#It only covers VIRTUAL sins

[zeemczed]

Speedrunning the plot to Dogma again I see.

this video is so dangerous why did he put this in the public’s hands. killers can watch it after every kill and be able to get into the kingdom of heaven and then keep killing in heaven all they want

[vanilladove]

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹ sinful angel

gif creds the-chikyuu-times

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ pairing: hacker!fyodor x camgirl!reader

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ genre: smut w/ plot; 18+ only mdni!!!!!!

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ content warnings: light bsd manga spoilers, dubious consent + manipulation, sexwork mentions, sex toy use, slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, some degrading (+ lots of praise to balance it out)

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ summary: you've caught the eye of cybercriminal fyodor dostoevsky, who regards you as his sweet angel. watching you isn't enough to satisfy the lurking demon, who wants nothing but to corrupt you. translation notes: "milaya" = sweetheart, "shlyukha" = whore

𐙚 ⋆˚.⋆ word count: 5.7k

Fyodor sighed in annoyance, running his hands through his dark hair as he looked at all the computer screens in front of him. He was tracking down an arms dealer that was nothing but a pawn ready to be disposed of. The monitor displayed footage from the dealer's apartment, and showed him standing in the lobby making a phone call.

By the way he was hurriedly whispering, Fyodor could tell he was trying to be discreet. It was useless. The dealer was too occupied trying to hide his words from the security guard that he didn't even realize Fyodor had hacked into his phone and was listening in on the whole conversation. It had already been thirty minutes, and the hacker felt restless, waiting for the stupid pawn to just go back to his room and find the sweet gift awaiting him—another henchman ready to shoot him dead.

The dark haired man anxiously bit his fingernail until he heard something—no, it must've been the voice of an angel—through the recording of the dealer's phone conversation. His eyes narrowed onto the source of the voice from the screen.

There you stood, wearing a pastel pink and white lacy top, white cotton maxi skirt, white flats, and a ribbon in your flowing hair. You sweetly greeted the security guard, giving them a fresh pastry that you'd presumedly just bought. Your saccharine voice and mannerisms struck Fyodor's cold heart, snapping him out of his boredom. A precious anomaly in a world of pawns and subordinates, an angel.

His magenta eyes followed your movements towards the elevator, and his fingers instinctively typed in code to display the elevator's camera feed onto a different monitor, noting your floor number and the room number transcribed onto your keys. Pulling up another set of cameras for your floor's hallway and your attached balcony, Fyodor watched as you entered your unit and set your bag down on the dining table, pulling out a strawberry custard tart and going to the kitchen to pull out a mug and a teabag. He smiled, watching you brew his favorite blend of black tea and pulling out your laptop to find a show to watch while enjoying your midday treat. In his eyes, you were a woman of fine taste. An elegant lady that held herself to the highest standards of purity and grace. Your apartment was clean, with the right amount of cute, feminine touches and white lace everywhere. Truly a sight for sore eyes, and the perfect relief for an overworked criminal mastermind like himself.

The dealer's phone call suddenly ending interrupted Fyodor's daydreams as he turned his back to the screen showing you and watched the dealer take the elevator. He guessed it would take forty-five minutes or so to get the job done and cover all the tracks of the murder. After that, he promised his attention would be on you again.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

Fyodor Dostoevsky was a lonely man. Throughout his many lifetimes, he'd never sought out a companion, nor did he necessarily have the desire to. More and more, he found himself displeased by the new generations of sinners, unimpressed by virtually everyone. He didn't care much for consuming media, but for some reason he had a strong urge to watch the movie with you. Judging your character, he was sure you were watching some cheesy rom-com or a soapy drama. He was intrigued and bewitched by you and your sweet nature, which was why he couldn't help hacking into your laptop to see what you were watching, planning a 'movie-date' of sorts in his mind.

What he wasn't expecting to see was you spread open, in white lace lingerie and stockings, touching yourself.

Fuck, were you recording yourself?

His eyes widened, watching your manicured nails circle around your glossy clit, panting as you ran your fingers up and down your opening. Your thin panties were pulled to the side, leaving your bare cunt on display, slick dripping down. You whined and bucked your hips as you slipped two fingers inside, whining from the stretch.

"A-ahh, f-fuck—" You whimpered, your arousal leaking more from the pressure of your movements. You were moaning louder now, your other hand coming underneath your knee to expose your stocking and give a better view to the camera.

"Mmm—I'm gonna cum—make sure to watch, 'kay?"

Fyodor watched in utter shock as he witnessed you in a complete state of lustful pleasure. His angelic fixation was actually nothing more than a sinful temptress, a camgirl. As disappointed as he wanted to be, he couldn't ignore the strain against his pants. Seeing your blissful state, the bunched up lace, and listening to your sweet voice was enough to make him painfully hard for you.

With a groan, he leaned back into his padded chair, freeing his pulsing cock and tightly stroking up and down his length, eyes squinting yet open so he could still see your sensual body on the monitor screen.

He shamefully squeezed his leaking tip, trying to time his movements with your soft moans. Fyodor carefully trained his gaze on your pussy, closely watching your arousal drip down your slit, and how you gradually squeezed your thigh harder for relief.

You suddenly popped your fingers out and rubbed fast around your now swollen clit, body moving slightly as you heaved your chest from the feeling. You were practically whimpering at this point, close to finishing. Fyodor stroked faster to match your neediness, starting to buck his hips into his hand. His face was surely flushed a rosy pink by now, matching the color of his darkened tip.

“C-cumming—guys, I’m cumming—” You jerked up slightly, fingers leaving your clit to lightly spread your folds as your cum dripped out of your loosened hole, dampening the fuzzy white blanket below you. Your legs were shaking a bit as the orgasm washed over you, but Fyodor’s eyes widened again after you slowly wiped the excess cum around the outside of your pussy and the crevices between your thighs, leaving your skin glossy and shiny. You giggled sweetly, causing more blood to rush straight to his hard cock.

“Ahh, I kinda made a mess, didn’t I?! Let’s try this one next~!” You slowly pulled out a pink dildo, kissing the tip of it loudly and carefully rubbing it around your slit to lubricate it with your juices, gasping anytime it hit a sensitive spot.

God, you vixen. You knew what you were doing.

The hacker couldn’t resist, sweat starting to bead at his forehead as his breath got thicker in the air, cock feeling heavier and tighter while watching you tease yourself with the sex toy. He couldn’t help but wish it was his cock instead of that fake dildo that was slipping in and out of his pretty angel’s cunt as he fucked up into his fist more intensely. Borderline growls left his lips as he tried to chase his own release, which he cursed himself for since it wasn’t coming out fast enough.

As your own moans got louder and more broken, Fyodor could feel himself getting equally as lost into his own delusions, trying to satiate the long suppressed lustful desires. One orgasm wasn’t enough, he needed—no, craved—more, and long after your stream had ended, he couldn’t hold himself back from exploring your page, going through your different videos with one hand stroking his unsatisfied dick.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

Catching his breath, Fyodor cleaned himself off afterwards, feeling ashamed yet incredibly turned on from his actions. It was probably the hardest he’d came in a long time. As much as he wanted to continue to obsess over you, he was rudely interrupted by Nikolai barging into his space. Fyodor turned his chair immediately and glared at the white-haired jester.

Nikolai smirked mischievously, “What the hell, Dos, you watchin’ porn or something?” He taunted, causing Fyodor to scowl and throw his dirty napkins at him, which Nikolai swiftly avoided.

“None of your business…and knock before you enter my room.”

Fyodor gritted his teeth. Was it his own noisy groans or the audio of your moans playing out loud that Nikolai could hear? He secretly hoped it was the former since he didn’t want anyone else hearing his angel’s precious voice, especially not in such a lewd state.

“Well whatever, I was just letting you know that I killed and disposed of the dealer, so I expect my payment.” Nikolai waved his hands dismissively before pausing, tilting his head in a coy manner before grinning at Fyodor again, “By the way, if she’s a cam girl, you can usually tip her if you want a more personal interaction.”

Fyodor narrowed his eyes again, throwing more badly-aimed tissues at Nikolai. “Get. Out.” He threatened sternly, sick of Nikolai’s antics. The jester didn’t care, only laughing pridefully and singing “Dos likes a girlllll~” before leaving.

After waiting for his footsteps to disappear, Fyodor pulled up your account again. Coincidentally, you went by the alias of “angel” and dedicated your whole page to a soft, lacy aesthetic, becoming the perfect sinful object of desire for your subscribers. He found the paid chat and calls for your account, and swiftly made an encrypted account to send you a message, noticing you were still online.

demonfyo: My angel, how are you? Your beauty has entranced me, and it’s all I can think about…

angel ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚: hiiiiiiiii~♡ oh, how you flatter me demonfyo, i’m blushing (￣▽￣;) i’m feeling very playful atm hehe what abt you?

demonfyo: I’ve been trying to pray and repent all night, but I can’t get your pretty pussy and voice out of my thoughts.

angel ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚: sounds like my charm is working hehe ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა i'm happy i could help you get off lots ♡

demonfyo: Can you bless me with a short call, darling? I need you.

angel ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚: yesyes! do you want to do a video call? ૮₍´˶• . • ⑅ ₎ა

demonfyo: No, I just want to hear your sweet voice for a bit before I go to bed. Is that alright?

The incoming message notification sent your heart racing. Somehow, the new user had caught your attention. Swinging your legs cutely on your soft sheets, you couldn’t help but feel giddy about the mysterious sender. Typically, those who paid for messages got straight to the point, often explicitly stating their feelings towards you with no filter or immediately requesting a personalized video call. Seeing someone address you so adoringly certainly pulled on your heartstrings a bit, and the mystery behind what the new sender wanted was making you excited. You pressed the call button, anticipating the voice on the other side.

You cleared your throat, "Hihi, This is Angel~! Is this demonfy—"

"Fyodor. Call me Fyodor, angel". Your mysterious caller's deep, husky voice startled you. From the way he was messaging you, you half expected it to be some horny old man, but the man calling you sounded attractive. Fuck, you were getting a little turned on—thanks to your secret voice kink.

Of course, your small reactions didn't go unnoticed by Fyodor, who was intently watching you on his monitor. He smirked pridefully after seeing the rose on your cheeks and the way you slowly clenched your thighs together from hearing his voice.

"F-Fyodor. Umm, h-hi. Was there anything you wanted to talk about?" You quickly tried to regain some composure, nervous about talking to someone desirable, not just the usual degenerate. It didn't fool Fyodor, though, who you could hear sneering on the other side. You bit your lip—even his laugh was hot.

Fyodor spoke slowly, "Stuttering, huh...Do I make you nervous, milaya?" Your breath hitched, which he caught again. You were too fun to tease. "You're not used to being intimate with other men? Even though you're a camgirl?"

"N-no, it's not that...I'm just not used to non-sexual conversations." You huffed, trying to sound less flustered, "And I don't get intimate with other men; it's just me in front if the camera. N-not that I'd be opposed to having a special guest though—!"

He smiled at that, noting how hot and bothered you were getting, "Would you do it with me, then? I could make you feel better than that cheap pink dildo."

"W-what?!" You quickly shot out, gripping the sheets for balance, drawing another mocking laugh from Fyodor, which made you instantly regret it. Pull yourself together, girl! Maybe he's trying to roleplay!

"Yes, I would,” you muttered, trying to recover your confidence and add a flirty tone to your voice, “Would you whisper dirty things in my ear?”

Fyodor tilted his head, watching you bite your lip before whispering sweetly into the microphone, “Only if you begged me to, my sweet girl. You like my voice that much?”

“Maybe~” You teased, starting to feel tension build up again in your core. You lightly moved across your sheets, trying to relieve some of your pent-up arousal—even though you knew it wouldn’t be enough. Fyodor sighed watching you sink further into your bed, eyes starting to gloss over.

“Touch yourself and dream of me tonight, and it might happen,” your caller whispered, admiring you through the screen and smiling when you gasped and gripped the sheets tighter. “Sweet dreams, my pretty angel. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He whispered the last part to himself and ended the call before you could even process what he said or respond, making you double back at the empty screen.

You pouted, already missing Fyodor’s voice, but that didn’t take your attention away from how wet you were. Even your fatigue couldn’t stop your heartbeat, and you hastily opened your drawer of toys and reached for a baby pink vibrator, silently cursing yourself for being so horny and cursing your caller for leaving you hanging. You laid back in your bed, pulling aside your shorts as you covered you eyes in shame. No one had ever had this much of an effect on you. Imagining Fyodor’s sultry voice, you turned on the toy and moved it downwards, unaware of the violet eyes trained on you and following every movement and sound.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

You closed your laptop and stretched after editing some videos to tease your fans with. It was raining hard outside, ruining your plans to go out and get your usual strawberry tart. Sighing and opening your fridge, you thought about what to make for dinner.

You settled on pasta and grabbed a pot, filling it with water and turning on the stove. You went to grab some noodles before turning around and realizing the stove wasn’t turning on. Confused, you tried pushing the buttons on your oven and microwave, but they weren’t responding. A power outage? Strange, but at least your internet was still working. You really needed to call maintenance, but it could wait. You instead opened a food delivery app, ordering some vodka pasta and tiramisu and laying down annoyedly on your couch, drinking some rosé that you poured for yourself. Resting for about 20 minutes, a knock on your door woke you up.

A bit buzzed, you walked to the door and opened it to see your delivery person. He had shoulder length dark hair and a big hat was covering his face.

“Thanks!” You said sweetly, grabbing the paper bag from the man. He nodded slowly and you noticed the drops of water beading off the front strands of his hair. Oh, right, it was pouring outside. “U-Um, wait! Before you go, let me grab you a towel and some tip money. I feel kinda bad about the weather.” You tried to offer some sympathy and set your food on your dining table before going into your room to fish out some extra change from your wallet. Rushing back to the door, you were surprised to see that the delivery man was gone, and your door was now shut.

“Where did he go?” Muttering under your breath, you opened the door to look out into the hallway before sighing and closing the door. Maybe he was in a rush…at least you got to keep your money…

Your eyes widened right after closing the door, though, and a shiver ran down your spine as you felt warm air against your ear, “Hello, my angel.” You shrieked as you whipped around to see the same delivery man without his hat and a pair of glowing purple eyes staring back at you menacingly.

Alarmed, you tried to open the door and scream loudly for help, but the dark-haired man pulled your body against him and put a hand to your mouth, the other pulling you in and and resting on your back. “Why so scared, milaya? Didn’t you want to see me last night?” You yelped instinctively as you recognized the husky voice, which made you turn cold.

Fyodor.

“F-Fyodor! W-What are you doing here?!” You tried to back up, but he followed you, still holding you tightly as your back hit the door. He only grinned evilly, eyes low and mentally undressing you—not that your floral lace set was hiding anything, especially since you were bra-less and only had a skimpy white thong on. His hot breath fanned over your face as you took him in. He was much taller than you with a relatively thin frame, and his voice matched his ghostly, handsome appearance—like the attractive villain in a movie. But his touch was cold, so cold.

“You’re so beautiful, angel, yes, much more in person,” he whispered lowly, dragging his lips down from your ear to your jaw, “I’ve always taken a liking to pretty people, and you, milaya, are no exception.” You were shaking, fearful of his intentions—it was no secret that people into your work were suspicious. He looked up at you with an almost predator-like expression. “I’m going to move my hand. If you know what’s good for you, don’t scream. Understand?”

He was taunting you, but you were to afraid to fight back, and you nodded slowly in compliance, earning a cunning smile from him as well as a peck on your forehead as he moved his hands away from your mouth to slowly caress your cheeks. Your mouth was sealed shut from fear. “Good girl…I’m going to reward you now.” He whispered slowly before moving his head down to capture your lips in a slow kiss. You tried to keep your eyes open, but they closed upon feeling his soft touch.

Despite intruding into your apartment and forcing himself on you, he kissed you sensually, like a lover. Your hands pressed against his chest, but as he slipped his tongue in your mouth, your hands went to tangle in his long hair, still slightly damp from the rain, drawing a low groan from him. His knee came in between your leg, and the sudden pressure made you moan into the kiss, the shock causing you to break away from him and pant to catch your breath. You cursed your face for betraying you—your cheeks felt hot and you were sure you were blushing like crazy. Not to mention the fact that you could feel your nipples hardening beneath your long sleeve top.

As much as you wanted to blame your body’s reactions on the rosé you were drinking earlier, a part of you knew it was because of his voice, which you’d been fantasizing about since the call. Not to mention, being a cam girl made you turned on by the thought of your caller visiting you. As ashamed as you were, you knew Fyodor was enjoying every bit of your internal struggle, the sly smirk still on his face as he felt your heat on his clothed thigh. He quickly went to your neck, nipping and kissing your sensitive skin, somehow knowing where your sweet spots were and leaving light hickeys, making you whimper every time. His leg simultaneously grinded against your cunt, weakening the little balance you had left. You were starting to feel lightheaded and dizzy, wrapping your arms around Fyodor’s shoulders and playing with his hair.

