#duty to reproduce

[pistachio-pierrot]

even the idea that “we evolved social bonds to benefit ourselves” is misleading in of itself tbh.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking species evolved different mechanisms to better survive by that’s putting the effect before the cause. a trait arose, and if they happened to be beneficial, then those with the trait lived longer and had more babies than those without it.

We didn’t choose to become kind *just* because it helped us survive. Some early humans (honestly it was probably basal primates or possibly even earlier ancestors) started helping each other at some point, maybe even without a purpose beyond the act itself. And guess what? It turned out that being cooperative led to increased survival among those groups, while the more hostile individuals failed to be as successful. And today we’re social animals because we are the descendants of people who valued friendship more than purely self-gain. Love won.

zany to me how these um actually nihilists like to pretend that "um actually love/friendship/cooperation/kindness isn't real bc we evolved that way to benefit ourselves as a species..." um YES? that's also where tool use comes from? that's where cooking comes from? am i supposed to think social bonds & tool use & cooking aren't "real" because they evolved over time instead of appearing fully formed from the ether?

sorry u can't enjoy things. im a superior being twirling a fork in my bowl of delicious noodles whilst staring in adoration at the world

[bi-writes]

a hand for a hand | knight!ghost x f!reader

in the year of our lord 1657, your king wields a weapon that cannot be reproduced. as your queen's lady-in-waiting, you steer clear of it, lest it cut you when it passes by. but duty and desire are rarely met in a man's world.

type: one-shot (6.5k), AO3

cw: dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, mentions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, ghost is obsessed with your tits (18+)

It is not a secret that you are afraid of the king's men. There is a reason that they have a reputation of cruelty. Ravagers, conquerors, unruly and untamed–they train like dogs, and they live like them, too. By accident, you have wandered to where their barracks are, and if it wasn't for the happenstance of your king hearing your screams, they would've taken your virtue that night.

That one belongs to my wife, he had said, gripping you by the scruff of your neck. Spoil it, and I'll have your fuckin' heads. His queen had been much kinder when he returned you back inside, cradling your head in her lap and promising to have something fashioned for you to wear so none of his men would ever touch you again.

And they haven't. They do not bow to you, but they open the doors for you, move out of your way, try to keep their eyes off of the softness of your cleavage and the curve of your skirt. But there is one that does not, there is one that refuses, and this one you avoid the most.

You don't know him by any other name other than Ghost. The right hand of the king, his most trusted advisor and his most brutal of men. There are times when he barges into the throne room, his sword dragging along the stone floor and trailing blood in its path, and he tosses the head of the king's enemy onto the floor. You clutch onto the skirt of your queen's dress, tears welling up in your eyes, and when you look up, he is staring at you, heaving in the metal of his armor, and you look away as his men yell out proudly as they crowd the room.

His eyes are always on you when you are in his presence. They track you as you move behind your queen, follow you as you eat and drink and tend to her majesty's needs. He wanders the halls, and he observes you as if you are his next meal. And maybe you are–if he suddenly decided you would be his next conquest, you don't think a refusal is in order. Maybe that's the mercy he gives you; just the aggressiveness of his stare and his stare only, and not the strength of his hand or the cruelness of his demeanor.

There is always a party. Always a celebration for this brute. He is praised by politicians and priests alike, because he must be the hand of god, delivering whatever the king asks for when it is asked of him. He does not lose, all he comes back with is chests full of gold and new slashes to add to the growing collection on his skin. Sometimes you wonder if he puts them on himself. You wonder if he drags his dagger in a crooked line down the length of his arm, as if he is tallying his win, counting up to a number that already puts the men that came before him to shame.

He seems like the kind of man to do so–like the kind of man to do it even with the blood of his adversary still warm on the sharp edge of the blade, the kind to lick it clean when he's finished just to solidify the unease and the terror of the next man to have the unfortunate fate of ending up at the wrong end of his adrenaline.

He has no face. He has no name. And if he is coming for you, it's already too late; your fate has been sealed, and you should say your last rites. The only mercy he ever gives is that death is always quick. His sword is too sharp, and his hand is too heavy.

It is late in the evening when you hear it. There's screaming in the courtyard, yells and howls and cheers. You put down your hairbrush, getting up and padding to the window to look outside. The king's men are there, hundreds of them milling about and walking around. They share mead and wine, crusty bread in their muddy hands. They are bloody and bruised, but they are happy. They sing and chant, hold each other and crowd around fires. They left weeks ago, and they are back now, and you suspect it must be victory on account of their demeanor.

You are not surprised by this. They aren't kind, but it makes them good soldiers. They aren't afraid to die; it's a common idea in your culture that for a man to die in battle is the only way to true salvation, to actual ascension. You have always hated this idea. Boys become cruel, and men become unforgiving, and it is why you are so grateful to be her majesty's lady-in-waiting because it means she is your only duty and nothing more.

You are surprised by the knock on your door. You think about ignoring it, but then there is another knock, and then a familiar, low voice mutters, "Are you awake, my lady?"

You tie your robe and scurry. When you open up the door, you curtsy low and graceful, your eyes drawn to the floor as you tremble a little in the king's presence. You've never really spoken to him before, not without his queen at your side.

"Y-Yes, your majesty? I'm sorry for my appearance, I–"

"It's quite late," he says gently. "You don't have to apologize. Is it alright if I come in?"

You stand from your curtsy, blinking up at him. You think for a few moments before you nod, widening the door. He settles himself at the seat by the window, looking down into the courtyard. He has a hint of a smirk on his face as he looks down at his men, still singing.

"I have a request of you," he says finally. You take a seat at the edge of your bed, wringing your hands nervously in your lap. Whatever his request is, you don't know why he's putting it this way. You're not exactly allowed to refuse. "It is time for my most decorated men to receive their titles. They deserve it, after what they have done for me these past few years."

You swallow, "Yes, of course. You have such a fine army, your majesty. You must be...V-very proud."

He turns to face you, and he nods.

"These titles come with land. Money. Responsibility. And it comes with other things they might request," he explains. "One of these things can be a bride."

"They are most fortunate," you say softly, trying to smile. He stands, turning back to look down into the courtyard.

"You are to be wed tomorrow," he tells you. "I know you gave up much to accept your role at my wife's side, and for that, I have arranged for a sizable dowry on your behalf. Congratulations, my lady." he turns to smile at you. "By sunset, you are to be a duchess."

You're shaking when he goes. You clutch the sheets, sinking to your knees, and you cry. You cry because you know who asked for your hand. You know who wants you, you know who it is, because every time he comes back from war, he cannot take his eyes off of you. He eats you with his gaze, he violates you and has never even touched you, he takes from you, and you've never spoken to him, but you know it's him, you know it, you know it–

Your queen is ecstatic. She lends you diamonds to wear, and she fusses over the embroidered silk and cotton dress they've sewn for you overnight. She tells you she's so proud, that you will make such a beautiful bride and a beautiful duchess, and it takes all of your strength not to cry, to choke back your sobs. Your innocence will be gone by the next morning, you know this, and yet here she beams about colored fabric and your new, unwanted title and all of the duties you have never, ever wanted for yourself.

Marriage will be your prison, and you will never be free. You'll be hidden behind closed doors and forced to carry loud, chubby babies.

You are not the only bride that afternoon, but you feel like the most important. Your veil is the longest, your dress is the most intricate, and you are wearing the queen's diamonds. Not to mention, you are to become a duchess, and the rest will be lords and ladies, nothing more. You have always hated the hierarchy that society fits themselves into, but you've never despised it more than this moment.

He is waiting for you when you make it to the throne room. He wears his armor, polished and without blood, his face covered and his hood up to shadow his dark eyes. He wears his telltale insignia with pride, the skull motif of his belt gleaming and the paint of his mask fresh. He stands tall and menacing, a reaper in human skin, and you are so close to tears as you make your way to him. Your eyes find his, and he holds out his hand for you to take. You slip a delicate hand into his gloved one, letting the rough fabric warm you as he brings you to stand in front of him. He purrs, you think, a low rumble as his eyes look you up and down.

