#telling a series of easily refutable

[annashafransky]

unpopular opinion: Today I'd like to talk about how Filoni ruined Obi-Wan as a character by adding a love story to him that is justified by "platonic love" (which there is no trace of), thus turning him into an egoist and a hypocrite, and today I'll also play the role of "devil's advocate" in a sense, pointing out that it really looks more like platonic love in the prequels

Yes, this will be about the introduction of that love line with Satine, it is simply terrible, false and illogical for the character (Yes, I always wanted to say this ...). I know that Filoni wanted to make it as a mirror of Anakin, but Obi-Wan in this matter can not be a mirror of Anakin (at least as shown in the show). To make a mirror, it is necessary for the characters to have the same start in everything, but at one point one character did one thing and the other did another. A good example of a "mirror" is, in some sense, Naruto and Gaara from the anime "Naruto". And as a "yin yang" it does not work, because the opposite of Anakin in terms of "yin yang" is already Luke and it is done well. Obi-Wan literally grew up in the Jedi order, where from childhood they hammered into everyone about the lack of attachment. And please, do not write off everything on the notorious topic of "human nature". If a person is not "demonstrated" affection from childhood, he will not learn it. Of course, he is capable of the same friendship, as for example in the prequels it can be seen in communication with Dex in the second episode or in communication with Commander Cody in the third episode, but that friendly communication without attachment, which is more than suitable for him as a Jedi. Yes, even to people like Qui Gon and Anakin he had no attachment, although their relationship is much deeper than friendship or something like that, there is rather a certain loyalty as to a teacher and as an apprentice(and not that banal nonsense about "like a father" and "like a son / brother" 😒), but specifically about this a little later

why am I even writing about attachment and all that? the thing is that Obi-Wan had attachment to Satine more than Love. Yes, and don't try to deny it. If he had no attachment, he would never even think about leaving the order (the very fact that Obi-Wan wanted to leave the order is already absurd) and would not regret not leaving, which is even more nonsense. If he had no attachment, he would easily finish off that terrorist who essentially threatened people's lives, but because of Satine and how she sees him, he didn't do it, and in theory he should have, and it is Anakin who kills the terrorist, oddly enough, which is right, although the series presents it as "the dark side 🤤". And if Obi-Wan had no attachment to her, he would not have gone to save her when Master Yoda EXPRESSLY forbade him to save her.

also a lie is the statement that Obi-Wan chose not to be with Satine. The writers clearly showed in the moment "if you had said a word, I would have left the order" that their separation was sudden and essentially deprived Obi-Wan of choice and responsibility. They are not together not because they chose this path, but because circumstances prevent them. What especially angers me is the statement "Obi-Wan respects the essence of the Jedi, since he would have left the order, unlike Anakin, who wanted everything at once." It is refuted by the fact that for Obi-Wan from the prequels, leaving the order for some kind of "selfish reasons" is generally something comparable to betrayal, this is evident in his contempt for Dooku and the fact that he yelled at Anakin, telling him "you will be expelled from the Jedi Order for this!" when Anakin wanted to save Padmé, to which, by the way, Anakin clearly answered "I don't care! I will not leave her!", which tells us that Anakin, as it were, also wanted to leave the order for Padmé, but in itself for a Jedi to leave the order for something personal, abandoning his duty to the galaxy and the force, is precisely selfishness, including for Obi-Wan. And what's more, the same Anakin in the second film, when Padme told him "no, we shouldn't", stopped pestering her by the way... so Anakin acted more than normally in this matter, stop offending him... and so Filoni spoiled him by turning him into a boor😒💅.

what was Obi-Wan's tragedy in the prequels. He wanted to help Anakin and helped him with everything he knew and was sincere with him, but when it came to worries about his mother or feelings for Padme, Obi-Wan simply did not know how to help and answered in the spirit of "it will pass" and "you're a Jedi. what attachments?". He simply did not understand Anakin's feelings, and when Anakin stopped talking about them in the third episode, Obi-Wan decided that it meant he did not have a relationship with Padme and calmed down (yes, I know about the deleted scene where Obi-Wan said that he knew everything, but Lucas cut it for a reason, since it simply did not fit the character and the story). There is a reason why Anakin went to Yoda for advice, strangling even his pride, and not to Obi-Wan. Anakin knew that Obi-Wan simply would not understand him, and he was not supposed to be. And if we consider TCW as part of the prequels, then it turns out that Obi-Wan is a narcissistic idiot and a beast who knows that Anakin has problems, but denies his affection in front of Anakin. And okay, if Obi-Wan himself was such that he also did not know about the relationship between Anakin and Padme in TCW, but no, he knows about it, but at the same time continues to deny everything, saying only that "he had feelings for Satine", again hushing up what could really help Anakin and presenting himself as so correct, although he himself succumbed to affection and violated the Jedi code ... and what is most important, the main thing is, judging by the fact that he was not punished in any way for going to Mandalore, he did not tell the council that he was there. that is, he did not take any responsibility, which immediately eliminates the excuse in the spirit of "he wants Anakin to be responsible."yes even the fact that Satine asked to transfer aid from the republic, however when she was already dead, Obi-Wan began to justify himself, that allegedly she did not want this, which once again shows his fear of responsibility in TCW

And the relationship between Obi-Wan and Satine is very toxic. They constantly quarrel, and in public, and they make up only when they are in mortal danger. Their relationship is more reminiscent of limerence than Love, I'm not even talking about platonic love (well, if Plato saw what is called platonic love, he would just puke).. They have no respect for each other, except for shared memories, they constantly reproach each other for their responsibilities, especially Satine always has the audacity to scold Obi-Wan, although her own leadership is rotten and, as it turned out, absolutely unviable (there will be a separate post about Satine's policy and her stupidity), while in the prequels (I'm not considering tcw, Padme is still a fool in it) Padme understood the importance of being a Jedi more than Anakin and would never reproach him for his responsibilities. So all those who call Obitine an adequate and correct version of Anidala-Fuck you. Fuck you Very much.

and don't write something like "well, unlike Anakin, Obi-Wan didn't give in to emotions after death and blah blah blah". He did, because he suddenly became so correct (as he should have been in the all films initially) and started to rub it in about contracts, debt and so on, when he refuses to fly to Mandalore, although in fact he's simply afraid that again he'll be exposed as an irresponsible hypocrite. + "thank you" to Filoni for breaking the prequels' idea that attachment will lead you to the dark side anyway. Just "thank you" 🤦‍♀️

to be fair, "criticize - suggest", it was necessary to make it so that Obi-Wan did not fall in love with anyone and rejected Satine himself, and he might have regretted that he might have hurt her, but not regret about choosing to be a Jedi. In the prequels, he sincerely likes being one, he is the most correct Jedi of all. And it was necessary to really make it so that he and Satine are just friends and have no attachments to each other. And the character is not broken and there are no questions about Anakin's attitude towards him...

but do you know who Obi-Wan had a platonic relationship with in the prequels?... Shave my head and call me a yaoi fan(I'm actually a fan of Anidalа😅), but I'll say it. He had a platonic relationship in some sense with Qui-Gon... yes, that's essentially it. Although they disagree on the correctness of being a Jedi, there is still respect between them and there were no quarrels in the first episode. The fact that Obi-Wan began to object to Anakin's training is not because he is "jealous", but because he is worried about Qui-Gon and is afraid for him because Qui-Gon, in Obi-Wan's opinion, is acting incorrectly as a Jedi, as evidenced by the earlier phrase "if you had not contradicted the council, you would have been on it long ago." Yes, even the fact that he goes against the council regarding Anakin's training because of Qui Gon's oath is more than noble and, unlike the same departure for Satine, does not have a selfish beginning. He did this not because Qui Gon was dying, but because of some kind of loyalty as a Jedi to a Jedi. He does not agree with Qui Gon and agrees with the council, but he still fulfills Qui Gon's request because he is loyal to him as a master, as to another Jedi, as to the Force itself. And after years, this respect has not disappeared, because when Dooku begins to say that Qui Gon would join him, Obi-Wan is even disgusted to hear this and he says that "no, he would not do that." and the fact that at the end of the third episode Obi-Wan learns that Qui-Gon has returned from the world of the Force is essentially "grace" for his loyalty to the Jedi path and that despite the fact that he lost Qui-Gon 13 years ago, he will not be left alone. And this story about Obi-Wan's loyalty works much better as a contrast to Anakin, more than... Yes, without any romance, love in the classical sense and all that, but the character remains himself and it turns out to be a very beautiful and even in some ways ancient story... it's a pity that many did not understand this and see only superficial "family relationships"...

I honestly don't understand why Filoni and Gilroy decided to make a romantic line for a character that doesn't suit it at all... probably to attract shippers, I don't see any other answer. They could have done the same with Ahsoka, she is similar to Anakin in character, although there are a lot of questions about her too... but that's a completely different story... and post👌

[archivalofsins]

It's funny to me that some will bend over backwards to say some prisoners aren't lying and then make other prisoners cases all aboit lying.

Saying things like Haruka didn't lie about his age he really didn't know is like,

A. Let's say he didn't care too much about his age.

Despite the fact he remembered his birthday pretty easily when asked by Mahiru which for someone not focused on his age is quite weird. That's a day completely tied to exactly that but alright I believe you,

20/06/22 (Haruka’s Birthday)

Haruka: ……*sigh*…… Mahiru: Haruka-chaaan, come over here a bit! I’m looking up everyone’s horoscopes right now to check our compatibility~ What’s your star sign~? Haruka: Ah, erm…… s-star sign……? I-I don’t know. Can’t remember…… B-but, my birthday’s June…… 22nd…… I think, that was it…… Mahiru: Ok then. June 22nd is Cancer, so…… A kind person who prioritises their feelings, and…… hm? That’s today!? June 22nd! You should have told us~ Happy birthday~! Haruka: Huh? Ah, yeah…… Th-thank you…… very…… much…… hehe……

He was literally sighing at the beginning of this possibly despondent about not getting birthday wishes and then laughed giddily after getting them. Saying "I think" doesn't immediately equate to not knowing but generally being unsure.

B. Even if I humor the idea he doesn't know his specific age he'd know hes out of school and would have no reason to be under the belief he's high school age.

Because the report confirms he went to high school saying his parents gave up on him at 15 specifically,

The gap in developmental achievements between him and his peers kept widening, so much so that when Haruka 15 years old, he could still not adequately read kanji.

This is the exact age kids in Japan go to high school.

One could try to stretch the truth and say they didn't send him, but the music videos refute this. Through having his music videos corroborate the facts in the report through showing the audience him in his school clothes at varying ages. So, on top of trusting that a guy that remembers his birthday, something tied to age doesn't know his age...

I'd also have to believe he just forgot going to high school and several other everyday things that would tell a twenty-three year old they're not a high schooler. The leaps it takes to believe he didn't know are more than the leaps one would have to take to think he just lied about his age. Something that isn't as bad as murder. So, what is the issue here?

Like he lied, all the prisoners lie Kazui has been almost forty since Milgram started, get over it. People lie- No one is entitled to the truths of others. Like in Milgram and real life people lie. This is a weird thing to harp on. What are people mad that he was older than Futa did something that caused the death of a minor? Is that awkward given things said about other characters that were believed to be older than him now?

Is that is?

Because honestly it's just funny to me and probably many people that that the age he gave is now provably false. That statement is a lie, it is not truthful, it was a fabrication he was born in 1997 he's older than most fans of this series. That is fucking funny. He would be my junior in high school and Mikoto's.

That's hilarious lighten up.

[broodybuck]

A Lending Hand | Series Part 1

Series Summary: When Steve finds out what Bucky's been doing behind closed doors, he's happy to lend a hand. He's willing to do whatever it takes to find how much of the Bucky he knew is still left.

Series Tags: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes | Rated E | Tags: 18+ explicit smut, recovering Bucky, post cacw, denial of feelings, handjobs, first time, Avengers tower, no refractory period, power bottom Steve, top Bucky

[Masterpost] // [ao3 link]

"He needs to talk to someone," Tony says.

"He needs to talk, first," Steve refutes.

Tony drops the argument. This is their fourth discussion on the matter, due to the fact that since bringing Bucky back to the tower he's remained mute — completely silent.

Steve wants to give him time. He's been through a lot, too much, and he doesn't think throwing him in front of a therapist will do any good right now.

Even so, there's plenty of room for concern. Bucky never leaves his room and his door is always locked. Steve believes he deserves some privacy, some alone time. He deserves to take his time.

However, on a few occasions, Steve has run into Bucky leaving his room. Each time, Bucky appeared to be gleaming in sweat, his forehead coated in an even sheen.

At first, Steve assumed he was having nightmares which would be understandable. But over time Steve has run into him in the mornings, in the early afternoons, anytime it seemed, Bucky was still sweating.

It's made Steve worry that Bucky is sleeping all his days away which doesn't sound healthy. Because he knows with the serum, sweat doesn't come easily so Steve has to assume it's nightmares.

One day, Steve knocks on Bucky's door. It's the middle of the day. No one else is around and Steve's given Bucky more than enough space this past month.

There's no answer after Steve knocks. He waits and then knocks a second time, this time a little louder.

"Bucky?" he calls and knocks a third time.

There's no answer so he tries the doorknob but it's locked. Fear creeps into his chest and he considers breaking the door down before he thinks about how annoyed Tony will be. He realizes that JARVIS can simply inform him if Bucky's in his room or not.

He tries to handle this calmly but within a moment he finds himself sprinting down the hall.

"JARVIS?" Steve blurts out in the common area.

"Yes, Mr. Rogers?"

"Can you please check on Bucky — on um, James Barnes. Is he in his room?"

"Let me check, sir. Yes, he's there."

"Oh," Steve frowns. "Is he alright?"

"His health is consistent with the past few weeks. Standard, no threat, his heart rate is accelerated."

"Accelerated, why?" Steve asks.

"I am not sure what Mr. Barnes is doing."

"What do you mean?"

"I can show you footage," JARVIS offers.

"Footage?"

"I can show you into Mr. Barnes's room so you can see what he is doing."

"Well, that's a violation of privacy. Can't you just tell me why his heart rate's accelerated?"

"It's not clear," JARVIS responds.

"How is it not clear?"

"His body is covered. There is unidentifiable motion."

"What— alright, show me. Just show me."

JARVIS lights up a display in front of Steve and footage of Bucky's room becomes clear from the feed.

Bucky's in his bed, the comforter is up to his neck but there's blatant motion coming from under the covers. One Steve recognizes instantly, one that makes his face beet red, his skin tingle.

"Turn it off!" Steve snaps.

The feed snaps off.

"I'm sorry, sir. Was there something wrong with the feed?" JARVIS asks.

"No, I saw it just fine," Steve mumbles and then walks back to his room.

He needs a moment to process what he saw because what he saw was Bucky jerking off. Under the covers, yes, but the motion was indisputable.

Has Bucky really been masturbating every hour of the day he's locked in his room? That doesn't sound healthy but who could Steve talk to about this? This is so personal and dirty... Steve feels his pants tighten and his face fills with shame.

He decides he needs to talk to Bucky himself. The problem is, Bucky couldn't even bother to answer the door the last time he knocked. So Steve plans to run into him again.

It's pretty easy once Steve stalks Bucky's door from down the hall for a few hours. He watches Bucky rush into the bathroom late the next afternoon. Then he waits in front of the man's door for his return.

Bucky stops short when he sees him. He's holding a towel in his hands which he clutches tighter the moment he sees Steve. His face stays emotionless, his eyes scan the floor suddenly.

"Hey," Steve says. "I wanted to talk to you."

He gets no response, so Steve simply steps aside and motions Bucky to reenter his room. Bucky follows the instruction and gets back into the bed hiding his body under the covers once more. Steve doesn't see the towel anymore. He presumes maybe it's for the sweat.

Steve enters the room and shuts the door behind him, wondering briefly if that might alarm Bucky, but his intent is only to give them some privacy. He steps toward the bed and gently sits on the very edge. He tries to remain far enough away from Bucky and when the other man doesn't flinch or react, Steve assumes it's okay.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Steve begins. "I've noticed you've been spending a lot of time in this room. Some fresh air and exercise could really be good for you."

Bucky says nothing. Steve realizes he doesn't know why he thought Bucky would finally decide to speak to him now of all days. Perhaps he was just hopeful and mainly worried.

"I need you to know, I'm here for you," Steve continues and without thinking, he puts his hand on Bucky's leg. "If you ever need to talk about anything."

Bucky doesn't answer, doesn't move except for his eyes that eventually trail down to his leg where Steve's hand is sitting. Steve draws it back apologetically.

"Sorry about that," Steve says. "Anyway, I wanted to mention that I have the serum too. And sometimes it can make me feel a bit restless or um, pent-up. I like to run in the mornings. I work out too. The heavy bag is good for punching, lets out a lot of tension."

Bucky stares at him, still silent.