Before pulling away and lowering his leg, he gently kissed over your hickeys along with the tears starting to prick your needy eyes. “Fyodor…” You started quietly, suddenly bashful and unable to make eye contact. He gave you a soft smile before tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear. You looked so cute gripping onto his shirt for what seemed like dear life, too flustered to even look up. How easily his pretty vixen fell apart for him.

“Yes, my angel?” He responded, still gazing at your face affectionately, like he was deeply devoted to you.

“Can we…” You trailed off, not sure what to say since your heart, head, and arousal were all screaming different things at you. Fyodor stroked your face with his knuckles slowly, enjoying how fragile you were under him, how corrupted your mind became. His questioning deep hum vibrated through your body, making you shiver and hold your breath.

The demon had captivated his innocent angel, bringing out her most sinful desires and conjuring the unholy courtesan that she really was. “C-can you fuck me? Please, Fyodor, I want you—“ You begged, forcing your doe eyes to look into his piercing orbs. His lips twisted upwards, and he slowly stepped back from you, turning you around and leading you backwards to your nearby plush couch, encouraging you to continue.

“I dreamt of you last night after our call, but it wasn’t enough. I tried so many toys, but I really wanted you…” You whined, making Fyodor push you back faster. “I kept thinking about how good your dick would feel inside of me, and the things you would say to me. What kind of things do you lik—“ Your rambling was cut off by your legs hitting the edge of the couch, and Fyodor swiftly pulling you seated into his lap, your back hitting his lean chest.

He seemed to be satisfied with your pleas, not pushing you for anymore and driving you into an embarrassing silence. He rested his head on your shoulder and exhaled, lazily wrapping his arms around your waist, “I know, angel, I was watching you.” You moved your head an inch to the side, even more flustered about your words.

“…Oh, on my website and livestreams?” Fyodor shook his head slowly, making your stomach drop. He grabbed your chin and moved your face around your room.

“No, here, there, and…here!” He guided your face from your smart fridge to your balcony camera and finally to your laptop camera. He smiled upon feeling you gulp nervously. “Ah, I guess I watched your livestreams and videos, too, but it’s more fun to watch you alone from different cameras,” he mentioned it too naturally, like that wasn’t considered creepy or an invasion of privacy. He frowned teasingly, “You should really get a stronger security system, angel. Lots of hackers are out there, and they love to target helpless, sweet girls like you.” He smiled to himself; not like any security systems could protect you—he could bypass all of them.

“Oh, about that…you wouldn’t mind streaming this, would you?” Your body froze, but he continued. His hands left your waist to glide down your arms, moving his fingers on top of yours. He reached over to your laptop and dragged your fingertip on top of a key to unlock it, going over to your bookmarked website and hitting the record button to start a livestream. He hid the live comment notifications, so your attention would be only on him. Your heart was beating rapidly as you were too shocked—realizing that Fyodor was a cyberstalker and about to make his presence known—trying to move his hand, but the one minute timer was already counting down on the screen.

Fyodor sighed after seeing your appalled expression, seeing the timer at 50 seconds. "Angel, that's no good...your viewers won't like it if you don't show them a pretty face. I want you to enjoy this as much as I will." He pushed you off his lap onto the floor, and the force of your knees hitting the floor finally brought you back to the present.

"H-hey, wha—" You snapped, placing your hands on Fyodor's thighs to steady your kneeling figure. He only looked back at you lovingly again while petting your head. Shit, that expression made you wet weak.

He bent down to your level to kiss your lips while looking into your eyes with a sympathetic expression, "Please, angel, be good for me..." You closed your eyes for a moment to savor his sweet gesture, "Or at least do it for your loyal viewers." He smirked, reminding you of your job. To perform. He was just giving you the option to enjoy it or not.

You only turned your head and pouted, earning another snide laugh from Fyodor, before he swiftly pulled off his pants and boxers, revealing his springing hard-on. Your eyes widened. It was long, not too thick, and the pale mauve-ish tip was already starting to leak some pre-cum. Definitely bigger than your dildos.

He clicked his tongue, "Angel, time's up." The counter was at five seconds, and Fyodor placed his hand behind your head, pulling you closer to his length. "If you're still embarrassed or upset, you can just start—no need to do an introduction." He cooed, offering some faux condolences which made you narrow your eyes at him for trying to mansplain your own job.

You heard the beep notifying you that your stream had started, so you lowered your head to his tip and kissed it softly, using kitten licks to collect his built-up arousal around the slit. His hand gripped your hair tighter as he sighed from your motions, pleased that you were complying. Flashing doe eyes at him, you ran your tongue up and down his cock, placing kisses along the way and paying special attention to the throbbing veins around the side. He let out a low growl as you captured his heavy balls in your mouth, popping them in and out of your swollen lips. The intimate, sweet way you worshipped his dick was perfect.

"Angel..." He grunted, pulling your head back and signaling for you to stop teasing him. You sat up straighter and kissed his sticky tip one last time before gently taking it into your mouth and sucking slowly, working your way down to the base while swirling your tongue around his length. You looked up to see him flushed, now groaning in heat from the way you passionately sucked him off like a lover—not to mention how well you were taking him despite his big size. "Mmmm—you're doing so g-good...God y-you little—a-ahh—"

Fyodor threw his head back in ecstasy, your small bobbing motions and the sloppy sounds making him breathe heavily, both of your eyes clouded over with pure lust. Watching him become weak under your tongue was gratifying to say the least—you were clenching your thighs together, sure the viewers could see the wet spot on your thin shorts. His cock felt heavenly in your mouth, but you really wanted him in your—

He pushed your head flush against his pelvis, and it took everything in you to not gag from the abrupt intrusion as his tip poked the back of your throat. "I'm close, take it a-all, milaya—" Fyodor's groans got louder as you slowly pulled away, sucking along what you could and using your hands to pump whatever was left. You hummed along his cock, the vibrations making him close his eyes and tug on your hair, tears forming and starting to run down your face. He heaved deeply as he opened his eyes to look down at your pretty face, stroking your soft skin adoringly. You could tell he was close, so you moved closer to his tip, running your tongue across his sensitive slit, driving him over the edge. A deep grunt followed by the twitching motions of his aching cock were your final warnings as you got into a better position to follow his commands. You sturdied yourself against his thighs as his cum spilled down into your throat, making you moan.

Fyodor pulled your strands harshly, angling your head to ensure not even a single drop leaked out, making you lightheaded from the lack of air from what felt like being held still for forever. You turned to the camera, opening your mouth to prove you swallowed it all, and cleaning the residual cum on your mouth with your fingers before sucking them clean, the sight getting Fyodor hard again. Your lewd actions prompted a deep laugh from the dark-haired man, who was breathing heavily and busy coming down from the heaven you'd just sent him to, "My angel has quite a dirty mouth on her, doesn't she? You seem more like a succubus to me."

You simpered cheekily, stripping what was left of your floral lace set, teasing Fyodor and reveling in his intense gaze. You slowly rose up and sat in his lap, purposely pressing your ass against his stomach and spreading your folds with your fingers, teasing his tip with your entrance, making you hiss in lust. "Hey, Fyodor, can you put it insid—"

You were cut off with a harsh slap to your pussy and a rough yank on your hair, making you squeal in pain and pushing you back down against his chest. Fyodor pulled your hair at an upwards angle to face him, glaring into your lively eyes and inciting fear into them. "Don't forget I'm the one that's in control, shlyukha." His warning sent shivers throughout your body, and you nearly screamed when you felt him thrust into you, walls tightening around him, and you choked as he pushed deeper inside you, body stiff from how he just punished you. You gasped as he relentlessly filled you up with his length and stretched your spasming cunt—which you were sure was lewdly squeezing around him on camera. You could feel your eyes running again as he bottomed out in you—touching spots that even your biggest toys couldn’t reach.

He only smirked as he heard your whines and whimpers, which he knew would soon be replaced by pleasured cries because of how wet you got from giving him a blowjob. He kissed your tears away before guiding your hips back and forth on his cock, being more gentle and placing more kisses down from your ear to your neck. Upon hearing soft moans leave your lips, Fyodor drew small circles on your puffy clit, using his free hand to clasp your hands behind your back. Smirking after feeling you start to ride him to meet his thrusts, he playfully bit your ear, "Ha, I knew deep down you were just a sinful little slut."

More tears fell from your eyes as you felt Fyodor's dick reach your g-spot, the sensation sending a burning fire through your body. It was intense, much more so than anything you'd done solo. It was like all you could focus on was him, how rough yet passionately he was fucking you, how your head was full of his sultry, deep voice only, and how stuffed you were of his cock. You could feel yourself starting to unravel, moaning loudly as Fyodor pinched your sensitive nipples while gingerly kissing and nipping at your hickies.

"F-Fyodor, you're so m-mean". You murmured, the different sensations making you quiver under his touch. The blinding pleasure lolled your head forward, your front strands of hair covering your eyes, but you could still see Fyodor's magenta orbs cutting into yours through your peripheral, holding an intimidating expression.

His fingers swiped some stray layers to the side, his panting breath fanning over the shell of your ear, "I never said I was a nice man, milaya." You bit your lip after feeling him kiss under your ear, his gentle touches mixed with his unrelenting assault on your pussy driving you to your climax. Fyodor smiled as he felt you squeezing his cock so desperately and watched how your eyes fluttered, lashes wet from your tears but still framing your eyes so beautifully. "You're close, aren't you, angel? It's fine, let it all out on camera. Let everyone see how indecent you are." His finger circled faster around your clit and he groaned feeling you clench around his length again. "Show your loyal fans how much you love being fucked by a stranger." Another faint bite to your neck paired with a particularly rough thrust sent you over the edge. Juices dripping down from the spot your bodies connected, you cried out from the force of your orgasm washing over you.

Sighing from relief, Fyodor slowed your bouncing movements with slow strokes to bring you down from your high. Catching your breath again, you turned to face your cyberstalker, eyes dreamily looking at him, secretly tugging on his cold heart. You brought your face up, yearning to kiss him, but he only tilted your chin down and kissed your forehead instead, making you pout as he stared at you blankly. "I-I can't kiss you?" You asked, suddenly shy. Fyodor exhaled slowly, finding your faux innocence adorable. He didn’t tell you, but he wasn’t the type of man that enjoyed tasting himself on his lips—it was dirty, and that type of sinfulness was reserved for you and your lips only.

"So needy...this isn't enough for you, my angel?" You yelped as he roughly pulled you down on his member and came inside of you, the abrupt warmth flooding your insides and drawing a low moan from you. Fyodor kissed your neck before letting your restricted hands go and shutting your laptop to end the livestream. His phone buzzing made him turn his head, and he calmly moved to pull out of your snug cunt. He grunted as he felt your pussy gripping onto his cock tightly, trying to milk him completely dry. You whimpered when he finally pulled out, feeling empty and stretched out, already missing him pounding your walls as his cum flowed out of you, coating your plush inner thighs and staining your previously spotless couch.

He kissed your reddened cheek to offer some aftercare and sat up from the couch, grabbing his discarded clothes from the floor and putting them back on.

"You're leaving, Fyodor?" You looked up at the man, now fully clothed and checking his phone. He gave you an unreadable smile and glanced at you longingly.

"Yes, milaya. I have business to attend to." He pet the top of your hair gently before walking past your figure. Hearing you huff in disappointment, he looked back and smirked, "I may come back sometime, though, angel. If you beg me nicely enough..." Your eyes sparkled upon hearing his words, which almost made him go back for another round. He held a hand out to signal his leave and disappeared, walking out the door like a ghost, like he didn't just break in arrive, leaving you with your cold dinner.

♱ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

Exiting your apartment complex, Fyodor grinned arrogantly upon seeing the livestream recording that had successfully downloaded onto his phone. You didn't know, but he'd already hacked into your laptop before visiting and made the stream private—there was no way he'd let anyone watch him corrupt his pretty angel.

Now all he had to do was watch and wait. Wait for his angel to summon the demon she had sinned for again.

[gyorouis]

𐙚 EVER SEEN.

— "every piece of me, holds parts of you. it feels much better when i'm with you."

genre: fluff (tooth rotting per se), attempt on crack ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ), just reader and soobin admiring e/o.

pairing: ldr bf!soobin x afab!reader

warning: none (except maybe some cringe stuff for fluff)

wordcount: 4.6k

now playing: beabadoobee — ever seen ୨ৎ

the glow of the computer screen was the only light in the room, casting a soft blue hue over the messy gaming desk, and half-empty snack bags. you had spent countless hours in this very spot, headphones on, mic ready, waiting for that familiar notification: “dia_soobie314 has joined the game.”

you and soobin had met a year ago in the most unexpected way. what started as a casual gaming session turned into nightly marathons, then into a friendship, and eventually, something much deeper. the two of you were a team, a dynamic duo in every game you played. but somewhere between the virtual battles and late-night strategy talks, started a deeper connection beyond the screen.

it all began in a game of league of legends. you were having a particularly rough match, teammates bickering, and everyone blaming each other for the impending loss. just as you were about to give up, one of your team mates joined the voice chat.

“hey, let’s turn this around. i’ve got a plan,” the voice of a man said, his voice calm and confident. he’s playing lee sin, you’ve been watching his moves earlier and you can’t deny that he’s got the moves, he’s good at doing combos. you read his gaming name: “dia_soobie314”.

skeptical but desperate, you decided to follow his lead. you were playing jinx, and your team had been struggling to keep up. as the match went on, the player using lee sin executed flawless ganks, setting up kills for you and turning the tide of the game. your jinx’s rockets and rapid-fire attacks synced perfectly with his aggressive plays, and together, you started to dominate the battlefield.

“keep pushing, i’ll cover you,” he directed, his voice steady even in the chaos of the game. to your surprise, the team rallied behind his leadership. turret after turret fell, and soon you found yourselves at the enemy’s nexus. in a stunning comeback, you secured victory.

after the game, “dia_soobie314” sent you a friend request.

“nice playing with you,” his message read. “wanna team up for another round?” 

one game turned into two, then three, and soon, you found yourselves gaming together almost every night. your shared love for anime quickly became a staple of your time together. you'd often watch episodes on discord, discussing plot twists and debating the best characters. one of your favorite topics was jujutsu kaisen, and there was that one memorable argument about megumi. soobin had made a comment that you took as a negative remark to your beloved character.

“seriously, megumi isn’t that great,” soobin said, trying to sound casual. “are you kidding me? megumi is awesome!” you shot back, your voice rising in mock outrage.

“he’s too boring. give me yuuji any day.”

“that’s because you have no taste!”

the argument turned into a playful bicker, filled with laughter and exaggerations, and became a favorite story in your growing collection of shared moments.

when it came to gaming, you and soobin made an unbeatable team. you both complemented each other perfectly. you were the one who dived headfirst into the action, while soobin stayed calm and strategic, guiding you through the chaos.

then there were the horror games. you loved them, but soobin was not a fan. whenever a new horror game came up, you’d coax him into playing.

“you promised me we’d play this,” you’d remind him. “yeah, but i didn’t sign up for a heart attack,” soobin would groan. “come on, it’ll be fun,” you’d say with a grin. and it was fun—at least for you. soobin would try to act brave, but his fear was pretty obvious.

“why are all the lights flickering?” he’d ask, voice trembling slightly. “it’s part of the game,” you’d reply, barely containing your laughter. “this isn’t even scary,” he’d insist, though his hands would be visibly shaking on the keyboard.

despite his clear discomfort, soobin would push through, just to be with you. it was endearing and made those gaming nights even more special.

“you know, we make a pretty good team,” soobin remarked one night after a particularly intense match. “we do,” you agreed. “i’ve never had a duo partner like you before.”

outside of the games, your conversations grew more personal. you’d talk about your days, your dreams, and your fears. it was easy to confide in soobin; his voice was always comforting.

one evening, after a string of victories, you found yourselves in a quieter moment. “so, what’s your story?” soobin asked. “how’d you get into gaming?” you laughed, thinking back. “my brother got me into it. he needed a teammate, and i just stuck with it. what about you?”

“i started in high school,” soobin replied. “it was a way to relax after school. never thought i’d meet someone like you through it.” his words hung in the air, filled with meaning. your heart skipped a beat, unsure how to respond. “i feel the same way,” you said softly. “i never expected to find a friend like you here.”

“more than a friend,” soobin said gently. “at least, i hope so.”

those words marked the start of something new. your gaming sessions took on a new layer as your connection grew deeper. what used to be just about winning games became about sharing more personal moments. conversations that started with strategies shifted to late-night talks about your lives, your hopes, and your dreams.

one evening, as you both leaned back in your chairs after another victorious match, soobin’s voice took on a more playful yet earnest tone. “hey, can i ask you something?” he said, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and seriousness.

“sure, what’s up?” you replied, feeling a warm, comforting sensation from the intimacy of your growing connection.

soobin took a deep breath, looking slightly nervous. “so… i was thinking,” he began, his voice wavering slightly. “we’ve been playing together for a while now, and i’ve really enjoyed every moment of it.”

you smiled, sensing where this might be headed but eager to hear more. “yeah, me too. it’s been a lot of fun.”

