#behind the veil series
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
crystalseadragon44 · 23 days ago
Text
It comes to this...
Unless something unexpected happens... Yeah...
So, where do we go from here? Well, for one, do not let yourself go, do not give up. There are people who love for and care for you for who you really are. You may not realize it right now, but they are out there. You've likely chatted with them every day.
It will be a slog, but make your voice heard every day. Combat cruelty with love, make it all the more apparent who the real villains are in this narrative. Do not let anyone diminish who you are as a person.
My friend and sister Ashley: you were my first friend to not only see me as I wanted to be but encourage me to pursue it. Around you, I could be all of myself, and everyone around me saw my glow from having that one that I could be all myself around.
My friends and siblings, the Cosmic Neely system (@kristalcosmic): you are unlike any I have knowingly met before. You have opened my eyes to understanding people in new ways, truly accepting them for all they are, and your story has touched my heart. Your story gives me strength to fight instead of hide away.
As for me... I once thought I might hide away if this came to pass. But no, I will remain for as long as I can. Behind the Veil must continue, for my sake and for others as well, who need my trans & queer stories of caring, acceptance, companionship, and love. (And magical shenanigans.)
I'll work on it in private, offline if I have to, to bring it all back and then some if I have to tear it down. This world, these stories, they are important to me. As are all my friends and family. I will hold it all tight through any coming storm.
I am not going anywhere. Not by choice. And I hope and pray all of you will do the same.
Erica Chrisman, trans girl, half-genie, and the artist & writer known as CrystalSeaDragon44.
All of you are loved. Know that.
11 notes · View notes
maepolzine · 9 months ago
Text
The Read-Cap: Week of February 24, 2024
Discussing the books that I read in the last week and what I'm planning on reading next.
This week I decided to read only on my Kindle and start with a book that I got when it’s name was everywhere on TikTok, then never got around to reading. And honestly, I forgot what the book was even about going into it. Then the rest of the week, I read some new releases. If you are new to the Read-Cap this a weekly post I’m doing where I share what I’ve been reading in the last week and what I…
Tumblr media
View On WordPress
2 notes · View notes
kasandor · 1 year ago
Text
genevieve o’reilly outstanding lead actress in a drama series. to me.
9 notes · View notes
risingsol · 2 years ago
Note
I: Has tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why?
Tumblr media
fandom related questions / accepting
Tumblr media
Answered here!
But also in a way, my love for Danganronpa was diminished a bit by the fandom as well. I used to RP in the fandom and I think people just get really hung up about character's sexualities sometimes but also feel the need to really let the mun know that they get hung up about it. For me, I personally HC a lot of characters as bisexual or demisexual depending on how they're presented, but that was sort of a bit of hot contention in the fandom. Ultimately I still do like DR but uh, that's a bit of a mess that I'll stay out of for the time being.
9 notes · View notes
firebird-nonnette · 1 year ago
Text
Loki spoilers in tags bc I need to say things
4 notes · View notes
drdumaurier · 2 years ago
Text
Small rant, but I'd like to go into Bedelia's tag without having to see people talk badly about her so much. It's tiring.
5 notes · View notes
river-taxbird · 1 year ago
Text
There is no such thing as AI.
How to help the non technical and less online people in your life navigate the latest techbro grift.
I've seen other people say stuff to this effect but it's worth reiterating. Today in class, my professor was talking about a news article where a celebrity's likeness was used in an ai image without their permission. Then she mentioned a guest lecture about how AI is going to help finance professionals. Then I pointed out, those two things aren't really related.
The term AI is being used to obfuscate details about multiple semi-related technologies.
Traditionally in sci-fi, AI means artificial general intelligence like Data from star trek, or the terminator. This, I shouldn't need to say, doesn't exist. Techbros use the term AI to trick investors into funding their projects. It's largely a grift.
What is the term AI being used to obfuscate?
If you want to help the less online and less tech literate people in your life navigate the hype around AI, the best way to do it is to encourage them to change their language around AI topics.
By calling these technologies what they really are, and encouraging the people around us to know the real names, we can help lift the veil, kill the hype, and keep people safe from scams. Here are some starting points, which I am just pulling from Wikipedia. I'd highly encourage you to do your own research.
Machine learning (ML): is an umbrella term for solving problems for which development of algorithms by human programmers would be cost-prohibitive, and instead the problems are solved by helping machines "discover" their "own" algorithms, without needing to be explicitly told what to do by any human-developed algorithms. (This is the basis of most technologically people call AI)
Language model: (LM or LLM) is a probabilistic model of a natural language that can generate probabilities of a series of words, based on text corpora in one or multiple languages it was trained on. (This would be your ChatGPT.)
Generative adversarial network (GAN): is a class of machine learning framework and a prominent framework for approaching generative AI. In a GAN, two neural networks contest with each other in the form of a zero-sum game, where one agent's gain is another agent's loss. (This is the source of some AI images and deepfakes.)
Diffusion Models: Models that generate the probability distribution of a given dataset. In image generation, a neural network is trained to denoise images with added gaussian noise by learning to remove the noise. After the training is complete, it can then be used for image generation by starting with a random noise image and denoise that. (This is the more common technology behind AI images, including Dall-E and Stable Diffusion. I added this one to the post after as it was brought to my attention it is now more common than GANs.)
I know these terms are more technical, but they are also more accurate, and they can easily be explained in a way non-technical people can understand. The grifters are using language to give this technology its power, so we can use language to take it's power away and let people see it for what it really is.
12K notes · View notes
cherienymphe · 3 months ago
Text
Pity Party
Tumblr media
Rafe Cameron x Reader
Warnings: NON-CON/DUB-CON (+ mentions of), toxic/abusive relationship, mentions of manipulation, dad!Rafe, established Rafe x reader
➥ While this can absolutely be read as a stand alone piece, it is also the much requested follow up to my WTPO series. I hope this doesn't disappoint!
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics
Tumblr media
summary: You became the envy of every woman in Kildare County the day you became Mrs. Rafe Cameron.
You slid along the floor using your knees, hand occupied by an even tinier one as your son unsteadily put one foot in front of the other. Your lips were pulled into a smile as you watched him, your free hand hovering behind his back for when he very likely would fall. Your other son was occupied with a snack, and when—as expected—the youngest one’s legs gave out, you scooped him up with a giggle.
“Look at you,” you cooed. “You’re going to be sprinting by this weekend.”
His cherubic face smiled back at you, lips wet with drool, and you wiped his mouth with a smile. Your oldest—now done with his Goldfish—was currently tugging on your dress, and when you looked down at him, he had a wide grin on his face.
“I wanna play with him…”
His soft voice had your own expression softening, and you quietly told him ‘okay’, taking a seat right on the floor where you were formerly standing. You emptied your hands, letting your son crawl around and slap at the ground as his brother followed him, face so close to his as he whispered things to him that he didn’t quite understand yet. You let your mind wander, warmth blooming in your chest as you thought about how…sweet they were.
There had been a time where you feared they wouldn’t be.
…and as you stared at them, you almost felt bad for ever thinking they could be anything less than angels, but it couldn’t be helped. They were children, and there were very few things in this world that were more innocent than children. They both came out squirming and pudgy and perfect—screaming their heads off and only calming once they were in your arms. They came into this world looking at you with the kind of eyes that had never experienced or done a single bad thing in their life.
They were children…babies…
…but they were Rafe’s babies.
And as much as you would like to, you would never be able to forget how they both came to be here. Fighting off Rafe Cameron was hard enough when you were going through a tumultuous breakup, but it became damn near impossible once he managed to get a ring on your finger and a prison around you in the form of a fancy house. You looked down at the large rock, a pang going through your chest at the sight of a simple gold band below it.
The wedding had been the grand fanfare it was expected to be, serving it’s purpose of making you the envy of every woman in Kildare County. Your oldest son—having been an only child at the time—was pulled down the aisle in a wagon with a pillow in his lap that contained the rings. Rose had gushed over you in the dressing room, long having convinced herself no woman would ever marry Rafe and she’d never get to experience this. Your father had cried as he handed you off to your husband to be, and tears had kissed your own eyes but just for an entirely different reason.
Your dress was made for a princess, and your veil was made for an angel, and your makeup was made for a doll. Everything was perfect, everything going off without a hitch. Absolutely nothing—not a single thing—had gone wrong, and even though by that point you’d slowly started to accept your fate…something in you had hoped. For what? You weren’t entirely sure.
You’d hoped that some crazy ex girlfriend of Rafe’s would stand up and object. You’d hoped that your brother would go against your wishes and drag you away from it all. Hell, you’d even hoped that someone would choke on their spit and require an ambulance. Deep down though, you’d known what you really hoped for.
You had hoped that Rafe would do the right thing…and let you go.
It was a silly hope. Rafe Cameron had gone through entirely too much trouble to ensure you’d never leave him, even going as far as threatening to take your son away from you. He—both of them—was the only good thing to come out of this. From the first moment you laid eyes on him, you’d wanted him all for yourself and far away from Rafe. The brunette simply didn’t deserve him, and you had no doubt that Rafe would agree, but his selfishness outweighed any thought of doing what was right. That had always been the case.
You didn’t know why you thought your wedding day might be any different.
Rafe moments away from chaining you to him forever? There was no shot in hell of him walking away from that, and you sighed at how naively hopeful you’d been that day. The sound of your oldest son’s laughter pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked over just in time to see him jump to his feet, promptly sprinting towards the foyer. You weren’t worried, knowing exactly who it was that could elicit such a reaction from him.
You swallowed at the sound of Rafe’s voice, taking your 11-month old into your arms.
“...and how were my boys?”
He came into view as he said that, the messy haired little boy upside down in his arms as he kicked his feet and laughed.
You knew the question wasn’t meant for you.
“I was bad,” your son told him, and you fought back a smile, knowing why he said that.
Rafe’s gaze met yours, and the smile that threatened to ghost over your lips was gone. He merely smirked at the sight, rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to the boy in his arms.
“Bad? Oh no,” he chuckled. “Why were you bad?”
“I accidentally spilled juice on mommy’s dress.”
Your son’s words came out small, slurring together a bit with his slight lisp. You’d told him that it was fine—accidents happen—but you knew why he was so hung up on it. As awful as Rafe treated you behind closed doors, he treated you a million times better for the whole world to see. He was smart that way, and the whole world included your children. They saw their dad treat mommy like a princess—none the wiser to what the true nature of your relationship was really like—and so they followed suit.
An offense against you—no matter how small—was especially heinous.