"Just mentioning," Steve smiles, feeling his face blush. "In case you feel that sometimes too. Since I have the serum as well, if you ever have questions I'm happy to answer them."

No response.

Steve nods and forces another smile even though he feels this was a complete fail. He stands from the bed and begins to make his way to the door. Then he hears the smallest whisper.

"Wait."

He spins back around with wide eyes. He waits patiently, keeping his distance, praying he didn't mishear.

Bucky's face pinches, he looks down and Steve notices his fist clench.

"I have... tension," Bucky says, so low Steve swears no normal person would have heard it. Steve's never been so thrilled. He rushes toward the bed with a beaming smile.

"That's okay. I can show you where the gym is and some exercises. I think it would help."

Bucky shakes his head no. Steve's smile falters.

"Don't want to work out," Bucky tells him quietly.

"Okay, well there's also a massage, meditation— how about swimming?"

Bucky's eyes go wide at that and Steve's stomach drops.

"No swimming," Steve corrects quickly. "What do you want to try? I'll help any way I can."

Bucky's face begins to turn a shade of pink Steve hasn't seen. He hates to ever refer to his friend as his past alias but it's quite strange seeing an ex-assassin blush.

"Touch," Bucky finally says.

"Touch?" Steve repeats.

"Me," Bucky finishes.

Steve gulps, he doesn't mean to but the mix of nerves and sudden temptation are mixing heavily inside of him.

The truth is, he's wanted Bucky all his life. And he never got to touch him because, in their past, Bucky wasn't out yet. Not to anyone else, at least. He told Steve his truth but he told Steve he plans to date girls and marry a woman. That he'd pretend the rest of his life.

It saddened Steve even back then but he didn't argue, never tried to push Bucky. Which is why he never made a move no matter how much he was in love with the man.

Currently, Bucky's not fully himself. And he's only fighting biological, physical needs. He has no one else to turn to. But Steve would rather die than not help Bucky. But this kind of help, would mean something very different for Steve.

"Too much," Bucky says, knocking Steve out of his thoughts.

"What?"

Bucky carefully grips the comforter and pulls it off him. He lifts his shirt and pushes his shorts down, revealing a painful looking erection lying against his stomach.

It's a lot for Steve to take in. He's seeing his best friend's cock for the first time but not only that, it's unusually hard. Like wow, it's nearly purple. It looks like he's been hard for hours and dammit, that should not be making Steve's mouth salivate.

"Oh um," Steve's voice cracks and he looks away, embarrassingly turned on — oh god, what should he do?

"Can you try?" Bucky asks.

His voice is heavy now with fatigue and Steve considers the fact that Bucky hasn't been rubbing one out every hour of every day. Maybe he's been struggling to get himself to finish even once.

The thought sounds horrific and painful. Steve needs to help him. Of course, he's going to help him.

"Yes, I can try," Steve says.

He sits down on the bed but pauses before touching him. He wants to be sure Bucky knows what he's asking.

"So, you want me to touch you... there, with my hand. Right?"

Steve points to the man's cock and Bucky nods instantly. Steve reaches his hand out before pulling it back again and licking his palm.

"For some lubrication, it'll be less rough," Steve explains. "Okay, I'm going to touch you now."

He reaches out and places his hand on the hard shaft and dear lord, it feels hot under his palm. Christ, how long has he been sitting like this? Bucky's eyes squeeze shut and then open again, he studies Steve's hand.

"I'm going wrap my hand around you now, hold it — it should feel good," Steve prepares him and then proceeds to do as he says.

He hears Bucky's breath hitch. Steve feels hot suddenly with his hand around his best friend's cock, with Bucky's breath hitching from his touch. It's all so much.

"I'm gonna move my hand now," Steve tells him. "Slow, at first. Should still feel good."

Bucky nods this time which makes Steve feel a little better. He pulls one fist from the base to the head. Bucky bites back a moan but Steve hears part of it and it makes a shot of arousal race through him.

"And again," he says and drags his fist back down.

Bucky's mouth presses tight, his eyes closed.

"Does it feel good or bad?" Steve checks.

Bucky's mouth opens but it takes him a second to get the word out. "Good."

"Good, I'm going to move faster now."

He begins a steady motion up and down Bucky's cock and within a couple of strokes a bead of precum dribbles from the tip.

"That's good," Steve notes. "That's what we want more of."

"Mngh," Bucky mumbles.

Steve keeps pumping him light and easy. Then he tightens his grip and drags a tight fist up and down him. It draws a long, wounded moan out of Bucky. Steve has to stop. He hasn't heard Bucky make that sound before and knowing he caused it, that it's a sound of pleasure he caused. He needs to take a second.

Steve is breathing heavy but thankfully Bucky doesn't seem to be taking any notice of Steve except for his hand.

Steve pumps him a few more times, tight but slow. Then he opens his fist and lets his fingers glide up the shaft and rub under the red, nearly purple, head. Bucky wails at this, it's actually a high-pitched wail that catches Steve off guard. He pauses.

"Good or bad?"

"Good, good," Bucky murmurs. He sounds so drunk with pleasure that Steve is officially hard. "Please, more."

Steve runs his thumb over the slit and that elicits another loud whine. He drags his fist back down and up, twists his palm over the head and that's when Bucky's hips jolt up. He heaves in a breath so sharply, that Steve needs to pause again.

"Need..." Bucky pants. "I can't... don't know why it won't..."

"I got you, Buck. Let me help you. I can do this for you," Steve tells him.

Steve swipes the next bead of precum that leaks from Bucky's cock and uses it as more lube to resume a steady motion. He brings his other hand over to reach under Bucky, squeeze and roll his balls and this makes Bucky's hips buck again.

Steve doesn't stop this time, he can see how badly Bucky needs this release and now he's determined to give it to him. He keeps jerking him off, faster and faster until Bucky's eyes are rolling back, he's arching up.

"It's okay, let it happen," Steve says.

Bucky's legs tremble just before Steve watches the come burst out of him.

It's a lot, pouring out in thick spurts and so much keeps coming, Steve's not sure if he should slow down or stop. But Bucky looks like he's in another dimension of pure ecstasy so Steve keeps fisting his cock until the stream slows and then only drops dribble from the slit. He finally slows down and then releases his grip entirely.

Bucky's breathing hard, his chest heaving, his forehead covered in that same sheen of sweat he's seen on him before. His eyes are closed and Steve waits for him to calm down. He's worried about doing too much but he can't help it, he takes Bucky's hand and rubs his thumb inside his palm, comfortingly. At least, he hopes it's comforting.

Bucky slowly opens his eyes again and looks down at their hands. He takes another deep breath and finally, his chest settles.

"Did that help?" Steve asks.

"Yeah," Bucky nods. "You have no idea."

And for the first time, Bucky doesn't whisper or mumble his words. He sounds almost like his old self. Just for a moment, just with that line, Steve is transported back in time. He's with his pal. he's with the man he's hopelessly in love with.

And Steve can't stop himself, he leans over and kisses Bucky right on the lips.

He pulls back quickly and immediately apologizes even though he doesn't regret it. He's been waiting decades to do that.

"It's okay," Bucky says and again, he sounds almost normal.

It sends a rush of hope through Steve no matter how bizarre and abnormal this afternoon turned out to be.

Steve stands from the bed, ignoring the hard-on straining in his own pants, and backs away from the bed.

"If you ever need help with that again... you know, I'm here," Steve says.

Bucky smiles, it's small, but a real smile nonetheless. It's the first Steve has seen since Bucky's been here. The hope beams stronger.

"Can you come back tomorrow?"

"Yes," Steve accepts and then he swiftly turns around and exits the room.

He doesn't have time to waste with awkward goodbyes, he needs to get off so bad.

[ink-flavored]

Introducing the Antagonists

BTS Series: ⬅ Table of Contents - Reworking the Plot ➡ Also available on Neocities! P&J Taglist (Check out my Google form to get added): @elegant-paper-collection @auroblaze@zeenimf @vacantgodling @foxys-fantasy-tales Banner art by @auroblaze

With the leads out of the way, it’s high time we talk about the shiny new antagonists for Pride & Justice. And yes, that’s antagonists with an “s” because there are two of them! Since the fanfiction version of the story only had the two main characters in it, both of these antagonists are completely created by me. I also don’t have design references for them yet, so feel free to imagine them in your head.

The reason I have two antagonists when I could very easily just have one is based on a few things. For one, I thought it would be fun to have representatives from both Heaven and Hell, like Pride and Justice themselves, and create a neat mirror effect in the narrative. For another, there are multiple conflicts in the story—the conflict of Pride and Justice getting back to Heaven to complete the contract Pride made with that soul in Purgatory, and the conflict between Pride and Justice as they try to navigate their new lives and eventual romance. The dual-antagonists serve both conflicts, one for the over-arching plot that runs through the story, and another for the personal dynamic of their relationship, creating another wedge that they have to climb over to be together. I also wanted to take the opportunity to say that, while Heaven and Christianity deserve critiquing, just because Heaven is bad doesn’t mean that Hell is good. They’re both fundamentally flawed, for different reasons.

With all that said, let’s introduce the new players!

Honesty

I’ve always been really fascinated with the idea of a villain who believes what they’re doing is righteous and good. The kind of antagonist that is doing objectively horrible things from every perspective but their own, who can’t or won’t understand that the things they’re doing “for the greater good” aren’t doing any good at all. That’s the kind of person that Honesty is.

Honesty is, like Justice, an angel that embodies the virtue of her namesake. She is physically incapable of telling a lie, and follows the word of God to a tee. After all, God’s word is the truth of the world. She knows her place—it is to serve Heaven and fight against Hell at any cost. Every angel in Heaven knows their place too, and deviating from it is a non-issue. If you aren’t serving God, specifically if you aren’t carrying out His word to the letter, you aren’t doing your duty as an angel. You deserve retribution and punishment for it. You deserve to be sent to Hell for it. After all, that is God’s word. You can’t refute that because she can never lie.

In her own mind, all she’s doing is keeping things the way they should be. Angels are taught, created for, and trusted to serve God’s will for the good of His children and the world at large. Pride is a speck to her, a lost cause she won’t even bother sympathizing with. He’s already lost. What really makes her mad, what sends her on the crusade that leads to the entire story, is Justice defending him. He’s breaking the laws he promised to serve, defying God for a demon, of all things. She places herself at the head of the mission to bring Justice back under the banner of Heaven, send Pride to his death like he deserves, or bring them both down.

From our perspective, she clearly sucks. Pride dying would have other far-reaching consequences beyond killing a single demon. Killing the innocent person he just happens to be carrying along with him is bad, actually, and Justice pointing that out shouldn’t immediately send him to the same fate. That doesn’t matter to her. They’ve both made themselves enemies of God by defying His word, and now they are her enemies too. And she’s right. They aren’t following the rules. Pride for obvious reasons—he doesn’t care about God’s rules—but Justice really has no excuse here. He’s an angel advocating for keeping a demon alive. No matter the reason, the ends should justify the means for him. But they don’t. He is wrong, and Honesty is going to show him what happens to angels who are wrong.

The point of Honesty being legitimate in her grievance is not to make a point about how being anti-authority and breaking the rules is always awesome (although it is), it’s to show that those rules she’s enforcing—even if she is telling the truth—are flawed. The law is unjust, and following an unjust law makes you unjust, and Justice won’t sit idly by and accept it like he’s supposed to. The problem with that is that he’s lower on the hierarchy than God. Literally everyone is. To Honesty, the law being unjust doesn’t matter. Things in life being unfair doesn’t matter. Innocent people dying—like killing a soul along with the demon ferrying it—happens sometimes in the name of the greater good. Tough shit. God said so, and it’s not your place to have an opinion about the word of God. Do as you’re told.

If you haven’t picked up on it already, Honesty is going to be the main vehicle for which I drive my criticism of American Evangelical Christianity. Evangelicalism, if you’re unfamiliar, (and I’ll be paraphrasing) is the sect of Christianity that reads the Bible literally, as if it is without fault, and is the perfect way to practice your faith—it’s called “biblical literalism.” One of their core tenants is to proselytize everywhere, to everyone, to save their souls for the second-coming, which they also fervently believe will happen. They genuinely, honestly believe they are spreading the good word—the word “evangelical” comes from the Greek word for "good news"—and saving lives. Which is also why, if you’ve noticed, that they preach to anyone regardless of interest or religion, treat any rejection of Christianity as a personal attack, and why they have worked to criminalize abortion, deny the theory of evolution, lambast same-sex marriage, and in general push traditional (read: conservative) thinking when it comes to authority and social practices. Obviously, this is a generalization of a very large sect of a very large religion, but if you’ve been paying even a little bit of attention to American politics over the years, this specific type of Evangelical Christian is going to sound familiar. It’s what I aim to critique in Pride & Justice, and I have no problems stating that Honesty will embody this way of thinking.

Now, I bet some of you are wondering why I made Honesty a woman (specifically a white woman, but I don’t have a design to show you). Surely if my goal is to critique the traditionalist views of the Evangelical Christians, surely a man in a position of authority would be more accurate? While I can see that perspective, I’d argue that God is that man in a position of authority here. Honesty is—like a lot of Evangelicals in real life—simply the “innocent” white woman who uses her relative position of power to crack down on anyone she sees as deviant. People often ignore the ways women perpetuate systems of oppression like patriarchy, because women are oppressed within that system. But a lot of the reason that patriarchy persists is by women passing down patriarchal standards in their homes to their families, in classrooms, and in public places. If you want to go deeper, it’s well documented that white women will use their relative status to perpetuate racism, homophobia, and transphobia. Historically, white women have perpetuated anti-Black racism by falsely accusing Black men and boys of rape to get them arrested, beaten, or killed. For a modern example, look no further than the rise of TERFs (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists), a group that is overwhelmingly made up of white Christian women with traditionalist values fighting against their own self-interests, all in the name of perpetuating transphobia. Honesty represents a real demographic that often gets ignored in the fight against inequality.

I’m not sure I’ll portray Honesty as openly bigoted in the story (she’s not a human, angels don’t really have concepts like gender or race), but she is definitely not a fan of Pride or Justice, and finds the idea that they would ever be in a relationship as at best laughable, and at worst a manipulation. It’s against God, after all, for an angel and a demon to collaborate, much less be in love, so therefore if it’s real it must be destroyed, and if it’s false it must be revealed that it was always a fiction—and therefore destroyed. She is going to try a lot of things to try and get Justice to “see the light" once again, turn him against Pride, and follow-through with her promise to smite him like she intended to before they escaped. All of them will fail, though it will not be without a fight.

Beyond the political stuff, I’m excited to weaponize her inability to tell a lie. It’s really going to add a new flavor to the kind of story I’m able to tell with her, and I think it adds a very cool depth. How do you argue against someone who can never tell a lie? How do you show them they’re wrong, even when they’re technically right, and retroactively make their previous statements untrue? What is the truth, how do you measure it? Is the truth an innate state present in the universe because it’s always been there, or is it a matter of personal perspective?

So, that’s Honesty. Get excited to love to hate her!

Lust

[content warning for emotional abuse, mentioned sexual assault]

Our representative of Hell was genuinely a hard one for me. When I had the idea to create a second antagonist, I knew I wanted whoever it was to be a personal antagonist for Pride. He’s the one with the most emotional baggage that he needs to overcome to let himself be in a relationship with Justice, and the demon crawling out of Hell would obviously only be familiar with him, and couldn’t really have a vendetta against both of them (at least, not at first). Making it Lucifer would be a little much—why would the ruler of Hell care about one demon? I puzzled over the remaining six of the seven sins, debating which one Pride was most likely to have a personal history with, good or bad. Ultimately, I landed on Lust as the one that made the most sense, which made things harder if I’m being honest.

Personally, I despise that lust is even a part of the deadly sins at all. I think that the idea of lust—a real and valid human emotion—being something that eternally damns you is ridiculous and complete bullshit. It necessarily demonizes sex and sexuality as sinful, which has paved the way for a lot more dangerous bullshit, and shunts an entire category of human expression and connection into the Bad Person Slot. Further, I absolutely despise how lust is often portrayed in media—the one, single sexy woman in a conga line of generic looking men in business suits, and of course the one fatphobic caricature for gluttony. I knew if I was going to make Lust-the-character a significant part of my story, I was going to need to do some serious work in portraying it to make it palatable to even myself.

The first thing I did was completely erase the concept of chastity as a virtue. I’ve replaced it with the virtue of passion, something I think better reflects lust on the whole, and I didn’t have any plans to include a chastity angel in the story anyway. Next, I am going to include a plain-text, inescapable, definitive defense of sex and sexuality using the existence of an angel of passion in the story. I already planned to do a subtle exposition dump of Heaven and Hell when Justice is feeling homesick, and that would be the perfect time to bring up something like him being friends with Passion. Probably because Pride was implying that Heaven is all stuffy and no fun. Either way, full and rigorous defense of sex is going to happen, just so everyone is clear about what kind of story this is. And finally, redefining what Lust-the-character actually represents.

