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beloveds-embrace · 3 months ago

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I feel like feral reader has the biggest, saddest eyes known to man when not on a mission, they just want love and pack. It's not their fault they're so feral. They were /made/ to be a weapon, when all they wanted was peace

If feral's an alpha - I can see them hunting down snacks and bringing it to the 141 like "look! I can provide! I can be gentle!" And just watching them eat with those (almost weirdly) big eyes.

If feral's an omega - I can see them hiding away and trying to frantically nest, to give themself somewhere safe. It's not right, there's no pack scent so it just pushes them further into the feral mentality, but (once) if feral swipes some of the packs' items, it does help. It's messy, it's too small, but its a nest, and its theirs and thats all that matters

And omg imagine if feral gets hurt and needs to be hospitalized

The higher ups demand that they be cuffed to the bed, but when the 141 sees feral, they see someone who's just scared. Scared of the hospital and scared of themself. They've been stripped of the muzzle, chains, and scent patches, and look so utterly /weak/. Their scent is distorted from the cruel use of scent blockers, meaning telling their designation from that is impossible.

And then they're so drugged up on pain meds that their walls are lower, and a /lot/ more talkative without their muzzle...

Igh just imagine the sweetest fluffiest angst that hurts so good

(Not a request, just some of my rambles)

👽

do you know that you ate with this ask? because you did. you absolutely did 😩 i loved reading all your thoughts about feral reader, especially the speculation of how they'd act depending on their designation!! the part abt the hospital works so well with what i had planned so i hope you like what i've added to it <33

CW: human trafficking omegaverse masterlist

The hospital room is quiet, sterile, and suffocating.

John clenches his jaw as he steps inside, his sharp eyes scanning every inch of the space. He sees the IV lines, the machines monitoring vitals, the thick, military-grade cuffs securing your wrists to the bed. You look so small like this- nothing like the unrelenting force they fought beside.

Here, right now, you’ve been stripped of everything that made you feral.

No muzzle, no reinforced collar, no scent patches suppressing your pheromones into oblivion. For the first time since you’d been forced into their pack, they could see you. And it guts them.

Because you aren’t some bloodthirsty creature bred for war.

You’re just scared.

Your fingers twitch weakly against the restraints, dull nails scratching uselessly at the cuffs, but there’s no real struggle. No vicious snapping of teeth, no blank, unfeeling stare of a tool awaiting its next order. You barely even react to them entering the room.

Your scent is muddled- soured by years of suppressant use, reduced to something broken and incomplete. It makes it impossible to tell your secondary gender, but it doesn’t matter. Not to them.

The steady drip of the pain meds in your IV dulls everything- your body is sluggish, barely responding, but it also lowers the walls that kept them from truly knowing you.

“… ‘S too quiet,” you mumble, blinking slowly. Your voice is hoarse from disuse, raspy from the damage the muzzle had done to your jaw. It’s the first time any of them have heard you speak so calmly, in a controlled setting that isn't a battlefield, without the muzzle in place.

Johnny is the first to move, dragging a chair close so he can sit beside you. His movements are slow and careful- like approaching a wounded animal.

“Aye, hospitals tend to be,” he says gently. “Bit shite, aren’t they?”

Your lips press together in something that might be the ghost of a frown. “... Hate it.”

The words are so soft. They’re used to you tearing apart enemy soldiers with your bare hands, not murmuring complaints like a child unhappy with their surroundings.

“Yeah, I know,” Gaz murmurs from the other side of the bed. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. Not yet. “You, uh… don’t like small spaces, do you?”

Your response is slow, weighted with exhaustion, and your eyes flicker between them yet remain unfocused. “Not the spaces.” A small pause. “The waiting.”

John exhales slowly through his nose, crossing his arms. You were never allowed to wait. You were a tool, a weapon unsheathed only for war. They never let you have quiet. The only time you weren’t fighting was when you were locked away, bound and muzzled like a rabid dog.

It’s sickening.

You shift against the restraints, huffing when they keep you pinned in place. “‘M not gonna run.”

“Yeah, we ken, sweetheart.” Johnny says before he can stop himself. The pet name slips out, but you don’t flinch. If anything, your muscles relax just a little.

Simon, who has been silent in the corner up until now, finally moves. His mask is still in place, but his scent- bitter with restrained frustration- is unmistakable. He steps closer, gloved hands reaching out to carefully unfasten the cuffs.

It’s a risk. The higher-ups demanded you remain restrained, even sedated if necessary. Hell, it was a fight for the doctors to convince them to take off the collar and muzzle.

But Simon doesn’t give a fuck.

You blink sluggishly up at him as he undoes the clasps, rubbing absent circles over the raw skin left behind. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge the way your fingers twitch under his touch.

You don’t lash out. You don’t fight. You just watch him with the biggest, saddest eyes he’s ever fucking seen.

Fuck.

“We shouldn’t be here,” you say, words slurring together slightly. “Don’t- don’t need to waste time. ‘M just a weapon.”

Something cracks in John’s chest.

“No, you’re not.” he says firmly.

You blink slowly at him. “… That’s what they said.”

“Well, they don’t know shit.” Gaz snaps, unable to help himself.

Your lips part slightly, as if you hadn’t expected that. As if no one had ever disagreed with that sentiment before.

Johnny leans forward, his voice softer now. “You’re not a weapon, bonnie.” His fingers twitch again before he finally gathers the courage to reach for you, brushing a careful hand over your hair. You don’t flinch. Don’t move away. Your eyes slip shut under the warmth of his touch.

It’s the first time you’ve been touched like this. Not in combat, not in restraint, but with care.

“Jus’ want pack." You mumble, so quiet they almost miss it. And fuck- if that doesn’t make their chests ache.

They knew it wasn’t your fault. They knew you were made into what you are, forced into something unnatural. They’ve seen you- seen the way you watch them, longing written in the lines of your body, in the fleeting glances and hesitant movements that scream of someone who just wants.

And now, stripped of the chains and the regulations that kept you leashed, they see you for what you truly are.

Not a weapon, nor a monster.

Just a broken little thing that was never given a choice.

Johnny keeps petting your hair, Gaz is murmuring quiet reassurances, and Simon hasn’t moved his hand from yours. John steps closer, resting a heavy, grounding palm on your ankle.

“We’ve got you,” John says, voice low and steady. “You’re pack now.”

Your breath hitches slightly. Your walls are too low, your body too exhausted to mask the emotions that flicker across your face.

And for the first time since they met you, you look safe.

(John just wishes the reality you'll face once you are recovered was far, far nicer to you).

Later, Ghost is the only one still awake with you. Johnny dozed off in the chair beside your bed, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted back in an uncomfortable angle that would have left him sore in the morning if it weren't for the scarf Simon bundled in the crook of his neck. Gaz and John left hours ago, forced back to their own quarters under the watchful eyes of command. They’ll be back in the morning.

For now, it’s just you and Simon, the quiet hum of the hospital machines, and the weight of something unspoken between you.

Until you speak up again.

“Y’know,” you murmur, eyes closed, voice rough from disuse. “I wasn’t always like this.”

Simon stills.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe for a second, like any sudden shift might scare you away from whatever you’re about to say. His hands tighten over his knees, fingers curling into the fabric of his fatigues.

He doesn’t ask you to elaborate. He doesn’t need to. He knows you’ll either continue or shut down completely. He prays it’s the former.

There’s a long silence before you exhale, long and slow, staring up at the ceiling like the words are carved into the sterile white panels above you.

“They took me in the middle of the night,” you say quietly. “Didn’t hear ‘em coming. Should’ve. Should’ve smelled ‘em.” Your lips press together, something dark flickering over your face. “But why would I? I was just... doing something. Near a car, and then- then I got knocked out before I even... knew they were there."

Simon doesn’t ask who. Not when it means interrupting you, not in this fine, delicate moment with its hands grasped around his throat. But he can guess and connect the dots, though; It’s always the same types. People who think they can own things. Who see others as commodities, as something to be bought and sold.

His fists clench.

“Woke up in a cage,” you continue, voice distant, like you’re narrating someone else’s story. “Couldn’t tell how many others were there. Too many. Some crying. Some too scared to move. Some already…” You swallow hard. “Already gone."

Ghost keeps his breathing steady, keeps his hands still even though his body screams to move, to do something. But this isn’t something he can fix. He can’t go back in time, can’t put a bullet in the heads of the men who did this to you. The only thing he can do is listen.