You are a prize. A trophy. Nothing more. A gift given for cutting the heads off of your king's foes, and that is all.

The ring on your finger is gold, and the ring you slip over his is silver. And then he gives you his first gift as your husband–a tiara, made of emerald and gold, and he slips your veil off to tuck it between the strands of your hair. The intricate pattern on the tiara matches the patterns along the iron of his armor, and you want to think of this as a gesture of good will, but you know it is given with possessive intent, a brand of ownership.

Because that is what this is. Not a ceremony of love, but an exchange, a transaction. You've been bought with blood, and there is nothing you can do about it.

But one day he will grow bored of me, and maybe then, I'll feel myself again.

He narrows his eyes, glares, and your lips part, trembling, you are terrified. His response is to growl with delight, his eyes falling to stare at the laces that hold in your cleavage. You observe this fact–the fact that you have things that other ladies do not. You are not tiny like them, not thin nor delicate. You are warm, soft, and the squeeze of your breasts in your dress draw him in.

You are a prisoner, now. But perhaps, if you play this game correctly, you can be in your ward's good graces. This is the hand you've been dealt; perhaps there is still a way to win if you steel your bluff.

The party is lively. There is music, gold coins tossed haphazardly on tables, so much dancing and enough food to stuff yourself for days. There is endless wine, and there are brides seated in laps, hungry new couples kissing and whispering soft nothings into each other's ears. The king blessed you all, told you to enjoy your new lives, your new titles, to make your country proud and raise pretty, fat babies.

You sit aways from him. You don't speak, just stare at your dinner plate, sipping wine absentmindedly as you think about the rest of your life and how miserable you will be. You think about the control you have never had, the choices you have never been given, and you wish so badly that you were a man.

Men simply ask for, and then they receive. Women simply hope that their eyes don't meet a flame too hot to handle.

His eyes bore into your head. When you catch his gaze every once in a while, all he does is tilt his head to the side and observe you. The beauty that you are, the woman that no one can have, the supple tits that belong to him, and the perfect cunt he knows that you have under the multitude of skirts you hide it under. Your skin glows, your hair is healthy, you will give him everything that he needs, that he craves.

You'll look so beautiful carrying his heir. You'll look so perfect when you begin to wear the dresses he will buy you, when you sleep in the bed in the house that he gives you, when you stand in the kitchen that he builds for you. Although, a woman like you deserves to do nothing but relax, be pampered, to lay down on a bed of furs as he eats your sweetness and fucks you stupid.

When the morning is early, you sneak out. You scurry to your bedroom, closing the door behind you for a moment of peace. You take a seat on your bed, the bed you aren't sure you will have for much longer, and you sit there and stare at your feet until the door opens.

You know who it is right away. Coming in unannounced, because now he is allowed to, because everything in this room now belongs to him, from the thread holding your dress together to the very breaths you take.

You sit up straight, turning your head. Ghost slips through, taking up the space by the door as it shuts behind him. You watch him as he stands poised just like the soldier he is, looking at you illuminated by nothing but candlelight. His gloved hands rest at his sides, but he squeezes them in and out of fists, clicking his tongue. You hear the leather of them move.

You have never spoken to him before. You've never heard him speak. You wonder if he really knows how to; you wonder if he has a voice or if he's been whittled down to nothing but the sounds that a loyal mutt makes. You know why he's here, you know why he's come. You can't tell him no, you don't think, but he doesn't move from his place, so you aren't completely sure of what he wants.

But you have an idea.

"Y'abhor me," he says finally. He speaks. You swallow. At least he isn't stupid. It's rare that you see a brute with brains. Although, with all the battles he has won, you know he doesn't lack intelligence. He is seasoned, worldly, knows how to convince the politicians and to rile up the uneducated men that kill for him. He must have a quick tongue and a strong vocabulary. A leader bred for killing, a man taught to know his audience and how to deliver a persuasive message.

But has he been taught to tame a cat? How to please a woman? How to love her, how to have her?

Love. What a silly dream.

"Not as much as I fear you," you admit. He hums, his eyes crinkling a little, as if he's smiling. You watch him carefully as he finally moves, rounding the bed before he stands in front of you.

"Wot is it y'r afraid of?" he asks. His voice comes low, from the bottom of his chest. You tilt your head up to look at him.

"That you'll hurt me," you whisper. He shrugs, shaking his head.

"A beaten wife is no good t'me," he tells you, very matter-of-fact. "Need strong heirs. Which means I need y'fed and happy."

"I'll never be happy."

He grips your chin, shutting you up. A part of you wishes he would be meaner. That he would be the angry, possessive Ghost that he truly is and show the kingdom that there is no part of him redeemable or salvageable. You want to sport his bruises and tell the queen he is an animal, but his touch is firm and nothing more. If anything, he's gentler than you expected him to be.

"We'll see about tha'."

Your eyes water, and you stiffen at his touch.

"I know who you are," your voice cracks. "I know what you do. You're a pillager. You take women, and you kill men."

He tilts his head to the side, smoothing his thumb along your bottom lip. You aren't wrong. Since he was small, most of what he has known has been the smell of blood in the air and the sound of screams when he shows up at their doors. He's never been particularly gentle when he ravages. He takes, takes, takes–it tastes good and strengthens his bones. It puts medals on his chest and pretty, thick women in his bed.

But you are no village in an unfortunate land. You are the gift that his king has given him. The forbidden treasure that he had his eye on since he saw you standing there beside his queen. Poised, elegant, graceful, timid, untouched, perfectly soft. Ghost has never known this kind of thing, and if you had been any other lady, he would have married you long ago, but he had to wait. He had to be patient, win and kill enough that his king could not refuse his request–no, his demand–to have you.

He did not do the king's bidding for the glory or for the honor. He did it so he could bite into you, so that even if you screamed, you belonged, and no one would care.

"Just a matter of war, dear wife. They matter little," Ghost mutters. "Let me look at ya..." he tilts your head side to side, observing you. He guides his hand down your throat, arching you back so he could trace his fingers along the swell of your breasts. He hums with approval, reaching lower and squeezing the fat of one breast with one big hand. His eyes flash, and he fondles the other.

You are surprised by the sensation. No one has ever touched you this way before. It feels...good. His hands are warm, even under all of that leather, and you find yourself feeling rather sensitive. You lean back a little on the palms of your hands, looking down. You watch as he traces a finger around your nipple, and you bite your lip when it pebbles under his touch. He uses both hands now, cupping both of them, growling. Ohhh–it feels so nice.

"Gonna be so nice when they're full," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "All for our babe."

You don't know what comes over you. You don't know why you do it, but you do. You lift your hand, gripping the edge of the laces that tie the front of your dress closed, and you pull. The weight of your breasts unravel the ribbons, and Ghost groans audibly when they spill out of your corset. There is a tickle that you feel, some sort of sick satisfaction, knowing that you've pleased him in some way.

"Tha'sit...My beautiful bride..." he smacks his lips together under his mask, as if he's hungry, "Tits of a fuckin' angel."

You squeeze your legs together. You know what it is to feel aroused, but this is different. You feel wet, so wet, as if it's wetting the skirt of your dress. You've never felt it this strong. You whimper a little, and he chuckles, so mean.

"Y'like tha', my bride?" he asks. He reaches up and cups your cheek, bringing your soft eyes to his. The praise, it itches you nicely. "Y'r m'prize, swee'eart. I killed over a thousand men, and y'are what m'reward is, did y'know tha'?" he hisses. "Cut the heart out of a man's chest, like a fuckin' pig, just to 'ave this cunt."

Why does it feel so good? Why are you getting wetter and wetter, why are you whining, why are you giving into it? Why do you want it so bad, why do you ache?

