#do you know how incredible it is to have more than one non white LI option??

[soupandsorcery]

veilguard modding is basically just getting off the ground, and we've already got people asking to make neve lighter skinned and to take away her prosthetic. what the fuck is wrong with people??

[aromantic-ace]

Humans Are Weird/SpaceOrcs: Human Skin

Imagine if, as opposed to many creatures on earth, aliens don't have skins, worse the average alien doesnt even know it can exist, now I imagine most alien would have scales or some kind of exoskeleton (or just a suit holding themselves in for maybe an ultra ultra tech specie that lost its shell after so many years not needing it). And then here come the humans, with all those weird fact about their skin (its regenerative effect, its stripes, patern on the hand etc).

Injuries were always something Po'Rox's specie was dreading, they were renowed for their shell and exoskeleton almost unbreakable that was extremely usefull in fights but when a Naaric shell finally breaks it take multiple cycle to heal the outside injury alone, bleeding wasn't a scary factor since a compress could solve that issue, no what was their doom were infections, a simple infection could nail a Naaric to bed for weeks and that was if the wound was correctly treated. It was kind of ironic how a specie that dreaded wounds so much ended up as one of the best fighter specie in the known universe.

And then the Humans arrive and the whole universe is shocked, not only does they have a fleshy shell but it apparently is incredibly resistant AND regenerate itself and Po'Rox couldn't believe it, luckily one of those humans were on the ship the Naaric was on so the multi shelled being decided to talk to the one concerned instead of trusting the rumors.

Walking toward the quarter of the interesting specimen, the titan reminded himself of what he knew about the human, it was a female named Kaete or Kayte he didn't know exactly, human name are hard to pronounce and remember. She also was a scientist, those that do science and not fights, Po'Rox knew they were usefull and not to be depreciated be he was raised to think with a gun or another weapon, not with words or science so he didn't know how to start the conversation with the scientist or how to not look like the brutes his people were described as.. he would do as usual and just ask the question probably.

Now was the time, he knocked on the door with a bit more stress than he wanted, was he the protector of the ship and experienced soldier being stressed ? I mean.. it was expectable after all, he was about to bluntly ask a question to a member of the specie that could become the deadliest and toughest warriors of the known universe, it was something to be cautious about. And then the door opened and he couldnt believe what he was seeing, she was small, like half the size of the walking shield and he wasn't himself part of the tallest of his specie, she had no scales nor did she have any exoskeleton, it really was just some kind of red or white colored shell if he has to use humans words. She only had two eyes one of which was covered by some kind of protective keratine based plant that was way overgrown and apparently black when he himself had three pairs of eyes allowing him to see in multiple direction. No visible claws and when she showed her teeth (maybe in some kind of greetings or warning message) she barely had any potentially dangerous ones.. was she really part of some apex predator specie that could be the fiercest fighters ? It was hard to believe but he had to admit that at leash she had the flesh shell so it wasn't a li-

Kate: Hello ? Can i help you ?

Right ! He was about to talk to her, luckily his translator worked and he only looked stupid for a brief moment before answering while trying to look smart.

Po'Rox: Hello ! Human Kaet. I come with question about this.

He pointed with one of its non clawed hands (as to not offend or looking threatening) the face of the human which.. simply showed more of her teeth (was it a good thing ?) Before correcting him.

Kate: it's Kate, and uhm.. are you asking about my nose ?

Po'Rox: No, no, i mean what is on your face, your shell, the red thing.

Kate: Oh ! You mean my skin right ? What about it ?

Po'Rox: Well.. is it true ? Can you regenerate wounds in less than a day ? How ? To have such speed it should be incredibly weak yet you arent dissolving or leaking flesh.

Kate: I mean.. yeah ? Is it that much of a big deal ? Of course it depend of the gravity of the wound but most go away in a day or two and it isnt that resistant a knife can easily wound us but at the same time its a quick recovery.

Po'Rox: Oh i understand, but what about the pain, and the infection, us Naarig have almost no pain sense but i heard it wasn't the case for you.

Kate: The pain ? We just forget it.

Po'Rox: ...sorry what ?

Kate: In situation of fear or danger our body produce a drug that make us forget about pain and sometime allow us to go beyond our bodies limitation so... we just forget about pain, our brain even sometime decide to make us forget about pain without that drug for as long as we aren't in a safe place.

Po'Rox:... Are humans the product of a geneticly engineered super specie ?

Kate: Nope, all natural.

Po'Rox: You.. you people are.. i can't even describe what you are..

Kate: Oh it's not all, you see i know a bit about our skin, if the right condition are there it can grow on things that arent part of our bodies and make a whole new organ, a nose for exemple. It is constantly regenerating itself that's why we heal quickly, the skin is made of multiple layer of cell that just amass themselves in a specific formation and slowly get exposed on the outside, just by rubbing somewhere im withdrawing thousands of dead cell while exposing the fresh one, of course everything isnt dead on the surface, a lot of still active cell get away if we do that and it cause a minor wound that heal within minutes.

Po'Rox: I.. i need to lay down, i'm not even sure i wanna ask question anymore, you humans are really terrifying..

Po'Rox spent the next days realising how much weird the humans were, and how screwed they would be if they ever decided to declare war, if their scientist had this kind of body, he didnt even want to look at what their warrior looked like, for the first time in a long, long time past childhood he had felt fear, and the source wasn't an enemy.

[spuffybot]

The Neil Gaiman stuff is bringing up some things for me. We all bring our own experiences to the table and we all see things through a biased lens. And I want to own that up front and say I’m not making any assertions about what happened.

But one thing really sticks out for me, personally about this story. Both women were young (18 and 21 at the time) and he was a much older, famous man.

Having experienced this dynamic myself when I was 20, it’s incredibly hard to untangle the messy lines of consent when you’re in that situation.

When we hear these stories we want it to be black and white. The perpetrator was clearly in the wrong and the victim was clearly victimized. It’s rarely that simple.

If you were to ask the man I was with at 20 if we did anything non consensual he would unequivocally say no.

If you were to ask me at 20 I would also say no.

If you were to ask me today I would say…kind of.

Kind of because I was so intimidated by him.

Kind of because I was so inexperienced that I didn’t event know what we were doing at times.

Kind of because I was extremely drunk on a few occasions.

Kind of because I wanted to impress him more than I wanted to listen to my own wants and needs.

What all of these leaves me with is the belief that we don’t yet have the language to unpack these types of encounters. Sexual harm and violence has been stigmatized for so long that victims are only now speaking out and being believed (a little.) When we begin exploring situations where communication, consent, and power are so complicated it can be hard to decipher.

For myself, I could not shake feelings of anger and guilt for many years. I didn’t understand why, because I had made the choice to be with him. Why did it feel out of my control? Why did I have this pain I didn’t understand?

Years later I learned things that helped give me context. He had sought out young girls who were fans, in some cases as young as 16. He had sworn us all to secrecy. He had lied about many things. I came to understand ways I had been manipulated, coerced, and bullied.

But I still wouldn’t say I didn’t consent, because I did. But how do we understand consent? How do these dynamics of power strip our agency and blur the lines of yes and no?

I don’t have the answers but I hope that we can collectively look at this story surrounding Neil with the nuance and compassion it deserves. What these women are describing is painful, emotionally complex, and it leaves scars that can last a lifetime. Power dynamics matter and when you are in a position of authority by having age and fame on your side, you have to understand what that can do.

There’s a knee jerk urge to say “well you just regret it now and that’s not fair” but this assumes that we live in a world where sex is equitable and everyone is committed to enthusiastic consent and mutual care. We don’t. We live in a world where people have deep rooted sexual shame and trauma, where dynamics between cis men and women are unbalanced and unhealthy, where consent is still a very recent part of the collective conversation.

If this is bringing things up for you, I’m here for you. If this is making you feel hopeless to see another male celebrity you love behave this way, please don’t lose hope. The more we talk openly about these types of situations the closer we get to a world where what I just described is not the status quo.

[maeselc]

Wip ask game: Maybe OMB 👀

(For the WIP ask game)

Thanks for the ask 😊

I can't quite remember why this is called 'Maybe OMB', because this is straight up a post-OMB fic lol. My guess is that I started drafting the smut before anything else so I wasn't sure if it would make sense in an OMB context 😅 The premise is: they meet in the Agent Bashir holoprogramme the next day for 'lunch' ... They do not have lunch.

I have a note in this file to credit @wanderingwriter87 for inspiration via Don't Rain On My Parade and and I'm the king of fools cause baby you're the queen of white lies, two absolutely incredible fics that influenced my OMB-related garashir brainworms.

I keep thinking I'm about to finish this one and then stalling (there's a *vibe* I'm aiming for that I haven't quite got to my liking yet, plus it currently switches back and forth between their perspectives quite a lot and I can't decide if I like that), so although I've got over 3k written of what i don't think will be a very long fic, I think it will be a while before I get it finished.

The opening (515 words) is under the cut. I've been fiddling with it a lot for a long time now and it may change before I post the fic in full, but I'm resisting the urge to mess with it any more before sharing now!

'Am I late?' Julian asked crisply.

Garak rose from the couch. 'No.'

'I know.'

Julian looked at Garak steadily, and Garak gave him his most bland of smiles in return.

Julian looked away first, turning to walk to the bar. 'Drink?'

'Are we not here for lunch?' He saw the exasperation even as Julian kept his face turned away.

'We can have a drink first.'

'Delightful!'

Garak walked over to stand at the bar and watched as Julian busied himself with the various liquids and accoutrements he produced from within its shelves. It all struck Garak as rather needlessly fussy, but he thought perhaps that was part of the point of the whole gaudy construct.

Julian was wearing his uniform, which, though disappointing, was as Garak had expected. Garak had also expected that his own choice – yesterday's tuxedo with a fresh shirt, this one a pale shade of blue that he understood to be non-traditional – might have elicited some reaction.

Oh, well. One for two.

'Is your friend expected? The colonel?' Garak asked. 'I haven't checked the boudoir. I shouldn't like to intrude, were she expecting you.' He idly rolled his finger over the bar, then flicked an imaginary dustball to the floor. 'Though I must confess to some curiosity.'

'About what?' Julian asked, his voice flat.

'What she really looks like.'

'Why is that?'

He walked around the bar and moved in to hand Garak his drink as Garak turned to face him. Garak took the drink and stepped in closer.

'Just call it idle interest.'

'I'm sure,' Julian said. He made no move to walk away. 'Didn't you say you'd seen more than enough of my fantasy life?'

'Hm.'

There was a long silence.

Garak blinked first, tilting his head just slightly, arching a brow ridge. All just subtle enough. An invitation, perhaps. A query, not a challenge.

Julian narrowed his eyes. 'Is this still how it's going to be?'

Garak elevated the other brow ridge.

'How long would you have us go on like this?'

'Like what, Doctor?'

'This,' he said, leaning in. 'Whatever this is. Both of us just waiting for the other to call our bluff?'

Garak tilted his head the other way. 'And who is bluffing?'

Julian stared him in the eye for a long moment. Then, he stepped in even closer, one foot wedging in between Garak's.

Garak drew himself up and tilted his head back so that he could almost convince himself he was looking down his nose at Julian. He heard the clunk of a glass being set on the bar, and then warm hands settled at his hips. He suppressed the urge to gulp.

'Who indeed,' Julian murmured.

'Certainly not me, my dear doctor,' Garak said, resting his hands lightly on Julian's forearms. 'My cards are on the table.'

Julian pursed his lips. 'And what table would that be?'

Garak had to fight to keep the irritation off his face, but after a second, Julian seemed to soften.

'They are, aren't they?' he murmured. And then he leaned in and brushed his lips against Garak's.

[aftermyownart]

Please enjoy this picture of Arwen on a ?horse.

If you'd like to hear my as of yesterday epiphany about Arwen, I have written a note below the line~

Arwen is useless = This is incorrect

The stories of Middle Earth are very viscerally about loss. Loss of nature, loss of beauty, loss of loved ones, loss of innocence, loss of the world as it's been known, and how to act in the face of unfathomable fear.

And Arwen, as I think we all know or have vaguely considered at least subconsciously before, is meant to be a symbol of hope (and the motivator for Aragorn to be the prime example of non-toxic man candy we all dream about).

So what does she do in the story? The simple answer is; she give's up her passport to the family's holiday home in the undying lands and stays in Middle Earth with her hot ranger boyfriend. I mean, I can't blame her.

But here's my mini-piphany

Arwen is stubborn. She fights back without malice when she's been lied to (by a family member someone who literally sees the future), and stays in a world that is turning to ash and fire.

I think she does it for more than simply the love of a man.

I think Arwen really is a good example of positive femininity. She may not be wielding a sword, but she acts in the way of many stubborn women do, and acts in service of the future. Don't think she would make a difference? Wrong.

Arwen is the daughter and granddaughter of two of the most well known and powerful elves in M.E. Damn right she knows how to run a kingdom. She also, despite being the youngest of the elves, has perspective on longevity. What would a kingdom of men know about how the world can change over that length of time? How farms stay fertile over the spans of centuries? How to calm agitated spirits?

I know she's essentially the poster girl for what could be the M.E. equivalent of white privilege (like, for real) but she's also, I think, the most similar symbolically to an immigrant woman. She knows she may never see her family again, despite how close they all are, but how many immigrants have moved away from everything they've ever known and loved because they had hope?

How many incredibly brilliant women have been destined to fade as their brilliancy is overlooked once their immediate loved ones are gone?

I think Arwen is an untitled hero of the rebuilding of the world. You bet she would be giving advice to anyone who asked, putting the wisdom of her heritage to good use, considering council meetings as seriously as Galadriel or Elrond ever would. She would be the one who turns the white city green again, inspire, encourage and teach in the makings of a new age of art, textile and industry from knowledge humans never had access to before.

Damn right she would know her entire family tree, and play with every great, great grandchild who may never know or remember how she's related to them.

Would she eventually tire of humanity? Probably, but that bond to her family would never waver, no matter how far removed the generations would become. She may even see the eyes of her love in thousands of grandchildren so far down the family tree with so many relatives they might as well be a galaxy, but she would see the eyes of her love, of her brothers, of her father and her mother reflected in those descendants.

And to them, she might be like a god, but more likely, she would be like the warmth of Autumn, like sunshine that warms you in the cold, even if it too feels remote, felt from a distance, or a fleeting, gentle thing. She'd be like the fading trees, nostalgia for all who grew up tugging at her skirts and grow to lean on her strong shoulder as their own bones wither and creak with age. To be the last Elf on the shores of middle earth, to outlive her lover as thousands of women do, but for a thousand times longer. She might get tired. She might, as the elves can, fade, as she starts feeling the loneliness of her decisions, as all women do, when they're elderly and waiting to meet their loved ones elsewhere.

And when she did eventually fade, surrounded by people who don't remember how they met her, or how they're supposed to be related to 'Aunty Arwen', her passing would be like the passing of a lonely god, celebrated, mourned. And the people who have long forgotten her husband the king, would celebrate her history and how she built life again, sacrificed her entire self for the people of spouse, how she grew gardens, and danced and laughed, and built cities and forests, and how she loved, and oh how she loved.

I think, while Arwen had no place in the stories about rings, she was the possibility of still being soft, gentle, and hopeful. Innocent without being naïve.

I think, actually, I rather like Arwen Undómiel after all.

[allycat75]

How many times are you required to flash that ugly ass ring, connecting you to your racist, antisemetic wifey during the ASP discussion on Hate on Campus, Boston Dumb Fuck?

(Oh and to the BDF trolls, I entreat you to print this out on poster size paper and attach it to Christopher's ceiling so he sees it before he goes to bed and first thing when he wakes up, to remind him what a hypocritical fuck face he is 🙂).

Are you really that tone deaf? Do you really want more of the good fans to leave? Your White Privlege is showing and it is more embarrassing than the dick pic.

I suppose the right thing to do would be to withhold judgment until after the session is released and I have watched it in its entirety. But that would require me to give your useless site some hits and I really don't want to do that. Beside, I see some clear red flags already.

First, have you forgotten you are "kinda" married to a racist antisemite (twice- to make extra sure!)? And you made sure to flash that disgusting piece of metal on your non-dominant left hand on The View so we knew it was true. Look, we all know you are lying and are not really married to her. These two "kinda" ceremonies probably never even happened. But here lies the Catch-22. If you admit you aren't married, you are a liar on a grand scale and have no business running a political website that aims to clear the same static you are causing. Or you stick with your lie and you are forever known as a Nazi lover (all for that sweet ass pussy, which we all had the unfortuate occasion to see when she decided to put it on full display on the internet, along with her fake titties and butthole, last year to distract from reports of her racist behavior). Those are your choices. You don't get to go back to being Woke Captain America Chris whenever you want. Life doesn't work like that for the rest of us who weren't allowed to get away with shit for most of our lives. Like it or not, this is the narrative you have chosen.

Second, this is a real life and death issue. People have been beaten and died because of their faith, some while trying to celebrate one of the most holy times of the year. Can you at least have a little GODDAMN respect to have actual pictures and not some lame Highlights for Children drawings of you morally reprehensible moderators and your guest! Have you become so soulless, BDF, that you don't show up in photographs anymore? They did capture your smug bastard look incredibly well, though.

As someone who suffers from anxiety, I find it particularly distasteful that you would be so thoughtless to discuss this topic, knowing the optics. People are scared shitless and don't need you and your light touch irrelevant site to dig in when you are the biggest fucking hypocrite that the alt-right can't wait to exploit. You staked your claim at the pap walk and invited everyone in at the NYC comic con. We don't need you to say anything further on the subject.

You are trying our patience! Whatever contractual obligations you are fulfilling are working at cross purposes. I am finding it very hard to defend this and the clock is ticking closer to indifference by the minute.

As I often do, in the spirit of true discord and fair discussion, I invite you to prove me wrong, you fucking coward!

