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evidence-based-activism · 1 day ago

Note

Okay, so Anon sent a follow-up this ask a while ago, and I've been debating whether or not I wanted to answer it. Ultimately, Anon, since you sent this prior to my creation of an ask policy, I've decided to answer. However, I'm responding in a reblog and posting a screenshot of your as below the references cut because it is 1200 words long. (Mostly due to the astounding amount of repetition.)

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Anon sent a follow-up before I posted this:

hey, a while ago I sent you an ask in response to your response in this post https://www.tumblr.com/evidence-based-activism/757742713997262849/individual-men-arent-equally-predisposed-to?source=share it’s been a while and I was wondering if you plan to respond? I gave quite a long rebuttal and I was curious and looking forward to seeing your response. I don’t think it broke any of your rules

As stated above, I have decided to answer this. However, this is very much in the category of "things you should post on your own blog".

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So, without further ado, my response:

"Thanks for the detailed response. I will definitely look into all the statistics again to clear up misunderstandings, but first I quickly want to address a few things."

I'm glad my response helped you! But this it not quickly!

[My quote about what men are protecting us from] ... "The very fact that you can ask these questions is a stunning testimony to the sheer effectiveness of male protection."

No Anon, it isn't. The belief that men created society is a misogynistic myth. (I will expand on this as I respond.)

"A tribal woman living on the plains of Africa or in the jungles of the Amazon would never ask such a question. Women living in 17th or 18th century colonial America would never ask such a question."

Anon, you do not speak for the women of Africa or the Amazon. To presume that women in these communities don't desire equality with and protection from men just as much as an American white woman is incredibly racist.

Why don't we actually listen to these women?

The women in Kenya who established an all-female matriarch village to escape the patriarchal society and violent men. All the other women they inspired to do the same. [1]

The Amazonian women who are fighting to protect their homelands, who explicitly state that "We women unite because we have to, because we know that together we have more power and protection on multiple levels." [2] (And there are so very many similar examples, Anon. We know that women's involvement in conservation efforts improves their outcomes [3].)

The colonial feminists who fought for women's rights and against the patriarchy [4].

Women all around the world, at every point in history, have been resisting patriarchal control. All of us have always been asking these questions.

"It is protection from both the physical threats and the stringent physical demands imposed upon the human race by a brutal natural world."

Anon, worldwide (including all the non-Western women you are trying to speak for), the leading causes of death are noncommunicable and then infectious disease [5]. This is important since the patriarchy is directly responsible for women's greater risk from both noncommunicable [6] and infectious [7, 8] disease.

In fact, the patriarchy's negative effect on women's health care is substantial and ubiquitous. Consider how male bias in clinical trials has effected out understanding of both non-pharmacological and pharmacological treatments for women [9]. Or the degree to which women's health is understudied and underfunded [10].

All of these are a direct effect of patriarchal bias and discrimination against women. As such, men have not "protected" us in any meaningful sense; they have instead made our outcomes much worse.

(And notably, this is all despite the fact that, biologically speaking, women are more likely live longer and survive extreme conditions [11]. Just imagine how severe of an effect the patriarchy must exert to challenge this natural fact.)

And men do not "protect us" from physical demands. In many cases they are purposefully excluding us from physically demanding jobs [12-14]. In some others, the most physically demanding jobs are "women's work" [15].

"Men are always protecting women either directly, as is done in more primitive societies, or indirectly by building barriers against nature around them, and an infrastructure that creates a far greater life of ease. Men also maintain that infrastructure."

Protecting women directly from ... what? Again, direct physical protection is from other men. (And this applies in more than just "primitive" societies.)

And again, men have been purposefully excluding women from infrastructure jobs. Moreover, why would you assume women have been passively accepting men's protection? Particularly given the common social emphasis on women as the caretaker of the home and family?

Also, I've cited this before, but men did not build infrastructure for women; it's built for other men [16]. For a recent case study, consider the gender gap in digital infrastructure [17]. The point here is that everything is built and influenced by a male-standard. Tell me: if men were generously building infrastructure for women, why are women's needs never so much as considered in said infrastructure?

"Men are virtually all (not all but the vast majority) of the mechanical engineers, materials engineers, civil engineers, electrical engineers, petroleum engineers, construction workers etc. Men do almost all of the most dangerous jobs on the planet."

Yet again, Anon, men are purposefully excluding women from these positions. This is not a case of men self-sacrificially volunteering for dangerous work. Women have tried and are still trying to enter these industries. Whenever they do they face structural and interpersonal discrimination and harassment. And yet we're asked to feel grateful? As if we asked for this?

"And all of it is done to sustain and enhance this infrastructure which men have created in order to insulate and protect society and their families (which is to say, women and fellow men and children) from the hazards of the natural world."

Everything I've said above applies to this as well. But in addition to all of that, I'd like to direct you to the excellent post by @vexingwomen, copied below for posterity:

The fact that men are credited with advancing civilization, rather than condemned for critically stunting its advancement after they forbade half of humanity from contributing, is an excellent example of an androcentric analysis.

Later on, I'll also be listing a small fraction of the ways women have advanced civilization despite this omnipresent suppression by men.

"That is why when there is breakdown in that infrastructure and some kind of tragedy strikes, that is the priority for men 'Women and children first'. "

And this here, this is just wrong.

A study debunks the myth that men protect "women and children first" in maritime disasters (ship wrecks). [18]

Everywhere in the world, women and girls are disproportionately affected by disasters. Women are more likely to die in natural disasters, particularly in more patriarchal areas. Everywhere, "sexual assaults, physical abuse and human trafficking increase after a disaster". [19]

The UN has confirmed this, finding violence against women, particularly sexual violence, increases following disasters [20].

As has the World Bank [21] and the Inter-Agency Standing Committee [22].

Further, this study [23] concluded that eliminating the male head-of-household model is "crucial to speeding up overall household recovery" from natural disasters.

We also shouldn't forget that man-made disasters (e.g., war) truly are man-made [24, 25]

And you know that whole "men make infrastructure" and "men exclude women" things? Well it turns out it's a woman – Elizabeth Hausler – who has helped pioneer and advocate for disaster resilient infrastructure [26, 27].

"Men routinely protect women from rain, sleet, snow, starvation, hypothermia and animal attacks. When the virtually entirely male-created infrastructure of society is working well, the vast majority of women like you can go about their lives oblivious to the work being done behind the scenes to make their lives as comfortable and safe as they are."

Please see all of the above. And also consider the fact that women around the world do substantially – three times – more unpaid care work than men [28-30]. Imagine if women all stopped caring for children and doing housework and growing food and helping elders. This work is truly "behind the scenes" (i.e., unpaid, ignored, unpraised) and men are certainly oblivious (or at least unappreciative) of it. (They're comfortable with this status quo too.)

And this division has always been of benefit to men; granting them the time, space, and peace of mind to do so many of the things you praise them for.

"Once in the wild, or when society starts to break down, women go right back to urgently requiring men to perform these acts for them and their children. It is the same story now as it was a hundred thousand years ago."

See everything in the disaster section. When society breaks down, women receive violence not protection from men. When women are integrated into disaster response and recovery, the outcomes are much better for everyone. We don't "urgently require men" in these situations. Statistically speaking, we would be better off without them.

"'Men created the need for protection'… some men definitely do, but the amount of protection they have afforded us both individually and structurally far outweighs the harm that these men do. It may be hard to see, but as I explained above this just illustrates how effective so much of the protection is that we can take it for granted."

What protection Anon? We've established that men and the patriarchy are responsible for the vast majority of violence against women, for women's poorer outcomes in natural disasters, for the creation of man-made disasters, and for women's poorer outcomes in communicable and non-communicable diseases (the leading cause of death worldwide).

We've also seen that women's integration into disaster response/preparation and medical work/research vastly improves everyone's outcomes.

So where exactly is the protection? What are men doing that women can not, do not, or could not?

(How many more women would have survived without the men to create these problems in the first place?)

"I don’t say this to downplay the suffering of people who suffer at the hands of men, and I hope that comes across. "

I don't think you're downplaying the suffering you acknowledge. I think you are vastly underestimating the amount of suffering that comes at the hands of men and vastly overestimating the amount of support/protection they provide.

"'Men protect women from other men and then expect us to be grateful': Honestly..yes, if a man protects a woman from a violent or harmful man then it’s perfectly reasonable to expect some level of gratitude.

You appear to be interpreting this statement as if I meant it for individuals when I am talking about classes (hence the plurals).

It's reasonable for any individual person (of either sex) to be grateful for protection from another person (of either sex).

It is not reasonable to expect women (as a class) to be grateful to men (as a class) for creating the very issues they "protect" us from.

"Of course that doesn’t mean women should be subservient to men or whatever."

Great, on this we agree.

"If anyone protects anyone then it’s fair to expect gratitude."

Sure, as I said above. I should note, however, that many men use this expectation of gratitude to cover for their own behavior. Other women have said it better than me, but as an example, men will use other men's violence to discourage their wives/girlfriends from insisting on an equal share of housework. Women will feel grateful he's a "good one" and ignore more subtle sexist slights.

Moreover, any protection (from anyone) is not altruistic if they expect something (e.g., sex, children, emotional labor) in return. And if they're using an implied threat of force (or abandonment to some outside threat) then it's extortion and coercion. Much of men's "protection" fails in one or both of these categories.

"You understand that individual men are not equally predisposed to abusing women, yes."

As described in the original post.

"Then you understand that a protective man and a harmful man are not part of the same entity..."

Anon, they are both still men. This is, I think, another misunderstanding of the unit of analysis. We are talking about men and women as a class.

This is no more useful a claim than the "not all men" sentiment.

"...and aren’t equally as guilty for the violent man’s actions?"

Of course an individual man who has not committed any violent acts is not guilty for another man's violent acts. But you are again talking about individuals instead of classes.

Moreover, as I've discussed in the past there are a lot of violent men. And, unfortunately, there usually isn't a way to know if any particular man has been or will be violent until after it happens.

"[my Mozart quote] I don’t see how it’s hilarious."

It's hilarious because there has been a female Mozart. Not just a female contemporary who was equally as skilled (although there are many of those as well) but a literal female Mozart. An equally skilled female composer named Mozart.

"The point of Paglia’s quote is to illustrate the general differences between the sexes using historical icons to do so. The work is more poetic rather than a statistics sheet."

And it's wrong. It isn't accurate. The poetry of the line is irrelevant if it's based on falsehoods.*

(*A note: I actually really like poetry, and am not saying fictional poetry or even inaccurate poetry is inherently bad. I am purely saying that, when discussing historical differences between men and women, the construction of the phrase is irrelevant if the history is inaccurate.)

"As she says in another passage 'genius will overcome'."

The belief that women could escape patriarchal domination if they just tried hard enough (or, worse, were just inherently good enough) is incredibly misogynistic. Further, there is no proof that such a sentiment is accurate.

"Mozart’s sister was nowhere near as influential or subversive as he, this is a myth. the fact you have to search for these contemporaries is simply illustrating the wider point"

Yeah, and that wider point is that men have erased women from history. Women throughout history have been forced (either directly or indirectly through social pressure) to sacrifice their careers for their families. Nannerl Mozart herself was forced to give up her musical career by her family [31].

Even beyond preemptive suppression, women's contributions have been erased and stolen throughout history. This is a ubiquitous phenomenon, so much so that it's been named the "Matilda Effect" for the sciences [32]. A favored example is of Rosalind Franklin, who discovered the structure of DNA, a discovery that was stolen by Watson and Crick who later won a Nobel prize for the work [33]. There are innumerable examples of this (and not just in the sciences); I won't be listing them all here because this post is already extremely long. Just search for "historical women in [field]" and you will get dozens of results (or more).

Between women's social suppression, men's intentional erasure, and society's emphasis on male-centric education it's no surprise that men appear to be the primary creators. But that doesn't make it true.

"Of course there have been SOME female serial killers, but no where near as many men, and lol, no “Jack the rippers” who become urban legends for their brutality and depravity."

I mean ... this is really not a favorable point for your argument. Further, Jack the Ripper was really just a standard serial killer. (He killed five prostitutes and then mutilated them postmortem. This is pretty much a standard serial-killer typology.) The cultural obsession with him is entirely manufactured.

It's also likely that the same historical-erasure has occurred for the (admittedly few) female serial killers that have existed.

"You’re missing the point by a wide margin but I admit that the looseness of the quote is partly to blame."

I haven't missed the point, I just contest the accuracy of the statement.

"[someone else's comment] Not once did I say 'men are more human', and that is not even implied anywhere. I can’t believe I have to say this. This is just this person making things up. Recognising the ways men have contributed to the world doesn’t mean I think they’re more human somehow."

Your original ask indicates you believe that men can achieve a wider range of human experience/emotion, which implies that you believe they (have the ability to be) more human. This sort of rhetoric is often used to dehumanize out-groups.

And maybe this wasn't your intention! In which case, that's great! But you should be aware of the way your rhetoric can be interpreted and abused.

"I’ll also leave you with the full quote as I think it touches on a lot of what I’m trying to get across. I don’t agree with everything said here to be frank but as I said before this is more poetic literature meant to make a point (that we should appreciate men’s contributions as well as their failures) than a data sheet. "

I've already explained why poetic literature – in this context – is irrelevant.

Now I'd like to take a detour into the originator of the quote Camille Paglia.

This woman, despite her claims, is not a feminist. The following quote should illustrate that on its own. But in addition to that, she has overtly supported pedophilia and attempted to associate them with the gay community [34]. She also supported "pornography, child pornography, snuff films" [35].

Now, she has since retracted those views – to an extent, and I think it's important to allow people room to grow and admit they were wrong. But the book you are quoting to me, is where she expresses these views. I would no more accept the views of a pro-pedophilia, pro-pornography, anti-feminist on woman, than I would accept the views of a white-supremacist on racial minorities. Indeed, I regard anyone who would accept such views with suspicion.

Finally, I'll address the quote from Paglia ("Camille Paglia, "Sexual Personae" 1990").

Her entire quote is profoundly anti-feminist. I've also addressed almost all of it in the above sections. So, most of this will be pointing you to the rest of the post. But I'll also have a few specific notes.

"Men have sacrificed and crippled themselves physically and emotionally to feed, house, and protect women and children. "

See above, men have not functionally protected us. Nor is there evidence that they have "crippled themselves" in any such pursuit.

"None of their pain or achievement is registered in feminist rhetoric, which portrays men only as oppressive and callous exploiters."

Men oppress women. This is the basis for feminist rhetoric because feminism is about freeing women from men's oppression. Would you expect a African-American advocacy group to celebrate European-American's great accomplishments? (Worse, would you implore them to be grateful?) What about Indigenous peoples? Disabled people? Gay people?

"Let us stop being small-minded about men and freely acknowledge what treasures their obsessiveness has poured into culture."

Acknowledging the pandemic of male violence against women (among all the innumerable other ways men oppress women) is not small-minded. It's truthful.

See above sections about obsessiveness.

"We could make an epic catalog of male achievements, from paved roads, indoor plumbing and washing machines, to eyeglasses, antibiotics and disposable diapers."

This here, this is a bad sign about the accuracy of her research.

We don't know who invented paved roads or indoor plumbing, since the original iterations were both invented thousands of years ago [36, 37]. To assume it was a man is sexist and unsupported.

A woman – Josephine Cochran – invented the washing machine [38].

Antibiotics are attributed to man, but as predicted by the Matilda Effect, many women were crucial to the discovery, development, and production of the drugs [39].

A woman – Marion Donovan – invented disposable diapers [40].

"We enjoy safe, fresh milk and meat, and vegetables and tropical fruits heaped in snowbound cities."

Not sure what she's getting at here, since women are responsible for half of the world’s food production [41]. (And 60-80% in developing countries.) For transportation of food, see the above sections about men's purposeful exclusion of women.

"When I cross the George Washington Bridge or any of America’s great bridges, I think: men have done this. Construction is a sublime male poetry."

Again, see men's purposeful exclusion of women. But also, even despite that, there have still been important female innovators in transportation [42]. In fact, one of the – arguably most famous – "great American bridge", the Brooklyn bridge was overseen by a woman, Emily Roebling.

We should also note that for the brief moment (in the USA) when men were no longer able to exclude women from these careers (World War II), women joined and did well [43]. (Remember, "Rosie the Riveter"?)

"When I see a giant crane passing on a flatbed truck, I pause in awe and reverence as one would for a church procession."

This is just very strange! But, again, see everything I wrote above.

"What power of conception, what grandiosity: these cranes tie us to ancient Egypt, where monumental architecture was first imagined and achieved."

Again, no. The first monumental architecture was probably Göbekli Tepe temple in southeast Turkey [44]. And there's a few dozen other examples that all predate the pyramids of Egypt. I won't list them here, but you can find them easily by searching "monumental architecture older than the pyramids." (Again, this is not a good sign for her research skills.)

There's also, again, no reason to assume these structures were the solely the domain of men. There's possible evidence to the contrary, as the earliest buildings may have been built by (at least mostly) egalitarian societies [45].

"A contemporary woman clapping on a hard hat merely enters a conceptual system invented by men. If civilization had been left in female hands, we would still be living in grass huts."

All the criticisms from above apply. Again, we have no concrete evidence that women were not involved in early architecture. We do have proof that women, when not impeded by men, can and will do just as well as a man. As such, we have no reason to believe civilization in "female hands" would not advance as well as civilization in "male hands".

Also, this is an incredibly misogynistic statement!!

"Male conspiracy cannot explain all female failures."

I am genuinely amazed that this woman considers herself a feminist. Suppression and oppression of women by men all across the world does not constitute "female failure". The fact that we have achieved outstanding accomplishments in spite of their interference is a testament to women's ability.

"I am convinced that, even without restrictions, there still would have been no female Pascal, Milton, or Kant."

Pascal was a mathematician/scientist, so here allow me to redirect you to the Matilda Effect and this starter list [46] of female mathematician/scientists. Also try searching for "historical female mathematicians", there will dozens and dozens of examples.

I'm guessing she means John Milton? He was an author, so here's an article [47] about how women are responsible for the birth of language. And another article [48] about the earliest known author – a woman from Mesopotamia. Again, try searching "historical female author" or "historical female poet"; there are innumerable examples.

Kant was a philosopher, so have an article about female philosophers being written out of history [49]. Search for "historical female philosopher" for examples of those who remain. Consider how many have been successfully erased.

And now, for fun:

Women invented agriculture [50]

Women domesticated dogs [51]

Women created and are central to the textile industry [52]

Women created these beautiful examples of architecture [53]

Women, despite everything, greatly impacted transportation and mobility [54] including inventing traffic lanes, car heaters, the foundation for Bluetooth, GPS, and Wi-Fi, windshield wipers, turn signals, and other safety features/initiatives.

Women made even more safety inventions [55] including fire extinguishers, the fire escape, the life raft, the material used in bulletproof vests, and more

Women have always been involved in, and sometimes central to, health care [56, 57]

Women were the original midwives and child carers; they are still almost all midwives and the majority of child carers [58, 59, 28-30]

And more! So, so much more!

Pick a field Anon, search "women in [field]" and you will find examples. Remember the Matilda Effect and consider how many more you'll never know.

"Genius is not checked by social obstacles; it will overcome."

