromflor]

part 4 | supersoldiers!141 x f!reader

two months into your shared life and you can’t possibly imagine a routine without them. simon is a subtle presence, you know he’s there and you feel him, but half of the time you don’t have many interactions – he feels you, you feel him, you understand each other. you don’t have to talk to share things, it’s like you can mentally and emotionally hold hands with him even though he’s not physically by your side. kyle is more than present, always making sure you have everything you need to comfortably carry on with your day. he has grown to lingering touches and sweet words, you often allow him to stay over the night when shows up at your door – he never asked to sleep in your room, but to know he was in the house was soothing enough.

as for john, he was more than attentive to you. he quickly realized that, in order to make you feel at ease with new things, he had to act confidently about it. you never asked for the things you wanted, so he stopped asking if you needed things soon enough, opting to take it into his own hands and do it – whatever it was. and like it was practiced, when something felt out of place, you’d speak up. like it was normal, like you’ve never even doubted it before, simply because he wasn’t doubting either.

that opened so many doors for you – as a group, yes, but specially between the two of you. you were being quietly and decisively guided by him like he was physically holding you through every step. and it didn’t take too long for you to wordlessly work around each other, his silent domination working like a heavy, warm blanket around you. you felt safe, good and protected. it was as clear as it was indescribable – what you shared –, the proof of it coming when your first actual operation happened.

it was already chaos for you, but you managed it well because you had to. there was no hesitation on the enemies’ part. no doubt, no humanity, so that’s exactly how you worked – fast, assertive and fucking precise. there was a bubbling, unknown feeling deep inside you that was egging you on, pushing you to do more, think less. 

you were already on the way to leave the village that you were assigned to defend across the border. a group of machines had gone autopilot again and were causing problems, your task was to take the people out of there and into the city. the explosion was unexpected. someone must have fired too close to the machines and then they activated self-detonation, but you didn’t have time to think about it, there was a child crying somewhere far in your back. you let go of the car’s door, turning around like a lightening – glancing at price for a split second before you started running towards the sound. no second thoughts – someone was going to do it, you just acted faster. john didn’t have to say it but it was implicit, all of them saw it as clear as day, “you can go, i’ve got your back”. you didn’t raise your gun nor did you pull out a knife. you just ran, knowing that whatever came to your way was going to be put down by john – you captain, your protector.

when you found the kid – a scared little boy, secured in the arms of an older one – he started talking faster than you could comprehend. you made out the words “fell” and “hurt” and quickly realized the older one was injured. you moved to pick the older one up, doing it effortlessly with the way he weighed nothing to you – the perks of being a supersoldier. you looked to the younger one asking “think you can run?” to which he responded with a vigorous nod. you motion for him to go, “i’m right behind you.”

john watched as you appeared from the corner of an empty house with a child in your arms, a smaller one running in their direction. johnny ran instantly when he saw you, picking the younger boy in his arms before running back to the cars as well. you reached it without trouble, stepping inside in the back seat with johnny and kyle – the kids safely seated in your lap and in johnny’s. when you got to the base’s medical center it was easy to make out a woman desperate trying to find her kids. it was extremely fulfilling to see them finding each other, knowing you were part of the reason why they could.

later that day, john was in your kitchen with you as you washed the dishes you used during dinner. the others had just left to sleep, everyone was tired, just needing some good, long night of sleep. john was leaning on the counter when he spoke, “cannot believe you sprinted to get them,” his tone soft, letting you know he wasn't reprimanding you – if anything, it was a compliment.

“didn't think about it,” your voice is a quiet, distant sound. you haven't given it much thought, but now that he’s bringing it up, it gets clearer how you had relied on them without question.

“that's what i mean,” he says, trying to make explicit how amazing it felt for him, to know that you had blindly trusted that they would’ve backed you up. how easy it was for you to trust them, trust him.

you laugh, a bit taken aback by his words. “i don’t doubt you, y’know?” you say, and is so sincere he can’t help but pull you in for a hug.

because he knew. god, he did – he felt it, the complete utter faith you had in them. because you felt how they would do anything to keep the five of you safe and together – it was simply a mutual understanding. he laughed then, matching your wave of emotions, the warmth spreading in his chest making him feel so good he didn’t care if it was coming from you or him – he knew you were feeling it too anyways. “i know, sweetheart.”

it was easy being around john, just as much as it was with kyle and ghost, and that brought a sense of ease to you all that made you feel giddy and cozy. and johnny? well, he was… trying. he still held himself back around you, even though you started giving him more openings to be himself around you. it seemed like he grew used to the habit, and it was infuriating. he tormented everyone with his relentless thinking and strong emotions, but he never acted on it. 

it must be really hard for him to do it, that’s what you’re thinking at the moment. it’s been 30 minutes since he dropped by your place to “watch a movie”, but you know he’s not even close to paying attention to it. as a matter of fact, you know exactly what is going through his mind – you can feel it low in your belly and deep in your core.

“oh, for god's sake, johnny. can you stop?” you snap, exasperated tone making it clear that you mean it – even though there was a hint of a smile in your lips.

“stop what? i’m nae doing anything,” he answers, not even looking at you as he does. there’s a smirk on his lips and a teasing edge on his voice.

“you don't need to, i can hear your thoughts like they're being fucking hammered in my head,” and he laughs at your words, because even though you shared a very crazy emotional bond, there’s no way you can hear his thoughts. you don’t mind him, finishing with “it's fucking maddening.”

“nae my fault yer mental, lass,” he manages to let out, breathless and still smiling from his fit of laughter. not even a full pause after it, he says “seriously, what’re ye even talkin’ about?”

“i'm serious. cut it out, or i'll make you,” you deadpan, tone not half as stern as you wanted it to be, and with the look in his eyes it’s clear it didn't have the desired effect.

“huh, will ye, now? i'd like to see ye try, bonny,” he turns on the couch to look at you, teasing tone and teasing tone rolling off in every syllable.

“so you know what you're doing,” you turn to him too, mimicking his movements without thinking much about it.

“oops, ye caught me,” he says, and you don’t try to hold the laugh that slips your lips. you playfully punch his stomach, and he laughs too – he doesn’t miss the way you don’t move your hand, simply laying it on his chest. “cannae help it, y'know? nae around ye,” he moves closer, his voice is lower in your ears, and it’s like his accent is even stronger now.

“that’s a lie, johnny,” you whisper, making a joke to ease the mood, “you can’t control it with anyone.”

he chuckles and moves to touch your hand that is on his chest, hand closing around your wrist and giving your arm a light tug. you laugh and move to sit between his legs – back touching his chest, head resting on his shoulder. at his lack of response you add, “you don’t have to keep yourself from doing the things you want, johnny.” tilting your head back, you hold his gaze, “it’s not healthy.”

“aye,” he says as he pushes your face back to watch the tv, his chin resting on your head. “just wasn’t sure if you’d be alright with it.”

johnny didn’t shut up about it afterwards and the boys very much liked the new pace that had been settled. still, the men had to often remind johnny to do the things he wanted. he was too afraid you’d pull away, and he knew the others thought that too because he’d often reply with “ye say that, but ye dinnae act on it yerself.”

it’s how they end up in another one of these discussions. you're in the backyard of their house, picking up some flowers to decorate your place while they are gathered on the porch watching you as they speak.

“you have to act on it, otherwise she won’t either,” kyle points out, leaning on the porch’s fence.

“aye, ya know it,” john shrugs, his eyes still on you – remembering all the times he got you to do things simply by acting confidently around you –, “casual dominance or some shit.”

“i’m nae sure that’s a thing,” johnny chuckles, finding it funny that they’re trying so hard to make him believe their words.

“watch and learn, johnny,” kyle says at last, before walking to you. he calls your name and you look up, a smile already making its way to your lips as you settle the basket filled with flowers on the floor.

the others stay unmoving, watching to see how the scene will unfold. johnny says from where they stand, “that’s nae fair, she’s whipped.”

“i’m sure she’d react the same way if it was any of us,” john is quick to jump into your defense, watching as simon bends down a bit to lock eyes with johnny and nod – he thought the same.

they fall into silence to pay attention to you and kyle. he has his hands on your waist now, pulling you closer to him. he’s talking about something silly, you’re not really paying attention because your eyes keep flickering to his lips. a nervous laugh slips to your lips when kyle calls you out on it, arms further closing around you – hugging your middle. your hands find his biceps and then slide up slowly to find their place on his shoulders. 

“what is going through that pretty head of yours, love?” kyle asks you, and he clocks your flustered state immediately. “don’t even think about lying, i already know.”

you pout then, it was unfair. you weren’t used to it like they were, so you tease him a bit, “if you know, then why’d i have to say anything?”

he smirks, a chuckle escaping his lips because it was like you were reminding him of the very reason why he was there in the first place. “you’re right, baby,” is all he says before he slowly moves down to touch his lips on yours.

it was breathtaking, the shared feeling of your joy and satisfaction. his lips are soft on yours and you have to fight the urge to rush things. one of your hands is on his shoulder while the other is settled on his cheek. his hands squeeze your waist slightly, grounding himself in the moment. you kiss slowly, tongues brushing in one another passionately, in a way that rips the air out of your lungs. you giggle when he pulls away, pulling him into a hug and hiding your face in his neck. he laughs, squeezing you in his arms, cooing “don’t get shy now.”

you leave a peck on his neck as an answer, and pull away from the hug. the others watched amazed at how easy it was for kyle to get a kiss – a bit aroused by how bad you were holding yourself back. and johnny is about to wail his complaints out when they are caught by your gaze. johnny’s words die in his tongue because – as if sensing the disturbance in the harmony you’ve set between you – you grab the basket with one hand, the other interlacing with kyle’s, and start walking towards the porch. once you’ve made your way up the small set of stairs, ghost is wordlessly taking the basket from you and stepping inside the house. john gives kyle and johnny a look that says “behave” before petting your head and stepping inside as well.

you turn to johnny, all doe eyes and flustered wishes, “say it, johnny.”

he blinks, then looks at kyle – who just shrugs with a smirk. he pats the back of his head before stepping closer to you, “uh… lass,” he starts, a bit nervous but most importantly: fucking excited that this is happening. he has to talk slowly in order to not trip over his words, simply because he wants to make it happen so bad. “can i kiss ye, bonny?”

and fuck, yes he can. he knows it, hell— price and simon know it. they can feel it deep in their chest, in addition to the overbearing need to palm their semi – they wonder how wet you are with the exchange. “yes, please,” you whisper, and just like that johnny is on you.

the kiss is a bit faster than the one you shared with kyle, but fuck if it wasn’t just as good. johnny had both his hands on your face, cupping your cheek. your hands fell in his waist, stroking softly through the fabric of his shirt. you don’t even realize when he pulls away, opening your eyes only to see his almost fucked out expression – steamin’ jesus, he’ll never neglect himself again. kyle has half a mind to pull the both of you into something more, already knowing that simon and john are trying to balance it out – otherwise, you and johnny would pull you all into a spiral that no one would want to leave. 

turns out all you needed was a greenlight. they’re sure that now you are going to be just like johnny – maybe a bit worse, it’ll depend on the time of the month.

series masterlist a/n: please let me know what you think, and what you want to see in the next part!💘 | taglist: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @little-mini-me-world @bath1lda @imthatone-annoyingfriend @night-shadowblood-writes2 @z-wantstowrite @kentuckyhobbit @supernova2205 @thatghostlykid @reggiesslut @reap3erslov3

[guilty-pleasures21]

i have this fun take that jason works his crime lord stuff at warehouse with his goons however none other bats could go in (he forbids it) except the bat theme vigilante! reader. Sometimes the reader just go there, whether visit him to help her with her cases or annoy jason bc ofc she can, well she is his best friend slash badass girlfriend. However sometimes his goons just wondering what are their relationship without prying too much on their boss’ life. I would hope you like this request (if youre in the mood to write it) and I hope that makes sense tho because english is not my first language

The warehouse

Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry I took so long, babe! I was racking my brain every night trying to come up with a coherent storyline 😅! This is fun though! I like to imagine Reader just making Jason look silly, but he allows it because he’s head over heels for her!

Warnings: implicit descriptions of sex (male x female).

----------------------------------------------------------

     She burst through the roof and landed on the balcony overlooking the interior of the old abandoned factory. Well, ‘abandoned’ was more like it: the space was filled with busy men who had frozen in their tracks to stare up at her in horror. X placed her hands on her hips and fixed them all with her most threatening frown. “I demand to speak to your boss!”

     “Right here, princess,” the Red Hood sighed from behind her. X turned around and her face lit up immediately when she saw him, burly arms folded across his chest, his rugged features probably arranged into an exasperated look beneath his helmet. She took a step closer to him and her brows crashed together again as she placed her hands on his bulky shoulders. 

     “You know I don’t like it when you wear your helmet, Hood,” she whined, purposefully making her voice all high-pitched. “Why don’t you wear your mask?” 

     Jason let out another weary sigh and wrapped an arm around her to start guiding her in the direction of his office. 

     “Keep going, everyone,” he assured his henchmen, “I’ll handle this.” 

     His goons exchanged confused glances with one another, but quickly returned to their operations as their boss led the hero away. Jason locked the door behind him once they were safely inside his office, then he focused his full attention on X. “What are you doing here?” 

     She leaped onto his sofa and lay back, stretching herself out so her suit clung tightly to her every curve. Jason’s eyes followed the lines of her body, admiring her lush figure, and his hands began to ache with the need to run all over her soft skin. X grinned, completely aware of the effect she was having on the tough vigilante. 

     “I wanted to see your handsome face, Hood!” she replied, still using that ridiculously innocent tone on him. “But since you’re wearing your helmet …” 

     She pursed her lips, as if disappointed by her fruitless journey, but then she propped herself up on her elbow and lowered her eyes to his torso instead. “I guess I’ll just have to admire your delicious body instead.” 

     Jason swallowed down the saliva that gathered in his mouth at the way she licked her lips while her eyes trailed over him. Thank God he was wearing his helmet or she’d be able to see the way the tips of his ears and the back of his neck reddened otherwise. He cleared his throat and glanced away from her, calming himself down before removing his helmet. He was still wearing his mask underneath, concealing his identity from anyone who didn’t already know him, but it was enough of a glimpse of his face to keep his girlfriend happy. X grinned and rolled over onto her stomach, letting her hair fall over her shoulder. Jason pulled his gaze away from her again and cleared his throat. “You could have just waited at home, sweetheart.” 

