Im obsessed with media preservation and i created a tumblr account just for this loll
I wanted to neatly organize dragon age media(books, comics, films/series) on my pc and also upload that somewhere where all of it would be in one place
Im pretty sure i gathered everything tho if something is missing let me know!
Despite having some of the books on my shelf i want them backed up either way
WARNINGS: Stalking/being followed, drug abuse, drug addiction, crying, violence, criminal activity, anxiety/paranoia, blackmail, guilt.
SUMMARY: You are followed home one night while Alex is halfway across the country during the Fox River Eight Manhunt. He puts everything on hold to make sure you are safe and feelings arise.
A/N: In the fifteen years I've loved prison break, and the ten years that I've adored Alex, this is my first official public fic I've ever written about him! I don't know why it's taken me so long to write for him, but I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I've been scared his character is not within my writing capabilities. He is so special to me, and I wanted to get it right. I am happy with this, as a start, and I hope to write more for him in the future. It is not a coincidence that this fic is titled 'home', because no matter where I am in life, whenever I come back to him, it always feels like coming home. I know there is not a big fandom for him that's never stopped me before I wrote this mainly for me but if you read this I hope you enjoy it<3 Also would like to note that this fic is especially important to me because this happened to me in real life. I was followed home one night after work. Nothing happened and I was safe, but nothing would've made me feel better than to have been able to run into Alex's arms after it happened.
It was infuriatingly perfect how they had done it.
Innocuous, innocently unexpected until he put the pieces together the day after, like whenever he ate too much sugar before bed when he was young and then experienced the most intense nightmares of his youth.
Alex had always known that something of this nature was bound to happen because he had been too stubborn to distance himself from you when it all had jumped off, but he also knew it wouldn’t have mattered to them. Anyone who had ever claimed any piece of his heart, whether returned to sender or not, was in danger as long as he still drew breath. He might have been bullheaded, selfish and outwardly exuded multifaceted levels of confidence, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d been brought into the manhunt strictly because of his intelligence and because he wasn’t afraid to cut through any red tape, by any means necessary, to achieve the overarching goal.
Through all of it, you were his top priority, and he never let himself forget it, but that was what made this so difficult for him to stomach. When you needed him, he’d been halfway across the country with no means or way of getting to you out of immediate necessity. Your frantic phone call replayed in his mind, haunting him the entire duration of the plane ride back to Chicago so much so that he’d visited the lavatory more than a handful of times to splash water on his face because despite the Veratril coursing through his system he was still vibrating with adrenaline, plagued by visions of what could have been, if the forces that be had not chosen to spare you the night before.
He realized that he needed to maintain appearances, settle down, and get to you and only then could he let his guard down, just enough, to collapse fully into your arms and let it resonate that you were still here, unscathed, holding him the way you used to before this mess had blown up in his face. His work became the torrid affair he was wrapped up in and there was no escape, couldn’t break free until the time was just right, or else he’d risk more than just his own life.
In that was he a little jealous of Michael Scofield, because he didn’t have the option of running.
Of course, he did care if he died, only because if he were gone, then who would make certain you were safe? He felt less and less like he had anyone left to trust and that was why he hadn’t pushed you away in the pursuit of a safer bet, choosing to be alone until he could walk away without a doubt in his mind that it was truly over and that no one was left to come after him. He doubted that day would ever come, and he knew for a damned fact that you weren’t any less stubborn than he was; if he thought he was walking away from you without so much as a goodbye or even an explanation, then he’d have far more to worry about than the Company and Internal Affairs breathing down his neck, combined.
As the plane prepared for landing, circling the airstrip overhead until given clearance to land, he leaned back in his seat and tried not to think about anything except for getting to you. He was aware that when he landed, he’d have over a dozen missed calls, most of them from headquarters and perhaps some from Bill Kim himself, that little weasel who had the nerve to refer to himself as an operative, and yet he detested being out in the field and said so himself, and Alex had to restrain himself from punching the man in the face every time he came in visible contact with him, but he kept himself in check because that was the difference between your safety and your connection in all of this.
Involving you in the mess he’d made of his life was not an option.
Alex was painfully aware that Bill Kim felt superior to him, spoke like he was above Alex in every way, just because no one could trace his filthy deeds back to him like Alex’s could be, if not for forensic DNA evidence and a hunch. That didn’t mean they weren’t there, and deep down Alex knew how true it was for him too, only he’d thought he’d done a stellar job of concealing his own transgressions until the Company had gotten wind of them.