This is not just discriminatory towards women but racial minorities, the poor, the disabled, everyone who has face such obstacles. You cannot "overcome" poverty through force of will. You cannot "overcome" sex trafficking or religious abuse or domestic violence or slavery. You cannot "overcome" deprivation of necessities. Einstein and Mozart and Kant were not doing their own laundry or cooking their own meals. Even today, with all the efficiency technological advances have brought, there are still classes of people relegated to "menial" labor. Yes, people born to these conditions can be so prodigious – and supported by others – that they escape their circumstances. But what about those without support? Or those who could have done great things, but were forced – for whatever reason – to abandon such efforts. These are not failures of will power, they're tragedies of circumstance.

"What feminism calls patriarchy is simply civilisation, an abstract system designed by men but augmented and now co-owned by women."

This is so! incredibly! misogynistic!

Men were not the sole designers (see above) the assumption of "co-ownership" implies a state of sociopolitical equality that doesn't exist. The belief that patriarchy is inherent to civilization is a fatalistic anti-feminist assumption without basis in reality.

Finally, you linked a video: “The hatred of women”:

This is a sexist video overlaid by a sexist song. Men's self-pitying lament occur "having" to do dangerous jobs when they prevent women from doing them, over dying in wars they start, and the activism of women combating the problems they have created is tasteless, sexist, and pointless.

As another woman has said: the patriarchy backfiring on men, is not women's responsibility.

Conclusion

I hope this helps clear everything up, Anon. I also hope the audience gets use out of this research (even if it is not as complete as I prefer).

Anon, if you are female, I implore you not to rely on men for protection. More likely than not, it will end very poorly for you. And if you are male, then stop expecting women/feminists to solve men's male-manufactured problems. Feminism is – and should be – for and by women.

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Duffy/Philadelphia, M. (1992, January 13). The bete noire of feminism: Camille paglia. TIME. https://time.com/archive/6719385/the-bete-noire-of-feminism-camille-paglia/

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Screenshots of Anon's ask:

Individual men aren't equally predisposed to committing rape. men are approximately 49% of the population and commit 80% of violent crime. The correlation to testosterone to physical aggression is indisputable -- this correlation between masculinization and aggression exists even in women.

These antisocial behaviors are the subverted, shadow aspect to the more predominant masculine (even in masculine women) urge to provide and protect, which entails necessary and selective objectification and aggression.

“There is no female Mozart because there is no female Jack the Ripper.” is what Camille Paglia said. Genius, she argues, takes obsession, which produces good and bad talents and skills. Women fall in the middle of the IQ spectrum and men on the ends.

Social forces are certainly at play, but I want to stay focused. trauma or other external factors may serve to explain, but not excuse behavior. Feminine crime is more likely to be focused on family -- children, partners, elders, and others in the immediate family.

https://time.com/2921491/hope-solo-women-violence/

Women are at least equally as likely as men to initiate DV. 40% of victims in a DV study in America were men. Women are at least as likely as men to abuse their children and are the perpetrators in at least half of child maltreatment cases. Lesbian couples also have the highest rate of DV -- 44%, compared to 35% of straight women and 26% of gay men.

Anecdotally speaking, I was abused physically and psychologically by my mother, who was abused physically and psychologically by both her parents. I was also SA'd by a man. Both sexes have their share of degenerates who harm others. Whether their personalities or social experiences are masculine, feminine, or somewhere in between likely has an effect on how they express their violence. Everyone who commits a crime against another should be held accountable, I just disagree with the dichotomy that men are assumed to be perps and women are assumed to be victims.

I'm going to respond to this in parts.

"Individual men aren't equally predisposed to committing rape."

No, no one is ever equally predisposed to anything since that would require the confluence of innumerable, mostly unknown, factors. I have never made this claim; I don't of anyone who has ever made this claim.

"Men are approximately 49% of the population and commit 80% of violent crime."

This technically true in the USA [1]. However, it also leaves out the fact that men account for closer to 90% of homicide offenders in the USA and closer to 95% of homicides worldwide [2]. And those statistics don't even consider the fact that many female homicide offenders were acting in self defense. Men also account for closer to 90-95% of all sex offenders [3].

That is to say, a greater proportion of women's offenses are "simple assault" than men's [4]. (Simple assault is generally defined as either a threat of physical harm without any actual harm or minor acts of assault without resulting injury like slapping someone, grabbing their arm, or spitting on them.)

All in all, men commit the vast majority of violent crime and an even larger proportion of serious violent crime.

"The correlation to testosterone to physical aggression is indisputable -- this correlation between masculinization and aggression exists even in women."

No, no it is not, and no it does not.

This meta-analysis [5] found a correlation of 0.08 between testosterone and aggression. To be clear, a correlation score can range from -1 to +1, with -1 indicating a perfect negative correlation, +1 indicating a perfect positive correlation, and 0 indicating no correlation. A correlation of 0.08 is an extremely weak correlation.

Another, more recent, meta-analysis [6] found a 0.05 correlation between aggression and testosterone and no statistically significant causal effect of testosterone on aggression. Changes in testosterone were weakly correlated with aggression (0.16) and this was only in men. Importantly, this result may have been influenced by publication bias (see the study for details). Again, to be clear, they found no evidence of a causal connection between testosterone and aggression.

The lack causal connection is important, as some research as presented in this review [7] and meta-analysis [8], suggests that behavior/external events (like winning a competition) can increase testosterone. This raises an important question: can acting/being aggressive independently raise testosterone? If so, (and it does appear likely) then men who choose to act aggressive may be raising their testosterone levels; when recorded in a correlational format this results in the positive (albeit weak) correlation discussed above.

Here's some other, single study results:

In women, performing (acting out) a performance of power, whether in a traditionally masculine or feminine way, increased their level of testosterone [9]

In men, testosterone increases both pro-social and anti-social "status enhancing" behaviors [10]

Testosterone is associated with both "socially dominant [note: not necessarily aggressive] behavior among high-status persons, but strategic submission to seniority among lower-status persons" in men [11]

Testosterone is associated with greater pro-social behavior in women [12]

In an animal (male gerbil) model, testosterone caused prosocial behavior depending on "current social context" [13]

All in all, the correlation between testosterone and aggression is (1) not indisputable, (2) extremely weak, and (3) doesn't appear to apply to women.

"These antisocial behaviors are the subverted, shadow aspect to the more predominant masculine (even in masculine women) urge to provide and protect, which entails necessary and selective objectification and aggression."

Anon ... no. First of all, you appear to be treating "masculine" behavior as if it is biologically innate - for which there is no evidence - rather than socially determined.

You act as if women have not been "providing" since women existed. As if women haven't been involved in growing and domesticating plants and animals, haven't been taking care of children, haven't been growing and giving birth to all the children in history. Even the traditional "feminine" role emphasizes "providing" and "nurturing" the family.

I have the exact same comments for "protect", but more importantly: protect from what anon? From the weather? Bears? Disease? No. It's men. Men protect women from other men and then expect us to be grateful, as if it isn't men who have created the need for protection.

Beyond all that: even if the "masculine urge to provide and protect" were a real thing (and not something women have always been involved in), it still would not necessitate the "selective objectification and aggression". This argument isn't even logical ... why would "providing" need objectification? If there were no aggression what would be left to protect?

"There is no female Mozart ... "

Absolutely hilarious example to choose, anon. Meet, the female Mozart: Maria Anna “Nannerl” Mozart (his sister) [14].

And here's some other female contemporaries of Mozart [15]. I suggest Google as a resource to find more.

"...because there is no female Jack the Ripper."

While it is true that the number of male serial killers does outnumber female serial killers (and the disparity is even wider for those who kill specifically for sadism), there have, in fact, been some.

"Genius, she argues, takes obsession, which produces good and bad talents and skills. Women fall in the middle of the IQ spectrum and men on the ends."

I find the argument that obsession -> genius to be very concerning, and don't expect there are any sources on that. In particular, serial killer IQs tend to follow the same range as non-serial killers (source in last linked post).

And no, the idea that women fall in the middle of the IQ spectrum is not supported by high quality evidence.

This extensive multi-country review [16] on math performance found that the "variance ratio" (the measure for what you're describing) varies widely between countries and is related to social inequality. This suggests the differences in variance are a result of environmental not innate differences.

This longitudinal study [17] claims to find differences in girl's and boy's IQ scores, but the differences found are within the margin of error of the test. This means that a sex difference is unlikely to exist, and is, at the very least, not reliably measurable. It also suggests that any difference in the variance of IQ scores, is very small. (And see above for possible alternative explanations of this difference.)

"Social forces are certainly at play"

Yes, as indicated above.

"but I want to stay focused."

Focused on what??

"trauma or other external factors may serve to explain, but not excuse behavior."

Agreed (mostly). They may serve as a partial explanation yes, but people can experience trauma or other hardships without engaging in violence.

"Feminine crime is more likely to be focused on family -- children, partners, elders, and others in the immediate family." + [The link]

Correct, most crime by women is aimed at people they know. See above posts (when I spoke about homicide) for further discussion on this.

The link is an anecdotal source on this topic, again, refer to my earlier discussions.

"Women are at least equally as likely as men to initiate DV. 40% of victims in a DV study in America were men. Women are at least as likely as men to abuse their children and are the perpetrators in at least half of child maltreatment cases."

This is completely false. The idea that women perpetrate domestic violence or child abuse at similar rates as men, is a misogynistic myth.

See this post for an explanation. Also, this source [18] discusses the topic of women and domestic violence perpetration; I plan to eventually make a post on this topic, but in the meantime that source is an excellent place to start.

"Lesbian couples also have the highest rate of DV -- 44%, compared to 35% of straight women and 26% of gay men."

This is also a myth. A misogynistic and homophobic myth.

I'm not sure where you got those specific numbers, but I believe the origin of the myth started in the one of the CDC's reports on "Victimization by Sexual Identity" [19]. See this post for an explanation on why you shouldn't use this data to try and estimate perpetration. (Short version: it isn't weighted to be representative of the perpetrator population.) For the intimate partner violence portion in particular, it shares the same issues I describe in my post debunking the last two myths (i.e., reliance on the CTS and issues there within.)

More importantly, they don't report on the sex of the perpetrator for domestic violence, so we also have no idea if the lifetime prevalence rate of domestic violence is a result of prior relationships with a man. Data on other forms of victimization support the possibility, with 73% of lesbian victims reporting only male perpetrators of any contact sexual violence and 90% of lesbian victims reporting only male perpetrators of rape. In addition, 52% of lesbian victims report only male perpetrators of stalking.

This BJS report "Violent Victimization by Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity, 2017–2020" [20] shows a similar rate of intimate partner violence for homosexual and heterosexual individuals. Importantly, however, this combines male and female homosexual individuals into one category, so we don't know the specific rate for female homosexuals.

"Anecdotally speaking, I was abused physically and psychologically by my mother, who was abused physically and psychologically by both her parents. I was also SA'd by a man."

This is terrible, and I hope you are safe and able to heal.

"Both sexes have their share of degenerates who harm others."

Sure, I mentioned the female serial killers. Notably, however, if you take a random sample of "degenerates who harm others" the vast majority are men.

"Whether their personalities or social experiences are masculine, feminine, or somewhere in between likely has an effect on how they express their violence."

I do not know what you mean by this. Socialization definitely plays a significant role in why men are so much more violent than women, but "feminine" men can and have been as violent as "masculine" men and "masculine" women have been as non-violent as "feminine" women.

"Everyone who commits a crime against another should be held accountable"

Yes.

"I just disagree with the dichotomy that men are assumed to be perps and women are assumed to be victims."

Anon, you started this ask by acknowledging that men commit 80% of violent crime (and I clarified that men commit 90+% of serious violent crime). This disparity is significant enough that it is perfectly reasonable to treat violent crime as a gendered phenomenon.

There are always exceptions and outliers. The existence of these cases does not invalidate the trend, nor should they deter the generalizations needed for meaningful class analysis.

Now, if you want to advocate against violence in general, draw attention to "male-on-male" violence and work to reduce it, that's also reasonable, and I wish you luck with your endeavor. (In all likelihood, feminist activism will - and already has - reduced male-on-male violence, even when it wasn't a specific target.)

But you still need to acknowledge that violence is primarily the domain of men. You also need to recognize that feminism is a movement by and for women. Our focus will always be male violence against women.

References below the cut:

Alexandra Thompson & Susannah N. Tapp. (2023). Criminal victimization, 2022 (307089; Criminal Victimization). Bureau of Justice Statistics. https://bjs.ojp.gov/library/publications/criminal-victimization-2022

Homicide and Gender. (2015). UNODC United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime.

McCartan, K. (Ed.). (2014). Responding to Sexual Offending. Palgrave Macmillan UK. https://doi.org/10.1057/9781137358134

Lawrence A. Greenfeld & Tracy L. Snell. (2000). Women Offenders. Bureau of Justice Statistics. https://bjs.ojp.gov/library/publications/women-offenders

Archer, John, et al. “Testosterone and Aggression: A Reanalysis of Book, Starzyk, and Quinsey’s (2001) Study.” Aggression and Violent Behavior, vol. 10, no. 2, Jan. 2005, pp. 241–61. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1016/j.avb.2004.01.001.

Geniole, S. N., et al. “Is Testosterone Linked to Human Aggression? A Meta-Analytic Examination of the Relationship between Baseline, Dynamic, and Manipulated Testosterone on Human Aggression.” Hormones and Behavior, vol. 123, July 2020, p. 104644. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1016/j.yhbeh.2019.104644.

van Anders, Sari M., and Neil V. Watson. “Social Neuroendocrinology.” Human Nature, vol. 17, no. 2, June 2006, pp. 212–37. Springer Link, https://doi.org/10.1007/s12110-006-1018-7.

Geniole, Shawn N., et al. “Effects of Competition Outcome on Testosterone Concentrations in Humans: An Updated Meta-Analysis.” Hormones and Behavior, vol. 92, June 2017, pp. 37–50. ScienceDirect, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.yhbeh.2016.10.002.

Van Anders, Sari M., et al. “Effects of Gendered Behavior on Testosterone in Women and Men.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, vol. 112, no. 45, Nov. 2015, pp. 13805–10. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1509591112.

Dreher, Jean-Claude, et al. “Testosterone Causes Both Prosocial and Antisocial Status-Enhancing Behaviors in Human Males.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America, vol. 113, no. 41, Oct. 2016, pp. 11633–38. PubMed Central, https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1608085113.

Inoue, Yukako, et al. “Testosterone Promotes Either Dominance or Submissiveness in the Ultimatum Game Depending on Players’ Social Rank.” Scientific Reports, vol. 7, no. 1, July 2017, p. 5335. www.nature.com, https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-017-05603-7.

Casto, Kathleen V., and David A. Edwards. “Testosterone and Reconciliation Among Women: After-Competition Testosterone Predicts Prosocial Attitudes Towards Opponents.” Adaptive Human Behavior and Physiology, vol. 2, no. 3, Sept. 2016, pp. 220–33. Springer Link, https://doi.org/10.1007/s40750-015-0037-1.

Kelly, Aubrey M., et al. “Beyond Sex and Aggression: Testosterone Rapidly Matches Behavioural Responses to Social Context and Tries to Predict the Future.” Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, vol. 289, no. 1976, June 2022, p. 20220453. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1098/rspb.2022.0453.

Walker ·, Karla. “Who Was the Female Mozart?” Colorado Public Radio, 18 May 2022, https://www.cpr.org/2022/05/18/who-was-the-female-mozart/.

Hidden Herstory: Mozart and His Female Contemporaries - Women’s Philharmonic Advocacy. 22 July 2022, https://wophil.org/hidden-herstory-mozart-and/.

Kane, Jonathan M., and Janet E. Mertz. “Debunking Myths about Gender and Mathematics Performance.” Notices of the American Mathematical Society, vol. 59, no. 01, Jan. 2012, p. 10. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1090/noti790.

Lynn, Richard, and Satoshi Kanazawa. “A Longitudinal Study of Sex Differences in Intelligence at Ages 7, 11 and 16 Years.” Personality and Individual Differences, vol. 51, no. 3, Aug. 2011, pp. 321–24. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1016/j.paid.2011.02.028.

Michael S. Kimmel. (2001). Male Victims of Domestic Violence: A Substantive and Methodological Research Review. The Equality Committee of the Department of Education and Science. https://vawnet.org/material/male-victims-domestic-violence-substantive-and-methodological-research-review

Chen, J., Khatiwada, S., Chen, M. S., Smith, S. G., Leemis, R. W., Friar, N., Basile, K. C., and Kresnow, M. (2023). TheNational Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey (NISVS) 2016/2017: Report on Victimization by Sexual Identity.Atlanta, GA: National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

Truman, Jennifer L., and Rachel E. Morgan. Violent Victimization by Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity, 2017–2020. Bureau of Justice Statistics, June 2022, https://bjs.ojp.gov/library/publications/violent-victimization-sexual-orientation-and-gender-identity-2017-2020.

#feminism #patriarchal culture

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greenwitchfromthewoods · 2 days ago

Text

a house in the middle of nowhere l Joel Miller

Summary: you and Joel went on patrol together, nothing went your way

Warnings: angst, guns, switchblade, killing people, allusions to sexual abuse, blood

A/N: your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

# 1/2

"We should be reaching that building in a few minutes."

You nodded and didn't slow down when you heard Joel's footsteps behind you. The leaves crunched under your shoes and the air in the forest was pleasantly cool. It was as if you had done this before.

The flu that had been sweeping through Jackson for a few weeks now had also reached the people patrolling the area. Soon, Tommy had no choice but to ask you and Joel to start working together again.

Despite his concerns, he was pleasantly surprised - you were a great team. That's why he recommended you check out one of the buildings, which was a bit further from your trail.

"Looks good." You said, stopping in front of a small house standing near the end of the forest.

"Yeah. Too good." Joel mumbled. "Do you remember that..."

"I remember." You interrupted him, because your thoughts immediately drifted to a certain house you had found on your way to Jackson. "I saved your ass that time." You smiled, noticing the grimace on Joel's face.

"Keep telling yourself that, darling." he mumbled, heading towards the entrance.

But this time it was safe. The house was small and it took you a few minutes to check all the rooms. Apart from a few canned goods, a few old blankets and a dead bat in the bedroom, everything seemed long forgotten.

"This will be a good base for further patrols." Joel noted as you spread your things in the living room with the intention of spending the night there. "Once we check the area and make sure everything is safe."

You sat down on the dusty couch. The feeling that all this seemed strangely familiar to you filled you since your first joint patrol with Joel.

He didn't press you, he wasn't pushy. The safe distance you wanted to maintain was perceived by him, although you felt his gaze on you many times. You weren't without blame either. Your eyes often lingered on his broad shoulders for a few seconds longer than necessary. You missed him.

"We'll eat something and you can lie down." Joel announced, pulling sandwiches out of his backpack. "I'll take the first watch."

"There's water in the bathroom. Cold, but it's there." You noticed, doing the same as he did.

"Maybe the house is connected to a well. It's hard to tell right now." You handed him a cup of coffee. "Are you going to the party on Saturday?"

You looked at Joel, surprised. "Since when are you interested in parties in Jackson?"

He shrugged and chewed a bite of sandwich. "Ellie asked."

"Oh, did she say anything else?"

"That this new guy, Walsh, asked her about you."

Warmth crept up the back of your neck and you hoped Joel didn't notice your confusion. You weren't dating anyone, you didn't want to. But you knew what Miller was talking about. You and Walsh had been on a few patrols together, and you'd been seen together in the city too.

"Your coffee's getting cold, Joel." you replied, cutting off the discussion.