     X pushed herself to her feet and walked over to Jason. She slid onto his lap and her fingers immediately made their way into his hair. She pulled on the strands gently, tugging his head back and forcing his lips to align with hers. Her mouth watered in anticipation of feeling the rough ridges of his wide lips brushing across hers, but she forced herself to look away and get up again. She knew she wouldn’t be able to resist kissing him if she’d glanced up and seen the way his pupils dilated whenever he was looking at her mouth. And, shit, he was such a good kisser that she always found it impossible to drag herself away from him once they got caught up in a heated makeout session. X hopped up onto the edge of Jason’s desk and pulled a thumb drive out of one of her pockets. 

     He raised an eyebrow as she held the small drive out to him, her lips twisted into a begrudging smirk. “What’s this?” 

     X crossed one leg over the other as he plugged the drive into his computer, lightly trailing the tip of her boot along the inside of his muscled thigh. “How trusting, Red Hood. How do you know I didn’t just hand you a virus I could use to hack into your computer and get all your contacts?” 

     Jason’s gaze flickered up to her and his eyes were immediately pulled to her chest, her luscious curves on full display. He pushed aside the desire rapidly pooling in his core and fixed her with a knowing look. 

     “Did you want all my contacts?” He grabbed her ankle and held her leg in place so he could sneak his thumbs beneath her tights and begin rubbing small circles along her bare skin. “You know all you’d have to do is ask, princess.”

     She closed her eyes as the low murmur of his voice danced along her bones. He was always so smooth and so put together that she relished every chance she got to have the upper hand over him. X bit down on her lip as Jason kept his grip on her foot, using the pain to distract herself from his featherlight touches, but finally, she opened her eyes to sneak a peek at him. His tongue darted out from between his lips as his hungry gaze travelled over her body and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed down the saliva rapidly gathering in his mouth. He looked up at her and smirked when he caught her gaze trained intensely on him. X gulped at the smug look on his face and quickly pulled her foot away from him. 

     “I-I …” Her voice came out breathy and she mentally reprimanded herself for letting him get the upper hand. “It’s for my new case: this is all the evidence that was collected from the crime scene. I wanted you to check if I’d missed something.”

     Jason spun around to his computer and opened up the drive to start clicking through the images. His eyes widened with horror when he realised who the victim probably was - and who the likely suspect was as well: Carmine Falcone. No way would he let his precious little girlfriend get mixed up with such a notorious villain. He closed the file and turned to X with a scowl. “Who gave you this case?” 

     Her lips parted, confused by her boyfriend’s sudden change in demeanour. “I … just got stuck with it because everyone else thought it was too boring.”

     “Well, they were wrong.” Jason removed the drive from his computer and tossed it into one of his desk drawers. “You’re not taking this case, princess.”

     X furrowed her brows, caught between bewilderment and amusement: Jason could be a little overprotective of her sometimes. Not that she didn’t love having someone who was so perfectly capable of taking care of her and making her feel safe! She just found that he could be a tad dramatic sometimes … “I have a name, you know, sweetheart.”

     Jason narrowed his eyes at her overly saccharine tone. He stood up and placed his hands on either side of her. “You’re not taking this case, Nightingale.”

     X took in the threatening frown on his face, then she wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed her lips out in a pout. 

     “No fair!” she complained. “Why do you always get to have all the fun, Hood?” Suddenly, her expression morphed into a devious grin and she tickled the base of his skull with her fingernails. 

     “We could solve this case together?” she suggested. “The two of us working in perfect synchrony …” She stretched up, bringing her lips to his ear so she murmur softly into it, her voice low and thick with lust. 

     “And no one would even know how good the big, bad Red Hood f*cks the city’s sweet little Nightingale to sleep in his bed every night,” she finished naughtily. 

     “F*ck.” Jason’s eyes rolled back in his head as all the blood rushed immediately to his core. Because who in their right mind would ever picture the rough and hardened vigilante running his hands and teeth and tongue all over the naked body of their sweet little superhero? Corrupting her in his bed every night while she mewled desperately for his c*ck? He dug his fingers into the table, restraining himself from touching her. He took a step back, forcing her hands to fall away from his shoulders, and the distance allowed him to finally regain control of his thoughts. “I’ll handle this case, princess. I’ll talk to Batman about it.”

     She swung her legs back and forth, trying to decide between telling him off for ordering her around and just letting him do her work for her. But she didn’t want him to take on extra work on her account, though she supposed it would be sufficient punishment for the demeaning way he was treating her right then. She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at him.

     “I’m not a child, Hood,” she told him, the anger taking over. “But if you want to treat me as such, then don’t complain about the consequences that come with it.”

     She stalked towards the door, making to leave, but Jason jumped out of his seat and quickly caught her wrist.

     “Nightingale,” he sighed, finally realising how his authoritative tone might have come across. X stopped, but refused to turn around and face him. “I’m just … The people involved in this case are too dangerous, sweetheart.”

     He lifted his hand to wrap his arms around her and pull her close to him, but then he hesitated. What if she pushed him aside in disgust, unwilling to forgive his mistakes any longer? He tugged her wrist to test the waters and X collapsed back into his chest, relieving all the tension from his body. He squeezed her against him, holding her tightly against his chest, and pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

     “I can’t-” His voice cracked, but he recovered quickly. “I’m not going to let you get hurt, Nightingale.”

     X sighed at the earnestness in his voice and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Okay.”

     Jason patted her back gently and bent over to press another kiss to the top of her head … But then someone banged on the door.

     “Boss?!” one of his goons’ panicked voice came from the other side of the door. “Are you all right?! Has she got you?! Blink twice if the answer is ‘yes’!”

     “You idiot!” another man’s rough voice interrupted. “How are we gonna know if he’s blinking?!”

     “Oh yeah …” the first man replied. “We’re coming in, boss!”

     “No! Don’t-” Jason leaped away from his girlfriend just as his goons came barreling into the room. They zoomed straight in between the two of them and crashed into the wall at the end before landing in a crumpled heap on the ground. 

     “Shit,” Jason muttered, racing over to check on his henchmen. X followed after him, rapidly assessing the two men’s injuries: thankfully, they’d seemed to have just bruised their arms after breaking the door down and running straight into the wall - no sign of any head injuries or concussions. She straightened with a relieved smile. 

     “They should be fine,” she assured Jason. She turned around and sauntered to the door, swaying her hips teasingly. Then she stopped in the doorway and twisted around to look back at him, stretching her body in such a way to accentuate her curves. “Oh and my offer still stands, Mr Big Bad Red Hood.”

     She enunciated the words carefully and Jason’s body heated up as her eyes roved all over him beneath her mask. She grinned at the sudden tightness in his posture and swivelled back around to resume her exit. “You know where to find me if you want to take me up on it. I’ll be waiting, sweetheart.”

     Her tone was teasing - challenging - and Jason gulped as she turned back to shoot him one last wicked grin. He watched quietly as she grappled out of his warehouse, disappearing into the night, and his mind started running wild with ideas on all the positions he could possibly find her in once he returned home.

     “Um, what's she talking about, boss?” one of his men asked him, his voice slightly shaky. Jason turned to find both his goons blushing at his girlfriend's lascivious tone - except that they didn't even know that she was his girlfriend. They were just wondering why the cute and pretty hero was using what was very clearly her bedroom voice on their large and threatening boss. Jason gulped as her earlier words echoed in his mind, but he forced down his desire and drew himself to his full height.

     “Nothing. She … was just warning me about a case involving Falcone,” Jason told them. “Keep an eye on your families, boys: he doesn't seem to be in a good mood. And if he ever threatens any one of you, you come straight to me, got it?”

     The men nodded vigorously, heeding their boss’s warning: the Red Hood never steered them wrong, so they'd follow his words to the letter. “Got it, boss.”

     “Good. Let the others know.” Jason headed towards the door, but paused in the doorway, hesitating. “And go home: it's getting late. I'm calling it a day.”

     Then he left without another word.

     Spoiler landed on the rooftop next to Nightingale.

     “Hey, your location was switched off. Where’d you go?” Her tone was unconcerned, as  if she already knew exactly where Nightingale had been whilst she’d gone dark over their comms, but she waited expectantly for her response anyway. 

     X raised her eyebrows at her friend and teammate: she wasn’t buying Stephanie’s innocent tone. “Hood’s warehouse.”

     She grappled through the air, leaping from one building to the next as they began their trek back to the batcave.

     “Well, where is it?” Stephanie asked once they’d stopped for a brief break. Nightingale shot her a wry smile. 

     “You know he doesn’t want you guys knowing where it is.” She took off again and Spoiler quickly caught up, keeping pace with her.

     “Why?” she asked, genuinely confused. “It’s not like we’re gonna … blow it up or something!”

     X laughed as they landed in front of one of the many secret entrances to the batcave. She paused to let the scanner sweep over her, then strolled between the doors when they slid open. 

     “It’s not that, it’s just …” She turned around and walked backwards as she thought about it. “He just needs his space sometimes.” 

     She swivelled back around and continued walking over to the Batcomputer. “Plus, he can’t have you guys making him look soft in front of his henchmen.”

     “Who are we making look soft in front of their henchmen?” Nightwing asked, striding into the main hall from another passageway. He removed his Escrima Sticks from the back of his suit and placed them back in their holder.

     “Jason,” Stephanie replied, removing her mask and sinking into the empty seat beside Tim. 

     “Does anyone else think it’s weird that Jason has henchmen?” Tim asked, not turning away from the Batcomputer. Dick ignored Tim’s question, snorting in amusement at X’s suggestion. 

     “The only person capable of making Jason look soft …” He paused dramatically and turned around to face her before continuing, “is you.”

     X pulled an empty chair up to Steph and hopped onto it. She spun around as she considered Dick’s statement, letting her mind wander to her sweet and caring boyfriend. He was soft though, always surprising her with cute little dates and crafting the most thoughtful handmade gifts for her. And he’d pick her up after work every day so they could have dinner together and make sure to see each other at least once a day. Her features shifted into a dreamy expression and Stephanie grinned before snapping her fingers in front of her face.

     “X? You still with us, babe?”

     Dick laughed from his own seat as he lifted his legs onto the console. 

     “Her mind’s probably still with her boyfriend in that secret warehouse of his,” he pointed out, folding his arms across his chest and huffing in irritation at the thought of Jason’s warehouse that he refused to let any of them see. Well, any of them except for his little girlfriend that he was so obviously head over heels for.

     X shook her head, forcing herself back to reality, and flashed her friends a sheepish smile. “Sorry …”

     But none of them minded - not when she was so head over heels for their brother herself. X’s phone buzzed suddenly and she opened up the notification to find a text from Jason. Her eyes widened at whatever she saw on her phone and she shot out of her seat, this time with a guilty smile. “Uh, I’m gonna head home now. Night, guys! See you tomorrow!”

     She raced off without a word and the others exchanged knowing glances with one another. Dick dropped his hands and legs and rolled over to Stephanie. “Did you do it?” 

     Stephanie responded with a devious grin. 

     “Yup.” She turned to Tim and leaned over his shoulder. “Is it working?”

     Tim pulled up a map of Gotham with a single blinking light on it moving rapidly through the city, straight towards Jason’s apartment. “Yup.” 

     Jason sucked in a breath as the white-hot pleasure buzzed through his brain. “F*ck.”

     He closed his eyes as they rolled back in his head at the sound of his girlfriend’s adorable little mewls beneath him, then he slumped over and started trying to catch his breath. He chuckled softly at the sight of X doing the same, then he bit his lip as he ran his hand down her bare, sweat-slicked back. God, she was hot. He slid his hands along her sides, tracing the outlines of her curves, then he lay down on top of her, twisting his fingers between hers. He pressed a kiss to the base of her ear, then buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the sweet scent of her arousal. 

     “I love you too, sweetheart.” Jason lifted himself off of X, giving her the space to twist around and snuggle up against his chest instead. He brushed her hair behind her ear and stroked her cheek softly as he admired her glowing features. Shit, she was pretty. “But you’ve gotta stop breaking into my warehouse, babygirl.”

     “Mmm, shit,” he groaned, curling his fingers around hers. X shook her head as her mind went numb at the feeling of her large boyfriend’s warm body pressing against her. Then he began trailing his lips down the side of her neck and she hummed in contentment as his satisfied groans sank into her skin and danced along her bones.

“I love you, Jay.”

     X furrowed her brows, her lips instinctively twisting into a pout - she always felt like a spoiled little princess whenever he took that soft tone with her.

     “Why?” she whined, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. Jason lowered his lips to her neck and slid his hand down to her ass. He moaned softly as he curled his fingers around her, squeezing her soft flesh like she was a little pillow, then he sighed and lifted his gaze back to hers.

“‘Cause you’re making me look bad, princess. My boys are gonna think that I can just fall for any pretty girl that walks into my warehouse.”

     X narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. “And how many ‘pretty girls’ are walking into your warehouse, Jay?”

     Jason shot her an amused look: she could get a little … ‘protective’ over him sometimes, glaring down any girl who even looked at him for a second longer than she deemed appropriate. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him or anything, she just … liked staking her claim over him. His stomach buzzed with excitement at having someone who thought him amazing enough to mark their territory on. 

     “Just one.” He slung his leg over hers, pulling her closer against him. “And she can be so frustratingly distracting.” His gaze fell to her lips and he brought his mouth closer to hers.

     “Makes it difficult to get any work done,” he mumbled before sliding his hand up the back of her neck and pulling her mouth to his.

     X glided her hands all over his body as they kissed, admiring how deliciously gorgeous her boyfriend was. She wriggled against him as he teased her tongue with his, kissing and stroking her until she was breathless and dizzy with lust. Jason pulled back and laughed at the unfocused look on his girlfriend’s face. 

     “Come on,” he told her, carefully helping her get off the bed. “You've got work tomorrow. Let's get you ready for bed.”

     “Ah! I'm so excited!” Spoiler squealed over the comms unit. “How should we enter? Should we jump in through a window? Or fly through the roof? Oh! Maybe we should just knock on the door?! They'll never be expecting that!” 

     Nightingale had gone dark a while back, but the tracker Stephanie had snuck into her suit had continued blinking steadily on the map Tim had gotten Dick to watch closely after his patrol had started. The three of them raced towards the docks now, eager to catch a glimpse of Jason's super secret, probably super cool warehouse that he'd kept hidden from them for so long. Finally, they landed on the rooftop of what appeared to be an empty warehouse, taking a moment to catch their breaths.

     “There's a skylight,” Dick pointed out, gesturing to the removable glass panel that sat a few feet away from them. 

     “Busting through the roof it is.” Stephanie grinned and followed Dick over to the skylight. He pried it open easily and soon, the three of them were standing in the middle of a darkened building, all of them on guard for any wary guards. And then, “Eugh! Sick! It smells like dead fish!” 

     “I thought it smelled like three dead rats,” a low male voice chuckled from the edge of the room. Stephanie furrowed her brows at the response.