“Oh that is bad,” Rafe murmured, setting him down on his feet. “Guess we’ll have to buy her a new one, huh?”
He ruffled his hair, and your son beamed at the thought of going shopping.
You avoided Rafe’s gaze as he neared you, an impressive feat when he came to kneel down before you. Your youngest was squirming in your arms—babbling—and you swallowed when Rafe reached out to lightly squish his cheeks. He pressed his lips to his tiny forehead just as his hand landed on your own cheek, and only then did you look at him.
Rafe stared at you for what felt like a long time, expression unreadable. Your oldest was going on about something behind him that neither of you were giving too much attention to. His blue eyes looked between yours, studying you, and you could smell his cologne. After what felt like too long, his pink lips finally curved into that haughty half smile you were used to seeing.
It never not made you want to smack it right off of his face.
“...and how was mommy today?” he quietly asked.
There were a thousand things you wanted to say to him.
You wanted to say that mommy cried in the bathroom because she still had thoughts of leaving sometimes even at the loss of her own children, but then she’d remember how much she loved them and couldn’t live without them and the guilt would set in. You wanted to tell him that mommy’s thigh still hurt from where he’d sank his teeth into it the night before for daring to tell him she still hated him sometimes. You even started to tell him that mommy had rare moments here and there where she’d momentarily forget their history and find herself content in this big house with her children and fancy ring until she remembered how her children got here and what said house and ring represented.
You didn’t say any of that though.
Instead, you merely blinked at Rafe, and told him what you always did.
“Mommy was fine.”
Tumblr media
The vase narrowly missed Rafe’s head, his quick reflexes making your heart sink with disappointment. Your own quick thinking had you frantically looking around for something else to throw at him, but his feet moved faster than your brain, and he was nearing you before you made up your mind. Unable to stomach being around him, right now, you hurriedly sprinted to the other side of the room. You paid no mind to the way he called your name, a blend of anger and exasperation there.
“Are you done…?”
You didn’t look at him, keeping your angry gaze on the floor. Besides, you didn’t have to in order to know what he looked like. You could imagine it perfectly—steely blue eyes cold and intently focused on you, hands on his hips and jaw clenched so hard you’d swear it was about to break. When you finally did glance at him, you were proven right.
“This little…” he waved his hand about. “...tantrum. You’re finished?”
“Fuck you,” you whispered.
You couldn’t hold in your tears, and they spilled over without your permission. Rafe sucked his teeth at the sight, and when he took a step towards you, you made to leave the living room completely. Your sons were with your mom—they would be the whole weekend—because that was the plan. They would stay with grandma for a few days while you went to Charlotte to visit Pope at school. Rafe was supposed to be handling business with Ward, anyway.
He was not supposed to be sabotaging your plans and canceling car rentals and flights and ruining your entire weekend.
Rafe stopped you before you could get far, and you didn’t even attempt to get away, too defeated and upset to smack him square across the face like you wanted. His fingers dug into your skin, and you wondered if a light bruise would be there in the morning. You could tell by the way he held you that he was upset, but you didn’t understand what he had to be upset about. It had been four years since Rafe started this fucked up dynamic he called a family and over two since you’d reluctantly said ‘I do’. You even gave him another son…and yet…
It was clear now that he still didn’t trust you.
Sure, you had the stray thought or two here and there about escaping, but when it was all said and done, those were just thoughts. Your children meant too much to you to just take off, and even if you ever got to that point one day where you’d happily sacrifice their chance to grow up with a mother just to have your own freedom, Rafe would never let that happen. Your fate was sealed from the very moment he’d decided you were it for him.
“I haven’t seen my brother in months. It’s his last year of school, and I didn’t want the next time I see him to be at his Goddamn graduation,” you spat, lips trembling. “You said you were okay with it!”
“Yeah, I was,” Rafe replied in a tone that hinted at more to come.
You were right.
“...but then I remembered that this would be the first time we’d be apart for a distance more than thirty miles and how way up there in Charlotte you could disappear to wherever you wanted and-.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry about any of that if we had a normal relationship,” you cut him off, a sneer on your lips. “You wouldn’t have to worry about the possibility of me running away from you if you’d never hurt me and raped me and damn near threatened me into marrying you.”
At those words, Rafe let you go as if you burned him, and you reminded yourself how much Rafe hated to be reminded of why you were really here. You were positive he sometimes convinced himself that this relationship was as real as it could be—the perfect parents with the perfect children and the perfect marriage. After all, it was what everyone on the outside saw when they were looking in.
The difference between the two of you it seemed was that you knew it was all pretend.
Rafe liked to believe that it wasn’t.
“All of that aside…do you really think I’d leave them?”
Your question came out whispered, and you didn’t miss the slight twitch in Rafe’s face. Leave them…not leave him. Rafe was smart in knowing that knocking you up would be the only thing to truly prevent you from leaving, and yet he absolutely hated to be reminded of it. To be reminded that it was not—and never would be—him keeping you here.
His expression morphed, a shadow passing over his features as he glanced away, shoving a hand into his pocket.
“I can’t take that chance,” was all he said, making more tears spill over. “Pope’s not going anywhere. You can always see him another time.”
You pulled your lip between your teeth in anger, and when he reached for you, he was stopped by a harsh slap to the cheek. Your lips wouldn’t stop trembling, and you just stared at him as he rubbed his face.
“You have taken so much from me, Rafe,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes at him. “If your goal is to make sure we’re both absolutely miserable…then keep it up.”
You turned away from him, refusing to spare him another look as you made your way upstairs to unpack your suitcase.
Tumblr media
Most days in your marriage were okay. They weren’t awful, and they weren't’ exactly anything you’d jump at the chance to relive. They were simply just…okay. On those days, Rafe would wake you up with a kiss, sometimes more than that, and you’d start your day—usually something that consisted of preparing for your children to wake up. They made those days stand a chance at being somewhat enjoyable, and you thought to yourself that maybe one day when they were old enough, you’d tell them how much they did for you without even knowing.
On the days where your marriage wasn’t okay, you were usually overcome with how you really felt about Rafe. Those days didn’t come as often as they used to—a fact you didn’t like to let your mind linger on—but when they did, they usually ended in your tears.
…and Rafe pinning you down and just taking what he wanted.
Rafe had felt entitled to your body long before he put the ring on your finger, but after you took his last name, his entitlement went to an entirely new level. You recalled a day where you had the house to yourselves and how silly you’d been to think Rafe would respect your wish to be alone.
“Do you know what this means?” he’d harshly asked, squeezing your left hand as he held it up for both of you to see.
The 4-carat marquise solitaire glinted under the bright kitchen light.
“It means you’re my wife, it means you’re mine,” he’d hissed, getting in real close and touching your nose with his. “Do you get how patient I’ve been? How patient I am?”
You’d shrank away from him, wincing at the slight pain in your left hand.
“I know this hasn’t been easy for you, but it’s been years,” he’d told you. “There’s a ring on your finger and two little boys walking around with my face. You need to suck it up!”
The counter had been harsh against your stomach as he bent you over it.
The good days in your marriage were even more rare, and even those ended in you feeling sad for yourself. It was usually a whole day of your boys keeping a smile on your face, the feeling so infectious that even Rafe couldn’t make it go away. And that’s how you’d find yourself smiling at him and playing with your children together and actually acting like a family. Only…on those rare days…it wasn’t acting. For just several hours, everything that Rafe was and everything he’d done would be so far from your mind.
You’d find yourself bathing your youngest together—your oldest only listening to you when it was time to wash behind his ears—cooing over the baby that was just shy of turning one years old. You’d let your son run into your arms as he hid from the ‘tickle monster’, playfully pushing at Rafe’s chest as you protected the three year old from him. Sometimes you’d even fall asleep with your head so close to Rafe’s lap as he read to them, your son begging you both to stay until he fell asleep.
Of all the days in your marriage that you’d anticipated being the hardest, the ‘good’ days were not among them. Reality would set in during the morning, sometimes even that same night, and your chest would ache as you held back tears because what you and Rafe had was not real. It wasn’t a real marriage, and you weren’t a real family, and on those days where you forgot that, the truth just hit so much harder. All of the anger and disappointment would come back…and then the fear would set in.
It scared you how easily you could slip into that headspace and live in some alternate reality where Rafe was a good husband and your children hadn’t been the product of rape and you didn’t have errant thoughts of what it would be like to be free of him. It scared you how good it felt to forget it all, how a day might come where instead of finding yourself slipping into that mindset, you just…chose it.
It would be so easy.
…but you felt like you owed it to yourself to hate him forever.
Sometimes he made hating him so easy…and then other times so, so hard.
“They’re so sweet to you,” he murmured in the low lighting, both of your kids fast asleep in their room. 
You’d been trying to find sleep of your own, but Rafe’s phone call with Ward left you both up long after you wanted to be. You were unfortunately wide awake when slid in beside you, and your unopened eyes didn’t fool Rafe in the slightest. He knew you were awake.
“I would hope so,” you murmured, staring at the back of your eyelids as he lightly traced patterns into your satin covered stomach.
Your husband chuckled to himself.
“I mean they look at you like you hung the moon,” he quietly continued. “Especially your shadow…”
He was referring to your oldest.
“I’m barely there for him whenever you’re in the same room,” he whispered. “He’s happy that I’m home and he hugs me, but then it’s straight back to mommy.”
You slowly opened your eyes as Rafe’s hand became flat against your stomach, gently rubbing it.
“He treats you like a princess…”
You met his gaze at that, and you couldn’t quite place the look in Rafe’s eyes.
“...and I’m especially happy about it on days when I don’t.”
You sighed at that, staring at the ceiling.
“I’m glad that he’s nothing like me…”
You remembered Rafe saying something similar years ago before the boy in question had even been born, and you blinked as he leaned in, gently ghosting his lips over your cheek. You were tempted to push him away, but then you asked yourself if you wanted to start a fight so late in the night. Instead, you turned your head to face Rafe, your lips a hair’s width away from his own.
“I’m glad he’s nothing like you too,” you whispered.
You didn’t miss the way his face fell at that, a tick in his jaw that told you your words had the desired effect. Instead of saying something along the lines of what you both knew he wanted to say, Rafe merely heaved a sigh, still gently rubbing your stomach. He suddenly pushed himself up onto his elbow, looking down at you.
A smirk ghosted over his lips.
“I want another baby.”
Those words were the last thing you’d been expecting, and your eyes widened just a tad.
“...what?”
“Let’s try for a girl this time,” he suggested, and realizing that he was indeed serious, you sat up.
