#I was getting rape and death threats from these fucking animals because they felt a weird way about my OC.

[sleepknoot]

You know as a kid, there was such a unique thrill in finding fandom spaces. As far as I was aware, my brother and I were the only people who had ever played the Devil May Cry games or watched the anime.

Imagine my disappointment when I discovered FanFic.net and tried to roleplay with the people in the community during the early 2010s.

[bullet-prooflove]

Choices! Series Part Three: Fair Trade - Nestor Oceteva x Reader (feat: Miguel Galindo)

Warnings: Brief mention of rape

Tagging: @annetje @anime-weeb-4-life @drabbles-mc @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @annetje @mysoulisasunflower

Part One: First Date (NSFW) - Nester and you have an unusual first date.

Part Two: Familia - (Feat: Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus discovers your relationship.

You’ve never liked Miguel Galindo but then again, you don’t like a lot of your clients. The first job had come as a referral through Marcus. Galindo had been appreciative of your handiwork, there was a skill in it that he admired or so he said. Either way you’d ended up with more assignments. That was the nature of being freelance, make an impression and they remember you.

Today you stood before that swimming pool of his, your gaze on scenery beyond. It really was a beautiful view, the plush greenery in a land that was barren of everything else. It was like an oasis in the middle of a desert.  A fucking mirage build on blood and death.

“We don’t usually meet at your home.” You said, turning to face the man in question. “And we don’t usually meet alone.”

He was seated on one of the ornate garden chair, his sunglasses shielding his eyes. His jaw was lined with that stylish, neatly trimmed beard of his, as usual he was immaculately dressed. There was a manilla file in his lap, his manicured fingertips drummed upon the surface of it.

“I thought it was time for a change.” Galindo told you, gesturing for you to take a seat across from him. “I have a proposal.”

“Don’t you always?” You countered before doing as he suggested.

He smiled at you with that easy grin of his, the one that sent women to their knees and commanded the respect of other men. It was predatorial, a rabid wolf, hiding amongst the pack.

“This one is a little different.” He said tossing the file on the table between you.

“Consider my interest piqued.” You said reaching for the folder and flicking it open.

For a moment it felt like the world had stopped, you couldn’t process the image in front of you. The man looked tall in the photograph, taller than you remembered and leaner. The years had given way to a salt and pepper beard and a full head of silver hair. He would have been attractive if you hadn’t heard the rumours of what he was capable of. The watch on his wrist was an Omega, the gold glinted in the light from the sun in whichever country this was taken in. The private mercenary business appeared to pay well.

“He has some intel that I want.” Galindo told you.

“It would be easier to get blood out of a stone.” You told him closing the file and pushing it back towards him. “He won’t talk.”

“Actually he’s willing to trade.” Galindo said removing his sunglasses for the first time since you’d gotten here. “The intel, for you.”

“You planning to hand me over?” You asked him half seriously. Galindo leaned forward his eyes meeting yours as his fingers laced together.

“Yes.”

“Good luck with that Mr Galindo.” You said raising to your feet.

“He looks like his brother, doesn’t he?” He said as you turned your back on him and you froze, because for a moment it all came rushing back.

Those fingers digging into your throat as he raped you, squeezing just enough to let the tiniest molecules of oxygen through your windpipe, enough to keep you conscious, to make sure you felt everything as he stole away your fucking dignity.

The Major was dead but his brother…

He’d been hunting you for years.

“He knows who you are.” Galindo tells you, putting his sunglasses back on against the glare of the light. “It’s only matter of time before he works out where you are and if he does there’s going to be come collateral damage. Marcus, Izzy, maybe even little Tessa. He’ll take away everything you love, just so he can see you bleed.”

There was a threat there, thinly veiled. Everybody was disposable to Galindo even his right-hand man.

“I’ll play the bait.” You tell him. “But I want Marcus there.”

Galindo tilted his head to one side.

“You don’t trust me?”

You meet his gaze; you want him to see the distain in your eyes, the fury of being forced into this position.

“No Mr Galindo, I don’t.”

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

Nestor didn’t understand at first. Miguel had sent him and Marcus out on some bullshit task, something that usually would have been beneath their attention. It’s only when they get back that he realises it’s been a ruse. Miguel wanted Marcus out of the way to talk to you alone. He doesn’t know what’s been said but Nestor sees the change in you. You look desolate as you sit on the couch in the living room with your hands pressed between your knees, like you aren’t there with the rest of them. It scares him to see you like that. To Nestor, you are bright and vivid, a force of nature. The woman he sees now colourless, devoid of emotion, you look like you’re barely living.

It's Miguel that explains the plan, an exchange.

You for the information he seeks.

This is bigger than the rest of you, he reminds Marcus. This is about playing Potter at his own game, getting the boot off the neck of the cartel, helping the resistance in Mexico to flourish. It’s a double cross, as soon as Miguel has the information, they take out the other party. They don’t usually work like this; a man is only as good as his word, but this other organisation is a threat. Nestor hates it but he understands the play, he just doesn’t understand why you’re so effected.

It's Marcus’s reaction to the photograph in the folder that tips him off. A muscle in his cheek tics and his nostrils flare just for a moment before he closes it over and he takes a seat on the couch beside you, his hands clasped together. He’s close enough for you to feel his presence and Nestor watches the discussion from his position behind Miguel. He can’t hear the words that are being said, but he hears the tone of voice. Marcus’s quick snaps of Spanish, and your bereft response. There’s a fire in his eyes as he looks at Miguel.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” He tells the other man.

Miguel’s expression doesn’t change. He simply leans forward, meeting Marcus’s fierce gaze with one of his own.

“I do.” He says resolutely and that seems to infuriate Marcus even more. “And she’s already agreed.”

Love Nestor? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[ishouldbeinh0rnyjail]

Bodyguard!Toji Fushiguro x MafiaBossDaughter!Reader

Tw: harsh words, violence, rape/noncon, spanking, dacryphilia, daddy kink(if you squint), creampie, choking

Imagine:

Toji Fushiguro is the best bodyguard in the business and has a reputation among mafias as being extremely ruthless and only taking high risk jobs or high paying ones.

Then one day he gets called by one of the most notorious mob bosses, the leader of the L/n group.

Turns out his precious daughter has received death threats and they have reason to believe that someone on the inside might be helping.

Toji was intrigued and figured it’d be worth checking out so he met up with your father to learn more.

Toji learned that you were this man’s only child and the most important thing in the world to him. He used that to drive up the price, though it seemed that man would have agreed to anything if it meant your safety.

Toji agreed to take the job and find the mole if there was one.

It finally came time to meet you and by all of your father’s descriptions he was expecting a small child and definitely not an 18 year old girl dressed in a pink frilly outfit and carrying a large stuffed animal.

It was cute, he’d admit, and almost made his dick hard. He couldn’t see that going over well with your father.

You were the perfect vision of a innocent princess and then you opened your mouth.

It seems that when daddy isn’t around you turn into a spoiled brat.

You drug Toji all over the city to every god damn high end shop you could find and nothing but treat him as if he was your personal slave.

You had him doing everything for you since your previous assistants had been fired due to the mole theory.

This wasn’t in the fucking contract.

He seriously considered just dealing with the consequences of just saying fuck it and breaking the contract. He’s not a damn babysitter.

By the end of the day you managed to drag him to well over 20 shopping centers, 5 fine dining restaurants, and 2 celebrity hair salons.

Who the fuck even does that!?

You apparently.

And you didn’t waste a single opportunity to sass and berate him

God he was beginning to see why someone that works for you would want you dead.

Almost an entire week went by without anything dangerous occurring and even then it wasn’t some nefarious attempt on your life just some drugged up mugger that didn’t see Toji standing right next to you.

He almost felt bad for the guy. Almost. But he really needed to get his frustrations out.

He ended up beating the poor sucker half to death and he was sure that after seeing what he was capable of you’d learn some god damn respect.

But once again, luck was not on his side.

“You done yet? ‘Cause I want ice cream.” Turns out you see that a lot given your father’s line of work.

Nothing he did seemed to intimidate you. Anytime he’d size you up, scoff at you, or glare into your soul you’d just look offended, roll your eyes, and sass him. It was obvious that you were beyond confident nothing bad would ever happen to you.

It pissed him off. Like it really pissed him off.

And on the 8th day he couldn’t take it anymore.

The final straw was the fact that after walking around for almost 2 hours straight you started whining and eventually you plopped onto the ground with your arms crossed claiming you weren’t walking another step. He would have been embarrassed if he weren’t so fucking pissed.

He tried everything but you wouldn’t budge so he finally gave in and picked you up bridal style.

He didn’t talk to you the entire car ride back to your mansion. He just plotted.

He was going to teach you some fucking manners.

Without being told he picked you up and carried you inside. Once he walked into your bedchambers and successfully out of range of any cameras (because daddy would never allow anyone to watch his daughter in the privacy of her room) he went from carrying you bridal to tossing you over his shoulder.

Your reaction was immediately as you began kicking and screaming at the indignity of being carried like a sack of potatoes. You kept flailing around as he locked the doors until he smacked the back of your thigh hard enough to leave a red hand print.

Toji stormed past your sitting room and straight to you bedroom.

Once he got to your California king size bed he tossed you face first onto the mattress.

When he saw you trying to crawl away he grabbed your hips and pulled you to lie ass up on his lap.

You started struggling against him again and this time throwing curses at him but you settled down when he flipped up the skirt of your fluffy pink dress and landed his hand painfully against your ass through your panties.

Over and over and over again while he made a comment about you clearly not getting enough spankings as a kid.

He’d never been more thankful for soundproofing.

When you finally went limp against his strong body except for the trembling sobs he rubbed his palm over your rosy red ass.

He continued kneading your flesh while he told you what a spoiled brat you were and that he was going to teach you a lesson you’d never forget. You were gonna know who your Daddy was by the end of the night.

He then lowered his hand to rub two fingers over your clothed pussy. You yelped and tried to get up again resulting in his hand coming down hard on your poor abused butt three times.

“You’re gonna take your punishment like a good girl or you’re going to get more spankings. Do you understand?”

When you nodded he went back to rubbing your little cunt. Your whimpers of pain soon turned to trembling moans of pleasure and you stopped resisting all together after deciding that this new sensation felt good.

When you tried asking for more Toji smacked you right over your pussy saying that bad girls take what their given and once more went back to rubbing you through your panties.

He eventually could feel you becoming very wet. He decided he wanted to feel you skin to skin and pushed your panties to the side.

You gasped when you felt him on your bare sex, spreading your wetness with his thick fingers.

He chuckled to himself when you asked him where the liquid came from and told you to hush. He figured you’d be innocent from your sheltered life but not this innocent. He gathered up some of your wetness and rubbed it over your puffy clit earning a yelp.

Toji had you writhing and whining under him in a matter of seconds. He eventually decided you were ready enough for more and slowly pushed his index finger into your tight heat. You were panting and moaning as he pushed in and out of a place you’d never thought to explore before. You squealed when he pushed in a second finger without warning, stretching you out more.

When he finally managed to comfortably slide in three fingers with almost no resistance he pulled out and tossed you to the middle of the bed. He made sure to throw you onto your back. He wanted to watch you cry while he fucked you.

You stared at the ceiling for a second to try and make the room stop spinning. You where pulled out of your dizzy trance when you heard Toji groan and looked over to see him licking his fingers clean.

Toji practically ripped off his button up shirt and climbed over you. His large muscular form dwarfed you as he stared down at you and for the first time you think you understand what it’s like to feel like prey. You watched a dark smirk spread across his beautiful face and stretch his scar before he dropped down to suck and bite at your neck.

While he was working his mouth on your throat his hands began peeling off layers of your clothes. Once he got you free of the wretched things he turned his attention to your chest. He began pinching one of your nipples while biting and harshly sucking on the other one making you lace your fingers through his short raven hair.

Once he was satisfied with punishing you there he figured it was time to get onto the main event.

Normally he’d eat out virgins before fucking them but you made him angry so he was going to enjoy watching you weep around his cock.

He sat up, pulling his head from you grasp, and unbuckled his belt. He pulled his pants and boxers down just enough to let his cock spring free at last.

He could see the panic start to rise in you as you saw the sheer size of him and wrapped his hand around your throat before you could try to escape again. He used his other hand to steady his erection and line it up with your quivering hole.

His first push was to no avail but you weren’t so lucky the second time as his head painful popped past your tight entrance. You sobbed as he pushed all the way in until he was balls deep.

He sat and admired the feeling of you clenching around him for a moment but not long enough for you to adjust. He started by rolling his hips into your cervix while you gripped onto his shoulders and and arms. He kept going harder and faster until he was slamming into your tight cunt while you cried and begged for him to go slower. Oh if only you knew you were just making his dick harder.

One thing’s for sure, you weren’t walking tomorrow.

Eventually the pain started to ebb back into pleasure making your eyes start to roll back. Your body started moving against Toji’s on its own. Like it knew what to do. You soon started to wrap your legs around Toji’s wide hips and rocking in rhythm with his thrust.

You felt an odd sensation building up in your core and when you said something about it Toji reached down and started playing with your clit again. Toji’s thrust were now becoming harder and more erratic as the tension inside you was building rapidly.

Toji was now slamming all of his weight into your poor cervix as if he was trying to get inside your very womb while your walls grew tighter and tighter. You suddenly felt something snap and it was like the floodgates opened.

Toji tried pulling out but your legs unexpectedly latched down on him and he couldn’t help but cum with you as you squirted on his cock.

When he was finally able to pull out he took a moment to watch his cum dribble out but couldn’t stop himself from pushing it back in. If you wanted his cum so bad you were gonna keep it.

He looked up to see your tear stained face fast asleep.

Looks like he’ll be sticking around for a while.

[green-eyed-whumpster]

My OC Universe: Rowan 58

I accidentally uploaded the wrong chapter. I’m sorry. I share custody of a single brain cell with my friend and they currently have it for the week.

Chapter 58 Summary: Sweet, sweet, sexy catharsis! Rowan finally snaps in the face of his abuse. (Taggers: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @much-ado-about-whumping, @abitefullofeverything, @whump-me-all-night-long, @sky-or-something-idfk, @tears-and-lilies)

Trigger Warnings: Reference to previous abuse, verbal abuse, dehumanisation.

As promised, Rowan lurched awake to find a guard rousing him for Marie and Cordelia. Alexander was absent this time, a difference that unsettled Rowan. He was so used to seeing him and his mother together that it felt wrong when they were not.

“Oh, my dear husband,” Marie smirked, tone sarcastic and cruel. “You do not look well at all!” He growled at her and jerked, angrily releasing some of his fury through the useless act. He looked mad, dark rings under his eyes, a flood of dried blood from his nose to his chest. “Please allow me a small experiment,” She said, letting her careful eyes wander to Rowan. “I was hoping to ask you both a question.” Cordelia lowered William’s gag as sharp footsteps clicked along the hallways. William’s face lit up at the prospect of rescue and he leaned forward. “Hey! I’m the King! Get in here this instant!” He demanded, not considering the fact that the sound was present before Marie ordered the removal of his muzzle, and so wasn’t likely to belong to a sympathetic creature. As if to accentuate this, Marie chuckled softly, rolling her eyes as the footsteps stopped right outside the door and the tall shadow of the figure obscured the doorway. Mere moments before revealing himself Rowan caught a whiff of a familiar perfume, placing the name as Merek’s face appeared and he stood beside Marie. “You-Mer-how dare you betray me like this!” William roared and Cordelia curled her fingers into his, now unkempt hair, ripping his head back and forcing a whine from his throat. “If you do not remain silent,” She rumbled dangerously. “Then we will take extreme precautions to keep you silent.” The threat was clear. And William wasn’t finished with use of his tongue just yet. He had to content himself with glowering at his duplicitous advisor, perhaps hoping he combust from the sheer hatred seething from his face. “You never mentioned that your tradeswoman was a mercenary thug.” He snarled at Marie. “She certainly has her uses.” The Queen replied proudly, smiling at Cordelia. “What a strangely satisfying sight.” Merek commented curiously, drawing attention to him. “I think it could only be made better with tears.” Marie smirked. “As if I would ever allow you to see me humiliated like that.” William growled, earning a grin from the pair. “We’ll see,” Marie sighed, picking at an invisible imperfection on her thumbnail. “I’ve reconsidered what I said the previous evening,” She said, catching the unwavering attention of both imprisoned creatures. “If I were to say that one of you would be released, who would you choose?” It was a pretty obvious question, and no one was surprised to hear William speak first. “Me, of course.” Marie glanced towards Rowan, who’s face had fallen and had curled against the wall, already defeated. “What about you?” He glanced up and shrugged. “Why would you choose me? I’m not even worth the dirt under your shoe.” “What if I weren’t to choose? What if I made you both choose?” She asked. “I am the King. I should leave!” William demanded. “How am I supposed to rival that? Even with the promise of death, I couldn’t face condemning another to it.” Rowan sighed softly. “I’d strangle the slut myself if it meant I could take back my throne!” Something in that moment shattered. 

Rowan could almost physically feel it, his soul, cracking from the strain of hiding and suppressing his feelings for so long. Suddenly his breathing came fast, and he felt unfamiliar rage course through his veins. “You never loved me at all, did you?” He asked softly, retrieving a scoff from the King. “You were a pretty little cock-sleeve. And a pretty poor one at that.” “You gave me jewellery, you trusted me in your bed, you showered me with praise, and what, it was all pretend?” William sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes. “It was like having a puppy.” He said. “You keep if loyal, but when you’re tired of it you drown it.” 

Rowan had been compared to animals before. He had been used in metaphors like this before. He had been completely dehumanised to his face before. But now it was just too much. Too humiliating to realise he was, and always had been, nothing. “You tortured me!” He yelled, feeling his voice crack as it was raised above its normal pitch. “You-you allowed your men to ravage me and humiliate me! And made me believe that you were saving me from them when in fact you were just transferring ownership!” Tears pricked his eyes like needles, tears that had been forced down almost since he arrived. 

“I was abused, by you, and your staff, and your men, I was raped! And you blamed me for it! Forced me to witness as you had them executed, threatening to do the same to me if I ‘let’ it happen again! You forced me to get drunk to entertain you and your friends! You let everyone talk down to me and talk about me like I wasn’t there! Or like I couldn’t hear what they were saying, like I didn’t understand every word they called me! You poisoned me for your own entertainment!” 

The hatred and frustration broke over his lashes and he struggled to keep his voice from wobbling and relinquishing his power before he had finished. “I was forced to beg for you to rape and abuse me! To thank you for the opportunity to be taken! To grovel at your feet while you fed me scraps of your food like a pet! I wasn’t even human to you! Just some creature that no one would object to you mistreating! You gave me to your friend to fuck! And when he tried to murder me you had me punished! I was refused any morsel of dignity while your advisor had the soldiers line up and remind me of what you claimed to save me from!” 

