#but people think it aligns with how he acts and are harassing him

[stars-and-guts]

me when i woke up two days ago and my kamioshis have beef and the allegations are getting srs

[wheelie-sick]

I am so tired of being referred to with they/them pronouns. being a Deaf gender nonconforming wheelchair user my existence in public is constantly scrutinized and picked apart. I am an object of curiosity and concern. I am a target for harassment, both deliberate and not.

being Deaf people see me and feel afraid. they see my hands moving and their mind is filled with terror. terror that I might try to speak to them and they wouldn't know what to do or say. terror that I might be speaking about them. terror that I'm not safe to be in public without a hearing person to watch over me. they see me as my signing first and a person second. I am an action before I am a human being.

being a wheelchair user people see me and feel afraid. afraid for my safety without an ablebodied person to guide me. afraid that they might mess up and say something offensive. and yet they feel morbid curiosity. they ask me if my butt hurts from sitting so long and they ask me how I use the bathroom if I can't walk. they ask me prying questions about my medical history and act offended when I'd rather not divulge. they see me as a wheelchair first and a person second. I am an object before I am a human being.

being gender nonconforming people see me and feel confused. they don't know what to label me as and don't know how to refer to me. they can't figure out whether I'm a man or woman and I don't want them to. they ponder my gender and my gender expression and my guesses at it and my sexuality. they wonder if I'm gay or just an odd looking woman. some of them have made it a game to guess "what" I am. I am a source of confusion before I am a human being.

being an action, an object, and a source of confusion people don't see me. they can't peel past the layers on the outside to reach my humanity so I remain something to twist around in their head. I am too much for anyone unlike me to handle. no one is exempt, not gender nonconforming hearing people, not Deaf pedestrians, not gender conforming wheelchair users.

because I have so many different very visible statuses applied to me no one knows how to label me and so they strip me of all of them choosing to focus on none since they can't comprehend all. they find comfort in they. they doesn't acknowledge my existence outside of my signing, they doesn't acknowledge my existence outside of my wheelchair, and they doesn't acknowledge my gender. I am constantly degendered, having my very deliberate expression erased in favor of labeling me as nothing. they doesn't require fitting someone like me into my worldview because it is neutral, it is nothing.

I am stripped of my gendered experiences as someone who was a woman and who is a trans intersex nonbinary man. I have my experiences defined out of existence because they do not align with hearing people's experiences or pedestrian's experiences. because my experiences of gender are so heavily influenced by my identity as a Deaf wheelchair user I have my experiences ignored and spoken over. I am stripped of my gender identity in the way people describe me. if I'm described as a man at all I am described as a wheelchair user and a Deaf person before people ever describe my gender.

it's misuse of a perfectly acceptable pronoun to enforce hearing, pedestrian, gender conforming society's norms. people do not use they/them for me because they think that I use they/them pronouns, they use they/them for me because they do not want to acknowledge who I am. many of the people who insist on using they/them for me are well aware that I use exclusively he/him pronouns but they don't care because in their head they see me as signing or a wheelchair and are confused about why a man would look like me. they think I am wrong about my own identity and think that because they are hearing, or a pedestrian, or gender conforming, that they get to assign the "correct" pronouns for someone like me.

I am so tired of being referred to with they/them pronouns

-> this post is about physical disability and Deafness. do not derail.

[ablueboxandabentley]

Discussion of the S3 Leaked Set Pics Below:

Edit: Just to be clear I am not shaming any one at all for having theories different to mine. I understand that tone can be different for some people, myself included, to parse out sometimes. I just wanted to clarify in case it at all sounded like that’s what it sounded like I was doing. These are all my own opinions and ideas. Please DO NOT go after/ harass anyone who has ideas about the story’s direction that is different from your own.

No one has done this in my comments as of me making this edit, but I just wanted to give a reminder. Let fandom remain a space for people to enjoy together.

I do, as always, encourage RESPECTFUL conversation and debate however.

Okay, okay.

Here’s the thing. I legitimately HATE the “Aziraphale and Crowley become humans” theory. They are supposed to have eternity together. A major part of their characters is that they are eternally watching/learning/ protecting humanity. Crowley especially thinks of himself as human anyway. (“For my money, the really big one is going to be all of US (i.e. humanity) against all of them”).

After 6000 years, those two getting only a few short decades together would be a genuine tragedy. They are already human.

Aziraphale and Crowley have never, ever angsted over their immortality. Oh, I’m sure there are people they both miss, places they wish had lasted, but they aren’t the Tenth Doctor. They like all of the perks of not having to worry about money, getting expensive stuff. They would be bored, transcendentally bored, without the ability to perform miracles, and honestly they probably wouldn’t know how to function without them. To them, after enough time, the fall of a certain ancient civilization probably feels like your favorite local restaurant going out of business. (Ooh, I quite like that as a line for a fic in future). Sure it’s quite a shame, but there’s the memories.

I don’t even really want this to be a “they get tricked into thinking they’re humans” because I don’t think a story like that would work in such a short time. I actually think people are underestimating how much powerful storytelling can happen in 90 minutes. Would I have liked the full, promised series? Absolutely yes. But acting like movies can’t be moving is underestimating them. Obviously the writing has to be good, but I’m hoping we’re in good hands.

Now, what I would love for this to be is some sad, pathetic “what if we had met as humans and everything was easier?” daydream that Crowley is having because it feels very on brand for him. He doesn’t want to imagine THE bookshop because he had his heart broken there.

Now.

As for the wardrobe. The whole vest/peacoat/slacks look…yeah it does kinda look like he’s adopting bits of Aziraphale’s style, but he was also wearing a cardigan with sweater garters last season so…

Also, this is also a lot more aligned with Crowley’s clothing style in the NOVEL. In a season 1 BTS feature, David even talks about how the gothic-rocker style was a choice made for the show, that his character’s novel counterpart was specifically mentioned to wear suits.

Oh and that flat, Bill Masters hair Aziraphale has is probably his sad corporate hairstyle.

[gvtted-ratz]

read all our tags/ratings. they r important n give u all u need 2 decide if u wanna actually read or not. do not like the tags/rating? do not read.

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What’s Your Favourite Scary Movie, Eddie?

Edward Nashton (The Riddler) x Ghostface!Trans!M!Reader

Last Edited: 06/04/2023

TW: gore, blood, murder, stalking, dead bodies, transphobia, foul language, body dysphoria, phone harassment

Requested: no

Word Count: 2,381

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes: literally rewatching the batman 2022 as i make this lel. also, kinda think of the ghosftface from dead by daylight as i love that costume/look so the outfit that’s described. i finished this shit on 1 hour of sleep btw so hope u enjoy

He’s an odd man. His schedule used to remain constant until it didn’t. You’re unsure of what changed. He’s still a forensic account by all means. He forged those documents to get the job so of course he wouldn’t simply just quit. That part stayed the same. It’s after work when he deviates from his original schedule. Going out at night, spying on people, and getting odd information. There’s also his online presence getting stronger. You see him on his computer more and more. Sometimes he’s typing, other times he has some sort of outfit on to do live streams.

No matter what, he’s always busy with something. That something has gotten more and more odd these past few weeks. He’s obsessing over a vigilante. A man dressed in black who goes around beating people down until they cannot get up to fight anymore. A “Batman” is what they call him. For someone so many fear, little ol’ Eddie surely loves him. It makes your stomach twist in disgust. How can this man obsess over this random vigilante? Sure, he fights crime but he’s not going for the bigger people. He lets cops run around, nabbing the criminals only to let them go after a bit of bribing. Some saviour he is. Plus, to see this somewhat nerdy and dainty-looking man go for a man who appears to be jacked screws with your head.

You can’t help but want to maul your own skin at this observation. The mousey man wanting the dark, mysterious, and bulky body type makes you think of your own figure. You don’t have the exact body type so may want after all the struggles to so much as get the medicine you needed for your transition. It takes time, ranging from months to years. And the first man you see him obsess over is the usual “jacked” and “hot” man makes you angry. That original figure you had has changed over time, into something you’re more comfortable with. While some changes haven’t been made yet due to the lack of money, you feel better; like you can actually live in your own skin now after so long of feeling like your body was out to destroy you.

But that feeling does fade now and then, especially when you see someone you’ve been watching and pinning over for months wanting the one thing you feel like you can’t be at times. Sometimes it’s your mind, other times it's old words from people you knew. The majority is the people you see online spouting nasty things, all ranging from hatred to fetishizing; there are even times when it’s a mixture of the two. A “real” man is what they want. For some reason as well, a “real” man isn’t someone who takes hormones or changes their body. A “real” man isn’t someone who says they are a man, even if they don’t transition. If they don’t pass their assessments, they’re not a “real man”. But how can they be one? How do they know what a “real” man is? They call those bulky hunks in bars real men. They’ll call the men from the army real men. The men from the gym are real men. But the moment a man so much as acts, looks, sounds different or doesn’t have the “right” body, they’re fake. And to you, it’s all bullshit. No one has any right to tell someone they’re not a “real” man, especially when they themselves know nothing about you or others in the same boat.

So to suddenly see such people in his streams? You can feel yourself losing it. While you wouldn’t kill them for such a thing unless they preached or even tried to kill people for being different or “unreal”, it’s the fact that so many were actual shitbags added to it. From people who wanted to simply kill innocent people, to people wanting to do awful acts to those they hate, you can’t allow that. Spying from the rooftops and alleyways turns into watching him from his very own streams.

Your username on the streams is Gh0stFac3, read as GhostFace, is usually caught in the streams, never saying a word. You let yourself lurk while he’s online, letting out passionate rants about Gotham and some sort of “renewal plan”. You don’t necessarily watch him on these streams. You do listen though, taking down notes on his words. You do have other people to watch and kill later on, of course. Some from his streams, others from night outs. A few are even from your times at bars, hearing their nasty talking or genuine disgust about certain groups of people who’ve done nothing but live their lives.

Another name is jotted down in your notebook, a multitude of pictures clipped to the page with the target. You scratch at your neck from under the mask, sighing. It’s just another asshole really. This one is from one of Edward’s streams. From what you found out, the guy had been sending nasty messages to a coworker who rejected him. Pathetic in your case. But you can feel that itchy feeling creeping up under your skin. You’ll have to kill again soon. It’s like a drug and it makes you feel powerful in a way. From people seeing you as some dainty girl back in the day, nothing more than something to be used for bearing kids and eye candy to look at, to feeling like a man after treatment, meds, and eye-opening articles; along with blogs talking about their own experiences, you feel like you can actually feel and do the things you felt you deserved to do. The people who looked down on you or disowned you disappeared in just a blink. All you needed was time away to find yourself, who you truly are, before returning and dealing out the same amount of pain to them they forced you to go through for so many years.

You snap the notebook closed, rubbing at the face under your mask. All this thinking about how your body is, alongside was, is giving you a headache. It doesn’t help that you have more than just that man as the next victim either. You’re not sure who to choose just yet. Or, well, you do. However, all the constant thinking, together with your inner voice reminding you of all the transphobia you’ve faced thus far, is killing your mood. A snort leaves you. Killing your mood. You’re truly a riot with your own jokes.

You grab the flip phone closest to you, flicking it open. It’s a burner you picked up a bit ago. There were plenty of others but the satisfaction of snapping the phone shut after a call is enough for you to keep it around. You look at Edward’s stream; he’s still going. You give a sharp grin under your scream mask before dialling his number.

You can hear it ring from the stream. Seeing him go silent immediately is satisfying. He looks like a mouse again; a confused one at that. He starts up his rant again, seemingly going to ignore it. Narrowing your eyes, you end the call before texting him. The ding he gets is ignored. Another ding. Another. Another. His hands are shaking, eyes wide and crazed. Finally, you type in chat.

> Hello, Mouse.

The chat, usually fast, stops for a moment. They seem to notice something is off.

> Will you answer your phone?

> I’m calling.

> I’m texting you, Mouse.

People in the chat start to type, sending in a multitude of messages. Some are asking Edward if he knows you. Others are asking if you know him. You don’t answer them at all.

> Answer. I won’t stop calling.

He looks mad, grabbing his computer. “Who do you think you are? You know nothing! You’ve said nothing until now! You’re just someone trying to bring me down aren’t you?! You’re trying to destroy everything I’ve been working for to help Gotham!”

> Answer the phone, Eddie.

Everything stops. It’s like the entire chat froze as well as Edward. You know no one has any idea what his name is. The fact that you know it and suddenly type it with no hesitation only shows you know more than does. With shaking hands, he lets go of the computer and sits back in his chair. “I’m sorry everyone… But it looks like we have a leak. I’ll be making sure to get rid of the mole and that they are dealt with accordingly. I’ll host another stream next week after all of this is fixed.” His voice is eerily blank, almost like he’s bored or in shock. With those final words, the entire stream ends. You sit for a moment before calling him once more. Edwards finally picks up this time.

