#THE SHEER LEVEL OF NO FUCKS GIVEN

[stressfulsloth]

You understand that Kim's perception of himself as a "good cop" is a character flaw that is meant to be questioned, yes? That he is a good man but equally he is petty and mean and embittered by years of living through the racism he experiences on the force and he takes that out on the people he's meant to serve and protect. Taking the jackets from Pissfaggot and Fuck the World? A cop grasping for a little bit of power in a situation where he feels powerless. He looks better in comparison to the other cops because they're terrible. He's a good man but a bad cop. The RCM, the power, the racism, the violence, is a dead weight hung around his neck pulling him down.

Harry's attempts at being a good cop are explicitly futile; he is working for an organisation that is killing him by inches, killing Martinaise, killing Jamrock. He can try and try to be better; people still die because of the inaction of the police. He's held up as a cop with a low kill record before the game. He still killed three people. The copness is a malicious consuming force for him. Why do you think he tried to flush his case papers down the toilet and sell his gun? He's chronically physically and mentally ill and his healthcare is tied into an organisation with a monopoly on legalized violence. He hates himself for leaning into the violence and he also can't escape it. His status as a police officer keeps him trapped in it, no matter how hard he tries to be a good cop, to emulate Dick Mullen, however warped his idea of that may be.

Disco Elysium never presents the idea of a good cop as a truth, a certainty. Only ever as a fun house mirror, a reflection of what we actually are given, distorted by layers of media and irony and the sheer impossibility of people responding well to that level of power. Revachol's cops are corrupt. They kill, they brag about it, they steal from homeless people, they sit idle while crimes- not even crimes but the extrajudicial execution of the union workers- are committed. Better than the worst of them does not mean good, does not mean justified. The RCM cops are like kids playing police based off what they saw on TV, with their nicknames and their quips and their laissez faire attitude towards the law applying to them. Perhaps they try to perform the role of good cops. But anything deeper than surface level will reveal that it is exactly that; a performance.

[gay-dorito-dust]

https://www.tumblr.com/gay-dorito-dust/758338609223991296/does-anybody-have-any-bill-cipher-or-stanford

Hi, I have a request!!

Bill’s current obsession has fallen into a love triangle (haha) between Stanford and Stanley pines? Hijinks, insanity and three different levels of possessiveness ensues!!

Where to begin with this one…

The only way you gained Bill’s attention was merely coincidental, at first you were just any other human who the dream demon was only going to use for his sole entertainment, not something that he would ever get attached to in a million lifetimes.

And yet he was more than willing to lock you up in his ‘love cage’ if it meant keeping you away from those fucking senior citizens, Stanford and Stanley Pines. Two gigantic thorns in his nonexistent ass when it came to you and your attention. Bill could give you anything and everything your dark little heart desires in comparison to Stan and Ford, what could they give you that bill couldn’t?

Love and understanding was what they’d both give you, seeing as how Bill often thought that love and fear were one in the same. so whenever you had evident fear in your eyes, panicked breathing and a body language that screamed out that you were terrified, bill though it was actually love and adoration and that you couldn’t bring yourself to part from him because you were that paralysed by the love you felt for him. (He’s delusional)

Bill wouldn’t let you leave his sight for a signal second and even if he ever did find you talking to another person, they’re more then dead in his one eye and you were back in the love cage ‘for your own good,’ as he would claim, believing that you shouldn’t have betrayed the limited amount of trust he had given you. He was clingy, obsessive, wanted to know where you where -even though he already knew the answer- and who you were with to the point where any ounce of freedom given by bill was just another bigger cage to keep you in…

Until you met them…

Stan and Ford did promise each other that they’d never fight over anyone ever again after one incident where they both liked the same girl back in high school, but both of them turned out to be hypocritical liars when they both found themselves fighting each other over you.

You most likely met these two after managing to escape bill for a bit, bumping into poor Ford as he was on his weekly monster chase and you had to say for a man pushing 70, Ford was handsome, a silver fox if you will but you assumed such terminology would fly over his head. (The fact that this man gets called a silver fox will never not be funny to me, the people of gravity Falls know what’s up and I respect them)

‘Are you okay?’ Ford would ask when he noticed the paranoid look in your eye as you kept looking behind you, almost as though you were feeling as though you were being watched, a feeling Ford himself was familiar with as his face becomes serious. ‘It’s him isn’t it?’ He would then say.

‘What? I’m sorry for bumping into you mister but I’ve got to get away from him.’ You stated frantically as you could almost feel the triangular demon’s eye on your back, almost burning into you with its sheer intensity.

‘Does he have a triangular form, top hat, one eye and a pension for causing chaos?’ Ford quizzed you and noted how you looked at him as though to ask how he knew, in which he was quick to reply with, ‘I’m…familiar with the thing haunting you my dear, please let me help you get away from him.’ Ford then proceeded to lend out his hand, you failed to notice was six fingered due to your panic, and you immediately latched onto without hesitation as anywhere was better than being stuck with Bill for any longer than you already have.

You thought that you were bound to go insane if you heard him sing his own rendition of ‘we’ll meet again’ for the hundredth time. He could play a piano but couldn’t sing in the slightest, but then again you guessed it came with the territory for Bill to have everything be a little off kilter and somewhat off balance.

Stanley would’ve been in the living room, watching his shows when Ford came in with you in tow, locking the door behind him.

‘Hey you’re finally done- who’s the cutie?’ Stan would ask as his eyes immediately land on you and Ford was needlessly unimpressed with his brother’s almost instant attraction to you; he didn’t feel like sharing your attention with him in the slightest.

‘Bill’s newest obsession.’ Ford replied straightforwardly as Stan winced.

‘Yeesh, I hate that triangular freak,’ Stan began as he then looked at you with reassurance, ‘but don’t you worry toots, the mystery shack is practically the only place that little twerp can’t get within radius of unless he wants a repeat of what happened last time.’ He then flashes you a smile and you couldn’t help but feel a little more relaxed then before, the feeling of being watched had all but disappeared when Ford then began to show you where you’d be staying the night after seeing how dark it had gotten, that and he didn’t feel like letting you leave when Bill was actively looking for you.

He places a comforting hand on your shoulder. ‘It’ll be okay, he can’t get you here like my brother Stanley said, you’re safe.’

You smile at him. ‘Thank you…I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.’

‘Ford, just call me Ford.’ Ford replied as he smiled softly at you and for once you didn’t feel frightened or afraid, you felt more protected and safe than you did in a long while.

Yours and Ford’s relationship took a bit getting off the ground, seeing as how Ford was determined on getting Bill to leave you alone but soon enough after some time spent with each other; Ford found himself unable to part from your side for long periods of time without fearing the worst that his brother was flirting with you behind his back.

Stan was indeed flirting with you behind Ford’s back, he couldn’t help it! You were a catch and he could see in Ford’s eyes that he knew they too, but where Ford lacked in flirting, Stan excelled in it as he’d often found new ways to talk to you in hopes of making you smile and or laugh. And to his credit it does work and you do laugh and place your hand on his shoulder to keep yourself stable, but it would always happen whenever Ford was walking into the room and Stan sees his brothers face contort into one of annoyance and frustration.

‘Y/n dear, I have something that I would love your secondary opinion on something if you’re not busy.’ He would raise his brow at Stanley who was staring back at him with a look of annoyance at the fact that he was cockblocking him from making a move on you. The tension between them was palpable but you were just glad that you were far away from Bill as possible, who at this point was on the brink of making Weirdmagedon 2.0 at this point when he couldn’t find you at all.

‘Sure Ford.’ You’d chirp as you follow after Ford down to the lab while Stan is left fuming and planning on how he could get you away from Ford once again.

Ford is awkward when it comes to flirting but he makes up for that by being comforting and respectful of your inability to understand the stuff he deals with, and when he sees that your frustrated or upset, he’s quick to put his hand on your shoulder or your hand and squeezing it softly while muttering ‘it’s okay, you’re doing great.’ Now and then. All thoughts of warding off Bill had left his mind as he kept you practically tucked against his side with how close you both were to one another.

There would be times where you’d look over at Ford and he was mere inches away from your face, and it makes the air leave your lungs as you feel his breath wash over your face. Stuck looking into his kind, soft, intelligent eyes that could absolutely degrade and or belittle you if you gave the command but you knew that wasn’t in Ford’s nature, the man was soft touched by calloused hands and conceded eyes that could easily read your entire body with ease and give you what you needed.

Stanley may or may not have walked into these moments himself when he wanted to take you on a drive in his car to the waterfall, something that he was certain would make you swoon into his arms, only to see you and Ford within kissing distance and looking like two lovers admiring each other up close as though you couldn’t get enough of one another.

The twins never wanted to fight in front of you, and they never do as they spoke to one another in low tones towards each other as they came to realise just how deeply they both felt towards you. They both agreed that the moment you chose one of them to guard your heart, the other would be respectful and wouldn’t let anything sour the bond they spend long enough rebuilding after thirty years apart.

However they seem to keep forgetting their competitor for your heart: Bill Cipher who was more then willing to posses people just to look for you and he doesn’t plan on stopping until he had you back where you belonged, after all he saw you first and won’t let Stan or Ford take you away from him if it was the last thing he did.

[captain-hawks]

hear me out: Hoshina and Leno fighting over who gets to be where in an eiffel tower 🥺🤤

(wow this got out of hand. i apologize in advance for...what's below the cut.)

soshiro hoshina x f!reader x reno ichikawa + bonus implied!gen narumi

c: 18+ only, smut, threesome, eiffel tower, oral sex, unprotected p in v, degradation, back to back creampies

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — THREESOME EDITION!

“No.”

“Come on.”

“Nope.”

“Seriously?”

It’s amusing—watching your boyfriend and your friend bicker, like the source of the argument isn’t who gets fuck which of your holes. The latter, Ichikawa, is uncharacteristically ruffled, chest heaving a little in frustration as he crosses his arms over his chest, doing his best to look serious despite the hard-on tented at the front of his sweats.

Admittedly, Soshiro really could work on being a little less selfish, given that the situation the three of you now find yourselves in is entirely his fault.

It’s been months since Soshiro began teasing you about Ichikawa’s blatantly obvious crush on you, something that, surprisingly, seemed to intrigue rather than annoy him—enough for him to cajole you into admitting you were attracted to your fellow officer, too. 

“He looks like he’d be sweeter than you in bed,” you’d teased once, to which Soshiro rolled his eyes, gently flicking your nose as he replied—

“‘Cause you probably wouldn’t act like a damn brat for him.”

But it’s only been a week since most of the base was out at a lively nightclub for a rare evening to let loose, a week since Soshiro sat beside you with a smirk as a drunken dare between your group somehow found you straddling Ichikawa’s lap.

At Soshiro’s own insistence, the rough scrape of his slightly drunk tone too much too ignore, you jokingly gave Ichikawa a lap dance.

A lap dance that grew much more serious when Soshiro huffed, grasping Ichikawa’s hovering hands and plastering them to your hips.

A situation that got wildly out of hand when your boyfriend, who was sitting beside the two of you, head leaning against the back of the couch with a lazy smile and heavily-lidded eyes, rasped—”Kiss her.”

You hadn’t been expecting it, the way Ichikawa’s hand splayed against the back of your head, the burning intensity of his gaze before he leaned in and kissed you hard enough to have you gasping for air. 

And Soshiro had fucking been the one to coyly invite Ichikawa to join whatever the hell this is.

“—sounds pretty ungrateful to me, her mouth feels fuckin’ fantastic, too,” Soshiro shrugs, his tone almost condescending. 

“I’m not ungrateful, Vice-Captain Hoshina! She just said—” Ichikawa sighs in frustration, glancing to you for assistance.

Admittedly, your sloppy, drunk makeout session had also involved more than a little dry humping, the outline of Ichikawa’s erection like a beacon of fucking depravity against your bunched up skirt and cotton panties. Soshiro had used a finger against your chin to turn your attention back to him, his lips pressing into yours while Ichikawa tried and failed not to moan under the rocking of your hips, and both of them had heard you whine a bit petulantly, “I wanna fuck him.”

Clearly, Ichikawa hadn’t forgotten that comment.

Too goddamn turned on at this point to let this standoff continue, your voice is soft and sweet as you turn to Soshiro and pull out your trump card, “Remember that time you said you wanted to know what it would feel like to fuck another man’s cum into my…oh…what did you call it…”

You pause, for emphasis, doe-eyed and innocent as you place a finger on your chin. “Oh, right. My slutty, fucked out pussy.”

Ichikawa fucking chokes.

Soshiro grumbles as he glances up at the ceiling, unable to deny the sheer level of depravity that leaves his mouth when you goad him into the derogatory dialogue that gets you off like nothing else.

“Ya better make the most of this, Ichikawa. Even Narumi didn’t get to do this.”

Ichikawa looks torn between asking if you seriously had a threesome with the Captain of the First Division or if you’re seriously going to let him come inside of you.

Instead, he positions himself behind you on the bed, his breath audibly hitching in his throat when he runs his hands over the globes of your ass, likely marveling at the slick arousal drooling from your pussy, sliding down the inside of your thighs and dripping onto the comforter. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, reaching out to drag a finger through your creamy folds, and you whine at the sparks of pleasure that ignite in your abdomen beneath the tease of his touch. “She’s so wet.”

Soshiro kneels in front of you, cradling your face as his hard cock bounces against the outside of your cheek. “She gets real soaked when she gets to act like a slut.”

Ichikawa inhales sharply, not used to Soshiro’s harsh words.

“Do you like it when he…” he trails off, hands feathering over your hips.

You nod.

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, Ichikawa uses his thumb to rub a circle over your fluttering entrance, silent for a moment as he mulls over the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. His voice is quiet, a little rough and strange as he murmurs, “You like being our slut?”

Oh.

Something inside of you cracks open at that—the uncertainty of these filthy words leaving Ichikawa’s soft mouth, the undeniable pitch of arousal in his tone despite it all. 

You moan.

Ichikawa groans, watching the way his finger disappears inside of your cunt as you rock back into him, spearing yourself on the stretch of the digit. 

Soshiro chuckles, “There ya go.”

Whatever the promise of dry humping Ichikawa’s shaft held, it’s nothing compared to the feeling of being split open on his cock, your entire body going pliant as he surprises you further by fully taking control, groaning repeatedly about how good you feel as he begins to repeatedly snap his hips into the shaking swell of your ass. 

And as you take Soshiro’s cock into your mouth, reveling in the familiar taste of his precum smearing across your lips before you swirl your tongue around his thick length, it’s all you can do not to collapse forward when he strokes your face and says, “Should I tell Ichikawa how much you love bein’ a whore?”

You moan around his shaft, fingers cradling his balls as Ichikawa digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your ass, and he takes that as your blessing to continue.

“Do ya think he’d believe me if I told him how you fit mine and Narumi’s cocks into your mouth at the same time? 

Ichikawa’s next thrust is sloppy and rough, his balls slapping against your ass. The pleasure simmering in your gut flares white-hot. 

You know Soshiro’s eating this the fuck up—this opportunity to push every button that he knows will turn you into a sobbing, cock drunk mess in front of the other man.

“Bet you want all three of us, don’t you? My dick in your ass, Officer Ichikawa in your cunt, and Captain Narumi stuffed between those pretty lips.”

It’s impossible to hold back the groan that comes tumbling from your throat, and you nearly choke on Soshiro’s shaft in the process, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the pleasure inside of you rapidly begins to approach its boiling point.

“Holy shit,” Ichikawa exhales, continuing to split open your greedy cunt on his cock, sliding freely in and out of the grip of your tight walls thanks to arousal that continues to gush out of you. 

You come—hard.

Your orgasm is a trembling, euphoric tidal wave of pleasure, one that leaves you boneless and shaking in its wake as Ichikawa fucks you through it.

“Where—” Ichikawa gasps, on the verge of his own climax.

“Tell Ichikawa what you are,” Soshiro says calmly, pulling his dick out of your mouth.

Well—

“A cum slut,” you breathe out.

Ichikawa groans, fingers tightly gripping your hips.

“And what does that mean?” Soshiro asks, like he's talking about the goddamn weather.

You bite your lip, equal parts embarassed by how much saying this turns you on and intrigued by what it's doing to Ichikawa, “I wanna feel his cum in my slutty hole.”

“Jesus fucking chri—” Ichikawa chokes out roughly, cut off by his own orgasm, hips stuttering as he pumps rope after rope of thick, hot cum inside of you. 

You inhale sharply at the feeling of him filling you, your cunt clenching around the stretch of his pulsing cock, milking every last drop from him. When he eventually pulls out, Soshiro tugs you forward into his lap, Ichikawa’s cum thickly dripping all over him as he eases you down onto his length in one stroke.

“Thought you’d wanna to see,” he murmurs as he catches you staring down at the messy, wet space between your bodies, cum spilling everywhere.

A fresh wave of arousal shudders in your gut, and Soshiro shifts, laying you down on your back as he climbs on top of you. And it’s the filthy, wet sound of him fucking Ichikawa’s cum back inside of you, paired with Ichikawa’s stunned groans as he watches from beside you, that hurls you over the edge of one last trembling orgasm. 

Once Soshiro spills inside of you, your tight channel can do nothing but overflow with the hot, sloshing cum that pours from your sensitive slit. 

Slinging an arm over your face, you let out an unsteady breath as you unceremoniously announce several minutes later, “Someone’s gotta clean this up.”

And you can hear the stupid fucking grin on Soshiro’s face as says, “Ichikawa, are you any good with your tongue?”

spicy sleepover masterlist

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Top Six Arcane Characters ranked in reverse-order of how much silly fucking nonsense they have to put up with throughout the runtime of the show

6. Cassandra Kiramman (daughter became a cop [I'm so sorry girl], daughter randomly goes missing for several days and breaks into her own house shot in the leg with a fucking homeless lesbian, gets killed by Zaun literally four seconds after being convinced to grant them sovereignty, and if there is an afterlife she had to watch her daughter crash out spectacularly using her very own initiative to gas the poor. Embarrassing.)

