#and so all i can do is try and micromanage all body parts

[d-z20]

Made to Suffer, Made to Serve (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Caught in Agatha’s web of control, you find yourself entangled in a night of unrelenting dominance and submission, where every command is law and every touch is deliberate. With Rio trembling beneath you and Agatha’s sharp gaze keeping you in line, there’s no room for hesitation—only obedience.

-OR-

You thought you were just here for a drink, but now you’re balls-deep in Rio while Agatha micromanages your stroke game like an overbearing coach. When you disobey her order, you quickly find the roles reversed.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, dom stone top Agatha, sub bottom Rio, switch Reader has a penis, 'good girl' used for reader, edging, overstimulation, degradation, orgasm control, begging, breeding, blowjobs, rimjobs, pegging, 69 positioning, a singular spank

Words: 2.5k

A/N: Requested fic :)

AO3 | Masterlist

You don’t entirely know how you ended up here. One moment, you were just an acquaintance—someone who had, maybe foolishly, entertained Agatha’s invitation for a drink. The next, you found yourself wrapped up in something far beyond your usual experiences. It started slow—a knowing glance from Agatha, a playful touch from Rio that turned into something more. And somehow, it had escalated to this.

Now the air in their dimly lit bedroom is thick with the scent of sweat and anticipation. Rio is sprawled out on the bed, her wrists bound loosely with silk, her body trembling, her face a portrait of desperate need. She’s been like this for hours, denied and teased until she’s nothing but a quivering, overstimulated mess, her mind emptied of anything but want. Her lips are parted, her eyes glassy, and her whole body is trembling, just on the edge of breaking.

And Agatha—Agatha is standing beside the bed, looking as put-together as ever, her sharp eyes glinting with satisfaction. She’s the perfect picture of control, arms crossed over her chest, her mouth curled into a smirk that’s equal parts amused and cruel.

“Look at you, Rio,” she hums, tilting her head. “You’re fucking pathetic. Just a dumb little thing, shaking and whimpering because you can’t even think anymore, can you?”

Rio makes a sound—half whimper, half gasp—but doesn’t answer because she can’t. She’s too far gone, her body so desperate for release that she can do nothing but lie there and tremble.

Agatha chuckles and turns her gaze to you. You’re kneeling between Rio’s legs, gripping her thighs, your own body tense with the weight of the situation, your cock hard and aching with need. As much as you try to convince yourself you’re just here for the ride, you can’t deny the thrill that courses through you, the way your own arousal tightens deep in your chest.

“She’s been waiting all week for this,” Agatha murmurs, stepping closer, her fingers sliding along your jaw, tilting your head up to meet her gaze. “Haven’t you, sweetheart?” The question is meant for Rio, but she never takes her eyes off you. “And you—don’t get any ideas about mercy. You’re not here to be kind. You’re here to fuck her.”

You swallow hard, nodding, and Agatha smiles. It’s not a kind smile. “Good.”

She steps back, watching as you line the tip of your cock up, pressing against Rio’s soaked entrance, the heat of her making you groan under your breath. Rio whimpers, her body arching off the bed, her bound hands clenching in the sheets. But you don’t move yet—you wait, waiting for Agatha’s command.

“Slow,” Agatha instructs, her voice smooth and firm. “Make her feel it.”

You press in just an inch, and Rio’s whole body tenses, her legs trembling. A high-pitched whine escapes her lips, her head tipping back against the pillows.

Agatha laughs softly. “Look at her. She’s already falling apart.” She leans in close, whispering against Rio’s ear. “Poor thing. I bet you’d let anyone fuck you right now, wouldn’t you? Just desperate to be filled, to be used.”

Rio nods frantically, panting, her thighs squeezing around you, trying to pull you in deeper. But Agatha tuts, shaking her head. “No, no. You don’t get to move. Our sweet little guest here does. They’ll fuck you when I say they can.”

You bite your lip, dick throbbing, but you hold steady, gripping Rio’s hips, waiting. Agatha watches you for a long moment before nodding. “You can give her what she’s been begging for. But she’s not to cum. Not yet.”

You thrust in deeper, and Rio sobs, her whole body convulsing around you. She’s barely coherent, babbling nonsense, pleading with every breath, but you obey Agatha’s command. You pull back, slow and torturous, before thrusting in again, setting a rhythm that keeps Rio teetering right on the brink.

Agatha hums in approval, her fingers tracing over Rio’s flushed, sweat-damp skin. “That’s it. Keep her there. Keep her suffering.”

You don’t question her. You don’t slow down, either. Because Agatha told you to, and because you love the way Rio breaks under the pleasure, her body writhing, her mind slipping further and further away until all she can do is take what’s given to her. Exactly as Agatha intended.

You feel Agatha’s hand press slightly at the base of your spine. “Good, that’s it,” she hums, voice rich with satisfaction. “You see how pretty she is when she’s like this? Completely ruined. Just a body for you to use.”

Rio whines at the words, eyes glazed over as she rocks helplessly against you, trying to take more, trying to chase what you still refuse to give. She’s drenched in sweat, her skin burning hot under your touch, her thighs trembling from exertion. You almost feel bad for her; you almost give in to the way her walls clench around your aching cock so insistently.

But then Agatha grips Rio’s chin, tilting her face up to meet her dark, knowing gaze. “You want to cum, don’t you?” She coos mockingly.

Rio nods frantically, lips parted, but no words form beyond another needy sob.

Agatha chuckles, dragging her thumb over Rio’s bottom lip before tapping it lightly. “Too bad.”

Rio sobs again, throwing her head back, and Agatha turns her attention back to you. “And you, darling? You’re enjoying this too, aren’t you?” Her tone is amused, but there’s an edge to it, a command hidden beneath the casual question.

You swallow, nodding. “Yes, Agatha.”

Her smirk deepens. “Then keep going.”

And you do. Because you want to. Because Agatha told you to. And because you love every second of watching Rio unravel, just as Agatha intended.

However, you’re barely holding on yourself—the way Rio clenches around you, the way she sobs and whimpers, her body shuddering with every precise, agonising thrust. It’s intoxicating. You grip her hips harder, driving yourself deeper, feeling that tight coil in your stomach wind itself impossibly tight. Your breath stutters, and before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out—

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you up so good.”

Rio keens at that, her entire body tensing, eyes glassy with tears as she chokes out, “Please, please—need it, need you to—”

“No, you’re not,” Agatha interjects coldly. Before you can react, she grips the back of your head, yanking you back just enough to force your gaze on her. Her eyes are sharp, unwavering.

You swallow hard, hips faltering for a split second, but her fingers tighten, nails scraping against your scalp. “Neither of you are allowed to.”

Your hips stutter, the order cutting through the haze of pleasure. You try to slow down, to hold yourself back, but Agatha's grip tightens, and then—a sharp smack lands on your ass, stinging and sudden. You jolt forward, a gasp tearing from your throat.

“I didn’t tell you to stop though, did I?” She scolds, voice smooth but firm.

A shudder runs through you, and you pick up the pace again, fucking Rio harder. You’re barely thinking anymore, just chasing that thin thread of control, focusing on Agatha’s steady presence, on her authority, on her voice. The heat in your gut coils tighter, every nerve alight, but you know you won’t last much longer.

Minutes pass, each thrust pushing you closer to the inevitable, until finally, your body betrays you. With a strangled grunt, you cum inside Rio, biting down hard on your lip, trying to play it off, trying to keep moving, to keep fucking Rio like you haven’t just disobeyed a direct order.

But Agatha sees. Of course she sees.

Her fingers dig into your jaw, forcing you still. “Oh? What’s this?” Her tone is mocking, full of condescending amusement as she watches it start to seep out of Rio, slick and glistening.

“How pathetic,” she continues, shaking her head.

Your whole body tenses as her words cut through the haze of your orgasm, as her fingers tighten in your hair again, pulling you away from Rio. “I gave you one order. One.” She shoves you back roughly, forcing you to pull out completely, leaving Rio twitching and empty beneath you. “And you couldn’t even follow that.”

You sit back on your heels, panting, your thighs trembling from exertion and shame as you watch Agatha’s lip curl in disgust. “Couldn’t even hold it. Couldn’t even control yourself for a few more minutes.” She huffs, shaking her head. “And you really thought you deserved to keep fucking her?”

You don’t answer; don’t dare to, because you know anything you say will only make things worse. Agatha tilts her head, considering you, before reaching out, fingers gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at her.