His hand fell away from your stomach.
“This time?” you murmured, more to yourself than him. “I don’t recall trying for anything the previous times.”
The mention of what he did to you had Rafe going silent, and when you looked at him, his nostrils were flaring.
“It can be different this time-.”
“How?” you wondered, frowning at him. “How will it be different this time? The only time I touch you is when I’m forced to, and I don’t know, that sounds pretty fucking familiar to me.”
Rafe’s hand had circled around your chin before you had time to react—he was sitting up now too—and you both just cooly stared at each other. He looked like he wanted to hurt you, and you stared back, just waiting for him to prove you right. He seemed to be toying with the thought, and after a few moments, he slowly exhaled through his nose.
His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his blue eyes following the action.
A million thoughts were racing through his mind, that much you could tell by the emotions that flickered over his features. Eventually he settled on one, pulling his lip between his teeth.
“You’re not always unhappy…”
It was said like a statement, but there was a lilt there that told you he wanted an answer.
“No,” you eventually responded, honestly. “Not always.”
He nodded.
“...but I’m unhappy more than I’m happy.”
He closed his eyes at that, and you swallowed.
“What did you expect, Rafe? Sure, four years is a lot, but it’s also not when I think about everything you did to me.”
He dropped his hand and pushed himself to his feet. You watched him stand there, staring at the wall with his hands on his hips.
“...and what makes it worse is that you’re not even sorry. I know how much you want me to ‘just get over it’, but how am I expected to get over it when we both know you’d do it all over again so long as it got you the same result?” you choked out. “You’re not sorry for any of it.”
You blinked away tears.
“...and now you’re mad at me so much because I won’t roll over and play house.”
You saw his shoulders heave, and you could tell how much this conversation was frustrating him. Rafe really hated to be reminded of his own actions, hated to be reminded of the fact that your relationship was where it was because of him. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You were the one trapped in this gilded cage…not him.
“So, if you want another baby…” you quietly started. “...either something needs to change…or you just embrace the beast we both know you can be.”
His eyes snapped to yours at that, and as much as it made your heart skip a beat, Rafe rarely scared you anymore. You’d seen him and experienced him at his absolute worst. There really wasn’t much he could do to you anymore that would shock you…and he knew it. 
His baby blues glinted dangerously, and you bit your tongue.
He did the opposite of what you expected, and you watched him turn away from you to leave the room. You didn’t relax, knowing he’d come back, but you did heave a tired sigh, telling yourself that sleep couldn’t come fast enough.
Tumblr media
Rafe’s hand tightened around your throat as he kissed you, the alcohol on your tongue making the kiss taste sweet. The world was moving so slow around you, and every place that Rafe touched felt like you were being gently electrocuted. Deep in the crevices of your mind, you knew that something was wrong. You hadn’t kissed Rafe like this in years, not since the early days of your relationship when you thought you might have loved him, and butterflies were in your stomach at one look from him.
You recalled the sight of your empty wine glass on the carpet, the rest of the red wine you didn’t drink staining the white fabric.
Your kids were asleep and the house was quiet and you were kissing your husband like you used to—back when he wasn’t your husband. Rafe had your back to the wall just barely on the inside of your bedroom, your hand struggling to reach out to the door. Rafe grabbed it, threading his fingers through your own, and you made a slight noise of protest.
He made a shushing noise into the kiss.
“Just relax…”
Relax.
That word triggered something in you, and you pressed your other hand to his chest. You were far too relaxed to be sober, and considering you only had one glass of wine, you knew that other substances were at play here. You recalled Rafe voicing his desire for another baby just the other day…and you recalled the slight back and forth it’d created. You expected one of two things out of Rafe, but neither of them included a scenario where you were too inebriated to properly fight back against him.
There was something especially sinister about Rafe creating this false sense of consent.
His lips traveled down towards your neck as he bent his head, and you felt like you didn’t have control over your body as you threw your head back. You shakily exhaled when both of his hands descended towards your waist, lifting you and forcing you towards the California king. When he settled you both onto it, all pretense was gone.
“Don’t you want a little girl?” he whispered against your skin, his fingers dancing along the place from where your shirt had ridden up. “Hmm? I know you get sick of being with just us boys.”
You made a noise that was unintelligible even to your ears, pushing at his head, but it was of no use. Whatever he slipped into your drink clearly wasn’t in his, Rafe having all of his strength and wits about him as he pinned you down. He kissed you again—slow—as his hands circled around your wrists. It took your breath away, and your lashes fluttered when he descended.
“A princess for my princess…”
You reached out to place a hand on the bed to steady yourself. Although you knew it was the room spinning, not you, and so focused on that, you didn’t even realize what Rafe was doing until the cool air you’d briefly felt against your core was replaced by his mouth. The action made your back arch, and—against your will—you reached down to press your hand against his head.
He hummed in between your thighs.
“You never let me do this anymore,” you heard him whisper, his breath against your skin before he dived back in.
To be fair, you never let him do anything, but especially this. It was too intimate, too loving, and those words were so far from the true nature of your relationship it wasn’t even funny. After all, Rafe was now at a place where he had to drug you just to get you to stop fighting against him. You found it interesting because he never minded the fight before. In fact, you’d even say that some part of him enjoyed it.
You wondered what had changed.
His head moved back and forth between your thighs, and it made you squirm. One of Rafe’s hands reached up to dig into your leg, holding you still. The other found your hand, and you were unable to remember that you didn’t like holding his hand. Another gesture that you felt was too intimate, something Rafe always liked to pretend that your relationship was.
Just when you were on the brink of coming all over his tongue, your husband pulled away, but not before pressing a quick kiss to the inside of your thigh. With stars just barely floating in your vision, you laid there, eyes falling closed as you fought to regulate your breathing.
A voice in your head told you that you didn’t want this, and that you needed to get up…but you couldn’t find the strength to.
When Rafe’s hands were on you again, they were pulling away every piece of fabric they touched, and you couldn’t help the tears that kissed your eyes. Being forced to feign compliance in your own assault somehow hurt a thousand times worse than if Rafe had simply grabbed you and held you down. You wondered if this made it easier on him, and you thought about how much Rafe hated being reminded of the things he did to you.
It was like it hurt him to remember it that way, to acknowledge it for what it was.
When he slid into you, you couldn’t help the small whimper you let out, eyes rolling as he stretched you out. Rafe’s hands were on you, pulling you closer, and as if your arms had a mind of their own, you threw them around him. His chest was pressed to yours as he thrust into you, and you pressed your face into the crook of his neck. He cursed when he sank into you again, and your toes curled.
“You’re so mean to me, you know that?”
One of his hands tangled in the hair at the nape of your neck.
“...have to drug my own wife just to get her to fuck me…”
Your nails dragged along the expanse of his back, and Rafe hummed at the feeling. You’d forgotten what it felt like to lie beneath him and just let him have his way with you. It felt like so long since he hadn’t had to force you down and take his cock despite what you may have wanted. Although, your current position wasn’t all that different, but you couldn’t ignore how relaxed you were from whatever he’d slipped you.
Rafe shifted, hands pressed into the mattress on either side of your head. His blue eyes glinted in the low lighting, and you blearily blinked up at him as he gazed down at you. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours while still holding your gaze. Your lips parted at a particularly hard thrust, and the corner of his lips curved upwards at the sight.
Deep in the back of your mind, you knew you didn’t want this, but it was for so many reasons that you were struggling to remember. For the time being, all you could focus on was the curve of his cock as he repeatedly pushed it into you and how good it made you feel. One of your legs hooked around his waist, and Rafe’s perfect teeth winked at you as he grinned.
“I missed this, beautiful,” he whispered. “You know that?”
The bed jostled from your movements, and Rafe glanced down between you to watch himself disappear into you. 
“I can’t wait to fill you up,” he told you, making your heart skip a beat and reminding you of how and why you’d found yourself in this position in the first place. “Can’t wait to see you swollen and round again and fucking glowing.”
You murmured his name, but you couldn’t tell if it was in protest or not.
Your mind was all over the place, and when Rafe’s hips curved into yours again, you arched your chest up into his. Sweat clung to your frame, and you briefly wondered how made you would be at him in the morning. You knew this wouldn’t be his only attempt—Rafe always proving to be more than thorough when trying for a baby—and you now weakly wondered about having to be cautious of the food in your own house.
You could tell when he was close, his thrusts becoming sloppy and his breathing picking up. He started  to kiss you more, each kiss becoming  messier and more open mouthed than the last. In your inebriated state of mind, you kissed him back, alarm bells going off deep within your bones. Your own breathing was labored, like you couldn’t get air into your lungs fast enough.
When Rafe came the first time—and you knew that it would be the first of the night—he grunted in your ear as he spilled into you. Your nails were trailing along his skin as he plunged his cock into you, not even stopping when you felt him start to soften, lazily thrusting into your folds. Your own climax was just around the corner when he spoke.
“I will fuck you all night,” he whispered against your cheek, his tone vaguely threatening. “I will fuck you as many times as it takes until you give me what I want.”
He leaned back a bit, his nose touching yours as he tilted his head, eyeing you in a way that made your skin grow cold.
“...and I will do whatever I have to to make you…” he looked between your unfocused eyes. “...agreeable.”
2K notes · View notes
tokyoghls · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
like a prayer — c. mayhew ・˳ . ⋆
✧ ࣪ ─ ᥫ᭡ cw. blowjob, oral fixation, cum eating/feeding, religious/blasphemy themes, fem!reader. innocent/clueless!reader. mdni.
☆ an ☆ hellooo, hope you like this one, I tried so hard to portray charlie as best as i could since I’ve just read fanfics and haven’t actually watched the series, BUT as soon as it’s available on Disney+ I’ll watch it 🙂‍↕️
**also, keep in mind that this is just a fanfic, I don’t mean any disrespect towards religion or anything.
Tumblr media
There wasn’t a way to explain the feeling, for it made his heart quicken and resolve to thin— sinful thoughts to dance around his mind like tiny devils with horns and tails, whispering wrongdoings to his ear.
He never considered himself to be weak and uncharacteristically doubtful. He knew right from wrong, yet he couldn’t help but steal a glance your way during mass— white lace veil hiding your face from his eyes, waiting for the minute you’d uncover and showed your tight knit brows and full lips, gaze set on the chapel’s ceiling as if looking directly at god’s eyes and wishing you’d glance his way instead, but you never do.
