#amongst other major actions!!!

[weathernerdmando]

so glad that i didnt vote for trump or any Republicans.

At least i don't have to deal with the guilt ON TOP of the fucking STRESS he's causing. In LESS THAN A Week?!

[thedas-elf-lover]

A slightly deranged review from a long time Dragon Age fan.

What this game promised to be in terms of a Dragon Age game: - Most romantic - Offer a few key world state choices that would have great plot impact, which emphasis on wanting to give players choices that have a visual impact, not just codex. - The most complex, deep companions yet. - Choices that matter.

What I got: [SPOILERS] - The shortest, chastest romances I've ever seen, where the end goal is quite literally sex. The final romance scene is the sex scene, after you've been locked in for some time. No sex before marriage, lol. Even the shortest romance in DAI is longer than the longest romance in this game. It's probably the least sex positive game out of them all. - The only choice that has visual impact is the Solas option, and even that doesn't really give anything major. Solas has maybe one unique line? Otherwise, there is no major change. The other two choices (Did you disband the Inquisition? Did you vow to save or stop Solas?) have no difference, either. It's a matter of do you want your Inquisitor to say "comrade" or "friend." The Inquisition doesn't matter. The South gets nuked off-screen anyway. In codex. So two of the three world state choices we get are mostly represented in codexes anyway. - I have nothing against the companions in Veilguard, but to call them the most complex is somewhat... false. Solas is a complex character. Thom Ranier is complex. Vivienne de Fer is complex. Fenris, Anders, Merrill, Isabela, Morrigan, and Sten are complex characters. They are characters who contain complexities that are not easily swept away. ALL the Veilguard companions are your next door neighbors. They're normal. There's nothing wrong about that, but they don't challenge you. There's nothing to think about. Lucanis isn't going to make you seriously consider your morality, despite being the "prince" of the Crows - hired killers. Neve's standing and possible privilege as a human mage in a magocracy is never commented on. These are just two examples, but the same applies for the rest of the companions. None of them are HIDING anything. I will reiterate that there's not anything necessarily WRONG with that, but it does mean they lack the flare of drama that previous companions had that made them brain-scratchers. - Choices don't matter. No matter what Rook does or says, you're railroaded into a scrappy, heroic person who is always right. The worst thing you can do in this game is just NOT do the companion quests. - Despite being a RPG, there is no roleplaying. It's more action/adventure. But it gets a little slow in places for an action/adventure. And it doesn't have enough roleplay value to be a satisfying RPG. - Pretty much the only reason I can see replaying this game is to see the opposite city routes. You don't have to finish the game to get the full romance, either. - No lore continuity. Elves, qunari, dwarves, and humans just living in peace in Tevinter. Some fantasy where poor communities aren't racist doesn't explain this away. - Orientalism in Rivain? - Reducing what was originally a story about slave liberation and rebellion to "love and murder" over Solas' ex situationship. - The game can understand gender that exists outside a binary but somehow can't understand multiculturalism. - Why does Bellara, a Dalish elf, have white guilt?

Some disorganized additions:

- Tonal whiplash. You go from losing a supposedly beloved companion to the final romance scene (the sex scene) in the space of 5 second. - You can't speak to your companions outside cutscenes. However, you can go around the Lighthouse snooping on your companions having nice conversations amongst themselves. - Not a SINGLE companion bothers to check in on the PC even once. You played as a Grey Warden who lost Weisshaupt? No one cares. Emmrich will check in on Davrin but not you. The only point in the game where they show even a smidgeon of care for you is after the Regret Prison, but they don't actually show it. You're pulled out and it immediately cuts to a war table scene. No emotional reunions. - This is Found Family - but only for the companions. Bellara has the opportunity to see Neve as a sister figure, but not you. This could roll into the lack of roleplay value in this game, but it really adds to the lonely element of this game. - "Okay guys, we lost the big game. Let's all take a step back and do some self-care exercises." But the game is Weisshaupt and the South is getting nuked. - Characters often feel like caricatures of themselves. Oftentimes this game feels like a fanfiction of the story and characters it's representing. Some of the things the characters say are not things that normal people would say. Because Rook never builds more than an entirely superficial relationship with their coworkers, it's entirely believable that the most moving thing Rook can think to say, whenever the obligatory Sad Moment happens to a companion, is "[Insert Name Here], I'm so sorry." - You could replace the Inquisitior with a cardboard cut out and it would have more life. - We already had a story about a disapproving parent who is hurtful to their queer child with Dorian. There was a missed opportunity with Shathann to explore the Qunari's view on gender, but only the Tevinter characters are allowed to talk to Taash about different gender identities. When Shathann talks about qunari gender identity, it's oppression. This game's handle on cultural identity is awful. And then they fridged Shathann. - Did you know Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, the ancient elven gods (we won't say Evanuris even though that's shorter and more believable to Andrastians who might balk at the idea of ELVEN gods), have escaped from their prison and are blighting the world? The elven gods escaped and they're blighting the world, because they're blighted and escaped prison and are elven gods and are blighting the world, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain, those gods, who are elven, and escaped and are blighting the world. - This game is Young Adult. This game is YA with all the darker, grittier elements from the previous game filed away, presented as "politically correct" with "ethical piracy" with no continuity in characterization because Isabela Dragon Age 2 would NOT say any of that. It's if Genshin Impact was a Dragon Age game, complete with the canned body language (cross arms). - The villains are one-dimensional. Aelia's "Minrathous dark truth" AKA Batman villain, Butcher dies after 1 moment of glory, the Dragon King is nothing sauce, if Elgar'nan was just a little bit more intelligent he'd have just smashed that moon into Thedas and called it a day, Illario's speech is ripped right from the Lion King. Gone are the days where antagonists had complex reasons for their actions. Gone are the days where characters were put into situations were there was NO good choice for them to make and we could judge them with the nuance they deserved. - Also did you know: Whatever it takes?

On the bright side, the CC is great.

[acid-ixx]

✮ — 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐍 : in which control is your only friend . . . (concept idea)

guys let me cook on this one but i suddenly want to post about an isekai trope au with modern! reader being transported into the world of dc comics. of course you're sentient, but sentience doesn't mean autonomy, because you're forced to don a new identity as a vigilante; guided by a malicious system only you can perceive.

a superhero, a new canon to the world, whose body is still adjusting to its given powers. you are not omnipotent, you are not a deity, and you most certainly could not adapt at such a timely rate; but you were once omniscient to the multiple plots and universes of the world you now live in. that is the only advantage you have amongst the unease you feel at the knowledge that eyes are now plastered all over your existence; a twisted game toying with you, with the price being your very life.

turns out, your existence is controlled by the very viewers (you guys, the commentors, the voters) who determine whichever fate you land on, a rule told by the system from when you were once transported into the world. whether it'd be mere yes or no answers to awkward questions, or even something as major as choosing to save others, or yourself in a life or death situation, and even as far as your love interests— only they can choose, and you'd be left to commit upon such acts, with or without your consent.

imagine, not only your presence is bared naked to the entire world, but every word you say are remembered, are criticized weekly. each and every action of yours that aren't determined by your cruel fans will gain both equal and opposite reactions.

your superhero name is chosen by whoever is the sick mastermind of this entire game. and you! for now, silly you would enjoy the momentary lapses of excitement meeting your favorite characters, but happiness in such a world does not exist. the longer you stay, where every week, your own destiny dictated by phone calls, comments, likes, reactions, and polls; the more you wish you never once set out to abide within the rules of this... game.

it is only your emotions, your thoughts that you can control, but never certain actions at major events. there is no such thing as discontinuity, or changing plotlines once you're able to catch a moment on what you truly wish to say.

as your story is published amongst thousands of people, it is up to your viewers, your deities, to decide whether or not you should live, die, or give you a chance to try to survive without them.

and it is up to you whether to fight back, or to allow their choices to destroy your very life.

either way, your tale is set to capture the hearts of many. and the only destiny nobody, not even your fanbase, nor you, could change, are the multiple set of characters within your world to eventually set their eyes on you.

and my, oh my, it is never once mentioned within these lines of texts that these characters are controlled by anybody, no?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ are you interested to join your journey ?

♛ —⠀YES !⠀ yes, i'd love to see where this goes.

♚ —⠀NO !⠀⠀i'd rather not endanger myself, no thank you.

[johnbrand]

BACS

With @mrrharper

“Hopkins,” the coach said curtly to the buff guard at the gate. The security officer barely seemed to register him as a person, rather just an item on his list to check off. Once he was allowed to proceed, Coach Hopkins entered into the corridor and proceeded to the farthest room. Quite frankly, the coach embodied everything a man should be at his age: big, strong, rich. Running one of the country’s top collegiate teams meant he was often provided with ample checks. But an investor had been hinting that the meeting he was about to attend would only raise his profits higher. And now standing before the other guests, Coach Hopkins believed this investor was not mistaken.

Feeling mighty pleased with himself, and honestly a bit haughty, the coach scanned the room, taking in all the other broad, strapping men. There was Coach Larson from one of the major east coast schools, Coach McNamara from the private military academy that swept the competition every year. Coach Hopkins recognized another prominent coach from California, but could not place his name. There were a few more men in the room, engaging in casual conversation about work, but the atmosphere in the space was mildly tense. Instead of acquainting himself with others, Coach Hopkins took a seat and remained there until the presentation began. 

“Gentleman,” the host began. The suit that covered his large frame appeared painted on, tight against his skin. A former collegiate athlete who had stayed in shape; Coach Hopkins could not help but take a moment to respect the work. “Invited amongst you today are some of your finest colleagues in the field. Hopefully you all know why you are here, so we will skip past the pleasantries and get right to the presentation.”

Behind the host, the wall suddenly began to glow. A soft light filtered upon it before focusing on colors and images. Eventually, the display became clear, showcasing live camera footage inside an empty male restroom.

“We believed the best way to explain our product was to show how it works,” the host started slyly. Coach Hopkins watched as the door to the restroom opened, revealing a young college-aged male. By his medium build and uniform, the coach assumed he could have been in lacrosse, baseball, or even a non-tackling football player. His third guess was correct.

“Before us is Dawson Welch, a decent transfer from an undisclosed Division III school. Originally holding potential, he has not yet conformed to our nationwide protocol, otherwise known as BACS for short.”

The four words were then flashed in red at the bottom of the screen. A silly acronym, but one that worked nonetheless.

Beefy          Aggressive          Cocky          Straight

“Our case study is about to demonstrate the results of our program,” the host smiled.

There were a few murmurs from the other men. The California coach even shifted a bit, slightly uncomfortable at what he was about to witness. Coach Hopkins remained silent, observing the subject. By his size and careful actions, he could already identify that three of the required four set standards were missing.

“Tyler?” Dawson called out into the room. “Baby, it’s alright, I’m here now.” The coach nodded with confirmation for the fourth characteristic. Grabbing his phone, the host then sent a simple text message. Thanks to the live camera, the men could all watch as the subject’s own device buzzed. Timidly opening it, Dawson checked his phone.

“Ok Tyler, I am going to open the link you sent me,” Dawson called out, unaware the link was not actually sent from his romantic interest. As if already suspecting the lurking danger behind the text, the subject slowly tapped the link and let it proceed forward. The room lit up in a flash, even blinding the live camera temporarily. The audio did not shut off, but the stream went quiet. Moments later, the men were reoriented back into the restroom.

Murmurs flew around the space once more. A few of their faces displayed shock at the screen presented before them. Coach Hopkins held stoic, but his eyes bore straight on. The scene before him was almost entirely the same. Nothing had changed, except for the subject.

“Gone are the days of your players attending frivolous seminars and engaging in anti-anything protests. Thanks to our technology, we can now guarantee your boys will be real, undeniably American men.” 

Where once stood the rather average athletic young male was now a bulky creature. He was taller, brawnier, and brutish. His uniform had been replaced with a tight, all-black outfit to better display his offerings. The sleeveless tank outlined massive pecs, broad shoulders, a thick core, and made his cannon-like arms bulge out of his sides like an oversized action figure. The running shorts appeared more like briefs, searing into the monstrous thighs that led down to steel calves and feet so large they could not be accommodated at most shoe outlets. Speaking of briefs, Coach Hopkins noted the subject was no longer wearing any; a thick python and a low-hanging set were peeking out of one of the leg holes. 

By the gigantic size, the host could easily confirm his product met the first criteria. And by the backwards cap, arrogant grin, and constant man-handling, the men in the room were all able to confirm the second and third on their own. They had been around these types long enough to know the signs.

“What was I doing anyway, bro?” Dawson asked himself in a voice deeper and duller than his previous offerings. After scratching at his thick pubes and giving it a sniff, an idea suddenly sprung into the subject’s head. Coach Hopkins could sense the process of thinking was a more difficult procedure now then it had been before. “Right, I was gonna see if that chick from last night still wanted to get laid tonight. What was her name, Jenna? Brianna? Maybe she’d be a good lil girl and bag me a threesome? God, that’s so hot…”

The stream cut off shortly after, but not before the subject’s continual groping started to awaken his massive dong. The last image was frozen onto the screen, with Dawson preparing the classic flexed picture his predatory nature utilized to ensnare victims.

“So what do you say, gentlemen,” the host sneered. “Would anyone like to try our trial package?”

[swaqcenix]

The Devil was an Angel First | N. Romanoff

Natasha Romanoff x fem!stripper reader

≿━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━≾

Summary: It was a risk and a job worth taking, simply use your ability to seduce to earn enough money to get you your university degree. Yet you didn't anticipate the owner of the strip-club to take a significant interest in you, but what can she do? As soon as Natasha saw you, you were hers.

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x!fem stripper reader, employee x boss, forbidden romance

Warnings: 18+, slight dark!natasha romanoff, manipulation, strip-teasing, lap-dancing, pole-dancing, fingering, semi-public sex, oral (n to r), mommy kink, strap-on, choking,degrading, over-stimulation, handcuffs and toys, reader is easily manipulated!

Word Count: 9K

AN: This is heavily inspired by the song Pray by Xana, you could listen to it while reading this to get an extra bit of the atmosphere ;)) Also I wil be taking small requests or drabbles for this specific fic/pairing as I'm secretly addicted to this concept.. (not so secretly.)

≿━━━━━༺❀༻━━━━━━≾

Slipping amongst the crowds, your eyes dart around the room as the sounds of the club itself echo through your body. The lighting was illuminating each corner of the room, but stopping in certain bleak shadow's contrasting well with those who put on a performance.