5. Ekko (every single Topsider he meets is next-level stupid and he has to hold their hand like a baby even when they are a literal genius. Had to watch Cait say "The enforcers aren't oppressing you guys that's not true :( !!" with a straight face, had to watch Jayce say "Oh yeah we put the hexgate here so that if it blew up it would only release dangerous arcane-gamma rays upon YOUR people so nobody who actually matters would die" with a straight face, had to find out the founder of the city that oppressed him his entire life was literally just a stupid old man with a banjo, Jesus fucking Christ. He is low on this list because of the amount of silly nonsense he subjected other people to, especially in the AU. Also he threw a time-machine bomb at God which wasn't so much something that happened to him but felt worth mentioning)

4. Jayce Talis (literally on a constant mission to keep his very fragile partner from killing himself through sheer scientific negligence and is consistently thwarted by either Viktor's impulsivity, the narrative, or him-fucking-self. Had to go to the shadow realm while Heimer and Ekko partied in Utopia playing the banjo and dancing to silly little songs and the first person he has the absolute misfortune to see when he gets back is fucking Salo I would kill myself)

3. Mel Medarda (practically runs a counsel full of idiots twice her age at like 25, himbo situationship's twink almost dies every time they try to fuck, has to deal with her mother ravaging twinks with her eyes right in front of Mel's salad, got kidnapped by witches for literally no reason)

2. Silco (Girldad who somehow, despite being one of the least mentally hinged people in the undercity, has an even less hinged daughter who so regularly blows things up and kills people that he scolds her about it as though she'd just snuck out past curfew. Has to work with a gaggle of dumbasses to produce and distribute his sterocainoin I mean Shimmer who regularly plot to kill him but are legitimately too stupid and useless to pull it off, his factory got randomly busted up and a bunch of his employees killed by an angry twenty-something with pink hair and also The Guy From The Fucking Posters [imagine Niel DeGrasse Tyson and a twenty-two year old homeless lesbian blow up your job like tell me you wouldn't have a stroke] and had to deal with a TREMENDOUS amount of nonsense in the AU where Ekko out of nowhere reminds him of his Most Traumatic Memory Ever and also the founder of Piltover blows up and his teenage stepkid is the only one who saw it happen.)

1. Sevika (Literally cannot ever catch a break for one second. Just wanted to help Zaun be free from Piltover and gets absolutely bodied by one or the other of Felicia and Connol's cursed fucking daughters every other episode in season 1, loses a combined total of like four??? arms, is forced to clean up the typically VERY bloody messes of her boss's unhinged daughter because he's such a pookie-wookie that he refuses to discipline her in any way, becomes the unwilling parent of two (2) mentally ill orphans, is subjected to Jinx's constant jokes at the expense of her missing arm (which Jinx is responsible for, by the way) gets given a political position as some form of shitty reparation when she is NOT a politician she is the guy who backs up the revolutionaries like miss girl just wanted to gamble punch people and fuck whores can you let her live her life??? Is one of the few people to survive and probably hates every minute of it)

[trans-axolotl]

content note: this post talks about eugenics, incarceration and institutionalization, and violent ableism

tangent from that post because i didn't want to start writing an essay on someone else's post and this is about a conversation i had irl this month, not intended as a reply to that post. but i actually feel very complicated about the idea of whether or not we should be pushing for more "accessibility" in jails and prisons and psych wards and institutions. i put that word in quotes because i don't think there is ever a way that being incarcerated is actually accessible to our bodies and minds; it is a disabling experience on so many levels. i'm not going to list out all the reasons why on this post; i've made so many posts talking explicitly about the harms of institutionalization before and i don't want to do that again right now. Talila Lewis has given several interviews about ableism, incarceration, and disability that are really worth reading and go more in depth into what that violence looks like. Liat Ben Moshe has also given another interview about disability and incarceration that goes over many of the same topics. given that these places are intense sites of violence towards disabled people, it feels difficult for me to claim that they could ever truly be accessible in any meaningful sense of the word.

what's also true right now is that institutions and prisons are incredibly inaccessible for physically disabled people in particular. i've been arrested with a wheelchair, i've been institutionalized with a feeding tube on top of that as well, i've been held on medical floors for psych treatment before, and i know very well exactly how bad it is. i've watched myself and so many other physically disabled people almost die in these places because of sheer neglect. i have physically disabled neighbors who were killed in these places. it is so dangerous for physically disabled people who are locked up in these places, yet at the same time, often psych wards are so inaccessible that physically disabled people just can't even be admitted because wards refuse to take people with mobility aids, medical devices, specific types of medication or care needs, if you have some kinds of terminal illness, and on and on and on.

what's also true is that when these places are so inaccessible that many physically disabled people are excluded and unable to even access them in the first place, it doesn't mean that we then somehow access other types of care instead. it just means that we're also discarded and left to die. this also is a really similar dynamic for a ton of other marginalized groups that get excluded from psych care--many of my comrades who are people of color have also experienced this same type of denial of care. initially i think that can seem like a confusing contradiction--how is it that psych wards are locking up some people up against their will but refusing to take in other people? but when you start thinking about the underlying logic at the core of these systems, it makes sense.

psych wards operate under this idea that madness must be cured by any means possible, up to and including eradication. institutions are a way of disappearing madness from the world--hiding us away so that we don't disturb a sane society, and not letting us free again until we either die in there or are able to appear like we've sufficiently eradicated madness from our mind. preventing physically disabled people from accessing inpatient treatment is operating under the same assumptions--except that this particularly violent convergence of ableism is happy to just let us die, both because it eradicates madness from the world and because they view our lives as unworthy of living in the first place. eugenics is still alive and well in the united states and it's still fucking killing us; both inside institutions and outside of them.

i would never tell someone that they're privileged for getting institutionalized--i think that would be a cruel thing to say to someone who has just survived a lot of violent ableism. and at the same time, our current systems of mental health care are set up in a way where not being able to access inpatient care can be a deadly logistical nightmare. there are some partial hospitalization programs that have such a long waiting list that you can only really get in if you just got an urgent referral because you're getting discharged from inpatient care--how the fuck are physically disabled people supposed to access those programs? if you need meal support for your eating disorder 6 times a day and the only places that offer that are residential treatment in a house with stairs, what the fuck are you supposed to do? if noncarceral outpatient forms of treatment like therapy, support groups, PHP programs, peer support funding, etc etc etc are often prioritizing people who have recently been discharged from inpatient care, how are you supposed to access any type of mental health care at all? (to be clear i know that not all forms of outpatient care operate in this way, but a lot of state run/low cost programs that accept Medicaid/Medicare operate in that way, and i've seen it cause enough barriers that i know this is a very real problem.)

so when i think about what it would take to actually ensure that physically disabled people can access mental healthcare, there's a lot that comes up for me. on one hand, so much of my work is about tearing down institutions and ensuring that no one is forced into these places to face that type of violence. on the other hand, so many physically disabled people need care right now, and we have to figure out some way of making that happen given the current systems we have in place. i will never be okay with just discarding physically disabled people as collateral damage, and any world that we're building needs to be one that embraces disability from the beginning.

i keep thinking about the concept of non-reformist reforms that gets talked about a lot in the prison abolition movement. the idea behind non-reformist reforms is that usually, reforms work to reinforce the status quo. they're usually talked about in liberal language of "improvement" and "human rights", but when it comes down to it, they're still giving more power to harmful institutions and reinforcing state power. an example of a reformist reform is building a new jail that is bigger and has "nicer" services. or when the cops in my city tried to get funding for more wheelchair accessible cop vans. these are reformist reforms because when it comes down to it, it's still giving more money and legitimacy to the prison system and increasing the capacity to keep people locked up--even when people talk about it using language about welfare for prisoners, that's not actually what's happening. having more wheelchair accessible cop vans would be dangerous for the disabled people in my city--it's helped us out a LOT that it's so difficult for the cops to arrest multiple wheelchair users at once.

non-reformist reforms are the opposite of that--they're reforms that work to dismantle systems, redistribute power, and set the stage for more even more dramatic transformations. They're sort of an answer to the question of "what do we do right now if we can't go out and burn down all the prisons overnight?" Examples of a nonreformist reform are defunding prisons, getting rid of paid administrative leave for cops, shutting down old prisons and not building new ones, etc. they're steps we can take right now that don't fully abolish prisons, but still work to dismantle them, rather than making it easier for the system to keep going.

so, when we apply this to the psych system, what are some nonreformist reforms that could help make sure that all disabled people are having their needs met right now? Some ideas I'm having include fixing the problem of PHP/outpatient care requiring referrals from inpatient, increasing the amount of Medicaid/Medicare funding for outpatient mental health care, building physically accessible peer respites that allow caregivers to stay with you if needed, increasing SSI/SSDI to an actually liveable rate, creating more disability specific mental health resources, support groups, care webs, and a million other things we'd probably need to actually get our needs met. non-reformist reforms for people in psych wards right now might look like ensuring everyone has 24/7 access to phones and internet, ensuring that disabled people have access to mobility aids in these spaces, making sure that there's accessible nutrition for people with dietary restrictions and/or feeding tubes, and more.

when i see people saying that we need to ensure that psych wards or prisons are made accessible it makes me feel nervous. i worry that the changes required to do that wouldn't actually provide care to disabled people, i worry it would just make it easier for increasing numbers of disabled people to get locked up and harmed all while people claimed it was a success story of "inclusion." i worry that it would just continue to cement carceral treatment as the only option for existing as a disabled person, and that it would make it harder for us to live in our communities, with the services and adaptations we need. when i think about abolition, i'm always thinking about what can we do right now, what do disabled people who are incarcerated and institutionalized need right now, what can we do right now to ensure that everyone is surviving and getting their needs met. i'm not willing to ignore or discard my incarcerated disabled comrades in the moment because of my dreams for an abolitionist future, i'm always going to support our organizing in these places as we try to survive them.

overall i guess what i'm saying is that i think making inpatient psych care accessible would require dismantling and fundamentally destroying the whole system. I can't imagine a way of doing that within the current system that wouldn't just continue to harm disabled people. and that as a psych abolitionist i think that means we have a responsibility to each other right now to fight for that, to understand that physically disabled people not being able to access mental health care is an incredibly urgent need. I refuse to treat my MadDisabled comrades as disposable: our lives are valuable and worth fighting for.

i'm also going to link to the HEARD organization on this post. They're one of the few abolitionist organizations that does direct advocacy and support for deaf and disabled people in prisons. if you or one of your disabled community members ever gets incarcerated in jail/prison, they have a lot of resources. donate to support their work if you can.

[anneapocalypse]

I'll be interested to see what further developments happen in the patches with Alexandria, but so far I think Wuk Lamat is handling the situation very delicately, and very smartly.

Alexandria is, undeniably, an invading force in Xak Tural. It's a foreign nation that has moved onto Turali land and claimed that land and its people under its own sovereignty, with the intent to harvest a resource from it at the direct expense of its people. This is, obviously, wrong, and needs an answer.

Wuk Lamat as the Vow of Resolve has, with the help of her allies, already achieved something pretty significant and challenging here: she has defeated the invading government (Sphene and Zoraal Ja) without directly declaring war on Alexandria's people (most of whom probably had little to no say in the invasion). Her diplomacy during her initial introduction to Alexandria has probably gone a long way here; she has not given the people any more reason than absolutely necessary to believe she is a threat to them.

Declaring the very young Gulool Ja Alexandria's new king feels undeniably weird in more ways than one, but I think that politically it's probably the smartest thing Wuk Lamat could have done.

Her goal, as it's always been, is to maintain peace for her people. A good number of her people are now directly entangled with Alexandria. A rebellion against Tuliyollal rule by the Alexandrians is a direct threat to her people, particularly the ones living in Heritage Found. Even with Sphene gone, Alexandria is still possessed of substantial military power and weapons technology that could conceivably be commandeered either by existing military personnel (because even an army of robots requires some level of manpower to maintain) or by a civilian militia were one to arise. Bottom line: even with the head cut off, Alexandria still poses a threat to the safety and sovereignty of Tuliyollal. And even if the Dawnservants could be reasonably certain their own forces could overpower the Alexandrians--which they conceivably could based on sheer numbers--there would still be a bunch of their own people caught in the crossfire.

Furthermore, the defeat of Sphene and the shutting down of Living Memory means that the end of regulators and spare souls is coming. (The new raid series suggests too that the Warrior of Light may have a hand in ending the use of souls.) This is going to be highly disruptive to the Alexandrian way of life, and probably really fucking scary to a people who have become reliant on this technology. There are bound to be objections. While it's unclear to me at this time how many people knew what Sphene was actually doing, it's not inconceivable that more could find out, and that someone might seek to put her plans in motion once again in order to preserve the soul economy.

This is, in short, a pretty precarious situation politically, and a lesser Dawnservant would already be looking at a city teetering on the edge of revolt.

So, how do we convince the Alexandrians we aren't a threat to them in the short term, while we figure out how we're going to handle this in the long term?

Well, a good first step is probably to give them their king. Alexandria is, at least in name, a monarchy. By the rules of that system, Gulool Ja is a rightful heir to the throne. By allowing him to claim that birthright, you make a show of respecting Alexandrian "sovereignty." You also declare him family--he's your nephew, after all. Now you have a familial connection, the stuff of which royal alliances are made. And of course, the new king is just a child. He's going to need advisors, a regent, and a lot of guidance. You can have a hand in that.

Sure, the Alexandrians are going to notice your influence over their ruler and might still have feelings about that. It's not a perfect solution. But by the same token, snatching their one living heir away from them and openly declaring them under your rule now is probably going to go over a lot worse.

Like I think the game kind of downplays this being a calculated choice, especially since Wuk Lamat doesn't come across as a calculating person. But if we were to observe this scenario in any other fantasy setting... that's how you install a puppet king. I don't especially like to use that term in this case, because I think Wuk Lamat genuinely cares about her nephew and isn't simply using him to maintain power. Nonetheless, it is an undeniably political move, and one that benefits Tuliyollal.

It's likely the Alexandrian people are here to stay--thanks to the dimensional compression, they're in the unique situation where the land they live on is both theirs and not theirs, and that is a problem, but forced relocation also isn't a great solution.

Judging by Wuk Lamat's goals, ethos and the example of her father, I think her hope is probably to bring Alexandria under the banner of Tuliyollal without having to shed blood for it, not least the blood of her own people who would be caught in the crossfire. She understands now that sometimes there's no more room for diplomacy and you have to fight your enemies head on, but if there's a chance she can do this peacefully, through diplomacy, then she's going to try, because that's who she is. She also probably understands that most Alexandrians had no choice in this, and a show of good faith might go a long way toward earning their trust as they adapt to the loss of their queen and the changes that will inevitably follow.

It's a bad situation without a doubt, and one that's already been very destructive to the people of Xak Tural. Gulool Ja Ja sought to unite rather than to conquer. I think Wuk Lamat's hope is to do the same, for the practical purpose of limiting further damage as much as possible.

[auspicioustidings]

Kinktober Day 22

Moniker: Keegan Risk Level: Low. Keegan has never been detained and is visiting freely. Brief: Femdom, pegging Safeword: Refer to first brief.

Ghost and Keegan requested this for you. You’re in full control this time around - Price

“Do not let him top from the bottom” Farah ordered as she tightened the harness around your hips.

The bite of it combined with the weight of the cock fitted to it was making you feel a heady rush of something. Arrogance maybe, because you found you wanted to top. You felt like you could put Keegan right in his place with this on you.

“Don’t assume this” Ghost said, grabbing the cock and tugging which had your hips following, “will get him to play nice. You need to be mean with Keegan if you want to break him into a slut. It’s a fight with him, you ease up and you’ll be on your back.”

“Ridden hard and put away wet darlin’” Alex added with a chuckle.

Some of the arrogance faded away given it felt sort of silly to be getting a pep talk off of three people to fuck one right in the hallway outside of the play room. You felt your hands moving to cover the frankly too big cock jutting from your pelvis and dug your nails into your palms to stop them when Nova walked past and smirked. It was pretty big and it honestly seemed a bit misshapen, a weird bump on it.

Did they have to do this in the damn hallway? You’d went from feeling like some masculine God ready to rock the world of anyone with a willing hole to feeling like you were about to get eaten alive for trying assert any sort of dominance what so ever.

“He is only teasing habibi, you will do wonderfully” Farah said, noticing how your puffed out chest had collapsed inward with your confidence.

“Hey” Ghost said, his thumb and fingers gripping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. “You go in there all timid and don’t give him a fight and I’m going to come in and leather that cunt of yours with a paddle, you understand me princess?”

Somehow you suspected that Ghost would not make it an erotic experience. Weirdly it did give you a boost to hear him growl at you like that because you wondered if he had ever held Keegan down and had his way. Given how firm he was in his insistence you do the same you suspected yes. Was this something Keegan wanted or something he needed to keep him in line?

You were here to give them what they needed after all.

“I understand sir.”

You walked in and the door snicked closed behind you. It was all very sensual, low light and a plush bed covered in velvety red blankets.

“Aww you’ve lost me money kitten, I bet you’d puss out” Keegan said, your head whipping around to find him lounged in an armchair in the corner.

Jesus, he was dressed up for you and it wasn’t stopping him from reclining back, one leg thrown over the arm rest to fully display himself. You’d never seen a man in a corset, but he was bound tightly in a gorgeous scarlet one. It didn’t quite cover his pecs, his nipples peeking over the top. The one other thing he wore were pretty thigh high sheer stockings.