“I think you need a reminder of your place.” Her voice is deceptively soft, but the promise beneath it is anything but. “And how to follow simple instructions.”

You shiver, anticipation and humiliation twisting together in your gut as Agatha smirks.

“Clean it up.”

Your stomach clenches. The demand is clear. Hesitating would only make things worse. Swallowing hard, you lower yourself between Rio’s trembling thighs. You press your tongue to her swollen folds, tasting yourself as you lap up the mess you made. The mortification only adds to the heat pooling in your belly. Above you, Rio whimpers, her body twitching, overstimulated, and wrecked.

After untying Rio, Agatha watches you with a satisfied smirk. “Good girl. Now, get on all fours facing me.”

You obey instantly, positioning yourself as instructed. Agatha tightens the harness at her hips, running the silicone tip of her strap over your lips before pressing it between them.

“Suck.”

You take her in, moaning softly as she pushes deeper. There’s no affection in the act, no real pleasure for her—this isn’t about stimulation, not for Agatha. She’s using your mouth for convenience, nothing more than a means to slick up the strap, to prepare you for what’s next. She doesn’t react to your gags or the way you hollow your cheeks; she just watches with sharp, expectant eyes, waiting for you to do your job properly.

Behind you, Rio shifts, her breath warm against your ass before her tongue flicks out against your tight hole. The sensation makes you whimper, your body twitching under the dual stimulation.

A moan rips from your throat, muffled by the stretch of Agatha’s strap. She chuckles, fingers tangling in your hair, controlling your pace. “Look at you. So easy to break.”

Rio’s tongue is relentless, licking, teasing, and delving inside, and it leaves you trembling. You push back against her, needing more, but just as you start to lose yourself, Agatha shoves you down beside Rio.

“Enough.”

She wastes no time, spreading Rio’s thighs once more and thrusting in and out of her roughly. The lewd squelch echoes in the room, and Rio sobs in pleasure, too wrecked to form words. 

The force pushes more of your cum out, slicking the inside of her thighs. Agatha swipes it up with her fingers, then smears it across the strap before positioning herself behind you. “Ass up, baby.”

Your stomach clenches with anticipation as you do as you’re told and your breath hitches as you feel the pressure against your entrance. She doesn’t rush, doesn’t let you adjust—she just pushes in, inch by agonising inch, until you’re stuffed full, stretched, and shaking.

You whimper, pushing back against her, desperate for more. Agatha sets a rhythm, slow at first, making sure you feel every inch of her claim. But soon, it turns brutal. 

Your head drops forward, overwhelmed. And that’s when Rio moves beneath you, positioning herself so both of you have your heads in between the other’s legs.

“Go on,” Agatha orders. “Rio has earned her orgasm; let’s see if you can give it to her.”

You obey without question, lowering your mouth to Rio’s swollen, dripping folds. Your tongue flicks over her clit, fast and relentless, and Rio is right back on the edge after being denied for so long.

She chokes out a sob, her hips bucking up into your mouth, but Agatha’s firm grip keeps her pinned in place. “Stay still,” Agatha commands, voice sharp, “or I’ll make you wait even longer.”

Rio whimpers, but she obeys, her body trembling with restraint. And then, as if to urge you on, you feel her lips wrap around your length, her mouth warm, wet, and desperate as she takes you down her throat.

You groan at the sensation, hips jerking forward before Agatha’s firm hand at your lower back reminds you who’s in control here. Still, the wet heat of Rio’s mouth has you seeing stars, her tongue swirling, sucking, desperate to take everything you give her.

You work her just as ruthlessly in return, sucking and lapping at her oversensitive clit, feeling her body tense and quiver beneath you. She’s so close, hanging on by a thread, and then—with one last flick of your tongue—she shatters.

Rio climaxes with a strangled, broken cry, her entire body convulsing as pleasure crashes over her. Her legs quake, her hands clawing at the sheets as she drowns in her long-overdue release. It’s messy, overwhelming, and absolutely beautiful.

You cry out, caught between them as Agatha pounds into you from behind, forcing you further into Rio’s mouth. It’s too much, too good, every nerve alight, every sensation amplified by the relentless pace.

Agatha grips your hips tighter, thrusting harder. “Don’t you dare cum again until I say so.”

She doesn’t stop. If anything, she pounds into you harder, using your body as she pleases, pulling you closer until you’re dizzy, breathless, and utterly lost in the pleasure.

You can feel yourself unravelling again, pleasure coiling tight and desperate. “Please,” you whimper, barely able to form the words. “Please, let me—”

Agatha hums, dragging her nails down your spine. “Do you think you deserve it?”

You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut. “Please. Please, I—”

“I don’t think you do,” she considers for a moment, “but you’ve already proven you can’t hold off, so do it, cum for me,” she relents.

Relief and ecstasy crash over you at once, and you shudder as you finally reach your peak, your cum spurting down Rio’s throat as she swallows you greedily. The pleasure is blinding, your body quaking from the intensity.

Agatha pulls back slowly, letting you collapse beside Rio, utterly spent. She strokes a hand down your spine, her touch almost gentle. Almost.

A satisfied hum leaves her lips as she surveys you both—wrecked, used, and thoroughly ruined beneath her. She leans in, fingers curling under your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “Next time, you’ll do better.”

A flicker of something warm pools low in your stomach at her words. A promise. A threat. A guarantee that this won’t be the last time she has you like this, weak and obedient under her command.

And god, you can’t wait.

-----

Agatha for sure knew exactly what she was doing and wanted you to end up disobeying her because she wanted to peg you. She just likes watching you struggle first

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6ange19 @jujuu23 @juls-stark

[shararan]

Frankly I prefer dealing with my mental shit over the physical ones because at least executive dysfunction and such doesn't fully impede my performance when doing both tasks and hobbies, whereas now I can't guarantee to be physically able to do things whenever the brain blockage is gone

[moominsuki]

✎ᝰ BAKUGOU KATSUKI ; — let me baby you on your birthday. will you let me, katsuki? (bakugou birthday special)

word count: 1.7k

࿄ ! warnings — f!reader, handjob (m!receiving), very suggestive, lowkey cum-eating, lots of praise (m!receiving), subby!bkg / note. happy birthday katsuki, my lil firecracker.

some days are more rough than they usually are on katsuki. albeit, as a pro hero, most days are rough - on not only his body, but his mind and emotional state too. the constant bossing people around because they’re “incompetent fucks” as he would put it, and the micromanaging he has to implement onto his sidekicks because they can’t take out a small gang orchestrating an armed robbery at the local bank.

katsuki knew this came with being a pro but it didn’t make the bags under his eyes less dark or the weight of his tired footsteps less heavy as he went through days on autopilot. he loved the notoriety that came with being the number one but this? this was getting to him more than he was letting on.

that’s where you come in. his lovely, sweet, caring girlfriend. now, you didn’t enjoy telling your boyfriend to take breaks or to slow down, lest you get faced with a hard, vermillion-eyed glare and a bastion of words telling you that he “needed to do this to elevate his career,” and that “there were no breaks if he wanted to stay number one on the charts.”

you let it slide a lot of the time, knowing that your boyfriend was at the height of his career. even when he missed important dates or dinners with the parents - you know that this was an integral part of his life and it’s what you signed up for. well, that was until today.

april 19th. the day before his 25th birthday.

katsuki never took his birthday seriously - not unless the people around him made a big fuss about it. and ever since he had started dating you, every birthday had been extravagant. whether it was a home cooked meal, a fancy restaurant and buying him his favourite collector’s items, he knew that you would never let him just get old and move on. which is why you were having this current, heated discussion.

you’re standing in the kitchen, chopping onions as you sternly say his name,“katsuki.” he wants to roll his eyes and tell you to just forget about it but he opts to just doing the latter, not wanting to invoke even more fury in your spirit.

“just forget about it, y/n. ‘s MY birthday. if i don’t care about it, you don’t have to either,” he argues, taking off his muddy caked up boots and throwing them in his bag. he had already had a garbage day because the coffee maker in his office has stopped working and suddenly no one knew who’d broken it.

to make matters worse, a mission went to shit with deku not being specific with the villain’s whereabouts, thus compromising his position in the mission and almost killing multiple civilians. his back was aching and his throat was scratchy from the strain of shouting at idiots all day.

