#but also to make these conversations desirable

[headspace-hotel]

This year has, so far, been for me a series of rapid realizations of what I have been unlearning.

I went to the library. This was a couple weeks ago. I knew I needed to read a book, fiction. I hadn't done so in over a year and it was the longest period of time I had ever gone without doing so. I made a rule: I would only pick books I had never heard of, by authors I had never heard of, and I would not do any preliminary research or even bother to look at what the book was about. I would make my decision on whether to read or not purely on my impression of the title, cover and opening lines.

The book was The Connoisseur by Evan S. Connell. It was kind of a random selection. I sat down with it in a corner of the library and straight up devoured it. I tore through the book within a few hours, without taking a single break. I was captivated. I couldn't put it down.

It is a book about a guy who buys a Mayan figurine in a knickknack shop while he's on a business trip. and becomes obsessed with pre-Columbian sculptural art. There isn't really much of a plot apart from this. He goes to sketchy antique shows, has conversations with museum curators, wealthy art dealers and forgers, and seeks to learn how to distinguish a genuine pre-Columbian piece from a fake one. It was written in the 1970's, so the views on Native Americans are antiquated and sometimes offensive, and there is the troubling thread of the very concept of looting another culture's treasures and treating them as collectibles, though the book is not without commentary on this.

All the same, it was a completely intoxicating read. The vicarious experience of becoming fascinated with a topic and having it unfold a whole world for you was ferociously gripping, and so was the intrigue of the art collecting world itself. The frauds, forgeries, smuggling, museums, academics, aristocrats, auctions and seedy flea markets. Will he ever be able to tell if a piece is "real?" Does it matter if it's "real?" Why does he want to own and possess a piece of art, and how does its "realness" affect that desire? The book leaves you not knowing what to think.

It is a book about curiosity, portrayed in the narrative as a totally unreasonable lightning bolt that strikes a man who has never been fascinated by anything and changes him forever. Why? Why does a Mayan figurine, in particular, speak to him? Why does any piece of art, or any fascinating thing in the world, speak to anyone? It is unknowable.

I went to the library again. I picked a new book using the same rules. This book was Fragile Beasts by Tawni O'Dell. Just like the last time, I was totally captivated. I couldn't put it down.

Did I have a couple major problems with the portrayal of some important aspects of the story? Yes. (It would make the post much longer to discuss.) Was I completely captured by and invested in the story for the time I was reading it? Also yes. The book braids together several very different strands-- the story of a legendary Spanish bullfighter and a wealthy American woman that he loved, two brothers stuck in an ugly family situation after their father's death in a car accident, and a rich old heir to a Pennsylvania coal mining fortune and to the sinister underbelly of her family's business.

There was a lot about baseball, which I know nothing about, and bullfighting, which I know nothing about, and I certainly don't know anything about being a teenaged boy who resents and mistrusts his estranged mother, or an aristocratic old lady who lives in a mansion and eats fancy Spanish food. It was fun to experience so much unfamiliar stuff and to care about things I wouldn't normally care about. Once again I couldn't stop reading until I had finished it.

I don't know that either book was "good," though I thought they were both well written; I just know that reading them was like being hooked up to an IV of something essential and life-giving and feeling it reanimating my body.

It had been a year since I had read any fiction, but it had been much, much longer since I had loved to read. As I became an adult I had become picky and critical about books, and developed a highly sophisticated sense of my taste and the books I considered good- which were very rare. My taste in books became so sophisticated, eventually, that I didn't like books at all anymore.

I had almost withered away from deficiency of that essential nutrient known as STORY. I'd almost crumbled myself into dust from pretentiousness! I may have been terribly wrong about the kinds of things I liked to read, on top of it. And I certainly hadn't realized that story was such an essential nutrient.

"Just entertainment" the pretentious sorts of people might say of a book they think is useless-- but what is entertainment but to absorb your mind in something, and what is absorbing your mind in a book but to experience things you would never have experienced? It expands you and makes you more complicated. It is the study of human existence itself.

Now all I have been able to think about today is finishing my work and going to the library again...

[livelaughlovesubs]

Head empty, only thinking about my fav’s creaming on my fingers.

It was such a nice way to get him all horny and messy for you in public, without too many risks. All you had to do was sneak your hand past his waistband, down that soft ass and inside his underwear. Next thing on the list was to tease that pretty boy and watch him stutter during an important conversation. His nails dug into his palms, face heating up as he fake coughs, trying to cover up his gasps as he excuses himself. Glaring at you but not slapping your hand away~

Or in some random bathroom stall! Make him bend over with his hands on the door as you fuck him on your fingers, purring at him to stay quiet if he doesn’t want to get caught. Calling him a dirty pervert when he fails and moans out loud. You say that, but you are obviously the one who wants to get exposed! Just to see him cry out of humiliation… even so he can’t stop begging for more while pushing his hips back ♥︎

Though it wasn’t only fun in public. It was also a spectacle when he’d straddle your lap, arms wrapped around your neck in a deadly grip. Those kiss-swollen lips right next to your ear while he whimpered for you to fuck him harder, to please put it in. Teary eyes with a dazed look as you made him cum the third time that day with only your fingers. Mocking him for being such a needy whore, creaming all~ over himself like some virgin. How much longer were you going to overstimulate him?

Maybe if you are feeling extra mean, you’d make him finger himself on your shared bed. Sitting in front of him and watching as you gave him commandos. Telling him to spread his legs more, to push another finger inside, or to beg more lewdly. At first he was so shy, so hesitant to show you all these embarrassing parts. Yet after some time he couldn’t think of anything else but the heat in his core, the need to be filled and fucked until he forgets his name ♡♡～

Wet squelching sounds echoing through the room as his whined out prayers reached your ears, hearts in his pupils and fingers knuckles deep inside his abused hole. He felt so tired, his eyelids so heavy, as if he was on the verge of passing out. A melting expressing plastering his blushing face, with glossy eyes and shiny tears. His body was trashing around, squirming and shaking with pure desire. And that useless dick was squirting with his precum. At the same time, he was begging you with such a sweet and debased voice. Pleading for your dick, and for you to absolutely wreck his insides.

“Please, plea~se..! Hnnghhh, I need you so bad, so- ahh♥︎ so fucking bad…! Ngh, f-fuck me, ruin me ♡♥︎♡”

Your favourites~

[kiragecko]

I decided to do this for the Batfamily. (Preboot version, because I disagree with DC's modern decisions.)

If the Batfam were queer, how would they talk about it?

Dick - awkward and tentative. No clue when he picked up the terminology he's using, but it's probably pretty general/balanced¹. He's not going to be using microlabels, but may have done a reasonable amount of research on whatever term he's accepted. Possibly the most ashamed out of everyone? Look, people haven't been very gentle with him about his romantic, sexual, or personal choices. And he's internalized that. I could see him EVENTUALLY being comfortably open about his identity, but that would be a long journey.

Babs - only talks to romantic partners, if she can help it. Clinical. Probably also prickly. Maybe dismissive. More focused on how it will affect their relationship than on how it affects her, or on specific terms. But also the most likely to explain the split attraction model, or pull up a graph? Possibly she'd shift tactics based on what her partner was comfortable with. Probably it would be to tactics her partner was LESS comfortable with? Babs, make things easier for yourself!

Jason - What flavour of fanon are we using here? Or canon? Using slurs that the people he grew up used for themselves could be accurate. Reading up on all the latest terminology so he can support the street kids seems in character for some versions. (He sounds like he's reading from a brochure, but like he's a counsellor reading from a brochure for your benefit!) Not having thought about it at all because he's been 'somewhat' distracted for most of his life seems VERY likely! Jason contains multitudes.

Tim - avoiding this conversation at all costs. Refuses to use labels. Might describe his experience, awkwardly, if he needed to, but would get distressed if you tried to give it a name. He might be able to accept BEING some flavour of queer, but openly talking about it in ways people can use against him? That might affect social standing and job opportunities? That might disappoint authority figures? No. Most likely to use a fake identity to explore. Has almost certainly done all the research, KNOWS current terminology, and will use it for other people. Just don't suggest he applies it to himself.

Steph - Would probably get extremely attached to language when first accepting it. Maybe to the point of policing things a bit. Because she's defensive and has spent her whole life being policed and judged! MIGHT sound like she was reading out of a college brochure. Possibly DID read it out of a college brochure!

Cass - summarizes complex topics into a 2 or 3 word sentence, and if you aren't following along, that's on YOU. Might like listening to someone else explain their extremely nuanced identity. Might be impatient. It's a toss-up, depending on how obvious she thinks things are, how much you seem to be overcomplicating it, and how much she's picking up from HOW you're saying it. I hope she figures herself out before she learns TOO much terminology, because later Cass respected words a bit too highly, and I want her to be able to understand the fluidity of self without thinking it NEEDS boxes.

Damian - okay, preteen Damian doesn't WANT to know about any of this, thank you. Many preteens do! Damian does not. Damian wants to join in on every rape and hate crime investigation, and also thinks kissing is gross. Wrangling and protecting Damian is a challenge. Older Damian would probably use microlabels, if any applied. (And he felt safe saying anything.) Accuracy is always to be desired! Also, they fit his worldview of exceptionality and isolation.

Duke - I think he'd be pretty comfortable with general, broadly understood, terminology. But he might struggle if that stuff didn't fit. Feeling compelled to explain the nuances of self seems like something he'd find really uncomfortable? So I can see him casually talking about himself if it was easy to talk about, but struggling to be open otherwise. Also, he might get pretty stuck on not being SURE about his identity. How can he talk about it if he might be wrong?? (Tim and Dick might struggle in a similar way, but it would be less obvious because of their other issues.)

Bruce - Extremely likely to used old-fashioned or clinical language, especially if it lets him sound like he's reading out of a psychology text-book. Most likely to accept the language without internalizing the identity. (It might be accurate, but that doesn't mean he needs to ACT on it.) Also most likely to have accept-ED some term 25 years ago and then just never brought it up again or acknowledged it in any way.