     “Uh, no, that's definitely fish.” Then she realised who had spoken. She, Tim and Dick whirled around in horror, following the sound of the voice, and their panic increased tenfold when they saw the Red Hood walking towards them, a knowing smirk on his face. 

     “Hood!” Stephanie began, stumbling over her words as she tried to come up with a response. “W-We … We were just …”

     “We got a distress call!” Tim improvised quickly.

     “And we just wanted to make sure whoever it was was okay!” Dick finished, joining into the lie. The three of them nodded eagerly, suspiciously wide smiles stretched across each of their faces. Jason rolled his eyes.

     “Did you think I didn't vet anyone who comes into my warehouse?” he asked, arms folded across his chest. “Especially someone who is almost always in close contact with the biggest snakes this side of the world?”

     “In my defence,” Nightingale supplied, dropping down from the ceiling and landing behind them, “I thought they were my friends! But I guess you can only be betrayed by those you trust.”

     She gave an exaggerated sniff and moved to stand beside Jason, curling her arms around his bicep and leaning against him.

     “Technically, we weren't betraying you,” Tim argued, his tone matter-of-fact. “We were betraying the Red Hood. Although it's not like we have any alliances with him anyway.”

     “What? You need me to sign a contract or something?” Jason scoffed, rolling his eyes at the suggestion. 

     “I trust you, Hood,” Nightingale told him, fluttering her eyelashes up at him sweetly. “I know you'd never betray me.” 

     Her gaze turned dangerous then, her smile sharpening into one laced with threats as she waited for conformation that he'd never betray her. Jason grinned and lowered his head to hers.  

     “Of course, princess,” he murmured, his voice low enough so the others wouldn't hear him. X giggled softly and Jason’s smile widened. Then he straightened and rearranged his features into a threatening expression. “If any of you ever try to pull a stunt like this again, you'll be cleaning fish guts out of your suits for a month.” 

     Tim, Steph and Dick cringed at the very thought, the bile rising to their throat as they took in another whiff of the fishy air. 

     “Ugh! Fine! You win!” Tim surrendered on behalf of all of them. “We won’t try to find your stupid warehouse again.” 

     Jason smirked in victory and waited until the three of them had left the area. “I told you it’d take them less than ten minutes after you went dark to come after you.” 

     X slid her arms around his neck as Jason’s arms came around her waist. “Fine. You win. I won’t disturb you at your warehouse anymore. Well, for the next month, at least.” 

     Jason rolled his eyes, but continued to smile. “You know they’re still going to try again, right?” 

     X shrugged, unbothered. “Then I guess we’ll just have to get the fish ready.”

[not-terezi-pyrope]

Worst part of popular left wing AI discourse online is that there's absolutely a need for a robust leftist opposition to use of cognitive automation without social dispensation to displaced human workers. The lack of any prior measures to facilitate a transition to having fewer humans in the workplace (UBI, more public control over industrial infrastructure, etc) is a disaster we are sleepwalking into - one that could lock the majority of our society's wealth further into the hands of authoritarian oligarchs who retain control of industry through last century private ownership models, while no longer needing to rely on us to operate their property.

But now we're seemingly not going to have the opposition we so desperately need, because everyone involved in the anti-AI conversation has pretty thoroughly discredited themselves and their movement by harbouring unconstrained reactionary nonsense, blatant falsehoods and woo. Instead of talking about who owns and benefits from cognitive automation, people are:

Demanding impossibilities like uninventing a now readily accessible technology

Trying to ascribe implicit moral value to said technology instead of the who is using it and how

Siding with corporations on copyright law in the name of "defending small artists"

Repeating obvious and embarrassing technical misconceptions and erroneous pop-sci about machine learning in order to justify their preferred philosophy

Invoking neo-spiritual conservative woo about the specialness of the human soul to try to incoherently discredit a machine that can quite obviously perform certain tasks just as well if not better than they can

Misrepresent numbers about energy use and environmental cost in an absurd double standard (all modern infrastructure is reliant on data centers to a similar level of impact, including your favourite fandom social media and online video games!) to build a narrative AI is some sort of malevolent spirit that damages our reality when it is called upon

It's a level of reactionary ignorance that has completely discredited any popular opposition to industrial AI rollout because it falls apart as soon as you dig deeper than a snappy social media post, or a misguided pro-copyright screed from an insecure web artist (who decries a machine laying eyes on their freely posted work while simultaneously charging commission for fan-art of corporate IPs... I'm sure that will absolutely resolve in their favour).

It would be funny how much people are fucking themselves over with all this, except I'm being fucked over to, and as a result am really quite mad about the situation. We need UBI, we need to liberate abundance from corporate greed, what we don't need is viral posts about putting distortion filters on anime fan-art to ward off the evil mechanical eye, pointless boycotts of platforms because they are perceived to have let the evil machines taint them, or petitions to further criminalize the creation of derivative works.

[edenaziraphale]

There's a lot to be said about the weaknesses and strengths of the writing in Dragon Age games, but for me there's nothing that trumps the way the writers' implicit biases shine through in their treatment of various characters. Anders and Solas showcase the very worst of this. Functionally Anders and Solas could (and I would go so far as to say should) operate as foils to one another. Anders is a victim of decades of abuse at the hands of both individuals and a system that demonized him from a very young age. We are given information about his childhood and time spent in the circle that makes it explicitly clear that Circles are an unjust and abusive system that traumatized him so much that he fled multiple times regardless of the fact that he knew the abuse would escalate each time he escaped. In the end, he chooses to chance death and lifelong struggle via conscription because it is his only shot at escaping his current reality. After that, in DA2, it's made clear that Kirkwall's circle is even worse. Karl is made tranquil, the templars are mad with power, and it's heavily implied that the tranquil are utilized as sex slaves and that some templars may even be selecting mages for tranquility based on their desire for them alone. In the light of all of that, Anders makes a very desperate and destructive choice. Regardless of how players feel about his actions, it's not really up for debate that the context surrounding them creates mitigating circumstances and a sympathetic backing. He was attempting to affect positive change for a group of people facing fates that the game makes clear are worse than death. Despite this, the game's writing treats him as an unsympathetic villain whose actions are not only reprehensible, but completely beyond the realm of human understanding. That dynamic at the end of DA2 carries into DAI. Solas, on the other hand, is on a quest to undo his own actions. His initial construction of the Veil and the problems that it caused can be viewed with (some) similarity to Anders circumstances in that Solas was attempting to right a wrong done by someone else, but the key difference is that, unlike Anders, who was a powerless victim attempting to free other powerless victims, Solas was on a revenge quest to avenge the death of his friend and had an incredible amount of power within the system that he existed as a part of.

His actions had horrific consequences that birthed what is essentially an entirely new existence for everyone in Thedas eons before the start of any of the games. He finds the outcome of his own actions intolerable, and seeks to reverse them. He harms friends and allies to do so, and makes it explicitly clear that he does not care who he harms or what the consequences are to Thedas or the people who live there in his quest to bring back the version of the world that he liked better. Functionally, Solas makes an excellent villain. He stands out from Anders (who operates in his narrative as a symbol of the rage and disenfranchisement of the powerless) as a representation of power and ego unchecked and the damage that they can cause.

Unfortunately, the writing of the game treats him as though he is the tragically complex victim of forces outside of his control when he is in fact the over-powered puppeteer. He is very much the master of his own destiny and he intends to be the master of everyone else's destiny as well by ripping apart the fabric of reality. No character in the series better demonstrates the writer's biases than Varric, who, as a narrator for DA2, essentially acts as the moral arbiter telling players how they should and should not feel about events, explaining what is and is not moral. His reactions to Anders stand out in sharp relief against what we see of his reaction to Solas in the Veilguard releases so far.

To be clear, I don't hate Solas as a character. I think as a villain, he works very well. His complete and total disregard for the wellbeing of others paired with his affect of wise and gentle mage are compelling to witness. His motivations are understandable from the selfish and self-centered core of us as people. He's a fantastic reminder of what happens when we decide that we know what's best with no input from others, when we pursue our desires above all else beneath the veneer of wisdom. He's fun, well rounded, and interesting. He is not, however, a tragic and morally justified sadboi victim of circumstance, and I resent that the writers treated him as though he was.

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 10/?)

Any action can be justified, as long as the right words surround it. And, for your luck — or ruin — Silco was a master at turning manipulation into art.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 7,9K

Warnings: use of drugs as medicine (shimmer), description of injuries, suspicious medical operations, Singed is the warning itself, character near-death, threats, threats with weapons, explicit references to scientific experiments without consent, Silco POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 9

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The laboratory door was shoved open with such force that it slammed against the wall, the sound echoing through the cramped space and plunging everyone into silence. Silco entered, carrying the limp body in his arms, his muscles rigid, his eyes alight with restrained fury. Behind him, Sevika, always steady, now visibly shaken—a rare occurrence that Silco chose to ignore. He couldn't afford to consider the weakness of others when he himself was teetering on the edge of emotional collapse.

The metallic smell of blood and the dampness of rain still clung to his skin, a shadow of what he had just witnessed. The warehouse, that grotesque scene of carnage, remained vivid in his mind—a blur of bodies strewn about, blood-soaked chains, and her—his girl—standing at the center of it all, a living specter of death. He didn't know if the blood dripping from his arms was hers or that of her enemies. In that moment, it didn't matter.

He crossed the lab in firm, almost aggressive strides and placed the body on the metal table. The sound of the soft impact made his jaw clench; she looked so fragile lying there, in stark contrast to the devastating force he had witnessed minutes earlier. He brushed the damp hair away from her face, his fingers trying to remain steady but trembling ever so slightly.

He had considered every possibility when he enlisted Singed, more specifically his skills, for a potential operation before the night's invasion. If she were injured, immediate intervention would be crucial. He knew his own hands, steady enough to suture a superficial wound or apply a tourniquet, were not equipped for more complex procedures. Singed, on the other hand, had neither moral nor physical limitations preventing him from doing what was necessary.

And that was precisely what Silco needed now.

Sevika began strapping her arms and legs to the table, following instructions Silco had given before they even arrived, to prevent her from moving during the procedure should she regain consciousness. Still, seeing her restrained, vulnerable, made something churn in his stomach—something he ignored with practiced ease.

Silco stepped back, watching as Singed inspected the injuries. The doctor was meticulous, his deft fingers peeling back torn fabric to expose the wounded shoulder. The blood still flowed, though less now, congealing into dark patches that Silco had to look away from momentarily to rein in his rising anger.

"The shoulder wound is deep but not fatal." Singed began, his voice controlled and almost indifferent. His eyes moved over the rest of her body, examining the cuts and bruises. "The bruising is of no concern. The nasal bleeding suggests severe exhaustion. But..."

Singed's rare furrowed brow immediately caught Silco's attention. He stepped closer again, leaning over the doctor, his gaze burning with an implicit threat.

"But what?" Silco demanded, his voice sharp as a blade.

"There's something unusual here." Singed said, pointing to her hands, still bearing the marks of the chains' grip. "The adrenaline levels are far beyond normal, even for a combat situation. This isn't just physical exhaustion. She's pushed past the natural limits of the human body. Forced the muscles, the organs... even the heart. Anyone else would have been dead hours ago."

"But she isn't." Silco interrupted, his voice cutting. His eyes gleamed with determination, and there was something else — something deeper, more dangerous. "She will not die."

Singed lifted his gaze to Silco, his eyebrows knit in what seemed to be a mix of irritation and fascination. "It's impressive, to be sure. However, if you want her to stay alive, certain... methods may be required."

"Do whatever is necessary." His voice was low and grave, laden with an authority that brooked no argument. He turned to Singed, who approached with his characteristic inhuman calm. "Everything. No restrictions."

Singed cast a brief, analytical glance at Silco, as if evaluating the intensity of that command. "I believe I can stabilize her quickly." he replied, his tone almost casual. He began preparing his instruments, pulling a metal table stocked with medical devices. Before doing anything further, however, he held up a syringe containing a greenish liquid, a sedative, and handed it to Sevika, though his eyes remained fixed on Silco.

"But it will be... grotesque." Singed said, with the cutting precision that defined him. "And considering your... close relationship with her, you might not handle it well."

Silco's teeth clenched tightly. The insinuation was obvious, and Singed seemed to take a certain amusement in testing his limits. But this was not the time for confrontations. The anger simmered beneath his skin, as always, but he controlled it, only because he had to. That didn't stop him from issuing a threat.

"Choose your words more carefully, doctor."

Sevika, always the voice of reason, stepped forward. "The longer you waste time here, Silco, the faster she dies." The syringe was still in her hand, and the weight of logic in her words was enough to make him stop.

Silco cast one last lethal glare at Singed before turning abruptly, grabbing and dragging a chair closer to the table. He sat down, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped in front of his face, as if holding his fury in check through sheer force of will. His eyes, however, never left her body. Sevika, meanwhile, positioned herself behind him, keeping a silent vigil over Silco as Singed began to remove the bullet from her shoulder.

Silco remained still, but the tension in his shoulders was palpable. He wouldn't look away, no matter what came next.

Somehow, this was all he could do for her now: be there. And in the grim silence of the laboratory, he made a silent promise. If she survived, those responsible for this would pay with interest. And if she didn't survive... well, the promise would still be fulfilled. In blood.

The sound of the small projectile hitting the metal tray was like a hammer striking Silco's already frayed nerves. He watched impassively, though the slight tremor in his leg betrayed the mounting tension in his body. Every meticulous movement of Singed was a test of his patience; every second seemed to drag on. The needle pierced her flesh with almost inhuman precision as the scientist stitched the wound. Each pull of the thread made her skin twitch, and Silco felt as though it were his own shoulder being sewn back together.

When Singed reached for the next syringe, Silco already knew what was coming.

The purple gleam of Shimmer in the cold laboratory light was unmistakable. Silco felt his muscles tense even further. He knew exactly what would come next—he had witnessed it countless times before, and he himself knew all too well what it felt like, even if only briefly. The agonized screams, the contorted flesh, the muscles locked in unbearable strain.

He saw the needle pierce her vein. The purple liquid slid in, merging with her blood, vanishing from sight. Silco gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the inevitable. He knew what was about to happen. The scream. The desperate gasping. The body writhing, struggling against the unstoppable.

But none of that happened.

The room remained silent, so heavy that even the sounds of Zaun in the early hours of the morning seemed distant, muffled. Silco leaned forward, his brow furrowed. He watched her chest, waiting for it to rise and fall erratically, to show any sign of reaction. But she remained still, like a statue carved from marble. Silco caught a glance at Singed, a rare expression of confusion crossing the scientist's face. This wasn't what was expected.

When the man leaned down to check her pulse, time seemed to slow. It was a simple gesture, something that should have been over in seconds. But Singed lingered too long, his fingers pressing against her neck as his face remained impassive, his gaze lost in some distant point.