He felt the eyes on him, every one, and turned to catch the eye of one of the guards at the door. “I remember you!” He chuckled in a weak attempt to cover the way he was falling apart. “You called me a desperate whore, good for only one thing! Was I? Was I good?” They had the shame to look away, turning their back on their mistake. “You had me branded! I will permanently be marked as your property! Men sign their family crest on their weapons, or their silverware, or their clothes! You put it on a person and reduced them to an item you owned. You tricked me into thinking that you had saved me from there, too! That you had missed and desired me! But it was all a ploy to get your stupid, uneducated, whore of a consort to actually believe that you cared for him! You tricked me into feeling some sort of fondness, or care for you. I felt sorry for you when we were first brought down here! I empathised with you, explained away your cruel words as simply being unused to not being in control, but no, that was just you when you were no longer bothered by how your creature felt!” There was a brief pause before a thought occurred to Rowan and he scoffed. “You call me ‘pet’.” He whispered, sniffing heavily as his eyes locked with William’s. “I would wager, I would say money but it’s obvious by how you came to possess me that I have none, so I would bet my life, that you don’t know how old I am,” He said and laughed. “Let alone…tell me, William, what’s my name?” Silence. “What is it?” He roared, pulling against the chains. “Why on Earth would I know?” William replied. Voice just soft enough that Rowan could realise with relief that he was maybe startled by this barrage of his sins against the boy. “Why would you? It’s just a person. A human being that you claimed as your own purely because he was pretty. If I were an average-looking thing you would have left me to die in that barracks. With blood on my ass, and sperm in my hair, and snot on my face. And never would have even given a second thought to the person I was or the people who…the-the people who…” Missed me. “I hate you.” He whispered after a moment. “I despise you. I abhor you. I detest you. I’ve killed two people who both tried to kill me first and felt like dying because of it. But, I think if I killed you, if I strangled you myself, I might finally be able to sleep at night.” He sobbed, too afraid to turn his gaze from anyone else but William. “Not even the Gods could have dreamt up a creature as cruel as you,” He gasped finally, the anger flickering out of him like a candle flame in a breeze. “You are a manifestation of sin, and evil, and sadism.” He felt cold now. Empty. Like all that had sustained him for the three years since he was stolen from Peter, was his suppressed disgust, and now that it was gone, he had nothing left inside of him. 

A piece died with every time he was raped. 

More of his innocence stripped away, until he was left, a shell, a dried leaf that William crumbled into dust just to hear the sound of him break.

[brightblueinky]

Long winded ramblings about a Bronycon video

So I’ve seen some hubbub about a YouTube essay going over the history of the Brony fandom up until the last Bronycon. (You can see it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fVOF2PiHnc ) I just got around to watching it today and I was...somewhat confused by some of the stronger negative takes I was seeing floating around Twitter, and I’ve been in a “fandom discourse” mood lately so, hey, I thought...why not talk about it. The first part of this was originally going to be a Twitter thread until I realized Twitter wasn’t going to let me keep going on the thread so I gave up and decided to put it here instead (lol) so it’s probably going to be a bit choppy since I was trying to keep it readable for that format.

So first of all, my background, so I can be completely honest about where I'm coming from and try not to portray what I'm saying as like...an end-all-be-all take here, because I don't wanna do that. I was never really an MLP fan. I watched the first season of FiM and really enjoyed it, but I didn't really engage with the fandom because by that point I'd gotten to where I didn't spend much time in huge fandoms. So I can't come at this from the perspective of an MLP fan. When I’m addressing the fandom here, I’m coming at it as an outsider in the sense that I am not a MLP fan/brony. What I AM going to do is come at this from the perspective of something of a "native" to fandom. I've always been a geek. I've engaged in online fandom in some form or another since I was about 8, which was in the mid 90s. I've been around the fandom block. Actually, I can even say that I used to lurk on 4chan a lot and I saw a lot of the early Brony discussions there. I also watch @JennyENicholson's videos, and yeah, there's been times where I've been bugged because we had a disagreement of opinions and felt like it was a little harsh. She's got a dry sense of humor and sometimes it's hard to read when she's joking and when she's being genuine. So like, I wasn't surprised when I saw some hubbub from some people online about her doing the video about Bronies. Not at all. But I gotta say...I am really surprised by some of the more INTENSE takes on the video after watching it?? The LARGE majority of the video is @JennyENicholson covering this fandom from an INSIDER'S perspective. She was an MLP fan before FiM, she was active enough in the fandom to be a BNF. A huge, huge amount of the video is positive and nostalgic. In fact I now wish I HAD been in the fandom! It seems like it was a lot of fun! The only thing I felt was maybe harsh in the video is I think she gave the impression that being "furry" is exclusively a sex thing, but by the end she talks about furries being a community that's a very inclusive, kind community with a lot of queer people, so even then I think if you're really paying attention to the whole video you're not going to come away with the idea that the furry community is bad. Just maybe could've had more nuance earlier in the video?  So from glancing through mentions of her in a Twitter search (which is definitely not going to be a perfect sample) from what I can tell there's like two things that people seem to be upset about with the video: 1, the idea that the fandom is "dead" and 2...just...Body Pillows. So let's talk about the dead fandom thing first. As I mention, I have been in fandom a long, long time. Although I (usually) shy away from big active fandoms now, I started off in bigger ones--Sonic, Pokemon, Digimon, LOTR, etc. The two fandoms I currently care about the most, though, are definitely fandoms that tend to be called "dead" and were never HUGE to begin with (Princess Tutu and Chrono Crusade). I think I can count on my hands the number of ppl who actively discuss or create fanwork for CC.   So I guess what I'm trying to say is, I've been on both sides of the coin here. And let me reassure Bronies: "Dead", while maybe too strong of a label for what it actually means, does not have to be a negative thing and you don't need to defend your fandom from it, IMO. I think the "dead" label simply means that interest in the fandom has cooled, the number of active participants is significantly down from the heydays of the fandom, etc. And I don't think that's an unfair label for brony fandom from what I know.   If there was a large scale replacement for Bronycon then maybe it'd be unfair, but...yeah, if you're losing your large hubs for the fandom community, if the flow of fanwork and discussion has slowed, I think "dead", as it's used, isn't an unfair label.   But again, I don't think this is a bad thing! I'd imagine that even the current state of the brony fandom is larger and more active than the Princess Tutu fandom at its greatest heights. It's a pretty relative term. It doesn't mean nobody cares, or that you can't still enjoy it! All the "dead" label really means is acknowledging the change in a fandom. It's not a bad thing. I might be 1 of ~30 writers for Chrono Crusade on AO3 but I still have fun writing fic and I still get hits and occasional positive comments. It's not bad. Just different. Okay so now let's talk about the body pillow thing and oh man, is this going to be a minefield, lol. Let's first talk about my personal lens I'm going to come at here... I've created NSFW fanwork. Some of it taboo. I'm also (somewhat) a part of the "proship" discourse on Twitter which is basically a community of people that push back against another community of "anti"-shippers who feel that some ships are problematic (because of character age, power dynamics, etc) and shouldn't be shipped. (I think that simplifies a lot of the discussion on both sides but it’ll do for the purpose of what I’m getting at here, I think.) At its worse this debate has lead death threats and suicide attempts. I have seen people get treated abusively for fanwork (sometimes NSFW but not always). (And I also want to add that while I think the major component of the pro-ship discussions on Twitter are anti-harassment, there’s been some ‘edgy’ types who think that it’s fun to harass antis with NSFW fanwork and the like and I want to make it clear that is ALSO ABUSIVE AND NOT OKAY.) Basically, I want to say I'm sympathetic to a knee jerk defensive reaction over NSFW fanart. Okay? I can get why people might want to push against criticism of stuff they enjoy/create, and that there’s an element of possibly being harassed for fanwork you create. But the thing is, I don't think this is really the attitude Jenny is taking in the video. She lightly mocks NSFW stuff and body pillows, but often describes it as "harmless" and "fine". The only time she's critical of it is when she notes that sometimes body pillows with suggestive poses could be on display at conventions where young kids were present--at a con celebrating a show MEANT for young kids--and that probably shouldn't have been allowed. She's not saying you can't buy a body pillow, or create one. She didn't even say that while discussing body pillows of characters who were 10! She expressed personal discomfort, but the only restriction she really suggested was "keep this out of the sight of minors." And I don't know why that would be a controversial take. I read lemons when I was younger so I'm not going to sit here and act like it's going to completely ruin kids lives or anything. But I ALSO think it's appropriate to have boundaries for sexual materials for kids (or anyone who doesn't want to engage for whatever reason). I want my stuff to be clearly labeled as NSFW, with tags being clear about the content, so people know what they're getting into. I’ve grown to care about this even more as I’ve gotten older. I don’t really want to know about minors reading my nsfw fanfic or anything. I’m not going to, like, parent them and shame them if they do, but I don’t want to engage with it, I want my stuff to be labeled, and I am DEFINITELY not going to put it on public display at a place where I know kids are allowed, ESPECIALLY not when it’s work based on stuff MEANT for children! I mean, I grew up in a fundamentalist Evangelical household and I will rant at you for hours about how damaging I feel that environment was, and that I don’t think kids and teens should be completely shielded from sex, etc. But that doesn’t mean that having boundaries in place is a bad idea, especially when minors are involved. I also think that boundaries are good just for the sake of consent, too? I’m not saying that someone accidentally seeing suggestive art is the same as them being raped, please don’t conflate it like that, but if people don’t want to see it for whatever reason they should be given the opportunity to make that choice as much as possible. The stuff that Jenny mentioned brony conventions would do (requiring stuff to be sold under the table, or having late night hours for the dealer’s room where 18+ merch could be displayed and sold) seem like really good policies and pretty similar to what I’ve seen at anime conventions I’ve attended (although occasionally some stuff that was maybe a biiit more suggestive than I’d be comfortable displaying in public...but hey, my local con allows kids but also makes it clear in their rules that it’s mostly geared for 13+ attendees and that it’s up to parents to decide what’s appropriate for their kids, and I think that’s fair). And yeah, I know, nothing that Jenny showed in the video being displayed at Bronycon was 100% explicit, just suggestive. She notes this in the video herself, saying that yeah, it doesn’t show genitalia, etc...and as I’m writing this I think I’ve maybe rambled too much about NSFW fanart when most of the stuff we’re talking about here is more “suggestive” than straight-up porn, since that’s probably muddying the waters a bit. But I gotta, gotta, GOTTA address the sentiment I saw multiple times on Twitter in response to her video: “Dakimakura/body pillows aren’t sexual and to say that is orientalist.” I...what? What the fuck? Okay, again, I’m going to make it perfectly clear what my background is here so that I’m not claiming to have some expertise that I don’t have: I am white. I am VERY white. My parents did the DNA test thing and the most “exotic” thing that came up is that my dad is 3% Spanish. Not latin american, I mean from Spain spanish. I am sooooo fucking white. I’ve studied a LITTLE of Japanese culture in college classes but that wasn’t even my field of study (Communication major on a Broadcasing track, minor in Theatre) so I’m not going to tell you I’m an expert on Japanese culture. I’m just a weeby geek that grew up in anime fandoms and never really stopped consuming Japanese pop culture. I have a very limited experience with Japanese culture. I am NOT an expert on what is and isn’t orientalist. I know I’m really hammering in this point here but I think it’s really, really important that I make it clear that I shouldn’t be used as an expert on this subject. But what I DO have a background in is someone who has engaged in Western fandom of stuff from Japan from a young age, I did spend a lot of time on 4chan, this is NOT the first time that I’ve seen some form of an “this isn’t sexual at all and you’re just a PERVERT” discussion about fanservice and...okay first of all, I highly doubt anyone saying this is any more qualified to define what is and isn’t orientalist than I am. I think this is bullshit and it feels like an attempt to make your opinions more legitimate by implying people that disagree with you are some form of bigot. (And look, I was a sheltered, insecure, stuck-up teenager in fandom, part of the reason I feel like I can recognize this is I totally pulled the same shit. I am not going to act like I have never tried to pull this and that I’m a pure innocent woke intellectual who’s never said something foolish, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let it slide, either.)

While writing this I googled ‘dakimakura’ to make sure I was spelling it right and noticed that Wikipedia does note that the origins of this style of pillow are sometimes used by Japanese kids as something like a security blanket, which I’m guessing is where the justification for the argument is coming from, but let’s be intellectually honest here--body pillow covers being sold at a convention aren’t primarily meant to be a security blanket for kids. And, okay, maybe you have a body pillow cover with a character on it that isn’t exactly in a sexual pose, just laying fully clothed on what looks like a bedsheet background. But I don’t think it’s an unfair argument to say that even THEN it implies a sort of intimacy, right, possibly a desire for a romantic attachment? Like, sharing a bed with someone doesn’t have to be sexual or romantic, I used to share a bed with my brother in hotel rooms when we were kids, but I’m also not going to share a bed with my brother and then hug him closely to my body no matter how he’s posed or what he’s wearing??? And look, maybe a body pillow isn’t ALWAYS sexual but to say it’s NOT sexual, which kinda implies NEVER, is so disingenuous. The top result I got when I searched for “anime body pillow” is a shop that includes categories like “18+ body pillow” and “sexy body pillow” and also SELLS FAKE BREAST INSERTS FOR SOME OF THE PILLOWS SO YOU CAN SQUEEZE THEIR BOOBS (obviously, NSFW link: https://www.dakimakura.us/ ) Like, COME ON, I don’t think it’s orientalist to say that something is sexual when Japanese people are actually selling body pillows they label as 18+. The second result even has a second for pillows you can insert sex toys into. And yeah I saw the guy saying “masturbation isn’t sex!” and sir at BEST you have a very narrow and incorrect definition of sex as simply being intercourse and, again, at worst you’re just being straight up dishonest. In fact, I’ll straight up call myself out for this. There’s a fanart body pillow of a fictional character I’ve considered buying several times! (Not porn but still probably NSFW link: https://www.etsy.com/listing/701912275/dakimakura-hypnosismic-doppo?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=hypnosis+mic&ref=sr_gallery-1-4&organic_search_click=1 ) Is this porn? No. You can’t see much. But on one side of the pillow he’s got his shirt untucked, you can see a bit of his stomach, and his fly is undone and you can see the band of his underwear peeking out. This is sexual. I’m not wanting it to like, get off on it, exactly...honestly it’s maybe a bit ironic, and a lot of wanting a body pillow in general is I like sleeping hugging onto something but I have a different sleep schedule from my husband I find him too big to hold all night and too warm in the summer anyway. But I’m not going to tell you that me wanting this PARTICULAR pillow case isn’t at all sexual, I know what I’m doing, I like the character and think the drawing is hot. I’m not saying don’t buy body pillows, okay? I’m not saying don’t sell them. I don’t think Jenny is either (she literally OWNS ONE that she shows in the video!!!). But don’t act like there isn’t ever anything sexual about it existing to try to defend their existence, okay? You don’t need to be a fucking coward about it, and you especially don’t need to say it’s racist if people call out something as being suggestive when, well, it fucking is. And I think it’s totally 100% reasonable for someone to say “hey I don’t think it’s a good idea to display suggestive art around kids, especially if it’s depicting young characters.” TL;DR -- Chill, guys. CHILL. Your fandom is getting smaller and the term people use for this is “dead” but that’s not a bad thing, you’ve still got the fandom, you can still enjoy it, there’s definitely no need to take personal offense over it. And enjoy your body pillows, but don’t be disingenuous about the fact that they can be suggestive and try to act like anyone that calls it such is racist, that is such bullshit. Like what you like, other people’s opinions of it is not automatically a personal attack on you, there’s no need to jump to being defensive every time someone says something vaguely negative about it. Chill, fandom friends. Fandom ain’t bad but it also doesn’t need to be the center of your identity and you don’t need to lash out against people for daring to have opinions about a thing you like. You especially don’t need to act like other people are perverts for noting something being suggestive. Chiiiiiiiiiill.

[xhusu]

Shitty jelmon hc’s that are canon in my head

Okay so since I am the only one who ships it in the whole fandom, there we go! Jelmon hc’s! (Jellal/Simon, platonic here) | Warning: my english still sucks

·        The first time they met was when Simon and Erza arrived in the Tower. They were 9. The two of them were the last ones of the group to get here. First was Jellal, then Millianna, then Wolly and then Sho

·        Jellal did the first step, offering his hand with a smile. Erza loved it, Simon hated it.

·        He really hated the smile, he always thought of it as “that stupid smile of his”. They’re slaves for God’s sake, why is he smiling after all

·        At first he didn’t really liked Jellal: he was stupid and reckless, smiling for nothing, talking like everything was alright and offering them his food almost every time he saw someone tired. Simon saw him like this kind of kids trying to impress everyone

·        So, he hated when Jellal asked if he needed a hand during the day. He was totally capable of working on his own

·        Which isn’t true when your nine and a slave

·        But Simon was a shy and silent kid who lived alone with his sister: why wouldn’t he be alright?

·        When he understood that Erza had a crush on Jellal, he went on feral mode and hated him

·        He was the first to know her after all, HE was the one who should be with her

·        So he became distant and sometimes mean to Jellal

·        And Jellal’s smile didn’t helped it

·        “Are you stupid? I said leave me alone!” “But you’re doing it wrong, you’ll hurt yourself” “I won’t!”

·        He did

·        Boom, first real injury

·        Jellal was always talking, this fucking kid couldn’t stay silent

·        Even during work

·        And at night

·        Like, he would let people sleep, OF COURSE, they need it

·        But if you do a nightmare: bae’s here

·        Let’s talk!

·        He didn’t sleep a lot, even as a child. He preferred dreaming about freedom, watching his friends sleeping safe and sounds or watching the stars

·        Simon hated that too because “dude stop watching us, you’re creepy”

·        Simon hated a lot about him. Jellal wasn’t mean or anything, it was just his attitude, in a place like the R-System

·        Then one day an accident happened: a kid and an adult died after something fell on them. The kid pushed Jellal out of the way, he saved him

·        Simon saw the whole scene

·        It was the first time he saw Jellal with horror in his eyes, tears starting to appear and being really shocked by what happened

·        But he had to go back to work

·        On their “lunch break” (the reality is that only the guards were eating, the slaves could if they saved their bread but if not, then they’s just wait), Jellal was nowhere to be find. Erza and friends were worried. Simon told them (mostly Erza because he was so sweet and kind with her and I love him for that) that he’ll find the other kid

·        He did

·        But Jellal was crying, the kid who died was one of his old friends

·        It was the first time Simon ever saw him crying and comforted him as he could, giving him a shoulder to cry on. And as strange as it may seems, he was a little relieved by Jellal’s reaction

·        Because for once, the boy was a being a boy, a child crying after the loss of a beloved one; and not a kid trying to be strong when he’s in pain

·        Because they’re slaves do I have to remind you. Jellal may be strong and brave, he’s a kid

·        After that they became closer because Jellal would stop smiling when he was unhappy, sad or tired

·        Even tho he’d still do it for Erza because his girl deserves happiness

·        Jellal always was like that, you can’t convince me otherwise

·        Simon and Jellal would talk all night long and sleep like two hours

·        They understood each other more every night

·        Sometimes Erza would join them

·        It was awkward because of the little love triangle but they’re pure and would just smile and tell each other bad jokes that Jellal wouldn’t always get (he’s sometimes stupid but it’s cute)

·        They invented stories too, always about children discovering the world

·        (Even today jerza remember them and it pains them more than it should)

·        So there you go, they’re happy and all

·        Then they try to escape, they get caught, Erza is taken

·        Jelmon are the ones who think about delivering her

·        But Simon is scared

·        Jellal is angry

·        He even said to Simon “we’ll have to fight”

·        Simon thought he was joking but then Jellal disappeared

·        And Erza came back

·        And he understood

·        But the revolt started so he couldn’t think about how braver Jellal was compared to him

·        And he fought as much as he could

·        Simon knew that Erza didn’t betrayed them

·        He knew Erza, the only one who got the chance to know her better than him is Jellal

·        Bad Jelly appears because of bad Ultear (I love you sweetie, but I love Jellal too and let’s be honest you fucked up)

·        I hc the brainwash/possession as super painful too, because, hell, someone’s entering in your head without consent, it’s a mind rape. Pretty sure Jellal’s still scared of this moment because in both manga and anime it was crazy (skeleton/deformed purple thing entering in his eye) and he was 11. So yeah, trauma

·        But, important point for me:

·        Simon knew it wasn’t Jellal

·        How?