It hurts, it hurts–

"'s olright," he coos, so condescending. "Shhhh..." he puts a palm on your chest and pushes, making you lay back. You swallow, letting him put a finger between the laces of your corset and tug. It barely budges, fastened so carefully, and you gasp sharply when he uses two big hands and grunts, ripping your corset apart. You hear the crack of the whale bone give away under the strength of him, and it's a reminder of just how dangerous he is, how strong, and you know when he looks between your thighs, he'll find you wet and needy and captivated.

The corset comes loose, and he tugs, taking your skirts with it until you're naked underneath him. You want to feel shame, but you can't. You're so desperate, for whatever he will give you, and instead of covering yourself, you let your knees fall open. The groan he lets out makes you leak even more, and he watches with awe as your puffy hole pulses. He moves to shove his trousers down, but you stop him, putting a hand on the chest of his leather armor.

"Wait–" you meet his eyes. Your eyes flutter. "B-but...But I want..."

He eyes you curiously, narrowing them.

"Want wot?"

You swallow.

"I-I..." you reach down and slip your fingers gently through your folds. The squelch makes his eyes widen, and he's mesmerized by what he sees. "I want...Your mouth..."

He snickers, "Y'think a man will eat it so easy?" he raises a brow. "Doesn't work tha' way. Besides..." he shrugs. "I don't reveal m'face."

You sit up, blinking, smoothing your hands down his chest and tracing them along the hem of his trousers. His dark eyes follow you, and you realize he doesn't really say no. You need to remind him that you are not one of his men. You need to be kept happy, and he needs to give in, even if it hurts his fucking ego.

"Please?" you whisper, taking his hand and putting it back on your face, kissing the palm of his glove. Killed a thousand men to have me, so show me–show me, show me, show me. You nuzzle into it, giving him those eyes, and he stares for a long few moments. "Please..."

He sinks to his knees almost immediately. His armor stretches a little, the leather and metal moving rigidly with him. Your eyes widen a little at the position–the thing that he is knelt down in front of his wife, an act of submission.

"Turn around," he snaps. "On y'r knees."

You do as he says. You turn on the bed, your face squished against the cushions, and he yanks you back by your hips. You fist the sheets, sucking in a shaky breath, and your eyes squeeze shut when he puts two hands on your ass and spreads you wide. He plants a kiss on your folds from over the mask, and then you hear the shuffle of fabric before his warm tongue prods at your entrance.

He eats slow at first. Just drags his tongue through the slick there. He's exploring you, learning you. But then he is all-consuming. He hisses, gripping you by the thighs and suckling at your clit before tracing his name into the folds of your cunt. You can't help how wet you are–drooling, wetting his mask, crying so soft as he bobs his head and eats you, starving. He did not expect you to be so sweet, so soft. Every part of you is soft, and he associates the taste of you with the sound of your pleasure, and it's like a trigger. His brain ticks just the right way when he hears you moan for the first time. Not even battle quiets the tinnitus, but the ringing is nearly gone now.

He wonders if you're sent from heaven, even though he doesn't believe in it. But something had to have sent you, something had to have given you to him, because it's too much, it's too good, it's too real.

What he wants is in his hands, cumming on his tongue, crying because of his touch. Too real, too real, too real.

He pulls away. He smacks his lips gently, smirking, and then he pulls his mask back down. He stands up straight, watching you, still on your knees, squirming. He tuts, turning you onto your back easily. You're languid and a little breathless, and you giggle a little when you realize how easy it is for him to manhandle you, for him to move you. You've never felt very small, but he doesn't even strain, not even a little.

He's so scary, it makes you sick, but you can make this your own–you could make him love you, couldn't you? Someone this twisted, someone this insane, you could make him obsessed, you could drive him crazy, you could have the loyal dog you have always been yourself.

Killed a thousand men to have me, so I'll put you on your fucking knees.

It's what you're owed. For all the years of serving, for all the years of submission and pain and kneeling and curtsying, you're allowed to have something, you can have something, even if it's this monster of a man. He may have paid for you, but you won't let a thousand men die for nothing.

You will make him love you. You will make him love you. You will make him love you.

You sit up, a bit dazed. You're swimming in your own head, a little insane from the orgasm. You know what a man like him wants. You have doted on men like him all your life. You know what it is that arrogant people crave, what it is they desire, the things that keep them up at night, you know because you've soothed those fears all your life.

You just need to know how to make him purr. You need to know what clears the thoughts in his head.

"My husband," you whisper, meeting his eyes, and there's a little twitch in his eyes. He likes that title. "I–"

"Did y'like that, my bride?" he murmurs. "Your husband's mouth on y'r cunt, 'n now y'r singin' for me, eh?"

You bat your lashes, sliding your hands up his forearms. You drag your fingers over the sleeves of his armor, whimpering. The smell of leather is overwhelming, but you suppose you must get used to it. You have a feeling you'll be polishing it for the rest of your life.

"I've always been...Terrified of you," you whisper. "The way you come into court...The way you fight...Seeing you in all those places, you have always scared me..." he hums, his eyes intrigued. He smooths his hands up your thighs, gripping onto your waist as he tugs you closer to him. "But, I..." you reach for his shoulders, pulling on him until he bends, leans over you, crowds your space and shadows you like the eclipse he truly is. "I-I want more..."

He chuckles, "I know y'do," he echos. "Could see it in y'r eyes, darling girl," he sighs. "A pretty face like this one...Wasted on her majesty."

"I don't think we're allowed to say that."

"I deliver entire countries at john's feet, I'll say wot I bloody please," he snaps. You just blink up at him, before smiling a little.

This disgusting, murderous, possessive, immoral, treacherous piece of shit that is your husband is really the most beautiful man you've ever set your eyes on. Strong, resilient, unable to be killed, adored by his king and his men alike. He is everything a man is supposed to be, but nothing like how a gentleman should behave. He is built for war, built to take, so how can you get this nasty thing to love you?

Ghost does not seem the kind of man to bend to the desires of ordinary men. He may want to fuck you, but he has self-control. He may enjoy the praise of his men, but he doesn't require it. He may ache for the soft press of a woman, but he is self-sufficient and easily deterred.

So you do what servant women do best. You appease, because at the end of the day, Ghost is still a man, and men are all the same.

"A baby..." you whisper, holding onto the backs of his hands firmly. You dig your nails into the skin there, arching your back to get closer to him. He growls under the mask, metal biting into your soft skin as he grips you even tighter. "Want a baby..."

He cackles, so mean, and he leans down to kiss along your ear, down your throat, biting at the supple skin through the mask. He's still got all of his armor on, he hasn't shed one lick of his gear, but you cling to it like a parasite. He is one with it, and you realize this now, his second skin made of durable steel and patent animal skin, singed at the edges. He's such a fine soldier, too strong for his own good, too rough around all his edges to be anything but a masochist, but he's yours. He belongs to you as much as you belong to him, and it isn't until he slides the warmth of his length through your folds that you realize this, too.

You reach up with trembling hands, high enough to cup his masked face. He flinches, nearly throwing you off, but you shush him gently, cooing softly as you nuzzle your nose against his.

"I'm sorry," you whisper there. It's so intimate, this position, and you know that he has never let anyone touch him this way by the feeling of his body under your hands, stiff and unable to move. You roll your hips gently, up against his, and you let out a soft keen at the squelch of your slick against his cock. "It's...It's everything I didn't know I wanted..."

He grunts, metal creaking as his nostrils flare.

"I don't understand," he murmurs. Affection, it's so unfamiliar that it startles him. That someone can be kind to him, something other than a hard hand and an impossible order, it's not something he knows, and he's not sure how he feels about it. His instinct tells him to distance himself, but his cock guides him closer.

"You," you whine. "So big–" you reach down between your bodies, pumping his cock gently. Your fingers barely meet around his girth, a true testament to his size, he lacks this largeness nowhere. "–there's nothing to be afraid of, is there?"