In moments of self-reflection that he tried to avoid, he realized it was more obvious than he’d ever outwardly be willing to admit. It was all a means to an end that he’d justified by reminding himself that he didn’t have a choice in the matter. His choices were to either come clean and face the repercussions or die trying, because he wasn’t backing out until it was over, and then he would have no more ties to the Company or anyone willing to do anything to harm you.
If he chose to tell his truth, he’d be implicating you, not to law enforcement but to the people who wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head if they thought it would make him compliant with their wishes.
Alex grimaced; his phone felt heavy in his pocket with the weight of what was most likely waiting for him, and he swiped a heavy hand over his weary face while he tried to clear his mind, but he could still hear your voice in his head, the sharp, quick breaths you’d drawn as you tried to maintain your composure, and the thunderclap when it all finally crumbled, and your broken sobs had echoed through his end of the line while he tried desperately to calm you down and gather as much information as he could while it was all still fresh in your mind.
***
“Honey, hey, sweetheart, please…try to calm down and talk to me,” he had reasoned with you, swapping the cellphone to his dominant hand to get a better hold on it, and so he could stuff his left hand into his pocket to keep it from shaking so much as it clenched around nothing, “walk me through exactly what happened. Are you safe right now? Where are you?”
“I-I’m home now…the doors are locked. Alex, I’m scared! Where are you?! I need you, please-”
“I’m coming, honey, I’m on my way. I’ll be right there, I promise. I’m getting on a plane right now. Stay calm, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Alright? Now, I need to know exactly what happened. Can you do that for me?”
“I was…on my way home from work. And I noticed this car…it was following me, and I…”
“When did you notice it start to follow you?”
“I don’t know…I think they picked me up on the main road and followed from there down to our street. Our neighborhood, you know how it’s…there’s not a lot of cars that go through there, so I noticed it immediately.”
You and Alex lived in an area that was almost like a cul-de-sac, a very secluded, quiet little neighborhood with lots of families, the kind where parents felt safe enough to let their children play out by themselves in their front yards or ride their bikes around the block with minimal supervision, or even take the dog for a walk without their phones on them.
Despite it happening late at night, there would have been enough light from the streetlamps and few enough cars on the road at that time for you to take stock of your surroundings and notice something out of place, and Alex was grateful for your diligent observance. It was something he had drilled into your head, especially as of late, and you never knew why except for the fact that he was an FBI agent, well-versed in personal and public safety, and knew the horrors that lurked in dark corners, waiting patiently for innocent victims.
He’d begged you to carry a weapon, take a course and get properly certified, but he hadn’t been able to convince you. Perhaps this would change things but now was not the time for “I told you so”.
“Were you able to tell what kind of car they were driving? The make or model? Defining features, any headlights or taillights out, things like that?”
“Uh…” you hesitated as you tried to recall, but you were still so shaken up that your only thought had been to get inside where it was safe and immediately phone Alex, “No. No burnt out lights. It was too dark to tell much about the car other than I think it was black. A sedan, but a muscle car style, or something like it. It looked similarly to a Dodge Challenger.”
Alex’s mind was racing as he committed everything you said to memory, “so, what happened next? Did they follow you onto our street?”
“Yes,” you confirmed his worst fears, and Alex’s stomach dropped, “They followed me all the way through our neighborhood and back out onto the main road. I think by then they realized I knew I was being followed and so they turned and headed back the way they came.”
Your street connected twice with one other road, and fortunately there were two ways out, so you wouldn’t have had to turn around and face the potential threat head-on to escape. You had merely continued driving once you knew you were being tailed and hadn’t pulled off into your driveway and allowed the perpetrator to gain knowledge of where you lived. Thankfully, you hadn’t realized too late and were able to make a snap decision to continue driving, which now as Alex assessed everything you said and reasoned through it on his end, he had decided was your best option. He was proud of you for handling yourself in the moment, but on the inside, he was tearing himself apart for not being there to protect you. He should’ve been there, waiting inside your home, and you could have come running into his arms and he would have held you until the shaking subsided and you were able to give him a verbal statement he could take with him in to work the next day in order to track down whoever the hell dared to come after you, the very literal love of his life, and Alex was not exaggerating in his belief that you were the one person he was destined to adore for the rest of his days.