[jarmes]

Harry Anderson’s Father (Homestuck: Beyond Canon Fanfic)

I gaze out upon the festering shithole of a world that lies behind the black hole. At first glance, it is identical to the victory world I left. But, with my heightened senses, I am acutely able to sense the inherent bullshittery that permeates through this planet like a cancer. The planet isn’t real, not completely. It exists as a shitty doodle on the back of reality, something that should not exist but still persists. This world is a hypothetical. It is the universe that would have existed, if I didn’t push John Egbert to restore canon to a functioning state.

Years ago, I briefly existed in this universe. The moment I realized what it was, I did the only sensible thing and killed myself so I didn’t have to spend another second in what was for all intents and purposes a terrible piece of fanfiction. That was a mistake. If I had stayed, I could have stopped the Muse from creating lackluster muppet baby players and sending them to kill me.

This world needs to be destroyed. Not just blown up, but fully erased. Its existence is a stain that makes everything I have built terrible by association. This abomination of a world is so bad it got my comic canceled. 

I pull the lever and release the Tumor. I’m not surprised when it doesn’t fall from my battleship, down to the non-canon version of Earth C and obliterate it. That would be boring.

I march out onto the deck of my battleship. A teenager is standing on the edge, ripping apart the wires in the bombing mechanism’s control panel. He has white hair, with that trademark Lalonde curl and Jake’s bad teeth. John and Roxy’s kid. I don’t know his name, nor do I care to know.

> Be Harry Anderson Egbert

You watch as that Dirk Strider, that terrifying and handsome son of a bitch, marches towards you. He draws his badass katana and you raise your pathetic garden sheers. Your hands tremble as you sense the incredible goddamn menace emanating off the literal God you have decided to fuck with.

HARRY: you’re that guy my mom told me about. the one with the stupid shades.

DIRK: It is a shame that the kids these days do not understand how kickass ironic anime shades are.

HARRY: how do they stay on your face? double-sided tape?

DIRK: There are more important things to discuss than the intricacies of my clothing. Such as, your attempt at disarming my weapon.

HARRY: i’m not going to let you blow up my world and kill everyone.

DIRK: That isn’t really your choice.

Dirk Strider moves so fast you can’t process it. One second, he’s twenty feet away, the next, he has his katana held against your throat. You feel a drop of cold sweat drip down your neck and split apart as it touches the edge of Dirk’s blade.

DIRK: I’m going to explain something very simple to you. You are not a real human being.

DIRK: You are a shadow of a person from a world that should not exist. You canonically do not exist.

DIRK: People who exist get to foil the big bad’s plans. People who exist occasionally get to impact the plot.

DIRK: Unfortunately, you are a drama kid OC from someone’s Tumblr page who is just sentient enough to feel fear.

The sucker punch from John knocks Dirk flat on his ass.

What.

No.

I don’t get taken by surprise anymore. I’m omniscient and fairly close to omnipotent. It should be impossible for someone to get the jump on me, and yet, I have just been walloped by John Egbert. He appeared in front of me and punched me in the face, so hard that I feel my molars coming loose.

He got here using his Retcon powers. I can see the white outline hanging around his silhouette.

HARRY: dad?

JOHN: harry anderson! i’m so proud of you.

JOHN: military sabotage is basically the highest form of prank.

JOHN: i mean your mom would probably be mad about this, but i’m incredibly proud.

HARRY: dad, i’m trying to stop him from killing everyone i’ve ever met. can we please delay the father-son pep talk until after this is over?

JOHN: oh yeah i can do that.

John turns to face me. He’s wearing his God Tier outfit, which hasn’t grown in the two and a half decades he’s been wearing it and is two sizes too small. He looks like an idiot.

JOHN: hi dirk. can you please stop trying to kill my son.

JOHN: and also stop trying to destroy the world while you're at it.

DIRK: You know he isn’t real.

DIRK: His existence, like the existence of every other person on that planet, is paradoxical.

DIRK: You’re from this world, but you are at least a version of a character who existed in canon.

DIRK: Your son doesn’t have that going for him.

JOHN: i know.

The child looks up at his father with confusion. John doesn’t take his gaze off me.

JOHN: so what?

DIRK: What do you mean, so what?

DIRK: This entire universe is a non-canon abomination.

JOHN: i know but i don’t really care, you know?

DIRK: Of course you don’t care. You’re the version of John who abandoned the world and let it decay into a twisted shadow of canon.

DIRK: If you cared, you would have died fighting Lord English.

DIRK: Instead, you created this aberration.

DIRK: This is the universe of dog dicks, clowns sucking on titties, and Vriska 2: Electric Boogaloo.

JOHN: yeah, but it’s also the universe where my son exists.

JOHN: i don’t really get this canon stuff.

JOHN: i mean, everyone tells me that this world isn’t real.

JOHN: and for a long time, i believed that.

JOHN: i stopped spending time with Roxy or Harry Anderson or anyone else because i knew they weren’t real.

JOHN: but i think i was just depressed.

JOHN: i’m better now. i’m not hiding from the world anymore.

JOHN: harry anderson is my son and i love him.

John reaches over and grabs his son, pulling him into a hug. Harry Anderson tries to shove him away, but eventually relents and allows his father to hug him.

I decide I’ve had enough of this sappy horseshit and stab John Egbert in the throat. The blade goes in easily. Too easily. I jump back as John transforms into wind.

He reforms above Dirk and slams his hammer down, smashing a hole in the deck. The dice in the hammer's bubble bounce around. When they land, a dozen horses appear, summoned by magic, and trample Dirk Strider.

HARRY: dad? are you...cool?

I dash forward, slicing John across the chest. As my blade tears through his flesh, a sudden burst of wind knocks Dirk away. John flies forward and smashes his hammer down on Dirk’s skull.

I focus on the bouncing dice. I see in my mind what they must be and it becomes so. Eight dice land with the one facing up. The Pop-a-matic Vrillyhoo Hammer explodes in John’s hand, taking his arm with it. As John clutches his stump, his son attempts to stab me in the back. I easily sidestep him and knock his sheers away with my sword.

Harry’s fist surrounds with black tendrils as he punches me in the stomach. It hurts, more than I expected, but I’ve long since ascended beyond the point where pain affects me. I grab him by the throat and lift him up, crushing his throat with my bare hands. A stab through the skull would have killed him instantly, but it wouldn’t have been cruel enough. After all, I’m the villain. It behooves me to be menacing.

Harry Anderson Egbert scratches at the back of my hand with his fingernails, trying to tear away my iron grasp. He struggles to breathe. An ironic end, for the son of the Heir of Breath. His eyes roll back in his head as he falls unconscious.

A tornado erupts from John Egbert. The spinning blue wind tears the battleship to pieces. Canons and chunks of metal fall down towards Earth C as Drik loses his grip on Harry. John flies forward and slams his hammer into Dirk’s chest.

I get it now. My domination of the narration normally allows me control over the actions of others. Not complete, but enough to guide things towards the necessary outcome. Except, John Egbert hasn’t been bound by canon in years, not since he touched the Ultimate Weapon. I can’t control him.

He slams the hammer into me and my sword slips from my grasp and begins falling towards the planet. John isn’t a fighter. He doesn’t realize how strong he is. His wind is strong enough to tear apart planets and right now 100% of it is concentrated in crushing me into a fine red paste.

Of course, this is exactly what I planned for. John is so distracted on hurting me that he doesn’t pay attention to his son falling down from heaven, abandoned like Icarus after venturing close to the sun. He doesn’t pay attention to my katana as it stabs through the sky. The tornado holding me in place shoots it down like a rocket. I can’t control John, but I can control my sword. I guide it like a missile to its destination in Harry Anderson Egbert’s chest.

JOHN: harry anderson!

John takes his attention off me for the briefest of moments, giving me the time to stab my fingers into his chest. He screams as I grab hold of his heart. Magenta bolts of lightning flow from my hand into John Egbert’s body. The lightning saws through the metaphysical connection points, severing John’s soul from his body. As I tear him apart from the inside, a light breaks through his chest, so bright it would blind me if I wasn’t wearing my kickass anime shades. The light is shaped like a house. The Ultimate Weapon, the source of John’s bullshit retcon powers, hidden away within his body.

John transforms into wind. The wind dives after Harry Anderson as he falls from space. John reforms around his son and cradles him as he slowly descends down to the ground. They land in the middle of a field.

JOHN: it’s okay! it’s going to be okay!

John blubbers like a baby as he cradles the bloody soon-to-be corpse of his brat. The kid tries to say something, but he only gets out gurgles due to the sword in his lung. I decide to be nice and remove it. I appear behind John and, with a single movement, faster than the eye can see, draw the sword from Harry’s body and swing it, cleaving off John Egbert’s head.

Harry crashes down in the grass as John’s body falls over. I hold out my sword and skewer John’s head as it lands, the tip of my blade coming out of his eye. In another plane of existence, a grandfather clock’s pendulum swings between two judgments, Heroic and Just. I put my hand on the scale, forcing John’s death to be heroic.

As I wipe John’s blood from my sword using my cape, I feel the scissors stab me in the back. Damnit. I was distracted by controlling the clock and forgot about Harry. He’s injured, but has his teeth gritted in anger. He clutches a large pair of shears, made out of thin black tendrils. A weapon made out of pure Doom that pokes out of the heart symbol on my shirt, having gone through the black lump of coal that is my actual heart.

Harry Anderson is the Bard of Doom. He’s a destroyer, just like me, and Doom is his weapon. This terrible planet, the insurmountable odds, the hole in his chest, the death of his father, all of these things make him stronger. He concentrates the power of the Candy timeline into his tendrils.

The Doom spreads through my body. My flesh rots away, bit by bit. It feels just like it did when the Stardust consumed me. Before it’s too late, I cut my own head off.

Harry Anderson struggles to breath as he crawls towards his father’s corpse.

HARRY: this is stupid.

HARRY: you don’t talk for me for years and then the first time you actually try and give a shit about me you die.

HARRY: you’re a god. gods don’t die. get up.

HARRY: please.

DIRK: That isn’t going to happen.

I look down upon the injured child, my arms crossed. If it wasn’t such a cliche, I would call him pathetic. I can’t die, not really. I have long since transcended beyond a physical being. I exist as a disembodied consciousness existing outside of any universe, who interacts with others by puppeteering a physical form. It is trivial for me to conjure another body out of nothingness.

I raise my hand into the air. A large ball of energy appears above my palm, growing larger until it blocks out any light from the sun. The death ball I have summoned is made out of pure, concentrated destruction. It will tear apart the souls of this putrid rock and restore the purity it has taken from my canon. And it won’t take twenty goddamn episodes to do so.

I toss the death ball. Harry holds out his hands, firing all of the energy he can muster in a doomed attempt to hold back the ball. He thinks he’s the brave shonen protagonist fighting for his home, but he isn’t. He’s a crappy OC who should have never existed. This isn’t death. It’s a mercy.

Blue wind wraps around the ball of energy. It disappears, pulled out of reality by John’s retcon powers.

Fuck.

I turn around to see John’s corpse hovering five feet off the ground. His head is still gone, but in its place sits a skull made of wind wearing John’s glasses. The light from the Ultimate Weapon is brighter than it has ever been.

John punches himself in the chest. A thousand different copies of his arm appear around Dirk, pummeling his new body to a bloody pulp.

I swing my sword but an arm grabs it and retcons it out of existence.

I hold out my hands and fire my electricity. It begins ripping the Ultimate Weapon out of John’s chest but the lightning stops when another fist hits Dirk in the stomach. John holds his hand out and his wind flies into the portal on his chest.

None of this is happening. I refuse to let it happen and thus it does not. I’m the narrator. That’s why the fucking text is orange.

The wind spreads through the source code of canon, wiping the text color clean.

DIRK: What did you do?

DIRK: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?

The light from the Ultimate Weapon shines on Dirk. He screams as he is dragged in. He appears in an empty white box, where he will remain for a very long time. He pounds on the walls of his cage.

DIRK: LET ME OUT!

DIRK: LET ME OUT!

The thing that defeated Dirk Strider walks over to Harry Anderson Egbert. He waves his hand and his son’s wounds disappear, erased from ever having happened.

JOHN: my father died when I was young.

JOHN: it was really hard on me. i guess it’s gonna be pretty hard on you.

JOHN: and now i’m realizing how much must have sucked that he didn’t get to watch his son grow up.

John fades away into wind and disappears.

HARRY: dad?

No answer comes.

[plctwists]

HAN SOHEE  23  FEMALE  SHE/HER — ; where do you get your inspiration, KIM MINA ? you’re so INTUITIVE , i can’t help but think of DYING ROSES , DRINKING EXPENSIVE WINE FROM THE BOTTLE AT DAWN , A MESS OF CIGARETTE BUTTS , WET BRUSHES AND CRUMBLED PIECES OF PAPER when i hear your name . your friends tell me you can be FLIGHTY sometimes . i guess it’s understandable given the circumstances. besides , i can’t even imagine how stressful PAINTING classes must be — not to mention you’re also in THE RED AND GREEN CLUB ! you’re a NEWCOMER , right ? yeah, i thought so . either way , welcome to mugunghwa ! 

hi all! i’m max, she/her, 21+ and super excited to be here! ‪♡‬ my new years resolution is to be active for the next 3 months so i can find out who k*lled jisoo :D anyways, this is my little manic pixie dream girl, flighty escapist painter miss kim mina! she’s still very much a wip and it’s my first time writing a character like her, so please do excuse any messiness and characterization issues thank u 

(also do like this post if you would like to plot!!) 

and more info about her can be found in her about page here ‪♡‬

basics

scorpio sun, cancer moon, scorpio rising

born 12 november 1999 in seoul 

lived in berlin for seven years when she was eight 

currently a second year painting major, specializes in oil painting & dabbles in watercolor. was previously at seoul national university

personality n vibes

infp

positive traits: caring, intuitive, creative, self-aware

negative traits: self-centered, escapist, dishonest, flighty

neutral traits: imaginative, secretive

character inspirations: the white lotus s2’s daphne, nevertheless’ jae eon, looking for alaska’s alaska young, if we were villains’ meredith, industry’s yasmin

archetypes the hedonist, the hopeless romantic

associated aesthetics: dying roses, messy rooms and messier lives, running away when things get hard, cigarettes butts and wet brushes carelessly strewn into an empty bottle of expensive wine, sharing knowing smiles in crowded rooms, vintage chanel bags stained with paint

trivia

best way to describe her: sweet but incredibly unreliable. soft-spoken with an air of mystery around her. the type to give you a vague, non-descript answer.

distances herself from reality because a. she doesn’t want to confront her trauma and b. it’s more fun romanticizing and dramatizing everything anyways

the kind to pretend that bad things don’t happen (she lives by the motto: “do whatever you have to do to not feel like a victim of life.”)

morally gray compass. will always find excuses for herself whenever she does something objectively wrong.

a manic pixie dream girl because she wants to be. deep down she knows that she’s fucked up and everything’s fucked up but would rather avoid a crushing reality than face it bc she has the opportunity to choose to ignore it. she may be self-centered and an escapist, but she’s not that stupid and not that unaware. she’s just wilfully ignorant rly

desperate for love, given her lack of love during her childhood, sort of a pushover but see below: will hurt u behind your back

she would never hurt someone, she says. but she is perfectly fine with doing it behind her backs and finding some justification on why it wasn’t that wrong anyways (shes a gaslighting queen)

she’s a fucking liar - misremembers events (wanting to dramatize them? just lives in a world of her own? no one fucking knows), saying whatever it takes to incite the reaction she wants, telling one thing to one person and another to someone else, always refusing to admit that she has lied

if you ask if she loved jisoo... she wouldn’t really have an answer. but she did love the idea of jisoo - the knight in shining armor, the boy who swept her off her feet away from shitty seoul

after jisoo’s death, nothing has really changed about mina which has led to a lot of talk about her “suspicious behaviour” but in reality, mina is detaching from the situation (as with what she did with her sister)

she’s numb about it, hasn’t really allowed herself to process - instead, throws herself into painting, buying expensive shit, dying her hair, speaking about him in present tense

background (tw death) 

summarising to things u need to know: parents dgaf about her, older sister died when she was six and she started building her own world, sent to berlin to study, came back to korea, cheated on her then-bf with her best friend’s boyfriend so she ran away with jisoo to mgh 

youngest only child of the kim family (tbc on what they do but they are rich but they are not in art world)

family lacked love, as with most rich families. hers never even tried - mum was a socialite, too busy chasing her youth with champagne flutes and mercurial highs to give a shit about her. dad just gave a shit about work more. maybe they never wanted children? maybe it was just part of their societal duties? mina has never tried to understand it and perhaps, never wants to

had an elder sister who she was quite close to

but when she was six, her sister passed away in a freak accident 

mina’s escapist tendencies intensified

made up stories about adventures of her and her deceased elder sister, started drawing and painting disturbing material to the point that her nanny, concerned over mina’s development, begged her parents to send mina for a psychological checkup

they found nothing wrong but her parents distanced themselves even further. she’s not sure whether it was because they couldn’t handle the loss of her older sister, or she scared them, or that they realized that there was no point even trying anymore

one of her parents’ friends and a teacher at her prestigious school saw that she had a gift for art, told her parents mina had potential 

she was then shipped off to berlin to hone her art in a prestigious art school

when she was fifteen, her grandparents threatened to cut her parents out of their will if mina didn’t come home, and so, she was sent back to korea for her high school years, where she did struggle to fit in but it wasn’t like mina really tried. continued painting, went on frequent overseas trips to europe, stirred a lot of shit and ruined many friendships

got into seoul national uni - started sleeping with her best friend’s boyfriend, even though she was taken herself (why? for the shits and giggles? for the inspiration? just because mina wanted to? because he looked at her drunk one night and said, “you’re really pretty” and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so she did it behind her best friend AND boyfriend’s back, just to get the brief affection of someone who doesn’t even matter now? who the fuck knows)

essentially fucked her entire social life over and that was when mina realized she fucked up because seoul wasn’t like berlin where she could just run away and never return

around that time as well, she’d been talking to jisoo and when he (deeply in love with her at that point, and unaware of what had transpired) suggested she transferred over to mugunghwa, mina felt that it was the best possible option given the whole dramatic mess of her life.

over at mugunghwa, no one really knows what happened in seoul or why mina transferred. there are rumours about it though 

wanted connections

thank you if you made it this far! she only recently transferred to mgh during the spring semester so i don’t really have that many wanted connections!! always open to brainstorm :)

someone who has an inkling of what went down in seoul and is/was deeply suspicious of her relationship with jisoo

someone who puts her on a pedestal, and truly believes she is as great as they say her to be 

someone who keeps her grounded? or as grounded as possible? 

someone she does not like because they were mean to her face lol 

painting classmate friendships ‪♡‬ 

[abbinurmel]

Lolita is an amazing book for the tragic horror and dark sarcastic humor! I strongly ask of you all to read it! Because it's not just a riveting classic with pretty language about pedophiles!- The point of the novel is that it is a mean-spirited JOKE. A bunch of really, really clearly biased accounts and horribly fabricated self pitying bullshit lies are being told by a typical bitter 4chan incel creep, who no one likes. But imagine your 4chan user has the mind of a Ph.D professor and the mouth of a soulful Shakespean poet, that's how he talks, because he's an uptight British snob, all of the TIME he is non-stop insufferable hipster /"I use FACTS AND LOGIC" mode, and the people around him always notice.