It was such a strange sensation it caused in you, your brain trying to use those little shortcuts about gender without your permission and misfiring. He wasn’t any less masculine and something about those things on him had your pussy wet and excited.

There was a matte black sort of puck between his legs… a plug. He was fucking plugged. How could anyone be tarted up, have a plug in their ass to prep them for getting railed and yet still look like the smuggest person on the planet?

You lifted your t-shirt to show the still red healing slashes on your ribs and raised an eyebrow. Puss out? Of fucking him? You’d taken a glorified fucking torture session and only stopped at getting permanently branded, you were hardly about to refuse pounding some bloody respect into him.

“Careful, you show off marks that I didn’t put there and I might get jealous” he said.

There was a genuine growl of jealousy underneath the words that was both surprising and delighting. It felt good to inspire that ugly feeling in someone. But it was also the threat of him taking control which bristled.

“On the bed Keegan. I’m not the one getting marked up today” you said, dropping your shirt to cover the marks again.

“What was it you said? Make me.”

This fucking asshole. Here you were nervous and unsure and all he could do was rile you up. You’d make him alright. You marched forward and hiked up your right foot to rest it firmly on his cock. His nostrils flared and his eyes widened in some sort of dark delight.

“I said on the fucking bed” you said, pressing your foot right into his balls for emphasis.

He sucked a breath through his teeth in pain but laughed.

“How do you want me kitten? On my back with my legs spread?”

You cocked your head at him.

“Hm. Feet on the floor, bent over the bed. It’d be a shame to not get a nice view of the lacing on that pretty corset.”

You removed your foot and stood tall as he got up. Oh you liked the way the corset kept his posture straight, how he had to float up out of the chair like some trained lady. You liked how there was the whisper of the silky material of the stockings rubbing against one another as he walked and his thick thighs rubbed. You liked when he bent over the bed and his cock jumped from the movement of the plug inside him, unable to keep up the same unbothered mask the rest of him could.

“Oh baby, you’re all wound up aren’t you?” you cooed, “who put that plug in hm? Did they tease you terribly?”

“Or maybe I put it there myself. Wanted to make sure you could even find the hole for your bit of plastic kitten, I know you’re not very practiced.”

You snorted a laugh and his eyes were full of mirth looking coyly over his shoulder at you stood behind him. It was sort of fun being on this end of things, having the end goal be that you’d dominate him rather than like before when he was spanking you. Then it was always an eventuality that you’d float off into submission. You were starting to fizz with excitement about what it would be like to be the one putting someone else there.

“Well then, better get a lot of practice in. I’m sure your ass can handle it baby” you teased, pressing that plug a little and delighting in how it made his body ripple with tension. “Bet you’ll be silky and tight on my cock.”

“Bet you’ll barely last” he snapped back.

Oh, is that how you sounded when you clearly wanted to goad someone into fucking you? It was so… cute. So evidently snark coming from neediness. Whoever had worked him over for you had done a very good job of having him on edge and desperate that it wasn’t going to be impossible to get him to break on your cock and beg.

“That would be your fault, how could anyone last when you look so gorgeous laced up and cock hungry.”

And he did look gorgeous. The lacing up his back with exquisite, someone had taken time to do this properly. You ran your fingers down the boning on the side, smiling when he wriggled his ass because you were sure he hadn’t realised he was doing it.

Outwith this play room where you knew so definitively that you were safe you’d have worried about doing this, worried that there were safely concerns about pounding into his stomach when he was corseted. But you knew you didn’t need to worry about it because even if it was only the two of you in this room, there were eyes watching and keeping you both safe.

He groaned low when you played with the plug, pumped it to it’s widest point and back in to his ass a few times before pulling it out and admiring the little flood of lube that came with it. His hole flexed, not quite closing.

You knew his prostate would be sensitive and you tried to remember how Farah had been with you when she had explored with her fingers to find where you were most responsive.

The plug was tossed on the bed next to his head and it landed with a muffled thump. No need to start with just one finger when he had been well stretched, two sank in with no resistance, only the silky heat of his walls sucking your digits.

“Fuck Keegan, so wet and needy.”

“Fuck kitten, so slow and scared” he snarked back.

“Don’t be such a brat” you said, lightly smacking his ass and feeling your cunt throb with the sharp sound of it. “I’ll give you hard and fast when I’m good and ready.”

“Fuck!”

Ah ha. Found it. You pressed your fingers hard into the flimsy barrier to his prostate and his legs shook. Now you knew why Farah had been so determined to know exactly what angle to use, because having his body react like that was heady.

“Shh there we go, good boy” you said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his back just above the corset.

The boning and lacing was keeping his spine straight, keeping him from arching the way you knew he wanted to. Part of you wondered how it must feel. Maybe you’d let him lace you up one day. If he was good of course.

“Come on! Just fuck me already” he barked, still not giving in but definitely nearing the edge.

Honestly you sort of knew he was helping you here. From immediately getting you riled up when you walked in to get you out of your head to giving you cues like this to subdue him, Keegan was guiding you beautifully on how to dominate him. You obviously wouldn’t ever acknowledge it out loud, but you appreciated it.

“Settle down baby, I want you to savour it. Want you to relax.”

You punctuated your statement with what you were hoping was a nice prostate massage. By the way he ground his head into the bed to hide his whining you thought you were probably doing a good job. He was so fucking messy inside, your fingers slick from the sheer amount of lube that had been trapped by the plug.

Or maybe a little sticky actually, maybe a little less like lube and more like something else.

“Did someone use you and leave you wanting baby?”

You were almost jealous which was odd, but when you thought about it the feeling was coming from this new persona, this dominant side of you. The heavy weight between your legs felt very real right now and your hind brain was furious that someone else would put their cock where yours belonged. You wanted to fuck him better, rail him until he was fucking moulded to your shape.

He stayed quiet, as if nervous. The power of that went straight to your dick. He was nervous to tell you anything that might displease you because he was giving in, submitting to you. The crack of your hand on his ass was harder this time.

“Asked you a question.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what Keegan?”

“Yes someone used me and left me wanting.”

You smacked him hard on the same spot, nearly losing your fucking mind at how your handprint was blooming red on his ass.

“Sir!”

“Was that so hard baby? God, I really have to teach you everything don’t I?”

“Sorry sir.”

You rubbed the mark lovingly as a reward for how sweet he went. Perfect. Nice and melted under your dominance. Nice and ready to take your fat cock so you could fuck that cum out of him, have it squelching out around you. You could take a guess at who exactly had tormented him, but you were happy to leave it a mystery. Maybe it was more than one person, maybe Keegan enjoyed a train. What a slut.

You fed him your fingers and he sucked the lube and cum off of them like he was starving for it. Slut.

“Let me in” you grunted, holding your cock and guiding it to his hole.

You laughed at him when he choked a little from the stretch. This wasn’t that nice beginner dick Farah had fed your pussy with, this was fucking big. When you pushed your way in there were two thoughts. One, you appreciated those with cocks more now because you could already tell this was going to be a workout. And two, the little bump deformity on the cock settled right against his prostate when you sank as deep as possible.

Jesus fucking Christ. This cock was designed exactly for him. You were literally perfect for him, filling him just right.

“You absolute whore baby, who did you beg to make this for you hm? Who did you get on your knees for to make it happen? Fuck look at you just swallowing it, holy shit” you hissed, really feeling the squeeze of his ass around that silicone as if it was your dick.

“Sir, please!” he finally begged, trying to push himself back even though you were already as deep as you could be.

You lost it and hammered into him. Your cunt throbbed in time with your thrusts and your hips fucking hurt with how aggressively you were fucking him, but my God the little submissive moans and whines could sustain you forever.

Logically you knew you couldn’t cum in his ass, but you were determined to fucking try. When you slipped out you just growled and grabbed you slippery cock to shove it right back in. It was such a compliment how he took it, such a kindness for him to let you dominate and take it so nicely. You had thought how well you were treated with the financial compensation and the aftercare was too much for what you were doing, but not anymore. You could see now that to submit to someone was such a fucking gift.

He came untouched, the abuse his prostate was taking having him spurt all over the bed. You kept fucking him through it, the poor corset getting smeared with his own cum as he was jostled back and forward. When his legs just collapsed you swore as you struggled to keep him up by his hips.

Your cock bounced out of his ass with a wet pop as you tried to take his weight so he went gently to his knees rather than crashing down onto them. You caught your breath once he was settled, his shoulders and head still on the bed and his legs splayed on the ground.

His ass was wrecked and it was gorgeous like that, all red and puffy and twitching while the remainder of the cum and lube dribbled out. And he was so vulnerable like this. Totally at your mercy as he panted and tried to calm down. It made you freeze just a little. You’d never done aftercare for someone else. You wanted to, but with him so debauched you were a little scared to fuck it up.

You didn’t want him to hear you say it and think he had done anything wrong so you gave the camera a look and the hand signal for red, hoping you were conveying that you didn’t want to leave but you did want help.

It was a little surprising that it was Soap who quietly opened the door and came in, but then he had handled aftercare with you so beautifully your first day with him and they wouldn't have sent him if he was in what you were going to politely call one of his moods. He helped you with Keegan, gave you whispered guidance. When Keegan was a little more together and you were feeding him in the bath he told you that the aftercare needed to go both ways, asked if looking after him was making you feel good as well.

Huh, you guess you hadn’t even thought about it, but it had. The act of unlacing that corset had calmed you down, got you out of the dominant headspace you had started to get lost in. It helped that getting him out of it and the stockings caused your pussy to practically purr.

Soap nuzzled you and started to strip you down, mumbling how you needed to be taken care of too. He gave you a lazy orgasm on his tongue and fingers right by Keegan’s bath and popped you in right next to him after. Well almost right after, Keegan definitely had to give him a long look.

Your heart flip flopped over it all. Just over a week to go.

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Ten reasons Ed Teach is lovable 💕

kindness The sweetness and care he shows Stede when he awakes. The way he greets the crew. The patience with Jack, and Izzy, neither of whom deserve it. How quickly he wins over Zheng with his goofy giggles…

feels deeply The hurt at being mocked is palpable. The indescribable pain at Stede’s leaving. The shock and fallout from Izzy’s threats. The lack continued lack of self esteem. But Ed also feels deeply in positive ways, showing awe and wonder at Stede’s curios, fabrics, books, marmalade. Such joy at catching a fish! And he feels romantic love at a very deep level. No one has loved like Ed Teach in the history of loving.

so fucking clever Date error aside, the fog / tidal plan is fantastic. And the save with the lighthouse fuckery, sublime - because Ed came up with the practicalities of how they were going to be a lighthouse on the bounce. And whilst disturbing, it takes a genius of a mind to come up with that gravy basket imagery, including the Merstede vision. Even Ed’s survival mechanism, heartbreaking as it is, is objectively wonderful. The artistic compartmentalisation of personas. Ed both protects and breaks himself on his cleverness. But the clever working class boy who deserves the world, and finally gets it, is a trope which will never grow old for me.

believes in a best self Ed’s not quite sure what that looks like on any given day, but he wants to be utmost in who he is. ‘Jeff… never turns his back on a challenge.’ ‘Blackbeard always wins’ (problem actually). ‘‘Behold… / I’m a fisherman now… you said it was a good fish’.

And Ed’s supportive of others too. ‘You’ve got it all figured out’, ‘The sheer talent on this ship…’ Even in dark moments, Jim is ‘quite the specimen’.

Ed needs to realise that his best self is not necessarily one with no mistakes, and others aren’t without fault either (Stede, he learns the hard way). But the fact Ed won’t settle for a mediocre version of life anymore, believes in better… I love him for it.

violence as a last resort. Ed’s MO is non-violence first, prior to the Kraken spiral. Even during the raids, he is more of an observer. Ed’s attitude to violence is never casual. Pete, Roach, even Wee John… they have casual attitudes to violence in a way never demonstrated by Ed. The twice he appears to commit violence directly is to protect his mother after years of abuse, and protect Stede against colonial violence. It’s violence in the name of love.

forgives easily Too easily at times. The grace he shows over and over to Izzy. How quickly he forgives Stede (that’s okay). The only character he doesn’t forgive easily is himself. Ed’ll get there.

gets Stede Immediately. The excitement at Stede’s knickknacks. Understanding Stede is a lunatic, and that this is a likeable, desirable trait. The viewer understanding Stede through Ed’s focalisation is key to getting the show.

so goofy Ed’s cosplaying Stede within thirty minutes. He’s a theatre kid, jumping down three easy steps on a swing-rope; fuckeries, canon-balling off the ship, the gorgeous chaos of the post-coital breakfast…

has hope (it’s cute) That he ran towards the light of The Gentleman Pirate That he believed they could run away to China and be happy. That his dying brain was able to create Merstede. That he wants to give innkeeping a try even when he’s half-dead…

Ed could’ve been so hard and brittle by middle age, but he isn’t. He has boyish hope and it’s part of what saves him.

he’s beautiful His eyes, his hair, the peach of an ass, and he really does wear fine things well. But it’s not just all that. His eye-crinkles, his smile, his voice, his laughter, his tears, his double pats, his energy, his wit, his little teeth, the surly teen-girl face when he’s upset, his thoughtfulness. His unconditional love for Stede Bonnet.

This is a non-definitive list. Please add your own ‘why Ed Teach is lovable’ thoughts 💕

[erose-this-name]

humans are not the default race

In every scifi and fantasy setting with """races""", humans are the default.

If you're lucky, we're the short-lived, fast-reproducing pests that are all white Europeans for some mysterious reason, and also have disproportionate rates of being raised as undead because we can't be bothered to make zombie dwarf minis or animate a vampire gnome that has to jump up to bite a tall person's neck.

(We've got BOTH human AND elf skeleton warriors! Oh, hey, I just changed the scale, now it's a hobbit skeleton OR a giant skeleton! Such skeleton diversity! No, Khajiits can't be bone boys, a skeleton with a tail and a cat skull is just TOO SPOOKY)

I feel like a lot of people don't realize that we (Homo sapiens) have the longest running endurance of any land animal. Being able to run a marathon is not normal.

(It's because we evolved the very unusual hunting strategy of Slowly Chasing Gazelles While Throwing Sticks At Them Until The Gazelle Collapses From Exhaustion Then Casually Walking Up And Bashing Their Head In With A Rock™).

Even Neanderthals probably couldn't match our tenacity (they were considerably stronger and tougher though, but by no means dumber judging from the size of their brain cavities{which was bigger than ours actually})

(the evolutionary Neanderthal hunting strategy was probably something like Jumping Out And Stabbing A Wooly Rhinoceros With A Pointed Stick, Then Getting Punted 12 Feet Into a Tree But Getting Right Back Up And Doing It Again Until It Dies Because You Have Superhuman Bone And Muscle Density. And If You Do Break One Of Your Unbreakable Bones Your Homies Will Take Care Of You Until It Heals™

[Neanderthal skeletons are found with healed fractures surprisingly often despite said bones being much stronger and denser than ours, they just kept evolving denser bones until they couldn't even swim without sinking like a rock, but they still got broken all the time])

So given that we, Homo sapiens, actually literally used to be the "species that specializes in sheer endurance, determination, and unbreakable fucking will", I want more fantasy and scifi settings where we are that way! I think the only setting where that's even remotely the case is Undertale. We're not just the "default" intelligent species!

The only reason we're good at everything is because we can make complex tools and can learn and aren't bound by instinct. Which, by definition, all fantasy races would also be able to do. Otherwise, they'd just be considered animals. Like trolls or Redditers.

The "default" species should just be really good at making tools and quickly adapting, but kinda suck in every other category. So I guess gnomes or goblins are the default d&d race.

And Humans are certainly not the Tolkien "that one race that lives short lives and reproduces faster than everyone else and is good at farming" because:

A) we actually do already live relatively long lives for mammals of our size and also GIVING BIRTH CAN KILL US, AND IF OUR PARENTS DON'T RAISE US JUST RIGHT THAT CAN ALSO KILL US, WE ARE SPECIFICALLY VERY BAD AT REPRODUCING

B) we are in no way adapted to farming, and most of our modern health and societal issues stem from the fact that we aren't meant to farm or be civilized, but do it anyways.

We only farm because it helped us survive the ecological collapse at the end of the ice age, now we're in too deep to go back.

When the ice age ended (quite abruptly) the ecosystem couldn't provide for hunters and gathers anymore, a bunch of things were getting heat stroke, sea levels rose, hibernation and bloom cycles and reptile gender ratios were out of wack, predators died out because herbivores died out because plants weren't doing well. Decomposers like vultures and worms had a field day (Until they didn't [RIP condor population]). It would take a while for a new ecological equilibrium to emerge and for evolution to fix things.

But farming doesn't need any healthy ecosystems except for the soil and pollinators, mostly, so that still works. And farming makes more food meaning you can have more people. So now there's more people.

But that also means you can't ever go back to foraging without all those extra people dying of starvation. So, anarcho-primitivism would technically be the most deadly ideology if implemented, and therefore is not based, unfortunately. Here's hoping for an apocalypse to do that for us! (I would not survive it)

Fun Fact: those isolated tribal societies like the Sentinelese that still do hunting and gathering only spend 15-20 hours a week doing that and another 20 doing camp chores, and the rest of their time forming meaningful relationships and not being depressed.

Notice how most of what they do as "work" (hunting, fighting, hiking, berry/mushroom/etc picking, cooking, camping, arts and crafts, oral history/story telling) are things that we need to do during our limited free time as "hobbies" just so that our "work" doesn't drive us insane. Thus leaving less time for relationships, etc.

If we were actually good at farming or industry or civilization, then things like math and repetitive manual labor wouldn't be work. They'd be the most fun activities.