“Oh, Eddie… Did you really have to take that long?” The voice changer in your mask disguises your voice. From what you’ve been told by many victims before, you sound like a very attractive young man.

“Who are you?” His question, asked in a cold way, makes you hum.

“Ghostface. What about you, Eddie? Are you Edward Nashton? The Riddler? Who are you?” His breathing has changed; he’s panicked. You’ve heard that type of breathing so much that you don’t do much beside coo at him. “Don’t worry, Dear Eddie. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to destroy all that you’ve been working on. After all, you’ve changed your schedule to fit this odd thing now…” You sigh, leaning forwards in your chair. You prop your masked head on your gloved hand. “After all, you spent so much time and resources on it. It’s honestly been the most interesting thing I’ve seen in years.”

“Why are you calling, Ghostface?” He asks, wanting to get this call over with. You don’t want that though. You like how he sounds in your ear. You like how you can make his breathing change with just a few words.

“What’s Your Favourite Scary Movie, Eddie?” The teasing way you say it only adds character, or that’s what you tell yourself. You want Eddie to like you. You want him to obsess over you as he does Batman. You want him.

“I’m not playing your games!” He’s stressed, practically about to cry from the frustration. You’ve ruined his stream, teased him over the phone, and called him Eddie in front of people who don’t know his name. In his eyes, you’re out to destroy him.

“Eddie…” You feel slightly bad. You really do want him to like you and this is the only thing you had thought of. It’s clearly not working. “I like you, Eddie. You’re doing what others can’t or won’t… How about a deal?” The idea of a deal to possibly end this talk seems to get to him.

“What’s the deal, then? Or are you going to keep talking to me in circles and messing with me?”

“I wasn’t trying to mess with you. As I said before. I like you. You’re the only person who went from a possible victim to something else entirely… You should be proud! No one has ever gotten that far! Usually, I’d be in their home by now, hiding and waiting for the right moment to strike…” As you talk, it seems he’s intently listening to you with genuine intrigue. “The fighting is always hard but so, so fun. And the moment my knife meets their flesh and blood spills? It’s beautiful.” You let out a sigh, one could almost call it dreamy with how you talk about your deadly hobby. “The screams are a bit much, not going to lie there, Eddie. They’re so loud.. But the moment the life is gone from those shitbags, I can make them oh so pretty.” You’re out of your chair, pacing around your apartment. Your combat boots are heavy against the wooden floors of your home. One of your hands moves as you ramble, giving more passion despite the other man unable to see it. “A few more cuts, maybe some mutilation, a bit of stabbing.. Then I have to set them up how I want and take a few selfies. The selfies are always fun… I can send you a few if you’d like. They always turn out great, I make sure of it.”

The silence on the other end snaps you out of whatever state you had been in when talking about your hobby. You don’t hear anything, not even Edward’s breathing. Your hidden lips pull into a frown. Here you are, pouring your heart out and he’s said nothing! No congratulations. No good job. Nothing. The squeaking of your gloves is heard as you tighten your grip on the burner.

“How does this help me? How are you going to help me with some pictures of your pinned-up dead bodies?” You grit your teeth, hating this call more and more.

“I’m saying that I can be your blade, dammit! You can sit in your messy lil’ apartment, talking, coding, streaming! I’ll hunt down whoever you want! I’ll mutilate them! I’ll leave clues or riddles, I don’t care!” You’re yelling into the receiver, finally tired of listening to the man’s complaining. Taking a deep breath, you try to calm yourself. “I do all the killing and you continue doing whatever it is your doing.”

“But what are you looking for? What do you get out of it?” A hum leaves you, letting all that rage go. A nasty smirk crawls over your features.

“I get to watch you work… I love seeing you put your pretty lil’ head to use after all, Baby.” You practically purr, the distorted warmth filling you. It’s unhealthy how much you like him paired with how much you want him to like you. Unhealthy or not, you don’t care. If he can have unhealthy views and plans, so can you.

You hear the end of his line go dead, having hung up on you. You give a mocking put from behind the scream mask. Quickly, you let your thumb fly over the numbers. You snap the phone closed, happy to see that this is the start of something very exciting.

> Can’t wait to work with you, Sweetheart ;))

[eccentricphilosoph]

Black Dallas Mayor Eric Johnson, switches from being a lifetime Democrat to a Republican. I don't blame him and he’s not the only non-politician one to say this

He makes a lot of good points... truly. I’m not specifically talking about his commentary on the police so much about how he was treated by people aligned with each party.

Some will think he changed only because he got threats, but it's more than that. It seems he didn't feel safe and felt unwelcome into a party he felt was not on the side of safety... Those Left memes that say things like "commit crimes" or showing murder are not funny and do not help at all. They show an alignment with canceling people, threatening people, death threats, not standing up for what’s right, etc as I’ve seen myself. Some people who say they fight for women’s rights harassed and sexually harassed me.

My own experience is similar to his. I was receiving threats and was harassed by a man and his girlfriend (for merely calling him out for sexually harassing me). In the community we were a part of, the ONLY people who took real action to STAND UP for me directly against my attackers were my two *Republican* friends and my Jewish friend who lived in a red state!

All the Democrats/Left people cowered in a corner, ignored me, or acted like they simply "didn't know all the details". No social justice at all from so-called feminists. The friends specifically from California, the most blue state there is right now, literally got downright upset at me for asking them to take action to help me report them to a convention and stopped talking to me!

Democrats who claim to be for women's rights and safety, feminism, were silent when a woman was being sexually harassed, slandered/libeled, harassed, and threatened by a man... No.

*This* is why people, especially many people in the working classes, people of color, and even women, believe that the Democratic party doesn't care about them anymore. I hear of it more and more... They want the party that has people in it who have their backs and speak up for their safety, not people who will threaten to harm them if they don't follow the exact ideas that the people think they should have.

Do better. If you say you actually care about people who are somehow suffering in the world, if you care about disenfranchised black neighborhoods or women's safety, then *help* the people around you who need it and stop making threats to strangers who you *assume* hate you and want to harm you. Instead, spend that energy trying to see if you can meet in the middle. Otherwise, leave it alone unless you are literally receiving legitimate unlawful behavior toward you (which includes death threats, real harasssment, libel/slander [which only counts if done in a place to literally damage your reputation and cause you losses], etc.)

If you don't try to help others around you who need it and continue to assume people hate you, you're just virtue signaling and it means nothing. It's like being a hypocritical Christian. You know... Those people you hate.

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

I've seen kpop idols release so many bad songs, but never seen any kpop idol get so much hate like Jimin does.

Fine, don't like the song move on. Something is really wrong with those kpop stans. The insults, the name calling, the rap3 jokes on him, wish of death... All over a song?

And jk solos, Tae solos and Tkkrs joining them as well, for what? Over a ship.

When will people learn to ignore him if they don't like him or his music?

This is harassment to such an extreme level. And then they'll preach about mental health when kpop idols go into depression and end their lives.

The fact that we should even have this conversation shows you how absurd the situation is.

99% of us that are part of any kpop fandom are not music critics. We don't have a column anywhere and it's not part of our assignments to necessarily keep up with every artist and it's definitely not necessary to have to share our views from a critical perspective. That doesn't mean we shouldn't have conversations, including in cases in which our taste doesn't align with a song/album or if we have arguments as to why a release is not good or on someone's career. We can even just share our very subjective opinion if we don't like a song. The fact that such normal acts have been transformed within kpop and turned into abhorrent behavior is a massive problem.

Just to give you an example for the sake of the argument. I paid just a tiny bit of attention to the unit album Jeonghan and some group member were putting out. I just really liked the photos. I'm also not a Seventeen active listener. A few days later after the main track release, I remembered it and checked it out. The music video was fine, but at a first listen, the song didn't do much to me. It didn't stand out. I watched it until the end and then it was out of my mind immediately. Never said anything to anyone, until now. It was not for me, I'm not a fan that closely follows their music career and I'm not a music critic. So I minded my own business, without any difficulty and without being a bitch on the internet or call them names because I didn't like a song. It also did nothing to change my opinion of Jeonghan. Which to be honest, it mostly revolves around me thinking he's pretty.

I listen to k-pop. I've actually been listening to a lot more girl groups. I have that Magnetic song in my playlist. Do I listen to it because I think it's a masterpiece? No, I listened because it's an ok song that sounds like any other 5th gen kpop song and I'm still not bothered by it. It's in the background during my working hours.

Like I've said in a post from a few days ago, nothing Jimin does will be considered enough and it seems impossible to treat him like any other kpop idol out there. The standard is impossible simply because the expectations are illogical. It's considered a problem if he's not more like other idols, it's a problem cause he released a light song, but it was also a problem when he released SMFP2. You'd think that song was the major offense in kpop for 2023.

So, as much as this is close to the cliche line of "unstan if you don't like", at this point I really think that those who are not able to be decent people, should simply move on and focus on the music they like.

[redditreceipts]

jesus christ that "boysmell" post is so blatantly male. it's almost like the internalized male gaze, in a sense.

most men project the male gaze outwardly and use it to sexualize/humiliate other women. that mantra basically lies at the root of pornography.

but trans-identifying men project it inwardly onto themselves because they delusionally view themselves as "women" (and they think they're "women" either due to autogynephilia, autism, internalized homophobia, sexual abuse by older men in childhood, social difficulties or mental illness). so they sexualize/humiliate the idea of a woman inside them — which is really just reflected in sexualizing their own estrogenated body.

"i feel so girly around him" really shows how much they define womanhood as a proximity to men, an extension of the male — they think a woman is anyone who is desired/sexualized/harassed by men, and take sick pleasure in roleplaying that dynamic with other males — thus showing they still have class solidarity with other males and are still aligned with their male sex class interests, and cannot be allies of the female sex class.

(I think you're referring to this post?)

It's kinda interesting to see that femininity in a male is more apparent when besides another, more masculine man. of course, if the person writing this post wants to feel like a woman, they would want to seek a stereotypically masculine boyfriend.

But I also ask myself whether this person was extremely repressed as a gay man and now, that they are a "straight woman", they think they can behave like this?? when people act like this, I always feel kinda bad for them, even though it's super insulting to women. I mean, what insane degree of internalised homophobia do you have to suffer through to write something like that?

But yeah, he can only see womanhood from the outside, so everything he describes as "typical for a woman" is just projection. The ultimate determinor of womanhood is still a man, whether it's themselves or their boyfriend.

[lutethebodies]

Character Development via Mechanics and Gear: Background

Part two of this series focuses on how I spun off characterization and worldbuilding tidbits from my bard's Spy background. I was gonna do Class in the same post but this one got beefy via pull quotes from other posts, so Class will get its own time to shine later. Dive in below the cut!

I've always been annoyed that the 5e PHB tacked the Spy background onto Criminal with the flimsiest of excuses: "your capabilities are not much different from those of a burglar or smuggler." I understand why they did it (see also Sailor/Pirate, and yes, this means in BG3 Cannor is a Criminal), but it seems to subtly subordinate one beneath the other, importance-wise. "Seems" does some heavy lifting here, since backgrounds don't really matter much mechanically anyway, but they're huge for story, characterization, and RP.

To wit: bards are great candidates for espionage. 5e acknowledges this with the College of Whispers subclass, but we'll get to that later. For now, spies. I've previously described Cannor as "a nebulous combination of envoy, entertainer, spy, [and] saboteur." He became this after returning to his adopted home city of Caranacia (my homebrew City of Fortune, and a useful stand-in for Baldur's Gate in many ways) after a years-long absence and, along with one of his traveling companions, gets recruited by that city's Equiposium. It's one of my homebrew factions that's a bit Harper and a bit Guild (but created before I knew what either of those factions were). My fantasy atlas describes it thusly:

Al Eqipósio (The Equiposium, or Academy of Balance). The Equiposium of Caranacia is a school of diplomacy, for commerce, trade, politics, and statecraft. Its ideal of "equipoise" aligns with the values and philosophies of dualism and balance prevalent in the Six Sister Cities, and while it overtly advocates for compromise to prevent warfare, several departments are allegedly dedicated to covert disciplines like espionage and sabotage. Many students cut their diplomatic teeth in service of local nobles, bankers, merchants, or even thieves' guilds. Equiposian graduates fill many roles throughout the known world, from official ambassadors to unofficial advisors to undercover agents.