The narrator tries SO HARD to make you feel bad for him and like him for how educated cool and sophisticated he is. Please, like, pretty pretty please. Literally begs the reader to "understand" all his misfortune as he tries to be in nonstop denial of the only one simple obvious truth, even within his own subjective telling of his life story:...that he is a giant creep and an asshole.

You guys recall that intro scene in "The Emperor's New Groove?" Where Kuzco says 'yeah that's me, life isn't fair, EVERYONE SUCKS and I did nothing WRONG! Let me tell you how great I was, and how everything went so badly." Instead of feeling sorry, we're shown what a spoiled ass Kuzco is. Not even when the actual villain plots his death do we truly feel sorry, because we know 1) he's still really okay and 2) we know he's a guy who has no kindness who will gladly throw people out the window and burns villages down on a whim. Kuzco's a VILLAIN until Pacha teaches him niceness.

Now imagine that part, but give the main character no redemption arc or relief of closure. That's Lolita. That's what it is really about. Mocking and punishing a dickhead who's tragically too far gone with mental illness /being an all around self entitled privileged rich white male jerk to ever grasp WHY. Not the sex, barely touches upon it in fact, with hardly any graphic scenes ever spoken about in detail. No. It's about a guy who's whole life has been whiny selfish fake excuse after another, and thinking he is superior and cool for being into obscure trivia and history. He thinks having Refined Taste /Education is a completely fine compensation for all of his many many DUMB and obviously cruel choices. You could ask Invader Zim to write essays about how his mission was unfairly fringed upon by Dib, it would be less inaccurate or biased.

All this colorful vocabulary is used to inflate how POMPOUS he is, how he likes to seem smarter and better than you, the reader, cos y'know, us typical lowbrow dirty AMERICANS, we just are so uncouth! ... y'know he reads books and shit, have you ever heard of those??... But meanwhile he has no idea how to see past his own dick, or the edge of his glasses. It's so funny. It's messed up cos people exist who are like this.

Humbert Humbert the main character is a guy who's whole life completely sucks. He is depressed and alone because he loses so many people, but not just alone to death, but also for just being an unlikable person who is difficult to socialize with and doesn't like his fellow adults. He thinks he should be well liked, but also PRIDES himself greatly for not being so. He is a grown middle aged man, with the brain of an edgy high schooler on Reddit who brings everything upon himself, due to being a completely reckless, impulsively horny, alcoholic, unpredictably violent and self-congratulating dipshit.

....Sound familiar??

He is literally the non campy, soft-spoken, very educated Count Olaf. He is what I think most readers associate Count Olaf with being, before they either pour more energy into the series or just romanticize the character into whatever way suits their fancy. Humbert Humbert is a self admitted incredibly shitty person, well aware and proud of his crimes. The whole novel starts with him in jail penning a manifesto. He's blatantly portrayed as a snob, murderer, miserable due to constantly judging others in very shallow ways and narcissistic self pity, is wildly out of touch with pop culture, has a self-admitted mild Oedipal complex, has 'romance' with his victim Lolita who is 15 and only falls partially for her in the first place cos she reminds him of his *first childhood crush who he never fucked* and feels bitterly ""robbed"" because of that and nearly nothing else when she was taken away from life. And within that 'new romance's, which is really more like a literal 'kill the parent, take all the money and then proceed to rape/kidnapping', all their 'chemistry' does is nothing but dark humor at how willfully cheerfully stubborn /innocently sincere clueless he is about NOT BEING THE OBVIOUS VILLAIN of the story. Even when he has what he desires, he is not happy for very long. All poor Lolita mainly does when they aren't fucking is belittle him and constantly try to secretly alert others to her situation or escape. She casually calls him ugly and his interests boring all of the time. Even during their stabler calm moments when they aren't having conversations or creepy awkward sex, she cries to herself every night to sleep in bed. The girl is so clearly miserable and DONE with his shit, but Humbert in his twisted villain's brain portrays this as: "we had a great time at the Hilton Motel! They have a very big pool there and a salad bar! 😀 ...I told her to tell people that I was her father and she said that was lame and disgusting, I wonder why? What is her problem?...oh my muse, she is so wickedly mean and coy with me, who can FATHOM what goes on in that beautiful alien mind??❤️"

Humbert Humbert is an example of clever creative use of "genre-blindness". This guy thinks he isn't in a tawdry crime story, he thinks he is in a manic-pixie-dream romance novel. Because again, he's an over the top VILLAIN, like Bowser, like Goob like Captain Hook, like the literal actual Devil.

Like this guy.

Eventually he gets sick of her 'attitude' so Humbert dumps her off at basically a rip off of Girl Scouts, then they have an altercation with an even more depraved guy at a hotel after Lolita tries running away again for the 89th time, and Humbert murders someone. Then Lolita finally truly ditches him for good, the poor girl gets knocked up by someone a bit closer to her own age, and when Humbert FINALLY managed to stalk her down and find her location, what does she do?....she asks Humbert for support money. Humbert has already lost all his savings, and soon his house and career, as now he is a fugitive, and pretty soon, he is caught and for the rest of his days rots in jail. They both die very shortly soon afterward a few months later of health issues.

That's it. Thats the book. And it's pornographic alright, if by porn you mean SQUIDWARD TORTURE PORN for literally the entire main cast.

❤️So romantic!❤️

[ledenews]

Santorine: Presidential Debate a Miscarriage of Politics

Sometimes I think I’m living in a dystopian film, in a warped society where we send warriors out to fight our battles for us, and the winner of this one-on-one combat chooses which set of ideologies will prevail until the have two warriors face off again. The fact we are doing this today, with a couple of geezers standing up in front of our nation making outlandish claims makes me pinch myself to make certain I’m awake. Is this really happening? Is this the best our nation can do? The competition is macabre at best. We all know there are two competing schools of thought. Big Government and Huge Taxes vs. Limited Government and allegedly lower taxes. Two completely different types of governance. With each side sticking to its guns, there is no compromise, just a bit of wiggle on taxes, and it’s back and forth every few years. So, we spend a lot of money figuring out the most tax advantageous way to arrange our lives until the current tax cuts expire. Talk about not being “fair,” but we always punish our best and brightest, don’t we? Aspirational America is no longer about the brightest and best but instead about the most politically connected. I’ve been told that I say that “Trump is a New Yorker” too many times, and maybe it’s how he acts. The TRUMP brand has always been about shiny and bold, and just a little “over the top.” Like the man. But that is how you need to roll when you’re playing in the city that never sleeps. On Thursday night for the presidential debate, former president Donald J. Trump had his businessman’s face on, including that look of incredulity that each of us has when we are faced with an excessive load of untruth. The non-stop lies coming from President Joe Biden were nothing short of incredible. The Trump “you’re full it of” face was on for most of the two hours. It’s obvious that Biden has never been in a grocery store or had to fill up the family car in recent months. The costs are staggering due to inflation, and wages have not kept up. The average family really does not care that some obscure employment metric is three-tenths of a percentage point better under him than it was under Trump. Of the excuses from the left trying to justify Biden’s performance, one sticks out in my mind –  “Biden has a cold.” Really now, after a week secluded at Camp David to prep for this, a mere cold took down the leader of the free world in a debate? Thank God we weren’t in the middle of multiple international conflicts and domestic unrest caused by inflation. Or are we? I think it’s obvious that we need a brawler in the White House for a bit. A troubleshooter who’s not afraid to take on the entrenched bureaucracy. Someone who has done the job and has had time to reflect on his “Wins-Losses-Ties” from term one. Someone who clearly calls it like it is. Much like physicians, the best ones usually have really poor bedside manners. When I look at a politician, the litmus test is always, “Would I like to have dinner with that man?” I think an incredibly interesting conversation would be had breaking bread with Donald J. Trump.  Sure, he’s a bit of a braggart. That goes with the territory (another way of saying ‘He’s a New Yorker’). He connects with the common man, and that makes him seem much more real. The debate was a demonstration of two old men, one with words and the other with mumbles (from a person who is clearly not as sharp as he once was). The debate proved that Biden is completely incapable or leading the greatest country on the face of the earth, and that Trump has reached the limit of what one human should have to endure as far as attacks and untruths. In pugilist terms, when it was obvious that Trump had Biden bloodied and beaten, he didn’t let up. In normal times, he would have. Continuing the fight served no purpose, save for one. The former president needed to get some of those frustrations out, and he did so by showing no mercy. In retrospect, I don’t blame him. I hope the political operatives who organize such things know better than to subject the American people to another one of these spectacles. It was, in every way, disgraceful. Unless the Democrat Party decides to risk blowing itself apart by replacing their presumptive nominee at the last minute, this is the pairing for the general election. We know what we have to deal with in November and I’ll be passing out clothespins that may help with the stench in the voting booth. Is it possible that, maybe, we are getting the government we deserve? Read the full article

[misserabella]

W ♡RSHIP ME

EDDIE MUNSON X FEM! INNOCENT CATHOLIC READER

REMINDER THAT IF YOU FEEL YOU COULD GET OFFENDED BY THIS POST THERE IS NO NEED TO READ IT! I WOULD HATE TO MAKE ANY OF YOU THINK THAT THAT WAS THE INTENTION OF IT WHEN IT TRULLY ISN'T, I DEEPLY RESPECT ALL TYPES OF RELIGIONS! <3

REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!<3

Synopsis;; you didn't know what was happening with you, only that you wanted to dance with the devil under the name of Eddie Munson.

inspired by amazing writers such as @eddiemunsonhotgf and @dinodinodin0 ♡

CW;; references to the bible and church (also, eddie is not a believer and talks about his sinning and also is harsh about god, AGAIN DON'T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY PLEASE), mocking of god, cursing, drug use, dirty talk, nipple play, teasing, smut, p in v sex, masturbation, dacryphilia, worshipping kink, god kink, overstimulation, a little bit of perv!Eddie, squirting, spanking, non protected sex (GUYS STDS ARE REAL, WRAP THE DONG UP), cream pie, finger fucking, chocking, praising, degradation, multiple orgasms… MINORS DNI!!!

(this actually got a little bit out of hand…)

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

Word count;; 9k

†

“Pray to me. Worship me.”

To be honest, Eddie gave a absolute and incredibly huge fuck about ‘the above’. If there were rules any supposed God had put on a silly book then there was him to break every and each one of them.

It was easy really, look.

“Thou shalt not steal.”

Jesus, what the hell? And literally speaking. Come on, he was not really gonna die from lightning if he borrowed a couple of rings from the punk store, was he?

2. “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife.”

I mean… More than one mother he has already fucked, so there was that…

3. “Thou shalt not commit adultery.”

… Yeah…

4. “Thou shall not take the name of thy God in vain.”

God could suck his cock, honestly.

5. “Honor thy father and mother.”

Say what now? Didn’t knew her. And him? He could suck his cock too.

6. “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.”

Oh yeah, sure. No lies, blah, blah, sin!, blah, blah. He was always lying (justifiable). Even to himself, for fucks sake! If you went and asked him if he wanted to fuck you, will he say yes? Well, that was not a great example, but y’all get the point.

7. “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods.”

Would you count as one of your father’s goods? ‘Cause if that’s the case… He couldn’t really help himself. He was going to make you his any way or the other.

8. “Thou shalt not kill.”

Well, except for that. He really hadn’t done that…

Well, as he was saying…

9. “Remember to keep holy the Sabbath day.”

With how you looked in that tiny little navy skirt and the way your tits pushed against your white catholic highschool shirt? He didn’t think he would be able to keep holy even in a normal day.

And lastly…

10. “I am the Lord thy God, thou shalt not have any gods before Me.”

Oh, but he had one. You.

You were this kind of fucking angel sent from heaven. With your beautiful and silky hair falling to your back in waves, the prettiest and shiny eyes he had ever seen and rosy fully glossed lips that parted to sing along with the church’s choir. With that wonderful body of yours that he would absolutely go down on his knees to worship, you and those curves, ass and thighs that he so has dreamed of making a mess of with his lips.

You had the sweetest voice and personality he has ever known, always so caring, so giving and so sensitive… Oh god, his cock pushed against his black jeans every single time a tear would cascade down your cheeks when you volunteered for those in need, too overwhelmed as you prayed for them.

He wanted so bad for you to pray for him instead, down on your knees, with those pretty lips…

He was no catholic, he never was. But for you? Jesus, he would even enroll in one of those goddamn religious schools, cut his hair and go around like a goddamn prep church boy spreading God’s word if that meant he could stay as close to you as he could.

You had noticed, of course. Who wouldn’t? He was the black sheep amongst all those white ones as the pastor went on and on towards the end of the mass. He was there every Sunday, just to see you. And sooner or later your eyes had drifted to the end of the room and met his. He felt as if he could die a happy man there, when you gave him a sweet smile before getting back to praying.

To your eyes he seemed… Different. Different than any other boy you had ever met. What was comprensible since you were always surrounded by your very well mannered and stiff classmates. If any of them were there, they would probably start saying something about how people like him would end up being abandoned by god and in hell.

You could almost hear them and your father to stay away from his kind when the priest announced that all of you shall receive communion bread from your neighbor. You didn’t know why, but before noticing, you were drifting away from the crowd and towards the back with one of the hosts in your hands, towards him.

His eyebrows rose when he noticed that you were approaching him, no one had before. So he felt clumsy as he stood up from the wood bench in which he had been sitting for the last one and a half hours.

Your eyes met his when you were close enough, and he simply stared at you, at your soft skin, long lashes and cute nose. He was taken back when your hands rose from below and towards his lips. Your cheeks were pink and your eyes darted towards one of the angels carved in the wood walls. He then understood what was going on when he noticed the little bread medallion on your fingers. Fuck, he hadn’t done the communion, so was he not supposed to eat that?

His eyes went back to your expecting face, who was now looking at his indecisive one, attentive.

Fuck it.

He thought as he leaned down and took it with his tongue. You felt your face redden when his bottom lip brush against your finger tips, his brown eyes closing as he leaned back tall, looking down at you with a smirk.

“Thanks, gorgeous.” you slightly jumped on your spot. His voice was so… You couldn’t even describe it with words. What it did to you, how your whole body seemed to have been set on fire and your hands trembled as you nodded, unable to even speak up.

You both stared at each other for what it seemed to be hours on end before you could recompose yourself and turn around to head back to your sit on the front. You were flushed, and you softly slapped your cheeks to focus. And you tried, you really tried, and yet, there you were, sneaking peeks to the metal head every now and then just to find out that he was already staring at you, making you stupidly blush every single time.

Oh yeah, Eddie loved mass now.

The best day of the week was Sunday. No discussion. Maybe a common teenager would actually prefer Friday, but Sunday was the only day of the week he actually got to see you, so that’s that. He could understand his uncle’s confused gaze every weekend when he would tell him he was going to church, but it was fun anyways. He could even see smoke coming out of his ears trying yo understand why him would be going to mass every week.

But oh, well. Anything to get a glimpse of you.

He couldn’t understand it either. It was like an obsession, taking out the stalking shit. He just couldn’t get enough of you and your discreet peeks at him, of how every time you would come to him in mass when the host had to be given and of how you always seemed to blush around him. It was instantaneous, the connection.

Maybe it was true that opposites attract. But he couldn’t focus on that at the moment, his whole being was focused on you.

It was late at night and mass had just finished, everyone was saying their goodbyes at the doors and outside, going to ride back to their homes.

By now, he knew that you always stayed inside for a little bit more, maybe to help the pastor, or pray just one last time before leaving, who knows? He would just wait for you, anyways, blunt on hand and eyes on the wood doors.

The smoke burned his throat as he dragged a new hit from it, and the cold night’s air was hitting his face and blowing his curly hair. The sky was full of stars, but the only sight he would die for was you.

You shivered as you stepped out of the church, waving a goodbye to the pastor with one of your sweets smiles, which disappeared rather quickly when the cold air hit your bare skin. Your uniform was really not made for winter-like nights, and the thin sweatshirt that you had brought with you even less. You groaned when you remembered that today neither of your parents could come pick you up and that you had to walk back home. Good thing was that you lived nearby so it wouldn’t take you long.

You smiled to a few of the families that said their goodbyes, your eyes strolling though the plaza ‘till they met the more wooded part of it and at the same time, a pair of brown ones that stared at you, glistening under the fire of the blunt in between those soft lips that touched your fingers every Sunday. Your cheeks went hot pretty quickly as you looked the other way, your steps not waiting to start moving towards the street, but you stopped halfway, something inside you tugging the other way around. You fisted your hands and squeezed your eyes shut as you stood there, indecisive but knowing damn well what you wanted. Eddie’s eyebrows rose, awaiting for your next move as he stared at your back and silk hair. Surprise filled his factions when you turned around in just a mere second, starting to walk towards him still with your eyes closed shut. As if that would help you…

Cute.

He had to bit down a smile, still looking away and leaning in the tree on his side side while getting a new drag as you closed the distance.

He stared at you when you had finally come to meet him, your eyes darting away from him just to go back in less than a few seconds. He fought the urge to smile once again when he saw you try and say something, struggling to find a way how to start.