·        Because Jellal had a “that stupid smile”

·        And that stupid smile disappeared

·        Since he didn’t know Ultear atm, he couldn’t know that it was her

·        He tried to understand, went in the cells where jerza got tortured, he couldn’t believe that Erza betrayed them… and thinking that Jellal really was a manipulative asshole couldn’t be an option neither. He even tried to talk to him, but Jellal just smiled and repeated the words he’d say to everybody

·        So for now he only could comfort the little ones (Milli and Sho)

·        He once saw Jellal with this strange girl he never saw. It was Ultear. He was sure she had something to do with it

·        He desperately tried to talk to her, asking her who she is, why is she here, that he never saw here

·        She smiled and played the innocent

·        But he continued

·        It was enough

·        And she threatened him, something like “You shouldn’t worry this much, Simon. Would be a shame if Kagura-chan got in troubles”

·        Because since he tried to understand what was happening, tried to talk to Jellal, she understood that he was a threat. But making him go away would just be dangerous because Erza being broken alone? She can’t do anything. But the two of them trying to get help, to stop what was happening? Too dangerous

·        So she decided to keep him but for that she needed to know his biggest weakness which was Kagura. And since she’s in Jellal’s mind, she knows everything he does. And Simon’s life is a part of it

·        And so my poor son had to stay here, trying to find a way to save his friends

·        And he couldn’t start a revolt because people believed more in Jellal than him, since Jellal got in the tower before him (and tbh who wouldn’t notice a blue haired boy with a strange tattoo on his face? Who can blame them)

·        He was stuck

·        Until they went to get Erza

·        Now, it’s in the canon you know what he did next, what he tried

·        But just to be clear, when he said to Natsu that Erza wanted to save Jellal, even after everything

·        Well, I think you can read it with two visions. 1) he’s just talking about Erza and 2) he was talking for both of them, but just gave up, and it was hurting him way too much

·        Following the event, he took the blast and died saving Erza

·        ANOTHER POINT YOU HAVE TO REMEMBER

·        Jellal/Ultear wanted to kill Natsu. Then Erza came. Jellal stopped but then laughed and continued. Then he threw the blast. And Simon showed

·        AFTER THE BLAST

·        Do you understand that? Even in canon Jellal/Ultear NEVER had the intention of killing Simon

·        So, I continue my hc’s

·        In the death scene, Jellal stopped everything and stared at them, then laughed, saying about how pitiful the whole thing was

·        During the whole fight, Jellal was fighting the intruder in his mind, things didn’t seem right. Every time he stopped in the scene (when Erza goes in front of Natsu and when Simon is shown after the blast) is when he was dominating his mind, but he couldn’t totally escape and Ultear would always take control

·        The moment where he took total control and was back, the moment where he was winning his real fight, his mind, is when he finally felt the pain from the injury he got from Erza

·        And then, Natsu does the whole speech about not being able to be free if following a ghost, that he needed to free himself

·        And there he is, Jellal is back at this moment

·        But still takes a huge fucking punch and end up unconscious

·        Natsu defeated the corpse, but Jellal defeated the spirit

·        This fight is for me composed of two. And maybe that’s why it’s one of my favorite from the manga

·        When my son wakes up, he’s hurts, he can’t feel his body, everything hurts

·        He stands up but feel so heavy and then see his reflection in the Etherion/Lacryma that became the tower

·        And then: shock

·        He’s an adult

·        He’s beaten up

·        His stomach is bleeding, his face too

·        And the only thing he remember clearly is a voice calling itself God

·        He walks and find Simon’s corpse

·        He strangely recognises him, runs to him, saying “I’m back!”

·        But the other is cold

·        And he understands

·        And he remembers

·        And he screams

·        And he cries

·        And finally, he gets up and goes to like save Erza like always

·        He takes her out of the lacryma; and without knowing why, knows what he has to do

·        He fucked up anyway, so his death wouldn’t be a problem

·        While trying to fuse with the Etherion, he looks at Erza, cheeks wet and swollen eyes

·        “You became really strong, Erza…”

·        And then he does it

·        He disappears in the Etherion

·        And Natsu, on the ground, looking at the scene forces himself to get up and flee with Erza

·        Without understanding what happened, why..

·        All he knows is that Erza is now safe

·        And while the two of them flee

·        The two little boys who were once slaves are finally free

[whitehotharlots]

So we’re just gonna straight up embrace conservatism?

A few months ago I came across the story of a group of young trans activists who wrecked up the opening of a feminist library in British Columbia. To avoid accusations of taking sides or whatever, here’s what the feminists had to say about it, and here’s what the trans activist kids had to say about it. (Direct link: https://www.facebook.com/notes/gag-gays-against-gentrification/response-to-vancouver-womens-library/379623995740078 )

Both sides agreed that the activists physically disrupted the opening of what was purported to be a feminist space, caused several hundred dollars worth of property damage, threatened physical violence against the library’s proprietors, and demanded that a dozen or so books be removed from the shelves.

I decided not to write about this. Firstly, because engaging with trans discourse in any way other than nodding politely guarantees you will be accused of Literal Murder, and I just don’t want to mess with that. More importantly, I felt I couldn’t say anything that wouldn’t amount to a simple, maybe even pedantic observation: namely, it’s kinda weird how we’ve begun to fear subjectively perceived, metaphorical “violence” so intensely that we’re willing to accept literal, physical violence as a response to it. It’s easy to make fun of people who say that using gendered pronouns is a direct cause of murder or whatever, but these people aren’t just obscure cranks anymore--they control the discourse; we’re living in the world they’ve built. 

Here’s a sample of what I tried to write:

Here, in the interest of objectivity, it’s traditional for a writer to point out the tremendous amount of danger faced by those trans people who committed violent acts against the cis feminists and have demanded that the cis feminists radically alter their own space. A writer should re-cite the oft-cited statistic that over twenty trans people were murdered in 2015--and that, no doubt, at least half of them were beaten to death with a copy of Andrea Dworkin’s Pornography. And I don’t mean to be facetious: should a trans activist suggest that these books were being wielded as literal, physical weapons, there might at least be a smidgen of logic behind their demands. But such a connection, however tenuous, is never proffered. We are left instead with a vague implication by association: the trans activists understandably don’t like trans people being murdered and they also don’t like books they assume question the essentialist foundation of their self-understanding, therefore a responsible author will make sure to establish a sense that the former is indeed caused by the latter. Or, if it’s not a case of actual causation--since obviously it’s not and no one would ever be so daft as to suggest that it is--at the very least we should respect the trans activists’ sensitivities toward literature they find upsetting, seeing as they’re acting out of a sense of extreme fear that they at least believe to be justified. Criticizing them at lashing out would be like getting mad a cornered raccoon for showing its teeth.

Just… can you believe this? Honestly? Here, very real violence and property damage is excused simply by putting in the context of the emotional state of those who committed it. Can you imagine any parallel situation taking place in contemporary America? A black man would have a much more solid case in going down to his local police station and wrecking up the place. Police violence against black people is an actual, direct, and literal thing--no flimsy metaphors are required to explain it. If such a thing were to happen, however, the black guy would be killed or imprisoned and his actions would be condemned in all but the most radical of spaces (try to find a mainstream publication that supported Chris Dorner. You can’t). Or more on point: let’s say a group of radical zionists entered a store the specializes in classical music, so at to disrupt a talk about Wagner. They post threats on social media. They wreck merchandise. They tear down posters, shove some elderly classical enthusiasts, cause several hundred dollars worth of damage, and leave a manifesto demanding that certain naughty works be banned. Again: they’d most likely be arrested. They would find no defense within the mainstream press. Their sense of victimhood would certainly not be used as justification for their actions, and no serious person would yield to their demands that certain works of music be banned from stores.

So… yeah. I was having trouble not sounding dismissive. But since then other shit has gone down, and it’s dawned on me that this tendency to prize the metaphorical over the literal isn’t new. It’s very old. It is, simply put, the general grounding of the American conservative worldview. It just happens to be coming from woke people now. 

For an example, take a look at a piece about trans activists vandalizing a rape crisis center with death threats. The vandalism was, of course, denounced on all sides. But check out the phrasing here: 

Trans people face employment and housing barriers, Jenkins said, and the graffiti could be a product of a trans person’s pent up frustration. Vancouver Rape Relief, she said, is a visible organization at which to point a finger.

“A lot of the actions of Vancouver Rape Relief through exclusion of trans women I think are symbolic of society’s disdain for trans people generally,” she said.

“So I can understand that for someone who is having a really hard time generally, this is a symbol of everything that is wrong with the world that is treating me terribly �� which is no excuse, but I can see how someone could get to that point.”

Just… fucking seriously? Again, can you imagine this kind of even handedness being afforded to any other marginalized group? The only time you see violence regarded in such an apologetic or celebratory manner is when cops and soldiers do it. 

But, oh, it gets even weirder and stupider:

More graffiti adorns the sidewalks of Commercial Dr., further east from the Vancouver Rape Relief location. In support of trans people, the message “Trans women are women” appeared on sidewalks near Grandview Park earlier this summer.

Another message reads “Lesbians unite,” coupled with a double Venus symbol. Claire Ens, president of the Vancouver Dyke March and Festival Society, said the two Venus symbols are a coded threat to trans people.

“The two Venus symbols, that may seem innocent and to some even a call for lesbian rights and women-power, but in fact it is the opposite,” she said.

Two Venus symbols, side-by-side, is a larger symbol for “biological essentialism,” she said, a belief that peoples’ identities are determined by their genitals or chromosomes, which is inherently discriminatory to trans people who may have genitals that don’t match outdated ideas of what it means to be a man or a woman.

“The Venus symbols are meant as a warning sign to trans women, to state that trans women are not included nor welcomed, and is a perfect example of ... ‘dog whistling’ (because it is) innocent to those who aren’t in the know about it (but) harmful and hateful specifically to trans women,” she said.

Oh... oh dear. 

I’m reminded of the time when I was in 8th grade and my best friend did some weird art project where he put an arrow through a George Jetson doll he won at the carnival and painted the wound with a red marker. His mom found the doll. She spoke with her evangelical busybody cunt friends at work, who informed her that the “ritualistic sacrifice” of stuffed animals was a surefire sign that the boy had been brainwashed by Satanists. She then had him involuntarily committed. A state official determined him to to be depressed but not under any demonic influence, and so he was released under the condition that he start going to cut-rate therapy, where yet another evangelical busybody cunt informed him that the doll was, in fact, a sign that at least one satan lived within him (possibly several) and advised his mother to throw out all of his cds and videogames and keep him under constant watch. Oddly, this did not help with my friends’ depression. Made it a lot worse, in fact. Kicked off about a decade of severe substance abuse. But that’s neither here nor there--the point is, he did something objectively harmless that a bunch of hateful conservatives found offensive, and demonizing and bullying him was a small price to pay to get him to stop doing said harmless-but-offensive things. He might not have meant the plush art project to be a sign of aggression. A dispassionate observer would most likely not regard it as such. But the subjective, spiritual harm suffered by his mother engendered a violent reaction, and the cruelly conservative social structures of our community prized her perceived victimhood over any actual harms, and so they therefore encouraged her to damage the boy so as to make herself feel more safe. Nobody wins. Everyone was worse off. But the woman got some momentary catharsis, and that’s what was important.

Uhh… shit. I was gonna try to connect this to something else, but I think maybe I made my point. If you don’t agree with me yet, you’re never going to. But just remember, pedantic as this argument may be, there’s a reason censorship has historically resided in the conservative purview. There’s also a reason why it used to be considered virtuous, in liberal spaces, to not regard your own tastes and pet peeves as moral issues that warranted vicious remediation. Conservatives are conservatives, regardless of their color of their skin, the people they like to fuck, or whether or not they regard themselves to embody the gender they were asigned at birth. Cruelty is likewise always cruel. A cunt is a cunt. And there’s nothing to be gained by denying these basic truths.

[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

Wheels Set In Motion, Ch 1.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: As the situation in New Ham takes a dark, mysterious turn, Campbell is faced with a threat he never saw coming. With few allies and the past coming back to haunt him, he is forced to deal with a world that is crumbling fast, and choices with grim consequences.

Rating: Explicit.

Tags: Minor Character Death, Canon Divergence, Mental Health Issues, Addiction Recovery, Unhealthy Relationships, Teen Pregnancy, Past Rape/Non-con, Campbell Isn't The Dad, Brother Feels, Attempted Murder, Supernatural Elements, Gay Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Campbell has mild ASPD and is actively trying to not be awful

Word Count: 5654

Part Three || Ch 2 || Ch 3 || Ch 4 || Ch 5 || AO3

A day passed, then two. Grizz was gracious enough to take care of Campbell. He kept an eye on him when he could, making sure to let him have time to go to the bathroom, stretch, get food and water, and he gave Campbell a pillow to lean his head on at night. Luke and Clark took shifts when Grizz needed a break, and they were far less accommodating. They put water inches away from where he could reach, laughing while watching him struggle.