I think it works well as a piece of mishmashy worldbuilding, at least enough to justify why I chose this background. It also served as a handy device to attach other characters to (PC & NPC), as both friends and rivals for Cannor that burst out of his backstory to harass him as a PC. Anyway, Cannor's original trajectory was to become a full-on ambassador or envoy, but he crashed out of the Equiposium before completing his stint there (more on that later or, if you like, here). As a half-trained envoy, then, he's what I described in this post:

He's not an official diplomat; he's the guy that diplomat hires to find out what people are really saying or thinking in places like shops, inns, winesinks, or street corners. He listens more and talks less—but when he talks, he knows exactly what to say in any given situation. In his line of work he can't afford to be overtly obnoxious, so Cannor's m.o. is more observation over outrage, more analysis over annoyance. A gig is a gig, and any job worth doing is worth doing competently—but a little flair or flourish here and there for emphasis won't hurt. Indeed its absence makes its deployment arguably more effective.

So, this background is a major pillar of Cannor's characterization as a most un-bard-like bard. He avoids needless noise or overt showiness, and if he does indulge in that, it's all an act anyway. It's enough to both feed his ego and keep him from becoming just another uselessly foppish minstrel or solipsistic know-it-all.

Up next (maybe next week): Class!

[erodasfishtacos]

Take a Hike

Prompt: When Harry and Y/N take the baby for a hike and end up being followed by fans.

word count: 2.2 k

contains: language, sexual content

Harry was furious. He just wanted to go on a hike  - like a normal family on a warm June day in a beautiful foreign country.

You were currently in Madrid - on Harry’s European leg of the tour.

While Harry had been doing press - you and Sasha had taken to the hotel pool where she could splash and enjoy the water all day.

It wasn’t without a eagle-eyed security guard who lurked in the background for shady characters and overzealous fans.

Fans - they wanted picture with you because you were Harry Styles’ wife. Not inherently famous on your own.

It was a bit odd, but you didn’t mind occasionally stopping to snap a pic with a excited fans. 

However, when you and Harry were out with the baby - it was completely off limits. Neither Harry nor you would stop for fans and paparazzi if you were toting around your little love.

She didn’t like the crowds and shouts that came along with swarms of people. She would slap her little hands over her ears, dig her face into her parent’s neck, and whimper.

Harry had always been protective of you when it came to these situations. One of the major downfalls of being so famous.

Harry had nearly gotten arrested when a clumsy pap had nearly push you over while you were eight months along. 

**

You and Harry had loaded up all the necessities for the five-mile hike on one of the trails right outside the city.

Sasha had a generous amount of sunscreen on and a little hat to protect her face. She refused to wear the sunglasses.

Harry had a pack for her - so you helped him load your two-year-old onto his back. He knew it was going to ache like a motherfucker but she was a bit too heavy for you. You opted for the backpack with everything in it.

The trail was semi-busy. Both of you donned sunglasses and hats to attempt to disguise yourselves a little bit.

Harry had even pulled on a hoodie - despite the heat - to cover his very recognizable tattoos.

You made it the two and a half miles in without any interruptions. 

Sasha falling asleep halfway through the trek with her cheek smushed against her father’s shoulder blade.

You snapped a few pictures in front of the waterfalls and beautiful rock structures. But you had decided not to wake your daughter from her nap.

You and Harry had taken an obligatory kissing selfie that would likely be your new Lock Screen. 

You both had made the mistake of taking off your sunglasses for the picture because you can hear muted whispers from other tourists.

“Is that fucking Harry Styles?”

“Yes. Oh my god! That’s his wife and baby!”

“Snap a video, Emilia!”

Harry’s noticeable tenses as he slides his sunglasses back onto his nose. Protective papa bear was in full-force around strangers who knew who he was.

The most important thing in Harry’s mind was his family’s safety.

“Let’s go, lovie,” Harry murmurs softly. His British accent surely giving him away if they heard it.

You nod anxiously - pointedly not making eye contact with the fans and small group that was gathering.

As you begin the journey back down the small mountain - you notice the group trailing behind you. Following you guys.

Jaw clenched, you want to scream at them to stop taking pictures of your sleeping baby. But you attempt to keep your cool.

It wasn’t more than ten teenage girls but it didn’t really matter who it was.

The girls are getting louder, more excited. When one of them squeals in joy of seeing her celebrity crush - who she had ticket for his concert tomorrow as did the rest of the group.

The noise startles the curly-haired baby on Harry’s back awake. She immediately starts crying - her hands coming to grip frantically in her fathers matching curls.

“Daddy,” Sasha sobs, grabbing at him as the girls keep snapping pictures and cooing.

Harry’s face is stone - attempting to keep his anger at bay. He was about to lose his shit and you couldn’t blame him.

He couldn’t always treat people with kindness.

“Down, want down,” she lisps, no longer wanting to be confined in her pack. It was also most likely time for a diaper change.

“Not right now, sweetheart. Please be good for mumma and I,” Harry rasps, reaching back to give her leg a comforting pat.

You look at your husband, “Please - let’s just try to make it out of here as soon as possible.”

Harry sighs, “I’m sorry, love.”

You brush his shoulder lightly, “it isn’t your fault people act this way. I just can’t stand when this happens around her.”

Harry’s slight smile from your reassurance turns into a glare when he realizes the nosy fans were trying to talk to his upset baby - who notably did not like strangers.

He’s quick to unstrap the toddler and shuffle her into your arms. You cradle her and turn you back away from the group. 

“Mumma, no cameras,” she whines, her words a little jumbled but you understood.

“I know, baby. Daddy’s going to take care of it,” you coo assuringly. Her fingers finding their way into her mouth to soothe her.

Harry slides her carrier off his shoulders and tosses it next to your feet. He’s trailing over to the jumpy, overly-excited fans.

“Listen,” he states firmly, speaking loudly over their giggles, “y’need to stop following us and takin’ pictures. You’re scaring our baby.”

They chatter a bit, begging from picture and then they promise they’ll leave us alone.

“Absolutely not,” Harry states, trying to stay level headed with these immature teens who adored him.

With that, he’s headed back to you guys. The girls shouting unflattering things at him like “asshole” and “douchebag.”

He decided to ignore it and quickly allows you to strap the baby back into her carrier. His eyes study your face to make sure you’re alright and you give him a calm smile, squeezing at his bicep.

—- 

The girls trailed off after a few more minutes of following us. Harry hummed and sang a few nursery rhymes to Sasha to keep her calm but she was still fussy.

Back the hotel, Sasha was freshly bathed and laid down for a nap in the second bedroom. A baby monitor sat on the bathroom countertop as you two showered off the sweat and dirt.

Harry was still upset about the incident so you decided upon a good cuddle in a warm shower. His cheek was rested in the top of you head and his arms holding you to his wet chest.

“Just want to be normal - for one fuckin’ day,” he huffs with frustration.

“We had a totally normal, fun hike. It wasn’t ruined, I promise. It’s our reality so they’re is no use in being upset about it.”

Harry loved how level-headed you were to balance out his irrational, impulsive feelings and actions.

“You’re t’good to me, I love you.”

“At the end of the day, I knew what I was signing up for when you and I got married. I also knew when we had Sasha that paparazzi would still hound you.”

“Didn’t sign up to be harassed constantly though. I just feel so bad about it sometimes. It scares Sasha and it makes me feel like a bad father.”

You knew he was about to throw himself into a downward spiral if you didn’t distract him. 

“You know what else I signed up for when I married you?” I murmur into his neck, letting my lips ghost over his hammering pulse.

“Wha’s that?” He asks genuinely, a little slow on the uptake because of how deep in thought he was.

“That you would fuck me whenever I wanted,” you nearly purr, landing a not-so-gentle nip to the vein protruding on his neck.

“Is tha’ right? Put a ring on your finger and now I gotta give you my cock whenever you please?” He grunts at your teeth pinching his sensitive skin.

It’s amazing how it takes little to no effort to get this man in the mood.

“Mmm, if you want to be a good, dutiful husband,” you taunt - knowing he’ll take the bait.

“Am I not a good husband, pet? I fuck you any chance you let me. Give it to you anytime time you wan’ it. You know that.”

His hand is tugging your thigh up roughly, making your centers align with delicious pressure as he slips right between your folds.

“Harry,” Y/N groans, your head falling down to watch where he’s teasingly grinding his cock against your entrance and clit.

“Want me t’put it in, love?” He drawls like he has all the time in the world. The water pelting on his back making him pink.

“Ple-please,” you choke out, nipples harden against his chest even in the warmth of the shower. Sensitive with every brush against his smooth pecs. 

“You know what else you signed up for when y’married me?” He asks, his voice as deep and smooth as honey.

“What?” I reply, whining each time he teases at pushing in.

“That when you beg for my prick - you’ll be a good girl and take it.” 

With that, he’s thrusting up into you with full force. His sharp hipbones meeting the plushy, soft skin of yours.

“Ooh, oh fuck,” Y/N gasps, wrapping an arm around his neck as he presses brushing marks into your thigh where he’s holding you for leverage.

“C’mon, you can take it,” your husband goads, relentlessly hitting the spot that send licks of flames of your spine.

Your legs are feeling weak with how hard he’s pounding into you. He is so intuned with your body that he moves his hands to you backside.

He lifts you up easily, your legs wrapped around his waist, and his presses you back into the cold tile wall. 

He was so fucking good. How’d you manage to marry him? Unexplainable. 

“Am I good husband? Fuck you well enough?” He hisses against your open mouth as you pant heavily.

“So so good, H. Best husband ever,” you whimper, welcoming the friction from his pelvis against your swollen bud.

“Sweet girl,” he murmurs happily, “I think you deserve to come”

You throw your head back as he speeds up, fingers reaching to flick at your nerves - just on the right side of painful.

It’s just what you needed to climax. He always somehow knew what you needed. His fingers are consistent as he lets you ride it out.

It is only a few more rough thrusts before he’s cursing and coming as well. His hand grasping harshly at your jaw to bring you into a searing kiss.

“Never gonna get sick of watchin’ you come on my cock,” he chuckles, carefully placing your feet back on the ground but keeping a tight hold of your hips.

You lean in to give him a quick but meaningful kiss before going about cleaning your body again after the mess you two created. 

It takes a little longer than necessarily due to you constantly having to bat his wandering hands away from your body.

—-

It dark out now, the city of Madrid illuminated through the large windows of the high-rise hotel.

Sasha was exhausted after the hike and full day at the pool - despite napping twice. She was always out like a light around eight-thirty

You were tightly tucked into Harry’s side, head resting on his shoulder. Your eyes becoming bleary from drowsiness. 

Your toddler was sprawled out on Harry’s chest, fast asleep with one of your husband’s large hands resting on her back. 

Harry was scrolling aimlessly through his phone when he chuckle softly, handing you his mobile to see what was on the screen.

It was a video-recording of an Instagram Live. 

The video forwarded by Jeff. The volume low to not disturb your daughter.

It was a teenager girl who looks unpleasantly familiar.

“Um - yeah. So we saw him and we were hiking freaking out. ‘Cause like we’re going to his concert tomorrow.”

Then girls eyes flick to the commenters to answer questions.

“He had his baby. His wife was there too.”

“No, so he was so unfriendly! He flipped out because we wanted an autograph!”

The girl was mimicking Harry’s thick accent, “when we asked for a picture - he legit said ‘absolutely not.’”

I shake my head at the girl’s antics, “how dare you not take a photo. You’re such a dick.” You tease.

Harry smirks, taking the phone back and tossing it on the cushion. His hand rubbing gentle circles on his sleepy baby.

“None of tha’ matters,” Harry says softly, “I don’t care what anybody but you thinks ‘bout me. At the end of the day, as long as I have you and the bab - I’ll be happy.”

[wardeningo]

This is a genuine question here. I was wondering why only Emmet was mentioned in that post about non-human aus. Wouldn't it be in bad faith to do for Ingo too since he's also autistic? Why is Emmet mentioned specifically?

Now idk how to describe it and its late and when my bf tried to he ended up getting death threats and harassed due to using (outdated?) medical terms (like high vs low functioning) due to a lack of a better term- despite hating those terms himself. I'll try to explain under the cut!

But when you look at both ingo and emmet, people usually see/interpret emmet as being autistic first, I've seen a lot of people just think of emmet having autism while ingo having something more like adhd! His mannerisms are a bit more... not obvious but his manner of speech in the game (stilted, scripted, simple) and how he acts in the manga? Thats autism babey! Its so great!

Ingo is also suuuuper autistic like his brother, but behaves differently, his speech is more formal, he uses a lot more complex words, choosing three words when one will do (and I love him for it), he has trouble expressing himself physically and will go on tangents and infodump about things!

If this were real life? Emmet would def be classified as the trouble/quiet/weird kid and probably get a diagnoses while ingo would be praised for being so gifted/well behaved and not get a diagnoses- probably a better way of putting it but ik some of yall out there have had experiences like this, ik I have!

In fact many people portrayed ingo being super formal while emmet being way more childish, when really they're both formal and silly in their own ways!