“what kind of girlfriend would i be if i just did nothing for your birthday? no, i refuse to have this discussion. you absolutely don’t need to go in tomorrow,” you say indignantly and the sound of your chopping and diving gets more precise and sharp and katsuki decides to just half indulge in your wishes - too tired to argue with you.

“fine, whatever you want. you win,” katsuki grumbles, walking over to you while you throw some stuff in the pan and resting his chin on your head and you can feel his weary body looming over you.

you turn to look at katsuki and plant a kiss on his nose at him being so agreeable. but you knew deep down that he would probably try to defy you anyway so you had to make sure he wouldn’t leave your grasp on his special day.

after katsuki washes up and you both eat a lovely pre-birthday dinner, your boyfriend tries to settle into bed and you place a hand on his bare chest, resting a leg over his waist.

“something wrong?” katsuki asks with a quirked brow and his breath hitches slightly when you plant wet kisses to his jaw and his neck while your hand descends lower to his jogging bottoms.

“should be asking you that, ‘ki. you’re so tense, baby. can feel how tight your muscles are just from touching you,” you hum against his stubbled jaw and katsuki groans quietly under his breath at your unabashed attention all on him.

“can i give you an early birthday’s gift?” you whisper, still laving kisses on his adam’s apple and neck. katsuki gulps, nodding, his golden-blond eyelashes batting against his sharp and tan cheekbones.

“yeah, course,” he hums and a pleasant rumble shakes through his chest when your leg slips in between his legs and you palm against his semi hardon that’s starting to chub between his thick, tan legs.

“want you to know i’m so proud of what you’ve accomplished at this age, kats. don’t know anyone more deserving of being the number one hero,” you say with a saccharine lilt to your voice and your hand slips under his both his joggers and pants to palm at him properly and you watch the way your boyfriend pants pathetically, his hips lifting up slightly to meet your touch, only to remove your hand to get him to push down his trousers and katsuki gets the memo immediately; frantically pushing down both his briefs and joggers in one swift movement.

you take a moment to spit on your hand and a hint of a whine catches in the back of his throat when he lets you further entangle your smaller thigh with his much bigger one, so you can get better access to his cock. you grab at his throbbing cock and languidly stroke him, from his angry-red tip with dribbles of precum to his heavy, weighty balls that were now shiny and wet due to the mixture of pre and your spit.

“so big, so strong. you’re so good at what you do and i’m so proud of you katsuki, just wanna show you how much i mean it,” you sweetly say and the raspy whimper that leaves his lips sounds so desperate, so unlike him. his hips rise to meet your touch and you speed up to reach every inch of his heavy cock.

you continue to praise him through touching his cock, “you’re such a good boy, kats’. so good at leading, so good to me. just want you to let me take care of you sometimes. will you let me?” and his hips jerk into your fist harder now.

“o-oh, baby, f-uck me, fuuuuck-” he moans gruffly and his eyes roll into the back of head when your thumb pays attention to the head of his cock, pressing into his slit and rubbing at what seems to be a never ending stream of precome.

“you’re gonna come for me, baby? you deserve it so so much, sweet boy. let me do this for you, ‘kay? look at how much you needed this,” you whisper into his slightly open mouth, his pink tongue peeking out and you both look down to see his wet and shiny cock and your soaked hand that’s tugging at him, all hard and fast.

“oh-ohhhh, urgh, fuck-fucken, gonna fucking come,” he moans and he looks gorgeous like this: katsuki’s face is scrunched up, a little pink in the cheeks and a tiny ‘o’ forms on the planes of his lips. his eyebrows are furrowed deeply and he doesn’t know what to with himself and opts to throwing one beefy, tatted arm across his eyes and another gripping tightly at your panty-clad ass.

with your hand busy jerking him off, you use your other to rub at his chest and thumb at pale brown nipples and then you slow down because you want him to see what you’re about to do to him before he reaches his limit.

he moves his arm when he notices you slow down and smile at him so sincerely, so bright and kiss his cheek.

“shh, just relax, ‘kay, baby? wanna see your pretty face when you come,” and you speed up all over again and you lean up slightly so you can use your unoccupied hand to thumb at the taint of his cock - the sensitive, veiny part that meets his balls and katsuki reels at the touch.

he’s all choked up with unshed tears wanting to fall down his face at your ministrations and the constant fondling at the base of his cock is too much for him, “hmmfgg - fuck, fuuuuck, right there, ‘m gonna come, shit, don’t, fuckk - don’t fuckin’ stop, ohhhh,” katsuki begs and he doesn’t know whether he’s begging for you to not stop talking or to keep touching him or both.

your clit practically beats out of your panties just looking at him reaching his climax and you talk him through it as the first spurts of his orgasm hit your arm and his pelvis, “so proud of you, kats’, just like that, yeah, babyyy, give me all of it, so good for me, huh?” you tease, with a sickly amount of sweetness and a hint of smirk in your voice and katsuki humps your hand until he’s spilt himself all over the expanse of his lower body and all over your hand and arm.

“fuck me,” your blond boyfriend breathes out, sniffling a little and quickly wiping his wet eyes and he leans on his elbows to assess the mess he made.

“you came a lot this time,” you giggle, poking fun at your hothead of a man and you lift your hand to suck at one of your fingers and katsuki’s eyes darken in desire all over again: his hands finding purchase on your waist and playing with the hem of your panties.

“how about you let me apologise by sitting on my face?”

ᝰᝰᝰᝰᝰ

“is dynamight not coming in?” quizzes one of the sidekicks to the secretary and she shakes her head.

“nope. think he’s taking a day off for birthday celebrations. good for him,” she nods and the sidekick agrees.

dynamight comes back on the 21st very content and calm. no one knows what happened but they chalk it up to a great birthday surprise from you.

࿄ ! — all rights reserved © moominsuki. please do not copy, translate, repost nor recommend my work outside of tumblr. this is strictly prohibited.

[cowboyemeritus]

Hi 🤠

Can I please request some “We can’t.” “We shouldn’t.” “It’s forbidden.” Romance/ steaminess with Copia?!?!

I love when Ghost writers figure out how to use the prompt considering the band that so pro-sex. What you got in your awesome little brain cowboy?! Show us!

Howdy!

Ooh, a challenge! Why would a relationship be forbidden in a place like the Ministry? I think it would have to be for personal reasons rather than institutional barriers.

Hope you like what I've cooked up. Thanks for the request! ❤️

“We shouldn’t.”

Copia withdraws, and already you miss the delicate brush of his lips against your neck. Still, you can’t keep entertaining this nonsense. It would be unfair to both of you.

“Why not?” He pouts, and it’s such a childish thing to do, but you can’t help the twinge of guilt that stabs at your heart.

“If your mother-”

“She’s dead.” True, but the reality of the situation is much more complex. She’s dead, but still here. He knows that you, with your sharp witch’s eyes, can still see her as clearly as he does.

“She would never forgive me if-”

“What is she going to do,” he asks, “turn the lights on and off? Crop-dust us with blue mist?”

You swallow hard, then sigh, recalling an afternoon in Imperator’s office many years ago. It couldn’t have been more than a few days into your training. After hours of trying, you had finally managed to bring the water in the kettle to a boil, and over cups of tea, your new teacher proceeded to lay down the law. Utterly exhausted, most of it went in one ear and out the other, but one decree stuck and had been rooted in your mind ever since.

“Stay away from Emeritus men,” she had warned. “They’re nothing but trouble.”

Copia leans in, not to kiss you, but to touch his forehead to yours. His body is so incredibly warm, a sharp contrast to the cold stone wall at your back. Out of respect, you vowed (after a certain point in time) to never use your powers to peer into his mind, but you need not bother. His eyes say it all.

“I don’t care what she thinks. She’s not in charge anymore.” Even so, she’s as vicious a micromanager in death as she was in life, walkie-talkie and all.

His gloved hands come up, cupping your cheeks. His lips are so close to yours, and yet you know he won’t kiss you until he’s certain you want it. A foolish, self-destructive part of you wishes he would do it anyway. The hallway is so silent you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. Betraying years of physical and mental training, of cultivating a mastery over every muscle in your body, you find you’re trembling.

“I want you,” he whispers. You feel him tense up, and he sucks in a shaky breath. “I love you.”

On another afternoon, Imperator had called you into her office yet again. Despite the hour, the sky was nearly pitch-black, the sunlight smothered by storm clouds. Sat in an ancient leather chair, you counted the seconds between the rumbles of thunder, growing closer each time. It was an omen; you were in trouble and you knew it. 