“well, uh,” soobin stumbled over his words, his usual confidence momentarily giving way. “i was wondering… if maybe… we could make it official?”

“official?” you echoed, your curiosity piqued. “like, adding me to your friends list with a special status?”

soobin chuckled, his cheeks turning a soft pink. “not exactly. i mean, i was thinking more like… asking you to you know.. be.. uh.. be my g..girlfriend.” he said, the last word almost inaudible.

the question hung in the air, and you felt your heart swell with emotion. “oh, so you’re saying you want to upgrade from gaming buddies to… couple status?”

“y-yeah, something like that,” soobin said, grinning widely. “i figured, if we’re going to keep winning games together, we might as well win at life too.”

you were touched by his heartfelt words, feeling a surge of happiness. “that’s cheesy, but i’d like that,” you said, your voice warm and sincere. “i’d love to be your girlfriend.” soobin’s face lit up with pure joy, his eyes sparkling. “really?!”

“yeah, really,” you replied. “but only if you promise to keep playing games with me and not let me win just to make me feel good.”

“deal,” soobin said with a laugh, his eyes full of affection. “but only if you promise to keep being as amazing as you are now.”

“i’ll do my best,” you replied, your heart racing with excitement. “and don’t worry, i’ll make sure to keep you on your toes.”

then the time came when you both, you both decided it was time to meet in person. you picked a date and a place, both eager to see each other. the excitement was intense, you imagined the day vividly: finally meeting soobin, feeling his presence in real life.

but plans didn’t go quite as expected. there was a funny mix-up. you had both picked different locations to meet, each of you certain you had the right spot. you ended up at a busy train station, scanning the crowd with anticipation. soobin was at a cozy café on the other side of town, sipping coffee and checking his watch.

hours passed, and the realization set in that neither of you would reach the other’s spot. your messages were filled with confusion and humor.

“are you sure you’re at the right place?” you texted, trying to stay light-hearted.

“yeah, unless this coffee shop moved,” soobin replied with a hint of laughter.

the mix-up became a funny story you both laughed about. it was a reminder of how things don’t always go as planned. after that, you both decided to keep the meeting plans on hold, sticking to being in a long-distance relationship.

as time went on, the idea of meeting in person came up again. this time, you both decided on a trip to japan, a place you had both dreamed of visiting for years. the excitement of finally meeting soobin face-to-face was intense. you poured over every detail, planning each day carefully to make sure your time together would be unforgettable.

“can you believe it’s almost been a year?” you asked one night while on a call with soobin on discord, fingers moving over the keyboard while playing a game before the trip. “it’s wild,” soobin replied. “i’ve been looking forward to this for so long.” 

“yeah, i’m definitely not nervous at all,” you joked, though your excitement was hard to hide. “don’t worry, it’ll be great,” soobin said, his voice soothing even from a distance. “we’ve got this.”

the excitement of your upcoming trip to japan filled every conversation you and soobin had. you spent hours discussing and planning, each detail adding to the anticipation.

“okay, so we need to figure out our itinerary,” you said one evening, your screen filled with maps and travel guides. “what’s first on your list?”

“definitely tokyo,” soobin replied, leaning into his webcam. “i’ve always wanted to visit akihabara. i hear it’s like an anime paradise.”

“agreed! i’ve been dying to visit the ghibli museum. i’m bringing my camera for sure,” you said, your excitement clear in your voice. “oh, and don’t forget we have to try all the street food,” soobin added. “i’m counting on you to be my taste tester.”

“taste tester? is that code for ‘let’s see how much you can handle’?” you joked. “i hope you’re ready for some questionable delicacies.”

“bring it on,” he said with a grin. “i’ll just make sure to pack a lot of snacks for backup.”

you both laughed, imagining the endless food adventures ahead. the planning sessions often turned into playful banter.

“so, are we getting lost in tokyo on purpose or is that just a bonus?” soobin asked.

“getting lost is part of the fun!” you replied. “besides, think of all the new places we’ll discover.”

“right. like that time we were supposed to meet in person and ended up at different locations,” soobin teased. “i’m still not over that!”

“oh, don’t remind me,” you groaned, laughing at the memory. “i was at that busy train station, searching for you in a sea of people, and you were at that coffee shop across town.”

“sipping coffee and waiting like an idiot,” soobin said, shaking his head. “we didn’t even think to check our locations again.”

“i still can’t believe we didn’t think to call or text,” you said with a grin. “guilty as charged,” soobin admitted. “but this time, we’re meeting at airport. we’ll be fine.”

as you continued planning, you each picked your favorite spots. you both agreed on visiting kyoto for its beautiful temples and serene gardens. soobin was excited about exploring osaka’s vibrant nightlife and trying the local ramen.

“i’m so excited about visiting the shibuya crossing,” you said, eyes sparkling. “and i’m looking forward to eating my weight in takoyaki,” soobin replied. “just remember, no food fights.”

“no promises,” you joked. “but if we end up with takoyaki in our hair, it’ll be a story for the ages.”

the playful banter continued as you finalized your plans, each moment of preparation bringing you closer. the excitement of exploring japan together, mixed with the joy of simply spending time with soobin, made the trip feel even more special.

the days leading up to your trip were a blur of packing and final preparations. you double-checked everything, eager for the moment you’d finally see soobin in person. the thought of meeting him, sharing real-life laughs and moments, was both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

“are you ready for this?” you asked soobin during a call when the both of you are busy packing your things. “as ready as i’ll ever be,” he replied smiling, revealing his dimples.

the airport was bustling with activity, a sea of travelers moving in every direction. you and soobin had spent countless hours planning every detail of this moment, from the flights to the outfits you'd wear to ensure you wouldn’t lose each other in the crowd.

you spotted him first. soobin stood out with his black cap that read “bunny senpai <3,” a playful nod to his favorite anime character. you, on the other hand, wore a blue and white striped beanie that was a little too big but made you easy to spot.

the two of you locked eyes across the crowded terminal, and for a moment, everything seemed to pause. a mix of excitement and nervousness danced in the air as you approached each other.

“hey,” you said, trying to sound casual but failing as your voice wavered with excitement.

“hey,” soobin replied, his dimples appearing as he smiled wide. “we finally made it.”

you both laughed, a bit awkwardly at first, but it quickly melted into genuine joy. it was surreal to finally see each other in person after so many months of video calls and messages. “so, how do we do this?” you asked, glancing around. “do we hug, kiss or just wave?”

“let’s go for a hug,” soobin chuckles, stepping forward. the embrace was warm and comforting, filled with all the emotions you had both been holding in. as you stood close, the height difference between you became more apparent. you were smaller than soobin, making him look even taller and more imposing. you had to look up to meet his eyes, which made both of you laugh.

“wow, you’re tall,” you said, chuckling. “i feel like i’m looking up at a skyscraper.”

“and i feel like i’m towering over a very cute skyline,” soobin teased, his smile widening. “this is a new perspective for me.”

“well, at least i don’t need a ladder to hug you,” you joked, tightening your arms around him.

after getting through security and finding your gate, you shared a laugh about your first-time plane experience. “i still can’t believe you’ve never flown before,” soobin said, shaking his head in amusement. “you’re like a kid at a theme park.”

“hey, it’s my first time!” you protested. “i’m allowed to be excited.”

the boarding process was an adventure in itself. as you boarded, you struggled to figure out how to stow your carry-on in the overhead bin. soobin, trying to help, ended up knocking his bag into yours, causing a minor luggage avalanche.

“great start,” you said, laughing. “we’ll survive,” soobin said, grabbing your hand to steady the chaos. “just think of it as part of the adventure.”

once settled into your seats, the excitement of the trip began to settle in. the flight was filled with conversations about what you were looking forward to and how you were going to tackle the next few days. eventually, you both fell asleep, your arms tangled together. as if you will lose each other.

when you finally landed in japan, the rush of excitement was evident on both of you. the airport was another whirlwind of activity, but this time, everything felt thrilling rather than overwhelming.

the first day was spent exploring, starting with a visit to a charming local café. the aroma of fresh coffee and pastries filled the air, and you both enjoyed a leisurely breakfast while soaking in the new surroundings.

“this place is adorable,” you said, sipping on a cappuccino. “it feels so cozy.”

“and the food is amazing,” soobin agreed, taking a bite of a freshly baked pastry. “this is exactly how i imagined our trip would start.”

after breakfast, you headed to one of tokyo’s famous landmarks, the shibuya crossing. standing amidst the amount of people crossing the street in all direction. you both laughed and took pictures, capturing the vibrant energy of the city.

as the sun began to set, you both continued to explore, feeling like you were living in a dream. the excitement of finally being together, combined with the thrill of exploring a new place, made every moment special.

the morning air was crisp as you and soobin ventured into the bustling traditional market in tokyo. the market was a sensory overload of vibrant colors, enticing aromas, and the lively chatter of locals. you both eagerly darted from stall to stall, trying every sample offered.

“so, which street food should we try first?” soobin asked, eyes wide with excitement. “let’s start with takoyaki!” you suggested, pointing to a stall with a long line of eager customers. “and maybe some yakitori.”

you both ordered generously, balancing a tray of steaming takoyaki balls and skewers of grilled chicken. the takoyaki was a delightful mess, hot and gooey, with octopus bits hidden inside. you managed to get sauce all over your hands and face, making soobin laugh.

“you’ve got a little something right here,” soobin said, pointing to a smear of sauce on your cheek. “thanks,” you replied, wiping it away. “you’ve got some too.” you grinned, dabbing at his cheek with a napkin.

as you continued exploring, you ended up buying a small souvenir—a cute, hand-carved figurine from one of the stalls. but as you were admiring it, a gust of wind blew, and the little figurine went tumbling off the table.

“noooo!” you cried, watching helplessly as the figurine rolled away.

“well, that’s one way to give it a proper send-off,” soobin joked, helping you chase after it. eventually, you both found it, and the vendor even gave you a discount for your trouble.

the next morning, you took a train hand in hand to kyoto to visit the fushimi inari shrine. the famous red torii gates created a mesmerizing tunnel that seemed to go on forever. you and soobin wandered through the gates, taking in the serene atmosphere and snapping countless photos.

“this place is even more beautiful than i imagined,” you said, awed by the sight. “totally,” soobin agreed. “though, we’re probably going to get lost in here at some point.”

“i’m already lost in this view,” you replied, smiling. as you climbed higher up the mountain trail, you noticed a small food stall selling traditional sweets. you bought some mochi, but in the excitement of trying to get a perfect photo with the shrine in the background, you accidentally dropped the mochi. “and that’s why we can’t have nice things,” soobin teased, handing you a napkin. “next time, remind me not to be so ambitious with my selfies,” you said, laughing.

the next day was spent at universal studios japan. the park was a whirlwind of colors and excitement, with thrilling rides and themed areas. soobin was especially thrilled about the harry potter world, while you were excited to explore the minion park.

“let’s head to hogwarts first,” soobin suggested, peering at the park map. “sounds good!” you agreed. but somehow, in the maze of attractions, you both found yourselves wandering into the jurassic park area. “how did we end up here?” you asked, laughing as you saw the massive dinosaur sculptures. “i think we took a wrong turn,” soobin said, grinning. “but dinosaurs are pretty cool too.”

after finding your way to the harry potter section, you spent the rest of the day enjoying rides, sipping butterbeer, and taking silly photos with minion-themed props. the park was a blast, and you both relished every moment of it.

on the fifth day, you took a trip to the arashiyama bamboo forest. the towering bamboo stalks created a green, swaying canopy above you as you strolled through the serene path. the cool shade and the gentle rustling of the leaves made the hike incredibly peaceful.

“this place is like a dream,” soobin said, taking a deep breath of the fresh, green air. “definitely,” you agreed. “though, i’m glad we’re not lost this time.”

“not yet,” soobin teased. “let’s see if we can find the monkey park.”

as you wandered, you found yourselves at a nearby bench where you paused to rest. you shared a picnic lunch and laughed about the mix-up with the directions.

“if we get lost again, at least we’ll be lost together,” soobin said, holding your hand.

the last day in japan arrived with a gentle start. after a week packed with adventure, you and soobin decided to take it easy and savor a slower pace. you began with breakfast at a cozy café in harajuku. the place was a charming escape, decorated in soft pastels with a menu full of tempting pastries and aromatic coffee.

after a leisurely breakfast, you strolled through harajuku’s quirky streets. you found a vintage shop with an array of unique trinkets and charming finds. soobin picked out a cute, retro keychain for you.

“this will be a great keepsake,” he said, handing it to you with a smile. “something to remember this trip by.”

“thanks, ‘bin,” you said, holding the keychain up. “i’ll think of you every time i see it.”

your next stop was going back to shibuya. at the famous shibuya crossing, you both marveled at the sea of people moving in perfect chaos. you posed with the hachiko statue, laughing as you tried to capture the perfect shot. “this statue is as iconic as they say,” soobin remarked, adjusting his camera.

“we’ve got to get a picture,” you agreed. “it’s a must-do for sure.”

for lunch, you wandered into a small ramen shop. the rich aroma of broth and the sight of steaming bowls made your mouths water. You both slurped up your ramen with enthusiasm, savoring each bite.

“this ramen is incredible,” soobin said, grinning as he twirled his noodles. “i’m definitely going to miss this.”

“we might have to try making ramen at home,” you suggested. “though i doubt it’ll be as good.”

after lunch, you took a leisurely stroll to a nearby park with a stunning view of the tokyo skyline. you found a peaceful spot under a cherry blossom tree, and took a moment to relax and reflect on your trip.

“this view is amazing,” you said, leaning against soobin. “It’s the perfect end to our adventure.”

“it really is,” soobin agreed, resting his head against yours. “i’ve had the best time.”

as the sun began to set, you headed to a quaint restaurant for dinner. The intimate atmosphere was perfect for winding down, and you both enjoyed a delicious meal together.

“to an unforgettable trip,” soobin toasted with his glass of sake.

“to the best company,” you replied, clinking glasses and smiling.

after dinner, you took a final, leisurely walk through tokyo’s sparkling streets. the city was alive with lights and sounds, and you both soaked in the last moments of your adventure.

“i’m going to miss this,” you said softly, holding soobin’s hand. “me too,” he replied, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. he looked around at the glowing city lights, a thoughtful expression on his face. “what if…” he started, hesitating as if searching for the right words.

“hmm?” you asked, pausing to look up at him. “what if we lived here instead?” he proposed, his voice full of a hopeful, playful tone. his eyes sparkled with the idea, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at his enthusiasm.

“‘bin, we’re still in college,” you reminded him with a teasing smile. “i know, i’m not saying we should do it now,” he clarified quickly. “i’m talking about… uhh, when we get married.”

his casual mention of marriage took you by surprise, and you felt your cheeks flush. “you’re thinking about marrying me?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady but unable to hide the blush spreading across your face.

soobin’s expression shifted to one of mock disappointment, his eyes widening in feigned shock. “why? you don’t think about marrying me?” he asked, his tone playfully hurt. you laughed, shaking your head as you reached up to gently pinch his cheeks. “of course i do, dummy. who else would put up with your terrible puns?”

“i knew it!” soobin said, his face breaking into a wide, relieved grin. “i was starting to think maybe i was in this alone.”

you both laughed, the sound of your shared joy mingling with the city’s hum. soobin pulled you into a warm, tight hug, his chin resting on top of your head. the world seemed to pause for a moment, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble.

as you stood there, holding each other and watching the lights of tokyo twinkle around you, the night felt full of possibilities. the city, the trip, and your shared dreams blended into a beautiful memory, one you knew you would cherish forever.

“let’s make a promise,” you said, lifting your head to look into soobin’s eyes. “no matter where we end up, we’ll always make time for adventures like this.”

“promise,” soobin agreed, his gaze steady and sincere. “and maybe next time, we’ll be exploring somewhere new… or maybe even this city, just as locals.”

soobin looked down at you, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint that made your heart flutter. the city lights reflected in his gaze, adding a touch of magic to the evening. with a playful grin, he leaned closer and said, “you know, i’m definitely marrying you tomorrow so we can be locals here.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying to hold back a laugh at his bold declaration. “oh really? admit it, you’ve been dreaming of living here because of your anime fantasies, haven’t you?”

“i mean, yes,” he admitted with a dramatic sigh, as if he were reluctantly revealing a long-held secret. his face softened, and he reached out to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “but… but… it’s not just that. i really want to be with you.”

his words, so sincere and filled with affection, made your heart swell. the warmth of his hand brushing against your skin sent a shiver of happiness down your spine. you looked up at him, your cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and joy.

soobin’s gaze softened, and he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. his lips lingered for a moment, leaving a gentle, comforting warmth that seemed to melt away any remaining traces of the chilly evening air. it was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes about the depth of his feelings.

“when we get back home,” he murmured, his voice low and earnest, “let’s still meet, okay? and let’s promise not to lose each other this time.”

you took his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers as you looked into his eyes. “i promise,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. “we’ll meet, and we’ll make sure not to lose each other. no matter where life takes us.”

the streetlights cast a soft glow around you, and the bustling city seemed to fade into the background as you both stood there, savoring the moment. soobin squeezed your hand gently, his smile widening as he looked at you with a mix of affection and anticipation.