Ghost snarls a little, gripping your thighs tight and securing them around his waist. You lock your ankles around his hips, pulling, and he hums as the head of his cock sinks into you easily.

"Naughty lil' girl," he laughs, standing straight as his thighs meet your ass. You whine, your back bowing like a taut string, and he slides his tongue over his teeth with a menacing click. "Not a virgin, are ya?"

"I-I am," you gasp, clawing at his forearms, and he hisses when you clench.

"Mm. Not a stranger t'this feelin' then, aye?"

You shake your head, and he nods, hoisting your legs up and over his shoulders as he gives you a firm thrust.

"Good," he mutters. "Don't much feel like pettin' ya."

And he doesn't. He's a menace. He snarls like a beast under his armor, his gloves squeezing your plush thighs as he pounds into you with no words to soften the blow. He isn't gentle by any means–he gives, and he expects you to take, and your legs shake as you try and crawl away from him. He doesn't let you–his fingers spread around your waist and he tugs, spearing you back onto his cock before he leans over you and starts putting his back into it.

Despite the roughness, he looks down at you, eyes focused on yours, and he doesn't look away. Your arms flail a little until you reach up and wrap them around his neck for stability, but it only draws his face close to yours. Your hand falls to grip his jaw, and he leans into it just enough that you know you have him.

"You'll make such a good little babe," he grunts, groaning when you tighten just that much. He's securing his place, making room inside of you so you can take even more. "Cunt was made to bear m'children, m'lady..."

"That so?" you squeak, and he smiles under the mask–you're falling apart on his cock, a good girl, just for him, just like you always are. "Have to finish what you started for that to happen, don't you?"

"Fuckin' brat–" Ghost snaps, but he presses his face to yours, needing to be closer, needing to have you, needing to make you his from the inside-out. A ring is not enough, no, he has to bind you to him forever by making you bear his kin. He will give you many, he's going to keep you fat and beautiful and pregnant, and his children will know that their father hungered for their mother so much that he destroyed a generation of men to covet one of his own.

Ghost has known since the first moment he laid his eyes on you that you would be it. You had to be his wife, no one else would suffice, because no one else could bear the weight of his name the way you would be able to. No one else would be able to carry his babies without dying, no one else could make the sun fall and the moon rise and the fire wane just long enough for him to feel human again, no one.

You start to think the same. You've never felt this way, so out of your body and so aware of it all at once. You're floating–you're somewhere else, you think. There's a pleasure so searing, that you can barely breathe. His cock is deep, touching places inside of you your fingers could never dream to reach, and there's a place that he touches sometimes that makes your eyes blur and your mouth make the most pathetic whining sound. You're crying, begging, asking him for more, please–! Nnghh–please!

He's never had a woman so wet. He has always had them for his own pleasure. He has never paid attention to what they feel or tried to make it nice for anyone but himself, but he knows he will never want it the same ever again. There's something so satisfying about the heavy plat, plat, plat that his cock makes every time his hips meet yours. He can feel his trousers sticking to his thick thighs, knows that there must be some thick, creamy slick coating his length and sticking to your skin that he suddenly wants to scoop up with his tongue and savor the tang of his bride, his wife, his pretty, pretty girl–tha's it, just right, like tha'–

"I...I-I–!" it's more intense than you've ever felt it. A crescendo of pleasure that is starting to grow in your belly, an unwavering warmth that he keeps flooding you with, so good that you can't stop crying for it. You're sputtering, drooling, clawing at the hood around his back because it's so fucking close, it's right there, it's mine, you're mine, mine, mine–

"Fuckin' hell–" Ghost groans, cradling your head against his chest as he stills his hips against yours and fills you nice and warm. You go cross-eyed, you think, shaking as you latch your mouth onto his masked jaw and suck. You need to put your mouth around something, need to fill it with the taste of him. He doesn't move, body heavy and suffocating over you, but you don't tell him to move and make no effort to push him off.

You think you want this. You think you want him to keep you here, just like this, underneath him, full of him, drooling from more than just your mouth from a fucking too good and the promise of something more.

He moves to take a seat on the bed, and you chase after him. You keep your arms around his neck, shuffle into his lap, and he chuckles under his breath as he wraps one big arm around you and tugs you close to him.

Maybe it isn't so bad to be bound to someone like this. Maybe it isn't so bad to belong, maybe it isn't so bad to be wanted this way, maybe it isn't the most unfortunate thing to not have the autonomy of yourself anymore in favor of being this thing's wife.

You slide your hand down his chest before smoothing it over one masked cheek. His eyes close for a moment, and he leans into it for just long enough that you recognize the gesture as one of need. Ghost aches, too–maybe not for the same thing you ache for, but he aches, and maybe it's for this.

Something gentle. Something soft. Something to bury himself into because the flames have burnt too hot for too long, and the voices in his head give him no reprieve. His hands are too dirty, too unclean, and you think maybe that's why he doesn't take his gloves off anymore–there is no cleaning agent enough for the blood caked under his fingernails.

He's more human this way. Less beast, more man, but you see that flicker of humanity disappear entirely when he sees the trickle of his cum slipping onto the fine sheets of your bed.

What a waste. What a loss. He has to fuck you again.

He will never be bored of me, I don't think. Ghost will want me forever–even when we are dead, because he cannot die, because he's already rotting inside.

You don't seem to mind your new position. No kneeling, no curtsying–your duty is on your back and on your side and on your stomach, presented for your husband, just for his pleasure, just for your own.

In all your life, you have never wanted this. You endured the burden of serving because you were at least needed this way. Marriage to you looked akin to death; when the veils fell over girl's faces, you never saw them again. They would be confined to their houses, made to spread their legs, forced to carry children they didn't want and die the slow death of giving their husbands everything they wanted while their dreams were buried alongside them.

Your dream is freedom. It always has been. Your dream is to do as you please, to go where you want to go, to say the things you want to say. There is an understanding here that you have, an opportunity that you could not see before. Before you had Ghost, you saw him as the thing in your way. He was the quicksand that would pull you under, the tide that sunk the earth, the dog that guarded his bone. But you know now, you understand, that Ghost doesn't have to be the wall in your way.

He is more animal than man, and in that fact alone, you feel power in your toes and something hungry knocking at the bone of your ribs, just waiting to come out.

Ghost will hold the sword. And you will hold the leash.

NEXT

[simplyholl]

A Night With The Winter Soldier

Summary: You’re sent to be Hydra’s test subject for a new serum.

Pairing: F. Reader x Winter Soldier Bucky

Warnings: Smut. 18+ Only. Minors DNI. Dark Bucky. Non con. Oral. Unprotected sex.

See My Masterlist Here

A/N: I know I don’t usually write for Bucky, but this idea has been stuck in my head for a long time. I’m just tagging my regular tag list, if you’re not into dark fics, please skip! ❤️

Fucked. That’s what you were or at least what you were going to be. You shake your head as you cover your skimpy lingerie with the matching robe your mother gave to you.

Your father is the head scientist for Hydra. He had been working on this experiment for years. He had created a serum that would cause Super Soldiers to want to reproduce. The end result would be a perfect Super Soldier baby. He finally perfected it. Who could be a better test subject than his daughter?

You begged him. You pleaded and cried. It was unfair to expect this of you. But he didn’t care how you felt. He said it was your duty to do as you were told. You didn’t want to make Hydra upset with your family, did you? You knew the horrors that awaited you if you refused. Your best friend, Lilly and her whole family disappeared three years ago when her father refused a command from Hydra. They were brutal and cruel. Sadly, you were used to it.

Hydra came first. Before yourself, before your family, your loyalty had to be unwavering. You knew it wasn’t really your father who had suggested it be you. Your mother told you it was one of the higher ups. He had seen you in your new sundress a few weeks ago and thought you would be perfect to carry the first Super Soldier baby.