And he always finds himself thanking God you didn’t, as he wouldn’t find it in him to hold back if you had look his way and realized his sinful intentions, the way his thoughts traveled to your Sunday’s attire and pretty hands touching every surface in his office.
That’s why he’s been intentionally avoiding you— walking out of his office five minutes before you come to clean it, and if by any chance you came in earlier, he wouldn’t engage in conversation, making something up and mumbling a quick goodbye so he could avoid looking at your buttocks, displayed beneath that pretty white dress you choose to always wear on Sundays, or the way you chewed on your pencil in thought.
He’d find himself secluded in his room trying to find a way to get you out of his mind, and he found one, but eventually it failed.
The first time he’d done something like that, he thought all it took to forget about you was to rub one off and get on with it, but it was useless— he knew this the moment he realized, that, after every Sunday mass where he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, he locked himself inside his room and jerked off to the thought of you: kneeling on the pew, hands on a prayer and brows furrowing while your lips formed shapes and let out soft exhales with every word spoken.
Just like now, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.
“Father Charlie, did I do something wrong?”.
Your voice pulled him out of his trance, eyes blinking twice and mind focusing in the present. He’s daydreaming. Again.
“Mmh?”.
He hasn’t been listening at all, too busy looking at your clavicle where a cross rested to notice the concerned tinge in your voice.
“Are you okay, Father?”.
He nodded, hands intertwining behind his back and anxious fingers scratching at each other, “Yes, don’t worry, my mind drifted elsewhere for a minute- what were you saying just now?”.
“Alright, umm- I asked if I had done anything to upset you?”.
“Of course not, why would you think that?”, he scoffed, trying to come up with something to change the subject. He didn’t want to say he thinks about you in a sinful way, he’s the father of this chapel after all— it wasn’t remotely okay to think about one of his parishioners that way.
Your gaze nervously shifted to the ceiling, fingers fumbling with each other in front of you, “Well, you’ve been ignoring me lately I tho-”.
“Is not what you think, I’ve just been busy with… something”.
Well, he couldn’t say he’s been busy jerking off to the thought of you sprawled on his desk could he? It was the smartest response he could come up with but also the dumbest.
“Oh well, then uhm… my mom’s waiting for me so I’ll go now”.
Charlie couldn’t do more than watch as your figure disappeared and get lost in thought once again.
Since that interaction, he hasn’t seen you around much— you didn’t attend church two consecutive Sundays, but eventually you returned, looking as beautiful as ever. He’s watching you again, but just to a certain point where your parents won’t notice the lingering glances and tiny smiles he’d send your way.
He has just finished the mass, everyone scattered around, greeting friends and family, him too- he was a loved priest. And of course, your family had to greet him.
“Father Charlie, we’re so pleased to see you again”, your mother spoke fondly, gaze shifting to you, standing behind your father as if you were a scared child. “C’mon honey, Father Charlie is waiting for you to say hello- oh sorry, she’s not in the mood now, she fell sick and she’s not feeling well…”.
Charlie tried to ignore the fact you were partly avoiding him, gaze set on him but also full of doubt. He could just smile thinking that you probably thought he was mad at you. “Don’t worry, I was quite surprised by your absence, but I’m glad you’ve returned”, he nodded, adding teasingly. “You’re my most devoted congregants, and not seeing you here for so long had me thinking you’ve found another church”.
“Oh no! Don’t say things like that!”, your mother giggled and shook her head, “We would never, we’re very attached to this church, my family and I used to come here every Sunday when I was young- I have many great memories here…”.
Charlie wasn’t paying attention to your mom and her incessant rambling anymore, he was paying attention to you. Maybe a little too much that he didn’t hear half of what your mother said.
“… and now we’re looking for a suitable husband for our dear daughter, of course we’d want him to be one of our dear brothers of this church, they all are decent men”
That caught his attention and a mocking snort left his lips. Your mom’s confused gaze made him remember his current position, and awkward cough leaving his lips, “Don’t mind me, continue…”.
You, marrying one of these guys? One of these prude and revolting guys being able to take your hand in marriage…? He couldn’t imagine of one of them warming your bed every night, was it jealousy? That, one of these men, would have you first?
“actually- we wanted to reach out to you, father, we believe you can be of great help for her to learn the ways of a happy marriage, based on respect and love. So, father, what do you think?”.
He couldn’t allow that, not even in a million years.
“Sorry, what I think about what?”. Charlie replied apologetically, looking partly ashamed for not paying attention to your dear mom. Though he wasn’t sure what she was really asking for, he missed half of the speech because of thinking about your possible suitors.
“About teaching our daughter the ways to a happy marriage, you know, principles, respect, values… we’d be very happy if you could help her learn- me and her father are far from being a perfect marriage, and we tried to teach her to some extent, but we’d like it if she learns from God’s hands from now on…”.
Your mom really shouldn’t have said that.
“Fa-father, are you sure this is the right lesson?”. you asked breathless, lips puffy and covered in a thin layer of spit, glistening under the warm lights in his office.
You were quite confused since this wasn’t the usual lessons Father Charlie imparted.
He glanced down at you, hand touching your cheek affectionately, the corner of his mouth twitching. He loved your innocence. “Of course, you need to learn to give proper head to your soon to be husband- now keep going, yeah? Your mother was quite specific when she said she wanted you to learn”.
With a nod of your head, you returned to your task. Tongue peeking out to give a lick to his reddened tip, a bead of salty precum attaching to your warm muscle. You were so close to stuff him all inside your mouth, he’s been working your throat muscles to accommodate him completely and you were quite greedy now, you think you can take him all the way in without your throat burning from the tight stretch.
From your position on the floor, you could look up at any moment and see his conflicted features, he was holding back so you could learn properly— or so he told you.
He was being patient and generous with you, he didn’t want his student chocking on his dick on her first try.
“Careful with those teeth, don’t want my dick bruised”. you hummed and he groaned, loving the way it felt when you did that. A desperate cry left your lips when you couldn’t stuff his dick completely inside, it was so thick and long that it almost embarrassed you to think you could take it without a problem. He noticed that and caressed your hair reassuringly, holding your nape and pushing you down carefully. “Slow, take your time yeah?”.
Breathing through your nose, you held back your tears and let him take the lead. You tried so hard not to gag, thinking about other things like the rough fabric of the tapestry beneath your knees, just to distract your mind from the pressure his dick was inducing your throat in.
But it was futile.
He tried to pull you all the way down but when he heard your muffled gag, he stopped, leaving you to catch your breath, not minding the way your nails dug into his hips trying to push away from him. He held you in place and consoled you.
“It’s alright, don’t worry, it’ll pass… I thought you were ready to take this lesson, tch… I think we should stop now”. The voice that was once filled with lust, now was filled with mockery.
You made a sound denying his request, taking a deep inhale through your nose and engulfing his shaft inside your mouth again, almost going all the way down— it was still a hard task but you found a way to accommodate more of him inside.
“God help me…”. He murmured, eyes shooting up to the ceiling, chest heaving up and down, balls tight and jaw locked. If he kept clenching his teeth like that, they’d surely fall out.
Charlie couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, the way your mouth was full of his dick and mouth corners were glistening with a mixture of spit and cum, traveling all the way to your chin and jaw, made his mind spiral with lust and exasperated groans to leave his lips— he didn’t want to cum so soon.
You were doing so good for him, so good… Even if he wanted to blame himself for falling into temptation, he couldn’t think about that now— about the hopefulness on your mother’s face when he accepted this task. He wanted to make it right. So he was going to give his all, even if it meant tarnishing your innocence with his selfish and lust filled soul.
You started sucking his dick as if you were drinking through a straw, a tiny gasp leaving your mouth the moment his hips jerked, filling your mouth with his dick entirely, no restrictions, without consideration... Your eyes opened wide, nails digging again in his thighs, tapping incessantly on them to make him stop. You couldn’t breath, but you could hear his own moan ring through the room.
Your protests fell into deaf ears, Charlie’s hips kept fucking your mouth as if he was fucking your pussy— with a hunger equivalent to that of the abstinent man he was.
Even if he wanted to stop, he couldn’t. He felt so good he didn’t find it in himself to cease the attack on your mouth, he wanted you to learn, so stopping now would be wasting all the hard work he’d been doing.
Tears escaped the corners of your tight closed eyes, your clit throbbed with every push of his hips and moans he left out, you were so enjoying it even if it hurt a bit, even if it was hard to breath you didn’t want him to stop, not when he tasted this good.
“I’m gonna cum now, princess— won’t do that while I’m inside your mouth, but I want you to keep it open, tongue out”, he instructed, pulling his reddened dick out of your mouth with a pop, a thread of saliva and cum keeping it connected to your lips.
Your mouth opened and your tongue peeked out, showing the thin layer of cum that accumulated on your pink muscle. You watched as his hand grabbed his dick, jerking it up and down with desperation.
He lasted a few seconds before he came, white spurts of cum falling all over your chin and inside your mouth, “Swallow”, he ordered before you did exactly that. Charlie smiled, hand lifting up to wipe the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb, pushing it inside your mouth with more of his cum.
“That’s it… don’t waste any of it”.
1K notes · View notes
sheepwavehdg · 28 days ago
Text
some HDG story recs out that aren't the most super popular stories you'll easily find by asking anyone or easily find via metric ranking. all are on the shorter end, and readable in a day if not a single sitting! a great list for some hidden gems.
Reading the Leaves by Kanagen: a tea shop romance story about a mostly mute protaganist trying to make the perfect cup for an affini she is down bad for.
Behind the Veil by shitpostleft: IMO, the hottest oneshot in the entire setting. It follows rebecca trying to talk to her affini boyfriend about why he put a notice of intent to domesticate on her.
A Beast At Bay by Raeisteria: Affini beat each other up! this one starts as a shonen battle arc and then changes. you should read it, and do so blinndly, you will not regret it (but you will probably cry)
Strawberry and Willow by immaterial_vivi: the typical HDG rebel capture scenario is turned on its head, in the sense that the story is mostly from the affini's perspective.
Core Carving by Stimulacrum: a second person affini POV story about coming home and letting your floret be the one to take care of you for a bit.
A Part of Who I am my MoonFloret: its hdg romance, but transmasc yaoi instead of transfem yuri! it rules!
Last Man Standing by Tsunmene: the single funniest HDG story I have ever read, about a seed desperate to get forcefemmed who keeps barely missing getting captured by the affini no matter how hard they try.
Force Majeure by ashinbloom: the most devastating gut punch of a story ever put to the page in HDG, about a very autistic girl and the woman who wishes she could take care of her like she wishes. this one hurts real good.