The smell of slick sweat and hot bodies mingling through the room made your nose twitch through instinct and it was around this time your mind was wondering whether this was the right call.

University had been always your major goal in life, pass through High-school get your qualifications and your grades, just don't fuck up. For most of your life you'd remained hidden in the shadows, contempt to live life remaining hidden away while the flashlight of beams hit the sky's ground touching everything but yourself.

Yet apparently life deemed it not apparent that this was the case for you. Instead when your family collided into debuts and the household becoming a simply standing memory of what once was and never could be's you knew the longing for snatching your degree's up in higher education was slipping like fog and air through your fingers.

Would that be a common knowledge concept and reality to turn towards darker paths? Well, darker in regards to your family's eye-line anyway. You simply saw it as an opportunity for people who enjoyed doing things their own way, their own style and didn't wish to follow into the lights of the sky like others we're unique.

Your family wouldn't be appreciating your actions but it didn't matter. It realistically couldn't no matter how much they perhaps frowned at the idea. You could perhaps go into depth of how it wasn't selling your body but allowing it to be seen, allowing others to get a taste of the salt and the the aroma of flavours their hearts desire, but never fully satisfied.

Pole-Dancing wasn't something you'd be opposed to doing by any means. Watching the way they drift through the air, holding onto the bar with such pristine confidence and high agility hit your stomach in all the right ways. Nimble and soft fingers holding onto the pole with such grace their body's dancing into the fire of the night, other's moving with grace and affirmation.

The men and women watching their every action their every step with such a wide eye their lustful thoughts screaming with such a power your own ears rang. Black stiletto's clinging to the poles with a strength that made you doubt your own abilities despite having the darkest of secrets lingering on thoughts.

Quiet girls always tend to have the deepest of desires, the fieriest of personality. The set determination on being quiet, being forgotten and not wanting to be seen always portrays just how difficult life could dance around in a sea of wonder and mystery.

The air smelt so much of blood sweat and tears, the smoke driving the fuel into everyone's body, an ignition lighting up. You turned towards the bar deciding to opt on a drink, probably a hardcore whiskey if you wanted to get through this alive and sane, the burning feeling would ground you heavily to reality.

Turning on your heels, your contrasting deep-blood heels clacked heavily on the floor, treading with a walk that helped you do the one thing you'd avoided doing. Being seen.

Eyes watched, heads tilted and words of whisper drifted across the room as you brought the attention away from the other worker's sensing some hard glares and other longing looks. It was no secret you had the looks, it was just never in your cards, not your line of sight, but the devil didn't always play with fire until pushed within the flames.

"Whiskey neat please," your voice was firm and held no conversation for an argument.

The barman glanced at you and you simply watched as his eyes glanced at you, looking you up and down. You could practically feel the budge in his pants grow from here and the self-refraining you were doing from rolling your eyes was repulsing.

You weren't about to start off your first time in this place by pissing off the men you could encounter more often in telling them you not into indulging in their acts. Explaining to men who couldn't understand the word no when it comes to simply not being interested in them was not a path you cared to go down for the time being, instead settling on biting your tongue.

Sure, it didn't mean you couldn't make some impressions around here though. You'd already made a rather splendid entrance by sauntering around capturing lingering eyes of the men and women which allowed your red tinted lips to tilt upwards.

The barman worked nimbly, his hands being heavy but not without meaning as he flipped bottles around like he was performing an act. Normally this would entice most women to jump for joy and use some ogle eyes towards him. However, you were in fact not most women, you simply walked through the world of shadows until you decided to finally allow the light to kiss your skin in all the right areas.

He slowly slid the drink down to you as you tossed him the dollar bills owed and sauntered off in means to find the owner of this establishment. The music moved above you like puppet's on a string as you did your best to try and move through the blinding strobe lights and bodies mingling into one.

Guessing that the owner would find you before you found them, your body decided to make it's way over to a table waiting for them to arrive with introductions, you crossed your legs simply playing with the bottom of the whiskey glass, swirling it around for play as you chucked it down your throat.

The feeling of the burn hit you instantly and you squinted for a moment before a heavy sigh escaped the opening of your lips leaning back in the chair once again becoming one with the shadows. Besides the demons in everyone else's heads seemed to be having their own rituals one of which you weren't enticed on indulging in such acts.

The approaching sound of heels made your body almost churn with anxiety for reasons currently unknown to you.

The approaching sound of heels made your body almost churn with anxiety for reasons currently unknown to you. Doing well to not attract attention you glanced through your glass trying to picture who was approaching and a flash of red curls took through the reflection.

Your lips tilted upwards in a mischievous smirk as you leaned back in your seat, a feeling of excitement coursing through your veins. Your mind wandered as you presumed the mystery woman was approaching ready to allure you into sinful acts of seduction and dance through desire into the night.

Instead, what was not predicted was the black stiletto heels coming to a stand still right behind your table, a hot and heavy breath lingering in your ear. Your body tensed and you felt the smirk dripping from the woman behind you as you tilted your head turning around to be met with someone who should be the devil in disguise, one to lure you entirely out of the shadows and touch the fires to ignite you entirely.

"You must be Y/N. Y/LN. I am Natasha Romanoff, Miss Romanoff to you. Owner of Desiring ignition. I will interview you in the back rooms if you don't mind?" her voice asking a question but orders slipping from the sinful tongue.

Your body moved before your lips did and you found yourself following after the redhead like an obedient dog, for a minute forgetting yourself entirely and not thinking, just acting like a string was tugging you along.

Her red hair was distinctive even against the darkened tone of the room, the lights dimming in and out didn't affect it as it shone like fire and ash, the devil reincarnated you knew. Her hips swayed with an intent to drive a man wild but in a way she didn't wish for any of them, simply alluding to her own intoxicating beauty, poison and toxic.

The eyes followed you both and you scampered after her down a neon-purple hallway, the colour's almost blinding you within a trance. Finding your bearings you knew you'd need to pull yourself together if you wanted this job so decided to play in the same game, the same chess board. Play with the devil.

Her hands clasped tightly around the handle as Miss Romanoff lead you into what you presumed to be her office before shutting the door behind her. The noise seemed to almost be drowned out now, as though she'd installed noise cancellation into her office.

Your eyes scanned the room trying to analyse and get anything you could on this woman. You'd always liked to get to know someone through their surroundings and what that said person associates themselves with, especially if it works in your favour.

The office itself was dimly lit but well cleaned and decorated minimally. To your left there was a desk, mahogany coloured with 2 chairs on ether side, the desk holding files that your eyes couldn't capture from the distance you stood. A solemn picture held itself strongly on the desk of what you could make out to be a younger blonde woman, perhaps the same age as you or a couple years older.

The redhead nodded her head towards the chair on the other side of her desk, before sitting down on a black leather one herself. Even sat down in the dimly lit office you could tell she was a woman of business, not one to be meddled with nor to cross without paying the price which for yourself was bad given your track record of loving to stir the pot.

Her eyes lingered over your own for a while examining you, looking you up and down in a way your body almost jolted at the sheer intensity of her gaze. Not wanting to keep the older woman wanting any longer, your feet moved on the own accord sitting down on the chair opposite of her. Her posture was still up straight, impossibly held and elegant opposite of your own.

"So," she began by looking through your files as though you'd be arrested under a warrant issued for the most wanted criminal.

"You've got good grades from schools, a track record of not seeming to show herself within public eye and even held debates and meetings within clubs. Your jobs previously consist of coffee shops and waiting so what exactly is it you have to offer here," she stated her voice was laced with disdain and annoyance.

"Well that's correct yes, but I have goals in life and things I need to achieve. I can't get there without doing this first, trust me it's a last resort," you replied cringing inwardly at your response.

It was a stupid mistake you'd created by saying this job was a last resort. That would be the last thing this goddess of a pain was waiting to hear, especially when wanting to employ you. You'd fucked up royally but like she stated, you had a tendency for debate clubs and there was nothing better you were good at than worming you way into or out of situations.

Her eyebrows shot upwards at your response and you watched with fear as the redhead perused her lips together eyeing you once again with a look of utter irritation.

"So you see us as a last resort?" She asked stiffly.

"No, nothing like that-" you tried to reason but her hand waved in the air dismissing your comment before you'd began.

"Y/L/N. Do you know how many people come here asking for jobs hm?" Her head titled to the side lips twitching while watching you squirm.

"No..."

"Over 200. How many do you reckon we employ exactly?"

The venom and toxic poison in her voice almost sent you spiralling you couldn't help but feel entirely hooked on it. Yet the feeling in your mind told you to run, leave before you headed down the road of embarrassment and utter danger.

"I'm not sure, Miss Romanoff," you voice was surprisingly even for someone being scolded in a private office room.

"The answer is 4% out of those 200 get employed. Yet, a silly girl like you walks along struts in like she owns the fucking place and says it's a last resort," she taps her finger on the side of her face mockingly.

"No.. I can dance and I'm incredibly talented on a pole," you tried to reason but she once again shushed you in a dismissive tone.

"You're dismissed off you go," she shooed you off and your legs stood by themselves your mind no longer in control of your body.

As your body walked towards the door head daring not to look back your hands went towards the door handle, before lingering on the metal for a moment. Your mind danced away thinking of thoughts and how you couldn't give up so easily. You came in this bar, this strip-club looking for a job and you'd be damned to go without one. Sure the woman behind you was a stole cold bitch, but she came with fire. You had the gasoline to set this place alight.

Turning on your heels, you faced the older woman who went from looking down at her files with disinterest to whipping her head up. Miss Romanoff tilted her head to the side as you approached with a surge of confidence that you didn't know you had running through your veins setting your blood alight. Your body leaning over her desk you smirked as she watched and you could sense her tense beneath you.

"Let me show you what I can do," your voice was whispered with sultry and laced with such confidence that was missing moments ago.

The redhead thought for a moment, her lips twitching ever so slightly at the sides before tilting up. She removed herself from her chair carrying her composure elegantly as ever before entering your personal space.

"Be my guest, show me what you can do," she smirked.

Before you could even blink, Miss Romanoff snatched your hand and lead you out of her office towards one of the unoccupied rooms. The sparks you felt when her hand clasped your hand and rising towards your wrist jolted your stomach giving you somersault's.

She on the other hand, snatched her hand away as quickly as she took it and you weren't sure why that caused such a sting within you. The older woman wasn't required to touch you in any way, but her response was as though she'd been burnt in opposition to your own body's reaction wanting to feel her touch ignite you more.

Suddenly the vast realisation of reality crashed down on you and your stomach churned in thought. Your mindset couldn't be thinking this type of way in any shape or form towards someone who could perhaps be your boss. This wasn't about to become some cliche film style where you fuck your boss, you couldn't give her that style of power.

Yet, as you let your mind indulge further in thoughts, she wasn't your boss. Not yet and not now, besides if you wanted this job a thirst to prove yourself to the flames of hell as she was, you were going to have to join the game.

Heading further down the hall, Natasha stopped at the door to her left and you titled your head in anticipation. The feeling of not knowing what you could possibly find was always thrilling yet had an edge of dread that filled your lungs and ran through your veins.

Observing her silently, you watched the redhead slip out a singular key from her pocket before slipping it with ease into the lock and turning it. Her hand which you tried definitely too hard to not focus on wrapped around the handle turning it before standing to the side awaiting you to head inside.

Silently entering the room, you found yourself coming to a sudden halt at the sight that stood before you. A singular pole stood in the middle of the room, tall and with a bolden look about it almost calling to you begging you to dance upon it. Towards the corner of the room lay what you predicted to be a lot of BDSM toys ranging from handcuffs and blindfolds to nipple clamps and leg spreaders.

Your cheeks flushed heavily at the sight as heat ran through your body and you found yourself turning away from the toys, eyes instead landing on a chaise lounge. The furniture was a deep red, crimson in fact darkened like the blood flushing heavily through your veins, perhaps darker than Ms Romanoff's hair. Turning your head in her direction you realised she'd been watching your reaction as you absorbed and gawked at the room, causing you to flush even further.

The older woman simply smirked at you before making her way over to the chaise lounge, looking you up and down in what you originally thought was a judgmental look now seemed otherwise, before sitting with determination down onto the chair.

For a moment it was silence as she only stared at you examining you for a mere moments that felt like hours before rolling her eyes and scoffing. Her hand raised upwards as her index finger- that looked incredible you might add- came out and directed at the pole giving you a pointed look. Realisation hit your face and you realised what the redhead was asking of you, which caused all sorts of emotions to run through your head.

She was asking you to to give a full example of how you'd dance within her club, within her line of work and show yourself. Normally this wouldn't be a bother as you'd come to a damn strip-club for god sake, but it was the idea of dancing alone with her that sent your nerves spiralling and your body shaking beneath you.

Still, there was no point in arguments, you'd been the one to suggest showing her, but in hopes of a more lively atmosphere. Instead Miss. Romanoff had lead you to a secluded room one of which held what you predicted secrets hiding within the 4 walls for you to dance in.

Sucking in a tight breath you closed your eyes tightly shut counting to 3 before opening them once more. Getting your bearings around you, you strutted to the pole making sure to remove the jacket that clung tightly to your skin hugging you in all the right places. The jacket was placed to the side of Natasha and you tried not to smirk too much at the feeling of her eyes travelling over your form.

Her body stood up, walking over to a speaker in the corner causing you body to tense up slightly. If it was too loud it was sure to cause an uproar of attention that in this current moment you didn't want. Your mind was too focused on earning the approval and the full attention of the redhead selfishly to yourself despite wishing that you didn't indulge in such sinful acts.

You removed your pants, leaving yourself in only your polo shirt and underwear, trying your best not to make any sort of contact with her. You could have done pole-dancing in your pants but it wasn't a risk worth taking if you didn't want any slip ups and needed the grip. Instead you walked over to the pole closing your eyes tightly before opening them and glancing over at Miss Romanoff.

Her head was tilted to the side and you were almost convinced her eyes that you noticed earlier were the shade of emerald green like the piercing ground of earth were almost charcoal now, luring you into the mist of hazing sinful creatures and touching the igniting flame. Instead of contemplating thoughts any longer you let out a mere nod towards the older woman and she smirked turning on a song that widened your eyes as, girls girls girls by FLETCHER began to echo through the room.