"Speak, Singed!"

When Singed finally did speak, Silco wished he had stayed silent.

"No pulse."

For a moment, Silco remained frozen, his eyes fixed on her face. There was something terribly wrong about seeing her like this, so still, like a broken doll. Her breathing, something he'd always thought constant and immutable, was now gone. And with it, it felt as if all the air in the room had been drained away.

He stood up without thinking, the chair behind him toppling over with a dull thud. His hands found the metallic edge of the stretcher, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Silco leaned over her body, searching for any sign of life, any movement, but all he found was cruel inertia.

But soon the shock was swallowed by a wave of fury. The rage surged like an uncontrollable wildfire, consuming every rational thought. He lifted his gaze to Singed, his eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity, like embers fed by pure hatred. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knew it wasn't the scientist's fault. He knew Singed had done everything in his power. But in that moment, logic didn't matter. He needed a target, something to unleash the anger that threatened to devour him.

Moving quickly, Silco advanced. His hand was already outstretched, ready to grab Singed by the collar and drag him to the ground, but he froze mid-motion.

Something stopped him.

A firm pressure around his neck.

Her hand.

That same hand which, just seconds earlier, should have been limp and lifeless, now gripped him with superhuman strength. He felt her fingers tighten further, nearly crushing his windpipe. The straps that had once bound her to the gurney were now shredded, hanging like torn pieces of cloth. Her arm trembled slightly, as though acting purely on instinct, but the power emanating from that grip was brutal.

The world around him seemed to shrink, becoming an indistinct blur of shadows and cold lights. The crushing pressure around his throat was all Silco could register. Every breath was a losing battle, each attempt to draw air another step closer to despair. He had felt this before. The grip of fingers around his neck, cruel and unyielding, awakened memories he'd rather leave buried.

Vander.

For a brief moment, he wasn't in the stifling, tension-laden laboratory. He was back at the river, cold water lapping at his face as calloused, determined hands tried to wrest his life from him. Silco felt the same desperation, the same primal panic that had taught him a bitter lesson: survival required more than strength—it demanded conviction.

But this wasn't Vander.

Her eyes, once so alive, now glowed with a cold, empty white, as though some strange force had torn her soul away and left only a violent husk. There was nothing human in that gaze, no spark of the woman he had known. Only raw, merciless strength, now squeezing his throat with the promise of imminent death.

Her fingers were claws, digging into his flesh. Pain radiated in waves, but Silco didn't look away. Even as darkness began to creep into the edges of his vision, he refused to blink, to give in. A sudden movement to his side caught his peripheral attention, even as his sight started to blur. Sevika. He saw her move, syringe in hand, and in an instant, she plunged it into the woman's neck.

The effect was almost immediate. The grip on his throat loosened, and Silco fell forward, gasping, gulping air in desperate, ragged breaths. He pressed a hand to his neck, feeling the sharp pain from the pressure her fingers had left behind. His lungs burned as they tried to make up for the lack of oxygen. When he finally managed to lift his gaze, she was collapsing, her body going limp as if the string holding her up had been cut. The arm that had once gripped him with such force now hung lifelessly at her side.

"Interesting." Singed murmured, leaning closer for a better look, the gleam of fascination in his eyes growing stronger. "Perhaps the shimmer triggered some dormant reaction in her blood. That would explain the initial absence of vitals and the sudden attack. It might have acted as a reagent."

Silco raised his gaze from where he knelt, his hand still resting on his neck as he struggled to steady his breathing. At first, he didn't understand what Singed was trying to say.

"It's the first time I've seen anything like this." Singed continued, his tone almost fascinated. "No rejection. On the contrary... it's as if her body has assimilated the shimmer, incorporating it naturally."

Silco didn't respond immediately. Instead, his gaze fixed on her once more. Now, her chest rose and fell with regularity, the rigid lines of pain and tension on her face softened by stabilization. The contrast was almost disconcerting, considering the deplorable state in which she had arrived.

He then noticed Singed's gaze on him, an inquisitive glint that Silco knew all too well. "Sevika." Silco said abruptly. "Return to The Last Drop. Make sure things don't spiral out of control while I'm here."

Sevika hesitated for a moment, the concern evident on her face, but eventually complied. She let out a low sigh before leaving, the heavy metal door closing behind her with a resounding clang.

"You found her." said the other man in the room, almost accusatory. "I thought she'd been dead... for years."

"So did I." Silco replied, his voice lower, almost introspective. His eyes wandered back to her. "We were both wrong."

Singed picked up a scalpel and pointed to the stitches he had made on her shoulder.

"Look." Singed leaned in closer, his tone almost too clinical, as though he were discussing a machine. "The tissue is already healing, and I believe her internal organs are beginning the same process. If her body continues to react this way, it's likely she'll be fully functional in a few days. It all depends on how sustained the regeneration is. But I recommend administering small amounts of shimmer to stimulate what's already in her bloodstream."

Silco nodded slightly, the motion short and nearly imperceptible. It was always Singed's universal solution, yet the idea of introducing more of that substance into her body unsettled him in a way he couldn't quite explain.

Singed, of course, either didn't notice — or cared even less.

"I assume you'd like to start the research immediately, correct?" Singed leaned over to organize his instruments, his voice almost casual. "Now that we finally have access to her, I can collect some blood samples. If I start the research now, I should be able to replicate her genetic formula within a few months. A significant breakthrough, considering the potential it could unlock."

The words lingered in the air, laden with a weight Silco did not want to bear. He ran a hand over his face, then through his hair, feeling the pressure pulsing in his temples. Years ago, he wouldn't have thought twice. Having access to what she represented was the key to something greater, something he desperately sought—to make Zaun into something Piltover feared. That was why he had searched for her in the first place.

And it was also why the crushing sense of failure when he heard of her death had felt like a blade piercing through his resolve. Days, weeks of anguish gnawed at him, but eventually, he moved on. He buried the weight of that obsession under layers of new plans, new strategies. Until that damned day at the brothel when he found her—like a ghost. Like a specter torn from a nightmare or a dream, she was there, alive.

That fragile, motionless body now seemed so distant from the storm raging in his mind. He was not a man prone to sentimentality or hesitation. Since taking control of Zaun, his choices had been driven by logic, necessity, and, above all, ambition. But now... now, it was different.

He had allowed something he had sworn never to do again: to care.

She should have been just another piece on the board, a means to an end. That's how Silco saw the world. Every person, every action, existed to serve him, to help him achieve his goals. But she defied that logic. There was something about her—her strength, her resilience, perhaps even her stubbornness—that had pierced through the walls he had so carefully built over the years.

And it infuriated him.

He couldn't afford to falter. There was too much at stake, and he knew that any emotional attachment was a weakness that could be exploited. Yet, as he watched her, her features softened by induced sleep, Silco felt a pang of something he couldn't define. It wasn't just concern; it was possessiveness. She wasn't just important to his plans. She was important to him.

"Begin the research." his voice came out firmer than he expected, a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. "Keep this under strict secrecy. To anyone else, it's just medical monitoring until her full recovery."

Singed nodded without question, moving mechanically to prepare another syringe. The scientist didn't care about the emotional or political intricacies of the situation. To him, she was a case to solve, an experiment to conduct.

He didn't take his eyes off her. There was something almost ironic about how peaceful she looked now, lost in that dreamless sleep where nothing could reach her — not pain, not despair, not even him.

Silco was a selfish man. Ambitious. Those words had been used to describe him so many times that he had embraced them as part of who he was. But he was also a man of conviction. And that conviction drove him forward, compelled him to do whatever was necessary to achieve his goals, no matter the cost. He believed in it. Zaun needed to believe in it. And now, she would need to believe in it too.

He would convince her. He would show her that everything he did was justifiable, that the ends always justified the means. He would make her see that the true enemy wasn't him, but those who lived above — the wretched people of Piltover, who had oppressed Zaun for so long. They were responsible for everything. For her wounds, for the blood she had spilled, for the suffering that bound them together.

Silco leaned in, letting his fingers trace her face in a tender caress.

He would shape her. She would become something they feared. Something they could never destroy again.

Just like him.

[...]

Seven days.

Seven damned days.

Time seemed to have acquired a rhythm of its own, dragging on like dead weight. For Silco, every second since she had entered that comatose state had become a needle stabbing beneath his skin, a constant reminder of something slipping beyond his control.

Silco hadn't slept in four days. Sleep was a dispensable necessity, something he replaced with sheer determination and generous doses of whiskey and bitter coffee. His mind remained occupied with work—constant updates from Sevika and Singed, Jinx's occasional explosions that decimated critical parts of his operations, and the ever-growing pile of administrative problems that never seemed to shrink.

The weight of exhaustion seemed to triple as soon as Silco crossed the threshold of his office. The wood, so familiar, felt suffocating, as though it had absorbed his weariness. Each step toward the chair was labored, his muscles protesting the effort. When he finally sat, a heavy sigh escaped him, echoing in the silent room.

The lack of sleep was nothing new, but the last few days had tested the limits of his endurance. His mind, so sharp under normal circumstances, now felt like a whirlwind of disconnected thoughts, as if every idea had to wade through dense fog before taking shape. Fatigue pressed on his shoulders like an invisible weight, and irritation simmered beneath the surface, ready to explode at the slightest provocation.

He rubbed his temples with his fingers, pressing his eyes shut in a futile attempt to clear his mind. The torturously long nights blended together, with no clear beginning or end, and he wondered how much longer he could maintain this insane routine before his body finally gave out.

But there was no choice. Not while she remained in that state.

Thinking of her brought a wave of frustration and restlessness that he couldn't suppress. Her body was healed—the shimmer injections had done their job impeccably, regenerating even the smallest damages in record time. Singed, to Silco's annoyance, had been right about the treatment's effectiveness. But what Silco couldn't bear was the fact that, despite everything, she still hadn't woken up.

This waiting was wearing him down.

She now slept in his room—a practical decision, or at least that was what he told himself. Keeping her close made it easier to monitor any changes, allowed him to personally check every detail of her condition. But deep down, he knew it wasn't just that.

He had to admit, the sight of her there, in his bed, was something he would normally find... pleasant. Almost comforting. But under the current circumstances, the context made any such satisfaction impossible. She was there, but she wasn't.

Silco leaned back in the chair, letting his head rest against the backrest. His gaze fixed on the ceiling for a moment, and slowly, the burden of keeping his eyes open became a weight he no longer cared to bear.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

The ceiling was bare, devoid of any detail that might catch your attention, yet you stared at it anyway. Your mind was active, buzzing with questions, while your body seemed trapped in a state of lethargy. It was as if you were floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, your thoughts insistently blending together. How long had it been since your last concrete memory? Days? The warm sensation of an embrace was the last thing that lingered before the void.

You tried to move your hands, feeling your fingers curl with some difficulty, as if every muscle had rusted. A deep inhale brought the scent of the room into sharp focus: alcohol, cigarettes, and something metallic in the air—a clear sign of where you were. Yes, The Last Drop.

With effort, you shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. At first, your legs didn't cooperate. Your initial attempt to stand was clumsy, your knees trembling under the weight of your own body. But you persisted, and on the second try, you managed to steady yourself.

Only then did you allow yourself to take in the room around you. It was functional, simple, devoid of personality or any attempt at making it feel welcoming. Minimal, practical furniture—just enough to serve its purpose. However, the balcony caught your attention. As you moved toward the opening, you realized it overlooked the interior of The Last Drop—directly above the club. The bar, the dance floor, every detail below seemed meticulously positioned to be visible to whoever owned this space.

And you had little doubt who that was.

Leaning against the railing, your eyes scanned the scene. Lights pulsed in rhythm with the muffled music that reached you even up here. A sense of familiarity and unease traveled down your spine. This wasn't a place you wanted to be, but it was the closest thing to "home" you had left.

You then moved to a nearby mirror to check your appearance. You lifted the hem of the shirt you were wearing, revealing the smooth surface of your stomach. No sign of cuts or bruises—not that you had really expected any. But something felt off. Your body felt... strange. As if something had changed, something beneath the surface you couldn't quite identify. It was as though everything either responded too quickly or too slowly, like a suit tailored improperly. You tried to dismiss the discomfort, chalking it up to the simple fact that you had nearly died—again.

It was almost comical, in a way. Every time it seemed like death had finally come to claim you, something or someone always pulled you back.

You moved toward the door—or what you assumed was one. There were no clear markings, just a discreet handle breaking the uniformity of the wall. The wood creaked faintly under your hand as you pushed it, revealing Silco's office in all its familiar, somber atmosphere.

And there he was, naturally, at the desk. Silco, slumped against the chair at an angle that looked uncomfortable even for someone like him, someone seemingly accustomed to discomfort. His head was tilted to the side, his eyes closed, his body relaxed in a way that was almost unsettling. He was asleep.

You stepped into the room with light, almost soundless footsteps. Your bare feet made no noise, as if you were afraid of breaking the rare moment of calm. Only after stepping away from the door did you notice something that had previously gone unnoticed: the entrance to the room was nothing more than a false wall. A small, discreet pull handle blended into the surrounding irregularities. If you hadn't just come through it, you never would've noticed.

Clever.

Close to the office, functional for someone like Silco, but also strategic. A possible escape route, if needed.

Your eyes returned to him, caught in a sleep that seemed as rare as gold. He'd also been asleep the last time you saw him. You moved closer, hesitant, with the words he'd spoken when you fainted in the warehouse lingering in your mind like a persistent shadow. During those fleeting moments when you were semi-conscious, although it was more like sleeping, you could still remember. It was as though he was there, speaking to you. Not in dreams, but on the threshold of reality.

You could swear you heard him.

Silco had spoken, perhaps believing his words were nothing more than echoes lost in the void, but they stayed with you. In moments of delirium, you felt the weight of sentences laden with a concern he would never openly admit. And on a few rare occasions, you could almost swear you'd felt a touch on your face. Hesitant, fleeting, like a breeze barely noticeable before it vanished.

He had been an anchor. While you fought not to succumb to your own mind, he had remained there. And now, as you watched him sleep, that realization felt overwhelming.

You stopped a few steps away from the chair, unsure of what to do. Part of you wanted to touch his shoulder, wake him, tell him you were fine — or at least try to convince him of that. But the other part, the one still harboring resentment and distrust, hesitated. So, you decided to come up with a third option. But, of course, something went wrong.

It all happened too quickly for you to react. One second, you were adjusting the strand of hair that insisted on falling over his face, and the next, your hand was being gripped tightly, your body shoved against the desk. The impact reverberated down your spine, and something cold and sharp pressed dangerously against your throat.