He loved you, and any threat against you was a personal attack against himself and he would hunt down the source of the danger and neutralize it.
Alexander Mahone had ways of making people talk…it was just a matter of finding them first; luckily, he was more thanequipped and qualified for it.
This was sounding to him more like an isolated incident and he doubted it was related to any of the hot water he’d gotten himself into, and that came as more of a relief than anyone except for him would ever know. Not that it made him feel particularly good to know someone had intentionally followed you home, but that meant the relation between this occurrence and the Company’s intimidation over him was purely circumstantial. He could never let you become cognizant of any purported danger he might be putting you in just because of his involvement in the Fox River Eight manhunt and his connection with the Company. You had expected, and even anticipated, any relationship you had with the face of a public, federal investigation would have certain strings attached and perhaps might even put a direct target on your back for those bold enough to come after a personal connection of a Special Agent, but you had no idea of the magnitude in which you faced if he made even one wrong move.
Any threat to you was treated as though it were personal, but Alex recognized grace in that this was seemingly a case of “wrong place, wrong time” and that the way you reacted had resulted in the best possible outcome. The person following you home had no idea where you lived and had left you alone once they had been made, however, that still did little to quell your nerves, or his for that matter, and Alex could tell you were barely holding it together as you gulped air into your lungs and tried not to let your voice carry the weight of the tears that were blurring your vision.
“Okay, I am on my way to you,” he reassured, his foot nearly pressing the gas pedal all the way to the floor as he sped down long, winding roads on his way to the nearest airport, “I’ll call Agent Lang and have her come by and take a formal statement. We’ll get that to the police and let them do their job and once I’m back in tomorrow, I’ll take a dive into it myself and see if I can talk to the neighbors about whether their security cameras captured anything or not.”
“Alex…” your low tone startled him, making his heart flutter and miss a beat as he heard you sob his name into the phone, “I need you…”
“I’m on my way, I promise,” he spoke steadily, even though he felt like all his organs were about to fall from his abdomen and into his feet, “you know where I keep the gun. If you don’t feel safe, you can get it, okay? Just be careful. Remember how I showed you how to turn the safety off?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. At any point you feel like you aren’t safe, you can get that gun, out of my nightstand drawer.”
“I know, Alex.”
Your cold, impersonal tone indicated your comfortability level with handling a gun, but that was a challenge for another day. Right now, his top priority was getting to you as quickly as was possible and he would stop at nothing to be by your side, consequences be damned.
“Take a few deep breaths for me,” he instructed, reminding himself to take one with you and as his lungs expanded, he feared his ribcage might crack under the pressure, “I’m getting on the highway now and I’ll be at the airport soon. I need to call Agent Lang. I’ll have her head over immediately. You just stay put. Can you do that for me?”
“Y-Yes.”
When your voice cracked, it broke him. Every emotion he was capable of swirled within him all at once, a heady concoction of the most profound and toxic constellations, galaxies and neural pathways alike both exploding as his mind expanded and branched outward, the stars collapsing and dying inside his eyes because of how long he’d gone without seeing you and how many times he’d told himself that it was for the best, but every fiber of his being recognized how untrue it was. It was far too much for him to take and as soon as he could park and have a moment to himself, he was going to pop another Veratril, just to take the edge off. He hadn’t kept track of how much he’d taken today, but a few extra milligrams wouldn’t be enough to put him in the ground—even a lead bullet fired from point blank range wasn’t enough to do that, so he wasn’t especially worried.
It was just the right kind of shock to his system, and soon he would be fully submerged in it all over again.
“And sweetheart? I love you.”
It took several moments for you to respond and in that time, Alex had already convinced himself that you didn’t love him back. You never would have if you knew what he was thinking, or that it was his negligence that had put you in the worst possible position imaginable. You would have kicked him to the curb if you knew the inside of his mind as well as he did; he couldn’t hide from himself, yet he spent every day hiding himself from the people that mattered.
“I love you, too, Alex. Please hurry.”
“Moving as fast as I can, trust me. I’ll be there before you know it.”
With that, he snapped his cellphone shut and took a moment to collect himself while he continued driving. To him, it felt like an eternity, yet it took him about fifteen minutes to careen down the highway and park in the first available spot he could find in the lot. He didn’t have much time, but it was enough for him to put himself together and be ready face the music he’d surely have to once he was back home.