Trying to once again ignore the intriguing implications behind the song you stepped forward flexing your hand back and forth continuously before gripping onto the pole tightly with your left hand. Your fingers curled instinctively around the metal bar and you cleared your mind. One of the first things you'd learnt about dancing and when understanding how to use the effective ways of pole-dancing was don't think just act.

You let your mind carry through the music eliciting the illusions of thoughts and song's as your body carried you through. You started off smoothly, swinging your way seductively around the pole keeping your outside leg straight before pivoting your inside foot at the same time.

Your mind carried through song as the beat's began to pick up, your outside foot worked through muscle memory hooking around the pole before your other joined gripping tightly.

As soon as you felt your body securely fitted on the pole your hips moved in ways of wonder as though art itself couldn't touch through paintings of masterpieces. Your back arched and your hip swayed in beat swinging yourself around the pole before your body flipped itself in ways of wonder, dancing and spinning with everything it had.

The song slowly began to draw to a close and it was then your eyes chose to linger from being shut as you made your distinctive signature move, swinging yourself around with a grace you didn't know was within you. Your body swung from the top to the bottom of the pole in the most seductive way possible as your fingers crossed over, before your eyes drifted to the red head.

It took everything within you not to let out a shit-eating grin when you noticed the gawking from Miss Romanoff who looked like she was ready to eat you up whole. Given any other circumstances you would have flushed or felt self-conscious, but instead you embraced the feeling of confidence as you gently slithered off the pole a laugh almost sliding past your lips.

You sauntered over to the older woman, teasing leaning over her body to grab your jacket only to be yanked down onto the couch. You felt the blood run course through your body you heart pounding so loudly you'd not be surprised if she could hear it herself. The room came to a heated silence, the tension thick and easily cut with a knife. Natasha's hand came up to cup your jaw tilting it to the side almost as though she wanted to judge that part of you too, or better yet distract herself from what she was initially going to do.

"Tomorrow, 8:30pm your shift will begin. I recommend not arriving late, or better yet arrive earlier to prepare yourself. You work hours will differ but tomorrow you'll be finishing at 3:30am. Understand sweetheart?" Her voice husked out and you were almost putty in her hands once more.

Your head nodded unconsciously, the primal instinct in you roaring to obey your now boss's instructions. The feeling of disgust ran through your body at the realisation of what you'd just performed despite it being your job area now. It wasn't the fact you'd pole-danced it was the secluded room and the song that made your body squirm.

The redhead seemed to thrive in amusement on that power and you weren't sure whether the heat that ran to your core was feelings you wished you didn't have or anger that turned into the feeling of lust, perhaps both. Her hand tightened on your chip ever so slightly to the point you thought her nails may cause intends within your skin, marking like a hot poker within it.

"Oh no, none of that. You use words to me okay? So do you understand dorogaya?" her tone showed no time from you for disagreement.

"Yes, I understand Miss. Romanoff," your voice was strong and assertive despite inside your body was a mess of sweat and utter chaos.

Natasha leaned back, stretching her arms across the couch staring at you for a moment before taking her lip between her teeth, clamping down hard. The sight was enough to send a hot gush of wetness between your legs and your mind screamed at you in retaliation, she was your boss. Her teeth gently let her lips go with a pop before standing up and walking up to the door, swinging it open with ease staring back at you with an expected look.

"Good girl," she whispered out her lips tilting up dangerously as your fixed your tousled hair that had become slightly damaged from dancing.

Your body reacted once more to the words almost jolting in response, but you did well to keep yourself refrained and intact. Instead you simply grabbed your belongings nodding towards the woman and headed straight for the main exit. Perhaps the acts you were prepared to partake in was deemed as sinful and immoral, you wouldn't give so much as a glance if they were. It felt like the devil was standing their glaring into your soul and you didn't care for anything else other than entering the gates and feeling the flames wrap around your body.

The next evening went as smooth as it could, the blasting of the music as your body danced in between of time to the tunes. Your personal favourite was the one's that went sensual before picking pace as it allowed you to do your signature moved before flaunting around people in a seductive manner. You'd thrived on how the men and women gawked at your, eyes popping out of their heads, drooling from the mouth like you were a treat they had to have.

Fellow colleague's had taken up on asking advice, specifically your new favourite Wanda who you added on further inspection was quite a looker. The way she'd bounce her brunette curls around her face as she danced into the night like nobody was watching always had you admiring her.

She herself had wanted tips from you, always seemingly interested by your dancing to the way you move on a pole, her eyes always lingering in sheer awe and amazement as though you personally had placed each star drifting through the sky. Yet, you always felt another pair of eyes, heavy and dark lingering in the shadows.

It was the type of shadow you'd spent your whole life hiding within but this aspect was dangerous. It felt cold mixed with fire alike, bonding in ways it shouldn't mix. The soul being ice and chilled to the bone with fire in the centre waiting to burn itself from the ground up. You constantly sensed the lingering eyes on your body but chose to ignore it, for you knew the consequences of the danger, you knew who those eyes belonged to you just couldn't face them to admit it.

It continued for the next week until Saturday came faster than anticipated. Your legs carried you through the building with ease and a sense of calm now almost as though you'd been there for years. In reality you'd become rather content with the building of Desiring ignition. You'd scarcely interacted with Natasha though, (thank god.)

It wasn't the exact concept of fearing the woman, no it wasn't that. It was the way she made you feel. It was like feeling towards the devil, it's forbidden you see red with anger, lust the picture painted of danger and intoxicating aroma.

You'd done well in avoiding the older woman but she did appear to be making it easer than anticipated, despite knowing the one hiding in the shadows, lingering not wishing to be seen but knowing you felt her presence seemed to enough for the older woman.

You had settled on something different this time, usually not opting for dresses preferring to dress loose but certainly stylish all the same. However this time, you'd decided to rock the boat and you weren't sure why.

Instead you'd settled on a deep emerald green, darkened than usual but curved around your body clinging in all the right ways. The anticipation and adrenaline of the reactions you'd receive left your mind racing, despite not wanting to show anything off entirely. Definitely not for her..

Directing yourself towards the bar, you walked over greeting who you'd now become accustomed to know as Bucky. He actually was opposing to what you expected after your encounter on the first night, he was just hesitant of newcomers. Instead now you'd become close to the man always offering a term of greeting.

"Same as usual?" He questioned winking as you both knew it was wrong to drink on the job.

Albeit it was hardly your fault, when it came to this job and work environment you'd hardly be faulted for having the odd drink to get by. Most days we're enjoyable, the women ogling over you and many wanting to touch what their desired hearts couldn't reach, like seeing a pebble in the ocean before the sea carries it out, perfectly sculpted but not yours to own.

Your lips curved up into a smirk filled with fire and mischief, the look of mystery plastered all over your face. Not a word spoken, your head nodded into his direction and Bucky nodded once in return. His body moved swiftly, preparing a small yet rather what the average person would deem an intoxicating strong drink for yourself as he slid it over.

Taking your drink you sipped away at it as you made your way onto the floor, seemingly into the sea of people. It was busy & you only knew it was going to get busier. Besides; you had an hour to kill before even remotely starting your shift so you might as well busy yourself.

It started simple, sitting down mingling with guests, eyeing up who was necessarily your desire for the night. All you needed was the money, even with the weighing guilt that sometimes poured over your head you needed to make your way into the world.

God only knows how you'd found yourself onto the dance floor, one moment you were sipping on your drink waiting for the beginning of your shift the next you were dragged onto the dance floor by a taller and seemingly older brunette. Her hands were dragging across your waist causing your face to flush.

Were you sure you were entirely within protocols here? Not at all, yet there was no rules you couldn't dance with the paying guests before your own night began. Though you were indeed certain Miss. Romanoff may cause some issues with this.

Alcohol wasn't even the reason for your confidence, it felt like something was drawing you to push boundaries that night to tempt yourself into desired that you shouldn't cross. You could say you don't bring your guests into the bedsheets like you do your demons but as the brunette's hands grazed across your stomach for a moment you short circuited.

You found your head tilting an angle towards Bucky's direction who was eyeing you with a concerned expression painted upon his face. His frown that narrowed through his forehead, eyes giving a dangerous tone, almost trying to warn you.

Still, you shrugged it off instead allowing the touch of another burn your skin though whether it was a burn of desire or the burn of hell you weren't sure. You were playing with the fires of lucifer here & partially enjoying yourself. Lips grazed slightly over your neck, almost allowing you to loose yourself instantly without a sudden care or thought.

People were silencing around you within beats of the music, like a chill had passed down from a frost bite. They were parting like royalty had arrived themselves, but you were completely unaware in your own mindset in your own thoughts.

Lips grazed your neck sloppily, yet it burnt like an ignition hell fire in your skin. Yet your mind was dancing somewhere else or better yet, someone else. It was like someone snapped a finger, as within a second like you'd blinked an eye and the warmth from behind you disappeared.

Widening your eyes, you opened them but a hand snatched you spinning you straight into a body. You stumbled forward legs like jelly, hands still shaking with adrenaline as their perfume invaded your senses. It was a sexy perfume smell no doubt, the aroma making it's way into your nose poisoning you. You'd almost breathed in, wanting more of the intoxicating taste of it, yet that wouldn't be ve-

Shit. Shit, shit shit.

If your suspicions were correct, which you were highly convinced they were then the perfume and the person you'd been dragged into was someone you dreaded finding you in that compromising position. A whisper drew you from the dread in the pit of your stomach and your stressing mindset as they leaned towards you.

"Enjoying yourself darling?" The voice carried the familiar edge you dreaded.

The feeling of bile rose in your throat from sheer anxiety and you gulped hard to keep yourself at bay. Slowly looking up, your eyes met the all too familiar green ones.. One's you could get lost in and fantasise about consi-

No, not to be thought of right now.

Her eyebrows were arched consistently and the familiar look of a stern facial expression was painted on your Boss's, Miss. Romanoff's face. Her lips were painted a blood deep red and the blush on her cheeks were making your legs like jelly, let alone your stomach's feeling of somersaults.

"I..." Stuttering voices was all you could muster right now.

A swift finger placed on your lips was all it took for your cheeks to hear up and you were certainly an embarrassing jumble of mess in front of her and everyone around you.

"Shh," her voice carried an authoritative tone but you were almost certain you could sense a lace of.. jealousy?

Surely that was an impossibility; she had nothing to be jealous about besides she was your boss, albeit a damn sexy one. Reality hitting back to you slowly you sensed the tension in the room could be cut with a knife and wanted in that moment for the ground to swallow you whole.

Gone was that confident attitude you easily found yourself mustering up to her, instead replaced with a timid jealous woman wanting nothing more but to run for your life. Your eyes didn't dare leave hers despite their sea of pure intensity and fire, though you didn't think you were capable of looking away even if you tried to.

A quick flick of her hand could be seen from your peripheral vision and as if someone had press play on a remote, the crowds resumed. Colleagues danced on laps, poles and bar stools while the noise resumed like they'd been frozen in time.

Before you even had the chance to speak, you were spun back around rather forcefully. However rather than letting you go, her hands yanked you flush against her chest, allowing you to feel her radiant body heat and the heat to come back to your cheeks once more.

Hands roamed over your body while her lips moved to your ear, a sultry almost lustful voice following suite.

"Well well, what was that little stunt hm? Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for private shows not giving a full on public display of borderline sex," she snapped though her hands still cupped your hips.

"I.. I can explain..."

Her hands cupped your clothed cunt causing you to cut your sentence off and gasp out. Embarrassingly, your body jerked forward into her hand showing how putty you were, easily giving into your boss.

"No, no I don't think so. You wanted a public stunt like that hm? Who's breasts are these?"

Her hand moved up to cup them, needing them through your dress causing you to almost cry out. You couldn't lie, you were grateful for the atmosphere being so loud and disoriented otherwise you'd have cried out from sheer embarrassment.

"M-Mine," you whispered through a half gasp earning you to feel her knee rub you subtly once more in your lower region.

"Wrong answer, don't get it wrong again hm?" She said through semi-gritted teeth and your body melted back into her.

Unsure of the adrenaline you had coursing through your veins you spun around and found some form of confidence in you to cup her own lower region.

"Yours," you whisper-shouted back due to the strength of the music, though your voice partially wavered.

It was obvious she was caught off guard through the sheer surprise that danced like the force of nature the wind dancing with the trees on a stormy night. Miss.Romanoff's lips tilted upwards into a smirk and without a word or a warning her hand clasped onto yours and you were being pulled swiftly down corridors.

Everything seemed to pass you buy in a blur as you had no recollection of one door to the next, nor did you dare to look at any faces glancing and gawking your way. Simply you decided to be an obedient little thing and follow Miss. Romanoff towards wherever she was leading you.

Suddenly, you came to a halt in front of a locked door slowly coming to the realisation this was Miss.Romanoff's personal room; no one was ever allowed to enter. A surge of some sort of excitement flooded the course of your veins in some way as she led you through.

Locking it behind her she pointed to her own personal chaise lounge and you obediently followed her instructions like a lost puppy, almost falling over your own feet to get to it. A low chuckle left her lips sending chills upon chills down your spine and embarrassingly hitting your core (that was probably now soaked.)

"Miss Romanoff I don't know if this is-"

"Natasha," she cut you off instantly smirking at you.

You gawked at the older woman like she'd just spoken in a foreign language. However she brushed it off, slowly approaching you like an animal would it's prey. Lifting your chin up she grinned down at you like a cheshire cat before huskily speaking.

"Call me Natasha. Though I'd also prefer to be called a different name, can your pretty little brain think of what that is?" She asked lustfully.

Gulping you had a smart idea, but didn't want to ask a stupid question. So you kept your mouth shut but apparently Natasha had other idea's towards your 'misbehaviour.'

"Colour," her voice was softer for a moment only by a slight tone but you sensed it.

It almost made you crack for a moment and come to your senses. An employee couldn't- shouldn't sleep with their boss. Yet, as you believed earlier the devil was technically an angel first and you wanted to touch the fire, you wanted her to touch you. However, it was evidence you were taking too long as you'd received an arched eyebrow and she grabbed you firmly by the chin awaiting her answer.

"Green but.. this is wrong you're my.."

A gasp cut you off as she placed her lips instantly on your neck biting down hard before sucking. You felt Natasha's lips trail up and down biting an area she could, knowing instantly it was going to leave a mark. Moans elicited past your lips as you found your head slowly adjusting to give more access.

She sucked and nipped at your skin like her life depended on it, it was intoxicating. She was starting a fire within you no one else could ever ignite. Natasha kissed her way back up to your face before whispering sultry into your earlobe.