The night before, drunk on communion wine and the thrill of a budding romance, you and Copia had kissed for the first time. To Imperator, that was unacceptable.

She knew that you had figured out the truth of his parentage. She knew you had ignored her warning, so she didn’t bother to explain herself. Instead, she stood at the window, hands clasped behind her back, upbraiding you for your lack of restraint. For the longest time, you thought Imperator didn’t have a motherly bone in her body, but the way she scolded you made you feel like a teenager again, caught sneaking out or busted for smoking pot.

“I’ve got big plans for my boy,” she said. “Plans that you have no part in.” She turned to you then, a steely look in her eyes. The first flash of lightning illuminated the room. You didn’t need to probe her mind to know she was planning something unsavory. Worse storms than this one were brewing. “I will not have you meddling.”

You’ve been silent far too long. Copia’s eyes are wide, desperately scanning your features as if they were a road-map to your heart. He looks hurt, humiliated.

Fuck that old witch. Fuck her plans.

You’ve been her puppets for far too long.

You feel his hold start to loosen. Before he can withdraw, however, your eyes flutter shut and you lean forward, smashing your mouth into his. You feel the jolt of surprise that passes through him, traveling up his spine until what’s happening finally registers in his brain. Then, there’s a wave of elation, so strong it makes your knees weak. It’s intoxicating. He pulls you into him and in turn you wrap your arms around him, never wanting to part again.

After years of pining, orbiting one another but unable to touch, it’s hard to maintain any level of self control. There’s a short-lived break for air and then he’s kissing you again, one hand traveling to the small of your back to hold you even tighter to him. Through his trousers you can feel him, hot and hard against your thigh. It has your cheeks flushing and your own arousal flaring. Slowly, your own hands migrate from his back to his hips, pulling his pelvis into yours in an attempt to create some friction. Copia lets out a small groan, nibbling on your bottom lip before his tongue-

Someone clears their throat.

In complete synchronicity, you both turn towards the source of the noise and find Aether standing there, a stack of files clutched in one arm. He’s got a sly grin on his face, his entire being radiating amusement. You know exactly what he’s thinking: fucking finally!

“Is now a bad time?” You’re frozen, cheeks burning with the fury of a thousands suns. You would have expected Copia to let go of you, to make himself presentable in front of one of his underlings, but you remain firmly in his grasp.

“Yes,” he says, the sharp edge of irritation in his voice. “Now is a bad time.” Then, like no one is there at all, he’s claiming your mouth once again, the hand on your back drifting down towards your ass.

The large ghoul stifles a laugh. “I’ll, uh- I’ll be back, then. Have fun, you two.” The sound of his footsteps barely registers as you succumb to the years of pent up desire and longing, relishing in the feeling of Copia’s wandering touch. When he pulls away, it’s like your very soul is being ripped from your body.

“Spend the night with me?” As the words leave his mouth his bravado seems to slip, and he looks away. “I hope I’m not being too forward. I-”

“I would love that,” you say, heart fluttering. “Might be hard to get rid of me, though.”

Copia smiles. “Fine by me.”

[sykeskassie]

Lack of Control

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Chan grabbed your arms, trying to get you to stop shaking. Tears were rushing down your face, and you were on the verge of hyperventilating. You were standing in the center of your kitchen, your new roommates just having left for the store. 

“They just kept putting things in the wrong spots! They don’t go there at all!” you tried so hard to keep the panic out of your voice, failing spectacularly. Taking a shuddering breath, you rushed to say, “It’s not fair of me to get upset because they didn’t put shower supplies of all things in the ‘right’ spot! It’s not fair of me to be upset that they’re putting things in all the ‘wrong’ spots in the fridge. They live here too now, and this space belongs to them as much as it does me.”

“Baby, do you remember what your therapist told you?” Chan asked gently, tucking your hair behind your ears to keep it from falling into your face. You shook your head no, your eyes darting everywhere until Chan grabbed your chin to get you to look at him. “Sometimes you need to let yourself feel without trying to logic yourself out of what you’re feeling. It doesn’t matter if it feels irrational to want them to adhere to your status quo that you’ve been operating under. It’s upsetting you, and you are allowed to be upset.”

“But it’s micromanaging. I’m being controlling.”

“Did you tell them that they couldn’t put their things where they did?”

“Well…no…but I went behind them and moved things around in the fridge. And I told them that they could put their things in the shelves in the shower.” You began to pick at the skin around your thumbnail, feeling more and more out of control of the situation. 

“But you didn’t say ‘Hey! You’re not allowed to do it this way’, did you?” You shook your head again, as much as you could within Chan’s grasp. Moving to cup your face instead, he leaned down and gave your forehead a kiss. “You’re in a new situation while being in a familiar place. Your brain likes things a certain way, and you’re having to adapt to a million things changing all at once. I don’t think you’re being controlling, I think you’re trying your best, and I’m so proud of you, love.” 

Fresh tears ran down your face again, and you moved to shove your face into Chan’s chest. What he was saying made sense, but it didn’t make you feel any better inside. Things were still different, and you still wished that it didn’t effect you to this point, if at all. 

With one hand, Chan laced his fingers with yours that had been picking at your skin, and pet your hair with the other. “Why don’t you come stay with me at my place tonight, hmm? That way you’re surrounded by something familiar, and then you can come back to things refreshed tomorrow.” 

“I think that would be a good idea…I’m sorry you have to deal with this, Channie,” you murmured the last part, feeling so embarrassed that he was seeing your breakdown.

“None of that now. I love you, and that means I love you through the full range of emotions.” He led you to your room, trying to block the things that had changed the most with his body, and you couldn’t have loved him more for it. You packed your overnight bag, already feeling lighter being in your room that had remained unchanged. You knew that things wouldn’t be fixed when you returned, but you knew that you’d at least have a clearer head to deal with it and your Channie by your side. 

[knightowl-studios]

“This is a warning for Kray Foresight - free all captive Burnish immediately, or I’ll burn Promepolis to the ground!”

Many hours, layers, micromanaged bg assets, and egregious amounts of colorpicking later, it is finally done //passes out

As soon as I watched Promare I was legally obligated to draw the dragon.

Please do not reupload without permission!

(Very ramble-y) process notes and wips below the cut:

[[Shoutout to Tamberella’s wonderful city brushset, the bg would not have been possible otherwise!]]

I had to cross-reference so many stills and gifs from the movie in order to try and recreate the atmosphere and style XD This whole drawing was also the perfect excuse to whip out the polyline tool again, it’s one of my favorite things to draw with but I don’t actually use it much for...some reason lmao.  Habit?  Who knows...

As you can see, it was initially supposed to include his lil arms, but I couldn’t find a way to make them flow well with his line of action and had to exclude them (which was a bit painful as I was really happy with how the claw shapes turned out).  I figured since the film seems to cheat it the same way, it was fine for me to do it as well XD Though I don’t have a capture of it, originally his body was also in a more straightforward loop-de-loop kind of shape.

I wanted to put special focus into the pose and sense of action (two things Trigger really excels at), namely when it came to the head and jaws.  I noticed that in a couple of shots the dragon’s jaw is “broken” - opened at an unrealistically wide angle - to better emphasize the action, and while I didn’t take it as far as Trigger did I wanted to try and capture something similar in my own way.

The windows required SO much micromanaging.  I blocked out a “template” of windows using one of the brushes in the mentioned set, grid-warped it to align with the perspective, and then copy-pasted it onto each building and then manually went through each one to make sure every patterns of “lit” windows was unique and felt believable.  The process had to be repeated twice, for both visible sides of the buildings.  As far as individual parts of the pic go, that step probably took the longest.

I also really wanted to somehow incorporate triangles into the drawing since they’re so representative of the Burnish and the Promare, and adding some around the face seemed the most intuitive way to do it.

A lot of miscellaneous things were added at this point, such as the ground flares (polyline tool my beloved), the smoke, and smaller details like making sure the dragon felt more “sourced” in the scene by clipping the tail behind a tower.  The background was also blurred, to help sell the perspective as well as keep the focus on Lio.  The flares were one of the hardest things to manage in the latter regard, too, as due to some oversights in my initial color choices they were actually brighter than Lio and stole his thunder!  So it took several different tries to find a way to successfully de-emphasize them without inadvertently making them some weird sickly color XD

If you read through all of these notes, thank you so much, I love you!!  //hands you a cookie

Bonus layer screenshot:

[cogentranting]

For the record, I do think that Tim is more in the right on this one. He's being supportive: the whole thing about telling her she can wait on the test is a totally valid form of support-- help someone see that they have options and it's not all riding on this (whether or not it's the right support for Lucy in that moment is another question); and he helped her prepare the same way he always has, which is probably particularly helpful if the guy in charge of the exam is out to get her. But Lucy is projecting her fears and insecurities onto Tim.