It made you sick. How could they do this? You didn’t want to know what would happen if you refused. “At least, he is the strongest Super Soldier. This baby’s genes will be impeccable with the both of you for parents.” Your mother reassured you, as if it would help you feel better.

You weren’t naive. You and the baby would be monitored from the moment you got pregnant. As soon as you gave birth, the child would be ripped from your arms and watched closely. It wouldn’t really be yours.

You take the elevator to the thirteenth floor, heart racing wildly. You were scared. You had seen the Super Soldiers behind glass doors where you were protected from them. Now, you were being offered on a silver platter to the biggest baddest one, like a worm on a hook waiting for a fish to jump after them.

Two guards stand outside the door to the windowless room. Their eyes roam over your barely covered body. They smirk at you as they type in the code to let you in. “Good luck, princess. You’re going to need it.” They evilly laugh as the door opens. Slowly, you walk in, your breath catching in your throat as you hear the steel door bang tightly shut behind you.

The room is dimly lit. A leather chair in one corner, a bed pressed against the wall, there’s a table with a half worked puzzle on it. It was so dreary, your heart aches for the poor guy that called this room home. You walk over to the table, running your hand over the puzzle. That’s when you feel it. Even though you couldn’t see him, you’re not alone. He’s in here with you, hid in the dark corners somewhere. You turn around to find him staring at you.

The Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes, you had demanded to know his name before you did this. His dark hair hung in waves by his cheeks, his cold blue eyes focused on your body. He was beautiful. You weren’t used to seeing him without the black mask he usually wore. He was shirtless, his silver, metal arm catching your attention. You studied it. The way it looks like it was forcefully put on, the red star on his shoulder. He was always silent, brooding in the shadows. You had never been this close to him.

You reach for his face, wanting to feel him before all this started. His metal arm stops you, cold hand wrapping around your wrist. You squeak when he twists your arm behind your back, walking you toward the table.

He presses you against it, you feel his erection threatening to burst out of his black pants. One swipe of his free hand knocks the puzzle to the floor. Colorful pieces scatter all around you. He lifts you on top of the table, the cold surface making you gasp when your bare legs land on it.

Bucky holds you with his metal arm, the other one makes quick work of your flimsy robe. He grabs your breast through the thin fabric of your lingerie. You squirm under his touch as he pinches your nipple through the lace.

“You don’t know how bad I need this. Been a long time since I’ve had a pretty girl like you in my bed.” You’re shocked when he speaks to you. You had been warned that he wouldn’t talk to you at all. He takes a step back to look at you, zeroing in on your panties.

He pushes your back to the wall, commanding you to stay there. You obey, you didn’t want to upset him and make this worse for yourself. He holds your top in one hand, jerking the material. The sound of it’s ripping, startling you. He was crazy strong. The thought of being manhandled by him sounded better by the second.

Next was your panties, he stripped you of them quickly, pulling you by your legs to the edge of the table. He got on his knees before you, shoving his face to your core. He licks one fat stripe up your center, moaning as he tastes you. He swirls his tongue across your clit, you buck your hips up to get closer.

Bucky pushes you down with his metal arm, ensuring that you wouldn’t be able to move. You accept your fate, laying back as he laps at you. He fucks you with his tongue, his nose rubbing expertly against your sensitive nub. The band tightly wound in your stomach snaps as he drags his wicked tongue across your clit, sucking you between his lips. He doesn’t hold back his moans as your arousal floods his face.

When he emerges, his face is glistening because of you. He wipes it off with the back of his flesh hand. Bucky jerks you off the table, pointing to the cold, cement ground. “On your knees.” You sink down in front of him as he sheds his pants. You’re surprised he hadn’t already taken them off.

You shift on your knees, trying to get comfortable. He could at least offer you a pillow to kneel on or something. You look around, and spot the only one on his bed. You’re about to ask for it, when he pulls your hair roughly, jerking your head toward his throbbing cock. It was huge. The kind of big that would hurt. You open your mouth, trying to take all of him inside.

You choke and gag, spit dribbling down your chin onto your breasts as you struggle. He looks down at you, hand still tangled in your hair. Your jaw aches already and he’s just getting started. He thrusts his hips forward, pushing your head down simultaneously. Tears fill your eyes as he hits the back of your throat. You can’t help the sob that escapes you as he pulls out, only to forcefully push his way back in.

His thumbs follow the tears on your cheeks, your mascara pooling under your eyes making you look like a raccoon. “You look so pretty when you cry.” He coos, while looking at you adoringly. He thrusts three more times, your nails dig into his thighs, a silent plea to stop. He finally pulls out, collecting you from the floor and gently placing you on his bed.

He places one leg over his shoulder, lining himself up at your entrance. He pushes inside and it’s too much. “It’s- you’re too big.” You explain. Bucky moves your other leg, spreading you wider. “You’re gonna take all of it.” He grunts, wedging himself inside you, bottoming out with one thrust. He ignores your pained scream, leaning down to lick your fresh tears.

“So tight. So perfect. Just for me.” He praises in your ear. Finally, the pain subsides. Bucky feels incredible, his thick cock dragging against the spot that makes your head swim. A gush of arousal soaks him as he swirls his metal thumb in circles on your clit.

“Look at you, such a good girl, dripping all over my cock.” You moan, clenching around him, your long nails clawing his back, drawing blood as your second orgasm rips through you. His thrusts grow sloppy as you feel him go still inside you. His hot cum, drips down your legs as he withdraws himself from you.

Bucky swipes it with his index finger, rubbing it with his thumb. He brings it to your lips, you swirl your tongue around his long digit, loving the way he tastes. You’re caught off guard when his icy, metal hand collects as much cum as he can, stuffing it back inside you.

You twitch, trying to pull away from the cold hand on your heat. “Ah ah ah.” He scolds. He presses his cool thumb to your clit, toying with the oversensitive pearl. “You have to take every drop.” When he’s satisfied with his work, he makes you lay on your back so it doesn’t drip back out.

You close your eyes, the sweet promise of sleep taking over you. You are almost in dream land when you feel the familiar nudge of Bucky’s cock at your sore center. “What are you doing?” You ask, too tired to fight him. “I’m not finished with you yet, doll.” He smiles wickedly, snapping his hips to fill you again.

Tags

@lokisgoodgirl @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @cakesandtom @eleniblue @marygoddessofmischief @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @wheredafandomat @freegardenbanananeck @lokidokieokie @l0ki3000 @multifandom-worlds @alexakeyloveloki @ladymischief11 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @lamentis-10 @loz-3 @litaloni @lulubelle814 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @avengersfan25 @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @mybugabomlb @bunny24sstuff @luthien-elvenia-asher @gruftiela @asgards-princess-of-mischief @weirdothatwritess

[bogleech]

Many parasites takeover the minds and bodies of insects, spiders or other creatures, making them like zombies. You’ve listed some in spider-ween and other places. Do you know any parasites that take over bees? I know wasps lay their eggs in their larva, but haven’t really found anything about those that pilot a bee’s body.

Strepsipterans! Also frequently just called "Stylops"

These are the weirdest most alien insect group in existence. What you're seeing are the head ends of the mature females; their bodies are just bags of tissue that absorb nutrients from the host, so they no longer have any trace of limbs or wings and their flat little heads no longer have mouths or eyes.