Lust is sex doll. The form it chose, and how it presents itself in the story, is as a life-size sex doll, with the addition of smoking horns and a tail like Pride. It does not move its mouth to talk, speaking through telepathy. It can barely move on its own, sitting limp or lying flat, moving in only the barest twitches. If you haven’t picked up on it yet, Lust uses it/its pronouns. It is quite literally a sex object, something that is purpose built for a single-minded, selfish pleasure. It doesn’t matter if Lust enjoys it or not. That’s not the point. The point is that there is this thing that is here for you, and you can do whatever you want.

That’s the kind of lust considered abhorrent and sinful in this story. The kind where you don’t care about, nor even stop to consider, what your partner(s) think. If your sex is not negotiated between all parties, if it isn’t enthusiastically consensual, if you can’t be bothered to take your partner(s) feelings, wants, desires, and pleasure into account, you’re sinning. At best, this makes you a bad sexual partner, using people as sex toys for the sole purpose of getting you off. At worst, you are a rapist.

There are other things people lust for—lust for power is an obvious one. You want to lord over others, to wield your selfishness maliciously, disregarding if and how you hurt others. Generally, though, my version of lust is not about wanting to have sex and then going directly to Hell. In fact, the idea of thoughts = sin is something I’m also getting rid of in this story, but I’ll get into it another time. My version of lust is about being consumed by single-minded desires, including sex, that push you to treat others as disposable. Lust is an object because that’s how people committing this sin view others—tools to be used, abused, and thrown away when they have what they want.

Speaking of “wanting,” what does Lust want with Pride? What is that personal history I hinted at so many paragraphs ago? Well, you may be shocked to find that it isn’t a very nice one.

Like I mentioned in his post, Pride uses his arrogance as a shield to hide the fact that he desperately needs and wants people to like him. As a byproduct of his turbulent past (being rejected by Heaven, burning alive in a river of fire, etc.), he craves the validation of others to tell him that he’s very good and special and the bestest demon guy ever. He’s insecure, put shortly, and will take anything he can get when it comes to attention and/or affection. Enter Lust, who happened upon Pride at the right time, and basically thought, “Oh boy! A body I can exploit!”

There were no real feelings on either side, so what they had wasn’t necessarily a “relationship,” but they were involved, and it was abusive. Lust picked up on the fact that Pride needed validation and decided to make sure he wouldn’t ever be able to get it from anyone else. It berated him for being clingy, insisted no one else would bother putting up with him, and generally fed into the insecurity he tries to hide by confirming it as true. Agreeing that he’s unworthy of the affection he craves so much of, and actually he’s pathetic for wanting so much of it. Ego damaged, Pride would lash out and disappear for a while, but the creeping sense of loneliness from his insecurity would always return. Convinced that Lust was the only way he would ever get attention, he returned to it again and again.

Breaking him down made Lust feel powerful—it had complete control over Pride. No matter how many times he said this was the last time, it knew he would eventually come crawling back. Whereas Pride needs affection to function, Lust needs a power trip.

Eventually, though, Pride stops showing up. This is upsetting for a while, but then rumors start flying around Hell that Pride busted out of Heaven with an angel. And now they’re… living on Earth together? Lust is outraged by this news, in no small part because if Pride never comes back to Hell, it loses a source of its own security. It might lose its hold over him altogether, and that absolutely will not stand. Throughout the story, Lust shows up to try and convince Pride to give up. That whatever he has with Justice won’t last, that Justice will eventually get bored and/or sick of him, that an angel of all things could never possibly tolerate him, much less love him. Some of the other deadly sins show up too, though less persistently, and with a lot less to lose.

EDITOR’S NOTE: I’m toying with the idea of Lust enlisting other demons to find Pride for it, and harass him into coming back to Hell. I didn’t have a reason for any of the other deadly sins show up, but this would give them a purpose: annoying Pride—on Lust’s behalf, probably for some sort of bribe—to make sure he doesn’t think he’s all that just because he shacked up with an angel.

Lust’s role in the story is to serve as a representation of Pride’s insecurity, and the abusive relationship he has with himself sometimes. Pride routinely denies himself the ability to be vulnerable based on his ego and believes he won’t be worthy of love if he is vulnerable. Defeating Lust is a metaphor for him overcoming not just his past abuse, but his feelings of insecurity.

In a weird way, I am excited to write Lust. It’s going to be a creepy-horror-movie-haunted-doll type of character, which is a way I don’t think people expect a “lust” character to act, so I’m interested in seeing everyone’s reactions.

Also, an important note! Lust is not going to be the only it/its pronoun user in the story, I am not unaware of how that looks. I’m still creating all the side characters, but since Justice makes a lot of friends on Earth, I am fully planning on populating the most-seen characters with at least one other it/its user.

Anyway! Those are the antagonists of the story! What do you think? I’d love any and all thoughts!

Thanks as always for your support!

— Annika

[themostefficientwaywithwater]

when i was on my early teens, there was this youtuber (now also streamer) i used to like. he had a very sardonic and sometimes raunchy humour that i found funny at that time, because it was only in certain and well chosen moments when he did these kind of jokes. honestly it felt more like he relied on comic timing and getting things out of context rather than pure black humour, so i didn't see any problem in it and in fact found it very funny.

but, lately, these have been becoming more and more common, and more and more shameless. it's like he saw that people liked his jokes and exagerated more and more his online persona until most of the time he's doing jokes, and leaning more into dark, south park-esque humour. to the point where i actively avoid the lets play series more focused on comedy (mostly pokemon and zelda) and only watch the most "serious" ones, where he still makes jokes but at least not at every cutscene, every sentence, every fucking time. and still these series usually get cancelled because his "fandom" mostly like him for his dark humour and controversial takes.

and it's... sad because. he's not a bad person. out of all youtubers i've seen, he's one of the few "good ones". the ones that don't try to get clicks by spreading misinformation, the ones that refuse to get bought by casinos or other sketchy companies, the ones that don't date fucking children. he's very intelligent and a very sensible person. but there are... things that rub me the wrong way.

he's also very easily gets misinformed, because he's very easy to convince when he finds something funny, but very difficult when you try to have a serious debate with him. and debating him is... impossible! because most of the time the chat is clogged with teenagers that think that the vaporeon copypasta is the funniest thing ever. for every sensible comment you try to make, it gets buried under 100 "funneh" ones, most of them made by the same 3 dudes who probably would vote for trump or milei. he also has... strange opinions about women or, especially, women movements. don't get me wrong, he's very strongly in the group of "women are people with rights and autonomy", and refutes constantly incel's rethoric. but he's also the type of dudes that refutes """feminism""" (aka whatever strawman his follower tells him feminism is) and is a strong believer of "neither sexism or feminism". he also thinks that women are hornier than men? and that women's sexuality is ~a mystery~? because someone did an brain mri scan on women while showing pictures at them and allegedly they got horny at seeing two goats fucking???? and also believe girls sexualize men more than boys because they paste pictures of celebrities on their folders? and that gender roles are *~biology~*? at least he's very open to the lgtb+ community including trans people and non binary people.

but still, it's a shame he has flanderized himself to such a degree

[cospinol]

TODAY’S EPISODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Koku you amethyst time!!!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 And it’s apparently the moment that the show’s staff have been waiting for just as eagerly as I have because it’s the best looking episode not just of this season but maybe… of the entire series since its inception…????!! I genuinely can’t think of another one that has Multiple dedicated cuts of detailed action in a row like the sequence from kyou kai snapping on the mountain road to the encounter between shin and kyou kai + rai do and koku’ou at kan ki’s camp, and certainly not one anywhere near as good looking, it’s such a treat…!!!!!!!

[quick aside, before I forget I want to add that rai do is addressing shin as ‘obocchan’ in the last cap above :DDD truly the gift that keeps on giving]

And anyways that’s without even touching on how good this sequence would be regardless of looks because it’s still Amethyst Plot time 🥰❤️💞❣️💓💍💘 Bi hei giving in to peer pressure in just the kind of moment of weakness that you can’t actually detest him for (of course you would want to believe him when he tells you it wasn’t a civilian village..), kyou kai absolutely fucking snapping, the cool head ten maintains between trying to hold shin back and immediately pivoting the hi shin unit to a defensive formation for the real possibility that shin and kyou kai actually start pvp against the kan ki army , and of course shin and kan ki putting their cards on the table :)))))

^ my favourite panel of him ever now animated!!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 and my favourite moment in the exchange between them, shin’s is still yet to come (I think all his talk in this week’s episode about kan ki not being equipped to handle sei’s dream of unification *is* sweet and sincere but it’s also dumb and that’s why kan ki is able to refute him so easily; the point that really matters and where his moral stance becomes unassailable, for me, is in the fact that it’s all for hyou’s sake. there’s no counter-argument about what you may or may not be turning a blind eye to there, it’s the mandate made absolute and incorruptible instead…) but this is maybe my favourite line of kan ki’s ever… he’s just following through on the promise he made you; these are the rules you agreed to play by! 🥰🥰🥰 i don’t even need to go into the premium emycore aspect of ever part of this sequence lol, the indulgence of it all…

also I was pleasantly surprised to see that they preserved just about all all of the gore from the scenes covered in this week’s scenes; there are some minor changes (the zhao soldiers kan ki is having the saki clan interrogate early in the episode are shown a little less mutilated than they are in the manga, and there’s no nudity) but they really are minor which bodes pretty well for the saki clan artworks coming up soon :~) I think there’s a chance we might not see that scene until the week after next since next episode’s primary focus will of course be Bi Hei And The Hi Shin Unit as per the ep title, but i’m so curious to see what they do with it since the anime has *always* omitted saki and saki-adjacent activities in the past. but I won’t get ahead of myself when we still have all of bi hei’s crisis to savour first :D

also, in shin’s speech telling kan ki off, we got a little additional visual of ran dou from sanyou campaign! always on the lookout for scenes from s1-2 appearing in flashback in the current art style <3

and i really had forgotten what he looked like lol even though this is another scene I absolutely adore for similar reasons to the one in the camp in this episode - though there’s no mou ten around to step in and defend shin this time, of course… :)

[mask131]

I hadn’t planned to continue my series of explanation posts about the riots going on in France currently... But I am forced to, mostly because I have conspiration theories thrown at me. 

So if you are not up to date, check my original post here: https://www.tumblr.com/mask131/721725551671443456/mask131-before-i-see-any-more-nonsense-or?source=share

And now let us consider this reply I got in my notes:

@justwandering-neverlost​ you are a fool for believing there is some sort of great conspiracy going on behind this. And you have some chance that I got this note in the morning and am writing this post in the evening, because if I had replied just as I saw it, I would have used less kind words due to how angry I was. We honestly got enough shit going down in France already without people throwing conspiracy theories at us. 

Not only do we have more and more saddening and baffling information coming out to us that further proves it isn’t a conspiracy of any sort, but on top of that I can refutate your idea very easily due to your main argument. “The government stepping in through fake riots”. But before I do that I want to say... I understand why people want to believe these mad riots are part of a conspiracy. It is a comforting belief to try to imagine there is a form of order, no matter how vile or corrupt, behind all this violence. Our reasonable and logical minds wants this chaos to happen for a reason. But the truth, the very sad truth, is that these riots are an unorganized, blind, headless, movement, an Azathoth-like movement - as in “a blind idiot”. And for those who live in France and have been through all these dark years, it is painfully obvious.

Why the whole argument of the government stepping in doesn’t work? Because precisely, despite people pressing the government to act, the government doesn’t - or doesn’t want to. The government has an obvious reluctance to deal strickly, directly, strongly with all that. A lot of people have been asking for an “état d’urgence” to be installed - and by a lot of people, this goes from the far-right journalists and politicians who want a state of emergency to prevent what they are calling a “civil war” to the angry grandmother in Marseille who is exhausted beyond belief of all the destruction and vandalism and shouts at the journalists in the streets that the President should send the army to stop all these vandals. But the government was clear: No state of emergency will be installed. There is no need for this at all. That’s what the government says, “We are not in a civil war, no need for a state of emergency, we won’t do that.” And why does the government does not install such a state despite everybody saying cities are turning into war zones? 

Because France has an image problem. With all the troubles, all the protests, all the violence and unsecurity happening in France for several years now - people distrust France, people flee France, people mock France. Especially countries that are not in good terms with France - no need to tell you Russia is making its news of all the chaos and unrest in France, and then you have other countries such as Poland where (I think it is the prime minister? I am not sure of his exact position) used the current riots to say “Look! In France they chose immigration - they have chaos. We chose no immigration - we have order and peace.”. A lot of people are invoking the fact that France seems so “weak” because it cannot even control its own population, others denounce how bad of a president Macron is to allow so much violence to happen - these series of protests that keep turning into violence, piling up year after year, are not looking good. And things are ESPECIALLY not looking good since France is currently getting ready to welcome the Olympic Games. The eyes of the world are onto France, as everything is getting built and prepared and ready and adapted to welcome people from all around the world and cameras from every continent... And bam! Huge uncontrollable riots destroying everything. This makes France and the French government look very bad, and if they ever put a state of emergency, they are done for, they are toast. It will confirm what everybody is saying “France cannot control its own population, France is in grip of a civil war, nobody should be going to France currently.” The French government is purposefully not putting a state of emergency to prove that they still have the situation under control, that despite the huge violences things will return to normal, that yes of course the Olympic Games should happen in Paris and of course France is still a strong nation, what are you talking about? [Note: Do not take that as me saying “France should put a state of emergency.” No. But the way the French government is going today is “Of course we DO NOT need a state of emergency, stop talking about this, we have the situation FULLY UNDER CONTROL, OF COURSE the Olympic Games must happen, OF COURSE we are still a safe country for tourism, OF COURSE we are doing fine! No need to send the army or anything.”]

So no, the government is not going to step in further into this matter, especially since the riots are slowly dying down (not because the rioters were “satisfied” in any way, but simply because they spent three-four nights running around, destroying everything and burning everything, they are exhausted and out of ammo, so they need some times to rest). Which brings me to the second item on the list of “Why it isn’t some sort of government conspiracy”: France does not benefit at all from these riots, quite the contrary. France is slowly dying, economically speaking. Remember that these riots are the culmination of a series of times of trouble in France. We had the chaos and mass protests of the Yellow Vests, Gilets Jaunes ; and the manifestations tied to other police-caused death before (like the Adama Traore case) ; and then we had the Covid ; and then the “Do not change the age of retirement” protests, and now THIS. Tourism is at an all-time low, and shops on popular and famous areas are closed or destroyed regularly, and there was the huge inflation that augmented the price of everything in France - and now we have an unprecedented wave of shop destructions coupled with massive pillage and theft. France’s economy is dying out, especially when you consider that before all that the country was already heavily in debt and with a record number of unemployment, and lots of “ghost zones” abandoned by all. Now there’s all this - plus the fact that all these destructions and burning and explosions will need lots and lots of rebuilding, which means a ton of money will have to be spent to recreate schools and libraries (because yes, they attacked libraries also!), and clean up the marks of the disaster in the streets... 

So yeah, France is gaining nothing in there. One needs to have a very warped mind to convince themselves that the French government is somehow pulling the strings of these riots. In fact, if you want a conspiracy theory that do work - take the one that another country hostile to France, like Russia for example, or some extremist Islamic state, is organizing all this. Because these riots are destroying France, and it is very easy to imagine some foreign power is sending agents to rile up these riots in hope of making France bleed from the inside. But I can’t even bring up this theory because of two things.

1) This theory could veer very easily into pure racism or xenophobia, and we already have enough to deal with currently. It won’t surprise you to learn that the extreme-right is currently using these riots as a way to say “Look at all those foreigners and immigrants that came to France and are now destroying it! All those rioters are Arabians and Africans, and so they must all be banned away from France.” In fact, it isn’t just the French extreme-right - I said before that some far-right or hostile countries are also invoking racist arguments to try to explain those riots... And the USA too! What a surprise to learn today that the American journals are currently making these riots all about... Racial conflict? If you follow the USA media, apparently it is all about racism. 