The room was filled with Joel's quiet snoring. You had been sitting by the window for almost two hours, observing the area. The first rays of sunlight were breaking through the treetops, and you only noticed a few squirrels and a hare.

Your spine was slowly starting to hurt, so you got up quietly and, trying not to wake Joel, you went to the door. Maybe you should have let him know you were leaving, but you saw how much he needed sleep. The lack of people meant that you were almost always outside Jackson, so that those who had families could rest or recover.

You quietly closed the door behind you and inhaled the fresh air. With your finger still near the trigger, you moved forward. The area was quiet, the fog was rising here and there between the trees, and even the birds were just waking up from their sleep.

An unexpected rustling behind you gave you goosebumps. You turned around sharply and saw a pair of rabbits disappearing behind the bushes.

"You scared me." You mumbled to yourself smiling "Don't do that again."

Then you heard a completely unfamiliar voice "I promise I won't do that again, doll."

You turned around sharply and saw the man behind you, then you felt something hit you and darkness engulfed you.

Something was tugging at you. You felt your wrists being tied. Some pushy hands searched all over you, and then someone patted your cheek.

"Doll, wake up!" the same voice, unfamiliar to you "Mike, you hit her too hard."

More steps and someone crouched down next to you. He brushed your hair away from your face.

"Such a pretty face, and look what you did." the first voice hissed "I hope you didn't break her nose."

"Do you need her nose for something?" Mike sneered and patted you on the cheek a few times "Hey! Get up!"

You moaned quietly and opened your eyelids. You almost immediately wanted to back away, but there was a tree behind you, and two men in front of you, who were staring at you with interest.

"Morning, doll." one of them greeted you with a smile "I'm Patrick, and you?"

You pressed your hands together violently, trying to get as far away from them as you could. It was impossible, you knew that.

Fuck! How could you be so careless? You had been with someone last time, but now...

You thought about the sleeping Joel. Maybe you had at least managed to get far enough away from the house that they wouldn't find him so quickly. Hopefully.

"Hey, bitch!" Mike nudged you in the shoulder, and your gaze immediately went to him. "Can you talk? I didn't knock your teeth out, did I?" he cackled as if he had told a good joke.

"No." You replied quietly.

"Good start." Patrick nodded, his eyes lazily moving over your face. There was something strange about him, something slippery and indecent. "Will you tell us what you're doing here, doll?"

"I was walking."

"You were walking." Patrick repeated after you, reaching out and pulling a blade of grass from your hair, there was something in his gesture that gave you shivers "Pretty girls like you shouldn't walk alone. Is anyone with you?"

You shook your head and Mike immediately spat in the grass.

“She's lying!” he growled, standing up. “I'm sure someone's nearby.”

Patrick frowned. 'Come on, I'll help you.' He grabbed you by the arm and pulled you to your feet, then pinned you against a tree. 'Who's with you?' he hissed.

'I'm alone.' you repeated.

'Wrong answer.'

You flinched nervously as a knife blade flashed before your eyes. It was the same switchblade that Joel had given you. You carried it with you, they had to find it when they searched you.

“Listen to me carefully, doll.' Patrick moved the blade to your chest and soon you saw the first button on your shirt pop off, then the second. 'You'll tell us what we want, okay? Be a good girl. Maybe then I'll be gentle with you, huh? I wouldn't want to hurt you...' he made a sad face as if he was really sorry, two more buttons popped off. 'But I haven't had a warm pussy in a while, I might be too hard for you. Unless you like that? Do you like it, doll?"

"I'm alone." You managed to choke out, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "I swear. I... I got away from the group."

"That bitch is lying, I can feel it!" Mike growled, looking around the area. "Do what you have to and let's get out of here."

Patrick watched you closely. His gaze slid down to your chest, which was rising rapidly with every breath. Your bra peeked out from under your shirt, the outline of your breasts must have been clearly visible to him.

"You could have been good, doll..." he whispered. "We could have been something great."

"Please..." you groaned.

At that moment you heard a shot. You didn't know where it came from, but you saw Mike stagger and fall hard to the ground. In an instant Patrick looked up, then looked at you.

"Who is it?!" he growled angrily, pressing you against the trunk so hard that you felt something stab you painfully in the back.

"Your Death." you gasped.

Another shot and warm blood splattered on your face. You slid to the ground gasping for air. Patrick's body lay beneath your legs. Strong hands grabbed your arms and then your face.

"Are you okay?"

Joel!

You nodded your head violently. He noticed the bonds on your wrists and when he looked around he saw the switchblade lying in the grass. He quickly cut the rope. In a second your arms were wrapped around his neck and a quiet cry escaped your throat.

"It's okay, I've got you." he whispered, stroking your hair and back "You're safe."

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist

#pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader

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604to647 · 12 hours ago

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✨Anniversary and Follower Milestone Celebration and Giveaway!✨

A little over a year ago, I returned to my old photography blog and repurposed it to what you see today - purging all my old followers (including the sex bots 🥹) and started from scratch and now... OMIGOD?! 😭😭😭 I've recently passed a follower milestone that seems unbelievable to 1 year ago Emily who screenshot when her post got 11 notes and sent it to Mr. 604 so excited (oblivious that one of those likes was me liking on accident 😂). I love you all so dearly for visiting me and reading my silly stories - every interaction and follow has been treasured. Sometimes I still can’t believe y’alls kindness towards me 🫣🥰

At this time last year, I also started writing my first fic, which has turned into my longest running series: Safest with You. Some of you have been with me and this series since the very beginning and I couldn’t be more grateful - the first one shot, Carnival Fright Night, was posted Oct. 13/2023 and Ch. 1 followed on Nov. 10/2023. Now one full year later, we've wrapped it up with the Epilogue😭😭😭

To celebrate, I would love to do two things:

1) A Giveaway! Everything in the first pic (full description below the cut) will be sent to one lucky winner! You don’t have to follow me or have read any of my fics - all you have to do to enter is say something nice about someone in our community. You can leave it in a comment or a reblog of this post, or send me an ask (with 🎁) - BAM! You’re entered 😁. No one needs to follow me - I just love it when people hype each other up and spread positivity 💕

2) Nonsense Outros. The first piece of writing I ever posted wasn’t actually a fic but song lyrics 😂🤭 specifically, Sabrina Carpenter Nonsense Outros inspired by Pedro characters 😂 They are silly and challenging to write and I want to do some more! If you want, please send me an Ask with 🎶 for a character or a link to a fic (it can be yours, someone else’s if they’re ok with it, or you can request one of mine even!) - I will read it (if I haven’t already!) and write you an Outro for the PBoi in the fic/character (or try, anyways! 😁)

You can do both if you want! And as many times as you want 🥰 until Monday, December 2, 2024.

Thank you thank you all again! 💋

It’s been a great year here with you all 🥹🥂🥂

Giveaway prize includes: Din Djarin magnet, postcard and washi tape, Barón Tovar Takes a Wife holographic keychain, Safest with You washi tape, one (1) copy of Pedro fan magazine, one (1) copy of Vanity Fair 30th Hollywood Issue, one (1) customized Pedro photocard holder (I will make you one based on your fave colours/themes and I also have a bunch of photocards for you to choose from or I can make you one from a photo you send!).

I am happy to pay for shipping and will ship internationally from Canada (when the strike is over), but yes it means you have to provide me an address. I am active in a collectibles trading community on IG and can provide references if it makes you feel more comfortable in doing so👍🏻.

Winner will be selected randomly via the Excel random number generator in the first week of December 2024. This giveaway isn't administered, sponsored, endorsed by, or associated with Tumblr.

Tagging a few lovely people to help spread the word and/or may be interested 🥰😘:

@aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @yopossum @almostfoxglove @sawymredfox

@inept-the-magnificent @jeewrites @jessthebaker @nerdieforpedro @joelalorian

@magpiepills @secretelephanttattoo @joelmillerisapunk @holacia3 @galaxyedging

@tuquoquebrute @whirlwindrider29 @pedroswife69 @pedges-world @ghotifishreads

@penvisions @jobean12-blog @auteurdelabre @angiewatson @morallyinept

@mermaidgirl30 @arcanefox207 @baronessvonglitter @grogusmum @ace-turned-confused

@furiousmushroom @cheekychaos28 @72scsuze @toobsessedsstuff @mellymbee

@that1nerd-20 @alltheotps @evolnoomym @greenwitchfromthewoods @maievdenoir

@hipabbster23 @bitccchmood @bigbutchenergee @rainbowcat164 @the-strawberrythief

@johnssherlock221 @misstokyo7love @vivian-pascal @florxdexcerezo @fanficlover1414

@rarachelchel @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @sunnytuliptime @kulekehe @guelyury

@rav3n-pascal22 @sjc7542 @kilamonster @mandoshoney @syd-djarin

@moonlessnight14 @lucienofthelakes @heareball @lillaydee @yorksgirl

@sheepdogchick3 @desert-fern

#604celebrates #thank you #follower milestone #tumblr anniversary #fic anniversary #pedro pascal characters #Pedro pascal characters merch #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 days ago

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Just One Reason: Charity Case

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You stand in the changing room, staring at the mirror, at yourself. Peppermint cloys on your tongue as you consider the dainty blue sweater. It isn’t your pick. Few of the clothing are. You can barely differentiate between the weaves and colours.

“Well?” Lloyd calls from the other side of the thin barrier between you.

You rarely used dressing rooms. You shop at the thrift shop, find whatever looks like it will fit, and go. Not that you even do that often. You’ve been wearing the same wardrobe of used pieces for years.

You shift and touch the little frill along the collar. It frames your neckline prettily but it’s just too much. A nice strong cableknit with sleeves you can tuck your hands into and some corduroys are much more practical.

“Come on, toots, I’m dying. You find anything you like?” He urges.

You face the door and slide back the lock. You step out. The walls are lined with mirrors. Behind him, behind you, beside you, everywhere. You pinch the frilly hem as you bite your lip.

“I don’t know...” you drawl.

“Wowza, that’s cute,” he smiles from the bench. His hands are full as he holds both your lattes over his lap. “I like the colour. Be nice with a skirt.”

“Skirt?” You mutter, “I don’t really...”

“I grabbed a few, why don’t you try one on?” He prompts.

You hesitate then shrug. You turn back and see yourself reflect on the door. You only notice then that the light weave clings to the outline of your bra. You quickly hide inside and shuffle through the many hangers.

You don’t realise how short the skirt is until you get it on. The lace lining sticks out the bottom and four little bows decorate the cream material. It’s sophisticated in a way you aren’t. You sift through and find a top you think matches.

You steel yourself before you emerge again. Lloyd’s impatience seeps through with a clearing of his throat. You step out and clutch your hands behind you, staring past him.

“Wow,” he breathes, “that’s nice, tootsie, we’re definitely getting that.”

“Oh, I don’t know about the white,” you sway, “it’ll get stained.”

“I can’t believe I’m the one saying it but don’t be so pessimistic,” he chortles.

“Sure, you’re right,” you agree quietly. “Well, still lots to go through.”

You shuffle back into the change room, shivering at the rush of air that floods beneath the short hem of the skirt. You continue the tedious task of going through each and every piece. You can’t focus on any of it. You’re indifferent to even the nicest garment, things that you may have coveted in a clearer state of mind.

Lloyd carries your haul to the counter after handing off the cups. His is empty and yours is cold. You put his in the bin near the desk as he pays. You look down, embarrassed.

“Lloyd, you don’t--”

“Sweetie, Merry Christmas,” he interrupts and smirks at the front desk lady. “Careful with that, don’t wrinkle it.”

He might be nice to you but there’s those moments where he’s so... demanding. You wish he’d be a bit kinder to the people doing things for him. You offer the associate a sheepish smile then hide behind the cup. You taste the cold espresso and hover.

Lloyd gathers up the bags and leads you back into the crowded mall. You drain half the cup and give up. You subtly toss it as you pass one of the many waste bins.

“Well, you still need some basics,” he declares and glances at you, nudging you with his elbow, “you know, under-roos.”

“Oh, uh, yeah...”

“There’s a Victoria’s Secret right there.”

“Victoria--” you gulp. “That’s fine, er, no, there’s probably somewhere else.”

“Hello,” a woman calls as Lloyd struts towards the marquee of the lingerie store. “We’re having a promotion. You can spin the wheel and get a coupon.”

You cringe and hide behind him. He spins and gets a coupon for thirty percent off. The woman is tall and her dark red hair is perfectly waved. She’s all in black that clings to her figure prettily.

“Come on, tootsie roll,” Lloyd ushers you inside. The boutique is far too nice for you.

You keep your arms crossed as Lloyd browses. He is unfazed by the crotchless lace and the sleek satin. You get to a table strewn with cotton thongs and thick-banded boyshorts.

“You get the pick of the litter,” he declares, “you need a bra? Maybe six?”

“Lloyd,” you murmur, “I don’t know...”

“What’s your size?” He peeks at your chest then his brows pop up and he chuckles. “Sorry, just trying to help.”

“Um, I wear... sport bras, so...”

“Hmm, let me find...” He turns and strides off before he can finish his thought.

You frown and look down. You see a nice pair of coral panties but when you turn them over, you find the have a narrow back. You just want your Walmart high-rise. You sniff and step out of the way of some other shoppers.

“There she is,” Lloyd appears out of the crush, “Toots, this is Lara, she’s going to get you fitted.”

“Fitted?” You utter.

“Yeah, she can help measure you for your bra size--”

“That’s okay--”

“It’s five minutes,” Lara insists, “in the back.”

“We want to get you something nice,” Lloyd argues, “don’t we? Get bang for our buck.”

You don’t have it in you to resists. It’s nice. You’ve never bothered with anything like that. Everything you have just does the job. It doesn’t matter if it really fits, just if you can get it on. And everything you have is gone. You suspect his present is more charity than holiday cheer.

Embarrassed, you nod and try to force a smile. Lara waves you toward the dressing room and Lloyd turns to peruse the table of panties. You cringe and drag your feet across the store.

As you’re shut in with Lara, she has you take off your shirt. You’re uncomfortable as she measures you through your sport bra. It’s almost like a medical exam.

“He’s really nice,” she says.

“Hm?” You sniff.

“Your boyfriend. Gonna be a really happy holiday,” she chimes.

“Oh, he’s not...” you drone but don’t finish.

“Husband?” She wonders.

You shrug. You don’t bother explaining. You just want to get out of this place. All these strangers are making you dizzy.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #drabble #just one reason #the gray man

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kiryoutann · 2 days ago

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Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

TW: attempted baby trapping, detailed writing about burns and scars.

Mother says she was the first witness to your very first steps.

Surrounded by four newly renovated nursery walls—painted her favorite pink and adorned with decorations Dad hung for a pop of color. Stuffed animals everywhere, even a 43-inch-tall dollhouse waiting to be discovered.

But, of all the toys, that chubby baby girl determinedly balanced herself on her awkward legs. Mother said you smiled widely, showing a toothless grin and extending your tiny hands forward. Eyes wide open when you almost fell, yet the stubborn baby refused to give up until you reached your mother's arms.

Maybe you simply saw something you wanted. Your mother.

How odd. The thought that you ever wanted your mother is an absurd notion. Because as Simon's car sped off, leaving the manor behind you, all you felt was a sense of relief that you had once again escaped her.

Maybe you wanted your mother only when she wanted you too. Lately—for the past few years after you were ten—she acted like she hated you, and children are truly just mirrors of their parents, incapable of hating before being hated first.

Or maybe—so many maybes when it comes to her—Mother didn’t want to hurt you, didn’t intend to instill this distorted image of yourself with every drop of poison she poured on you. Maybe she simply lacked the knowledge and skills to be a mother, lacking a positive role model from the start.

But intentions mean nothing compared to the outcome, the fed-up rational voice asserts. It doesn't matter if she didn't mean it, because in the end she hurt you. The difference between love and hate becomes this fine line that eventually fades and mixes the two together.

It doesn't matter if she didn't mean it this way at first, because the first time turned into the second time, then the third and suddenly now it's the thousandth time. She breeds her pattern and uses it to make you suffocate. And when you try to break free, she looks at you like a disobedient child full of rebellion.

The sickening optimists will tell you to look on the bright side—that it shaped you, made you the woman you are today. But back then, you were a child—you would have grown up inevitably, so going through all that was just an unjust burden.

(All adults do is cause pain, the little girl said.)

Some crackling radio tune played softly as Simon drove in silence through the dark, winding country roads. No questions came—which you were thankful for; you weren’t ready to unpack all that long history just yet. His brown eyes were locked in focus as he steered the car around the turns as if he’d been through this before.

The car slowed and rolled to a stop outside a sprawling two-story building. A pub—from the weathered sign carved on its old stone. Different from the ones in London, of course, this one's cozier and more inviting. Gazing out the rain-spattered window, you squint and see another sign above the door: “The Fox and Hounds Inn.” So they also offer rooms, it seemed.

Simon turned off the engine and twisted in his seat. Reaching behind, he snatched up the suit jacket he had thrown back there earlier. Turning to you, he held it out, signaling you to take it.

“Cover yer ‘ead.” He nods towards the pouring rain outside.

You took it, breathing in Simon’s scent—a hint of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke—as you draped it over your head as a hood. The sound of the door being opened roughly is heard. Simon has rushed out into the downpour and retrieved your bags from the trunk. Slipping from the car, you hurry to take shelter under the pub’s roof, waiting for Simon before going through the door.

The inside of the pub was surrounded by warm hues. Old wooden shelves stood displaying a variety of bottles of spirits, with low lights casting a dim glow. Worn leather booths were occupied by a few locals who had settled in with their pints, while two others shot pool in the back corner. Behind the bar, the bartender paused from wiping glasses; a questioning look flashed across his face before smoothing it once more.

He set his glass down and asked, "What can I get ya?”

“Bourbon. Kentucky, if y’ve got it.” Simon said.

The bartender cocked his head, checking his stock. “Aye, we’ve a bottle or two left.” Turning back to him, he asked again, “Anyth’ else?”

Simon turned to you. “You want anything?”

“I'm alright, thanks.” You answered in a husky voice.

“Just the bourbon then, and a room for the night.”

At that, the bartender just nodded, reaching beneath the bar to produce an iron key, its number as a keychain. “Room six, up the stairs and to your left. Let me know if you’ll be wantin’ breakfast in the morn.” He explained with efficiency, all business, saving more time from nonsense.

The heavy wooden stairs creaked underfoot as you climbed to the room. Reaching the door carved with the number six, Simon twisted the key and pushed the door open. He set the bags on the old table by the window, leaving your suitcase beside it.

Glancing around, you took in the faded floral wallpaper, lumpy bed, and worn armchair—not fancy, but it would do for a night’s rest. You wandered around the room, stopping when you passed a mirror—your own reflection with mascara tracks smeared across your cheeks, lipstick smudging past your lip line.

“Did I just walk around like this all afternoon?” You wiped away the dark trails, hoping to lighten the heavy atmosphere for exactly the reason why. That or it was just you and your guilt for dragging Simon into this unplanned mess.

The effort fell flat, much like your numb heart. Simon was still wound tight as a spring, with the venomous words of that woman replaying in his mind. However, your own perspective perceived his distant attitude as anger. Mother would often give you two days of silent treatment whenever she was upset, so you presumed it was the same case with Simon.

You nearly jumped from his grunt. Out of the corner of your eye, Simon took out his cigarette and lit it, always paying no attention to where he was smoking. Taking a deep drag, he let the smoke curl slowly as he exhaled towards the ceiling.