Silco stared at you, his eyes blazing with fury, but there was something else there, an emotion hidden behind the intensity. Anger? Fear? Whatever it was, it swirled in a chaotic storm as wild as his uneven breathing. And then, as if an invisible thread had snapped, something shifted. The anger in his eyes was replaced by palpable shock, and then by something deeper: realization. The blade's pressure on your throat eased, still present but without the imminent threat from before.

A smile formed on your lips, defiant and slightly teasing, even as your heart pounded in your chest. "Is that how you welcome someone?"

Your hand, ignoring the danger, rose again, and your fingers gently brushed over the scars on his face. The rough texture of his skin told stories you didn't know, yet there was a curiosity in your touch, a silent acceptance.

"You haunted me even in my sleep, you know?" you continued, your tone softer now, almost a whisper. "I didn't know you were the talkative type when no one's looking."

And yet, Silco remained silent, his muscles taut as if he were waging an internal battle.

Then, with a movement that nearly stopped your heart, he drove the dagger into the desk, the blade embedding itself in the wood mere inches from your head. The sound echoed through the room, the vibration rippling across your skin like distant thunder. You opened your mouth to protest, ready to comment on how close he'd come to hitting you, but the words died in your throat.

Shock froze you for a second. The kiss was urgent, hungry, as if he were desperate for something only you could provide. His strength kept you pinned against the desk, one hand braced beside your head while the other wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. You felt his body against yours — the weight, the heat. He kissed you like a man on the edge of despair, as if that moment was the only thing keeping him alive. His lips moved against yours with an almost overwhelming intensity, stealing the air from your lungs before you even realized you were breathless.

He tasted of restrained fury and something profoundly human, something he likely wouldn't admit even to himself. Your hands instinctively rose to his shoulders, gripping tightly as you tried to reclaim some semblance of control over the situation.

But there was no control here. Not in this moment.

His hand slid up your back, his fingers pressing against your skin with a firmness that left no room for doubt. He was everything you could feel—the heat, the strength, the overwhelming weight of his presence. And yet, there was something more. Something that wasn't anger or need, but something deeper, more visceral.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Silco pulled his mouth away from yours, but not completely. He kept his forehead resting against yours, your irregular breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. The heat of the moment still hung in the air as he fought to regain a shred of composure. His eyes, those unmistakable, vibrant irises, opened—cloudy and unfocused—staring at you with an intensity that almost seemed to burn.

"Talking too much, dove." he murmured hoarsely, his voice rough and gravelly, still heavy with the intensity of the kiss. "Not that I expected anything less from you."

A faint, ironic smile tugged at the corners of his lips, revealing the arrogant bastard you knew so well. But there was something else there. An unexpected softness, a rare tenderness that caused faint wrinkles to form at the edges of his eyes, breaking the usual coldness of his expression.

You rolled your eyes and let out a low laugh, the provocation slipping from your lips with ease.

"And this is the part where you admit you missed me."

Silco's eyes flickered at your teasing, a mix of surprise and something deeper, almost gentle, flashing in their depths. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at you, one brow arching in an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement.

"Missed you?" his voice carried a tone of disbelief that fooled no one. "You should be grateful you're still alive, you reckless woman."

Despite the harshness of the words, there was no real severity in them. On the contrary, there was genuine relief beneath his firm facade—a relief intertwined with something that resembled fear and gratitude. All of it mingling together in a cocktail of emotions that Silco probably didn't know—or didn't want—to express.

His hand, still firm on your hip, didn't ease its grip, as though he needed it to ensure you wouldn't disappear again. But the other rose to your jawline, tracing a gentle line along it with his thumb. It was an almost reverent touch, contrasting with the strength of his hold. His eyes traced every curve of your face, lingering on the details as if he wanted to commit them to memory, perhaps afraid this chance might not come again.

"I've got a pretty good guardian angel."

You teased back, making Silco let out a low, bitter laugh, shaking his head slightly.

"I think I might have missed your insolent mouth." The arrogance returned to his eyes, but this time it carried a peculiar warmth. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against the sensitive skin of your ear as he murmured, "But don't think for a second that means I'll go easy on you, dove."

His words were followed by a light nip at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the delicate skin. The gesture carried a hint of playfulness but also an intimacy that spoke of something deeper, something the two of you shared without needing to put it into words. There was a charge in the air, a mutual understanding that said more than any conversation could. He was Silco, a complicated man, and you knew that nothing with him would ever be simple. This tenderness hid something. It was laying the groundwork for something you already knew you'd hate.

"I wouldn't expect any less from you."

You replied with a touch of provocation, your words carefully chosen to echo his from moments earlier. The slight smirk on your lips was defiant, but you knew your attitude would only irritate him more. And it worked. Silco sighed, a deep and exasperated sound that seemed to convey everything without the need for words.

"For God's sake."

He pulled back slightly, relieving just enough of the weight pressing down on you for you to catch your breath, but not enough to allow any chance of escape. The arm he braced against the desk beside your head felt like a barrier, while the other rested near your waist, a constant, dominating presence. It was a minimal concession, but an intentional one—a reminder of who still held control of the situation.

The two of you remained like that for a long moment, the silence broken only by the uneven rhythm of your breathing and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the office. Silco's eyes were locked onto yours, and it was impossible to ignore the intensity in his gaze, as if he was trying to extract answers from you with sheer will alone.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"Why did you run?"

The question came out low, almost a whisper, but it carried a tension that didn't need volume to be felt. He tilted his head slightly to the side, his expression a mixture of frustration and something you couldn't quite place. Perhaps disappointment.

"Why would you put yourself in such danger, knowing full well the risks? You're no defenseless damsel, so don't try to tell me you did it by accident." His tone was firm, but not without reason. "You made a choice, and you chose to leave. So I want to know why."

You knew this moment would come, but you never imagined it would be like this. The situation was so absurdly contradictory — an interrogation at his desk, with your bodies in alarmingly close proximity — that the context almost distracted from the implicit danger in his words. Silco had always been a man of control, and the idea that you had defied him to the point of running seemed to deeply unsettle him. A small part of you felt a flicker of satisfaction.

You opened your mouth, trying to formulate a coherent response, but nothing came. Part of you knew he was right. If you hadn't made that impulsive decision, the abduction would never have happened. Ultimately, you were to blame for putting yourself in this position. But that didn't absolve him of his share of the guilt.

"I don't know..." you said casually, diverting your gaze from his eyes for a brief moment. "A momentary lapse of judgment that went horribly wrong. That's all..."

The instant you saw the shift in Silco's expression, you knew you'd made a mistake. It wasn't a subtle change. It was as though a silent storm had swept through him, extinguishing any remaining trace of patience. The grip on your waist tightened, and you felt his fingers press into your skin like sharp claws — a silent warning. The glint in his eyes was unmistakable, a mix of disdain and admonishment, as if he were deciding, in that very moment, what kind of lesson he would teach you for your evasive answer. You knew this was only the beginning.

"I don't appreciate lies." he said, his voice smooth as silk but laced with a hidden edge. It was the kind of tone that made your stomach twist, a subtle warning that you were treading on thin ice. He leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against your skin, and you could feel the implicit threat in the proximity. "Least of all from you."

The weight of his words hit harder than you expected, their meaning hanging in the air, inescapable. He was dead serious.

"The last person who tried to deceive me..." Silco paused, his tone dripping with cruel irony. "Didn't meet a very pleasant end."

The pause he allowed was long enough for the gravity of his words to sink in, settling in your chest like a heavy stone. His grip on your waist grew even tighter, as if to reinforce the point that he could squeeze harder, both literally and figuratively.

"I'd hate for history to repeat itself."

You stared at him, refusing to look away, even as the weight of the tension between you grew heavier. Silco had this almost supernatural ability to turn every word and gesture into a minefield. The hostility that always seemed to simmer beneath the surface between the two of you was beginning to emerge — quiet but undeniable. It was a violence that didn't need words or actions to manifest; it existed in every glance, in every movement, and in the deafening silence that filled the space between sentences.

It was like a shadow in the corner of the room. Always there, always present. You knew it wouldn't disappear, no matter how many lights were turned on. If anything, the darkness only seemed to give it more space to grow.

"Are you threatening me, Silco?"

Silco's smile was a spectacle in itself, but not in any comforting or reassuring way. It wasn't a smile born of genuine humor, much less kindness. A tight pull of his thin lips, almost mechanical in precision, exposing his chipped teeth as each word left his mouth. There was something about the way that smile lingered on his face that sent a chill down your spine—a visceral reminder of who he was.

"Am I?" He tilted his head slightly to the side, almost innocent, but the sarcasm in his voice gave him away. "Oh, I thought I was merely offering a simple observation, dove. You know, a little advice, from one... friend to another."

He pronounced "friend" with a clarity that felt unbearable, savoring every syllable as if the word itself was laced with poison. The sound of it carried acidic venom, a curse disguised as courtesy.

"Friends?" you teased, tilting your chin upward and leaning closer to him again, letting the weight of the suggestion hang in the air between you. Silco didn't back away. He allowed the proximity, but the gesture was accompanied by an almost imperceptible movement: the hand that had rested on your waist slid away, as if he already knew what was about to happen.

Your eyes caught the detail, but you refused to be deterred. The hand resting on the table moved subtly, almost instinctively, until it neared the dagger Silco had embedded in the wood moments earlier.

"I thought we were past this part."

And then, in one swift, precise motion, you pulled the dagger from the wood and spun it, pointing it directly at his neck. The blade's gleam caught the room's light for a split second, but any sense of triumph you might have felt evaporated just as quickly. Before you could even process what was happening, you felt the unmistakable cold steel of a gun barrel pressing against your chin.

"Getting predictable, dove? I thought you were better than that."

Silco's voice was a low, sharp whisper, dripping with that infuriating confidence that always seemed to follow him. He tilted the revolver slightly, forcing your chin higher. The gesture was as casual as it was cruel, a clear demonstration that he was in control of the situation, even with the blade dangerously close to his throat.

But you didn't back down. On the contrary, your fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger, and you felt the blade press even closer against Silco's neck. One slight movement, and it would all be over. You saw his throat bob as he swallowed, the subtle tension in his muscles betraying that, no matter how composed his face remained, he could feel the danger.

"You're far too confident, aren't you?" Your voice came out low, carrying an almost theatrical calm. You pressed the blade harder against him, feeling the faint resistance of his skin. "I could kill you right now... you saw what I did in my apartment, didn't you?"

"You could." Silco replied, tilting his head slightly as if offering you a better angle. "But you won't."

"And how are you so sure of that?"

Silco, being Silco, seemed to revel in the danger. He leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between you until you could feel the heat of his body against yours. Your heart raced, and it wasn't just from the threat of the weapon pointed at you. It was the entire moment: the suffocating proximity, the piercing gaze, the way he commanded every second of the situation.

"You don't hesitate." he whispered, his lips dangerously close to yours. "So, I wonder, why did you hesitate that night?"

The words hit you like a blow, catching you completely off guard. He knew. How, you had no idea, but he knew what had happened that night, just before your escape. You blinked, trying to process it, but before you could form a question, the distinct click of a revolver being cocked snapped you back to reality.

And then he fired. Without hesitation.

The dry click echoed in your ears, and your body flinched instinctively, taking a moment longer to realize there was no bullet in the gun. But Silco didn't seem to care; in fact, a faint smile formed on his lips, as if he'd merely proven a point.

"You had my loaded gun and no one to stop you. What made you change your mind?"

"How did you—"

"Just answer."

Curiously, something inside you gave way. Without fully understanding why, you let the dagger fall from your hand, abandoning the weight of the threat you'd raised against him. Perhaps it was the fact that Silco's gun no longer seemed like a real intent to harm, but rather a statement of control. That gesture, that silent lesson he always managed to deliver, disarmed you in a way you hated.

You weren't one to stay silent, much less back down. You always had a retort ready, a sharp provocation, something to keep the dynamic balanced. But now, in this moment, there simply wasn't the will to act like a defiant brat. Not when the tone of the conversation felt so serious, so charged with tension.

Still, the feeling was uncomfortable. You were on dangerous ground—not in the line of fire anymore, but treading on thin ice, and you knew that any wrong word could send it all crashing down.

"I... I don't know." You sighed deeply, turning your head to the side, unable to meet his gaze any longer. The admission slipped from your lips with a weight that felt disproportionate to the lightness of the words. "But this time, I'm telling the truth."

That sentence felt far too intimate, more intimate even than the position you were in.

"I wanted to do it... but I couldn't. I just... couldn't. It seemed easy the first time, but now... I froze. And I have no idea why."

It was a lie. You knew exactly why. But some truths were better kept locked away, hidden behind unbreakable walls.

Silco remained silent, and then, slowly, he moved the revolver to the side, setting it down with a gesture that seemed almost casual. He took a few steps back, finally releasing the tension between you. It was a relief, and yet, an unsettling emptiness. You took the opportunity to sit on the edge of the table, the weight of your own confusion now resting heavily on your shoulders.

"Is that what caused the outburst that made you run?"

"In part. I just wanted... to disappear." You admitted, though the bitter taste of honesty was almost unbearable. Part of you hated to confess it, but there was no room for lies now. "To get away from you." The words came out softer than you intended, almost as if confessing a sin to the devil himself.

You expected an outburst of anger, perhaps some sarcastic remark, but what came was completely different. Silco leaned in slightly and raised his hand, gently touching your chin with a disconcerting tenderness. You instinctively braced yourself for a rough grip, something that matched his cold, ruthless demeanor, but the touch was soft, almost... careful.

He forced your face to lift, compelling your eyes to meet his. The look he cast in your direction was rigid, controlled, but there was something deeper beneath that mask of ice. It wasn't anger that you found there, but an almost palpable disappointment, a kind of emotion that seemed misplaced in a man as dangerous as him. It was that, more than anything, that made your heart race—not out of fear, but something far harder to define.

"Don't ever do that again." The words were spoken with a chilling calmness, but the tone was absolute, unquestionable. It wasn't a request; it was a command.

You should resist. Every fiber of your being screamed at you not to submit, to hold onto some shred of control over your own narrative. But the moment his gaze pierced through yours, any trace of resistance was crushed. You simply nodded, too drained to defy him.

When Silco extended his hand, you hesitated for a moment, but soon took it. The gesture was surprisingly natural, almost intimate. He pulled you up to your feet and, in silence, led you back to that false wall. The groan of the door as it opened echoed in the space, but his attention never wavered from you.

"You need to rest." His voice was more controlled now, but it still carried a note of authority that couldn't be ignored. "Your body's been through too much. I don't want you passing out again."

"And you? You need sleep too. You look like you haven't closed your eyes in days." You crossed your arms, leaning against the doorframe. "Besides, this room is yours, not mine."