So it would be better to not have either of them specifically be inhuman in aus, but even more so emmet due to the fact that his mannerisms are more... idk maybe apparent? than ingos. We don't want to assign the twin who doesn't seem to mask "oh obviously not really human" especially if ingo isn't. Because why would it only be emmet and not ingo? What traits does emmet have that makes you think he's not a person but ingo is? Yknow? (Not you specifically a general you) Many times those traits align up with things you see in autistic people, hence why its something to look out for and why i made emmet more apparent

There's no way to describe this without using ableist terms or stereotypes due to how our medical system is, I tried to but that probably made it unclear,, but I hope this somewhat helped!

[mmmmalo]

For anyone still under the impression that June Egbert is just a product of the Toblerone wishes with no particular relevance to Homestuck proper, here's an argument to the contrary: that June (or whatever you like to call her) was already here, woven into John's relationship with the idea of Dad.

Act 1 has a certain preoccupation with the ideal forms of things, John having multiple instances of saying X isn't a REAL X unless it has this or that characteristic. "A fire BELONGS in a fireplace, categorically." One of those outbursts touches upon masculinity, with John saying a gentleman without a monocle is a piss-poor excuse for such. Along such a paradigm, you might gather that something like John saying the beaglepuss sucks as a disguise or trying (and failing) to integrate Dad's pipe into the façade communicates that John is kind of grasping at this ideal of masculinity exemplified by Dad and getting frustrated that he can't seem to measure up to it (or that masculinity feels "fake" on him).

This sort of dynamic is more blatant with Dave, who talks openly about how he isn't a "hero", not really, measuring himself against the impossible standards set by his Bro. But as much was already implicit in Act 1.

Later it gets established that John has some kind of fear of heights: the first ogres appear after John experiences vertigo from almost falling off the stairs, and again after getting launched by the pogo hammer. (Just as Karkat suspected he was given a planet covered in his own blood as a form of harassment, Sburb placed John's house on that needle plateau because of this fear of heights; the game generally manifests adversaries in response to fear). The phobia becomes relevant to Dad stuff after the ogre fight is over, when John is hesitating to jump down into Dad's room: it isn't just that John's nervous about entering the room for the first time, the descent itself makes John anxious. Furthermore, this juxtaposition serves to establish that the fear of heights and anxieties around Dad are related somehow, if not outright synonymous. The two are associated again at the beginning of Act 5 Act 2, when dream!John tries to jump over a canyon to reach Dad, but awakens mid-leap. The formal reason John awakens is Vriska of course, but if we ignore her we're left with John approaching Dad and immediately experiencing vertigo. (The name "June" comes from Vriska contacting John shortly after this dream, incidentally)

This comes up again when John finds Dad's wallet and gets overwhelmed by the prospect of Manhood and the responsibilities it entails -- next thing you know John is flying around in Dad's car, having fun... and after the scene is interrupted by Seek the Highblood, we return to find John crashing the car (another fall from the sky!) and talking with Vriska about dread surrounding societal expectations, and the possibility of rejecting them to pursue something different for yourself. John came into the scene worried (if quietly) about the expectations surrounding manhood, so the Vriska conversation serves to makes those kind of concerns more vivid.

The car crash is itself kind of a metaphor for that conversation's trajectory... in Act 6 we see something analogous play out among the Dersites who have gotten into dapper-wear: one Dersite sits on a hat, panics about ruining it, and then begins to wonder if perhaps a crumpled hat could have a value of its own, aesthetically. (Dirk expresses this sort of counter-assessment more bombastically: "...the next best thing. By which you mean, the vastly superior thing.") Dad Crocker swoops in to condemn the crumpled hat, but the Dersite's tentative revaluation of an apparent failure mode is something the scene shares with Vriska, who initially regards her ambivalence towards murder as a symptom of personal failure, unbefitting her caste. John enters that conversation with a crumpled car, and from context we can guess John's revaluation concerns "failing" to be a man in the way Dad is, and how maybe that doesn't need to be considered a failure.

As laid out so far, I guess none of this quite necessitates trans-Egbert, since people can come at "anxiety and reservations at the prospect of embodying masculine ideals" from a number of angles... but there are other considerations which make me think wrestling with self-deprecating thoughts like "I'm a failed man" are maybe comorbid with a budding sense of being a girl, in Egbert's case.

Foremost, I think it helps to recognize that Dad's car can function as a symbol of John's body. To sketch a case for that:

1a. Death often means transformation: the trolls die in questcocoons to reach the godtiers, suggesting that death stands between the caterpillar and the butterfly, their too solid flesh dissolved into a goo.

1b. A command in Act 1 implores John to "retrieve arms from MAGIC CHEST". John complies twofold: we see some fake arms retrieved from the toy chest, held up by John's real arms which have been "retrieved" from John's ostensibly armless torso.

2. This dual usage of chest is deployed in part 3 of Openbound, in service of building a dysphoria metaphor (among other things). The segment reintroduces us to Fiduspawn, a game in which one creature hatches from another, a host creature, killing the host in the process (fans of the Alien films may recognize this as derivative of the "chestburster", fans of Homestuck may recognize this as analogous to godtiering). Damara (who Rufioh refers to as "doll") becomes the host plush, who is accused of locking away Rufioh's "happy thought" (Tinkerbull) in her "chest". Rufioh's beef with Damara serves to illustrate an adversarial relationship with one's own body, the ways in which the body itself seems to function as a barrier to some happiness. The carnal imprisonment of euphoria (the "happy thought") represents dysphoria. The conversation between Kanaya and Porrim which follows has analogous content and offers a potential resolution to such a conflict, with Kanaya coming to distinguish her body from the reproductive duties assigned to her body by her caste's place in society, and knowing that she is not "bound" to the Matriorb by any will but her own...

3. But the paradigm of Fiduspawn reminds us that the act of actually ripping the happy thought out of your chest has suicidal overtones, when taken literally. And Aradiabot notwithstanding, the inner ghosts the kids give up are often green: Dirkbot tears out his uranium heart and explodes, Rose peels pink bricks off the green core of an island and wonders aloud if her existence is a mistake, and (returning to our main topic!) John tries to retrieve the green package from Dad's car. The retrieval of the box comes to represents the birth of the self from its shell, the now broken body, a gesture which overlaps with the pursuit of death.

So we can infer that Dad is akin to Damara here, having locked the desired object (the box, the "happy thought") within a container that we can identify with John's own body. Thus Vriska's talk of perhaps rejecting her assigned role in society proceeds naturally from the wreckage of Dad's car: insofar as the car functions as an emblem of the masculine expectations imposed upon John, the car's wreckage suggests the possibility of liberation from those expectations, liberation from your own body. John is "sick to death of cake" -- cake is a Life symbol imposed by Dad, in visceral excess, accumulating as every birthday marches John towards Manhood. The possibility of living as a girl does not seem to have occurred to John yet, life and masculinity seem inextricable and absolute. The first time John sees Dad's car totaled (after Rose drops it), the symbol of self-as-corpse is surrounded by yellow bands of caution tape. The Authority Regulator who placed the tape will later declare himself to be THE LAW, and we should take his word for it: the scene's function is to declare that the crumpled car, the "dead" and therefore feminized body, is forbidden to John. No surprise then that as John marches to her death, in defiance of the Law's prohibition, she-whose-name-does-not-yet-suit-her is met with impressions of several maps that actually align with their territories: troll movies whose titles are their contents in full, a rocket encoded by the sound PCHOOOOO. John wants that for herself, I think. And as @lscholar once pointed out, it’s worth noting that John's pursuit of this unity (this pursuit of "death") is interrupted by Dave, who in saving John's life repeatedly emphasizes their status as "bros" -- masculinity being, again, inextricable from life within John’s symbol system.

...and that's the short of it. A more detailed account might get into the association of Vriska and other blue girls with the feminized corpse, or read into Equius self-consciously roleplaying as a cat girl between John’s joyride and crash, or perhaps try to apply this car-body framework to the appearances of Dad's car in the Epilogues. And I haven’t even touched upon clowns...but I'll call it here for now.

[jackrrabbit]

Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Request: What if Overhaul fucks spoiled rich reader because her dad owes the yakuza money and in exchange Kai takes the daughter as a form of payment using her as his personal stress doll whenever and wherever he wants making her into his perfect little doll

A/N: While I was writing this my roommate asked if I was okay bc cause I kept stopping to fan myself and blush lmaooooo god I’m such a brat. I did change the concept up a bit, hope that’s fine!

This is dedicated not only to the OG requester but also to everyone who read the excerpt I posted a while back and told me they couldn’t wait to see the finished product!! Love you guys ❤️

Tags/warnings: threats, dubcon/coercion, dom/sub, brat taming, degradation, exhibitionism, restraints, mentions of forced prostitution, verbal & physical harassment, kidnapping, kinda breath play?, long

The first thing you notice when you come to are voices. Multiple people talking to each other, speech overlapping in patterns you can’t make out. They’re quiet—not whispering for your sake, but quiet because you’re still half knocked-out and you can barely hear.

The second thing you notice is the pounding in your head and the lingering smell of something sweet spread over your nose and mouth.

The third thing you notice is the fact that when you try to blink your eyes open, your lashes brush against something soft and dark. You’re blindfolded…and gagged, and your hands feel like they’re cuffed behind your back. From what you can sense around you, it seems like you’re hunched in a kneeling position with your cheek flattened against the floor and your bare feet tucked under your backside.

At least you’re still in your nightgown. You can feel the frilly silk of it, a useless barrier between your skin and the cool air, and it reminds you of how you got here in the first place.

A loud noise in the night. Your father’s voice pleading. A heavy thump. The door to your bedroom banging open and a strange man holding you down to your bed…lifting a sweet-smelling rag to your mouth…telling you to “take a deeeeep breath, princess.”

“Hey, I think she’s waking up.”

An invisible hand fists itself in your hair and you whine in pain as your upper body is lifted off the floor. Once you’re properly upright, you hear squeaking, shoes against concrete, and the heat and breath and presence of someone behind you. Something rustles at the back of your head—you’re too scared to move so you stay still—and then the blindfold is being lifted off your face.

Once it’s gone, you have to blink for a moment even despite the low light of the dingy room where you’ve…apparently…been kidnapped. By the freaking yakuza. And for some reason, they’re all wearing bird-beak masks.

You close your eyes, almost wishing they hadn’t taken the blindfold off. You’d prefer to live in blissful ignorance of how decidedly unclean the floor is. How dare they let your face touch it? What happened to honor among thieves?

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flick up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Unsettling golden eyes rest on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you, the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to stand up away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your handcuffs, jerking you back and pinning you—painfully—to the floor.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh. My. God. Was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a second.

“You may be yakuza, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you cringe away from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

“Daddy isn’t—“

“Your father…took out loans from my gang. My men came last night to collect,” the leader says, drumming his fingers over the armrest of his chair impatiently.

He’s wearing plastic gloves. Why is he wearing plastic gloves? Immediately your mind is spinning, imagining all the different gruesome possibilities of what they’re going to do to you. “That’s ridiculous. My daddy doesn’t need to borrow money—“

“Clearly he does, because it looks like he pissed it all away on his daughter.” The leader’s eyes are cold enough to make you shiver—although maybe that’s just the icy temperature of the floor soaking through your nightgown.

“He had a couple payments overdue, so we stopped by to ask nicely for him to pay up,” Setsuno says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Didn’t find too many valuables in your house, but then we got our hands on a real treasure.”

“Don’t touch me—“

“You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in,” the leader says. “When I made my contract with your father, he understood that obligations like these are inherited. Since he can’t pay his debt, you’re going to be working it off in his place.”

Working it off? You swallow. Somehow you don’t think he’s talking about your little part-time job as a receptionist at your daddy’s company. “You can’t make me do that.”

“I’m not sure you’re getting the gist, princess,” Setsuno hums. “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna put you in a room, and then men are gonna give us money, and then we’ll let those men fuck you. All that money’s gonna go toward paying what your daddy borrowed. Sound good?”

For the first time since you can remember, you’re shocked speechless. They’re going to…what? But you’re a quick thinker, and instead of letting these filthy, awful gangters boss you around, you raise your chin haughtily to look directly into the leader’s eyes. “I don’t think so. If Daddy’s the one who got himself in debt, you can make him whore himself out to pay it back. You can’t hold me responsible for something he’s done.”

Another brief silence, and then you hear a whistle echo out from the corner of the room (and you try not to look toward it, reminding yourself that this can only get worse if they know how scared you are). “She’s got a mouth on her, Overhaul,” someone says.

Overhaul. So the leader’s name is Overhaul. How ridiculous; it sounds like a villain’s name.

“Aww, princess,” Setsuno says, and once again his voice is too close for your comfort. “Little spoiled princess doesn’t know how to shut her mouth and suck it up when things don’t go her way? Well…you’ll learn.”