“I remember thinking,” you murmur, lashes heavy, eyes wet. “if I just waited, someone would come.” A bitter, breathless laugh slips past your lips. “Someone always comes. That’s what they all say, right? That someone always comes.”

Simon knows better than anyone that sometimes, no one does. Sometimes, you have to claw your own way out. Sometimes, it would still not save you.

He says nothing, just watches as you shift slightly against the pillows, your fingers twitching restlessly atop the blanket.

“They started selling people off,” you say. “One by one. Didn’t matter if they fought, if they screamed. Just lined them up, packed them into trucks, and that was it.”

A pause. Your eyes fluttered shut, a lone tear rolling down your face.

Then, quieter:

“No one came.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Suffocating. Simon still waits, letting you decide if you want to keep going. You don’t look at him, but your fingers twitch again, this time like you’re reaching for something absent.

“Didn’t matter what I wanted,” you whisper, now more to yourself than to him. “Didn’t matter who I was. I was just a thing to them. Something to be sold. Caged.”

He knows that feeling too well.

He knows what it means to be stripped of personhood, reduced to nothing but flesh to be used and discarded. He knows the rage, the helplessness, the slow descent into something feral and unrecognizable. But unlike you, he had John Price's need to adopting strays to reel him back in. But you-

“What happened?” he finally asks, low and rough as gravel.

Your lips part, and for a moment, he thinks you won’t answer.

“I killed them.”

Simple. Unapologetic. Matter-of-fact.

Ghost doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react at all. He just waits.

“First one was easy,” you say, exhaustion coloring every letter. “He was the one who opened the cage. Didn’t think I’d fight. Thought I was too weak, too scared. I was scared.” You exhale. “But not enough to let them take me.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, grip tightening.

“They were so scary.” Your voice is flat, emotionless, but Simon can see the tension in your shoulders, the way your pulse jumps against your throat and reflects on the heart monitor. “Strong. Trained. Bigger than me. Didn’t matter.” A small, humorless smile twitches at your lips. “Didn’t matter how much stronger they were. I fought like a fucking animal.”

Ghost can picture it.

You, starved, exhausted, barely more than skin and bone- tearing through men who thought they were untouchable. Clawing, biting, ripping, killing. Not for sport. Not for pleasure. Just to survive.

It was never a choice; the only other option was death.

“I didn’t stop,” you admit, softer now. “Even when they were all dead, even when there was no one left, I couldn’t stop.” A deep, shuddering breath. “I was stuck like that. Didn’t know how to turn it off. Still don’t.”

The silence stretches long between you, until Simon breaks it; “Not your fault,” he murmurs, waiting for you to look at him with those glassy, painfully big eyes. He shakes his head. “You didn’t have a choice.”

Your throat bobs, something unreadable passing over your face and for a long time, neither of you speak. “You’re the first person I’ve told.” You admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Simon’s fingers twitch. He wants to touch you. Wants to pull you close until he can rub his face and scent all over every crevice of your body. Not to restrain, not to command- just to comfort. But he doesn’t. He can't.

Instead, he just nods, voice soft when he says: “..Get some rest, love. We’ve got you now.”

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kosher-salt · 9 months ago

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Just saw a post that was basically "Hey off of the internet people usually aren't so crazy antisemitic and most of my day to day interactions as a visible Jew are normal, everything is gonna be ok" and I'm making a new post to not derail, but...

I'm super glad, obviously, that this is the case for many of you. But I do think we should be ringing the alarm bells. Because while you enjoy your grocery trips and post office in relative peace (as you ought to), here is a VERY incomplete list of things I have dealt with in the last 11 months.

-assaulted on my way to class, followed, spit on repeatedly (magen David necklace)

-professor took me outside of class and told me I needed to denounce my Judaism (I mentioned in passing my dad's family in an anthropology class)

-same professor refused to accept my final paper for reasons that did not match up with paper, email full of dogwhistles

-same professor told everyone to attend the protests and "teach those zionists to know their place" she is a Black Latina young professor. Yep.

-another professor straight up refused to accept any assignments that mentioned Jewishness (they were assignments about our families). Gave a student who submitted nothing except a picture of a Palestinian flag full marks. Failed me. I am an all As student, btw. Forced to drop.

-the chair of the anthropology department threw my complaints wabout said professors away without due process. His social media is full of blood libel.

-had to miss my finals as I could not physically get to them due to the protests

-followed and harassed in stores

-synagogue was vandalized multiple times

-called a kike while things were thrown at me

-protestors stood outside of my apartment patio with final solution signs

-new apartment, away from campus: friends of roommates harassed me constantly, to the point I could not use common spaces. Roommates told me that's his right because it's his "political view." He didn't even live there.

-new roommate moved in, less than 48 hours before she attempts to stab me, after learning I eat kosher style. "...kosher? kosher?! FUCK YOU" stab stab, etc. Bitch that was my good knife.

-the other roommates tell me to gtfo of the home I'm renting, keeping my rent ("you people can afford to lose money") and destroy a good portion of my belongings while cursing to me random nonsense about Israel. The police took 25 minutes to get there. We live in the middle of the city.

-fun fact: I had never mentioned my political stance to these people and it's not on my face-out social media (very bare bones profiles)

-been disbelieved by everyone I told this to including the police, my school, the leasing company, and my now ex best friend of 7 years

-cursed at in a store when I asked if there was a kosher section

-told nobody likes Jews because we bring down the vibe and have a victim complex. My knuckles are healing just fine after that, btw, thank you for asking! She is not.

I don't know how to request the 7th off from my school without basically incriminating myself with a threat of violence. There is no world where I just sit there when a classmate says "happy October 7th."

Hope this helps.

#jumblr

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bemusedlybespectacled · 1 year ago

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what's happening with James Somerton right now: a probably-incomplete primer

TW: suicide, including suicide as a threat and a manipulation tactic.

The short version:

James Somerton is a former Youtube essayist who focused entirely on queer history, queer media criticism, and queer issues in general. He is also a flagrant grifter who has made tens of thousands of dollars via fraud, both directly (lying about his finances to beg for money and getting donations for films he never even started making) and indirectly (stealing whole essays and articles and books, reading them out loud verbatim for his videos without indicating they were anything other than his own work, and then using the prestige he gained from using their work to get Patrons and sponsorships).

The story as told James and James apologists was that James attempted to apologize twice, was hounded mercilessly on the internet for weeks, and then, driven to the end of his rope, he posted a suicide note on Twitter, was MIA for several days, and from then on has been avoiding the internet.

The actual story, as revealed yesterday, was that James used two sockpuppet accounts to defend himself and parrot his talking points (again, while publicly claiming to be trying to take responsibility for his actions), using one to try to rebrand the con under a different name and another to deliberately stoke the panic caused by his suicide note. He was not only aware of the pain and anxiety he was causing people, but he encouraged it on one alt while hornyposting about his favorite movies on the other.

He is an unrepentant con artist who successfully used a suicide threat to prevent further interference with future cons. The only reason he was caught is because he is apparently incapable of going more than a couple of weeks without trying to get back in the internet spotlight, allowing people to tie his alts back to him. He lies for fun and profit and he should not be taken seriously, ever.

The long version:

In December 2023, Youtube essayist Hbomberguy (Harry Brewis) put out a four-hour-long video about plagiarism on the internet, and devoted two hours to addressing as much of JS's plagiarism as he could. I strongly recommend watching the entire thing, as the first two hours build on the concepts that he uses later in the video.

He also blew the whistle on James' fraud surrounding Telos, a studio James founded using thousands of dollars of IndieGoGo money that never actually produced any films despite him definitely working on them! Any day now they'll be released! Don't you worry!

A day later, Todd in the Shadows, a guy whose entire thing is music reviews, posted his own video debunking multiple outright lies that James had told about history, especially queer history. A few more days later, The Ace Couple, who run a podcast about asexuality, released an episode detailing how they'd lost $1.5k donating to Telos.

I have put the videos, Twitter threads, Patreon posts, and Reddit posts by other people discussing different aspects of James' fraud under the cut.

Every other time James was caught plagiarizing, prior to Harry's video, he would lie about it. Either he'd have some excuse (easily proven to be a lie) or he'd retreat to his favorite deflection: "I'm just being harassed because I'm gay."