"Now you want to keep your job don't you, you want to be a good girl for me?"

"Y-Yes I do Natasha," you went to move your hands in her hair when you felt something restrict you.

A deep blood red-handcuffs the same shade as her hair was holding you back and your eyes widened in realisation. The demon's in your head were fighting with each other as you felt her clamber her way into your lap.

"Now.. you're going to behave for mommy aren't you?"

She grinned at you arching an eyebrow while her plump red lips glistened under the dim lights. You couldn't bring yourself to respond to Natasha, you felt your stomach twisting in knots at the word and your brain go fuzzy.

Restriction on your neck caused your airways to tighten slightly, not too much but the pressure sent a heat to your core you didn't know could happen. She frowned at you sternly, a small crease of annoyance in between her forehead that you found dangerously hot and cute at once.

"Don't make ask twice detka, you should know in the time you've worked for me I hate repeating myself. Now be a good slut and respond."

Not wanting to face the consequences of hell knows what she'd do you nodded instantly a feeling of nervousness that was fuelled by desire and lust rising within you.

"Yes mommy, I'll behave. I promise!"

Your response pleased her, yet your brain didn't have much time to respond as a loud groan escaped your lips. The buzzing sensation pressed against your panties sent you spiralling into oblivion. Natasha captured your lips with her own, red lipstick smearing your own with a kiss, sealing your fate. Signing your soul to the devil seemed like a fate that could send anyone into a panic, but when it was Natasha Romanoff, it was pure bliss.

"Your moans are a delight to my ear sweet girl," her whispers against your lips only spurred you on further.

You found your hips grinding down against the toy your bottom lip become broken and bruised from how hard you were biting it. A small slap to the thigh sent you jolting as you looked up to see Natasha's stern look.

"You move when I tell you to move slut," she slurred out high on lust and desire and you felt a spiral of wetness shoot down to your glistening pussy that was most definitely dripping with desire.

You felt the pressure of the toy increase levels and it took you everything not to cry out in absolute ecstasy but the overwhelming stimulation, it was so intense your toes could curl.

"You're already coming undone are you for your mommy?" Natasha bit down slightly on your ear lobe her fingers trailing up to your throat once more as she whispers into your ear.

"When you lay down on the chaise lounge you'll be screaming my name tonight darling. Yet, did you honestly think that you could get away with that game Y/N?" Her voice dragged down your body as quickly as possible.

Teeth sunk into your skin, nipping sucking and licking into the depths of every single area Natasha could reach. You hands tried to fling over your mouth to muffle your moans, yet your restraining handcuffs brought you back to reality.

"They'll hear Na- Mommy," Your slip-up didn't go unnoticed as a slap to your thigh and a hard bite on your chest caused a cry out from your lips.

"Let them hear you. You wanted a show, I have every intention of giving you one."

Before your thoughts could catch up to your lips a rip echoed through the room as a strength had come from the redhead herself. Gasping as she put some pressure on your clit the intense feeling driving your body into an overwhelming feeling.

As her fingers pressed against your puffy lips you knew instantly you were getting addicted to the feeling; the ignition pushing you towards Natasha's capture. She was easily trying to capture her pray within you and you'd stupidly let her.

"Please.. I need more," You pleaded your brain foggy with lust and utter craving for Natasha in every way possible.

With a single flick of a switch you felt her turn the toy to maximum levels before her fingers were swiftly replaced with a lapping tongue. The cuffs that felt like chains kept to a wall yanked down as you tried to touch.

She spat on your clit and you felt the shit eating grin pass her lips as Natasha heard the familiar sound of tugging from them. Instead she tutted and her eyes grazed up connecting with your own, purposely dragging her tongue up your slit making you cry out from the intensity.

"You're a good girl aren't you hm? Taking your boss so well. Imagine if I got to do a public show with you.. God the way the crowds would go wild as I fucked you over and over again," Natasha lulled against your pussy.

The images dancing through your brain was sinful, absolutely disgusting to others but for some reason like you were trapped in a cage of sex you didn't care. Magic was a dangerous power and a dangerous curse yet she wheeled it all within this room, your body and your mind, your essence and soul.

As she shoved her tongue into your entrance another cry of intense joy, you weren't sure lust most definitely past your lips. Her free hand moved up to your breasts massaging the buds between her tips, sending you without permission releasing your juices all over her tongue.

Ms. Romanoff pulled back and the look on her face was not one of an impressed look, though that didn't stop her tongue swirling around her mouth getting the remaining taste left. That action alone sent another wave to your core despite the overwhelming feeling and you felt your legs like jelly simply from one round.

"Did I say you could cum?" Her voice was stern, boomed against the contrasting atmosphere of what the stench danced with sex, and sweat, desire and fire.

"I.. I didn't me-"

"Did. I. Say. You. Could. Cum?" She repeated her voice was filled with such an authoritative tone sending your mind back to your original meeting.

Had it not been for the handcuffs and the familiar stern look and not wanting any more disapproval from Natasha, you'd have coward away from embarrassment. Instead you shook your head wondering what on earth you'd gotten yourself into it wasn't like you were bound together but.. part of you lived from the excitement; she was a devil, demon of angel and hell with the need to feel her touch.

"No.. No Miss.Romanoff, you did not." Your voice rasped out exhausted from screaming already.

She stood up no word uttered and she disappeared around the back, leaving you to your thoughts for a moment. It felt like you were fucking with the goddess herself, but was it sanity? Was it safe to be sharing sheets and secrets behind closed doors? Possibly not, but her blood-red lips and curves of her body made it impossible not to fall into. A trap of love or lust, it wasn't even known to you within that sight, just the devil herself you'd taste it every-time.

A song brought you from your dancing curious thoughts, one that sent your body ice-cold and your eyes widening instantly. A song called 'Pray' You'd become one to recognise. It was a favourite with your regulars at the club. Except you hadn't quite realised Natasha herself had noticed, but you'd been proven quite wrong.

On the contrary, Natasha walked in with a thick deep red strap-on, one that was already wet ether with her spit or something else it was unknown. But, she knew and had seen it caused a rage in her she hated herself for. Yet, she had to have her way with you.

"Sit back," she ordered pleased instantly you'd complied with no sudden refusals or hesitation.

Without a warning she flung one leg over your body joined by the other leg, until she was sat in your lap straddling you. Instantly, a gut feeling surged through your veins flying through every pulse point sending a fire and ice in one through your very skin. Your suspicions were confirmed when she slowly started to move her hips on you with the strap on.

A lap-dance. A lap dance by Natasha Romanoff, your boss the fucking owner of Desiring ignition. Better yet it was with a strap on.

Her hips moved in a motion not even the most poisonous temptations of the world could, but Natasha out-beat them all. Her hands moved down her body over her hips and you watched in amazement as she began to thrust onto your leg while dancing like a majestic queen. Her moans spilled past her throat, giving you everything you desired sipping her up.

Your hands begged to move and your pussy pulsated allowing some juices to spill out. Your eye's pleaded with her to undo the cuffs but all you'd received in return, was a tut and a small pressure to your throat.

"You can touch soon detka. I'd like to have my fun now. Do you know how long I've waited to have my way with you?" She whispered her hips shaking and thrusting to the beat of the music.

"N-No," you answered honestly to mesmerised by her movements to figure out an answer.

"Since you first walked into that door. I needed you away so I didn't tempt myself with the cup of sinfulness, one that I shouldn't lead by. Yet, when I saw you dance.. Oh my sweet little slut. You were perfect. I needed to ruin all of you," she husked out shaking her strap slightly.

You almost came right from the scene in front of you, gaining your own kind of friction from her strap. However while the music beat sped up one lyric spurred her over the edge and caused her to break the chains of control, fly up from hell and take her prize.

'When she lays down to pray at night.. She'll be screaming my name.'

Something about that song lyric sent Natasha spurring forward and her hips bucked against your lap causing her to cry out in ecstasy. Her hands reached up undoing the cuffs breaking the barrier as your hands finally touched her hips, her olive silky skin feeling beautiful under your finger tips.

Her fingers suddenly managed to make their way underneath her body with a precision that seemed impossible to you and slammed themselves into your now over-stimulated pussy. You cried out in part-pain and mainly bliss the coil in your stomach building up.

She worked you like wonders themselves couldn't work the song blaring in the background. Natasha still continued to give you a lap-dance of sorts but mainly focused on getting the two of you off and fingered you hard and fast, her hips meeting some sort of thrust.

"Scream my name," left her lips and that's all it took.

The coil in your stomach snapped and you came once more all over her fingers, legs shaking and your eyes pooled with tears of joy from how incredible it felt. Natasha followed suite from the sight and the friction cumming all down her strap and some spilling onto your lap causing yourself to groan.

However, she had an ungodly amount of adrenaline pounding through her system as she clambered of your body leaning over your lips and throat demanding one thing of you.

"Suck."

Her voice was raspy sending a pool of wetness shooting down once more and you felt yourself let out some dripping juices by accident. You instantly took the strap on gagging on it as she shoved it deeply in your throat. Looking down, the sight was enough for Natasha to cum right there and then but she held it.

She wanted you to gag on her strap, shut your pretty little mouth up as she took in the sight of what was hers. Her sinful prize, her desired need was sucking her cock so well it was a bliss to see. Hearing you gag she rubbed your pussy once again causing you to cry out the stimulation being too much, yet Natasha ignored you.

She ignored you until your hips jerked up once more being greedy and desperate for her fingers or strap-on and she smirked in sheer delight. She'd made you putty in her hands. You didn't care anymore the manipulation of her job had worked wonders in your mind making it hazed with fuel of her touch and knowing only she could make you like this.

Clambering down, no warning was given as her cock suddenly found your puffy and over-stimulated entrance and her eyes drifted down. Natasha groaned at the sight, how ruined and how messy you were, wetness seeping down your thighs.

Not wanting to waist another minute, her cock slammed into you thrusting hard not giving you any time to adjust. Her lips moved fast and at a ferocious pace causing animalistic like grunts to leave your lips. Your mind danced with her and only her, it was like she'd made her mark engraved her and only her within it and you'd take it all, drink all of her and whatever she'd give you.

Sloppy slapping sounds hit the four walls of the room and her lips slammed into yours as she bit on your bottom lip. Your now free hands, moved into her hair tugging lightly causing a growl fit from an animal that could kill within seconds. Natasha kissed harder, hips slamming down without a single care and you felt yourself becoming close.

"Please.."

She grinned against your lips and you knew what was going to happen then and there. Your boss had won the game of the life time, her prize possession and puppet.

"Cum on mommy's cock like a good little stripper hmm? Let me take all of you," she husked out giving a particular hard thrust.

With that your juices hit her strap-on hard, flowing out of you like a river itself your mouth screaming her name while your body shivered. Hands clawing at her back now the sight was enough to send her spiralling, leaving you just enough time to recover to see the sight.

Her back arched, releasing her own as she had her eyes closed lips partially opened and skin slick with sweat and cum mixed from both of your spots.

Your eyes shut themselves sheer exhaustion taking in and all that could be heard was panting breaths in the room. It was as she leaned down you'd known how badly caught in the trap of lust you were with your own boss, her whispers filling the room.

"I've caught my own trap now, the devil got her prize. And I am far from finished with you yet, mommy's little stripper slut."

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[interact-if]

Our fourth edition of the Black History Month Author Spotlight series, features Becky (@losergames)!

(I’ve been in awe of Becky’s multi-talents (art, writing, coding, excuse me??) for a long time now, and am super excited to get to interview her and introduce her awesome game, Chop Shop! The portion on morality and finding a middle-ground between harmful stereotypes of “bad” POC characters and angelic, one-dimensional ones who can do no wrong was a really interesting and insightful take.)

Author: Becky

Hello hello!!! I’m Becky! I am a black bisexual woman from the UK, lover of games, TV and food. I have a Bachelor's degree in Animation & Visual Effects and currently work as a technician at a college 😁

Games: Chop Shop (crime, action, LGBTQ+, meaningful choices)

Short blurb: A crime action interactive fiction game.

Quote from the interview

There are a few main themes I keep in mind about when writing Chop Shop but the big one I think everyone understands is morality. What is right and wrong, and the various shades of grey in between, has been written about a thousand times in a thousand ways but it is continuously interesting to me in a changing world. What does it mean to be a bad person doing good things and a good person doing bad things? Is there a chance for redemption? What are the consequences? Race and class are also massive factors, made all the more complicated when we’re looking at sets of characters on either side of the PC’s life. I want to write black and other characters of colour make bad, questionable, and unredeemable decisions whilst also remaining aware of stereotypes and archetypes. I want them to be loud, messy, and rude, attributes that are always attached to minorities, but I also want them to be smart, calculating, and deceptive. I think a lot of people are scared to do so and we end up with plain, can-do-no-wrongers that lack any depth.

Read on for the full interview!

Can you tell me a bit about what you’re working on right now and your journey into interactive fiction? What inspired the game/story you’re currently writing?

I am currently working on the crime action interactive fiction Chop Shop. There are a mix of inspirations that went into Chop Shop but above all else I’d say the kicker was my circumstances at the time.

During covid I walked away from the WORST job I’ve ever had and moved back home, which I realised a while after was an extremely huge blessing. I had a major burnout and was processing what my ex-managers had put me and my colleagues through. So, in my freetime I was playing a lot of cyoa/ romance games (shoutout Love Island the game) and found a whole fandom that also enjoyed them. 

I made some friends, did art commissions, and wrote some fanfic here and there, yadda yadda. A close friend recommended I try out a very popular COG game at the time (🧛) and it all spiraled from there. I fell in love with the format, endless creativity, and community and never looked back.

I loved the Need For Speed games as a kid, the og Most Wanted, Carbon, and Underground 2 are, in my eyes, amongst the masterpieces of games from the 2000s. It got to the point I was going over to friends houses just to play on their PS2 lmao. I am also a Fast and Furious fiend (shock) and I will defend that god awful series till I die. Fast forward to being a teenager/ young adult I’ve become a massive fan of fictional crime shows. Breaking Bad will always be my first love, but I also love The Sopranos, Fargo, The Wire and more.

How has your identity, heritage/background, upbringing, or personal experiences influenced your storytelling or writing process? OR How does your work feature aspects of your identity / experience?