You don’t want to know what he’s talking about, although if you thought about it for more than a second it’d be obvious. You suck in a harsh breath and the cool, damp air stings against your dry throat. “You can’t just make me—“

“Ohh, I think we can. See, if your daddy’s been spending all of the Shie Hassaikai’s money on his precious daughter, don’t you think you owe a little too? Like, this dress—“ you jump as Setsuno’s hand tugs on the thin, floaty silk— “was bought with Overhaul’s money, so it belongs to him, right?”

You keep quiet, not wanting to prompt him to go further, but when his hands stroke up over your waist to grope your breasts in full view of everyone else in the room, you don’t really have to guess.

“And, y’know, your daddy’s been keeping you nice and healthy with Overhaul’s cash, making sure you grow up into such a pretty girl…” Setsuno’s voice is a purr in your ear as his hands squeeze your tits almost lovingly, then pinch your nipples through the fabric. “So hey—if you think about it, this tight little body…belongs to Overhaul too. Isn’t that right, sir?”

You squirm in place as best you can but with the metal cuffs digging into your wrists, there’s nothing you can do to get away from his touch. You’re desperate enough to shoot a terrified glance up at the leader—surely there are rules about treating an innocent girl like this, even for the yakuza—but he looks as unmoved as before. “Get her out of my sight. We’ll give her a rest for the next few days, and then…”

“No!” you yelp, too panicked to keep up the pretense of confidence. “I won’t, I can’t do that, please don’t make me—“

“Shhh. You’ll get used to it, princess. And if you don’t…” Setsuno’s hand combs though your hair and then trails down your neck, tracing the path of your spine between your shoulder blades. “…well, you won’t really have much of a choice, will you?”

And then he’s tugging on your cuffed hands, pulling you to a standing position, but you wriggle away from him and do everything you can to stay planted on the ground so they can’t take you away from here, away from the only man who is capable of stopping this. Overhaul. “Please! I’m— I can work it off another way! I’ll be useful— I’ll—“

Overhaul leans forward a fraction in his chair, and you wonder if you’ve caught his interest. “What, exactly? How do you think you can be useful to me?”

You bite your lip and wrack your brains, not knowing whether the question is rhetorical. What skills do you have that would be valuable to them? Suddenly all the knowledge you’ve gained in your short life seems so meaningless. You’re a decent receptionist (well, decent is a stretch), but if Overhaul wanted someone to answer calls for him you’re pretty sure he would’ve asked.

Why did you spend your life learning such impractical skills? The four-year weekend course you took on horseback riding jumps to mind and you want to hit your head against the wall. Why didn’t you ask your father to sponsor a class in something that would actually matter in the long run? And what would even be useful to these people? Accounting? Bookkeeping? Extortion?

There’s nothing valuable you can offer. You’ve wasted your life, and now you’re going to pay for it. Seriously, the only thing you’re actually good at is keeping your boyfriends (or, rather, the men you cycle through once a month) happy until the novelty wears off and you get bored and move on to the next lovesick target—

—wait. Keeping your boyfriends happy. That’s a skill, isn’t it?

Once, a little bit after you turned eighteen, you’d had a rather illicit conversation with one of your more sexually adventurous friends about being a sugar baby. Your friend had just secured a very generous benefactor, and you’d been so intrigued by all the designer purses and vacations to Cabo that you’d almost considered trying it for yourself. She’d even helped you set up a profile on Seeking Arrangements that listed your physical features and interests, but you’d blanched when it came time to post photos.

“But why do men even like this?” you'd asked your friend after your picture-less profile received its dozenth unsolicited offer. “Rich, successful guys shouldn’t have so much trouble finding girlfriends that they have to resort to paying for sex.”

“It’s a power trip,” she’d replied. “Most men never get the chance to have a woman who’s willing to do and be whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You’re his ideal girlfriend, his therapist, his wife, and his stress relief all in one.”

At the time, you’d decided against it, deleting your profile and telling your friend you’d rather just keep taking advantage of your real father doting on you than have to fake orgasms for rich men in their 50’s. But back then, you’d had a choice; now that you’ve been kidnapped by a gang who wants you to get fucked by a bevy of strangers to pay off a debt you’ve never even heard of, you no longer have the privilege of a way out. Or, at least, the options are a lot less appealing than before.

You tilt your head back to Overhaul, eyeing him for the first time with real scrutiny instead of prideful disgust. Judging from what you can see of his face under the ornate bird mask (and again, what is with the freaking bird masks?), he’s fairly young, mid-twenties at the oldest. Short, sort of wavy dark hair (you’ve always had a thing for dark hair), a trim suit and tie, and those eyes. Like he can read your mind just looking at you.

He’s…handsome enough, you have to admit to yourself. But it’s not just that. There’s something pristine about him, something untouchable that commands discipline. He’s clean. You and him are probably the only clean things in this hovel of a room.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Overhaul says.

And now that you’ve got the idea in your head, it’s almost too embarrassing to meet his gaze. But you can do this; you have to do this. At least it’ll be your choice, and—you’re hoping—it’ll be better than the alternative.

“I could be yours,” you tell him, taking pride in the fact that your voice isn’t breaking.

His eyes narrow and you think god, his eyelashes are long. It’s not fair. Men never appreciate having long eyelashes. What is he thinking? Is he going to kill you for even suggesting it? But it’s too late now…you have to dig yourself a little deeper if you don’t want to go through with their original plan for debt fulfillment.

You force your muscles to relax, knowing this’ll be impossible to pull off if you’re tense and biting down on the words like they’re going to choke you. If you’re going to make him believe it, you have to make yourself believe it too. “You… This job must be hard. Even for a—a powerful man like you, it has to be stressful, right? Always looking out for the interests of the gang instead of your own…needs.”

Overhaul doesn’t move, but you’re so focused on him it would be impossible for you to miss the way a single muscle in his neck flexes. You’ve hit a nerve.

You take a cautious step toward him, trying to channel the sexually-liberated vixen you consider yourself when you’re not in your nightgown surrounded by men who could murder you with their bare hands and not miss a minute of sleep. “You’re always giving, aren’t you? Looking toward the future of the gang? Doesn’t it get frustrating when—when a pretty thing is in front of you and you don’t even get…a little taste of her?”

Oh god, you can feel the humiliated heat rushing to your cheeks. How can you be saying this? You’ve played the role of seductress plenty of times before, but never in such a risky situation. You just have to keep moving toward him and hope it feels authentic enough to convince him.

“You’ve worked hard. And…like he said, my—my body belongs to you.” Now you’re close enough to Overhaul and he hasn’t stopped you, so you lower yourself onto the floor, knees bumping softly into the cold surface. Kneeling between his legs.

Overhaul stares down at you, gaze as sharp and cold as before—and you’re sick with anxiety, so scared you can feel your hairs raising up on end—but if he wanted you to stop, he would have said something, right? So you shuffle a little closer and nuzzle your cheek over the inside of his clothed thigh like a kitten, then raise your head up to him to give him your best bedroom look, the one that says, I want you. I need you. No one but you. The look no man has ever been able to resist.

“…You deserve something to yourself, sir,” you murmur.

There’s a collective intake of breath as every person in the room simultaneously realizes what you’re offering. Overhaul’s expression doesn’t change, but once again, a tendon jumps out white under the skin of his throat and there’s a creak of latex on leather as his grip on the arm of the chair tightens.

“Damn,” Setsuno says under his breath from behind you. Someone whistles. You’re pretty sure you hear the word ‘slut’ being tossed around, but there’s reverence behind it.

“And what makes you think you’re so valuable?” Overhaul asks.

You close your eyes to ground yourself for a second. He’s interested, you know that much. You’ve never really had to convince someone to want you, but there’s a first time for everything. Besides, you only have to look at him for a second to know he does want you, which isn’t a surprise. Who wouldn’t?

“I’ll do anything you want, be anything you want,” you tell him, echoing your conversation with your friend back then. “Take out your anger on me if that’s what you’re into. When you’re tired of me, you can consider my debt paid and let me go.”

“And?” he prompts.

‘And’? And what? You’re offering yourself to him, your body and your mind—what more can he possibly ask from you? You cast your thoughts around, wondering what else you have to give him. “And…and I’ll do it willingly. You, um—you look like a man who appreciates obedience.”

And that’s it. Your last shred of pride is gone. Not only are you offering yourself up to a man to use as his personal stress doll, you’re saying you’ll be compliant every step of the way. Knowing yourself, you’re pretty sure that’s impossible, but you just need to make him believe it long enough for you to find a way out of here. You can pretend to enjoy getting fucked by a gangster a few times. You’ll live.

But you’re naive. And with the stream of thoughts pushing through your head, you never really consider one thing, one essential thing: how you look pleading up at him in that pale pink nightdress—soft, pure, immaculate against the filth of the underworld, the only clean body that Overhaul’s seen in a long time.

And you’re right. He is a man who appreciates obedience.

“Willingly…so you’d be willing to prove it.”

Your head jerks up and down in response. Yes! He’s taking the bait, now I just have to get him alone and—

“Then demonstrate.”

When a moment passes and you don’t move, Overhaul tips his head to the side, gaze still locked on you, and gestures vaguely at his lap. You blink and then shy back, shrinking under the hungry gazes of the onlookers. “You can’t mean—in front of them?”

“And here I thought you were going to be obedient.” There’s no mercy, no amusement in his voice. No hint of humanity.

So he’s serious. He wants you to give him a blowjob in front of—how many? one, two three, four—four other men!? Your first instinct is to jump back away from him and your next is to slap him for even suggesting it; you can actually hear the jingle of your cuffs as you attempt to raise your hand. You’ve gotten a little kinky before—blindfolds, vibrators, maybe a hand tied to the bedpost with a Hermès scarf once or twice, but this is a whole different level. And the way they’re all looking at you…like they’re itching to see you brought down. How absolutely disgusting.

But Overhaul’s waiting for your answer, and you know full well that you’re not going to deny him.

“O-Of course.” You lean forward over the seat of the chair so your face is just inches from his lap. “Um. My hands...?”

They’re still cuffed behind you, but it seems like they’re going to stay that way when Overhaul gives a curt shake of his head. “Use your mouth.”

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. How are you supposed to—? Without your hands? It doesn’t even seem like he’s going to undo his pants for you. It’s like he wants to humiliate you…oh, wait. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s clear that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

You give him another doe-eyed glance, bidding him to at least undo his belt, but he remains unmoved. Bastard.

After aiming another glare at him (because as obedient as you’re attempting to be, you’ve never been good at concealing your emotions) you lean deeper in and take the stiff leather of his belt between your teeth, gently easing it out of the buckle and trying to ignore the mixture of earthy and metallic tastes it leaves on your tongue. It takes a few tries, but eventually you’ve got the tail of the belt out of the buckle and you pull your head back to guide the metal down until the belt is hanging open from its loops.

A rush of accomplishment surges through you when you get it open, and then you want to slap yourself. Accomplishment? From doing this with your mouth like an animal—like a dog? You can hear laughter and mocking encouragement from the men watching, but you steel yourself and dip back in to get Overhaul’s pants undone. The button is tricky, especially with your face nudging into the hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt, but somehow you manage to tug the fabric slit over the button and then—delicately, delicately—clamp the zipper between your teeth and peel it downward.

“Oh, she’s good,” someone says from the background. Setsuno. You look up warily, but Overhaul’s eyes haven’t moved from you.

Now that you’ve got his pants open, you’re face to face (literally) with what you’re going to have to deal with. The outline of his cock is bulging the fabric of his boxers outward, and he’s not even half erect. You snatch a look back up at him—and damn it, you have to stop doing that, because every time you look into those golden eyes and that stupid bird mask you feel like a lamb looking at a bird of prey right before it snatches you from your safe little lamb-house in the meadow and—fuck, you just have to get on with it.

So you dip down and mouth over him through the fabric, spreading the flat of your tongue over the length of his thick cock. Your mouth feels like you’ve been eating cotton (probably because they drugged you earlier) but you force yourself to salivate, letting drool spill over your tongue and dampen his boxers. When you duck and spread your lips down on the place you can feel the tip stretching out, you know the friction must feel good, because despite the lack of even so much of a deep breath from the man above you, his cock is getting harder.

You nudge your mouth over the tent between Overhaul’s legs again, letting the heat of your breath wash over him—but when he doesn’t do anything, you pull back and blink up at his face. Does he expect you to get him off through his underwear? You could, but most of your moves depend on skin-to-skin contact. There’s no way you can get his cock out with your mouth like you undid his pants, so…what? “Are—are you going to take it out?”

Overhaul brings a gloved hand to his face to rub absently at one of the straps on his mask. “…Beg,” he tells you.

Your mouth drops open and you reel back from his lap like he asked you to lick the dirt off the floor. What!? He can’t seriously expect you to—to beg him to put his dick in your mouth when you’re clearly disgusted at the whole situation. When he doesn’t give any indication of retracting the statement, you can’t help the mocking sneer that forms over your face. “Please, sir,” you spit, and a deaf man could hear the spite in your voice.