“and who knows,” he added with a playful wink, “maybe we’ll find a way to live out our dreams together. after all, i have you by my side.”

gyo's note: i'm so inlove with loser bf core soobin i have to write something out of it, quite hard to write the japan trip because i've never been to japan so i just did some research but i hope you loved how i made the japan trip!. if you made it to here, thank you for reading! i hope you liked it and pls like and reblog, it helps my works :>> you will be loved, xoxo!

✮ 2024 gyozies, all rights reserved.

[lizbethborden]

Whether you like her music and persona or not, Chappell Roan is extremely interesting as an example of an artist speed-running the famous female experience in a matter of months. After her Gov Ball performance, she exploded in exposure and popularity, with massive crowds on the festival circuit. Her exposure came with a price--her safety and privacy--and when she publicly asked her fans to stop cannibalizing her well-being--to stop doxxing her family, calling her by her real name, and kissing and touching her forcibly--she became hated by large groups of pop fans virtually overnight. Her conduct in public since has only intensified this, as her response to red carpet hostility and her apparent exhaustion and frustration around award shows and publicity have made her appear "ungrateful."

What this reminds me of is Andrea Dworkin's analysis of Marilyn Monroe in her book, Right Wing Women. She is talking about Hollywood's most famous actress, but much of this also applies to Roan, who, like Monroe, performs period-typical ornate femininity and expresses orientation toward male aesthetics and desires (Roan specifically via her much-expressed worship of male drag artists). Here is Dworkin on Monroe:

“The actress is the only female culturally empowered to act. When she acts well, that is, when she convinces the male controllers of images and wealth that she is reducible to current sexual fashion, available to the male on his own terms, she is paid and honored. Her acting must be imitative, not creative; rigidly conforming, not self-generated and self-renewing. The actress is the puppet of flesh, blood, and paint who acts as if she is the female acting.”

Roan is not a subversive artist. Even her explicit desire for other women comes in a "queer" context; modern "queerness" is largely a joint invention of capitalism, antifeminism, and homophobia, which is why it has mass appeal to Gen Z. Many of her costumes and looks are overtly done in drag style and in tribute to famous male drag performers. She has talked about her Chappell Roan persona as her "drag" persona and relating heavily to the experiences of drag queens. (I have never, whether in person at her concert or in interviews, heard her express knowledge of the existence of female drag artists, drag kings.) All of this in combination with her feminine aesthetic--femininity being a social signal of acquiescence to male interests and desire--means that she is, as was Dworkin's Monroe, "reducible to current sexual fashion." Her aesthetic is performed in hero worship of male creators: "imitative, not creative; rigidly conforming, not self-generated and self-renewing."

Dworkin goes on to discuss the effect of Monroe's suicide on the public (male) consciousness:

“Monroe’s premature death raised one haunting question for the men who were, in their own fantasy, her lovers, for the men who had masturbated over those pictures of exquisite female compliance: was it possible, could it be, that she hadn’t liked It all along—It—the It they had been doing to her, how many millions of times? Had those smiles been masks covering despair or rage? If so, how endangered they had been to be deceived, so fragile and exposed in their masturbatory delight, as if she could leap out from those photos of what was now a corpse and take the revenge they knew she deserved.”

Monroe committed the ultimate act of self-declaration, and in our culture, the ultimate sin specifically for a woman like her. By committing suicide, she not only forever severed male access to her person; she also threatened the tenuous male fantasy that she had ever enjoyed male access to her body, her image, her mind, her creative expresssion. Her suicide, though a private act performed out of her own personal anguish, was nonetheless an indictment of the public that had fed itself not only on her creative output, on her beauty and sexuality, but also the contempt bred by such familiarity with her image. No matter what, whether you loved her or hated her, wanted to fuck her or didn't, you could bite off a piece of Marilyn Monroe and chew, and the public consumed her until there was nothing left.

Chappell Roan has made public what Monroe kept private: that the cannibalism of fame is agonizing; that no, she does not like "It—the It they had been doing to her, how many millions of times." Rather than fulfill the female prerogative of suffering in silence, or through hateable, explosive acts like those performed by Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan in their heydays, she has explicitly, verbally expressed that she is hurt, tired, angry, frustrated, annoyed; that she does not enjoy the myriad of intrusions conducted on her person and her life by her fans, by her haters, and by the public and press. In turn, the public has revolted against her: she has violated the ultimate female rule, which is, in very brief, "smile and take it." She has declared at the very outset of her public career that she has a self and interiority that does not belong to anyone else, and she is now despised.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Sphinxmumps Linkdump

On THURSDAY (June 20) I'm live onstage in LOS ANGELES for a recording of the GO FACT YOURSELF podcast. On FRIDAY (June 21) I'm doing an ONLINE READING for the LOCUS AWARDS at 16hPT. On SATURDAY (June 22) I'll be in OAKLAND, CA for a panel and a keynote at the LOCUS AWARDS.

Welcome to my 20th Linkdump, in which I declare link bankruptcy and discharge my link-debts by telling you about all the open tabs I didn't get a chance to cover in this week's newsletters. Here's the previous 19 installments:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/linkdump/

Starting off this week with a gorgeous book that is also one of my favorite books: Beehive's special slipcased edition of Dante's Inferno, as translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, with new illustrations by UK linocut artist Sophy Hollington:

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/beehivebooks/the-inferno

I've loved Inferno since middle-school, when I read the John Ciardi translation, principally because I'd just read Niven and Pournelle's weird (and politically odious) (but cracking) sf novel of the same name:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inferno_(Niven_and_Pournelle_novel)

But also because Ciardi wrote "About Crows," one of my all-time favorite bits of doggerel, a poem that pierced my soul when I was 12 and continues to do so now that I'm 52, for completely opposite reasons (now there's a poem with staying power!):

https://spirituallythinking.blogspot.com/2011/10/about-crows-by-john-ciardi.html

Beehive has a well-deserved rep for making absolutely beautiful new editions of great public domain books, each with new illustrations and intros, all in matching livery to make a bookshelf look classy af. I have several of them and I've just ordered my copy of Inferno. How could I not? So looking forward to this, along with its intro by Ukrainian poet Ilya Kaminsky and essay by Dante scholar Kristina Olson.

The Beehive editions show us how a rich public domain can be the soil from which new and inspiring creative works sprout. Any honest assessment of a creator's work must include the fact that creativity is a collective act, both inspired by and inspiring to other creators, past, present and future.

One of the distressing aspects of the debate over the exploitative grift of AI is that it's provoked a wave of copyright maximalism among otherwise thoughtful artists, despite the fact that a new copyright that lets you control model training will do nothing to prevent your boss from forcing you to sign over that right in your contracts, training an AI on your work, and then using the model as a pretext to erode your wages or fire your ass:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

Same goes for some privacy advocates, whose imaginations were cramped by the fact that the only regulation we enforce on the internet is copyright, causing them to forget that privacy rights can exist separate from the nonsensical prospect of "owning" facts about your life:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/21/the-internets-original-sin/

We should address AI's labor questions with labor rights, and we should address AI's privacy questions with privacy rights. You can tell that these are the approaches that would actually work for the public because our bosses hate these approaches and instead insist that the answer is just giving us more virtual property that we can sell to them, because they know they'll have a buyer's market that will let them scoop up all these rights at bargain prices and use the resulting hoards to torment, immiserate and pauperize us.

Take Clearview AI, a facial recognition tool created by eugenicists and white nationalists in order to help giant corporations and militarized, unaccountable cops hunt us by our faces:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/20/steal-your-face/#hoan-ton-that

Clearview scraped billions of images of our faces and shoveled them into their model. This led to a class action suit in Illinois, which boasts America's best biometric privacy law, under which Clearview owes tens of billions of dollars in statutory damages. Now, Clearview has offered a settlement that illustrates neatly the problem with making privacy into property that you can sell instead of a right that can't be violated: they're going to offer Illinoisians a small share of the company's stock:

https://www.theregister.com/2024/06/14/clearview_ai_reaches_creative_settlement/

To call this perverse is to go a grave injustice to good, hardworking perverts. The sums involved will be infinitesimal, and the only way to make those sums really count is for everyone in Illinois to root for Clearview to commit more grotesque privacy invasions of the rest of us to make its creepy, terrible product more valuable.

Worse still: by crafting a bespoke, one-off, forgiveness-oriented regulation specifically for Clearview, we ensure that it will continue, but that it will also never be disciplined by competitors. That is, rather than banning this kind of facial recognition tech, we grant them a monopoly over it, allowing them to charge all the traffic will bear.

We're in an extraordinary moment for both labor and privacy rights. Two of Biden's most powerful agency heads, Lina Khan and Rohit Chopra have made unprecedented use of their powers to create new national privacy regulations:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

In so doing, they're bypassing Congressional deadlock. Congress has not passed a new consumer privacy law since 1988, when they banned video-store clerks from leaking your VHS rental history to newspaper reporters:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Video_Privacy_Protection_Act

Congress hasn't given us a single law protecting American consumers from the digital era's all-out assault on our privacy. But between the agencies, state legislatures, and a growing coalition of groups demanding action on privacy, a new federal privacy law seems all but assured:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

When that happens, we're going to have to decide what to do about products created through mass-scale privacy violations, like Clearview AI – but also all of OpenAI's products, Google's AI, Facebook's AI, Microsoft's AI, and so on. Do we offer them a deal like the one Clearview's angling for in Illinois, fining them an affordable sum and grandfathering in the products they built by violating our rights?

Doing so would give these companies a permanent advantage, and the ongoing use of their products would continue to violate billions of peoples' privacy, billions of times per day. It would ensure that there was no market for privacy-preserving competitors thus enshrining privacy invasion as a permanent aspect of our technology and lives.

There's an alternative: "model disgorgement." "Disgorgement" is the legal term for forcing someone to cough up something they've stolen (for example, forcing an embezzler to give back the money). "Model disgorgement" can be a legal requirement to destroy models created illegally:

https://iapp.org/news/a/explaining-model-disgorgement

It's grounded in the idea that there's no known way to unscramble the AI eggs: once you train a model on data that shouldn't be in it, you can't untrain the model to get the private data out of it again. Model disgorgement doesn't insist that offending models be destroyed, but it shifts the burden of figuring out how to unscramble the AI omelet to the AI companies. If they can't figure out how to get the ill-gotten data out of the model, then they have to start over.

This framework aligns everyone's incentives. Unlike the Clearview approach – move fast, break things, attain an unassailable, permanent monopoly thanks to a grandfather exception – model disgorgement makes AI companies act with extreme care, because getting it wrong means going back to square one.

This is the kind of hard-nosed, public-interest-oriented rulemaking we're seeing from Biden's best anti-corporate enforcers. After decades kid-glove treatment that allowed companies like Microsoft, Equifax, Wells Fargo and Exxon commit ghastly crimes and then crime again another day, Biden's corporate cops are no longer treating the survival of massive, structurally important corporate criminals as a necessity.

It's been so long since anyone in the US government treated the corporate death penalty as a serious proposition that it can be hard to believe it's even happening, but boy is it happening. The DOJ Antitrust Division is seeking to break up Google, the largest tech company in the history of the world, and they are tipped to win:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

And that's one of the major suits against Google that Big G is losing. Another suit, jointly brought by the feds and dozens of state AGs, is just about to start, despite Google's failed attempt to get the suit dismissed:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/google-loses-bid-end-us-antitrust-case-over-digital-advertising-2024-06-14/

I'm a huge fan of the Biden antitrust enforcers, but that doesn't make me a huge fan of Biden. Even before Biden's disgraceful collaboration in genocide, I had plenty of reasons – old and new – to distrust him and deplore his politics. I'm not the only leftist who's struggling with the dilemma posed by the worst part of Biden's record in light of the coming election.

You've doubtless read the arguments (or rather, "arguments," since they all generate a lot more heat than light and I doubt whether any of them will convince anyone). But this week, Anand Giridharadas republished his 2020 interview with Noam Chomsky about Biden and electoral politics, and I haven't been able to get it out of my mind:

https://the.ink/p/free-noam-chomsky-life-voting-biden-the-left

Chomsky contrasts the left position on politics with the liberal position. For leftists, Chomsky says, "real politics" are a matter of "constant activism." It's not a "laser-like focus on the quadrennial extravaganza" of national elections, after which you "go home and let your superiors take over."

For leftists, politics means working all the time, "and every once in a while there's an event called an election." This should command "10 or 15 minutes" of your attention before you get back to the real work.

This makes the voting decision more obvious and less fraught for Chomsky. There's "never been a greater difference" between the candidates, so leftists should go take 15 minutes, "push the lever, and go back to work."

Chomsky attributed the good parts of Biden's 2020 platform to being "hammered on by activists coming out of the Sanders movement and other." That's the real work, that hammering. That's "real politics."

For Chomsky, voting for Biden isn't support for Biden. It's "support for the activists who have been at work constantly, creating the background within the party in which the shifts took place, and who have followed Sanders in actually entering the campaign and influencing it. Support for them. Support for real politics."

Chomsky tells us that the self-described "masters of the universe" understand that something has changed: "the peasants are coming with their pitchforks." They have all kinds of euphemisms for this ("reputational risks") but the core here is a winner-take-all battle for the future of the planet and the species. That's why the even the "sensible" ultra-rich threw in for Trump in 2016 and 2020, and why they're backing him even harder in 2024:

https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/ckvvlv3lewxo

Chomsky tells us not to bother trying to figure out Biden's personality. Instead, we should focus on "how things get done." Biden won't do what's necessary to end genocide and preserve our habitable planet out of conviction, but he may do so out of necessity. Indeed, it doesn't matter how he feels about anything – what matters is what we can make him do.

Chomksy himself is in his 90s and his health is reportedly in terminal decline, so this is probably the only word we'll get from him on this issue:

https://www.reddit.com/r/chomsky/comments/1aj56hj/updates_on_noams_health_from_his_longtime_mit/

The link between concentrated wealth, concentrated power, and the existential risks to our species and civilization is obvious – to me, at least. Any time a tiny minority holds unaccountable power, they will end up using it to harm everyone except themselves. I'm not the first one to take note of this – it used to be a commonplace in American politics.

Back in 1936, FDR gave a speech at the DNC, accepting their nomination for president. Unlike FDR's election night speech ("I welcome their hatred"), this speech has been largely forgotten, but it's a banger:

https://teachingamericanhistory.org/document/acceptance-speech-at-the-democratic-national-convention-1936/

In that speech, Roosevelt brought a new term into our political parlance: "economic royalists." He described the American plutocracy as the spiritual descendants of the hereditary nobility that Americans had overthrown in 1776. The English aristocracy "governed without the consent of the governed" and “put the average man’s property and the average man’s life in pawn to the mercenaries of dynastic power":

Roosevelt said that these new royalists conquered the nation's economy and then set out to seize its politics, backing candidates that would create "a new despotism wrapped in the robes of legal sanction…an industrial dictatorship."

As David Dayen writes in The American Prospect, this has strong parallels to today's world, where "Silicon Valley, Big Oil, and Wall Street come together to back a transactional presidential candidate who promises them specific favors, after reducing their corporate taxes by 40 percent the last time he was president":

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-06-14-speech-fdr-would-give/

Roosevelt, of course, went on to win by a landslide, wiping out the Republicans despite the endless financial support of the ruling class.

The thing is, FDR's policies didn't originate with him. He came from the uppermost of the American upper crust, after all, and famously refused to define the "New Deal" even as he campaigned on it. The "New Deal" became whatever activists in the Democratic Party's left could force him to do, and while it was bold and transformative, it wasn't nearly enough.

The compromise FDR brokered within the Democratic Party froze out Black Americans to a terrible degree. Writing for the Institute for Local Self Reliance, Ron Knox and Susan Holmberg reveal the long shadow cast by that unforgivable compromise:

https://storymaps.arcgis.com/stories/045dcde7333243df9b7f4ed8147979cd

They describe how redlining – the formalization of anti-Black racism in New Deal housing policy – led to the ruin of Toledo's once-thriving Dorr Street neighborhood, a "Black Wall Street" where a Black middle class lived and thrived. New Deal policies starved the neighborhood of funds, then ripped it in two with a freeway, sacrificing it and the people who lived in it.

But the story of Dorr Street isn't over. As Knox and Holmberg write, the people of Dorr Street never gave up on their community, and today, there's an awful lot of Chomsky's "constant activism" that is painstakingly bringing the community back, inch by aching inch. The community is locked in a guerrilla war against the same forces that the Biden antitrust enforcers are fighting on the open field of battle. The work that activists do to drag Democratic Party policies to the left is critical to making reparations for the sins of the New Deal – and for realizing its promise for everybody.

In my lifetime, there's never been a Democratic Party that represented my values. The first Democratic President of my life, Carter, kicked off Reaganomics by beginning the dismantling of America's antitrust enforcement, in the mistaken belief that acting like a Republican would get Democrats to vote for him again. He failed and delivered Reagan, whose Reaganomics were the official policy of every Democrat since, from Clinton ("end welfare as we know it") to Obama ("foam the runways for the banks").