Sure, these foragers die young, but so did medieval peasant farmers who were even less healthy since they had much less diverse diets (a lot of carbs) and got plague more often thanks to cities and their close proximity to livestock. Our modern sedentary lifestyle is bad too.

Hobbits are suited to farming (also Entwives I guess). Hobbits are quite good at it, at the cost of not being as good at much else (besides going unnoticed and throwing for some reason), they inherently enjoy farming life quite a bit and most* aren't haunted by the sense they should be anything else, like we are. *(The Took family got that Call To Adventure 'tism)

We only think that we're not special or can't be anything other than what we currently are because we no longer have anything else to compare ourselves to. The Neanderthals and Denisovans died out tens of thousands of years ago and the fucking aliens are somewhere, presumably

We are special, only we survived.

But at the cost of becoming the species equivalent of an abandoned child raised by wolves. We fantasize about these things because we all know that we shouldn't be alone. But our perceptions of ourselves are twisted by our trauma and lack of socialization.

Personally, the realization that having lost our family was probably our fault makes that hurt so much worse.

[nametakensff]

62/82/49/45/23/21 - Hopper 💖

I’m so glad you’re writing again - you’re my absolute favorite writer on here! Sorry for tossing so many ideas your way, but I was thinking something along the lines of him being sick at home after Season 4 and being taken care of by Joyce. It’d be interesting to explore how he handles being in a vulnerable position, especially since he’s so used to being the one who takes care of everyone else.

Heyy anon, thank you sooo much for your patience - and for your kind words 🥰 This was a bit of a challenge and ended up less whumpy and caretake-y than I had initially planned, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless 💕

Here is just over 4K of J/oyce helping a sick H/opper with his sneezes and the pair of them enjoying it far more than they had expected to~

The prompts were: Bathrobe/pajamas, Spraying sneezes, With a significant other, Bad timing, Sick day, Cupped hands

~~~~~

Content:

M/F, cold sneezes, stuck sneezes, sneezing from manual inducing, spray, sneezing into hands, build ups, false starts, handkerchiefs, caretaking, mentions of inducing for fun, fingering, praise, mild power play, mild domination/submission, dry humping, dirty talk, teasing, neither of them have the fetish per se but they're hedonistic freaks and they like to play with each other

~~~~~

NSFW, minors please DNI!

“Ughh, fuck me…” Hopper groaned, peering at the rays of sun filtering through the window, desperate to urge the budding sneeze along.

This cold was kicking his ass, majorly. He’d hadn’t been sick even once whilst detained in Russia – motherfucking Russia, with snow all over, whilst he did hard labour and survived on minimal scraps. Back home in the good old US of A, he felt wretched. He supposed his body had been in survival mode for so long that the second he felt safe enough to collapse, that was basically what he did.

The headaches and general malaise he could deal with; they gave him an excuse to lounge around all day, bundled up in the warmest pajamas imaginable and an embarrassingly fluffy dressing gown Joyce had thrust at him. He had no clue where she’d found it and would have been mortified to discover it was her own, but given that the sleeves actually came down to his wrists and didn’t sit mid forearm, it was safe to say he could put that worry to bed.

The sneezing, however - that was a lot less manageable. He was absolutely exhausted by the frequent, bellowing violence of them. The worst thing was that they either gave him no time to prepare at all, forcing him to spray them openly at whatever unfortunate piece of furniture lay in his path – or, they teased him for what felt like an age. He was currently dealing with the latter, squinting pathetically and snorting air through his nostrils to bully the sneeze into fruition.

The phrase ‘man flu’ bothered him on a personal level. He didn’t get sick often, but when he did it was entirely inundating. He wasn’t trying to garner sympathy; every snort and hack and sniffle was a reflection of his genuine, honest-to-god suffering. He wondered if it was the sheer size of him that made his ailments such dramatic affairs – though admittedly he could do with gaining some weight back. He’d practically had an orgasm eating his first true-blooded American meal after 8 months of mouldy bread and soup with the consistency of piss. That was something else to be bitter about – this cold had robbed him of his ability to enjoy food.

He sat up in bed, simultaneously lamenting his misfortune and praying for his god-damn nose to just let him fucking sneeze already, when Joyce – stunning, amazing woman that she was – walked into the room with a tray of food. Pancakes – he sighed internally, knowing he couldn’t truly appreciate them.

She regarded him for a moment; he knew he must have looked ridiculous, desperately wrestling with the tickle in his nose. Her face took on an expression of amused endearment that put his stomach aflutter. He loved when her eyes softened – and how amazing was it that she was looking at him with so much adoration?

“Stuck again, huh?” She said, placing the tray on the bedside table and sitting beside him. Her hand found one of his, and he squeezed it gently, trying not to think about how gross and clammy his palm must have felt in her own.

“Ughh, yeah. They won’t stop teasing me, it’s driving me – oh, hh! HUHH-HUH!!”

He held himself rigid on the precipice of relief, lifting the ragged hand towel he’d been using as a handkerchief to his face. He was aware of Joyce tensing beside him, as though he were a wild animal and any sudden movement from herself would frighten the sneeze away. Ultimately, he distracted himself with that thought – and perhaps by wanting it too much. Seconds later, his face relaxed and he leant back against the headboard with a disappointed exhale. Joyce cooed and rubbed his forearm; his skin was tender with illness, but it felt amazing just to be fussed over. It was kind of like a dream he never wanted to wake up from, minus the nasal torture.

“You’ll get it next time.” She patted him decisively, then reached for the tray. “In the meantime, do you think you can you eat these for me?”

“Will you feed them to me?” He tried, aiming for boyish flirtation but undermining his efforts by all but rasping. He cleared his throat loudly and winced at the soreness of it.

Joyce smiled at him with partial amusement and partial concern, but to his delight threw him a sympathy bone and said with a withering affectation “Sorry, Hop. I have enough kids already.”

She placed the tray in front of him. When he made no effort to move, she took his right hand, balled in a loose fist, into her own. The sheer size difference between his paws and her delicate fingers was as endearing as it was thrilling. He would have laced his fingers with hers – or better yet, reached for the utensils to start eating, since he really was hungry - but he enjoyed watching as she manually uncurled each of his fingers before finally placing a fork in the palm of his hand. She looked at him expectantly, but he just smirked back. Shaking her head, she closed his fingers around it, so very poorly masking her smile that his grew, flashing his teeth at her in amusement.

“You’re such a baby!” She laughed before lightly swatting the side of his head with her hand – barely even touching it, but he yelled out in faux pain anyway, loudly enough that she clamped a hand to his mouth.

“Shh, shhh!” She reprimanded even as she continued to giggle like some love-sick kid. Hopper barely managed to hold back a mortifying giggle of his own. He was enjoying this far too much.

“First you verbally abuse me, then physically! You’re awful. I’m a sick person.” He sniffled behind her hand for dramatic effect.

“You’re an ass.”

“Well, now I’m your ass, Byers.”

“Ew, Hop. Just eat your damn breakfast and let me get on with my day.”

Despite her reprimands, she was terrible at hiding how much she was enjoying their little back and forth, so he decided to milk it. When he refused to lift his be-forked hand to dig into the pancakes, unmoving under Joyce’s stern gaze – her mom powers didn’t work on him – she rolled her eyes, took the fork back from him and began cutting the food into pieces. He watched her, a shit-eating grin on his face. He reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and she leaned into it, nuzzling into the palm.

“Oh, so your arms are working, then?”

“For this sole purpose.” He delicately stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. “I still need your assistance.”

Joyce smiled at him, exasperated.

“You really want me to feed you?”

“I really do.”

She scoffed, but continued to cut up the pancake, all whilst he beamed and beamed at her.

“Open up, sport.” She edged the loaded fork closer to his mouth.

He was about to comply when the lingering tickle decided to make itself known. He groaned and turned his head to the side, grunting by way of explanation; Joyce understood, waiting patiently.

“HH-! HH-HUH! H’CKK-!”

God, but why did he have to sound so fucking dramatic when he needed to sneeze? Why did he have to put on a performance? He’d never been especially embarrassed by the whole thing – he was a big man with big sneezes; it was expected of him, almost. A tiny little bitten-down sneeze would have brought him more grief. But, come on, now. He didn’t need to…gasp and choke like that.

“HAH’DTT!!.....Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me-!”

He grumbled and scrubbed furiously at his nose with the towel, another sneeze miserably failed. He heard and felt Joyce moving the tray to one side; then, she was crawling up his body to nuzzle into his neck, and his arm instinctively wrapped round her shoulders and held her tight.

“Jesus, Hopper. What’s the big deal? You didn’t have this problem last night.”

He let out a bitter huff of a laugh. Wasn’t that the damn truth. He’d shaken every rafter in the house with each booming sneeze, making it an impossibility for anybody to sleep. He’d grudgingly accepted the larger than average dosage of NyQuil Joyce had plied him with, as eager as the rest of them for him to succumb to unconsciousness. He’d had such a tickle he could have sworn he’d been building up to another explosion even as the drugs knocked him out for the night. Upon waking, he’d had the opposite problem. He now wanted to sneeze more than anything but seemed woefully incapable.

“I wish I fucking knew. Jesus Christ, this cold sucks.”

They lay there snuggled in a comfortable embrace for a while, pancakes forgotten. Hopper thought he might have been able to fall asleep again, as Joyce draped her leg over his waist and nuzzled closer. ‘Might’, being the operative word there, as the tickle reared its head once more. Every hitching breath shook his expanding and constricting chest wildly, jostling Joyce with every spasm. He rubbed her back in apology, even as he stared with unfocused eyes into the general distance of the room, begging his body to complete what was sure to be an almighty sneeze, should it finally appear.

It didn’t, of course. Why should it, after hours of torture? He sighed, lowering the towel from his face and snuggling closer to Joyce.

After a beat or two, in which Hopper gazed at the top of Joyce’s head and internally lamented over how unfair it was he couldn’t sniff her hair in his current state, she lifted herself and peered up at him.

“Should I help you sneeze?”

He blinked at her.

“It’s…kind of a solitary activity, isn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes at him, then sat up and looked around.

“I mean I could tickle it out of you. I’ve done it before to myself, when I had a bad cold – totally forgot about it until now.” She muttered, sounding distracted.

Puzzled but intrigued, he sat back and watched her. He hadn’t told her he thought her sneezes were as fantastic as the rest of her – it was a passing and strange thought he had on occasion, one he hadn’t been drunk enough to blurt out at random just yet. Unlike himself, where sneezes matched build, hers were at odds with her petite frame. She didn’t suppress them like a lot of women, nor emphasise them with especially girly vocalisations. They didn’t fuck around – her sneezes meant business. He thought to himself, with no little amusement, that they were just as forceful and aggressive as her personality. It was incredibly endearing.

Joyce got up from the bed and went to root around in the top drawer of a dresser.

“Do you keep a supply of comically long feathers handy for such occasions?” He drawled, feeling strange, like he needed to break the tension. A sense of giddy suspense had overcome him, though for what reason he had no fucking idea.

“No feathers, sadly.” Joyce responded, then turned around, triumphantly holding something aloft between pinched fingers. “But this should work just fine.”

Hopper recognised, as she rejoined him on the bed, that her tool of choice was a bobby pin – something he had never owned, nor had any reason to. He regarded the little metal stick with suspicion.

“So you want to, what? Stick it up my nose?”

Joyce nodded.

“It works a treat for me when I need to sneeze.”

“Huh. How often do you make yourself sneeze, Byers?”

“Oh, every now and then.” She twirled the pin between her fingers. “Don’t you enjoy it? The rush of a sneeze?”

“Course I do - who doesn’t? I just don’t usually need any assistance in getting there.”

“Neither do I, really – I just like how it feels enough that sometimes I do it for fun, too.”

Hopper blinked again, then smiled broadly at her.

“Mrs Byers, you are a shameless freak.”

Joyce smirked back, twirling and twirling the tool. It was starting to look more than a little menacing to Hopper.

“Do you want to sneeze or not? It’ll feel so good when you do.”

“Yes. Please.” Hopper shuffled, sitting up even more in bed, leaning his head back as a means of bearing his reddened nostrils to her, then feeling ridiculous for doing so. Joyce seemed pleased, though, and reached out with the hand not holding the pin to gently cup his jaw. For easier access, she navigated herself until she was sitting atop of him, straddling his hips. He reached out without prompting to gently grip at her slender waist.

“Good boy, Hop.” She cooed, shifting happily in place at his willing obedience. Hopper was surprised to feel that he was getting hard; not that Joyce straddling him wasn’t a total delight, as always, but there was something more to it than that. Joyce could evidently feel it, too; she ground her lovely ass back onto his growing erection, and he couldn’t help the pleasured huff that burst out of him, hands squeezing her sides. She hummed appreciatively.

“This is doing it for you?” She asked, as if she wasn’t damn well aware it was doing it for the both of them. Her pupils were blown, and her cheeks were blushing ever so slightly in the gorgeous way they did when Hopper was doing something right. He wished immediately to be free of the barriers of clothing and blanket between them; he wanted to rut his cock against her pussy, which he was hopeful was getting wetter by the second. He wanted her to ride him, total firecracker that she was, pulling him over the edge until he was spurting inside of her, helpless to the pleasure she was bringing. He choked back a moan, cursing his brain for riling him up so much over very little at all.

“You do it for me. I’m going crazy with this stupid fucking cold. I want to hold you up against the wall and fuck you ‘til you’re screaming my name, honey.”

“Fuck, Jim - I want that too, just – let’s get this over with. I want you totally focused on me, not your cold.”

“Yeah, fuck. Okay, I’m ready.”

She smiled at him, thumb tracing at his stubble, then brought the pin to edge of one nostril. She dragged it slowly, ever so gently along the rim. He reacted immediately, but not in any kind of promising way – if anything, the motion turned the lingering tickle into an incredibly uncomfortable burning. He gasped, turning his head last minute to cough into his fist, jostling both Joyce and himself atop the squeaky mattress.

“Please, hun,” he muttered as he scrubbed at his nose with the hand towel, eyes squinting at the sensation, “Don’t tease me.”

“Oh?” She said, bringing his hand back to her waist. “I thought you loved to be teased.”

She rolled her hips against his, causing him to buck erratically in response. He laughed breathily, and she smirked at him.

“Fuck yes, I love it, most of the time, just – I’m dying to sneeze, Joyce. Please help me out so I can fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked, okay?”

“Okay,” She sighed, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before –

“Oh-H’uhh!!” His breath hitched immediately, in both shock and the outrageous desire to sneeze.

He’d asked for it, and she sure as shit wasn’t teasing now – a woman on a mission, she probed and stroked at the walls of his nostril, flared angrily around the invading nuisance. He knew for certain, all of a sudden, that he was going to sneeze – like those helpless few moments when orgasm is imminent and he can only sit back and enjoy the ride. This realisation thrilled him. His cock twitched – strange, unexpected, but exciting. How had he never noticed the parallel between orgasm and sneezing before? It seemed so obvious in this moment.

Maybe it was the fact that it wasn’t some random, bodily occurrence. A sneeze was still a reflex, sure – but now Joyce was the one making it happen. She was in control of him; he was at her mercy. When he sneezed, it would be because of her efforts, and because she had willed it to happen – and he would surrender to it; helpless to it. His cock throbbed, jumping hard enough that he knew Joyce had to have felt it. The spasmodic tightening of her thighs around his torso let him know that she had.

“F-fuck, Hh’HH!! HUH-! Joyce, I’m gHHH-!!”

“That’s good, Hopper – you’re doing so well.”

The praise sent gentle sparks of pleasure cascading through him, beginning where Joyce’s fingertips delicately traced his jaw and culminating as powerful throbs in his cock. He was entirely hard now, almost painfully so.

As his eyes started to close of their own accord, he tried over huge, shuddering gasps to warn her that he was right fucking there – the sneeze mere seconds away from exploding out of him. If the way he was gasping and trembling as it built - so much like the ascent to orgasm - was any indication, it was gonna be fucking huge, even for him.

A particularly violent gasp scissored out of him, stretching his chest to capacity and holding him teetering on the edge of release. Totally paralysed by the sensation, face a miasma of ticklish agony, he felt Joyce’s small hand encircle his wrist and raise the hand clutching his makeshift handkerchief to his face. Endearment and gratitude bloomed warm in his chest, even as she continued to tickle and probe far beyond necessity, raising goosebumps of overstimulation all over him. He was gonna sneeze, he was finally going to – !

“WWRRRSSSSSCHHH’OOOOOHHHH!!!”

Oh. Oh god. Hopper trembled as it burst out of him, an immensely pleasurable rush of air into the confines of the handkerchief. He groaned, unable to help himself – it just felt too damn good, after hours of torture. He thought, given the intensity of it, and the rush of satisfaction that followed, that he might be done – but then his head was rearing back again, the gasp that welled up in his chest jostling him so severely that he dropped the cloth.

Fuck, he thought, as it slipped out of his fingers. There goes what’s left of my fucking dignity. With no time to spare and little other choice, he cupped both hands over his nose and mouth and roared the subsequent sneeze into them.

“HHHHHRRRRR’RRRUSHHHHHH’AHHHHHHHH!!”

Jesus Christ, he knew he was loud as well as anyone else did but. Shit. These were some powerful sneezes. Joyce had tickled him good. So well, in fact, that he found himself gearing up for another one immediately.

“’WWWRRRRRSSSSHH’AHHHHHHH!!”

And another.

“HHAHDDDT’JJSSSSSSHHH’UUUHHHH!!!”

And - oh god, seriously, another?

“HUHHHH’RSSSSSSHHHHH’AHHHHHH!!!”

They tore out of him, each as violently cleansing as the last. He gasped, half-expecting to sneeze again, but for the moment seemed to be done.