The only reason the female's heads stick out of the host at all is because the head evolved into the end they mate with. The short-lived mature male is a very tiny flying thing (whose anatomy is unlike any other insect alive today - a totally unique type of wing, unique eye arrangement, we have NO idea what these evolved from, except for some loose connections to beetles!) who mates by breaking through the female's featureless armored face with his bladed genitalia and then he dies. And Strepsiptera can be found infecting all sorts of arthropods, even apparently some arachnids, but none of those arthropods really tend to sit still when a little tiny flying man tries to land on them, so the females usually do something to their hosts (we aren't sure what exactly) to make them slower and more complacent. Social Hymenoptera like bees are especially common hosts though, and when a worker bee or wasp is infected by stylops, she actually abandons her colony and her duties for extended periods of time to just perch in one place while the parasite broadcasts its mating pheromones. This is especially eerie from the bee's perspective; a worker bee is a female bee that wasn't allowed to become a queen and isn't "supposed" to be going around mating, but now she's sitting around waiting for a male just like any other bug that wants to be a mom. It's just not a male of her species and she's not the one who gets to reproduce. Is the parasite tapping into buried queen behavior? Does the bee's little brain think it's calling for a drone to help it start a new hive? Or does the parasite just make the bee a lazy slob who stops caring about her hive and just feels like chilling out on a flower all day? We might never know.

Here are those unique eyes of the male for anyone wondering. Not set in a fine multifaceted grid like in other insects, but clustered, still set in their own individual "sockets" like we see in much more ancient arthropods like trilobites! This suggests that Strepsipteran eyes date back to when insects were first beginning to evolve towards true compound eyes, but there still aren't many insects in the fossil record that have anything else in common with these animals. EDIT: oh yeah I forgot to include that these are in the children's book made by @revretch and I!

I did the rough pencil sketch of this page while Rev did the beautiful inks! I felt kids should know about these animals but I tried to explain it in the most kid-friendly way possible.

[darqx]

[It's going down] I'm yelling timber

Several doodles in this one!

❗️For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ

Everything is similar but she wears a dress version.

Yes (after becoming a Royal) but it's more of a "formaility" as he hasn't had any reason to use it yet. There's a lot of gaps since he relies more on mobility than brute force, and he can also rapidly fill in any areas with harder ichor if need be.

He used to work for the previous King as a Collector.

I think it depends, since he's a Royal now they tend to use some variation of their demon signs as an official "signature" so it might look like the first pic. His prior signature might look something like the second (fancy cursive).

Base: [x]

Rire's ichor tentacles are directly controlled by his consciousness/sub-consciousness so yes technically they could do such things XD But that is something that would have happened more when he was a child/learning how to use the ichor powers - he has such fine control now that the likelihood of it happening anymore is negligible.

...you could kiss them if you want I suppose, he does have some feeling through them lol.

I once described Rire's ichor as existing but not existing at the same time (ah, dichotomy haha). Basically if the ichor is not connected to the manifestation point on Rire's back all trace of it will eventually disappear. So that's handy in more ways then one :d

This post goes into more detail about the ichor consistencies:

Rire was born 973 years ago and was primarily raised by his mother after both his father and then later his stepfather died when he was a child/teen.

He would raise a child similarly to how he was raised. 🤔 YMMV whether this would be considered good parenting but he does have affection towards his own parents so there's that.

Well i did draw the baby!BTD in that same picture so...however i drew them as lol XD; Thanks muchly and keep at it!

Yes the years are the same. As stated in my BTD FAQ "I don’t know if you could classify what he feels as “love” in the same definition we are used to…" :d

Short answer: no.

Long answer: if you consider real world biology it would be like this

SOME species of demons are close enough to humans that they could reproduce with them. If the offspring is viable it's usually infertile like a liger (cross between a lion and a tiger) or a mule, though sometimes/rarely it could result in fertile offspring.

This works similarly between different demon species (different ones are more compatible with certain species compared to others etc), though the likelihood of fertile offspring is greater. Also depending on the species some genes are way more dominant so a child might end up basically being more or less one species type.

[An excerpt from a World War letter. Several similar letters have been documented from both Allies and Central/Axis Powers]

My dearest, I witnessed the most peculiar scene several days ago. Honestly I am not sure if it actually happened or if my mind was playing tricks on me. I was on my evening sentry duty over No Man's land when I saw him - a man, standing alone in the fog past the razor wire and amongst those poor souls neither side had managed to retrieve. Dearest, I swear that man had not been there a second ago! At first I thought this was enemy activity, but his uniform was clearly not German and neither was it one of ours - maybe the oddness is what stayed my tongue at the time. Out of a morbid curiosity I watched as he crouched near several bodies for a long moment - perhaps to pay his respects? - before walking off and disappearing out of sight. I am honestly surprised no one had shot at him! The next day there was a large shout as a grievously injured Johnson - whom was lost in No Man's Land after a failed trench raid - was suddenly within reaching distance just over our trench walls! It was a miracle! He was delirious and had no idea how he had made it back by himself, but mentioned a "General" who had offered help in his lowest moment. Clearly he was unwell as there were no Generals around...but dearest...I can't help but wonder --

[Johnson would survive his injuries and go on to become a well decorated soldier before returning home a hero. He would die 10 years later from "idiopathic anaphylaxis" with an odd look of fear on his face.]

I'm not sure why some of you think this but to put it as clearly as I can (since this is not the first time I've been asked this):

Cain is not my character.

I would hope that you guys understand that just because someone doesnt seem to be on the internet anymore it doesnt mean their character is suddenly an adoptable/up for grabs???

No - I have enough of my own characs I dont need to actually steal someone else's. (Also see above answer)

IMO in any universe Rire and Cain are like oil and water. So, i would say yes there is a way that they could get together but it would probably involve kidnapping and criminal confinement on one of their behalfs :d

I never read Warrior Cats so I have no particular thoughts about this lol.

Demon!Strade is a Gatoverse creation XD; - meaning Gato created him and so it has no correlation with my demon types. He would probably be like a level 4 or 5 maybe (aside from being LARGE, idk about his other power sets lol) and a clear case of needing an exorcism :d

Both of them are naturally charismatic (though, Demon!Rire can dial his up to noticeably unnatural levels). Human!Rire can be considered more manipulative and subtle than the demon version since in his 'verse "real world" consequences are actually things he has to consider. He is also a bit less interested in mind games than Demon!Rire.

-...gestures at humans, which he prefers to mess with for the sheer variety of reactions-

That is not part of his skill set, no :d Also much in the same way that animals with sharp teeth don't willy nilly bite their tongues off, demons with sharp teeth are like...used to having/biologically designed to have sharp teeth.

THANKING YOU \o/

It wouldn't lol. Also if i saw Rire IRL i would immediately pretend to have NOT seen him because that would mean that I've somehow had a hand in creating a tulpa.

[thomas-jefferson-miku-binder]

I hate Mel Medarda discourse because she’s an insanely well-written character with a lot of depth, but people almost always have only two things to say about her: 1) evil girlboss or 2) never did anything wrong. both make me want to krill myself 🦐

In front of you, there’s a female character born of war who rejects the physical brutality of her family’s name and the regime she was born under. except said violence never really goes away because if it ever does leave, nothing else would remain

This character can and will reproduce the hatred she has always known, just in more palpable ways, ways where she’s allowed to look away — or even better, ways where she’s so distanced from the action itself that where she “looks” doesn’t even matter

It’s also so interesting to think that maybe Mel doesn’t dislike physical violence because it’s “bad” but simply because she does not excel at it The thought that if Mel was maybe stronger or a more skilled fighter, she would be just like her mother tickles my brain. yaaaas Although, to me, that's a more "what-if" scenario than the actual characterization Arcane deceipts

By the way, I do not think Mel is a monster. She clearly does try to be what she considers a "good" person, but the violence she’s always known sometimes escapes (just like in the Viktor scene above — she does not like to be disagreed with).

Sooo insane that she’s a diplomat/politician because yes. what other job in the world would allow her to exercise that repressed violence while also giving her the sense of duty—of goodness.

Mel is stuck at the scene of the execution form her childhood. All she does is repeat the same scenario in her head with different outcomes: sometimes one where she saves the prisoner, another where she doesn’t hesitate (that being the keyword here) to kill her

This reverberation of the violence she suffered is just her manner of coping with that traumatic scene. a way of lessening the pain without actually confronting its cause.