In other words, I don't give a damn about Biden, but I am entirely consumed with what we can force his administration to do, and there are lots of areas where I like our chances.

For example: getting Biden's IRS to go after the super-rich, ending the impunity for elite tax evasion that Spencer Woodman pitilessly dissects in this week's superb investigation for the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists:

https://www.icij.org/inside-icij/2024/06/how-the-irs-went-soft-on-billionaires-and-corporate-tax-cheats/

Ending elite tax cheating will make them poorer, and that will make them weaker, because their power comes from money alone (they don't wield power because their want to make us all better off!).

Or getting Biden's enforcers to continue their fight against the monopolists who've spiked the prices of our groceries even as they transformed shopping into a panopticon, so that their business is increasingly about selling our data to other giant corporations, with selling food to us as an afterthought:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-06-12-war-in-the-aisles/

For forty years, since the Carter administration, we've been told that our only power comes from our role as "consumers." That's a word that always conjures up one of my favorite William Gibson quotes, from 2003's Idoru:

Something the size of a baby hippo, the color of a week-old boiled potato, that lives by itself, in the dark, in a double-wide on the outskirts of Topeka. It's covered with eyes and it sweats constantly. The sweat runs into those eyes and makes them sting. It has no mouth, no genitals, and can only express its mute extremes of murderous rage and infantile desire by changing the channels on a universal remote. Or by voting in presidential elections.

The normie, corporate wing of the Democratic Party sees us that way. They decry any action against concentrated corporate power as "anti-consumer" and insist that using the law to fight against corporate power is a waste of our time:

https://www.thesling.org/sorry-matt-yglesias-hipster-antitrust-does-not-mean-the-abandonment-of-consumers-but-it-does-mean-new-ways-to-protect-workers-2/

But after giving it some careful thought, I'm with Chomsky on this, not Yglesias. The election is something we have to pay some attention to as activists, but only "10 or 15 minutes." Yeah, "push the lever," but then "go back to work." I don't care what Biden wants to do. I care what we can make him do.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/15/disarrangement/#credo-in-un-dio-crudel

Image: Jim's Photo World (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/jimsphotoworld/5360343644/

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

[luimagines]

A Steel Thorn

Another commission!

This is the companion piece to A Glass Rose, which you can read right here.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

“The battle’s not done.” You say through gritted teeth. You don’t want to look at him.

“My Jewel-”

“Go.” You say, coughing. He thinks he can see some spittle of blood shot from beyond your lips. You merely roll over to block his view from the worst of it. “You’re needed.”

“You need me.”

“Go.”

The Fierce Deity growls. He won’t leave you. Not like this. He must atone. He must make up for his sins in blood. But his and his alone.

Unless this was a punishment from the heavens and you were to pay with your one blood.

The thought enrages him and he finds himself reaching for his sword once more. He’s blinded by the injustice. He sees only red.

But he can’t allow you to see it. This wasn’t a side to him that he wanted you to be privy to. Grabbing the hilt of the sword, he charges toward the main hoard that continues to make itself a threat to your wellbeing. He needs to make space. He needs to get away from you unless he wishes to commit a higher ransom than the blood already spilt.

The battle sounds continue and you know that they won’t last long, not if he was reason to be wrathful. You groan and grunt, pushing yourself up to the best of your ability. The blood has already begun to stain your outer layers. You can feel it slowly trail down your throat now that you’ve righted yourself.

You feel ill and sickly already. You feel both warm and chilled to the bone. You have to fend for yourself now that the Fierce Deity has left you to deal with eradicating the threat in its entirety.

You gulp- not surprised at the iron taste in your mouth.

It’s a bitter taste.

You hadn’t wished to show him the plight you’ve found yourself in. Only marginally aware of the cause of the injury, you had only come to think that he was right in the end.

He was much stronger, bigger, tougher, virtually indestructible. While here you are, only a step into the battle and taken down for the count.

Your shoulders work to maneuver through your side bag. You can’t reach for a spare weapon nor would it do you any good. Your hope for a steady and quick recovery is either a fairy or a health potion. You tried to make it a habit to carry either for the rare occurrence of your injury. You had always assumed you had to Fierce Deity to protect you.

And the one time to step away from his protection, you find your blood on the outside rather than where it belongs.

Your fingertips glaze over a bottle and you can feel your body sag with relief. You doubt it would be enough to heal you completely, but you’re going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

You pull the bottle out of your pouch and prepare to pop the cork off- only to find it empty.

Dread sinks into your stomach like a lead weight.

“My Jewel…” The Fierce Deity appears beside you once more without revealing his presence. “Your injury.”

You gasp, jumping and ducking to cover the severity of it.

You miss the way his face twists into hurt. He hadn’t meant to frighten you…ever. Would you allow him to tend to you? To mend what he has broken? Would you now forever only see him as a monster? A killer? Designed only to destroy?

When you had first met, you had tried to break that impression of the people around you- but here, in this moment, he had only proven the naysayers correct. 

The Fierce Deity gulps in a rare show of trepidation as the nerves run wild under his skin. “I have a fairy.”

You flinch.

He takes a breath and lets the fairy out of her trap. She flies and happily focuses on your injury. On instinct you uncoil and allow the magic to do its work to your body. The Fierce Deity has yet to relax even as you begin to heal.

You turn back to him with a bite to your lip and nervously likewise energy. You can’t hold eye contact and instead find yourself looking away before the fairy is even done attending to you.

Something within the Fierce Deity is telling him to fix it. To say something. Do something. But for the first time in the eons of his life, he can say that he hesitates.

“I’m ok.” You say at last, spitting out the remnants of blood from your mouth. You turn to him, finally, and open your arms for him.

His heart stills, not sure what would be the correct choice of action. But you whine and instinct and desire overcome what he would consider a more rational part of his brain. He scoops you up, trying to be mindful of the injury and holds you dearly.

 “My Jewel…” The words get stuck in his throat.

“You were right.” You say with resignation. “I’m nothing compared to you.”

He shakes his head. “You are my everything.” His grip tightens by a fraction. “How is it that I can hope to compare to you?... It would have been my fault if I lost you.”

“You got rid of the monsters-”

“And yet it was my blade that dared to strike you in the first place.” He admits.

You completely still and instead shift your eyes to look into his face. The Fierce Deity isn’t known to openly show his emotions often- if ever. Which makes the tears crawling down his face all the more gut wrenching.

“H-hey…” You reach up to cup his face. “I’m still here.”

“And if you weren’t?” He whispers. “I was meant to protect you.”

“And you brought the fairy.” You put on a brave smile. ”It’ll be alright, you’ll see. I should have just let you deal with the threat.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

[detectivecarisi-1]

The Senator’s Daughter Chapter 3 (Bodyguard! Dave York x AFAB Reader.

AN: Y’all... no one look at me lol. This is filthier than I expected (especially considering they haven’t even fucked yet) but uh... I have 0 friends and too much freetime so... yolo. Anyways please, enjoy! If you wanna be added to the taglist feel free to DM me :) also I’m a fool so... still working on a Masterlist whoops. 

Rating: EXPLICIT. So, minors, no. 18+ only!

Word Count: 4.7k 

Warnings: Oh where to start 🫣.. graphic descriptions of a wet dream, male and female masturbation, language, legal age gap, dave york has a filthy mouth, self-destructive behavior, talks of drugs and alcohol, Sudoku lol, sex toys, Dave York being a cocky bastard, degrading (a few uses of slut), praise kink, size kink… dom/sub undertones, dumbification kink…

Tags: @fatimaisabelpascal

@hayley1623​

Prolouge Chapter 1  Chapter 2  

You’ve barely hit the bed before Dave is on top of you, wedging his knee between your legs, spreading you open for him. You look up at him, eyes wide, you open your mouth, ready to ask him what he’s doing, but all your words turn to a loud moan as his mouth descends on you.

He’s kissing your neck, sucking bruises under your ear, and you bite your lip to keep quiet. Even though he’s barely touched you, you know if you open your mouth, you’ll beg for his cock.

It’s hard for you to compute how this man has you so aroused so quickly. He’s been nothing but cruel to you. on top of it all, he’s virtually taken away all privacy you’ll have for the next 5 months… and yet … you don’t care about that right now. All you care about is how incredibly attracted you are to this man. and seeing him, lose the control he holds on to so tightly, and focusing on your pleasure… it’s the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced.

“Tell me to stop, baby, and I will. I’ll get up and we can pretend this never happened” he whispers in your ear, taking a second to bite your earlobe. His voice is rough, clipped with barely restrained lust, and you can feel how wet you are. You feel yourself dripping down your thighs … it’s embarrassing honestly. How he’s barely done anything, just hovering over you, his lips on your neck, his voice in your ear… has you melting beneath him. You forget about his cold eyes, and all you can think of is how badly you need him inside of you. How you are beyond desperate for him to touch you.

“Please… please don’t stop, Mr. York… want this so bad”, it comes out much higher pitched and whiny than you had meant for it to. You had hoped you could have a low, sultry voice, but you’re so fucking turned on by this man, your body, even your voice… can’t seem to wait any longer for him.

You’ve never felt this pathetically desperate for someone. Never felt empty, for a man before. You can actually feel your cunt clenching around nothing needing him to fill you, with his fingers, his tongue, his cock… anything, and all he’s done is kiss your neck…

… until he pulls your pajama shirt off, revealing your bare chest to him. He kisses his way down your neck, biting as he goes, before he looks up at you, as covers your nipple with his mouth.

It’s a sin, really. how beautiful he looks right now. those cold, dark eyes, now have a mischievous, cocky glint, as he swirls his tongue around your nipple. His hand reaches up to roughly grab your other breast, as he gently bites down on your sensitive bud. Your back arches off the bed as you moan for him, and he gives you a confident smile as he moves to do the same to the nipple he neglected.

Fuck … it feels so fucking good. you’ve never had someone spend this much time savoring you, the other people you’ve picked up from the club have been too quick to lay you down and shove a finger inside you until your wet enough, driven by their own selfish need to hurry and fuck you. But .. Dave York … you can tell he’s the type of man to tease you until you’re begging for him. The type that wants to watch you slowly come undone over and over again … until you’re crying under him. Then, and only then, is he going to fill you, and fuck you like you deserve.

It’s the type of patience and understanding that only comes from an older man with plenty of experience in how to please a woman.

And it’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever experienced.

You’re convinced you could cum, just like this. Only from this incredibly sexy man with his mouth and hands on your tits. You feel yourself get embarrassingly close to your high, as you begin to lift your hips, desperate for something between your thighs. But you know better than to touch yourself… you can tell Dave wouldn’t like that. No, you know Mr. York wants to be in control of your pleasure, you know he’d be upset if you took a second of this from him… part of you is curious to see what would happen if you were to piss him off, but you mostly just want him to fuck you.. so, you put that thought on the back burner for now.

You’re grinding your hips into him… and… oh god he’s so fucking big. you can feel his cock, achingly hard, through his dress pants. It’s long, but you’re really amazed by how thick he is. The most beautiful fucking cock you’ve ever seen, and he hasn’t even taken off his pants yet…  if you weren’t so distracted by your own need, you’d question how you’re going to fit him inside you.

Dave bites your nipple again, much harder than before, the feeling borders on too painful, but your cry of pain turn into a low moan as a rush of pleasure overtakes you when he kisses it better. He groans as you continue to dry hump him. you should be embarrassed by your brazenness … but it feels too good for you to care.

“If you want something, princess, all you have to do is ask. I’ll give it to you. you just gotta use your words, pretty girl…” God you wanna ask for it. you wanna beg for him to flip you over and fuck you until he fills you with his cum, and then fuck you again. you want him to keep going until you’re both completely spent and there is nothing left for him to give you, you want to drain him until he’s filled you with every single ounce of his cum… but it seems all your thoughts are currently preoccupied with how he’s began grinding his impressive length on your clothed pussy ,meeting your desperate movements. That leaves all mental capacity for forming words completely blank and all you can do is moan his name…

He smiles, proud of himself, before he shifts his voice into something crueler, mocking, almost, as he starts grinding into you harder.

“Awe… poor baby. are you cockdumb already? look at you… desperate, dirty, pretty girl … barely even touched her and she’s thoughtless for me. my poor, pathetic little slut. you want me to fix it for you, baby? I can make it all better for you. all you gotta do is say ‘I’m yours, sir’ that’s all you gotta do, pretty girl. and I’ll make you feel so fucking good, baby. I’ll fuck you so good all you’ll be able to think about, every day, is how good I treat you. you just gotta tell me you’re mine, princess, that’s all I need.”

oh. oh fuck.

Is it possible to cum from someone’s words alone? Cause even if he weren’t grinding into you right now, you’re sure his words would be enough to send you over the edge. No one has ever spoken to you like that, and honestly, if it were anyone other than Dave York calling you a pathetic little slut, you’d slap them and send them on your way… but something about how he said it to you, how he’s still swirling his tongue around your sensitive nipple …

Wait … how the fuck is he whispering absolute filth into your ear, while still swirling his tongue around your nipple?

You start to question if this man is some sort of God or some fucking shapeshifter, which honestly, that’s dope too, when “Man After Midnight” by ABBA starts loudly playing… ruining the moment cause … c’mon, it’s a terrible song to fuck to.

And you wake up.

You wake up… fuck you wake up. You’re remembering now, laying down after Dave took your flask, and deciding to sleep it off … you must’ve set an alarm, so you don’t sleep the entire day away. You made that mistake once; it ruined your sleep schedule for a month.

You’re realizing that it was just a beautiful, incredibly hot dream. You … just had a fucking wet dream about your bodyguard. But, you don’t even have it in you to be ashamed because you’re currently just as desperate for Da- Mr. York, as dream you was.

You’re uncomfortably wet. You know your panties are ruined, and you can already tell that the second you get up, there’s going to be a wet spot on your sheets below you… fuck… you need to cum. Dream Mr. York knew exactly what to do to make you needy, and you woke up so turned on you can’t think of anything other than how badly you need to orgasm.

“Will you turn that shit off.”

You yelp as you look over to find Mr. York sitting in the chair by your makeup desk. He’s not even looking at you, too distracted by some book in his hands. you read the cover “100 Extremely Hard Sudoku Puzzles!” and you hold back a laugh as you look at the man you just had an incredibly hot wet dream about… having a book dedicated to sudoku puzzles. What a “middle aged man” thing to own.

His distraction from the, presumably difficult, round of sudoku he’s playing allows you to shamelessly check him out. His suit jacket from earlier is draped behind the chair he’s sitting in, along with his tie that he’s no longer wearing. His light blue shirt is unbuttoned a little, and his sleeves rolled up. You bite your lip as you process how relaxed and undone he looks. his legs are loosely crossed, and he leans forward to rest the book on his lap as he sighs and looks up at you expectantly, annoyed, like he’s waiting for something.

ABBA is still blasting behind you.

“Shit! Sorry.” You’ve really gotta change your alarm sometime soon.

  Quickly, you turn it off, it’s 4:31. you’ve been out for most of the day. you feel … much better. aside from a minor headache … thankful that you’ve slept for at least 6 hours.

“Wait… Mr. York have you been in here this whole time?” He’s back to his sudoku… he doesn’t even look up “yup.” He says it like it’s … not really fucking weird to just be in a girls room, playing sudoku of all things, while she sleeps.

“… you gonna tell me why?” He still doesn’t look at you. “You were still drunk. had to make sure you didn’t choke on your vomit or anything.”

The realization hits you … you just had a fucking wet dream about this man. and he was in the room with you the whole time. “And did I choke on my vomit or anything?”

If you weren’t watching him so closely, you may have missed how the corners of his lips quirk up in a small smile, before falling back to his usual, stony expression. “Nope. just … mumbling to yourself.”

Holy shit… you swear you feel your heart stop.

He puts the book down and looks at you, feigning concern for you, “why? you feeling okay?”

This bastard. You can see the devious look in his eyes. You see right fucking through him. If you weren’t so frustrated by how he definitely knows you were having a less than wholesome dream, you’d be mortified. But his usual smugness makes your blood boil with enough rage to forget about the embarrassment you should be feeling.

“I’d be better if you weren’t just watching me sleep. Mr. York, is this really necessary? What am I gonna do in my sleep, start sleep walking and do a line?”

Of course, now he’s back playing sudoku. “Is your name Till Leland?” Your brows furrow “obviously not?” “Are you my boss?” This fucking asshole. “No. But,… don’t you think-” He puts the book down and glares at you, and the asshole has the audacity to cut you off, “then don’t question how I do my job.”

This guy sucks. He is the most infuriating person you’ve ever met. He makes your blood boil in ways you didn’t even know were possible.

… but you’re still ridiculously turned on. Not only is he absolutely gorgeous, you just know that he’s not just all talk. No, the type of confident, bordering on cocky, aura Dave York has, only comes from a man who knows exactly what he’s doing. All you can think of is how close dream you was to cumming and the intense, ache resting at the bottom of your stomach.