“Jesus, Hopper! God bless you!”

He groaned, snuffling and blinking his bleary eyes. Hands cupped to his face as though in a daze, he sat and luxuriated in the post-sneeze relief. Joyce seemed to mistake this immobility for a sign that he had made a particularly egregious mess – and, to be fair, his hands were soaked; some of the moisture was starting to slide down his wrists in rivulets. He graciously took his cloth from her, wiping his hands and face clean. Finally he looked at her, feeling almost drunk with pleasure. He must have looked it too, judging by the amused and hungry expression she met him with.

“Holy fuck. That felt fucking incredible, Joyce. Seriously. What a trick.”

“You’re welcome. And,” She pressed backward, rubbing her ass against the veritable tent of his cock through the sheets. “I’m glad you had fun.”

His hips bucked up, out of control like he was a fucking high schooler; it would have been mortally embarrassing if she hadn’t squealed in delight when he did so. That little noise broke any illusion that he could maintain restraint over himself. Purged of the need to sneeze, his attention was now fixed entirely on Joyce. It was so overwhelming a desire that for a moment the relief of sneezing felt inconsequential, the way one forgets the agony of hunger just moments after beginning to eat. He slipped one large palm down to cup her ass over her jeans, the other petting her back. She shuddered quite violently, gasping as his hand squeezed, hard.

“I want you to ride me. Want you to take the reigns and fuck me senseless.” He muttered into her ear, moving the hand not on her ass to unbutton her jeans. “Okay?”

“Fuck, Hopper, yes-! Ohh, fuckk…”

Her hands scrabbled for purchase on his shoulders, face flushed. He reached down, delighted to feel her underwear sodden, cunt slick and sensitive. He traced the moisture back up to her clit, rolling and pinching it with thumb and forefinger before starting a steady circling motion with his thumb. His pointer and middle finger teased at her entrance, and she tipped her hips forward to invite him in.

“Wait, let me – “ She said, suddenly, then effortlessly swung herself round until she was sitting with her back flush against Hopper’s chest, head falling back against his collar bone. He wrapped one strong arm around her before his other hand returned to her underwear and resumed his stroking with barely a pause.

“You gonna cum for me like this, first? Is it my turn to make you shake?”

“Ahhh, goddd, Jim-! Don’t stop, please…”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mumbled, lowering his voice even further, knowing she delighted in the rumbling vibration against her back. Her clutching fingernails dug into the skin of his forearm, and the pleasure-pain of it spurred him on further.

It was with a sudden burgeoning regret, a mere split-second of recognition, that Hopper realised he was going to sneeze again. He cursed his luck, this absolutely bullshit bad timing – no sneezing for hours, now he had no warning at all? Where was the sense in that?!

He had no longer to despair; he wasn’t even able to choke out a warning. He merely sucked in a huge, chest-quaking gasp, pushing Joyce outwards with the force of it, then curled forward, head rocking down over her shoulder as he surrendered to a body-crunching sneeze.

“HHEEEHHHHH’RUSSSSHHH’AAAHHHHHH!!!”

He felt bad for sneezing so loudly, right next to her ear, but he simply had zero control. It demanded his surrender and tickled so horribly that tears formed at the corners of his eyes as he cringed into it. The both of them were shaken horribly, the bed squeaking in violent protest. It felt just as good as the other sneezes had, and he couldn’t help the moan that rumbled out of him the moment he was finished.

“Shit, Joyce, I’m-“

“Oohhhh, Oh God-!!”

His apology was cut off by her cry; her body went rigid as she trembled, hips rocking gently against his hand. He could hardly believe it, sure he would have ruined the chance of getting her off after spraying the pair of them with an unbidden sneeze, but there she was all the same. Her orgasm, if anything, looked to be an exceptionally enjoyable one. He sniffled, working her through it with feather soft touches to her clit, until with a ragged gasp, she softened against him.

“I was gonna say sorry for sneezing on you.” He murmured after a beat, still rubbing her gently, enjoying the sag of her body against him. “But – and, by all means, correct me if I’m wrong – I think you liked it.”

Joyce laughed, reaching up with one hand to cradle his face, drawing it towards her own and smushing their cheeks together.

“I didn’t dislike it, that’s for damn sure.”

He laughed gently himself

“Well, shit. You really are a freak, Joyce. A very lucky freak – I feel kind of like…” He sniffled experimentally. “Ohh, yeah. Gonna sneeze again soon. You opened the floodgates, baby.”

“Whoops.” She said, sounding incredibly pleased. She moaned appreciatively as his fingers started to circle her clit again with more firmness. Wriggling, she tilted her head to look him in the eye. He peered back at her, waiting.

“Think you can do that again when you’re inside of me?”

He laughed whole-heartedly that time.

“Baby, I can do it as many times as you like. I might need your assistance, though.”

“Always happy to help.”

[destiny-smasher]

What do you like about Nemona

Gahhh, fuck me, that's a bit hard to summarize.

But I have been meaning to do a write up to explain it to people in my personal life. Maybe this is a good excuse to get around to doing so. I'll try to cover the important stuff while not getting as deep into specifics as I honestly could. It'll still be an informal short essay, though, lol

In Pokemon SV, the player enrolls in a fancy Academy on a remote island nation of sorts (inspired by Spain). They meet Nemona after choosing their starter Pokemon, and Nemona offers to the school's director to adopt a starter herself to 'coach/mentor' the player character. You see, unlike any other 'rival trainer' before her, Nemona is already a Champion. Before your character sets foot in the Paldea region, Nemona has already gone through the entire song and dance of Gym Battles and all that, and attained the highest rank a trainer can in the region. She's completely obsessed with Pokemon battling and has become bored of being 'the best' because no one wants to battle her, for various reasons. So she views you, a newcomer, as an opportunity to test herself as a 'mentor/senpai/big sis' figure as well as essentially 'New Game+-ing' herself for sheer love of the game that is Pokemon battling.

People consistently call her 'the girl Goku', but I ain't seen Dragonball Z, so I can't comment on that much. But she is a very enthusiastic, cheerful, determined, battle hungry person who is very into self-growth and self-improvement. At the end of the day, she wants a true rival, someone she doesn't need to hold back with, and who she can look to as a consistent figure in her life. She is very eager and hyperactive about connecting with people through battling.

A lot of people who play the game get offput by her, and she gets branded as a 'yandere' archetype (ie obsessed with the player character to a horror-inducing degree). She gets meme'd as being 'creepy' and 'obsessed' and all that, depicting her eagerness as mental illness and a bad thing.

(gif from a fan animation)

When her behavior stems from positive emotions and a desire for mutual growth and connection, not specifically ownership or possession -- to Nemona, a person who just obeyed whatever she would want of them would defeat the point. That's not what a rival does -- they push back, after all. Within the context of the SV plotline, she is bored of being Champion all by herself, and wants to train someone else to reach her same level, which is why she is so invested in you, the player character, following you around everywhere and being that 'big sis' archetype. There's some selfishness in there, for sure -- she wants a proper rival for herself, someone she never has to hold back with -- but given her social obligations and reputation within the Academy/region, she also I think wants to prove she is capable of handling herself as a mentor figure, prove to herself that she didn't become a Champion by luck or accident (if she can help someone else do what she did, then it wasn't just a fluke, she really does know what she's doing, etc.), and also help prove to her fellow students that she's really not as intimidating as they think she is.

And yet, people both in AND out of the game are quick to write this intense, protective behavior off as 'insane' and 'creepy' -- and as someone who very regularly got called a 'creep' through to the end of college for literally just trying to make friends,' I almost take it personally when I see people label Nemona as a 'yandere' type. It has its comical use and all but I still find it kind of hurtful in a way.

(Art by MagDraws)

Because that's the thing -- if you pay attention to what little story there is in SV (it's not exactly a complex narrative), Nemona's character is essentially a metaphor for neurodivergent/queer people who have hearts bursting with affection and passion for their hobbies yet who struggle with loneliness and isolation as they put off most people from keeping them around.

But at the end of the day, Nemona is just neurodivergent, her special interest is Pokemon battling, and she is simply desperate for human connection -- and battles are just the way she feels most comfortable doing that.

And the world would be a better place if people like me or Nemona were able to become self aware at a young enough age to start managing our behavior, (which she is shown to be learning to do!) while ALSO having a general population that is more open-minded and understanding to the idea that 'oh huh that person's brain is electrically overcharged and they love people and hobbies maybe way way more than I do but that's FINE as long as they're not hurting anyone'

As a youth, I just... kinda got great grades, made honor roll, etc. And it felt like I wasn't really trying? So adults around me thought I was 'gifted', or 'naturally talented'. But in reality, I think I was just neurodivergent, and since I struggled to make friends, and physically wasn't able to see them outside of school due to various factors, I just... ended up focusing on my schoolwork instead. So that's one way I relate with her retroactively -- she is a model student, yet ironically has a bad reputation amongst many.

(HOWEVER, Nemona comes from a RICH family and I came from a poor one, there was some big racial tension dynamics at play in my early gradeschool years, familial breakup shit, soooo there's some very different dynamics at play there)

Another thing I adore about her and connect with in a way no one else in my life does -- she loves one-on-one competitions with others through battles. I don't love physically fighting people, I'm a super non-violent person in reality. But I love fighting games, it's my favorite genre. And there's specific philosophical elements to enjoying fighting games that I think most people don't click with that she and I do.

She is here to GROW, to learn, to improve, to have fun regardless of winning or losing, because the act of spending time engaged with another person, figuring each other out, testing yourselves mutually, is enjoyable and edifying regardless.

That 'warrior's path' of self improvement and enjoyment and growth regardless of the outcome of battle is something I very much connect with and it's great to see a character who feels likewise while also having elements of interpersonal struggles in spite of or even because of the way she functions differently than other people. Again, I don't know much about Goku, but I get the impression he is good at making and keeping friends, while Nemona is bad at it.

On top of this, Nemona has extra wrinkles to her character -- she's physically disabled. The game is vague about it, as Pokemon always is. But she wears an arm brace because she throws a LOT of pokeballs with all the battling she does, and she seems to have some kind of issue there, physically. Also, despite how GOOD she is at battling, she is terrible at catching Pokemon, and seemingly at doing the exploration aspects of being a trainer. She canonically has poor stamina and wears herself out easily -- which, given how high-energy she is as a person, probably happens constantly. So it's also strongly suggested that she spends time not just training all of her Pokemon (she juggles multiple teams, yet another fighting-game esque thing I relate with, as I tend to juggle many characters and not stick to a single main or team), but she also trains herself, physically, to try and keep up with her 'mons, but also as a means of self-growth/improvement in general.

I won't post the examples but trust me, there are many subtle but intentional nods alluding to her being physically disabled, and being BAD at core elements of what we expect a Pokemon trainer to be -- exploring the wilderness, catching Pokemon, etc. But she's so passionate about it, she doesn't let her limitations stop her,

So it creates an interesting internal tension imo because she is not only very queer coded, very neurodiverse coded, but ALSO disabled coded. But she hides her internal struggles by essentially avoiding having to confront them, generally speaking (which itself is ripe for narrative development). Sadly, the game never brings this to a head in way (it's Pokemon, so of course it doesn't). But the ingredients are all there, especially when you add characters like Penny, Arven, and Scarlet into account -- as well as implied expectations from her rich family, or from the leader of Paldea, Geeta, who implies she wants Nemona to be her protege. And I haven't even mentioned that Nemona is Class President, meaning she's actively taking on social responsibility for her peers even though she gets shit talked behind her back for being so obsessed with battling and getting in people's faces with her over-eager desire to bond with/battle them.

This right here -- this is the specific core element of her character I personally connect with that, somehow, no fictional character I've met so far has put into the exact right words with enough context for me to believe them.

From my youth to even now as a full grown adult, I have experienced this feeling my entire life, whether with family, at school, at the workplace, even in most online spaces -- an 'invisible wall' between me and everyone else, and for a VERY LONG TIME I had convinced myself it was because something about me was 'broken' and 'not right'. But now, in part thanks to characters like Nemona, and the discussions around/about said characters, I can see that my brain just functions differently from other people, and a I grow and self-teach myself how to manage my own behaviors/expectations, I can better appreciate all kinds of relationships in life without needing to let go of or sacrifice that internal flame that used to threaten to consume most people I cared about -- that fear of being 'too much' or 'too intense' in my own ways (ways better expressed through text interaction than in person, to be fair, but again, MOST of my social life has been online my entire life, so yeah).

Like Nemona, I found people in my life who accept me for who I am, and blablabla all that cliche shit. But in Nemona, as I do with a rare few other characters in media (Vi from Arcane, Luz from The Owl House), I see a specific element of myself I don't elsewhere, and sadly did not see often growing up. A balance between ferocity and determination paired with unending affection and love. A desire to never give up on people, no matter what, and to be open to change both internal and in others. In Nemona's case, specifically, that element of neurodiverse passion matched with sheer loneliness -- that 'invisible wall'.

No matter what, she never gives up, in battles or socially.

I could go on into specific examples but I've said enough here to get the ideas across, I'm sure.

Oh, and as a sidenote, I think she has a great character design -- it's SIMPLE but recognizeable. The combo of color-coded gear (red/white/black, my favorite outfit color scheme), a arm brace, and accented hair. Her design feels like a plausible human being, but with a bit of 'anime bangs' syndrome.

I should probably mention -- I don't like Pokemon SV as a video game! I am like 160k words of fanfiction into telling a Pokemon story and I think the game itself is stinky garbage barely holding itself together with duct tape and a corporate prayer.

But unlike any other generation of the franchise, Pokemon SV presents a cast of characters with defined personality strengths, weaknesses, and varied backstories, who start the game as strangers, and by the end begin to dip their toes into 'found family' territory. For the first time in the entire franchise, I actually give a shit about the characters, about seeing them grow and connect with each other, because the overarching theme of SV's story, what little it has, is about isolation, outcasts, loneliness, and how found families form.

And Nemona's kind of the heart of all of that, the endlessly hopeful, energetic, eager one that will never give up on you, that irrationally throws affection at you, seemingly for no 'good reason' -- because just being a person who tolerates her and her 'too much'-ness is itself reason to be grateful for your presence in a world where she feels isolated from most everyone else simply by being herself.

Maybe this answers your question!

[badsassitude]

Aaaarg! I love Faifa so much. I want to line up his family and go down the line kicking them… a few times.

I do not get the sheer level of complete selfish cluelessness they have going on when it comes to him. What is it about Faifa that makes them just not give a fuck? They all say they love him, but they are so fucking WRONG about him and they just don’t care to bother paying attention.

Everyone knows Faifa is going to the airport and -NOBODY- called him? Mom can’t bother to call him directly to let him know. Dad doesn’t check in. Newton doesn’t check in. Yotha flat out says Newton probably told Faifa- and not a single person bothered to CONFIRM? Because I don’t even have to love someone to make sure they aren’t waiting at the airport for 5 hours. When it is communicated to me that plans have changed, one of the first things I ask is if everyone who will be impacted by the change has been notified. If nobody can confirm notification, I do it myself. Why is that difficult? Send a fucking text message. Mom should have done it, but honestly I don’t expect much from her at this point. But sure as hell 3 other people learned about the change in plans, communicated it with each other, and nobody bothered to think about Faifa? The ONLY person who even seemed to have a thought about Faifa was Gun, and while I understand why he didn’t follow up after Yotha’s assurance- I’m also annoyed because he is clearly not seeing what is in front of his face and not being even a fraction of the friend to Faifa that Faifa has been to him.

Thank the powers that be for Wine. Oh boo fucking hoo Yotha has CLEAR AND OBVIOUS trauma and went around getting into fights and being a dick because he felt abandoned by his mom. Only to find out that his mom really loved him - meanwhile Faifa was told in front of his whole god damned family that his mother cared so little about his feelings that she forced him to come with her when she knew he didn’t want to for her own selfish purposes. She then fucking abandoned him when he was no longer convenient. And she didn’t even apologize to him. No, she apologized to Yotha. But do we check in on Faifa? No. Do we even acknowledge how fucked everything has been for him? No. Do we try to reach out to him and let him know he is allowed to have feelings and take care of himself and ask for things and that doing that WON’T get him abandoned again? No. Why? Because we are selfish fucking asshats.

In just can’t with them. I hate them all. They are lucky Faifa is nicer than me. And that Wine is nicer than me. Because I swear to god if Faifa was real, and I had any role in his life, I’d be real fucking loud and vocal to the dumb fucks he has the misfortune of calling family.

Fuck you too Gun for being so caught up in your own self you can’t stand up for your friend. Faifa went toe to toe with his brother who he clearly fears will reject him and wants to have a relationship with for Gun. But Gun can’t even say “hey Yotha, maybe you could try to make an effort for Faifa instead of just making assumptions” especially given that he is wrong about Faifa all the fucking time.

ARG.

[maxknightley]

Which Touhou Girls Can You Plausibly Read As Butch? A Comprehensive Overview

Earlier on Tumblr I saw a post complaining that someone called Hecatia Lapislazuli from Touhou Project butch. This is Hecatia Lapislazuli:

Obviously, like most Touhou characters, she is in fact quite feminine - she just shops at Hell Hot Topic. But it got me thinking: In a series like Touhou, with a cast overwhelmingly defined by feminine (if rowdy) ladies, how many characters could you say are 'butch' without sounding like a complete doofus or significantly redesigning them to fit your headcanon?

CRITERIA

I'll be using four main criteria to judge characters' butchness. In real life, of course, butchness is a multivalent and extremely personal thing, but I'm talking about funny cartoon women from a video game here, so I'm willing to be a little reductive.

These criteria, in order of descending importance, are:

FASHION. In a series where goddamn near everyone is in either a dress or a skirt, the mere act of Wearing A Dress Shirt can be enough to make a powerful statement. Hats may also play a role here, given how many Touhou characters have gay little hats.