I feel like I need to clarify that no, I do not think Mel is “evil”. I don’t even think she is intentionally manipulative (most of the time), I think she handles people the only way she knows how to, which is probably one of the only reasons she survived Noxus at all (as, to how I see it, there's only a certain extent your House will guarantee your protection in Noxus).

I know the fandom talks a lot about Viktor and Jayce being idealistic, but I rarely see people mention how Mel is just as romantic. Jesus- that’s literally a huge source of conflict with her mother: Ambessa thinks Mel is naive, which to her means weakness, which to her is unacceptable.

I hate that Mel Medarda is forced to be subjected to fandom spaces, because, no, she is not a small bean. no, she’s not an evil girlboss.

Do I believe she is a good person? I think she tries to be (even if her notion of goodness is so heavily aligned with honor, too), and that tells me a lot more about her character than how successful she is at it

[dukeofankh]

Trying to find progressive masculine community is so exhausting.

I've flipped through local men's groups, trying to find places to explore masculinity in a chill, progressive setting. First of all, they mostly seem to be modelled after AA, and like, my gender isn't a debilitating addiction, it's part of my identity actually, but also, the invite and description of the event have maybe a short paragraph tops actually waving vaguely in the direction of what the purpose of the group is, and then ten to twenty paragraphs breaking down the rules. One spent longer talking about the hand signals he would use to direct conversation than he did describing what the conversation would be about. Another had a full paragraph explaining that if the group thought you were evading what they thought your "real" problem was, they'd probably "call you to take accountability". Like...I don't even know who these people are yet and they're already letting me know that they view it as their right, no, their duty, to bully me into seeing things their way. Like, this is in the invite.

...and this warning is there instead of any sort of breakdown of like, I dunno. Whether you should be a feminist to show up. Whether it was a safe space for queer men. What the hell they wanted to talk about. Joining a men's space is on some level inherently submitting yourself to the authority of the leaders of that group, and you don't usually get a particularly clear breakdown of what the values and goals of those leaders are, because on some level the answer is always going to be "whatever I want"

And like, unfortunately you do need to filter men to build a men's space. You do need to remove or chastise men who act in ways that are toxic or disruptive or misogynistic. If you don't things turn into an MRA chapter pretty quick. But the sort of emergency powers that leadership takes on as a result of that...just kind of naturally end up reproducing masculine heirarchies.

MensLib, the only online community of progressive dudes talking about masculinity that I'm aware of, is...on Reddit. So there is a moderator system. In theory, a moderator is there to...moderate. This is a space where people are going to be talking, and mods are there to make sure things don't get too toxic or off topic.

The issue is that, on some level, that is technically a leadership position. In a sub trying to rehabilitate masculinity. So you've got a bunch of folks who view themselves as the leaders of this bastion of goodness standing against the depredations of the misogynistic internet, guiding the hapless smooth-brain neophytes towards The True Way.

In practice, this looks like 95 percent of the posts submitted for the subreddit being rejected. That isn't hyperbole. On average, the sub has about one new post per day. Almost all posts directly relating a personal experience are deleted immediately, in favour of articles written about masculinity in traditional media publications, which are considered more trustworthy than the sus lived experiences of the guys in the sub. The post I wrote here about the effect of purity culture on male sexual shame that's sitting at about 15K notes was based on a 10K word post I wrote for Reddit that was deleted because "I didn't cite any sources to prove that there is a link between purity culture and male sexual shame, or that my experience was anything more than anecdotal". I get comments deleted on a regular basis, and after paragraphs of protesting in modmail that my comments are both fully in line with feminism and not against the rules, the mods have just finally told me that the rules don't actually drive their actions as a team. They delete anything they feel leads the conversation in a direction they personally feel is unproductive. The rule cited at the time of deletion is really just the broad category of why they decided to hit the button that says nobody is allowed to read what I wrote.

The issue is kind of twofold. First of all, progressive men do not trust other men. A good dude knows that he, individually, is a good person, but literally any other man external to him is on thin ice. Do you really want to tie your wagon to that guy? Do you trust him, really? How do you tell the difference between a guy criticizing an article because it's factually incorrect and criticising it because a woman wrote it? Probably best to play it safe and delete it. Weight of the odds, he's probably a misogynist, right? This is the internet.

And thats the other half of it. If you view yourself as part of the leadership of The Good Guys, and you're getting hatemail from incels and facists all day, you get to the point where most of the time people challenge your authority it's because they're a terrible person. It is very, very easy to get to the point where someone challenging you is seen as evidence that they are a bad person. And now someone is challenging you (and therefore bad), in an environment where you are in charge, and you have a "make your opponent disappear" button.

I know. A Reddit mod was rude to me and now I'm butthurt. It's petty and stupid. I'm just feeling like there's nowhere else to really go, and I'm pretty despondent that literally every space I've seen that even looks like it might be for progressive men has the same deeply hierarchical structure and constant status-oriented squabbling as patriarchal spaces.

[dark-konohagakure2]

imagine succubus!reader lurking in the phantomhive manor to find a victim for the night cause a succubus gets their energy if they take control but ends up getting caught and noncon-ed by sebastian until she cant take it anymore and begs to stop

UGHHH I HAVE BEEN STUCK WITH THIS IDEA SINCE THE DAY I IMAGINED IT 😭😭 petition for more succubus!reader fics 😔

tw: noncon, succubus!reader, size difference, tail pulling, rough sex, overstimulation, humiliation, creampie

All characters depicted are 18+

Sebastian takes his duties as the butler of the Phantomhive household very seriously, so seriously in fact that he doesn't ever sleep, mainly because demons don't need to sleep, but the fact still remains that there is no butler more diligent than Sebastian. His keen senses are able to pick up on the smallest of noises, even the faintest creak of the floorboards won't escape his notice. If a pin dropping doesn't go unnoticed by Sebastian, then there is no way in hell that he won't notice the presence of another hellish entity in his midst.

He is equal parts intrigued and concerned. Sebastian knows he can effortlessly dispatch any threat towards his master, bit even so the thought of another demon being after him is quite concerning. Never one to waste his time dwelling on any worries he might have, Sebastian will quickly do his part as a butler by apprehending the uninvited guest.

It's comically easy for Sebastian, he's not called a devil of a butler for nothing, he's able to use his superior strength to yank the little demon over to him when she's unaware, grabbing her by the pointy tail, which makes her hiss out in pain like a cat. Sebastian likes cats, even the ones with claws, but he sadly can't pet her, not when she's been such a bad girl as to even attempt to endanger his master.

Sebastian knows precisely how to deal with a naughty little succubus like herself, her kind feed off the sexual energy and desires of men, so he'll give her exactly what every succubus wants, he'll give it to her until she's begging him to stop. It's a fitting punishment for the demonic intruder, and it finally gives Sebastian the opportunity to stop feigning his humanity, even if just for a short while.

"Naughty thing, did you truly believe you could intrude oh my master's property without consequence? Oh how adorable~ I'll be sure to give you something to remember before sending you back to our home~"

His eyes are glowing unabashedly now, the glowing red orbs now having a feral intensity to them as he starts teasing the lesser demon, yanking on her tail roughly as he exposes her holes to his hellish gaze, teasing her sensitive pussy lips mercilessly before he decides to have his fill of her. Sebastian hasn't had a good fuck in a while, and certainly never with another demon that was aware of his true nature, so he's going to savor this rare treat.

Being centuries old, Sebastian is well versed in the art of making somebody come undone around his cock, whether they want to or not. His hips will slam against her from behind, his balls slapping against his ass while he fucks her raw, pulling on her tail like a bully pulling on the braids of a girl he likes. Sebastian's cock is long and thick, even in his human form, so it'll ram against her oversensitive womb with every thrust, forcing her into one mind breaking orgasm after the other.