He was a seasoned professional and had held countless press conferences throughout his career—he could handle things internally, but the pills certainly helped.
He inhaled as he reached his hand into his suit jacket and felt for the inner pocket where he’d stashed his pen. He remained focused on the sleek texture of it in his creased hand as he unscrewed it and dumped a tiny blue pill into the palm of his hand, then popped it into his mouth and swallowed it right along with the guilt that had crept up his throat like thick bile.
If his career didn’t kill him, or the conspiracy he’d reluctantly been forced to play a part in, then the benzodiazepines, his careless abuse of prescription drugs, most likely would.
He opened the car door and got out, running a hand through his unruly hair as he pulled the back door open and gathered his minimal belongings before heading inside while one-handedly dialing Lang’s number on his phone.
****
The plane’s wheels made contact with the runway and Alex flinched.
He’d been so invested in his memory that he’d temporarily forgotten where he was. All he cared about right now was getting to you as quickly as possible. The agency had arranged a vehicle for him, as they’d been expecting him back at the field offices that day until his life had gone to shit the night before. Not that it was anything out of the ordinary for him these days, only now it involved you, and when that happened, the Alexander Mahone that his colleagues knew ceased to exist, or rather, that version of him took a backseat and the family man he had once been, the protective lover, the romantic, the caregiver, walked through the door.
It was not often in his life or yours that you called him in tears, begging for his company, and that was enough to set his soul on fire and remind him of what truly mattered.
As soon as the flight attendants gave the go ahead, he was on his feet. He snatched his carry-on and was one of the first bodies off the plane. His long strides ate up the terrazzo floor, carrying him to baggage claim, which was the most heinous of tasks after a long flight, because waiting around was not something he had any desire to do right now, but at least it would afford him the chance to make a few quick calls, and update those involved in where he was with the hunt for Scofield and Burrows. He was so caught up in doing right by you that, for one blissful moment, the manhunt had ceased to exist.
What a novel idea—a life in which he could leave the Bureau, put the past behind him, and pursue a quiet little existence with the one he loved. It made him feel embittered because he doubted a time would ever come when he’d be able to extract himself from the tangled web he’d gotten himself stuck in. The major players that wanted him in the game refused to let him go until they got what they wanted and they were out for blood, but never in the same way that he was.
Alex never minded getting his hands dirty if it spared the ones he loved, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t remorseful. He wasn’t proud of his decisions and the ones he’d made thus far made his stomach churn; that’s what the pills were for, to keep him two steps ahead of where the escapees expected him to be, and so that he could sleep at night.
If he wanted his freedom, then he would earn it in blood.
****
The street was quiet when Alex pealed into the driveway of your suburban home, and for that was he eternally grateful. He didn’t remember passing a single speed limit sign on the way to you and, even while he was pushing 70 miles an hour, he gave little thought to the rules of the road. The only thought that pressed on his mind was making sure you were still in one piece, even if he was unraveling at the seams. He knew that you would mend him whole again, your touch the needle that stitched the shards of his heart back together, his veins the very threads that kept him from falling apart, the same veins that carried that unforgivable little secret he kept hidden inside his pen to every part of his body.
He had expected the adrenaline to have crashed by now, thinking that the flight should have encumbered him enough to bring him down a bit, but he was still wired, like he’d drank too much caffeine. Reality felt warped, like he was watching himself from afar as he fumbled with putting the vehicle in park, barely remembering to turn the key and pull it from the ignition and unbuckling his seatbelt before practically falling out of the driver’s side of the car in his haste to get to you.
He took the front steps two at a time, a familiarity he would have fondly reflected on if the circumstances were anything but this and fished in his pockets for the set of keys he knew would be there, their presence a comfortable weight indicative of what home felt like, or at least what it once had, before things had changed.
The only better feeling would have been your body in his arms, and nothing was going to keep him from holding you; his heart knew then and there that if any demands had been placed on him before he could get there, he’d have laid down his life and all he held dear, just for this moment, the high he’d been chasing as long as he could remember, because there was nothing more important, no life worth protecting, more than yours.