He was so close… So close that you could smell the earthy smoke —not truly knowing what it was—that surrounded him and his stupidly addictive cologne. Okay, breathe. You can do this. You can do this.

“Hi.” you stuttered, looking up at him since he was a few inches taller than you.

He smirked as he hit the blunt one more time before temporarily turning it off since he wouldn’t want you to be around the smoke.

“Hi, sweetheart.” he calmly said, slowly blowing off the smoke away from you, saving the rest of his blunt in his pocket. His mind was the complete opposite of his appearance, it was a mess. Holy shit, you were so close. And, fuck, you were talking to him. For the first time ever. This was a fucking dream.

Your cheeks burned when you heard the little nickname, a shy smile pursing your lips. Your brain was probably burning now due to all the thinking you were doing, trying to think about something to say to him. Hell, this was hard. “I saw you on mass.” you muttered, wanting to really kick yourself due to the stupidness that you’ve said. That was something he already knew.

Eddie smiled, giving you a chuckle that made your heart skip a beat. God you were so beautiful… “I know, I saw you too, gorgeous.” And he was high. What only made his infatuation worse. “Are you not going home? No one coming to get you?” he inquired you.

“Oh, yeah. I’m gonna walk the way back, my parents couldn’t come today.” you smiled to what he frowned.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he inquired back, chuckling a little bit. “Beautiful girls like you shouldn’t walk alone at night, doll.”

You froze when one of his hands reached to brush back your locks from your face, making your stomach turn.

“We wouldn’t want any bad guy hurting you, would we?” you shook your head in response, to what he hummed. “That’s right… So, why don’t you let me take you home, sweetheart?” he offered you, cautious to not come out as a creep or something like that. He really wanted you to get home safe though.

“Would that be okay?” you inquired, making him smile.

“Of course, gorgeous.” he frowned when he saw you shiver, quickly getting rid of his jacked to hand it to you. “Take this too, I’m sure you are freezing with that uniform on.” you blushed when his eyes scanned your bare legs, your soft hands bumping against his more tougher ones when you muttered a little ‘thanks’ and pushed the warm vest on your shoulders. You felt like drowning, not only because it was absolutely huge on you, but because it smelled like him. With that woody string that you couldn’t really put your finger on.

He mouthed a ‘fuck’ when he saw you on his jacket, your innocent eyes staring at him as you melted on the denim. You looked so beautiful that it made a boner start to grow on his pants. But he pushed the dirty thoughts that filled his mind to the back of it and pressed his palm on your lower back. “Let’s go, beautiful.” he smiled at you as you both walked towards his van, which’s door he opened for you before getting on the driver’s seat and starting the car. Music filled your ears when the radio got turned on, only a whisper to your ears as you were so focused on the way his veiny and big hands gripped the wheel and manhandled it to start driving away.

He made sure you had your seatbelt on, but really didn’t mind to even put his on before getting to the road.

“Where to, sweetheart?” he inquired you, turning down the music a little bit as his eyes quickly found yours, nodding when you gave him your direction.

You both were silent during the drive, not an awkward kind of it, though, more like a warm one. Your eyes wandered around the messy van, which was filled with metal tapes, some beer cans, cigarettes that had stumbled out of the ashtray and notebooks and book on the backseats, which were clearly from D&D.

“You play the guitar?” you inquired when you noticed one red pick hanging from his neck, something you hadn’t been able to see since it has been hidden under his jacket.

He smiled at your question, his body shaking slightly when you leaned over him and picked the pick in between your fingers. The design was really beautiful. “I do, actually, I’m even on a band.” your eyes widened.

“Really? What’s its name?”

“Corroded Coffin.” you nodded. “We play at the Hideout from time to time.”

“How cool, I’ve never met someone who played the electric guitar, on my school they’re forbidden. They only teach us how to play the piano.” you sighed.

“Well, If you liked I could play for you sometime.” you seemed exited at his offer.

“I would love that! I’m sure you’re amazing.” he felt himself slightly blushing, looking at you with a little grin before shrugging.

“I guess I’m good with my fingers.” he chuckled when you only smiled wider, pretty shiny eyes shining under the moonlight and completely oblivious of the lustful meaning of his words. What an innocent girl. “Okay, how about I play for you…, If you play for me too? What do you say, hm?” he said, pulling over in front of your house and stopping the car to turn to look at you. “Do we have a deal, gorgeous?” he inquired while offering you one of his hands on a shake.

You bit your bottom lip anxiously. “Okay.” you muttered, talking his hand in between yours, amazed by how his rough fingertips stayed warm even in the coldest of nights and just how long his fingers were compared to yours. A lightning went down though your whole body when his free hand reached your face, thumb pressing against your bottom lip as his eyes took in just how perfectly sinful they seemed. He dreamed of someday tasting them, breaking them with his teeth.

“I can’t wait.” he whispered, your doe eyes staring into his when he flashed you a smile and pulled away. “Now, get home safe, gorgeous. Don’t keep your parents waiting.” you nodded, following his orders and getting off of the van, not before pressing a soft kiss on his cheek, a shy giggle falling off your lips.

“Thank you for taking me home. I’ll see you next Sunday!” you waved goodbye as you walked towards your door, cheeks flushed and a big smile.

He gave you a wave just as you closed the front door behind your back, his raised hand pressing against the tingling skin of his cheek, where your lips had rested.

She’ll be the death of me…

He thought as he stared his van once again.

And that was just the start of everything.

You and Eddie became close pretty quickly. Was he the best influence? Absolutely not, since he had found a way to take you to the last church’s bench just to keep you giggling and blushing all the way through mass.

He had even introduced you to his friends. They were really cool…, different. There was this little genius named Dustin, who along with his friends always played D&D Friday afternoons, Steve and Robin, who worked on the Film Store and were always discussing the best films of history, and Nancy, the sweetest yet fearless girl you had ever met. At first you felt like an intruder, but they seemed to like you as much as you liked them, since they started to invite you to your hangouts and always ask Eddie about you when they had the chance.

Your parents were surprised, if not astonished, at first when they met Eddie and your group. They were so used to those prude bible lover classmates of yours that it was a shock for them. But once they saw just how happy it all made you, they decided that they’d accept it only if you continued with your bible studies and went to church every Sunday, what you obviously weren’t planning on stop doing.

Something forbidden though, was having boys at home, even more in your room.

But the first time that Eddie knocked on your window a Friday night it all want to… well, Hell.

You were laying on your bed after having had a long bath and fully clothed on your flared night dress, reading a little bit of one of the books that Eddie had lended you: Lord of the Rings. He said that once you had finished the first one he would give you the second. You would lie if you said you understood something, if not anything. But you weren’t that far on the book yet, so maybe you just had to give it time. You were lost on the inked papers when suddenly someone knocked at your window, startling you. With widened eyes you turned just to see a smiling metal head waving at you and pointing at the window lock with a little smile. You quickly closed the book and walked towards it, unlocking it just to see the curly haired get in without making a sound.

“Eddie?” you clasped over your mouth when you found yourself speaking too loud, whispering when your lips parted once again. “What are you doing here!?”

“Just wanted to see you, gorgeous. Is that a sin?” he mocked you, wandering around your bedroom and taking every single detail in as you hurriedly closed and locked your door.

Eddie found himself mesmerized by your room, it was a complete opposite of his: clean, organized, pink…

You grasped away from his hands one of your teddy bears that he had took to inspect, his brown eyes back on you.

“You know you can’t be here! What if my parents found out?” he hushed you with a soft smile on his lips, hands on your shoulders.

“They won’t. I promise, alright? I parked the van one block down your neighborhood, they won’t even suspect. Never saw me climb in too, so we’re safe.” you seemed relieved, falling on your bed and him following, sitting on his book and pulling it off under him just to smile and look at you. “You’re reading it!” you looked at him.

“Well yeah, at least I’m trying. Everything is so confusing…” he let out a little chuckle.

“You know that if you need my help you just want to ask me, sweetheart. I can explain to you the lore in less than thirty minutes from all the times that I’ve read the saga.”

You giggled when he bumped the book on your head, making him let out a soft laughter too before he would make you blush —like always— by complimenting just how beautiful you looked that night.

Even though you always feared him getting caught by one of your parents every single time he sneaked in and, getting you grounded, with every new secret visit, that fear slowly disappeared.

Eddie made you feel good, and safe. He always talked to you about his day, giving you as much details as he could just so you could feel how being a Hawkins High student felt like. Of course, he took out Jason’s bullying and how everyone thought of him as a freak in fear you’d end up thinking about him the same way they thought about him, which was stupid, since you adored Eddie.

He was always the sweetest, always taking care of you, making sure you were warm every night after church, comfortable on his van’s seat… Making sure you had something to eat, trying his best to make you feel like the most important thing in the whole world… It made your heart beat pretty quickly when he would take your hand when you walked down the streets, making you go on the inside part and telling you to be careful with the rain poodles in case you’d go and slip.

He always let you hide on his chest when you watched scary movies with him on his trailer, and gave you his shirt and sweats —which were too big for you— to sleep if you ever decided to spend the night. He even lent you his bed and slept on the couch. He was a gentleman.

Or that’s what he wanted you to think. ‘Cause he really was no saint. He had to fought a boner every time you’d sleep over, or fall asleep on his chest after a long movie night, or ignore the way your tongue swirled around an ice cream, or how your tits bounced while running for him and pressed against his chest, or fight the urge to touch when while reading your little cotton panties would show under your night gown, or when your skirt would rile up a little bit too much exposing your perfect thighs… Fuck. He had had to go to the bathroom multiple times to masturbate and get it over with or else he would feel like going crazy.

He wanted you, really wanted you. Wanted to make you choke on his dick, to touch you over your panties in the last church’s bench while the mass went on, make you grind on him in the confessional, he wanted to hear you moan in his ear as he pounded in you in Steve’s bathroom while the others watched a movie downstairs, he wanted to mark your neck just so you would struggle to hide them from your catholic little teacher and friends. God, he was the devil, and you were that pretty little angel that he so wanted to corrupt all for himself.

He had dreamed about you, crying while being too cock drunk, begging for him to fuck you harder. He would wake up in the middle of the night gasping for air and with cum in his underwear when he once dreamed about you calling him your god.

He felt sick. He was sick. Sick for wanting to hurt you, to cuff you to his bed as he ate you out over and over again ‘till you couldn’t cum anymore, for taking a knife and cutting his initials on your flesh only to lick clean the wound and then let you taste it on his lips, he wanted to fill you up with his cum and watch it drip out of your tight little cunt just to get hard again and fuck you one more time. He wanted to spank you so you wouldn’t be able to sit on your chair next morning, he wanted to choke you and hear your whimpers as he fucked you stupid.

He had even stolen your used panties from the dirty laundry once that he had sneaked on your bathroom under the excuse to pee, just to fuck his fist —once he was back in his trailer— with them and lick the crotch as he pleasured himself while fantasizing about it being your pussy instead. He had even risked waking you up while masturbating next to you in your slumber, for fucks sakes!

He wanted to hear you scream his name so bad… Hear you beg for him to do anything he wanted to you, to fill you up, to break you, to…

“Eddie?” you sweet voice filled his ears, pulling him away from his train of thought. You two were alone for the night in your house, your parents having gone away on a trip due to work and leaving you all alone, to what you’ve asked Eddie if he could stay with you since you were scared. After a couple of minutes, he was knocking on your door with all types of movies and snacks. And there you were, in your room, under the dim light of your lamp and the television, which played ‘The Exorcist’.

It was not the first night the two of you had spent alone in your room, he had slept over each time your parents were away just to keep you company and hugged you ‘till you had fallen asleep. But something was wrong that night. Well, you had been feeling kind of strange for a while now.

It all started a couple of weeks ago where one of your friends had come to school with flushed cheeks and a scarf around her neck, which was strange since it was not that cold yet. It was not ‘till recess when she had told you all about it and taken of her scarf to show her little secret. She was full of hickeys, something you’ve learned not too long ago. You didn’t understand what had happened ‘till she whispered about the weekend he had spend with his boyfriend on her house, while his parents were away for vacation. She had given all of you clear details about how she had gotten those and how his boyfriend had —and you quoted— wrecked the shit out of her. Even though you were quite lost, you knew that whatever she had done was a sin, since they were out of marriage. But when you told her so she just went and told you ‘As if you didn’t have a boy that you’d like to fuck too.’ Your eyes had widened at her words, cheeks flushing and confusion settling on your head when suddenly Eddie’s face came to your mind.

That day, you spent the whole school time thinking about it, fire on your stomach when suddenly you’d imagined yourself with your neck full of bruises just like your friends but this time being Eddie the one that had sucked them on you. Was then when you started feeling strange, your whole body flushing and a really uncomfortable tingle in your lower parts that had you awkwardly brushing against your chair from time to time, what only made it worse.

You thought it had gone away, but then you had met Eddie the next day in church and that feeling had come back to haunt you, worsening with the little strokes that his fingertips gave to the thigh where his hand rested. You had tried and praying it away, too embarrassed to even think about what that exactly meant and trying to erase your friend’s words out of your head.

Although everything went down hill when you woke up one night startled and with slick in your panties due to a very indecent dream you had had. You didn’t understood why, but you had taken the teddy bear that Eddie was always messing with and pushed it in between your thighs in hopes that it would stop that tingly feeling that so crazy was driving you, only to find yourself pushing against it when you felt good… Really good even. Even more when you went ahead and went though your dream one more time. It was Eddie, slowly kissing your neck, skin glistening due to his tongue and little open mouthed kissed and bites that he had given you, and not really knowing how, that same mouth had ended up finding its way in between your thighs and buried himself there. But you got scared as your stomach tightened and pushed it away, gasping for air with tears in your eyes as you grasped tightly your rosary in between your fingers and prayed and prayed over and over again. Although the pain never left.

You couldn’t even look at Eddie’s face due to the embarrassment that night after church, and prayed the whole day after that, scared that some demon had come to hurt you on your sleep.

What would Eddie think of you? What would God think about you?

You had tried everything. Everything to push it away, to forget about it.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he was drawing little circles on your bare thighs, your head against his shoulder and chest, your arms around his waist.

Yet there was it, that stupid feeling once again, making you all flushed and wet down there due to just a pair of simple touches from your best friend.

“Can you… Can you please stop touching me?” you inquired him with a soft and hurt voice, trying really hard not to brush yourself against your bed sheets for that relief you had felt once with your plush. No. It’s wrong. It’s wrong…

He seemed surprised at first at your words, but quickly pulled his hand away from your skin, worry on his voice. “I’m sorry, gorgeous, was I making you feel uncomfortable?”

Surprisingly enough, you whined when you felt the urge to ask him to touch you again, feeling so overwhelmed and frustrated and scared that tears started to form on your eyes. Eddie’s widened when he heard your little gasps and hiccups, being quick to stop the movie and turn to you, his eyes finding your teary ones.

“Hey…” his voice was filled with sadness as his hands cupped your rosy cheeks, his eyebrows turned and face worried. “What’s wrong, gorgeous?” his thumbs swayed the tears away as you cried, shattering his heart.

“I— I don’t feel good.” you muttered, making him worry even more.

“Why? Are you feeling sick? Does it hurt somewhere?” you nodded, crying even harder, your hands fisting his shirt. “Where? Where does it hurt?” he inquired you but you simply shook your head.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you.” and you truly couldn’t, what would Eddie think of you? He would hate you! He would leave you alone and then you two wouldn’t be friends anymore.

He looked so concerned he seemed pale. “Tell me where it hurts, baby, please?” he inquired and you only buried your face on his neck. “Please baby, please?”

You hid even more before you could mumble something his ears didn’t catch, your breath on his skin making him slightly shiver.

New tears damped his tee as you cried on his neck, him not truly understanding, taking your face in between his hands once more and away from his neck to try and understand as he tried to push away that lingering pleasure of seeing your tears.

“I don’t understand, sweetheart. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“I just… I just can’t make it stop!” you frustratedly whimpered, your thighs pushing together.

“What is it, gorgeous? You know you can always tell me anything, I’m here for you, okay? I’m here for you.” he promised, giving you a slight kiss on your forehead.

“It hurts very bad, Eddie.” and when he softly asked you again where you muttered a “Down… Down there.” your pretty voice came out as a whisper, but he was still able to hear it, his eyes drifting to your legs, which pressed tightly against the other.

“Down there, baby?” you nodded.

“It feels hot and hurts when you touch me and I can’t make it stop. I’m sorry, I’m veryveryvery sorry Eddie, please don’t be mad, please?” you begged him, his heart skipping a beat when you confirmed his guessing.

You were… You were, fuck.

“I’m not mad, doll.” he gave you a sweet smile as he pushed the last few tears away from your cheeks.

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise.” he nodded, gulping hard when you squirmed under his touch once one of his hands had found his way to your thighs. “But I need to you show me where it hurts, okay sweetheart? I don’t really know what you mean.” he said, rubbing circles on your warm skin.

Oh, he knew what you meant. He perfectly knew. But it was too good to be true. You? Hot and bothered because of him? God was really playing with him right now, right? This couldn’t be…

“Can you do that for me, hm?” you nodded when his soft voice reached you, your own shaky little hand taking his just to push your thighs apart and slowly start to drag it inwards, a sigh scaping your lips.

This was one of those goddamn dreams, it had to be. It had to… Jesus H Crisht.

“There.” you stuttered when his palm was fully cupping your clothed cunt, the warmth and wetness in your panties making him moan.

“Is there where it hurts, baby?” you nodded, your eyes closing as your teeth captured your bottom lip. “Since when does it hurt, hm?” he inquired, trying really hard to stay still and not push those goddamn beautiful panties away to push his fingers roughly inside you and make you scream.

“Since a couple of days.” ‘Since the dream’. You wanted to add.

“My poor baby, all frustrated and bothered. You must have really had a bad time…” you nodded, almost crying once again, when his other hand cupped your wet and warm cheek, his lips on your ear as he whispered. “I know what’s wrong with you.”

“You know?” you inquired, your voice holding a little bit of hope in all that list that you really couldn’t understand.