Part of what Lucy's feeling is regular anxiety about her exam.. But I think the bigger thing that is causing the conflict with her and Tim is that's she's afraid that her UC work will damage their relationship. Because of that she's basically trying to psychoanalyze/micromanage their relationship to jump on any potential issue as soon as it appears. And the result is that she ends up looking for flaws instead of seeing the ways that he is trying. And rather than supporting his needs in return she jumps to identifying a problem, which in effect means accusing him of trying to sabotage her.

It's hotshot Lucy who wants to dive in and fix things, but amped up to where she's trying to fix something that isn't there. Almost like hypervigilance or an immune system attacking the body. She's trying so hard to protect the relationship that she's seeing problems where there aren't any and diving in to attack.

[thedupshadove]

Now, I know that ideas you get in dreams often end up no longer making sense after you wake up, but the other night I had one that left behind just enough coherent material that I think you could really turn it into something (if I thought I had the skills to write a novel in the first place)

There were these two modern-day young women who were either best friends or sisters--I don't remember. And they're visiting some English historical site when they get warped into the past, Highlander-style... only they don't go to the same point in time. One of them goes to the late 1910s, while the other one goes to the stone age.

From there it turns into two parallel Time Travel Romance plotlines. 1910s girl falls in with a local noble dealing with PTSD from having been--I think a pilot?--at any rate definitely in the War. And it's a lot of the usual stuff where she's Helping Him Through Trauma and he's Showing Her How A Lady Should Be Treated and such. Except to make it more interesting, it sometimes goes to his perspective, and shows that his wooing efforts are being egged on, micromanaged, nit-picked, and generally peanut galleried by the ghosts of the countless generations of ancestors who are hanging around his estate, whom he can see and talk to because apparently that's something his family can just do?

Meanwhile Stone Age Girl's plotline was all about, first of all, learning to survive competently in the Stone Age, and second of all, learning how to pursue and enjoy romance when you've been completely cut off from all your means of "making yourself beautiful" by the standards you've internalized (Honestly, attracting a man isn't the hard part of that, because the man you're trying to attract is used to women who look like you look now. The hard part is getting to the point where you can "feel sexy" while living in Stone Age conditions, when you remember makeup and scented baths and removing all your body hair)

However, through it all, there's a connecting throughline where each woman is torn between her growing love for her new home and partner vs her desire to see her sister and/or best friend again. The semi-happy ending to that arc was that the stone age man that the girl who got sent back that far coupled up with turned out to be the first ancestor of the family that 1910s girl's love interest is from, and by marrying him, she acquires the family ability to speak to the ancestors, so they can finally talk to each other again.

(Also in the dream I was convinced that this concept was loosely based on a fairy tale, but I think that's just because I read a lot of Mercedes Lackey, and she loves doing Fantasy Romance Novels that are loosely based on fairy tales. Now being awake I can't think what fairy tale it would be supposedly based on.)

[old-school-butch]

so there can't be a genocide because the numbers don't support it, but the numbers can't be gathered because there's a war going on and nobody can be trusted. So....we won't know until the genocide is done, correct?

Kind of like recessions, genocides do tend to be the kind of thing debated in international courts after the fact. Much scrutiny in this conflict is debating the intent, actions, possibilities etc. which is all healthy, even if it is micromanaged by an armchair army of idiots.

The IDF absolutely has the firepower to level Gaza, this isn't a peer to peer conflict and there needs to be restraint and focus in their actions. The Oct 7 attacks were definitely war crimes that were meant to prompt a reaction from Israel, but they were perhaps overly successful in the sheer number of murders (videotaped with their own body cameras, there's no shortage of evidence but there won't be criminal prosecutions since most of the fighters died and the ones who made it back with hostages may have destroyed evidence by now).

In the Ukraine war, the propaganda is pierced to some degree with internationally verifiable and geolocated footage. For example, satellite images of mass graves or bombings of civilian corridors, or even fresh graves in cemeteries helps to estimate both combat and civilians deaths. Ukraine's official stance on its casualties is 'heroes never die!' so... uh.. yeah, it's very normal for governments to lie about their stats. Hamas is a bit different because it doesn't appear to be as concerned about panicking its civilian population as it is about making Israel look bad. Most governments want civilian support and don't want people to panic and turn against their leadership. Hamas is unusual in this regard. The Shifa hospital incident with 'thousands dead' until it turned out to be a PIJ rocket misfiring and landing in its parking lot suggests the direction they are willing to lie. They weren't allowing international observers into the area to independently confirm info, which contrasts with Ukraine that has allowed investigators into Bucha for example, because Ukraine is serious about trying to lay charges of genocide against Russia. Hamas is mostly waging a PR war, and winning, and no evidence is really needed.

It's also important to remember that the numbers Hamas releases gives no information about how many combatants and how many civilians were killed. If 1000 people died in a day, and 1000 of them were Hamas fighters, not many people would express dismay. But that's only part of why Hamas presents its statistics like that - it regards this conflict as total war. To them, there are no civilians in Israel or Gaza. Every child is a future fighter. That's why the leader of Hamas could say they didn't kill any civilians on October 7th (it's an interview with the Economist if you want to listen). Those people partying at a concert ?- soldiers. That 10 month old baby? - future soldier. And their own population? - soldiers who should be willing to die in the great jihad. Or they're traitors, and traitors should be killed.

MEMRI is not an unbiased source but it can help bridge the language barrier to better understand this conflict by seeing the kind of media that is NOT intended for Western consumption. It's noticeably different. https://www.memri.org/ You can find a consistent policy for total war and the use of human shields as a legitimate tactic in the rhetoric. I recommend searching older pre-Oct 7 videos to explore deeper philosophical views about the conflict and end goals.

Also, not an unbiased source, but this twitter account will translate some of the propaganda produced for the Palestinian audience.

As always, think for yourself and bring a critical eye to of all the information you ingest.

[funkymbtifiction]

hi! i had a few questions because i’m trying to type an actress who’s currently stumping me a bit. on pdb she’s typed as infp 9w1 sx/so 927 but so many artists are typed as infp 4s or 9s on there and i’m not sure i agree with the consensus, but i can’t pinpoint why. so a few things:

in interviews, she states not being too interested in plot when selecting projects, but finding the most pleasure in deeply exploring a character. her process is to become the character, so she can know them inside out, feel what they feel, and embody that on screen. she had said that some characters stay with her forever and that all of them are her, to some degree, either dialed up or dialed down, and has expressed that acting is a safe way to explore different and more unhinged parts of herself - that in real life she second guesses herself a lot more and is more reserved. on her latest film, she said she went out to practice for her role by talking to men to see how she would seduce them, and it was important to her to know how SHE would go about it. she said throws herself into roles so completely that once she finishes a project, it feels like she’ll never work again. i don’t really buy into visual typing beyond extroverts being more animated and MAYBE fe using expressions, smiles, etc to signal and mirror - but in interviews i did notice a general lack of expressiveness (she def seems introverted and doesn’t appear to mirror anyone else or use her face to communicate much, only smiling when she seems to find something personally amusing)

now that all DOES seem like potential fi dom, but she has said a few times that on set, her body has better ideas than her mind and she often improvises based on her body. she also says that she’s not eager to work on a new project soon after finishing one because she thinks it’s important to go out and live life for a while, accumulate experiences and fill up your well of emotions, and that being too eager to jump on a new project would mean she didn’t do enough with the last one. she says that she knows she wants to act, perfect her craft and be good and she doesn’t have much interest in dabbling in things like producing. she co-wrote a previous film she was in and enjoyed it (and used a stream of consciousness process to write as her character) but is certain about acting being her future. she mentioned divine timing and thinking that certain roles come to you when you need them the most. i wonder if this points to se-ni, and if she may be an isfp instead?

in terms of her enneagram, at first i could see 9 in how she merges with her characters, and in the way she acts from her body/gut - but then i saw recently she said in an interview that everything she does in life, all her motivations are to feel safe and that acting presented a unique challenge because it’s not such a secure career. she said she enjoys challenges, and wanted to be an actress despite that, but that was the main thing that gave her pause about her career, the lack of security. she also mentioned that, when picking a project, the top priority (even above character) is director - that she must trust who’s leading the ship, or else nothing worthwhile can be made. she stated that she doesn’t like to be micromanaged, likes to have some say in decisions about the character and what they might do and that the set is not always going to be a positive place, and that’s okay, because some conflict and friction can produce even better results sometimes. could this be 6, maybe with a 9 fix, or at least 6 in her tritype instead of 7? i’m also not sure i see her as sp blind, as she’s mentioned a few times the importance to her of health and caring for her body so i feel like that would sort of rule out sp blind.

thanks!!