This last lie was one he'd use not only to deflect accusations of plagiarism, but all criticism in general, no matter how trivial. Every time, the critic or someone associated with them would somehow dox him, or harass him, or send him death threats, or threaten to falsely accuse him of sexual assault.

This happened to The Ace Couple (who'd tried to correct him on something extremely acephobic in one of his videos), Jessie Gender (who'd tried to correct him when he claimed that there were no queer content creators on Nebula, given that she and a bunch of other queer creators were definitely on that platform), and the person who first blew the whistle on him stealing from Tinker Belles and Evil Queens by Sean Griffin (who was accused of being behind death threats he'd received, and hounded so harshly they had to leave Twitter).

It is important to note that every time James faced potentially damaging criticism, or even just a threat to his ego, suddenly he would claim to be harassed by people connected to the critic, including threats to his life. There has never been any proof of any threats being directed at him, nor evidence that, if the threats were real, that they are actually from people connected to the critic.

In the original video by Hbomberguy, Harry makes a compelling argument that James brought on a friend of his, Nick, as a co-writer specifically as a shield against accusations of plagiarism. "How dare you accuse me of plagiarism! Nick would NEVER do that!" This is even more apparent given subsequent developments which I will get into.

When evidence started dropping about different aspects of his fraud (not only Harry's video, but Todd in the Shadows' video debunking his misinfo, The Ace Couple's podcast about their experience donating to his fraudulent film studio, and Dan Olson's tweet thread about James' obvious lies about his finances), he went into hiding for two weeks, and then put out the first of two apologies. He then deleted that one and put out another one a few weeks later. And then he immediately deleted that one.

While his first apology was rambling, vague, and dramatic (lots of sniffing/crying), and his second was more measured, thought-out, and totally batshit (lots of hilariously and bizarrely implausible excuses for why he'd done what he'd done), they had roughly the same points:

Not ALL of his stuff was plagiarized! Actually, a lot of it wasn't! No specifics as to what, though!

Most of the stuff that was plagiarized was just a failure to properly cite sources, as he had no idea that putting someone's name in your end credits or video description (without specifying what parts are attributable to that person or disclosing that you are using their words verbatim) is not sufficient credit,

Also, he totally had permission, in some cases, to use their work verbatim prior to publishing the video (this is not true, and is disproven both in Harry's video and his own screenshots);

He definitely didn't commit fraud with Telos and would soon have a good explanation for where the money went! (he did not)

He was going to keep the videos up so that he could either donate the funds from any monetization to the fund Harry had set up for his victims or to "help Nick's portfolio" by showcasing his work;

He lost his best friend (i.e. Nick) over these allegations, who absolutely definitely wasn't a scapegoat, except Nick was also responsible for a lot of the stuff James was being criticized for;

He was going to keep the videos up so he could either donate the advertising proceeds to Harry's fund for his victims (first apology) or to "help Nick's portfolio" by showcasing the work he'd done; and

As a result of this entire ordeal, he had attempted either self-harm or suicide (he merely alluded to "doing something stupid").

Again, his response was to 1) downplay the severity of his actions or flat out ignore allegations against him, 2) come up with ridiculous excuses for his behavior, 3) throw Nick under the bus, and 4) claim to be in mortal danger. As far as I am aware, he has never taken any concrete action to make amends to any person, not even donating money to charity.

This was coupled with some kind of attempt to profit: monetizing his apology videos, closing and then reopening his Patreon right before the monthly charge cycle happened (totally to let people unfollow him, not at all as a grab for that money), creating a new Patreon under a different name, and changing his Twitter and Youtube handles to distance himself from the controversy while gathering new followers.

At one point (I forget if this was on Twitter or Instagram), he also said that someone had broken into his apartment due to the notoriety he'd received from Harry's video. I believe that was after his first apology, when people started to point out that he'd just changed the name of his Twitter and Youtube channel and had restarted a new Patreon under a pseudonym. (BTW, the pseudonym he used for his new Patreon was "The Gay Raconteur"; this will be important later).

It had what I think was the desired effect: any attempt at pointing out that he was rebranding his grift now came across as weirdly fixated on minor things he was doing, which certainly wasn't worth putting him in physical danger. (Again, he has never provided any proof of this happening, nor provided any evidence that these people allegedly threatening him were, in fact, in some way inspired by Hbomb).

So along comes March 5, 2024, and James posts a suicide note on his Twitter, saying that he is going to set up his videos to automatically publish (for Nick's portfolio), provide in some way for the ad revenue to go to a suicide prevention nonprofit, and then kill himself.

The immediate response from the internet was compassion and totally chilling any further criticism, since you might be callously criticizing a dead person. Harry and Kat worked for a couple of days to get a wellness check for him while a substantial section of the internet called them murderers.

On March 6, a day after the note was published, Nick tweeted that that he had cause to believe James was fine. Kat confirmed that James was safe on March 11. Due to the drama of the "suicide attempt," however, the chill on criticizing James stayed in place for months.

And then yesterday Lady Emily, one of the cowriters for Sarah Z., drops two more bombs:

James has not one but two alt accounts that he was using to rebrand and start over.

The first one was created between his first and second apologies, and originally was for "The Gay Raconteur" until he changed it to "Will"/"thatgayyouknow" and, later, "The Achillean Boy."

The second one was much older, under the pseudonym "Mikey JB," and used stolen pictures from Grindr instead of his own face. However, it is pretty obvious that it is, in fact, a sockpuppet account and not just some other person who happens to like James, as detailed below.

Both accounts, both between apologies and after his "suicide," talked about how criticism of James was unfair because the plagiarized stuff was "like a decade old" and repeating the same excuses that James had also made.

The "Mikey JB" account not only supported James, but actively threw Nick under the bus, saying that a criticized part of a video "reeks of his co-writer."

On March 6, the day after James' main Twitter posted the suicide note, The Achillean Boy account was hornyposting about Ryan Phillipe. James didn't even take a day or two off of Twitter. If he had been completely off Twitter for a couple of days, that could have been an indication that he really had hurt himself and was unable to access his phone, or at the very least unaware of the panic. But he wasn't. He was aware of it and did nothing. Actually, no! Worse than nothing!

On the same day (March 6), the Mikey JB account was actively contradicting Nick saying he was okay (they "haven't spoken in months" so there's no way Nick could know if he was alive) and saying that "people like you" i.e. his critics, "drove him to it." Not only did he ignore the panic he'd intentionally created, he actively drove it.

He saw people going emotionally through the wringer over the idea that they might have somehow caused his death, and intentionally made them keep thinking it. He say people calling his critics "murderers" for "driving him to his death," and he joined in.

Why am I explaining all of this? I want to make a couple of things extremely clear, and the context is necessary to my ultimate points, namely:

James Somerton didn't merely "credit people improperly;" he conned his followers out of more money than some people make in a year with the Telos con, while raking in thousands more per month on Patreon and buying expensive equipment, while claiming to be near insolvency and in desperate need of money.

James Somerton has never taken full responsibility for his actions or attempted to make amends. He has only ever tried to dodge responsibility, particularly by throwing Nick under the bus.

Every time he has ever been criticized, for any reason, he has lied about threats to his life to gain sympathy and quell criticism. This is a standard part of his MO. He has done this over and over and over again. At this point, I think if he says the sky is blue, someone should go out and check first before doing anything.

"But BB, what if he really is getting harassed/threatened or really is suicidal?"

So, okay: people who are attempting to manipulate you may use legitimate problems as a tool. It doesn't need to be fake to be effective - in fact, it might be more effective if it it's true. An abusive ex who says "if you leave me, I'll kill myself" and genuinely means it and actually attempts it (and possibly even succeeds!) is a lot harder to leave than someone who says the same thing but is clearly just bluffing, because the threat is real.

My rule of thumb in these cases is to treat the threat like it's real, without caving to the intended manipulation. Whether your ex is lying or telling the truth when they say, "I'll kill myself if you leave me," the appropriate response in both cases is to immediately call a mental health service or supportive family member. If it's fake, it's inconvenient for them; if it's real, you reacted appropriately. Your response needs to be the same regardless.

You don't get back together with them because it's a real threat (presumably you wouldn't do that if you knew it was fake and they were never in any danger), and you don't tell them that they're a piece of shit who should be dead (HOPEFULLY you wouldn't do that if you knew for a fact that they were telling the truth).