“Okay … fine whatever…” you realize there’s no arguing with him about this, but you’re awake, clearly not choking on vomit, so, “can you leave now?” “No.” you freeze for a moment, looking at him in confusion, this can’t be normal to him, right? “Do you not see how you’re being a total creep?”

He shrugs, filling in a few blocks of his stupid sudoku puzzle. “My job is to watch you, princess,” you remember how dream Dave called you that, real Dave obviously said it as a bit of an insult, but still, you feel your pussy get even wetter, you didn’t even think that could happen. He pretends to not see the shock on your face as he continues, “gonna have to be a little ‘creepy’ to keep you from drinking yourself to death.”

Okay, fair. He is just doing his job, but watching you while you sleep? “Mr. York what do you think I’m gonna do while I’m sleeping?”

Still, he is completely enraptured by this stupid fucking sudoku game, he looks up at you for a moment, smirks, and looks back down at the book. “While you’re sleeping? nothing.’ But you could’ve been faking it, and waiting for the right moment to use the sheets you got tied together in the fourth drawer of your dresser to climb over that balcony and sneak out.” After he says that he looks up, just in time to see your jaw drop.

He searched your room. He fucking searched your room. While you’re sleeping, he went through your room. 

You try to run through everything he could’ve found. your eyes instinctively drift to your bedside table, feeling your face warm with embarrassment as you know he probably found what you keep in there.

He sets the book down, and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, smirking at you. “Already found that, princess. you got quite the collection, huh?” For once, he’s holding eye contact while speaking to you.

This. Fucking. Bastard.

He’s brazenly smirking at you, clearly proud of himself for rendering you speechless. Your eyes are wide, mouth open, trying to figure out where to start with him. You’re struggling to wrap your head around what is happening. The way he switches from ignoring you, to now? He’s… toying with you. He shrugs and smiles, picking up the sudoku book again, looking away, “you keep having dreams like the one you had earlier, I see why you need so much.”

You watch him, smiling to himself. like he just knows you’re on your bed, wanting to dissolve into it and fade from existence. You’re so fucking embarrassed right now you could die. you honestly wish you would.

He knows. He knows.

You can’t look away from him, your jaw is on the fucking floor, and for a moment, you swear you feel your fight or flight kick in.

But then… you notice him shift a little. You let your eyes follow the movement. Then, embarrassment is numbed a little when you notice his raging hard-on pressing against the front of his pants, before he attempts to cover it with tightly crossing his legs and resting the godforsaken sudoku book on his lap.

But you see it. It fills you with a twisted sense of pride as you see the evidence that not only did he hear you dreaming of him, but he liked hearing you.

Your eyes narrow a little, as you zero on his failed attempts to hide how turned on he is. You can’t get a great view, but you see the tent in his dress pants, and you watch the muscles in his thighs twitch, his left leg bouncing up and down on the floor. You almost feel bad for him. You know exactly what he must be feeling, you feel that same, ache between your legs.

You consider your options, ignore it, crawl over and suck his soul out of his dick, or… you could tease him like he’s been teasing you.

You decide you like the third option the best.

You take a deep breath, trying to brace yourself for what you’re about to do, as you finally respond to him. You don’t even take a second to consider the repercussions of this plan, especially since it’s flimsy. It requires him to look at you, to watch you. But you’re too turned on and frustrated, both caused by Mr. York, you don’t even care.

“I have a feeling ‘those dreams’ are gonna be a bit more common from now on.”

Instead of looking up at you, he keeps his eyes on the book. “Oh yeah? why’s that?” You watch his jaw flexing as he tries to maintain a neutral, unbothered expression.

Your heart sinks for a moment, but you're not one to accept defeat yet, adapt, improvise, overcome.

You lean over and open your bedside table, swallowing your nerves as you pull out your vibrator. You make sure to shut the drawer loudly, and a harsh slam echoes through your room.

Dave raises an eyebrow but doesn’t move.

Looks like you’re taking things even further.

You get out of bed, taking a moment to notice the prominent wet spot on your sheets, exactly how you knew there would be. Slowly, you walk to your dresser pulling out a spare pair of underwear, and a clean towel. You saunter over to Dave, “I’m gonna hop in the shower, again. kind of broke a sweat while I was sleeping.” He nods, you see that funny little muscle in his jaw twitch again “Sounds good. I’ll be here.” His voice is tight with restraint.

But he’s still not looking at you.

“How’s that game of sudoku?”

He chuckles, dryly, “struggling more than I’d like to admit.” He flexes his jaw again, and you catch the double meaning behind his words.

You lower your voice, trying to sound as sultry as you can, and you purr, “let me help you, Mr. York.” You make your way over to him at your makeup desk, standing behind him. Crouching down till your head is almost resting on his shoulder as you look at the puzzle. You take your vibrator, and place it down right next to him on the desk. His eyes follow the movement, and you watch, as his jaw goes slack, and he turns to look up at you.

Initially, his eyes are soft, his face relaxed with shock, until they process the self-satisfied smile on your face, and they harden with lust.  

You pretend to not notice as you study the puzzle. You’re so close you can smell his shampoo, and it’s filling your senses and all you can think of is how bad you want him to bend you over the desk and make you look at your own reflection in the mirror as he ruins you.

But … you wanna get back at him. so, you slowly reach down, grabbing the pencil from his hand, allowing your fingers to touch as you do. You process how big his fingers are, and your cunt clenches as you imagine how incredible they would feel inside you.

Leaning down a little, you whisper in his ear “4 next to the 9, Mr. York.” As you move the book to rest more sturdily on his lap, letting your fingers lightly graze his (very poorly) hidden erection.

Oh … oh fuck.

His cock must be achingly hard, begging for release, and you have to focus all your strength on holding back a moan as he quietly sucks in a breath when your fingers brush across the top of his clothed erection.

To your surprise, it’s just as perfect as you (literally) dreamt it was. As much as the thought makes your knees go week, you want to toy with him like he did with you, so you do as you said you would, and write the 4 in the box next to the 9.

“Something got you distracted, Mr. York? You seem to have gotten the rest of the puzzle just fine, what happened?” You whisper in his ear again, you’re right next to him, if he leans you’d be touching. You wouldn’t be able to hold back any longer if that happens.

He never once looked away from you since he noticed the vibrator on the desk. His face tight with frustration and overwhelming desire. You want to look away, but you can’t. He’s so fucking beautiful, you’re having to remind yourself to breathe. He looks down at your lips for a moment, before moving back to your eyes, “I’m never distracted princess, I always win these types of games.” His voice is a low, rumbling whisper by now. you hear in his voice how he’s barely restraining himself, but he holds your gaze. He refuses to look away.

The tension between you two is so thick. It would be … so easy for you to walk around him, climb on top of him, and bring you both the relief you’re obviously needing.

He holds eye contact with you, as you hand him the pencil back, and grab the vibrator. before stepping away from him, breathing heavily.

Neither of you say anything as you slip into the bathroom. You don’t notice the way he shamelessly watches your ass, reaching down to grab his throbbing dick through his clothes, trying to focus on breathing, the second you turn your back.

The second the bathroom door closes behind you, you’re tearing your pajamas off. Rushing to turn on the shower, not even caring to check the temperature, before you step in and lay on the floor of your shower, turning on your vibrator to the highest setting, pressing it to your swollen clit.

You know Mr. York can hear the loud buzzing, barely covered up by the sound of the shower, but crazy enough, the thought of him hearing you like this, turns you on even more. You imagine his hands, his big fucking hands, roughly grabbing your breasts, just like he did in your dream. Based off the outline of his cock that you saw, you can tell that he’s just as turned on as you are, you watched his eyes, you saw his restraint cracking, and you whimper as you imagine how he would not be gentle with you.

Imagining Mr. York choking you to keep you quiet, you reach up and wrap your free hand around your throat, groaning as you tighten your grip. You’re already so close, you feel the pressure building in your core, you feel that coil tightening, so you let go of your neck, and slide two fingers into your cunt. The mixture of the vibrations on your clit, and your fingers curling inside you have you seeing stars. you wish it were Dave… God you wish his fingers were filling you, you know it would be so fucking tight for him, but you’d take it. You’re so fucking wet right now, he’d slide right in, but you can already tell there’d still be a slight burn as you struggle to take him.

Your cunt starts to desperately squeeze your fingers, and you imagine him, naked, fingering you, calling you princess, calling you a dirty, desperate little slut, as he brings you to your high, and then… you cum. You finally fucking cum.

You don’t even realize that you moan out his name as you do.

When you come down from your high, you struggle to stand up in the shower on your shaking legs, breathing heavily. Leaning on your shower wall for support,  you wonder if he heard you. ———————————————— He did.

He hears every little noise and gasp that comes out of your mouth. He tries to distract himself with another round of sudoku, but he hears you call out his name in a strained moan… and he swears he almost came in his pants like a teenager. He reaches down, and roughly grips his cock, breathing deeply through his nose.

He’s trying to focus on anything but your moans, but instead all his brain can do is replay your cries, your fingers grazing his cock, how he was so close to you he watched your pupils dilate with need, he could smell your vanilla lotion, he could see your fingers shaking ever so slightly as you put the 4 next to the goddamn 9…

He’s never been this hard. not that he can ever remember. Never for carol. Never for any other girl he’s fucked. But you… you and your annoying, spoiled little attitude, your wide eyes, your soft fingers… something about you makes him want to possess you. He wants you in such a primal way, it even scares him. He was so close to breaking down the door of the bathroom, pulling his cock out, and getting in the shower with you until he actually makes you scream for him, it actually scares him a little. He had to remind himself, this is his clients daughter that’s he’s thinking of.

But your moans in your sleep, your soft fingers grazing him, your mouth next to his ears, you are screaming for him…

Dave has never been a good man. So, he chooses to accept this revelation as another one of his dark secrets.

When you emerge from the shower, he sees your face relaxed in a post-orgasm glow. He makes eye contact with you, closing the book and giving you his full attention. You freeze in the doorway and look to the ground nervously. He watches as you enter the bedroom, that confident, bold attitude you had when you grazed his cock, gone. You’re suddenly unsure of yourself, trying to hide the vibrator you all but waved in his face 30 minutes earlier, as you slip it back into your bedside table.

Dave never stops watching you.

You turn, looking up at him with wide eyes, you open your mouth to say something, but instead, you frown, throw on a clean hoodie over your t-shirt, before turning to go downstairs to eat dinner with your father. —————————————— The moment you leave the room, Dave is rushing to his bedroom. He pulls his cock out and closes his eyes as he imagines it’s your smaller, softer hands wrapped around him, jerking him off instead of his own. He imagines you, sinking to your knees, opening your mouth to let him fuck your face, only pulling away from his throbbing length long enough to beg him to cum in your mouth. His hand moves faster as he imagines you gagging on his cock, slipping a hand into your panties to rub your clit, because you just can’t wait for him. He uses his thumb to run over the slit of his cock, feeling the pre-cum beading at the tip. He tightens his grip when he imagines how good you’d suck his dick. How you’d hollow your cheeks to make it tighter for him, how you let him use your face while you gag and take it like a good fucking girl, with tears running down your face. With a loud groan, he cums when he pictures the same wide eyes you gave him when you got out of the shower, after fucking yourself with your fingers and a vibrator, crying out his name… he pictures your big, beautiful eyes, innocently looking up at him, as he uses your mouth.

He cums all over his hands and it leaks onto the floor. He prefers to imagine it was your pretty face.

After cleaning himself up, he meets you and your father downstairs for dinner.

[aaronsrpgs]

I've been so excited about this game for so long! They were kind enough to let me write a foreword for it, the entirety of which is below the break.

Thank god for mutants.

My first mutant encounter was in a flea market at the Warrens Cranberry Festival circa 1991. I hesitantly parted with my allowance to buy a comic whose cover’s top third (where the title and issue number were) had been torn off to secure monetary returns from the magazine distributor. Inside, five mutants struggled with being hated and, thereby, hating themselves. The art had a violent energy to it, ink scraped and splattered across the page by a young Bill Sienkiewicz and spare, harsh colors by Glynis Wein. Despite being in the X-Men family of comics, New Mutants shocked me in a way that changed my perception of art forever. It felt struggling and sinewy, like it was pulling itself toward its own creation.

The X-Men are famous the world over and must remain vaguely and forever themselves for the sake of marketing. The New Mutants, on the other hand, are virtual unknowns. They’re allowed to change. They get weird.

The joy of getting weird.

It’s great to fantasize about being beautiful while also shooting deadly beams from your eyes. But it’s a power fantasy, and for most of us, it remains out of our reach.

But to be a freak is a different kind of fantasy. Most of us are at least on our way there; many of us are already registered citizens of Freaktown. And the fantasies of freakdom are a bit different. They might include…

Watching the system collapse in the face of your freakiness.

Finding a bunch of other freaks.

Being accepted in your full freakitude.

But to me, to be a freak is to be allowed to change. To mutate. A freak can grow a new arm and remain at an equivalent level of freakiness. A freak can cancel their plans because of anxiety and not be rated any lower or higher than they already were. Being a freak is both a binary “yes” and an infinite spectrum. And this invitation to change is what the world (or at least the very limited pieces of it I see) needs right now.

Don’t fart on buses.

In the places I frequent, the refusal to change is extreme. I would not be surprised to read a news story where, upon farting aboard a crowded bus, a man is scolded for his behavior and asked not to repeat it, whereupon he stands up and hold forth on freedom: the freedom to fart where he pleases, no matter who is present and how thick the air is. And to request that he not engage in his god-given freedom to hot-box commuters, why, that is many degrees more sinful than the flatulent act, and you should be ashamed to even have mentioned it! This man is the worst X-Man ever, refusing to change, because that would mean hard work and ego death.

But we should be thankful for change! We should work on change. Change is why we’re not babies anymore. Change is why we don’t make the same stupid mistakes. Change is the only hope we have for a world where we’re not stuck huffing the farts of insistent farters.

Finally, Plasmodics.

Let’s get to the point. Plasmodics is a celebration of freaks. All the mutants are here, and we’re all smiling. But it’s not a static utopian fantasy; it’s an irradiated fata morgana of our own anti-freak world, where bad decisions outside of our control have ended our hopes for utopia over and over, and they will continue to do so.

So we scrabble around, searching for the artifacts our mutantcestors left behind, reveling in what might have been, and doing our small part to hold off the next ending so we can build some space and party down.

Come on in! The plasm’s fine.

[yridenergyridenergy]

Phalaris Vol.II - Yokosuka Arts Theatre [2023/05/01] live report

Setlist

Hibiki

Schadenfreude

Uroko

Mouai ni Shosu

Utsutsu, Bouga o Kurau

Ningen o Kaburu

13

Devote My Life

Eddie

GRIEF

Beautiful Dirt (2018 Ver.)

Otogi

The Perfume of Sins

Encore:

DOZING GREEN (Acoustic Ver.)

Un deux

Utafumi

T.D.F.F.

Revelation of mankind

First live in which the fans can officially cheer, and we gave it pretty much our all from the moment that the venue turned dark!

I don't remember much about the SE. First, there were three vertical rectangular screens in the back that showed some Roman or mythological painting in the centre, with the long Phalaris album cover mirrored left and right. That reminded me of the UROBOROS era a lot.

Then, the members came on stage and I kept getting struck by the obversation that they were almost all dressed very Phalaris-like! Shinya was in a white outfit as usual, but Die had some foggy black and white tunic (I was on the complete opposite side of him so I couldn't catch all the details); Toshiya had a quite dense black lace head piece like a mourning veil with a brilliant gold crown to hold it in place, a kind of black robe, black dress shirt underneath, skinny black shorts that were about mid-thigh, black boots or high socks, with a separate black lace long skirt; Kaoru wore low and ample black sarouel pants with a sort of black captain/major jacket thar had golden highlights (for makeup, he put some fade to highlight his cheekbones and little 'corners' near his temples with shade around his eyes); Kyo was more normal, wearing super wide beige pants with a large punk shirt (it read in Katakana something-Mugger?) but the highlight was definitely the spiky collar he wore! He had subtle makeup and his hair is short, spiky and blond (maybe blond-pink, or that was a trick of the lights?).

The band had clearly missed our incessant cheering. People still ended up crying out once in a while in the past year but it wasn't official and most definitely held back because it was against the rules. But now, to be granted that freedom again! I was running on very poor breathing and the mask had a tendency to dry my mouth a lot, so I was lucky that this was a seat-assigned concert where I could easily bring a beverage, but my throat's condition turned out better than expected!

The descriptions of songs will definitely be perfected through the next few shows, but here are segments that I remember:

Hibiki was sung emotionally of course but maybe not "uniquely yet", I would say. I certainly was hell into it though.

For Schadenfreude, it's such a poetic, long song, that it felt like the band was still working on giving it its live personality as well, even though they performed it in a previous tour, I think. Also, it surprised me that Kyo did not request that we sing "Ikedomo jigoku ka". There was less interaction with the audience throughout that song, I think. For the back screens, there were some scenes of a mage or ghost, as if they were drawn by the same artist who did Rinkaku and Agitated Screams of Maggots. The lighting was mostly red from what I remember, but I'll have to see it again.