The real catalyst for Chop Shop was my previous job. A lot of the PC’s experiences are based off my own. A few examples I love sharing are how I had to make breakfast for my boss every morning and had to keep the office freezer stocked with a specific supermarket ice lolly because he ‘needed’ one every day at 3pm. I truly wish I was making this up because people think I’m crazy when I tell them. But I really was catering to a man-child because I was desperately trying to get my foot into a creative industry. Woof!!!

That said, the industry I wanted to work in was and still is extremely competitive. I came out of uni with a tonne of friends, but also a tonne of competition. It stung very badly to see my peers excel and surpass me when it came to careers but that’s just a part of becoming an adult. That life really was not for me and I’m glad I’m out of it now.

My mother is an extremely influential person in my life. Bits and pieces of her stick with me, not just in my writing but my every day. She’s worked in corporate all her life, from the early 80s and still to this day. She laughs about it now but she tells stories about the times she was laughed out of meetings or undermined by subordinates because she was a black woman in positions that were not occupied by minorities. It hurts to think about but I can only dream of having the type of strength she does.

Now that I think about it, Chop Shop is a massive fuck you to the past.

Are there any specific themes or messages you hope players take away from your work?

There are a few main themes I keep in mind about when writing Chop Shop but the big one I think everyone understands is morality. What is right and wrong, and the various shades of grey in between, has been written about a thousand times in a thousand ways but it is continuously interesting to me in a changing world. What does it mean to be a bad person doing good things and a good person doing bad things? Is there a chance for redemption? What are the consequences?

Race and class are also massive factors, made all the more complicated when we’re looking at sets of characters on either side of the PC’s life. I want to write black and other characters of colour make bad, questionable, and unredeemable decisions whilst also remaining aware of stereotypes and archetypes. I want them to be loud, messy, and rude, attributes that are always attached to minorities, but I also want them to be smart, calculating, and deceptive. I think a lot of people are scared to do so and we end up with plain, can-do-no-wrongers that lack any depth.

What does your writing process look like? Any rituals or habits? Any tips, tricks, philosophies or approaches that have worked very well for you?

I write way better outside of my bedroom. I know writing is supposed to be fun and a hobby but sometimes it’s… not. If I get stressed out in my room, it’s all a mess. The brain needs to be away from where I sleep to get work done. Last summer, when all the teachers were on holiday time, I was the only one in my department for weeks and it was the best writing stint I ever had haha.

Oh and I keep a huge spreadsheet. All the episode breakdowns, outlines, character details etc. It looks insane to anyone else but it is my prized baby.

Do you have favourite interactive fiction games, characters, scenes or authors that you’d like to recommend?

My goto game rec is always 180 Files: The Aegis Project. So quick and punchy, more narrative/plot than romance focused. The action sequences are fun and the interactions are so delicious, ugh. I love it. I’ve played it at least 20 times to get the different endings and it’s never not satisfying, just… chefs kiss. I’m also really enjoying Thicker Than right now AAHHH I NEED TO CATCH UP!!! 

Any books, music, movies etc. you’re obsessed with at the moment, or which changed your life (or perspectives on something)?

Not anything specific but I do have some books I’d like to recommend to my fellow black readers:

The Psychosis of Whiteness: Surviving the Insanity of a Racist World by Nicola Rollock

Black Skin, White Masks by Franz Fanon

The Strangers: Five Extraordinary Black Men and the Worlds That Made Them by Ekow Eshun

Black England: A Forgotten Georgian History by Gretchen Gerzina

The Hard Road To Renewal by Stuart Hall

Honestly I’d recommend anything by Stuart Hall lmao. RIP king, you would be shocked at the media literacy today.

This-or-that segment: (bold = Becky's pick)

Coffee or tea?

Early mornings or late nights?

City or countryside?

Angsty or Cozy romances? (Or enemies-to-lovers or best-friends-to-lovers?)  

Steady progress or frenzied binge-writing followed by periods of calm?

Summer or Winter?

First drafts or editing?

Introvert or extrovert?

Plotter or pantser?

Characters or plot first?

Becky’s custom “either-or” pairing: Driver or passenger?

[capitanology]

within silence and solace | capitano x f!reader

synopsis: where you meet your beloved husband after he returns home from a long mission

content warning: nothing much tbh, just slight descriptions of blood/injury and that's it, all fluff hehe

word count: 1.2k

within the desolate manor, it was a rare occasion to have any sort of commotion. the only company you have is your personal maid and the silence that occupied the majority of your time. it isn't an unusual thing; ever since your union with the First Harbinger, you've learned to savor the tranquility that comes with his name and status. that is, being cared for and treated with utmost respect without any resistance or trouble.

perhaps those around you have noticed that each action done to you is extended to him as well. each strike against you is a strike against him, and nobody wanted to mess with a person like him. if it wasn't clear before, a certain incident with an insolent guest only further cemented the fact that you're the Harbinger's precious wife, with the way Capitano dealt with that arrogant man without any mercy as an example to the others who dare disrespect you. you were often alone since then, servants only appearing in times of urgent need or when you beckoned them.

all too afraid to make a mistake while serving you when the First Harbinger is in the palm of your hands.

sighing softly, you let yourself immerse in the peace and quiet of your personal library. your day went by the same as it did for the past few weeks, devoid of Capitano's presence. ever since he was called to deal with an unexpected mission, you've been quite alone trying to navigate in a household filled with nothing but the shadow of your own. of course, he isn't the most talkative nor the most open when it comes to spending time together, but he at least kept you company; listening to your stories, entertaining your requests to go for walks or out to town, eating meals together. as much as you loved being by yourself, you still missed the man you called your husband.

left to your own devices at your request without any interruptions, you returned your attention to the novel placed on your lap. curled up in a cozy armchair, kept warm by the burning fireplace, this was a preferred pastime of yours in this empty manor, especially when your husband's absence carved in a deeper sense of loneliness. with how hushed everything is, that's why when you heard the sudden clamoring of servants in this rarely noisy house, it tells you all that you needed to know.

swiftly snapping the book shut, you lifted yourself off from your comfortable position and made your way to the entrance of the manor. anticipation thrummed through your veins, pushing the thought of seeing him to the forefront of your mind. your heart thumped loudly, enough that you won't be surprised if anyone else could hear it. the moment you reached the top of the staircase, a subtle sense of warmth spread through your chest when your eyes catch sight of the man you've been waiting for. achingly, tirelessly.

his figure stood still amongst the bustling servants, towering over them with ease. from his disheveled look, it seems that he has just returned. just as you moved to go to where he is, his face turned to your direction, and despite not seeing anything, you could tell his gaze remained fixated on you even as you descend down the stairs. as if by clockwork, the servants seamlessly made way as you walked past, bowing before dispersing to give the two of you the privacy needed.

standing before him, your eyes take in the sight; coat stained with streaks of crimson, not missing even the metal armor of his helmet, his hair unruly and scratches all over. he was unkempt unlike how he usually was, but you would rather this than a grave injury, which you notice is absent. letting out a small breath of relief, you let your gaze move to his face, an empty void encaged by his signature helmet. without any words, your hands reached out to cup his cheeks (the most of what you could anyway), the cool metal making a slight shiver run down your spine. almost instantly, his body softened, tension leaving with just a single touch from you. your lips lifted slightly at his reaction, warmth blooming in your chest.

it seems that you weren't the only one yearning for the other.

"welcome home," your voice went into a whisper, only for him to hear.

at your words, Capitano could only press his face further into the palms of your hands, as if seeking for more of the comfort that only you can provide. letting him bask in this moment a little longer, you then pulled away to start removing his dirtied coat. it seems that he didn't take it too well though, instead chasing after you, not wanting the moment to end just yet. his hands reached out to grasp onto your waist and pulled you a tad bit closer, your bodies nearly touching. the sudden proximity made your heart flutter and you feel warmth blossoming across your cheeks.

it has been a long time since you've been this close and you wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, but the patches of blood along the lines of his clothes reminded you of how he was fresh from the battlefield. shaking your head, you took another step backwards.

"later," you mumbled, looking away and moving behind him instead. "your coat first. i need to remove it, my love. it reeks of blood."

patting his back lightly, you waited for him to acknowledge your words. a moment passed before you heard a barely audible grunt—as if unhappy with your denial to let him stay in your warmth—and the shuffling of clothes. a little chuckle left your lips at his reaction, the image of him pouting like a little child making you amused. a few seconds later, a bundled up coat fell into your open arms, its decorative fur covering nearly half of your face.

without the humongous coat that he always had on, his figure had shrunk a little, but still maintained his built figure. at the sight before you, your gaze roamed the entirety of his being once again, except this time for a much more different purpose. it had been far too long since you were able to see him up close, just like this, and you took your time to appreciate the view you were deprived of for weeks.

the call of your name returned your gaze back to his face, and you could feel his amusement having caught you red-handed in your little moment.

"is something wrong?" his head tilted slightly, prompting you to answer his words.

"no," clearing your throat, you summoned the butler to take away his coat, pretending to play it cool despite knowing he had noticed the flustered look on your face at his subtle teasing. "you should hurry to the bathroom. the bath has been prepared for you for quite sometime."

"...if my wife says so."

his quiet statement was enough to make your heart go haywire, but you did your best to maintain a calm expression. nodding lightly at his words, you waited for his next action. and without fail, as he always did, Capitano reached out a hand towards you, palm open in an invite. your hand slid into his without hesitation, fingers intertwined in an intimate embrace. the familiar feeling of his rough skin, callouses adorning the corners of his fingers, made you squeeze his hand a little tighter, not letting go even as you both reached the wide doors of the bathroom.

finally, you get to feel his touch again.

a/n: first fic with some capitano fluff !! my first time writing a fic for him btw so pls forgive if its ooc LOL

[dduane]

Hi, Diane, I have a technical writing question for you: How do you decide how long a chapter is?

I've noticed a trend among mass market books of authors adopting the James Patterson style of chapters lasting a page & a half to three pages, but sometimes not even half a page. It's infuriating, especially when action on a single scene is split amongst them. I grew up learning that a chapter is an association of scenes, & that breaks were left for major scene and/or expository changes. If a book had 30 chapters, it'd be 400 pages long. Now I have 215-pages novels with 45 chapters!

You've always delivered a really good, fairly even, page & word per chapter count. So what's your thoughts on how it should be defined, & perhaps any on this metastasizing trend?

I haven't been entirely clear about what to do about this since I first started seeing this divergence of chapter lengths happening. (And bear in mind, this is a wide spectrum to be dealing with. There are books of Terry Pratchett's that have no clearly defined chapter breaks at all.)

My own take on it in the short term has varied depending on what book I was writing, and what rhythm the interactions among the characters were expressing. Sometimes written character business can happen very quickly, over a few pages: sometimes it has to happen more slowly, as it does among real people—a series of interactions, a pause, then further ripening developments and interactions.

Patterson is well known (I think) for having a house style... because I'm sure it'll have been a good while since he wrote anything but the high points of any given book himself. It wouldn't surprise me at all if the house style reinforces his own preferences, which would seem to be for very short interactions... that "short attention span" we've seen being discussed for so long, and getting shorter and shorter all the time.

I think it's safe to say I refuse to go that road. I want to allow readers time to sit in the characters' business (as it were) and think about what might happen next. I'm not afraid to allow the readership time to speculate about what might be about to occur before the next sequence of events sets in.

Is Patterson afraid to allow this? (sigh) I may have been a psych nurse, but I decline to attempt to read another writer's mind: that's a sure path to a headache. Is it possible that writers are as susceptible as their readers to that short-attention-span problem... and unwilling to attempt to slow it down for fear of being seen as somehow "behind the times?"

Damned if I know. Again, I decline to judge. But I sure as hell know how I'll behave on my own ground.

...Let me suggest a possibility to you, looking forward. Patterson's rhythms have all become the same because his (for certain values of "his") books have all become the same. ...And who's to blame for that? Readers are well known, in the industry, for wanting to read the same thing again and again, just a little bit different. That's not the readers' fault any more. They've been trained to it. And the market reflects their training.

You, meanwhile, get to set your own rhythms, and (ideally) allow the reader to settle into them, if they find other aspects of your voice congenial. Just because the Patterson modality seems to be all over the place at the moment, doesn't mean that it will continue to be. The market, gods help us, is all about the New. Someday (gasp) Patterson will be Old. And then what? Will slow slowly start to become cool? Tough to tell.

For myself, I write in a lot of different modes (gods help me, right now over on Bluesky we're discussing the possibility of a paranormal travel agency German [or maybe Swiss] Christmas market cozy murder mystery); and every single one of them requires a different rhythm according to the subject matter, the thought processes of the characters, the rhythm of the story itself and of the characters making their way through it, the way the action expresses itself throughout this story, etc etc. I can't imagine what doing it the same way all the time, regardless of the story's and the characters' imperatives, would feel like. Deadening, at the very least. And isn't writing about being, and becoming, more alive, not less??

If I've got a message, it's this: Let Patterson go his own way (for whatever values of "his"). None of us are going to be him, any time soon.*

I think you should write in the rhythm, and with the chapter breaks, that best suit the story you're telling. If some of your readers don't like those... fine. Others will. Whether they like to hear it or not—and some of them won't—like books, readers too are ephemera: they come and go. Your job is to be faithful to the story as you conceive it, and the rhythms and chapter breaks you feel it needs. The story has no one else to depend on.

So: get busy being God in your own creative universe, and ignore what other gods are doing in theirs.

HTH!

ETA: Historically I've had a tendency to use the "shopping list" method described over here for my outlining, and that's routinely determined chapter lengths to some extent. (i.e., if there were ten items on the list, and [thereafter] ten chapters in a 100K-word book, then that means 10K chapters.)

...Except when I feel a chapter needs to be subdivided, or combined with another one and then the whole thing chopped into three. Or when more entries get added to the master list. I look to see how a chapter "feels" when weighed in the hand of the mind: too long? too heavy? too short? too rushed?—and then adjust its length accordingly.

So briefly: my own basic rules are guidelines, to be broken when necessary. Yours should be, too. Only experience will teach you when this is necessary. But that's just another part of the Craft. "We learn by doing..." :)

*Though do we want to be?

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Zombie!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Zombie!Ghost, Reader

Summary: Being on the run from the undead doesn't leave much time for more intimate things, but once things start to settle a little an ache begins to form that you havent felt in a long time. What will you do when the only other person you are with is your former lover turned zombie.