In this case, I am extremely confident in saying that he was coldbloodedly lying the entire time and was never once threatened, and certainly not to the degree he claimed to be. But even if he wasn't, that does not and should not change anyone's behavior in terms of holding him accountable.

And I mean actually holding him accountable: making sure he doesn't try to start a new con on new people, continuing to point out that he hasn't paid anyone back for his previous con (so long as it's still true), that sort of thing. It doesn't mean people should tell him he should go die for real or, I don't know, try to get him fired if he gets a job at Tim Horton's or Target or something else that's not fraud. That would be wrong regardless of whether he's actually in danger or not. The point is to avoid being cruel without negotiating with terrorists.

Video sources and links under the cut:

youtube

Links:

It's like Breaking Bad, but backwards: a brief history of how Somerton successfully screwed himself Dan Olson's Twitter thread about the financial fraud My Year With James: Todd's post explaining the backstory of his video (Patreon-locked) DJSO#: Dan Olson's breakdown of James' second apology (Patreon-locked) Lady Emily's Twitter threads revealing James' alt accounts, part 1 and part 2

#hbomberguy #internet drama #personal #james somerton

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comicaurora · 2 months ago

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Do you think ethics are just an attempt at being a healthier form of selfish?

In one of your Detail Diatribes where Batman confronts Catwoman and tries to stop her from killing Falcone, you highlighted the fact that his reasoning was not to protect her father, but to try and save her. Ever since, some very strange ideas about the nature of selfishness and selflessness have been rattling around my head.

It only started coming into focus when I tried to put into words why it was a bad thing that D-16 killed Sentinel Prime. My best answer right now is because it made D-16 into Megatron. Orion wasn't trying to save Sentinel, he was trying to protect the cybertronian people. Maybe if Orion focused more on saving D-16, they wouldn't have lost their friendship and all of Cybertron would be better for it. Of course, in the end, Megatron was the deciding factor in making himself, caring more about his pride than his current identity, but this highlights a strange selfish quirk in sustainable selfless behavior.

If you are purely selfless you suffer from spending more of yourself than you have to give. If you're too selfish you can't maintain the human connections that are a requirement for being a complete and healthy person. It leaves the best options as being selfless to make your environment an easier one for you to live in. Where your actions for others are repaid by the selflessness from your community. Or, being selfish with your charity. Taking care of what you care about because their well being positively contributes to your own.

To be fair, the opening sentence now looks like an incomplete thought. It probably should be asking if you think ethics is just an attempt at being a more healthy form of selfish and selfless. Really, just asking if ethics is meant to make you better at being a person, which seems like a question that can answer itself. Still, it feels like an important insight to highlight that to be ethical isn’t about how much of your own life you're willing to sacrifice. It's hard to be a good person when you're not a person anymore.

This is a fascinatingly deep question, and I'm very tickled that our two touchpoints in it are a transforming robot tank and Batman.

My personal opinion is that ethics and morals are not reflections of some universal truth of Justice and Goodness, as they are often framed, but are instead best-practice guidelines on how to function in the big, messy world without causing undue suffering to yourself and others. A facet of this is determining, case by case, how much you need to prioritize yourself vs how much you can afford to help others - in the framing you've proposed, selfishness vs selflessness.

Taking the specific examples we're focusing on - two cases where someone attempts to prevent a revenge killing for the benefit, not of the victim, but of the avenger - I think they reflect this worldview, that the killing is not seen as some innately universally-judged evil act that must be prevented for its own sake, but that the act of killing will harm the killer in a way the person trying to stop them doesn't want to see.

For Catwoman, committing premeditated murder wouldn't solve any of her problems in any way that arresting Falcone and having him legally unraveled would. It'd just park a first degree murder charge on someone who'd up til this point only dealt with petty larceny, and it would potentially weigh her down with misery and regret as she grappled with the trauma of taking a life.

For Megatron, killing Sentinel Prime wasn't a bad action because he deserved to live. They just spent that whole fight scene tearing through enemies. They're warriors on track to spend the next four million years killing each other; the whole "taking a life" ship has already sailed. The problem is that Sentinel is a symbol and a structural part of the political narrative in the founding of the next stage of Cybertron's society. If the first thing the new regime does is bloodily avenge itself on the face of the old regime for the personal wrongs it did them, that proves that the only thing they care about is personal satisfaction of their individual desires - just like Sentinel. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss. If they can instead take a step back, think of the good of Cybertron as a whole, enforce a rule of law and a fair system of justice that applies equally to everyone, even on someone they personally loathe, that would signify integrity and credibility and the hallmark of wise, just and fair leadership capable of setting aside personal feelings for the greater good. It's not about Sentinel; it's about whether the satisfaction of killing him is worth the price of enforcing forever that personal vendettas are more important than the well-being of the people of Cybertron. Which makes it really obvious which one Megatron is going to pick.

My hottest take, and I mean this very genuinely, is that most of the human perception of what constitutes goodness and justice is one thousand percent based on vibes, and is extremely susceptible to narrative reframing. We see an unsympathetic victim (Sentinel Prime, Falcone) who has gleefully caused suffering to innocent people (so judged because they are framed sympathetically, not because we've actually enumerated their lifelong actions to determine they've never done anything wrong) and we feel (feel) that it would be right and just for them to suffer consequences (emphasis on suffer) because that would balance the scales on this vibes equation and that would make us feel like justice had been served. Would this suffering lead to any material good? Not inherently. Would it heal the victims? Not usually. Would it remove the source of the problem? Categorically not, what with how negative reinforcement works (or rather does not work.) It also wouldn't do anything about the other people empowered by the same system to be just as shitty in just as many ways that just happen to be offscreen from our POV. But it feels fair. So what is justice, if it reduces down to "I want them to hurt for the hurt they've caused me"? If it can be sated with a spectacle or distracted by a long nap and a good joke to let the feeling fade? What purpose does this justice serve if it is devoted wholly to the satiation of a bone-deep chordate-brain hunger for Retributive Violence rather than towards actually ensuring that the lives of those harmed are healed and supported and built up again after being broken down? (This is the entire core character arc in The Batman, btw, I'm not just monologuing for no reason here. He calls himself Vengeance for a reason, and the reason is he's doing Batman wrong)

That feeling - that white-hot burning core of Righteous Fury - is the unexamined heart of many systems of morality that focus, not on doing good, but on exacting satisfying retribution on Bad People Who Deserve It, categorized as People Who I Can Hurt Without Feeling Bad Myself. It's a very tempting concept for people who have suffered at others' hands. That feeling, that powerful instinctual understanding of "that's unfair," is incredibly strong. In my opinion, most systems of ethics are built, not around relitigating what is Good and what is Bad per se, but in trying to shape and curb that bone-deep, unbelievably powerful desire to rend the flesh from the bones of your tormenters.

But I mentioned that feeling is susceptible to narrative reframing. This is, as I understand it, a huge part of lawyering. Tell the story of what happened using true events and adding no falsehoods, but highlight the parts that make it feel like your client is the one who is being treated unfairly. They're not an unsympathetic wrongdoer who you can punish without personal moral stain - they're a loving spouse, a parent of three adorable children, they have a really cute puppy, they donate to charity, they're a wonderful conversationalist, a kind friend, etc etc. All those things can also be true of people who do terrible things, but thinking about them defuses that White Hot Core by making us sympathize with the sympathetic parts of them.

This is incredibly well-understood in fiction. It's the whole reason the tropes Kick The Dog and Pet The Dog exist. When you want the audience to root for a character's destruction, leave aside any of their potential quiet moments of sympathy - their tragic backstory, their cute pet, their adorable relationship with their mom - and instead show them going out of their way to commit some minor act of petty cruelty, say Kicking The Dog. The audience will infer that this badness is 24/7 and they have no reason to curb their enthusiasm for Righteous Vengeance. But if the writer wants the audience to see a spark of good in them, to sympathize, to believe they can be redeemed, they'll highlight one of those small moments of charming kindness, and allow them to Pet The Dog instead.

Neither of these acts, in the grand scale, have any bearing on the morality of this person's actions. A pet dog doesn't counterbalance a razed village; a kicked dog doesn't negate a generous contribution to the local soup kitchen. Goodness and badness is not a linear scale added or subtracted to by opposing deeds. BUT showing them to an audience reframes them narratively, and THAT is what shapes the judgment of the White Hot Burning Core. In the space of fiction, this form of bottom-shelf emotional manipulation is one of the cleanest ways to get the audience to root for the messy destruction of what is ostensibly, in the universe of the fiction, a wholly complex and living person who definitely has reasons for everything they've done, even ones that could be framed sympathetically when shown.