Wanting to live life to the fullest and have adventures can also be sp, since sp is the most aware of how "short" life is and possess a desire to enjoy themselves. But yes, you give a strong argument for sp/so 6w7 SFP. Living in the moment, trusting your body, seeing acting as secondary to having experiences (devaluing fantasy for reality) is extremely Se.

People are too quick to label actresses sx if they are "sexy" or "interesting." They forget that sx is about a magnetic/repulsive hook and living a lifestyle that shows an sx tendency to infuse, use up, and then abandon something or someone once the spark dies (sx/so Elizabeth Taylor was married eight times, for example...).

[weepingpussywillowtree]

Rant on sexism in Computer Science

I am SO SICK of being a woman in computer science. Every day it feels like I'm being put on fucking trial.

I'm leading a team of ten developers as a project manager for my project management class this semester, and they are all men. They go out of their way to ignore my speech during meetings and not read my messages in our slack. Sometimes, I will send a message, have it be ignored, only for someone else to paraphrase my message or say almost the exact same thing, and get a bunch of thumbs up emojis.

They asked for my advice for their first project presentation, ignored it, and then got dinged for a bunch of the things I WARNED THEM ABOUT. Same goes for development stuff. They ask for my advice, ignore it, and then end up going with my solution anyways after wasting valuable time trying to discredit it. This isn't about them exploring alternate ideas, I can tell that it's literally just an ego issue for them from their body language/tone etc.

I'm not trying to micromanage them, I'm literally just trying to do the bare minimum requirements as a project manager. They've already tried to take over our weekly meetings (which I'm required to run, are part of the course, and I have to check in with them during) by scheduling a separate meeting time where they can talk about 'dev stuff' WITHOUT ME and then use our weekly meeting to only talk about what they consider 'girlie stuff' (documentation and presentations). I am a developer. I've taken the course they are taking before, because it's a requirement for becoming a project manager. I know what I'm doing GODDAMN IT.

Meanwhile, in my ethics in CS course, I am in a group of three doing an assignment where we write a code of ethics for a technology. One of the core tenets of our code is going to be accessibility. I offered to write up a first draft for it. One of my group members, who has never worked in industry or done anything except take university classes came after me.

"Well, what do *you* know about accessibility?"

More than you! I spent almost three years working for a non-profit where one of our major projects was rebuilding our website to be accessible, re-writing all of our documentations, resources, and tutorials to be accessible, and making sure any new tools we built were accessible.

So to all the men that take a look at me, a feminine woman who likes dorky earrings and high heeled boots, and assume that because of that I have no knowledge, and nothing worthwhile to say/contribute. FUCK YOU

To those same men who then turn around and insist that it's a 'skill issue' and that there are fewer women in CS because we have less natural aptitude FUCK YOU EVEN MORE

To the men who never listen to me in class or during projects, who tell me all my ideas are garbage, but then plagiarize my discussion posts, ideas, or designs MAY ALL YOUR BACON BURN

To the men who ignore me in class, but then sexually harass me or follow me around, who make my friends feel like they have to dress down for their CS classes, who ruin my class experience by reading porn in class or staring at my chest the whole lecture HAVE SOME FUCKING SELF RESPECT

I am so tired. All I'm asking is baseline respect. Goodwill. Humanity. Fucking something. Why must I be exceptional in order to gain the acceptance that a man would get automatically in this field??

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

rambling prose practice - autism

My anxiety has been a three-pronged trident for the last month concerning the appointment I went to today. It's funny how life unfolds with the help of unexpected blessings, like my general practitioner. She's around my age and has been there for me through it all—the highs of getting into my master's program, the lows of having to leave due to the resurgence of childhood trauma triggered in a class ironically titled Adverse Effects of Childhood Trauma. Through my experiences with brainspotting and extensive therapy, she helped me return to school in just three months. And then, she gently but firmly made me realize I couldn't keep battling myself to reach some elusive "normal." Normal. What even is normal? I've never fit into that box. ADHD seemed to explain part of it, but something was still missing... My husband and I have been separated for some time now. Despite our efforts to salvage what we could, our paths diverged further as we both changed profoundly. The season of our life together has ended, and now I'm taking steps to find a new place to live. It feels different this time—we might even share a lawyer, a stark contrast from my previous experiences with divorce and custody battles. I refuse to return to the place where I overextended myself until I burned out completely. I can't force myself into roles or situations that no longer fit. Instead, I'm embracing the discomfort and finding a bit of relief in rediscovering my authentic self. I'm realizing now that I'm easily overstimulated, a realization I once mistook for fear. Sometimes, I almost wish it were fear—it seems easier. But when someone disrespects me now, something inside me shifts, and I'm tempted to engage in dangerous games of my own. It's a work in progress.

I've also learned to be more direct about how I feel now, especially when something is negatively impacting me. My fear of burnout and meltdowns outweighs any other concern. This has made it easier for me to communicate when I need a break and to regulate my nervous system. I'm highly sensitive, but with space and time, I can pinpoint what's upsetting me and avoid projecting it onto others. My past experiences haven't all been supportive. The last time I mentioned autism in a professional setting, the therapist laughed at me. He reacted similarly when I brought up Jung, and his behavior was unsettling, to say the least. This left me feeling unsupported and invalidated. Because of this, I came prepared for today's appointment, scripting my dialogue and considering bringing my journals and evidence to validate my experiences. I expected to be dismissed or laughed at again, and the anticipation of this brought tears to my eyes as I write. Instead of skepticism, my doctor asked me why I wanted to pursue this autism diagnosis. I explained that I also believed I had ADHD, but previous therapists never truly saw or understood me. Their assumptions didn't match my reality, and their advice left me frustrated. It was triggering to feel so misunderstood despite my efforts to explain myself clearly. I shared with her my childhood obsessions with dictionaries and thesauruses, how I found solace in the forest and my imagination instead of friendships. Living in this world often felt like a poor imitation for which I was constantly punished. I also mentioned how if I didn't honor or respect myself, my body would no longer let me do it. Burnout is such a weird thing. Even looking at possible employment now, I realize how careful I will have to be to make sure I feel a sense of agency. There's something about me that really attracts people who want to micromanage me. Most the time they are trying to be helpful, and I listen patiently, but I want to curtly point out exactly why their concept of how something should be done is absolutely wrong for me. I'm not special, I just need agency, or I'll literally throw a fit eventually, and it's... really embarrassing.

She believed me. It seems like such a little thing but I've been trying to convince people that my brain worked differently for awhile. That my unmasking was not a temporary thing. That the girl who didn't have needs and limits was never a real person. Just me desperately trying to figure out how to be loved when everyone told me it was so hard to do. I’ve actually been told by people they wanted me to return to the previous version of myself. That quickly let me know where to put that person in my life. Far away.

I recently watched a K-drama called 'It's Okay To Not Be Okay,' where one of the characters is autistic, and I saw myself in one of his meltdowns. If I catch the signs of overstimulation early enough, I can keep things under control until I reach my room and dive under my gravity blanket. Outwardly, I may appear fine, but inside, it feels like chaos—like I'm running around lighting fires and screaming. Any unexpected bodily sensation or change I don't understand can trigger me. When I shut down and go numb, I have to isolate myself because facing my reality feels harsh and overwhelming. Despite these challenges, I've developed strong coping mechanisms and learned my limits, setting boundaries that even my children can understand. I’ve learned that when others can’t accept or hear my boundaries and limitations… there’s usually a reason beneficial to them for ignoring me. That’s a hard lesson to learn. I didn’t want to accept it, but I do now. I cherish the unique way my brain processes information and the intensity of my hyperfixations. I wouldn't change anything about myself, not even my difficult past. It's frustrating to hear people say I don't "look" autistic. I often find myself baffled by social interactions and the dishonesty I encounter. Though I struggle with socializing, I'm slowly relearning how to navigate it. Reading Katherine May's book 'The Electricity of Everything' was a revelation for me. Her narrative voice resonated deeply, and like her, I too surprised my doctor when I sought a diagnosis. Sharing experiences like hers helps me feel less alone. So, maybe, somewhere, my experience will help someone else too.