Silco raised an eyebrow, his expression slightly skeptical as if weighing your words. "Are you suggesting I sleep with you?"

"Well..." you began, tilting your head and letting the smile spread across your lips. "You kind of already do."

The tone was unapologetically playful, a deliberate provocation you knew he wouldn't let slide without a reaction. Silco's expression shifted, and he huffed, rolling his eyes. Despite his apparent irritation, something in his demeanor betrayed him—he wasn't truly bothered. Maybe, just maybe, he was even amused, though he would never admit it.

"But yes, I do want that."

He remained still for a moment, the silence hanging heavy between you like a drawn curtain. Then, without a word, Silco stepped forward. You felt the immediate shift in the atmosphere—subtle but undeniable. Your body reacted instinctively, stepping back as he advanced. Silco didn't need words to convey the control he wielded. You held his gaze, but it was hard not to get lost in the sharp contrast between the blue and orange of his eyes. It was like staring into an abyss and feeling a strange, reckless urge to leap.

It was only then that you noticed the low, definitive click of the door locking behind him.

Silco stopped in front of you, his presence filling the space like a looming shadow—threatening, yet strangely captivating. He tilted his head slightly, assessing your expression with an almost clinical interest, but his eyes... his eyes told a different story. You had the distinct sensation that you had walked willingly into some sort of trap, one you had set for yourself, heedless of the consequences. And he seemed ready to savor every second of it.

Part 11

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Yes, we will have smut in the next chapter, just wait. Now with all the information thrown in the previous chapters, have you figured out why Silco was interested in her years ago? I made a small arrangement on how the story will unfold and in theory it will have approximately 30 chapters, but it can change either more or less. Which means we will have a long way to go.

↓ ┊ TAG LIST ┊ ↓

@heidiland05

@defmxl

@rubyoff1cal

@silcoisatan

@edynmeyer1

@metamorphoserequiem

@casualunknownrunaway

@qlovalova

@kinavet

@aise-30

@bubbabobabubbles

@artist4theworld

@lovelyjulieee

@pollomoon

@celi-xxmoon

@starryhiraeth

@spntiel

@vxllys

@hotchners-wifey

@unadulteratedcoffeetastemaker

@ultrahoney

@mysteriouszer0

@thisisarcanereverie

@prettyrose189

@coffeesefied

@sarynnah

@apexie100

@mommymilkers0526

@mikimimic

@shugar0cone0alt

@sunshiines-stuff

@lynnieluvsu

@ficsamillion

@koshehehe

@hayleynott

@malkentaj

@twililty

@fandomsinthegalaxies

@mikuley

@anthy-j-ander

@angelsdemonsmonsters

@buggnuggies

@fudosl

@strwwbbrri

@taefect94

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Military Science Fiction

Military science fiction - a subgenre that combines science fiction with military elements.

Also known as sci-fi, science fiction is a genre of speculative fiction that contains imagined elements that don’t exist in the real world.

Science fiction spans a wide range of themes that often explore time travel, space travel, are set in the future, and deal with the consequences of technological and scientific advances.

Military sci-fi novels deal with subjects like space warfare and futuristic weaponry. These books may also explore how war and technology affect human or alien characters.

Characteristics of Military Science Fiction

Novels in this subgenre will often include one or more of these common military sci-fi tropes.

Advanced weaponry and warfare: Military sci-fi often includes detailed descriptions of futuristic weapons. World-building may include discussions of new types of spaceships and ammo for futuristic machine guns. Aside from technology, there may be unique military organizations or world-specific fighting strategies.

Epic battles: In many military sci-fi stories, the climax is a large and exciting battle. These fights can occur on land or in space and pit humans against aliens.

Philosophical discussions of war: Military science fiction can bring up philosophical and ethical issues, like war’s impact on civilians and warriors. Authors may even use sci-fi to critique real-life military operations.

Tips on Writing Military Science Fiction

Writing a great military science-fiction novel can be a long, challenging process. As with any novel, you’ll want to construct a satisfying plot, develop interesting characters, and write polished, vivid prose. That said, writing military science fiction requires many unique considerations. Here are some tips for creating a memorable military science-fiction novel:

Broach complex ideas. A good military science-fiction story depends on a great conceit. Before writing your first book, have some sense of the question your novel is asking. This question can be implicit or explicit in military sci-fi, and many novels make these questions obvious. For example, Ender’s Game asks the question: What if humanity’s survival during an alien invasion depended on highly intelligent children?

Tell a good story. While military science-fiction novels are often thought experiments, they should contain an interesting narrative story. Come up with an intriguing story that brings your questions to life. Ask yourself: What is the change that will occur over the course of your story, either in the world or in the life of the main character?

Create an interesting world. World-building is one of the most important parts of creating a compelling military sci-fi story. The intricately imagined details that make up your world should flow in some way from the idea at the heart of your story. In that way, the world you create in your military sci-fi novel also reveals something about your point of view on the real world. Even the most fantastically imagined story is still a reflection of real-world questions and problems.

Consistently obey the rules of your world. One of the qualities that set sci-fi novels apart from fantasy is that it still obeys consistent logic, no matter the strangeness of the world. For military sci-fi, this might involve rules about how advanced weapons and spaceships work. You may find yourself mapping out intergalactic government agencies and writing laws.

Focus on character development. You may get caught up building your world or focusing on your plot, but remember that well-developed characters are important, too. Your plot may hinge on a major battle, but make sure to create interesting conflicts for your characters.

Examples of Military Science Fiction

It can be helpful to read military science fiction to better understand what the genre has to offer. Consider some of these works by well-known science-fiction writers:

Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein (1959): Heinlin wrote this novel in response to real-life nuclear arms policy. Set in the future, it touches on moral and philosophical questions an interstellar government faces.

Childe Cycle by Gordon R. Dickson (1960): This series chronicles the fracture of humanity into space. Dorsai “supersoldiers” attempt to reunite the human civilizations.

Star Wars by George Lucas (1976): Star Wars’s novelization actually predates the iconic film’s release by a few months. Ghostwriter Alan Dean Foster wrote the book based on Lucas’s space opera screenplay.

Battlestar Galactica by Glen A. Larson (1978): This franchise follows the last of humanity as they fight a war against a robot race.

Armor by John Steakley (1984): Armor’s soldiers use exoskeletons in a war against insect-like enemies in this bestseller.

Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card (1985): This novel follows young children with high intellect who help lead a war against an alien race.

Vorkosigan Saga by Lois McMaster Bujold (1986): This series of novels and short stories is set in a fictional universe of star systems called the wormhole Nexus.

On Basilisk Station by David Weber (1993): This novel follows a military school graduate named Honor Harrington, whose insubordination gets her exiled to Basilisk Station, a far-off station of smugglers and thieves.

A Hymn Before Battle by John Ringo (2000): This novel is about Earth’s preparation for an alien invasion.

Old Man's War by John Scalzi (2005): The Colonial Defense Force is a military organization with two goals. The first is to defend Earth from alien invasion; the second, to find new planets to colonize. This novel follows John Perry’s journey through the ranks.

The Lost Fleet by Jack Campbell (2006): This series is set one hundred years into an interstellar war between two warring factions of humans.

A Confederation of Valor by Tanya Huff (2006): These novels follow Sergeant Torin Kerr as she leads her team of space marines through missions across the galaxy.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Yandere DILF! Reaction to You Having a Boyfriend

Warnings: Yandere Behaviour, Obsessive Behaviour, Possessive Behaviour, Age Gap, Suggestive Themes, Stalking, Monitoring, Implied Yandere MILF, Implicit Threats, Implied Blackmail, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

♡ There is no measure of fury capable of being held or produced by Hell and Earth that can rival that which fires through Dominic’s veins.

♡ At first, he didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. That his (Y/N) would sever his heart from his chest and run it into the ground.

♡ He thinks – knows – that you’re being held against your will. That’s the only reasonable explanation for this…lapse in judgement, as he sees it.

♡ However, when he watches you from his window leaping into your male friend’s arms, being swung in a display of greatest enthusiasm, Dominic knows he’s being delusional. A rare instance of self-awareness.

♡ Initially, he considers this a curse; the fact that your heart lay in the hands of another. But, the longer he stewed over this development, considered any and every point that would grant him vantage, he began to see it as liberation. A cover beneath which he could operate until he struck from the bushes, his viperous intent strengthening.

♡ He is still amidst the throws of fury, but his wrath is not directed towards you. Rather, that juvenile sack of meat and electricity you donated your time to.

♡ Dominic knows that your ‘boyfriend’ will never love you like he does; that you won’t understand how boys are interested in one thing only. Dominic should know; he’d been a young man once. His psychology was his greatest burden and insight.

♡ He starts taking note of your new, adjusted schedule; the days you reserve for your dates – a long-dead excursion in Dominic’s eyes, not having felt any excitement on a ‘date’ aside from his chance encounters with you.

♡ He follows you, sees which restaurants, cinemas, arcades, shopping centres you enter. And, when the moment is right, when he sees the two of you at the pinnacle of happiness, he acts.

♡ In whatever way he can, he breaks up your dates, saying how it’s “Crazy that you’re here, (Y/N) – what a coincidence,”

♡ When you introduce him to your boyfriend, he flashes a smile only he can see is disingenuous. Grabbing your boyfriend’s hand and shaking it with enough force to give the impression that your boyfriend is weak – boneless – compared to Dominic, the former of the two taken off-balance.

♡ “Better watch your step there, Kid,” he says. There’s grit in the road of his voice, but you’re  piloting an aircraft. Your boyfriend is on a bicycle.

♡ “You’re no use to (Y/N) broken,” he jokes. Something flashes behind his eyes. “Or dead.”

♡ He insists that he drop the two of you home. He knows neither of you drove here.

♡ You can’t say no to your favourite neighbour, who lets you sit in the front seat while he makes your tag-along sit in the back like an animal. An outcast.

♡ Anything to make him look weak. Undesirable. The runt of the proverbial litter.

♡ Dominic drops you home. Tells you he’ll be back soon. And, without asking for directions, begins his embarkation to your boyfriend’s home.

♡ Neither say a word to each other. Seemingly aware of their position in each other’s world.

♡ Pulling up outside your third wheel’s house, Dominic leaves him with only a parting phrase.

♡ “Imagine what else I know about you. What little secrets you’ve been keeping.” He serves a frozen stare in the rearview mirror. “If you leave (Y/N) alone, you’ll never have to find out.”

♡ You never saw your boyfriend again after that. Never heard a peep from him over text, never received a call, never even saw him walk down the street.

♡ Of course, you were confused. But more so, you felt uprooted. Forcibly extracted from the life of someone you cared deeply about. Someone who, evidently, didn’t care as much about you.

♡ Eventually, after monitoring you for those first three weeks, those three, long weeks where every inch was laden with shattered glass and stretched on into infinity, Dominic came to you.

♡ Offered you comfort.

♡ He only wished he could have come sooner, but he knew you’d just react with anger. An emotion he couldn’t risk you feeling towards him, even for a second.

♡ And, just as he’d rehearsed a million times, just as he’d lay in bed, sat in his office losing himself to the phantom of your fleeting warmth he’d patchworked together into a blanket from your previous encounters, he came to your door. Knocked. Entered your home. Opened his arms to you.

♡ And the collective euphoria from his every vivid daydream couldn’t compare to the electric joy which made his heart stop. Resuscitated him.

♡ Your head was to his chest before he could encase you in his embrace. He lay his arms upon you, the snake to your Eve, and held you.

♡ “It’s okay, Darling,” he said, his voice low, as if his wife could hear from across the street. Or from the camera she’d implanted into that new vase she’d bought you last week.

♡ You twitched in his arms with every sob. Dominic could feel your tears soaking through his shirt. His now-favourite shirt. One which he’d never wash again.

♡ In his languid daydreams, he’d imagined you thanking him thoroughly for his kindness, his empathy, professing how you’d been so blind to his love before submitting to him entirely.

♡ But, for now, this victory was enough. To have you as close as you’d ever been, your body curled into his chest as he ran a hand through your hair, your warmth leaking into him.

♡ His warmth that he wanted to see leaking out of you.

♡ His lips to your hair, he resisted the tempestuous temptation to take you now. At your most vulnerable, most suggestible. Your most submissive.

♡ To show you that he can please you in ways no mere boy can.

♡ Instead, he took to trying not to inhale your scent, replace one vice with another, to not replenish his memory of you anew.

♡ “I’m here. I’m here.”

♡ His voice is soft, feather-light. It belies all he has done to get to where he is now.

♡ And all he will do to get to where he needs to be.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad

[taraxippos]

Saying 'sex and food and gore are variations on the same concept so you can write them interchangeably' is so crazy because like you are fundamentally missing the point of theme, it's meaning Assigned to concepts that don't necessarily have intrinsic meaning beyond what they fundamentally describe.

Like you Can write sex like food effectively if it's serving a purpose (to communicate about the nature of the sex, the emotional stakes, the character's personality and their relationships, etc) and using eating as a metaphor effectively communicates this purpose- ie to evoke that the sex is an act of consumptive indulgence (maybe at the expense of the other? is it self-serving for one or both? do they treat it like mindless snacking? is it like binge eating?), or that it's an attempt to satiate a feeling of starvation (does it? are they still hungry?), etc. It Can work very effectively if you're using the food connection to convey additional layers of meaning that are not implicit in the act itself.

It does NOT work if you're operating on the basis of 'sex and gore and eating actually all the same thing as an act consumption and love and violence and sensation and cannibalism dog motif take me to church'. Like just first of all you are Wrong, these are meanings you've attached to (mostly) neutral human behavior. Having sex, eating food, and grievous bodily injuries are, shockingly, not the same thing (hence why juxtaposing/connecting the concepts to create new meaning is the way you make it work!) You can't even write variations on Sex Itself interchangeably, sex is not all the same, sometimes it's boring and routine, sometimes it's affectionate and emotional, sometimes it's self harming and ugly. Much less writing every act of human bodily sensation interchangeably. This will not make your writing better but instead lead you to crafting the most garbage sentences known to man. Tread carefully.

[justafewberries]

Something i didnt quite understand in the book is why in the arena they had to kill the game makers is theres any bigger piece to it or is it just pure brutality?

Thanks for your ask!

The answer comes from a few different places, but it ultimately leads back to David Hume’s essay Of the First Principles of Government. (It's a short read, and I highly recommend it!)

In Of the First Principles of Government, Hume discusses implicit submission. He maintains governing bodies derive their power from public opinion, and it is exactly why all of the characters acted the way they did in that scene. I will break it down by character, but first I want to examine some context in SOTR.