Now, that gets a reaction. Overhaul’s eyes flash and you take a certain degree of pride back at the anger you’ve clearly inspired in him. But it’s extinguished as soon as you see it, and then he’s reaching down to cup your chin, tilting your head back and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip.

“I think you can do better than that, princess,” he says, and you can hear your own mocking tone reflected back in his voice. “Unless you’d like me to give my men a turn?”

This, more than anything, scares you. He must be able to feel the way your spine goes stiff, adrenaline rushing, your fight-or-flight instinct kicking in at the prospect of what he’s threatening.

“Each of them, one by one. Between the four of them, I think they could cure that smart mouth…although they might just break you in the process,” he continues, and then his thumb is pressing into your lip, into your mouth, and you loosen your jaw to let him in. You can taste the rubbery latex of his gloves and the other men mutter agreement, encouraging their leader to turn you over to them, and you want to cry.

But you hold the tears back. “Please, sir! Please, please may I s-suck your cock sir? Please!” Your voice is more terrified than obedient, but that’s probably what he’s into anyway. When he doesn’t say anything, you babble on, unwilling to let yourself get gangbanged by a group of men who could probably wreck your pussy in a single round. “Please, please, Mr.—Mr. Overhaul, um, boss? M-Master?”

“Sir will do just fine,” Overhaul says, apparently satisfied, and he pulls his hand away from your face to free his cock from his boxers.

You let out a hot sigh of relief and angle yourself back toward his lap so you can zero in on his cock (and, hopefully, do a little to block out how sickeningly degrading all of this is: how easy it is for him to threaten you; how he has all the power and you have none; how the men around you are goading you, taunting you and calling you things that should get their mouths washed out with soap). You can focus on this, and this, at least, you’re good at. You’ve always been good with your mouth.

It’s a nice dick, too, you have to admit to yourself as you stare at it. Perfect length, girth, and a thick, cut head that you know just by looking that you’re going to have to stretch your jaw to get around. All his hair is neatly trimmed and groomed, and he even smells good, clean and fresh like soap. You’ve never been in front of a dick that didn’t smell like day-old ball sweat, so this is a first. It’s got a nice upward curve, too, and there’s a bead of pearly precum oozing out of the tip. The kind of cock that’s made for penetrative orgasms—

No. Fuck. You cannot be thinking this. You cannot allow yourself to lust after a gang leader who thinks of you as little more than an interactive sex doll. A tingle of blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel wetness pool in your panties and you adjust your stance, shuffling your thighs apart under the pretense of getting closer and hoping Overhaul doesn’t notice.

If he notices, he does the merciful thing and keeps quiet (which makes you think he has no idea you’re feeling the way you’re feeling, because he’s probably never chosen to do the merciful thing in his life). He does, however, shift one of his knees farther apart to accommodate you as you crawl close enough to him to get your head all the way between his legs.

So now you’re staring up at that unfairly pretty cock and wondering how the fuck this is supposed to start, but—best just get on with it. Pretend it’s not him, pretend it’s…no, wait, pretend it is him, it is Overhaul, the same bastard who’s looking down at you like you’re trash, except pretend you’re in control. Because no matter how many orders he gives, once you’ve got his cock in his mouth he’ll have to be the weak one. Right?

Lightly, slowly, you trace the tip of your tongue in a wet path up the underside of his cock, sliding up from the hilt to caress every bulging vein with all the delicacy and accuracy of a surgeon. When you reach the tip, you flatten your tongue to curve it around that bulbous head and then slip it off, the suction providing a wet smacking sound as your skin leaves his.

The breath of his barely-heavier exhale ruffles your hair and you relish the knowledge that he’s getting impatient. Yes. The bastard can wait.

You kiss the tip of his cock, barely moving your lips around the slit, only enough to let your tongue flick out against the precum and gather the bitter liquid up in your mouth. And then—right when he’s getting annoyed, when you can tell by the tension in his body that he’s five seconds away from shoving your head down to fuck your face—you duck closer, relax your throat, and swallow.

Like a fucking python. Or so you’ve been told.

The exhale that escapes him isn’t light this time. You can almost hear the barest hint of a groan under his breath, but you’re more focused on holding down your gag reflex as you let that heavy cock hit the back of your throat. Once he’s all the way down (or at least as far as you can get him), you rock yourself back an inch and then take him deeper, forcing yourself to hold still so he can feel the walls of your throat convulse around him, sucking him in, dry-gagging on the mass that’s filling you up.

“Fuuuuck,” you hear someone whine, and it’s not even Overhaul. It’s one of the men watching, and you feel a perverse mixture of hatred and arrogance rise up in you.

Overhaul’s cock is too big for you to properly moan around it, but you give it a go anyway so he can feel the vibration of your voice through his skin. You’re rewarded with a tangible twitch with it sitting on your tongue, and—oh—your mouth is watering out of where you’re clenching down on him at the back of your throat.

Spittle slips out over your lower lip and onto your chin, but you ignore it in favor of jerking your head up and down in fractional strokes, trying your absolute best to get yourself down to his base but knowing that he probably doesn’t give a shit anyway, not with how good your throat feels around what you’re capable of stuffing in.

What were you saying about ‘valuable’, sir? you think, and then you pull your head off his cock, so slow it’s almost cruel, sucking your cheeks in and hollowing out so those wet walls are rubbing up on every millimeter of his skin. When you reach the tip, you savor it, letting your tongue do the dirty work and looking up at him through your lash extensions before you release him with a nasty wet pop.

“Holy fuck, can I have her next?” one of the other men says, but you and Overhaul are too focused on each other to even look and see who’s talking.

His gaze is trained firmly down at you, and—no way, damn it—he looks bored, like he could be waiting in line at the DMV instead of getting sucked off by you, a girl who’s been complimented by every man she’s ever been with (including her first) on her bj technique. You know he’s feeling it—he can fake calm, but he can’t fake the way his cock’s throbbing under your tongue as you lick up the shaft. Still, now that you’ve got it in your head that Overhaul’s not going to make a sound, all you can think about is forcing him to moan. Let him look weak in front of all his little lackeys.

With renewed vigor, you lap up the length of Overhaul’s cock in sloppy dabs, leaving strings of saliva dripping off your mouth and his cock only to slurp them up, audibly, wiggling your tongue over the tip when you reach it. And that, that gets him, because you feel more than see the buck of his hips into your face as he hisses out a curse.

And—oh dear, maybe you shouldn’t have done that—because the next thing you feel is Overhaul looming forward over you, hand gripping the back of your head, and is he going to force you down? You hate that—so you take the initiative, tilting forward to take him into your mouth again, head bobbing up and down so quickly that your hair is falling all over your face, but it’s okay, because he’s got you, he’s got you, got his hands combed through your hair holding it out of your face, pulling so lightly it barely even hurts, but it does hurt, and he’s guiding you up and down on his cock and it’s hitting the back of your throat every time, and—and it hurts.

You really shouldn’t have done that.

“Take it deeper,” Overhaul instructs, almost encouraging, although you’re not given the option to pull off because he’s holding you down, pushing you firmly toward the base of his cock. You sputter around it, gagging, and you’re almost fucking choking, and he won’t let you up.

God, you’re not—not breathing, you can feel your throat choking down on him—“breathe through your nose,” he says, and this man, this villain has no idea what he’s fucking talking about, because you’re trying, eyes stinging and then you can feel tears down your cheeks. You try to squirm back on your knees, but somehow the combined force of every muscle in your body is outmatched by his single hand on the back of your head—and—and—you squeeze your eyes shut, relax, open your throat as much as you can and—

Overhaul forces your mouth down to the hilt.

Fuck, is he going to keep you there? You can’t, you can’t—if you could move, you’d be shaking your head and begging him to let you stop and as it is you’re whimpering around his cock. Your throat is making gagging noises and you’re crying, actually crying, actually fucking crying on a man’s dick. So this is what it feels like to be used?

“Good.” There’s something lower and darker in Overhaul’s voice, a husky undertone from the growl he’s trying to suppress. “Hold still…remember, you asked for this.”

You did. You asked for it. Begged for it. Pleaded.

“Want me to forgive your father’s debt…? You’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls out an inch just to ram himself back in. You make a weak attempt to move your tongue around his shaft and you can feel the shudder all the way through him, his cock twitching where it’s locked in your throat. “Mm…good girl. Just a little—little longer—“

His fingers are tightening in your hair, curling around the strands and tugging instead of just applying pressure to your head. He’s close, you think, and then you struggle back, not wanting him to cum down your throat, what if you choke on it? Like, really choke? You don’t want it, don’t want his cum in your stomach, but then he sighs and tells you again that you’re a good girl, and ohfuckohfuck you must be so scared you’re desperate for praise because you feel heat rush into your cheeks and your cunt when he says it and you try to move your tongue like you did earlier and his hips jerk forward and—he cums. In your mouth.

It’s salty, you think. The next thing you think is that you want to gag, because you’ve never had cum in your mouth before. For all your sexual experimentation, you’ve never let a man cum down your throat like this, always telling them it shoot it on your tits or whatever because you are not a person who should have semen in her mouth, much less ingest it.

But right now, with Overhaul lazily dragging your head up and down for a last couple pumps on his softening dick, your choice isn’t spit or swallow. It’s swallow or choke.

Hot. Thick. The texture is slimy, so viscous you can feel it going down your throat in strings. Part of you wants to throw up. It’s repulsive. Filthy. You hate this.

Part of you has to shift your position again so you don’t have to feel your own wetness slicking up the insides of your thighs.

How. Is. This. Possible. You may have just had to swallow your pride (and not just that), but what about your dignity? You’re a good person…okay, well, even if you’re not a ‘good person’ per se, you don’t hurt anyone with your selfishness. You don’t deserve to be kept as a pet by a sadistic bastard who gets off on watching you almost pass out on his cock, and you certainly don’t deserve the humiliation of finding that you’re turned on by it.

And yet. Here you are. Still held securely in place until Overhaul slides you off him. As soon as your mouth is free you suck in a dizzyingly deep breath, but even that is too much for your battered throat and the breath turns into a cough; you instinctively fold down away from Overhaul so the mixed saliva and cum you’re hacking out spatters in cloudy white flecks across the floor instead of on his clothing.

“Stop that,” Overhaul scolds, hauling you back up by your hair and forcing your mouth closed with a hand on your jaw. “If you make a mess, you’ll be cleaning it up.”

Considering what he just made you do to him, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s implying you’ll have to lick it off the floor. You clench your jaw, holding back the convulsions of your throat as best you can, and hope he doesn’t press the issue.

Now that you’ve got your coughing under control, you can start to sense things that you had been tuning out before: the men hooting and wolf-whistling and applauding your performance, the traitorously persistent throb of your clit pulsing under your panties, and Overhaul’s hand releasing your chin to pet down your neck. “Now. What do you say when someone gives you a meal?”

Just you wait, bastard. I’m going to tie you to your bed and set fire to it. But you’ve got the sense that that answer won’t go over well, so you take a deep breath and look up at him again, meeting those piercing gold eyes with your own. “Thank you, sir,” you say in a soft whisper because it’s all your abused throat can manage.

“That’s right.” His hands feel colder than the concrete under your legs as he spreads his hand down your neck, only to toy with one of the lacy pink straps of your nightdress. “Stand up.”

You stand shakily, too cowed to even consider stepping back from him. Without warning (much less permission), Overhaul lifts the hem of your stupidly short dress up past your thighs, exposing your panties and lower belly to view.

“Hold this in your mouth,” he says, and after only a few seconds of hesitation you open up and bite down on the fabric so you’re effectively holding up the skirt for him. Overhaul skims gloved hands down the sides of your hips and comes to a rest when he reaches your panties—and why did you have to wear these today? Shiny red satin in the front; the back is just flowers worked in crimson lace. You know exactly how good you look in these panties, and judging by the things Overhaul’s men are saying, they’re more than appreciative of the view.

But Overhaul ignores them in favor of hooking his fingers under the elastic and pulling the panties down until they’re resting stretched between your upper thighs. You don’t have to see them to know there’s a string of slick connecting the lips of your cunt to the fabric, betraying in full technicolor detail how turned on you’ve gotten just from sucking him off. He gazes down at your pussy and then up to you as if waiting for you to admit it, but you stay silent.

“Well, well. What a nicely-trained slut I’ve found myself.” He gracelessly pulls the panties the rest of the way down your legs and lets them fall to the ground. “Do you always get this wet when you let your boyfriends fuck that smart mouth?”

It takes you a second to comprehend that he’s expecting an answer. “N-No, sir,” you reply, voice muffled by the fabric you’re still holding between your teeth.