Word Count: 4.8 k

Warnings:

Author's Note: here it is as requested. I hope I did it justice. Happy Halloween 🎃

You’d been on the run for months now, never stopping as hordes of the undead nipped away at any temporary calm would you seek to have. It wasn’t easy always having to look over your shoulder, wondering when you were going to get ambushed again or if you’d get overrun and you’d have to make your final stand in a blaze of glory. Something like that isn’t supposed to become normal, but after over a year of living in hell you kind of get used to it… Kind of.

That first month was the hardest since you had been completely on your own because in the chaos and confusion of that first wave as the everything fell apart, including the 141 you were stationed with, you’d gotten separated from everyone. Hiding in the sewers, scavenging for food like some kind of rat, it was torture. But then you came across someone you thought you’d never see again: Ghost.

He was holed up alone in an abandoned farmhouse back in the thick of the woods a town over from the base. What should have been a reunion with someone you knew was thrown off by the fact that he had in fact been turned into one of the undead. Out of everyone that you could have run into, why him? You two had history, the kind where intimate details were something that you shared, and now you were both thrust together once again only this time there were bigger things at stake other than if you’d get caught fooling around by the captain.

The strange thing was that even though Ghost had been fully transformed by the infection, it was not what you expected. You realized quickly that Ghost had kept most of his humanity, though the more finer details of his person were scrambled by the disease. Even though he could not speak anymore due to the fact that his jaw was broken, Ghost was still inside there. And the strangest part of it all was that he remembered you.

It wasn’t like anything you had seen from the horde of mindless undead and so instead of facing the unknown alone again, you decided to stick with him. For over a year you two stayed side by side and although you did not come across any others of the task force, it was enough to just have one another.

Honestly he wasn’t a terrible companion, though a bit of conversation would have been nice. Still, having him with you had its perks. Being one amongst the walking corpses had great benefits and Ghost used them to their full capability to keep you safe so that after a time, even though the world still sat in ruin, you two were not doing too bad. At least you were able to stay in place for more than a day now.

That’s where you found yourself, shacked up in a two story cottage you had found almost untouched and secluded in the middle of the woods. It was easy enough to make secure, as secure as you could having limited supplies, but apart from a few stray corpses stumbling by there wasn’t much action. That anxiety riddled tension that you had held in your chest for over a year began to ease and with that came old stirrings that you hadn’t felt since before the world collapsed.

An old familiar ache brought on by being near someone who you used to share such things with, the one that leaves you begging to be quenched, wormed its way back into your life and now that you had more time on your hands it was becoming a major problem.

You see, adrenalin has a funny way of fucking with your head: heightening your senses, making your pulse race, everything feels so much more intense. You were only human, one who still had needs which had not been met in so fucking long that you couldn’t even remember what it felt like to be touched by another and so having your blood always rushing and your skin tingling, how could you stop yourself from giving in to that most basic of temptations?

It was a shame that Ghost wasn’t an option now; you would liked to have him one more time as the world burned, but there was no way no… right?

So, instead, one evening after the perimeter had been secured and the doors re-bolted, the windows rechecked and the traps restrung, that ache reached its peak and you had to do something before it got in the way of staying safe. Sneaking off to the bedroom you had claimed for yourself upstairs, you allowed that overwhelming need to finally overtake you.

Leaving the door slightly ajar so that you could still be alert to any stray sounds, you laid down on the cushioned surface of the mattress, your pulse racing rapidly in your chest at the prospect of doing this. You made quick work of your jeans, unbuttoning them and pulling down the zipper only enough so that you could access that throbbing between your thighs. Clamping your mouth shut in an effort to keep quiet you slid your hand down the front of your pants, down all the way until you reached your sex. 

A whimper filled your mouth that you choked back down; the last thing you needed was to alert a horde with your desperate cries as you worked yourself. It may have been a while, but you knew exactly what to do and extending your middle finger you split yourself open to find your clit, another whimper rising in your throat as you made the connection and began to draw tight circles around the bundle of nerves.

It was hard not to get worked up so fast as that remembered pleasure filled your mind and snaked its way through your limbs to make your body vibrate and as you stroked that pulsing bean you were brought back to those times when you and Ghost used to get lost in that ecstasy together. You couldn’t be blamed for where your mind wandered, not when you had to be near the one person who knew how to draw your pleasure from you, even if he couldn’t do it anymore.   

Before you knew it, you had flipped yourself onto your stomach and then onto knees to ride your fingers, hips grinding away as you imagined him underneath you. Fuck, the way he used to look staring back up at you with those hungry copper eyes, hands greedily clinging around the meat of your hips as he shoved you down harder onto his cock before he would inevitably flip you onto your back to pound into you; it was enough to make you salivate with need, but still you tried to keep quiet.

You thought yourself sneaky, keeping things to a minimum as you desperately drew out your release, but Ghost was not the same man he was when he was alive. His senses were different now, enhanced like a wild animal’s by the infection that took his life and made him into something entirely new. As he stood in the living room, staring blankly out the window to watch for any signs of undead, something caught his attention.

The scent of pheromones were on the air, enticing him forward to the upstairs. He followed it all the way to the back bedroom, your room. Slowly, silently, creeping towards the door, Ghost peered unblinking through the slit to watch you up on your knees on top of your bed, your pants hanging slack around your hips while your ass point upward towards the door. That motion, he knew it; that back and forth sway of your hips over top of your bed. 

There was another fragrance on the air now, something more familiar. Taking a deep breath, his heightened sense of smell caught the scent of your natural lubrication currently soaking your fingers and it awoke something deep within him like a fire in chest akin to what an animal feels when it goes into heat. His slack mouth began to unconsciously salivate as ingrained memories surfaced, flashes of remembered sensations from times when he too enjoyed such pleasures. Inherent, primal, a reaction as innate as breathing.  

It was then that he became acutely aware of a tightness growing down below and instinctually he cupped his hand around it, rubbing the growing bulge against his chilly palm. Was he actually getting hard? That was surprising as anyone would have expected that to not happen anymore; he had retained much of his humanity, but he had not had the time until now to explore all the facets of what that entailed.

The more he rubbed the more it grew until the front of his pants tented out near the zipper, straining so hard against the fabric that he had to wonder if he could pop the closure without even trying. God, it felt…amazing.

“Fuck, Simon,” he caught the whispered hiss through the silence as you pressed your body down harder onto the bed, onto your fingers, and it sent a shiver up his spine. The way you said that name he hadn’t heard in so long, in that desperate way almost as a plea to your lust to fulfill its unspoken promise and wash that euphoric feeling over you, caused memories to violently resurface. He had heard that before in just that exact way- from you.

Scattered and disjointed memories of you beneath him burst into his minds eye, brought back to life by the sound of your voice: you writhing with eyes closed, your skin glistening with perspiration in the pale light of a dimly lit room, bare breasts bouncing up and down with each of his strong thrusts, crying his name into the silence as you came.

If breathing was something he was still required to do those lungs would be heaving by now to bring in enough air as he was so worked up that he would surely be panting. His hand gripped tighter now around the head of his cock, stroking with more purpose now as his dilated pupils followed the curve of your back all the down to your ass to watch it bob up and down.

The pace of his hand quickened to match your rocking as if fucking you by proxy, stroking through his clothes while transfixed on you. Goddamn he wished he could remember the way you felt wrapped around him, but that sensation had been lost when he succumbed to the disease. All he could do was watch and enjoy the way your body looked while your movements became more sloppy as the warmth gathered in the pit of your stomach, that delicious heat that you had not felt in so long.

“Yes, yes,” you mewled under your breath while your thighs clenched around your hand as you were so close. You brought in another finger to join the first one and with both you slipped them inside your entrance; it was nothing like the way Ghost could fill you out, but it would have to do.

Bearing down hard while you kept the pace steady, your breathing more erratic, you finally reached the peak and spilled violently over the edge, tumbling down as your body writhed and jerked through the overwhelming intensity of that first orgasm. You stifled your cries as much as you could inside your mouth, but they still reached an unknown listener who nearly came himself if he had not had to move quick before being spotted.

…and that left him very frustrated…   

You fell onto the mattress, removing your fingers from your pussy as you breathed out a sigh of contented relief. It hadn’t been clear just how much you needed that until you came and fuck did you feel on cloud nine now. As you rolled over onto your stomach to stare up at the ceiling while you rode out the wave of your euphoric high, you swore you heard a series of strange movement just outside your door; a soft few taps that sounded like they were getting farther away which would have been out of place, but the house you were currently boarded up in was old and so you convinced yourself it was nothing.

Besides, if anything was truly wrong, Ghost would have already alerted you by now. 

It was several minutes you just laid there in the silence before you took one last deep breath to calm yourself as you got up to straighten your clothing and re-buttoned your pants, hoping that your self-pleasuring session had gone completely unnoticed to your companion as you headed back down stairs to double check that everything was still secure.

In his usual spot you found him standing, always watching with that unblinking gaze, but as you stepped into the living room his sight was immediately drawn to you. “Hey,” you greeted him, “everything still okay out there?”

The usual grunted reply was returned and you stepped over to where he stood, just to take a look for yourself. It didn’t hurt to have another set of eyes to catch things and you felt more comfortable checking for yourself anyway. Scanning the area outside you saw nothing out of place, but as you pulled back from the window you were met with those cold eyes directly staring at you.

Silently Ghost’s large hand came up to touch your cheek, rubbing his thumb across a certain flush pooling there that drew his curiosity and he grunted with a nod of his head at it. You diverted your gaze, suddenly self-conscious about how warm they were still, like a fucking beacon calling attention to what it was you were doing upstairs; not that you cared, but shit you didn’t need your business plastered all over your face like that.

“It’s nothing,” you reassured him with a chuckle. “Just got a bit warm I guess. I promise I’m not infected or anything like that.”

Fully expecting him to take you at your word you went to move over to the sofa, but his hand clung to the side of your face to keep you in your place. You tilted your head as he shook his own side to side slowly. 

“What? Don’t believe me?” you picked, slightly concerned about this strange development; he had not acted in such a way before and you did not know if it was a part of the infection or not. 

Again he shook his head before his eyeline lowered down your body until his sight stopped at the crotch of your pants. Shit, had he heard you? Could he smell the trace amounts cum still clinging to your cunt? There was no real way to tell, but the way his eyeline kept drifting down before meeting your own again was enough to indicate that he was aware of what you had just done. 

You cleared your throat. “You know what I was doing, don’t you?” you asked and was met with another nod, this time to the affirmative.

Well, nothing to do about it now; what was the point of denying it? “Look, I just… needed something to take the edge off okay?” you spurted out. “I mean fuck, I still have needs, even if they had to be put on the back burner for a bit while we tried not to get overrun. You of all people should know how I get sometimes. At least I was quiet enough not to cause problems for us.”

Ghost looked back at you with those milky white eyes, but there was something behind them, something that you recognized, something… yearning. Suddenly you were aware that his other hand was on your hip now, tracing sloppy circles around the soft warm skin just under the hem of your shirt. 

Goddamn the familiarity of his fingers lingering over old paths they used to take in times almost forgotten; if you closed your eyes, it was like you were right there back with him. Your chest was tight with the increased thumping of your heartbeat in your throat, the air not filling up your lungs as well now as he pulled you in a little closer to him until your bodies were against one another. 

That was when you felt something against your thigh.

“Can you…?” you risked asking the question. No, there was no way that he could still get hard, right? Right? 

A large, cold hand wrapped around your wrist and brought it down to his crotch where he rested your palm against it and to your surprise the bulge in his pants responded to your touch. Your eyes shot back up to his as your breathing hitched. 

“Fuck,” you murmured and was promptly met with a grunt from him followed by a deep chuckle. 

Perhaps it was the history, the knowledge of what his body used to give you; perhaps it was the need that you had not truly quenched fully yet; perhaps it was your memories that you’d used as you touched yourself; or maybe it was as simple as you still wanted him; whatever the reason it didn’t matter. All you knew was that you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more of what you started upstairs.  

Hesitantly your fingers grasped at his shirt, slowly tugging at the seam as if to silently ask to be allowed to remove it. Never letting his gaze waiver, Ghost raised his arms and allowed you to pull it up and off over his head. His body was just as you remembered, though quite a bit more pale and the flesh discolored in places, but all the lines and bumps, scars and imperfections were the same and as you ran those delicate fingertips over his skin it all came flooding back.

This is crazy, you told yourself. But it was the end of the world after all, why not go out with a bang?

“It’s been a while,” you said, gaze taking him all in. “God, you always did make my heart race just taking off your shirt, ya know.”

“Uhh,” he grunted in agreement. 

The contrast in body temperature between you both was stark and he enjoyed the warm, tingling feeling your finger left behind wherever they went. He had not felt such a phenomenon in so long that it was like lightening striking inside his mind as nerve endings reignited. It went the same with his pants as you undid them to let them hang loosely around his hips.

Following your lead, he helped you out of your shirt as well so that you stood bare chests facing one another. Your nipples were already hardening as they hit the cool air and he ran a fingertip over the tiny rosebuds to feel them. You were perfection, a sight of decadent flesh that fueled that hungry need he had to abruptly cut off before and the more he stared the more it grew.

The couch sat just behind you and taking your hand in his he moved the few steps over it to take a seat. Grabbing onto your hips and turning you around, he pulled you down onto his lap to sit on top of him. That throbbing bulge barely covered by the pants slipping off him was straining even harder now and you had to open your legs so that it could comfortably stand at attention in between them.

Situated on him you leaned your warm, bare back against his chest, those muscles that you knew by touch alone were now clammy, yet still familiarly fit against you just as they always had. Ghost took those stiff, cold fingers and ran them slowly down the line of your neck to your chest, around the tissue of your breast and down still to the curve of your hip. 

Being touched that way by another, by him, after so fucking long made your skin tingle and you leaned your head back against his shoulder to close your eyes and simply enjoyed the icy prickles his fingers created. He brought those fingers back up all the winding way to your throat and then back down again, except he did not stop at your hip this time. 

Lower he walked those decaying digits into your lap, then inside the waistband of your jeans, and then all the way down until he was inside your panties. You didn’t try to stop him, instead letting your knees fall open to give him more access. The further he went the more he could feel just how warm you were, the damp heat radiating off your cunt and into his pulse-less palm as he cupped his hand around your sex.

“Christ,” you exclaimed in shock as your body jolted against him, your pussy still a good bit sensitive from before. 

“Uhhh,” he groaned in response, intrigued by how much he enjoyed causing such a visceral reaction and wanting to replicate it. 