He somehow managed to get his keys out of his pocket and shove the correct one into the lock, despite how badly his hands were shaking. He frowned at their uselessness, a sudden spark of worry igniting behind his eyes that perhaps the effects of the Veratril were wearing off already, or that the stress he was currently under required a stronger dose, but he quickly realized that his concern for you was the most likely culprit. If he hadn’t been so accustomed to functioning on empty, chasing his tail, digging his own grave, then it would have been enough to fully paralyze him, but he was a federal agent, and not only that, he was also former military.
He had seen this film before, and it was time to rewrite the ending.
Alex twisted the doorknob, noting the way the cold metal made his sweaty palm tingle, and pushed the front door open. He stepped into the foyer, and his nose immediately recognized the scented potpourri you’d bought several months ago because you simply couldn’t wait for the autumn season to arrive and you wanted your home smelling that way all the time.
He glanced around the entryway, at the photographs of the two of you that adorned the wall leading up the stairs, yours and his smiling faces staring back at him, a happier, more carefree version of him he no longer recognized, memories gathered of a time he could not return to except in his cluttered, overflowing mind. Sometimes, it was difficult coming home to you, not because of you, but because it was a gut-wrenching reminder of all he had given up and what he still had to lose.
The shuffle of clothing captured his attention, his heightened senses still attuned to your movements, and when his head snapped towards you standing there in the hall, his blue gaze caught your affliction first; your eyes were red-rimmed, and he knew you’d been crying.
Alex would have you walk right up to him and punch him in the gut rather than see you cry, especially because this time, it felt like it was because of him.
“Hey…”
His raspy whisper sounded raw to your ears, rough like weathered stone, and as familiar as the back of your own hand.
You held his gaze for a heartbeat too long, giving him just a second longer to puzzle through whether it was worth asking for forgiveness yet, but his heart lurched in his chest when you sprang into action, running right into his waiting arms like he dreamed you’d do when you saw him but he wasn’t certain if he’d earned that right or not.
He was once a military man, army infantry, then Special Ops—he was your soldier returning home from yet another grueling tour and his world-weary body could only take so much more.
Your sniffle broke his heart and as you buried your face in his shoulder, one of his strong arms wrapped around your waist as the other twisted up past your shoulder and his hand found purchase in the hair at the back of your head, keeping you steady on your feet while he gently swayed with you. It was a tender gesture, one he’d always done with you whenever you were suffering, from fear or sadness, it didn’t matter. It kept you grounded when he maintained a firm hold on you, and it allowed you to hide your face from view when the pain was too vivid for you to make constant eye contact.
“Shh…I’m here, sweetheart. Told you I would be. You’re safe. I’ve got you now. I’m home.”
What else was home meant to feel like, if not your hold on him?
Alex’s nose rested in your hair as he kissed the top of your head. You were clinging to him like you had no use for your own heart and were giving it to him instead. You were thoroughly debauched from a long night of little sleep and intense fear and he could tell from your demeanor that you were still more than a little shaken up and he worried that having to go the night without his strong presence and tender comfort had all but shredded what little faith you had in him.
It wasn’t fair that his life had turned out like this, but it had been his choice, and he had to live with that.
“Alex…” you whimpered his name as your arms tightened around him, forcing a soft grunt from him at the impressive strength behind you and the desperation it signified, “I…I’m so glad you’re here…I need you, Alex…please…please don’t leave me anymore…please…”
Every word you spoke was another nail in the coffin he’d built for himself. Buried alive, he was gasping his final breath right in front of you, and he’d use his last words to tell you what he should’ve said to you every single day, “I won’t leave you. To tell you the truth, I need you too. You have nothing to worry about, so let me put your mind at ease. I’m not going anywhere.”
You squeezed him tighter, if that were humanly possible, and Alex wheezed, “but if you hug me any tighter, I’ll stop breathing and then I won’t be able to be here anymore.”
“Sorry,” you muttered, embarrassment blooming across your features as you quickly let your arms fall away from him, stepping back to give him a bit of space, even as amusement twinkled in his eye.
Under normal circumstances, Alex did not mind if you crowded him, but he wanted to make sure you were safe first before letting his guard down too much. His gaze was reflective as he scrutinized you, a tranquil pond you tossed yourself into like a stone and disappeared beneath the surface. Your physical body appeared unharmed; his highly attentive nature and experience with reading people made it second nature for him to pick up on nuance.