“I suppose I can’t leave you like this, not after you took me so nicely.”

Does he mean he’s going to get you off? No freaking way. You drop the hem of your dress, let it flutter down over your thighs, try to scramble back, but his hand on your waist keeps you from moving. “I— It’s okay, I don’t need—“

“No, I think you do. I think I’m going to reward my pet for a job well done.” He leans back, eyeing you without sympathy. “I’d have you touch yourself, but—“

The mere possibility that he might remove the handcuffs has you straining against them again, and the sound of metal against metal rings out from behind you.

“—but, I think it’s best to keep the cuffs on for a few days…until you’ve settled down.”

Days? He can’t leave you in chains for days, helpless and powerless, so easy to take advantage of. “You can’t,” you whimper, and even though you mean for it to be a decisive statement, with your throat ravaged and hoarse it’s downright pathetic. Overhaul doesn’t even bother reprimanding you for talking back.

“My men have been patient,” he muses, and an enthusiastic wave of agreement wells up from the others. “Any of them would be happy to do it.”

You may have been through a lot in the past hour alone, but there is no way you’re going to let those rowdy criminals have their way with you. You send a nervous glance around the room and as predicted, not a single one of them looks like they have the slightest shred of control over themselves.

None of them…except Overhaul.

Still eased back in his chair, he looks just as relaxed and unaffected as he did when he was explaining your father’s debts to you. But there’s something flickering in his eyes, something he isn’t going to say to you, isn’t going to say out loud. A challenge.

Maybe, once again, he’s waiting for you to ask for it yourself. And if it’s a choice between him and one of the grimy ruffians who’ve been looking at you like dogs look at meat, you know what you’d prefer. Well—really, you’d prefer option C: none of the above (your current state might be uncomfortable, but you’re not so wanton that you’d rather cum in front of strangers than keep your legs together). Unfortunately, you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that ‘no’ is no longer an option.

Overhaul’s stare flicks from you to an unseen figure behind you, and you can tell he’s about to summon one of them over so you force yourself to move, lurching forward and climbing into his lap to straddle one of his thighs with all the grace you’re capable of. You feel the stir in the air when he inhales sharply, surprised, and his masked face is so close to your neck that you wonder if he can smell the lotion you put on before you went to bed last night.

It’s one of your favorite scents: vanilla, lilac, orange blossoms. You bought it because it smelled pure.

“Please, sir, I don’t want them,” you breathe next to his ear, injecting every ounce of sexual frustration you’re feeling into the needy tones of your voice. “I’m yours. I belong to you, just you. No one else—please, sir…Overhaul.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and you think he’s going to hit you, or maybe even kill you for your disobedience. Push you off his lap at least. But just when you’re teetering on the edge of jumping back from him and begging for forgiveness for talking out of turn, you feel it—a low rumble of laughter from deep in his chest.

Big, cold hands wrap around the sides of your ribcage under your breasts and his fingernails dig into you through the layers of latex and fabric. He tilts forward, forcing you to arch away and all you can think about is how horribly weak you are compared to him. Are you trembling? Will he be angry if you feels how afraid you are?

“You know, I guess I’ll keep you after all,” he hums, stroking his fingers through your hair and down your neck. “How does that sound, princess? I think you’d like that very much, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” The response comes all too easily, even if the words taste bitter in your mouth. You’ve never said the word ‘sir’ so much in your life…but as he repositions you on his lap and slides a single hand up the inside of your thigh under your dress, you bite your lip and decide to hold back your protest.

If you’re going to have to learn manners, you’d better do it sooner rather than later. Something tells you Overhaul’s not going to accept any less than your best behavior if you want to pay off your debt.

[skaruresonic]

"Quit stringing people up like Jesus."

The rhetoric of Flynn white knights is beginning to worry me. Can we take a moment to reflect on this?

Notice how often people use terms like "crucify," "demonize," and "they think he's Satan" in reference to Flynn and how he's treated in general. It's really ironic that they use such loaded terms despite their insistence that he's just a human being. You'd think they'd respect him more as a person by saying "hey the harassment he's received is super fucked-up" but instead, we get hysterics. "DON'T STRING PEOPLE UP LIKE JESUS ON THE CROSS." Damn dude, calm down.

I feel like it has to create some sort of "boy who cried wolf" effect. By blowing up the issue of the harassment he receives into a quasi-religious matter, you're ironically downplaying the impact it has on his person. Very weird culturally Christian bent that we don't have time to unpack here.

If Pontac and Graff attracted ire merely for having their names listed as localizers in the credits, I don't see why we should expect Ian to be exempt when they slap his name on there for marketing purposes. Although no one deserves harassment, it's worth keeping in mind that nobody was making these concessions for Pontaff when people laid into them.

Besides, if you (general you) cared about Ian having the space to improve his craft - though personally I'm not inclined to give much benefit of the doubt to a man who makes the same mistakes over and over for two decades - you'd realize it's not exactly equitable to him to expect him to soak in the accolades but avoid the criticisms, passing the buck onto someone else.

Either that writing credit has to mean something, or it doesn't mean anything. You can't just be like "he's the writer!" when the thing he makes is good and "his hands were tied" when the thing he makes is bad.

Stuff like this is why he hasn't really improved as a writer over the course of the past 20 years. If he can only do the characters and world justice when Sega's watching him like a hawk, was he really that good of a writer to begin with?

---

"If there are changes in JP media you don't like, I promise you that the end result was collaborative and not someone taking the reins, wild west style."

Oh good, now I have to perform mental calculations to determine how to distribute blame evenly along the creative chain before I'm allowed to say "this writing sucks ass." Guess that writing credit really doesn't do what it says on the tin after all. :v

Changes to the IP do not occur without Sega's stamp of approval, yes, but changes also do not occur in a vacuum. Changes come about by recognizing a preexisting demand in the target demographic.

Who keeps their finger on the fandom's pulse? Who relays this information back to Sega? Who deigns to act as intermediate between fandom and creatives? Who spent years building up a reputation in fandom and later used it to springboard his career? Who hosts a podcast where he charges fandom money to answer questions about an IP he doesn't own? Who's the one who said "roll some ideas by me on my podcast, and I'll see if they align with what the lore team is currently doing"?

As someone who purports himself to be dialed-in to American Sonic fandom's wants and needs, Ian plays a part in giving the lore a nudge here and there. It's disingenuous to be like "um ackshually the JP side is to blame for changes too because they approve everything" when

A.) you assume that that's not happening anyway; people have pushed for years to blame Sega for Shadow's poor portrayal in IDW;

and B.) the collaborative process means no one party ought to take the brunt of the blame. You just perceive Flynn to be the punching bag because he's closest to you. I guarantee you you have not seen posts mocking Kishimoto and Iizuka.

Also, isn't Adam a freelancer for IDW? So like... does he really have any idea how the creative chain of command flows from Flynn to IDW editorial to Sega, anyway?

Besides, how do you propose we distribute blame? Who gets which share and how much, and how do we determine that? Are we not allowed to complain unless we've performed the calculations beforehand? Because, again, nobody wrings their hands over this stuff before they lay into Iizuka or Pontaff.

Japanese dev teams can, have, and will attract harassment all on their own, whether that's through subtle displays of intellectual condescension by fauxteurs who think they can elevate their rinky-dink video games to the status of Art(tm), or by merely being "weird" (read: Japanese) in ways Westerners don't find palatable.

When you have the guy who acts like the poster boy of ascended fandom, is it not disingenuous to be like "he's just one man, guys, come on"? Is he never going to be held to professional standards? Did Sega never give him The Talk(tm) about ignoring fandom the way they had to give Pontaff the talk?

He could have just as easily continued creating fan comics like the rest of us, but he chose this career path because he thought it was lucrative. It's not like he's an unknown author posting on AO3 for free. He left that behind when he decided to work for Archie.

He may be one man, but he also made his own bed. It's not crucifixion to say "lie in it."

A story in 3 images;

Adam Bryce Thomas, ladies and gentlemen. Ian Flynn's biggest white knight.

I feel bad for Awsometime2. They give legitimate criticism and make it clear that they're not hating on Ian, and how does ABT respond? By blocking them.

What a fragile ego.

[garoumylove]

My Ultimate Garou Analysis yeah 🐺🐺 (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ

(By ultimate I mean for me lol! Coz I probably won't write another one. So ultimate for me haha!)

I don’t usually write things like this, and I’m not going to make a habit of it, but despite so much being written about Garou here, there and everywhere I’ve very rarely come across an analysis that really captures what he is about or really understands him so I’m going to write up this commentary.

What makes me qualified for this? Well, I have a degree in literature lol! But more importantly, and the main reason I fell head over heels in love with Garou, is because we both have the same lived experience. I know many people get bullied and it’s not exactly uncommon. But the thing with Garou is not just that he got bullied but that he was basically bullied and then gaslit by the people who were supposed to protect him. He was also constantly told he was a bad person. This is getting a little personal for me but I grew up exactly the same. Being bullied and harassed by other kids and adults in my life and then being told it’s all my fault. For the longest time in my life I believed I was a bad person, just like Garou, and unless you have lived that over and over it’s hard to understand the psychology behind it. So I’m going to explain the inside of Garou’s mind here and also attempt to explain why the manga has lately done him a disservice in light of this.

Firstly, Garou is neither a soft, sentimental little child in a man’s body just waiting for someone to listen to him and comfort him or a hardcore, emotionless lone wolf out for revenge which is how many people, especially the more casual readers, tend to view him. These are two extremes and neither is accurate.

I feel there are two core things that need to be established to understand Garou as a person.

1.       He has mistaken ‘underdog’ with monster.

2.       He is extremely insecure.

The first thing: I’ve already mentioned this in a post long ago but in Justice Man, the monsters weren’t actually acting like monsters. Like the crab demon just wanted to protect the ocean and Justice Man kicked his ass anyway. This kids’ show had some very twisted dynamics where the heroes were actual assholes and the monsters were just misunderstood loners or underdogs. Garou, in his child’s mind, conflated the show with reality. We know that the real life heroes in OPM are not assholes. Some of them are incompetent, but they’re not destroying the lives of innocent people. Likewise, the monsters in real life are actually monsters who want to harm and destroy people and society. Garou sort of gets this and that’s why he refuses to align himself with the MA, that and just fuckin’ pride.

Garou doesn’t want to become a monster so he can create a safe place for other monsters, he hates the real life monsters. He wants to become a monster so that everyone is focused on him and too busy saving themselves to engage in social politics and the pecking order of society. No time to bully anyone when you’re busy trying to stay alive. He wants to make it a safe place for the underdogs of society, for people like Tareo.

Secondly, and this is where the psychological insight comes in, Garou is extremely insecure. I’m sure everyone has noticed this by now but this is what I think people miss: he does not believe anything can change. I feel like most people analysing Garou think he’s just waiting for someone to listen to him or care about him, whether that be Saitama or a romantic partner but this is not the case.

When you’ve been told repeatedly that you are horrible, mean, a troublemaker since childhood, when the people who are meant to love you and protect you knock you down you internalise that hard. There’s this weird thing that happens because on the one hand you’re angry because part of you knows it’s unjust to be treated like this (and we see Garou’s anger about this repeatedly), but at the same time you’re ashamed and afraid because you believe it’s true and so you stay away from people, break off relationships or don’t form new ones. Or when you do, it’s with people who are extremely ‘safe’, like Tareo for example. People who you feel will not hurt you any more.

Despite this whole “I love being a lone wolf” exterior he’s got Garou is lonely but he would rather become a monster and give up his humanity than admit that or take anyone’s help.

The other thing when you’ve gotten into this mindset is this crippling fear of being praised, of being good. With Garou it’s two-fold. Superficially, he’s afraid to show that side of him because to him it’s a weakness. Kindness is seen as a weakness, which is again quite an immature view. He was this quiet, nice kid and he got bullied relentlessly, so to him, to be that nice kid again is to be weak, to be taken advantage of.

But the other aversion to doing good and being praised is because it fills you with shame and self-consciousness. You feel like you don’t deserve it and it creates a lot of painful cognitive dissonance because you feel you’re a monster and so hearing someone say something good about you hurts because it feels like ‘I wish that were true, but no matter how hard I try I will never be a good person’. It fills you with shame and regret, and that in turn makes you angry and it’s like a whole cycle.

Garou is not just looking for someone to listen to him. The problems he has are not going to be fixed just by someone having a talk, or several talks with him. Hell, they’re not going to be fixed by any one person. Someone can help him, but at the end of the day he has to change. And this is the painful part. You realise that no one can actually go into Garou’s brain and change his thoughts and feelings except himself. His partner can only support him on this journey by being there for him and showing they will be there and will not laugh at him or scold him or get impatient. Someone who has emotional maturity and stability because there are way too many layers to unpack there.