Florets of a Feather by Promilie: a biology student who was forcibly drafted into the navy gets domesticated and must learn to live with her connivent, a feathered catlike xeno called a khetari. has illustrations in many chapters! (Promilie is one of the settings absolute best visual artists.)
A Date with Miss Laburnia by PyxxieStyxx: a bratty terran goes on a date with an affini in chastity and things escalate.
Mistress's Imperative by mirrorgare: submissive affini/dommy floret vignette series
Growing Periwinkle by belenen: a depressed terran volunteers for domestication and becomes part of a very kinky social circle.
Pencil by sheepwave(me): a comedy-hypnoerotica adaptation of the "mistress can you turn me into a pencil" meme into a full oneshot its my list i can include one of mine
Thought I'd See You Again by fluxom: an escaped floret has been on the run for a year, but now an affini just won't leave her alone...
Puppy Paws by Moonchild: actual petplay! in hdg! i know, its crazy. also this story is insanely hot.
The Place Where We Can Stop Running by Dame Harmony: ok I lied about them all being short. this one is long, but its so good. you need to read it, you need to read it blind, knowing nothing, and you will not regret it. it's one of the best stories in the entire setting.
484 notes · View notes
naffeclipse · 29 days ago
Text
Tumblr media
Charm Brought It Back Pt. 5
Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse
Commission Info
Ah, here we are! The last chapter in the Hocus Pocus AU by @jackofallrabbits and me! Once more, I'm honored and thrilled to have @deliasmilkshake's cover art for the finale! I can't say how grateful I am for everyone's support and lovely comments on this little series! There's a wedding to attend, so let's get to it <3
Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, and heavy touching.
———
The coolness of the woody air, cut away from the hot and claustrophobic space of the crowded gymnasium overflowing with celebration, brushes over your skin. Half-bare in your ruined sweater, you shiver. Eclipse eases you with a soft sound. His fingertips slip under your sweater and trace over your back to soothe the goosebumps prickling your flesh. Leaning deeper into him, you clutch him tightly in your arms.
You’ve never held someone so close before.
If you don’t open your eyes now, you’ll never believe this is real. The witches. The curses. The ceremony. All of it will be a dream on one cold October night while you lie in bed alone.
So you do. Little by little, you lift your cheek from his chest and tilt your head back, and behold the unnatural man, come back from the dead, who awaits your vows. His eyes glimmer gently in rich golden hues. The sharp cuts of his sun rays remind you of the encroaching sunrise, and you realize the sky is losing its stars as the black dillutes into a dawn of dark gray.
“We will have the ceremony here.” Eclipse inclines his head around you. “It may be simple, but it is only for the time being. When there is no urgency, we will celebrate properly with food and wine and the most beautiful altar. It will be to your heart’s desire, little comet.”
You look around to find what he describes as simple, and balk softly. You are not in the high school gym set in town but a clearing filled with half-dead vines twisting around the bare ground set amid shadowy trees with whispering boughs and the last of autumn’s leaves. The starlight barely reaches you. Dozens of round, orange pumpkins litter the ground around your feet. In the center of the pumpkin patch is a beautiful black wood tree with thick, bark-cracked limbs reaching high with a canopy of bright red and yellow leaves to serve as your altar. 
Behind you, smoke not unlike from the party Eclipse just whisked you away from swirls and recedes further back into the cold night, unveiling Sun and Moon. They stand tall and expectant, their hands filled with silvery threads like spider gossamer and the veil of a bride. Sun’s yellow sun rays catch your eyes like a peacock fanning its tail. Moon’s hood lays quietly over his head and casts a calm shadow over the scarlet of his eyes. The weight of their gazes fall over you.
They are here for you too. The twitch in your limbs answers to the anticipation overflowing from your core.
You breathe in deeply. There are two people missing. Turning back to Eclipse, your lips poised to ask about your friends and how the brothers might intend to shuck their curses from them, when the smoke behind Sun and Moon continues to dissolve before it reveals just the ones heavy on your mind. 
Michael and Vanessa. 
Confusion crosses Michael’s undead face. Purple flesh upon his brow shoots up in alarm before his gaze finds you in the arms of the eldest witch. At his feet, the white rabbit raises her ears high. Vanessa’s green eyes pierce you with alarm and fright most unspeakable. 
Your heart aches at the sight of them so drenched in dark magic. Reaching out a hand in a placating motion, you start to call out to them.
“Don’t!” Michael shouts overrules yours, as fierce and protective as he has been all through the night. He charges forward. “Get away from—”
Magic spills from Sun’s and Moon’s lips in a twining harmony. Their gazes are steel while their voices lift and multiply, filling the air with gales of hot and cold air before the old leaves on the pumpkin vines shudder. Creaking and crawling across the dirt, the dark green tendrils come to life and snatch Michael’s ankles, stopping him short as he struggles to remain balanced. 
Vanessa bounds towards you. Her small body leaps over pumpkins and scurries around snares of pumpkin tendrils. She dodges a snaring vine before a second, hidden one snatches her, twisting her small little form into its clutches and holding her a few inches above the ground. Her feet kick out. Her entire body struggles as she tries violently to free herself but to no avail.
“Don’t hurt them.” You clutch Eclipse’s cloak until your knuckles turn white. Pleading with your entire being, you find his gaze. “Please. They’re my friends.”
A dryness infiltrates your mouth. Will they be better than what the villagers and witch hunters feared them to be? Can you ask them to be good for you? Your core burns with yearning, the hope of a brighter day filled with peace and joy, not more darkness. Not more pain and fear.
You don’t want to lose them.
Eclipse gently covers your fists and soothes them out until your palms relax against his chest.
“They won’t be harmed,” Eclipse nods towards his brothers. His sonorous voice lowers. “Sun and Moon understand your conditions. We have brought your friends here to give you our gifts, and to ensure there are no more interruptions.”
You nod shakily. A feeble tremble lingers throughout you, raking through your fingers and along your jawline. Your witch suitors have proven again and again their capabilities for wickedness and they continue to chase it through the midnight hours, but not here. They stand still, at your service. How they terrify you. How they enchant you.
Every single night you dreamt of someone to love, someone who would keep you warm and chase away the loneliness. 
Have you found them or are you a love-sick fool still reaching for something that is not yours? 
“Run, get away from here!” Michael struggles against the vines rooting him in place. Leaves twine tighter around his corpse-like body, forcing him to his knees and leaving him bound from his ankles all the way to his shoulders, wrapped up like a cruel gift.
One glower from Sun sends one last pumpkin vine around Michael’s flesh-rotten mouth and gags him.
Vanessa twists and writhes. Her small rabbit body struggles in the grasp of the vine snare and she sinks her teeth into it, attempting to chew through the restraint while her wide, desperate eyes flash to you.
“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Stop struggling. It’s going to be okay. Please, trust me.”
Michael stops fighting. A fear and anger so raw fills his gaze as Sun and Moon step after you. His fists clench as his jawbone wiggles, but his muffle words die behind the vine covering his teeth.
A strong sound jumps from Vanessa, caught between an animalistic cry and a human sob. She looks at you. Her wide eyes shine with dread.
Eclipse takes you by the shoulders, his eyes burning low as he turns you away from the fear of your friends. You keep your eyes on both of them.
“It’s okay,” you whisper again.
“Come, come, little comet.” Eclipse recaptures your attention with a finger hooking under your chin. “The hour is nigh. Sunrise is too near for us to wait any longer.”
“I know.” Your pulse swells in your ears, beating within you like a drum to a dance that’s too fast-paced for your feet to keep up with.
Your eyes stray from his somber expression to the black tree. Between the red and yellow leaves are dozens of spiderwebs, glimmering softly like silk streamers just for the ceremony. Gently, Eclipse releases you to stand back as Sun and Moon slip around you from both sides. 
“My poppet,” Sun’s voice is sensual and warm. “Allow me to dress you in spider gossamer for this fine occasion.”
You slowly dip your head, all too confused but too uncertain to stop him as he draws out threads of silvery silk. He gently lays them upon your shoulders. His pale eyes swim with passion. A gentle murmur of magic flows from his lips, and you become enveloped in a light and cool cascade of fabric softer than rain and lighter than feathers. You look down at yourself. 
Catching the fading shimmer of magic, you are now draped in an elegant but simple silver gown. A high neck collars you with big, flowing sleeves which cinch at your wrists with thick embroidery. The skirt falls in an A-shape and flows softly in the gentle wind of the night around your feet, almost brushing the dirt.
Your wedding attire. You touch the skirt with a delicate hand as if it may fall apart like a cobweb brushed away, but instead, you watch in silent marvel at the rippling, silk-like glimmer of the cloth.
Strangely, Sun possesses your clothes in his arms now. Your mind spins with questions but you are learning all too well that the answer is magic. With a smirk, he tosses aside the holey sweater and your dirt-stained jeans. The clothes land on the shell of a large, orange pumpkin.
“Beautiful,” Sun lowers his head in pleasure, his hand at his chest and his other arm held out in a formal bow to you. “Never was there a more lovely bride for three brothers.”
You blush fiercely. 
“It is beautiful,” you admit, clutching a fistful of the skirt. You lift it and wave it back and forth once to watch it glimmer again.
“I’m not speaking of the dress, sunshine.” Sun straightens with a grin so devious, you must wonder again if you’re giving up your soul in such a ceremony.
A cool touch falls upon your hand. Claws curl carefully over your wrist. Dropping the skirt, you twist upon your feet to face Moon.
“A veil for you.” He holds it in his other hand. The delicate and sheer gossamer flows like silver water. “Lower your head. I will crown you in it.”
You bow slightly. Moon sweeps your hair back with his cool, careful fingertips and pins the veil upon your skull like a tiara. The soft, celestial fabric falls down around you. Blinking, you stare in awe at yourself, shrouded in majestic silver. 
Moon gazes at you softly. His eyes fall from your hair and he reclaims your palm for a moment to behold you entirely.
“Exquisite.” He bows his head over your hand. “I dreamt of you since Eclipse first told us what he found in his bone scrying. I have waited for you all this time, my snowflower.”
A tremble falls over your bottom lip—not of fear, though there is still an anxious sparking within your nerves. You are washed away in his sincerity. The true intentions of a lover.
You have no words, and instead, gently squeeze his hand.
“May I add one last touch,” Eclipse says. He steps forward.
You lift your head to him as his gaze glows gently in the darkness like twin stars which circle you as his brothers step back. Eclipse sets his hand on your shoulder. Your breath slows as his touch traces your collarbone and falls down your side. You almost sway under his hand holding your hip before he sinks onto one knee to trail his palm along your thigh and all the way to your calf, touching your gown all the way down.