"Knock it off," Grizz snapped when he saw it happen. That was the last time they tried it. "Christ. I'm sorry." Campbell fought against the burning, sharp feeling in his chest. "It's whatever. They just need some way to feel powerful. Fucking wimps." Grizz didn't argue. Day two oozed by, and Campbell's shoulder had gone from aching, to throbbing and painful, to numb. His legs cramped and he was dizzy from a lack of sleep. Thankfully, Allie decided to visit him that evening. For a moment, Campbell had hope that she was letting him free; that hope evaporated when he saw the look in her eyes. "Allie, it's been days. Is all this really necessary?" he still tried, jiggling the handcuff. "Just uncuff me and lock the door or whatever. I'm not gonna jump out the window." Sitting on the bed, Allie shrugged. "Maybe." "I'm going to get pressure sores or something." "Yeah. That's what we should be worried about." "It is. I had nothing to do with killing Cassandra." "That's all you have to say?" Campbell gave an exasperated groan. "What else is there? Goddamn it, Allie, this is ridiculous. Your sister and I were cousins. Family. We were friends." He gestured to the air. "Besides, what do you expect? Huh? I can't prove it didn't happen. Can he prove it did?" "I can't tell you that." "I've barely spoken to Dewey our whole lives. Harry doesn't even like him, not that I can remember, anyways. He's always been a fucking asshole who just hangs around for scraps." "Then why did he accuse you?" "Are you really that fucking dense? You know my reputation." Oh, she knew his reputation all too well. Allie's eyes blinked a little too fast. A nervous response. "Answer the question." "I was the most obvious pick. It was a desperate move. You asked him if he had help, didn't you?" Campbell leaned back against the radiator. Allie wasn't as outwardly icy as Cassandra, but she was equally ruthless. It was hidden under the surface, waiting for just enough power to roar to life. "What did you promise him if he named names? What did you say would happen, if he didn't?" "That has nothing to do with--" "It has everything to do with it. People will tell you anything if they think their life is in danger. Big fucking duh." "I need to know what happened that night. Just tell me." "He killed her. It's that simple." "Alone? Because I don't think so." Allie leaned forward. "If not you, then Harry." Campbell snorted. "Harry? No, no." "Then who?" "Are you asking for my opinion?" When Allie stood and began to pace, Campbell rolled his eyes. Oh, that was rich. She imprisoned him and then wanted his insight. "Harry's a scared little puppy. Too bold for him. Too much effort. He can barely get out of bed these days, and he didn't really hate Cassandra like that, anyways." "Who do you think did it, then?" Humoring her, Campbell gave the question some thought. He examined everyone on the party list, and even the town populace in general. He couldn't think of anyone else who would have been that desperate for Harry's approval. "No one. Dewey did it alone. Just an entitled white boy who hates strong women. Pretty much the story with any shooter." "Classic misogyny," Allie mumbled. She chewed on her thumbnail. "Was that really all it was?" Campbell tried to shift to a more comfortable position, but there wasn't one. Everywhere hurt. They hadn't let him have any visitors-- not even Sam-- and her was starting to go from bored to annoyed. If she hadn't chained him up like a rabid dog, maybe he'd have been more sympathetic, but the only one who had his sympathy was in the ground. Everyone else was just grinding on his last nerve, but he couldn't escape to calm down. "Allie, are you gonna let me go?" "I haven't decided yet." "But if I'm innocent--" Allie's mouth pulled into a little smirk. "You think so? Maybe you didn't do this, but that doesn't mean you're innocent." "You're joking." There was no way in hell she could just detain him for some personal grudge. He felt his adrenaline start to kick in, but goddamn it, all he could do was tug uselessly at the handcuff. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sitting back down, Allie rested her chin on her hand and stared at Campbell. "Are you scared of me?" A big mistake on her part, saying that. Campbell perked a little, stopping to analyze that question. Are you scared of me? She'd mistaken his desire to get the fuck away from her as fear. And she wanted him to be scared. She wanted him afraid of her... because she'd always been afraid of him. Hate, fear. It made people do terrible shit. Like, for example, threaten to keep one's cousin locked up-- or worse-- just because they'd been a prick. That, combined with Sam's story, must have made Allie afraid. Campbell smiled, relaxing into the handcuff and focusing his gaze on her. "You have no evidence against me. I didn't do shit, and you know it. So, let me guess. You're keeping me here because you're all scared of me." He grinned as her expression froze. "And, what? You finally have a way to deal with your Campbell problem? I'm guilty of being fucked up in the head, so I deserve to be locked up? Or worse? Is that it? I'm the kind of weirdo it's acceptable to pop in the head and get rid of." "I didn't say anything about killing anyone." He laughed. "Let's drop the act and stop being coy, Allie." Campbell's smile faded as he dug through his memory for every little bit of information he had on Allie, and her personality. Every little thing that made her weak. "The thing is, if you do that, you're gonna have to be the one to pull the trigger. That's how it is, as the leader. But you don't like to make tough choices, do you? You're not Cassandra." Her nose twitched in disgust. He had her. "Fuck you." "You can't kill me and not Dewey. That wouldn't make sense. So then you, you've killed two people. And Allie, you might be all kinds of fucked up, too. I don't know. But I do know you're not like me." "So what? I don't have to be." "Yeah, you do. How are you gonna sleep at night, knowing you're a murderer? Knowing that you killed your own family just because people are ignorant and afraid? Because you're ignorant and afraid?" "I..." "You'll never get rid of me, cousin. We'll visit you," he whispered as he leaned forward, close enough that he could see the tears springing up in her eyes. "Cassandra and I. Every night in your sleep." Allie swallowed, standing quickly and walking towards the bedroom door. She stopped, her hand on the doorknob. "Maybe I'll just have to live with that." But the calm in her voice faltered, and that was all he needed. Campbell chuckled, and Allie retreated out the door, shoving her way past Sam and heading downstairs. It was enough to soothe that ache in his chest, in his fingers, that commanded him to rip and tear and make her suffer. But then he saw Sam looking at him with that look, and Campbell felt the wind leave his sails just a touch. "Are you Plan B?" Campbell asked as Sam came in the room. "No. I'm not supposed to be in here." Sam sat next to Campbell on the floor. He tucked his knees up to his chest, and signed slowly. A small mercy, considering Campbell was operating on a total of twenty minutes of sleep. "I just wanted to see you." "You know I can't stay locked up like this." "I'm going to see what I can do. It just doesn't look very good right now." "If she decides to kill me..." Sam's signing turned sharp, angry. "I won't let her do that. I won't." "How do you plan to stop her?" "I'll get Grizz to let you go. I'll take you home, stay with you until she backs off." "Thanks for the sentiment." Campbell glanced at the watch on Sam's wrist. It was just past midnight. Day three had begun. "Go get some rest, Sam. You look almost as shitty as I do." Because he hadn't been sleeping, either, Campbell realized as Sam rubbed his face and gave a long, weary sigh. "Goodnight, Campbell." "Night, Sam." Campbell waited until Sam was gone before kicking over the empty soda can Grizz had brought in at dinner. It was bullshit. They locked him up for days without any proof at all, besides the words of a convicted murderer, chained to a radiator like a fucking animal. Allie outright threatened that she would keep him like that even if he didn't do it. And to put all that on not only him, but Sam? Sam was innocent. He didn't deserve to worry like that, especially not over Campbell; was Allie really that desperate for revenge? Sleep that night went the same way it had since he'd been arrested. Trying to get comfortable, but the metal of the handcuff chaffed and bit into his wrist, the radiator coils pushed into his neck and back and shoulders, and the hard wood floor made his hips ache. He could hear noise from other rooms. He could hear when everyone went to sleep, and then there was just silence. Silence, except for the creak of the floor outside his room when whoever was guarding him moved around. Creak. Campbell startled awake out of the half-sleep he'd just slipped into. He tried again. Ten minutes, twenty minutes went by. Creak. He woke up again. All night long, and eventually, Campbell gave up like he had before and settled into a sort of zoned-out trance. Grizz came by and made sure he had lunch. "It's nothing fancy," he said as he gave Campbell water, a cheese sandwich, and dried cranberries. "But I know you don't like meat and you're on prison rations until Allie makes up her mind." "How's that looking?" Campbell wondered, poking at the food. His own hand didn't even look real anymore. "Any progress?" "Not much. People are starting to whisper." "People have been whispering. They're starting to get pissed." Grizz peeked out the door. "I'm worried she's gonna lose it. People want answers, leadership, and I believe in her but she doesn't believe in herself. People are gonna notice that." "It's because she has to want it." "She doesn't want it." And there was the problem, right there. A teen girl suffering the loss of her big sister, forced to step into her shoes, with the responsibility of an entire society on her shoulders. Campbell knew what their family was like. The pressure there was to be perfect, to compete against one's sibling, to see one's parents pick a favorite when one couldn't live up to the high expectations. It was a lot to try and handle. Allie, forever in Cassandra's shadow, unable to be the perfect little baby that her parents wanted. Campbell could understand how it felt, but at this rate, she was gonna snap. And then someone would take things from her. Oh, no. What a shame. Except it would be, because everything Cassandra worked for would be gone, if things landed into the hands of the wrong person. There were footsteps on the stairs, and Grizz ducked back out of the room before they were seen talking. Luke's voice rose up from outside, muffled. A better guard than Clark. Luke, at least, would come in every so often and ask Campbell if he needed anything. He still didn't stop Gordie from hovering near the door and glaring. Maybe if Allie didn't try and do him in, one of the others would. It wouldn't be surprising. What was surprising was, later that night, Campbell heard shouting from downstairs. Grizz had returned to his post at Campbell's room, but quickly shut the door once the yelling began. Campbell strained to hear, but he could only tell who was arguing, not so much what they were arguing about. He could hear Will and Luke, faintly, but Allie moreso. It didn't last long, whatever was happening. Soon, the door swung open and Allie stomped in, slamming the door behind her. "You're right." Campbell tensed as Allie sat down across from him. She looked angry, with her jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. "What?" "I've been scared of you my whole life. And for just one second, I wanted you to know what that felt like." She crossed her arms. "But you didn't, did you?" "I'm not scared of you. I'm worried about what you might do." "And what did you think I was going to do?" "You know what I thought." Allie studied the floor. "I thought that maybe I'd keep you here, locked up, to teach you a lesson. Some people have told me it'd be easier to just get rid of you. That it'd be safer for you to be gone, before you actually do anything to hurt people." "And?" He kept his tone even, but he felt his heart begin to slam harder as his brain tried to figure some way out. "What did you decide?" Standing up, Allie reached into her pocket and pulled out a key. She unlocked the handcuffs and waited for Campbell to get to his feet. She latched onto his wrist and led him out the back door, away from where everyone else was. Allie opened the door and shoved him onto the back porch. "Get out." It hurt to walk, and his legs felt like lead and jello at the same time, but Campbell didn't wait around for her to change her mind. He didn't even think to text Elle or Harry; he just raced home as quick as he could. Campbell could hear the piano playing from inside. Who was that? The playing stopped when he entered the home. Elle's voice floated through the silence. "Who's there?" Campbell felt a wave of relief as he turned the corner and saw Elle. It was a new sensation. A little spark of joy, a feeling of being home and safe. She was there, and she was alright. They all were, for now. "I'm free." "How..." Elle stood, stammering. Her eyes were wide. "How did you get out?" "I didn't do anything, so she let me go." "Oh." Tilting his head, Campbell walked up to Elle and stroked her cheek. She looked more like a deer in the headlights than a concerned girlfriend. "Are you okay? I thought you'd be happy to see me." Elle threw her arms around Campbell's neck, burrowing her face into his shoulder. "I am! So much." She kissed his cheek, running her hands through his hair. "So much. We were so worried." We. Campbell glanced up, seeing movement behind Elle. Harry stood in the doorway of the room, dark circles under his eyes and a blanket curled tightly around his shoulders; he kept his distance, but once Elle had left for work, Harry followed him upstairs. Campbell knew it was inappropriate for Harry to sleep beside him, but Campbell was too tired to stop him. That was the excuse Campbell made for himself, anyways. Harry sunk his fingers into Campbell's shirt, nestling close. Campbell fell into a heavy sleep, finally comfortable in his own bed. When he woke up, Harry was still there, sniffling softly with red-rimmed eyes. He didn't seem to notice Campbell was awake. Not until Campbell lightly wrapped his arms arms around Harry, anyways; Harry jumped a little, but then leaned into the embrace. "I thought they were gonna..." His voice broke. "Fucking dicks." Campbell softened his voice. "Hey, it's okay. They didn't do anything to me. We're going to be okay now, alright? Everything is going to be okay." "How do you know that? If they try again--" "Then there will be hell to pay." Campbell knew it was an idle threat. If Allie and her minions came for him again, no one would be able to stop them. Elle and Harry didn't have enough power to stop them. Still, Harry relaxed a little at the words. "Trust me." Harry's mouth twitched at the corner. "Never." "Smart boy." The house was cooler than usual as the sun went down; clouds were forming, and there was a breeze, heralding the chance of rain. Campbell was loathe to move away from the warmth of their blankets and shared body heat, but Elle would be home soon and they had their own jobs to get to. Harry bit his lip and gave Campbell a look that was almost pleading-- not yet, just a few more moments-- but Campbell stood and threw on fresh clothing. He couldn't give in to the desire for closeness. Neither of them could, especially not now when tensions were already so high. Maybe once things calmed down... If they calmed down. Elle gave Campbell a quick peck on the cheek as they passed one another on the porch. Campbell was tempted to say fuck work, and just stay home with Elle to make some coffee and watch a movie, but he had to try to be on good behavior. He couldn't give Allie a reason to fuck around with him again. But it sucked, like it always sucked, and he was happy when it was time for dinner. Elle joined him and Harry for it, and after a bit of clean-up, they could go home. Campbell was glad to get home and finally get a shower, but a closer look in his closet revealed something that made him pause. He hadn't noticed before, but there was a familiar pair of jeans and a shirt hanging there that hadn't been there before. He knew, because those were the clothes he wore the night Charlie disappeared. There was still a trace of blood on the jeans. Neither Harry or Elle had asked about them. It could have been either of them that washed the things, but Harry's idea of putting clothes away was tossing them on a chair and hoping for the best. No, the meticulous one was Elle. "Hey, babe?" Campbell asked Elle when she came back to the bedroom. He held up the shirt and wiggled it. "Where'd you find these?" Elle gave them a quick glance before heading into the bathroom to brush her teeth. "Under the bed. I did the laundry while you were gone." A pause. "There was blood on your jeans. Are you okay?" Fuck. Campbell followed her into the bathroom, kissing her shoulder. "Oh, yeah. It's just allergy season. I get nosebleeds sometimes. Sorry, I didn't want you to worry." She couldn't say anything with a mouth full of toothpaste, but Elle nodded. Campbell thought he saw a flicker of... something, but his eyelids felt like lead and his body was sluggish. He needed sleep, and Elle snuggled up to him just as close as usual, so what was there to worry about? He was just tired, and letting his disorder run off with him like it often did. He was home. He was safe. Campbell was just crawling out of bed when the text came in. Allie had made a decision; she was calling everyone to the church at 8am. Half an hour. Elle was already stumbling around getting dressed, and Harry had fallen asleep in the clothes he wore the day before, so they made it to the church with a handful of minutes to spare. They hadn't eaten. Elle looked like she wanted to be ill, and Harry was silent and shaking; neither looked hungry, and Campbell wasn't going to force himself, either. When they got to the church, Campbell stopped a few yards away. "Go in without me," he said. He remembered the shouts and cheers of the people when he got arrested. Campbell could picture their snide, smug faces in his mind. "I'll wait here." Harry stopped, while Elle went inside. "Are you sure you'll be alright out here?" "Of course." The real answer was actually of course not, and Harry knew this. Still. Harry followed Elle into the church; he was nothing if not obedient. Campbell tucked himself into a shaded spot, out of view, and waited. The air was thick and warm already, the start of a hot day. Campbell had just started to doze off when the church doors slammed open, and Dewey was dragged out kicking, screaming, cursing. Campbell only heard one sentence-- fuck you, you goddamn bitch-- before Dewey was stuffed into the guard's SUV. When Allie came out a few moments later, she looked stoic. The guard members at her side were less so. Grizz was hard to read, but there was a little wrinkle between his eyebrows, and Luke had his eyes fixed on the ground like somehow he wanted to sink into the concrete. Campbell stood and approached. Everyone but Grizz tensed, but Allie muttered something to her herd and they backed off. "Campbell," Allie said. She shoved her hands in her pockets. "You weren't at the meeting." Campbell shrugged. "Being there wouldn't have helped any, right? Anyways. Thought it'd be a good idea if I gave you some space this morning." "Then why are you here?" "For the same reason I was there for Cassandra. I knew it'd be hard for you." Allie stared hard at him, before turning her gaze a little over his shoulder. She was ashamed of her choice. Or, rather, of what she felt she had to do. "We're executing him tomorrow." "Solomon." Campbell tilted his head. The closer he looked at Allie, the more she looked away from him. "You're actually splitting the baby." That made her look at him. Allie pursed her lips, defiant. "I did it for Cassandra." "I know you did. I would have done the same thing." A dig, just to make Allie squirm. Campbell would have enjoyed the queasy look that flitted across her face, if it hadn't been about Cassandra. "Good luck." Maybe she sensed that he meant it, that good luck, because for a single heartbeat of time she looked at him like maybe he wasn't some sort of monster. But then she turned on her heels and headed off, with her lapdogs at her heels. A better reception than he expected, anyways. Campbell turned his attention to Elle and Harry, who emerged from the church and headed towards him. "I can't believe it," Harry mumbled. "She's really going through with it." Elle's lips were pressed into a thin line, but her tone was even. "So what?" She shrugged. "He murdered Cassandra. People who do terrible things deserve what they get." "Maybe, but..." Campbell walked a few paces ahead of them as they went home, trying to tune them out; it wasn't something he wanted to discuss. He knew that, in the end, what he said to Allie had almost been true. It was so very tempting to take the easy route, and Campbell was very sure that the death penalty was the easy route-- easier than having to watch over an inmate for fuck knew how long, anyways, and have him using up resources. That didn't mean he agreed with the death penalty, especially since Cassandra had been against it, and Campbell had heard all the arguments against it from her. In normal society, it didn't deter crime at all, it was more expensive than life without parole, and innocent people sometimes were killed. But this wasn't normal society. The society they were in now was tiny, brittle, and scared. Resources were finite. The guard was already stretched thin. Regardless of what Cassandra would have wanted, regardless of what should have been true and factual, they were playing by different rules now. He didn't care to hear moral debates about it. Most people didn't, it seemed like. Lunch, work, and dinner were quiet. Somber. There were some whispers, but it wasn't surprising that there was so much gossip. It was an execution. Campbell could see Harry sink further into himself with every comment, though; Campbell couldn't exactly offer him comfort, not with everyone else watching them like hawks. It seemed that even with Allie declaring them innocent-- or, well, not worth punishing-- people still were eager to find some excuse to condemn them. They were halfway home when Harry just... stopped. Campbell turned back, following Harry's line of sight. He was staring down the street, towards the spot Cassandra's body had been found. "It's my fault," Harry said. He sounded far away. Faint. "I killed them both." "What are you talking about?" "If I hadn't opened my fucking mouth, if I hadn't said what I did..." Campbell slid his hand under Harry's chin and turned his head so that Harry was looking at him. "No. You're not gonna do this. Just because someone says something fucked up doesn't mean someone else has the right to go murder someone over it." Campbell cut Harry off before he could protest. "It was Dewey's fault. He chose to do what he did." Harry gazed at Campbell, the pulled away and kept walking. He didn't say another word, not until they got home. Muttering to himself, Harry went to his room; Campbell followed, wondering what the hell was going on in Harry's mind this time. Harry dug out all the pills he had left, and a few bags of other drugs. Heading into the bathroom, Harry threw open the toilet, dropped the baggies in it, and flushed. They both stood there, watching the drugs vanish. Once they were completely gone, Harry looked up at Campbell. "Will you help me?" There was no question about it. Campbell went through the house and dumped all the alcohol down the drain. It pained Campbell a little. Some of the bottles were old, expensive, and it's not like he'd personally planned to go completely sober himself. Harry needed it, though. Harry needed Campbell and his support. Campbell was in no way sober, and never would be. He'd given up on that idea. But he could try to be, for Harry's sake; he knew what it was like to give up drugs, especially ones like cocaine, and Harry would need all the help he could get. "Thank you," Harry said when they were done. He frowned as he looked around the kitchen, as if unsure of what to do now that it was all gone. "I just... I can't anymore. You know?" "I know. It's gonna be hell for a while. Are you ready for that?" Harry shook his head. "No, but I can't go through this again, Cam. I don't have it in me. If I keep going on like this, one of these days I'll just..." He hesitated, then gave Campbell a weak smile. "Anyways. I think I'll go to bed." Campbell didn't want to leave. It was gonna be a rough night, and it was only going to be rougher for the next week or so. What if it was all a big show, and Harry was going to do something foolish the minute Campbell left him alone? It happened, sometimes. Professionals always said that it was when depressed people started acting better to worry most, because them being calm could be a sign that they'd decided to end their lives. Harry didn't seem calm, he just seemed ready to try and help himself. Still, if-- Harry was staring at him with a knowing look; he stepped closer, and leaned his forehead against Campbell's shoulder. Of course he'd seen the look on Campbell's face, and read it for what it was. He didn't say anything. Campbell didn't, either. It was a brief, wordless comfort, and then Harry ducked into his room and shut the door. Elle was in her pajamas by the time Campbell got upstairs. "Is everything okay?" she asked as she took her make-up off in the bathroom. "Sounded busy down there." "It's fine. Harry's decided he's gonna get off the drugs and the alcohol." Campbell sunk onto the bed and tossed his shirt into the laundry hamper in the corner. "I was helping him dump the alcohol in the house." "Really?" "Yeah, I mean, he kinda lives here now, too. I didn't want him to be tempted." Rinsing off her face, Elle turned off the bathroom light and flopped next to him in bed. "I guess it's a good idea. We don't really need alcohol. Too bad we couldn't have used it in the garden next spring though, to keep the slugs away." "Pretty sure Harry would have mainlined it all by then." "Good point." Campbell watched Elle as she fiddled with her necklace. Her hands kept slipping. "Do you need some help with that? Here." "It's okay," Elle said quickly, ducking away from his hands. "My hands were just damp still." "Are you feeling alright? You've seemed kind of on edge all day." "It's been a rough day, Campbell." "I know, I just... Do you wanna talk about it?" "No. I'll just be happy when it's over and we can move on." Elle tucked herself in and turned off her bedside lamp, but she stayed sitting up n the faint half-light, her eyes on Campbell. "You looked uncomfortable earlier. Don't you think people who hurt others deserve to be punished?" Campbell felt a cold trickle down his neck and spine. "What do you mean?" It was a strange question, and the fervid look in her eyes made him want to just stand up and leave the room. "Is this about us? Because I've been trying really hard to be better, and I know that doesn't change what happened before, but--" "I was just talking to Becca about it, during work." "Becca?" "She thinks it's true." "I don't doubt it. She's always been pretty passionate about her beliefs." Whatever he said, it triggered some sort of change in Elle's attitude. "Yeah." Rolling over, Elle laid down and pulled the blankets over her. "Sorry, I guess I just need some rest. Goodnight, Campbell." Campbell sat up a little longer, then laid down, too. Weird. Weird, but no one seemed to be getting good sleep lately. Maybe, after tomorrow, people would be less... whatever the hell was happening to people. He just wanted things to go back to how they were only a little while ago, sipping lemonade on their porch and admiring the work all three of them had done together. He just wanted to get his head right with Grizz's help, and try to heal things with Sam, and make sure Harry stayed safe and healthy. Campbell wanted to prove himself to Elle. All this death and murder and trial business was making people senseless. The phone rang at 4am. Picking it up, he slipped out of the bedroom and into the hall. "Hello?" "I can't do it." Allie's voice was strained. Whispering. Campbell shut the bedroom door, and headed across the hall to Elle's bathroom. "Too late for that, cousin. If you back out now, you'll look weak. Weak leaders don't survive long." "How can I?" Allie rasped. "How can I take someone's life?" Campbell sat down roughly on the bathroom floor, leaning back against the cool, tiled wall. "Not lightly. But we both watched Game of Thrones, Allie. You remember what Ned Stark said at the very beginning. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword." "You're quoting a television show?" "Am I wrong?" A long silence, and a sniffle. "No. I guess not." "Well, then." Campbell traced the small cracks in the floor. He tried to think of something soothing, but there wasn't anything to say. "Do you want me to do it?" "Campbell." "Allie, answer the question. Do you want me to kill him for you? You and I could go out there together, without anyone else around. You don't have to even tell anyone it was me. No one would have to know." "You'd tell them." "I wouldn't." "Why? Why are you offering?" "Why are you calling?" "I..." Allie gulped. She didn't answer, not for a long while. "I don't know. I thought maybe... I guess I just wanted to talk to someone who wouldn't waver." "There you go, then." "I can't ask you to do it. I have to, don't I?" Campbell had never been close to Allie, and while the despair in her voice didn't stir any pity in him, he could acknowledge that it was a shit situation. "You passed down the sentence, Allie. You gotta swing the sword. Even if it fucking sucks." Allie let out a short, shaking breath, and hung up. Campbell waited for a few minutes, then got up and went back to bed. He didn't fall asleep. The best he could manage was laying down with his eyes closed, listening to Elle's soft snoring, and try to clear his mind of everything that had happened. Impossible, but he could sleep once it was over, done, and there was closure. Once it had been laid to rest, literally, everything would start to heal. A lie, probably, but it was a comfortable one.