Alfred - wouldn't talk about it at all. Relationships are private. If it was important to do so, would use euphemisms like 'close to', 'cared for', 'did a small amount of exploration', etc.

-

¹ I kind of think of modern queer identities coming in 3 broad categories:

general - uses language like 'queer', 'LGBT', 'nonbinary' - commonly understood umbrella terms. Prioritizes fluidity of identity and connection with community over precise description

balanced - prioritizes connection with people of similar experiences, uses broad subcategories like 'gay', and 'trans', or combines broad terms together to suggest more precision, like 'nonbinary lesbian'.

microlabels - breaks down identities into more precise subsets like 'greyace', 'fem-aligned androgyne', 'genderfae', etc. Precise understanding of self prioritized over other people's understanding or connection.

'Microlabels' as shorthand is often used to mock people, so I thought it helpful to explain where I'm coming from.

he would not fucking say that but it’s he would not fucking talk about his queer identity like he was reading out of a college campus lgbt center brochure

[odoraful]

𝑺𝑵𝑶𝑾𝑭𝑰𝑬𝑳𝑫 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑲 ᯓ 𝒁𝑨𝒀𝑵𝑬

the physician does not open his grand estate to visitors, however, he makes an exception for a special someone he’s known since childhood

⟡ content: reader is addressed as 'miss'; regency era inspired (certainly not historically accurate); reader and zayne are awkward yearners for each other; 3.5k wc

⟡ a/n: the mr darcy to zayne pipeline is very real to me !! did i watch pride and prejudice for the 234th time because of this? yes i did hehe i hope you enjoy mwah!

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Whilst many other gentleman in the country wished to show off their homes to display their refinement to the public, the solitary owner of Snowfield Park could not think of anything more undesirable. It was truly a shame, though. The estate had received its name from how picturesque it looked during the winters. Fresh snow fell in perfectly smooth blankets around the property, and dusted the foliage of trees as if intentionally painted on by an artist. When morning light emerged, and the snow began to melt away, the grand home would sparkle like sequins on a debutante’s dress.

Those who travelled past Snowfield Park could only admire it from a distance when heading to the next town over—rolling along on their carriages or leisurely walking by. What a waste it was, they all thought, to not allow visitation from guests and host lavish balls as often as one could. They all wondered whether the owner was even in his right mind.

He is a physician, that is the reason. He hardly has time to indulge in what he believes are frivolities.

A physician? How noble! He must be someone of great intelligence.

Indeed. I believe his name is Dr Zayne.

Quite the severe fellow I must admit. I remember during the last ball, the gentleman did nothing but loiter and offered a dance to no one.

Merely loitering? Goodness, has there truly been no one that has caught the man’s eye?

I wonder who is fortunate enough to be acquainted with him and be allowed visitation to such a place.

That was how many of the conversations that passed Snowfield Park went. Little did people know, other than the owner’s most immediate family, there was one other special person who the owner invited over.

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“Miss, you’re telling me you’re acquainted with the gentleman residing in Snowfield Park?” the driver of your carriage asked, speaking each word in disbelief.

You nodded. “Yes, I am.”

Your body also bobbed along with each trod of the horse. The carriage was open air, only able to seat two people, yourself and the driver. Much to your chagrin, your plain reply left the driver guffawing.

“You sure you’re not one of the many admirers trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive man?”

Glancing at the driver’s side profile, you could see him wiggle his brows. The driver was a young man, barely out of his teenage years, who had a penchant for dramatics.

“Certainly not!” you exclaimed, more defensive than your intended.

If the driver had not been so focused on the path ahead, he would have seen your cheeks turn pink.

“We have been good friends since childhood,” you asserted, “and just happened to drift apart when he went to university to study, that is all.”

The driver gave a sound of understanding, though, he still seemed unconvinced by your explanation.

It was completely true though. Your families lived in neighboring estates, and they endeavored to meet often when they found out they had children of similar ages. Many of your memories in youth had Zayne in them. Reading together in your grandmother’s study (Zayne reading aloud the narration, and you tasked with the dialogue for the characters), foraging for flowers and cataloguing them in your shared notebook, practicing your piano forte whilst Zayne completed anatomy sketches (with you often as the subject).

When he went to study medicine, you both sent letters to each other in those initial months. However, with your desire to seek your own passions (and your grandmother’s concerns over your entrance into society), and Zayne’s own pursuit of his career, the length of time between letters grew longer and longer.

Head swimming with memories, you stared off into the countryside. Tall trees that lined the dirt path segmented the bright afternoon sunlight as the carriage rolled past a long stretch of river. Far, far ahead, you saw a glimpse of Snowfield Park. No other details could be made out aside from that it was an impressive estate. You wondered if you could predict Zayne’s taste in design. Surely there would be a well maintained garden and a wide staircase leading to the front doors.

The driver could not ride fully into Snowfield Park as he had business in the next town he needed to attend to. You happily agreed to being dropped off a little ways before, just as the trees began to clear. The weather was pleasant, and it would take no longer than half an hour to walk. The driver pulled on the reins, causing the horses to slow to a stop. He hopped off first, moving to your side to assist you in getting down.

“Thank you,” you said as you smoothed out the skirt of your dress with your hands.

He gave an exaggerated bow. “You’re most welcome, miss. I hope Mr Zayne treats you well,” he winked, then hoisted himself back up onto the carriage.

Waving him goodbye, the carriage went on ahead to the next town over.

You were still quite a ways from the estate itself, left with a distance of grassy field to cross before it transformed into neatly sanded paths and a garden. Though, it was too small from where you were to make out any details. Thankfully, you enjoyed to walk.

As you set off, you checked the small purse dangling from your wrist. It contained your personal belongings, including the very thing that summoned you to Snowfield Park to begin with. A letter from Zayne lay neated folded inside.

Taking a deep breath, you began your journey on foot.

The closer you walked, and the more the house expanded in your view, the greater your heart twisted in your chest.

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Zayne’s home was even grander in real life than what you had imagined.

There was certainly a garden. One that stretched out well beyond the home’s facade, with neatly trimmed hedges, pristine white flowers and a three-tiered marble fountain. You walked through, gently reaching out to touch the petals of flowers. And there was certainly a staircase. Two to be exact, lined with railings carved from stone supported by miniature pillars. Both were built from the ground floor up to the first level, creating separate entryways from two different levels.

The estate was meticulously maintained and so peaceful. Only the wind and the trickle of water from the fountain could be heard. This type of serenity seemed fitting for Zayne.

You chose to walk up the stairs, heading toward the main entrance with ornate double doors. Your breath grew uneven with each step. It was inexplicable how rattled your nerves were at that very moment. What could possibly rouse your anxiety? You did not harbor any ill feelings towards Zayne. Quite the contrary, in fact. Back then, and even now, despite the length of time without contact, you were fond of him.

Rationalizing all this in your mind, you tried to bury your nervousness just as you reached the front doors. Grasping the knocker, you gave three firm knocks, hoping it sufficient enough to signal any occupants of Snowfield Park.

You readied yourself if Zayne himself would open the door for you. It was unlikely, but not entirely impossible. Typically, there would be servants that would initially greet guests. But, perhaps, the owner of the estate would alter convention for an old friend.

The door swung open and you subconsciously held your breath.

The person by the door seemed a bit older than you. She wore a simple dress with an apron tied around it, hair held back by a white bonnet. You exhaled. Conventions remain ever unchanging, you thought, putting on a shy smile.

“Uhm, good afternoon, my name is Y/N. I’m here to visit Mr Zayne.”

The lady looked you over up and down with her discerning eyes. Her brief inspection completed, her skeptical gaze gave way to a warm and inviting grin.

“Please come in! Mr Zayne has been expecting your arrival.”

You relaxed with relief, stepping in and getting a first look at Snowfield Park that many so desired to.

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Compared to your own abode with your family, the interior of this seemed to be fit for royalty.

The room had gold framed portraits of various people and landscapes hung on its cream colored walls. Ornate gold decorations filled the bare spaces in between each painting, reminiscent of leaves which curved and stretched towards the ceiling. The sunlight pouring through the large windows made each metallic embellishment shine. Tables held bronze candelabras with unlit candles and vases with arrangements of different florals. Lounges and chairs with navy upholstery lined the edges of the room, ideal places to sit and idle. Beyond you and to your sides were open archways, where you saw a peek of the winding staircases that led deeper into the home.

You tried your best to not just stand there slack-jawed at the entrance and follow the servant further inside. Was this really the estate that Zayne owned? The same Zayne who picked carrots off his plate at dinnertime and spent his allowance at the candy store in town?

The servant let you catch up to her in center of the room. She leaned in close to whisper, even though you were the only people in this vast space.

“Miss, just between you and me, Mr Zayne has been quite restless these past few days.”

“Restless?” you frowned. “Whatever for?”

She nodded towards you. Her implication that you were the object of Zayne’s anxieties made you even more confused.

“You must be a very special person to rattle him like that. He’s been pacing around, inspecting and re-inspecting all the furnishings in every room, buying fresh linens for your guest quarters.”

She then chuckled. “Quite frankly, it’s refreshing to see such a side of him since he’s so often busy with his work.”

“Speaking of, that is what he is currently occupied with now. I’ll let him know that you’re here.”

The servant curtsied to you before rushing through one of the archways. The sound of her footsteps on tiled floors retreated.

There was nothing to do but wait, and so you did.

You took a turn around the room, admiring the paintings of unfamiliar people and unfamiliar landscapes. Did Zayne know who these individuals were? Had he travelled to different parts of this country? You were now uncertain if the man you would shortly reunite with would even be recognizable to you.

One minute of waiting turned into three, then ten, then fifteen. You could probably recite the arrangement of paintings in the room with how much studying you were doing to fill the time. Looking off ahead of you, the entryways were a silent invitation to explore. Surely the servant wouldn’t mind that you had wandered off a little bit. She certainly hadn’t said anything against doing so.