The bathroom door creaked open at his touch; Simon gave it a sweep of his eyes to access the condition of it—nothing but the basics; thankfully, the shower worked. He turned then, coming over to where you were sitting on the lumpy mattress.

“Shower,” he rumbled, jerking his head towards the bath. “Get that rainwater off ya.”

(You’re angry, aren’t you?)

The conclusion was drawn after his tone sounded colder than normal—his words were curt, as if he didn't wish to waste breath on you. While a part of you argued this was just the way he spoke all the time, another louder voice suggested there was more going on. His brown eyes held a deeper stirring, a visible frown etched into his features. Simon would likely extend the silence if not for the concern that you would trouble him more if you fell ill.

It hurls you into this desperate need to win him over, despite being uncertain if there's an actual competition to be won. You struggle to contain the age-old, desperate question, but you are known to be a failure at everything.

"Are... are you angry with me?” The question leaves you, hanging awkwardly in the air.

At that, Simon's blonde eyebrows furrowed. "What?" he asked, sharp. Like he's offended.

Your heart thudded against your ribs as you struggled to lift your gaze, meeting his stare. “I just… are you angry with me?”

A scoff, then—

“No.” Simon replied curtly. “Why the bloody ‘ell would I be angry with you?” he added, then chastised himself when the words came out harsher than intended.

But the prejudice had seeped into your pores, causing your shoulders to tense and your head to hang low. You hated this—hated feeling like an over-sensitive child, upset over nothing, easily hurt by everything. Lifting your head, you tried to blink away the pricking tears pooling in your eyes.

Simon lets out a hushed sigh before squeezing out his cigarette and sitting down next to you, the bed creaking under the new weight. Outside, the leaves rustle in the cold night breeze. Within these four walls, you both sit side by side in silence.

“I ain't... that is... I’m not angry. Not with you, at least.” He tries to sort out his words. Something kinder but ends awkwardly—nonetheless, acceptable.

A few tears escaped and rolled hot down your cheeks before the blurry world came back into focus. You raised your eyes to his.

“I'm sorry,” you say, almost a whisper. “I'm such a crybaby, I know.”

“None o’ that now,” Simon soothed you, timbre as soft as talcum powder. “Ain't got nothin' to apologize for.”

As he said that, he used his thumb to catch your tears, wiping them away gently, almost as if he didn't want another to stain your cheeks. And under his touch, you became still, like obedient clay waiting to be molded by him. You existed solely for him, willingly presenting your skin as a canvas in case he wanted to brand his name on you. Make me yours, your cheap little heart begged; make me yours until I forget who I am.

(Grant me an identity that isn't me.)

I will shed the pieces of myself now like outgrown armor. The nights are prone to the past—never quiet—and I don't like that.

(Give birth to a new me. Someone who isn't what remains left of that little girl.)

The universe explodes another big bang, and your new world is created as you settle on his lap. So sudden you don't even remember crawling towards him. But as your lips crash into his, devouring his moist flesh with your own in an effort to mold it into one, it no longer matters how. Your teeth clamp down on his lower lip, drawing out a grunt as you bite down lightly and feel the taste of his iron against your tongue. Blood-eater woman.

Your hands cup his jaw, tracing the strong, defined bones beneath the blanket of skin. Then, you drag them down to his thundering neck, following the faint pillars, the curve of his Adam's apple, the rise and fall of scar tissue from over-healed wounds.

Simon gasps into your mouth as your hips grind against his, stoking his lust even higher and swelling his cock. He grips your sides, guiding your movements as you seek balance with your grip on his broad shoulders. You moan, pressing your upper body against his face, and he inhales all your scent like he's been deprived of oxygen for ages.

Your desire drips so easily onto your tongue.

Practiced in the efficiency you learned from him, your fingers unbutton his shirt one by one, watching more and more of his skin exposed to you as you unwrap the white fabric off his body.

Simon trailed his tongue down the satin of your dress, tasting it against his gustatory system like a mindless dog. He closes his lips around your erect nipple. Blindly, his digits reached for the laces on your back, tugging it with one unsuccessful pull and two successful ones. The dress undone, your chest completely exposed to his hungry eyes. Simon wasted no time in latching his mouth onto your breasts.

“Ah-! Simon, Simon… slow down.”

You attempted to accommodate his face in your small hands, urging him to meet your gaze. When did you grow accustomed to searching—to decipher the meaning behind his every look, searching for a reflection of your own feelings in his eyes? Hoping to find evidence that he wanted you just as deeply as you yearned for him.

From the moment we first met, Simon had been a confounding puzzle, a conundrum without any clues or leads. An enigma, the deep forest at dusk. He revealed so little, yet, that very scarcity only piqued your curiosity further—inviting the solver girl within you to unravel each layer, to explore every wrinkle in the intricate tapestry that was him.

“I… I want to lead. If that’s all right.” You whispered, looking for disagreement in his gaze.

None, just a gentle squeeze on your hip. He nodded, then, “Alright, love.”

At that, your eyes sparkled, you gave him a smile in return. Biting your lip, you pondered your next move. “Lay down for me.”

Without hesitation, he did as you asked, settling back against the pillows. The roughness of his form was a stark contrast to the linen, muscles rippling beneath inked skin. Eyes as dark as oak never left yours, silently urging you to continue.

Nerves danced inside you, but you chuckled, “I was gonna take this dress off all sexy-like; maybe spin around slow. But you ruined that plan.”

“Should’ve been more patient then, eh?” He said, wetting his lips then.

You sighed, half-shrugging. “Well, I don’t know what sexy moves I can do now.”

“Don’t matter none. You’re always a sight for sore eyes.”

The boldness of his words causes you to throw your head back in laughter. “Are you saying all this just to get laid quicker?"

Simon lets out a raspy chuckle. “Nah,” he watches his own hand travel up your thigh, giving it a squeeze and rubbing slow circles with his thumb. Looking back up at you, you feel your heart skip a beat. “I’m sayin’ it cause it’s the truth. You are the most fuckin’ gorgeous creature I ever did lay eyes on.”

The plum of your lips is pulled into a shy smile. You replay his words in your mind like a wrinkled tape, your soul made to sparkle and float on clouds. He called me gorgeous, you thought.

Simon called you gorgeous—despite everything your mother led you to believe. Despite her words that left you feeling like an hideous being, a flawed and misshapen creature crafted by the hands of an unforgiving God. But he said I was gorgeous, Mother. Most fucking gorgeous.

"Well, you're rather handsome yourself." In truth, this is all amusing—this sudden exchange of compliments between the two of you, with you still sitting right on top of his groin, in your loose dress and Simon shirtless.

But, like an opportunist, you place your finger on the sloping hill of his chest. You feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing—the stuttering of air in his lungs as you make circular motions on his bare skin. “Too bad that you always hide it under a mask.”

The diaphragm beneath his thick skin contracted faintly as he chuckled. Taking your index finger, Simon then held it between his teeth. He sucked the tip slowly and watched you through hooded eyes.

“The mask’s for another reason, darlin’,” he rumbled once he released it.

There it is again. The invisible veil now made visible, taunting you with the reminder that there's always a part of him that remains unknown, no matter how deep you try to dig or how many layers you think you’ve shed. Lately, you'd pushed the limits further than necessary, testing unseen boundaries—just how far were you willing to go, or how far would he allow before growing weary of it?

“And why is that, your mask?”

He gave your thigh another squeeze, his fingers drumming a random rhythm as he considered his response. “That’s a story for another day.” He replied.

It sounded like a promise, felt like an oath. Apparently, your heart found solace in that—in the future and the exact day that story would arrive. You smiled down at him, nodding in agreement.

“Okay, then I suppose that’s a promise, Mr. Simon…”

“Riley,” he fills in the blank space behind. “Simon Riley.”

The heart in the confines of your rib cage throbs with thrill. You smile brightly, testing the full name on your tongue. “Simon Riley…”

After a pause, your hands returned to their task, drifting down his firm torso until they reached his jeans. You made quick work of the buttons, pulling them down and tossing them carelessly to the floor, leaving him in only his gray boxers. Trying to match, you let your gown pool on the floor, leaving you in your black lacy panties.

Here you are, both bare chested, one cloth away from being completely naked. Two imperfect mirror reflections, similar yet distinct in their differences.

You glance back at him, biting your lip to hold back a giggle. His grin greets you in return, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth as his eyes roam approvingly over your form. You stand still, waiting, observing his growing impatience until he finally lets out a raspy chuckle, beckoning you closer with a casual crook of his finger.

“Come ‘ere.”

At his call, you obey like a good obedient girl dedicating her whole life to him.

Crawling onto the bed, your breasts hanging freely with each step your knees take. You stop right above his face, gazing into his warm chocolate with your cheeks blooming red.

Leaning in, you flicked your tongue out to taste the seam of his lips, drawing a soft groan from deep in his chest. Your back stretched to its maximum, arching like a harp as you became greedier and greedier and claimed his mouth completely. Your fond tongue traced his teeth, stroking the velvety softness of his inner cheeks, the contours of his palate. The pricking sensation of his stubble against your chin intertwined with the sweet wetness of your mingled saliva.

Your breasts pressed against his broad chest, the fat melting like popsicles in the hot sun. Swinging one leg across, you sit on top of him with your thighs straddling his hips, feeling the thick mound beneath his boxers from his hardening cock against your soaked panties.

As you began to grind on top of him, Simon grunted into your mouth. He slid his big hands down to squeeze your ass, kneading the soft cheeks as he thrust up to meet your clothed cunt. You moaned at the sensation, breaking the kiss but not tearing your gaze away as you straightened your spine to rock your hips back and forth.

Look at that pair of dark eyes—so devoted in their witnessing of every sway of your tits, with the gaping mouth of a hungry man. He lies beneath you, broad shoulders and thick arms corded with muscle built from the hard days of the military. Blonde hair around his chest, trailing down to his stomach and hidden beneath the tempting waistband of his boxers.

And those scars, of course. Especially that goddamn mysterious scar near his ribs. Were they created by 'bad men' or did you deserve it for the bad deeds you had committed, Simon?

Taking one of his hands, you place it on one of your breasts. Simon closes his hand around it, his thumb and index finger curling into a twist at your nipple. You let out a moan, biting your lower lip in a poor effort to keep another one from escaping you.

"Simon,” you breathed, his length twitching against your cunt.

Rolling your hips, your clothed clit rubbed against his hardness. You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly through parted lips, feeling the friction. He placed his hands on your sides, guiding your movements into a steady rhythm.

“Fuck, look at ya, darlin’…”

Bathed in the dim lighting of this inn, you were a sight he wanted to capture. Sitting on top of him like a long-gone queen reclaiming her place—the very reason for his convulsing cock, the numbing of his brain, his ears tuning out the noise of his old brain. As you continued to roll your hips, he watched every detail and seared it all in the back of his head.

The way sweat slicks and rests on the dip of your collarbone. Kiss-swollen sweet lips, tempting for him to bite or wrap around his throbbing length. Heavy eyelids and dark traces of your mascara.

Fuck, look at those puffy eyes.

Simon had endured his fair share of cuts and gunshot wounds. But nothing prepared him for the invisible grip on his heart when he realized what your cries left behind—puffy and red-rimmed like bruised berries. Fuckin’ hell…

Wanting more, you slide your lace aside. You restart your pace, gasping in pleasure at the new direct contact, the wetness of your building peak coloring the fabric of his boxer darker. The throbbing inside you begins, growing stronger the more you grind. You almost lose your pace—Simon’s large hands grip your hips to guide your movements toward climax.

The tight coil within you twists tighter. You breathe in short, ragged gasps; eyes squeezed shut as white flashes explode behind your lids. The cresting wave rises to a peak, making your thighs tremble.

When it hits, you throw your head back with a cry, Simon supporting your arched back with a strong palm behind you. The heat in your lower belly flushes as your release drips down to his boxers.

You slumped limp against his chest. He wrapped his strong arms around you, waiting for you to catch your breath while he inhaled his own. Christ, your scent is intoxicating—that sweet soap you were devoted to, the perfume he often saw on your dresser, and something natural about you that made his cock throb, begging to be released from the boxers beneath you. It took every ounce of willpower for him not to flip you over and take his fill.

A gentle giggle bubbled up. Simon furrowed his brows, meeting your eyes as you lifted your chin with a lazy smile.

“That was… weird,” you said, confusion written all over your face.

“What’s weird?”

“Well, for starters…” you glanced down between you, tracing a finger along the damp patch staining his boxers and chuckling again when he hissed. “I ruined these.”

Simon chuckled, shifting his hips. “Don’t matter none though, does it? You’re gonna ‘ave them off me soon enough anyway.”

You laugh – the warm, carefree sound from deep within your chest. Cheeks flushed rosy, and you’re sure your eyes sparkled. “Okay, okay. That’s something I might do.”

Leaning down, you brushed your lips against his in almost a chaste kiss. Simon couldn't resist, prolonging it by deepening it gently. He hooked his fingers around the lace loops on your hips, giving a playful tug as your mouths moved slow and sweet.

Breaking away, he narrows his eyes at your black panties. “You can still do them sexy moves takin’ this off, y’know…”

At his words, your smile stretches from ear to ear. Muttering an “okay,” you slip off him and the bed, standing in front of him. He fixes his dark eyes on you, melting the sudden shyness and encouraging you to continue the show. Slowly, teasingly, you begin to peel down your lace, small laughs escaping your throat.

“Well?” you ask, cheeks now rosy as you pose for his eyes. “How’s this?”

“Fucking perfect, darlin’,”

You toss aside your last garment, showing off your fully naked form like some kind of high fashion model. “Your turn now,” you say, walking toward him.

Reaching for the waist of his boxers, you began easing them down as well, eager to harvest the fruits of your ministry for each other. But, as it slid off his ankle, your eyes landed on his skin, and your smile faded, realizing something you hadn't before.

Knotted, mottled skin stretched from his right hip and down the side of his shin. The scars were old, but the memory of the fire that had once caressed him was immortalized in their rugged, rough texture. You tried to avert your already teary eyes from it, but instead found more scars around his legs—some nearly identical to the ones scattered across his upper body, some others resembled surgical scars long healed.

A lump rises in your throat, but you try to smile and crawl back into his lap, trying to lose yourself in whatever follows. But the façade crumbles, and you find yourself frozen, staring at him while fighting back tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” And yet, Simon opens the door for you to broach the subject. Must’ve been something about your expression.

You briefly considered playing dumb, but your chance evaporated when a treacherous tear slipped freely. Hastily wiping it away, you took a shaky breath, focusing your gaze on the ceiling to prevent another from falling. You stared into his eyes again, and Simon saw the composure you had so carefully maintained on the edge of crumbling again.

“Those scars…” Your voice wavered, and you had to pause to steady it. “Were they from your time in the military?”

Watching those pretty lips tremble, tears marring your beautiful face, he felt a sickening clench in his chest. Part of him hated seeing you so sad, while another swelled with something akin to misplaced pride – that this angel was weeping over scars so old they had long since stopped hurting him.

Scars from battles the old Simon had fought years ago. Scars he had seen as part of his creation, marks he bore without feeling.

“Some from service, yeah. Others… more personal-like.” He said it nonchalantly. In his perspective, as proof that it didn’t hurt anymore, didn't need to numb it with ice like he did in the past—so, sweet thing, stop crying over him.

As if that were possible. He could tell you that it happened years ago, but it doesn't matter; it wouldn't lessen the pain even if your human life spanned a hundred centuries. Your tongue seared, heart sliced—someone touched the one you love with the most brutal violence they could choose in this world.

The image must have been absurd—the two of you completely naked in front of each other, yet instead of continuing, you weep over him. But now that you’ve seen it—those scars etched so cruelly and eternally upon his flesh—how do you look away?

"Why... why would anyone want to hurt you?” Your voice trembled, tracing that scar near his ribs that had caught your attention since you first saw it. It stood out, raised and knotted in a way that spoke of a cruel blade—making you wince at the thought of the pain. “Is… is this from your time in the military too?”

“Yeah,”

“What happened?”

Without any real weight, he said, “Got meself ‘anged by the ribs once,” in a light intonation as if it were some kind of joke.

But it wasn’t. My God, you wished it was, but it wasn’t, judging by the scars.

Despite his effort, it couldn’t mask the horror he’d experienced. Your breath hitches in a sob, your hand trying to cover your mouth. Your airway constricts as you imagine how it must have felt for him then. Hanged by the ribs, feeling your skin tear from holding your weight, flesh on display like they do in a slaughterhouse.

And he still manages to shush you, drawing your head to his chest in a tight hug like you’re the one who’s been through it all.

“Twern’t nothin’ – doesn’t even ‘urt no more.”

Pressed against his skin, you seek the usual solace that his heartbeat brings. But your heart remains unsettled, a lingering question nagging at your mind and tongue, refusing to let you find peace until it's voiced.

Raising your head slightly, chin resting upon his chest, you meet his gaze with red-rimmed eyes. "And... and the burn scars?”

“House fire during a mission.”

You know that’s not the full truth, but you don’t dare to press it, choosing to spare your heart from more details of his agonies.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt.” You said.

Simon gave a small hum in response. Reaching up, he wiped away your tears with his thumb. “Then stop cryin', love. 'Urts more to see yer pretty face all red and puffy.”

The hands around your jaw bring you closer. This time, he's the first to initiate this new kiss, closing his lips around yours with almost hesitant caution. And you want to cry—you want to cry from how gentle his touch is, and yet someone has handled him in the cruelest way possible.

Here you are, bodies pressed together—chest to chest, skin to skin. You let out a gasp as he grips your ass cheeks, spreading them until the chilly air touches your soaked folds. Simon would rather have those pretty eyes rolled back in pleasure than cry; he would rather have those plump lips parted to moan erotic sounds than sob. He bucks his hips and brushes the fat tip of his cock against your entrance.

Breaking the kiss, Simon gives a slow thrust upwards, grunting as he feels your warm labia. You straighten your back to sit on his pelvis, doing your own set of hip rolls as his hands guide you.

“No more tears f’me, ye ‘ear?” He meets your eyes before lowering it to the tantalizing view of your glistening body, causing another twitch of his impatient cock. “I ain’t worth it.”

The tip of his cock brushes against your folds when he thrusts his hips once more. A small mewl escapes your moist lips, vertebrae drawn like a curve of a bow as his length slowly enters your hole.

“No—no, don’t say that. You’re—mmh!” You stumble over your words, voice shaking both from emotion and physical overwhelm. “You’re always worth it, Simon.”

Sweet thing, unaware of the effect her puffy eyes and tear-stained cheek have on a man as corrupt as him. Struggling to find words while he fills her up, trying to convince him that he's worth something.

“That so?”

Biting your lip, you nod. “Yes,”

“Yeah?”

Without waiting for a reply, he grips your hips and slams you against him in one swift thrust. Your eyes fluttered shut on a gasp as he sank home. He groans at the blissful feeling, the remnants of your last orgasm completely coating him. But he has never been a man of gratitude; the gaping hole near his ribs—right where the scar he has shown you and told you about—seems to consume every fulfillment he might have, leaving him perpetually feeling unsatisfied and not enough.

Right now, he felt utterly insufficient. His old soul was always left wanting for more. That stupid, almost pathetic desire for proof that he would never truly believe—

“Prove it then, love.”

And well, he is a selfish man after all.