“Mmh, mmh.” he muttered, thumb pressing against your bottom lip, eyes on it as his tongue dampened his own. “It happens to me too… All the time. But only when I’m with you.” you gasped at his words, quivering when his minty breath hit your face. “I know how to make it feel better. Do you want me to make it feel better, gorgeous?” you quickly nodded, your hips bucking towards his hand when his fingertips slowly and softly made its way down your slit, still not pressing into your wet folds.

“Yes please, Eddie. Please.” you begged, making him grin at your broken pleads, even more when your head fell backwards and you moaned when his touch became rougher, his body moving ‘till he now rested behind you, your back against his chest.

“Does that feel good, baby?” he asked, his fingers touching your clit over your pink panties. You nodded. “Words, gorgeous. Use your words.” his index pressed harder and you whined, your fingers fisting the floral sheets under you.

“Yes. Yes. Feels… Feels good, Eddie.” you found a way to babble out, too out of it.

“Look at you, I’m only touching you over your panties and you are already like this.” he chuckled. “Such a good dirty girl.” you whimpered at his words, hips pushing against his touch, shaking when his lips found your neck. “Why don’t you be good for me and get rid of your panties, mh?”

You were quick to push them down your thighs, your slick forming a thick string in between the cotton and your cunt that made Eddie groan, dick fully hard underneath his jeans.

“Good girl.” he praised you, his hand going back in between your thighs, taking your breath away. “Does that feel better now?” you nodded, incredibly overwhelmed by the difference that it was having him touching you under you clothes then above. Hell, if you had been close to cumming with just your teddy bear, you were now seconds away from bursting. “I bet it does. So pretty.” his middle finger pressed against your entrance, circling it and making you moan his name.

“Eddie.” he groaned when it fell from your lips, your nails digging on his thighs as you pulsed against his fingertips. “More.” you didn’t truly know what you were asking for, but the words came on it’s own as you whimpered, pushing against his finger.

“Does my pretty girl want more?” you answered with a plead ‘yes, please’. “Then open up for me a little bit more, baby.” he said against your neck, sucking slightly on your skin and making you moan as your thighs parted to their limits. “That’s it.” you cried out when his finger slowly pushed against the ring of muscles, sinking in when it gave out.

“Eddie…” you whimpered, the strange feeling of his finger inside of, you slowly pulling backwards just to push back in once again, making your head spin, the wet sounds of your pussy receiving his digits making him lose his mind.

“Fuck.” he groaned, his hard dick pushing against your lower back. He was so hard he swore he could cum just with your whimpers and moans. “That’s it baby, you’re being so good…” your nails dug harder on his thighs when he tried his luck by pushing another finger in, this one stinging but not for long since his thumb pressed against your clit and his two fingers curved to hit your g spot.

You then became a mumbling mess, begging for that feeling again, for more from him and crying and moaning his name over and over again.

You were feeling once again that strange and overwhelming pressure in your lower stomach. And he knew, since your walls were tightening around his fingers, that you were close. Close to the best feeling that you had yet to know.

“Eddie, I…”

“You close, gorgeous? Gonna cum all over my fingers?” he muttered against the skin of your neck. “Gonna scream my name as you cum, hm?”

You didn’t know what it was, but you were so close, so close.

“Cum for me, pretty girl. Let me have it.” and with a last breath you broke down in cries and high pitched moans, his name falling off your lips as the best thing you had ever experienced hit you. It was warm, and so intense that it made you lose focus of your surroundings, making you go blind as Eddie groaned in your neck, biting down on your soft skin. “Atta girl.” you whimpered as his fingers helped you ride out your orgasm, your thighs twitching and tears in your eyes as your walls fluttered around his rough and thick fingers. “Fuck baby, that was so hot.”

You gasped for air as you came down, your head against his shoulder and entrance twitching when his cum covered fingers left you and found its way to his mouth, licking them clean and tasting you with a hum.

You whined at the sight, making him smirk. “What is it, want a taste sweetheart?” you nodded, half-lided eyes shining with pleasure. “Then open your mouth for me.” you did so as he turned your face with one of his hands just to lean on you, his tongue sloppy but hungry in your mouth and his free hand groped one of your breasts, making you moan.

It was your first kiss, and even if you had imagined it a thousand times how it would be before, it was definitely not like that. It was messy, and hot, and really difficult to follow. That’s why you found yourself pulling him back in from his neck, wanting more of his lips on yours and your taste in his mouth. But he just wouldn’t give it to you, chuckling mere inches from your face making you whine.

“Nuh-uh, that’s not how we ask for things, beautiful.”

“Please, Eddie…” you whispered against his lips, his thumb pulling on your bottom lip ‘till your mouth was open for him once again.

“Stick your tongue out.” he ordered, and you followed, moaning when he leaned in once again, his tongue bruising your own and making your eyes roll when his free hand snuck back to your thighs, this time ascending to your tummy, all the way up ‘till his fingertips bumped against your under boobs. “Fuck, you are not wearing a bra, baby?” you shook your head, his dick twitching against your back, but later against your thighs once he had pushed you on your back and quickly topped you. “Such a tease…” he mumbled against the skin on your neck, giving you a harsh bite that made you cry and pushed him flush against you, his hands taking a hold on your pretty tits under your shirt, your nipples hard and begging to be touched.

“Eddie, please… Kiss me, please.” you pleaded for him to go back to your lips, to your tongue, intoxicated by his touch, his words and his hard dick pressing against your skin. You so wanted to be touched again, to be relieved from that pain that once again grew in between your thighs.

“So pretty begging for me, do you want it that bad?” you nodded, squirming under his touch and letting out a hurt whimper when he pinched and pulled your nipples, leaving that tingle and warmth spread on your skin. “Cant hear you baby.”

“I want it, please, please, please…” your hips pushed against his when he found his way in between your legs, wet pussy against the rough denim of his crotch. “Please, Eddie, it hurts.” new tears came to your eyes, moaning over and over again when he started to dry hump against you, rubbing your sensitive clit and making you see stars.

“Such a greedy little bitch.” you cried out at his words, all that sweet talk leaving him when his palm hardly fell on the flesh of your thigh, making your body jolt. “Gave you my fingers and yet you don’t find it enough?” the next slap made you push harder against his cock, making him groan in your chest as he snapped the buttons of your shirt just to let his tongue freely lap at your tits, biting and sucking hardly on your skin, leaving beautiful marks behind.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” you cried, one of your hands instantly going to take a hold on the little cross that dangled from your neck, something you did as you prayed and in times where you felt like giving into sin.

“You gonna pray, whore? Gonna pray to god while I fuck you?” he inquired, his grip on your wrists as he pushed your hands away from your necklace and over your head. You moaned when the denim brushed over your cunt once again, it dampening due to how wet you were. “He’s not the one making you feel better, sweetheart. You should be praying to me. It’s me who you should be begging and for which you’d go down on your knees, don’t you think, hm?” you nodded even though the grip on your wrists pained you and his teeth harshly dug on the skin of your neck, ‘cause it felt so good, better than anything you’ve experienced before. “What a dirty slut, giving in to me just so I make you cum, isn’t that right? Say it. Say you want me to make you cum all over my cock.” your body grew on goosebumps to his orders, you babbling and trying to make sense of the words who left your lips, receiving a harsh slap when you could find a way to pull them in order. “Come on, sweetheart, I know you want it. You want me to make you feel good again, right? You want to make me feel good?” you quickly nodded, eyes closed as he dry humped against your aching cunt. You no longer wanted his fingers, you were in need of something bigger, something that would fill you up to the brim and make you choke out on it. “Then say it, baby. I know you can.”

Your lips parted in a cry when one of his hands left your wrists just to find its way to your clit, thighs shaking as you felt the pressure start to build again in your stomach, lifting you higher and higher.

“Please, Eddie. Make me…” you whimpered when his circling didn’t stop. “I want to cum on your cock.” you managed to say, not really caring anymore about the eyes that watched you up from the sky. If God loved you…, then why would he make this a sin? Why could something that felt so good be bad? Maybe Eddie was right, maybe it was him your truly God.

You found yourself tugging against his hand and trying to push him back to your core when he pulled away, leaving you with an orgasm that never came and shaking on your place, begging in between little whispers and mutters.

“Fuck. Look at you. All messed up and I haven’t even begun to fuck you. You are gonna do good for me, isn’t that right baby? You are gonna take it, gonna take my cock and cum on it over and over again, and fucking take it.” when he finally freed your wrists, your hands quickly searched up for him, his own unbuckling his belt as you nodded, pushing his jeans and boxers —wet with precum — down his thighs, freeing his aching and swollen dick, which bumped against his happy trail. You eyes widened at the sight. So that was what had been poking you that whole time. It was strangely beautiful. Mushroom tip wet and red, great length and girth with a couple of veins on its side… It had a little curve too. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me, gorgeous?” you nodded, eyes never leaving his cock when his hand gripped and started moving around it, soft groans that made your pussy clench leaving his lips. “Then why don’t you open up yourself for me, hm? Let me see that pretty pussy of yours.” you moaned at his hungry gaze, tongue sliding through his bottom lip as your hands snaked down your chest and stomach to your thighs and later on, your folds, your fingers digging on your wetness just to open them up, giving him a full view of your twitching hole and clit. “Fuck. Atta girl. You’re so good baby, so good for me.” you whimpered, hips pushing against his own when he was once again in between your thighs, tip sliding though your folds and bumping your clit, making you moan and your head fall back.

Your hands quickly found the bottom of his shirt, and later, his bare back, your eyes wandering on the ink that decorated his skin. You’d seen it before, of course, since he mostly wandered around shirtless in his van, but it never failed to amaze you. It was just so beautiful… He moaned when your nails dig on his shoulder blades, his dick twitching against your entrance and slightly pushing against it and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Eddie, I need you, please God, I need you…” you babbled out, pushing against him and pulling him closer, the grip on your hip tightened as he smirked.

“Who are you begging to baby? Me or God?” his mouth hovered over your neck, his tongue flattening in a long wet strip from your collarbones to your ear, whispering there and making your skin prickle. “Or maybe I’m both?” you moaned and he just smiled wider. “Yeah?” his eyebrows rose as you nodded, bottom lip in between your teeth and breath hitching when his tip pushed inwards once again, teasing you. “Am I your God, sweetheart?” you nodded again, moaning when he softly bit your jaw. “Then pray to me.” he mumbled, his tip finally pushing and gaining a lustful and painful whine from your lips. “Worship me.” he groaned as he slowly thrusted in your wetness, cursing under his breath since you were so tight he felt like exploding.

Sure, it hurt. It was your first time. You hadn’t even ever touched yourself before that night, Eddie’s fingers doing the honors to let you know that that kind of pleasure was possible in a human being. And that it was okay. Your bedroom floor hadn’t cracked open to let you fall to Hell, like you’d feared, instead, rising you to Heaven, higher and higher above the clouds and nearer the sun.

He was so big that you felt like dying, so heavy and warm inside you that had you all messed up and crying under him due to the desire and pleasure that surrendered you to his touch. Your tears bringing him to groan as he bottomed out, he couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t yet believe that he was inside you, fucking you, making you cry and beg for him. “Fuck.” he cursed, trying to focus on not cumming on the spot, trying to ignore the way your walls surrounded him and your body twitched, nails digging in his back as you rocked against him. “So good, baby. You’re such a good girl.” you whimpered, his hands wondering around your body and giving you soft squeezes as encouragement. He was waiting for you, waiting for the pain to dissipate and you to get used to him being deep inside you. When your rocking became more noticeable, he smiled at your pretty moans.

“Eddie…” you called out for him, gasping for air when he pulled out ‘till only the tip remained inside and thrusted back in, hitting something inside you that made you see stars and cry out.

“That’s it.” he cooed, pounding on you once again, hair caressing your chest and his lips brushing against yours. “Such a pretty girl taking my cock.” you whimpered, his tongue pushing inside your mouth and kissing you dirtily as his groans made you gasp. It was too much. Too much. “Take it, doll. Take my cock. Just like that, fuck. Good girl.” you moaned his name as his hips started to take up on speed. “You like that? Like my cock? This sweet pussy of yours seems to love it.” he smirked as a new thrust let you hear the dirt sounds of your juices against his dick. “So greedy, sucking me in so good. Such a slut.” you screamed when his hand fell harshly against the side of your thigh.

The only thing you could do was moan his name over and over again, the constant hitting to that sweet spot inside you driving you crazy and nearing you to that now known feeling of relief.

“Look at you, so cock drunk you can’t even talk.” he laughed, thrusting harder, deeper, faster… “You’re drooling all over yourself, baby.” you gagged when two of his fingers went into your mouth, drool dampening them and spilling over your chin. “What a pretty girl. So pretty letting me fuck her just how I want.” he moaned when your walls tightened around him. “Taking me so good. Such a good little toy.” you cried, his fingers making your pleading all muffled and broken. “You liked that, baby? Like me to treat you badly?” another slap on your thigh had you nodding like crazy, his name falling off of tour lips when his fingers left your mouth only to wrap around your throat, making the oxygen hardly full your lungs and blood flow to your brain.“I’m sure you’d let me cum in you, isn’t that right. I can bet you even want it. Want my cum filling you up so good you’d beg me for it every goddamn day, isn’t that right, gorgeous?” you nodded, begging for it and making him grunt on your mouth, his tongue pushing against your lips. You choked at the feeling of his fingers digging on your neck, his name falling off your lips like a church song.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie…” new tears streamed down your face when his fingers found your clit. And by the way you were tightening around him he new you were close.

“Gonna cum baby? Gonna cum on my cock?” you nodded, moans closer to each other. “What a good girl. Cum for me baby, let me hear you.” you didn’t even wait to do so, cumming so hard you swore the world was falling to pieces around you, your sweet choked out whimpers making him lose control, fucking you harshly and mercilessly, your hands leaving his shoulders to press against his stomach, scratching him when he wouldn’t even let you rest from your high, which never seemed to finish.

“Too much, it’s… It’s too much, Eddie, please…” you begged, choked by his hand, feeling the constant pounding build something different inside you. “Stop! Stop… Something’s… Something’s gonna come out!” you begged, but he didn’t seemed to listen, too out of it due to just how pretty you looked crying and getting the shit fucked out of you by his cock.

He moaned at your arching back and high pitched scream, juices gushing out of your pussy and dampening his cock, thighs and your sheets. His eyes widened when he seemed to understand what had just happened.

“Did you just… Fuck baby. Did you just squirted?” you were a crying mess under him, too overwhelmed to even answer or really understand what had just happened. “Fuck, that was so hot. I’m gonna fucking cum.” he moaned as his thrusts became sloppier and his groans louder, fucking you faster but not as deep as he sought his own release while his name fell off your lips over and over again. “y/n, ah fuck, so good, I’m gonna cum so hard… Gonna fill you up so good, so full…” he moaned when after one, two, three more deep thrusts he spilled in you, painting your walls in white and making you moan at the feeling, your name falling off his lips on whimpers when his arms gave out and fell on top of you.

The two were a goddamn mess, all sticky and sweaty, you whimpered when he kissed you once again, this kiss being sloppier and more lazy, sweet. A little gasp left your lips when his fingers tightened around your necklace and pulled, stealing it from your neck. “You won’t be needing this anymore.” he smirked, instead taking his own off his neck, the one with his red pick dangling, and pulling it over your head. “Since from now on you’d be on your knees for me, hm?” you nodded, sighing when his lips where back to yours, hissing a little bit when he pulled out of you, cum dripping down your thighs onto the wet sheets as he put on your own necklace, the cross shining under your lamp’s light. “You’re mine now, sweetheart.”

thanks to everyone who comments, likes and reblogs, it really helps this blog to reach more and more people!!! hope y’all liked this post! <3

also, thanks for the 400 followers! y’all are the best!!!!

[missmentelle]

Why Smart People Believe Stupid Things

If you’ve been paying attention for the last couple of years, you might have noticed that the world has a bit of a misinformation problem. 

The problem isn’t just with the recent election conspiracies, either. The last couple of years has brought us the rise (and occasionally fall) of misinformation-based movements like:

Sandy Hook conspiracies

Gamergate

Pizzagate

The MRA/incel/MGTOW movements

anti-vaxxers

flat-earthers

the birther movement

the Illuminati 

climate change denial

Spygate

Holocaust denial 

COVID-19 denial 

5G panic 

QAnon 

But why do people believe this stuff?

It would be easy - too easy - to say that people fall for this stuff because they’re stupid. We all want to believe that smart people like us are immune from being taken in by deranged conspiracies. But it’s just not that simple. People from all walks of life are going down these rabbit holes - people with degrees and professional careers and rich lives have fallen for these theories, leaving their loved ones baffled. Decades-long relationships have splintered this year, as the number of people flocking to these conspiracies out of nowhere reaches a fever pitch. 

So why do smart people start believing some incredibly stupid things? It’s because:

Our brains are built to identify patterns. 

Our brains fucking love puzzles and patterns. This is a well-known phenomenon called apophenia, and at one point, it was probably helpful for our survival - the prehistoric human who noticed patterns in things like animal migration, plant life cycles and the movement of the stars was probably a lot more likely to survive than the human who couldn’t figure out how to use natural clues to navigate or find food. 

The problem, though, is that we can’t really turn this off. Even when we’re presented with completely random data, we’ll see patterns. We see patterns in everything, even when there’s no pattern there. This is why people see Jesus in a burnt piece of toast or get superstitious about hockey playoffs or insist on always playing at a certain slot machine - our brains look for patterns in the constant barrage of random information in our daily lives, and insist that those patterns are really there, even when they’re completely imagined. 

A lot of conspiracy theories have their roots in people making connections between things that aren’t really connected. The belief that “vaccines cause autism” was bolstered by the fact that the first recognizable symptoms of autism happen to appear at roughly the same time that children receive one of their rounds of childhood immunizations - the two things are completely unconnected, but our brains have a hard time letting go of the pattern they see there. Likewise, many people were quick to latch on to the fact that early maps of COVID infections were extremely similar to maps of 5G coverage -  the fact that there’s a reasonable explanation for this (major cities are more likely to have both high COVID cases AND 5G networks) doesn’t change the fact that our brains just really, really want to see a connection there. 