[gdreamzseternal]

I’d like to thank

@myradfemblog for finding an extremely old porn blog of mine. I forgot it existed and it actually makes me sick to see that I was role playing such sick disgusting trauma that I went through thinking it would help when it made me so much worse. Thank you for abusing me over something I repeatedly asked you to give me the link to because I wasn’t going to go through your slander about me to find it.

I want to also say thanks because you pointing that out and me seeing that made me cry both from being triggered and realizing how far I’ve come. That I am extremely kink critical now. When I used to be heavily into it. That I don’t whore myself out anymore because “sex work makes me strong”. God I used to genuinely believe that. Makes me sick. I was so so sick. I was still victimizing myself back then...

But now.. I am a survivor.

Everyone advocated for and ignored the dangers of extreme methods of “beat the child into submission”. (Looking at you old people) It’s so sad cause I still see it now. The way a person who I had a normal discussion with suddenly gets to violently abuse me and degrade me just because they didn’t like what I had to say. Sounds like abusive parents. Everything’s cool til it’s not.

My dad beat my ass cause at 9 years old because I looked him in the eyes and told him to stop drinking cause he was being mean. Telling the truth got me abused. Look at that what a surprise.

Humans communicate differently than other creatures on the planet. Does that mean the other creatures don’t communicate? No. That just means they do things different. They don’t need vaccines because they were meant to survive and live here. If humans didn’t have their science we would all be dead! We are in a race with the planet to see who can kill who first. Will we kill the planet (which kills us too idiots) or will the planet eradicate us via disease and natural disasters and heal itself and start over (we still dead). Or do we chill on our population and help the earth heal by bein more considerate of our surroundings. Yeah none of you like me because I say it how it is without thinking about how it will affect any of you. So that means you get to abuse me. I’m not hurting anyone by simply sharing my views. Yet I am being hurt for speaking my views. I’m not actively slitting the throats of disabled people. I’m not saying we have to round up the retards that already exist and just shoot them. They should just be left in their natural form. Yeah give artificial limbs out cause that’s science but giving a nasty fat fuck a wheel chair cause boohoo they can’t loose weight? Nah true waste of resources. I’m saying we use the science that is our only advantage to prevent that from ever happening again.

All I’m doing is talking on MY BLOG. & I get death threats and told I should be raped by my father all over again. Simply for sharing my feelings on what will 1000000% save the greater good. It doesn’t even have to be permanent. Imagine if every grown man had to get a vasectomy for the next 20 years til all the excited potential parents get throughly processed to see if they are psychologically, psychically, financially and home stable to have children. Then there is a massive database of all the adorable kids waiting to find homes and they get to meet and have a 30 day period where THE CHILD decides if they like their new potential parents. Every couple/person wanting to adopt can adopt up to 2 kids and the kids get a say too.

Humans are not special and I don’t care if you disagree with me. Yet for some reason we literally act like gods gift (complete pun intended) That think who fucking cares what we do to everything around us including ourselves because this is OUR EARTH. We can do what WE WANT. Blah blah blah. Then the WHITE MEN put control on EVERYONE. Then slowly we colored folk said fuck you and made our own lives cause who gives a flying fuck about someone’s skin color except for white people. Then the humans just started literally takin over. Who cares if a bunch of birds nests lived in this tree? I want my new condo that I spend 2-3 months a year in right fucking here so the homes of those birds don’t matter. Let’s massively hunt these animals into extinction for our pleasure. (Okay Hitlers)

We are selfish

I wasn’t raised like you. I wasn’t raised by anyone but my own fucking brain. I never had any positive influences but the voices in my head. We see the world for what it is and not the false reality im creating for myself. I won’t even say ‘most’ if you were raised right because even today in 2019 the system and adults hide the abuse and damage that is really happening. Clearly this whole system isn’t working.

I was raised that literally everything in the whole world was both good and bad. So I learned to be objective and unbiased. Your feelings are what get you killed. Ask any dead kid who didn’t speak up about their abusive parents. And any bleeding out gangbanger who got felt offended by a color and killed someone over it. Someone who felt the desire to get high cause they have no self control and killed some to get $$. But it wasn’t them because even though they felt the need to do the drugs it wasn’t their fault.

So why are we going to keep adding more and more children to the solution when we don’t even know what to do with the poor innocent souls that we have now? We just pretend it’s not that big a deal and keep adding feul (the kids) to the fire (the shitty system). CLEARLY you all know there’s a problem and nothing any of you are doing is working.

So when do we take extreme measures? When do we ACTUALLY make a change. We have nuclear bombs hell ANY bomb and those are okay “when absolutely necessary” but allowing people to have kids they can’t afford, can’t raise, got raped into them, got one night standed with, can’t handle. A BOMB AFFECTS HUMANS AND THE ENVIRONMENT NEGATIVELY. Humans getting neutered (since that’s what you call it for other creatures) will effect the world positively. The bombs are okay though? We can MASS destroy life but we can’t mass PREVENT it from having to be destroyed or emotionally ruined in the first place? Not forever just til we get our shit together.

The abominations and retards. That’s EXACTLY WHAT THEY ARE that’s why no one likes when you mention it. They are like the endless elephant in the room. I will die by the quote, “A few bad apples ruins the whole barrel”. We think that it’s perfectly okay to keep adding bad genes to our makeup while simultaneously praying we live forever. It’s so tiresomely contradicting.

If you can all make such a fucking effort for these retard abominations that you breed. Then you can STOP breeding COMPLETELY until you give the kids homes that need them. Those kids will be more likely to become doctors getting adopted out to good homes. Then if they get left to rot in a shitty system while they walk in a grocery store with their mean foster mom and see a happy young couple PREGNANT with their first child when they could have adopted him. If you choose to give birth instead of adopting then you might as well walk up to a kid in a foster/group home and tell them they are garbage and ain’t ever going anywhere.

I still haven’t had my question answered... why does ANY HUMAN ON THIS ENTIRE PLANET need to breed when there are already so many homeless children?

So what is it are we going to stop breeding and adopt all the kids out to good homes that have been more throughly evaluated than a simple background check and having enough beds and money?

Are we going to keep creating a whole brand new system for the retards when the perfectly able children who would flourish with good parents system is still completely fucked?

Giving whole TV shows to literal human abominations for entertainment. Or humans that are forced to overbreed or sickly do it “for religious reasons”. You get to see how much their disability/struggles makes their life so hard but they are so ~brave and strong~ because society would rather force conjoined twins to spend their lives together or die trying to separate because human euthanasia is wrong until a human kills another human???????

Where does that make sense.

We are going to keep worrying more about the dysfunctional, malfunctioned, rejects of our society before the regular ones? We are going to keep following fake gods we have no proof of so that we don’t have to accept the realities of human nature.

Are we going to not do anything and ignore all the clear issues and keep adding more kids?

The same can be said about the immigrant shit in America. We have so many problems we don’t need anymore people and this place is fucked why would you wanna come here anyway? (I digress on this)

Are we going to keep throwing children out like trash in hopes that someone else will raise the busted nut you let fester in your womb?

Like out of those which one of these which one is the best option? Because all but one are things we are already doing and it isn’t working.

So hate me for being unbiased. But as my therapist (yes I discuss this with BOTH my Ts to make sure I am not delusional) put it. I am not looking at it for the benefit of humans. I’m looking at the benefit of the earth as a whole. I don’t want humans to all die off. But if it’s what it has to take in order for this planet to survive then so be it. There are so many other species, creatures, life on this Planet.

To put it simply you’re all simpleminded.

There is no god because Humans seem to think they are god. & we can breed, have our technology, have our vaccines. But as long as we are still over breeding and not adequately using our resources....

The Human Rights we are fighting for will not matter if there is nothing for the humans to live on.

This Earth is our home and there are too many of us right now. Too many of us doing too many wrong things.

Focus on the Human Wrongs then there will be no need for Human Rights because they will realize they are all just another species on this glorious and beautiful earth.

I know none of you were take anything from this.

You all were taught one way or you think one way and that is it there can’t be any other way and anyone else who thinks differently than that is wrong but at the end of the day my ideas are what will save humanity your ideas are what will destroy it. Your safe space will be irrelevant if you have no where to put it.

A human’s need to add feeling and emotion to everything is our biggest flaw.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk Typing Podcast

[medea10]

My Review of Claymore

[darkangeldesignstudio]

Dark Horse

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Death, Attempted Rape, Strong Language, Mentions of Animal Abuse, and Eventual Smut and Fluff

Setting: Post Civil War era USA. Marvel Cowboy AU

Song: Amazing by Aerosmith

Previous / Next

Chapter Two: Damsel in Distress

Steve and Bucky had just settled into their hiding spot at the rear of the house when they heard the vulgar voices of the guys inside. One voice in particular stood out. It bellowed above the rest as he ordered the surrounding men, the sounds of the woman’s struggling was drowned out by his gruff tone.

When the initial thud reached their ears, accompanied by the order to tie the young woman down, Steve had to grip Bucky’s arm to stop him from storming in alone.

“They are hurting her, Steve.” Bucky whisper-shouted as his friend held him back from saving the woman inside. “I can’t take this.”

Steve loosened his grasp on Bucky’s arm, but he dared not release him as he tried his best to calm the man. “We can’t run in, guns blazing. What if she became caught in the crossfire? What if they execute her? We need to wait until a few come outside.”

Bucky knew Steve was right, but it still ached to hear the woman battling against the guys inside and, and from the grip that was gradually tightening on his arm again, Steve was just as affected. Bucky was thankful for the touch; without it grounding him, he would surely have panicked.

The gruff voice came again, ordering four of the men outside to stand guard. Bucky and Steve looked between one another and nodded in unison. This was what they were waiting for.

As two of the thugs exited through the back door, Bucky and Steve split to approach from opposite sides of the house. Meeting in the middle, they took out each guard silently and posted up by either side of the door.

“Okay, assuming that Tony and Nat had the same plan, there are only four more men inside.” Steve nodded, agreeing with Bucky’s assessment of the situation. “What do yo-”

All plans flew out the window as a hard crack was heard, the gruff voice roaring a command in the bitter night air. “Be still, bitch.”

The growl that left Bucky’s throat was so vicious, one would have thought Soldat had joined them instead of staying at camp with Bruce, and Steve’s anger wasn’t far behind. When the scream came, there was no stopping either man from entering the house.

Fully intent on killing the men responsible for hurting the woman inside, they pulled their weapons from their belts and crept through the house and towards the front room where the voices were emanating from. Making it, just in time, to see the horrible display before them.

They had tied the woman down to a large dining table, legs exposed and dangling where her trousers had been pulled down. The man behind her had his fist buried in her beautiful Y/H/C hair as he sought to divest himself of his own pants with his other hand. Her back was arched at an unnatural angle, eyes closed and tears running down her cheeks.

Bucky’s fist clenched around the hilt of his dagger, prepared to lunge at the closest threat and rip their throat out. Steve began to draw his own weapon, a military saber equipped with a wickedly jagged edge, and readied himself to act.

They were inclined to make the first move, a risky play when outnumbered and inside an enclosed space, but they never got the chance.

Natasha’s slender form stormed through the door with a wickedly evil smile plastered on her face, effectively distracting the men in the place long enough for Steve and Bucky to jump into action.

_______________________________________________________________________

The sound of a door slamming open cracked through the room like a shot. A woman’s voice hit your ears a second later and a sense of relief washed over you when the man at your back released your hair.

“Hello, boys.” The sickly sweet voice said. “I think it’s about time you let my friend go.” Her voice held a distinct edge to it, a demanding tone that spoke of violent consequences if her request wasn’t adhered to. The fools around her didn’t notice.

The leader scoffed at the woman as his men began to laugh and taunt her. “And who’s going to make us? You?”

More taunting, this time from the leader who had been at your back only a moment ago, followed another round of laughter. “Why don’t you go cook us some dinner, little lady. A good fucking always leaves me famished. My men will keep you company, of course.”

You clenched your eyes shut as the leader moved behind you again, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. The woman’s voice dropped an octave, sending a shiver down your spine. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, bastard? ”

“And who would that be? All I see are two little whores begging for a beating.”

“I’m your huckleberry,” said a deep voice from the back room. You whipped your head up, just as two men walked through the door that separated the common room from the rear of the house.

Your breath caught at the sight of them. They were handsome as sin. So beautiful, you began to believe that actual gods had answered your prayer.

The taller of the two had dark blond hair, just covered by a tan cowboy hat. His eyes were the color of the bluest summer sky, accentuated by his deep blue winter jacket, jean trousers, tan riding gloves and chaps. His eyes were anything but friendly as he looked at the enemies surrounding them, but when he shifted his gaze to you, they were filled with a deep remorse that made tears form in your own.

The man next to him spoke, drawing your attention from his partner. “Let the girl go, Hydra scum. Or I’ll rip you apart before you can draw breath.”

His ice-blue eyes seemed to darken with his threat. He was shorter than his companion, but he held a power that one can only gain through hardship. A black cowboy hat partially hid his dark, shoulder length hair. In fact, practically all of his clothes were black, from his jacket to his worn-out boots, except for a hint of bright red that you could see at his collar. Face splattered in blood, he was breathtaking in a primal sort of way, his hands gripping a long dagger crusted with blood, presumably from the guards that had been outside.

“Wow! That was downright animalistic, Tin Man. How long did it take you to come up with that one?” The new voice startled you, but the camaraderie and light teasing in his words put you at ease. It was now a four on four fight and you liked those odds.

Glancing back to the blond fellow, you watched as he rolled his eyes and a small smile graced your lips for the first time in, what seemed like, hours. He saw your smile and grinned back before motioning for you to lay your head down. With a nod, you obliged him and the group lunged into action.

_______________________________________________________________________

When the girl lowered her head back to the table, Steve gave a slight nod to the rest of the group and they all went for a man in the room.

Tony, having walked in at the Hydra thugs’ backs with his gun previously drawn, flipped his heavy volcanic pistol and whacked the one man across the cheek. He fell to the floor unconscious and Tony smiled with satisfaction before going to help the woman on the table.

Natasha simply pulled two throwing knives from the sheath at her hip and whipped them into the second man’s chest, killing him with deadly efficiency. She could have easily taken all four of the men in the room down single handedly, but she hadn’t been willing to give them a chance to kill the woman as retaliation. Preferring to distract them, long enough for the others to step in. It wasn’t her usual style to be cautious, but she didn’t want another woman to be hurt because of her recklessness. With a slight huff and an eye roll, she yanked her blades from the dead body at her feet and walked over to where Tony was untying the woman.

Bucky and Steve fought in unison, keeping the last two men distracted while Nat and Tony freed the woman from her restraints. Exchanging insults to piss off the ring leader and put him off his game. It was exhilarating to fight like this again. With hand and blade, back to back like the best of friends that they were, they would attack and retreat. Like a pair of wolves, exhausting their prey, toying with it before the killing blow.

“I feel sorry for these guys, Buck.” Steve lunged, cutting the first man across the shoulder. His coat had become soaked with blood and sweat beaded on his brow. He stumbled, struggling to land any strikes on Steve, and missed him by a mile.

“Me too. What kind of sorry men they must be to have to rape and pillage to enjoy life.” Bucky countered the Hydra leader’s attacks, blow for blow. He may have been strong enough against a restrained woman, but he was no match for a trained assassin. One of the leader’s attacks faltered, giving Bucky an opening to cut across the man’s thigh. He fell to one knee, struggling to stand again as blood spilled onto the floor beneath him.

“What’s wrong boys? Can’t get it up like a real man?” Steve, having cut the Hydra underling a few more times, parried a weak strike with his sword. He then, stepped into the man’s space and threw a hard uppercut into the man’s jaw, knocking him unconscious and bleeding onto the floor. He wouldn’t last long bleeding as he was, so Steve left him there and joined his partner in finishing off the leader of the group.

Bucky felt a hand brush his shoulder, Steve’s touch pulled him back from the killing edge just enough to see that the woman across the room was safe and sound in Nat’s arms, though the bruise along her jaw almost made him go into another rage. She had the most ferocious look on her face as she stared at the man, on his knees at Bucky and Steve’s feet. Her gaze spoke volumes. It said, “finish him off.” With all the things she had gone through on this night, neither of the men were surprised at her silent request.

With a nod, both men drew back their blades and plunged them into the man’s chest. Blood gurgled in his throat, spilling from his mouth as Steve and Bucky withdrew their weapons, wiped them clean and walked away.

_______________________________________________________________________

You stood there for a moment, watching as the two men killed the leader. The woman at your side held you steady as you glanced back towards the front door and a fresh wash of tears cascaded down your cheeks. “They killed him.”

Looking towards the door with you, the group saw the body that lied there, free of Hydra insignia, it was evident that the man hadn’t been one of the enemy.

“Who was he,” the dark haired man asked. He looked so lost, guilt filled his gaze. As if the attack on your home had been entirely his fault.

You turned back to the group, meeting two sets of sad blue eyes. “He was my brother. The only family I had left after my father died in the war.” The woman’s arms squeezed you a bit tighter as a hand descended upon your shoulder. You looked to the man standing slightly behind you and smiled a watery grin. It was so like something your brother would have done and you were grateful for the kindness in his eyes.

“He took me in when the government took my father’s ranch. They said a woman had no business owning so much land and sent me on my way with just the clothes on my back and my horse.” You chuckled darkly at the memory. “They would have taken my horse too if he wasn’t such a handful.”

The group around you smiled with your admission. “Well, we all have a bit of a thing for difficult horses. My name is Steve Rogers,” he said.

You shook his outstretched hand. “I’m Y/N.”

Pointing to the others in the room, Steve introduced them as well.

“This fiery red head is Natasha Romanov.” The woman in black nodded her head, adding an innocent little wave for good measure, but her eyes spoke of things you could never imagine. You liked her immediately.

“The smart mouthed jokester is Tony Stark. He has a thing for explosives and whining about everything.” You giggled as Tony bowed like a fancy gentleman. He certainly was finely dressed for a cowboy, but who were you to judge a man for his tastes? To each his own, you always said.

“My broody partner here…” Steve continued, throwing his arm around the dark haired man’s shoulders “… is James Buchanan Barnes.”

“James,” you replied, taking his outstretched hand in your own as a blush crept into his cheeks.

“Bucky is just fine with me, Miss.” He smiled at you then, causing your heart to skip a beat. This one was all trouble.

Peering around the room, Steve noticed the snow that had begun to fall outside. “I doubt you will want to stay here tonight, Y/N. Why don’t you pack up some supplies and come back to our camp? We can return in the morning and help you clean the place up.”

“I would like that, Steve. Thank you kindly. I’ll just go grab my things.” Turning towards the bedrooms, you looked over your shoulder at the group of brave souls. “Thank you for saving my life as well. I doubt I would have made it out alive without you all coming to my rescue.”

[diarrheaworldstarhiphop]

I Don't Wanna Grow Up (And Neither Can You)

You can't show women being hurt. You can't show child abuse. You can't show rape. You can't show incest. Pedophilia, self-harm, intimate partner abuse, necrophilia, violence against children; if you're going to so much as talk about any of these things you need to do so at a 5th-grade level and behind the dual firewalls of safe, pastel-colored animation and explicitly education-based presentation. The art has to show you in painstaking detail the exact way in which to behave. Even then there's no guarantee it won't provoke a public outcry, doxxing, death threats, and even campaigns to strip artists of their jobs and livelihoods.