Slowly, you begin to move, hips rocking sensually against him, stretching your cunt to take his cock. It’s sloppy at first, until you settle into a rhythm and set your pace. He takes in every beautiful detail of you – your kiss-swollen lips beneath the faint bite of your teeth, your skin shimmering with sweat, your bouncing tits as you ride him, and the way your walls tighten their embrace around his cock with each in and out.

“Tha’s it love, ride me.”

Your cunt fluttered at the encouragement. He traced your curves before stopping at your breasts, twisting and pulling your nipples, eliciting a whimper from your throat. Rolling your hips, you grind your clit against his pelvis. He gives a low grunt.

“A-ah, Simon-!”

Listen to that, his name rolling off your tongue like liquid sin, a constant he never gets tired of. The room temperature rises, an invisible fire burning in his groin as you bounce on his cock. Your fingers dig half-moons on his naked thighs.

The room seemed to burn, almost like reminiscent of the flames that once scorched his lower right side. But this time, the sensation that swept through him was one of pure euphoria. The suffering that had gripped him was erased, replaced by a fierce hunger to shed more than just your clothes. The overwhelming need to be swallowed whole, to reside between your viscera and become the first to be embraced there.

Like a fish out of a tank, your lips formed a perfect 'O'—an invitation he accepted as he slipped his rough fingers into your mouth and tucked them beneath the blanket of your tongue. The brush of warm flesh made his cock throb, drawing a muffled sound from you.

Simon put his free hand to continue steering your hips, maintaining their steady rhythm as they started to falter. The angry crown of his cock pulled out before slamming back in and disappearing between your plump labia. He let his ears feast on your cry, watching your eyes squeeze shut as he reached that sweet spot inside. Saliva dripped, running down the curve of your chin and down between your swaying breasts.

The ah-ah! sound becomes the only thing you can produce after he liquifies your brain into a tangled mess, trapping your tongue under the weight of his calloused fingers.

Your inner walls fluttered and clenched around his length, your climax peeking and cresting, forming high waves. Simon growled through clenched teeth. Your back arched, head falling back as you surrendered to your second peak.

His grip on your hips tightened as a warning. “Off, love—fuck, ye gotta get off, now.”

You did not heed him, continuing to bounce on his twitching cock. He groaned, trying to hold back the inevitable tide of his release.

“Love,” he tries again before calling your name, his own hips stuttering.

“No, please- I’m—I’m on the pill,” you gasped—

And the lie slipped through your lips without thinking.

Even as a part of you knew this was wrong—that you were trying to trap him and you were being reckless—you kept going. Simon stopped trying to get you off him, letting you slam your hips one last time before he emptied thick ropes of seed into your womb.

Sex and your indifference to potential consequences permeated the air, screaming for your attention. A voice curses you in the back of your mind, full of snarls that you have gone too far; that you have hated Mother too much to dismiss everything she says—even the true ones—as nonsense. That you will only live to regret this.

But you have to—it's a necessity, driven by the roots that tell you to cement this bond between you. Sure, it may be born out of a desperate fantasy of your own insecurities, but you need this.

“Nothing can make them stay, my dear. Not for love, not for sex, for all your years of devotion to them, not even for their own flesh and blood!” Your mother is screaming in your head.

(Nonsense. Nonsense, all of it.)

You watch his chest rise and fall; somewhere deep within the confines of his strong ribs is a heart that beats in almost the same rhythm as yours. The dim lighting of the room you only acknowledge when it reflects faintly on the slick of his scar-littered skin. Those brown eyes stare at you beneath a canopy of blond lashes, moist lips pulled into a slight smile under his strong nose—and you return it with a wider one.

Would a child make you stay, Simon?

“Fucking ‘ell, love…” he muttered, still trying to catch his breath.

Unable to resist, you grind against his still-sensitive cock, earning a hiss and a hand on your hip to still you, making you chuckle.

“Don’t do that.” He mutters low and rough.

You nod, another giggle. Leaning forward, you press a quick kiss to his lips. “Okay, okay,” you say. “I’ll be good.”

Settling your head on his chest, Simon then pulls the blanket up before draping it over your naked bodies. You sigh in relief as he wraps his arms tightly around your smaller frame. Pulling you close, he buries his nose in your hair, breathing in your scent.

You trace idle patterns on his skin, murmuring: “My big performance is in a month. I got a special pass for you, so you better not even think about missing it.”

“The swan play?”

“Yeah,” you answered, lifting your head to gaze up at him. "Promise you'll be there?"

Promises are risky business, especially for someone like him. He's well-versed in the knowledge that when someone makes a promise, it means they're up for something that always comes along to fuck it up.

Even so, the words came out before he could stop them. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, love.”

Hearing that, your smile threatened to widen, and you plopped your head back flat against his chest before he saw it. Wanting something to focus on, you settled your gaze on the old window at the end of the room. It was still raining outside, but it had softened. The pitter-patter of raindrops sounded more like a gentle, faint tap, reminding you of the squeaking of the bed when you were still making love earlier.

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulls you into a sense of peace. Then, there was a sudden urge to open up to him, created from a feeling of indebtedness to him. After all, he had been the one to step in earlier. There's still a lot Simon doesn't know about you, about Mother.

But just as you were about to part your lips, his arms tightened around you. The warmth of his touch made the courage to speak seep away, replaced by a crippling fear of ruining the moment. In the end, you clamped your mouth shut, squeezing your eyes closed as you forced yourself to let things be how they should be—unsaid.

The ghost of your mother's voice echoes in the back of your mind again. As you adjust your position, feeling the unfamiliar wetness on your thighs, you reassure yourself that this time is different; he is different. He’s going to stay. You feel his fingers gently carding through your hair, magically burning away any lingering doubts in the corners of your soul.

After everything, he has to.

The morning sun streams through the thin leaves as you and Simon get out of the car to stop for breakfast at the quaint little restaurant you came across. The chilly air still lingers, urging you to pull your cardigan tighter around you as you wait for the food to be served.

Taking in your surroundings, you notice the worn wooden floors, the mismatched chairs and tables. An old-fashioned cash register and shelves that hang various kinds of souvenirs typical of this small town and character key chains.

When the waiter—who also seemed to be the owner—placed two plates down, Simon ate without hesitation. You reached for your fork, but your eyes were drawn to the clock on the wall. Time was ticking fast—the sand in the hourglass slipping through your fingers with each second. You could almost feel the ground beneath you shifting, the earth seeming to swallow you alive.

Breakfast is over. Simon paid the bill and slipped out first for a smoke while you waited for the change. The owner disappeared into the back, leaving you standing there alone. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, the only sound filling the silence.

Casting your gaze around, you search for a distraction, something to stare at. Your eyes eventually land on the souvenir rack. And there, among the keychains and trinkets, a skeleton charm catches your eye, black and white reminding you of the one Simon hangs in his car.

The sound of the door opening jolts you back to reality. The owner returns with a handful of bills in his outstretched hand. Instead of taking it, you point to the skeleton charm, waiting for the old man to follow your fingertip before asking, “How much for that one?”

As the other door opens with the soft chimes of a bell overhead, you walk towards Simon with a barely suppressed smile. He smells of tobacco like he always does after a smoke. But, you hardly mind; all you care about is the delicate skeleton charm you hold in front of him.

“Look what I got you!” you exclaim, your smile bursting from your lips.

Simon’s eyebrows furrowed, dark eyes studying the little bone-white friend. You wait and wait for him to say something; your legs feel jittery as the small figure swings dangling between your thumb and forefinger.

“It’s..interestin’,” he says, finally taking it from you, studying it closer. “Where'd you get it?”

“The owner had it on the shelf over there,” you say, nodding towards the display. “I.. well, I saw it and thought of you. I hope you like it.”

You watched as crow's feet formed at the corners of his eyes, his mouth twitching into a smile beneath his mask. Then, Simon let out a sound—a chuckle, a genuine one which then turned into a short laugh that spread sensations in your chest.

“Thanks,” Simon said to the owner, who was standing behind the cashier with his own grin.

Then, he turns to you, his arms reaching out to wrap around your shoulders. “An’ thanks to you, too,” he says, almost a whisper, meant for just the two of you. “It’s… perfect.”

Without another word, he pulls you close, tucking your head under his chin as you make your way out of the restaurant. The birds chirping, celebrating a sunny day in the countryside. But this warmth… it’s not from the sun, not from the kinder wind. He opens his car door as he always does, and you slide inside, still with the gentle rumble of his chuckle ringing in your head.

You hoped this would never end.

You hoped—

The short trip to the English countryside was almost over; you had to go back to practice and rehearsals on Monday, and Simon had his agenda of disappearing to God knows where else. You didn’t question it; you didn’t ask anymore. You were comfortable enough with the many question marks that always seemed to surround him. He always came back in the end—that's what matters.

As you neared London, Simon pulled into a petrol station to refuel. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. The door closed, and you were left alone with your gray thoughts.

You watched Simon standing outside the car, focused on refueling the tank. Fumbling for your phone, you saw the time – well past midnight. After this, he would definitely drive you home, then disappear for weeks, leaving you to wait. He always came back in the end – that’s what matters, you kept telling yourself.

(But a man who always comes back is a man who always leaves.)

Your eyes drifted to your purse at your feet, where the other phone—the newer one, the one you bought on impulse—lay hidden. Biting your lip, you snatched it up, unlocking it and quickly checking the “Find My” app, making sure the two devices were connected.

Taking a deep breath, you brace yourself, internal debate building but you know which side you’re leaning. This is wrong, probably will do more harm than good to Simon, to yourself—but, you have to, you need this. The same old justification ringing like the old ringtone you’ve memorized by heart. You reach down and carefully drop the spare phone onto the car floor, kicking it to hide it under the seat. Out of sight, out of mind – for now, at least.

Simon slid back behind the wheel after he was done, groaning as his neck popped tensely. He turned to you, brows furrowed.

“Alright?”

Giving a faux smile, you said: “Just a little tired.”

He didn’t question further, just nodded before turning the ignition and buckled his seatbelt. “Not far now,” he turned the wheel out of the gas station. “Just a bit further an’ we’ll be ‘ome.”

The car sped back down the long road. In the darkness outside, you barely made out the shadowy landscape rushing by outside the window, just your faint reflection staring back at you. Everything seemed almost lifeless, except for the soft strains of the radio playing a late-night playlist.

Home, he said. Simon said it as if “home” were so close and existent.

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saras-almanac · 2 days ago

Text

So I wrote this post the other day about my feelings on the handling of the BuckTommy breakup (which you can read here if you want). And @parrishjeanna reblogged with a link to an article from Tim. I wrote out a reply to it but it became so long I needed to put it in a separate post because it’s over 3k and I need to put it until a readmore.

Okay so I did read that article thank you @kawaiifacesong for linking the not generating revenue clicks because I don’t like reading any articles for 9-1-1 because it’s literally all buddies who can’t ask anything about the show. (Case in point, in this particular interview, the interviewer brings up “The Couch Theory” because Buck and Eddie sit on a couch.)

So this interview was trash for many reasons but I’ll narrow it down to three for the sake of this response: Biphobic nature of the breakup and aftermath, what’s being said in interviews isn’t what we’re seeing, and Tim writes as he goes so there’s no actual plan going forward.

First: The Biphobic Nature of this breakup is still moving full swing.

The idea that Buck is “still figuring himself out” and needs to explore is insulting in so many ways—especially to myself as a bisexual lady in my 30s. Firstly, being in my 30s, the idea that you need to figure yourself out still is absolute bullshit. Yes, you can still find new things out about yourself and make some changes, but usually by this point in your life, you have a pretty decent handle on who you are as a person. Which Buck does have… and we’ve seen that? So it has to be a reference to his newly discovered and realized sexuality.

Which, AGAIN is so biphobic and plays into incredibly harmful bisexual stereotypes that bisexuals need to “explore” to figure out what or who they want. This means either they need to fuck around and make sure they’re really bisexual. OR they need to get enough experience with their same gender to then be able to have a same-gendered relationship. Both of which are insulting and harmful. This idea that Tommy couldn’t possibly be a lasting relationship because Buck just came out as bisexual is wrong. It’s fine if they didn’t want Tommy to be a long-term love interest or even an end-game love interest, but why couldn’t they have done it differently, to hopefully not play into these harmful stereotypes that are still incredibly prevalent today.

Now do I think they fully intended it to play out as biphobic as it is? Not really, but I do think that the heart of what they wanted—Buck exploring his sexuality—is inherently biphobic because of the way they have chosen to go about it. There’s a world of difference between having Tommy break up with Buck so Buck can go exploring and having OS and TM saying similar things in interviews and Tommy and Buck breaking up and Buck getting back out there and dating around. Which if they had given it just a smidge of thought, I have to hope they would have come to that same conclusion and maybe gone about it in a different way.

Second: What Tim’s saying in interviews about what’s happening on the show and in these storylines doesn’t match up to what we’re seeing

I’m going to paste the few paragraphs related to BuckTommy break up here, just to read. I have bolded what I thought was important and what I’m going to talk about after it.

“Look, I think the breakup was premature, but that was by design. For me, the story that I was trying to tell was here’s a guy, Tommy. He’s not a main character on the show. We haven’t done ‘Tommy Begins’ or something. But you do see him in the ‘Begins’ episodes, in flashbacks, and by the time he leaves in ‘Bobby Begins Again,’ he’s turned over a new leaf. He’s feeling more comfortable. He’s hanging out with the new people at the 118 once Bobby takes over, and they throw him a party and bake him a cake when he goes off to his new post. There was even a reference in Broken when Chimney calls him to do the water drop,” Minear explained. “But Tommy’s a guy who’s in a different place in his life than Buck is. And I think what Tommy realizes is exactly what he said, which is, ‘I’m not your last. I’m your first.'” Minear referenced the coffee shop scene in Season 7, where Buck asked Tommy to give them another shot and come to his sister’s wedding, as a point when Tommy thought, “Alright, this guy’s kind of great. He’s super hot and he’s sweet. And this will be nice. And I’m going to be vulnerable for this.” As the relationship grew stronger and the stakes grew higher, however, Tommy reevaluated things. “I think Tommy, in the end, understood that this was not forever — that Buck is exploring himself. He’s still figuring himself out. And even if Tommy doesn’t know it, he might sense the fact that Buck likes to jump in with both feet a little bit precipitously,” Minear mused. “So was the breakup premature? Yes. Because Tommy was put in a position where he had to be honest. And once he speaks the truth, which is, ‘I think I know where this ends, and I can’t move in with you,’ he’s kind of breaking the spell — the spell of that honeymoon. Tommy even says, ‘I didn’t see this coming either.’ I don’t think either one of them did.”

Okay, lots of things happening in this quote but ultimately there’s a massive disconnect in what TM thinks is happening or what he’s saying is happening and what is actually on screen—and that’s a huge problem. You can’t rely on interviews to explain things, it needs to be in the actual text of the episode.

I think the real crux of the issue is this: “Tommy’s a guy who’s in a different place in his life than Buck is… Tommy, in the end, understood that this was not forever… he’s kind of breaking the spell—the spell of that honeymoon.”

Let’s break this down a bit. Tommy being in a different place in his life than Buck… How? Buck has, since the pilot episode, been looking and searching for a stable romantic relationship—he’s always craved that and wanted that. Even in the breakup, he was thinking about their future and marriage and moving in with Tommy. Is that not what the next logical step of a relationship might be? So doesn’t that—regardless of whether it was premature or not—prove that Buck and Tommy are in the same place of clearly wanting a long-term, committed relationship? So if this wasn’t the case, why didn’t you show that? Show them having that disconnect or make it clear that Tommy’s dropping hints about their future and Buck is not in the same place so he’s not picking up on them at all. Because what we saw was Buck wanting and seeing a future with Tommy and Tommy basically telling him that the doesn’t actually.

“Tommy, in the end, understood that this was not forever — that Buck is exploring himself. He’s still figuring himself out.” This is my villain origin point—for real. Because this is also not what we saw! What we saw, was a Buck who was so secure in himself and his relationship, arguably for the first time on this show, that he didn’t panic or second-guess anything really. He was all-in with Tommy and enjoying himself and being with Tommy. He even said that being with Tommy makes him more comfortable with himself—aka what a lot of couples say when they’re in committed and reciprocal, healthy romantic relationships—that being with you makes me happy being me. (Paraphrasing here, but hopefully my point gets across.)

Because what is there for Buck to figure out yet? He knows he’s bisexual and incredibly into Tommy. He’s happy and content with his work life and seems pretty happy with where he’s living. His relationships with his friends and family are all as good as they usually are. So what is there for Buck to still figure out? I’m left to assume that this is again only about his sexuality, which just keeps adding more to the pile of shit that makes me feel crappy and uncomfortable with this storyline.

Also, why couldn’t Buck and Tommy last? Why is that assumed to be the correct conclusion to come to? How many high school sweethearts get together and last? How many people who don’t date until they’re in their 20s-30s find someone right away and stay together? How many people come out as queer later in life because they have found someone they click with and it just makes them see more of themselves and they stay together? Sure, this is not the case with every single person in these situations, but it’s not unheard of. To me, this just feels like the show and Tim are acting like Buck is a young, 20-year-old child and now a grown man in his 30s…

What we actually saw on our screens, was two people who genuinely seemed to enjoy each other and spending time together. That had an easy and sweet relationship, where they both felt settled and comfortable together. It’s why the weird change in 806 felt so abrupt—what do you mean these two people who had amazing communication up until that point, have not talked about their past relationships at all? I think that was done as a shortcut for the writers and TM to say, “Look, see, they’re not compatible, they can’t last because they’re not talking about anything serious.” But again, my point is: then you should have showed us that beforehand, given some foreshadow or lead up to it. Instead, they chose to blindside the audience for the “shock value” and it didn’t work. Shock value for shock value’s sake never works for the audience. They don’t want the rug to be pulled out from under them, they want to see you building something and only after it’s built can they see what you were doing the whole time.

Now, I understand that they just wanted to break them up for “story” reasons (which I have no faith is going to be anything good). While I personally hate that because I feel like there would have been much more storylines and things for Buck to be involved in and it would have opened up a lot more potential stories for the future, I get that it’s not my decision to make. But why couldn’t they actually make this make sense in the actual context of what we’d seen already? If you wanted to break them up because they’re in different places, then having Buck ask Tommy to move in could have caused more of an argument of Tommy saying that Buck doesn’t really see him and doesn’t seem to understand that Tommy has a whole life outside of Buck. O Tommy could have been the one to propose moving in together and Buck freaks out because it’s too soon—which leaves Tommy to come to the conclusion that they want different things right now and he can’t just sit around and hoping Buck will catch up because it would be too hard for him to let go of Buck later. Or have Tommy literally going to a different place—whether temporarily or permanently—and so they have to break up because Buck has a whole life here and Tommy wasn’t about to ask Buck to uproot himself for Tommy…

There’s so many other ways this breakup could have gone instead of the route they went—and they would have made much more sense contextually. Instead, they went this cheapest way possible and have Buck now acting like a child about calling Tommy, when in reality and with the growth we’d seen of Buck in the past 8 years, he would have reached out to Tommy already. At least to talk things through. The baking thing was cute for an episode and it would have been okay for longer, but I’m just sitting here wondering exactly why Buck can’t call Tommy… If it’s because he’s hurt, then they needed to say that because right now, it just seems like Buck is literally being forced to not call him but the audience isn’t really sure why.