[lary-the-lizard]

I don’t think many know just how debilitating cult life is. Of course all cults are different and range in types of abuse. The most common way cults disable their members is by isolating them from society in general. They make their own cultures sometimes based off of aspects our society already hold like sexism and racism. But that’s just the most common trait. Most people know about the cults that abused their members, mostly women, sexually or coerced their members into suicide. But cults don’t just abuse members sometimes, the big events are the outliers. One of the most common ways they force them into obedience is through public humiliation. But the most effective way to run a cult is to get the members to police themselves by teaching them how to think. Cult leaders cannot afford their followers to see reality because everything they built relies on them being superior to everyone else. They feed their followers lies regularly and control their day to day lives. This on top if the rare acts of violence and the isolation. Many cults control their children’s education and rules about ways to dress, what they can eat, watch, and read. They encourage their members to do certain things regularly like forms of self harm, sexual acts, or religious rituals and when another member noticed that someone isn’t performing well they tell an elder so they can be punished or spoken with. The education the children receive is biased and can make higher education impossible if not difficult to achieve. The rules of the cult might require members to give up or change careers.

So escaping that is not only a big deal since it often leaves you without any type of human connection because you did not get to socialize outside of the cult. But then there is the problem of not having a decent education. Religious cults often don’t teach basic history much less the evolutionary theory. Your social skills are shit because the way the cult socialized and what we’re normal customs there are actually really weird. And then there is the trauma and mental illness caused by the abuse you suffered in the cult which holds you back on everything because you are I’ll and trying to make a life in an environment you don’t understand and doesn’t understand you. Learning how to navigate the outside world can be traumatizing in itself because you don’t know how to think so everything has to be translated from normal speak into something you do understand and back so you can do something with the information you just got. And there’s the unlearning all the bullshit you were taught and learning the truth.

Many people that escape cults have to learn how to be human because the cult raises us to be insincere servers of the will of our leaders. Our lives are micromanaged so we are perfect for whoever we are to be used by. I was taught to not trust my body or my feelings, to not trust my own thinking, to shame my own pleasures and that I, in particular, am a deceitful, selfish person that Satan uses to drag others into sin. Many women are taught to be vessels for the men to use for their pleasure and they shouldn’t ever complain about it. When you are raised in that it is part of your brain and unlearning it takes years. And that is ignoring the personal, private abuses they experienced that are too ugly and painful for the general members to acknowledge.

When you are drenched in religion to the point your whole life revolves around it, when it’s in the food you eat and the air you breathe, it determines who you love, you are a scholar, a wise teacher, in your reality. Life is a formula, you know how to calculate your behavior, you have elder, mentors, family to tell you what to say, how to think.

When you start to find the flaws in the formula, the hypocrisy of your elders, the pain in your family, you become a child again. You don’t know anything, and you realize this whole time, you have a been a child, eating cereal out teachers’ hands, not questioning where it came from or what it’ll do to you. Suddenly you must grow up and you are years behind your peers. The community that you loved and loved you now holds you at a distance, even though they promised to hold your hand when times are hard. To earn love back from those you held close you must cut off the growth required to live outside the fold. And even then the love you receive is poisoned.

You swear, you know how to love. You knew how to live. You used to be wise. Now nothing makes sense and you know you are ignorant. The answers you memorized, chanted, and thrived off of before are vipers that kill. It is foolish to use them now.

How do you find truth so solid you don’t have to change who you are to hold it? How do you live from it without losing reality? And how do you think for yourself and grow from it without feeding off it like a helpless child?

[lovesosweeet]

MAY THE BEST MAN WIN

competing for the best toast at their best friends' wedding, calum and tanner go from being pretend rivals to… something like friends. maybe a little more? may the best man win.

read on ao3

part five

a few months later

Tanner is grateful that she left a full weeklong gap in her schedule between when her final shoot was before the wedding and the night of the rehearsal dinner. Despite Valerie and Ashton having an insane wedding budget, Valerie’s extremely picky nature meant that she was still overseeing and micromanaging everything. Their wedding planner was making a fortune for doing next to nothing.

The errands and decorating weren’t the worst part, despite them taking long hours and being emotionally draining as Valerie picked apart every detail of literally everything. No, the worst part for Tanner was that Lou, who’d been booked as the lead photographer for the wedding, was stuck in New York because of bad weather. The rest of his photo team is unavailable tonight, so the rehearsal dinner is left without a photographer. 

Except, naturally, it’s not. 

Caterers have been setting up for dinner all day. Cases of champagne, way more plates than should be in front of each seat stacked elegantly, people running around, Valerie toeing the line of bridezilla… it stressed Tanner out as the maid of honor, the best friend, and, now, the photographer.

No one else has seemed to notice, but Valerie and Ashton are incredibly annoyed with each other. They’re both aware it’s a stupid fight, so they’re holding their tongues as to not lash out and crossing things off their to do list with as few words as possible. It makes things tense, but only for those who know them well enough to pick up on the subtleties of their body language shifts. 

Tanner is lucky that she doesn’t travel without her film camera, which is all she’s promised the bride and groom. They’re limited to the 36 exposures on her single roll of film, but Valerie and Ashton assured her that was better than nothing and promised to compensate her for her work, which of course she denied. 

She’s running around in her dress, barefoot, trying to help get everything in its place so she can take a few pictures before everyone shows up. She knows she probably looks comical — a vintage film camera slung around her neck, her hair poorly held back in a claw clip, no shoes, a flowy black dress tied up loosely in a satin scrunchie so she doesn’t have to hold it up while she runs around without her heels.

Valerie and Ashton are talking to the head of the catering crew, both of them also dressed up and looking fashionable and far less frazzled than Tanner. She felt envious of the rest of the bridal party who got to spend the day at a vineyard, drinking wine and eating cheese and getting a tan, while she spent the whole time with Valerie at the venue.

The maid of honor isn’t sure if she’s relieved or more stressed out as the groomsmen and bridesmaids enter with their plus ones. They’re all rosy cheeked and cheery, laughing and talking without care. The girls start gushing about how good the hall looks and how stunning the floral arrangements are, which was mostly Tanner’s handiwork, so she feels at least a little better. 

“Having fun yet?” A familiar voice says from behind her while she tries to set up the perfect flat lay of the invitations to the dinner, the custom labeled champagne for the evening, and flowers.

She spins around, trying her best not to shoot a death glare at Calum. “No, no I am not,” she whispers.

Calum is stunned, nearly staggering backwards. “Woah, woah, what’s up? Are you okay?”

Tanner sighs, reaching up and letting her curled hair fall out of the claw clip, only so she can redo it. “Fucking Lou is trapped in New York, so not only am I being maid of honor to,” she lowers her voice while her eyes point to her best friend, “bridezilla,” she whispers.

Calum laughs, looking over at the currently unhappy couple before he looks back down at Tanner.

“I’m also in charge of taking photos tonight. With my film camera.”

He gives her a look that says he doesn’t fully understand the extent of why that’s such a bad thing. 

She huffs, picking her camera up and spinning the back to face him so he can see the number of shots she has left. “See that?” She asks, pointing to the tiny number 31 in the corner. Calum nods. “I have 31 chances to take the perfect pictures of this whole night. No room to fuck up. Oh, and, amidst all the other stuff I’ve been told to do today, I still haven’t written my goddamn toast for tomorrow.”

When Calum smiles arrogantly, she holds up a finger.

“Shut the hell up, I’m still winning the bet.”

“I’ve never seen you this sassy,” he says, giggling.

She frowns. “I’m just stressed.”

He nods. “Oh, no, I can definitely tell.”

“Tanner! We missed you today!” Elle comes over, pretty tipsy from all her wine, but not drunk. She slings an arm around her friend and pulls her closer. 

“I know, I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. Did you have a good time?” She asks.

Before Tanner can even finish asking her a question, Elle is reaching for the camera hanging from her neck and pushing Calum next to her. 