Meanwhile, in the real world, ethics are an attempt to judge what is best in a given situation without trusting the White Hot Burning Core to make the call, no matter how compelling "but it would feel really good though" might seem. They try to give someone perspective, context, other priorities to consider. The White Hot Burning Core might want you to rip someone's arms off for driving slow when you've got important places to be, but Ethics can present a number of compelling reasons not to do that - even if it's just "ripping their arms off will definitely make me even more late." And yes, this can be a balance of Selfishness Vs Selflessness. You are one of the people whose wellbeing ethics is designed to make you prioritize improving even if it feels weird, and when all other things are equal, your own health and happiness can be the deciding factor. In a world with an overarching Moral Force that weighs the goodness of your soul by sifting through every grain of action and intent seeking negativity to punish you for, absolute selflessness to the point of self destruction would still probably be seen as Morally Wrong, simply because the universe is a better place with you in it trying your best.

Anyway, if doing the right thing was simple, easy and painless, we probably wouldn't have so many thousands of years of arguing about what it looks like. Good luck out there everybody 👍

#asks #not aurora

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echo-exco · 2 days ago

Text

❝DID YOU GET ENOUGH LOVE, MY LITTLE DOVE, WHY DO YOU CRY?❞

୨⎯ ┊BATFAM X NEGLECTED!HEALER!READER ꒱

✰ ৎ──────SYPNOPSIS: all you ever wanted was a purpose. something that would give meaning to your existence, your power. healing others was the only thing that ever made you feel alive, needed… until you ended up in that awful place.

or… in which some decisions end in an unfortunate tragedy for some.

✰ ৎ────── masterlist. | prev. | next.

What’s so important about your power?

The question returns, as it always does, in the quiet moments. When no one is watching. When there’s no blood, no patients, no bodies to heal.

When there’s no excuse to exist.

Why do you do it? Why can’t you just stop?

It was never just about healing. It’s never been only that.

It’s… the only thing that gives you meaning.

You didn’t like hurting yourself, though you do. You didn’t enjoy the pain of others, though you feel it. You never wanted to die stitching together lives that weren’t your own, though you know that’s exactly what will happen if no one stops you.

It’s just that you don’t know how to live without it.

Every time someone bleeds and you can’t intervene, something curls inside you. Like you’re a broken doll, incomplete, incapable of fulfilling the one thing you were made to do.

Every time someone breaks and you don’t stitch them back together, a piece of you splinters too.

Your power became something greater than a skill.

It’s your compass. Your purpose, your voice.

When Masashi told you that you were special, that no one else could do what you could, you believed him.

How could you not? He let you heal. He let you treat patient after patient. He let you use your power. He looked at you with a warm smile when you were exhausted, bleeding, shaking… and told you that you’d done well.

He’s proud of you. He never asked if you were okay. Only if the patient had survived.

And over time, you learned to ignore yourself too.

When a bone breaks, you fix it. When an organ fails, you rebuild it. Even if it shatters you inside.

You know you can endure it.

You have to.

Bruce wouldn’t understand.

Your father would never accept it.

Would he be the first to stand against the only reason you have to live?

What’s the worth of a power if you can’t use it?

You never asked the question aloud. You didn’t have to, you already knew the answer. You’d felt it in your fingers, numbed by thread. In your nails, bloodied from stitching too hard. In the needle that no longer hurt when you drove it into your own arm just to practice, just so you wouldn’t forget what it felt like.

Just so you wouldn’t grow rusty.

Just so you could still be useful.

This power is yours. You had accepted it as such. It wasn’t a gift, and it wasn’t a curse. This power is a responsibility.

If you had it, then you had to use it. If you used it, then you could save. And if you could save lives… then maybe you weren’t a bad person.

That’s what you thought.

You weren’t a good person.

You’re not like them. You’ll never be like the heroes. They shine. They reach people’s hearts. Heroes lift buildings with a smile, capes fluttering in the wind, saying things that make people feel safe.

But you couldn’t do that.

You know perfectly well you don’t speak kindly to your patients. You sound irritated, frustrated, because you are. Why would you be happy treating injured people? You hated seeing the pain on their faces, but you loved the joy when you saved them.

You didn’t know how to comfort people. You only knew how to stitch torn flesh, mend shattered bones, repair punctured organs. You only knew how to drive a needle deep into their bodies and keep threading until their bodies stopped begging to die.

It was that… or nothing.

And now you were in Gotham.

The city that either rejects or embraces everything rotten in the world. Everything that could ever be like you.

Mutants, metas, people with abnormalities. Gotham didn’t want them. It didn’t need that kind of trouble. Ironically, though, the city also seemed to be a magnet for exactly those kinds of people.

Your father, Bruce, is the symbol of that, at least his alter ego is. Batman was the unspoken law. The silent rule that dictated: if you were born different, you were a potential threat to the city. To his city. Even if you wanted to help, even if you had never hurt anyone.

Because people born like you always ended up being a problem for the city and for the innocent. Everyone had to be investigated before being treated like a person.

You aren’t trusted.

Thankfully, Bruce hasn’t figured it out yet. No one in your family has.

You feel proud of having successfully fooled an entire family of heroes and detectives.

Then again, Masashi likely intervened in every document related to your existence, carefully crafting your life before Gotham to avoid suspicion.

That was… a rather helpful gesture on his part. You’re not surprised Masashi was so meticulous with your whereabouts. What genuinely does surprise you is that he didn’t warn you in advance about everything that was going to happen.

His silence is suspicious. Masashi has never left you alone for this long. He was always too clingy, too eager to spend every second by your side.

But then again, considering the kind of people your family is made of, it wouldn’t be surprising if Masashi took overly cautious, even surgical steps before finding a way into Gotham.

You can’t blame him. You’re scared of your own family too.

Every time Bruce walks past you… Every time one of your brothers talks about missions, villains, or justice… You shrink a little more inside. Like your very existence is a betrayal waiting to be exposed.

Because you know that once they find out what you really are, they won’t look at you the same way anymore. They won’t look at you like you’re something normal, like you’re something human.

You haven’t used your power.

You can’t use it.

You’re scared.

You’re terrified of all of them.

Is this really the right thing to do? Doubt fills you. You’re afraid… What do you want right now? There are no injured people in this mansion. No patients to treat.

Only you.

Running away like a coward, too afraid to face the consequences of your actions. With the truth of your existence pressing down on your shoulders.

Why did you want Bruce to look at you with the same approval Masashi always gave you?

You were alone again. The only company you had was the trembling in your fingers as you wondered how quickly you'd forget everything you’d learned.

What was the point of being alive if you couldn’t save anyone?

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t dare say anything at all.

Because in the end, the only thing separating you from being a burden, the only thing that helped you believe you weren’t useless, the only thing that let you think you weren’t a bad person, that maybe, just maybe, you could really save someone’s life—

…was your power.

You loved your power. You adored it like nothing else in the world. Your power went far beyond any feeling of ego or control—over others or even yourself.

You loved your power because you knew that saving someone was the right thing to do.

The right thing, even if it hurt.

The right thing, even if you bled.

The right thing, even if it tore you apart.

Masashi always understood that. He was the one who helped you stop hating your power. He helped you stop questioning your existence, gave you a purpose, something to keep fighting for.

He never told you to stop.

He never scolded you for using it.

He was never horrified when you trembled with fever after healing over thirteen critically injured patients in a single night.

He just said: “Good job. You’re really… good at this, aren’t you?”

You believed him.

You were enough, for him.

Now you were here, in Gotham. A city where “goodness” was far more complicated than it pretended to be. You understand why a hero would stop you if they saw what you were doing.

You know they wouldn’t hurt you… And that was even more terrifying than being punished.

Because you understand that not hurting you would mean forbidding you. It would be the same as telling you that you can’t help anymore.

That you can’t save anyone.

That maybe… things would be better that way.

But you know that isn’t possible. If you stopped using your power, if you stopped healing, then who would you even be?

Who are you without your power?

Would you become that same dying girl with no last name again? Or would you turn into the greatest failure your father could have ever imagined?

No one.

You’d be no one.

Just a useless child, living in a massive house, waiting for something, or someone, to break, just so your existence could be justified.