The idea that by depicting an act an artist is endorsing that act seems baked into the minds of certain left-leaning sets of younger people, particularly teenagers and early twentysomethings. That they have such deep concern for the safety and social equality of their traumatized peers and the traumatized in their own ranks can only be admirable, but more often than not the form it takes is mass harassment and scapegoating targeting not institutions or major studios but independent creators, many of them marginalized themselves. If the whole thing sounds, with its zeal for censorship and its self-righteous hate campaigns against the disenfranchised, a little like the American Family Association with a glittery coat of paint, well, that's kind of what it is.

The usual arguments about internet anonymity and the horrible deformities it breeds in human interaction all apply here, and there's much to be said of the young age and unformed personalities of the people perpetrating the worst of it, but even older, more experienced art aficionados aren't immune to the fervor for purity in art. There seems to be a much deeper affection in these circles for corporate art -- for the Marvel cinematic universe and its bland, calculated inoffensiveness, say -- than there is for art made by artists. Movies like Wonder Woman and Captain America: Civil War are evaluated with a generosity of spirit that borders on delusion, cults of enthusiastic acclaim forming around actress Gal Gadot's onscreen thigh jiggle and the "subtle homo-eroticism" of Thor: Ragnarok.

Corporate art exists to please. It exists to reaffirm the status quo and to build affection for and loyalty to corporations. From the callous Islamophobia of the Iron Man movies to the US Air Force and CIA-approved wokeness of Captain Marvel and Black Panther, the whole enterprise is bent on saying as little as possible while looking as socially conscious as it can. Fandom's fixation on finding gay themes and subtext in these blockbuster juggernauts was more understandable when independent gay art was harder to find, but today you don't even have to brave a convention-- you can dig it up with a quick search on Etsy or Gumroad. When independent artists release material featuring actual deviant sexuality, though -- from gay content to incest -- the reaction from these same people is overwhelmingly prudish. There is little to no desire among them to interact with adult work created by adult gay and trans artists. That art -- small art, created for personal reasons -- is too dangerous to touch, too full of moral imperfections and frightening images.

But what's left in art once you scour away the things that make you uncomfortable? What's left for the people who make their living and/or maintain their sanity by approaching our own suffering from a place of skill, assurance, and safety? What's left for readers and viewers trying to grow as people, to find empathy for those they've been taught to despise, to understand their own sexual shame and fear? What's left for people struggling with the isolation of abuse who have no support and no words to help them name it? Art is the lifeblood of human connection and introspection. It is the foremost way in which we can confront our own weaknesses and failings. Sanitized and focused solely on the comfort and entertainment of its audience, it's no more meaningful than a halfhearted handjob from an indifferent lover.

The idea that depiction equates to endorsement has been pedaled in our society virtually since its inception. Its modern proponents range from anti-violent video game morality groups to the Westboro Baptist Church's unhinged campaigns to remove television with gay content from the airwaves. Imagine a world where Debbie Dreschler never made her autobiographical comic Daddy's Girl, one of the most scorching, hideous things ever committed to paper. How many people would never have seen their own experiences with parental incest reflected in her work, and thus felt able to finally break themselves open and process their deep pain? When a subject becomes taboo we lose our ability to process the pain surrounding it, to talk about it openly, to understand why it happens.

Another core pillar of this movement is the expression of outrage toward sexual kinks based around transgression. Surviving rape, abuse, and other traumatic incidents is never an easy thing, and it's never clean. You'll carry the marks of it in your sex life, in your sense of safety, in your beliefs about the world until the day you die. In Nancy Friday's My Secret Garden, a 1975 collection of women's anonymously submitted sexual fantasies, multiple Jewish women who had survived the Holocaust wrote with deep shame of their need to sexualize that experience, to relive it with their partners in a safe and loving environment. It's a relatable sentiment for anyone whose sexuality has been shaped by trauma, which can force shame and need against one another until they grow together inextricably. A close friend of mine was attacked as a "vicious anti-semite" for quoting the book.

The same friend was attacked en masse for her erotic comics featuring gay and bisexual men, comics which depict those men with complexity, heart, and loving attention to detail. The argument was that as a straight woman it was fetishistic for her to portray sex between men, a position so mind-bogglingly dense that I'm hard pressed to find a way to fire back at it other than "really?" It's difficult to parse until you realize that the targets of these little brigades of loudmouths and scolds are always, always women. For all that they're marching under the banner of social justice, the people they feel most comfortable threatening with harm and emotionally brutalizing are women. Men both in the independent art scene and in the mainstream make violent, hateful art every day, but screaming at men doesn't satisfy the misogynistic impulses beaten into us by a culture that sees women as weak, stupid, and venally evil.

What you have in the end is a movement which in practice enforces a sort of neoliberal social conservatism, demanding the sanitization of art produced by women and labeling existing art degenerate with the same verve the Nazis displayed in putting the torch to centuries of Europe's artistic history. It's a small, impoverished way to understand the purpose of art and it's fueled by deep, repressed misogyny. If we pretend everything is good, if we act like Marvel will fix racism and sexism if we just give them another four production cycles, if we make our branded dollies kiss and claim it's because the movies portray them in a symbolically homo-erotic context, OBVIOUSLY, then we don't need to look at ourselves or see what we're doing to the people around us. We can close our eyes and slip into the lukewarm water of purposeful mediocrity.

There's nothing wrong with escapism. There's nothing wrong with not wanting to or not being able to engage with art about horrific things. The problem begins when you look at the people who can, who need to, and decide that they can't either, that they're going to have to bend to your worldview or you'll call them pedophiles and nazis and incest apologists and run them out of town. And what then? When you've crushed the hopes and dreams of every woman writing dark erotica or making beautiful, sensual comics about love and loss, what's left but staring at each other in a creative wasteland and waiting for one of your own to show the tiniest sign of weakness so you can recapture the thrill of moral outrage by ripping them apart. It's a cannibalistic cultural dead end where corporations are our friends and other human beings are the enemy.

I stand with sex workers, with pornographers, with artists of all kinds struggling to make something hot, something vulnerable, something raw and sickening and terrifying. If they fuck it up, well, at least they're a person, not some faceless sea of suits trying to get their arms down my throats to pull out my organs. Enjoy your popcorn movies, your Steven Universe and your X-Men comics, but ask yourself, what are you immersing yourself in by not reaching beyond those things? What is prolonged and overgrown childhood doing to your mind and to your moral sense of the world? Growing up is painful, yes, but if you want to learn to love, to open yourself up to others, to touch the deepest, rawest parts of your psyche and your sexuality, you're going to have to suffer.

From: https://www.patreon.com/posts/25994657

[silkygoldmilkweed]

“Brave, Gentle and Strong”: Does the bloody Hound, Sandor Clegane, fit Ned Stark’s standard for a good match for Sansa?

“When you’re old enough, I’ll make you a match with someone who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong.” --Ned Stark, Game of Thrones

Does the bloody Hound, Sandor Clegane, fit Ned Stark’s standard for a good match for Sansa? An analysis of where we stand after the conclusion of S7:

STRONG, Physically (.5, out of .5 points possible)

OK, this one is easy. It’s illustrated twice on the show that the Hound is about as strong as four normal men. When he and Arya come across the hog farmer on the way to the Twins, he says “I need about eight hands” (meaning four men) to lift the wagon. The Hound just does it by himself, no trouble. And in the episode “The Broken Man,” even with a bum leg, the Hound can single-handedly carry a beam that takes four normal men to heft.

And that’s just manual labor. We also have seen the Hound cleave at least two men literally in half (at the Battle of the Blackwater), and in the episode “No One” he uses an ax to smash a skull (the ugly one who says “fuck you...cunt”). When he saves Sansa during the Bread Riot, he lifts a man up by his neck.

So...he’s definitely physically strong.

STRONG, Mentally and Emotionally (.4, out of .5 points possible)

This one is much harder to quantify accurately. He’s a rage case. He has a drinking problem for the first two seasons we know him. He’s low-key starving and sick the next two seasons with Arya. He works for a family of psychos and sociopaths and Jaime and Tyrion. He is acutely aware of the difference between suffering and death. Death doesn’t faze him. Suffering concerns him greatly and it’s a tool he uses to punish his enemies. 

In the end though, when he says “I’m a big fucker and I’m hard to kill” I think there’s an aspect of his hard-to-kill-ness that is sheer grit. He’s a survivor. He’s a beast. He’s strong, whereas the farmer (Sally’s dad) is not: “He’s weak. He can’t defend himself. They’ll both be dead come winter.” And Sandor Clegane has strength to spare: he shares it with the people he serves. 

At first that’s his Lannisters (is he their pet or are they really his pets?), and then it’s Sansa, and later Arya, and later still Septon Ray and the Brotherhood Without Banners and then Jon Snow.

I think his fatalism and pessimism trips him up quite a bit, but all things considered, he’s not perfectly emotionally and mentally strong but he’s improved in this area greatly and he wasn’t doing too badly to start with.

Total points for STRONG: .9 out of 1 Room for improvement: Could stand to be more emotionally vulnerable. His “grouchy old bear” persona prevents him, for the most part, from establishing healthy relationships.

BRAVE

“That’s the only time a man can be brave.” --Ned Stark

“Brave? A dog doesn’t need courage to chase off rats.” --Sandor Clegane

This is another mixed bag. The Hound is terrified of fire. We’ve seen it again and again and again: season two at the Blackwater, season three against Beric’s flaming sword, season four when Arya wanted to burn away the infection, and season seven with the burning zombie polar bear. He hasn’t conquered this fear at all. The best case scenario is that he freezes rather than actually running. 

He’s also starts the story very much a prisoner of the feudal system and unable to independently challenge the awfulness of the world in which they all find themselves. He uses many clever workarounds to succeed in Joffrey/Tywin’s world, but he’s not ready to challenge them outright. He talks shit to Tyrion, but he that’s the extent of it. So he’s not completely courageous politically or socially. 

Dany is a revolutionary, as Cersei puts it. Sandor very much is not. Sansa isn’t either. They are both basically socially conservative personalities who have internalized the patriarchy of Westeros and don’t spend a lot of time directly interrogating their circumstances.

But...he is “first in battle.” If you have a war going on, the Hound will be happy to start or end any fight you care to throw at him. “Any man dies with a clean sword, I’ll rape his fucking corpse” is his battle cry at the Blackwater, when he is very much in the vanguard while Joffrey cowers in the rear. The minute he’s spotted by Polliver’s men he’s ready to challenge them rather than fleeing. He strides into the fray at the Bread Riot to find Sansa. He takes on Brienne and her Valyrian steel sword to protect Arya. He’s first to strike against the advancing wights during the ice-lake battle. And above all, he’s willing to risk torture and execution to spirit away the Stark girls from the Lannisters who are trying to kill them. He’s willing to try to face King Robb as a Lannister deserter who kidnapped one or more of Robb’s sisters--he never makes it that far because Robb is slaughtered at the Twins, but he was going to show up with one or more of the Northern princesses and face the consequences of his very strange actions.

But what’s weird is that because of his temperament, battle doesn’t seem to frighten him very much. He must know he could die, but he hardly seems to care and it’s likely not because he doesn’t care. He tells Septon Ray that “dying doesn’t cure it either” in reference to violence being a contagious disease. 

He wants to live. He wants to fight. It’s his art. Not being able to fight is his fear--fighting is how he serves the people he cares about. If he was heartbroken after Sansa’s rejection at the Blackwater it was because he wanted to pledge his sword to her, for all intents and purposes, and she said no. He wanted to be her killer and she denied that she even needed one, much less him. She cut the legs out from under him as easily as he had cut men down on the field of battle.

“I don’t need saving.” “No, not you. You’re a real killer, with your water dancing and your Needle.”

Total points for BRAVE: .5 out of 1 Room for improvement: Needs to overcome fear of fire, question princes he thinks are making bad decisions and reject societal strictures that bind him.

GENTLE, Verbally  (.2, out of .5 point possible)

Has he ever soft-pedaled anything? Not to Arya. Rarely to Sansa. He told her that Joff would be easier on her if she was compliant (“Save yourself some pain girl. Give him what he wants.”), which is the opposite of what every fan thinks she should have done, but OK. He lied for her to protect her after she protected Ser Dontos. He wasn’t too aggressive the first time they ever spoke, which was an odd scene (on the show) where his motivation for even approaching her is unclear--did he sense that she was afraid of Ser Ilyn? was he trying to hit on her?--and he vanishes quickly. 

And after Sandor saved Sansa from the Bread Riots, he said nothing kind to her directly, but he did observe that she was physically hurt and ordered that she be cared for and taken to shelter.

The rest of the time he was a dick.

BUT...for all his swears and yelling and empty threats, he’s brutally honest and overwhelming forthright, which is more than can be said for most other characters that the Stark girls encounter. Lying is a form of violence against truth and morality, and the Hound rarely participates in it, generally, but if he does it is almost always with an ulterior motive that benefits a Stark girl.

When it comes to the Stark girls, he is all bark and virtually no bite (more on the exceptions shortly), whereas anyone who threatens Arya Stark in his presence gets the full brunt of the Hound’s swagger and sarcasm. My favorite remains the death of Rorge. As soon as the Hound heard that Rorge said he would fuck Arya bloody with a stick, he established that Rorge would die. He even nonchalantly made it possible for Arya to be the one to kill him--”What’s your name?”--although he easily could have done it himself. 

GENTLE, Physically (.2, out of .5 point possible)

Can a brute like the Hound be considered gentle? He loves violence. He loves smashing shit. He’s not delicate, that’s for sure.

He appears gentle enough with animals--Stranger and the wight-wagon donkey--but what about women? He’s not an outright physical abuser like Joffrey or Ramsay, but...gentle?

There are two strikes against him. 

The first is the deleted scene with Sansa. He menaces her and grabs her arm hard enough that she says, “Please, ser, you’re hurting me!” and bursts into tears. Sansa doesn’t flee from him but she doesn’t independently flee from anyone who is trying to hurt her, really. But it’s a deleted scene. Without it, you can truthfully say, “He never laid a hand on her except to save her life, twice.” There is a low-level of implied possible future violence that is borne out by the Hound himself when he tells Arya he “should have fucked her bloody” but he did her no harm.

In fact, in both the deleted scene and the final SanSan scene is written, Sansa seems to have a moment of epiphany about him where she says, “You won’t hurt me.” She seems amazed by this realization both times, and yet totally certain in her declaration. So let’s give Sansa some credit and trust her instincts: She doesn’t think the big bad Hound wants to do her any harm, even though his reputation is one of limitless, ungovernable violence.

The second strike against the Hound in re violence is that he backhands Arya while they are in the Riverlands. She stabbed him first. It was arguably self-defense, but if you don’t think the Hound wearing armor needs to defend himself against Arya and her little Needle, there is another interpretation. He wasn’t beating a little girl, he was disciplining his daughter. Corporal punishment is de rigeur parenting in Westeros. Arya later says that Ser Roderik would have “cuffed” Bran for leaving an arrow lying around the archery practice field. Ser Roderik wasn’t Bran’s dad, but he felt entitled to smack around a little misbehaving kid and not only was that not abuse, in terms of Westerosi parenting ethics, it was encouraged as part of successful childrearing. Not “cuffing” the kid would have been dereliction of duty.

I would argue that if the Hound wanted to hurt Arya, she’d be hurt. He didn’t want to hurt her, he wanted to set her straight, get her head right. Yelling and laughing at her weren’t enough, so she got the upgrade to a gentle wallop. It worked too. This was responsible parenting, as far as the mores of Westeros family life go. This is not to say in any way shape or form that it’s ever right to hit little kids. He shouldn’t have hit her. But to claim that it’s prima facie evidence that the Hound is an abuser is to miss the forest for the trees.

So those are the strikes against him. Does he have anything in his favor? Well, he saved both girls from a fate worse than death multiple times. He carried them both to safety at personal risk to himself. There would have been no consequence for him if he abandoned them to violent deaths. He could have skipped out. He didn’t.

He gently dabbed the blood off Sansa’s cheek.

He gently lifted Arya down from their horse.

He gently pushed Arya out of the way when she was in danger and he was about to go kill people to protect her.

He knocked Arya unconscious at the Red Wedding so she won’t impulsively run inside to get herself killed and also to keep her from having to see any more of the slaughter. There’s a kindness in that.

He’s better than Joffrey and Ramsay--he’s not a sadist, he doesn’t love inflicting pain on innocent and helpless creatures--but he’s not entirely what you call gentle either. 

He’s situationally gentle. Some circumstances and certain people reveal that he has a capacity for gentleness. Who are those people that reveal the Hound’s little-explored capacity for gentleness? Sansa and Arya, of course. 

To quote from the Book of the Mother, “As water rounds the stones, smoothing what was jagged, so does a woman's love calm a man's brute nature.”

We see more of both sides--his gentility and his brutish--when he’s with Arya partly because they are so alike that he lets his guard down, and because they aren’t trapped by the courtesies of court, nor by the incredibly awkward complicated nature of the triangle of Joffrey-Sansa-Sandor, plus Cersei, etc.

The Hound’s capacity for serenity and gentleness has been there all along, but we haven’t seen enough of it to believe that it’s real and that it will remain a consistent aspect of his personality.

Total points for GENTLE: .4 out of 1 Room for improvement: “Gentle” is definitely the aspect of Ned’s formula for a good match that requires the most dramatic improvement in season 8. If the Hound is to prove himself fit for Sansa in the eyes of the general audience, it is his demonstration of “gentle” in regards to the Stark girls in the last days of the show that will tip the scales for or against him. We also need to see more of him talking like a normal person with some wisdom and kindness to him. There was a great deal of this side of him in his re-introduction episode “The Broken Man” but it’s vanished since then, seemingly killed off along with Septon Ray. Interesting to see if a reunion with the Starks will again reveal a Sandor Clegane who has more to say than “fuck off, cunt.”

FINAL SCORE: 1.8 of 3 points possible CONCLUSION: He’s no angel like Jon Snow or Podrick Payne, and yet, and yet, and yet...he has something to offer, and the self-evident capacity for self-improvement and change. We shall see what becomes of him and his lady wolf in the final season.

[assbuttyourlife]

When We Were Young - Chapter Twenty-Five

Pairing : Misha/OFC

Warnings : Language, Fire, trauma, PTSD, family members death (including child), therapy, flashbacks (not in every chapter), injuries, cheating. Sexual content. Violence. Non Con/Threats of rape. Long fic. Angst, fluff, Smut. Mention of suicide.

Words : 6947

Summary : After her grandmother’s funeral, Lily must return to the place she lived in when she was young and has to confront the ghosts of her past. She will run into an old friend that she thought was lost forever.

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Tags : @jhudawnareeves

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CHAPTER 25 – Shame

When the hotel phone rang at 7.00am that morning, Lily felt like she was stabbed in the brain. She couldn't even open her eyes. She heard Misha groaning, his arm sliding away from her waist, and he picked up quickly to hang up right away without a word.

She didn't move a finger, waiting patiently for his arm to circle her again, for his warmth to envelop her again so she could finally go back to sleep.

But Misha didn't lie back next to her, she felt him getting out of the bed. Her eyes flew open and she slowly rolled over to look at him painfully walking toward the bathroom, holding his broken ribs.

“Misha?” she called in a whisper making him turn around.

“Go back to sleep, Lily. It's too early.”

Fuck yes it is!