He speaks a gentle spell. You dare not move an inch as a gentle pulse, milky and starlight-like, falls over the cloth. You burn in the darkness like a candle. The gown stands out against the darkness like a comet streaking through the night sky.
“Oh,” is all you can say as you look down at yourself. There are no words which can contain the magnitude of what you feel towards the beauty and thought of their wedding attire for you. Though Sun, Moon, and Eclipse spark and snap like flames with their wide eyes and tall statures, you twinkle bright.
Emotion cakes your throat. Thickly, you swallow it back. 
“A little starlight.” Eclipse smiles, his eyes burning sweetly. “For you are our equal, our partner, our bride.”
You don’t feel powerful. You don’t feel important enough to be involved in magic and ceremonies and love, yet here you stand, swathed in their adoration and gifts. You take hold of your skirt once more.
“Let us begin the ceremony,” Eclipse says softly. He takes your elbow and arm in arm, he walks you through a footpath worn through the pumpkin patch to the black tree, gnarled but beautiful. A most befitting altar. 
Taking your other arm is Sun, sliding close to you with a simmering smile so close to you, you wonder if the slight heat brushing against your cheek is from his presence or the blood rush in your face. Behind you, like a pale shadow, Moon tenderly takes your skirt and follows close behind, keeping the beautiful fabric from gathering dust and pumpkin fronds.
And so you go to your wedding altar.
In times before, marriage served to form alliances between families. Parents arranged such contracts for children to benefit both parties. Most couples didn’t and couldn’t marry for love, rather they were bound for purely economic liaisons.
How beautiful is it that you could arrange yourself into a marriage most lovely?
Your grooms stop at the black tree. Eclipse slips away from your hand, and you look to him in confusion, fearing where he might wander away to. The elder witch grins as he simply looks at his brother. Sun’s hand lingers on your arm, trailing down to your wrist before he steps back, still beaming, still eager, but patient.
You turn slowly under the dusting of moonlight to face Moon. A swell rises in your heart, crashing through you until you’re sticky with emotion. His expression is soft and sweet like milk and honey. He gathers your hands between his own. Looking down, Moon draws the pads of his thumbs softly over your knuckles as if wishing to memorize the bone structure of your much smaller hands.
There is no time at all, but you keep the quiet with him, studying his mild countenance. His breaths are deep and even. A gentle scent of something late and herbal laces him, and you’re taken back to the mausoleum where he tasted you.
His eyes lift. The scarlet gleam holds you tender.
“Do you take me to be your husband?” His voice is gentle in its rasp. His eyes never leave you, drinking you in like wine. “My love is yours, for time and all eternity. I will honor you dearly, little mouse.”
A soft sound catches in your throat, somewhere between a chuckle and a weeping sound. You thought joy would be without tears, but you stand, clutching his claws tightly in your fists to steady yourself.
“I do.” The moonlight brightens as the words leave your lips. You watch in silent awe as the silver glow of the night dances over you both, and you taste midnight upon your tongue as Moon smiles.
He carefully takes your veil and lifts it over your head, allowing the silver threads to fall down your back. He leans in gently. In the way the tide is tugged by the lunar celestial body, you meet him in the small space between your bodies. The witch’s kiss presses to your mouth in a gentle yearning, pushing and pulling so long as you follow in time. You fall into him. Deepening the kiss, Moon cradles your lips against the white curve of his fangs. You sigh contently as you lose your breath in his presence, starstruck.
He releases you, though only your mouth. His hands clasp yours tightly and he softly caresses the back of your hands. Tied along his wrists are deep blue ribbons. Bells jangle softly underneath.
“I will keep you unto me forevermore.” Moon traces your digits with his claw. The soft glow of his gaze fills you with his sincerity.
You sink into his words like a pool of silver. You nod deeply.
“I will cherish you,” you promise in a trembling, choked voice. The power of the engagement drapes over you, pressing upon you the great importance of this entanglement.
“Breathe, little mouse.” He smiles. “I will keep you safe.”
You laugh quietly, too overwhelmed for words but your happiness seeps through all the same.
He kisses you once more before he lifts his head high. Following his gaze, you find Vanessa has stopped fighting. Her little rabbit nose twitches fast, afraid.
Moon offers a spell, deep and cool but releasing. His voice overlaps. A scent of sharp, pungent herbs swirls on the night breeze before he nods his head once more. Your old clothes fly off of the pumpkin they were resting on, and fall onto Vanessa still tangled in the pumpkin vines. 
A moment later, in a shrouded flash of light, vines snap and clothes stretch, and there is a woman where there was once a rabbit.
Vanessa, thankfully, wears your sweater and jeans. Her green eyes fit much better in her human face as she kneels upon the ground and lifts her hands. Long blonde hair falls down around her shoulders. Slowly, she turns over her palm and clenches her fingers. No longer trapped, she gazes up at you.
Shock shines in her eyes, but her lips form soft awe.
“Vanessa,” you smile breathlessly. Whirling back, you kiss Moon once to his slight shock. “Thank you.”
“I will answer to your every desire,” he murmurs, then releases you. 
Moon slips back from you. Before you can think of reaching for him, Sun takes you into his arms. You gasp softly at the warmth of his embrace surrounding you like you were basking near an open fire.
“Sunshine, I was beginning to fear you’ve forgotten about me.” He takes you carefully, slipping your feet onto his as he begins to spin you slowly, like a star tailspinning through the atmosphere. “You could never, could you? Not when I still vye for your kiss—and now, your vows returned.”
You hold onto his shoulders. Carefully underneath the gnarled limbs of the black tree, Sun waltzes you to an unsung song. He hums slowly with a gentle rumble in his chest. His eyes upon you are hungry in the way a candle flame clings to a wick, desperate to devour but unable to spread like a wildfire. 
“No, I couldn’t forget you, Sun,” you whisper. He has left you dizzy and stunned, racing with you upon his broom and then pinning you underneath him upon a bed. There is too much you marvel about him to forget.
He twirls you gently, the moonlight blurring around you between earth and sky before he recaptures you. The threat of dawn seems so close and yet so far away from this wild pumpkin patch.
“That is all I can ask, though you must know, I want more of you.” His grin is wide but honest. How could you expect anything less from the one who has coveted you so zealously? 
His hand rests on the small of your back. Pulling you flush against him, he holds you for one breathless moment, caught like two figurines in the apex of a lovers’ dance. 
“Do you take me to be your husband?” His voice is steady, without flirtations or sultry suggestions. An honest question from a witch. “You have simply enchanted me, dove. I am at your mercy. I am at your service. And if you will, your bedside, your mornings, and your sunsets.”
Your eyelids flutter. A gentle push of tears make their way past your eyes, and you hold his wide, pale gaze. He searches your face with held breath. He clutches your hand and presses it to his chest, bared open to you. The bells tied to the dark red ribbons on his wrists jingle softly. 
“I do.” You speak with the gentleness of certainty. The leaves overhead ruffle with a breeze that is far more fitting for summer than an incoming winter. Pressed so close, you fear he must know how your heart trembles in the wonder of knowing that he loves you, and you love him. 
His expression erupts in sheer, unadulterated joy. He spins you once more, dancing as if he were walking on air before he dips you low. You intake a deep breath as he holds you above the pumpkin patch. His grin fills your entire vision as his fingers press softly into your dress. He wastes not a moment to crush your mouth in a kiss. 
His hunger and eagerness leaves you breathless as he takes and takes before he gives just as much in return. You are captured within his affection. He is smooth and practiced, and you almost feel self conscious, but gently, he leads you. He guides your lips and teases you with his teeth. Even his tongue brushes the inside of your mouth before he softens it to a trickle after the flood of his expression. You taste a sweetness that slips down your throat like honey.
Gently, he brings you back up on your feet, though he does not release you. He kisses you again, greedily taking more. You are putty in his hands, molded by his mouth as if you were a honeycomb caught between teeth. 
“Sunny,” Eclipse murmurs once in gentle warning.
Sun draws back reluctantly as if being torn from water after days in the desert. You gasp softly, your shoulders rising and falling after the rush of his love. 
“I have devoted myself to you, my poppet,” he whispers into your ear as you rest against his chest. “My love is yours and yours alone.”
“Oh, Sun,” you clutch his shoulders tighter. “I will adore you for the rest of my days.”
“I know, sunshine.” He grins but softly kisses your cheek once in a strangely rare but precious, chaste gesture. “But I must share you or else I will keep you all night.”
He straightens, his arms still encircling you. Pale eyes sweep back and you eagerly look at Michael. He’s stopped fighting as well, no longer thrashing but watching with a strange, conflicted crinkle of his brow. Vanessa kneels close by, unmoving, still staring at her legs and arms and touching her hair. 
Your entire body aches for Michael. The curse stains his flesh and twists him into a silver-screen monster. 
Sun breathes a spell. His voice fills the air in unearthly chants that sweep over the ground and whirl the leaves on the pumpkin vines. They slowly crawl back, releasing Michael just as the same bright flash of energy and power takes hold of your dear friend.
The purple corpse recedes back and unveils the man underneath. Michael’s hair returns to its warmer shade of brown. His eyes blink and his corenas return white while his irises take hold with light and life. Rotten flesh returns to a rich tan color. His torn clothes refill with his healthy size and strength. 
He clenches and unclenches his fists. Slowly, he stumbles forward. Vanessa helps catch him before he folds entirely after being freed from the witches’ curse. 
You startle—is his leg still broken? Vanessa, however, stabilizes Michael, coaxing him to sit beside her. He folds his legs with natural ease—healed and whole.
“Michael, you’re alright,” you breathe, clutching Sun together.
He gives you a nod though in a slight daze. He opens his mouth but then decides against whatever he was going to say.
“Thank you.” You turn to Sun. “Thank you for sparing him.”
“Anything for our bride,” he simpers. With a great sigh, however, he lets go of you, his fingertips trailing over your sides before falling back beside Moon.
Under the black tree, Eclipse stands, patient but enduring.
You face him. He lifts his head but remains humble and composed before gently approaching. The light of a new day is beginning to change from deep gray to a burning orange leaking rosy pink at the edges. The sunrise is as terrifying as it is promising.
Eclipse opens his arms to you. Without hesitation, you enter his embrace as his hand finds your cheek. Tied tight around his wrist is a black ribbon with golden bells. His claws rest delicately on your hip over the silky soft fabric of your gown. Lightly, his thumb caresses your cheek. The gold of his gaze falls over you, gentle as the night. 