Uroko was a surprise, just like un deux and Revelation of mankind. I had hoped that there would be Uroboros tracks mixed in with the Phalaris songs, but Arche is a good alternative! It felt so great for both us and Kyo that we were able to shout "Anata shidai de" again. The whole band was really into Uroko, Kyo reproducing some of the gestures from the PV, which was shown on the back screen.

By the way, we cheered and clapped after virtually every song, even though the audience sometimes stays quiet after quieter songs. Remember, it only takes one person to have guts and break the silence for the rest to let loose too!

Mouai ni shosu felt tamer than Utsutsu, bouga o kurau. The latter had piercing lines of light from what I recall and Kyo was way more into it. The sound was horrible when you weren't in the middle though, so I couldn't hear Kyo sometimes, even when he later came to the left ramp of the stage right beside me. But during Utsutsu, he went to the right ramp and went a bit crazy, so it's damned that the mic or speakers didn't render the ranges in those two songs well at all. In Utsutsu, Kyo seemed to expect us to sing the second: "Nananananananaze nanda?" He pointed at us when singing: "Onaji ningen desho". And when talking about the laughing eyes, he circled his right eye with his index and thumb.

In Mouai ni Shosu, Kyo also pointed to us when asking: "Docchi da, docchi ga ii?"

Ningen wo kaburu, we did the traditional bits of: "Dare no tame no ikiru no darou?" but for some reason, I thought we backed up Toshiya more with his "Blessing to lose heart" finals.

General things I don't remember which songs they happened in: Toshiya spun two or three times widely with his base and he jumped from Kyo's crate with it, which Kyo promptly took possession right after he left; Kyo signed the throat slicing a couple of times especially in the first half, and he asked us if we were ready to keep going, to break our necks, etc. There was one song where he slid to his knees in the wide space in front of his crate while singing.

During the first break for the change of gears, Kyo sat on Shinya's platform and looked at us nonchalantly, scratching his head but obviously demanding more shouts from us. Before one of the breaks, he threw his mic way up and let it drop on the ground, a technician rushing to place it back on the crate immediately after.

13 had totally different imaging in the background this time. When talking about throwing everything away, Kyo gripped his shirt tightly and gestured pulling it widely toward the back. He seemed to sing the last part in English (Never die), more attentively, like he corrected or clarified the pronunciation. Kyo also slowly put his red mic cord around his neck as he kind of kneeled on his crate while singing about looking down the 13 flights of stairs.

I was right in front of Kaoru but he only came up to the edge of the stage two or three times, compared to Toshiya, Kyo and Die. It felt like Kaoru was really focused, just sometimes teasing us with a kind of frown or nod. He did come on the left ramp of the stage once near the end of the main set, where we could see his fade makeup near his ears dripping down his face because of his sweat. By the way, his speakers in the back feature two new drawings. One is white with a black drawing that honestly looks like his head with a previous makeup but no pupil, upside down and being sucked into a void, while the second is a white drawing on black that seems to represent a skinny big-headed form all haggard-looking with weak but grim arms up at its side.

Kyo came to the left ramp during Devote my life! I really could almost not hear him, but he had us sing the "Zankoku na" throughout the song. He gestured mostly at the fans on the second floor/first balcony. He trotted back to the main stage with a technician ready to take care of his mic cord again.

I can't remember which songs, but Toshiya came to the left ramp and the right one too. Quite sure he was there twice on the left? The second one was right on time for his bass part in one of the songs. By that time, Toshiya had removed his veil (dramatically thrown toward the back of the stage from the front), his lace coat was off and we could at least partly see his chest. He smiled so much throughout the show and he was so dramatic during his single picks especially at the start of the concert.

During Eddie, Kyo called us "kuso, kuso, kuso", pointing at different spots of the crowd. I think he wanted us to sing some parts but it's a very fast song hah.

GRIEF was so intense too. The whole band liked bringing back that song. It might be then that Toshiya was really active?

Oh man, in GRIEF, at the part where we traditionally clap to the rythm, Kyo started clapping too as if he was seriously mocking us, like he was saying we were lobotomized zombies, but it became more and more disturbing to see, more "loose-screws"-like as he did wider and more disorganized claps as he went.

Otogi was so cool! Not yet the sensual performance it ought to be, but Toshiya certainly brought it all! It started with Kaoru playing loyd guitar noise with the three screen panels filling in red from the bottom, then the song's actual first notes were played. The mandela was present in the video, sand, a spiral staircase, etc. It just surprised me so much that the colour associated with that song would be red. Anyway, Kyo was a bit sensual in the way he moved, but he was totally outshined by Toshiya during the slower part. I think that it was at "Hakai no yukusaki/The destination of destruction" that Toshiya opened his dress shirt way wider with his right hand, then traced from his heart all the way to his crotch and just convenientlt transitioned onto his bass to play, then he waved his right arm super wide at the same time as Kyo did so with his left for the parr about: "The spreading of the sky, Go to the Madara". The song ended with the screen filling with bright red again but from the top this time. Holy hell what a song.

The Perfume of Sins man, refer to my previous post. I just want an official recording with that growled "Eyes, nose, ears" segment. Gimme, gimme, gimme! From what I remember, Toshiya was really into this song too.

They left after the main set and it took a while for them to return, even if we were actively screaming for it this time.

When they did come back, it was very serene as the musicians had chairs installed for them and they played Dozing Green in acoustic. It was quite an emotional rendition, but I specifically remember Toshiya setting his bass vertically, so his half-naked legs were literally hugging the bottom part of it.

The rest of the encore kind of blurred into something intense. We didn't get much room to breath or think. Die finally came to the left ramp, wearing those leather tights he showed on Instagram recently and very short shorts. He headbanged right in front of me and I don't know how he could not have possibly meant for me to be able to touch his hair, but I felt it was more respectful to retract my hand a bit. He seemed super happy and like a rock star overall.

For the encore, Kaoru changed to a black "Witched" (?) T-shirt with white and red lines on the front, while Shinya was in black, Toshiya kept the bottom part of his earlier outfit but changed the top for a white arm-less dress shirt, and Kyo changed to a different band T-shirt (some heavy metal band with scribbles for a logo and some Japanese on the back).

Before the last song, Kyo asked if we were alive a few times, then got interrupted by someone who shouted something inaudible, which made him pause in what he planned to say and he went frowning, uttering an: "Ah/huh?" Then he fires us up for the Last Song!

It seemed to me like Revelation of mankind was the wrong song to end, because there is less opportunity for the members to interact, the song demands too much concentration, but everybody on sight was glad to have it.

Kyo stayed for a short time on stage afterward to clap with us and demand more. Then he waved goodbye. Kaoru did so much teasing and threw a lot of picks. He perked his head up and nodded in a smug way when somebody called his name while he was drinking from his Thermos at first. Toshiya and Die smiled so much at the end. Toshiya distributed stuff but the highlight is how he poured the rest of his water bottle on his head, then used his towel to remove some, tied it and threw it very far into the crowd. Die also threw his somewhere. Kaoru stayed last and did the hand/bow thing when he finally left the stage.

[marcelwrites]

Excerpt from a novel I’m working on

I woke up to the sound of rain and the feel of aching muscles. My shoulders and traps in particular are tight and warm. It’s the feeling of satisfaction. Through the dense fog of sleep I could see the figure of a woman and the old urge crept up in me again. The mortal want of fucking and flesh. My wife, Celeste, and I have grown despondent and distant and although the sight of her still drives me crazy with a bestial lust but I’ve punished the both of us by withholding sex. I don’t deserve it and she deserves it even less. Celeste’s thin body has a grace and beauty that aspiring dancer’s pine for but it’s not built to house life or provide a family. Childbirth would tear her to pieces and stretch her out should she survive it, like a sideshow freak in the 1800s. Put her on display for sticky fingered and grimy children to gawk at with mouths overstuffed with sweetened globs of cancer. My side piece, Gloria, is different and although she doesn’t understand the words that come out of my mouth, there’s this pervasive linguistic misunderstanding, her intuition and skills with body language are second-to-none. She would make a killing as a translator for the autistic and deaf, as she deftly navigates the turbulent waters between the body and brain. Glory to Gloria. I’ve put Celeste and Glory in the same room as one another and the urge to tell my wife about our affair lives at the tip of my tongue. I don’t know how I haven’t told her yet. I’m a good-for-nothing, cheating bastard. Beat the shit out of me, bloody me, send your useless brothers after me. Sometimes on these early mornings I can see hints of sunlight peaking through the blinds and I know that if I open them suddenly I will burn and turn to ash and bone like an ancient vampire. Maybe I should go back to sleep and leave the decision making for later.

Later on during the day the old urge was still there and I was sore with it. Some people want love, some want sex, and others want to lord themselves over their partners and be worshipped like a god. I think we’ve all felt the twinge of each. We want to preserve our love at the expense of our soul, we want sex that makes us feel whole, and we want to be worshipped like a false idol, our existence a profane reflection of the sin of paradise. Maybe the complexity of us is false and we’re just simple creatures that think and feel as though they’re secondary characteristics of our existence, a great mental barrier existing between the automatic and the rationalised. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Gloria. “What are you doing?” I know Gloria, she wants to be laid down in bed and held and then eaten like a ripe peach. What is a woman if not the living embodiment of Gods’ misdeeds? As a man I am the the Fallen Angel. “Nothing.” I replied. “Come over. Bed’s warm.” That was all the instruction I needed. Time to worship her hips and connect through bodily sacrifice, and sin until redemption is virtually impossible. Gloria knows about Celeste, they’re friends, but Gloria would never tell my wife about our affair. She loves it too much and doesn’t want to hurt her. In the confusion of adultery it feels wrong to be the closest thing to the moral compass. I think my wife will Snapchat this ugly, short fella and feel adoration, the very adoration I’ve denied her. Enjoy it while you can, in five years time, you’ll have lines that only an instagram filter and botox will cover up, while mine are considered dignified and beautiful. I didn’t create this terrible mess of sexism, I’m merely a product of it. Execute me and I bleed the same blood as you. Only more of it.

[italwayshadtobeyou]

@fratricidesam Starting this as a separate thread, not because I don't like your thread, but because the details of Biblical angels are tangential to your original point, and also I suck at long threads.

it's interesting that the writers didn't actually depict the Christian apocalypse. i understand taking some liberty, though. what you said about the Christ is interesting because - insane theory alert - in 3x03 Kubrick, a Christian hunter, says, "Sam Winchester is... the adversary," and in 3x07, gordon walker says, "Sam Winchester's the Antichrist," and i've wondered since then if that makes dean a type of Second Coming. it's dumb, i know, especially considering gordon didn't know about the angels or the apocalypse, but it lingers at the back of my mind.

First, regarding the appearance of Biblical angels: Angels appear in different forms in the Bible. They can appear as humans, although it isn't their true form. The Book of Hebrews warns against failing to show hospitality by strangers, since they might be angels in disguise.

As for not-disguised angels, the Book of Ezekiel describes seeing cherubim (singular: cherub) as accompanied by, rather than resembling, sparkly wheels, which, along with the cherubim's bodies, are covered in eyes. Each cherub has four faces: Of a cherub (doesn't help much), a man, an eagle, and a lion. I'd say that Zachariah's "four faces, and one of them is a lion" boast was something of a self-own for such a supposedly high-ranking angel, but I doubt that the writers looked into it that deeply.

The Book of Isaiah mentions a different kind of angel, the seraph(im), each of whom has six wings. Christians have, for a long time, interpreted them as higher-ranking than cherubim, although I'm not aware of any basis for this, other than the number of wings.

The widely-accepted canonical Bible gives us very little detail on archangels' appearance. (IDK about the Apocrypha.) They do, however, appear as powerful warriors and messengers. Virtually all Christian denominations accept Michael and Gabriel as archangels; Catholics accept Raphael as well. I grew up assuming that Satan was an archangel, even though I can't recall any verse which states it, so it's probably a common interpretation. I think that some of the smaller Christian denominations, in North and East Africa and Asia, believe there are more archangels, but I don't know the details.

Second, regarding Dean as the Second Coming: I've got to say, I did not see this one coming.

Christians differ widely on what they consider to be the details of the apocalypse, including the basic order of events. However, a few points stand out.

No major denominations subscribe to the idea of reincarnation, or believe that Jesus will return as a human. He had to live a human life to perfection in order to take away humans' sins; he doesn't have to be human to judge the dead and resurrect his true followers.

2. If Jesus did return as a human, he would have to be without sin. This doesn't apply to Dean, who is pure only in that he lacks demon blood.

3. Most of the series' obvious messianic imagery is attached to Sam, who ends the Kripke era by sacrificing himself at Stull. The religious parallels and imagery that do attach to Dean associate him with Michael. Michael is a powerful angel-- and, if you're working with Millennialism, it makes sense for him to be the one who enforces Satan's thousand-year timeout--, but he isn't God. Conflating him with Jesus would be as idolatrous as worshipping Lucifer.

4. The Antichrist and Jesus aren't equal and opposite forces in balance. To make a much-debated topic simple, ancient Christian texts exist which support the idea of a corrupted or animalistic man with some powers who uses miracles to set himself up as a ruler, pretends to be a messiah, persecutes people who refuse to worship him, and gets taken out by Jesus's light. But he's an Antichrist in the sense of being literally against God and of being a fake Christ, not being the other side of God's coin (although High and Late Medieval writers portrayed him as such in every way except his power level; e.g., they theorized that, since Jesus was born to a virgin, the Antichrist would be born to a prostitute). There's no reason for Jesus to be his brother, or even have a more personal relationship with him than he does with any other evildoer.

EDIT: I should have clarified that some smaller denominations (like the Jehovah's Witnesses) think "archangel" should be translated as something along the lines of "chief over angels" rather than "highest-ranking angel." Since the highest authority in Heaven is God, they believe that "archangel" doesn't mean a kind of angel, it refers to God in his capacity as lord of the Heavenly host. So, there are people who believe that "Michael" is another name for God. What nobody believes is that he is both an angel (which SPN and most denominations present him as) and God.

[neutralgray]

9/11 and Spider-Man: A brief Retroactive Revisit

The year was 2001. I was seven years old and just started second grade. I don't remember a lot of the details but I remember enough. People were frightened. Teachers tried explaining to us what was going on in regards to the attacks on the world trade centers. We held school plays to honor the armed forces. Patriotic songs dominated the air waves. People were bound to one another by shared fear and patriotism. Of course these feelings were felt by us children, too. We were young and emulating our parents. If they were scared, then we certainly were. If they were proud and angry, so were many of us. For a little kid caught up in the aftermath of a terrorist attack, it was so easy to feel American.

Say what you can and will about American imperialism potentially leading into the events of the 9/11 attack, but the overarching timeline of "why" 9/11 happened didn't matter much to the average person just trying to live their life. The American government was responsible for a great many sins, often fueled by joint corporate/government interests and looked over due to American exceptionalism... but on a wholly individual level, little of the "why" or "how" mattered to us. We were attacked and guilty of no greater crime than having been born where we lived.

It was a very frightening and unsure time that is difficult to explain for those who simply did not live it.

As with many great tragedies, it affected the storytelling of that age. That fervent patriotism and fear and loss were the brushes that colored many stories. Even in the colorful and larger-than-life stories of superhero comics, this event could not simply be ignored. The pain was weighing directly on virtually every citizen, including those writers and artists.

Then in December, 2001, Spider-Man issue #36 was published. The front cover was simply black with the title overlaying it in stark white. Good comic covers usually tease the fun adventure the 22 pages will contain, but here there was nothing. The cover felt like a breath caught dead in one's throat.

The issue depicted the events of 9/11, as told in the world of Marvel. It was the same great tragedy it was in our world but now serving along first responders were the likes of Thor and Captain America. The comic tried to respectfully depict the great scope of the real world horror, and I personally think it did a good job considering it had to depict such an event co-existing next to colorful superheroes in spandex.

Spider-Man struggles to answer when a crying New Yorker demands to know how he let this happen-- where was he? He tries to console a child whose firefighter father ran into the wreckage only to lose grip of the boy when the he runs off screaming after seeing his father pulled out of the wreckage by other firefighters. The comic depicts our beloved superheroes helping but goes out of its way to ensure the reader that the real heroes in this scenario are the first responders-- the firefighters, police, and simple volunteers who were there to help. It shines a light on them all at the end, noticeably sweeping the colorful superheroes behind the lines of regular everyday heroes.

It was a product of its time and captures a lot of the raw emotions I remember from that period. It could be argued that any depiction of such an event so soon would be distasteful, let alone when you add in superheroes. I would not begrudge anyone who reads it and detests this story for its maybe tone-deaf approach. In the book's defense, though, I do genuinely believe that J Michael Straczynski was attempting to tell a very respectful and solemn story.

Since its release it's been a polarizing issue and while some of these criticisms may be fair, I wanted to address an issue I don't think is a fair criticism. Or rather, it's a criticism that I think misses the cultural context and the reason we tell ourselves stories.