They had came back from the hospital at 4am, meaning he barely slept three hours and he was getting ready to go to the convention, obviously feeling even more pain than yesterday.

“You're leaving already? Misha, you need rest! Look at you!” Lily sat and leaned on the bed board. Her body was sore too and every move was painful.

He was clutching on his ribs, trying in vain to reduce the pain he was feeling. He noticed she wasn't too happy about the idea of being left alone today, and frankly he also hated the idea of leaving her behind after what had happened yesterday, but he had made a choice.

He walked toward the bed, leaned on it and kissed her forehead before taking the water bottle on his nightstand to swallow more pain killers.

“I'm not leaving yet, I'm just getting ready. I'm fine, just go back to sleep, babe.”

She closed her eyes at his contact and sighed.

“Don't call me babe.”

Misha looked at her tired face and chuckled weakly. She always hated being called with sweet names, and though he never understood why, he had always found it pretty cute.

“Okay, sweetheart.” he teased.

“I'd punch you but...” she didn't finish her sentence, a shadow of pure fear darkening her sleepy face when the image of him being kicked by two men on the paved floor flashed in her mind.

Misha exhaled and sat next to her on the bed, opening his arms to welcome her in his warmth. She carefully placed her head on his chest, her arms around his waist, and she melted in his arms, enjoying the comfort he brought to her.

“Are we gonna talk about what you asked yesterday?” Lily ventured. She could feel Misha's gaze on her.

“Why? Are you having second thoughts?”

He fucking asked her to marry him when he was already married! Who wouldn't have second thoughts?

“So... you were serious.”

“Deadly. As serious as I was when I proposed the first time.”

But not as SINGLE as he was when he proposed the first time!

“You're not mine and that's a huge problem I intend to fix as soon as possible.” he kissed the top of her head. “Unless... unless you don't want to?” he sounded suddenly like a scared teenager again and it broke Lily's heart.

She looked up at him and studied his worried face, lighted only by the rising sun. Her hand rose to his jaw line, her thumb delicately scratching his scruff.

“There is nothing I want more right now.” she admitted lazily, almost whispering. “But-”

Misha's finger found her lips to shush her.

“Uh-uh” he shook his head. “No but.”

Right... trust him.

She couldn't help but slightly opened her mouth to slowly and sensually kiss his finger that was still on her lips. Misha kept staring at her, his lips parted, enjoying the intimacy of her gesture.

“Kiss me.” He breathed almost desperate.

Lily's weak smile disappeared as soon as her eyes fell on his mouth.

“Misha, your lip. I'm gonna hurt you.”

“Kiss. Me.” he pleaded.

She let go of his chest to slide up a little on the bed, being now at eye level with him, her gaze devouring his tired blue eyes with love.

She leaned forward and delicately brushed her lips against his, observing his reaction to check if he wasn't in pain. After he licked his lips, she kissed him gently, licking his lower lip which made him immediately open his mouth to welcome her tongue.

They parted and jumped when the hotel phone rang again on the nightstand.

“Hello?” Misha answered, a little annoyed to be interrupted. “Vic! ... No, no I'm fine, don't worry. I'm getting ready for the con.”

God, Vicki probably heard about what happened (but how??) and was legitimately worried sick. She must've called Misha's phone, and probably Lily's too, but since they were stolen she must've panicked a million times seeing no one was answering so she called the hotel.

“I wish I was but Lily was with me.” she heard him say on the phone with a low voice. “She's...” he looked down at her. She had found her place back on his chest and smiled at him.

“She's fine. I'll tell you everything when we'll come back home. They just stole everything we had, phone included, they left a few bruises but I promise we're okay.”

Liar...

They were both drugged with pain killers and it still hurt like a bitch.

“I have something to tell you but not now... I'll come as soon as I'm back in Bellingham... Kiss the kids for me, I'll call them tonight. Bye.”

He hung up and put the phone back on the nightstand.

Was he talking about the proposal? That felt so strange... Misha talking to his wife about marrying another woman... God, what an impossible situation!

“How...” Lily started to talk but hesitated a little. She had to trust him but still... how could she not ask? “How do you think she'll take the news?”

Misha wrapped his arms around her waist.

“Mmh... she'll probably insist to go shopping with you.”

What?

“Shopping?... for what?”

“I don't know, dress, shoes, make up... you should know better, it's a girl thing. But I should warn you, she wasn't the conventional type of bride so you could eventually show up to your wedding day dressed like a man... or an animal... or not dressed at all.” he chuckled making her head bounce on his chest a little.

Lily stared absentmindedly at the bathroom door.

“This is so surreal...” she let out in a breath.

“What is?”

“You... talking about our wedding with your current wife...”

He gently stroked her arm.

“This isn't the first time. I probably even talked about it the first day I met Vicki to be honest. I imagined that day hundreds of times in my head, it wasn't easy to let go.”

She was very curious to know what their wedding day looked like in his mind and if it changed over time...

Lily giggled. “Try to seduce a woman talking to her about your ex-girlfriend haha!”

“Oh come on, I wasn't trying to seduce her, it was like... four months after you 'died' I was still...”

He let his sentence unfinished, thinking about his first conversation with Vicki and how he was feeling at the time.

After what had happened just a few hours ago, and being the sensitive mess Misha had always been, he couldn't hide his emotion as good as he'd wanted to and tears stung in his eyes. Luckily, Lily wasn't looking at him so she didn't see.

“Still what?” she asked curious, absentmindedly drawing shapes on Misha's chest with her index finger.

“I don't know, pick one: a mess, mourning, hurting, empty, dying...” he stopped talking when he felt another wave of emotion coming up from his core to his eyes, trapping it in a lump in his throat.

Noticing his shaky voice, Lily ceased her drawing masterpiece to look up at him. She saw a tear falling from his eyes to his chest, right in front of her face, staining his shirt, and her heart ached. It was even worst than the pain she was feeling from the mugging.

She hated to see him cry, especially because of her. Unfortunately, it happened a lot as Misha had always been very sensitive, like a snowball of emotions, barely able to hide it.

She remembered the months (or years?) spent after the fire and how terribly she missed him, how haunted she felt, seeing his face everywhere, even in her dreams (or nightmares!), how desperately she ached to find someone who could make her feel the way she felt when she was with him (but she never did), and that's when she understood why he liked Vicki.

“Oh Misha...” she cupped his face in her hand, kissed his wet cheek gently, rubbing his tears away with her thumb.

“God I'm so fucking terrified...” Misha breathed out closing his eyes, tightening his grip around her.

“Of what?” she frowned.

“Loosing you again.”

Obviously, he was still shocked from yesterday's events and it burst out of him now. The lack of sleep wasn't helping either. His eyes were still tightly closed, tears still falling down his face, and his arms still firmly clinging to her.

“You won't.”

She tried to comfort him, but they both knew by experience that nobody can promise that. You never know what's going to happen.

Misha rolled them over the bed, careful not to hurt her, but still holding her, afraid to lose the contact with her soft skin. He cupped her face and kissed her with need, not caring a second about the sharp pain of his injured lip.

“I love you so much it fucking hurts.” he confessed still firmly holding her face between his large hands.

Lily was crying too now, how could she not? He looked so fragile right now, she wanted nothing more than to comfort him and tell him everything would be okay but she was so overwhelmed by emotion herself that she was unable to speak.

Misha kissed her again, everywhere. Her mouth, her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her temple, her mouth again, her neck, her ear, he just couldn't stop.

Lily moaned when he bit on her neck and sucked her sensitive flesh, careful to avoid her bruises. She wrapped her legs around him and rose her hips shamelessly against his crotch.

Misha groaned in her ear and grabbed the back of her thigh to spread her legs even wider.

He forgot... he was so desperate to feel her and so emotional that he forgot...

She was still wearing the black dress from yesterday since she fell asleep in it, she felt his hands on her thighs and it hurt like a son of a bitch when he kneaded on her bruises, right where the other man did.

And suddenly she heard him clear in her mind.

“Mmmh stop wriggling like that against my cock lady, you’re giving me ideas…”

The voice of the man from yesterday... the one who was touching her impudently.

“Misha...” she breathed out weakly.

Misha was still kissing every spot of flesh his mouth could find, grinding against her and moaning everytime his cock twitched against her wetness.

“Please don’t do that… please…”

“Mmmh… beg baby… I love it.”

She shut her eyes tight and pushed on Misha's shoulders to make him pull away from her.

“Misha STOP!” she almost screamed between sobs and Misha froze, hearing the panic in her voice.

He pulled back and looked at her, understanding what was wrong right away and already kicking himself mentally.

Lily turned her head and let out another sob, trying not to show Misha how bad she felt at that moment, but her body was shaking so hard that it was crystal clear for him. He let her go to sit on the bed next to her and brushed her hair out of her sweaty forehead.

“I'm sorry, Lily... I'm so sorry.”

If the situation wasn't that bad, Misha would be amazed the amount of tears that could fall from his eyes... he didn't know he could cry that much in such a short time.

Lily sat up and wiped her tears in her hands.

“No... no, don't be sorry... it was me, I just...”

“I know. I shouldn't have. I'm an idiot.”

Misha took her hand in his and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. That simple touch made her feel a ton better already... so she smiled at him tenderly.

“I love you, my idiot.” she whispered and brought his hand to her face to kiss it.

And that's when the shrill phone ringtone made them jump again.

“WHAT?” Misha picked up and almost yelled on the phone.

He suddenly pulled the phone away from his ear, shaking his head.

Lily listened closely and recognized Katie's voice screaming on the phone, almost deafening Misha.

“OH MY GOD MISHA I THOUGHT I WOULD NEVER FIND YOU I SAW WHAT HAPPENED ON TWITTER PLEASE TELL ME SHE'S OKAY PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MISHA!!! MISHA? HELLO???”

Lily hid her grin behind her hand and took the phone from Misha's hand.

“Katie?”

“LILY OH MY GOD I WAS SOOOOOOOOOOO WORRIED!!!!”

“Geez, calm down, Katie!”

“How the fuck do you want me to calm down? The Supernatural cast keeps tweeting about Misha being mugged and canceling his panel and I KNOW you were with him after the concert!”

“Yes, I was. We're fine, Katie, I swear. Misha will show up later at the con, I guess you'll have plenty of photo ops to admire the... extent of the... damages.” she made a face and Misha rolled his eyes.

“Damages? What damages? What did they do to him? What did they do to you?”

“Just a few scratches. They stole our things too... and Misha's car...including my Collins.”

Misha frowned and tilted his head. “Your what?”

“Fuck! That sucks.” he heard Katie through the phone.

“Yeah... I'll deal with that later. I have to hang up, Katie. I'll try to buy another phone today and I'll send you my new number.”

“Okay... Take care, sweetheart!”

“You too. Love ya.”

Lily hung up and looked at a very suspicious Misha.

“Okay I have questions...” he declared still frowning.

“Like?”

“Your Collins?”

She chuckled “My violin was made by Glen Collins.”

“Oh. No idea who that is but he must be a great guy.”

“He's dead.” she replied playfully.

“Okay... he must have been a great guy. And... last but not least, Katie can call you sweetheart but I can't?”

“Yes.” she hissed.

“Yes? Just … Yes.”

“Yes...?”

“Ugh! Why?” Misha whined.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!”

“She's my friend!”

“Am I not?”

She rolled her eyes “You're more than that.”

“Yes, so I'm supposed to have the right to call you babe... or sweetheart... or honey... or-”

“My friends can give me pet names, not my boyfriends. Never. It makes me feel like a slut or a kid, depending on the name, and I hate it.”

Misha smirked, trying to ignore the sting he felt when she said 'boyfriends', and his eyebrows rose “A slut?”

“He called me baby yesterday...” she coldly replied and Misha's smile disappeared immediately. He stared back at her, not wanting to go back to that kind of conversation, he would break down again for sure... or maybe he would punch the wall considering the rage he felt when he thought about that man touching her.

“Nessy?” he ventured carefully, remembering their trip to Northfield and Lily swimming in the gross pong, smelling like rotten mud for hours after that.

Lily snorted and looked down.

“You fucker” she joked “I was hoping you forgot about that.”

“Oh no. I never forget.” he stood up and kissed her head. “Go take a bath and relax, I'll call my agent before going to photo ops.”

She nodded, happy to get rid of that dress and clean herself from everything that happened.

“Misha?” she stopped him while he was walking toward the door and he turned to look at her.

“Yeah?”

“Can you not talk about me to your fans today?” she almost pleaded, still sitting on the edge of the bed and twisting her fingers nervously.

“Of course.” he winked and started to walk again when she stopped him again. She was kinda scared to let him go.

“Misha, how was it?” she asked before he could turn the doorknob. He turned and leaned against the door, frowning.

“I have no clue what you're talking about.” he admitted shaking his head.

“Our wedding day... in your mind... when you were sixteen... how was it?”

The smile that enlightened Misha's face when he thought about it was probably warmer than the morning sun. He slowly walked toward her and knelt between her legs to be at eye level with her.

He cupped her face and left a soft kiss on her lips.

“How about you relax first, and I'll tell you when I come back?”

She covered his hands with hers and leaned in his touch.

“Hurry.” she simply whispered, and Misha's heart clenched when he understood she was nervous to be left alone today.

“Promise.”

***

She stayed in the bath for hours... or at least it felt like it. The water was so hot she could've cooked pasta in it, but it relaxed all of her sore muscles and it felt divine.

When she finally found the strength to get out of it, she put some jeans and shirt on, took her laptop and checked her Twitter on the bed.

As she expected, her time line was full of tweets about the accident.

@Lucy “Misha can't smile. Misha Collins who's smile lights up an entire room cannot smile because his lip is hurt so badly. Im so upset.”

@Lindieface“YES. :( Apparently four guys mugged him and beat him pretty badly. & he's still there doing photo ops, bless him.”

Four guys? Lily had to laugh at that. Only a few hours had passed since they announced it and there was already one more man in the story.

Geez thank God there were only three... What would've happened if one more was beating Misha up... or one more was taking care of her.

She shivered and shook her head, trying not to think about it.

@JensenAcklesGod The way Misha hides his stitches makes me so emo :(

@Acklestonkin Jensen covering misha's mouth for him because he knows he's feeling self conscious is the most important thing

Her chest constricted when she saw the pictures of him with his fans. She could tell he was trying so hard to look okay, but he couldn't fool everyone... everybody saw he was extra tired.

She just hoped his fans wouldn't ask him to do too many weird poses because he probably wouldn't say no and it would hurt.

And then of course, Misha answered to reassure everyone... but with what phone? Maybe he found a computer to use.

Hey guys! Thanks for all the well-wishes! Just want u to know I've just got some minor scrapes. I'm totally fine! Love u guys.

Minor scrapes my ass... Lily thought. He probably didn't tell anyone about his broken ribs and he was there being hugged tight by hundreds of people...

It was nice to read all the well wishes from the cast members, they were all very nice people and she felt so good reading all the compliments they were saying about Misha.

Lily jumped when she heard a knock on her door. Who could that be? They're all at the con!

She was surprised to see Jensen when she opened the door.

“Hey, sunshine!” he greeted and hugged her carefully. God that man was so damn nice!

“Hey! What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at the con if I'm correct...”

He chuckled. “May I come in?”

Lily stepped aside to let him in before closing the door behind them.

“I have something for you, and considering the circumstances, I hurried to give it to you because I'm pretty sure it's an emergency.”

Lily frowned when he handed a box to her. When she opened it and found the last Iphone in it, her mouth dropped open and she couldn't form a real sentence to thank him.

“How... you... what the...”

Jensen chuckled. “You're welcome. Misha got one too by the way, his new number is in the box, and I'm pretty sure he sent at least ten texts to you already so you better hurry to answer before he loses his mind.”

Lily threw herself in Jensen's arms and hugged him tight, not able to contain her tears.

“You're really an angel, thank you.”

After all he did for her yesterday, he was still here helping her today. And she thoughts every celebrities were selfish jerks... how wrong she was!

Jensen burst out laughing “I'm really not, but thank you. I just hate violence and what happened to you and Misha is unfair. I wanted to fix it at least a little. But now I have to run or I'll be late for my last minute panel since I have to take Misha's place. If you'll excuse me...”

She let him go with a warm smile.

“Of course. Thank you, Jensen... I really appreciate.”

“Don't mention it.” he winked at her and ran out of the room, screaming “Oh and Misha's on his way, he'll be here soon just FYI”, closing the door behind him.

“Thanks!”

She didn't know what else to say, she was just damn grateful.

***

The good thing when you receive a new phone and you have tons of settings to do is that you don't see how fast time flies. She was busy answering what felts like her hundredth message when she heard the door open and Misha appeared in the room, looking completely fried.

“I know... I look like crap.” he declared while plopping down on the bed.

“You insisted to go... the doctor warned you it wasn't a wise thing to do. How do you feel?” Lily asked worried and pressed her hand on his forehead, gently stroking his hair back.

“Like a was thrown into a burning volcano after being hit by a flying plane and tortured by Lucifer himself. Please don't say I told you so...”

“I won't say it then. Is there something I can do?”

He sighed “Can we just go home?”

Home?... They didn't have a home. How was she supposed to know where he was referring to?

“Am I supposed to know where that is?” she asked honestly and Misha removed his arm from his eyes to look at her, realizing they indeed didn't have a place to share and call home.

“Your place.” he specified.

“Okay. Just rest, I'll pack.”

“If you insist...”

She smiled when she heard him snore two minutes later.

She let him sleep through the rest of the afternoon and they left when he woke up.

***

Katie jumped in Lily's arms as soon as she opened the door of her apartment.

“I was so fucking worried!”

“No need, I'm in one piece as you can see. What were you doing in my apartment?”

“Just waiting for you. I felt like a lion in a cage in my place...”

Katie studied her and winced when she saw the scratches on the side of her face. When she went to hug Misha and saw his face, she had to cover her mouth to muffle the gasp that went out.

“They dared doing that to your pretty face...”

Misha chuckled and welcomed her in his arms to greet her.

“Owww not so tight please! Broken ribs”

Katie pulled away mortified.

“Fuck! I'm sorry I didn't know... I didn't think it was that bad...”

She turned to look at Lily and playfully slapped her arm. “You let them do that to him and you only have a few scratches? Where the hell were you?”

Lily shared a panicked look with Misha, not sure if she should tell the truth to her friend who would probably overreact... as always.

“One of the man was holding me, I couldn't move... and FYI I skipped Kung-Fu class so what the fuck could I do alone against three huge men?”

“I told you we should've take self-defense lessons when-”

“Nevermind Katie, it's over and we're fine. Can we leave it at that?” Lily interrupted but Misha tilted his head, obviously interested in the end of Katie's sentence.

“When what?” he pressed... he knew she would crack and tell him soon enough.

“I said nevermind. Katie, I'm sorry but we're exhausted.”

Katie didn't protest, sensing she may have let something big slip through her mouth... again.

Lily escorted her to the front door to say goodnight.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she whispered to her friend when they were far enough from Misha.

“I'm sorry I thought he knew! You say you tell him everything!”

“He doesn't know everything and it must stay that way. Understood? I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

Katie sighed. “Your choice... Goodnight love.”

Lily hugged her friend before closing the door and joined Misha in the kitchen, busy brewing some tea.

“Are you gonna finish her sentence for me?” he asked hopeful.

Lily sighed and sat on the bar stool. “Any chance you can forget about that?”

“No.” he stood at the other side of the bar and crossed his arms. “Did someone hurt you before?”