“Little comet,” he says, steady despite the impending light threatening to take away all. Yet, he takes his time, tasting his words before giving them to you. “Do you take me to be your husband? I have waited—”
In a heart rush, you utter, “I do.”
Eclipse stares, eyes wide. His red sun rays catch the first glance of daylight, brightening his vision as if a spotlight fell upon him. He looks towards the horizon as you do. You squint slightly against the brightness.
Lifting his hand from your face, he watches the black ribbon and bells dissolve into dark smoke, then nothing. Sun and Moon turn their wrists as the respectful dark red and deep blue ribbons fall away from them as if burned and leave not a wisp behind. 
You take Eclipse’s hand and draw it closer to you, gently kissing his knuckles before smiling.
“You’re free. You’re all free.” You flush deeply as you look to Sun and Moon and their gazes of content awe. “My husbands.”
A soft, strange sound leaves Eclipse. A breath caught between wonder and something deeper, something roiling with adoration. His gaze falls back to you, and again, he touches your cheek. 
“I did not finish my vows to you.” He cradles your face close in his palms, leaning closer as your eyes lock. “I swear to you happiness, protection, and my unending love. From this day on, you will always be warm. You will always have my hand to hold. You will never fear the darkness for I will be with you.”
He pauses, his grin spreading wide. He looks at you as if you were a dream. A living, breathing vision. 
“We are eternally bound to you, our spouse.” Eclipse leans in close. “Say my name, once more.”
Your eyelids slip close for one precious moment, warmed by the brilliant light, and the touch of Eclipse’s hands cradling you as if you were delicate. 
“Eclipse,” you whisper.
His grin is beautiful and lovely. You start as you feel a second pair of arms surround you. Sweeping you off your feet, Eclipse lifts you into his embrace. This close, he smells of gentle spice and musk. 
He strokes your cheek once before closing the distance between your lips. You feel his hunger in the echo of your own—the want to devour but gently, he tastes you. A soft whine catches in the back of your throat. Melting under his warmth, he invades you gently and his tongue brushes against your own. His kiss takes you under, and you drop breathlessly into his grasp.
He pulls and takes in soft, sweet motions. Rhythmic and powerful, he tastes you until you fear you might fall once more. But he will catch you. This much you are certain.
He pulls back gently, kissing you one last time as if in need of the strength it gives him, before his honeyed gaze settles on you.
“Your freckles are beautiful, like the stars upon the night sky,” he says. He kisses the right side of your face, then glides to the left and lingers there a moment. “You are truly staying with us, my little comet.”
You blush, and cling to him. Your hands, however, are gently tugged. You look away from Eclipse to find Moon curling his claws under your digits and lifting your hand sweetly to his mouth. Eclipse shifts you gently in his arms to rest you against his back while keeping you cradled like a bride on her wedding night—you suppose you are such a bride, Sun’s hand traces from your shoulder down your arm until he captures your hand. There, he kisses your knuckles slowly. You close your eyes, bubbling in the blissful sunlight as your husbands adore you.
A kiss like the brush of a moth wing touches your head. Eclipse hums gently against you. You make a soft, sweet sound at their tender affection.
“My husbands,” you say, then laugh a little, beaming at their gentle looks. “I’m going to have to get used to saying that.”
“You will,” Sun purrs, “And there’s so much time for us to grow used to our lovely spouse.”
“So much time,” Moon rasps gently, “You must be exhausted.” He kisses your fingertips until you shiver and blush.
“Perhaps we should take our bride home,” Eclipse suggests gently. “You can sleep in our bed and rest, and when you wake, we’ll celebrate more.”
You stir at the thought. You won’t drive back to your tiny apartment. No, instead you will stay here with your husbands, and the bed you will sleep in will be warm and filled with their bodies. 
You won’t wake up alone.
“I’d like that.” You squeeze Sun’s and Moon’s hands and turn your head back to gaze at Eclipse with a fond smile.
A quiet voice says your name. You turn your head, stunned to find Michael and Vanessa stepping towards you. Vanessa supports Michael’s arm around her shoulders as his strength seems to wane. Their eyes are mirrors of witch hunters from long ago as they behold the brothers holding their virgin bride.
Claws tighten around you. Moon flashes his sharp teeth as Sun lifts his chin high, looking down at the pair with disdain. The arms holding you off the ground squeeze in the slightest until you wriggle. Eclipse nearly keeps you away, but gingerly, he sets you back on your feet.
Michael holds your gaze, his brow crinkled in concern but restored to his natural health. 
“Are you really staying with them?” he asks quietly, his gaze darting sharply to the witches.
You smile at the slight shifting around you. The drape of Moon’s cloak almost falls over your shoulder as he takes your hand close and caresses your arm. A murmur of wishing to return them both to rabbits falls from Sun’s lips, but he merely interlocks his digits between your own. Behind you, Eclipse draws a tender hand down your back, feeling the ridges of your spine through the delicate fabric of your gown. 
“I love them.” You look at your husbands. Their faces brighten, their touches softening upon you. “I’m staying.”
“What do we do now?” Vanessa asks. Her face looks lost, and you imagined after a few centuries of only guarding the starry candle, she must be. 
You muse for a moment, and survey your husbands with a careful air. “Is your home now my home?”
“Of course,” Eclipse answers without hesitation. “Everything that is ours is yours.”
“Then I may invite my friends inside?”
Sun and Moon exchange a glance, Sun more annoyed than Moon’s mild surprise, but they both incline their heads.
“If that is your wish,” Moon gives gently.
“It is.” You squeeze their palms. “We can start a proper home, and we can learn how to forgive.”
“Forgive?” Vanessa balks. 
“Yes.” You look at her as the bright light of day touches her face. Her eyes are truly green and sharp like cut emeralds. “Let’s get out of this pumpkin patch and go home and rest. Then we can make peace.”
Michael looks down at Vanessa. 
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, unlike my ancestor.” His brow is set firm. To your awe, Michael does not tremble with rage or the need to fight again. Perhaps the witches are beginning to prove themselves, and Michael will give them a chance. Just one chance.
“Very well then, my poppet.” Sun turns to you and kisses you in a sudden burst of heat and passion before he releases you. Stunned, you almost sway but Eclipse wraps an arm around your waist. Sun gestures with his free arm in an open invitation. “Enter our humble abode. You are our spouse’s guests, which means you are ours.”
Vanessa glares at him. Her foot falls down on a withered vine and it cracks. 
“Charming as ever, Vanessa.” Sun flashes his teeth in a grin.
“Sun,” you chastise. 
He rubs your wrist, half apologetic. 
“I will make soup.” Moon muses. “My cauldron pot is where I left it, I hope.”
The heaviness in the air reminds you that the night has been long, and you are dreadfully exhausted. Vanessa and Michael barely hold themselves upright, but they lean on each other.
“Excellent.” Eclipse waves his hand. Smoke seeps up from the ground, swirling around your feet before you close your eyes, and lean into the pillars of your husbands for support. 
The air changes. A slight breeze, warm for October, encircles you. You inhale a gentle scent of rich earth and dust. When you open your eyes again, the brothers’ home is standing before you, same as it ever was, but entirely changed. 
Perhaps it’s only you who has changed, now hanging on to the witches. 
Michael and Vanessa are just behind you and the witches, standing on the gravel outside of the home, disgruntled about the change of scenery or perhaps the use of magic, but you hope they’ll see the possibility of goodness within the brothers as you have.
Eclipse’s hand slips under your chin to lift your head back. His expression warms with the bright new day. Sun kisses your fingertips until you shiver in delight. Moon turns your palm over to reach the delicate lines of veins along your wrist, and presses his lips to your pulse.
“We are home,” Eclipse says. He kisses the top of your head.
You are home with your husbands.
468 notes · View notes
crystalseadragon44 · 2 months ago
Text
Book of the Dryads Chapter 12 and "the Hidden Transformation"
Later than I'd like due to life circumstances, but today's posts have arrived!
First up, we have the return to the past of Behind the Veil in Book of the Dryads Chapter 12. Emily and Amy find themselves in the then small fishing village of Citadel Harbor to find the merfolk, to secure an alliance... But they aren't the first to find them, as they will soon find out.
As usual, find the story on Scribble Hub, which is easily becoming my preferred place for hosting novel stories, given constant changes on DeviantArt, uhg.
And now, for part 2 of the 3-part "Erica's Identity" project, the "hidden transformation" my half-genie self could potentially take!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Bionicle came back with a vengeance. XD
After seeing a post by @alienbycomics, her Bionicle Day (8-10) comic on a noted convergence between trans folks and a longtime love of the Lego series, it reawakened my own love for the series. I pulled out several parts bins and went to work on a new "Bionicle persona" build (mostly with gen 2 parts more readily available to me) and created a "Toa form" for myself.
I thought to draw this side-by-side with my identity, my half-genie self, starting this whole project! This is actually where I first drew the half-genie form, used both here and in the "Artist Profile" shown last week. It's also where my unified profile pictures came from!
I mean, who wouldn't want a (comparatively) hulking armored form capable of using magical masks with awesome effects when they needed it? I based the transformation off my own likes and gave it all those nice translucent gen 2 parts for a crystalline effect. In a way, it makes sense a "Crystal Magic" half-genie like myself would be able to have some sort of crystal-armored transformation. (The textless version is for pixiv, the only part of the project that will be posted there...)
Next week's post will be the last, the "profile" for the Toa form. Oh, and while I'm at it, let's leave you all with the pictures I took of the build that inspired the drawing! No where else (for now) will show these. (I'd like a better display for taking pictures, to be honest.)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
12 notes · View notes
anistarrose · 3 months ago
Text
So, it's not a moral failing to be bad at what I'm about to describe. But collectively, most of Tumblr is bad at identifying polls that function as bait for bigotry and harassment. Polls that, either intentionally or unintentionally, encourage people to spew hatred about a marginalized queer sub-community — because that sub-community is considered, at least by some, an acceptable enough target.
Most of us have probably seen that polyamory poll go around (as of September 2024). Fewer people have probably taken a look at the notes on that poll — and in many ways, that's for the best, because a lot of the notes are fucking vile. I won't link the poll itself, but content warning for threats of domestic violence and suicide in just this sampling. I don't know enough about the poll creator to make assumptions towards their intent, but that poll was functionally bait, acting as encouragement for people to spew vitriol and bigotry.