“Squeeze in, gotta get a picture of the maid of honor and best man! Best buddies!”

Both Tanner and Calum laugh, but Tanner is panicking about losing one of her 36 shots to Elle taking a blurry, overexposed photo on her vintage camera. She holds her hands out, trying to take the camera from her, but it’s a lost cause.

“Elle, wait!”

The flash goes off and the camera whirs, making Tanner’s heart sink.

In an effort to prevent Tanner from crying out of frustration, Calum grabs the camera from Elle. “Let’s leave the photos to the professionals,” he says gently. “Which, speaking of, sorry to disrupt your workflow, Danny. Elle, do you know where the bathroom is? I’ve been looking but can’t find it.”

He looks back over his shoulder at Tanner as they walk away, holding up a thumbs up as she mouths ‘thank you.’

[mypsychoticmoodboard]

April 6th, 2024

I often think about the Ernest Hemingway quote, "There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a type writer and bleed." And I do think that is the easy part. It is when you get to the point where you are trying to make sense of all of that bleeding where it gets messy. The words will come out, but they do not always make sense. That is where I am at right now.

I am 375 pages into a novel that I have been working on for the better part of 9 years now. Since it was written throughout the years, some of the writing is out of touch with who I am now, and since I never took the time to really read it through in its entirety until now, I am finding that there are plot holes that need filling. This weekend was the perfect opportunity for me to take some time to fill those plot holes, but I just do not have the bandwidth right now.

And these changes are happening slowly. I am taking the time to write for maybe an hour or so a day, and over time it will get done. I took a step back to take the pressure off of myself, but I was just born with a 'too much' gene. I want to throw myself into it. Get lost. Do nothing but write, edit, and polish this thing. All the while, I am feeling like I need to stand back and get some perspective. So I am going with the original plan. Have fun. Take my time. It will be done when it is done.

I am trying to get better about trusting in the process too. I am just such a control freak. I want to know all of the pesky details, so I can try to micromanage them.

On another note, I am feeling the pressure at work. I hate my job, and there is no other way around it. I try to be nice and say that I like the people I work with. I do not. I would not be friends with any of them in my personal life. They make my job way more complicated than it needs to be with their inability to make decisions quickly. And it has been eating at me slowly for some years now. Years.

If I had it my way, my full time job would be writing. Just writing. I feel entitled to that too. Why am I not being given the opportunity to have that? And the thing is, that I will, just not now. But like I said, at my core I am an impatient control freak. I want it to happen on my time, and that time is now.

Me leaving this job has to be timed correctly too. I keep seeing videos of people being like "no job is worth your mental health". All the while that is true, I also need to make a living. I like living in a nice apartment, and I like being able to pay my bills. Hopefully I am teaching myself some grit by staying with this bogus job for the time being.

I am going on vacation at the end of May, so I am waiting for that to be over with, and then I am giving myself the permission to leave. That is when I will begin my quest into really looking into new jobs. My next frontier is out there, and I will find it. It is just looking a little stormy right now.

(***Self harm trigger warning***)

On a last and more morbid note, when I am finding that I am getting very sad, I am feeling the urge to hurt myself again. I used to cut myself for a few years, and it was a way that I could get my aggression and sadness out. And the worst part of it all, is that I liked it. I liked cleaning up the blood afterward, and I liked how the cuts burned in the shower afterward. It felt like the manifestation of my mental pain in the physical realm. It was putting a name to the face.

I will never, ever go back to that. And that I know for sure, but to have those urges come up makes me realize that those pesky thoughts will linger until the end of time. You never really officially get over anything; it just becomes easier to deal with.

And I have just been thinking about it more because I have been getting quite a few tattoos within the last 6 months, and the sensation is similar but not the same to cutting myself. And I like it. But at least with this, I am getting art on my body instead of scars that take years to fade, but never even go away completely.

This was long-winded, but it just feels like I am standing at the precipice of change. I am no longer fighting the winds of change. I am going to let them carry me--the best that I can.

[sacred-stanning]

Chapter 12 Part 4: Defensive Trading

So last post, I was agonizing over having Franz try a low-hit javelin toss.

I ended up going for it, and it worked!

He got a level too!

Here are some action shots from enemy phase.

The mercenary comes in to hit Vanessa, and since she doesn't kill him, he blocks the cavalier behind him from also being able to attack her. Franz does some damage on the right side and eliminates the mages, though he does miss a hit against the archer and leaves him alive. And Duessel holds firm against the mages, killing one of them.

So we've got an injured mage, an injured archer, and two spiders coming in hot.

This wolf has also started to close in. The wolves are generally very fast.

Their weapon, sharp fangs, has no weight, I guess because it's a body part, not an item. So this wolf, for instance, has all of its 14 speed as its attack speed. (I'm not sure where the extra attack comes from though. Maybe the fangs have a hidden might number? Because you can see that this wolf only has 7 strength, but it has 12 attack.)

Also, the name is "Moh-sah-doog", which is "Mauthe Doog" in the English translation. So that "doog" is not a typo of "dog", it's "doog" in the original Japanese too!

Oh, and on the left side, I sent Tana down to get the last gargoyle. She gets a level up, and even more speed.

Cormag goes up and finishes off the mercenary that Vanessa softened up.

Then I start looking at stats a bit. There's a doog up from where Cormag is, so I'm curious about his speed.

He has 11 base speed, and 11 build, and the short spear he used has 12 weight, meaning he'll get slowed down to 10 attack speed.

The wolf has 14 speed, so it's just enough to double Cormag. The wolf has 12 attack, so it won't actually damage Cormag, but I'm not going to let that stop me from doing needless micromanaging!

Neimi moves up behind Cormag and trades to switch him from the short spear to an iron lance. Now, instead of taking 0 x 2 damage from the doog, he'll take 0 x 1!

Ho ho! I am so clever!

Vanessa moves up to hit the cavalier. This guy has a lance reaver, so he'll do well against most of Vanessa's inventory, but not against her axe reaver! She actually gets the advantage in this situation. Even though the lance reaver is a sword, and Vanessa's axe reaver is weak against swords, because the lance reaver is a special sword that switches up the weapon triangle, the axe reaver basically treats it like an axe!

Vanessa has a whopping 20 speed, but the axe reaver is heavy, and its 11 weight weighs Vanessa and her 5 build down such that she loses 6 speed!

However, she has a slim lance, which doesn't weigh her down at all, meaning she's actually fast enough to double the doog if it attacks her. And if Lute moves next to Vanessa to switch her weapons, she can actually attack afterwards and take out the cavalier that Vanessa hit already.

Lute watched as Vanessa swooped down and hit the cavalier. It was a big hit, but the cavalier wasn't down yet.

"Tita--Vanessa, you didn't hit him hard enough. Watch out."

Lute focused and sent a fire ball flying right past Vanessa and Titania and hit the cavalier before he had a chance to regroup himself.

"Also, Vanessa, you should be careful using that heavy lance against that doog. That's what that monster that looks like a wolf is called, a doog. They're very fast. According to Marnel's Encyclopedia of Monsters, they can run about 1.5 times faster than a horse. Also, they..."

"Ok, ok. I got it!" Vanessa scowled and made a quick switch between the lighter slim lance on Titania's pack, and the heavy axe reaver in her hand.

"Also, Vanessa..."

"What!? Lute, not now! That dog is coming for us!"

"It's not a dog, it's a doog. There is no species of dog that grows that large, and furthermore, the tooth structure is totally different, which you can confirm if you look closely at its mouth."

"...Oh, and I remembered your name, Vanessa. You're Vanessa, and your pegasus is Titania."

Lute was sure that remembering their names properly would make Vanessa happy. People like it when you remember their names. Lute learned that from Moulder since she had called him "priest" for the first couple days after meeting him him until he told her he would prefer it if she used his name.

But the doog was already running at them, and Vanessa seemed to be totally concentrated on it. She didn't respond to Lute.

"Did she hear me?" Lute wondered.

That last attack got Lute to A rank in anima magic! Just one more rank to go to hit that S!

I mentioned the spiders hitting hard before, but here's an example. 24 attack is quite a bit. But they are very slow.

Because the spiders can hit hard, I actually sent Ephraim down to take out the archer that Franz didn't finish off since he has the lowest defense of all the units to the right (well, except for L'Arachel).

He got this pretty good level up!

Next time: Let's do the monster mash!