As a French guy living those riots let me tell you - IT ISN’T ABOUT RACISM! I do not deny there might be some racism in France and a part of the hatred that is now exploding was fueled by some form of existing or perceived racism towards “non-white”. But the death of Nahel, and those riots now, are not about racism. They are about badly trained and badly prepared policemen, they are about the panic-causing fear prevalent among policemen, and the hasty attempts at covering a massive mistake leading to a teenager’s death - and further than that they are about class-divide and class-conflict, and the hatred of police and of the government, and about the disappearance of authority, and about the “abandonment” of the banlieues and the perceived discrimination against them... But this is all, at its heart, NOT about skin color or ethnic origins. Despite what the extreme-right or the extreme-left tries to make you think (oh yes, because the far-left is also at it in France, they are trying to convince people that these violence are justified because they are anti-racist violence, and that the rioters are so angry because they are filled with the just wrath of the oppressed masses, and that the entirety of police should be destroyed to stop the institutional racism in France), it isn’t about racism. How is throwing a car into the house of a mayor and trying to burn his family alive a way to make him “pay” for racism? How it stealing from the Restos du Coeur tied to racism? How is the rioters burning down elementary schools something tied to “racism”? This is the kind of shit that the Traore family tried to pull when it came to the death of Adama - remember, they did a protest against the French government because of Floyd’s death, as if France had a relationship to this murder in the USA, and I even recall a group that came on TV during these troubled times, in France, a group of activists that had shaped themselves after the Black Panthers, imitating their outfit and copying their goals and speeches down to the very last detail. This is all an attempt at projecting the problems and society of the USA onto France, but FRANCE ISN’T THE USA! We have two different histories, two different societies, two different “race dynamics”. Yes France has problems, BIG problems, but they aren’t the problems of the USA! 

2) My second big argument as to why this is all just a blind idiocy and violent chaos - which also ties back to “Why this isn’t about racism”. The rioters themselves confess that they had no goal behind those riots.

Remember how I said before that a good thirty percent of the rioters were underage, and the other still young adults and teenagers? Well now that we have better estimation, the average age of the rioters was calculated: 17! The average age of the rioters is seventeen years old! And we have seen kids as young as twelve participating in the burning of town halls. These are teenagers, these are kids, this shows a form of immaturity in all of this. Remember the interview with one of the rioters I talked about before? Well, in contrast to this, we now have the explanations and confessions of the other rioters - because there were hundreds of arrests all throughout France. And now that these teenagers and those young adults are confronted by courts, trials, judges, journalists, they are asked to explain their situation... And their answer? “We had no real reason to do what we did.” I am not kidding. Almost none of the rioters asked talked about Nahel in any form or shape - and those that did it, did it indirectly without even saying his name, just evoking “the kid that died”. Why did they do it? Because for them “it was fun”. Because “everybody else was doing it”. Because they just “wanted to”. They didn’t even claim any kind of revenge or punishment the same way the interviewed rioter did. They literaly said “We did what we did, and there’s nothing more behind that. We didn’t had any reason to do that. We just did.”

It isn’t about racism. It isn’t about religion. It isn’t about justice. It isn’t about Nahel. It just because these kids and those idiots wanted to break things and burn things and steal and kill people - and others saw an opportunity to do the same things, and yet others just followed like sheep and imitated the rest. 

And if you are baffled by this, sadly it is actually understable when you see how France has slowly degraded. On one side, as I said, in the poorest and most criminal “banlieues”, the defiance of authority and law, and the hatred of anyone wearing a uniform, became a widespread custom, a local tradition, even a game. It is a game to call policemen only to throw rocks at them. It is a game to burn police cars with a policeman still inside. On social media, they compete to see who can destroy the most car-police wheels. Even firemen, and nurses, and ambulance are getting attacked or harassed in the street just for doing their job - because there is a strange and bizarre hatred in some areas of France for anything that represents a country, a system, a society. On the other side, France - which was THE country of protests and strikes and manifestations - lost its own art and ability to protest as year after year, each protest systematically ended up in violence, more and more violence. The minute there’s a problem, there’s a protest, and these protest end up in violence - because they aren’t even protests anymore, but temper tantrums. The conspiracy theorist above used “populace”, which in French is a pejorative word for the people as a whole - and this is a word I shall use for the behavior of French people nowadays. I still remember when Mélanchon, the far-left (not to say extreme-left) candidate to the presidential election, wasn’t elected - there were riots and protests. Protests BECAUSE A CANDIDATE WASN’T ELECTED IN AN ELECTION? I distinctly remember that because students had entered the Sorbonne university, organized a siege by blocking everybody outside, and had destroyed everything inside - old paintings and university papers and computers. They wanted to destroy a university, because their candidate wasn’t elected as a president? As I said before, one shouldn’t confuse the USA and France, but the Trump riots can be brought to mind. There’s a true “bratty child” behavior in people (and especially younger generations) nowadays “If we don’t have what we want, if you displease us in any way, we will destroy everything in reliation”. 

Anyway, I have exhausted myself just writing about the misery and disaster going on in France... So yes, there is no great governmental conspiracy going on here. There is no greater goal and no great evil plan and no mustache-twirling villains. There’s just a wave of pure and undiluted hatred and violence coming from teenagers and young adults of poor, dangerous and criminal areas, an explosion of a desire to destroy everything and anything, a wish to blindly kill and burn whatever cross their path. Town halls and libraries, schools and supermarkets, prisons and book shops, police stations and clothing shops, bus stations and tramways, even houses and habitation buildings - it is all targetted. If there is the slightest “conspiracy” going on there - it is minor, local conspiracies pulled by the local drug dealers and drug markets, mostly to make sure the violence doesn’t touch their domain and their “lair”. Take Marseille: many people have pointed out that the violences in the town happened everywhere... except for the areas where the drug commerce and drug dealers are notoriously installed and ruling their criminal system. This is the furthest I can accept the idea of a conspiracy behind all that - or if you can bring me solid proof there is a foreign power like Russia organizing all that, I will take it, because Russia has been doing insidious operations before (such as the Döppelganger operation, discovered a month ago or so, which was about duplicated and imitating the French information websites to spread false informations about Ukraine and the Ukrainian war). 

But honestly, so far, it just seems to be the work of a hateful, blind and idiot mass, with no head, no goal, no mind and no purpose. 

[specialgradefckr]

goD I LOVED THIS SO MUCH WHEN IT FIRST CAME OUT!! i was following along with this series and i actually saw it on tumblr and not Ao3

i was looking forward to the absolutely fascinating "consent as punishment?" like dkfhglshg WHAT A TAG. it turned out so well

absolutely love here the whole. mother knows best angle geto has going on. his little condescending conversation is just the beginning of it.

the way you stumble and stutter through your responses while he's so assured and composed. how he refutes everything you say, so easily, up until you tell him "i don't want it" and he's like "wrong. u lyin."

and the wet cat vibes off the reader:

“You were starving, injured, and constantly on the run before me.” You tell him, body trembling all over, in dire need of food. Care. Sleep. "You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life"

and throughout the whole fic they're like. on edge. the tone is just set so perfectly in a million places. so anxious and stressed and no wonder geto just wants to take care of them! no wonder he doesn't believe them when they tell him no!

i love it because sometimes you wanna be the cute pitiful thing, you know? the idea that someone will find you endearing and be moved to help you even when you're pathetic and ugly and unlikeable,,, it is truly supreme, and it's geto's entire brand here and no wonder

and the key thing. damn. like it's obviously symbolic but so nebulous. geto doesn't even ask if you want permission, he just gives.

he probably expects your nature to compel you a certain way and it totally does. sooooo slyly manipulative. love that in a man. he lets you get in your own head for him, lets your instincts fuck you up for him.

i do really appreciate how well the omegaverse stuff comes in here, too. the subtle bits, the mood shifts, the influence that isn't quite direct. until it builds up to him putting a hand on your neck like he's scruffing a kitten but with no effort hkdfjghlsdfg PLEASSEE

geto absolutely EATING YOU UP. he has your scent, your brain, your number.

“You don’t believe anyone can handle you and you hope if you bite hard enough, tear into them, they’ll run off. And then you’ll feel vindicated; you were right, you are too much to handle. You were right, you are a monster. You’re unworthy of care or companionship or protection.”

guy went on a character motive rant FOR YOU. what a legend. that's husband material.

anyways, loved this whole series. thank you for writing it!

AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART I

━─━────༺༻────━─━

|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.5k || ao3 || Part II -> coming soon! || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

━─━────༺༻────━─━

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

━─━────༺༻────━─━

✧ SPRING FEVER collab masterlist ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader if you squint, biting, blood, marking, eventual forced bathing in later parts, eventual forced feeding in later parts, eventual smut in later parts; masturbation, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: this is for @lorelune 's SPRING FEVER collab!! i have been working on this for awhile now and i am excited to share it! this should be about 3 parts...i am very close to finishing the whole thing so i should be releasing a part a week for the next two weeks!

thank you for reading!! i would love to hear your thoughts <333

━─━────༺༻────━─━

“I think you’d be perfect.” 

Suguru’s voice is a caress, low and soft, as he sits across from you. 

Somehow, he always makes you feel like he is just beneath the surface of your skin, even if there is a respectable distance between you. He always makes you feel as if he is lurking somewhere in the lowest parts of you, pulling at strings you once thought hidden to yourself. 

You’ve kept your distance for this reason.

You swallow hard. 

And then you manage to get your voice to unstick, to find it somewhere inside of you and bring it to life. It’s firmer than you’re anticipating and you’re proud;

“I don’t think I would be.” 

Suguru looks at you in a way that makes you feel as if he’s seeing through you, pulling you open slowly to gaze at all the inner workings of you. His dark eyes are keen, so sharp, even if they’re shaded by half-lidded lashes. 

He smiles pleasantly and indulges you, but you know he believes very firmly that he is, in fact, right, “why not?” 

“I told you when I agreed to join you—all I wanted in exchange for helping you, was to be an unbound Omega.” You force yourself to meet his eyes and to not get sucked into the dark tide of them. 

“You asked for my protection.” He reminds you. 

Your eyes flash this time, heated, a little spark that skitters to life inside of you.

“I didn’t—“ 

“Is that not what you’d call it?” Suguru asks, “when I interfered, every time, to be sure no other Alpha got to you? Or when I scented you to keep them away?”

Prickling warmth dots your cheeks, can feel at the back of your neck, too, the tips of your ears. You try a different tactic. 

“I’m not a homemaker.” 

His smile is soft, “I don’t want a homemaker.” 

“I’m not obedient.” You counter again, as if you could dissuade Suguru Getou once he’s made up his mind.

“You’ve been quite good for me.” Suguru says smugly and this time, a little noise of embarrassment or frustration eeks out of you. A short, sharp little growl from your throat, almost a groan of irritation.  

“I—I’m doing your dirty work. That’s our agreement! You give me assignments that I complete and in return, I get my freedom.” 

“I don’t know why you’re so opposed to this. Is it not similar already to what we have now?” He asks simply, “I’d still let you roam, if that’s what you’re so scared of.” 

“No it’s that—that power and mentality that I don’t want you to have over me.” You snap. 

“I already have it,” he says and it isn’t intended to be cruel, but certainly is, “how long do you think you’d last, without the protection of an Alpha?” 

“I didn’t have any before you.” 

“You were starving, injured, and constantly on the run before me.” You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off, “it would still give you what you want.” 

“I don’t want to be yours.” You say frankly, perhaps to be cruel yourself. And then you show teeth a little, flash them in warning, “I don’t want your mark.”

Suguru looks amused, if anything, by your display. 

His smile is knowing and insufferable. It makes your anger ratchet up inside of you, hackles rising. You feel a little growl working its way out of your throat. It tears out of you in annoyance, when he says, “I don’t believe you.” 

You slam the door so hard on its hinges that it rattles the entire wall. You wish it would rattle all the world. 

***

Your cursed technique rips to life like a star exploding outwards. 

Beast that you are, it overtakes you, transforms you until you are all claws and dripping, little fangs. Your body elongates, elegant, and built for speed, viciousness. The horns atop your head are sharp, too, curled the slightest into a crescent shape. The beast in you stretches and pulls at your bones, fits your skin to it in a way that you have come to know well. 

(“Cursed technique: Cursed Creature,” Suguru hums, “allows you to turn into a cursed version of yourself, a sort of,” he pauses, looking you over, “monster?” 

“That’s right.” You tell him, body trembling all over, in dire need of food. Care. Sleep. 

He places a large hand on top of your head, strokes gently, until his hand nudges your cheek, beneath your chin so you are forced to look up into his eyes. Depthless violet. 

“You have a deal.”)

The sorcerer is cast backward with the force of your transformation. In this form, everything heightens, sharpening into brilliance. So much brighter, clearer. So much more overwhelming. 

You are a flash of darkness when you move, a mass of lethality. 

The sorcerer doesn’t stand a chance, the moment you dash past him with a deep swipe of your claws, you know this will be an easy match. You chitter in this form, excited, warbly little sound erupting from you before you careen towards him again. 

This time, he is warped away. 

But you are fast, changing your trajectory mid-step to catch up to where he was warped. 

Except, this time, a white haired sorcerer takes his place. 

Your claws meet air. 

A growling hiss erupts from your throat. 

Satoru Gojo. 

Suguru told you to stay away from him. At all costs.

And speak of the devil, your name is called, whistled almost. Your head turns to find Suguru appearing, too. 

Faintly, the more human part of you wonders what the occasion is. 

For a moment, all you can see is threat. Your hackles rise as your growling gets lower, more sinister, your form moving behind Gojo as if you might circle him, unable to let down your guard. 

“Call off your pet,” Gojo says. 

Suguru calls your name again and there’s something else in his tone now, a little sharper. 

(Fear, you wonder faintly, in some far away part of your mind. Is he worried Gojo would hurt you?)

You come to heel at Suguru’s side, remaining in this form, making a low, threatening sound still. Warning. Your claws still drip with the blood of that sorcerer. 

“Go,” Suguru says to you. 

Your head snaps to look at him, eyes narrowing. “I’m not leaving,” you snap and the words have a bite to it, around the curves of your fangs. You look back at Gojo. If this comes to blows, you don’t want Suguru facing Gojo alone–you don’t want to leave his back suddenly unguarded. 

It’s counterintuitive to you, goes against all of your instincts. You don’t leave him, you don’t leave his side, his back. 

“Go,” Suguru says, harsher this time and the command seeps into you. You waver. And then, “I won’t tell you again.” 

When you hiss at him in that warbling way of curses, he smiles faintly, almost fondly, as your teeth drip with venom. But you do listen to him this time.

And with your heightened hearing, you hear Gojo underneath his breath as you slink away;

“How interesting.” 

***

When Suguru returns to you, he is unharmed. 

You’d paced the length of the hallway outside of his room in the compound until you could have worn a hole into it. 

Few would be brave enough to wait for Suguru outside his door. 

When he arrives, he is mildly surprised to see you, before his expression melts into a sort of—smugness. A knowing glint to his eyes. 

“Why would you send me away?” You snap.

“You could’ve gone in, you know, if it would’ve soothed you.” Suguru says instead, head nodding towards the door to his suite. “Would you like a key?” 

You blanche, taking a half step back, “I don’t—“

It allows him to get to his door and open it. You’ve been here before, in the privacy of his suite, but now it feels strange. A little different. He holds the door open for you. 

You glance at the threshold and feel as if you’re making an important decision. 

“Come on,” he says smoothly and before you can think twice about it, you are being led inside, his hand drifting somewhere near your lower back. He never touches you, the feeling is a phantom one, the impression of it. You shiver a little. 

But you round on him again, “why would you send me away?”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, instead he goes rifling in a drawer, digging around a little. 

His suite is larger than others. The living room is open and attached is the kitchen. It’s all light wood, with tall windows that overlook the courtyard. You know, despite never being inside, that his bedroom is down the hall and to the left. The bathroom is across from it. You’ve sat many times on the floor of his living room with him, going over assignments, plans that he has, and what he’d like you to do. 

When he finds what he’s looking for, he makes a soft noise, before turning to you with a small, gold key. 

“I don’t want a key!” You snap. 

“It’s a spare, take it just in case.” He replies and when you don’t move to grab it from him, he takes your hand in his much larger one, and opens your palm to him. 

He places the key in your hand. 

And then his eyes catch yours, “you were worried.” 

“No-!” you get out, “I don’t like being—I’m supposed to protect you.” 

Suguru smiles, hand still swallowing yours, “isn’t that sweet?” he remarks, “an Omega attempting to protect an Alpha.”

Immediately, you jerk away from him.

The key is still in your shaking fist. 

“Don’t start,” you snarl, low and vicious and hurt, “I’ve always been the one at your side.” 

“Yes,” he agrees, hand falling back down to his side listlessly. “I already told you that.” 

You’ve always been at my side, he’d said, when he was trying to convince you to–

“That’s not what I meant!” Your voice rises without your consent and you feel an embarrassed, angry flush through your face for being so worked up. The room is thick with your worry and anger and frustration, all of your pent up energy like a knot in your chest, in your voice. It’s in your heart and the way you look at him. 

“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” Suguru says easily, “it’s still the truth.” 

When you slam the door this time, you hear something fall from the wall. 

But the key is still in your trembling hand, digging indents into your palm, and your heart is still a beast in your chest.

And behind the closed door, Suguru Getou smiles fondly, and retrieves the fallen, shattered frame from the floor. 

***

For a while, you avoid Suguru. 

You stuff the key he gave you in your nightstand drawer, far in the back, in an attempt to keep it out of sight and out of your mind. 

And at first, you think he is respecting your boundaries; you receive assignments through others from him. You see him only in passing and he never speaks directly to you. He hardly acknowledges you. 