All this brings me to my biggest point. Third: I don’t trust anything that’s being said in interviews or by TM because he doesn’t write in advance and that’s a major problem

Before we get into it let me make a disclaimer: I’m gonna need every single network and studio to start requiring all the white men who write for them to actually be getting them scripts. We cannot rely on their “genius” to make sense because these scripts—especially season 8—should have had a few more passes before what we’ve seen. The only episode so far that actually felt like a complete episode was the Halloween episode.

And if this season has taught us anything, it’s that Tim not having any real plans or anything written is actually a massive problem for this show.

Now me not believing TM is not me saying that I 100% believe Tommy is coming back (though I feel like the chances are higher now with the reaction from the GA for ABC to suggest some things or at least give a closure beat to this character and relationship) This is more, nothing that TM has said in interviews up until this point for season 8 has really actually happened on screen except for Eddie shaving his moustache… Granted, I don’t read every single article with him so I might have missed something, but I just feel like he’s got no interest in setting anything up and actually paying it off in any real way.

So many people were so excited for season 8 because it was the first season in years where we actually knew so many storylines going into 8—that weren’t told to us in interviews; they were introduced in the actual show! We had Bobby/Athena’s house hunting, HenRen fighting Ortiz and trying to get Mara back, Madney fostering Mara in HenRen’s place, Eddie dealing with Christopher leaving, and Gerrard back at the 118. Any one of those storylines would have been so amazing to really see explored and fleshed out. Instead, everything was basically settled and done by episode 4—apart from Christopher and Eddie resolution and Bobby/Athena actually moving in / building. To me, as a writer myself, that decision to rush though those other stories was a massive massive misstep. There was so much there to explore and delve into that could have been so satisfying to watch and really reap the emotional payoff.

Instead, we had like 2-4 minutes max of processing HenRen not being able to see Mara again before they were all reunited. Not that I wanted to see HenRen struggling again in this way, but it would have been different and they could have put some humor into it with Karen suggesting they tail Ortiz and try to find things out about her—or Hen comes back from a shift to find Karen has stayed up for 38 hours tracking every single facebook post from Ortiz and her family to try and find something they could use and she’s the one who uncovered the link between Ortiz and Gerrard, which then promts Hen to ask Buck as Gerrard’s specialist boy to ask for a favor or try to convince Gerrard to help them deal with Ortiz.

And Maddie and Chimney having Mara would have been so interesting to see them actually having conversations about what they want for their family going forward—do they want more kids, do they not? Are they wanting to try naturally or adoption? And then Mara being with Chimeny could have also added another layer of tension between Hen and Chimney with Hen being jealous that Chimney is raising her daughter.

I mean Eddie… the fact that it took 8 episodes (basically) for him to actually acknowledge that he needs to do something to be a part of his son’s life is a major problem as well. It makes me not want to root for Eddie to reconcile with Chris because he has shown hardly any initiative in actually confronting what he did and the actual reason why Chris is so upset and feels betrayed. There was a little in 6, but that’s sort of it.

Bobby and Athena, they just don’t seem to know what to do with them anymore. And that’s a shame because there are so many things they could do—namely my favorite thing which is give them more comedy to do! They are so funny together (cruise ship is one of my favorite things). Or they could have had the first few episodes be them sort of couch surfing through the firefam and be a fun little runner of “we really need to figure out what we’re doing.” Even their storyline of their house burning just doesn’t seem to be a thing anymore.

Buck, it would have been so amazing to see him dealing with the work stuff more and having Tommy to lean on, to see Buck who’s been pretty secure in his work for the past few seasons now dealing with Bobby being gone and Gerrard there, just really gets him thinking about the future. Or even the comment about budget cuts, why was that never brought up again? That would have been so interesting to lead up to the midseason finale, which of the 118 is going to get laid off? And Buck being in such a secure spot maybe he volunteers because he wants to explore something outside of firefighting and/or because everyone else has kids and a family and he knows it’s easier for him to not have a job? And then he’s saying his goodbyes and the midseason act out is Bobby announcing that Eddie is going to be leaving them instead.

Instead of really exploring any of that, it’s all been rushed through to move on to the next thing, but the honest truth is: I don’t trust what TM’s great next thing is because he absolutely squandered all the potential he had going into season 8. So all these “amazing things” he has going forward I just don’t trust they’re going to happen or even be slightly interesting. Instead, I assume they’re going to be something that’s like an episode opening and then never mentioned again if they do happen.

I just don’t understand what is going on in his head other than ego right now and I’m just… I deal with too many egos in my life to deal with another one like this.

#didn't expect this to end up as long as it is but i guess i had a lot to say and honestly still have a lot to say but mentally need a break #but this has just made me want to get back into actually writing and maybe writing my own version of season 8 #one day I'll move on but it took me months to get over magicians and this is bringing those feelings back a bit #bucktommy #911 critical #911 season 8

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size0forhollywood · 7 hours ago

Text

Metafiction

Pt 13: Love and Heartbreak

Content Warning: 21+, SMUT, NSFW, ORAL, Dirty Talk, Hard Sex, goodbye sex, The End of the Series, Space Travel, 4th Wall break,

Taglist: @xxfaithlynxx , @msturi2u

A/n: all good things must come to an end… just want to say thank you to everyone. This idea just kind of flourished on its own and I appreciate all the likes, follows, comments and reblogs. When I recover properly, I hope to be able to keep producing some spicy fics for everyone in future. Love you all 💙

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things have been like a sweet blissful dream lately. Being back with Sylus, experiencing each other again. Every night that he is home you both are deep in the throes of passionate love making. But it’s more than just sex. Those feelings you had before you left the N109 Zone are stronger than ever and you’ve almost told him on more than one occasion.

Sometimes you think he mumbles it when he’s coming deep inside you but you’re not sure. You’re so blissed out in your own orgasm you don’t really hear what’s going on around you or what’s being said. Sylus says many things to you during sex, that could embody an admission of love.

He’s even started calling you his beloved and when he goes out to deal with his ‘business’ he always comes back with a gift for you.

Today as he came back after being away for three days he handed you a key ring with a tiny crow plushie attached. You smile as you remember the crow plushie from the game.

“You like this one a lot hmm?” Sylus removes his jacket and unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt. His eyes moving up and down your body. Hungrily taking you in.

“Yeah. It’s really cute.” Your smile grows wider the more you look at it.

He saunters over to you and cradles your face in his hands. His thumbs gently caressing your cheeks as he leans in giving you a soft, sweet tender kiss.

“Mmm, my beloved..” he murmurs against your lips.

The kiss gradually deepens into something more sinful. His arms wrap around your waist as he lifts you and spins you around. Backing you up against the wall. A hungry growl in his throat as his tongue starts assaulting yours. You gasp as your back hits the wall.

“Mm Sy…let’s go to the bedroom..” you say in between his rough kisses.

Sylus starts peppering kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“No.” He simply says. His tongue and teeth on your neck tasting your salty sweet skin.

His hands caressing the sides of your body, feeling every curve. He grips the waist band of your shorts and starts tugging them down along with your underwear.

“Sy! Luke and Kieran are~”

“I don’t care.” He cuts you off. He keeps kissing down your body and slowly dropping to his knees as he goes. Your shorts and underwear bunched around your ankles.

“Need..to taste you..” he hums.

Sylus gently bites your hip, his hands rubbing and squeezing your thighs. He forces your legs apart as he slides his fingers up your inner thigh to your throbbing cunt. Gently rubbing and inserting his fingertips. Groaning at your wetness.

“Looks like you can’t wait either Sweetie.”

He takes a moment watching as his fingers slide in and out of your hot, slick pussy. He spreads your folds open, admiring the glistening pink. He looks up at you through half lidded eyes.

“So fucking gorgeous.”

You take in the sight of him on his knees before you. Looking up at you with lust filled eyes. His desires oozing out of him at this point, ready to take you with his tongue and make you forget about everything around you. It makes your cunt ache with need.

You bite your lip, running your fingers through the side of his hair, caressing him. Guiding his face closer to your sopping heat. Sylus smirks. His eyes remaining on you as he starts lapping up your juices. Groaning as he tastes you and watches your face twist with pleasure.

His already hard cock straining against his pants, threatening to burst free. He can already feel his pre-cum leaking out and pooling against his clothes. This only makes him want to devour you more. He wants to feel you cum on his face and drown in your sweet release.

Sylus plunges his tongue into you and wriggles his nose against your throbbing clit. Occasionally giving you that friction. Your grip on his hair tightens holding him against your cunt. Grinding your aching pussy onto him, wanting to ride his gorgeous face as he eats you out into oblivion.

His fingers work in tandem with his tongue. Scissoring in and out of you. Bringing you closer to your peak.

“Ah…Sy..I’m so close..” you struggle in between moans. The pleasure his tongue and fingers give you is enough to make you start seeing stars.

He pulls his face away, briefly, his hooded eyes on you. Your arousal glistening on his lips and chin. His fingers are still pumping inside you, feeling your hot plush walls tighten around them.

“I know.” He smirks at you before burying his face back into your cunt. He’s absolutely ravenous.

You throw your head back, moaning, gasping, whimpering. All of the above. His tongue and fingers driving you wild. You hear him groan into your cunt as you start grinding your pussy against his face again. Chasing that impending orgasm.

Sylus starts sucking and licking your clit helping you get even closer to that sweet delicious release.

“Cum on my face Sweetie.” He encourages you.

“Fuck. Sylus!” Your body convulses and trembles as your orgasm hits you like a truck. Sylus laps up every bit of your sweet juice, as you ride out your orgasm.

He pulls away, his teeth biting your inner thigh. Hot red eyes watching you trying to collect yourself.

“Good girl.” He kisses where he bit you before standing back up. Taking your face in his hands and kissing you.

Letting you tastes yourself on his tongue.

Your mind still clouded with arousal, you break from the tongue battle with Sylus.

“I want to taste you too.”

Sylus smirks, he kisses you back as his hands start undoing his belt and pants. You leave open mouth kisses down his jaw and neck, tasting his salty skin on your tongue. Building anticipation for when you taste what you’re really after.

You slowly drop to your knees in front of Sylus, his deep red eyes hungry and never leaving yours. His massive cock free, leaking with his arousal, throbbing and waiting for you.

You whimper eyeing the sheer size of him but you’re determined. Your desire to have Sylus screaming in pleasure outweighs your fear.

Sylus’ hand cups your chin, his thumb gently stroking your bottom lip. “So beautiful like this,” he pushes his thumb in your mouth gently forcing your mouth open. “Hungry for my cock, aren’t you?”

You nod as you start licking his thumb. Showing him just how desperate you are for his sweet cock to be in your mouth.

His eyes burn with desire as he watches you. “You’re my dirty little slut aren’t you?” He plunges two fingers into your mouth and watches as you accept them. Sucking and licking, tasting yourself on him, covering his fingers with your saliva. “So desperate for me…”

You moan and nod as you continue your sensual attack on his fingers. Sylus groans and pulls his hand away and squeezes your cheeks together, forcing your jaw open.

“Come on then Kitten…show me what this filthy little mouth can do..” he presses the tip of his cock at your mouths entrance.

You jut your tongue out, licking up his precum and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. Moaning as you taste him. Sylus groans, captivated by your performance, holding back his desire to just shove himself into you and mercilessly fucking your face.

His grip on your jaw relaxes, letting you go as he moves to grab a fistful of your hair. You keep your sultry gaze on him as you wrap your lips around him. Slowly taking him into the haven of your warm wet mouth.

Sylus tilts his head up and groans as you start to bob your head up and down his length. Your mouth feels like heaven, and the way you’re moving your tongue around him, flicking the sensitive part just beneath the head of his cock, is driving him crazy.

“Fuck…” he moans out.

Hearing him in pleasure spurs you on, you do your best to slack your jaw, taking him deeper into your mouth. The head of his cock tapping the back of your throat which makes you gag at first but you push through it.

The feeling of your throat close around his cock breaks his resolve completely. He starts thrusting his hips, gripping your hair tightly as he starts to control some of your movements.

“Such dirty little slut…my little slut..”

Your moan sends a vibration through him that makes him shiver and he starts thrusting into your mouth a bit faster, getting deeper down your throat.

Tears starting to roll down your flushed checks because of how deep he’s getting down your throat. Saliva dripping out of your mouth. Your jaw starting to hurt but you push through it. Watching him lose himself to the feeling of your mouth was making your cunt ache with need.

You bring one hand to the base of his cock and start stroking him, to increase his pleasure and bring him closer to the edge. Your other hand goes down to your clit where you start massaging it.

Sylus sees as you touch yourself and he groans fucking into your face a bit harder.

“You like this sweetie? Hmm?”

He sees the look in your eyes as you’re being driven completely by lust and desire. The combination of everything you’re doing getting him closer to the edge.

“Fuck…kitten…I’m gonna cum deep in this tight little throat of yours…” he groans.

You moan as you rub your clit harder, chasing that sweet climax. Your muffled moan on Sylus’ cock pushes him over the edge. He grips your hair so tightly, one final thrust deep into your throat as he releases his sticky hot seed deep down your throat.

“Fuck!” He moans deeply.

Your eyes roll back as you bring yourself to your own climax. Swallowing his salty delicious cum as you do. Swirling your tongue, lapping up as much of it as you can, absolutely milking him dry.

Sylus’ body shudders and trembles as you do. He pulls out as he starts getting overstimulated. Panting heavily. Looking down at your debauched state. Your tear-stained flushed cheeks, a mixture of your saliva and his cum on your swollen lips. Your eyes glazed over in post-orgasmic bliss.

It’s enough to make his cock twitch again with arousal.

“So perfect.” He picks you up, helping you to your feet.

Kissing you passionately, tasting his cum on your lips. His hands travel down to your ass, squeezing and cupping your cheeks before lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist. You can feel his renewed erection pressing against your core.

“Mm Sy.. I want more..” you moan softly against his lips.

Sylus groans at your plea. He presses your back up against the wall again. Lining his cock up with your willing cunt. Rubbing the head of his dick in between your slick folds.

He starts kissing down your jaw, teasing you a little. Your fingers thread through his soft silver locks. Gripping tightly in anticipation.

“My beloved…” He whispers against your neck. His hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

The energy shifting from lust to passion, to love. He slowly sheaths himself inside you. Sweet little breathy moans leave your lips as he does.

“Ah..Sy…”

Sylus doesn’t move for a moment. Savouring the feeling of your hot, plush, wet walls around him. Squeezing and relaxing as they get used to his size.

He draws back and gently thrusts into you. Starting off slowly. Enjoying the way you feel dragging against his cock.

“You feel so amazing.” He breathes against your neck. His hands tightening on your hips as he tries to ground himself.

“You were made for me.” He pants, his self-control wavering as he starts to thrust into you a bit harder and faster.

“Sy!” You gasp as he gets deeper. The wet squelch of him thrusting into your pussy fills the air. Intoxicating the both of you, spurring you on, chasing the high of another orgasm.

You cup his face into your hands, capturing his mouth in a heated kiss. Swallowing eachother's loud moans. Tongues dancing together as he fucks into you with a renewed force.

“Sy…I want you to read my mind..!” You moan against his lips. He pulls his face away a look of confusion on his face.

“It won’t work Sweetie.” His movement slowing down.

“Trust me…” you whisper, your thumb stroking his cheek.

Sylus’ right eye starts to glow as he picks up his movement again. You keep your gaze locked with his, his grip on your hips tightens some more as you allow him past your defences and into the dark crevices of your mind.

“Fuck…” He groans. Sylus sees everything. Everything you’re thinking, every thought you have had, he feels your feelings, the love and hate and all emotions welling deep within. Your desires for him, for home.

Sylus’ eyes sparkle with unshed tears, as every bit of you overwhelms him. Something you have never seen him do since you’ve been here.

New waves of pleasure start to coil within you as Sylus reads your mind. Your grip on him tightens. The coil winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap.

“Sylus..!” You moan.

Sylus feels how close you are to orgasm, your pussy tightening around his pistoning cock. He doubles his efforts, his passion, his love, everything coming to the surface in this moment with you.

“I know, sweetie!” He groans, his own orgasm teetering on the edge.

You squeeze your eyes shut as your orgasm rips through you. The intensity making you tremble and shake in Sylus’ arms. His name flowing from your lips like a symphony. With a final thrust Sylus buries himself to the hilt as he cums with you. Thick hot spurts of his seed coating your spasming walls.

Your both left panting heavily, chests heaving against each other. Sweat glistening your bodies. After a moment Sylus pulls his softened cock out of you. He gently helps you onto your feet. His cherry red eyes watching you and you can’t make out the expression on his face.

Sylus cups your face with his hands and pulls you in for a tender kiss. Something was different. You could feel it in the air. Had you made a mistake letting him into your mind? Just how much did he see?

After that passionate encounter in the hallway Sylus had disappeared into his study with Mephisto. He had been in there for several hours now and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. You were pacing around the compound biting your nails. Why did Sylus just suddenly close himself off? The same question plaguing your mind over and over again until you couldn’t handle it anymore. You walk with determination to the study.

Before you can even knock on the door you hear Sylus’ voice call out.

“You can come in, Sweetie.”

Bracing yourself you open the door and walk in. Sylus was sitting at his desk, his hands working on Mephisto.

“Is Mephisto okay?” You ask, concern etched on your face.

“I’m just giving him some upgrades, nothing to worry about, Sweetie.” His voice was nonchalant.

“So… he’s fully mechanical? Why does he bleed and have real feathers?” Curiosity in your voice… plus it’s been so long since you’ve played the game you’ve forgotten the lore on Mephisto.

Sylus chuckles. His eyes never leaving his hands as he works on Mephisto.

“It’s for dramatic effect..” he mumbles before continuing. “Like when those thugs first tried to kidnap you they thought they killed Mephisto. But really all he needed was some repairs and a reboot.”

You grab a chair and sit down next to Sylus, watching him carefully work on Mephisto. Sylus gives you a sideways glance a small smirk on his face.

“Does he look familiar to you? The… bird aspect of him?”

“What do you mean Sy?” His question leaving you even more confused than when you first walked in.

He pauses to consider his next words and sits back in his chair, his gaze on you.

“The one piece of the puzzle I couldn’t figure out was why Mephisto was apart of it. Why did you see Mephisto when you travelled here? The question had been seared into the forefront of my mind.”

He leaned forward, slowly caressing your cheek with his fingers. “But after you let me read your mind I finally figured it out, Sweetie.”

Your heart starts to race, his tender touch and the way he’s looking at you. Something else was building in you though. Anxiety? Anticipation?

His fingers lingering on your cheek and a subtle hint of sadness in his eyes. “And I think I know how to send you home too…”

Home?

You never thought you’d hear that word, in fact you were finally starting to accept that there was no going back anymore. So many different emotions erupt inside you. Longing, fear…you look at Sylus, the hint of sadness still in his eyes.

What about you and Sylus now? You’ve grown to love him and accept him. Content to be by his side for the rest of your living days. However, home, the place where you belong… could you give all of that up to stay here with Sylus?

Sylus, sensing your inner turmoil, leans forward and places a comforting hand on your thigh. Grounding your focus back to him and the present.

“I’m going to take you somewhere tomorrow. A place in the N109 Zone where there are Evol birds. I’m pretty sure there we will be able to find your way home.”

His words hang thick in the air, tears threaten to well up in your eyes. All of this coming from Sylus being able to read your mind? What did he see to bring him to this conclusion?

With that Sylus turns his attention back to Mephisto, finishing his task. You sit in silence pondering what had just transpired. There was a possibility that this time tomorrow you could be back home?