And none of this is specific to that individual poll! In December 2023, a single person made a series of polls about friends with benefits, and the "question" of whether aromantic heterosexual cisgender men were queer — and those polls led to huge waves of arophobia and sex negativity (inseparable from, let's be honest, some mask-off radfem shit). On top of that, multiple polls about people's feelings towards sex, or experiences with such, have turned into a festival for bashing both asexuals and virgins — insofar as the people doing the bashing use those words as anything but interchangeable insults.
Polyamorous people. Aromantic people, especially aromantic allosexuals. Asexual people, especially those who are virgins or sex-repulsed. That's a clear and obvious trend — they're all people who do relationships differently. People whose relationships and identities are considered "cringe." Who are considered acceptable targets to mock within the queer community. Making fun of "polycule drama," making fun of "queerplatonic," making fun of a-spec microlabels.
So many people who call themselves sex-positive refuse to extend that positivity to polyamorous people and aromantic people. To casual sex, to sex without monogamous romance. They insist that the polyamorous, the aromantic, are in fact the predators, the abusers, the degenerate queers that the conservative pearl-clutching queerphobes were right about. They tack on asexuals to the "abuser" category, too, because allegedly no one could ever be happy in a relationship with an asexual; because allegedly it's manipulative to your partner to refuse sex! Meanwhile, asexuality and sex repulsion are conflated with the completely different concept of sex negativity, twisting the language of sexual liberation to demonize asexuals further...
And yes, polls play a role in all of this! Of course, not every poll about sexual experiences, for one example, is a poll intended to bait or to harm people! But if they blow up, there is a high risk of people feeling emboldened to comment things like: "so many people are okay with casual sex, or multiple sexual partners! this is what's wrong with the world, it's all just toxic hookup culture!" Or if not that, then things like: "look how few people on this virgin loser website have had sex! this is what's responsible for cultural sex negativity! they'd all be better, more progressive queers if they just got laid more!"
And that's not even getting into the obvious, and obviously intentional bait. The "cishet aromantic men" poll, most egregiously. Clout-chasers hide behind the veil of "I'm just curious about people's opinions!" and then, put out a poll catered to the most rancid, exclusionist, verging-on-radfem opinions. At the very least, catered to platforming them seriously, when people inevitably feel emboldened to say that shit they've been thinking.
And "emboldened" really is the key word here. These polls increase the social acceptability of saying cruel shit about polyamorous people, a-spec people, and whoever else becomes the queer community's acceptable target of the year. The groups discussed in this post are by no means the only popular targets for harassment and exclusionism, but they are some of the most egregious examples I've seen personally, and they are tied together by their non-normative approaches to relationships or lack thereof. Moreover, the groups overlap — I am personally aromantic and asexual, not polyamorous — but even then, my struggles with amatonormativity overlap with those of polyamorous people.
And I bring this up because for years, I've witnessed popular Tumblr bloggers attack a-specs and polyamorous people within the same posts. With the same tactics, using cringe culture in addition to demonizing alternative types of relationships. Now, polls are another weapon for harassing us. And, it is... absolutely exhausting.
Of course, there's obviously a sliding scale of how prone polls can be to harassment. I don't think polls just asking about people's sexual experiences need to be totally anathemized and blotted off the face of the earth, for example — but you know, maybe consider searching OP's blog for "asexual" and some other keywords before you reblog one?
Furthermore, maybe just don't reblog polls about "does X count as LGBTQ," even if you're in support, because you're still legitimizing the poll to begin with. Maybe proceed with caution with posts that mention polyamory, even if not in an inflammatory way, unless maybe you know that OP is polyam themselves. Maybe block, obviously don't harass, but just silently and unceremoniously block people that make a lot of clout-chasing polls about controversial queer issues.
I don't know. I don't have all the answers. I'm not an expert on catching these red flags myself — the first time I saw the polyamory poll, I ignored it just because it was irrelevant to me as a non-partnering person, not because I clocked it as something that would generate hate and threats. So really, if I do have a plea to end on — it's just to listen to people, polyam and a-spec and otherwise, when they say that some post is generating hate and threats towards them. And then, maybe, try to learn some red and orange flags from the experience.
None of us are part of every queer sub-community that Tumblr loves to harass. We all have blind spots, and that's inevitable, not a failure of you as a person. But after seeing so many of these bait polls go around, after seeing multiple rallying effects in the communities followed by people letting their guards down, and circulating a slightly different bait poll... well? I just hope that eventually, people will be willing to learn.
625 notes · View notes
painted-flag · 3 months ago
Text
OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - Aemond Targaryen
☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
☾⋆⁺₊✧ Summary: A taint twists through the kingdoms of man and elf, killing all life in its wake. Your father, a brilliant mind, had worked tirelessly for a solution to fight that evil. However, you are left shouldering the burden of his research after he mysteriously disappears.
A newfound companion lands you a position working under the watchful eye of elf healers. You struggle to hold yourself together in the dark woodland kingdom of elves ruled by their merciless king - Aemond Targaryen. Secrets breed more secrets, and figuring out who to trust is more difficult than ever - especially when you cannot even trust yourself.
It is a race to find a cure while unravelling the secret behind your father's disappearance, the origin of the taint, and the troubling stirrings in your heart caused by the elf king. The impending war between humans and elves drives tensions further, casting a dark veil over your endeavours.
Moreso, when death itself seems to come knocking upon your door.
Tumblr media
It can also be found on my Ao3, right here.
☾⋆⁺₊✧ Chapters:
Chapter 1: The Laws of Humans and Elves Chapter 2: A Modest Proposition Chapter 3: A Study in Death Chapter 4: A Night of Song and Dance Chapter 5: The Young Elf Chapter 6: A Snake in the Garden Chapter 7: The Dark Woods Deep Chapter 8: Marked Flesh Chapter 9: Home and Hearth Chapter 10: The Art of Potion Making Chapter 11: A New Ally Chapter 12: Death's Sting Chapter 13: Of Taverns and Bathhouses Chapter 14: The Saphire Chapter 15: Know Your Enemies Chapter 16: Every Little Thing Chapter 17: The Winds of War Chapter 18: Past, Present, and Future Chapter 19: The Scars of Betrayal Chapter 20: An Elf's Rage Epilogue: An Elf's Devotion
Tumblr media
☾⋆⁺₊✧ Content warning: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, mentions of alcohol consumption, and Criston Cole (yikes).
☾⋆⁺₊✧ I am extremely excited to begin releasing this series! Ever since season one was released, the concept of writing an elf-based story on Aemond has been living rent-free in my head.
There will be weekly updates to this series. While I have extensive outlines for each chapter, I wish to take this at a slower pace when it comes to releasing. This way, I can balance other works on this page as well. (along with my uni coursework).
Thank you all for the support! <3
Tumblr media
☾⋆⁺₊✧ If you want to be added to the taglist, click here!
479 notes · View notes
autolenaphilia · 3 months ago
Text
God I think I actually prefer explicit fascist transmisogyny in comparison to the disguised dogwhistly liberal transmisogyny.
Like the people who openly call me an autogynephile and other various slurs and tell me to kill myself are at least being honest. They don't bullshit me about hating my very existence and wanting me to die.
It's all the faux-loving forms of transmisogyny that really make me angry. Like it makes my skin crawl in its dishonesty and hypocrisy. And it takes so many forms. Like the transmisogynist christian "hate the sin, not the sinner" approach where they claim to love me and just want me to accept Jesus in my heart. The necessary condition for accepting their version of Jesus however is me detransitioning, and that would kill me.
There is the terfy "people with gender dysphoria are suffering and they need help but we can't endanger women's sex-based rights for them." i've even seen in arguments about legal gender changes the following: "of course trans women deserve to use women's spaces, but if we allow legal gender self-id evil cis men will take advantage of that. So trans women will have to have their rights restricted." Even J.K. Rowling used it in her terf manifesto.
It makes one yearn for the days of the ur-terf book "The Transsexual Empire" which had the "shemale" slur in its subtitle and in which the author Janice Raymond argued trans women rape real women by the fact of their very existence. That kind of brazen transmisogyny at least had some kind of honesty about it.
There is also the transmisogynist callout culture fandom, or as the japanese fittingly call them: the american feelings yakuza. They callout transfems for problematic kinks like at least once a week but deny transmisogyny. "oh we don't believe all transfems are evil predatory sex perverts, it's just that this particular transfem is."
Their evidence for her being sexual predatory is that she ships two fictional siblings. Or in meatspace meetings, things like her having "bad vibes" ("bad vibes" or "gut instinct" are polite words for what more sensible people call "ingrained bias") .
And they suspiciously keep on making callouts for transfem after transfem in a neverending series, trying to ruin her reputation and socially exile her, but of course they are not transmsiogynists.
There is also the sofboi transandrobro type of transmisogyny. They spread the vilest transmisogyny but always falls back on a terfy bioessentialism to claim ontological innocence and perpetual victimhood in all situations. I've literally seen someone say "how can i be a misogynist, i'm literally afab." These people will not say directly "shut up about your oppression, stupid tranny", but say it in coded form. I had one guy traumadump to me about his rape in vivid detail to make the point that (trans)men suffer more and imply that transfems don't suffer from sexual violence.
And that's the crux of the issue. Open hate barely fazes me anymore, unless there is an immediate threat of physical violence. But being condescended to, being emotionally manipulated, being faced with people veiling their hatred of transfems behind a veil of superficially loving rhetoric, that does make me angry. And these people always use my anger against me. "Why are you so angry when these people are being so polite and nice to you?" And that's because the point of these rhetorical approaches is to have plausible deniability for your bigotry and make transfems look crazy when they point it out.
Yet it's the same bigotry as the explicit version, it's just more dishonest about it. Like if had the They Live glasses and looked at the rhetoric, it would just read "exterminate all transfems." All those polite liberals believe the same thing about transfems as the neo-nazis openly calling for us to be hanged, they just lack the virtue of being honest about it.
523 notes · View notes
drdumaurier · 2 years ago
Note
I remember Chiyoh as one of the muses that was the most challenging I’ve ever written. She was stiff and found her comfort in repetition and coming from muses who are so comfortable physically expressing themselves it was a challenge. Not to mention balancing the fact she knew what Hannibal was and she was dedicated to him completely for it anyway, But yeah- her comfort was in the silence of repetition and being alone in that repetition. I wanted to share a hc I never got to speak on
Tumblr media
I absolutely love this hc and you're always more than welcome to share them with me here, in IM, or on discord. Also I loved your Chiyoh and this was so sweet of you to share 💙
2 notes · View notes