Our brains love proportionality. 

Specifically, our brains like effects to be directly proportional to their causes - in other words, we like it when big events have big causes, and small causes only lead to small events. It’s uncomfortable for us when the reverse is true. And so anytime we feel like a “big” event (celebrity death, global pandemic, your precious child is diagnosed with autism) has a small or unsatisfying cause (car accident, pandemics just sort of happen every few decades, people just get autism sometimes), we sometimes feel the need to start looking around for the bigger, more sinister, “true” cause of that event. 

Consider, for instance, the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II. In 1981, Pope John Paul II was shot four times by a Turkish member of a known Italian paramilitary secret society who’d recently escaped from prison - on the surface, it seems like the sort of thing conspiracy theorists salivate over, seeing how it was an actual multinational conspiracy. But they never had much interest in the assassination attempt. Why? Because the Pope didn’t die. He recovered from his injuries and went right back to Pope-ing. The event didn’t have a serious outcome, and so people are content with the idea that one extremist carried it out. The death of Princess Diana, however, has been fertile ground for conspiracy theories; even though a woman dying in a car accident is less weird than a man being shot four times by a paid political assassin, her death has attracted more conspiracy theories because it had a bigger outcome. A princess dying in a car accident doesn’t feel big enough. It’s unsatisfying. We want such a monumentous moment in history to have a bigger, more interesting cause. 

These theories prey on pre-existing fear and anger. 

Are you a terrified new parent who wants the best for their child and feels anxious about having them injected with a substance you don’t totally understand? Congrats, you’re a prime target for the anti-vaccine movement. Are you a young white male who doesn’t like seeing more and more games aimed at women and minorities, and is worried that “your” gaming culture is being stolen from you? You might have been very interested in something called Gamergate. Are you a right-wing white person who worries that “your” country and way of life is being stolen by immigrants, non-Christians and coastal liberals? You’re going to love the “all left-wingers are Satantic pedo baby-eaters” messaging of QAnon. 

Misinformation and conspiracy theories are often aimed strategically at the anxieties and fears that people are already experiencing. No one likes being told that their fears are insane or irrational; it’s not hard to see why people gravitate towards communities that say “yes, you were right all along, and everyone who told you that you were nuts to be worried about this is just a dumb sheep. We believe you, and we have evidence that you were right along, right here.” Fear is a powerful motivator, and you can make people believe and do some pretty extreme things if you just keep telling them “yes, that thing you’re afraid of is true, but also it’s way worse than you could have ever imagined.”

Real information is often complicated, hard to understand, and inherently unsatisfying. 

The information that comes from the scientific community is often very frustrating for a layperson; we want science to have hard-and-fast answers, but it doesn’t. The closest you get to a straight answer is often “it depends” or “we don’t know, but we think X might be likely”. Understanding the results of a scientific study with any confidence requires knowing about sampling practices, error types, effect sizes, confidence intervals and publishing biases. Even asking a simple question like “is X bad for my child” will usually get you a complicated, uncertain answer - in most cases, it really just depends. Not understanding complex topics makes people afraid - it makes it hard to trust that they’re being given the right information, and that they’re making the right choices. 

Conspiracy theories and misinformation, on the other hand, are often simple, and they are certain. Vaccines bad. Natural things good. 5G bad. Organic food good. The reason girls won’t date you isn’t a complex combination of your social skills, hygiene, appearance, projected values, personal circumstances, degree of extroversion, luck and life phase - girls won’t date you because feminism is bad, and if we got rid of feminism you’d have a girlfriend. The reason Donald Trump was an unpopular president wasn’t a complex combination of his public bigotry, lack of decorum, lack of qualifications, open incompetence, nepotism, corruption, loss of soft power, refusal to uphold the basic responsibilities of his position or his constant lying - they hated him because he was fighting a secret sex cult and they’re all in it. 

Instead of making you feel stupid because you’re overwhelmed with complex information, expert opinions and uncertain advice, conspiracy theories make you feel smart - smarter, in fact, than everyone who doesn’t believe in them. And that’s a powerful thing for people living in a credential-heavy world. 

Many conspiracy theories are unfalsifiable. 

It is very difficult to prove a negative. If I tell you, for instance, that there’s no such thing as a purple swan, it would be very difficult for me to actually prove that to you - I could spend the rest of my life photographing swans and looking for swans and talking to people who know a lot about swans, and yet the slim possibility would still exist that there was a purple swan out there somewhere that I just hadn’t found yet. That’s why, in most circumstances, the burden of proof lies with the person making the extraordinary claim - if you tell me that purple swans exist, we should continue to assume that they don’t until you actually produce a purple swan. 

Conspiracy theories, however, are built so that it’s nearly impossible to “prove” them wrong. Is there any proof that the world’s top-ranking politicians and celebrities are all in a giant child sex trafficking cult? No. But can you prove that they aren’t in a child sex-trafficking cult? No, not really. Even if I, again, spent the rest of my life investigating celebrities and following celebrities and talking to people who know celebrities, I still couldn’t definitely prove that this cult doesn’t exist - there’s always a chance that the specific celebrities I’ve investigated just aren’t in the cult (but other ones are!) or that they’re hiding evidence of the cult even better than we think. Lack of evidence for a conspiracy theory is always treated as more evidence for the theory - we can’t find anything because this goes even higher up than we think! They’re even more sophisticated at hiding this than we thought! People deeply entrenched in these theories don’t even realize that they are stuck in a circular loop where everything seems to prove their theory right - they just see a mountain of “evidence” for their side. 

Our brains are very attached to information that we “learned” by ourselves.

Learning accurate information is not a particularly interactive or exciting experience. An expert or reliable source just presents the information to you in its entirety, you read or watch the information, and that’s the end of it. You can look for more information or look for clarification of something, but it’s a one-way street - the information is just laid out for you, you take what you need, end of story. 

Conspiracy theories, on the other hand, almost never show their hand all at once. They drop little breadcrumbs of information that slowly lead you where they want you to go. This is why conspiracy theorists are forever telling you to “do your research” - they know that if they tell you everything at once, you won’t believe them. Instead, they want you to indoctrinate yourself slowly over time, by taking the little hints they give you and running off to find or invent evidence that matches that clue. If I tell you that celebrities often wear symbols that identify them as part of a cult and that you should “do your research” about it, you can absolutely find evidence that substantiates my claim - there are literally millions of photos of celebrities out there, and anyone who looks hard enough is guaranteed to find common shapes, poses and themes that might just mean something (they don’t - eyes and triangles are incredibly common design elements, and if I took enough pictures of you, I could also “prove” that you also clearly display symbols that signal you’re in the cult). 

The fact that you “found” the evidence on your own, however, makes it more meaningful to you. We trust ourselves, and we trust that the patterns we uncover by ourselves are true. It doesn’t feel like you’re being fed misinformation - it feels like you’ve discovered an important truth that “they” didn’t want you to find, and you’ll hang onto that for dear life. 

Older people have not learned to be media-literate in a digital world. 

Fifty years ago, not just anyone could access popular media. All of this stuff had a huge barrier to entry - if you wanted to be on TV or be in the papers or have a radio show, you had to be a professional affiliated with a major media brand. Consumers didn’t have easy access to niche communities or alternative information - your sources of information were basically your local paper, the nightly news, and your morning radio show, and they all more or less agreed on the same set of facts. For decades, if it looked official and it appeared in print, you could probably trust that it was true. 

Of course, we live in a very different world today - today, any asshole can accumulate an audience of millions, even if they have no credentials and nothing they say is actually true (like “The Food Babe”, a blogger with no credentials in medicine, nutrition, health sciences, biology or chemistry who peddles health misinformation to the 3 million people who visit her blog every month). It’s very tough for older people (and some younger people) to get their heads around the fact that it’s very easy to create an “official-looking” news source, and that they can’t necessarily trust everything they find on the internet. When you combine that with a tendency toward “clickbait headlines” that often misrepresent the information in the article, you have a generation struggling to determine who they can trust in a media landscape that doesn’t at all resemble the media landscape they once knew. 

These beliefs become a part of someone’s identity. 

A person doesn’t tell you that they believe in anti-vaxx information - they tell you that they ARE an anti-vaxxer. Likewise, people will tell you that they ARE a flat-earther, a birther, or a Gamergater. By design, these beliefs are not meant to be something you have a casual relationship with, like your opinion of pizza toppings or how much you trust local weather forecasts - they are meant to form a core part of your identity. 

And once something becomes a core part of your identity, trying to make you stop believing it becomes almost impossible. Once we’ve formed an initial impression of something, facts just don’t change our minds. If you identify as an antivaxxer and I present evidence that disproves your beliefs, in your mind, I’m not correcting inaccurate information - I am launching a very personal attack against a core part of who you are. In fact, the more evidence I present, the more you will burrow down into your antivaxx beliefs, more confident than ever that you are right. Admitting that you are wrong about something that is important to you is painful, and your brain would prefer to simply deflect conflicting information rather than subject you to that pain.

We can see this at work with something called the confirmation bias. Simply put, once we believe something, our brains hold on to all evidence that that belief is true, and ignore evidence that it’s false. If I show you 100 articles that disprove your pet theory and 3 articles that confirm it, you’ll cling to those 3 articles and forget about the rest. Even if I show you nothing but articles that disprove your theory, you’ll likely go through them and pick out any ambiguous or conflicting information as evidence for “your side”, even if the conclusion of the article shows that you are wrong - our brains simply care about feeling right more than they care about what is actually true.  

There is a strong community aspect to these theories. 

There is no one quite as supportive or as understanding as a conspiracy theorist - provided, of course, that you believe in the same conspiracy theories that they do. People who start looking into these conspiracy theories are told that they aren’t crazy, and that their fears are totally valid. They’re told that the people in their lives who doubted them were just brainwashed sheep, but that they’ve finally found a community of people who get where they’re coming from. Whenever they report back to the group with the “evidence” they’ve found or the new elaborations on the conspiracy theory that they’ve been thinking of (“what if it’s even worse than we thought??”), they are given praise for their valuable contributions. These conspiracy groups often become important parts of people’s social networks - they can spend hours every day talking with like-minded people from these communities and sharing their ideas. 

Of course, the flipside of this is that anyone who starts to doubt or move away from the conspiracy immediately loses that community and social support. People who have broken away from antivaxx and QAnon often say that the hardest part of leaving was losing the community and friendships they’d built - not necessarily giving up on the theory itself. Many people are rejected by their real-life friends and family once they start to get entrenched in conspiracy theories; the friendships they build online in the course of researching these theories often become the only social supports they have left, and losing those supports means having no one to turn to at all. This is by design - the threat of losing your community has kept people trapped in abusive religious sects and cults for as long as those things have existed. 

[iyumeu]

i can be your angle or yuor demon

summary: [takes place right after the angelic demons event] in front of you stands an angel and a demon. which would you choose?

characters featured: lucifer, mammon, leviathan (aka older brother trio)

⭒☆━━━━━━━━✿ᏊㅇꈊㅇᏊ✿━━━━━━━━☆⭒

It had been a few days since the party that had taken place in the celestial realm. Your demonic housemates were now back to their normal, devilish selves but you notice that they seemed a little... odd. Subdued, even.

Today was no different; the brothers had been quiet during dinner, either picking at their food or simply straight up not attending dinner. You had gone to bed feeling off-kilter and worried. That was it, you decided, it was time to stage an intervention. You were going to confront your demonic housemates tomorrow and they weren't going to be able to do anything about it!

With determination in your heart, you closed your eyes... and then immediately found yourself in a strange white room with...

Lucifer

After the party

> He had immediately thrown himself back into a mountain of paperwork.

> You knew that Lucifer was the embodiment of overworking but even this was too much. He hadn't been present for dinner since all of you had returned to the Devildom and if it weren't for the incredibly rare times you caught him out in the hallway, you would have come to the conclusion that he simply decided to start living in his study room

> Alas, even when he was outside he was short-tempered, snapping at anyone who was around him and was generally just a little more forceful than usual.

> There was a moment where you brushed past him in the hallway and he had grabbed your wrist, tugging you towards him. You had jumped and whirled around, startled at the sudden action, and you weren't quite sure what your expression had been like but you knew that it prompted Lucifer to immediately let go of your wrist as if he had been burnt. He then retreated back into his office, slamming the door shut without even saying a word to you.

> He had kept his distance after that and the two of you hadn't spoken to each other since.

In the white space

Two Lucifers stood before you, one clad in his angelic costume while the other wearing his demonic form.

> They seemed to be talking to one another, the Lucifer you were familiar with getting more and more agitated by the second while the Lucifer dressed in angelic garb was crossing his arms, looking at the demonic Lucifer with a placid expression on his face.

> When you step closer to them, they turn to look at you in tandem.

> "MC."

> It's strange how your name can be spoken in such different ways. Lucifer spoke your name in his usual commanding tone while the angel said it with such gentleness and cheer it gave you goosebumps.

> "Luci... fer?"

> "Yes?"

> The both of them answered together once again. It was seriously freaking you out. Were they both really Lucifer? Or was one of them a clone?

> You quickly made your way closer to them.

> Once you were closer you could see that Lucifer looked tenser than usual.

> "Where are we?" You couldn't help but glance at angel Lucifer too when you asked that question. From the corner of your eye, you see Lucifer's hand clench into a fist.

> "It doesn't matter where we are," Lucifer replied brusquely. You hadn't seen him this upset before, not even when he tried to kill you for harboring Luke in the House of Lamentation.

> "Is this how he talks to you all the time?" Instead of answering you, angel Lucifer asked you another question. It was a question that confused you. What did that have to do with anything?

> "Um... not really? He's just a little bit frustrated," you reply, eyeing the angel Lucifer warily. Something about him made you feel... something. It was a negative something. You didn't like him one bit.

> "I see." Angel Lucifer reaches out towards you. Before you can flinch back, Lucifer's hand was already painfully gripping your shoulder, tugging you to his side in an almost violent manner.

> "You are not to touch them," he said. Angel Lucifer's gaze slowly slid from you to him and you were able to see it frost over in real time.

> "Neither are you," he said, "if you're going to be so forceful. Look at them, they're hurt."

> Lucifer turned to look at you. You were frozen in the middle of rubbing at your shoulder and his eyes darkened.

> He stepped away from you.

> "You believe that everyone around you will bend to your whim," the angel said. "And if you don't, you force them to. You carry out your actions uncaring about the way it affects others and how they may think... Tell me," the angel was looking at you now, "how does it feel to live with someone so full of themselves?"

> Beside you, you can tell that Lucifer has stopped breathing. His red gaze was boring a hole through you, his wings twitching as he fought the urge to block your view of his angelic doppelganger.

> You lick your lips, gathering your thoughts. The angel too your silence as agreement and a smile spread across his face.

> "Don't you see, demon? They're afraid of you. Your overbearing, domineering treatment of them has rendered them too afraid to dare speak up in your presence."

> Lucifer flinched at the angel's words. You suddenly had a very vivid fantasy of pouncing forward and violently ripping handfuls of feathers out of the angel's wings.

> "They'll be much happier with me, don't you think?" the angel asked. You glanced at Lucifer and was absolutely shocked to see him considering the angel's words.

> "No!" The word was out of your mouth before you could even think.

> The angel raised an eyebrow. "No?"

> "No." You dug in your heels, glaring at this... oversized avian who dared to don the face of your beloved demon. Who dared to make him doubt himself like that. "No, I'm not scared of him. No, I do dare to speak up. No, I absolutely would not be happier with you!"

> You turned to Lucifer, not wanting to look at that... thing for even a second longer. He was staring at you, a rare look of surprise on his face. You stepped towards him, poking a finger at his chest.

> "You!" you started, "You may be absolutely full of yourself, but you do care! You care for Diavolo! You're always taking care of him even when it comes at the cost of your own health! You care for your brothers! You protected them when all of you first entered the Devildom and you protect them even now, even if you try to hide it. You care for me! You give me food when you notice I've been staying up late to study and you constantly ensure that my time at R.A.D. is safe and enjoyable! Do you think I don't notice this? Do you think no one notices this? Why are you believing that thing's lies?!"

> With every jab of your finger, Lucifer's eyes grow wider.

> "And you!" You whirled around to glare at the angel. "You're sitting there running your mouth when you're the one who's acting so full of yourself! I'm sick of your holier than thou attitude! Lucifer is caring, he is thoughtful, and he is so much more than what you accuse him of!” You pause for a moment to take a breath. The angel is examining you like you were a particularly interesting specimen slotted under a microscope. You’ve reached your limit. It was time to resort to violence.

> You were stopped before your feet left the ground by a pair of arms wrapping around your shoulders. It was soon followed by a curtain of dark feathers, blocking the angel from your sight, and you from his.

> “That’s enough,” Lucifer said. His voice was filled with the same confidence and pride that you know and love. “That thing is not worth your time.” A pause and then, softly, almost inaudibly, “Thank you.”

> And then,

> You wake up.

After the dream

> You were happy to see that Lucifer was no longer locking himself up his office again.

> He was also, strangely, a little more affectionate to you?

> He was also around a lot more often; not hovering per se, but just... there. A comforting presence, him by your side.

> His texts to you are more often now too.

> You start receiving gifts from him, packaged and pretty hanging on your doorknob, charmed with a powerful spell that curses everyone but you if they touch it. He still pretends he doesn't send them but you know and he knows you know.

> One day, over a dinner at the Ristorante Six, he'll finally tell you, in words, that he wants you to stay by his side; but until then, you enjoy his non-verbal affirmations of love.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━[ᓀ˵◇˵ᓂ]━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Mammon

After the party

> He became a shut in on par with Leviathan.

> However you notice that he has a lot of akuzon deliveries brought to his door, definitely more than what he could afford.

> When you try to talk to him he only shouts at you from behind his door. When you try to enter, you almost get squashed by the amount of piled up akuzon boxes and haphazardly piled up items.

> You knew Mammon was inside but you couldn't see him at all. You'd genuinely think that he got suffocated under the mess of his purchases if he hadn't been talking to you through the mess.