At first, you thought maybe, just maybe, your father could understand. That foolish hope shattered the moment you found out Bruce Wayne was Batman.

Batman doesn’t trust what he can’t control.

You discovered his identity by accident. And with it, you discovered your sentence.

He wouldn’t allow what you do. You doubt Bruce would go as far as to believe a child is inherently evil… But you know it’s his job to stop things like you, and you don’t want to be stopped.

You can’t be stopped.

Because if you abandon everything that makes you who you are, then all that’s left is the worst version of you.

A broken child, a lie inside Wayne Manor, a horrible lie to this poor family, a metahuman hidden among orphaned children who fight crime wearing masks.

Damian already told you, and he’s right.

In this house, you’ll only ever be known as a burden.

You theorize that Bruce thinks he’s protecting you by keeping you on the sidelines. That he genuinely believes offering you a bed, food, a family close enough to see but distant enough to ignore, is enough to keep you safe.

Unfortunately for Bruce, he doesn’t know that it’s not enough. It never has been.

You can survive without all that.

What you need is something else. You need to save someone. To make your pain worth something. To see your power move. To watch the thread pass through flesh, in and out of their bodies.

You need this pain to be worth something.

If Bruce knew… he’d take it away. He’d lock you up, he’d isolate you. Maybe even hand you over, maybe because he secretly hated you for being a liar or maybe because he truly believed that separating you from your power was the healthiest thing he could do for you.

Unlike Masashi, Bruce would never accept that you needed to survive through your power.

Masashi at least knows. He knows that you’re already broken.

And still, he let you save lives.

This life is so painfully strange and complicated. You hope you’ve done the right thing, even as the doubts grow more unbearable with time.

You just hope… You’ll be able to leave this place at the right moment.

Masashi would never consider himself a ruthless man.

No, not at all.

He considers himself a just man.

Someone who does what must be done. Someone who doesn’t reject his true nature, who doesn’t waste time clinging to moral illusions about what’s right or wrong.

Masashi simply adapts. He takes advantage of every opportunity life gives him, molding the pieces as they best serve his cause.

That’s perfectly normal, for everyone. The only difference lies in whether you choose to accept it or live in ignorance while chasing vague moral ideals of what “good” means in this world.

To Masashi, you were one of those pieces.

If not the best one he’s ever obtained, ironically, even he didn’t realize that at first.

Meeting you was a blessing.

One he didn’t recognize until much later. Until the second time he saw you.

Masashi still remembers the first day he laid eyes on you.

Killing your mother was necessary.

It was even… fun.

That woman was foolish enough to think she could leave him. As if walking away would be enough to disappear without a trace. As if a traitor could ever hide from consequences.

Masashi always found a way to reclaim what he considered his.

Muchitsujo Seika.

A distinguished, highly respected woman, meticulous, brilliant in the field of medicine. She could have become a leading figure in Japan.

Seika could have been remembered for years to come, for her work, her pure effort.

But she made one critical mistake: She crossed a clear line. She dared to think her life belonged to her.

There’s no need to talk much about Seika. She was capable, talented, even brilliant.

But also naive.

She knew exactly who she was getting involved with. She knew she couldn’t leave without consequences. And yet she tried. Even knowing the risk. She actually believed she could hide a child from him.

Seika thought she could protect you from him.

The media didn’t say much.

They couldn’t. Masashi made sure of that.

Seika had been a well-known doctor in certain circles. Quiet, brilliant, with a spotless career and an unshakable reputation. Her sudden disappearance was, of course, an anomaly.

But Masashi filled in the blanks with an elegant and functional narrative: That Seika had chosen to leave medicine after an unexpected pregnancy and raise her daughter alone in a quiet place, away from the public eye. A reserved woman making a personal choice. Nothing more.

There was no body. There was no funeral.

Only an absence far too convenient.

It was the story he himself planted. The story you’d one day be told, whispered in a soft voice, with the rehearsed sorrow of someone who says, “I was too late.” A lie, carefully crafted, precisely manipulated by his own hand.

“Seika left to raise her daughter. Then… she vanished. Some say she was murdered. No one knows for certain what happened to her.”

All lies.

Masashi remembers the truth.

He remembers every second.

He remembers the blood. The spasms. The way Seika dragged herself across the freezing floor, dripping life, trying to reach the little creature she’d just brought into the world.

Just a few steps.

Never enough.

He remembers Seika on the hospital floor. The cold lights. The dull sound of her body collapsing against the tile.

It was a grotesque, desperate spectacle…

And at the same time, profoundly beautiful.

The terror in her face. The trembling in her hands. The pain in her eyes.

All of it was worth more than any apology she could’ve offered.

"You don’t have to do this… you don’t have to do this to her…” She whispered, barely a murmur, as blood poured down her coat.

“Of course I don’t.” He replied, voice gentle.

“But I want to.”

All she tried to do was reach the baby.

It was useless. Pathetic, even. The desperate effort of a mother who hadn’t yet realized she was already dead.

Masashi didn’t feel hatred. Just a flicker of irritation, like a tool breaking before it finished its task.

Still, even Masashi knew there was nothing interesting about caring for an infant.

A baby was useless. All it did was cry. The thought alone was tedious.

Who was supposed to take care of you? Him?

Ridiculous.

Then everything went quiet.

It was Charlotte who spoke next.

“The baby… are you going to get rid of her too?”

He looked at her without much interest.

“Why bother? She’s worthless. She’ll probably die with her mother. Wouldn’t that be lovely for them both?”

Charlotte lowered her gaze, calm.

“And yet… she could become useful. In time. You said the mother had potential. Maybe the daughter does too.”

Masashi didn’t answer right away.

“You’re suggesting I let her live?”

“I’m suggesting that if there’s no reason to kill her, letting her live isn’t a loss. If she dies on her own, time will have solved the matter for us. But if she survives… she might be worth something.”

He let out a soft laugh, thoroughly delighted by the idea Charlotte had offered. Masashi simply reached out and patted her head, like a master praising his dog.

“Good work. I really have taught you well.”

Masashi granted you the benefit of the doubt.

The decision was made. A decision based on logic. On a remote possibility, and the mild pleasure of watching what the future might bring.

There wasn’t much hope for you. You were just a tiny thing, so fragile, you barely counted as real.

Masashi didn’t believe you were special.

But like any other experiment, you had to be tested.

You were thrown into the nameless misery of Japan’s outskirts the moment you were born.

Brothels. Damp streets. Alleys where the sky didn’t seem to exist.

Seeing if you survived was the only curiosity in his mind.

If you did… maybe.

If not, who would mourn you?

If you couldn’t survive something that simple, then it was impossible for Masashi to imagine you'd be worth anything later.

Because it wasn’t as if someone would come for you, claim you, or protect you from the cruelties of the world at such a young age.

Years later, Masashi found you again. He hadn’t looked for you. Hadn’t even thought of you all those years. His expectations were minimal, if not nonexistent.

It was a coincidence, a twist of chance, but sometimes, fate arranges its pieces with terrifying precision.

The girl he saw wasn’t a living creature. She was an empty shell, dead eyes, the perfect mirror of her mother, without her fire. A walking corpse.

You were injured… and healing yourself.

The power surprised him. Not just the fact that it existed, but its rarity.

“Healing?” Masashi murmured, watching from a distance.

He crouched in front of you, studying the scene without intervening. Thin, almost transparent and luminous threads pierced your own flesh at inhuman speed. Needles, impossible to ignore, yet you didn’t cry. You didn’t even tremble.

You simply worked. As if that was the only thing you’d ever been taught to do.

“How interesting…” Masashi remembers how you looked at him.

Wordless. As if unsure whether you should fear him, or thank him. It no longer mattered. Because he had already decided.

That strange, broken, useful creature, would belong to him.

It wasn’t an act of love. It wasn’t vengeance. Because if he couldn’t keep Seika, then he would take what she left behind. As he should have from the beginning.

The daughter would suffice. You would be enough.

This time, Masashi would shape you from the start.

“You’re going to stay with me.” He said with a bright smile, stroking your head with something that resembled tenderness, but couldn’t possibly be called that.

“I’ll teach you not to waste what you are.”

You didn’t respond. You simply blinked, slowly.

You were empty. No mother. No father figures. No relatives to run to. No identity. No functioning emotional framework.

All that was left was that absurd need to serve, to heal, to do something useful with a body no one had asked to be born into.

Perfect.