But after a week and a half, it begins to feel like punishment. 

And the key is starting to burn and itch in your mind. You think about it at night, tossing over in your bed; you think about unlocking his door at this hour. What would you find? Would he be asleep? Awake? Alone? Fully dressed? 

You think of him half bare and lounging, hair slipping over his shoulders, and the scent of sandalwood and fig. Tonka or something woodsy, maybe. You know it well and it lingers long after he leaves you. 

You suddenly miss it, crave it. 

Him. 

You twist beneath your sheets. 

Why did he have to–

You make a soft noise of frustration, turning over again. 

You’re restless. 

Something beneath your skin begins to itch and squirm. 

Previously, Suguru had hardly mentioned your status as an Omega. He rarely acknowledged it; you were too brilliant of a sorcerer for him to care, you thought. You were too powerful. The only instance he brought it up was to scent you, a form of caution in a particular instance, for a particular mission. The memory still simmers in your mind, the way he’d rubbed the gland on your wrist with a careful thumb. He’d given you clothes of his to wear. He’d had you sit in his quarters for long hours, until it seemed as if you were his, in some way. 

But now that he’s actually brought it up, offered you his bite, to be his, it paints him in an entirely different light. 

Had he always…wanted you? 

Was he always planning this? 

The naive, desperate parts of you want to believe this is a recent thought of his. Previous to this, he only ever saw you as another sorcerer, a powerful one that aided him. You had always been one of the closer ones to him, at his heel, his beck and call. 

You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought of Suguru this way; as an Alpha. An unmated one, who kept your company. 

And he does, no matter how badly it burns to admit it, protect you.

You know he wards off Alphas. 

You know he perhaps does more than even that. 

But you don’t want—

You don’t want to be mated. 

You don’t want to suddenly be coddled by him, held back, don’t want to be the little thing that keeps his bed warm.

Your face heats with the thought. 

Images flash through your mind, flickering, melting together like film that bleeds and runs, of him overtop you. Shrouding you. His hair on your shoulders and back. You think of his mouth on your throat, teeth in your neck. 

You rub at your eyes suddenly as if to clear them.

You know he leaves on a mission for a week in two days. 

You assume, at some point, he’ll speak to you. And break this strange silence. 

You’ll both return to normal then.

And then perhaps you won’t lose any more sleep over him.

***

Suguru never says goodbye to you. 

It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does—you just figured he’d finally drop this silly little silence game.

You suppose he must’ve thought the same of you.

Besides, what were you expecting from him? An apology? It’s foolish to even entertain. You knew you weren’t going to apologize either. The least you’ll do, when he returns, is  act as if all is normal again. Perhaps it’s better that way, not to address what he’s put in his head recently. 

The more you speak of it, or think of it, the worse it unravels in your mind. 

On the second day that he is gone, you realize you miss his scent. 

You realize it has become such a staple in your everyday life that its sudden disappearance  is almost alarming. It makes you more irritable, more vicious. You snap at the others faster, bite out insults and brutalities. 

You—

Well, you miss it. 

Him, maybe. 

The admittance is a hard one to swallow around. It burns going down. 

On the third day, you’re genuinely craving his scent in a way that makes your teeth ache. You had no idea you could even miss a scent like this, need it so bad that your body would betray you with a physical pain in your chest. Somewhere in your mouth, under your tongue. 

You try to ignore it. 

You go on with your life. 

But by the fifth day, you are agitated and aggressive. Everyone knows something is wrong with you. You know something is wrong with you. You can feel it beneath your skin, crawling, squirming. It makes you want to tear out your hair, rip at your nails, or sink your teeth into something. You’re restless.

You can’t sleep. 

You can hardly eat or think. 

And as you lay awake in your bed, kicking at sheets, sweating and twisting, you know what it is you need. 

You’ve known the whole week. 

You throw back the covers and wrench open your bedside drawer. 

The key rattles, hot, like it knows it’s finally about to be used. It’s musical sound a siren song, it’s been burning away in there the whole week. 

You swipe it and turn sharply from your bedroom. From your own apartment. 

It’s the middle of the night; not a soul sees you in the compound. 

Like a person possessed, you walk. Your back is straight. Your steps are quick. Your mind is set, on fire.

Suguru’s door has haunted you the whole week.

The key in your hand digs into the flesh, carving it’s divots there like your hand might be the lock itself. 

You try not to think about it–you unlock the door. You throw it open. 

You shut it behind you, slide the lock back into place. 

Darkness greets you.

You wander in like you know the place (you do, you do–)

You wander in like it’s yours to wander in. 

Instantly, something loosens inside of you. 

You exhale hard. 

Inhale sharp. 

The smell of him, fainter because he’s been gone, assaults your senses, sweeps over them. You take in a lungful like gasping for air, you smell faint traces of fig and sandalwood. Notes of tonka that you long for, that urge you to move deeper into his space. 

In the dark, you make your way down the hall, towards his bedroom.

You haunt the arch for a moment.

Guilt or regret or embarrassment almost seize you. They make you pause. 

Some sane part of you is clawing at your insides, wailing to turn around and leave. Leave now. 

But he gave you a key.

He gave you a key, you think in circles, again and again. He gave me a key. 

You cross the threshold.

You sink down into his bed and his scent is strongest here, even still, after several days it’s his. 

You turn over the covers to get beneath them, cool sheets against your legs, sliding and smooth. You turn your face into his pillow and inhale. 

A soft little groan works it’s way out of you.

Instantly, your muscles slacken. 

Everything leeches from you; your anger and irritation and restlessness. 

It soothes you so deeply and so swiftly it makes your head spin. 

You curl beneath his blankets and take deep pulls of breath, squirming a moment if only to bring his scent tighter around you. You envelope yourself in it.You shroud yourself in it. 

And finally, after five days of restless nights, you fall asleep almost instantly. 

Not a single dream. Not one moment where you wake or stir. 

You sleep deeply. 

In the morning, the sun warms you through the broad windows like a content cat. 

You stretch lazily like one, too.

Suguru will be home tomorrow. 

You know you need to leave his bed, hope that your scent dissipates by the time he returns. 

You didn’t do anything wrong, you know—he gave you a key. 

He gave you a key. 

But rather, you know he would never let you live it down. He would use it instantly, as ammunition for his argument, the debate that the two of you keep circling.

You don’t quite leave as quickly as you should still, though: 

You linger.

You’re comfortable.

Calmed for the first time all week.

And when you do slip out, it’s silently, locking the door behind you.

Like maybe you won’t ever let yourself back in there, trying to shut it like it was a one time indulgence and gone now from your mind and body. 

But his scent clings to you. 

And little do you know, your scent clings to his sheets—and to Suguru, it’s sweet as can be and unmistakable—irreplaceable.

He collapses in his own bed when he returns and knows you’ve been all over it. He can smell the crush of dark berries, jasmine, the soothing note of vanilla that clings to you, that he’s come to adore. 

He grins to himself and knows then, he’s got you right where he wants you.

***

For a moment, you think Suguru is going to make you be the bigger person and apologize upon his return. 

Instead, he finds you. 

And he doesn’t say he’s sorry for his recent behavior, but he does say;

“I’d prefer if you didn’t avoid me in the future.”

It feels like sorry enough. 

And for some time, things return to a state of normal.

A version of it.

It isn’t quite like it was before—in fact, you seem to spend more time around him than previously. He calls on you more. He brings you into his space more frequently, often urging you to eat with him, beside him, at his table.

This is ideal for you. Close but not too close.

Although, he begins to ask, don’t you have your key? Can’t you let yourself in? 

You say you haven’t used it.

He hums like he knows differently, but doesn’t press you.

Until finally he asks you to retrieve a notebook in his study and bring it to him.

Fetch, he says.

“It’s locked, isn’t it?”

“You have your key.” He answers simply, not looking up from the book he is reading. 

For a moment, you almost protest, but something stops you. Maybe the twitch in his brow.

It’s a useless argument to pick, anyways.

You do have a key.

It would be fastest, easiest, to just use it.

So you do. 

And you hand him the notebook he asked for, fingers brushing against his as he takes it from you with gentle hands.

“Thank you,” he adds, voice so smooth and low, almost tempting.

You swallow a little.

Then you quickly avert your gaze. 

“Whatever,” you grouse, but he smiles fondly, amused.

And it opens another door, more than just the one to his suite.

***

Tentatively, you begin to come and go.

The first (second)  time you use your key to enter without his order, he is careful not to react to you any differently than how he usually does. 

His eyes brighten a little, though, like a leopard that’s caught something interesting in its sights and is waiting to see what it’ll do. 

Still, you grow more comfortable entering his space on your own. 

You claim portions of it; a corner of the couch. A particular cushion around his low table. All of the sunny patches in his suite become yours, scented with you, indented with you. More than that, some horrible, hidden part of you adores that your scent is all over his space. 

It’s comforting to find it beside his scent. 

It soothes a part of you that you don’t wish to admit to. 

His hands grow bolder. 

Now they’re always hovering at the small of your back, the nape of your neck. He tucks strands of your hair away from your face and though you jerk away from him, it’s often half-hearted. You snip at him and he only smiles.

Pleased. Smug. Knowing. 

His hands guide you as you walk beside him.

You grow accustomed to his touch in some way—he makes sure of it.

Then, as if to prove something—

Another cult member begins to cause trouble with you; he is another Omega. He begins with snide comments and remarks that test your patience. He doesn’t stop until you are growling and bristled and ready for a fight. 

And all it takes to stop you is Suguru’s large hand coming down on the nape of your neck. 

His thumb rests atop one scent gland at your throat, fingertips pressing delicately into the one on the other side. Hand wrapped around the back of your neck.

“Easy,” he murmurs and just like that, you can feel some of your aggression slip from you, deflate like a balloon.

It’s involuntary, the energy and anger unspooling from your body in an instant. In the back of your mind, you’re alarmed; how easily it was for him to effect you. It’s terrifying.

You swat his hand away, lurching from him, another little growl in your throat.

But you don’t fight him or the look in his eyes, the way he tilts his chin up in the barest hint of dominance. 

You storm off.

Instances as such continue to happen, though, where he’s able to sooth or quell your temperament with a touch. A word. A look. 

It comes to a head while you’re eating dinner with him. 

“You’re so wound up,” Suguru comments lightly, “your scent is so sharp with it. What’s bothering you?” 

Reflexively, you snap, “you are.” 

And it’s meant to be some sort of insult but Suguru’s lips twist into this hitched little smile. “It’s my fault you’re wound up?” He asks lightly. 

“Don’t twist my words.” You respond, fixing him with a glare, “you bother me.” 

He’s still deeply amused by this, you can tell by the twinkle in his eyes. The smug way he holds himself. 

“Would you like me to help you?” He asks. 

“No,” you say reflexively. 

A beat of silence before he says, “come here. I’ll help you.” 

There’s a command in his voice, laced there, and doing something strange to your head. 

You hesitate.

He pounces, “just a massage.” He soothes, “I can tell your shoulders are knotted up and tense. I can see it.”

His voice has dropped into that soothing lull.

Warily, “away from my glands?” 

He smiles, “of course.” And then, “come here.”

Your body moves easily now and he murmurs, “sit in front of me. Back to me—there, that’s it.” 

It feels more vulnerable than it should to show your back to him, to sit in front of him like a child to their mother. You try to keep your posture straight and careful. 

But then he sets large, warm hands to your shoulders. His fingers dig into the meat of them gently, pressing into your muscles which spasm and twitch in pain. You yelp, jerking away. 

Suguru tsks, “see how tense you are? You’re in pain.” He scolds softly and you feel heat smart across your face, “sit still for me. I’ll be gentler.”

True to his word, he eases up, fingers careful as they run into your tense muscles.

He finds bundles of twisted up tension in your back and shoulders, pressing into them until a noise springs from you—a groan, a whimper, a little growl. He works the sounds out of you. You swear he’s doing it deliberately and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was all just to humiliate you a little. 

But you finally loosen and slacken for him. 

When you finally sink into his hands, he murmurs, “I don’t know why you fight this so badly.”

You let go of a heavy sigh, “you do know why. Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you.” 

“Because you’re stubborn?” Suguru asks lightly and you snort, despite yourself, “because you don’t know what’s good for you?”

“You’re no good for me.” You respond.

Suguru’s turn to sigh and if he digs his fingers in to make you yip in pain, he’d never say it was purposeful. 

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

Reflexively, you jerk away from his touch, you turn to look at him over your shoulder with a sneer. 

“I’m not a pet.” 

Suguru does not heed your warning and instead gently pulls you back towards him by your waist. 

“No?” He asks lightly, fingers resuming their steady massage. You go completely still like prey, unsure, wary. Angry. Humiliated. “It’s not a bad thing to be a pet. You’re thinking about it all wrong.” 

His fingers ease up towards your neck and you stiffen again. 

“Suguru,” you say in warning as he nears your scent glands. Perhaps to what he’s said.

“You’re my pet now,” he continues, “though you don’t like to admit it. It’s not so bad, is it?” 

Stubbornly, you don’t answer him.

But after a moment, you say, “if I’m already yours, why do you need this last bit of me? If you already see me as your pet, why do you want me so terribly, in this way—“

Suguru suddenly pulls you back deeper, into his lap, against his chest. 

You squirm, but he holds you tight, hooks his chin over your shoulder.

Alarm bells ring frantically in your head now that he’s so close to the glands in your throat. 

“Don’t play dumb,” Suguru muses, half-mocking, “it doesn’t suit you.” 

“Let me go,” you snarl low and hot.

“What are you scared of?” Suguru responds, “that I’d trap you? If you’d take my Bite, I’d let you roam further than I do now. You’d be safe.” 

“Liar,” you hiss, “I’m not dumb.” 

“I’m not trying to stifle you, I’m trying to set you free.” Suguru almost purrs and his voice is warm and low and creeping up over your spine and trying to find its way inside you. 

You begin to squirm this time, thrashing in his hold until you manage to wriggle free, falling forward onto your hands and knees. 

Instinctively, you turn to keep your back protected, scrambling away from him. You bare your teeth at him. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

He watches this show of aggression with amusement, tilting his head slightly. And then he sighs, “I don’t think anything I say will convince you at this point.” 

You narrow your eyes at the tone. Your hackles rise. 

In an instant, he has grabbed you by the ankle and pulled you back to him. 

Underneath him.

You shove hard at him, twisting and fighting as he settles himself over you. 

You realize how solid he is, how strong, and large. He doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even flinch. 

“Suguru,” you hiss at him, pushing as hard as you can on his chest.

“See how easy it was for me to subdue you?” He says then, voice smooth and low. “If I wanted to take you, I simply would’ve already. You’re no challenge to me; if I wanted to trap you, I would’ve.”

“Get off me!” 

You thrash hard beneath him and in an instant, he has your hands uselessly pinned above your head, stretching you out beneath him.

His nose dips, near the scent gland at your throat. You squirm.

He squeezes your wrists, “stop squirming.” He murmurs low, “or my instinct will be to bite.”

Your stomach does a horrible flip, a flutter of—fear, excitement. 

“Just—get off—leave me alone!” You get out, voice high and tight. You try not to arch away from the way he lets his face fall to the crook of your neck. 

“Hush,” Suguru hisses, nudging his nose beneath your ear.

He’s scenting you. 

He’s done this before and despite everything in you, you finally go slack. You force yourself not to tilt your head or offer up more, rather let him urge you into the way that he prefers. 

He nudges his cheek and nose against your jaw. He lets out a relieved breath, fitting more of his body to you and you feel the push of chest into yours, his hips.

You squirm a little and a growl erupts from his throat.

You fight back the sound that almost works its way out of you now, swallow around it.

When he’s finished, he asks, “would you like to scent me?” And instinctively, you want to say yes, but you temper yourself. Then he adds, “I’m sending you away on a mission alone. I’ll be scenting you until the day you leave now.” 

You catch his eyes, glinting.

“So, I thought it only fair if you’d like to scent me, too.” 

You don’t know why, but something squirms inside of you, something a little hurt. 

“You’re sending me away?”

Suguru hums softly, “I need you to take care of something for me. I only trust you to do it.” 

You flex your hands a little in his hold, but he doesn’t budge. 

He nudges at your jaw again, gentle, and murmurs, “this would be easier if you’d take my mark.” 

You turn your head then to shield your throat, and face him. His nose nearly brushes yours and you look up at him through your lashes. You bite your tongue from any further complaints, dipping down to the crux of his throat now. 

Easily, perhaps eagerly, he bares his throat for you.

Satisfaction erupts beneath your skin as his scent washes over you, dark fig and oud, sandalwood and musk. Carefully, your nose runs along the column of his throat. 

“I’m not even—“ you huff, retry, “I haven’t had a Heat in—it wouldn’t take, anyways.” 

“Ah,” Suguru says and you wish you hadn’t told him at all. Realization dawns over his features the way a cat might realize it’s caught its mouse beneath its paws. “Is this what you’re so scared of?” 