> But he still refused to come out to see you and you didn't know how to navigate his room, so you decided to leave him be for now.

In the white space

> There were two Mammons in front of you, one dressed in his angelic costume and the other in his demonic form. They seemed to be discussing something but you paid them no mind.

> Mammon had been your reliable protector since the start of your time in the Devildom and hence you had grown to associate safety with his presence.

> That was why you literally all but teleported to his side when you caught sight of him.

> However, the words coming out of the angel made you freeze in your tracks.

> "Shameless, greedy scum," the angel said. Mammon's body language finally registered in your head. Slightly hunched over, head turned to a side, wings curling in on himself, fists clenched and shaking... You hadn't seen him this bad before.

> "You know that they're too good for you, but you can't let them go. You'd rather chain them to you forever rather than allow them happiness. Your greed truly knows no bounds, even for someone you lo—"

> You skitter to a stop between the two. It was unnerving how much he looked like Mammon. Apart from the attire, the only difference you could tell was his eyes; Mammon's eyes were open and expressive while the angel's eyes did not give away his emotions at all. Controlled, you would call them.

> "MC," the angel greeted you with a smile.

> "MC, what're you doing here?!" In contrast to the angel, Mammon seemed aghast to see you here.

> "You want their attention and affection but you are reluctant to give yours," the angel said. "Greedy, greedy, greedy. The Avatar of Greed, do you really think you're worthy enough to stand by their side?"

> Oh, the angel was talking about you.

> Well if you weren't already angry before, you were now.

> You turn to look at Mammon only to see him shaking slightly. He refused to meet your eyes.

> "You actually hate it, don't you?" the angel said. The angel was looking at you now. "How unreliable he is. How selfish he is, always putting his own desires and needs above others. A nightmare to live with, much less be with."

> With every word out of the angel's mouth, you see Mammon flinch. You reach out to soothe him but he flinches away from you. He looked like he regretted it the moment he did it, but he had no chance to apologize before the stupid angel was opening their mouth to yap on.

> "How can anyone love something like him, much less you?" the angel asked and. Boy.

> You whirled around and threw a punch at the angel's face. It barely injured the angel and left you with a hurting fist, but the shock on the angel's face was worth it.

> "I love him," you declared loudly. "And so do his brothers."

> Mammon was staring at you with wide eyes and an open mouth.

> "And the things you've said? Utter horseshit. Mammon is one of most selfless demons I know." No one as powerful as him would allow himself to be a punching bag for his entire family without retaliation, no one but him. Mammon was the demon with the highest control, with the softest heart, and it showed with the interactions he had with his brothers... and you.

> He rarely said anything affectionate towards you, and the times he did were often rushed and unintelligible, but he didn't have to. Not when his love and affection shone through with every action he made.

> He was always giving love, only rarely ever receiving, And he never complained about it.

> And so hearing this angel spout such bullshit about Mammon, and Mammon believing it, really made you experience something.

> That something was an attempt to beat up the angel in front of you.

> You were quickly pulled off the angel, Mammon holding you tightly and firmly in his arms and you tried to continue with your punches and kicks.

> "That's enough." It was a rare occasion that his voice was so serious and it immediately calmed you down. Mammon shifted you to a more comfortable hold but did not let you go. "Ya ain't gonna hurt me with those dumb words," he told the angel, puffing out his chest. "I'm the great Mammon! I ain't gonna listen to your bullshit!"

> Warmth blossomed in your heart as you hear Mammon regain his confidence.

> "And MC is mine! No one's worthy of them but that doesn't mean I won't—"

> You wake up.

After the dream

> Mammon finally exited his room and the first person he went to was you.

> He swooped you up in a big hug, abruptly waking you from your slumber.

> He started becoming more honest and less shy as well, no longer putting on airs. His affection for you was as clear as day. It's a work in progress but Mammon is still able to convey his affection even if he ends up screaming it with a red face.

> You notice that he's been taking up more responsibility lately, even getting a steady part time job. He uses the money to take you out on nice dates and buy you nice gifts.

> Also has become even clingier, but it's not like you're going to complain. ⭒☆━━━━━━━━━⸜₍๑•⌔•๑ ₎⸝━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Leviathan

After the party

> Leviathan had been making some headway in getting more comfortable in his own skin, cutting down on insults to himself. This party set him back a thousand years.

> Every word out of his mouth was self-derogatory and full of hate.

> He refused to answer your texts.

> He never left his room, even for mealtimes.

> In fact he didn't eat at all? Which was concerning. You even tried to bribe him with Ruri-chan, but all it resulted was a crash and a faint sob.

> It was after that that you decided to leave him be for a while.

In the white space

> There was nothing in the white space except a pond and Leviathan in his angel costume.

> Recalling Leviathan's reaction to you before, you carefully approached him and called out his name. To your surprise, he turned to look at you with a smile on his face.

> You were delighted at first but the delight quickly drained away when you recognized the bright but bland smile on his face, along with his calm, placid eyes.

> It was the Leviathan from the party looking at you now, not the Leviathan you were missing.

> "MC!" he said cheerily. "I'm so glad you're here!"

> "...hello." He didn't seem to noticed that you were being subdued, quickly stepping forward to grab your hands. You tried to suppress your flinch, fearing that Leviathan was actually in there somewhere. You scanned his body for the brainwash bangle but did not find it. Worry started to gnaw at your heart. How were you going to break this curse if you couldn't find its anchor?

> "I missed you," angel Leviathan continued. "Sorry for avoiding you, I was just throwing a temper tantrum. I won't be doing that again. As I've said before, I'll be giving up on anime, manga, and the like to forge closer connections with my brothers... and of course with you."

> You step back. The angel follows.

> "I was weak before, a no-good shut-in loser who'd rather lose himself in the 2D world rather than face reality." Unlike before, the words were spoken without an ounce of shame or even emotion. It was like angel Leviathan was stating facts rather than belittling himself. Somehow, that bothered you more.

> "You're not weak," you spoke. "You're not any of those at all. You've been putting in a lot of effort lately, and besides being interested in anime isn't a weakness. You're passionate about what you like and unafraid of showing it. Isn't that a strength?"

> Angel Leviathan shrugged, brushing your words aside. It was incredibly uncharacteristic of him.

> "I suppose," he said. "Either way, don't you prefer me like this? Outspoken, confident, unafraid? I can tell you how I feel. I love you, MC. Don't you love me?"

> There was something wrong. A nagging feeling in your heart had been present ever since you entered this strange place and right now it merely grew stronger.

> "Not like this," you said, pulling your hand away from his. "There's something wrong with you right now, Levi, you're not in your right mind."

> "I'm in my right mind. In fact, I can safely say that I've never been better. Say you love me, MC."

> Leviathan would never push you like this. He had always respected your boundaries, knowing how unpleasant it was like to have his own constantly prodded and pushed.

> "You're not Levi," you realized. Immediately you looked around, quickly moving away from angel Leviathan. "Where is he? What have you done to him?"

> Angel Leviathan looked so confused for a moment that you almost believed him. But then his expression turned to derision and your blood ran cold.

> "Why do you care about that disgusting otaku anyway? Aren't I better? Why don't you choose me?"

> The angel must have been out of his fucking mind if he thought that you were going to choose him after all this.

> You took another step back and—

> You plunge into the lake, the breath knocked out of you by the impact. Just as you started to panic, your eyes catch sight of something that made you freeze.

> There was Leviathan, the Leviathan you knew and loved, in his demon form staring back at you with wide eyes.

> What the fuck.

> Had he been here the entire time?!

> Instead of you, now Leviathan was the one panicking. He grabbed you and swam quickly to the surface, bringing you out of the lake. You gasped for air once you breached the surface, Leviathan's arm supporting you and keeping you upright.

> "Levi!" you said once you caught your breath. "Where were you? Why didn't you come up?"

> Leviathan was not looking at you. Once he had placed you back onto the shore, he suck back down into the water until only his eyes and the top of his head were visible. You put the pieces together.

> "...were you hiding?"

> "Of course that coward was hiding." Oh god. The angel was still not done. Now that you knew for a fact that he wasn't Leviathan, you felt an incandescent rage start boiling within you. You tamp it down. For now. "He didn't want to face the idea that you might choose me over him."

> Choosing again. It seemed important.

> "It's okay if you choose him instead," Leviathan was clearly lying through his teeth. "If... If it makes you happy. Who would want to be with a loser otaku like me who can't even tell the person he loves that he wants to hold their hand? Much less that he loves them?"

> Your heart was breaking and you pushed yourself into the water again. Leviathan yelped in surprise and quickly swam forward to catch you. You took the opportunity to put your hands on either side of his face.

> "Levi, there's no way I'd choose anyone over you," you told him. "You are my Lord of the Shadows and no one else can take your place."

> You feel Leviathan's cheeks heat up under your palms.

> "Do you mean it?" It was said in a whisper but you managed to catch it. You nod and a brilliant smile spread across his face.

> He looked up at the angel and maneuvered you around so that he was in between you and the angel. His tail had found its way to you and it was now curling around you in a possessive manner you had long grown familiar with.

> "MC is m... MC is my Henry! Not yours!" Leviathan declared. His tail squeezed a little tighter but you still felt no discomfort. "And I am their Lord of the Shadows. I'll protect them, so there's no way you'll ever get your hands on them!"

> You tried to cheer Leviathan on but then,

> You wake up.

After the dream

> Leviathan sent you a message to meet him in his room and you went there immediately. There, he apologized for ignoring you, saying that he hadn't been feeling well but was better now.

> The tip of his tail was subconsciously curled around your ankle but you didn't point it out to him, not wanting him to be self-conscious.

> After that you notice that Leviathan was a lot more open with his words. He still stuttered and turned red, but he was trying. Even if he ended up running away afterwards sometimes.

> Soon, he even grew brave enough to ask you to h*ld his h*nd! Once the first barrier had been breached, however, the two of you started holding hands all the time.

> If his hands were busy with gaming, expect his tail to seek you out.

> One day, he'll muster up the courage to tell you how he feels. But until then, you're happy to wait. ⭒☆━━━━━━～>º˵)ニニニニ>━━━━━━☆⭒

[choices-binglebonkus]

Shit PB adds to a story ✨ just because ✨

-Dead parent

-Transcendentally shitty parent

-Parent who serves no role in the story

-“Shocking” betrayal

-Generic unimpressive white male love interest who looks like all the others

-Random annoying child we’re forced to care about

-“eXcLuSiVe DiAmOnD sCeNe”

-Walking Wardrobe™️ female LI

-Unnecessary diamond outfits

-Questionable diamond outfits

-Bland, unimpressive love interest the MC thinks is the greatest thing since sliced bread

-Gratuitous sex scenes with said bland, unimpressive love interest

-ILB MC, OPH MC, BB MC, or NB MC with *one* new face thrown in if they’re feeling spicy 🥵

-“let’s have a party to unwind!” X 4

-DESIRE DESIRE DESIRE DESIRE DESIRE DE-

-F!MCs who have no personality whatsoever

-*eyes darken*

-1 edgy, rebellious, cynical loner LI (usually male) and 1 kind, shy, demure LI (usually female)

-Maybe a love interest from the BFF trope if they’re feeling daring

-*wears same outfit everyday* “Omg MC, you can’t go out like THAT!”

-Hideous free outfits to force us to go diamond

-Hideous free hairstyles

-Okay let’s be honest, hideous diamond hairstyles too

-Collectibles OUT THE ASS 😮‍💨

-Unnecessary flashbacks

-Unnecessary “play as this character!” diamond scenes

-Toxic, deeply problematic relationships portrayed as normal and desirable for days

-Wow! This dead character they mentioned was actually alive the whole time! INCREDIBLE!

-Obligatory female antagonist (usually a woman of color) who isn’t actually that bad, but PB needs to pit women against women somehow, y’hear???

-I know we just met five minutes ago but I desire you more than anything else in my entire life. You are everything. Here are my keys. Come to my house and fuck me right away. Don’t forget the engagement ring.

-The side character we aren’t supposed to care about, but they’re the best damn character in the story MWAH MWAH LOVE YOU CARTER MWAH MWAH LOVE YOU GARY GARRISON

-The side character we ARE supposed to care about but hate with a burning passion

-*female antagonist turns on her heel and struts away in a huff*

-Reused characters with fucked up character models

-The MC who never learned how to mind their own goddamn business

-Sup, here, have another CEO love interest. No need to thank me

-The one love interest who tries to come across as sexy but really just comes across as super fucking creepy oh my god BACK OFF I HAVE PEPPER SPRAY

-The one Black love interest who is actually the most decent love interest we’ve had in ages, yet the fandom tears them apart

-Male-coded GOC love interests

-That single customizable love interest you’re forced into a romance with…whether you want it or not

-Paywalls 🤑🤑🤢

-Cheesy one-liners from an abandoned Wattpad fic

-Really unnatural conversations you’d probably never have in real life

-Non-compelling cliffhangers

-That one really killer outfit that unfortunately has no other impact on the story

-Super uncomfortable art scenes 🫣

-Oh look they reused the Robin sprite��again. Maybe he’ll be a good guy this time 🤡

-Petty conflicts that last far too long

-Set up Unimportant Side Character 1 and Unimportant Side Character 2 for diamonds

-The unobtainable side character you’d do anything to romance

-The fabled *free* backstory

[misshorrorotaku]

Source 1 (of the ones I can click on, Idk if those un-clickable links above are the same or not and I will check later if they are):

a UK thing which already makes it incredibly suspect since, again, the UK is terf central. Nothing it has to say on this topic will be unbiased. Case and point:

False Accusations absolutely damage the life and reputation of the innocent. That is not a red herring. How commonly they happen is irrelevant to this fact, yet it is trying to argue that because false accusations are not common (which it doesn't actually prove, it just says that the ones the UK and the US consider false accusations are low percentage, between 2-6% if I'm remembering my read-through right) then this is a red-herring. But that logic does not track. There are people murdered over false accusations. Shit, there's a long history of this, a very racist one as white women used to use false accusations to get black men killed. How is the risk of death not ruining a person's life and reputation??? And this is ignoring that there have been CONVICTED RAPISTS who's supposed victims came forward saying they lied years later, meaning those percentages cannot possibly be accurate. Just as they cannot be accurate on how many people have actually been raped. There are plenty of victims who do not come forward, just as there are plenty of falsely accused people who are convicted. A UK (i.e. feminist) source claiming that false accusations tend to be identified quickly is just ludicrous. You can find very easily find cases where it wasn't.

Meaning people fearing false accusations and refusing to believe victims of rape without proof they were raped is not unreasonable, as this source is trying to paint it as. Nevermind that false accusations have a history of getting people murdered, and that fact alone, regardless of how common they actually are, is more than enough justification for this fear. It's innocent until proven guilty for a fucking reason.

Source 2: looks to be a feminist opinion piece. Seems to be talking about false accusations like the first one. Sorry, but I don't consider this unbiased.

Source 3: somewhat interesting at first. Talks about some inequalities women face in parts of the world (I don't know about it's claim that 2 women are made child brides every second but okay) but then it talks about women gathering water in Africa. I fail to see how that's some kind of inequality for women.

It then goes on to talk about how women in stem lack confidence....

I fail to see how women lacking confidence in their abilities is a gender gap. Like, what???? How is that an inequality for women???? Their lack of confidence is not an inequality.

And here at the last part it completely fucking loses me and I toss this link in the trash:

HOW IS THE FACT THAT THERE MORE MALE ACTORS AN INEQUALITY FOR WOMEN???? There is no more stopping women with the talent to act from going into the acting field than there is stopping men. More women not becoming actresses is not an inequality.

And finally the non-clickable links. I have to copy-paste to search them.

Unclickable link 1: a PDF. Opens by saying in 2020 47,000 women were killed by intimate partners and says this means on average a woman or girl gets killed by their family or intimate partner every 11 minutes. Hate to be nitpicky, but I highly fucking doubt that's actually how it was. More likely these kills were spread out over the year. So at best this link demonstrates that, globally, in 2020.... women were killed. That's really all it proves so far. Men are killed at a much higher rate than this every year. They make up the majority of violent crime victims.

Which this source acknowledges (not bad for a UN source). It says in the public sphere women were a small minority of killings, and said Asia was the place with the highest concentration of women being killed. Apparently it does also mention they're only about 58% of intimate partner killings.

Tbh I do doubt this source's criteria for it, since it calls this gender-based violence but as far as I can see, there's nothing about how it is gender-motivated violence. It seems to just be about them being women.

Unclickable link 2:

Might have to resend that one. It's not giving it to me. Assuming my phone copied the right one anyway. My phone is using the app not the site so well, maybe I fucked up and I copied the second one for the first link. I did try both and one got my the PDF and another got me, well, this. So whichever it was, it seems to be broken.

Also, sorry, I didn't ignore these, they were buried in my notes. However biased these were, at least you tried. I have to take a break now cuz I am a little anxious but in my response to whatever your response is to this, I will be sure to include some links.

This blog’s a dumpster fire, mate. There are countless posts with you arguing with feminists (not even radfems most of the time) for calling out misogyny and quite frankly it’s disgusting. You continually discuss misandry while mocking those who do the same for misogyny, or telling them that they’re using misogyny as a ‘justification for their misandry’. I know you hate women but try and make it a little less obvious, yeah?

Except I don't hate women, and every instance of me doing what you describe is a genuine, valid criticism of what they're doing. You trying to take them out of context to paint them as misogyny is hilarious, but still stupid.

[forsakenmis]

Calming her down

Title: Calming her down Pairing: top!Wanda Maximoff x female!reader Rating: 18+ Incredibly NSFW Warnings: Dark Wanda, kind of non-con, strap on, fingering, mummy kink, post-WV finale so spoilers if you haven’t seen it. also i haven’t editted it so beware grammar and spelling mistakes. Word count:  4215 words

It had taken far too long to track her down. Why they asked you to do it, you weren’t really sure. It’s not as if you and Wanda ever really talked, or even made eye contact, during the years as an avenger. Yet you were given the task of pulling her back onto the rails, rails she’s apparently veered pretty badly. You really think Doctor Strange, the Gandalf of wizards, would be a lot better at handling her than you would be. Or even Clint, the guy who was her mentor. But no-no one wanted to reach out to her, even though they spent years arguing that she needed to be supervised. You could go on for days how you being the person being sent is the most ridiculous idea they could have had.