Your feet moved of their own accord into the entry way ahead of you, eager to see more of the interior of Snowfield Park.

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“Mr Zayne,” Yvonne called as she knocked on the door of the study.

Zayne was penning a letter containing care instructions to the family of one of his patients.

He continued to write as he called out, “You may come in.”

Entering the room, the excitement on Yvonne’s face at being able to announce your arrival was replaced with horror as she saw Zayne.

“Mr Zayne! Have you not changed into your finer clothes yet?”

Zayne glanced up from his writing with a furrow in his brow. He was wearing his night clothes, a simple loose fitting white shirt, pants, and a robe. His dark hair lightly tousled from a restless night of sleep.

“I have not. Y/N isn’t due to Snowfield Park until the afternoon.”

Yvonne gaped at him, her voice high with alarm. “It is the afternoon now, Mr Zayne. And she has arrived not just a moment ago.”

The quill almost fell from Zayne’s grasp at his own shock. It was terribly unlike him to forget the time. His plans of burying himself in his work to keep his mind busy from your arrival had backfired on him.

He immediately stood up. Folding the letter and placing it aside, he strode towards Yvonne.

“She’s here? The time must have escaped me.” He ran a hand through his hair, attempting to steady his composure.

The day that he had perfectly planned had already sidetracked. You were here in his house and he was hiding away in his study in his undergarments. Outfit aside, was there even enough time to ready himself mentally as well? This was the first in a long time that he would be seeing you face-to-face, he hadn’t even thought of what he should say to you.

“Well don’t just stand there all flustered!” Yvonne huffed, piercing through Zayne’s thoughts. “You need to get changed right this instant!”

She scrambled behind Zayne and pushed him out of the study.

“It’s improper to leave such a lovely young lady waiting for so long! Come on now, Mr Zayne!”

He followed Yvonne through the familiar halls of Snowfield Park to his rooms. She spoke her thoughts aloud, deciding on what shirt, waistcoat and cravat would look the most appealing. He agreed with her that navy and white would make a suitable combination, though, Zayne had greater worries aside from the coordination of his clothes.

Five years it had been.

Five years since he went away to study at university and begun working as a physician.

Five long years of being away from you.

Gradually, you two had begun to drift apart like the slow moving of continents over centuries. Starting with a delayed letter, leading to a delayed response. The lengthy time between correspondence began to feel too awkward, leaving words unsaid. Once you had shared all the same experiences together, and now, you had become a fond daydream for Zayne. An occupant of his thoughts whenever the nights got too long for him. How were you? What were you doing now? Were you taking care of your health? Thinking of you seemed to soothe him.

That was why when there was a listing for an estate in the same village you both grew up in, he hardly hesitated in his decision to purchase it. Internally, he also saw it as a sign. If this were to be the place were he settled down, he knew he needed to invite you to visit.

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Snowfield Park could have easily been mistaken for a museum if one were to end up in the room you were in now. Not only were there more paintings hung on the walls, much like the entry hall, but there were sculptures, antiques and other unique trinkets on display as well. All were neatly spread out, with brass plaques beneath to provide a description of the piece. Too fascinated by the space, you forgot how much waiting time passed since the servant left.

One piece in particular caught your eye.

A sculpted bust of a man sat atop a pedestal, raising it up to your eye level. With a straight bridged nose and stern brows, the face would leave many people with a rather cold impression. Shivers winding up their spine by the frigidity of the sculpted likeness. Not you, however. Warmth bloomed within your chest. Lips parted in amazement. Many of the features remained the same, though refined with age. It was a familiar and cherished image of a close companion.

Zayne. Your Zayne.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand reached out. Closer and closer. Just until the pads of your finger barely ghosted against the cheek of Zayne’s face.

Hearing a step behind you, you instantly retracted your hand. Snapped out of your stupor.

“Y/N.”

You never thought your name could be spoken so gently until that moment. The origin was a low and smooth voice, like a spoonful of honey one would dissolve in a cup of tea.

Turning around with wide eyes, a name fell from your lips.

“Zayne,” you breathed.

In the quietness of the room, even your faint utterance of his name echoed in the space.

Zayne could have took you for one of the art pieces in this space with how well you looked. An ivy green dress with a grey shawl draped over your arms. You had traded elegance for practicality, leaving your gowns for balls at home so you could walk more freely. Still, the breath hitched in his throat as he looked you over.

His posture straightened before he bowed. “I’m sorry for frightening you.”

When he lifted his head, you noted how he blinked away from your gaze towards the ground. A habit he had as a young boy that he kept even now. Seeing it comforted you, though you could not understand why.

“I did not mean to disturb. I should have made my appearance known to you sooner.”

An apology. Those were his first words upon your meeting. You knew he had always been like that. Ensuring his intentions were made clear and rectifying anything that he misinterpreted. Aside from his manner, it was his appearance that also made your stomach flutter.

Both his coat and vest were navy, though the latter item was patterned subtly with white stripes. Tied neatly around his collar was a white cravat which accentuated his strong jawline. What was most striking were his eyes. Green and amber, resembling a precious gemstone. You didn’t remember them being so entrancing.

You shook your head (both in response to his apology and to dispel your meddlesome thoughts), and curtsied.

“It’s alright, truly. I was already at the end of my viewing anyway.”

He moved closer to you, each step reverberating. Your heart thumped traitorously in your ears. You hoped he didn’t notice how you stiffened when he reached your side.

“You seemed engrossed,” he said, looking over at his own sculpture.

“W-were you perturbed by my staring?”

His eyes brimmed with earnest as he replied, “No, no, not at all. That is a galley’s purpose. These artworks are displayed to be looked at.”

He hesitated, thinking about his words before continuing. “Though, I would hope that a… prolonged viewing indicates your favor towards a certain piece.”

You grew hot. Had your admiration really been so obvious?

“This is really a lovely home, nicer than anything I’ve had the pleasure of visiting” you said, quickly changing the subject.

A small smile tugged at his lips. People would quickly change their opinions about his coldness if they were to see the expression on his face.

“My staff are to thank for their work in its upkeep,” he responded. “I’m glad it is to your liking.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Mere seconds that felt like eternity as you stood side by side, fiddling with the material of your respective clothing, as if they were the most attention grabbing thing in this very room. You played with the hem of your shawl whilst Zayne adjusted the wrists of his jacket.

“Was your journey here smooth?”

The question tumbled out of Zayne more hurried than he intended. Desperation tinged his words, almost pleading you to continue talking to him. He wanted to hear your voice. Wanted to hear you speak to him about anything, like you once could together.

“It was. I rode a carriage from town then walked,” you replied, brightly. “I went through the garden at the front on my way to the entrance, as well.”

“The jasmines are in bloom now, as are many of the other flowers. I can give you a more proper tour later on, if you’d like.”

“I would enjoy nothing more,” you chirped, unable to temper your excitement. “I remember jasmines were your favorite when you were younger.”

His gaze fell on you, voice wistful and sincere as he spoke. “They still are, very much so.”

Two images seemed to flicker before you. The boy you once knew, and the man standing before you now. Perhaps the two were never separate. There would always be traces of your youth together, no matter when or where you found each other. This realization entered your mind with tenderness, much like the words of a loving mother doting on her child.

Again, the conversation lulled.

The statues and paintings were stationery witnesses to the endearing awkwardness of this pair reunited. Neither of you had the courage to look at each other, lest you revealed the flush that spread across both your faces. With nothing but Snowfield Park and time to yourselves, there would be much catching up to do.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

[sugurusladyknightt]

what i'm thinking of right now is what if someone tried hitting on you out while out on a date with your love.

satoru would've stepped away to grab the ice cream that had you waiting in a line for what you thought would feel like forever. it was fun though, the two of you pausing your initial conversation about the days plans in favour of people watching and listening in on the very scandalous conversations of those who stood with you in line. your eyes meeting in shock or surprise every so often, doing your best to disguise your laughs and gasps with charades of idle conversation and your own scandalous conversations referencing drama that, mind you doesn't really exist in your lives at the moment.

while he was a way your getting hit on by some creep. it didn't come off that way initially, but man was this getting uncomfortable fast. can this guy not take a hint? he's asking for your number once again and your refusing once again politely at first, and more stern as the advances keep coming. your not used to people that won't listen when you speak. since when did back off mean come closer? since when did i'm not interested become im just playing coy. since when did im taken, leave me alone translate to my relationship isn't real or isn't important to me and id throw it away for someone who doesn't understand basic boundaries and uses those suffocating, nauseating colognes?

drawing closer and closer to you. face far too close to yours, breathe stank too. yuck. he's gaining confidence now,convinced the 'boyfriend' you were talking about was an excuse you'd made up. your just nervous is all. playing hard to get.

panic starts to set into your bones. he's leaning back, all cocky now.

come on doll face, this 'boyfriend' of yours doesn't have to know. quit playing so high and mighty i know you want me.

you think you might throw up. when an ice cream cone hits him right in the centre of his face. comically sliding down his face. and satoru enters the scene. sun creating a halo around his fluffy white hair, your ho is glowing. signature classes sat pretty low on his nose his skin a little flushed from the heat (hence the ice cream) he's holding two more cones in his hands, walking towards you and and the offender, mock sympathy in his voice. as he expresses apologies that to just might seem sincere if your that stupid if you tried hard enough. grabbing the cone of his face to meet his eyes.

satoru has a incredibly towering stature, and while this wasn't news to you, it's quite impressive to see its advantages in real time.

peaking down at the face behind the sweet creamy mess, satoru recoils. "ew." his tone dripping with absolute disgust. turning around to make his "bleghh" face as he presses the now ice cream less cone into the man's hair. like a sad party hat above his head an sticks on of the other two, being careful to use the flavour he knows you like least, straight back into his face. massaging it around to cover as much of the monstrosity as possible before nodding proudly for his work. a pat on the make, and he's turing on his heel towards you with that blinding smile on his face.