HAIRSTYLE. Short hair is not the be-all and end-all of butchness. I, myself, am Decidedly Butch even though I've been growing out my hair since college. But the length and styling of the hair are still a valuable indicator of how someone thinks of themself and wants to be seen.

'TUDE. Could this character be accurately described as "kind of a frat boy?" How do they speak to others? Do they just kind of seem like a character who ought to be butch, regardless of their looks? Do they even lift?

COMEDY FACTOR. Self-explanatory. This will probably only come into play if I run into a weird edge case.

I'll also emphasize that we're grading on a curve here - butchness is being assessed relative to the characters who do not appear on this list. Nobody in this series has a buzzcut, you know what I mean?

THE TIER LIST

AS CLOSE TO CANON AS WE'LL GET

Fujiwara no Mokou. The girl wears a dress shirt, fucking suspenders, and trousers. Not shorts, actual full-length pants. She's also in a perpetual love-hate mutual-murder situationship with Princess Kaguya, who is femme as all fuck. Obviously you don't have to be butch to date a femme - I'm just saying it feels Fitting given their whole deal.

Yuugi Hoshiguma. Most of the time, her fashion sense is actually quite feminine - but her look in the most recent chapter of Cheating Detective Satori, with the one exposed shoulder and the sarashi and all that, significantly alters the balance. Her hair actually reads as more masc to me when she keeps it long and unruly - when she puts it up in a ponytail, she ends up looking very kempt, even elegant. The deciding factor here is 'Tude: Her sheer levels of butch swag are off the fucking charts. (Still, I wouldn't blame someone for arguing she should be knocked down a tier - especially since I'd argue the Comedy Factor works in reverse here. She's way funnier if she doesn't think of herself as butch in the slightest.)

Minamitsu Murasa. In his original appearance I'd argue that Murasa is in "Reasonable" tier - maybe even as low as "Kind of a Stretch." But her big gay Jotaro jacket in Sunken Fossil World, combined with the emphasis on the weightiness and solidity of his trademark anchor, put her over the top. One of the only Touhou girls I consider worthy of being He/Himmed.

Shinmyoumaru Sukuna. The other He/Him-worthy Touhou girl. Very short, slightly messy hair; wears a kimono, not a dress; inheritor of Issun-Boshi's legacy; wears fucking dinnerware as a hat. Why do you want to be Big so badly, huh? So you can pick up women more easily? So you can carry your awful wife through the upside-down threshold of your upside-down bedroom?

Raiko Horikawa. For the longest time I thought her skirt was a pair of shorts because I straight up could not parse it as anything else. Even now I'm like "that can't possibly be a skirt, ZUN just drew it weird. She has to be wearing a full two-piece suit." Skirt aside, her jacket/dress shirt/necktie are still undeniable, as is her short hair. Also, she is a taiko drum given life, and I feel like taiko and timpanis are naturally butch. Maybe if she was a tambourine or a set of bongos I'd rank her lower?

Momoyo Himemushi. Rough-talking miner. Wears a dress shirt, leaves the top button(?) undone. Tromps around a big weird cave with no shoes or socks on. Wears bows and bangles basically everywhere but in her messy, tangled hair. Also, maybe I'm stereotyping here, but I just can't picture a centipede as being femme.

REASONABLE

Wriggle Nightbug. The dress shirt, cape, and puffy shorts all paint a vivid picture, but I just feel like I don't have a strong enough opinion on Wriggle as a character to put her in the top tier. In other words, she's got plenty of points for Fashion and quite a few for Hairstyle, but I just don't think the 'Tude is sufficient for me.

Reisen Udongein Inaba. The skirts are a strike against her, but her whole "dress shirt + necktie + sometimes suit jacket" thing makes a big difference, especially given that we're grading on a curve. Her rumpled ears and (particularly in Inaba of the Moon, Inaba of the Earth) pathetic demeanor go a long way towards giving her a vibe somewhere between "overworked salaryman" and "Detective Columbo."

Aya Shameimaru. All you need to know about Aya is that her "human reporter" disguise looks like This:

Mononobe no Futo. Butch, but in a really weird, circuitous way, imo. Like. She's sort of wearing a dress, but it's sort of a robe - the contrast of the hemline with her big flowy sleeves makes it hard to pin down - and her outfit quite notably has tassels rather than any kind of frills. I don't know what the hell is up with her hat but it's definitely not femme by any stretch of the imagination. Then thou hast the wayes in which she speaketh all "faux-olde-timey," even though nobody else in the setting does that... she transferred her soul into a plate, but she also throws plates around as weapons... It's like she's constantly putting on a performance that only she truly understands. It's like she reverse-engineered "masculine womanhood" by hanging out with a bunch of queens and doing kind of the same thing but kind of the inverse. The more I think about Futo the more I think she's entirely on her own wavelength, but I think "Reasonable" tier is a... uh, reasonable... approximation for the sake of this post.

Sagume Kishin. She dresses like if Bill Nye were a woman, and I think that cuts to the heart of it - she reminds me of a professor who you're not ever sure is gay, but you kind of pick up on a vibe, and near the end of the semester she offhandedly refers to "her partner" and you're like HOLY SHIT I KNEW IT. I went back and forth between putting her in "Reasonable" and "Kind of a Stretch"; ultimately, the Comedy Factor decided it because I couldn't stop thinking about a scenario where she says she's a woman, accidentally upends her whole understanding of gender in the process, and ends up taking testosterone while still ID'ing as a lesbian. I don't actually know if her powers would work that way and I don't care.

KIND OF A STRETCH

Eiki Shiki. I don't have a lot to go on, here, because she hasn't had many official appearances and seems to spend most of her time lecturing people or tormenting sinners. Her uniform(?)/apothecary outfit(??) is pretty snazzy; combined with the hat, it gives her a vaguely "military officer" look to me. We'll call her "butch pending further investigation," which I think she would agree is the correct course of action.

Sekibanki. She's here partially because of the cape, and partially because being sandwiched between Wakasagihime and Kagerou makes her look way more masc by contrast. I know what I said.

Ringo. It's pretty much just the hat and the pants, though - as a butch woman who Loves Eating - I am also inclined to project my own experiences onto her.

Aunn Komano. She reads as more "tomboyish" than outright "butch" to me, what with her whole puppy-dog vibe, but at the same time... she's very much wearing shorts and the kind of goofy-looking button-up shirt that is central to my own wardrobe and the wardrobe of other butches in my life. I'm willing to count her.

Takane Yamashiro. A living testament to the power of small character design choices. I would never in a million years call Nitori butch, even with her gay little hat and all the pouches on her outfit - she just looks like a girl scout. Takane, though? Takane, with her little hair swoopy, and the fucking suitcase slung over her back, and her camo-print dress? I mean - ultimately it is still a dress, which is why I can't justify scoring her higher, but she's definitely chewing tobacco and riding around on an ATV on weekends.

Chiyari Tenkaijin. If she's butch, it's not really because she's trying to be butch, it's just because being femme seems too expensive and time-consuming. She's got better things to do (drink blood all day). Still, I think an argument could be made.

DEFINITELY A STRETCH, BUT I RESPECT IT

Renko Usami. ZUN is kind of inconsistent with how he draws her hat - sometimes it's more of a porkpie/fedora type thing, other times it's round-topped and looks a bit like Koishi's hat. To me, this is a crucial distinction. In a more general sense, I feel like Renko's outfit gets a little less plausibly-masc with each passing album, which says a lot about our society. Or her society, anyway, since she lives in the future. Still, the capelets and bowties...

Rinnosuke Morichika. I think it would be really funny if the only significant male character in Touhou wasn't actually even a dude. I'm not aware of any real textual support for this interpretation, though.

Shou Toramaru. Pretty much only on here because of the hair and because I think there's a certain je ne sais quoi to her whole deal of "she's not a real tiger, she's the idea of a tiger that pre-Meiji Japanese people came up with from secondhand accounts."

Seija Kijin. Not even remotely butch by any stretch of the imagination... But if she did consider herself butch, isn't that exactly what she'd want you to think?

POTENTIALLY NOTEWORTHY EXCLUSIONS

Cirno. "Tomboyish" is not the same thing as "butch," to me, especially if you exclusively wear dresses. Also, I'm not sure Cirno even knows what a lesbian is.

Saki Kurokoma. Not actually butch, just a horse girl. (And a horsegirl.)

Mike Goutokuji. Can't tell if she's wearing a skirt or shorts. She's got short hair, sure, but the whole "matching bell collar and wristbands that also have bells attached" thing makes her look more like a Very Online Trans Woman who just figured herself out and hasn't started hormones or bought any new clothes yet.

[satubby]

Yandere God Gojo headconons

[As promised, a bit late I know, but I needed my time to not cry for Satoru so an apology. So since I'm not good at describing powers and let's add to that Jujutsu Kaisen has mathematics, which I hate... I just won't go into his god-like powers]

This post comes from the previous idea, you can find it in my profile. Credits to the artist and me for the edition.

⚠️ Warning: This is MY interpretation of the character but it does not define the canon, I want to show my love for him (Fuck Gege for all I care) There may also be pronoun errors because damn my dyslexia affects my eyesight.

On an ordinary night, your mother sent you to the mini supermarket, a place similar to convenience stores like pharmacies. 「More common in my native Mexico, such as an Oxxo.」

Unexpectedly, a curse/demon began to haunt you. Without knowing how, you ended up cornered in an alley, the rain adding a touch of desperation to the atmosphere. Exhausted, you tripped over a trash can, lacerating your leg in the fall.

The unimaginable happened when your blood, the fruit of the scrape, awakened a god enclosed within a bucket, multiple eyes arranged in a dice-like pattern 「Yeah, I fucking used 'It' you thought」. Your blood acted as a call for the imprisoned being lying in there.

Satoru, the god that lay dormant, awoke. Upon realizing your situation, he offered to help you, but not before uttering the words that would seal your fate: "Tell me, mortal, do you accept that I save you by giving me something precious? Yes or no, the choice is yours."

Given your young age of six and the impossibility of facing the dreadful monster that pursued you, you had no choice but to accept. How could you refuse? Hell, you were a brat who could barely carry your mother's bag of errands, much less fight that dreadful thing that wanted you dead.

And so the deal between you and the unknown god was sealed with…. a tongue kiss. 「Despite its polemical nature, it is crucial to the development of the plot」.

❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Satoru, in his divine form, is an extraordinarily powerful being. Sometimes, his impressive abilities can lead you into complicated situations, such as when a simple sneeze from him transported you to another dimension. Such is his level of power. 「In this version, we will represent him as an invincible individual to explore his unrestricted potential…. P.S. I hate you Gege」 ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Gojo is often playful and teasing, he often jokes with you, even going so far as to claim that you are his "wife" although it sounds like a joke, he really means it. His attitude toward other people's opinions is indifferent. He enjoys showing affection, kissing and caressing you, although he has waited for you to reach adulthood before formally considering you his mate in public. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ When he is not using his 'real' form, we see him as the canonical Satoru, though obviously with Lovecraftian touches to his powers. Despite his divine nature, he exhibits a somewhat childish side, similar to what he shows in canon… BUT 100% times worse, as he has been alone and being powerful, he doesn't have much morals as he considers it stupid to abide by the rules of 'lesser beings'. Despite his playful and relaxed attitude, he hides a dark side. He is aware of how capable he is of destroying a city with a single finger, if he so desires. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Handling his jealousy is not his strong point, given that he has always gotten what he wanted and not knowing how to deal with humans despite having spent millennia observing them or making deals before being 'sealed' 「More like sleeping」It always makes it difficult for him to respond to his own emotions. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ Since he is not human and was born in the void of nothingness and everything, he has wandered and fought in various places, often just for fun or out of sheer boredom. His reactions can be fickle and capricious. This Satoru is a mixture of his adolescent and adult stages, mostly acting like a spoiled brat and playful with you but when he is jealous or sentimental, he acts according to his divine position. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ When he feels jealous, his reaction is unpredictable. If the reason for his jealousy persists 「Examples are like a male human talking to you」 And already for that reason he might decide to eliminate the source of his discomfort. For this reason, you hardly interact with other people. It is intriguing how loving words and gestures can appease him…. Although sometimes that doesn't assure you that those poor souls who crossed words with you will be saved from him. ❀.°• ─ ─ ─ ─➢ As a divine being, he has the power to materialize anything you desire. His gifts have no limits, and he takes you wherever you want. Sometimes, on a mere whim, he grabs you and takes you on unexpected rides using his abilities. It is curious how he shows jealousy towards any thinking human being, and even animals, taking you back home without allowing the date to continue or any activity prior to his jealousy.

"Toru… for once, let me enjoy this vacation. If you take me somewhere, make it really worthwhile. I couldn't even ride the roller coaster just because the ticket booth clerk was a man…" You looked at him as he pretended not to have pulled you out of the amusement park just 5 minutes ago due to his jealousy.

"Come on, couldn't we go another time…? It's no big deal, you know I can take you anytime, why don't we cuddle instead of fighting, would you like me to shower you with kisses, mmh? Come on, my sweet bean mochi!!! I want to…" You looked at him, almost incredulous. You really doubt he'll let you go to a crowded amusement park. If you go, it will surely be when he's off duty or with a snap of his fingers, it's not for nothing that he can stop time.

"Even if you do that, it doesn't mean I'm no longer upset with you." You watched her pouting expression. Despite having six beautiful eyes and six arms, you didn't want to fall for his game.

Gojo was unwilling to listen to your complaints. He was in a bad mood, convinced that you would understand his position. He acted like a child seeking to get your attention to deflect your anger. And so, he devised a plan. He moved closer to you by climbing up on the edge of the bed. "Mochi, do you prefer something sweet or sour?"

"Do you think that's an appropriate question to change the subject? I'm still annoyed with you. Hey, let go of me!" You felt his firm embrace, laughing as he kissed your neck and his chest pressed against your back.

He took a lock of your hair behind your ear and fiddled with it in his mouth. A shiver ran through your body as his lips brushed your earlobe. "Why are you playing hard to get when you know I know you well? Besides, I know my jealousy doesn't affect you, and I'm going to make sure you're only mine." He laughed softly, pulling you closer to him.

"Satoru… That doesn't justify you threatening anyone who looks at me. I don't want to be embarrassed like the other day in the cafeteria, when you tried to hurt the cashier just because I ordered a cappuccino." You whispered as his six arms held you tighter and in different places, listening to his childish whimper as he buried his face in the back of your neck.

His behavior was becoming more aggressive and lustful, making him dangerous. He held you in such a way that you could not move. He looked at you with playful eyes, sketching a smile.

"So what if I'm jealous? If I'm honest with you, if another guy tried to get your attention, I'd be sure to eliminate any interest he showed." A smirk formed on his face. You knew that ugly smile well, a cruel and possessive one, dealing with his jealousy sometimes exhausted you … you had no choice since your soul was bound to him.

He kissed you passionately and caressed your body, his touch was too pleasurable to resist, your flushed but annoyed face said it all. He didn't mind at all acting that way in public if it meant you would still be his. "You will always be my only princess….. I love you, my precious mochi," he whispered softly before delivering another intense kiss, this time on your lips, his arms frolicking with you and bringing an even more severe blush to your face.

NSFW:

••┈┈┈••✦ This Satoru loves to make you scream, if Sukuna in his original form can grind you to exhaustion, our albino won't let you rest. ••┈┈┈••✦ He loves having you in front of his cock, the worst thing is that he can create more if he wants to. Let's add that he has six arms, each one can overstimulate you, forget to mention that Gojo is 213 cm / 7'1 feet, you are a midget next to him. So his cock and fingers are the size of your arms, but he can fucking manipulate reality and adjust your pussy to his size. ••┈┈┈••✦ He loves you riding his cock while he hears you moaning, sometimes you end up kissing him. He loves you sucking him while he pulls your hair. His hands usually go from your breasts to your waist [Sorry I'm not good at writing NSFW] All while you swallow his cock, his fingers have claws and putting them all the way in hurts but in the pleasure you end up giving priority to your lust, forgetting the pain. ••┈┈┈••✦ Honestly, Satoru can make your body not get tired so easily, but he is not cruel so he can set limits for you. He especially loves to bite, while you scratch him all over the place. ••┈┈┈••✦ His aftercare is incredibly gentle, he kisses and lulls you as if you were a baby, and how could he not? When he leaves you all exhausted down there and you can't feel your legs. Sometimes he gets to the point where his excitement clouds his judgement, ending up with your bones broken.

In general, having a relationship with him is like going on a roller coaster ride: You can feel a rush of various emotions and in turn want more of it even though you know it's scary to a certain extent. Just avoid making Satoru jealous and everything will be fine [What won't be fine are your mouth, your ass and pussy]

Tag list for those readers who gave heart to my previous publication:

@cyppelizabeth

@nunezs-stuff, @istanuwow, @crazynocturnalkiki, @gleski, @halalangyala, @milotoby, @candyqueen10, @unramdommas2004, @ermy1234, @erens-bbyy, @muichirolover, @potatofriesthings, @sobbing-leave-me-alone-bots, @flaming-vulpix,@cyrs,@honeygonebads-blog,@smoovehunie, @toxicbabygirl, @steppin-by-sunflowers, @serafina-nyx, @fav1mika, @bitchycherryblaze, @kals05, @rainbowpillbug0, @2kimmin4ever, @regalillegal,@zainabismelodramatic @starberrytarts,

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Nightfall (4)

Vampire! Billy Russo x Female Reader

Part 1// Part 2// Part 3

Warnings: Dubious Consent, smut (18+), mostly dirty talk, some fucked up dynamics where he lets her press a stake to his heart, oral (f receiving), edging, orgasm denial, teasing.