Masashi would be more than happy to fill every corner of your being.

You didn’t have to ask for guidance.

He gave it to you.

You didn’t have to cry for your mother.

He told you he arrived too late. That there was nothing he could do. That he believed you had died along with her.

A convenient story.

He wasn’t trying to inspire pity. He simply needed to keep you calm.

Masashi found it almost moving.

You—a child with no trace of anger, no ambition, no drive.

You were just waiting for someone to tell you who you were.

And he did.

He told you pain must have a purpose. That you were only valuable if you could heal. That being good meant being useful, nothing more. That you could save the innocent with the gift you’d been given.

You believed him. You accepted it, desperately.

Because you had never known anything else.

You were far too lost back then to even consider searching for something more.

You just wanted to save lives.

At least that way, you wouldn’t be a bad person.

The room was dim, lit only by the warm lamp beside the bed and the pale glow of the moon slipping through the curtains. Seika had settled onto the futon with effort, cradling her belly in her arms as if holding something fragile, precious, irreplaceable.

She couldn’t sleep.

Lately, Seika rarely managed to.

This time, it wasn’t because of the sharp aches in her back or the accumulated exhaustion from the past few weeks, with the worrying surge of patients suffering from deadly diseases and injuries.

This time, it was something softer. Sweeter.

Something inside her was begging, pleading, not to let the night pass without saying something.

So she gave in to the whim of speaking to her daughter.

“You know… I’ve been thinking about you all day.” She murmured, gently caressing the soft curve of her abdomen. “I wondered if you’ll like the rain. It calms me... but you move around a lot when it rains. Does that mean you don’t like it? Or does it excite you?”

She smiled. A slow, tired smile, but a real one.

“I don’t know what color your eyes will be. That makes me laugh a little. I’d like them to be like mine, though… if you end up looking like him, I think I’ll still love you just as much.” She chuckled at her own illogical thought.

“Silly, right? As if I could stop loving you over a few genes.”

Seika paused. She closed her eyes for a moment. The silence was thick, all-encompassing. Outside, the wind shook the branches of the tree in the yard.

“I want to give you a peaceful life. A life of school, snacks, books… a slow childhood, like the ones you don’t see much anymore. Far from harm and problems no child should ever face. But I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if the world will let us.”

Her voice dropped, barely a whisper.

“I don’t know if he will let us.”

There it was... the name she didn’t dare say out loud.

Masashi.

Her worst mistake, her crime.

But Seika wasn’t going to think about that now. Not about that man. Not tonight. She couldn’t.

“No, no. Not tonight, little one.” She sighed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Tonight, I just want to imagine you happy. Walking through a park. Laughing with your mouth wide open, without fear. Breaking things by accident. Dreaming big dreams, the kind that sound impossible when you say them out loud.”

Her voice trembled.

“I want you to know that I wanted you. I waited for you. I worried. I protected you. As much as I could, I protected you.”

She brought her hands to the center of her belly and pressed gently, as if trying to draw that invisible bond between them even closer.

“I don’t know if I’ll be there to watch you grow. And even if I am… maybe not in the way I’d like.”

She swallowed hard.

“But I want you to know this: I love you already. I love you unconditionally. Without knowing you. I love you with a part of me I never used before.”

She lay down fully, slowly, exhaling as if the weight of the world had become a little easier to bear.

“I’ll name you with care.” She whispered. “I’ll give you something beautiful, something strong. A name that protects you when I’m not there, a name that feels like home. Not a weapon, not a curse… just a real name.”

A tear slid down her cheek, quiet.

“I want to give you everything I never had. I want you to never feel alone.”

She caressed her belly one last time, as the soft movements of the baby answered her touch, as if truly listening.

“If the world ever hurts you, I want you to know your mother loved you before you were born. That she talked to you every night. That she laughed to herself thinking about your imagined quirks. That she dreamed of your tiny hands, your voice, your face full of questions.”

Then, with a gentle sigh, she closed her eyes.

“Tonight, tonight and for all my life… I just want to love you.”

“I promise I’ll be a good mother… I only wish you’ll come into this world safely and live happily… without worries…” Seika hummed a familiar melody. A lullaby, perfect for practicing, for when you finally arrive into the world, into her life.

“I’ll love you for all eternity, little one… I already love you, and I always will.”

A shame that, without knowing it, this counted as a farewell for both of them.

Her precious daughter.

taglist. ( closed ! )

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myth1cs · 3 months ago

Text

Sweet Obsession (Im Nayeon, Minatozaki Sana x M!Reader)

Uhhh

Word Count: 2,663

The members were told to do things to "excite the fans" and "get them talking" about the fan meet. Sana, naturally, thought that an easy way to get people to talk about the fan meet was to act like she was going to kiss the members.

She knew they would all back up so the thought that she might actually kiss one of them never crossed her mind. And everything was going well. That is until it came to Nayeon.

Nayeon didn't back down and leaned into the kiss. Both thought the other would back away but they ended up kissing by accident on stage.

A lot of people went wild over it. Sana and Nayeon got all flustered about the ordeal but didn't have time to dwell on their feelings as Jihyo, who didn't see what just happened, made Nayeon focus on singing her part of the song.

Once the fan meet came to a close. Sana went over to Nayeon's fitting room to discuss their kiss. Sana opened the door and a soft "Hello?" fell out of her mouth.

What she didn't expect was to see Nayeon changing into her casual clothes. Nayeon was in her bra and panties, and Sana couldn't keep her eyes off her unnie, she was enticed by her boobs and pussy. She watched as her older member took off her pantie revealing a pink pussy. The thought of being able to lick it made Sana's mouth water.

Nayeon reached behind her back to take off her bra but before she did that she noticed Sana peaking through the door. "Sana what are you doing?!"

Sana quickly went in the room and locked the door. Her unnie gave her a "Explain yourself" look which made Sana gulp.

"Well uhm- unnie I just wanted to talk to you about our... kiss."

Nayeon's cheeks flushed pink as the memory of them sharing a kiss played in her mind.

"What about it?"

"I haven't been able to forget the way your lips felt on mine."

Nayeon's cheeks burned a brighter red from Sana's confession. "I haven't either." the older admitted.

The pair got closer together up until they could each feel the others hot breath on the other. Sana pressed her breast against Nayeon's making the older girl moan.

"Agh~"

Neither could resist their lust anymore and they both entangled their lips together. Their tongues rubbed against each others. Sana pressed her body further against her unnies.

Her naughty hand got the better of her and she reached over to grab Nayeon's plump ass giving it a firm squeeze. Nayeon moaned from the feeling and Sana took this opportunity to get the advantage in the tongue war.

Nayeon wasn't about to go down without a fight and started to rub Sana's clothed nipple with her thumb. Sana was really sensitive and the simple rubbing was enough to make her lose her advantage.

Both of them pulled away from each other.

"That's not fair unnie! You can't just rub my nipples like that, they're sensitive!"

"Well maybe you shouldn't have grabbed my ass like that."

"That's different, my nipples are more sensitive than your ass."

"You still lost the tongue war Sana. Now can it and got on your knees and eat me out like a good girl."

Sana huffed but decided to go along with it. She got down on her knees and slid off Nayeon's panties. Her pussy was drenched wet with arousal.

Sana licked Nayon's pussy lips eagerly. "Mmm good girl. You're just as horny as our male fans!" Sana wasn't even hearing Nayeon anymore. She was too focused on lapping up every fluid inside of her unnie.

Something felt incomplete though. Even with all of this stimulation Nayeon didn't feel like she was able to cum yet. She tried to stimulate herself further by groping her own boobs and lightly pinching her nipples.

Still it didn't feel like enough. "Sana add a finger."

"Mhm!" Sana muffled as she added a finger to Nayeon's pussy.

Putting her hands on the back of the youngers head she pushed her further into her pussy. "More! I need more fingers in me!"

She bit her lips hard when she felt the sensation of more fingers being added to her tight pussy.

"I- I don't think I can cum like this."

"Am I being bad?"

"No it's not you. I think I need a cock."

"Did you bring a strap on with you?"

"I didn't. And there aren't any stores nearby that sell those."

"Can it wait until tomorrow?"

"Ugh I'm too aroused right now. I feel like I'm going to explode if I don't cum tonight."

Sana tried to make her unnie cum despite knowing she wasn't able to get enough stimulation on her own. She stood up and licked Nayeon's nipples while pumping her fingers in and out of her pussy.