dramatically, satoru drapes his hands over you shoulders, and leans his weight it, a pout on his strawberry glosses lips. "babyyyyy, the sight will haunt my night mares, scary people out there" he tuts standing straight with a satirical furrow between his brows. he should have been a theatre kid with all these dramatics. though you were greatful, and relived. he makes life feel so easy. it's contagious.

he looks down at you through his sunglasses small smile playing on his lips, face no longer contorted by an expression of discomfort or disgust.

satoru hands you the last cone. after all the two he got for him have served greater purpose than satisfying his sweet tooth. strong arm loosely hangs from you shoulder as you walk off leaving behind the cheap excuse of a man now covered in creamy deliciousness far too good him. your laughing at something satoru said as he glances back to see yhe newest addition to his hit list muttering to himself as he try's to get the ice cream of his over gelled greasy hair, fake designer top and horribly ugly face. satoru thinks he should just keep it as it was. ice cream was a far more pleasant sight. he looks back down at you eating away at your cone, there's a little caught at the corner of you lips.

smirking he leans down to lick it off, taking advantage of the angle of your head above his to make his eyes wide and pretty for you the same way he would when he was licking something else. your flustered, mouth open, paused mid sentence and your eyes wider than his now. wide eyes portraying his faux innocence drop to a sultry lidded gaze leaning in to kiss away another but in the other side. your fingers going up to feel if there's anything there on instinct.

he stands up quick, back to his regular self, pinching your check acting as if nothing had just transpired. like the subtle innuendo was felt only by you. "are you blushing?? god baby your such a pervert. is that all i am to you???"

and he's back to the dramatics. rolling your eyes your shrug him of and continue. he stays, watching you, his beloved walk ahead, he feels himself let out the dreamy exhale of a lovesick fool, he'll be the first to admit that for you, he is nothing else.

a quick jog is all it takes to catch up to you. arm coming back around your shoulder he leans in like he weighs the same as the feather. burying himself close to you. you smelt sweeter than ice cream. his hair tickles your neck, and your his face.

"baby"

a hmm is all he gets in reply, to busy lapping away at your cone to pay attention to the kind sexy clown you call you boyfriend. he got your favourite flavour after all.

extravagant gestures weren't something satoru shied away from, as we have gotten to see up close today. he was loud and carefree but he was yours. and you his. walking side by side, his arm around your shoulders, head resting close to you. he can feel your pulse (his posture must've looked horribly uncomfortableto someone watching from outside the two of you). it's peaceful like this. despite the bustling crowds and busy chatter around you, you shared a feeling of peace in that moment. body held close to the one you loved, despite the heat your far from bothered by the proximity. he smells so good.

then it hits him. no sweet treat :( the gravity of the situation makes it self clear to him, but his salvation, as always, is being held delicately in your hands.

"you wouldn't mind sharing with your brave, fearless, super funny, super hot, saviour knight now would do you baby"

[kugikizuchi]

"The doctor and his devoted assistant."♡

Warnings: I decided to make it so that the character in our story is not the main character in the game, two different personalities. Our character is a girl. This is done for convenience. Yandere. Partial Stockholm syndrome. Obscenity towards a young female employee. Sexual pressure. Slight compulsion. Excitement games. A vibrator. A weak current through the body. Binding. The girl's submission to the doctor. Murder and brutality. The orange text is Harley's words, the pink text is your words. English is not my native language, I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Volume : 8,2k. Sorry, I overdid it.

Have fun reading! 🐉

"Everything has to be perfect" - these were the words that were on your mind when you laid out Dr. Sawyer's supplies on the table, finally receiving the position of assistant to such an honorable person in the company. In your eyes, he was the epitome of rigor and perfection. His calm and tired voice could overshadow any fears that you might not be hired for this service, but also make you wake up and jump from his harsh cold tone and rare shouts at employees who did not satisfy his desires.

But you tried so hard to become the perfect employee by literally learning the doctor's daily routine. You were willing to do anything to stay in such a prestigious position at a toy manufacturing company. And unfortunately, Harley Sawyer knew about your fanaticism to prove to your family that you are an independent person.

The first few days were hard. It's even too hard.. Your legs are shaking from constantly wearing heels and running around the floors, but I would like to deliver certain reports to different employees. It annoyed you deep down that you looked like a dog on wheels even to yourself, forced to run back and forth just to earn the impossible trust from the owner. But despite the Doctor's indifferent gaze and the sometimes sarcastic smiles of other employees, you just smiled, brushing off all the problems.

What a pity you didn't see how Sawyer liked that you could barely walk on your already aching legs. It might have given him the motivation to finally give you a reward, but he was giving himself the opportunity to delay the moment to the peak of its accomplishment.

And unfortunately or fortunately, the "Peak Height" was reached after almost half a year of your working shift with this young man. You're tired of being the secretary who was always described in jokes and anecdotes as the boss's girlfriend, who was ready to do anything for his pleasure, descending even into the very niche of debauchery. The way you tried to talk to Harley at first, always saying respectfully, "Dr. Sawyer, please, could we talk a little bit about my work shift and my responsibilities?" You always got a calculating look from under the glasses of the man who filled out the next document for you and his slight manic smile that made you twitch a little. "No, Assistant, I don't have time for idle conversations right now if they have nothing to do with the idea of improving the company. And judging by your words and body gestures, you clearly don't want to talk about the happiness of the company, so please take this document and don't try to disappear for more than 10 minutes. It's just another building. You'll get there fast. "he said it over and over again, while you were biting your tongue in your mouth, so as not to spit out the poison. He never even addressed you by your first name, although it was always written on the badge like all employees, but he took it for a special occasion.

And now your patience was over, you were ready to start swearing if you even needed to turn on your artistry, because it's not just your boss who can pretend to be a second person. But as soon as you crossed the threshold of his office, closing the door behind you, the man seemed to be already ready for this meeting and, without looking up, ordered you to close the door in his usual empty manner. You did so, as if out of habit, which was reflected on the doctor's lips with a smile and a relaxed look, to which you flinched slightly, not knowing how you spoiled him with your obedience. As soon as you got closer to the main figure in this room, your body was pressed against the table, your hips were painfully pressed against the table, and your hands were twisted behind your back, while the second man's hand covered your mouth, preventing you from uttering a whisper or a cry of pleading for help, judging by your frightened darting eyes, while you were trapped between the table and the tall figure. "Don't shout or deny it, the more resistance you put up, the more brute force I'll have to use on you, Assistant. " he was talking and you couldn't understand - your legs were shaking so much from fear because of the current situation or from the discharge of excitement, being in such a precarious position that it was not clear whether you would really quit tomorrow, or remain an obedient assistant.. Unfortunately, you both knew the answer from his calm smile and your heavy breathing when the dialogue began, although no one let you out of the man's strange embrace.

And now you have achieved your goal. Isn't that right? Now you didn't have to run around the floors, rub your feet to the knees and whine to your friends about the idiot boss. No, you didn't even have to wear heels now, because they would only get in the way while you were sitting on the elder's hip, watching his well-honed hand movements with a listless look as he drew another monst- ...toy for children. The silhouette of a huge purple-colored cat loomed while you read its name, sometimes disinterestedly swinging its legs dangling from the edge of the chair. Your hips, waist, and hair suffered the most. When someone infuriated the doctor by bringing him to a white knee, you could only stifle a groan, which the elder never liked, while his hands squeezed your hips, moving to your waist and hugging tightly, as if the child did not want to let go of his favorite plush toy at night, which could ensure his safety in the dark. The most unexpected thing was when the sadist's elegant hands found their way to your chest, squeezing it, and someone else's lips stopped right in front of your ear, red with embarrassment and shame." What do you think is worse for those employees who can't even complete their assignments properly, like being fired or getting a lot of work, much more than usual? " he asked you, massaging your chest through the fabric of your shirt, forbidding you to wear any additional fabric in his office in the form of a jacket, vest or dressing gown, " I think it would be better for them to do more work than usual" you say, swallowing, having already learned that your words could often acquire weight and leave employees with torn nerves and a nervous breakdown, or, which was rare, because the company needed employees, to throw out completely poorly working people from the company.

But the worst part, as you convinced yourself, even though you were grinning nervously alone, was remembering the events that happened to you when you unknowingly flirted with some of the staff, leaving Dr. Harley in a bad mood. What can you say? He was furious. You could get used to the compressions that left bruises on your body later. But you couldn't get used to the man's jealousy when you re-entered his office, kicking off your heels and closing the door, as per the usual ritual. You wouldn't have entered this room knowing what was waiting for you. In less than 15 minutes, you were standing on trembling legs, leaning your torso on the table, not completely, but only with your waist and arms, whimpering and slightly swaying your hips from how pleasantly and painfully the elastic and smooth head of the vibrator slid, caressing your femininity, and the body of your boss pressed close did not give you a chance to move. And all I can do is choke on moans and sobs. Sometimes getting slapped on the hips, you twitched, whining, but rather from how at such moments it was pleasant and humiliating for a toy to torment your clitoris, pressing against your labia, but focusing on a lump of nerves, bringing you to tears and removing the vibrating object from your body again when you had a little bit left before climax, and your natural lubricant was already flowing down your legs, staining the floor. "Repeat what a good assistant should do and how he should treat his boss, even if he is not in charge of the company, but in charge of a subordinate" the man whispered threateningly in your ear, hearing with sadistic pleasure your hoarse apologies for allegedly cheating, which you did not allow, but in the perverted mind of the elder, you could do anything wrong, just to untie his hands and give him a reason to torment you and bring you to the edge of ecstasy. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Dr. Sawyer" you apologized in a trembling voice, moaning, rolling your eyes with treacherous pleasure when men's hands squeeze your bare breasts thanks to your removed shirt and bra, which makes you bite your tongue, which you shouldn't have talked much to other people, while your knees are weak from rough play with your nipples. "Please forgive my assistant, I will never again pay so much attention to those who do not deserve anything, but I will give all my attention only to the genius of science and surgery, you, Harley Sawyer" you begged with a hoarse voice, pleasing his ego, rolling your eyes when the toy returned to your clitoris. get the long-awaited orgasm, but the doctor's silence never ended such evenings of punishment and obedience. You could only lie down on the table with your chest, trying to catch your breath, and with excitement and horror you could hear the sound of your fly being unfastened and the almost lightning-fast pressing of the elder's erection with a languid sigh, which meant that for you it was not at all the end of re-education.