For @stardustmorozov, Nicky I'm sorry but you're gonna yell at me again... and I'm gonna love it.

You sit on his bed, listening to the sound of the shower going. 

Your mouth tastes like spearmint, and your hair is still a little damp after your shower despite your attempts at blow drying.

You’re in one of his shirts, having raided his drawers when the duffel bag he’d given you earlier held nothing but sheer lingerie disguised as sleepwear.

Maybe you shouldn’t stay here, so instead you stand, and begin wandering around his apartment.

His bedroom is farthest from the front door, and you step out, roaming down the hallway, and stopping when you see another door.

It’s open, and you peek in to find an office that you promise yourself to explore after.

It’s the only door in the hallway, and the end of it opens up into a large area with a high ceiling. There’s his kitchen to your left, and on the opposite end of the room from where you are, is the living room area. There are no walls here, just windows that show off the glittering lights of the New York skyline at night. You wonder how he’s able to stand the sun, knowing that vampire eyes were hypersensitive to light, and that most of them avoided the sunlight. Only the very old ones, managed to walk in the sun like humans did. 

You tuck that snippet of information away for further examination.

You turn to examine the kitchen, scanning the cupboards, surprised to find regular household foods like pasta and rice, wondering if he had bought these items for you, or for other human friends of his.

Another hallway at the other end of the kitchen catches your eye, and you walk slowly, more deep in your own head than you were paying attention to the layout of his apartment.

You find the bedroom you’d first woken up in, all walls and no windows, a place that protects from the light, with its own en suite bathroom. You decide that maybe you can sleep here tonight, away from him and his wretched mouth. 

Backtracking, you look at the door for a long moment, before moving forward to examine it.

You reach for the handle, pushing down, you realise it’s locked. You sigh, eyes falling on the latched deadbolt, reaching up to open it, before trying the door handle again.

The door opens this time.

Your stomach twists.

Damn, had it really been that easy the entire time? You study the elevator just a few paces away from the door.

You don’t even think about it, closing the door and snapping the deadbolt shut.

You turn away from the door, and you gasp in fright as you see him standing just a few steps away. 

You jerk, back hitting the door as fright slams through you.

You suck in a deep breath, pressing your hand to your chest.

He’s only got a towel wrapped around his hips, his chest and shoulders still glistening with water after his shower.

You stare at each other, a silent showdown of who’s going to speak first.

Billy tilts his head, studying you intently.

“Why didn’t you leave?”

Your brain comes up with the dumbest, most obvious answer possible.

“I’m- not wearing pants.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“We could go get some. Would you leave then?”

“No, cause it’s three in the morning and I’m tired.”

He takes a step toward you, a teasing smile on his pretty face. Your eyes trace the lines of his scars as he draws nearer. You relax as he approaches.

“And in the morning?” 

He’s so close now, you’re eye level with his dripping wet chest.

“Maybe. If I feel like it.” You whisper, studying the scars on his chest, and then flitting your gaze up to meet his.

He takes a deep breath, bracing one hand beside your head, and then after a moment, uses his other hand to trap you in place.

Except that you don’t feel trapped, all you feel is heated want.

“What if I don’t want you to leave?” He asks, his voice stirs something inside of you, a dangerous feeling, something disastrous in the making.

“You can’t stop me.” You murmur, as his fingers touch the bottom of your chin, gently tilting your head higher.

He smiles then, all fangs and pearly whites on display.

“If only that were true.” He hums, leaning in till his lips brush yours.

You push against his biceps hard, and he moves back just enough so that you’re able to slip away from him.

“Why don’t you go kiss someone else. I’m going to bed.” You grit out, walking in the direction of the spare bedroom.

You don’t get very far, before he’s gripping your wrist tightly to keep you in place. You turn to face him, a look of calm irritation plastered on your face.

“That’s what this is about? The kiss?”

“It’s about nothing. Let me go.” You pull on your arm.

He doesn’t budge.

“You’re jealous?”

“I’m not-” You grunt as you pull on your hand again, “-You’re just pissing me off.”

“You’re the one that called me ‘sick’ and now you’re jealous cause I kissed someone?”

“I’m not fucking jealous-” You gasp as he pins your body to the kitchen counter, your body freezing in shock at the angry expression on his face.

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” He grits out, blinking after a second and seemingly calming in the same space of time.

He takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“Don’t forget I can hear every beat of your heart. I can smell your cunt. I already know how wet you are. Don’t think you’re capable of a lie.”

You let out an angry sigh, turning your head away from him.

“Whatever.” you say as harshly as you can.

There’s a moment of silence, where he looks at you, and you make a point not to look at him.

“Alright. I’m gonna fix this.” He says decidedly.

“I could care less- what the fuck are you-” You gasp as he picks you up easily, tossing you over his shoulder.

“Billy what the fuck! Put me the fuck down now you asshole!” You grunt, his shoulder digging near painfully into your hip. 

You kick your legs, trying to escape and after a moment you realise that it doesn’t make a difference.

If you really wanted to, you could maybe straighten your body and fight your way out of his grip, but there was an inevitability to his movements. It didn’t matter how long it took, or how difficult it was, Billy was persistent, and he would get what he wanted eventually.

So when your body lands softly on his bed, all you do is look up at him angrily.

“Stay there.” He orders, untucking the towel from his hips and dropping it to the floor. You look up to the ceiling to avoid looking at his nude form. You don't want to give him the satisfaction.

When he turns away, your eyes find him once more, studying the broad expanse of his back, all the way down to his ass.

You clench, grabbing a pillow and dropping it on top of your face to hide your desire. You try your very hardest not to remember the look of him, the feel of his body on yours, his cock-

He tugs the pillow away from your face, and you sigh in annoyance up at him.

You don’t want to look down, but your eyes have almost a mind of their own.

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion when you notice that he’s wearing a fitted pair of grey boxers on his lower half.

When your eyes meet his in confusion, he grins.

He finds his way up to you, hands sliding over your legs, up your calves and to your knees.

"Did you think we were gonna fuck, baby?" He teases, with a tilt of his head.

His hands slide up more, and you're just confused when he reaches under your shirt to tug at your panties.

"We're not fucking tonight, sweetheart, I just wanna talk to you."

Then why the fuck was he taking your panties off?

When he gets the garment off, you watch him close his eyes for a brief second, tilt his head up and take a deep breath.

He was-

"God. You smell good."

His eyes are red when they reconnect with yours.

You don't say anything- you find that you can't. You want him and he knows it.

He grips your thighs, pressing them upward so that your cunt is exposed to him fully.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, you're sure he can hear it. Open and vulnerable as you watch him look at your glistening cunt.

"Pretty. Did you know that?" 

You gulp, eyes glued to his form, admiring the look of his arms and the swell of his biceps.

"I want to taste you every day, all the time. You have no idea how hard it is to stop myself from dropping you on the first surface I can find and burying my face in your cunt."

He watches you clench around nothing, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smile.

He releases your legs, letting them drop a little and he looms in above you, pressing your body tightly to his.

Chest to chest, your bare centre pressed right up to the hardness of his clothed cock, there's no space to breathe where he doesn't exist.

He angles his head so that his lips are pressed to your ear.

"I want to lick that pretty little cunt till you pass out, and then wake you up so I can do it all over again." He whispers in your ear, your body tense and on edge from just his words.

"I want to fuck you till you beg me to stop, and even then, I'll still be giving you just one more."

You think you might be ruining the sheets below you with how aroused you were.

"Then do it." You challenge, hoping for some reprieve to the ache inside of you.

His hand moves up slowly, fingers tracing your cheek before covering your mouth firmly.

You make a muffled sound of protest, raising your hands to try and push him away. You hear a quiet laugh, before one of your hands is pinned above your head.

It doesn’t matter, whether you have one hand free or two- you would not be able to get out from under him on your own.

“My poor sweet little huntress,” He hums, your ear vibrating with his low words, “If you want me to fuck you till you cry, you’re going to have to ask nicely. Actually no- you’re going to have to beg.”

Your groan of annoyance is muffled behind his palm. There was no way you were going to beg him for anything.

You feel him smile against your neck, and then you still as you feel his teeth. 

He drags his sharp teeth gently over your neck, avoiding the spot where he bit you earlier.

“You’re so helpless under me, isn’t that nice? I can do anything I want to you, and you’d have no power to stop me.” 

To prove his point, you feel his tongue swipe over your shoulder, and then purposefully over your bite, sending brief little shivers down your spine, and then he trails his tongue up the column of your neck, and then even further, licking over your cheek as well.

Your body feels like a livewire, vibrating with sheer desire each time he touches you.

You want to grunt out so many things. That he was filthy, that he was just downright fucked up in the head.

That you wanted him to keep going.

“You like that, don’t you? You always have.” He lets out a slow sigh, “You always get so wet when you can’t fight back.”

Fuck you, you wanted to say. 

“What if we made this interesting?” He hums, raising his upper body off yours for a second to reach into his bedside drawer. 

You’re no longer fully trapped under him, and if you wanted to get out, you could. Instead, you wait curiously to see what he was going to do.

He pulls a stake out of his top drawer.

“You- just have that in there? I could have killed you this whole time?”

“Of course.” He teases pushing the drawer shut, “Now’s your chance.”

Before you can ask what he means, he’s sliding the silver stake into your hand.

What the fuck?

“Now, you can stop me if you really want.” Billy says ominously.

“That’s the most fucked up-” Before you can finish, he’s slapping his hand back over your mouth.

“Don’t care about what you have to say, baby, I’m gonna do what I want to you, and you can stop me if you feel like.”

And then, he starts tugging your shirt up, exposing your stomach.

In retrospect, you don’t have to kill him to make him stop, you could just mortally wound him. One well placed stab near the heart would be enough of a deterrent. You could slip free and be out the door in minutes.

Billy pulls your shirt up higher, exposing your breasts to the open air. Your hand tightens on the stake.

You should do it. You really should.

He groans when his tongue slides wetly over your left nipple. You shudder blissfully.

Your eyes roll back in your head, before fluttering shut. A breath of air leaves your mouth in a rush, fingers hold taut on the warming piece of silver in your hand.

One quick swipe of his tongue on your left breast, then your right. He raises his head.

“Do you want more?” Billy asks.

With your eyes still closed, you shake your head.

“Then stop me.” He says, before his lips wrap around your pebbled nipple. 

His short beard scratches along your sensitive breast, he kisses his way up to the spot below your collarbone, white hot sparks splintering over your body everywhere he touches.

You still when you feel his teeth graze your skin.

“Still want me to stop?” He checks in.

No you don’t.

“Yes.”

His teeth press into your skin.

A sharp cry spills out of you, tingles as he breaks skin, followed by a jolt of pain and then heat.

You jerk when he extracts his fangs.

Billy moans when he gets his first mouthful.

You pant, unable to understand how having him drink from you could hurt, and yet feel so blissfully good.

He takes another, and then another.

Was he going to kill you like this? Should you stop him now?

He rolls his hips, rock hard erection just bumping your clit and you gasp.

Fuck, why did every part of him have to feel so good? You could feel your arousal, slippery and messy between your thighs, begging you to give into him, if only for a moment so that he could ease your ache.

Instead, you move your hand, pressing the stake to his shoulder.

From his spot, drinking from your chest, you feel him make a sound of amusement.

You groan, disdain for him building in you, you press the weapon deeper till it breaks his skin.

He pauses, raising his head from your chest, lapping slowly at the trickling droplets of your blood before drawing back.

“Silly girl, didn’t anyone teach you how to kill a vampire?” He asks, grabbing your wrist in an iron grip, and though you try to fight his guidance, he’s too strong, pulling your hand until the stake is pressed to the centre of his chest.

“My heart is right here.” He murmurs softly, and with his hand on yours, he pulls the weapon closer, breaking skin once more.

“Stop.” You say, panic building inside of you, tugging at your hand in hopes that it can slip out from under his. You didn’t want this, you didn’t want to kill him.

You pull hard at your hand, gasping gratefully when you manage to pull away. 

You look at him, sharp breaths trying to calm yourself when you get your hand away. 

He gives you a soft smile, pulling the stake away from his chest and dropping it on the bed.

You gulp, watching the wound he’d caused heal before your eyes.

“You are,” You breathe, “Absolutely fucking crazy.”

“Maybe,” He agrees with a hum, “But at least you can admit to yourself now, that you want this too.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours chastely, “That maybe you actually like me.”

“Not wanting you to die is not the same as-”

“-Oh give me a fucking break.” He grunts, pulling back.

He grips your knees, and before you can figure out what he’s doing- he flips you onto your stomach.

You let out a little grunt, pushing yourself up, but suddenly pressed back down by the weight of his body covering yours.

“You’ve cum on my cock way too many times to be lying to yourself like this.” He hisses.

You turn your head, so that you can see his face in your peripherals.

"You're such an arrogant fuck." You grunt out, your rucked up shirt causing your nipples to press against the bed, the exposure of your body makes you almost quiver with delight.

He leans in, his breath against your ear as you feel his hands gripping your hips.

"Why can't you just admit to yourself that you might want me, hmm?" He hisses lowly in your ear, his breath brushing against your skin, tormenting you.

"That deep down," He continues, pressing his hand between your hips and the bed, "Somewhere in that pretty head and wet cunt," You feel his hand sliding lower, fingers touching the top of your mound, "You want me with you," He kisses your cheek, "Over you, under you, inside you." You feel him take a deep breath, his nose pressed to your neck.

"I want to lick your cunt so often that I can taste you when you're not there. Is that too much to ask for?"

Your head spins, too drunk on him to formulate words.

He makes it even harder, by slipping his hand lower, fingers meeting your wet slit.

He doesn't hesitate, fingers gliding easily down, meeting your clit and you let out a low, shuddering moan as your ache is addressed in the slightest way possible.

You tilt your hips forward, into his hand.

"Billy." You sigh, widening your legs instinctively, anything to encourage him to keep going.

“God, you’re so fucking wet.”

You mewl, nodding your head.

His finger slips gently over your clit, and your breathing pauses, you don't want to do anything that would make him stop giving you this pleasure.

He gives a firm press, and you feel your body shudder, a wave of pure bliss sinking over you.

You say his name again, shifting your body, trying to display your impatience to him.

"Ah ah ah, little girl. Where are your manners? I told you I wanted you to beg."

"Fuck you." You groan angrily.

His finger slips lower, massaging your entrance for a few moments before slipping his finger in.

You gasp, your body going lax at the feel of the pleasure building in you. It’s good. It’s so good and it’s so wrong that he makes you feel like this.

"So fucking tight." He hisses, "That cunt's begging for a stretch."

Focusing on his words are hard with the way his lone finger moves, pumping in and out of you easily, your body desperate for him.

Something goes off in your head, like a gun when he curls his finger, and touches that spot deep inside of you. It pulls a groan from the very depths of your soul. You pant, trying to keep your thinking focused with the way he’s trying to steal it.

"That's it. You like this huh? Like the way I take what I want?" He leans in till his lips are at your ear, "I like it too." You clench around his finger.

"You're a sick fuck." You groan, half your mouth muffled from where your face is pressed to the bed.

"Yeah? Am I? Do you hate me?" He pulls back, and before you can make any sound of protest, two of his fingers are sliding into you.

Fuck, you can feel your body stretching for him. He uses his other hand to grip your jaw, tilting your head up almost painfully so that your face isn’t muffled in the sheets anymore.

"Tell me you hate me." Billy whispers in your ear.

You cry, his fingers beginning to move slowly, spreading you open and forcing you to feel him, to ache for more of him.

His fingers slow when you don’t immediately answer, and you groan internally, assembling the words in your head.

“I- I,” You stutter out, tears dripping from your eyes uncontrollably and pooling around his grip on your jaw, “I h-hate you.”

“Yeah? Poor little girl. Should I stop then? Leave you alone?” He coos, voice condescending in every way possible.

“Nh-” You immediately vocalise, begging him in your head to not stop, but the words can’t seem to come out of your mouth.

He laughs in your ear, understanding what you were about to say without you having to say it. 

The pace of his fingers quicken, you hiss, arching your back, feeling your orgasm swiftly approaching. You’ve wanted him since this morning, since he pulled you onto his lap and told you that you were his.

Your body trembles, eyes rolling back in your head, on the brink of release-

-And then his fingers stop.

A cry of despair leaves your lips, and the denial in your body aches, and then hurts even more when he pulls his fingers away, withdrawing his hand from under you. His grip on your jaw loosens, until your face is pressed against the sheets once more.

You raise your head groggily, turning your body onto your side when you feel him lift himself off of you. You catch sight of him sliding his fingers, wet with your denial into his mouth.

You bite down on your bottom lip hard, on the brink of begging for him, pleading with him to make you cum, and then take you in any way he saw fit.

But that’s exactly what he wanted.

So instead, you stay still, trying not to speak, feeling the fire of denial burn through you.

You tug your shirt down, looking at him with angry eyes as he observes you.

“Are you done having your fun?” You ask bitterly.

The corner of his lip twitches.

"You know what to say if you want to cum, baby. Don't act like this isn't your choice."

You feel petulance build up inside of you, anger beyond thought.

"Go fuck yourself." You hiss, moving to slide off the bed.

He grips your hips, hauling you back, until you're on your back, looking angrily up at him.

"What's the rush, sweetness? Don't you want me to clean you up?" 

“Clean me?” You repeat in disbelief, sitting up, propping the weight of your torso onto your elbows. Your brain stalling on what that could possibly mean.

His smile is devious, the look of a man that has everything he wants and then some.