Again your scent filled his nostrils, those delicious pheromones that he had caught a whiff of earlier, and it began to awaken something primal within him. Taking his fingers, he drug them heavily over the slit of your cunt until they slipped between your petals and into that still dripping core. Again your body jolted into him as those thick fingers rubbed the length until he found what he had unconsciously been searching for: a small bundle towards the top. 

“Ugh,” that deep groan was more breathless this time, as if he were enjoying the feeling of your juices coating his fingers.  

Cool fingers began stroking against your clit with a rhythm that was ingrained in him from past experience and it was like falling right back into old habits. Your hips started to roll over his hand as they were want to do in response to his movements so that it was like a dance of give and take and he had to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you from slipping, but it was worth it to feel the way your body moved.

Like an animal a strange compulsion awakened inside, enhanced by the disease coursing through his veins, and the untamed part of his new nature was flooded with the need to rut into you. The more music you made, the more it filled his chest until the sensation became too much to quell. 

With a growl he moved you both to the floor in a rush, ripping your jeans off of you in one strong tug before pushing you forward and pulling your hips up so that you had to get on your knees. He too knelt behind you as he shoved the fabric of his clothing down enough to release his engorged cock and taking both of your hips into his preternatural grasp, so firm that his fingertips made the muscle sting, he aligned the head with your slit. 

This was crazy, highly dangerous, and slightly insane, but you couldn’t stop, not with how your body felt being pleasured for the first time in well over a year by someone who knew it. Whatever the consequences you’d deal with them later, right now you just needed to be filled to the brim with everything he had. 

Instinct knew what to do and slipping through your petals a few times, he rested the head against your opening and with a strong thrust shoved himself inside as far as he could go. Goddamn you had forgotten the actual feeling of how big he was, but there must be something in being undead that made him even more engorged because his girth almost more than the walls of your pussy could handle. Fuck, you were so full of him that when he finally pulled out of you it would feel so goddamn empty it would physically hurt.

You were aware that his cool palm was on your back now, running up the length of your spine to just between your shoulders where Ghost stopped to shove your top half down further into the ground so that your ass would rise more and without more of pause he began to thrust in and out of you furiously. Each stroke stretched you out more until the sting subsided and that was left was the satisfying euphoria that comes with being filled so full.

“Simon,” you moaned out his name and a dormant part of his brain lit up. Hearing it for the first time upstairs was nice, but being inside of you as you breathed life into that moniker was the highest level of ecstasy he had experienced yet.

And he need more. “UH,” he growled with force as he slammed into you from behind to make your ass bounce off of his hips. 

You braced your hands under your head to steady yourself, but it did little; the man inside of you was gone and all you could do was hang on. Still, even with his roughness, the way his cock still reached those desperate nerve endings inside of you made the arch of your back even more pronounced. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you choked out the exclamation as your voice vibrated from the impacts. 

Harder and faster Ghost pounded your pussy from behind, throwing caution to the wind as he grunted and groaned like a beast on the hunt about to capture a fresh kill. You were so fucking warm, so gorgeously wet, that even his dead skin felt reanimated so that each brush of your body against him had him reeling in pleasure. 

This was the closest he would get to feeling like a living thing again.

Stopping suddenly he ripped his cock out of you amidst your begging protests to flip you onto your back, brutishly pulling your ass onto his knees. Your thighs rested high around his torso, squeezing against him as he immediately thrust back into that warm, wet hole and expeditiously returned to that overwhelming rhythm. 

The room was filled with the wet, sticky music of your bodies slapping against each other as Ghost worked your hole for all it was worth with a reckless abandon that you had not seen in him before. This wasn’t love, not something tender, but only pure animalistic lust and the more he stroked in and out of you the more he needed.

And then he felt it; a warmth in his stomach like he had swallowed coals. It started faint, almost indistinguishable until it had nearly filled him full the more he kept going. 

He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t back down, he was so close he could taste it. You weren’t far off either, nearly at the peak of your second orgasm the harder his cock stroked in and out of you, stimulating your clit along with it just from the pressure of his thrusts. 

“Shit, don’t stop,” you pleaded pathetically to him, your toes curling into the air as you focused on your breathing. Right there, it was right there; all he had to do was keep going.   

A few more pumps of him deep in your core and that was it, like a hot flash of white light you cried out in shaky whimpers as your orgasm tore through with such force you shot up as your back arched and your hips bucked harshly into him. “Goddammit Simon, fuck.”

He wasn’t far behind as the warmth that had been building finally shot through his body, coursing like a burning river of fire through his veins as he ripped his cock out of you and through your thighs to cover your stomach in his milky white semen. The roar he released while he drained his cock dry over top of you rang out through the house like a wild animal’s cry until he hung limply over top of you, completely spent.

Everything lay still once again as you caught your breath, allowing your ecstasy to run its course before you even tried to move out from against him. As you came to sit up, once again you were met with his eyes watching you closely. It felt like he was admiring his handiwork: the flush in your cheeks, the sweat speckling your torso, the exhaustion in your limbs. 

He had done that…and he liked it.

You flashed him a genuine smile. “Well, that was something wasn’t it?” you laughed and he chuckled deadoan along with you. 

Maybe the end of the world didn’t have to be so bad after all. At least, now you both knew that there were ways to have a little fun… and oh fuck, were you going to keep having little bits of fun.

[essektheylyss]

Okay but you know what's really clever about the choice to include off-screen campaign content in the Nein animated show, is that it puts the audience on far more equal footing.

There's a lot of intrigue going on in Wildemount behind the scenes, and those of us who've seen the campaign have an idea of what that is, but rarely a clear answer. There are a lot of interpersonal dynamics that we don't see but that make a major impact on outcomes for the character: not only Essek's dealings with the Assembly but his relationship to the rest of the Dynasty's upper echelon, the Assemblies' interactions amongst themselves, Astrid and Eadwulf's dynamic with Trent or other scourgers, or Lucien's relationship with Cree and the other Tomb Takers. These alliances make or break the characters' decisions with regard to the Nein depending on how much loyalty or trust they share, and they shift a lot while the Nein aren't present.

I think there's a bit of this in tlovm with the happenings in Whitestone and the dynamic among the Chroma Conclave, but these exist primarily to ground the antagonists, because it's not the same kind of story; Vox Machina's story is about how they become Big Damn Heroes. There is political action happening, but while it does have an influence on them, it always exists to an extent to be either a boon or an obstacle to them, because it cannot deal with the threats at hand without heroes (not necessarily Vox, but in the archetypal sense). The Nein, in contrast, are in a story about being the tangential players to numerous plots of intrigue that occupy no small position of power in the world, plots that in fact actively resist the role of heroes, and the struggle for personal agency that comes with that.

So giving more information to the audience about those other happenings means new fans get a lot of the information that existing fans will go into the show with much sooner, while existing fans are receiving new information at the same time. By the time the characters find out what the audience knows, the audience is more or less on the same page waiting for that shoe to drop.

[fulcrums501st]

I have seen some critique of peoples Caitlyn critiques cuz many people hating on Cait also like Silco. Cuz how can you hate one but like the other when they both have some similar themes about being driven to do unjust things for just reasons? And I do see the hypocrisy that comes across by disliking Cait’s character in s2 and then liking Silco. I think there is a valid critique there.

However, there is a difference between the way the narratives of s1 and s2 respectively handle these characters and their actions.

We actively see the harm Silco’s actions cause and we see the benefits (almost getting Zaun independence) and the audience is left to interpret to what extent Silco was justified or not. The narrative in s2 does let us contemplate how much of Caitlyn’s actions were justified, however we are not rlly shown the harms of her actions (gassing Zaun and hitting Vi) and these actions literally have no affect on the plot, indirectly implying that they rlly weren’t a big deal. Also, cuz of fast pacing we don’t have a lot of time to even sit with the fact that these things occurred (especially cuz they have no impact on the plot).

The most important difference tho is that s1 never tries to portray Silco as “redeemed”, or that he is even capable of redemption. His “you’re perfect” line isn’t supposed to make us think that all he did is forgiven. We see his character. We understand his logic and thinking and why he does what he does, and we are left to our own conclusions about how much of a villain he was.

But by the end of s2 we are clearly supposed to have forgiven Caitlyn because she gets with Vi in the end. Because Vi has forgiven Caitlyn the audience clearly is supposed to as well despite the narrative not doing enough to make this arc and development feel cohesive and earned.

The narrative of s2 purposely leads you to a certain opinion of Caitlyn in a way that I’d argue s2 rlly doesn’t do with Silco. Yes, they are both characters that are motivated by revenge and hatred to do unjust things for the right reasons. But s2 clearly wants us to forgive one character, while s1 never asks us to.

(And in my opinion s2 rlly doesn’t do enough for me to understand why Vi and her would reconcile, cuz they don’t let Vi rlly hold a justified grudge against Caitlyn so that their reunion and reconciliation can be simple and quick).

In the end, like most of my issues with s2, it doesn’t let us explore these nuances enough for me to feel the themes they are going for were cohesive amongst all that was happening and thus nuanced redemption arcs like Caitlyn’s feel unearned. Which is a major problem if the final happy ending of the show is a couple getting together when their resolution to their issues feels cheap, unearned, and unexplored in many ways.

[genderisareligion]

The elusive "TERF" is actually just a mirror

All its devotees know is projection. When I started this blog in late 2020 I more frequently used the tag #DARVO in action to start keeping track of the blatant lies TRAs spew that are really just a tell about their crowd (DARVO = Deny Attack Reverse Victim Offend, a strategy used often by DV abusers) and I just have to start making this cumulative post because:

They're now saying John Money was a radical feminist. Lmfao 💀 The male cracker extraordinaire (we don't even think males can be feminists let alone human most of the time) most responsible for the word gender's mistranslation as something that describes human behavior rather than the behavior of languages (most of which aren't even English), the idiot torturer who's a major reason the intersex community has to guard itself so fiercely against "normative" surgeries, who once claimed that anyone skeptical of his "girl = pink, boy = blue, I must fix anyone else" theories actually just believed that "masculinity and femininity are baked into the genes and women should get back to the kitchen" (sound familiar? What are "TERFs" always being accused of?) Like bro that's you

"TERFs are fascists who need everyone to fit into the male or the female box" actually gender abolition would mean no more boxes besides the purely categorical chromosomal ones we can't help from birth, and actually trying to force everyone to fall somewhere on a scale of femininity and masculinity and positing intersex conditions as the "middle" creates an unnecessary dichotomy amongst particularly females, where a woman born with PCOS is considered "less female" than one without regardless of how she "identifies," and the more "masculine" you are (whatever that even means) the more your body requires meds and surgery.

"TERFs align with fascists" but y'all are the ones with the Big Pharma billions paving your way so lol sorry not sorry but as a Negro it's giving the way they used to experiment on us for profit, refine their methods for research and leave us for dead or permanently disabled. And y'all think it's empowering? You think they actually care that you're personally fulfilled? You think they won't pull another Henrietta Lacks? You think all these detrans people are just flukes? They'll take your thousands of dollars until you're in debt and pump you full of more dubious "treatment" as long as it means they get to keep quietly going home to their white picket fences where all their loved ones are fine pretending they're heroes rather than profiting off others' pain. What is fascism if not allowing the medical establishment to "correct undesirables"?

"TERFs are Nazis" but the "first ever transgender surgery" on "trans woman" Lillie Ebe was performed by literal fucking Nazi Erwin Gohrbrandt who believed "mentally ill people were considered 'feeble-minded' (this was an actual, formal term) and homosexuals were considered to also be 'feeble-minded' and have inferior genes." Fun fact, Lillie was also a fucking Nazi.

"TERFs are all white supremacists" but everyone I just mentioned up there is a fucking white supremacist and not even Google agrees with you there, searches for the word TERF are done almost entirely in Western nations like the US and UK, whereas searches for radfem are balanced worldwide and in fact an African country is #1 on one of those lists, and you can't argue that those searches are by TERFs themselves because "try Googling TERF right now and seeing how many if any positive references show up"

I have more after 4 years lol but lemme cook

[artbyblastweave]

ask game; Victoria Dallon, aka Glory Girl aka Antares

I've always thought that Victoria's first appearance is quite the bit of deft needle-threading.

The thing about Interlude 2 is that Vicky is our first example of one of this setting's established heroes actively fighting crime- not just swooping in to vulture up the accomplishments of an up-and-comer- and a therefore a major goal of the sequence is to ensure that the audience comes away structurally unnerved by what counts as business as usual for the heroes, set the stage for the hurricane of ass-covering to come. So we have a sequence where she lords her power over a baseline criminal who has no realistic chance to fight back or get away, where she cripples and nearly kills him in a display of excessive force, where she uses her connections to other capes to duck out on the consequences of her excess once she realizes that she's crossed certain moral and optical Rubicons. All of this is gross, all of this speaks to an alarmingly cavalier attitude amongst even the most ostensibly accountable heroes. And from a protagonistic perspective, all of this serves to soften the blow of Taylor's actions at the bank in act three, because we're predisposed to see Vicky as an arrogant, overprivileged loose cannon who'd actually have a significantly higher body count than all of the Undersiders put together if not for the cushion afforded to her by her status as a superhero. A golden child up against the already put-upon underdog.

But. She also does all of that to a Neo-Nazi, who was fresh off committing a hate crime. I mean, if this was violence against a purse-snatcher, a drug-dealer- It would be very, very easy to block this sequence in a way that would set her up as a villain and nothing else for the rest of the work. In The Boys, for example, Homelander debuts by incinerating one bank robber's hand and throwing another a thousand feet into the air to land hard on a parked car, and the dissonance between that casual brutality and his chumminess with the onlookers is the thematic backbone for... basically the entire show, because he was in such total control of the situation that the only reason to do it that way is that he fundamentally doesn't care. In Super Crooks, it's made abundantly clear that the superheroes trying to arrest the titular supervillains are significantly more destructive to the city than the villains are, because their institutional backing removes any incentive to do anything but pursue the flashiest arrests possible for the sake of ratings. But Glory Girl? She's a sixteen year old putting her money where her mouth is on the unconsidered-dilettante suburban-left-ish tumblrite rallying cry of punching a Nazi. She's living out a near-boilerplate superheroic fantasy of righteous violence against an uncomplicatedly righteous target- likely a fantasy entertained at least once by the median cape fan, if we're being honest- and then, in the aftermath, blood on her hands and on the pavement, staring down the full weight of the prospect of actually having killed a person in an unconsidered spate of rage, is very much a panicked teenager about it, scrambling for a way to walk it back.