Garou has internalised that he is bad and so the only path he sees for himself is to take that to the extreme and to become the monster everyone calls him anyway. It’s like that self-fulfilling prophecy, if you tell a child they’re a failure, they will just stop trying. You tell a child he is bad, he will no longer see himself as anything but bad. Secretly he yearns to be good, just like Garou yearns to actually be a hero, but he has no hope for being so because the message is so internalised. (Garou also doesn’t want to be called a hero because of reason number one, in his eyes they are assholes thanks to Justice Man and Tacchan.)

Why I think the manga is getting it wrong: Throughout the story we have seen Garou’s anger and insecurity fuelling his journey to become the ultimate evil, since he thinks this is the only thing he can be anyway. When he got to the surface of the current arc there has been a sudden drop  in this desire. He seems hesitant and not sure anymore. He is openly sad and worried about Bang, he acts like a fool with that chibi match up with Bad, jumping on the helicopter, and his shell breaks way too early. I was going to say this is psychologically unrealistic, but then unrealistic is not the right word for a fictional story. It is inconsistent. When he’s been pushed and prodded in a negative way for a decade he is not suddenly going to have a change of heart right at the moment where he’s about to achieve his goal. It doesn’t make sense.

The web comic Garou, even though we knew he wasn’t really going to kill Tareo despite his threats, was determined right till the end. He was seething and it was like the culmination of his anger, his fear, his insecurity. In the manga, there is no culmination. He suddenly loses his strong will once he’s out of the rubble and becomes a comic relief accidentally saving all these people. Again, which I think is in poor taste since for him being good is extremely shameful, so when I see all that I’m just wincing at how panicked and self-conscious he is feeling at being told he’s good over and over.

The webcomic Garou had dignity. He had fought tooth and nail to regain it after all that shit in his childhood and despite the occasional intelligently funny bit or banter he was a threat to be reckoned with. He worked so hard to create a different image of himself on the outside, to hide all the fucking pain, to rebuild a sense of dignity. Not in the manga. He has no dignity anymore. The panel of him sitting at the table with Saitama, which was also a reference to a movie I believe, puts the nail in the coffin of any dignity he had left. Him sitting there like a little child being scolded was just…shameful.

As someone who has had countless therapy sessions for these types of childhood traumas I can tell you right now that they are retraumatising him. Someone like Garou needs to be handled with kid gloves but he’s being made a fool of again and again.

We know that Garou is fierce, independent and stubborn. The way he is acting in the manga lately is not him ‘healing’ or coming to realisations. It is nonsensical character development.

The webcomic made sense. We kind of knew from the beginning that he’d never become the ultimate monster, not because of Saitama per se, but because that’s not what he really wanted. But the thing is, Garou didn’t know that. He seriously believed he was going to do just that right till the end because to admit that he wants to be good is his ultimate fear. In the manga, he’s basically admitting this and hesitating right from the start, from when he resurfaces. It undermines and undoes all the development and his hard work up to that point.

Garou is angry and lonely and independent and strong. He thinks he knows exactly what he wants, but really this is the only option that he sees open to him because of how he feels about himself. I love him and want to protect him because I want to show him this is not the only way forward for him, that he is an amazing person, but even if I could be there and say all this to him and show him how much I love him he would still need to do the work.

If in the manga they make it that Garou breaks down and ‘heals’ emotionally just from talking to Saitama it does a great disservice to the complex psychology of childhood/complex trauma. That’s not how it works.

In the webcomic, Saitama’s punch and pep-talk were a beginning for Garou. Saitama brought him down to his knees, literally and figuratively, but it was now up to Garou to go and sort himself out. The manga feels like a copout. Like that cliché moment where the person in therapy says “I think I hate my father” and the therapist says “You’re cured!”.

The thing with Garou’s journey is that it’s only beginning with the end of the Saitama fight. He still has a lot of emotional and social issues to sort out. The webcomic showed this well. The manga on the other hand is kind of dumbing this down and seems to be giving everyone this nice little wrapped up “Yay! We made Garou good and healed him!” package. It over-simplifies everything.

I love Garou too much to let all this slide. I love his complexity and I empathise with what he’s going through. With what we’ve both had to go through. I understand that a person can’t fix him but can only support. I understand his anger and how angry, powerful and yet completely shameful and weak you feel at the same time. I understand all that and that’s why I can see all the holes in what’s being done to him.

Thank you for reading this far! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

[ruby-whistler]

one of the saddest things about c!dream is that he never cut his attachments so that he couldn't be hurt. he cut his attachments so they couldn't be hurt.

as someone who analyses c!dream a lot, this seems pretty obvious, but the bastard is good at hiding things, so let me explain;

c!dream knew everyone hated him, he knew that very well. he made it very clear that he was afraid people would go after the those he cared about as a result. here's some quotes to back that up;

DREAM He’s not being neutral anymore and also he’s been getting attacked non-stop by Technoblade and others, who don’t want him to be king. [ . . . . . ] And George has been getting killed and attacked and his armor’s stolen from him.

. . . . . . .

DREAM And you’re always there to have my back and- I know that I pay you, but still… You know, it goes- you know, it’s a little beyond that I would think, and um… I don’t see-

PUNZ Yeah, we’ve definitely grown a strong alliance I would say. Strong friendship.

DREAM And… recently… everyone’s been turning against me. I don’t know who I have on the server other than you right now that’s… that’s on my side and that’s dangerous, because- I mean… If they got together and were organized, I’m not sure I would be able to- how many of you are on the entire server… [ . . . . . ] So, yeah, I guess I- I’m getting a tad worried um… I know… They went after Techno and I can assume that this means that they’re- they’d- You know… They’ll probably go after me. [ . . . . . ] You know… I did a lot of things and even though I’m being good now… I am nervous.

PUNZ Understandably.

DREAM And I think that… there’s a couple things that we should talk about, but- but one, I think that you should… not be on my side.

PUNZ Really…? *stops walking*

DREAM Well… *looks back at Punz* You should, but you should act like you’re not on my side. Because if you’re on my side then you’ll be in danger and probably before they take me out, they’ll try and take you out and then I won’t be there to help you and… That would not be good. But if you’re not helping me and you’re not on my side… Then they have no reason to go after you. Right?

[ credit: @dsmptranscripts on twitter ]

his quest of "cutting attachments" wasn't about helping himself or abandoning his friends for selfish reasons at all. it was him sacrificing the fact he could've kept them by his side - they could've helped him, they could've been there - so that they wouldn't be hurt, because there was a genuine danger in being aligned with him.

he didn’t ignore the effect his bad actions could have on the people he represented (unlike some people have /lh /j). this is not excusing what he actually did of course, but rather shedding light on the fact that he was threading lightly for his friends' sakes, even being willing to lose them to make sure that wouldn't happen.

he chose the dark path he thought would lead to a brighter future, and left his friends behind to pick them up once he got all of the obstacles out of the way himself.

but he never came back.

and this only half-applies to the dethronement; because c!dream wasn’t leaving c!george and c!sapnap, no, they did that.

c!george got assassinated by c!techno, then almost got himself into a conflict with l'manberg. he was heavily connected to c!dream.

if dream cut those ties - at least on the surface, by dethroning him - people wouldn't want to harass him as much, right? because in reality, they had nothing against george. they just hated dream, who was in charge of the faction. george being its figurehead was dangerous, especially since dream was, at that time, planning to destroy l'manberg for good.

c!dream's way of disconnecting himself from c!george was dethroning him. ridding him of a title tightly connected to him (let's not lie to ourselves here and pretend the monarchy ever had any real power to be taken away).

he couldn't truly leave them behind, but, well. in the end, they ended up doing that for him - and of course, he couldn't reach out, because what would happen to them if he let people know he cared?

because c!dream's "cutting of attachments" wasn't about caring, really, because he couldn't stop caring. he could only pretend, he could only try to convince people otherwise - he could only yell about not caring about anything when it was being threatened in front of his eyes. he couldn't stop caring, and so he didn't, and he lost everything instead.

fast-forwards to c!punz; the one person who he kept on his side, because he was rational, he was resilient, and he wasn't endangered for the bigger part of their alliance - but c!dream saw everything going downhill and expressed concern.

he was concerned about people hating him, not for him, but once again, for the safety of the people he cared about.

so, what did he do? once again, he suggested pretending to cut ties. they didn't work together anymore (at least on the surface; there will always be suspicions) and in the end, they cut ties for good, and c!dream was left alone;

not because he "pushed his friends away". not because he "was scared of being controlled" - but because he cared too much about them to let them care back.

people try to paint c!dream as this callous figure who only uses his friends and throws them away when he doesn't need them anymore, but in reality - he would rather hurt himself than be responsible for his friends', his family's pain.

he's lost everything but care - he did awful things and hurt people a lot, but he also loves his friends, and he cares more than he admits, and he shows it especially by how much he makes sure not to let them take the fall for his actions.

he's not a good person, and i'll never pretend that he is - but he genuinely cares, he's human and he's lost things that matter to him and he isn't selfish - all of this proves he's actually anything but.

[diorgirl444]

Hi there Flo! It is me Sarah again! And I was wondering if I can have a Outsiders ship please?

Physical Appearance: I have long brown hair with blonde highlights, ocean blue eyes with bluish-purple glasses, I have a curvy but lean body with strong calves thanks to the years of dancing (cheerleading and ballet), horse-riding, running and jumping, I am 5'1 feet tall, I have pale-tan skin with freckles on my face and also I got random moles and freckles on my arms and legs as well and people say I got a smile that can brighten up any room.

Personality: I am an open-minded, kind-hearted, optimistic and friendly girl with a love of learning things like zodiac signs, MBTI types, crystals and Disney etc. I can be very impatient, stubborn, naive and I am also in the spectrum so I can be blunt and quirky only because I see the world in a different way from other people but I see the good in people no matter what and I am loyal and dependable to my friends and family and when someone hurts my friends and my family I can be fiercely protective all over them.

My type for a perfect person: I just want to be my best friend and partner in crime, I want a gentleman or gentlelady who will be proudly hold my hand and being glad that I am their girlfriend, I want someone to bring me flowers and compliments everyday and being the mother/father of my future kids someday and treat me like a queen all the time.

Sexuality and Pronouns: Bisexual (Both male and female preference) and She/Her

MBTI Type: INFJ-T

Big Three: Sagittarius sun, Cancer moon and Aquarius rising

Moral Alignment: Lawful Good

Enneagram Type: Type 2 (The Helper)

Temperament Personality Type: Sanguine-Choleric (The Influencer)

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Likes: Singing, dancing, acting, writing, reading books, typing, watching Disney movies, Zodiac signs, MBTI types and crystals.

Dislikes: Mean people, vegetables, yelling, someone who hurts the ones I love the most and bullies.

Random Facts: I've been in the school musical productions for 5 years and my childhood nickname was Sarah-Bear.

your perfect matchup is 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞 💌

𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 <𝟑

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝟐 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 <𝟑

because johnny doesn’t have a job or attend school i think you too meeting would be a real coincidence.

like you’d really have had to bump into each other in order to meet.

so i picture you at the drive in theatre with your separate friends and you start fancy a sweet treat so you walk over to the little kiosk that sells snacks but to get to it you have to pass the outsiders.

dallas started hollering and harassing you but to johnny’s surprise you stand up for yourself basically telling dallas to back off.

to johnny this is insane, girls never tell dallas to leave them alone.

and just as dallas is about to make another comment johnny surprises himself by saying “shut up dallas”

he watches you walk off and in that moment he realises he can’t let you leave without at least learning your name so he summons all his confidence and runs to catch up with you.

when he reaches you he apologies for dallas’s behaviour and you thank him for helping. 

he flushes and shyly asks your name. 

softly remarking how such a pretty name suits you. 

he tells you his name and on his hand you write your number with a little heart telling him to keep in touch. neither of you realise that this is the beginning of something very special <3

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 <𝟑

you two are the kind of couple that no one expected but when they find out it just makes perfect sense.

he honestly can’t believe you chose him over everyone else and he can get kinda of insecure so you have to remind him that he’s the one you chose.

intj x infj compatibility means that you two are completely on the same wavelength about things.

his favourite moments with you would be the two of you just quietly sitting together holding each other.

he hangs onto your every word; he’s so enamoured with you.

he’d love to read play scripts with you such as romeo and juliet or far from the madding crowd.

he’s not very rich so he can’t afford lavish gifts so instead he makes like bead bracelets for you.

and if his home is becoming too unsafe he stays with you.

you also end becoming close friends with the rest of the gang so like you discuss horse-riding with sodapop, plays with ponyboy, mickey mouse with two bit and you have a long chat with dallas about the line between flirting and harassment.

needless to say everything is better for johnny now you’re in his life and i’m sure you feel the same. <3

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 <𝟑

hugs and kisses, flo <333