“No—I prefer it this way. It’s another reason that you can’t. It wouldn’t work.” You say stubbornly and perhaps in your irritation, you burrow further down into the crook of his neck, tuck your cheek to his skin to nudge. 

“I could give you a temporary one,” he murmurs, “I’d let you do the same in return, of course.” 

You go quiet, brushing your lips against his skin, hesitating. 

“I don’t need it.” You finally decide, even as you let the blunt side of a tooth nick gently against his neck. “I can protect myself.” You pull away to look at him again, “am I not one of your strongest?” 

“You are my strongest.” He agrees, he praises. “But am I not also strong?” He asks, “and yet you still insist on protecting me.” 

You open your mouth to protest, but he takes your chin in hand suddenly, words dying before they can escape. 

“You are my strongest.” He says, “I would like the world to be aware of it.” 

“I told you, I don’t want to be yours–” 

“Then stop protecting me. Flee. Run away and never return.” Suddenly, his touch, his body, all of him is gone. He rolls off of you and onto his back beside you. Cold air sweeps in. You can feel his touch like burning imprints on your skin. 

You turn your head to the side to look at him. 

“You would hunt me down if I ran.” 

A flicker of a smile ghosts his face. 

“And if I ran from you?” He asks, “if I discarded you?” 

Something twists so viciously and sharply in your chest that your eyes sting with it. You lock your jaw tight. You stare up at the ceiling. 

“You refuse to speak but your scent is spiced with distress, sour with despair.” He turns to look at you, “not so easy to hear, is it?” 

“I can’t stand you or your games.” You get out. 

“There are no games.” He says evenly, “only the one you’re playing with yourself.” 

You scoff, “which is?” 

He sits up slightly, over you, looking down at you, the inky silk of his dark hair sliding over one shoulder. 

“Seeing how long you can outrun what you want.” 

You exhale roughly, in exasperation, and then you ask dryly, “and what do I want, Suguru?” 

“To be taken care of.” 

“I don’t need–”

He cuts off your growl before it can start, taking your chin in hand to turn your head towards him once more. “You never have, but it doesn’t mean you can’t want it.” 

“I don’t want it either.” You snap. “You have some grand delusion of me in your mind that I am some weak, submissive creature in need of your care.” 

“I’ve said none of that, have I?” He hums. “Now you’re twisting my words, being purposefully churlish–in hopes of, what? To scare me off?” 

His palm opens up against your jaw, your cheek. His thumb touches your bottom lip. 

“You snap and you snarl and posture as some ferocious, independent creature to scare everyone off. I don’t blame you–I am certain you protected yourself many times this way from lesser people.” His voice is soft, almost a lull, you allow his palm to open against your lips, to turn your face into the cup of his hands. “You don’t believe anyone can handle you and you hope if you bite hard enough, tear into them, they’ll run off. And then you’ll feel vindicated; you were right, you are too much to handle. You were right, you are a monster. You’re unworthy of care or companionship or protection.” 

His hand moves upward, baring his wrist to your mouth now, “go on,” he encourages, “bite me. As hard as you like. Scream and cry and tear into me. Loathe me and scorn me.” He leans closer, over you, as he hushes like a mother to their child, “I’ll still be here, with the rings of your teeth marks littered in my skin. I’ll be the only one, bruised and bloody, still taking care of you–no matter how badly you fight me.” 

Out of anger or frustration or something else entirely, tears prick your eyes. As if to hide them, you open your mouth against his wrist, gentle first–warm and soft lips and tongue. He looks enraptured. He looks starving. 

You sink your teeth into his skin viciously. 

He hisses in pain, sharp, but doesn’t pull away. “There,” he coos, leaning over you, sinking into the pain, “is that what you wanted?” 

Blood bursts into your mouth in a way that is almost startling, sharp and metallic. It should be gross and horrible and–you whine a little, somewhere in the back of your throat and bear down harder. 

If that’s what he promises, you’ll make him prove it. 

If he wants to be the one beside you, you’ll make him pay. 

He leans down to kiss at your cheeks, gentle, humming. You realize there are tears. Your jaw aches. 

But you don’t let go and he doesn’t even flinch. 

“Does that feel better? To get your teeth into someone who isn’t scared of you?” He murmurs, nudging at your tense jaw, kissing there. “Shall I do the same to you?” 

You release his wrist and shove him off, hard enough that he gives and he goes. 

You stand up and storm out of his chambers, slamming the door on its hinges as hard as you can. You hope it knocks over every painting on his walls. You hope the entire compound somehow hears it. You hope it breaks something in the same way that something has been broken open inside of you.

You wipe his blood from your mouth with the back of your hand.

Suguru doesn’t even bandage the wound. And he wears his sleeves high, so that all the world might see it.

[2plan22]

RT @drvox: Trump is, as we speak, telling a series of easily refutable, xenophobic lies to the American people. That does not seem to make people in the elite press as angry as calling him a motherfucker does. I do not understand that hierarchy of values. 2PLAN22 http://twitter.com/2PLAN22/status/1081302368849924096

Trump is, as we speak, telling a series of easily refutable, xenophobic lies to the American people. That does not seem to make people in the elite press as angry as calling him a motherfucker does. I do not understand that hierarchy of values.

— David Roberts (@drvox) January 4, 2019

[thepixelelf]

and the universe said,

03 "this day will make the you of tomorrow"

genres/tags: soulmate au, idol au, comedy, romance, dumbassery chapter warnings: language, relationship(s): ot13 x reader

When soulmates are suddenly thrust upon the world, you are one in a million who wishes they weren't -- and that's before you meet the person (people?!) making your life much harder than it needs to be. And before someone asks you to sign an NDA.

series masterlist

prev ⭒ chapter three (2.9k) ⭒ next

It’s not lost on Lee Jihoon that, even though he's written love songs since he was fifteen and poems even before that — which is privileged information he’ll never share with anyone — he’s only been in love once.

And he’s grateful for that. Sometimes he thinks about her; about what kind of life he’d be living if certain things went certain ways. And he smiles. Not because she was beautiful — which she was — or because in his imagination, he acted braver — which he didn’t — but because even though that love would never know if it was returned, he still felt it. He knew it was real. It was at once an infinitely warm and bitingly cold feeling. Jihoon’s written quite a few songs from that first and last love.

Except, he doesn’t think that was his last love. Not really. Maybe it’s true in the romantic sense, but…

He won’t say it, of course. What he feels for his members. His friends. His brothers.

No… no. Speaking it out loud is unnecessary.

Mingyu’s hand grabs his, encasing it in a soft but tight grip as Yejung calls for the attention of the room. Jihoon doesn’t squeeze back, but his thumb lightly curls around Mingyu’s palm.

“If there really is a person that’s attached to all of you through your marks, we need to plan a course of action.” Yejung fidgets with her hands, and Jihoon can tell she wishes she was pointing at a slideshow on the wall and showing them interaction rates, rather than this unquantifiable soulmate business.

“We still don’t have a dating ban here,” Myungjun says, arms crossed as he lets his eyes roam to each of the boys. “But I think we all know what happens when famous heartthrobs get hitched. I was never worried about it before because you’re all, frankly—” He glances at Jihoon. “—bitchless, but…”

Chan makes an affronted sound, and someone whines, “Hyung!”

Jihoon can only hold in a pout because Myungjun looked at him when he said that, and he’s right.

Yejung lightly smacks Myungjun’s shoulder. “What we’re trying to say is this: Seventeen’s ratings are skyrocketing because of this whole soulmate thing,” she explains. “But I can’t imagine those numbers moving in a positive direction if these fans find out your marks connect you to someone unfamiliar rather than each other.”

Myungjun nods. “Whatever outcome, it wouldn’t be good.”

“Don’t Carats want us to be happy?” Seokmin dares to ask.

“Well—” Yejung's expression turns pained. “Yes, it’s just that—”

“You guys are one of the biggest kpop acts on the block right now,” Myungjun supplies easily. “Despite how good I’m sure most of your fans are, there will always be people who aren’t. Just a few bad apples can spoil the bunch.”

Yejung clarifies, “It’s about safety and privacy. There are sasaengs who follow you around and take pictures without your consent. There are people who would do anything to support their favourite celebrities, including defaming you guys by any means necessary. The internet is a powerful weapon. Who’s to say it won’t be used against you because of this?”

No one argues with that. Each of the members has dealt with the bad side of the internet more than once, if in different ways. Though none of them refute what Yejung said, it’s her next question that really gets their minds turning.

“Who’s to say your soulmate won’t get hurt?”

Your soulmate.

Jihoon’s soulmate.

Hurt? No.

No no no no no.

A rising panic stains the room, and Yejung and Myungjun share a look that all but a few miss.

“Which—” Yejung puts more volume into her voice to grab the attention of the members, and maybe to pull them away from whatever spiralling they were about to do. “—is why we’re asking you all to just lay low for a while.”

“Lay low?” Junhui echoes.

Myungjun nods again. “For now, the short-term plan is to continue propagating the idea that you’re all each other’s platonic soulmates.”

“Just while research is still being done,” Yejung says. “It also gives us at the company an opportunity to figure things out in the meantime.”

Seungcheol’s brows furrow, suspicious. “What are you asking us to do to” —he puts his fingers up in air quotes— “‘lay low’?”

Myungjun and Yejung share another look, and he sighs, knowing that he’s better adept to being the bearer of bad news.

“Don’t go looking for your soulmate.”

The room practically bristles.

Yejung puts both her hands out, as if the irritation in the air is something she can actually push down. “Actively,” she clarifies. “Don’t go actively searching for this person. The last thing we want is to stop you guys from finding, uh, love, but… you can understand how weird this all is, right? The entire situation is a grey area.”

For the first time since this whole meeting started, Jeonghan actually looks a bit put off. "But they're my soulmate," he says, ignorant to the way some of the boys react to his use of the word my.

"They're also an unknown variable," Myungjun replies. He too ignores the mumbles and grumbles of the members; he's had years of practice with that. "This is nowhere near the same thing as one of you having a secret boyfriend or girlfriend or partner. You guys are all connected to this person. We can't just walk into this blind. One wrong move, and your soulmate’s well-being could be at stake. If worst comes to worst, they might be forced to forget what ‘privacy’ even means.”

Jihoon can tell, easily, Myungjun is weaponizing the safety of his — their soulmate to influence their compliance, but shit, it works. He feels something itching under his skin, an urge to protect someone he doesn’t even know. “Okay,” he says.

Scandalized, Soonyoung gapes at Jihoon like he just claimed something truly offensive like, actually, tigers aren’t that cool. “Jihoon! You can’t be serious— my soulmate is waiting for me!”

Everyone’s getting a little too cozy with this whole my business…

But Jihoon just shrugs, his face the picture of stoicism and maturity. “It’s just for now.”

“Just for now,” Yejung reassures.

Seungcheol nods, his lips in a contemplative pout rather than the typical whining one. “You’re right,” he cedes to the staff. “It’ll be a media circus if word gets out.”

“Wouldn’t it be worth it?” Vernon asks no one in particular.

He doesn’t get an answer.

Myungjun clears his throat. “Look, we’re just asking for some time here. Everything I’ve heard about soulmates suggests that you will find this person, whether you go looking for them or not. I, for one, want to be prepared for when — not if — that happens.”

Relaxing a bit in his chair, Seokmin lets out a tiny sigh through his nose. He looks at his hands in his lap for a second, then back up at Myungjun. “Promise?”

Yejung seems to find relief in the gradual lessening of tension in the room, and she smiles. “Promise.”

Jihoon watches the way Seokmin’s smile grows, then gets pushed back as Seokmin tries and fails to hide his giddiness as he looks down at his lap again. The idea that this fated meeting is, well, fated is eliciting a similar reaction in many of them.

“For what it’s worth,” Myungjun cuts into whatever the heck is happening between the boys without care. “We’re asking you guys not to look for them, but if they find you…” He lets out a half-chuckle. “Well, not much we can do about that.”

⭒

Writer’s block is certainly not something Jihoon’s never dealt with, but as he sits there in his studio, one hand hovering over the keyboard and the other clutching uselessly to the mouse he hasn’t done anything with except swirl around for the last hour, he wonders if it’s ever been as bad as this. The same pressure as always weighs upon him. More songs. More hits. More collabs. More More More More More.

It’s strange, though. He’s had days where he’s not coming up with anything. Weeks. He’s gone through longer droughts, so why is this one night making his entire body ache? Why does the dull pain seep from his chest to the tips of his fingers?

He wants to write for you, but he doesn’t know who you are.

“Hyung?” Seungkwan pokes his head into the studio, hair still mussed from when he woke up. “Have you been here all night? It’s almost eight.”

Jihoon just grimaces in response, and Seungkwan clicks his tongue.

“And you say you love sleep so much… tch. We have that radio appearance in three hours, so I was sent to save you from yourself. The makeup team can take care of those dark eyebags” 

Though he could probably use the rest, Jihoon pinches the skin around his wrist to keep himself from falling asleep in the van as it gets driven from the salon to the broadcasting station. If he falls asleep now, it’ll be a whole hassle to get him back up and alert again.

He stares at his mark. The five straight lines just sit there, blank.

His soulmate hasn’t sang in a couple days — not since that meeting about them.

Jihoon has to wonder. Do they not know how the mark shared between them and the rest of the members works? Or… are they doing it on purpose? To sever the mark before it can lead him anywhere.

It’s almost like they know.

Oh? Your company doesn’t want you to find me? You got it, boss. Never liked singing anyway.

He has to admit, though, his soulmate didn’t sing much before, either. When he could catch his mark playing, it never lasted long, but he always pulled his phone out anyway to record it on video. He would play the video back, humming along to a clef and key he’d have to guess, then sing what he’d come up with into google and hope for the best. A couple of Day6 songs, some American artists, one Mozart and one Beethoven, some tunes he couldn’t even identify — maybe they sang out of key or just skipped notes they didn’t feel like hitting. He could hardly blame his soulmate for not singing every day. It’s not everyone’s job.

But if they know their soulmate can see it… wouldn’t they sing at least a little?

Jihoon is hungry.

“I would kill for an iced coffee right now,” Seungkwan says from the backseat.

Joshua doesn’t look up from his phone. “There will be some at the venue.”

“But their coffee always tastes so bad.” Wrinkling his nose, Seungkwan crosses his arms. “It’s like ninety-nine percent water, and then they pour it over a full cup of ice.”

“It’s free. What do you expect?” Jeonghan counters.

Seungkwan frowns. “Coffee.”

Seokmin opens his mouth to join the budding conversation, but he stops short when Jihoon groans out, “Can we pull over?”

Their driver meets Jihoon’s eyes in the rearview mirror, a bit surprised. She asks, worried, “Are you okay?”

“Just wanna grab something to eat.”

The car pulls up in front of a cafe, which looks empty enough for the staff member in the driver’s seat to give it their stamp of approval. The boys don’t generally run into trouble in public eateries, but they still try to be careful.

“I’m going to park around the corner,” the driver tells him.

“Get me an iced coffee while you’re in there!” Seungkwan yells out the window after Jihoon slides the van door in his face.

Jihoon lifts one non-committal hand halfway up in the air as he walks off, not caring if Seungkwan sees it or not.

Neither the coffee shop nor its menu are anything to write home about, but Jihoon stands patiently in line while the person in front of him tries to explain to the tired barista that they had to have the drink they want in stock because they ordered it last time, while the barista calmly states that they’ve never even heard of a frappu-cappu-latte. He eyes the pastries and sandwiches in the display case, and when the customer in front of him finally walks out with a huff, he orders something to eat for himself and a coffee for Seungkwan. Not because of feelings-that-shall-not-be-named, of course. Jihoon just felt like it is all.

He’s about to walk out when that familiar sensation pinches at his right hand, and he looks down at his mark. Notes, for the first time in 79 hours — not that he’s been counting — flit across the staff, and his eyes widen. With his left hand, he puts down the paper bag with the sandwich in it and pulls out his phone, ready to record the music, but he pauses. He recognizes the notes. It’s easy to read because it’s playing right now.

A soft rock song plays quietly through the cafe speakers, going on about zombies or something, and it corresponds exactly with the notes on the hand still holding Seungkwan’s precious coffee.

Jihoon whips his head up and around, desperate for something or someone just on the tip of his tongue. There aren’t that many people in the coffee shop, and he can quickly tell that neither the barista nor the old couple sitting in the corner are singing.

He sees your back first, your face hidden as you look out the window, and then he hears it.

Slowly, he approaches behind you, your humming becoming more and more clear with each step. He wants to roll around in a field of your voice. He wants to drink it like warm soup.

What the fuck? He needs to get his shit together.

Say hello, his brain oh so helpfully supplies. Don’t be weird.

And he means to. He really does. Jihoon is mature and chill and calm under duress. He’s pined after by millions. He’s humble and cool.