In the text, the training scene right before Plutarch begins to question Haymitch foreshadows the later scene:

“There’s this moment, just as I get to my feet, where I look around, and I’m armed, and they’re armed. A half dozen of us hold sleek, deadly knives. And I see that there aren’t many Peacekeepers here today. Not really. We outnumber them four to one. And if we moved quickly, we could probably free up some of those tridents and spears and swords at the other stations and have ourselves a real nice arsenal. I meet Ringina’s eyes, and I’d swear she’s thinking the same thing.” [...] “The more I think it over, the more my dismay grows. Every year we let them herd us into their killing machine. Every year they pay no price for the slaughter. They just throw a big party and box up our bodies like presents for our families to open back home.”

When you read this as context to the scene in the arena, it is the same idea. The armed tributes outnumber the Gamemakers, and in the arena, everyone is on equal footing. The tributes have the numbers and the momentum of days in the arena behind them. 

There are two lines that are thematically significant in this section. The first line is from a Gamemaker: 

The Gamemaker with the drill raises her mask and straightens up to a full height. "That’s right. And all four of you are in absolute violation of the rules. You must immediately withdraw or there will be repercussions." "That’d be a lot more impressive if you weren’t shaking like a leaf," observes Maysilee, fingering her blowgun. 

The only defense the Capitol worker has is that of governing status. She attempts to assert the rules of governance on her side by claiming that they are all in violation of the rules, and therefore they must submit to the Capitol by leaving them alone. Even she knows, as her shaking voice exposes, there is no true way to enforce this rule. This is where David Hume’s essay comes in:

"When we enquire by what means this wonder is effected, we shall find, that, as Force is always on the side of the governed, the governors have nothing to support them but opinion."

The force is always on the side of the governed. The governed, in this case, are the tributes of the arena. Yet, in the arena, where the purpose, according to Dr. Gaul, is to strip man down to his base instincts, a governing body cannot exist. The government exists to make sure man doesn’t regress to said instincts. Therefore, the government cannot exist in the arena in the same way it does in the rest of Panem. Ergo, the public opinion needed to enforce the rules is obsolete, to the point where both parties are on equal grounds. There is no illusion of power. 

The second line is: 

Silka seems stunned into inertia as well. “What’d you do? Did you kill Gamemmakers? They’ll never let us win now!”

Silka still believes there are winners in the games. In fact, she goes so far as to say “let us win”, thus she recognizes that the Capitol has true control over who wins, and prior to this, she expected to be able to win. Now, she believes winning is a right that the Capitol can revoke, which lends itself to the idea of Hume’s secondary principles of government:

"There are indeed other principles, which add force to these, and determine, limit, or alter their operation; such as self-interest, fear, and affection: But still we may assert, that these other principles can have no influence alone, but suppose the antecedent influence of those opinions above-mentioned."

Because Silka expects to be able to win, she is stunned into submission under her expectation of particular rewards:

"For, first, as to self-interest, by which I mean the expectation of particular rewards, distinct from the general protection which we receive from government, it is evident that the magistrate's authority must be antecedently established, at least be hoped for, in order to produce this expectation."

On the other side, fear stuns Haymitch. Hume details how fear is a form of submission:

"No man would have any reason to fear the fury of a tyrant, if he had no authority over any but from fear; since, as a single man, his bodily force can reach but a small way, and all the farther power he possesses must be founded either on our own opinion, or on the presumed opinion of others."

Haymitch recognizes how futile it would be to take down a few Gamemakers. It is the same reason he deduces when he reflects on his time in the training center. They may outnumber the peacekeepers in the training center, but what would happen? It would be a fruitless rebellion, and public opinion would squash anything that could potentially develop from it. Hume’s discussion of fear is not exactly fear of the tyrant himself, rather, fear of the power he possesses over others. Snow had public opinion on his side outside of the arena. Killing a few Gamemakers here would just bring upon the tyrant’s arsenal.

Maysilee and Maritte, however, both recognize that the perception of power via public opinion doesn’t exist in the arena. Both realize they cannot be punished more than they already are. I don’t usually quote the movies, but I think Reaper’s taunting of the Capitol when he rips the flag down in the 10th Games suits this philosophy extremely well: 

“Are you gonna punish me now? Are you going to punish me now?”

Both girls act because they are disillusioned with the power of the Capitol. They refuse to submit. They are free from the secondary aspects of self-interest, fear, and affection. Maysilee alludes to the idea that winning was never going to happen in the first place: 

Maysilee’s voice drips honey. “Still chasing that sad little dream, Silka?” 

While one can interpret this by assuming Maysilee means she was going to kill Silka, it can also be taken to counter Silka’s belief of a fair win, calling it a dream. Maysilee likely recognizes the Capitol can always give advantages to people they want to win, or send mutts on whoever they don’t like. We see this with Titus in his games. She doesn’t submit. 

I would like to cross reference this with the 10th Games in Ballad, where Coriolanus and Sejanus entered the arena. Dr. Gaul used Coryo’s experience in the arena about a lesson on human nature: 

“Without the threat of death, it wouldn’t have been much of a lesson,” said Dr. Gaul. “What happened in the arena? That’s humanity undressed. The tributes. And you, too. How quickly civilization disappears. All your fine manners, education, family background, everything you pride yourself on, stripped away in the blink of an eye, revealing everything you actually are. A boy with a club who beats another boy to death. That’s mankind in its natural state.”

Later in the scene, she talks about how the death of Coryo and Sejanus would not have brought anyone closer to winning. This is the same idea, just from the perspective of what would have been the Gamemakers, had they survived: 

“What did you think of them, now that their chains have been removed? Now that they’ve tried to kill you? Because it was of no benefit to them, your death. You’re not the competition.”  It was true. They’d been close enough to recognize him. But they’d hunted down him and Sejanus — Sejanus, who’d treated the tributes so well, fed them, defended them, given them last rites! — even though they could have used that opportunity to kill one another.  “I think I underestimated how much they hate us,” said Coriolanus.  “And when you realized that, what was your response?” she asked.  He thought back to Bobbin, to the escape, to the tributes’ bloodlust even after he’d cleared the bars. “I wanted them dead. I wanted every one of them dead.”

Interestingly, he makes a point about human nature that calls back to what Hume is saying:

“I think I wouldn’t have beaten anyone to death if you hadn’t stuck me in that arena!” he retorted.  “You can blame it on the circumstances, the environment, but you made the choices you made, no one else. It’s a lot to take in all at once, but it’s essential that you make an effort to answer that question. Who are human beings? Because who we are determines the type of governing we need. Later on, I hope you can reflect and be honest with yourself about what you learned tonight.” Dr. Gaul began to wrap his wound in gauze.

While initially it seems to validate Dr. Gaul’s argument that humans, by nature, are violent creatures, his refutation actually provides the basis for the very reason Maysilee and Maritte killed the Gamemakers. “[They] wouldn’t have beaten anyone to death if [the Capitol] hadn’t stuck [them] in that arena”. 

The arena does not strip people of their nature. It forces them to submit for the very secondary aspects Hume provides. The governing body forces them to kill, and by stepping into the arena, where the Capitol has stripped itself and all beings of their own power to display what it believes to be human nature in its primitive form, it has erased the protection of public opinion. 

The Capitol holds no real power in the arena itself. Sure, they bomb it afterwards to clear out the four tributes. Sure, they sic the mutts on Maysilee and Maritte, but they do not govern in the way they do over Panem. 

Inasmuch, the Gamemakers died because the arena disillusioned Maysilee and Maritte to their implicit submission. The moment the Gamemakers entered the arena, they were powerless as of their own creation.

I hope this makes sense. Thanks for the ask!

[julieverne]

Maura forgot her coat, sometimes.

She blamed it on Jane's impetuousness, the way Jane dragged her by the hand out into tempestuous weather.

As soon as she shivered, Jane would wrap her own coat around Maura's shoulders, would surrender her scarf and gloves. Jane's hands were bigger than Maura's, and the scars on Jane's hands turned blue in the cold. When Jane threaded the scarf around Maura's throat she was so focused, the way Jane only was focused for criminals. Like she thought the task was too important, like Maura was too important. She would hold the umbrella over Maura, pressed close against her so the fabric covered them both.

Jane was clearly cold, but she would never convey that to Maura. Maura kept the house heated in winter for Jane's sake. Jane was insistent that Maura wear her own cold weather gear, was deliberate enough in her actions that Maura was warmed to her core after decades of feeling frozen inside.

Once home, Maura discarded Jane's coat and gloves and scarf, she closed the distance between them. Jane was cold beneath her shirt and she easily welcomed Maura's warmth. Holding Jane always felt more like being held, being loved than anything else Maura had known.

Jane's smile was twice as warming when she pulled away, reluctantly, as though she felt something, the same thing, perhaps, as Maura did.

"Thanks for the coat," Maura said breathlessly, and Jane's smile only softened. "I should keep one in both of our cars. It's going to be a cold winter."

"You can always have mine." Jane shrugged and walked through to put the kettle on. Maura had domesticated her enough to make hot chocolate on a cold night.

"But then you're cold."

Jane smiled to herself as though there was something Maura was missing. She remembered a case down by the docks, where even though Maura had been woken by operations alone in her home and dressed appropriately for the weather, she had been cold through to the bone by the wind off the water. Jane had stepped behind her, shielding her from the wind, her arms closing around Maura like they belonged there.

Jane loved protecting Maura, even from the cold. She loved being the provider. She loved being able to help Maura in some way.

Jane loved Maura, Maura realised suddenly. She looked up quickly but everything was the same. Jane's smile was still soft and aimed at her. Maura's house was exactly the same as any other evening they spent together but Maura had lost her breath. Jane abandoned the kettle, her eyes filled with concern as she closed in on Maura.

Maura wasn't a fool. Jane had specified often enough that she wasn't actually gay, even though people kind of expected her to be. Sometimes she'd been explicit, sometimes implicit in her denial. She had no qualms about pretending to be Maura's partner to dissuade male suitors. However Jane loved Maura, it wasn't romantic or sexual. Maybe Maura was just the sister Jane had never wanted, maybe Jane loved her like a cousin or a friend.

"Breathe, Maura." Jane's eyes, so kind, were worried. "Hey, honey, what's wrong?" Jane rubbed Maura's shoulders and arms, chafed her hands. When Maura looked away, Jane slid her strong fingers onto Maura's jaw to make her meet Jane's eyes. It was unbearable, the amount of affection there.

"You love me." Maura's voice broke partway through, but she didn't cry. She'd always known, somehow, that Jane loved her. It had never been so obvious or as devastating as now, though. Jane's eyes softened further still, relief falling across her face.

"Of course I do." Jane's voice was lower and raspier than usual. "Of course I love you."

Three words Maura had always been chasing. Three words she'd always longed for. From the mouth of the person she loved most, the one person she'd go out in the cold without a coat for.

"I hope that's okay," Jane said gently. "I know you don't--and I don't."

"Don't what?"

"Love women like that."

"Like what?"

Jane's eyes met hers. There was something there. Maura had seen fear in Jane's eyes too many times to count. When facing Hoyt, when Frankie's life had been in danger, when the retired detective had tried to hurt Maura, when Maura had been kidnapped by the Doyles, in the church with snakes. She'd seen sorrow there too, when that little girl had been missing, when Maura had accepted a date with Giovanni, when Maura left each evening to her own bed in her own home.

Jane's eyes held no fear or sorrow. They held trepidation, anxiety, but something else too. Jane's eyes dropped to Maura's lips, and Jane wet her own nervously before she met Maura's eyes again.

She relaxed at whatever she saw in Maura's face, then closed the distance between them easily, her lips brushing across Maura's lightly enough that if she wanted to she could take it back.

"Like that," Jane said breathlessly. She pulled away and went to tend to the whistling kettle. She didn't meet Maura's eyes again, her cheeks pink. She made the hot chocolate efficiently. She knew which mug Maura preferred and used one of the mugs Maura picked up from Target for herself; she had a favourite too.

Maura joined her at the kitchen island and accepted the drink, bemused.

"What if I wanted to be?"

"Hmm?"

"A woman who loved women like that?"

Jane fiddled with her mug, then placed it on the island, watching her hands. When she looked up at Maura, her smile was broad and felt like home.

"Then I guess I would be one too. For you, I mean. I mean. I would love you like that. I do."

Maura sipped her hot chocolate. She set hers down too. Jane's mouth, chocolatey and warm, met hers, and Maura felt herself glow from the inside.

She didn't need a coat; not when Jane's love was so warm.

[valtsv]

i would love to hear more of your thoughts on michael shelley!!! 🌀🚪✨

you're in luck because i've sat on thoughts about him for years and i finally feel like i can articulate them. because michael shelley is such a well written case of tragic horror in the horror tragedy podcast. and, despite my criticisms of season 5, it really did do an excellent job in concluding his character arc with the gertrude backstory episode. in a podcast where a common in-universe theme is that knowledge, and the pursuit of knowledge, is dangerous, michael is a subversion in that his ignorance of the horrors of the world he lived in not only didn't save him, but was intentionally engineered to make him vulnerable to exploitation and harm (which, on a broader scope, emphasises the futility of the world of the magnus archives - regardless of whether you participate in or turn a blind eye to the systems at play, involved or uninvolved, you are not safe).

furthermore, i really appreciate the subversion of traditional tropes of the sacrifice as a typically female figure taken advantage of by a male father, brother, or lover, whose tragic and horrible death is used to motivate him (whether to greatness or self-destruction), with michael being a son sacrificed by his mother (or grandmother) figure, who never actually loved him and whose 'frail' and 'nurturing' qualities were weaponised incompetence used to gaslight and manipulate him - and who continues to operate successfully (at least in terms of what can be said to be 'success' in a world like the magnus archives) without being haunted by any apparent doubt about the decision she made, or any hesitation to use others in similar ways, following this betrayal. which makes the fact that he's sewn into the fabric of a being that represents lies in their most insidious form, used as a weapon to devour people and destroy their lives, all the more abhorrent in hindsight - he is forced to not only relive his trauma in an endless loop (or spiral, if you will), but to become the mechanism which enables it. michael is taken to the edge of something evil (at least from a human perspective), and pushed over the threshold with no hope of recourse. there's almost a reverse orphic quality to it - he descends into terrifying other world, one which exists side-by-side with but fundamentally seperate from his own, against his will, and looking back will only cause him pain as he's assaulted by memories of a life he will never be able to reach.

i think a lot of people forget to look past the surface with michael, despite there being an entire episode dedicated to doing so. which is understandable, he's a very outwardly expressive character - but this is intentional obfuscation to hide an incredibly damaged victim whose hatred of this part of himself is integral to his entire reason for being, and which the rejection of causes him to be unmade, incapable of existing as this contradictory nightmare any longer. it's a mercy killing, and yet it is violent and painful, because michael cannot and should not exist, and excising that graft used to muzzle the distortion is as agonising as latching it into place was in the first place. when michael-the-distortion says about michael shelley "he was born. he was pointless. and he should have died." there is an implicit longing there, a rage at the way he was used, his decisions made for him and used to imprison something else instead of ever being allowed to exercise any measure of free will. because michael shelley probably would have died for the archivist, given the opportunity, but he never got the choice.