Which, independent of the specifics of whether this particular asshole had it coming, is the problematic element of this that generalizes- that superheroism in this world is a system that puts the social license to use concrete-shattering power in the hands of a kid with the judgement and attitude of someone scheming up ways to dodge curfew. She's done this before, she's gonna keep doing this, she's gonna keep being two-faced about it with her public-facing golden-girl image. But she wasn't wrong to be angry. And the fact that this is the kind of thing she gets angry about is hard to separate from later beats where she tries to do right by people, hard to separate from her willingness to put herself on the line against Endbringers and the Slaughterhouse 9. It's a bad situation, a horrible system that's guaranteed to incentivize bad behavior, they shouldn't be assigning any of this shit to a 17-year-old. But later on, when things go south for her, the seeds are planted so that she can retain audience sympathy in a way that she likely wouldn't be able to if this story was a banal hatswap, with unfairly maligned "villains" who do no real wrong against supervillains who happen to call themselves superheroes.

[howmanyepsofmlseason6areleft]

Do we know if chronological order matters for Season 6 like it did in seasons 4 and 5?

We actually got a…. “response” to this today !

Now…. here’s the thing.

TBH, I don’t really trust much that comes out of Astruc’s mouth a lot of the time, since I fear he’s been wrong before and sometimes isn’t as much of a reliable source as you would think. For instance, if he’s comparing this to seasons 2 and 3, those seasons, in my opinion, DID have an important chronological order to them, especially season 3. ITS THE REASON I STARTED THIS BLOG WHEN SEASON 3 WAS AIRING!!!! Plus, I’m sure we all remember when Chat Blanc aired out of order and that caused a bit of confusion and displeasure in the fandom, amongst other episodes. Even if major plot threads being out of order weren’t as consequential as in seasons 4 and 5, emotional beats and character actions definitely WERE.

So yeah- I get what he’s saying in that episodes can still stand alone (they arguably could back then too), but I don’t know- I sincerely doubt they could just be… watched totally out of order until the last two. Unless he’s saying NONE of the story is going to build on itself like it’s done the past two seasons, and like it’s already been DOING with the ominous end of episode 2 IMO, then this is pretty dumb lol.

Still do as you wish, obviously (I for sure know I’m watching these out of order anyway lol, I’m used to this rodeo), and yeah he may be right that you can probably fill in gaps as you go, but I would not take that tweet at face value tbh unless you’re already used to watching it out of order.

[xx-akubara-xx]

Was there any betting pools amongst the Theraprison staff or the other patients in regards to Steve and Bill?

These questions are so funny - okay, let's go!

Now, of course, official betting pools on a patient's well-being are wildly unethical and not encouraged!

But privately...

-

Security Team: Not a single soul trusted Bill Cipher to reform.

"Who wants action on two months - and this Steve fella tries to break Cipher out? Man, I wish we could put power dampeners on visitors..."

"No, no, the guy is too much of a goody two shoes. Daily visits? Give it one month, and we'll be lucky to see a card for Cipher on Life Day."

"All of you are missing the obvious. Give it ONE week, and they'll have a major fight!"

-

Therapist Staff

They'd be far more hesitant to make any 'bets' but would have differing opinions.

Having an absolutely positive opinion of Bill's progress and Steve's new influence on Bill.

Fear of a major relapse should things NOT go well with Steve.

-

Patients

"TEN WEEKS WORTH OF PUDDING TICKETS ON BILL FUMBING HIS BOYFRIEND BY EROS DAY!"

"TEN MONTHS OF PUDDING TICKETS THAT THEY GET MARRIED"

"I CAUGHT HIM SKIPPING IN THE HALL. I WANT IN ON THAT ACTION!"

"YOU IDIOTS EVER HEAR OF A HONEYMOON PHASE?! IT'LL NEVER LAST-"

[shangyang]

is this a safe space to talk about my biggest gripe with arcane viktor's character arc? fair warning, this might get long.

the biggest thing (to me) that stands out about machine herald (og league viktor) is that his change from viktor, jayce's partner, to viktor, the machine herald of zaun, stems from this loss of respect and recognition, coupled with the realization that the people who he has held in high esteem have never seen him as their equals. not even the man he once called his partner. we can chalk up this inequality to a lot of things, but for the machine herald, it's very VERY clearly tied to two things that are integral to who he is, and therefore things he cannot necessarily change without radical action: his disability, and his status as a zaunite.

therefore, it makes sense to me that in league, what viktor does is a response to the one thing he CAN change: himself, and by extension, his disability. this is what the glorious evolution is - viktor, in his mind, is attempting to level the playing field by any and all means necessary. if being disabled is a contributing factor - IN HIS MIND - to being denied what he is owed, then viktor must erase that "critical weakness" from himself to evolve into someone who will not only command said respect, but take it by any means necessary.

this is, to put it plainly, eugenics. it's eugenics. there's no other way to really frame it, because what viktor is doing, in attempting to "evolve" himself and the people he helps beyond what he and piltover's hypercapitalist oligarchy percieves as their "deficiencies", is technically culling what a ruling class would deem as "undesirably qualities" from the population. and that's the literal definition of eugenics.

but what does this have to do with arcane viktor? well, what i think is important to note about machine herald viktor, is that a great majority of his actions, after being exiled from piltover, can be read within the lens of him taking piltover's oppressive mindset regarding abled bodies, respect, and fear, and applying it to both himself and zaun.

from my understanding of league events, mh viktor goes to extremes in reaction to what he percieves as massive slights against himself, his personhood, and his status as someone worthy of respect (and therefore someone worthy as being seen as a person), in league. that's why when jayce refuses to defend him against stanwick, and when viktor is cast out from piltover after leaving to do what he viewed was not only his duty as someone from zaun - helping victims of the factorywood explosion - but also piltover's duty to zaun, as their overseers (and oppressors), it calls into question the idea that he was ever a "person" in piltover to begin with. the guiding principle here is this: if you cannot command respect, or are not given respect/regard amongst those you view as your peers, then you're not a person to them, or at least your personhood must therefore exist subservient to theirs, because we respect those who we view as being on, at minimum, equal standing with us.

so that's an integral part of viktor's character - including the fact that the reason his actions must be viewed as misguided and ultimately insanely unethical, is because he's taking his oppressors views and reflecting them onto himself and his fellow opressed populace - a sort of internalized opression - so naturally, his actions therefore cannot be to the overall benefit of himself nor zaun. viktor's glorious evolution is, in some part - no matter how large or small, done in an attempt to negociate a place for himself within piltover's elite. if he cannot have their respect through conventional, by-the-book means (going through the academy), then viktor will have their fear.

to me, this is backed up by the fact that in jayce's path of champions game, if you (as jayce) choose to accept the machine herald's proposal, viktor goes on to present blitzcrank to all of piltover during the innovator's competition, and he makes specific note that he was "not expecting the crowds to embrace [his] work so readily," something which seems to bring him a measure of comfort, if not joy.

so we can distill viktor's arc within league into a pretty simple equation: viktor attempts to make it within piltovan society through the conventional route -> is denigrated and denied via core traits deemed undesirable by piltovan society -> internalizes and overcorrects on a massive scale. (via robot eugenics.) a key throughline in all of this is that these actions are taken, not only in pursuit of viktor's own, ultimate desire to reclaim a sense of personhood and power, but also - in SOME WAY - in retaliation for the real oppression zaun has faced for the near entirety of its existence.

there's definitely a debate to be had regarding how actually altruistic the machine herald is. i would say the answer is, well, not very, but it IS important to note that the machine herald's actions and the way he operations within zaun can be viewed as having the intent to, in some way, provide (what viktor views) to be an essential service to his community. the fact that this percieved essential service occasionally involves overwriting people's free will is...well...not great. remember, guys, free will is good! and important! please do not attempt to cut a man's ability to respond to fear from his mind.

but, okay. i've done a whole lot of talking about the machine herald's arc. what does this have to do with viktor?

my biggest gripe with viktor's character arc in arcane is twofold:

one, it removes the impact and influence of community from his actions. we have to remember, that the big incident that forces viktor from piltover long enough for stanwick to steal his invention is a chemical spill in the factorywoods. viktor specifically chooses to leave piltover behind in order to provide essential aid to his community. he is helping in a rescue effort, and in the wake of a massive disaster within his community, providing both medical aid and what is likely essential assistance, considering viktor's own, highly specialized capabilities as a doctor and a scientist.

(i know the doctor thing is debatable - there's this awesome post here by @clevercorvidae about how viktor in arcane definitely does not fucking understand how evolution and biology works, and you should definitely read it, it lays everything out super clearly and intelligently!)

but secondly, in having the hexcore be the primary impetus for viktor's flight from piltover, and his turn toward the glorious evolution, what arcane does is create an imbalance in viktor's character arc. whose respect is viktor now chasing? whose personhood is he seeking to affirm? you can make the argument, certainly, that the arcane herald, and viktor's decision to become such is still, in some way, a version of league viktor's transformation into the machine herald, but i'm going to be very honest - it's a weak fascimile of that transformation at best.

viktor does not choose to become the arcane herald after he realizes that the people of piltover - including his own partner - do not actually respect him, his contributions to their way of life, or even his personhood. viktor doesn't even decide to undergo the transformation after jayce destroys the commune viktor has created in zaun. in arcane, viktor decides to take that leap after jayce rejects him in the council room.

VIKTOR: Let us do this again, as partners. JAYCE: My partner died in this room.

the scene where viktor fully submits to the transformation - bidding goodbye to the specter of sky in the astral realm - only happens AFTER jayce issues this rejection. you could argue that this is meant to argue the moment where giopara (og league jayce) destroys the crystal the machine herald has been using to keep several, presumed dead, people alive. but they're not necessarily analogous: by the point in time that conflict occurs between giopara and the machine herald, they're already solidly enemies. it's a two-way sort of animosity. neither harbor any hope of getting the other to "see their side," and there are certainly no olive branches extended and summarily rejected.

so what does this mean for viktor's character arc? in my opinion, what this does is upset viktor's original role within league. i'm sure someone else can explain this better than i will, but bear with me.

when league's story was first being drip-fed to us, at the very start of the game's service, early champions gave the player base a feel for the specific themes, aesthetics, and quirks that were going to form the characterizing basis for each region. for example, characters like warwick and singed were the earliest zaun champions to be released, and so set the tone for the kind of stories that would be told in that region. however, jayce and viktor are amongst the earliest champions from the regions of piltover and zaun, whose stories are, in a very integral way, linked to one another. sure, warwick and singed have ties to one another - lore relevant ones at that. but jayce and viktor's stories are some of the earliest to really start to go in depth regarding the deep animosity and inequality that exists between the sister cities.

as i see it, viktor's role, within the greater narrative league is trying to weave, is to make a bit of a point: here is a failed example of unity between piltover and zaun. viktor and jayce's failed relationship in league stands as this great testament to the reasons why a peaceful, equal coexistence has not, and perhaps cannot be brokered between piltover and zaun. equal is the key word here. and maybe peaceful, too. but my point still stands.

arcane, admittedly, has a terrible habit of defanging the very real conflicts it attempts to tackle. you'll notice that a terrible amount of time is spent trying to ensure piltover doesn't come out looking like the ultimate villains of the series. (spoiler alert: piltover is definitely the fucking villain of arcane. no matter how you slice or dice it, it is, and it will always be.) but in order to do this, what arcane must do is completely isolate the majority of its zaunite characters from community with other zaunites. there's a reason you never saw viktor or ekko interact, beyond the final fight. there's a reason why all the zaunite main cast: ekko, jinx, sevika, vi, and viktor - must all operate in these semi-loner positions, lest they come across as being too invested in the well being of their community, and therefore cast too much of a light on the truth of the plight zaun is facing.

sevika and ekko are, of course, extremely interested in building community. but ekko is never really seen with his firelights in a meaningful way: we do not really know any of them, nor ekko's attachments to them. sevika, similarly, spends much of the show working alongisde the quote-unquote villain of season one, silco, in what amounts to little more as a watchdog position. furthermore, her efforts to create community in season two must be mediated through jinx, who notably has no real interest in political revolution, aside from how it might suit her own means (whether those are getting back at vi, or honoring silco in her own way).

arcane's strange handling of viktor's transformation into the machine herald - the arcane herald, now - through the manipulations of the hexcore and the Arcane, exist primarily to draw your eye away from the fact that there was another - more compelling - reason for viktor to go down this path.

not corruption. community. a desire for respect. a desire to truly be respected in piltover, no matter the cost. what viktor's character, at it's best, does is hold a mirror up to piltover. through his actions and his motivations, we see the ways in which piltover's strictly upheld heirarchies have failed not only the people of zaun, but also the people of piltover.

certainly, we see this in a way in arcane. jayce's speech at the very end, where he tells viktor that he is beautiful, imperfections and all, is very literally pointing toward viktor's internalized ableism. but the source of that internalized ableism is never something the show seems particularly interested in explictly exploring. certainly, the animators have left us crumbs and clues: they're there in the way salo - a councilor of piltover - isn't even afforded the dignity of a ramp when he's confined to a wheelchair, and the way viktor's name is never even on the hexgate blueprints. (which the kiramman family are responsible for archiving and keeping, by the way! funny how that works...)

but the show is afraid to say the truth out loud. it's afraid to really confront the root cause of almost every single one of the characters' problems: that being the harshly stratified system of haves and have-nots that piltover continues to enforce with an iron fist. instead, arcane forgoes a serious conversation about that - which is, in my mind, to be had through the medium of viktor and his character arc - for something easier. "more metaphorical." the hexcore corrupts. the arcane corrupts. internalized self hatred corrupts, but perhaps you had better not look too deeply into who placed that seed of self-hatred within you to begin with, or else the questions bloom into uncomfortable answers.

i don't know. it's not to say that i disliked how arcane ended, or where viktor was for the majority of season two. he's my favorite character! i love him dearly. i love the show dearly, faults and all. but as someone who does really love the original machine herald lore, with all its conflicting implications about the nature of piltover and the truth of its ownership over zaun, to take this route with viktor's arc in arcane is upsetting. there had to have been a way to keep the magic angle, while staying true to that commentary on systems of oppression and the mirrors those systems create of themselves that is core (to me) to viktor's character in league.

but i guess we'll never know.