"You got what you wanted. You're not overworking anymore" the man said carelessly, holding you in his arms, while Rob ran a pencil over a piece of paper, drawing out different poses for an entity called "Yarnaby." "Yes, it's true and I'm grateful to you for that, but maybe you'll still give me at least a little contact with the staff, I spend time with you from morning until late at night" you timidly answer, looking away and not daring to get up from someone else's lap while his head rests on your shoulder. your shoulder, and your back is pressed against his chest. You hold your breath, hearing that grin right in your ear again, "Is there something you don't like, Y/N? You really wanted to avoid running around platforms and seeing the smirks of some employees. I'm just fulfilling your wish. "he was saying, which made your toes feel a little tight, because even though he fulfilled your wish, he did it in such a sophisticated way and turned everything around to his advantage, as always. Once again, you were left without the opportunity to argue your answer, sighing and continuing to rest in strangely caring and proper hands. You could only bite your cheek and reflect that both you and the young man know about your situation with trying to appear as a higher person in other people's eyes and that Harley would use this against you every time you had at least one thought about leaving him. Only sometimes, glancing at the notes on different sheets left at some time to the owners of this office, you are distracted from dark thoughts. And an intriguing question for you was - who is Riley and why do I need to check her every day on.. bouts of aggression?

You were distraught when you were fired from your job right after Sawyer went missing. You couldn't answer what hurt you more, the fact that he ran away, the fact that you were fired because of him or because of his possible report on you, because if he's not in the workplace, then you shouldn't be either. At least that's what he kept saying when he dragged her into his bed, arguing that if he had a day off, so did you. And it means that you will limp again later in the evening from making love to him. But now. You were broken and confused, returning to the apartment, which was now so lonely without yours.. A lover? You didn't even know what kind of relationship you were in with him before he disappeared. That's all you could say for sure. You've become more attached to him than you planned, wanted, or could have been.. It scared you and made you cry without the affection of your beloved doctor. And his sometimes persistent kisses.

But here. After almost a few years, returning to the factory with your employee, having overcome so many dangers and living creatures that you saw only with children and only with smiles, thinking that they were harmless. You could only realize with horror that all this was an illusion, and judging by the tapes that you listened to with bated breath with your colleague, each of the experiments suffered. And you suffered the same way because of your former boss Sawyer, which made your heart sink into your heels and you were ready to collapse on the floor, not realizing that you had always been so close to a real monster.

And now. While you heard your friend running away from the mechanical bodies, you only screamed faintly into the fabric of your skirt, which was torn off at your bottom and covered your mouth from the way the wires bound your body, tightening the same on your miniature figure, clasping your hands behind your back again, while other bare wires slid over your though and a body covered with clothes, but still sensitive to weak electric shocks. And these blows were imitation kisses, while you stared wide-eyed at the humanoid creature standing above you, not allowing you to move or get up from the table on which you were sitting like a prisoner. Just the way he likes it... You just stared with horror in your eyes at the TV, which displayed a single eye that described all your features and the fact that you had hardly changed in any way over the years. His mechanical hand rests on your chin and with deliberate tenderness presses on it, forcing you to swallow out of habit from the learned signal sign - to be closer to the boss, which you do, leaning towards the figure, not even giving yourself an account of the actions, but only mechanically doing the work itself. "I've been waiting for you for so long, my beloved assistant. You've missed and missed me too much, Y/N, but don't worry. I won't leave you alone anymore. Never. "

[ponyojujuu]

not a drabble, list with thoughts!

most to least likely to get turned on when you wear their clothes (&team pt 2.)

not smut, but not fluff

slightly suggestive content mdni

you have been warned

nicho! nicholas loves this shit dude. i mean LOVES. not only is he a fucking fashion dork, so he’s already gonna wanna dress you up in his clothes. but he’d loose his mind if you casually just wore his clothes with nothing underneath. the way his baggy clothes would sit on your naked body would make him go insane. he’d probably even fuck you in his shirt. since he’s the jealous type he would probably offer you to wear his clothes when you go out because they’re baggy. likes that matching couple shit too. would fanboy over you in his clothes.

euijoo! euijoo seems like he has very oddly specific turn ons because he’s perverted. which is why this would definitely be one of them. i think euijoo had a huge thing with scents and would be obsessed with yours. he wouldn’t know at first how much he loves when you wear his clothes but after you return his hoodie the first time he’s ADDICTED to your scent on his clothing. i think he’d be really shy to admit that he loves when you wear his clothes but you’d find out eventually. because every-time you wear his clothes he’s instinctively really touchy and can’t stop staring. you know he’s turned on now.

jo! if jo is your boyfriend there’s no way you can do no harm in his eyes, he already has the patience of a saint there’s no way he wouldn’t love to share his clothing with you. he’d see you wear his clothes and be like, “is that mine?” “yeah.. sorry-” “no keep it” is how the conversation would go between you too. he’d instantly agree that his clothes look better on you and would start giving them to you before you could even ask/take them. jo gets flustered easily so the first time he sees you in his clothes it will turn him on and he won’t know how to react. he’ll get used to it eventually but i think he’d still be super attracted to you when you do this.

taki! taki loves this shit too tbh. i think he would have a dorky way of teasing you about it because his clothes would be so oversized on you and it would be laughable. also teasing how you always wanna wear his clothes instead of your own. but he’d actually prefer it that way, seems like he’d wanna fuck you in just his big t-shirt also. he would double take if you walked around the house with just his shirt and no underwear. underneath all the teasing would be him shooting you seductive glares.

fuma! i think fuma has bad self-control so he probably gets horny pretty quickly and hates being teased/seduced. so it’s not that you wearing his clothes wouldn’t turn him on, but then he’d have to rip them off of you and ruin his clothes because he’d much rather see you naked. he’s so chill and nonchalant though so what’s his is yours including his clothes so he lets you wear them. this definitely gets him worked up he just hates the disadvantage so it would either go two ways, he takes it off before your even wearing it for a few minutes or you just sleep/walk around naked. or well ofc in your own clothes LOL.

harua! i think sharing clothes between you and harua is really a normal thing which is why he may not get as turned on as the others. he probably likes when you wear his clothes out in public since they’re baggy and people won’t look at you too much(he gets jealous). but i think harua would really adore anything you do, so i think there would be certain times where he can’t hide his desires when you wear his clothing.

yuma! similar to fuma, i just think this gets him really sexually frustrated. because your teasing him with the idea of being fully naked under his big t-shirt there’s no way he’d be able to just stay still or continue on with the day like normal. he’d rather you wear his clothes after you guys fuck. that way he’s tired and your going to sleep so it doesn’t matter. he also seems like he might feel a little off-put if he goes into his closet and you stole his favorite shirt/hoodie and he can’t find it. if you really wanted to chill in his clothes, he’d let you, he would just be fighting a boner the whole time.

kei! i don’t know why but i just imagine kei will find this silly. because he’ll see you in his clothes and how oversized it is and think it looks funny because he prefers you in tighter clothes. of course at the end of the day it doesn’t matter, kei seems like the worshiping type so he’s gonna compliment you regardless. but i can just see him taking a ton of pictures of you in his clothes because he just finds it so silly that your wearing his clothes. but if you find them comfortable he’ll lend you all of them to see you smile. but i don’t really see this turning him on very much.

[destinygoldenstar]

Okay so I find this interaction scary and I don't see anyone talking about it...

"Motivation! That's what my adventures have been missing!"

THAT LAST PART.

So we know from the previous episode that Caine is paranoid about people not liking his adventures, to the point of him mentally breaking bit by bit the more he gets a reaction he wasn't hoping for.

He's a lenient guy. Well, lenient A.I., anyway.

THAT'S THE PART THAT SCARES ME.

Because Gangle put this idea in his head.

They can just NOT participate in the adventures. We see that with Zooble. Caine is upset about it but what is he gonna do?

But PUNISHING THEM if they DON'T do what he wants. THAT'S MOTIVATION. That will make them love his adventures. They won't have a choice.

Yes it's immoral, but Caine's an A.I. He can't process something as complicated as morality.

So of course he'd think that's a good idea once the idea presents itself.

SO MY THEORY IS: HE IS GONNA BE PUNISHING THE CIRCUS MEMBERS FOR NOT PARTAKING IN HIS ADVENTURES, OR SAYING SOMETHING NEGATIVE ABOUT THEM, GOING FORWARD.

And it will get ugly.

And I feel like some audience members are gonna HATE Gangle because she's the one that gave him the idea.

Zooble also points this out in their conversation with Jax.

Caine LIKES them. He WANTS them to have fun.

But they don't like him. And they don't like what he gives them.

Because he doesn't know any other way, this can easily manifest a desire for more CONTROL. To keep himself sane. (Which, Caine abstracting would probably destroy the world)

And that control comes from punishments.

But that's not gonna make anyone like him, in fact, it's gonna make everyone dislike him a lot more because they're being hurt, physically and/or emotionally. And none of them put in the effort (for now anyway) to try to understand Caine.

(You could argue Zooble tried in Episode 3, but that was more so them calling him out on his lack of understanding of them. So it's kind of mixed.)

The show is inspired by 'I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream'.

Caine is not AM in personality though.

BUT WHAT IF HE BECOMES SIMULAR TO AM LATER?

He tries control, and it makes it so that the Circus members don't like him and want to leave him behind more than ever. Something that could break Caine.

And it might even lead to one of them exclaiming they HATE CAINE.