But do you really want to be Y/N?

Sylus didn’t come to bed with you that night. He stayed locked up in his study with Mephisto. You were lying in bed staring up at the ceiling, replaying everything in your mind. Home… you did miss home. You missed your roommate and best friend. You missed your old life and your freedoms. But now, now you’ve got something to lose if you do go back home.

This love with Sylus, you don’t want to give it up so easily. Not when you went through so much just to have it.

As the hours tick by your sleep eventually consumes you.

When you wake up Sylus is in the room. He’s wearing his motorcycle gear. You sit up in bed rubbing the sleep from your eyes as Sylus walks over to you. Sitting down on the edge of the bed. His expression gentle, yet unreadable.

“Did you sleep well? Kitten?”

Not really. Your mind was plagued with thoughts of home. Thoughts about your life here with him. You give him a small smile.

“Yeah.” You lied. You don’t know why. With the way Sylus’ crimson eyes look at you, you know he can tell.

Still, he doesn’t say anything. He caresses your cheek and offers you a small smile in return.

“Get dressed Sweetie. We have a big ride ahead of us.”

With that Sylus gets up and waits for you outside the room. After a quick shower, you get dressed into the clothes Sylus had picked out for you. Jeans, a plain tshirt and a leather jacket. Despite the circumstance a little bit of excitement gnawed at you. It has been ages since you’ve been on his motorcycle.

Meeting him outside he was half sitting on his motorbike. He smiles as you approach. Standing up he offers you a helmet.

“You ready, Kitten?” Sylus sits back on his motorcycle, you follow suit, sliding behind him. Wrapping your arms tightly around his waist.

He starts the bike, the engine roaring to life. Your arms squeeze him tighter as the vibrations flow through you. Sylus smirks before peeling off the curb, already hitting a fast speed. Your heart pounding in your chest as everything around becomes a blur. The deafening purr of the motorbike and the harsh whips of wind filling your ears.

You don’t know how long you’ve been travelling for but it must’ve been for a while now, your backside and legs starting to feel numb. Your arms instinctively tighten around sylus’ waist, pressing your chest against Sylus’ back. He stiffens for a moment before relaxing.

Sylus reaches a hand behind him, grabbing at your thigh and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He was still expertly manoeuvring the bike with one hand.

You notice the bike starting to slow down to less frightening speeds. Were you here already? As the bike stops and the engine dies you look around, you’re in front of a hotel.

“Let’s rest here Sweetie. Recharge our batteries.”

You slide off the bike and remove your helmet. You feel an immediate relief in your legs as you stand up and stretch. Sylus following suit, he places a hand to the small of your back as he guides you inside the hotel.

It was nice and luxurious inside. The N109 Zone confused you, some parts were worn down and dilapidated while other parts were like this 5 star hotel. Pushing the thoughts aside, Sylus grabs your hand and starts leading you to the elevator.

Once inside the elevator he wastes no time in pulling you into his arms, kissing you feverishly. His tongue pushing past your lips and conquering your tongue, plundering the depths of your willing mouth.

“Mm Sy…” you moan against his mouth.

Your hands grip his shirt, keeping him close to you as you kiss him back with the same ferocity. He groans in response, loving the way your body responds and submits so willingly to him.

The elevator dings, signalling the arrival of your floor. With a swift movement Sylus’ hands grab at your ass, hoisting you up. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, the kiss not breaking for a second.

You exit the elevator and he makes quick work of getting into the hotel room. All the while keeping your flush in his arms.

Once inside the room he goes back to kissing you. His hands roaming your body, kneading at the supple flesh beneath the clothing.

“You drive me crazy, Kitten.” He groans in between kisses. “I want to be buried inside you forever.”

Reluctantly setting you down on your feet you both make quick work divesting each other of your clothes. With every layer of clothing removed your arousal builds. The heat between your legs growing in need and anticipation as Sylus’ muscular body is revealed to you, inch by tantalising inch.

A deep growl emanates from his chest as he takes in the image of you naked and standing before him. He picks you up again and playfully tosses you onto the bed. You love the way he so easily manhandles you. A giggle escaping you as you land on the bed. Sylus crawls ontop of you, leaving open mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck. His hands rubbing up the sides of your body, his thumbs gently caressing and rubbing your nipples. Feeling them pebble beneath his touch.

“Ah. Sylus..” you gasp. Despite the hunger between you two at the moment he was being surprisingly gentle. It was maddening. Sending jolts of electricity to your core, deepening your arousal for him.

His mouth explores the valley of your breasts, while his hands continue to gently massage them.

“You’re exquisite.” He hums against your chest. He nibbles and sucks on one of your tits, leaving behind a deep purple love bite. His fingers gently moving down your body, finding your slick folds with ease.

“God you’re so fucking wet.” He groans. He pushes two fingers inside your hot cunt, a satisfying wet squelch fills the air as he begins to pump them in and out of you.

“Ahh! Fuck Sylus!” Your back arches off the mattress, spreading your legs wider for him as he expertly fingers you. His thumb finds your clit and gently rubs the sensitive nub causing you to thrust up into his hand.

“Yes! Yes! Sy!”

Sylus starts kissing up your neck again, gently nibbling as he goes.

“Cum for me Sweetie,” His voice hot against your skin. “Show me how badly you want this!”

He doubles his efforts, adding a third finger preparing you for his cock. His thumb rubbing your clit a little harder and faster. Your walls start to clench around his pumping fingers. The coil in your belly wound so tight, on the precipice of snapping.

“I-I’m so… close Sy!” And just like that your orgasm hits you like a freight train. Waves of waves of pleasure wash over you, temporarily whiting out your vision. You scream out his name in pleasure as your pussy clamps down hard on his fingers, trying to milk them.

“Fuck…” Sylus groans, watching you cum like that made his dick throb so hard. He needs you. He needs you right fucking now.

Not even giving you a chance to recover from your orgasm he flips you onto your stomach, lifting your hips up till you’re on your knees.

He gives your ass a playful yet firm smack. Eliciting a moan from you.

“Are you ready for me Kitten? Because I can’t wait any longer.”

The head of his cock brushes against your slick entrance.

“Yes! Please hurry Sy!” You shamelessly beg. Desperately wanting to feel his thick cock inside you.

Sylus surges forward burying himself to the hilt, groaning in satisfaction. Your pussy stretching and clenching around him.

Sylus starts pounding into you from behind, keeping one hand on your hip and the other against your back pressing you down. You gasp and moan with every deep animalistic thrust.

“Fuck Kitten!”

Your hands grip the bed sheets below, knuckles turning white as you hold on for dear life. Tears prick your eyes at the intense pressure you feel in your core. Your moans getting muffled by the mattress, you bite down on the sheet just to have an outlet.

“Let me hear you Sweetie, don’t hide.” He groans as he picks up his pace. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes through the hotel room. The bed rocking, the headboard smacking the wall with every thrust.

“Fuck Sylus!” You sob in pleasure, tears spilling down your flushed cheeks. He was fucking you so deep your mind was going blank. “D-don’t…Stop!”

Something snaps in Sylus, he flips your positions. Before you can comprehend what’s happening he’s put you on your back, hooking one of your legs over his elbow. He leans down and kisses you as he ferociously thrusts into you. Swallowing your cries of pleasure with his hungry mouth.

Your fingernails rake across Sylus’ shoulders, breaking the skin, leaving angry red lines in their wake. He groans at the stinging pain, adding to his pleasure as he fucks into you.

He brings your other leg up, almost folding you in half. Slamming into you all the way to the base of his cock every time.

“S-SY…!” You can’t talk not while he’s stuffing you so full of his cock like this.

Your eyes roll back as your pussy starts to flutter around his cock, your orgasm fast approaching.

“That’s it baby!” Sylus encourages, “Cum all over my cock.”

Your world explodes into a kaleidoscope of colour and sensation as the orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of pure bliss coursing through your veins. You scream Sylus's name, your body convulsing wildly as you ride out the intense pleasure.

"Ahh! Sylus! Oh god, yes!" You sob.

Sylus groans as your inner muscles clamp down on him, the rhythmic contractions pushing him over the edge. With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing as he unleashes a torrent of hot seed deep within your womb.

"Fuuuck, my beloved!" he bellows, his body shuddering with the force of his release. "So fucking perfect..."

He collapses onto the bed next to you, chest heaving, sweat on his forehead from the exertion. Sylus pulls your body flush against his, soothing you after the rough fucking he just gave you. Whispering words of praise and affection.

As you’re laying there, resting your head on his shoulder, hand on his chest, you’re filled with the overwhelming urge to say something.

Sylus’ hand gently rubs circles on your hip. The touch sending butterflies to your stomach.

“Sylus..” Your voice barely a whisper.

“Yes, my love?” He hums back.

You want to say it. Those three little words. They’re on the tip of your tongue. So just say it.

Why can’t you say it Y/N?!

You bite your lip and nuzzle against Sylus.

“It’s nothing.” You whisper.

Sylus’ hand stills for a moment but then resumes drawing circles on your hip.

After a while of just basking in each other’s embrace in silence. Sylus finally speaks up.

“We should probably head out soon.”

“Oh? We’re not staying the night?” You ask confused.

Sylus chuckles. He turns his face to look at you. “I only stopped here because having your tits pressed up against my back was driving me mental Kitten.”

He swiftly pulls you on top of him, your legs straddling his hips.

“But I don’t mind if you want to stay here a bit longer,” his hands grip your hips as he grinds up against you with a renewed erection.

A sultry giggle escapes your mouth as you lean down, capturing his lips with yours. “Please let’s stay…” you whisper against his mouth. “I want more..”

After a few blissful hours you and Sylus finally leave the hotel to continue your journey.

The motorcycle starts to slow as Sylus approaches a large tree. You were fascinated to see a living tree in the N109 Zone. That is until you got closer, the ‘leaves’ on the tree weren’t leaves. It was full of black birds.

Sylus comes to a stop, killing the engine of the motorcycle. “We’re here Kitten.”

You both dismount the bike. A look of awe on your face.

“Sylus… they kind of look like Mephi…” As you look at all the birds you’re reminded of the baby crow you rescued before you were taken here.

“That’s because they are the same.” Sylus holds out his finger and a crow perches itself on it, staring at him with glowing eyes. “These are Evol birds. They were my inspiration for Mephisto. It seems one of them found itself to your world and that’s how you were able to be brought here.”

The crow flaps its wings and flies off, joining the rest of the birds back in the tree.

“So you think they’ll be able to send me back?” You ask.

A sullen expression falls on Sylus’ face. Before he can answer the clouds above you start to swirl. Flashes of light, all different colours litter the sky.

“Sylus?”

Sylus’ grip around your waist tightens. The winds swirl and become more violent around you. You feel a magnetic pull. Whispers calling to you to step towards the wormhole.

“This is it Kitten… your way home.” Despite his words his grip remains tight on you.

Your heart is pounding in your chest. The throb so loud it drums out the sounds of the cyclonic winds. You look at Sylus, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. You could just walk away. Walk away with him. Spend the rest of your living days with him, safe in his arms.

But the whispers, the pull for home were just as strong. The wormhole opens up fully. Dirt and debris getting sucked inside. The crows scatter from the tree flying in circles at the opening of the wormhole. All of it beckoning you home, trying to right the wrongs of you being here in this world.

You wriggle out of Sylus’ grasp and take a step forward. He reaches out, grabbing your arm.

“Y/N.. I love you…”

Your heart swells with overwhelming emotions. Tears prick the corner of your eyes. Sylus’ eyes are pleading with you. Begging you not to go. To stay with him, forever.

Your heart slamming against your chest. You want to. You need to be with him. But there was a void in the pit of your stomach, you don’t belong here. You never did…

Taking a small step towards Sylus, you press your lips against his, the taste of tears both on your tongues.

“… I know…” you whisper against his lips.

While you still have the courage you use all your strength to push Sylus back, taking him by surprise, without a second thought you run towards the vacuum pull of the wormhole.

Time slows down as your body begins to get pulled through. You glance back at Sylus seeing the pain on his face.

“I love you…” you whisper as your body is pulled through. Sylus’ tears being the last thing you see before you shut your eyes, bracing yourself for the agonising travel.

A scream rips through you as your body gets stretched and warped in ways that shouldn’t happen. Your body spaghettifying and then slinging back to its normal shape. Lights flashing around you, blinding you. Blood coming out of your eyes, nose, mouth and ears. The pain unbearable.

Your vision whites out and the feeling of falling suddenly washes over you. Bracing yourself for the drop. You land with hard thud on a soft surface. You gasp for air and sputter.

Your body feeling like you were put through a microwave and then run over by a truck.

After a few moments of laying on the soft surface you open your eyes, panting, trying to catch your breath. Light flickers through into the room.

As your eyes scan the room you take in the familiar surroundings. It was your bedroom. As you sit up and look around, nothing looks out of place. It was exactly the same as when you left.

You hear a soft chime, your phone has gone off with a notification on your bedside table. When you check the screen the date is the same date from when you left.

A tear falls down your cheek as you chuckle. So for the past year you spent with Sylus in the N109 Zone, no time had passed at all here. It was as if you were never gone. As if the last year you endured was nothing but a fever dream.

A bittersweet laugh escapes your lips, more tears spilling down your cheeks. Your laugh eventually turns into sobs. You made the right choice… this is where you belong. The universe corrected itself.

But if this was the right choice, why does your heart feel like it’s shattered into pieces Y/N?

A chirp by your window draws your attention, you wipe your tears and see a family of crows. A baby crow between two adult ones. It was Mephi.

Your vision blurs as you smile, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

Perhaps, one day…

One day you could go back…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#love and deepspace smut #lnds sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus smut #love and deepspace #sylus #sylus x reader

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dxki-sketches · 16 hours ago

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⋆︵　Dxki's Event !

Note from the host ! : I am VERY greatful for this achievement like really!! I never thought that id get this far and get to know this many people through editing. Again thank you SO SO MUCHH for 200+ followers!! So to give back i made a little event!

event starts on 26th November (as there being 7 prompts/days making a week) you can participate whenever!!

Note : theres not gonna be any prizes or winners of sorts ,so this is purely just for fun and to celebrate over 200 followers !!

Prompts and rules below ︵　!

✦ 01 : edit your favourite mask / edit w your least favourite mask

✦ 02 : an edit based on the aesthetic of your device wallpaper

✦ 03 : edit fav doomed yaoi / edit your fav doomed yuri

✦ 04 : a charcacter w the same fashion sense as you / a character based off your fav flower

✦ 05 : an edit of a character w their inverted colours

✦ 06 : an edit of your fav character w your least fav animal

✦ 07 : freestyle :D !

01 . Use the tag #⋆ .220+ event or @ me,so i can see your edits of the prompts and reblog to advertise your blog :D

02 . Please stay in prompts given

03 . Any media is welcomed but please dont be weird !!

04 . Any type of editting is welcomed with these prompts ANYTHING. Id love to see your work :D

05 . No need to do prompts in order!

tag list ! (dm to be removed ! anyone is welcomed to reblog and advertise this event THANKK YOU!!) : @infectedrpd @ivaeow @bowlette @tillpilled @toletoles @lavendergalactic @nomkiwi @mizuki-irl @bandagewastern @toyym

#⋆ . 220+ event #⋆ . 𓆩 events 𓆪 #rentry graphics #rentry stuff #rentry decor #graphics #event #rentry inspo #rentry resources #rentry gif #rentry frames #editblr #editblr event #rentry event #rentry edit #rentry #tumblr layouts #dxki sketches

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stellarbit · 2 days ago

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1000 Follower Celebration

I never thought much of my work so I've waited to do celebrate until 1000. For those who've followed and anyone who liked, commented, or reblogged anything, here is an event as thanks. Please know that this blog and those in this fandom mean so much to me. I read every tag, comment, and reblog and they make my day every time.

If you've followed me for awhile you'll know my writing can be slow and fickle. As a thank you I am committing to fulfilling the requests I receive between November 23rd - November 30th. After that I'll be closing my requests until I work through them.

Now let's get to it!!

Some quick rules

Pick up to 3 prompts.

I'll take individual character requests or something like "members of the 501st/Bad Batch reacting to" requests as well.

I will be doing requests for Clones/Star Wars first and then any previous fandoms I've written for.

I will not be taking anon requests for this event

Let me know what character(s) you want.

If you have them, please state SFW/NSFW preferences

If you have them, please state what gender preference you have.

I retain the right to not write prompts that are uncomfortable/extreme for me.

Tell me as many details as you want, it really helps! You can DM me too if you'd like to discuss.

If you've submitted previous request you'd still like done, feel free to send it again. Tumblr has vanished some requests and I've never seen them again

Please be patient, I waited until life calmed down to focus on this event but writing takes time.

Prompt List

My favorite prompts are the personal ones. If you've been going through anything and you'd like comfort, distraction, or in character advice from your favs, I'm here for you. It's been helpful for me and I'd love to do that for you. Be as specific as you want <3

I'll take continuation requests for previous fics. (I am working on Two Faces pt 3 and aim to finish the Hound drabbles from the past, so if its for them don't you worry, just be patient please.)

Tropes

And there was one bed~

Love at first sight

Hate at first sight

Fake dating

Locked in together

Aphrodisiac

Amnesia

Sharing body heat

Kissing as a distaction

Dying confession

X denying their feelings for Y until Y shows interest in someone else.

X teaching Y something

Carrying bridal style

Confessing during fight

Romance/Fluff

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“I didn’t know love until you.”

“You’d be easy to love.”

“You are my equal in every way.”

“I will never stop fighting for you.”

“If there was anyone meant for me, it was you.”

“You say you love me, but you don’t know me.” “Then let me.”

“They don’t compare to you. No one does/ever has.”

“Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like you love me.”

“I could make you feel better.”

“Beautiful.”

Angst:

“We could’ve been us.”

“I don’t want your apology.”

“It would be easier if I didn’t know you.”

“You said you wouldn’t leave and then you did.”

“I feel like I’m falling apart.”

“All I’ve ever wanted is for you to see me.”

“What is it about me that isn’t good enough?”

“At least I kept my promise.”

“Does he/she/they not know about me?”

“You look exactly the same.”

Funny&Misc

“You’re family.”

“Bite me.”

“What a pretty sight.”

“Get over it.”

“I thought you couldn’t stand me.” “I lied.”

“You’re bleeding.” “No shit.”

“Do you believe in soulmates?” “No.”

“I thought I was alone.”

“Stop staring at me to distract me.” “Oh, I’m not trying to distract you.”

“I can’t remember the last time I laughed like this.”

“Are my eyes deceiving me or is that a smile, my love?” “Oh, shut up.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen something go so wrong so fast.”

“Do you believe in soulmates?” “No.”

“What kind of dumb question is that?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

"it wouldn’t hurt you to smile you know." “it will.”

“I can do it myself.”

“What a tease.”

“I’m hilarious.” “You’re traumatized.” “Is there a difference?”

“All this sneaking around is going to get us into trouble.”

LETS DOOO IT THANK Y'ALL

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars #bad batch #tbb tech #tech #the clone wars #prequels #tcw #sw tcw #star wars tcw #the clones wars #clone wars #clones #wrecker #echo #crosshair #nervous in the service as we speak

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violetasteracademic · 2 days ago

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Rambling thoughts post. Won't delete.