Your shoulders were slumped, indicating relief, the result of tension leaving the body from no longer having to remain on high alert. There were broken blood vessels in your eyes, most likely from crying, and your hair was mussed from his hand, but also he could glean that you must’ve been lying down before he arrived, because your clothes, which were disheveled and slightly wrinkled, were the type you wore when you planned to spend a full day at home.
“Lang left this morning,” you explained conversationally as you turned away from him and slowly made your way towards the living room, “she sat with me all night, after the police came so I could make a report, and offered to pick up breakfast for me before she had to be in.”
Alex let you lead the way and as he trailed along behind you, his heart constricted when he saw the little makeshift blanket nest you’d built tucked up against the arm of the couch—his preferred spot—where you must’ve been napping when he came home. He felt that familiar twinge of guilt coiling inside his chest and his stomach clenched, but he squared his shoulders and swallowed the emotion, burying it, concealing it beneath the mask he put on every day before work.
It felt wrong to keep things from you, but he had been doing it for so long that it had become his new normal, and old habits die screaming…
Alex made a mental note to thank Lang for her generosity; he hadn’t expected her to go out of her way, at least, not as much as she did.
“Have you eaten?”
You gestured towards the coffee table strewn with napkins and empty packaging, remnants of breakfast that were left over from this morning. He assessed how much you’d eaten and decided it would have to do for now, but he was going to have to make sure you ate more at dinner once he decided on what to fix.
Right now, the only thing on his mind was calming you down and keeping you settled, even if that took longer than he would’ve liked. Alex would spend the rest of his life sitting with you in silence if it meant the difference between your stress level and his. The last thing he ever wanted was for you to be forced to endure even half of what he did each day, and it was all he could think about that you were into all of this because of him.
Alex blamed himself, because he should have been there.
You should have come home to him last night and he’d have dealt with it immediately. There would have been no room for mistake or assumption—Alexander Mahone was more than a little protective when it came to the person he loved finding themselves in danger, and if only he hadn’t gotten so swept up in the chase, forced into the game by players who were far more experienced strategists than even he was, then he would have been here to keep you safe.
It was easier to place blame onto someone else than to recognize it within himself, but he knew he was as much at fault as those others involved.
The guilt gnawed at him, yet he pushed it aside.
Alex eased himself onto the couch and patted his lap, a soft smile playing on his thin lips as he watched you eagerly take your seat, pulling your knees up as you perched on his thighs. He had his arms around you again, cradling you, his body your shield against the world, and for once, there was no manhunt, no Internal Affairs investigators breathing down his neck at the office, no Scofield or Burrows or Bill Kim or Kellerman…
There were no murky waters he was treading, only clarity.
No drugs clouding his senses.
No nightmares plaguing his sleep.
No conspiracy.
No guilt.
No death.
Just you.
And that had to be enough.
Alex’s warm lips found your cheek and the chaste kiss brought a smile to your face, the same lively glimmer returning to your features that he’d fallen in love with the very first day you’d come into his life, and it reminded him of what had always mattered: that no matter what he did while he was out in the field, the only objective he had had to achieve, was coming back home to you.
PENIS is an anagram of SPINE, because it holds you together. But its also an anagram for SNIPE. So be careful where you point it at or you might blow someone's head off
I was wondering if you could explain “fandom is marketing”? I think I get what you mean but then also maybe I don’t?
If something has a big fandom, publishers and studios know they can make money off it. This is why we see publishers openly acquiring and selling things that were originally posted as fanfic, like Alchemised, Heated Rivalry, etc. It’s why the horrid wizard woman considers people participating in her fandom to be supporting her political causes.
Word of mouth is the most effective way to sell people on media, and fandom is word of mouth that costs the creators/owners nothing. Doing Fandom Stuff used to be subversive, but media companies have now figured out that fandom is a form of advertising and they’re no longer worried about it. Those of us who still think of fandom like it’s a livejournal-era secret club we can never let the corporations discover have got to update our self-concept
guys. Guys please you're allowed to say big boy words. please we cannot keep just rolling with the sanitization of every space on the internet ok. you're allowed to say suicide. you're allowed to say porn. they're not bad words, they're just words.
also by ''censoring'' the words with silly spellings you're actually making it much harder for people to filter out. please just say Sex you don't have to call it woohoo like it's the fucking sims. i promise the Word Police aren't going to arrest you
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