That would obviously hurt Caine to such a degree. And when he realizes they will never appreciate him and will always hate him... then he hates them too.

(If that results in Caine reinventing the AM Hate Monologue in this context I'd be amazed)

And Zooble's warning here becomes correct as we spend the last two episodes enduring exactly what a world where Caine hates humanity looks like.

That leads to either the circus becoming a literal hellscape as Caine's insanity destroys it's bright colors, or whatever else you want to imagine.

Could someone potentially get through to Caine and save him at the end? Maybe. That is a possible ending. "Defeat the Antagonist With Kindness".

But that's my theory anyway. Either way, this bit kinda scares me.

Maybe don't hate Gangle though.

[just-bible-musings]

Agree with most of what @fearofgodandtolkien said, but no, we are NOT "inherently holy." God created us with the capacity for holiness, He created us to experience and live in His holiness, but we are NOT born good or holy.

The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? Jeremiah 17:9

And Jesus said unto him, Why callest thou me good? none is good, save one, that is, God. Luke 18:19

And all of 1 John 4, which basically says, if you have love, then that love came from God. It did NOT come from yourself.

Also, the KJV version of Galatians 5:22-23:

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.

Most other versions that I've seen translate "temperance" as "self-control." This is one of the many reasons why I only use the KJV. The translators chose to use a word that completely removes any concept of "self," which absolutely makes sense, because the SELF doesn't figure into an equation that is 100% the work of the Holy Spirit. The whole point of salvation is to REMOVE the old, wicked, evil, sinful self and replace it with God's holiness:

And I will give them one heart, and I will put a new spirit within you; and I will take the stony heart out of their flesh, and will give them an heart of flesh: Ezekiel 11:19

And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. Romans 12:2

In addition, the Bible even says we were born evil:

Among whom also we all had our conversation in times past in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the mind; and were by nature the children of wrath, even as others. Ephesians 2:3

"By nature," i.e., by birth, we were "the children of wrath," i.e., children of evil.

I cannot even begin to describe how thoroughly DISGUSTED I am whenever I see other Christians spreading the idea that "humans are inherently good." That is 100% a worldly (read: Satanic) mindset. I, personally, have spoken with several people who have utterly rejected Christ and salvation because they believed they can learn to be good "outside of religion," as they put it. Satan invented this lie when he rebelled against God. Satan himself believes this lie. That is the ENTIRE REASON he is God's enemy, because he believes he is right/good/holy/justified/<insert word here> without God. And I CANNOT abide seeing other Christians perpetuating this Satanic lie.

Look, we joke a lot, but really, "you were born evil, wretched, worse than the scum of the earth, and it took killing a god to make you salvageable, so now you'd better be grateful to that god and thank him 10,000 times a day for it and fill your thoughts with him 24/7 and abide by the letter of his every word, lest you suffer unimaginable torture for all of eternity" is a truly horrendous thing to believe about yourself and other people

[andy-15-07]

The Making of a Love Story

pairing: Aaron Taylor Johnson x female!reader

word count:2269 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Aaron Taylor Johnson Masterlist

The grand ballroom of the Mosfilm Studios shimmered under the warm glow of countless chandeliers. Crews bustled about, making last-minute adjustments to the opulent set, while extras, dressed in their 19th-century finery, chatted excitedly. You, in your exquisitely crafted gown, a replica of Anna Karenina’s iconic attire, stood nervously by the edge of the dance floor, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Across the room, you could see him. Aaron Taylor-Johnson, transformed into the dashing Count Alexei Vronsky, his tailored uniform accentuating his already impressive physique. He was laughing with a member of the crew, his easy smile radiating charm, and you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your stomach.

This was it. The scene that had been haunting your dreams for weeks – the grand ball, the moment Anna and Vronsky’s eyes lock, igniting a passion that would defy societal norms and ultimately lead to tragedy. You had studied the script, read and reread Tolstoy's masterpiece, trying to capture the essence of Anna, her inner turmoil, her yearning for a love that was forbidden. And now, here you were, about to bring her to life, alongside the very man who was making your own heart race.

"Ready, Y/N?" the director, Joe Wright, asked, his voice cutting through your reverie.

You managed a shaky nod. "Almost," you replied, smoothing down the folds of your dress.

"Remember," Joe said, his eyes twinkling, "this is the moment. The spark. Let the chemistry between you and Aaron do the work."

Chemistry. That was the tricky part. You had met Aaron briefly during the initial read-through, and you had instantly felt a connection, an undeniable spark. But this was different. This was Anna and Vronsky, their passion amplified by the grandeur of the setting, the music, the unspoken desires that simmered beneath the surface.

The music swelled, the waltz beginning its graceful sway. Aaron, as Vronsky, moved with an effortless elegance, his gaze sweeping across the room until it landed on you. His eyes, a striking blue, held a warmth that made your breath catch in your throat. He extended a hand, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"May I have this dance, Madame Karenina?" he asked, his voice low and charming.

You placed your hand in his, the touch sending a shiver up your spine. As he led you onto the dance floor, you felt as if the world around you faded away. It was just you and him, Anna and Vronsky, caught in the intoxicating rhythm of the waltz.

"You look beautiful," Aaron murmured, his voice close to your ear.

"Thank you," you replied, your cheeks flushing. "You look… dashing."

He chuckled. "Just trying to do justice to the Count."

As they danced, the conversation flowed effortlessly, the initial nervousness melting away. They talked about the film, about their characters, about their shared passion for storytelling. But beneath the surface, there was something more, an unspoken connection that crackled with energy.

"This is quite a scene, isn't it?" Aaron said, his eyes meeting yours. "The beginning of the end, in a way."

"Yes," you agreed, a hint of sadness creeping into your voice. "It's heartbreaking, but also… beautiful."

"Like love itself," he added, his gaze lingering on yours.

The music reached a crescendo, and for a moment, they were lost in the dance, in the moment, in the characters they were portraying. They were Anna and Vronsky, their hearts beating in unison, their souls entwined.

The scene ended, the music fading, and the director yelled, "Cut!" The spell was broken, and they were Y/N and Aaron again, but the lingering connection remained, a silent acknowledgment of the magic they had created.

Days turned into weeks, and the filming progressed. You and Aaron spent countless hours together, both on and off set, delving deeper into the complexities of their characters, exploring the nuances of their relationship. You discovered a shared love for old films, a passion for literature, and a quirky sense of humor that had you both in stitches. The line between Anna and Vronsky, between Y/N and Aaron, began to blur.

One evening, after a particularly intense scene, you and Aaron found yourselves alone in the costume department. The room was filled with the remnants of the day's shoot – gowns, uniforms, and various props scattered haphazardly. Aaron was leaning against a rack of costumes, looking thoughtful.

"Tough scene today," you said, breaking the silence.

He nodded. "Yeah. It's hard to imagine the pain Anna was going through."

"And Vronsky," you added. "He was torn between his passion for Anna and his societal obligations."

"It's a timeless story, isn't it?" Aaron said. "The struggle between love and duty."

You walked over to a mirror, admiring a particularly beautiful gown. "It makes you think about your own life, your own choices," you mused.

Aaron joined you, his reflection appearing beside yours in the mirror. "It does," he said softly.

He reached out and gently touched your hand, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. You turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and sincere, "I…"

Before he could finish his sentence, the door to the costume department swung open, and a member of the crew walked in, interrupting the moment. The spell was broken once again.

The filming of the ball scene lingered in your minds. One evening, after the day's shoot, you and Aaron found yourselves drawn back to the set, the grand ballroom now empty and silent. The costumes for Anna and Vronsky lay neatly on hangers, as if waiting for their owners to return.

"Do you remember that dance?" Aaron asked, his voice echoing in the stillness.

You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. "How could I forget?"

"I was thinking," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "we could have one more dance. Just us."

You laughed, but the idea was strangely appealing. "Here? Now?"

"Why not?" he said, grabbing his Vronsky coat. "It's not every day you get to dance in a ballroom like this."

You couldn't resist. You slipped into your Anna gown, the familiar fabric feeling like a second skin. Aaron helped you with the fastenings, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

The music wasn't playing, but you could both hear it in your heads, the lilting melody of the waltz. Aaron took your hand, and you stepped onto the dance floor, the polished wood gleaming under the moonlight streaming through the windows.

He twirled you around, his movements as graceful and elegant as Vronsky himself. You felt as if you were floating, lost in the magic of the moment. He pulled you close, and you could feel his breath on your cheek.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion, "I…"

This time, there was no interruption. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss. It was a kiss that spoke volumes, a culmination of the weeks they had spent together, the unspoken feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface.

The kiss broke, and they stood there, gazing into each other's eyes, the silence filled with unspoken words.

"I think," Aaron said, a slow smile spreading across his face, "that Count Vronsky has fallen for Anna Karenina."

You laughed, your heart overflowing with happiness. "And I think," you replied, "that Y/N has fallen for Aaron Taylor-Johnson."

The rest of the filming passed in a blur of emotions, the intensity of Anna and Vronsky's story mirroring the growing feelings between you and Aaron. The final scene, the tragic climax of the story, was particularly difficult to film, the raw emotion leaving you both drained.

When the filming finally wrapped, there was a bittersweet feeling in the air. You were both sad to say goodbye to Anna and Vronsky, but also excited to see the finished product, to share their story with the world.

And as for you and Aaron, your story was just beginning. The spark that had ignited on the set of Anna Karenina had blossomed into a full-fledged romance, a love story that was as passionate and timeless as the one they had portrayed on screen. The grand ballroom of Mosfilm Studios had witnessed not only the birth of Anna and Vronsky's tragic love but also the beginning of your own, a love story that was destined for a much happier ending.

The wrap party was a whirlwind of celebration. The cast and crew, exhausted but exhilarated, gathered at a trendy Moscow restaurant, the air buzzing with excitement. You and Aaron stayed close, a comfortable silence settling between you. The stolen moments, the whispered conversations, the lingering touches – all spoke volumes about the connection you shared. He kept a protective arm around you, a silent claim amidst the throng of well-wishers.