He’s pouring Seungkwan’s coffee on you.

Your entire body jolts, your drink flying out of your hand before you turn around with shock and fury mixed in your eyes.

Oh, god, your eyes.

“What the fuck!” you blurt out, and Jihoon’s eyes flick down to his hand, where the notes have disappeared and left only the five lines behind.

You’re real, you’re here, and—

“Hello?!”

—and you’re extremely pissed at him.

“Shit,” he whispers, so quiet even he can barely hear it, and no one could tell he’s saying anything underneath his mask. “Fuck. Shit. Fuck.”

“Why would you do that?!” You step closer to him, and in the back of his mind, Jihoon registers that he’s crushed both the cup in his right hand and the lid in his left. You squint, eyes skirting over his facial features not hidden by his mask. “Do I even know you?”

Jihoon stumbles back, half because this is exactly what his company told him not to do, and half because he’s incredibly intimidated. “I… I’m— Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean? Didn’t mean to straight up pour your coffee on me?”

Intelligently, he says, “It’s not my coffee.”

You scoff in clear disbelief, and Jihoon wants to smack himself. Lifting your hand, you open your mouth to no doubt tell him off some more — well deserved, honestly — but an alarm sounds. Gasping, you turn around and hurry back to your table, grabbing your phone and silencing the alarm with a quiet, “Damn it.”

Jihoon can only stand, frozen, while you quickly pack up your things. You almost speed-walk right past him to leave, but then you seem to change your mind, a determined frown on your face.

Weird how that’s cute, too.

“Give me your phone.” You hold your hand out.

Jihoon blinks. “My…?”

“Phone,” you finish for him, moving your fingers as if to say, come on, hand it over.

Well. How can he argue with that?

You type something into his phone that he can’t see because he’s busy being stupefied.

“Here.” You click his phone off and hand it back to him. “If you block me, I’ll kill you.”

And then you’re gone.

Jihoon just stands there, in the middle of the cafe, his phone in his hand and the plastic cup abandoned on another empty table.

On his phone, a text thread is open to an unknown number. Only one message has been sent, technically from him.

I’ll pay you back for the shirt

He stares at the text for a good while, a text from his soulmate to his soulmate.

Holy fuck this is his soulmate’s number.

Jihoon’s gawking is only interrupted by a message popping up over the unknown number.

[jeonghan] staff says get back here or we’re gonna be late

When Jihoon returns to the van, not just Seungkwan, but he and the rest of the vocal unit all give him a weird look. He’s holding his phone close to his chest, clutched so tight between his fingers you’d think it’s made of pure gold.

Yejung’s words from the meeting, right before dismissing everyone for the day, echo in the back of his mind.

“If you do happen to cross paths with your soulmate, tell us immediately. We need to keep this in-house.”

Jihoon smiles, almost a breath of a laugh, and he shakes his head to himself.

Oppositely, Seokmin frowns, and he leans closer to Joshua to stage-whisper, “I think he’s more sleep-deprived than we thought.”

Seungkwan addresses it directly, though. He scrutinizes Jihoon’s free hand, which is, well, free. 

“Did you even buy anything?”

⭒

In the cafe, a tired, broke, just-trying-to-get-through-college barista mops the floor clean of two drinks, muttering, “One more weirdo and I’m quitting this fucking job.”

prev ⭒ chapter three (2.9k) ⭒ next

updates for and the universe said, are not on a schedule. there is no taglist. thank you for reading!

[thetardisisnotourdivision]

I Am A Media Student And Will Therefore Overanalyze This Shot Pt1

Right I just want to talk about this shot here:

From Transmission. 

So the first interesting thing here is their outfits - one of the most interesting things this series has been the antagonists' designs. Gabriel has always worn light colours, but before there was red too, like with Nathalie. Red is often used to connote danger and villainy, but there is now not a trace of the colour on Gabriel's outfit. The new outfit that he has designed for himself is entirely white, even his hair and glasses. White is often used in conjunction with purity and innocence, suggesting that Gabriel is trying to put forth an angelic image of himself - fitting, as he refuses to admit that Ladybug and Cat Noir aren't the cause of his problems, and continues to refute the idea that he's the bad guy in this situation. Nathalie, on the other hand, is very different. Her outfit is black with red, both colours typically associated with darkness and villainy respectively. We could otherwise see this as a very businesslike, coordinated, sophisticated style (typical business attire) with a streak (the literal red streak in her hair, the stripe on her glasses) of villainy, of vengeance, spite, malevolence, whatever word you want to use - either way, she's not making any attempt to hide it. She hasn't made any attempt to change this outfit at all, and the only addition in S5 is the back brace, aligning with the idea that she knows that she is the villain, and acknowledges the severity of her crimes. Even the lighting is significant - there are far more shadows on Nathalie and her side of the shot than Gabriel, who is almost haloed in this light. However, when you look at their eyes, you get a very different story. Gabriel's eyes are very, very dark, a sort of greyish-black, whereas Nathalie's are bright blue - which seems at odds with their design otherwise, and you'd expect them to be the other way around. However, this serves to emphasise the truth - the eyes are often described as being the windows to the soul, and eyes are commonly used in animation to tell us whether or not we are supposed to sympathise with a character (I can't find it now but I saw a post about Bruno from Encanto that summed this up perfectly). Blue eyes are normally associated with clarity, innocence or youth, here - which makes a stark contrast to everything else about Nathalie's design, and implies that there is more to her story than we know. Gabriel's eyes, however, are dark, and we can't quite tell what he's thinking. 

The next thing is the composition. Gabriel has just said the line, "I'm not a monster", but the shot makes it glaringly obvious who is in the right here. Nathalie is higher up than Gabriel, having a literal "moral" high ground. Both are looking at the other - Gabriel looking up, obviously, and Nathalie is quite literally "looking down" on Gabriel - just as she's looked down on his recent attempts to get the Miraculous, and his attempts to "be a better father" to Adrien. The light directly between them gives the idea of something separating them - that something being the heroes, who are the reason they were driven apart (Gabriel's obsession) but also are the reason that neither can betray the other (because of mutually assured destruction - neither can accuse the other without implicating themselves). However, Nathalie being the one closer to Adrien's room implies that she is blocking Gabriel's path or "guarding" the entrance to Adrien's room. 

Finally, the symmetry of the shot gives the impression that these are two characters who could easily have followed the others path. They're wearing similar clothes - high-necked shirts and blazers, both have glasses, and their hair is at a similar angle (if that makes any sense). Even their stances are similar here, which is significant as Nathalie usually stands slightly hunched over ever since the beginning of S4, when she started walking with the brace. (Edit: I've recently noticed that this is something that is present since S1.) This implies that both of them could have gone either way - Nathalie could have continued further and further in assisting Gabriel, either as Mayura or potentially (now that they have all the Miraculous) with another power, and continued to be the "monster" that she thinks she is. On the other hand, Gabriel could have realised that his actions were monstrous, rather than denying it, and put aside his battle with Ladybug and Cat Noir the way that Nathalie has. Either of them could easily have chosen a different path. 

Anyway, there's my over-analysis! I love this shot so much. 

[sorcererslittledragon]

For me this is Harry Potter.

I would be dead without those books easily a dozen times over. And i mean that literally.

I cannot tell you how many times in my life i have been at my wits end only for a fic or a book to pull me out of the depths. The number of times tge information in a book helped keep me safe or allowed me to help someone else. Im very privelidged to have the perspective to see how my life has improved the lives of other people, my partners and kiddo would all be dead without me.

ALL Of That is owed to my ability to read. And those books are the reason i can read. I had no interest in learning to read as a little kid. First grade i couldnt read most doctor seuss books, i could barely read his beginner reader books. By the end of that summer i read at a 3rd grade level and by the end of 2nd grade at a 6th grade level. Highschool level by the end of 3rd. And i was reading my parents college books in fourth grade with high levels of recall and a SOLID ability to understand them.

All because my parents read me the first book in 1st grade and i decided i didnt want to wait on them to read the rest of the books. So i taught myself to read them.

I used to average over a thousand pages of text a day in highschool. I have probably read hundreds of millions of words in my life. And only a few thousand of those cannot be attributed to those books.

They taught me to read. And ever since, my life has BEEN reading.

Rowling is a TERF. Full stop. I'm not going to list all of the other things shes done because its 11PM, im tired, and there is too much to list, and the terf one is honestly pretty big and has absolutely killed people by her actions. Actions she has taken and funded because of those books. She likes to claim that anyone that likes her work agrees with her. Personally im fond of Death Of The Author and i live in the land of fanfiction. So, shes wrong. Entitled to her opinion, but wrong. The real problem is that buying harry potter anything tends to give her more money. Which she uses to fund a hate movement dedicated to the death and criminalization of people like me and my family. Needless to say i WILL NOT let her get any of my money.

So i buy used. I keep an eye out. I buy fanwork where i can, thrift where i cant. Because thats resistance. Because i will NEVER be able to fully separate the harm her little empire has caused from the life it has saved. Because every time a queer genderfluid enby reads those books and finds hope. Every time a trans woman buys them pointedly second hand. Every time anyone that has been harmed by the actions of that person engages with her work and doesmt give her money we refute everything she believes in and stands for. We claw a series that, YEAH its got a LOT of fucked up shit (pick ANYTHING and wait thirty years and you will find something.), MEANS THE WORLD to so many people back from her.

Because the author is dead and I say that this series saves trans lives.

Because it saved MINE.

I recently watched a video about a creator who did a bad thing and the allegations against said creator, and at the end of the video, the person making the video started listing all the media on their shelf that had been partially or totally ruined for them because the creator did a bad thing. I understand not giving a living person money. I also think it's a lot healthier to reconcile the possibility that many, most, or even all of the media you enjoy will have had at least one person working on it that did, said, or believed very bad things and be at peace with that. Dumping fandoms, stuff that you own that you've already paid for, and just stopping yourself from enjoying things you once loved every time this happens could definitely make you afraid to enjoy anything and feel the need to 'vet' creators and put undue pressure on them. If you genuinely can't enjoy a piece of media anymore, that sucks but it can't be helped. But if you still get joy from it and you're shaming yourself for it--especially if you're just doing things like making fanart, writing fics, talking about the thing with other fans, and not even spending money on official merch that will get back to said creator idk. That's not helping anyone. And the thing is, this will keep happening with popular pieces of media. It's not going to stop, you're not going to be able to predict who is a bad or good person based on the work that they've made.

[lixxen]

Adrian Chase Headcanons (NSFW)

Part of this series.

Takes place a bit into knowing Adrian (and Vigilante).

Male!Reader Headcanons. (not really headcanon but you catch my drift)

Warning: Slightly dark themes. NSFW? Sadism/Masochism. Is this torture? I don't know. Its 100% consensual though. I'm not writing actual sex, but sexual situations??

This is 100% self gratification since I think he's a pretty crier and he made the most pitiful beautiful noises and expressions in the show and I ate them up. I am so sorry, Freddie Stroma. The first time I'll ever apologize to an actor is for this series. Nobody look at me.

---

Adrian Chase was an odd duck from the get-go. He always seemed to watch you and Chris from a distance whenever you two were hanging out. His eyes always held this odd gleam to them that you could never tell what it meant. But you returned it at full force.

Chris always told you that Adrian was just being weird and to ignore him. Deep down inside, Chris knew that the two of you together would be a recipe for disaster; as you were a spitfire sadist who would eat Adrian whole and well... Adrian was a psychopath with little to no regards for legality. He didn't know who would ruin who first.

You didn't always listen to Chris, which in all honesty wasn't a big deal until now. Adrian Chase was staring at you from across Fennel Fields and you stared right back. Chris wasn't here to do anything and it wasn't like you and Adrian were hurting anyone. Besides him, maybe.

It's not like this was the first time you've done anything with Adrian Chase. Just the other day you had him like putty in hour hands as his nose bled onto your hands. The memory of him grinning up at you made you smile.

Adrian must have noticed because he grinned back.

Not much later, you had Adrian on his back as you stood above him, his Fennel Fields uniform now messy and unkempt, on the floor of his small home. He was grinning up at you with excitement. You both had tussled around in a fake fight, during which you two agreed that this was okay and you had free range on him. If he was really not into it he'd let you know if he suddenly wasn't.

As he pushes up his glasses, he asks you what you're going to do to him. You blankly stare back at him, which makes him nervously squirm. The normally talkative man bellow you was silenced in anticipation for once. After you let him squirm, you stoically tell him you're going to crush his dick with your boot.

He laughs for a second before he realizes you're serious and panic flashes over his pretty little face. That's what you're here to see.

You raise your foot and put it over his crotch, watching as he panics and puts his hands over your boot. You could see his breathing pick up slightly and his pupils were blown, from excitement adrenaline or fear you don't know. He didn't stop you though, so you kept on.

You grin down at him as you idly mention that you've noticed him stalking you, that you've seen him watching you ever since that first day in Fennel Fields with Chris when you embarrassed him in front. He blubbers to try and disprove it, but you start to grind your boot into his dick and he lets out a whine. That makes you put more pressure as his face changes again, mouth opening just enough in that pretty way you love.

You drink up the whines as you basically berate him and he tries to refute it between his pathetic whining and groveling. You could feel how hard he was underneath your boot, which only added fuel to your fire.

"You like this? Don't you, Adrian?" You sneered and you just get a beautiful blubbering noise from Adrian. But he nodded and closed his eyes tightly, gasping breathily.

You simply laughed at that and leaned down, basically kneeling on his dick. He gasps as you put a hand into his now sweaty curls and pull him by hair hair to be half sitting up. Just to be face to face, noses touching, with him. He opens his eyes again, barely looking at you. You've undone him easily this time.

"Please." He whispered, his eyes unfocused and a ghost of a smile on his face.

He was like this when he had basically begged you to beat him to a pulp for his own enjoyment.

He was a pretty crier and you wondered idly how he got his fix when he didn't seek you out. Maybe Chris did it. Maybe he was Vigilante. That could be why that Vigilante Bastard sought you out. He wanted to use the confidence of that persona to dominate you for once.

You could see his eyes focusing now that you've been lost in your thoughts for a second too long. You look him in the eyes and pull him a bit more closer by the hair so you can kiss his open mouth.

He was practically moaning into the kiss and you ate every little breath and airless gasp from him. This is what made it worth it. The stalking and the staring. Adrian being a mess underneath you, whining for your attention.

You guess that you must have gone a little too quickly for him, because he was suddenly reaching up to hold onto you. He gripped onto the hand in his hair and your knee as he let out a loud moan and shook.

"Pathetic." You whisper into his lips with a small smile. You knew what just happened to him.

Adrian slowly relaxed underneath you and you let your foot come off of him. You loosened your hold on his hair and he looked up at you again, his eyes just as unfocused as before. But they looked more tired now.

"Alright, come one." You whispered sweetly to him as you climbed off of him. He whined, but in a tired way, and you shushed him. You helped him up and brought him to his bed.

You slowly undressed Adrian as he closed his eyes and laid there quietly. You loved it when you get him so tired that he shuts the fuck up.

You could see the mess you made him and smiled softly at him. You then went to grab a towel and proceeded to clean him up, wiping him up and making sure you didn't actually bruise him.

You took a second to look across Adrian's body, which was shivering slightly in the cold air. He had freckles splattered all over him and small scars all over his torso. You wonder if he truly was Vigilante. You would ask, but you knew that if you did he would freak out at you.

You pulled clothing back over Adrian and laid down next to him, watching as he opened his eyes back up to look at you. He looked almost... innocent like this. Like he wasn't a weird dude who couldn't socialize worth shit and blabbered non stop about sex. He just kept your gaze as you brought a hand up and brushed your fingers over his cheek.

"I think I love you." Adrian confessed. He said it with a small smile on his face. It made your stomach flutter.

You stared back at him before smiling. You repeat it back to him and his smile turned into a grin.

Adrian moved to hold you close and you tucked your face into his shoulder. You waited a second before whispering to him that he wasn't pathetic or any of the degrading things you told him. He mumbled back that he knew; he thought it was hot to have a dude absolutely crush him.

You smiled and closed your eyes. Adrian made you feel at home, but not in the same way that Chris made you feel at home. No. That was brotherly love. This was feeling as if you found your perfect fit.

[cannoli-reader]

Also, when Nynaeve & Elayne freed the damane, in order to take a sul'dam captive to infiltrate the kennels to rescue Egwene, the sul'dam gets hit. With a slight but major difference.

In the book, it's the damane who does this, punching her former captor. Elayne overcomes her need for stealth to shout "good for you" to the woman who has not let her captivity and conditioning break her, as Egwene tells Min has happened to so many women, as Egwene fears is happening to herself. It's an example of the triumph of the human spirit, and a refutation of the Seanchan claims that their way is for the best and the damane really get this and prefer being held safely against causing harm, and are happier for having accepted their status. And it's justifiable, in even the strictest moral accounting, since the sul'dam's first inclination when she recovers from the surprise, is going to be to collar the damane again.