She swallowed and looked down to play with her jeans, trying to avoid this conversation.

“The silence treatment won't work, Lily... not this time. I want to know, and now. You know you can talk to me.”

He leaned on the bar to look at her closely, but she couldn't look at him in the eyes. She was definitely not decided to talk.

“Alright...” Misha started to walk toward the front door.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Lily followed.

“Katie's. At least she talks.” he replied annoyed, turning the doorknob.

“No, wait!” it got out harsher than she meant, but she wasn't very comfortable with this conversation. “I... I'll talk. Don't go. It's not as bad as it sounds, really.”

Her version would definitely be lighter than Katie's.

Misha took her hand and led her to the couch where they both sat face to face. He raised his hands before clapping them back. “I'm listening.”

“I don't know where to start...” she confessed.

“Did someone hurt you before?” Misha helped.

She looked down at her hands. “Yes. Kinda.”

Misha swallowed, trying not to push her too much despite the anger rising in his core already. “Who?”

“Some guy I dated when I was in France. It was a long time ago, it happened once and I've never seen him after we broke up. Can we leave it at that, please?”

His nostrils flared “Ex boyfriend?”

Okay so no was the answer to her previous question obviously...

“Not really...” she paused for too long, annoying Misha even more.

“Lily... what are you scared about? Talk to me, please. I need to know. You used to tell me everything...”

She sighed again and looked up to meet his comforting eyes, but she could feel a disturbing wave of shame burning inside of her chest already.

“I... there was a time, few months after I started therapy in France, when I coped with mourning by... unhealthy methods. It led to... meeting a lot of people, and sometimes bad people.”

“Okay... what do you mean by 'unhealthy methods'? Drugs? Alcohol?”

“No... this is very awkward to talk about that with you...” she confessed shyly.

Misha took her hand and rubbed her knuckles. “I can hear everything. You should know that.”

“I was getting out a lot... in clubs... drinking too much, and each time I would … pick up a guy to … you know... end the night with.”

“Oh...” was all he could answer.

Imagining Lily picking up a different guy to fuck each week was beyond torture for Misha, especially so soon after he was supposed to be dead. Not to mention it was far from her personality.

“Dr Dorville, my therapist, said it was my way to cope with you being gone. She said... she said I missed you so I needed to find someone to fill the need. It became like a drug, I needed someone to be close to, but as it was never enough filling my craving, I did it again and again, the goal being to find someone who could make me feel... safe, and loved. At least as safe and loved as I felt with you. But it never did.”

Misha's grip on her hand tightened.

“I met Ben one of those nights, he was ten years older than me, I liked him, he liked me, and I surprised myself wanting him more than once so we saw each other more often, but after a while I got tired of him because it still wasn't enough for me, so I found someone else... and he wasn't happy when he found out so he got mad and since he was high and drunk pretty much all the time it turned into a fight when he came to tell me how he felt. I've never seen him again after that night.”

Lily looked down at their intertwined fingers and she rubbed her thumb on Misha's palm.

“I'm not proud of it. And... they all had the most cute names to call me, but even today I still feel like a slut when I hear someone I sleep with calling me like that...”

Oh... so that was the reason why...

He was so quiet... way too quiet. Lily felt very uncomfortable and ashamed. Whatever the reason is, it's never a good thing to act that way.

“Please say something...” she pleaded.

“How many?” The question even surprised himself.

The answer was unfortunately even more shameful for her.

“I... don't know. Too many. I lost count. It lasted almost a year, I went out every weekend... you do the math.” she blushed furiously.

A single tear fell from her eyes as she looked away but Misha was still firmly holding her hand without moving.

“I know how it sounds, Misha... I won't blame you if you think this is bad because it is. Just... please don't judge me on that.”

“Who am I to judge someone who lost everything in one night? You... you just did the exact same thing I did, except I was lucky enough to find the right person the first time.”

Misha smiled and it warmed Lily's heart up instantly. She slid forward on the couch and wrapped her arms around his chest. She needed to feel him, she needed to know he still loved her even after that.

He hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head.

“I'm sorry.” she breathed out.

“Don't apologize. You don't need to.”

“I feel guilty...” she confessed.

Misha pulled away to look into her reddened eyes.

“Wanna know a secret?”

Lily frowned but didn't answer.

“I felt so guilty the first time I slept with Vicki that I pretended to be hungry to go out and I threw up as soon as I crossed her front door... on her porch.”

Lily pressed her lips together to suppress a laugh, but she failed miserably and snorted, soon joined by Misha's chuckles. Misha grabbed her waist and leaned back on the sofa, bringing her with him. She instantly placed herself on his chest and wrapped her arms around him.

There was an unhealthy curiosity in Lily's mind when she thought about Misha's first time with Vicki. She wondered if it felt as awkward and guilt-wracking for him as it felt for her when she slept with all those guys.

“I wanted to marry you at the farm... just us and our families.”

Misha suddenly changed the subject, playing absentmindedly with a lock of her hair while staring at the ceiling.

Lily looked up but didn't say a word, a smile appearing on her lips when she tried to picture the scene.

“I thought about the pond first, near the weeping willow, it would've made great pictures... but then I thought about your grandfather, and I couldn't get the clearing out of my head since he married your gran' there.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, still unable to figure what to say.

“I didn't care about my clothes, about the food or any of those stuff, it didn't matter. I just wanted a small thing in our place and it would've been perfect. I pictured you in a casual white dress though... not a fancy one... wearing that necklace of course.”

He looked down and grabbed the wooden ring he made for her, still hanging on her neck.

“That's it... nothing more. That was enough for me. I just wanted you to be mine.”

She looked at him and smiled.

“I would've loved it.” she sincerely replied before kissing him.

She deepened the kiss and closed her eyes when she felt his warm hand caressing her lower back.

Her left hand found its way under his shirt, needing to feel more of him.

She broke the kiss to stare into his blue eyes but none of them could speak, so she moved up on the couch to straddle his hips. She grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it up his shoulders, still staring hungrily at him.

He didn't protest and placed both of his hands on her hips after tossing his shirt away. He didn't move, not sure if she was okay for more after what happened. She was just here, looking down at him, her hands caressing his chest.

They stayed like that for a moment before she bent over him to leave wet kisses all over his muscular chest, his shoulders, his neck, her long hair brushing his skin. She traced her way with her tongue down his body again, stopping at his waist to fumbled with his belt buckle.

She opened it and unzipped his pants, but Misha was still not moving. His hands were still on her hips, squeezing a bit everytime she kissed a sensitive spot, and his jaw clenched, but he didn't make a move, afraid to remind her of this morning.

She raised her hips just enough to slide his jeans down at his knees and sat back on his hips, her eyes closing at the sensation of his hard cock pressing between her legs through his underwear.

She leaned forward again to kiss and trace her fingers along his chest once more, and she teasingly pulled down on his underwear when she reached it.

She looked up at him and smiled, kissing his hip bones again and again. The look on her eyes made Misha wild and all he wanted was to get up, grab her and fuck her on the couch, but he didn't move and let her do what she wanted with him.

And she knew exactly what she wanted...

She grabbed his underwear to slide them down at his knees too, freeing his cock in the process. She sat down on his thighs and grabbed him in her hand, pumping a few times, earning a low moan from him.

She needed to taste him. Since she thought about it, she couldn't get it out of her mind. She had never done that with him. That's not something she thought about when she was sixteen, but now...

Now... she bent over him, her lustful eyes still staring at him, and she licked her lips.

And it took all the strength in Misha to stop her, his hands flying from her hips to her shoulders to block her from bending further down.

She almost let out a frustrated whine, her face was inches away from his cock and all she wanted right now was to lick it.

“You don't have to...” Misha frowned.

Lily could hear the need in his words, she could feel his sweaty warm skin under her touch, she could feel his shaky legs between hers, she knew he wanted this but was worried for her.

“Hands down.” she ordered, grabbing his wrists to guide him.

She pinned his arms on his sides and Misha swallowed thickly, his eyes never leaving hers.

His cock twitched on his stomach, making Lily smirk before she grabbed it back in her hand.

She licked her lips again, desperate to taste him, and she bent further down, holding his gaze, her mouth stopping very close to his already leaking tip.

“May I?” she asked defiantly, eating him up with her gaze.

Misha was now panting from anticipation, and he could feel his legs trembling under her.

“Please...” he breathed out.

She leaned further, right at the base of his cock, stuck out her tongue and slowly licked his length all along, until her tongue reached the tip, and the deep moan that escaped Misha when she wrapped her mouth around him and hummed almost made her come in her pants.

She took her time to taste every inch of him, circling her tongue around the tip of his twitching cock, sucking and swallowing every drop of precum she could feel. He tasted so fucking good...

Misha shut his eyes tight, hoping it could last forever, but knowing he wouldn't be long coming with her sucking hard on his throbbing cock like that.

She took him as deep as she could, savoring his taste with her tongue flat on his length everytime she pulled back, sucking hard on the tip and teasing the sensitive spot with her tongue.

“Yes...” Misha hissed and his hips bucked up.

He couldn't help his hands from grabbing her hair to guide her, and she couldn't help swaying her hips on his legs.

Misha suddenly pushed on Lily's hips to raise her a little bit, allowing him to unhook one leg from under her, getting rid of his pants and underwear. He put his left leg aside, allowing her to feel his right knee pressing between her legs when she straddled back down on it.

Lily ground her hips against him, bent down to take him back in her mouth and moaned around him sending shivers in his whole body.

She pulled back to look at him and licked the thread of precum hanging from her lips. She smirked seeing the dark look in his eyes, and she didn't resist when she felt his hands, still in her hair, pushing toward him again. She opened her mouth and took him back as deep as she could, sucking even harder.

Misha was absolutely unable to stay still and thrust up faster and faster, harder and harder, fucking her mouth restlessly.

“Yes... fuck Lily I'm so close... fuck!”

She had no intention of letting go, she wanted to taste all of him and she wouldn't stop before tasting his cum.

She rubbed her clothed crotch against his knee again and again, unable to stop the moans from coming, much for Misha's delight.

She sucked and licked harder, following his frantic movements, trying to keep breathing whenever she could. She looked up at him when she felt his hips moving slower in an unsteady rhythm and she swallowed around him, sending him over the edge.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! AH! Lily... FUUUCK! UGGHHH!”

His fists tightened in her hair making her whine, and she came right before he did, just by humping his knee, whimpering insanely around his cock. He came in her mouth a short moment later, never leaving her gaze when she swallowed all of him.

She let him go, licked her lips and sat up straddling his thighs when his head plopped down on the couch and he closed his eyes, hiding them behind his forearm and panting to catch his breath.

Lily stayed on his thighs smirking, admiring her work for a while.

“I didn't hurt you, did I?” she asked when she saw he was still panting under his arm.

“I don't know, I can't feel my body anymore...” he chuckled lazily and finally took his arm away to look at her.

She lied down on top of his naked body and placed her head on his chest, listening to his still fast heartbeat.

“Amazing way to end that fucked up weekend.” she confessed weakly.

And it hit them at the same time like a brick wall: tomorrow they would go back to work... tomorrow they would say goodbye, again... tomorrow they would be apart, again...tomorrow they would crave each other, again.

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

very late S5 Ep6 discourse

Really? People got upset over that?

What’s the big deal. Sansa got raped by Ramsay Bolton. Ramsay Bolton is a monster. That’s his character. Next.

I read some complaints saying “Oh it completely backtracks all of Sansa’s character development” and I’m just...fuck, what character development? 

She went from being a naive silly little girl who seemed to care only about herself to a sad yet still naive girl that lost her family. The only things she possesses are her ability to say “yes” to the wrong people, her wariness of everyone (including the people who want to help her), her beauty, her resentment, and her family name. What major changes has she gone through, pray tell, because honestly I sense really nothing changed about her character and nothing really seemed to be simmering “in the making” of change. She does not assert herself in the face of adversity or act proactive like Catelyn or Arya, she does not have wits like Cersei, she does not possess charm or even that much likability like Margaery, she doesn’t even really hold true to any moral code like Brienne. Fuck, she doesn’t even fight viciously to protect what little she has like Lysa did. With the exception of the time she rescued that knight from Joffrey’s sadism, she’s been a doll shuffled and rattled from one place to another. Losing all hope and sense of personal agency is not “character development”, and being raped on your wedding night isn’t undoing anything. 

( Is it her fault what happened to her? Not exactly. Was the threat of torture and death under Joffrey there? Yeah, I guess, but honestly, the fact that she herself said to her father “I don’t want someone who’s nice, and gentle, I want Joffrey” is as retarded as anything I’ve ever heard. You have to be a special kind of stupid to want someone who beat up your sister’s friend, threatened to torture him, and caused the death of your innocent direwolf, your FUCKING ANIMAL COMPANION, love or not. If you ignore clear warning signs, then how is it anyone else’s fault but your own that you ended up marrying him after he killed your father, even after you saw him for the monster that he was? Arya saw Joffrey for what he was immediately.)

She is an average girl born in a good house and happened to be the eldest daughter. People only care because she’s one of the main characters. Tons of girls like her have been taken advantage of in the same way in GoT universe, tons of untold stories of girls that were of high status who were shipped off to their enemies and mistreated. This is literally nothing new, nor particularly outlandish. I don’t even find it exploitative, it seems par for the course that a character would be raped (off-screen, mind you) because that’s who Ramsay is in this version of the series.

This is Game of Thrones, people are raped and slaughtered and yes, main characters aren’t immune to this. Did people think Ramsay wouldn’t rape Sansa? We should be lucky we didn’t see it in all its horridness on the same level as the orgy scenes in the brothels.

(Tumblr is acting weird so I’ll just copy + paste a reply here because why the f is xkit reblogging shit to my main?)

@effleuresense

Not blaming her, just saying that people who were outraged by Ramsay raping her are kind of.. why are you outraged again? Did y'all think Ramsay would be kind to her? My criticism of peoples’ criticism is specifically that some people say “oh it completely retconned character development” and it’s like … what could she do in that situation? Kill Ramsay? She didn’t have it in her to kill him, I don’t think. It was after she was raped that she got a weapon, that …I don’t know, barrel borer or whatever in Episode 7. But she didn’t use it on him. Up until the episode of her rape, she had been slowly, slowly SO SLOWLY maybe trying to find a backbone and stand up to her abusers, to at least give herself the comfort that she didn’t passively take anything. The thing about the rape scene is that it wouldn’t have mattered if she had, because Ramsay would have hurt her even more, possibly, so it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t, and that’s the sad truth of it. The only thing I’m blaming her for is for being blind and stubborn to not seeing Joffrey for the monster he was, and Joffrey didn’t rape her. Harassed and threatened to kill her, but didn’t rape her. She could have totally avoided that anguish if she hadn’t deluded herself into thinking that termite wasn’t an utter sociopath even when she saw right in fucking front of her that he was a spineless worm. I mean, if y'all are thinking I’m blaming Sansa for her rape, I’m not. I’m just confused why everyone was so upset that it happened when it has been made abundantly and expressly clear that Ramsay is a cruel man. We saw Craster’s girls raped by the Night Watch, we saw Daenarys unwillingly having sex with Khal Drogo at first, why is Sansa any different. Because we know her better? Because it’s gratuitous? I thought that was kind of the theme of Game of Thrones. People having their entrails spill out is fine, but an off-screen rape isn’t? I can post whatever I want in the Sansa Stark tag. I like Sansa but she’s a bit slow and dim when it comes to maneuvering the game of courts and kings and houses. She’s not like her mother, certainly not like her sister. Because yes, what you do to your wedded rapist is make him even more pissed off by reminding him he’s a bastard (S5 Ep7), that’s smart. That little jab must have felt so good before he likely spent the rest of the day conceiving of ways to make her hurt even more. Smart girl, she is.

 Ramsay thrives off of breaking obstinate people, that’s how Theon turned into Reek. Sansa doesn’t know that, but she doesn’t seem to know a lot of things despite having experienced so much. I’m waiting for her to get those balls that Ramsay commended Yara of having, and since I’ve read a bit of the spoilers I know that she does escape Ramsay’s clutches and eventually gets Petyr dead to death, so thankfully she does get shit done, but as she is now, the awkward transition from victim that makes all the wrong choices to victim who makes the strategic choices is kind of abysmal. Still rooting for her.

[truffulaslut]

Long post about me being fed up.

I’m fucking done with these Zutarians, and the Reylos for that matter. You know what both Katara and Rey are to these shippers? A place holder. They’re a place holder for themselves because they want to be with Zuko and Kylo.

They don’t even care about the full year of torment and abuse Katara had to face from Zuko and the fire nation. They ignore the fact that Katara had an anger towards the fire nation after they had killed her mother.

All they see is: “OMG! KATARA AND ZUKO ARE OPPOSITES! RED AND BLUE FIRE AND WATER! THE CAVE OF TWO LOVERS!! OMG IT’S MENT TO BE!! NICKELODEON SAID THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BE TOGETHER! IT WAS MENT TO BE!!!”

Katara on “The Western Air temple” even made a death threat directly at Zuko. She said if he hurt Aang, or even gave her the implication that he was going to betray Aang, she’d basically kill him. And…that’s love?? Wow. I wonder what your relationships look like.

By the end of “The Southern Raiders” Katara and Zuko were on good terms, but that doesn’t mean romance. It honestly didn’t even feel like a friendship it actually just felt like “yo…I don’t wanna kill you anymore, man.” To Katara, Zuko was just there as Aang’s bending teacher.

And…guess what? The last episode that they share together with their “friendship” is entirely about 2 days. Yup, they are most likely “friends” for about 2 days, and if you count the time between “The Southern Raiders” and the four Sozin’s Comet episodes it’s honestly probably about a week. A week and two days…is enough to build an entire relationship on where Katara becomes fire lady at age 15??? Yeah…no keep dreaming.

You can’t deny Zuko’s attempted murder towards Aang and his friends wasn’t abusive. Dude…the whole Fire Nation tries killing them multiple times…and that’s not…youre just going to look over Katara’s trauma and war torn family??? I bet she’d love all of you.

Okay! Now for the Reylos.

Reylos…hmm. You too also like to deny that Kylo has tried to kill both Rey and her friends. He basically mind raped her in the interrogation scene and tortured both Poe and Finn.

Speaking of which Poor Finn, he had to grow up as a child soldier. Being trained to kill, never knowing his family…and now you’re just going to push him out of the story because he’s not a fucking whitey?? Honestly fuck you. John Boyega is a gift to this God forsaken fandom. He truly is a gift. We’ve never seen a poc in star wars besides being aliens and already that’s fucking insulting.

Poc get representation and you Reylos and that dumb ass writer have the nerve to call Kylo the fucking…PROTAGONIST??? Do you even know the definition of protagonist??? The good guy? Since when do good guys kill younglings at the jedi temple? Since when do they turn to the dark side? When do good guys kill their fathers? Umm…never.

Anyways back to Reylos: Why do you think Rey a sweet, strong, driven woman would ever want to be with Kylo Ren? Do you remember “You still want to kill me.” As a line from the movie…or no? She wanted to fucking murder him, not only for him stalking her in the forest like an animal, but also for her intense force visions of him killing people, and also fucking with her friends.

Rey is powerful. She’s damn impressive. And y'all are trying to make her the reason Kylo’s redemption? Smh. Good redemptions happen when the bad guy decides things need to change. But I don’t see that happening with Kylo anytime soon. In fact, from what Adam Driver has said, I think he might die or something. Lol. That’ll be fun to watch.