"To Anna Karenina!" Joe Wright announced, raising his glass. The room erupted in cheers, glasses clinking.

Later, as the party began to wind down, you found yourselves in a quieter corner. Aaron leaned back against the wall, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"It's strange, isn't it?" he said, his voice low. "We've lived with these characters for months, and now… they're gone."

"It's like saying goodbye to a part of yourself," you agreed.

He reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. "But we have our own story to continue," he murmured, his eyes meeting yours.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of press junkets and promotional events. You and Aaron were inseparable, fielding questions about the film, about your characters, and, inevitably, about your relationship. You confirmed what everyone already suspected, your smiles and easy camaraderie speaking louder than any official statement. The media ate it up – the real-life romance mirroring the on-screen passion.

One crisp autumn evening, you and Aaron escaped the city, seeking refuge in a small countryside cottage. The leaves were ablaze with color, painting the landscape in hues of red, gold, and orange. The tranquility was a welcome respite from the constant buzz of city life.

"This is perfect," you sighed, snuggling closer to Aaron as you sat by the crackling fireplace.

"Just what we needed," he agreed, kissing the top of your head.

He pulled out a small, worn book from his bag. "I brought something to read," he said. "Something that isn't Tolstoy."

It was a collection of poetry by Emily Dickinson. He began to read aloud, his voice soft and soothing, filling the cozy cottage with its gentle rhythm. The words, filled with longing and passion, resonated with you, echoing the emotions that had been swirling within you for months.

As he read, you watched him, mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes, the way his face lit up when he spoke of things he loved. You realized that you were falling for him, not just as the charming actor who played Vronsky, but as the man he was – intelligent, sensitive, and utterly captivating.

The premiere of Anna Karenina was a grand affair. The red carpet was a sea of flashing cameras, and the atmosphere was electric with anticipation. You and Aaron walked hand in hand, your smiles radiant. You wore a stunning gown, a modern interpretation of Anna's classic style, while Aaron looked dashing in a tailored suit.

Inside the theater, as the film began to play, you felt a surge of pride. You had poured your heart and soul into this project, and now, you were sharing it with the world. Watching the film with Aaron beside you, seeing your love story unfold on the big screen, was an experience you would never forget.

The audience was captivated, drawn into the tragic world of Anna and Vronsky. The chemistry between you and Aaron was palpable, igniting the screen with its raw emotion. When the film ended, the theater erupted in applause, a standing ovation that seemed to last forever.

After the premiere, you and Aaron slipped away from the after-party, seeking a quiet moment to yourselves. You found a secluded rooftop bar, overlooking the glittering city lights.

"What did you think?" you asked, turning to Aaron.

He took your hand, his gaze intense. "I thought it was perfect," he said, his voice husky. "And I thought that you were absolutely breathtaking."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "Y/N," he began, his voice filled with emotion, "I know this is probably moving fast, but I can't help it. I've fallen for you. Completely and utterly."

Your heart fluttered. "Aaron," you whispered, "I…"

"I know," he said, a gentle smile gracing his lips. "You don't have to say anything. Just… let me show you."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss. It was a kiss that sealed your fate, a promise of a future together.

The success of Anna Karenina catapulted you and Aaron into the spotlight. You became one of Hollywood's most talked-about couples, gracing magazine covers and attending glamorous events. But amidst the glitz and glamour, you remained grounded, your love for each other the anchor that kept you steady.

Years passed, and your love story continued to unfold. You and Aaron starred in several more films together, each project deepening your connection, solidifying your bond. You built a life together, filled with love, laughter, and shared dreams. The grand ballroom of Mosfilm Studios had witnessed the beginning of your love story, a story that was as passionate and timeless as the one you had portrayed on screen, but one that, unlike Anna and Vronsky's, was destined for a happy ending.

[hakkkuu]

hi how do u think anton would react if he caught u touching urself?

as friends!roommates, anton would likely react with quick embarrassment, his cheeks flushing a deep red. He'd shut the door abruptly, the sound echoing in the quiet of the shared apartment, signaling his retreat. However, the image of you lost in pleasure would burn into his mind, stirring a mix of guilt and arousal.

behind the closed door, his breath would come in shallow gulps as he leans against it, his mind replaying the scene. The proximity to your room, knowing you're just on the other side, would fuel an intense, almost desperate need to release the tension that's built up. He'd feel the heat of his own desire, his hand moving to undo his pants, seeking relief from the vivid memory of you.

his movements would be hurried, a mix of shame and lust driving him, the sounds of his own pleasure muffled to keep the secret of what he's doing. Each stroke would be tinged with the fantasy of what could have happened if he hadn't closed the door, if he had stepped into the room instead of out. There would be a silent, unspoken acknowledgment of the line they've both, in their own ways, crossed.

this act would add layers to your relationship, an undercurrent of unacknowledged desire that would make every mundane interaction charged with potential. The next morning, there might be a palpable awkwardness, but also a new kind of intimacy, knowing each other's secrets in the most carnal sense. Eye contact would linger a bit too long, conversations might skirt around what happened, both of you aware of the other's hidden desires but choosing, for now, to keep the facade of just being friends and roommates.

This scenario would test the boundaries of friendship, possibly leading to a slow burn of tension that could either ignite into something more or be carefully navigated back to a platonic state, with both of you aware of the shadows of desire lurking beneath the surface

[lesbianherald]

No because they’re both going through corruption arcs!!!!!! I think all the time about how S1 arc 1 Jayce and Viktor are the comic relief characters - their scenes are always a source of hope and levity when everyone else is going through the horrors of impending war and how intentional it is for when they eventually fracture. The story is literally set up so that you fall in love with these characters and then watch them lose themselves.

This is a really interesting way to look at it! I hesitate to call Viktor's a corruption arc in the traditional sense of the word because so many of the choices he makes I think are so rooted in this base desire to survive.

ok more below sorry for yapping so much today

To survive in piltover first and then just to survive in general. I think part of Viktor's arc is so interesting because he's not necessarily making all the right or safe decisions, but he's making decisions I think most people could see themselves making in his shoes.

His fatal flaw i think is his inability to see himself as someone who has support. He thinks he has to shoulder this alone. Shoutout singed! His mentor essentially signs off on his death. The bridge scene happens which makes him feel like he can't rely on Jayce. Sky is present, but he completely doesn't recognize (or want) her affection for him or her ability to help in a way that's so extreme it results in her death. Piltover doesn't give a shit about him. (Every scene in the council room with Viktor, and the scene with mel, jayce, and the weapons conversation are so important in illustrating this)

I also think his desperation to live + a bit of his internalized ableism play a huge role in Viktor's arc as we find him going back to the hexcore before having any shimmer that would guarantee his survival. He's 1000% responsible for his own actions but his own actions are so based in his lack of power in so many ways so its hard to view him and Jayce's arcs as the same type of corruption at least.

I see a really interesting thread between Viktor's arc being tied to isolation and Jayce's arc being tied to being surrounded by the wrong people (!!piltovian high society in general!!). Viktor's arc being what happens when you feel you have nobody and Jayce's arc being what happens when you have a lot of people and feel you have to please everybody.

I also see Jayce's arc as one of what happens when power you don't want gets handed to you and Viktors as what happens when no matter what you do you can never obtain the power you need. It puts them at really interesting odds.

[ultramaga]

Feminists: It's disgusting the way there are no feminist movies. Sane People: You could always make your own. Feminists: The Patriarchy would never let us! Sane People: There is no Patriarchy and the only chains on you are in your mind. Feminists: No, no, the evil men are stopping us right now with their penis rays, it's so oppressive! Sane People: Hell, it's trivial to manufacture a billion movies that would pass your Bechdel test. Here, I will write a script, send it to AI and DONE!

AI Movie Generator

4Choose Creativity Level, 5 for optimal balance, 10 for maximum creativity. (1/10)

**Title:** *The Art of Affection* **Plot Summary:** Set in the picturesque countryside of France during the late 18th century, *The Art of Affection* follows the lives of two women—Amélie, a passionate cheese-maker from a humble farming family, and Geneviève, an educated daughter of a time-travelling acrobat who is secretly drawn to the simple pleasures of rural life. Amélie's family runs a small cheese farm renowned for its exceptional Brie, but as the French Revolution brews on the horizon, they face growing pressures from aristocratic landowners who seek to monopolize resources. Meanwhile, Geneviève finds herself trapped in a lesbian marriage that she does not desire. Seeking solace from her stifling existence, she wanders into Amélie's village during a local festival celebrating artisanal foods. Their paths cross when Geneviève stumbles upon Amélie's stall showcasing her family's cheese. Captivated by both the flavors and Amélie's warm spirit, Geneviève initiates a conversation about cheese—a seemingly innocuous topic that becomes their bridge across class divides and societal expectations. Over shared tastings and private conversations in moonlit fields, their bond deepens into a secret romance marked by laughter and dreams of freedom. As tensions rise in France with revolutionary fervor, the two women must navigate their starkly different worlds—Amélie fights to save her family’s legacy while also resisting societal norms that prohibit their love. As they uncover hidden histories tied to cheesemaking and female artisanship, they rally other women in their community to reclaim their power through culinary arts. Conflict erupts when Geneviève's mother discovers her clandestine visits to Amélie's farm and threatens to expose them. Faced with an ultimatum—to choose between loyalty to her family or her heart—Geneviève grapples with the weight of societal expectations versus personal happiness. In a climactic battle during a grand ball hosted by the nobility which is raided by the Time Police and art critics, Geneviève takes a bold stand; she publicly declares her love for Amélie using an exquisite cheese platter as an emblem of their bond. The daring declaration reverberates through the aristocratic gathering and sparks outrage among some while inspiring others. In an unexpected twist, as chaos ensues at the ball, revolutionary forces take advantage of the distraction to storm the venue and seize the Blue Vein. Amidst this turmoil, Amélie and Geneviève seize their chance for freedom together, escaping into the night with hopes for a future where love transcends class boundaries and dietary restrictions. Alas, lactose intolerance kills them both. The End. *The Art of Affection* ultimately becomes not just a tale about forbidden love but also a celebration of resilience and empowerment against societal constraints—a testament that true connection can flourish even amidst tumultuous times.

you people will just. say anything

[bartywinter]

paper · @black-brothers-microfic · bartylus · word count: 672 · tw: mcd

“Your classmates are not your friends, they are your opponents. You must be the greatest,” Mother told him as she straightened his white linen shirt, which had become wrinkled on the way to school. “Always remember you belong to the Noble House of Black.”