[erumai-maadu]

Just noting down some things about Tenten that influence my view of her characterization/personality. primarily for my own reference as i’m writing, as well as to kind of get a more mature and consistent characterization of her than i had before. this gonna be an extremely long and rambling post, (where I think I repeat myself a whole lot oops) and there’s not really anything profound, just some traits i’m pulling from canon and interpreting.

most of Tenten’s ’canon’ characterization comes from filler and databooks, which I then further interpret, so a lot of her characterization in this post is three degrees of fanon/headcanon, with some liberties taken where I dislike the interpretation.

We’re introduced to Tenten during the chunin exams, where she’s seen throwing kunai at a target dummy that Neji is sitting under. She casually throws her kunai and hits the target dead center, instantly showing her marksmanship skill, but also Neji’s implicit trust in her since he doesn’t even flinch and the target is pretty much right over his head. This ties in later but basically, he fully trusts that she will not miss.

We see Tenten again before the first round of the chunin exams, while Izumo and Kotetsu are blocking the door. The thing I find notable in that scene is Tenten not being immune to Sasuke LOL.

(Manga panel grabbed from @tentenarchive)

it's interesting to me that her thing is specifically that there's not a single scratch on him, and that he's "cool". Makes sense given that she's on a team with Gai and Lee and she desperately wants them to be cool too. And she dislikes weak people so yeah, of course it's cool to her that he's untouchable.

Actually on this topic, Tenten's taste seems to be "cool people"? In a filler episode (naruto 162) she thinks that the lord of a local land is really cute when she sees him get down for his palanquin. The lord's whole thing is that he's like cold and cool and pensive etc. so this seems to be Tenten's taste to some degree. He turns out to actually be a girl in the end so yknow. bi Tenten confirmed.

Here's her page from the first databook (screenshotted from The Narutoversity). She gets annoyed at Lee injuring himself for Sakura's sake, which I'm pretty sure isn't really out of care so much as it is that they're in the middle of the forest of death in like. the worst situation possible. Love how Ino's just standing there like "what the fuck kind of medical care is this".

I generally dislike the stats since I find that they’re inaccurate to what we see on-panel (a whole rant I could go on another time tbh), and Kishimoto tends to skew them egregiously in favor of characters he particularly likes. Ex: genin era Neji’s total is 21, and shippuden Tenten’s is 20.5. You cannot seriously be telling me that Neji as a genin is stronger than chunin Tenten three years in the future. Come on Kishimoto. There are a few things of note here though, so let’s go through them anyway.

Tenten’s highest stat is her speed, at 3, which is the same as Sasuke from the same databook. So clearly, she’s fast, especially since Sasuke is known for his speed. She's not as fast as Lee, but still quick on her feet and dexterous, with fast reflexes. Makes sense, since the second databook describes her fighting style as “dancing flexibly and firing speedily”.

Her strength is a 1 and her stamina is a 1.5, which is insane to me. Like she’s on Team Gai???? They do 500 laps around Konoha and 1000+ pushups every day???? I reject canon here, fuck u kishi, I know she’s actually buff as hell and has hella stamina.

Her intelligence is a 2, which might seem super low but it matches Sasuke's intelligence, and is only 0.5 lower than Neji and Temari's. I think it just goes to show that the scale for these stats is skewed as hell. But basically what this means is that she operates at a similar level to Sasuke, Temari, and Neji, where she picks up on the things around her, and while she isn't operating on the level of Shikamaru, she's still a good strategist.

Back to the actual show, we get to the elimination round and her fight against Temari (episode 43). I’m basing this part off the anime because their fight in the manga is like three panels long.

So technically, this is “filler” (as if any tenten fan really cares lol).

From the Hokage's commentary, her battle sense is pretty good. She positions herself a perfect distance away from the enemy. She's trying to bait Temari into attacking, to see what her power is and figure out how to counter it, and Temari calls her out on it.

Tenten isn't a 200 IQ genius strategist the way Shikamaru is, but she is still a smart fighter. We can see she thinks in a similar way to him (and Temari) feeling out the enemy's power and what they can do before counterattacking strategically. I need them to be best friends tbh.

Her first reaction when she throws her shuriken at Temari and misses is surprise. She is deeply confident in her own abilities, so it's genuinely shocking to her. She yells "I missed? There's no way!" and in the stands, Gai also insists up and down that Tenten never misses.

She has the utmost confidence in herself, and from the rest of her team. None of them have any doubt in her, and this also ties back to that introductory scene. No wonder Neji let her chuck kunai at targets near him. It's probably something she does regularly too.

Tenten loses to Temari, and is immediately down on herself. We see a lot of this in Shippuden 237, where she's lying in the hospital and loses all her confidence in herself and her abilities.

Shippuden 237 shows us that Tenten does actually have self-esteem issues, even before this fight with Temari. During their first year as genin, when Lee keeps getting defeated by Neji, Tenten tells Lee that he really should just give up on beating Neji, because he's a genius, and Lee is not. It's clear in the voice acting and the expressions that to some extent, Tenten isn't just speaking about Lee when she says this, she's also speaking about herself.

She seems to compare herself a lot to others, often in a negative light, talking down about herself when others are better than her, but still trying her best to surpass them.

But the way she talks after losing to Temari is much worse. Her match with Temari affects her deeply, and likely for many years to come. I think it becomes one of her primary motivations to become stronger, as she keeps holding that moment as her lowest point and vowing to never be that helpless against an opponent again.

Headcanons here. After her fight with Temari, Tenten also throws herself into learning 1) fire jutsu to combat Temari’s wind (this is why she develops that dragon bomb jutsu she uses during the Konoha Crush filler episode), and 2) seals that can absorb/store away opponents’ attacks.

I think Tenten’s primary chakra nature is actually lightning, which is also why she is so weak to wind chakra. I love this post by @/fineillsignup that goes into detail about chakra natures, and a lot of the traits listed under lightning nature fit with my interpretations of Tenten. I also am heavily biased toward the idea of Kakashi, who is basically student-less during the interlude period, teaching Tenten lightning jutsu since she's his husband's friend's student.

Going back to that scene in shippuden 237, I do think her talking down to Lee in their first year as genin is also interesting. Even though I love the idea of Lee and Tenten being besties before Team Gai and her standing up for him, I think the reality is that she probably didn’t really talk to him in the Academy, and once they were on the same team, she was kind to him, and learned to work with him.

Lee very specifically mentions in a flashback in episode 100 that nobody told him anything encouraging, sensei or student. This obviously includes Tenten. So while she wasn’t outright mean to him, she also didn’t have the greatest opinion of him.

She very quickly found herself relating with him, and that probably made her take out some of her own self-loathing on him at first. Eventually they become close, and form a very deep friendship, but things start out pretty rocky.

Kishimoto confirms that every day for a month between the second and final rounds of the chunin exams, Neji and Tenten train together in secret to help him reverse-engineer the 8 trigrams 64 palms and the rotation. It’s interesting that everyone else goes to train with a jounin and only Neji chooses to train with his teammate.

I think this implies Tenten to be a good secret keeper and evidence that Neji already told her about the cursed seal and all the clan drama. During Neji’s speech to Naruto, Tenten’s reaction is shown alongside Hiruzen and Hiashi’s, both of whom already know all about the curse mark and his father’s death. So Neji has told Tenten as well.

Plus Tenten is uniquely suited to help with Rotation, since she can throw a billion knives no jutsu.

During Naruto vs Neji, Tenten gets used as the mouthpiece to explain Neji's attacks, which also shows how well she knows him after training with him for the Chunin exams, but she's also genuinely impressed when Naruto wins, and even compliments him.

There's a brief scene during Shikamaru v Temari where Tenten comments about how she couldn't beat Temari. Also look at her arms. A 1 for her strength stat??? with those arms??? sure kishi.

Okay, we move on to when Orochimaru attacks Konoha, and there’s this filler episode (shippuden 192) where Hinata gets kidnapped by Kumo shinobi. This episode has some small Tenten moments, where you can also see how Neji thinks of her, and I like them a lot.

We start off with Tenten going to check in on Neji after his conversation with Hiashi, and he actually opens up and tells her all about what they had just spoken about, another sign that he's told her about everything with his clan.

When Hinata is kidnapped and the Hyuuga Elder makes Neji go get her, Tenten comes with him, not out of any particular concern for Hinata, but purely to back up Neji. I doubt she likes Hinata much at first (my eyes were opened after this post by @tentenismybitch), so she’s doing this more for Neji’s sake.

As they're chasing after the man who kidnapped Hinata, they get caught in a trap, and Tenten tells Neji to leave her behind (strategic thinking) and Neji only hesitates for a second before agreeing and going on ahead. Neji expresses that this is because he knows Tenten can handle herself.

We see her using a new jutsu (the Dragon Bomb), which as I mentioned before, I think she developed with Temari in mind.

During the Hokage’s funeral we do see her in funeral attire looking sad but is she really? debatable. I think no, but it’s not entirely relevant. This is all personal headcanon here, not based on canon evidence beyond extrapolating from what I’ve seen.

Tenten doesn't strike me as someone burning with loyalty to the village and harping on about the “will of fire” and whatnot. She does her duty, and that’s about it. It doesn’t go further than that. She cares about the people dear to her, but not really about the village specifically.

After the Hokage’s funeral, Tenten doesn’t appear again until the end of the Search For Tsunade arc, which I think is her last non-filler appearance in the original series other than a few flashbacks.

She’s excited about Tsunade coming to the village, and tells Neji after he trains, and asks him to come with her to go see Tsunade. Neji tells her he’s not interested, and Tenten looks a little disappointed.

We see Tenten in some flashbacks to Lee's genin years (episode 100). As Neji is talking down to Lee, Tenten doesn't really say anything, which matches with what i said earlier. But, when Gai tells them that with hard work, anyone can be a shinobi, Tenten has a similar reaction to Lee, while Neji just looks annoyed.

What Gai says seems to give her hope. That with enough hard work, anyone can become great. She doesn't think of herself as a genius, and if anything, seems to group herself with Lee in terms of ability. This is also shown in Shippuden 237, which I'll discuss later.

After this we only see Tenten in the end-of-series filler, which will be part 2 of this post since it's already really long. We'll finish off by looking at data book 2, which came out after the manga for the first series had finished.

From the second data book (screenshot also taken from the Narutoversity), we see part of her personality is being a "busybody" LMFAOOOO. So yeah she's inquisitive and curious, being a research enthusiast, but also uses that same nature to get in on everyone's business too. We can assume she's also observant and detail-oriented, can probably read people pretty well.

I like this a lot! I think Tenten is a good people person, and many find her easy to get along with. She’s probably one of those people that you accidentally find yourself telling really important or deep stuff to without really knowing why. She’s just got this air around her that’s very chill and comfortable.

But I do think she’s nosy, and does wanna know about everything, just to be in the know. She’s a little detective LOL.

The research enthusiast part is a fun thing too. She strikes me as a tinkerer, messing with new weapon designs or seal ideas, constantly turning something over in her head.

The first and second databooks list her hobby as fortune-telling, which is also really cute. I think she knows palmistry and does readings for her friends, and has some knowledge of astrology. She isn't overly superstitious, but she does believe in ghosts, and gets fairly nervous when she sees or hears something that can be considered a bad omen.

She has pride in her weapons, clearly, and her arsenal is implied to be the largest and strongest of any ninja. I’d like to assume that some of her pride comes from the weapons in her arsenal that are of her own design.

Her 'carefree, smiling face' is also an interesting point. At first I was unsure how to interpret this, but to me it reads as her being rather laid-back and carefree, despite her power and lethality. Again, not very sure how to interpret this line and I'd love to hear how anyone else sees it!

It’s cute that Tsunade coming to the village and becoming hokage made Tenten train harder. I think aside from her defeat to Temari, this becomes another major motivation for Tenten. She wants to impress Tsunade, the kunoichi that she admires most.

She says she'd like to fight Sakura, so I think there's some kind of jealousy or something to prove there since Sakura got to be Tsunade’s apprentice and Tenten didn't. This goes back to her low self-esteem and those issues she’s been having since her fight with Temari.

Shippuden 237 touches on this but Tenten did actually try to become a medical ninja for a bit, she just didn’t have the chakra control necessary. Obviously this adds to her insecurities when Sakura turns out to be a natural at medical ninjutsu with unnaturally good chakra control.

I’m not a huge fan of the ‘trying to be a mednin’ part of this ngl, I think she’s a little too fixated on weapons to truly care about medical ninjutsu, and wants to emulate Tsunade just for the ‘strongest kunoichi’ part rather than trying to be her exact carbon copy. Plus, I think (headcanon) Tenten’s chakra control has to be at least decently good in order to do seals, but that’s a different rabbit hole. I tend to disregard this in my fics and will likely continue to do so.

I do like the thing of being jealous of Sakura in some way for being Tsunade’s apprentice, though. It’s some nice flavor and I appreciate the one-sided rivalry. I think it would be funny for Sakura to think of Tenten as the cool senpai and look up to her, meanwhile Tenten is struggling to not immediately challenge her to a duel, Gai-style.

Since this is already super long, I’ll do a part 2 for all the filler arcs she’s in, and then a part 3 for shippuden.

[vigilskeep]

this is probably bad feminism or whatever but ultimately i really don’t care at all that society in thedas is sexist. i think it’s fine. yes it might have made sense for a matriarchal chantry to have a wider impact on thedas’ culture, and yes there’s sexism in the writers instinctively baking misogyny into the world, because their fundamental inability to imagine a “grimly realistic” world without it reveals their implicit assumption that sexism operates on some kind of universal logic and will always occur unless ideals change things. i also think dragon age operates on quickly-assembled flatpack worldbuilding taken piecemeal from established fantasy tropes and from real-world history (or assumptions/myths about real-world history), and is never and was never going to do something that drastic and inventive. that just isn’t what dragon age is bringing to the table. even if it somehow had done that, do any of us really want the timeline where 2009 dragon age used a genuinely matriarchal society as the setting for its sexy dark fantasy where everything is terrible? sure it was dumb that the origins cc said men and women were equal in ferelden when they clearly aren’t, and people make a lot of good and creative points about how things could have been done, i’m not denying that. i don’t think other people are wrong to be bothered by it even if it doesn’t bother me. i guess i just think there are other conversations we could be having, and sometimes they all get dragged into this one talking point