On the show, it's Elayne who decks the sul'dam. Not an actual victim, but a wealthy, privileged girl, who has no reason other than her own vicious impulse. Elayne hits the sul'dam with an object, after Nynaeve has her collared, when she is effectively helpless. There is no reason for Elayne's blow, the woman has done nothing to her, and cannot even try to raise a hand against Nynaeve. She did not have a damane with her.

What's more, Nynaeve leaves their captive collared beside Egwene's tormentor, in her sentence of justice, leaving them alive, but dangerously exposed to the same fate they had imposed on others. And this is practically superior for two different reasons: The first is that it forces the Seanchan to confront the reality of the sul'dam, which, later in the series, a knowledgeable Seanchan officer believes could tear apart the Empire and shatter their trust in the institution of the a'dam. It's the first crack in the damn, that Suroth will try to patch up, but future efforts will keep tearing down. And secondly, it is the first link in a chain of events that will lead to Bethamin's defection, Egeanin's realization of the truth, and conversion in her beliefs, and eventually, cause the rescue of three Aes Sedai from Seanchan hands, as well as give Mat the opportunity to free a Windfinder and allow the Escape to take place. So much good comes out of Nynaeve choosing justice over murder.

But the show chose to forego all of this, by having Nynaeve & Elayne abduct a sul'dam for no reason, lead her to her death (Nynaeve & Elayne are morally responsible for her death as she was their captive - they are absolutely guilty of murder even if it was a stray arrow or bolt that killed her, because they compelled her to be in that situation) and then have Egwene murder Renna in a way that breaks the mechanics of the a'dam. In the books, Nynaeve needed an a'dam and sul'dam outfit in order to infiltrate the kennels to get to Egwene. Their plan was for whichever woman least fit the sul'dam's dress to wear gray and the collar and pose as the other's damane. But they already had a collar on the show, and could easily have carried out the ruse they planned on the books. Furthermore, they had no way of knowing that the a'dam would hold a sul'dam. It's something they discover works on the spur of the moment, and that they use because Nynaeve is reluctant to use the a'dam on her friend. The plan makes no sense, and puts a murder on their accouonts for no reason, and to no purpose.

In the book, the male hero's good intentions to rescue Egwene comes to naught because Nynaeve & Elayne already have her rescued, but the important thing is, he tried, and his determination brings a Darkfriend to the Light and leads to the defeat and driving off of the Seanchan. On the show, Nynaeve & Elayne's intentions to rescue Egwene come to naught because of random chance and a fluke of the course of the battle. There is no lesson there, no positive good side effects. Just spiteful killing of characters the writers had decided were Bad, and Deserved to Die.

In the words of the father of epic fantasy novels, whose works were the first great, and best to date, screen adaptation in the genre, without which, WoT might never have been written or adapted, respectively:

“Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. I have not much hope that Gollum can be cured before he dies, but there is a chance of it. And he is bound up with the fate of the Ring. My heart tells me that he has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before the end; and when that comes, the pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many - yours not least.”

The Justice of Nynaeve ruled the fate of many, just as did the pity of Bilbo. But the show writers have no pity for those they deem Other, and understand Justice as poorly as they do the books they bastardized for the screen (while adding the word "bastard" to the lexicon of Wheel of Time).

Justice

Disclaimer. This post has no point to change minds. Your mind is already made up and no one will change it. This is written for the sake of my own mind.

THE GREAT HUNT

Before anyone else could move, Egwene snatched the pitcher from her washstand and smashed it into Renna's midriff. The pitcher shattered, and the sul'dam lost all her breath in a gurgling gasp and doubled over. As she fell, Egwene leaped on her with a snarl, shoving her flat, grabbing for the collar she had worn where it still lay on the floor, snapping it around the other woman's neck. With one jerk on the silver leash, Egwene pulled the bracelet from the peg and fitted it to her own wrist. Her lips were pulled back from her teeth, her eyes fixed on Renna's face with a terrible concentration. Kneeling on the sul'dam's shoulders, she pressed both hands over the woman's mouth. Renna gave a tremendous convulsion, and her eyes bulged in her face; hoarse sounds came from her throat, screams held back by Egwene's hands; her heels drummed on the floor.

“Stop it, Egwene!” Nynaeve grabbed Egwene's shoulders, pulling her off of the other woman. “Egwene, stop it! That isn't what you want!” Renna lay grayfaced and panting, staring wildly at the ceiling.

Suddenly Egwene threw herself against Nynaeve, sobbing raggedly at her breast. “She hurt me, Nynaeve. She hurt me. They all did. They hurt me, and hurt me, until I did what they wanted. I hate them. I hate them for hurting me, and I hate them because I couldn't stop them from making me do what they wanted.”

“I know,” Nynaeve said gently. She smoothed Egwene's hair. “It is all right to hate them, Egwene. It is. They deserve it. But it isn't all right to let them make you like they are.”

Seta's hands were pressed to her face. Renna touched the collar at her throat disbelievingly, with a shaking hand.

Egwene straightened, brushing her tears away quickly. “I'm not. I am not like them.” She almost clawed the bracelet off of her wrist and threw it down. “I'm not. But I wish I could kill them.”

“They deserve it.” Min was staring grimly at the two sul'dam.

“Rand would kill someone who did a thing like that,” Elayne said. She seemed to be steeling herself. “I am sure he would.”

“Perhaps they do,” Nynaeve said, “and perhaps he would. But men often mistake revenge and killing for justice. They seldom have the stomach for justice.” She had often sat in judgment with the Women's Circle. Sometimes men came before them, thinking women might give them a better hearing than the men of the Village Council, but men always thought they could sway the decision with eloquence, or pleas for mercy. The Women's Circle gave mercy where it was deserved, but justice always, and it was the Wisdom who pronounced it. She picked up the bracelet Egwene had discarded and closed it. “I would free every woman here, if I could, and destroy every last one of these. But since I cannot…” She slipped the bracelet over the same peg that held the other one, then addressed herself to the sul'dam. Not Leash Holders any longer, she told herself. “Perhaps, if you are very quiet, you will be left alone here long enough to manage to remove the collars. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and it may be that you've done enough good to counterbalance the evil you have done, enough that you will be allowed to remove them. If not, you will be found, eventually. And I think whoever finds you will ask a great many questions before they remove those collars. I think perhaps you will learn at first hand the life you have given to other women. That is justice,”

When I read this chapter for first time back in 2002 as 14 years old teenager I did not make any remarkable notice for the scene. I thought that the scene is cool and the morale of the lesson being common sense and that’s why I haven’t thought any big deal about it for years and even decades.

Till last year when in my horror I witnessed that no, that insignificant scene, which is barely spoken about in the fandom because everyone agrees with what Robert Jordan is explicitly saying, is not common sense at all.

When I watched Egwene murdering Renna in TV show, I couldn’t help myself (who was disappointed so many times) that surely, this is the time when finally WoT fans will express their criticism towards that essentially wrong decision.

Robert Jordan made it clear what is his position, he explained the moral dilemma like for a toddler. And being war veteran the decision that Renna must not be murdered is essential choice for RJ and for his story.

We cannot even have different interpretations or analysis here, it is that crystal clear cut what the author wanted to say to the reader. The only difference is if you agree or deliberately choose to not agree with him. So as “the show cares about the essentials of the story” argument had strong hold among show fans, the logical conclusion was that this time going against such essential choice which truly mattered for the author, is gonna be widely received with negative response as a big No-No. *inserts clown face*

And we know the end result – the timeline was covered in constant flow of people who cheered Renna’s murder and screamed with full lungs: “SLAY, QUEEN!”. People explaining how the show did it better and how the books (and Robert Jordan) suck for not murdering Renna.

We can guess why the TV show made such drastic change as they wanted more action and more drama for the audience who they thought cannot comprehend such “complex” moral dilemma. Yeah, from unaware audience that cares only for its consummation, I can expect to not know better. But from people who claim to have read the Great Hunt and who have read the above paragraph where Robert Jordan explains in detail why such choice is disaster, to join in the cheering is bizarre sight.

Why you would support Renna’s murder? Oh, because you hate and despise the Seanchan so much, they are so evil, they deserve it, they must suffer, you want revenge for poor Egwene and you want justice.

What book have you read actually? Because it is written right there in the Great Hunt: “But men often mistake revenge and killing for justice. They seldom have the stomach for justice.”

Are you men? Do you often mistake revenge and killing for justice? Why you fulfill the exact warning that Robert Jordan was explicit about? Do you think that Robert Jordan was unaware of the option Egwene to murder Renna in revenge? Do you think that you know better than active war veteran? It speaks volumes how war veteran who has witnessed the torture, the guilt, the anger and the fear for himself and for his close comrades, who has seen enemy’s evil without the façade, chose to nail the narrative that MURDER IS NOT THE ANSWER. Robert Jordan did not paint some hypothetical scenario where he dreamt naively for better humanity. He.Was.There. He was Egwene and he still chose MURDER IS NOT THE ANSWER. Such powerful move that is barely touched in the fandom’s meta.

To choose otherwise is to spit in Robert Jordan’s face and to demand that this choice covers the essential of his story.

It is amazing for me personally because this act of disaster changed my perspective on that simple scene. I haven’t realized how important and how Robert Jordan formed me as a person. This was most certainly the first time when an author taught me that lesson which I naively thought to be basic opinion among many readers. Who would oppose the divine touch of humanity in this scene against the beast’s lust for blood and murder?

And for final note, I want to be clear. I do not attack if you choose othwerwise. You are free to not agree with Robert Jordan or myself. My disclaimer above is pretty clear that this won’t change your mind. My concern is not to change your mind but it is about the reaction and the response when I state that Renna’s murder was wrong choice made by incompetent writers. With such statement I become immediately bookcloak, I want 1 to 1 adaptation, I do not understand how adaptations work, etc. This is the true horrifying detail in the story – the people doing what is expected and what is considered to be the normal thing then to be labeled crybaby (for the mere act of understanding why this choice is important) by other people who deliberately made the choice to ignore or hate it. I have the same choice to criticize this scene as just as choosing to not agree with Robert Jordan. But somehow agreeing with Robert Jordan, agreeing with the author, is worth mocking and name calling instead. The strong hypocrisy here is much more worrying rather than having different opinions.

Let the Light keep you safe. LightOne

P.S. I make deliberate choice to use “murder” instead of “death”.

[milos-journal]

The Everyman

Ok, so awhile ago I made a post that was like "What if I made a long rant post on Vinnie Everyman" and that's essentially what this is. Some notes first, I'm sick so unlike the Asher Family post the art for this post is traditional sketches because I've tried hard to do digital, full drawings and it just is not happening no matter how hard I try. This post is also VERY loosely drafted, so it may be a bit ramble-y. One last warning, this will be talking about the canon events of EMH. If you don't want spoilers, are fictionkin/a system/an IRL, or are simply triggered by some of the events/topics discussed and shown in EverymanHYBRID, please be careful reading this post.

Now from there, I can get started!

Vinnie Everyman feels like a character that is either looked over or deliberately excluded when talking about EverymanHYBRID. Whether it is fandom culture just wanting to mash their favorite characters faces together or it's simply many viewers do not find Vinnie as interesting next to Jeffrey and Alex and their family troubles, Evan struggling with possession, or Steph's long-term struggles as expressed in the tumblr blog CANYOUSEETHEWORDS. Which, both are valid in all honesty. It is fine to not like a character. What this blog post seeks to refute is a claim that seems to consistently circulate around the EMH fandom - that Vinnie is a snake and backstabber.

Which, is partially true, which will be elaborated on a little later. However, Vinnie has all the makings to be a tragic character just like Evan and Jeff, but is often swept under the rug and treated as cruel simply because he did what he thought he needed to survive.

Vinnie Everyman is viewed best when you take him as you do many protagonists, especially in Slenderverse: A representation and vessel for the viewer. His actions make the most sense when the audience puts themself in his shoes.

Obviously, at surface level, Vinnie is a bad person. He conspires with a demon, leads his friends to death, and seemingly feels no remorse until it is far too little too late. So yes, Vinnie is, by all definitions, a snake. But one must put context into his actions.

Looking back on the series, it should be kept in mind Vinnie is entirely led astray by HABIT. While it is not directly said but rather implied multiple times, one time I would like to note is almost all of the video "Lexi", but especially the part where HABIT highlights Vinnie is the guardian, however that is simply not the case, as seen by what he wrote for the role of guardian.

"THE GUARDIAN SHALL LOSE HIS HEART AND THEN HIS BLOOD AND FIGHT TO LOSE ALL HE LOVES"

"THE GUARDIAN SHALL DEFY A GOD ONLY TO BE DEALT A FATAL BLOW"

These lines paint the Guardian as a martyr like figure who is dealt repeated emotional blows, only to be killed. However, these lines almost wholly fit Jeff plenty more than they do Vinnie. His "heart" can be easily put as Jessa, and his "blood" as Alex, since they are blood relatives. Jeff during the series consistently pushed the viewers to search for answers while he also searched himself, which would be his fight.

However, the role Vinnie better fits, the Voyeur, is cruel in description and a lot more true to Vinnies intentions.

"THE VOYEUR SHALL WATCH FROM AN EMOTIONAL DISTANCE, INSISTING UPON MAINTAINING THEIR STRENGTH."

"THE VOYEUR SHALL REMAIN IDLE TO ALL WHO SEE, HOWEVER BUSY HE MAY BE BENEATH"

"THE VOYEUR SHALL SWALLOW JUSTICE’S SWORD"

HABIT, by telling Vinnie he is the guardian, is not only making Vinnie a trustworthy figure in the viewers eyes but making Vinnie feel like he is the victim. By saying he lost his love and his blood (which could be his found family, or his friends, or simply the amnesia that made him forget his family) he no longer is not a victim. On top of that, he's now framed as a martyr in the situation.

To circle back, Vinnie is not only manipulated consistently throughout the series, he's also someone the viewer sees themself through.

With the knowledge Vinnie was intensely manipulated by HABIT in many ways, it is understandable to follow his whims. While he almost certainly is not a trustworthy figure from the start, he certainly is a threatening one. The possibility HABIT threatened Vinnie into submission is certainly high, and honestly, given the situation, many people would throw friends under the bus to literally save their life.

As easy as it is to go "Not me!", and the scenario is certainly not a realistic one, what Vinnie goes through is understandable if one thinks of EMH as more allegorical.

Putting HABIT in the position of just an awful person, and Evan as an idealized version of said awful person (an interpretation of EMH I personally subscribe to), the situation is a lot more easy to digest.

Its easy to follow trustable people, and even, in the case of EMH canon, people who hold a position of power, even if the person effected knows its wrong. Given the circumstance Vinnie is manipulated and threatened, its easy to fall into the trap and dig a hole too deep.

(geddin loser, im reliving horrific trauma)

All in all, Vinnie as a character when analyzed is interesting and well rounded. While he intensely stabbed his friends in the back, the way it was framed for him, the other option was to fall to whatever may have been threatened.

Sorry if I rambled plenty or if none of this made sense, as mentioned earlier I am intensely ill and in between school and such I did not and likely won't have the free time to make this post, so I decided to post this while I can. Thank you for reading this far at all, I appreciate it! :-)

[naefelldaurk]

I don't even like you!

Ineffablebookgirl recently said, "Aziraphale under his highest level of stress just simply makes no sense." I don't think I've ever seen this put better or more clearly. She cites several examples (reblog below), all of which support this hypothesis. (I should point out that this refers to TV version Aziraphale, because the book and radio versions don't fall prey to the same lunacy.) As she mentions in her opening paragraph, it is we fans who have "...spent so many fan-hours trying to make sense of them."

The most difficult moment I have resolving is (of course) the bandstand scene, specifically when Aziraphale exclaims, "I don't even like you!" He's clearly in a state of distress by that moment, and the reasons are multiple: He's hiding the fact from Crowley that he knows where the Antichrist is. He believes the Antichrist should be eliminated, but cannot face doing it himself. When Crowley flatly refuses to even consider it, Aziraphale must begin thinking that only Heaven can do the "right" thing—and he cannot tell Crowley that (and even in his desperation already probably believes that neither Heaven nor God will do it, either). And then Crowley, in essence, tells him he loves him: "We can go off together."

At which point, Aziraphale pretty much loses the thread. "We're not friends. [...] We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don't even like you." All of which are blatant lies. Worse, they are cruel.

To be fair, speaking this rubbish doesn't come easily to him. We never see him look more pained or distressed.

So what is his rationale (if that muddy battlefield of emotions can be called such a thing)? It isn't until Crowley implies the depth of his caring that Aziraphale comes unhinged. He lashes out because he knows he's being a bad friend, and when Crowley, wonderful stalwart Crowley, refutes this nonsense, he has to declare their Arrangement—their friendship and all that it might become—over. He's coping by not coping. And it's beyond painful to see.

Thank you, ineffablebookgirl, for your insight!