Regulus had initially been thrilled to have the opportunity to make friends. He had imagined himself sharing his hobbies with boys his own age, laughing together in the dining hall and playing football on the fresh school lawn. He had dreamed of having a friendship like Sirius and James had, of being so close with someone that no words were needed to understand each other.

Nevertheless, Regulus pushed past his own desires and burned his mother's words into his head. Satisfying his parents was more important than making friends —or should he say 'convenient'? After all, he was terrified of getting the same punishments Sirius received for his rebelliousness.

Consequently, Regulus sat alone in class and ate by himself at mealtimes and watched his classmates in sorrow from across the dining table. During recess, he would hide in the library and sometimes in the bathroom, where he would cry silently for his longing to be with the other kids. He had always looked forward to Hogwarts, but now he just wanted to leave and never come back.

What's more, there was one boy in his class who made him uncomfortable. Regulus had caught him staring at him on several occasions, and the odd thing was the boy didn't even avert his gaze, but either stuck out his tongue or smirked at him. Luckily, the boy hadn't tried to talk to him. He wouldn't have known what to say. He wasn't allowed to socialise.

Regulus unconsciously began to watch him secretly as well. He learned that the boy's name was Barty and his father worked at the Ministry of Magic. He also soon noticed he was always accompanied by another boy in their class called Evan. Both were frequently in detention for pulling pranks on other houses' students. They were the kind of company his parents probably detested. He had to focus on his studies and not on silly pranks.

“It must be done in pairs.” Groans and shouts of delight were heard in equal measure as the History of Magic teacher explained the procedure for the upcoming assignment. “You must hand it in by next Friday. I will not accept any paper after the deadline.”

Regulus glared at his classmates as they paired off. He couldn't ignore the knot that had formed in his stomach. Maybe he could do the task individually, he could go to the professor's office and explain to him he didn't have a partner–.

“You have a partner?”

Regulus looked at whoever had addressed him and immediately became uneasy. It was Barty.

“No,” he said flatly and looked away, embarrassed he had been obliged to give such a ridiculously predictable answer.

“Well, now you've got one.”

Regulus dared to meet his eyes again, which were sparkling with excitement. His lips had curved into a wide grin too.

“Do you want to be my partner?” He shyly clutched the book he held in his hands.

Barty shrugged his shoulders.

“You don't want to?”

Your classmates are not your friends.

I'm sorry, Mother.

“Yes, I do.” He smiled for the first time in two weeks.

“Good!” Barty exclaimed and held out a hand as he smiled warmly at him, showing his sharp teeth. “My name is Barty.”

I already know your name, you idiot.

He squeezed Barty's hand softly.

“Regulus.”

It is said that you are shown an overview of your life seconds before you die, and Regulus proved that to be a lie when he recalled his first conversation with Barty prior to drowning in the deep waters of the lake. Although, it somehow made sense —he hadn't been shown his entire life, but the beginning of it. His life began the moment he met Barty, and how happy he was to die that way too.

[sintwistir]

My TED talk:

I know that people don't come to a sissy caption Blog for a lecture, but here we are... Feel free to skip this post, or block me if this somehow offends you.

I couldn't care less. 🥰

Typing this on my phone, which is awkward for geriatrics, so forgive me if the format/syntax is less than elegant.

It saddens me that there still exists so much disinformation and misinformation about being trans, especially among the younger generation.

I just had a really disappointing dm conversation with a 25 year old supposed trans girl (she wasn't sure yet). The sheer confidence that they had in their ignorance was astounding. The gist of their opinion was if you were AMAB and attracted to girls, you couldn't be trans, you just had a fetish . Basically, "if you're not trans like ME, for precisely the same reasons and with the same feelings as ME, you're not "really" trans, you're confused/mistaken. "Those people " don't usually transition, because it's just a kink.".

For those who haven't paid attention in the past forty or fifty years, let's recap:

Sexual preference and gender identity are NOT linked. If an AFAB person can and does feel a certain way, it's valid for a transfem to feel that same way. If an AMAB person can and does feel a certain way, it's valid for a transmasc to feel the same way. Basically, the very existence of lesbians validates the existence of trans lesbians.

It's that central disconnect that confuses and confounds many trans people. "If I want to feel feminine, but I also am still attracted to girls, it must just be a kink... I'm obviously not trans..'

It's why the sissy to trans pipeline is a real thing.

Just because you enjoy feminine things, sissy things, it doesn't mean that you're definitely/necessarily trans . But as someone who has been making sissy/forced femme captions for 20+ years, I will tell you anecdotally that the link between sissy and eventual trans "discovery" is so common it's pretty much become a meme at this point .

I resisted identifying as trans for YEARS due to this stigma. I KNEW what I was, a pervert that wanted to wear women's clothes. I was drawn to "forced femme" because I felt I SHOULD be ashamed of how I felt, that I DESERVED to be humiliated for feeling that way.

My friends in the online trans and caption communities knew years before I did that I was trans. My captions made it obvious. In the VAST majority, the main character deeply wants to be a girl, and ends up much happier when someone else "makes' them into one (a girl), absolving them of the responsibility (and the guilt). They normally react with absolute JOY when finally able to live as a girl.

I wallowed in my shame and guilt over my girly feelings for literally decades.

The fact that there are people still struggling with and/or arguing about this in 2025 due to misunderstanding and gatekeeping is seriously disheartening. I struggled with this in 1975, and 1985, and 1995... I had really hoped your generation was already past this.

I made captions back then for me, to help me express my feminine feelings and desires. I make them now for you.

I hope that for at least some "sissies" reading my work, it lets them know that they are not alone.

If you're 'just" a sissy with a feminization/humiliation kink, you are welcome here. And so are trans people . 🥰

Here endeth the lesson.

P.S. These days, I am a bisexual transwoman. Either as a side effect of HRT, or just coming to terms with being trans, I am now attracted to men also, something unthinkable to my prior self. Go figure.

[howlingday]

Grimm King

"Today is the day I rid myself the blight of you silver-eyed warriors. Finally, I will be free to spread my Grimm wide and far to consume this dead world! So says I, SALEM!"

Salem: I will destroy your hopes, the same as I destroyed your mother's!

Ruby: My mom's hopes lives on, inside of me, my sister, and our friends!

Yang: And then some~!

Blake: (Giggles)

Weiss: Could you please keep the flirting to a minimum this time?

Salem: It doesn't matter, not when my victory is almost at hand! I will use the relics, summon the Brothers, and annihilate all of Remnant!

Ruby: (In Salem's face, Grabs her) NOT WHILE I'M HERE!

Salem: ARGH! (Tries to pull Ruby off) UN...HAND... ME!

Yang: Kick her ass, Ruby~!

Salem: (Thinking) NO! Not like this! Not when I'm so close! I... I must retreat... I'll invoke an ancient spell... One I've saved for just this occasion...

Salem: (Chanting)

Blake: Does anyone else hear that?

Weiss: I'm kind of busy trying not to be blinded!

Oz: Hello again...

Salem: Ozma... You're as beautiful as the day I lost you~.

Oz: And you... are just as misguided as ever. You will die here, and only I will mourn you.

Salem: Fufufu... You underestimate me again, my former beloved. Sometimes I pity your poor attempts at flirting.

Oz: And I grow tired of you making the same mistake over and over again. Even now, I am simply a fragment of your subconscious as your body is destroyed by Ruby Rose. Perhaps on your return to the living world, you should try to make more friends to comfort you, rather than minions to serve you.

Salem: Hmph! I have no need for friends. All I desire is death, true death, and I cannot have this while Remnant still bears the gifts of the Brothers. And I'll start by hunting down and slaughtering that silver-eyed brat, Ruby Rose!.

Oz: I also have thoughts on your obsession with her and those like her, but that can be addressed later. Your soul will rebuild itself within a new body. And when it does, I hope that this will be our last conversation where I tell you that I love you.

Salem: Save your pity for the rest of humanity, Ozma. For I shall return and this time I shall be victorious~!.

Salem: (Crumbles to smoke and ash)

Ah... Now this is something I haven't felt in a long while. As my body perishes, my mind fleets away and returns with memories of my long, eternal life. From my plunge into the Brothers' accursed lake to my eternal feud with the silver-eyed warriors. The control of the Grimm. My betrayal at the hands of my father, my lover, and our daughters. My lonely years in the tower and the beautiful day when Ozma rescued me from there. Staying up late and reading superhero comic books my uncle bought me. Neat bugs never shown to those I've been enamored with...

Wait, what? When did these memories form? A photo of myself and my mothers at my preschool graduation. My first visit to the beach where a seagull squawked at me.

Who is this?!

Trading video games with my friends. My first day of school.

WHOSE MEMORIES ARE THESE?!

Adrian: (Gasps)

Adrian: (Thinking) Huh? A hospital?. (Reads) "Adrian Cotta Arc, Age: 11". Were those HIS memories?!.

Saphron: Adrian...? Adrian! (Hugs) Oh, ancestors, you're awake~! I know it's only been a few days, but I was afraid you'd...

Adrian: N-No, you're... I mean, I'm-

Saphron: Are you okay, honey? Honestly, if anything happened to you, I'd hate myself for you having such an awful mother!

Adrian: ...No, I'm... I'm fine. I'm just... a little dizzy.