I learned a long time ago to stop commenting on the state of the ship war/ SJM fandom as a whole and asking people to be kinder, and anyone who has followed me for a while (which sounds silly to say since I've only been here since March) has likely witnessed my slow disillusionment of the SJM fandom space. As my therapist said, if you keep trying to clean up debris in someone's house who refuses to fix their roof, you'll drain yourself for nothing. (That was about my ex husband but hey I think it applies here.) I've also realized that in the long run, individual creators don't matter, really. There are too many creators in this space who burn out and disappear and even if it upsets or disappoints people in the moment, there is always someone to replace them. I'm very replaceable. My thoughts really don't matter. But here they are anyway.

The SJM tumblr space is extremely hostile and negative. But it isn't all hostile and negative, and the more I filter out the shipwar content and anti content (seriously, I have filters on anti elriel, anti gwynriel, anti elucien, and shipwar buzzwords like delusional, reading comprehension, touch grass, ECT and thank you to my dear friend @yourstarsmyscars for showing me how much more the filters can do than I realized!) the more free I am to see how many kind and wonderful creators there are on here making cute art and amazing fanfics and nourishing a positive fandom ecosystem.

Again, I don't matter in the long run. I'm not sure how many people even still follow me really since I've stopped engaging in the shipwars beyond art, fics, and kind posts. But I do want to let anyone out there who, like me, has had their tolerance for the ship wars plummet to the core of the earth, break through the crust in the middle of the Pacific ocean, and then drift into space, know that there IS kindness in this fandom beyond the noise. There are people doing great work on all sides, who are welcoming to all, and just trying to create something people will enjoy.

I can't say I'll be here forever, or even much longer. But I feel moved to signal boost the positivity. I also know that, although I do believe I tried very hard to be positive and not insulting the majority of the time, I had days that I let the negativity get to me and I was snarkier than I wish I would have been. I'm truly sorry if I ever made a post that even remotely hurt anyone's feelings or added to the negativity. I'd go back and delete them, but frankly they are my most popular posts and still get reblogged so it feels sort of pointless since reblogs don't get deleted.

Although I am an Elriel in my heart of hearts, I want to continue to be a welcoming space for all. If that means my followers get cut in half or only a few people interact with my posts, that's okay with me. I can't try to patch the roof of the fandom, but I can keep my own space toasty and warm for anyone looking for reprieve, regardless of who you ship. I've stated multiple times here that I'm the only Elriel in my IRL friendships, and I love my friends dearly. I tried to speak to Tumblr as a whole the way I'd speak to them, and I didn't always do that. But the world is too abysmal and scary and a lot of SJM fans come online and struggle to find a space that isn't extremely hostile and negative.

Here's to all the goofy little spooks making art, fics, texts, and transcending the shipwars and just trying to connect over the things we love.

In the words of our Lord and Savior Taylor Swift, I want to be defined by the things I love, not the things I hate.

Also still committed to writing a banger Elain Lucien and Azriel throuple once I get through my laundry list of current fics. Maybe a quadruple with Gwyn. Maybe I'll just write a giant orgy, actually.

#acotar fandom #acotar #for what its worth #anti shipwar #pro elain #pro azriel #pro gwyn #pro lucien #pro everbody bang everybody

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2346khith · 1 day ago

Note

Hello dear friend,

I’m Noha from Gaza, Mother of martyr and wife of martyr .

17 people of My family was forcibly displaced from their homes to the southern Gaza Strip, and they now live in samall tent , The occupation completely destroyed our house and our business and we no longer have anything that we used to own.

MY mother suffers from joint pain and back cartilage pain. Also, she had surgery before the war to remove a tumor in the intestine 💔!!️ and she needs to continue her treatment.

As for my middle brother, Darwish,He has a family of 10 people, he is paralyzed in his right leg, he suffers from severe leg pain. Two months before the war, he had surgery in Egypt to implant a joint in his leg, and he was supposed to return to Egypt to continue his treatment, but the war prevented him from doing so, so he urgently needs to go to Egypt to continue his treatment.

As for me, I lost my small and beautiful family in the 2014 war, which consists of my husband and my only child, whom I gave birth to after 7 years of deadly waiting and a very long and expensive treatment journey. He was only two and a half years old. I lost him and did not hug him enough to forget the agony of waiting for him to come. I also suffered injuries, which resulted in several operations on my right leg and other parts of my body, the effects of which I still suffer to this day. So, I don't want to experience what it's like to lose someone I love again. It's a very painful feeling. Please save my family.

Life here is unbearable, especially tent life is very difficult, and the situation is getting worse every day.

I urge you to support us to save our lives, Your support is our only hope for survival after losing everything.

We hope you will continue to support us by donating or sharing to help save and rebuild our lives. Every contribution matters, much appreciated

Many thanks to everyone who supported us.

https://gofund.me/e6644700

For those who see this please, visit their blog and reblog their blog’s posts so they get more attention and if you have the money to spare please donate.

Also I apologize, but I do not have the ability to donate to you. Trust me if I had the ability I would but I don't and I can't. I have no bank account or credit card to transfer money to and no job to gain any money. Every time I ask my parents to help they shut me down so this is the only way to help you. Please forgive me.

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perlen-gold · 3 days ago

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Of Fairest Flame

Yeah, I'm TOTALLY on time for this (wait, it's already November you say?!) but this is something I've been working on for @ainurweek for Day 9: Melkor I Mairon

(I have something for Day 1 - 8 too... just not yet finished... it's a good thing I'm never late.)

Read on on AO3 or under the cut as it's so long 😆 (and also totally unrevised ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ).

Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated ❤️ though I can understand if you're too bored to read!

Also, I'd like to thank the people here on tumblr who encouraged me and assured me this was a nice fandom. Having been a wholly silent part of this fandom for years and years this is the first thing I have picked up the courage to share and I want to tell you, guys, THANK YOU! ❤️❤️❤️

At Mairon’s feet the whole world was made of gold.

When he passed, even the black-oblivion, obsidian-sleek walls of Utumno lit brazen-bright. Pits of bonfires woke beneath the iced rocks, and gilded flame-tips licked at his limbs from the sheer walls of Angband, polished to hot embers and glowing coals in his presence.

Wherever he trod was the flame of his hair. However dark the night, its lustrous strands wove glowing rubies into the roaming night. Whatever darkness he summoned around him was pierced by the golden gaze of his eyes.

His shadow dissolved into a golden crown when his fairness shone forth as he willed it to as leaping water over steep stones and cleaving rocks.

And I saw him take it, this heated glow of his as he had taken the rising crown from my hands. Oh, I had stared at him, harder and deeper than any mountain flesh or gaping chasm. I could have struck him down, torn him asunder as easily as I called spitting heights and depths to my biding. And yet his flame never even flickered in my direction. Not even when scornfully he took the gleaming jewels, heady with his disdain, from me. For my little flame did not shape mountains and chasms.

Gilded iron was his alloy and will his anvil.

It was beauty alone that Mairon shaped.

Patient, or as patient as I would, I watched him call forth in the forge the spearing splendor of my crown and the hideous shape of Orcs under the skies just as meticulously.

There is a fearsomeness in unpleasing appearance and Mairon knew it well. The dread Orcs inspire in the common man was of his design also, naturally.

So was the stronghold of Angband. A rock-hewn fortress of efficiency, warfare and secrecy, I never tired to wander its complexity, wondering and, with all my heart, occasionally longing to fell it just to see how Mairon would rebuild and recreate its terrible beauty all over again, though I never told him so. He knew anway, of course, and kept his keen golden eye on me like a wolf guarding its prey.

Yes, ghastly they were, the creatures Mairon unleashed upon his foes, the heinous Orcs and gruesome goblins, mountain-trolls and blood-teethed wolves, swathed in the blinding darkness of my Balrogs and fire-drinking dragons.

Mairon, however, ceased to be fair in battle.

Oh, he could have seduced most of his adversaries, forced onto week knees with his sorcery many more and all the rest. But a cobra will not feed upon limp flesh, the cheetah must race, the falcon swoop to pierce the songbird onto its claw.

And so, with his flickering flame-smile, Sauron, as they called him, set a different trap entirely to spring.

The light upon his face was an uncanny ally of his.

Illuminating the finest of his bones to marble-cutting flawlessness.

Chiseled heights, darkness and light were there ought to be neither, glowing shades and whisper-gleaming rays of sunlight beneath a blackened sky.

His voice rang the air like silvered iron, mellifluous and haunting at once, as commanding as a furnace and as tender as a caressing hand, his laugh bright sunlit pearls and cruelly suffocating ashes.

At the dawn, on the shore of battle, the highest elven kings, fiercest queens and most spirited warriors rode for him without hesitation. Sauron, the cruel, they murmured stern-faced among them, and he was indeed wickeder than any Orc or Balrog of mine.

They set out and rode and stroke to earn their place facing him, swords held aloft, their steadfast resolve soaring to shield their people and beloved ones and let detested Morgoth’s lieutenant perish at last.

What they met utterly unnerved, unrooted, unhinged them.

Comeliness.

Handsomeness.

Fairness.

Pulchritude.

Beauty.

Those are mere words. Spoken tumbling winter-leaves struggling to paint a hail storm.

He was all and naught.

And more.

And more of it.

Both women and men trembled in mesmerized dread and eerie, bloodcurdling want, gaping upon him. Intoxicating pleasure rose in them when they first caught his eye. It was like pain to them.

By then Marion’s battle-born strides would have become languid-long strolls. The few who still had any morsels of wit left about them tried to break away their eyes from the light-infused apparition frantically, searching for the malice of his mace, gripping their swords with their sweat-slippery fingers.

It always charmed him into the smallest, most dazzlingly curving smile. They almost never realized that to Mairon the sword tip’s deadly dance was just another art, another craft to design and shape.

The most valiant were always wild on their obedient horses to shoot like arrows at him.

Towards the end, they all fell, crawled, cursed, glowered, quivered under the tip of his iron-clad foot. I have always thought him nearly never more beautiful than when he coaxes his cruelty like a lover’s kiss before the bite.

Around them their friend’s torn faces and daughters’ and sons’ smeared lips, honeyed with crimson blossoms and singing gold flowers. The unnatural light painted the blood-gasping ground and changed their fallen comrade-in-arms’ gruesome wounds to crimson-cold brocade.

Mairon had them between his teeth till they died of bliss and horror alike.

Until they sighed and shrieked and moaned and wept.

“You are Sauron,” they would utter, staring, accusing, spitting at him.

Oh, yes, Mairon said. Smiled. Oh, yes, yes.

Sometimes the very young ones, well-trained boys and girls, would beg him then. Then, Mairon’s rose-soft, velvet-curling lips smiled even more beautiful.

Around him the thrusting, piercing, blood-lilting, iron-soaked air was limned with gold. In this pause, this endless biding of time against the grey-spraying portrait of misting blood and blooming battle he liked to pull off his helmet at last. Slow and delicately this one, rapidly in a great sweeping arch the other time.

It is the last thing they always see.

The reaching length of his hair curling into sunlit waves of gleaming water ripples, his sun-shaming light pouring as endless waterfalls.

The pinkish tip of his tongue a glimpse between his curving gold-dusted lips in the moment of his kill.

In the blink of a startled eye, Mairon’s beauty rippled into a haunting, living, wraith-like phantom.

The high-browed elven lord’s eyes always widened and their lips spit on the ground before his last smile.

Before he opened them as ripe figs bursting on touch.

When I came forth from my fortress, the ground shook with satisfying anticipation and a rumble swept through our armies, his and mine, mine and theirs. As I stepped forward without forewarning, the roiling battle was surging under Mairon’s sway as usual.

A draught of wind … I could listen to the softness of Mairon’s petal-perfect skin in it. I could savor the unnatural shadows illuminating his brow and cheekbones in the exact, precisely perfect way whispering across his features and taste the whipping of his hair in my mouth, scarlet-sizzling as coals. On his flaming head his crown – for it was more iron crown than helmet – was a smooth black somehow enlightening the flawlessness of his features even more. His iron-slinking armor, sharp as curving wolf teeth, clung to the virtue of his shape. His fiery hair, tamed in the forge only, was afly like shimmering birds. I saw it whip through the air as Mairon turned abruptly around even before the roaring Orcs next to me blinked at my sudden presence.

At once, I saw the flare in him bright as sunlit gemstones as I set foot on the battle field, his intricate thoughts shooting like spider’s webs into a myriad of calculations at once.

The mind of any other Valar and their servants are like lily-bedded ponds. Deep their water runs but slow, and the pebble thrown barely bounces across the surface. The ripples are soon gone.

Mairon’s mind, however, darted like fire prancing, dazzling to watch its hundred and thousand swift flickers.

I seldom partook in battle and, oh, hard it was becoming already to stifle my laughter.

Promptly, I could see his clever embers stirred in their battle-focused ash-bed, swiftly and instantaneously.

Ah, how often had I thwarted his meticulous plans in the past before for no obvious reason – not obvious to him, that is – at all?

Sometimes I had leapt into action when he would have stalled my impatient hand, sought to preserve what I annihilated and at other times I had cherished what Mairon had deemed worthless.

So wary was his gaze as it first flew into my direction like a sleeping volcano’s first spark that I could sense a thousand thoughts ignite into a hundred interweaving sparks at once. He knew I was seldom to do what he bid me to and never to follow a plan to its end.

Oh, but he was a quick-bright little flame, and whatever havoc I wrought upon his elaborate schemes he would never be surprised nor deceived twice and what could scratch upon the perfection of his composure once never did even reflect on the polished marble sheen of his features ever again.

Oh, but he knew me so well indeed as the fire knows the logs it steadily consumes. It had become increasingly hard to catch him unawares, to make mark any impression upon his clever, ever-calm countenance.

A thousand wiles I had played upon him through the ages already and a thousand predictions and presumptions were lapping at his iron-clad feet now.

As soon as I set foot on the ground it trembled and Mairon’s gold flame hair was afly.

Instantaneously, his face turned in the direction of my arrival and, though he was far away on a lone hill, in the midst of battle, a commander of forces who would be commanded by none other, I could see his shimmering beauty whip around.

Belike, I would seek his advice or perhaps I would undo all his careful webs and sunder all his admirable designs upon a mere whim of mine – he was fascinated and loath to watch me do it.

So, as the ground rumbled beneath my iron-clad footfalls and even the darkest creatures of my armies shrank away in fright, I could see him not step back like them but instead devise and foretell a thousand things to be prepared for me, to predict my wisdom – of which he doomed little upon me – and envision the chaos I could wreck.

Bright could I see the light of his mind as he drew it, keen as the nimble blade he was wilding.

A lesser being he was, yes, so much more fragile and less mighty than I. But none of the other Valar, let alone their servants, possessed his mind’s spark-gleaming quickness, second only – or so I hoped to believe – to my own infinite-stretching mind.

Golden thoughts sparked within it, darting as light, trying to decipher the cause and – more important in Mairon’s glittering mind – the ends of my wild stepping into battle.

Again, I almost burst out laughing.

My hammer, however, dragged a gaping gorge behind me. I did not lift it nor unleash its deadly power and that, I think, a brimming in my chest, is what drew Mairon’s suspsicion most.

From my path, my army swayed, Orcs and darker creatures shrinking back.

But I am a god and it took me scarcely more than a few strides before I reached him.

Mairon’s face was like marble showing neither dent nor impression whatsoever. If I had knelt at his feet his splendid expression would have shattered – but in my mind the idea I carried within me was of another kind and I brimmed with the anticipation of it.

Ah, how unearthly, uncannily, unrelentingly beautiful he was!

Mairon, His sword reluctantly held, raised his gold-infused gaze at me.

Inside the dazzling gold there were cold calculation and smug disdain aglitter.

Ah.

That potent mixture of mocking smugness and complacent taunt.

I have never told him that, though lesser in being, immortality and power, Mairon’s visage bore one fruit none other in Eä could offer.

In all other beings I had seen and sniffed it, beasts and birds, elves and orcs, wild things and god-like creatures alike. The other Valar, too, I had seen the sheen of it upon them – why, even Manwë – and it had filled me with glee unimaginable.

Not him, though.

Never him.

Forest of giles, oceans quick as arrows and mountains sharp as knives, I could see a whole world blazing in his aureate eyes.

Even smug disdain, if he had the nerve for it – and Mairon almost always did. Even, in those rarest moments when he was most unguarded, trust.

Amidst the tides of our forces I stood still in front of him. On Mairon’s flaming hair his crown – for it was more iron crown than helmet – was a smoke grey, somehow illuming the brilliant symmetry of his features even more, his iron-slinking armor sharp as wolf teeth clinging to the sculptured fairness of his shape.

That fierce serpent beauty flashed. Yes, my lord? What is it that drives you forward to my meek reign?

The scarlet flame of his hair tangling around him in a windless breeze, a luscious bow, mockingly coy, of curving lips and white teeth. I could hear his voice tingle in my head.

Having left your hideout, is there something you ask of me?

Ah.

Insolence and impudence. Arrogance. Amusement.

A whole world but never fear.

I could have wrapped my hands around his slender neck and squeezed without even a gleam of scare in him. I could have lifted my hammer, torn the earth beneath his feet, dictated the skies to strike him with thunder and lightning.

Ages and aeons ago, in the sweltering gleam of Aulë’s forge, he had spotted me among the darkness long before I revealed myself. His eyes shone in the dark brighter than any cat’s. Instead of raising his voice, crying wolf and havoc for help, he watched me and I could feel his gold-gaze lingering.

I went back to my underground halls that day, pondering that brazen insolence just to return the next night trying to break his unwavering gaze.

“How do you know I will not smite you where you stand?” I asked him upon the next day in the deserted forge when I let go of the shadows at last to bend over him.

He cocked his head like a bird and returned, smug as a raven:

“How will you know I will not betray you where you sit?”

The cheek! I was a poisonous viper and he was another and, oh, how fiercely I wanted him to be mine, mine, mine then and mine alone!

His soft neck was between my hands before even he could elude me. Instantaneously, the gold in his eyes sparked with realization and horrified shock of what I was about to do in a split heartbeat ere I was upon him. His lustrous hair whipped like gold ribbons in a wind where there was none, his skin was iridescent in his otherworldly apparition-beauty.

His gilt-rimmed pupils dilated but it was already too late.

I pressed my mouth amidst the surging battle forces upon his pearly lips and kissed.

Flame-swift, Mairon’s rage was so instantaneous I had to swallow my cackling laughter just to prolong the touching of our lips a little longer before he could defy me.

A conflagration met my mouth and I, made of ice and fire, allowed him to singe me till I felt actual pain for I burnt and grinned now beholding the utter outrage in Mairon’s gold-limned eyes.

I could not fathom what incensed him more – the fact that I would do this outside the secrecy of his sweltering bed chambers or the incidental truth that I had accomplished to take him yet again by utter surprise.

Suddenly, the hot-white rage came, ever more terrifying and beautiful than a thunderstorm.

He looked like he might have struck me down then and there, me, in front of everyone.

Then Mairon turned – not because he could not but would not strike me – and away he went like a conflagration to ravage the battlefield, descending upon our enemies as the sun, golden-bright and blind-burning, veiled in the light of stars and comets, and I watched him, his beautiful blaze transforming into a wraith-like furnace which he cast upon the enemy so that neither elven nor mortal survivor – if they survived – would be able to look at a beautiful face, be it fair maiden or lovely lad or sweet rose, and bear it ever again.

As my thunder-laugh broke from my chest the ground around me shook and shuddered.

Pierced as though scorched, the swelling of my lower lip seared.

Oh, I was looking forward to golden vengeance he would spin to wreak upon me.

I laughed.

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