You weren’t even a super, or an avenger, you started off as a shield agent who was then thrown into Stark Industries as Tony’s intern. Fury wanted an in and you were that in. Then everything went bottoms up and you became a slightly more valuable member of the group. Support, really.

After the snap, you just wanted a stable life. A normal life. By the time they contacted you to do this, you’d applied to a college. No, a university. In Australia, which was far, far away from New York. The briefing was simple. Wanda, left to her own devices in her time of need, went to try to handle her own grief after stealing Vision’s body from S.W.O.R.D. You were being asked to go try to talk some sense into her. Then, within the week of you repeatedly saying no, it turned out the head of S.W.O.R.D. was a bastard which you could have seen coming from a mile away, and Wanda was god knows where.

They promised you they’d leave you alone after this.

So you said yes.

What could go wrong?

You were still asking herself that three weeks later when you were sitting there still trying to find out where exactly she went. Wanda wasn’t going to be easy to find, especially considering she didn’t want to be found but you did it. It was four in the morning when you finally narrowed down a list of ten possible locations that she could be in. You were too tired to even crack a smile, you fell back onto your bed to sleep.

Your celebration was sleep for by the next morning, you were trekking across the world and came to the outskirts of a property with the view of the mountains. Pretty, sure, but you didn’t think Wanda was here for the view.

It was eerily quiet when you walked up to the door. That type of quiet they put into horror movies before they pulled out a jump scare. You didn’t trust it. Then again-not that there was anything around to make noise. Wanda could be asleep, as maybe all this isolation has meant she’s forsaken a body clock.

Still-you trusted it as much as you could lift Mjollnir and you couldn’t even make it shift.

The curtains were closed, you couldn’t see anything as you walked up the two steps and you had to stop your hand from hovering over your handgun. It would have been more of a self assurance. You couldn’t dream of winning against Wanda in a fight, both of you would be aware of that, but you couldn’t exactly imagine she’d be that trusting of you if you walked in holding a gun. So you fiddled with the watch around your wrist, it was a gift from Tony years ago.

You could have brought reinforcement, sure, but that seemed like a moot point considering you were trying to gain her trust, somewhat. The reinforcement would have been S.W.O-oh whatever, sword, you don’t have the time for formality. And sword made such a huge mess of it the first time round so you didn’t think they were going to help this time round. You tried calling Clint, but he was busy, apparently. Too busy to pick up your calls.

This was definitely a suicide mission.

You knocked three times with the back of your knuckles and listened, trying to hear any hint of movement.

Nothing.

You knocked again. Knock. Knock. Knock. Not even a creak.

Maybe she was asleep or maybe, dare you say it, had gotten it wrong. God, you’d hate for some old man to swing the door open.

Your hand dropped to the handle, going to test the lock, but then it swung open and if it wasn’t for your own instincts, you would have stumbled forward.

Wanda.

Your eyes slammed onto her face and, for the first time in years, you fumbled. She looked different, way too different for your liking, she looked older since Tony’s funeral. Mature. More confident in herself. You could think of a different million ways to describe her in that split second.

She’d always been pretty before but this Wanda was…gorgeous. This Wanda could also read minds.

You cut your thoughts short and took in a slight breath. Wanda wasn’t saying anything and her only acknowledgement was the slight hook of her brow.

“Wanda,” you began before forcing a smile onto yourself, “long time no see.”

“So they sent you, of all people,” Wanda remarked and you made a face. Sure-she was right but that was, quite frankly, rude.

“They suggested I come and I wanted to come,” you lied, “to see how you were doing...okay, look, I know we never talked. Or interacted. I know that. I was probably not the most open to you as I could have been.” Wanda was continuing to stare at you. She was dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. A shirt that arguably was one size too small for her. You weren’t really sure what to say, if you were honest, you’d spent so much time trying to find her, tracking her down like a puzzle, that you forgot to plan for this interaction.

“But I like to think we were on good terms,” you continued. Worst thing she could do was close the door in your face and you were more than happy to camp outside. “Enough that you’ll hear me out. I heard about your book, the darkhold–” That’s when you got a reaction out of her. Her eyes narrowed, growing even colder, and you could see her grip tightening on the door. “–we need to talk. Please-just let me in. I’m not going to fight you. We both know I can’t do that.”

You were keeping your thoughts clear. You didn’t want her reading you.

After a second, Wanda swung the door open wider and let you in.  

Your eyes scanned the room the moment you entered the threshold, looking for all the exits, before you turned back to Wanda. Wanda, who had closed the door, and had started walking towards you, close enough that you took a step back but found yourself hitting the back of a table.

Now that she was right up in your personal space, close enough that you could smell the soap she was using. Your heart was beating now.

“So you came for the book?” She asked, staring down at you. She was only a couple of inches taller than you but it may as well have been more.

“No, I came here to help you. And I know that book isn’t helping you, no matter how much you think it is. Wanda, that book is dangerous,” you said, gaining enough courage that you pushed yourself off the table to step forward, getting into Wanda’s space just as she was in yours.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Wanda remarked but she didn’t move. “You’re as bullheaded as you used to be, never knowing when a fight was too big for you. I remember all those times Nat and Steve had to throw themselves on the line because you’d done something reckless.” “That’s rich coming from you.” “I could protect myself,” Wanda snapped back. “So where are they? The rest of them. The people that said they were my family. Were you all that they had?”

You clenched your teeth. Don’t say the truth. “They wanted a woman’s touch with it,” you lied. “There isn’t that many of us who were close to you back then anymore.”

It was really only Nat and maybe Pepper who were close to Wanda. Both were a little preoccupied as of right now (for different reasons) to come knocking on Wanda’s door.

“A woman’s touch?” Wanda echoed, saying it in a way that made you clench your teeth. It was a raspy whisper. “And what, may I ask, would that entail?”

With the way she said it, you were pretty sure that Wanda wasn’t meaning it in the same way you were. Albeit, your meaning was rather off as well. In that you had no idea what that would entail either.

Wanda must have realised this and took a step back. “I suggest you leave,” she said and you hesitated before shaking your head.

“I won’t do that,” you said and she frowned. “They asked me to calm you down–”

“Calm me down?” She repeated, pronouncing each syllable, and it was as if the temperature dropped ten degrees. “Calm me down.” Then she smirked and it made you roll back on your heels.

“As long as you have that book, yes,” you said, “how about this–I take the book and then I go. You’ll think more rational without it, Maximoff, you know that. Deep down. You’re smart, Wanda, smarter than anyone ever gave you credit for. Besides Vision–”

“Don’t say his name,” Wanda snarled and suddenly she was in front of you again, hand around your throat, “do you understand me? He doesn’t exist here, not with you around.”

You didn’t really know what she meant but you ran with it and nodded. Her hand was tight and your airway was becoming a little too blocked for your liking.

She stared down at you, her eyes hard and cold, but then they softened and her grip loosened but they still didn’t leave your skin.

“You know, I might have pursued you back then, if it wasn’t for him,” Wanda began and you blinked. What? “You were everything I liked in a girl. Besides your recklessness….and stubbornness...but I think I can deal with that pretty easily.”

“Wanda, I’m flattered, really, but how about we focus,” you said, carefully, deciding to take that with a grain of salt and then over analyse it at three in the morning. Like how could you be cock blocked by a bloody robot? “Just give me the book and I’ll leave you in peace. I’ll make sure no one comes looking for you–” “You can’t promise me that,” Wanda remarked before she dropped her hand to take a step back. Then she looked you up and down. “You said they wanted you to calm me down, right? How about I keep both you and the book.”

You would like to say you were able to fight back. Prevent Wanda from knocking you out. But you were gone by the time she finished her sentence.

----

When light streamed into your eyes, the first thing you registered was the soft pillow underneath your head. Then you felt the rest of the bed and your eyes sprung open.

Your legs were bent up and out, Wanda’s red mist wrapped around your ankles and knees to keep them up. Meanwhile, your wrists were stuck to the headboard. Then your eyes rested on….Wanda?

Transparent Wanda reading that bloody book. You swear to god-you’ll burn that book the moment you get your hands–

“You’ll do no such thing,” Wanda’s voice cut through your apparently rather loud thoughts. You turned your head, trying to find her, and there she was in the doorway, sipping a cup of tea, watching you. Then she kicked off it and moved into the room and slid the mug onto a table before coming to the bed. “Maybe I’ll let you hold it one day as I read it.”

“I don’t...I don’t understand, Wanda, let me go,” you whispered as you began to struggle, pulling on the restraints again and again, but they weren’t budging. Neither was Wanda.

“I don’t think I want to,” Wanda hummed as she pushed herself onto the bed, “you see, I lost everything. My brother, Vision, Nat, Steve, my two boys, then Vision again. I lose every single family I ever have. Maybe this time I’ll succeed. I’m trying to find them, you see, with the book. Find them and pull them out. We can live here, happy, away from everyone.”

“We’ve done this story before Wanda, it didn’t–” “This time will be different, I’ll be more powerful, I won’t mess up this time,” Wanda pressed as her hands went to your inner thighs, moving them up and down your clothed skin. “And, when it comes to you, what they don’t know won’t hurt them. I don’t think I’ll let them see you. No, you can be my little secret. I stared at you for too many years, let you whore yourself out to other people. Not anymore.”

You drew your brows together. This couldn’t be happening.

“As you said, you’re meant to calm me down, right? Meant to pull me off some edge because everyone else was just too busy,” Wanda said as she positioned herself between your legs, bending down to kiss your jawline. You throbbed and pulled on the red strands wrapped around your wrist, but to no avail. “But I can think of another edge you can get close to,” she whispered as she pulled away again.

“Wanda, what are you–”

Her fingers slid in between your thighs, pressing into your heat, and a sharp gasp left your mouth. She began to rub through your jeans, cupping your heat, and you tugged again. This time, the red scratched the watch around your wrist and suddenly your clothes had snapped into the red armour Tony had built you years ago. Protective armour that replaced whatever you were wearing in a nick of time.

Useful.

The shift was enough to push Wanda off you and she stared down at the red and black armour with a slight tilt of her head.

“Well, that won’t do, will it?” She asked as her hands trailed down the cool metal. “Neat trick. Tony’s design, right?”

“Of course,” you responded after a moment, your chest rising up and down. There was no point in denying it-it was obviously Tony’s. Right down to the colours.

Wanda’s eyes turned red as the red mist circled around her hand as she lowered it back down. You flinched when you felt it slink in between the small crevices. The suit was meant to be protected against outside substances, able to go into water, but you supposed Tony didn’t exactly build it against Wanda.

“Wanda, you don’t–” “If you don’t be quiet, I’ll make you, do you understand me?” She hissed as she bucked her hand backwards and the suit around your hips ripped off you and tossed across the room. You whined as the cold air hit your bare skin, contrasting the building heat in between your legs.  

You were left with nothing but the top half and the pants that wrapped around your thigh. “Much better.”

With that, she went back to what she was doing before but this time there was nothing to prevent her from slipping her fingers through your slick folds, the tips of her nails teasing your entrance.

“Look at you, already so wet,” she cooed and you gritted your teeth. This really couldn’t be happening. This was a dream. She could control reality, this was just a dream. “This isn’t me in your head, sweetheart, trust me–I would have cut the foreplay if I was creating this.”

She continued to massage your heat and it took you everything you had not to moan.

“Why are you…” you tried saying but you were cut short, once again, when her fingers found your hooded clit, using the tips of her nails to start playing with it. You bucked your hips instinctively and she chuckled.

“You said you wanted to help me, right?” Wanda asked and the building heat was beginning to become a little too much. “So how about this, sweetheart, you help mummy out by becoming mummy’s little stress reliever.”

Two fingers suddenly plunged into your entrance and your back arched. At least your clit got a little bit of a break but it wasn’t long until her palm began to grind against it as she thrusted the fingers into your tight entrance. Each thrust expanded your walls, letting her in even deeper, your own arousal making her movements slick and quick.

“Wand-” you began to moan but it morphed into a sharp yelp when she pulled her fingers out to slap your cunt.

“You’re a smart girl, sweetheart, it’s how you got around Tony for so long. I think you know exactly what you want to be calling me,” she said and suddenly she was back down so that her face was only inches away from yours and her fingers slid back inside of you.

Unlike last time, though, it wasn’t rough and sharp. Her fingers were slow as they moved inside of you, curling at the tips, scratching your walls. Exploring. She was exploring you and you could do nothing but whimper and moan.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I know you would. Look at you, already so wet and submissive for me,” she whispered, scattering kisses down your jawline as she reached your ear to nibble on your earlobe. “I’ll keep you in here for as long as I need you. Ride your pretty little mouth as I read that book, fill you up again and again until you’re passing out. All you have to do is be a good little girl.”

Heat was curling through your body, that buzzing sort of heat, that made your vision blur. Your teeth were clamped together. You wanted to moan, they were in your throat, but even when you opened your mouth, no sound came out. Just silent moans. The fingers moving inside of you had grabbed all your attention.

Then she scratched that little sweet spot and it was that that pushed out a moan that bounced around the room. Wanda laughed, hitting it again and again.

“Let your mummy hear your moans, sweetheart,” she said before she pulled back to kiss you on the mouth, biting hard on your lip so you wouldn’t even try to close your mouth and stop the tongue that slid into your mouth.

Your stomach was twisting into knots at this point and seemed like every other muscle seemed to be cramping. You were close to climax. Your walls clenched around Wanda’s fingers. Just a little bit–

You groaned when she peeled herself off you. You blinked up at her, looking through what seemed like tears, as you were denied that relief. Relief from the throbbing coming from your cunt.

“You want to cum, baby?” Wanda asked as she pulled off her shirt. Underneath was a simple black bra that was quickly disposed of. Your eyes, naturally, landed on her chest. A chest that, even under the circumstances, made you drool. Wanda’s clicking your fingers drew your eyes back up. “Eyes on mummy, sweetheart. God, you really are a little whore, aren’t you? Tell me-do you want to cum?” You pulled on your restraints just once more but all it seemed to do was to make it even tighter.

You nodded, jerkily.

“Use your words, sweetheart, I very clearly established you’re not mute,” Wanda remarked as her fingers went down to her jeans, fiddling with her button.

“Yes. Please, I want to,” you mumbled, knowing you won’t be coming back from this point. Then again-if she could make you feel like that again...maybe that wasn’t so bad.

Wanda tilted her head as she hummed, not having to move much to slap your sore cunt again and you jerked. “Say it politely and maybe I’ll consider it.” You scrunch your eyes shut and mewled when she began to knead your pulsating clit again. “M-mummy, please,” you whispered and her hands left your cunt. Before you could even open your eyes, you felt her lips on yours. Soft, gentle...loving.

“Good girl...that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She asked and you could hear the ruffling of her pants as she kicked them off. “Now...mummy’s going into your head, okay? I promise it won’t be long.” You began to struggle again but the warmth of her powers quickly washed over you. Your memories began playing the past three months. You tracking her down. Refusing back up.

Then she was out again.

“You really told no one where you were going? Almost as if you wanted this to happen,” She said as she shifted on top of you. Shifted that you felt something rub up against your entrance and you flinched. She...she was packing. “Of course I am, sweetheart, do you really think I wasn’t prepared for you? I knew you were coming from a mile away, honey.”

And with that, she pushed the strap inside of you, not bothering to wait for you to adjust until she was completely inside of you. You arched your back again, pressing into Wanda’s naked body, as the pain of being ripped open rushed through your body. You moaned and grunted as you grew adjusted to the width and length of Wanda.

“Come on, baby, you can do it,” Wanda murmured into your lips and suddenly your wrists were freed. But then her own hands came up to wrap around them to press them against the pillows herself. “I know you’ve taken bigger. Do you think we didn’t know? Didn’t know you and Nat were fucking every other night?” The comment drew you out, just for a moment, and you shook your head but all she did was pull back slightly to slam inside of you again.

“Don’t lie to me,” Wanda snarled, “tell me, tell me the truth. Use your words.”

It took only a few more thrusts of her strap filling you up again and again that the words began to spill out of your lips. “S-she found out. About my status as a shield status. Fuck,” you hissed out, barely able to hear your own words over the lude noises of Wanda beginning to pound into you. This wasn’t fair-you couldn’t dream of talking when she was fucking you like this.

“So you whored yourself out to her to make sure she kept her mouth shut,” Wanda said, finishing the sentence and you nodded jerkily. “You little slut. I bet you liked it too, just like how you like me pounding into you. But you’re mine now. Not hers. Not Tony’s. Mine. My little whore.”

She shifted upwards so that her chest was dangling above your face. “Suck your mommy's tit, baby, I saw you admire them before.”

It was a welcome change, you had to admit, to trying to formulate sentences and words around the moans and screams spilling out of your mouth. Your head leaned forward, closing the distance, so your mouth could wrap around her erect nipple and your walls clenched around her strap as you heard her moan.

Her hand moved to the top of your head, her nails scraping against your scalp as she interwove her fingers through your messy hair. Your tongue lapped at the small bud between your teeth and she began to move her hips in time with your tongue.

Your now free hand wrapped around her body so your nails were digging into her shoulder, drawing Wanda down even closer so you could take more of her tit into her mouth.

The same heat that had built before was coming back, and you weren’t sure how long you could hold on at this point.

“You can cum whenever you want, baby, just this once,” Wanda purred, hearing your thoughts, and it was all you needed, that confirmation, to come undone. Your walls clenched around the strap and you could feel Wanda slowing down as thrusting became just a tad more difficult and you screamed into her tits, careful not to clamp your jaw shut, as the orgasm rushed through you.

Even through it, she continued moving inside of you, and you almost felt like you could pass out.

“Good girl,” Wanda whispered. “Oh, I could get used to this. I’m going to keep you in here, do you hear me? Make you a good little whore for me to come home to.” They did say your mission was to help Wanda calm down.