"I appreciate the attempt but it's not enough!"

All of this was making Sana soaked. A wet spot could be seen on her pants. "A cock sounds really good right now."

"But who are we going to get? I don't want to ask one of our managers. They're old and probably can't keep up with us."

"Are you forgetting something unnie? We just had a fan meet."

You - along with many other people - gathered around the area where Twice would be leaving. You've been waiting for a while but seeing Twice up close in person would make it all worth it.

The time came and Twice started to walk to the cars and you were hoping to see your bias.

Twice members were handing out Mina dollars that were used in the seven rings performance and you were lucky enough to be handed one by Sana.

You waved the members goodbye as they entered the cars. Once they were all gone you started to make your way back to your car.

When you got in your car you were about to drive back home but you decided to get a good look at the Mina dollar you received first. As you were inspecting it you realized that a small piece of paper was taped to it.

Curious, you took off the paper and turned it around. All that was written on it was an address to a hotel along with the following written text "Room 305, Code: 102015."

"What is this?" you thought to yourself.

Maybe this wasn't meant for you but for the members. Should you give it back?

There were a lot of things you didn't know but you decided to go to the place listed on the paper. Not like you had anything to lose other than a bit of sleep.

You put the address in the GPS and started your drive to the hotel.

Truth be told you weren't sure what you were even expecting. Would you be lucky enough to see a Twice member or would you just run into a manager?

Once you arrived at the hotel you went in. Once you stepped in you could immediately tell that it was way out of your league. Everything looked so expensive.

You walked to the front desk and the lady at the front desk spoke to you "Is there anything I can help you with sir?".

"I'm here to visit someone in room 305."

"Are you part of the staff?"

"Y- yes?" You obviously sounded hesitant and the lady looked at you suspiciously.

"What's the code to the area?"

"102015."

...

"I'll tell them you're on your way."

You breathed a sigh of relief and went to the elevators.

Once you arrived on the third floor you went to room 305. Standing in front of the door you knocked three times and waited not knowing what to expect.

The door opened and your jaw dropped when you saw who was on the other side.

"Sana?!"

She grabbed your arm and pulled you into the room.

"What's your name?"

"Y/N."

"Do you want to see a 'special' concert just for you Y/N?"

"Nayeon?! You're here to?"

She nodded her head and rested her head on your shoulders. "Is this what the paper was for?"

"It is what it was for Y/N. We chose a lucky once to give a private concert, and it looks like the lucky once was you."

Looks like it was your lucky day! Getting a private show from 2 Twice members? It was like a dream come true.

"Follow us."

You followed behind Nayeon and Sana to their bedroom. Not exactly sure what to expect but it certainly wasn't this.

Once you entered their bedroom you saw that it was mostly dark with the only light being red LED's which were hung around the room. "What's all this for?"

"Close your eyes Y/N. We have to get your special surprise ready for you before we can start your 'special' concert."

Following their orders you closed your eyes. You heard a few things fall on the floor along with a bit of shuffling.

"You can open your eyes now baby." Nayeon said.

Once you opened your eyes you saw something that immediately made your cock hard.

"Like what you see Y/N?" Sana asked.

"This is so hot."

Sana and Nayeon led you to the bed. "Who do you want first Sana or me?"

"I want both of you at the same time."

"So damn horny huh?"

Sana pushed you onto the bed and started to slide off your pants and boxers. Your hard cock sprung out hitting Sana's cheeks. "Oh it feels so good she moaned out." She started to rub her face against your erection. You put your hands on the back of her hair and gripped it tightly from the pleasure her face was giving you.

"Don't leave me out of the fun Sana!" Like she was some sort of jealous girlfriend Nayeon shoved Sana and started to rub her face against your cock aggressively. "So warm Y/N. This feels so much better than those dildos."

Not wanting to be outdone Sana shoved herself back onto your cock. Seeing two Twice members fight over your cock was something you thought would only happen in your dreams but now it was a reality, and you intended to make the most of it.

"I don't know Sana I think Nayeon knows how to please a cock more."

"That's not true I can please a cock way better than Nayeon!"

"I think you're going to have to prove it then."

Nayeon understood where you were going and got off you. She didn't mind being in the sidelines as long as you fucked her later. Before she completely got off the bed she whispered something to your ear.

"Just so you know Sana is sensitive on her nipples."

With that being said Nayeon got off the bed and sat on the conveniently placed chair that was facing the bed.

You grabbed Sana's arms and pinned her to the bed. "Let's see just how good you can please me then." You rubbed your hard erection on Sana's drenched pussy to make it wet.

"Mhm ah~ so good Y/N."

Leaning down to catch Sana's lips you and Sana shared a passionate slow kiss. Nayeon fingered herself as she was watching the scene unfold in front of her.

You pulled off her lips and started to leave hickeys on her face. "N- no Y/N you can't mark me. We have to film a Time to Twice episode tomorrow."

Smack

Sana yelped from the sudden smack on her pussy. "I don't remember you being the one to give orders. Now shut it and let me do what I want."

"Yes sir."

Continuing down her perfect body you reached her breasts and licked her nipple. "Shit I'm so sensitive there Y/N."

Attacking your lips to her breasts you sucked on them as if her breast were producing milk for you. Her breast were moderately big. Not as big as Nayeon's but they were big enough for you to have fun with.

You put your cock in between her breasts and started to mush them onto your cock. Since your cock was nice and wet from Sana's pussy lips you had no problem gliding her breasts up and down on your cock. She suppressed her moans as best she could knowing her members were next door.

"What's wrong Sana, don't want the others finding out how much of a whore you are?"

She nodded her head.

You gave her nipples a soft bite before you got settled on the main attraction. Positioning your cock in front of Sana's hole you shoved yourself inside her pussy.

Sana's pussy clenched around your erection making it hard for you to get in deep. You put a little force with your thrusts, shoving yourself deeper into Sana.

"Oh~ Y/N I can feel your cock deep inside me. More, I want more!"

"Such a- needy little - slut huh?" You were running out of breath as you felt yourself get closer to climax.

Nayeon decided she had enough of touching herself and joined you in the bed. She sat on top of Sana and shoved her breasts on your face while rubbing Sana's clit at the same time.

"Suck mommy's breasts baby they're all for you!"

You put your tongue all over Nayeon's breasts as you continued thrusting in and out of Sana's pussy.

"Ah! Y/N I'm cumming!"

A violent shake coursed through Sana as she climaxed all over your cock. You kept thrusting to prolong it as much as possible.

So much cum spilled out of Sana that some of it stained the bed sheets. You felt yourself about to cum but before you could Nayeon pushed you off of Sana.

"You can't cum in her. But you can cum in my mouth if you want."

You rapidly shook your head. Nayeon liked your eagerness and took your whole cock in her mouth in one swift motion. She drank the cum that Sana released on your cock.

Nayeon shoved your cock so deep in her throat that it touched the back of her throat. She gagged a little but not by much.

"You don't have a gag reflex?"

"I've had my fair share of cocks in me."

The idol expertly sucked on your cock making you cum in no time. Unlike Sana's cum, every last drop of your cum was swallowed by Nayeon. Her cheeks puffed out but she managed to take the seemingly endless ropes of semen you were spilling.

"Now's not the time to get tired baby. I'm still horny."

How could anyone say no to that? Especially after she just drank your load of cum.

Nayeon pumped your cock a few more times until you were hard again. She got on all fours and looked back at you.

"My ass isn't going to fuck itself Y/N."

Like some sort of wild animal you quickly shoved your hard erection inside Nayeon's ass feeling its tightness which only drove you more feral. You couldn't help yourself but give her big ass a few smacks which left her ass red.

"Yes Y/N just like that!"

As you were thrusting into Nayeon's ass you suddenly felt Sana wrap her arms around you. "I'm still here sir."

She kissed your neck as you continued your assault on Nayeon's ass. "Fuck Nayeon I'm still sensitive! I'm going to cum again!"

"Do it baby, cum in my big ass!"

Once again ropes of cum spilled from your cock onto Nayeon's ass. Her eyes rolled back as she felt herself being filled with the warm fluids. "Sana I like him. We should keep him around for when we get horny."

"Agreed."

Sana fell on the bed, you fell on top of Sana, and Nayeon fell on top of you. You all drifted off to sleep.

And what better way to fall asleep than sandwiched between your favorite idols?

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Uhh

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