Above is a controversial panel-- arguably the most talked about single panel in the comic. At ground zero for the terrorist attacks, characters such as Doctor Doom, Kingpin, and Magneto are present and assisting. It highlights their shared humanity with the heroes and superheroes. The story even depicts Doctor Doom, one of the most iconic and capable Marvel supervillains, weeping behind his mask at the tragic loss of innocent life. It's a depiction of everyone coming together under their umbrella of shared pain.

A lot has been made of this panel. The biggest criticism is the in-universe absurdity of someone like Doctor Doom crying at such an event. In the world of Marvel Comics, the entire world has been threatened with planet eaters, inter-dimensional dragons, omnicidal maniacs, hostile aliens, and forces beyond our dimension. In universe, the tragedy of 9/11 would be contextually really small compared to so many of the constant dangers the superheroes have faced time and time again. This also means that the tragedies caused by Doctor Doom and his ilk have certainly caused more actual damage in the world of Marvel than the 9/11 terrorist attacks. This criticism demands consistency--logical reasoning in the universe. Why would Doctor Doom cry for the loss of innocent life if he's done worse himself?

I can only speak for myself, but I strongly feel this criticism misses the point of story telling. Stories do not exist in a vacuum-- they don't merely come into being for us to absorb, interpret, and put away. Stories are ideas. They're ideas organized into a narrative that allows for us to share moral lessons, thoughts, and adventures with others. Stories have been used across millennia to explain everything from natural phenomenon to the nature of good and evil. To quote a friend of mine, sometimes it's the UN-REALITY of stories that allows their themes and emotional weights to really flourish. It's reductive to look at a story like this and claim it makes no sense because it's logically inconsistent in-universe. It may pain the nerd in all of us to say it, but that universe depicted on those pages in Spider-Man is not real. It's never been real. Ours is.

This was a story written by real people affected by a real tragedy. It wasn't written to humanize Doctor Doom or provide some new dynamic depth to a silly colorful supervillain. It was written to comfort real readers who were scared and angry and navigating many of these feelings through their unity as a country of people. It reminded the reader they were not alone in grappling these difficult emotions. For a kid who grew up in a post-9/11 world, I can personally attest that seeing my favorite superhero so scared and lost but still trying to do the right thing in the face of real world stakes helped me navigate those feelings, too.

My ultimate point in making this post is to stress that some stories (such as this one) need to be read with the meta-knowledge that it is a story. We may love and cherish our darlings in fiction but their stories are told for our sake, not theirs. A story doesn't have to make sense to them. It just has to make sense to us.

Those stories are the ones that bring us together.

[greatwyrmgold]

Internet news:

About a month ago, popular VTuber Pikamee was planning to stream Hogwarts Legacy. There was a backlash to this, though how much of a backlash is now unclear because some of the obvious lightning rods for backlash (e.g. Pikamee's Hogwarts Legacy tweets) were later deleted.

During this backlash, Pikamee canceled the Hogwarts Legacy streams, then decided to take the rest of February off. It's unclear whether this is related to the backlash, but many people have assumed it is, because it's the simplest explanation that can be constructed from available evidence. I think it's a reasonable assumption; riding out the storm was probably a major contributing factor in the break, though other considerations (like stress or IRL issues) may have made it a more appealing solution.

Recently, Pikamee announced her "graduation". For my mutuals that don't follow VTubers, that basically means the retirement of a VTuber persona. Graduation has many possible causes; disagreements between talent and agency, scheduling problems, the talent losing the interest/time/etc required to be a VTuber, etc.

It should go without saying that a lot of people blame the Hogwarts Legacy backlash, because it's the simplest explanation that can be constructed from available evidence. This assumption, I think, is less reasonable. Graduation is a big decision, most controversies are (or at least are assumed to be) temporary. If the Hogwarts Legacy thing played a part, I suspect it's a secondary consideration, e.g. the Discourse around it made Pikamee more cognizant of how her gaming preferences would by publicly analyzed if she kept streaming on such a big public platform.

To my knowledge, the VTuber group Pikamee worked for (VOMS Project) has not provided a specific explanation for Pikamee's graduation or responded to questions about whether it was Harry-Potter-related. For some reason, they're reluctant to touch this controversy made of smaller controversies and plugged into a much larger one with a 10-foot virtual pole.

Anyways, the Internet reacted typically. By which I mean that marginalized groups (in this case mostly trans VTuber fans) worried about their safety, a vocal minority proved them right, and most people don't care. A lot of Pikamee fans have blamed trans people, their allies, and the broader LGBTQIA+ community for Pikamee not streaming any more, which is ridiculous.

Even if the Hogwarts Legacy controversy is the only reason Pikamee graduated, it's not necessarily related to trans stuff. JKR has other questionable political beliefs, many of which leaked into her work. There's also the fact that alt-right/GamerGate figureheads played leading roles in the game's development. Put this together and you have a game whose primary sin is not being connected to (and directly supporting) a transphobe, but having an antisemetic plot.

And even if it was just the trans stuff...blaming all trans people for the actions of Pikamee's critics is just...pointless, unjust, and dumb. Also a form of bigotry in and of itself. I doubt these people would react well to all white women being blamed for the shit JK Rowling writes. And for that matter, I'm willing to bet real-world money that more of the critics were VTuber fans than LGBTQIA+. If you're going to blame unrelated people for the backlash, shouldn't you focus on people who share demographics with an overwhelming majority of the critics?

The transphobic shit being done in Pikamee's name covers the whole spectrum of Internet activity. On one hand, some people are doing things like drawing Hatsune Miku burning a trans pride flag, which would be charmingly lolrandom if it wasn't also transphobic. On the other hand, there's the typical harassment and slur-tweeting and shit, either trying to make queer people feel unwelcome in their communities or expressing anger at them which achieves the same end result.

Pikamee is as eager to address the controversy as VOMS is, but most fans (including the ones that don't really care about the controversy) agree that the anti-trans backlash is not how Pikamee wants her community to act. They think that fans should adopt Pikamee's generally easygoing attitude to her graduation.

But some people are angry, and won't let things like that get in the way of lashing out. And contrary to what certain pundits imply, trans people make a very easy target.

(Most of this information comes from a Kotaku article which alerted me to the situation.)

[crossoverglobaloutreach]

THE PARABLE OF PAUL AND BARNABAS

Christian students of the bible understand the concept of “Old Testament types” - people and events in scripture that provide a prophetic picture of Christ or His Church.

For instance, the Passover lambs in Exodus were a type of Christ. God promised when He saw their blood placed on the doorframe of a home, He would pass over that house and not strike down the firstborn within it. Innocent animals were killed to save people from the wrath of God in that day. Ultimately, this was a picture of the true event: Christ, the Lamb of God, dying for our sins. God not only passes over the sins of any who apply the blood of Christ to their own life but forgives them outright.

And that is another truth about types: Their Antitype is greater than they are. For sacrificial lambs in the Old Testament could only “cover” sins, but Jesus Christ was declared to be the Lamb of God Who doesn’t merely cover our sins but takes them away.

But I submit the tutor of types was not done away with when the New Testament dawned. There are fresh types to the right of Malachi from which we can glean. Further, perhaps you and I and our Christian fellowships remain types of Christ to this day from which others may glean.

I offer the following example of a New Testament type that is highly relevant today.

Barnabas was a good man who received Saul of Tarsus when virtually no one else would. He was not dissuaded by the scandal associated with Saul, instead he saw he was God’s chosen vessel. Though it could’ve been dangerous to his own standing, Barnabas brought Saul and introduced him to his friends and even superiors. He cast him in such a light as to overcome their initial reluctance, even loathing, to also receive Saul.

Later, when a daunting task was laid on Barnabas to go and help brand new believers, he knew better than to try to do it on his own. So, he called on Saul and asked him to come and help him. Together, they were very fruitful and effective.

And this arrangement worked for quite some time: Barnabas leading the way, with Saul at his side. But as the scandal of Saul dissipated, he became better known as he truly was, as Paul. Soon it was Paul who took his rightful place in the lead, with Barnabas at his side. Of course, this was an even more fruitful arrangement.

But to befriend Paul is to open oneself up to trouble, for his ways were not always Barnabas’ nor were his thoughts Barnabas’ thoughts. The day came when Barnabas took offense at Paul. Paul insisted Barnabas needed to part with something dear to him that was not welcome to Paul, at least not at that time.

But this was a hard saying for Barnabas and he could not abide it. He kept what was required of him, along with his newfound offense and turned away, walking out of scripture. But Paul pressed on with others who continued on with him. It was they who saw the further great things done by him and heard the further deep things spoken by him.

I say this is a type of our walk with Jesus Christ. Isn’t He often a scandal to the unsaved? Aren’t many of them offended by Him and scoff at Him? Yet how happy we are to introduce them to Christ and have them change their minds about Him!

And, early in our walk, we tend to still live our lives, thankful He is with us and that He answers us when we call on Him to help us. But doesn’t it dawn on us that He isn’t merely Savior, but also Lord? Don���t we begin to understand He hasn’t saved us merely to be our divine Wingman, following us where we lead but that He is looking for us to follow Him and go where He would lead.

Yes, He will take center stage if we yield it to Him. He will do great exploits through us if we’ll be careful to give Him the glory.

But in this life, we are never truly free of the danger of being offended by what He will come for in our lives. Even His dearest friends can have their souls put through the wringer by Him. In fact, He is sure to do this because they are His dear friends, as it is written, “Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, THEREFORE when He heard Lazarus was ill, He waited two days longer” (Jn 11:5-6).

It wasn’t only prior to Pentecost that Peter came into sharp dispute with the Lord. Just as he rebuked Jesus when He told him that He was about to suffer and die, Peter also retorted “Not so, Lord” when he was told as an anointed Apostle, “Rise, Peter, kill and eat” unclean food.

Abraham’s sharpest test in God came when he was a mature man of faith who had walked closely with the Lord for many years. But it would have all been for nothing, if he had said killing Isaac was too hard a thing and had walked away.

In addition to all else that is miraculous about our life with Christ, there is this miracle that is both common and constant for each Christian: We walk on our knees.

I said I considered my New Testament type to be highly relevant today. So far, I have shown that it has always been relevant for these last 2000 years. But what do we see today in the Body of Christ? A large cohort of Christians who have turned back or, at least, aside. Tens of thousands, probably more, are “forsaking the assembling of ourselves together” despite being warned beforehand in scripture against that very thing.

Scripture does not say Barnabas abandoned the faith. Yet by walking away, he missed the Spirit giving the dream to reach Macedonia (Act 16:4), he wasn’t there for the miracle in the Philippian jail (Act 16:24-34). He missed it when “God did extraordinary miracles through Paul” (Act 19:11) that “in this way the word of the Lord spread widely and grew in power” (Act 19:20).

Let us guard our hearts against taking offense at Christ, at His demands on our life and His challenges to our soul. But let us also pray for those who have been offended, that they will come back. They need to be in fellowship; we need them in our fellowship. Perhaps the Lord will grant that we could now be like Barnabas to them. Perhaps we can reintroduce Christ to those who have lately been offended and refuse to receive Him on their own.

Yes, blessed are the peacemakers, especially those who lead those estranged from God to be once more at peace with Him. Be in us, Lord, and cause us to will and to do this. Amen!

- Matthew Schilling

[writer59january13]

Many British thermal units* later

Vice linkedin to carnal flesh this writer, (a married heterosexual doofus, – whose alter egos named and highlighted courtesy

Gallant and Goofus) attones to heat these lovely bag of bones

amazingly graceful human specimen more so than required to generate clones,

whose jibber-jabber feeble poetic words

crafted for no particular rhyme nor reason

analogous to babbling drones aging musculoskeletal physique groans

kvetching synonymously nsync with (metronome like) tick tock

where alphanumeric, esoteric, and generic

garden variety alter kocker

(eons ago a foo fighting

beastie boy baby boomer) and/or like

kin himself to famous mummified Pharaoh ala King Tutankhamun's moans wrapped in long strips of linen,

indistinguishable among rolling stones netting sometimes wrapped

each finger and toe individually against many future unknowns

as the soul of mine traveled across cosmos temporarily filling black hole sun, and kerplunked across space/time continuum

easily mistaken for pinteresting soundcloud virtual xylophones providing an x uber rent lyft along the edge of night amidst dark shadows to the outer limits of many twilight zones.

Hence, I will beg, borrow or steal loot and make a fair trade

with a paperback writer,

who exudes profound wisdom

as keen philosophical thinker oh no... no... no, this non smoking bandit, nor drinker will explain to police officer, that me willingly doth plead

guilty as freshly showered stinker

without spectacles yours truly can only blinker

if nabbed he

submissively relinquishes freedom

to do time inside

state of the art clinker, where ample heat warms hoodwinker covering mine rickety musculoskeletal, while escorted to attend requisite appointment with headshrinker with the icy name of Mister Rinker. Token Doubting Thomas here resorted to life of doggone petty crime without fanfare for this common man dirt poor bloke who doth air, (not that anybody

will give a rat's a$$, nor care

a jot regarding me squalid shiftless schlepper bereft of a place to call home

anemic checking and savings accounts with Citizens Bank describes my financial welfare), and similar to Scrooge, (who mutters "bah humbug**" grossly dislikes Xmas time of year, not always the case with yours truly,

cuz as a lad din

Southeastern Montgomery County

one cute as a button little boy with

short cropped strawberry blond hair, (unadulterated, accursed and unbiased opinion), aye declared papa tricked out as Santa Claus

divine and stood bug eyed while shopping with mother and siblings amidst madding crowd (at the King of Prussia Mall) then no living nightmare

not like today November twenty ninth

tooth how sinned twenty four

bajillion people angrily glare with livid rage expect whistleblower shrill shrieking against crass consumerism thru air courtesy bull-let-in aiming crosshair, whereat vendors pushing merchandise hooping he/she can scare

up brisk business, hence

caveat emptor i.e. buyer beware aside from aforementioned hypothetical scenario - I won't ever overspend credit cards, which profligate net spending occurs within glorious land of bilk and money Amazon qua America OnLine, the home of the free..., where distribution of wealth very unfair.

Yukon still experience enjoyment of beauty,

according to this poet of Perkiomen Valley with less sense and sensibility than a baboon, or other naked ape, cuz his pride and prejudice got in the way while seeking love and friendship, nevertheless he can bet

dollars to donuts (with glazed eyes) without oneself spending themselves silly

garnering mountain due of debt

subsequently cue sax and violins gently weeping (think guitar coming

unstrung at every fret),

thus... ya gotta get get aware simple pleasures experience mindfulness, such as zipping across globe on private jet hobnobbing with rich and famous, then swinging by utmost secluded unconventional monastery, and meet...

nun other than one cell bated abbott cost 'ello to thine reverent Mother.

* - The exact origin of the British Thermal Unit (BTU) is unclear, but Thomas Tredgold, a British railroad engineer, is the closest person to being credited with its discovery. Tredgold's definition of the BTU was the quantity of pounds avoirdupois that would raise the temperature of a cubic foot of water by one degree Fahrenheit.

** - The word "humbug" has been used since the 1700s to describe something or someone that is false or deceptive. It's also been used to describe a trick played on unsuspecting people. The word's exact origin is unknown, but some theories include: For example, you might say "Bah humbug!" if someone won't let children play catch on their lawn

[tamarakkoarchive]

Shin Megami Tensei II livetweet thread (1/8)

just like before i go in barely knowing anything aside similarities to SMTIVA (and our just finished MTII).

poor fan localizers fighting for their damn lives working on those tiny ass text boxes

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i'll go to the story tidbits soon but i gotta comment on something: even without playing SMTI-II previously i had the feeling SMT:If felt cheap when playing it some yrs ago and now that i'm actually experiencing everything that came before, uh... If is a VERY bottom tier megaten lol

like, it doesn't share the same excuse MTI had of being The Very First Title for lacking story or good dungeons. you guys saw just how good MTII was, and it was already the frickin second game!!

but all in all i think the worst sin of If was lacking originality for the soundtrack, almost everything we hear in it was originally from I-II 😩 since i played If first that's where my head associates a lot of bangers from these games to when it doesn't deserve this credit

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you start the game as a nameless guy without a memory in a city with its main entertainment being arena duels with your only support being a baldie full in debt that acts like a trainer/father figure-like and keen on making us a champion like we're in a warm boxing story

NO FUN ALLOWED

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this game introduces virtual battles in the main story which make a comeback in SMTIV in the form of sidequests. while you can't recruit demons in it, it's a very practicable way to grind

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game barely started and you already have to protect your ass from old men

where's the lie tho. look at him and tell me he isn't top3 on the list of ogeable protags. you're so close to feel his balls

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the demon negotiation part is a mixed bag. you don't get bored fast because there's a lot of varied dialogue and reactions, but thanks to the micro space alongside the bottom text box covering the upper one, it's hard to read and often you're left with nonsensical text

here's an example of what i mean, you barely have 1 second to read the whole thing before it gets abruptly cut

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😳

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as you get the title of champion and the story progresses, you have flashbacks to your companions and the twist of what you were originally hits in