He takes his time, shouldering his body in between your thighs, his face so close to your dripping centre that you’re not sure if you have any brain cells left functional

“God.” He murmurs, his breath brushing along your mound as he takes in an unnecessary breath, his eyes immediately locking on to the messy place between your thighs, “You make me feel like the most insane person on the planet.” 

“You are the most insane person on the planet.”

He grins, lowering his head slowly, anticipation building inside of you, a simmering heat, a thrumming pulse.

“Love it when you talk dirty to me.” Is the last thing he murmurs before his lips meet your cunt.

You close your eyes, pressing your lips together, begging yourself to not make a sound. He places a gentle kiss to your slit, and then another, before you feel his lips part, and his tongue snake out.

You make a muffled groan behind your clenched teeth as he gets a taste of you.

What starts off gentle, turns slightly rougher as he lays a harsh swipe of his tongue along your pussy, a gasp leaving your lips as you feel Billy begin to slowly lick your cunt.

He’s thorough and unrelenting, his face buried between your thighs, licking at you without a care in the world.

You want to spit every degrading word you can at him, hating the way you know in the back of your head that only he has ever made you feel so good.

“Oh fuck you.” You gasp as his tongue finds your clit easily, a laugh vibrating through your nether regions as he hears you.

You give up trying to resist, reaching to grip the back of his head, hoping to urge him on.

It has the opposite effect, he raises his head, and you whine, a low, pained noise at his torment.

"I'm not clean enough yet," You argue, looking down to meet his scarlet eyes.

You look at each other for a long moment, the heat of unsaid words crackling between you.

You want to beg, you're almost on the brink of it.

"I agree." Is all he says before he lowers his head again.

"Fuck-" You gasp, your back hitting the bed as your arm refuses to support your weight for any longer. 

His tongue is too dexterous, licking at your clit, and then dipping down to your entrance. He groans, tongue catching your arousal straight from the source.

Your toes curl, blissful orgasm near, your body tingles with the anticipation of your impending release.

You moan his name, putting every ounce of desperate desire into the one word.

He pulls away right when you're on edge.

The sound that leaves you is pitiful, tears of frustration spill from your eyes as you look up at him.

"I'll give you anything if you let me come."

"You know what I want." He says, licking his lips.

"Besides that," You try to bargain, "I'll blow you again, or I'll let you bite me." 

His smile is one of amusement, it makes you feel like a child, begging for something you're not going to get.

"I think we've already established that if I wanted those things, you wouldn't stop me. Even if you could."

You frown, letting out a sharp breath, fully understanding that he would not take pity on you tonight.

"Fine, asshole, I'll do it myself." You grunt, slipping from under him and sitting up with the intention of a shower.

He grips your bicep harshly to stop you. You grit your teeth angrily, unable to look into his eyes.

"If I catch you touching that little cunt- my cunt- without permission. I'll teach what real punishment would be like."

He pulls you closer, till his lips are pressed right to your ear again, your stomach flipping at his proximity.

"I'll tie you to the bed, and edge you till you forget your name. I'll use you like my own personal fleshlight and I'll never let you cum."

You hiss angrily, nether regions throbbing at his words and you tug your arm out of his grip.

"Fuck. You." Is your only reply as you head to the bathroom for the coldest shower possible.

.

After all of that, you sleep in bed beside him.

Because you know him now a little, and you know there's no way he was letting you have your own bed.

You'd gone to sleep on opposite sides of the bed, but you'd woken up in his arms.

"Thought vampires didn't need sleep?" You ask, voice unsteady, having just woken up.

"We don't." He answers, looking down at you. 

Your eyes trace his scars, you want to touch them, ask him what happened.

"So why did you lie beside me all night?"

"Because I wanted to." He answers.

Your stomach flips, and you have to look away as you feel blood rush to your face.

"Will you tell me more about this…imprint?" You ask softly.

He makes a little sound of displeasure.

"It's not exactly an imprint- It’s like-" He lets out a low sigh.

"It sounds worse than it actually is, but- ugh- do you know what quantum entanglement is?"

"Do I look like a physicist?" You answer.

He rolls his eyes, a small smile on his face at your snark.

"As simple as I can explain, when two particles are entangled, they remain connected, regardless of distance."

"What entangles them?" You ask.

"Physical interaction, but, with people, it's a lot harder to explain because there's a lot that isn't understood. It can happen with anyone, but not everyone, and at a subconscious level, it has to be accepted by both."

"You're saying I chose this?"

"Some part of you did, yeah, some part of me too, and then, no matter how far I got from you, I could still feel you."

"Feel me?" You press, hoping for him to elaborate.

He raises a hand, his knuckles carefully brush your cheek.

"Like you were always standing in the room with me. Like I wasn't alone."

You blink, trying to figure out if you'd felt the same way. You had so many questions flying through your head and difficulty putting them into words.

“Is there any way to break it?”

You can almost feel the air go frigid between you.

“As far as I understand, nothing breaks the bond except dying.”

Great.

“And what happens if we stay together?”

“I’ve heard different things from different people.” He responds.

“Like what?” You ask, trying to think it through. You remember Ethan had mentioned that there was the prolonging of lives involved.

He closes his eyes, shakes his head.

"I don't want to tell you what I'm not sure about. I have a friend, bonded to a human, maybe you can ask them whenever."

You swallow, nodding, trying not to fret over the possibility of more vampires.

Deep in thought, you blink in surprise when you feel his thumb brush over your cheek again. You look up at him in surprise.

"I have another question, but it's very personal."

"What is it?" 

You stall for a moment, studying the look in his eyes, the dark reflectiveness of them, the way you can almost see yourself in his eyes.

"Exactly how old are you?"

It changes the sour mood, the corner of his mouth curling in amusement before he gives you a fanged grin.

"That is a personal question, and maybe I'm not comfortable with answering." He says, tapping the tip of your nose with a slender finger.

You huff.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to freak you out, and telling you my age is gonna freak you out."

Maybe he was right, maybe it was better that you didn't know.

You sigh, rolling onto your back to stare up at the ceiling. He gets closer to you, fingers tracing over your cheek and down your neck, only stopping when they reach the healing bite on your shoulder.

Experimentally, he presses his thumb against the wound. You turn your head sharply to look at him, feeling the pain swim through your body but not reacting to it.

“Ow.” You say simply.

“How bad does it hurt?” He asks quietly.

You smack his hand away, sitting up, your back to him.

“Why does it suddenly matter?” You jab, moving to dangle your feet off the side of the bed.

There’s a big silence, he doesn’t answer, and after a moment you’re forced to glance back to make sure he’s still there and hasn’t dissolved into the air because of you.

He’s looking at you, as if he somehow understands something about you that you don’t know about yourself.

“How many times have you been bitten?”

The question brings a laugh to your lips.

“Enough times that I'm used to it.”

“Does it hurt any less each time?”

You turn away, an amused and thoughtful smile rises to your face.

“Every time I get bitten, always hurts like the first time.” You say in finality, leaving the room soon after.

.

Whatever bond he was describing- you didn’t feel it. There was nothing there but a deep seated need to explore him. It was more curiosity than desire.

At least, that’s what you told yourself to feel better.

You’d showered, looking at your reflection in the fogged mirror, trying to think clearly with so much frustration in your system. In the moment, you close your eyes, and recall the first time you’d ever fucked him.

It had been frantic at first, the way he’d used his tongue on you had your body begging for more, and you honestly thought you were going to die after you’d tried to kill him.

You’d put everything into it- savouring him because you wanted to seal yourself into his memory- if he was going to kill you by the end of it.

You’d gone pliant when he'd lined himself up with your entrance, and you can still remember the way your brain spiralled in surprise at the ridiculous amount of pleasure. No one had ever made you feel like that before.

Over and over again, you’d fucked till you could barely hold yourself up, till you’d been sitting on his lap, his hands gripping your hips to do all the work because you couldn’t even lift your head from the crook of his neck.

He’d been quiet, not like the second time, or even last night, when he was so vocal, the only thing you could compare it to was sin itself.

Your lower regions pulse. You can feel the heat between your thighs, begging for him, and the pleasure he gives regardless of how annoying he was.

It’s why you grab the dress at the bottom of the duffel bag to wear, deciding that you didn’t have to beg to get what you wanted. 

It was actually a really cute dress, blue, with little printed flowers all over it. Most importantly, it was short, only coming up to mid-thigh, which meant that if you bent over, he’d see the smallest scrap of lace you’d decided to call underwear today.

If he could play games, so would you.

.

He’s making breakfast when you step into the kitchen. It kind of amuses you, that he’s only cooking for you.

“Can I help?” You ask, stepping up beside him at the stove to look down at the omelette he’d been working at.

He glances at you, looks down at the stove, before blinking to look over at you once more.

You watch his jaw stiffen, you resist the urge to bite your lip as you watch his eyes trace down your body.

Oh, what power.

“Butter.” He says, “Fridge.”

You offer him a teasing smile, before turning away.

You bend unnecessarily, feeling your skirt rise up, cool air brushing the back of your thighs. 

The butter is on the middle shelf, making your bending completely unnecessary in the first place.

He's not looking at you when you turn around. You're not even sure if he's seen your little display.

He takes the butter from you without a word, and you're very intrigued by the way he cooks, the move of his wrist to flip the omelette.

"Can you get the bread toasted for me?"

How was he doing this? Being so calm and casual with you? Seeing this side of him was so much worse for your sanity than anything else. 

"You have bread?" You ask curiously, looking around, but not able to spot any.

"Yeah, here-" He steps away from the stove to reach into one of the overhead cupboards. You glance down at the pan on the stove, to make sure nothing is burning. The deep indentations on the handle of the pan barely catches your eye, and you blink in surprise.

There were deep impressions of his fingers… caused by squeezing too hard.

Maybe he was more affected with your display than he let on.

You fight a satisfied smile, giving him a knowing look when he returns to place the bag of sliced bread into your hands.

"You bought all of this for me?" You tease, "I'm flattered."

He looks hot when he rolls his eyes.

“It’s not like I had much of a choice. I can’t let you starve.”

“Because you like me?” You pry, swaying your shoulders playfully from side to side.

He huffs, using the spatula to flip the finished omelette onto a nearby plate.

Billy doesn’t respond, simply shaking his head without looking at you.

It only urges you on, like a match, sparking as it rubs against coarse paper.

You brace your hands against his kitchen counter, stiffening your arms as you use your toes to push you into an effortless bounce, using the momentum to raise your body, sitting yourself on his counter, facing him.

He doesn’t look, simply preparing the pan for toast.

“Ah,” You tease, parting your thighs subtly, “So you don’t like me then.”

Yet still, he doesn’t respond, calmly observing the bread as it toasts, the smell of it in the air makes your mouth water a little.

But it’s not what you’re hungry for.

“Maybe you only think you like me because of how sweet my blood tastes. Maybe it’s all in your head-”

Your voice goes quiet when he finally pins you with a stern glare. 

His movements are decisive, turning the stove off, moving the pan away from the residual heat, and then turning to you.

Goddamn.

You gasp, raising a leg to back away from him while also making an attempt to push him back with your foot, but there’s nowhere for you to go, your head bumps a cupboard door, and that’s all the distraction he needs to grab your ankle.

You let out a little squeak, gasping as he pulls you forward and right up against his body, encouraging your legs to wrap around him.

You open your mouth to speak, to protest, to fight him in an unmeaningful way, but you don’t get the chance as his hand grips the back of your neck, forcing your mouth onto his.

God fucking damn.

Your eyes shut, your body relaxes, and then sings with delight as he delves his tongue past your lips.

You moan into his mouth, unable to fight it, leaning in because it feels so good to have him. 

Fuck every part of you that told you this was wrong. You wanted him and nothing would stop you.

You grip his shirt in a tight fist, leaning in, meeting his mouth with an undeniable force. He presses back, and for a moment you feel so blissfully wanted, maybe more than you’d ever been before.

Only when his hand weaves into your hair, his fist tightening to hold your head in place as he leans away, do you remember the taunting remarks that got you here.

Your scalp stings, mouth falling open to gasp in air.

His eyes are dark red, like the blood he drinks to stay alive.

He doesn’t speak, releasing your hair to support your behind as he lifts you off the counter, moving quickly with your body pressed to his.

Your vision shifts too fast for comprehension, and the next thing you can process is lying face down across the marble kitchen island.

He grips the back of your head to keep you there, warm cheek to frigid marble and you stay, refusing to move, wishing that he takes in this moment, everything that you’re willing to give.

He leans over your body, until his mouth is pressed to your ear.

“Do you ever shut up?” Billy hisses, and you have to fight a satisfied smile.

He’s not done ranting, continuing on as if he doesn’t care for your answers.

“I know you just said that to get a rise out of me, but the very idea of me only wanting your for your blood- makes me fucking sick.”

He leans in even more, taking a deep breath in the space of your neck.

“I want all of you, every single piece of you, over and over again until you’re fucking mine.”

He leans away a little.

“Is that what you wanted to hear? Hmm? When you put on this little dress and flashed that cunt at me?”

He moves away even more, and the next thing you feel is him pushing your dress up, his hand pressed securely to the small of your back so that you can’t raise your body.

He's still for a moment, and so are you, burning with anticipation, your cunt getting wetter by the second.

You gasp in surprise when you feel his nose graze the back of your thigh.

You shudder, feeling his breath along your most sensitive areas, your skin tingles as he runs his nose upward, your hands curl into fists beside your head when you feel a small puff of air against your skin.

He’s still for so long that you find your body tense with anticipation, biting down on your bottom lip hard so that you don’t beg him to just put you out of your sordid misery. 

You make a small mewling sound of surprise when you feel his tongue lick along the lace gusset of your panties. 

He tugs at the scrap of fabric, pulling it away from the tacky seam of your cunt so that he can get a better look, an uninhibited view of your desire.

You want to say his name, so badly that you can feel the resonant sound of it in the back of your throat. Instead, you repeat it in your head.

Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy…

“I can’t believe how fucking messy this cunt gets. All for me.” He says softly, as if you’re not meant to hear but you do anyway.

“Such a fucking shame that you won’t beg. The things I want to do to you, the ways I want to make you cum.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, panting hard against the kitchen counter, your inner walls fluttering, begging. 

“Fucking tease.” He breathes out, as he watches more arousal spill from between your thighs.

Billy, please-

Your gasp gets caught in your throat as his tongue licks a wet trail from your clit to your entrance.

“Fuck- didn’t mean to do that but I can’t help it.” Is all he says before his tongue starts licking you slowly.

Your eyes roll back into your head and stays there permanently for a few seconds. The flood of bliss is almost too much for your body to manage.

He grunts, his hands gripping your thighs to spread your legs further apart.

His tongue is forceful as it dances over your clit, and then, after what you assume is a moment of contemplation, you feel his tongue push its way against your entrance.

Your breathing is sharp and shallow, you reach to grip the other edge of the counter, trying to get some leverage to remain sane.

The pleasure is shallow, but your body is hypersensitive with denial, his tongue fucking into you at a reasonable pace is almost enough to have your breath stalling in your throat.

When he finally gets control of himself, his tongue slows, carefully licking you, daring your body to think about orgasm.

After a few more moments, he raises his head, and you breathe a sigh of relief, your body releasing the tension of pleasure, your hands relaxing its grip on the marble countertop.

But you should have known better than to think he was done with you, not satisfied until you know for sure that you’ve lost this interaction.

His hands on your hips, gripping them as he turns you over, pulling you up into a sitting position.

Nose to nose, you look into his eyes with a half-lidded gaze.

“Your blood is nice,” He whispers, hand raising to cup your cheek, “But it’s you I want, huntress. Don’t forget that.”

You sigh, pressing your cheek into his palm and closing your eyes.

“Say it for me. What do I want?” He asks.

You breathe out a huff, an unknown emotion squeezing your throat tightly.

“Me.” You whisper softly, eyes still shut to avoid his gaze.

He doesn’t mind, thumb caressing your cheek.

“Good girl.”

And then he’s gone- right back to toasting bread, as if nothing had ever happened.

It almost drives you insane.

.

.

.

Happy Halloween!

[sicklyseraphnsuch]

I think the other thing to note about Jamil and Azul in general is their leadership styles.

Both are prone to micromanagement. We know Azul takes into account every detail in his lounge. And Jamil also must know everything that is going on at a given party at any moment.

But Azul can delegate. He's in fact fairly good at it. That's why his main payment to a contract is extra labor because he knows how to manage extra labor. Jamil has sooooooo much trouble letting other people help him. If something must be done, only he can do it. Extra labor is just extra trouble bc now more people can make mistakes.

This is also reflective of their childhoods. Kalim is a hopeless, helpless dear and only succeeds through sheer, willful luck that cannot be replicated by anyone else. He can help but you have to trust in his lack of a process. Jamil has like negative trust. He wants a goddamn process please!

Whereas, Jade and to an extent Floyd are pretty dependable. Moooooostly because they find Azul hilarious and decide helping him is more fun than not. And for the most part, they have capabilities. They can wait tables. They can shake people down for money. They can do things that can be replicated by other people. (Maybe not to the same level - but workable at least). Azul can trust them because they do have a stable contract of mutual benefits.

Also, I do believe Jamil prefers to coast. It's part of how he acts outside of Kalim who is basically his personal pressure cooker. If he can get away with things using only his natural talent and minimal effort, fucking go for it. One of the reasons he resents Kalim so much is that if Jamil had a choice, he wouldn't work a day in his life. He would travel around the world, free as a bird.

Azul would die if he isn't managing fifty projects at once. He likes work. He likes effort. Given the option between a vacation and a business conference, Azul already has a badge and three meetings with shareholders. Azul is the hustle culture.

Of course, Jamil will work given the necessity (again Kalim). Or if his own natural talents aren't enough, he's spiteful enough to put his back into something and really go for gold because silver is for quitters. But... He's gonna bitch about it the whole way.