Demons typically can't reproduce with one another, so Sebastian can cum inside of her to his heart's content without a care in the world, and he won't be satisfied with cumming inside of her just once, he's going to breed her until she's begging him to stop, and for hours after that too. It won't take long for her to go from confident and rude to whining and pleading with him to show mercy, but nothing will come of those pleas aside from her receiving even more mockery and even more loads shot into her already overstuffed womb.

He finds her reactions and pleading to be both adorable and pitiful, not to mention ironic; a creature who feeds off of sex now begging him to stop fucking her, her impish pussy overflowing with cum and weakly gripping his cock, fucked loose from the brutal pounding she's getting. He definitely won't be stopping anymore despite her pleas, after all, lesser demons make lovely fucktoys.

"Oh my~ begging already, little one? How sad, your kind usually loves getting ravished so, you truly are a disgrace from all demonkind~! How cute~!"

But alas, he can't keep this adorable little kitten as a house pet as much as he wants to, his young master would never allow such a thing, but Sebastian takes pride in the fact that he successfully subdued another interloper, and she won't mess with him again, that is unless she wants her holes destroyed again.

[ladymercysletters]

NSFW Alphabet - Aegon Targaryen

Word count: 3,198

A/N: NSFW 18 + Only!

Requests are open. and if it isn't already clear, Aegon is a happy sad boy and I wanna bit his butt cheeks.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He needs a lot of aftercare, especially when you’ve been domming him. He gets extra cuddly when you’ve stretched out his orgasms and worn him out. Sometimes you do that just to empty his head of all the worries of the day. He loves to snuggle up to your side, or on top of you, with your arms wrapped around him to protect him as he comes down. When he’s good and ready you’ll sit him up gently and give him sips of water. He’d prefer wine but you insist on hydration. His happy little face as you stroke his hair from his eyes and kiss his temple lets you know he’s coming back down to earth.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Obviously Aegon thinks the actual sun shines out of his cock. In terms of giving you pleasure it is his favourite part of himself, but he also thinks he has a lovely arse. He knows this because you have commented on it on more than one occasion. Just how round and perky it is; jiggling across the room when he goes to get a towel to clean you with, and you can’t help but stare. He loves your breasts in turn - He could watch them bounce as he fucked you forever. Aegon loved all your curves but he loved your breasts the most, holding them; pinching them; licking and suckling on them or just resting his head between them as you stroke his hair- and he can hear your heart beating, just for him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Aegon was always taught to reproduce; that is what sex was for and as the oldest male heir it was his duty to carry on the family name. So, he had made it his mission is like to cum anywhere except inside a woman- and he found great pleasure in doing so. That was until he saw you with the babe of one of the ladies of court. He had seen her through her pregnancy and saw the way you would gently place your hand on her stomach to feel the baby kick. That night he thought of how you would look with a child – all swollen with his baby, a visible sign you were his. From then on, he’d be obsessed with getting you pregnant. You’d try all sorts of different positions, each one he would close his eyes and think of how his seed could take this time, opening his eyes only to look down and see where you connected. When you do fall pregnant, he becomes even more obsessed with you; during council meetings or even just as he sees you walk in the gardens he can’t look away from you – leaving whatever he is doing as soon as possible to be with his ethereal wife and their child.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Aegon doesn’t mind you knowing, but he’d die if anyone found out he enjoyed wearing your underclothes. Not everything, just some of your smaller clothes – well he likes the way they cling to his arse cheeks, and maybe your stockings, they’re softer than his and they come just up to his thighs. He’s only worn your stays once, just to try them and complete the look – but he prefers his chest bare so you can play with his nipples and run your nails down his chest.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Aegon is of course very experienced when it comes to sex. Maybe not so experienced when it comes to sex with feelings. So when he falls in love with you, he didn’t expect it to make him feel like a green boy once again. Even a soft touch to his arm as you walked together sent a thrill through him; he would watch your lips at dinner as you bit through a peach, the little dribble of juice escaping your lips making him twitch as to catch it.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

His favourite position varies. He loves to have you over any surface he can; breakfast table; balcony overlooking the training grounds; he even once took you for a ride on Sunfyre and made love to you out in the open fields half way between Tumbleton and Goldengrove. He may have also got you ready for him on dragon-back on the way there.  His other favourite, should he be pushed to choose, is pressed up against a wall – or door he’s not fussy. He loves the to take you like that he has to be so close to you, you have to support yourself on him and he can watch you fall apart on him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Aegon loves to make you laugh. Knowing he is the one to put a smile on your face – even in the most intimate of moments. Whether it be you bursting into fits of giggles when he loses his footing on the bed and nearly slips off, or when his fingertips lightly trail up your rib cage, prompting a light stuttering giggle to leave your lips. Aegon may love those the best, your soft voice is like a balm to any worries he has.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Much like Aemond his pale hair is so fair it hardly warrants taming. He’s slightly courser than Aemond and maybe a bit wilder, but you seem to like how his hair rubs against you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Aegon usually treats sex as a fun activity, not necessarily an intimate one. He’s much more about you taking your pleasure from each other than anything else. There are times when he looks to you for intimacy, that sometimes end up in sex. More often than not it will come in the form of Aegon crawling into bed with you in the evening, soaking in your warmth and wrapping your body around him. You know when he’s troubled because he makes himself smaller for you. (writers note: I’ve made myself sad now but I promise I’ll write an intimate sex with Aegon fic soon.)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Aegon loves to masturbate. Don’t get me wrong – he would choose you over his fist any day; but he can’t deny that getting himself off has never been difficult. One of his favourite things, now you are married, is to wait for you in your chambers in the evenings when you have been kept late by your own duties. He’ll strip himself naked and arrange himself on the bed for you, eagerly awaiting your return. When you get back you send the servants away, at the late hour, and make your way to your rooms by yourself. Only to be greeted by your husband, naked as his name day and lit only be the light of the candles. He keeps his doe eyes lazily on you as he languidly strokes his cock. You can see as you enter the room and loosen the cloak from around your neck that he’s been at it a while; the pink tip already shining with pre-cum and he’s definitely been hard for a while judging by the firm look of his balls and the strain in his thighs.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Speaking of which, he loves when you’re in charge. Domming him and forcing him to be your good boy sends him into the clouds. Has a slight mommy kink but prefers to call you mistress or My Queen. He loves to get himself ready for you in the evening. Waiting in your chambers for you to come back and do whatever you desire to him. Though he doesn’t enjoy being slapped in the face (see N!) he would happily admit to sometimes acting out and being a bit of a brat, just so you’d put him over your knee and spank him. It's yet another reason he knows you love him bum; the way you squeeze and stroke over the soft firm skin of his has him purring in your lap. Then the sharp slap, or crack of a wooden spoon, over his backside  makes his hips jolt into your lap and his stiff cock rub deliciously over your thigh.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

His favourite place to have you is outside. Where anyone could but no one does see you. He takes you on dragon-back as far away as you can go with ease. Landing in a golden field where the grain is high and Sunfyre can blend in easy at a distance – laying you down in a field of wheat when he’s feeling romantic and taking you under the beating sun, only shaded by the wing of his dragon.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

I’ve said before he loves to watch your mouth. He’s in love with your soft pillowy lips; the way they stretch into a smile and form perfect vowels as you speak. He watches you eat and lick the juice of a fruit from your fingers and hands and he can’t resist you. He approaches you from behind, hand over your cinched waist, and subtly but strongly leads you off for a while.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He hates having his face slapped. His mother used too and still often does when she’s angered – slap him, as does his grandsire, and his father before. It’s a sharp sting that usually comes with the confirmation of what he’d always know, he’s worthless. Stupid. He hates the thought of you hating him enough to slap him as well, and he’d never want to make you cry either. The thought of wither of those things brings a lump to his throat.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Aegon loves oral – giving and receiving. He loves when you ride his face or hold him against you as he works at your core, licking and sucking at your folds like they produce the nectar of life. He’d never deny, in fact he’d shout it from the highest point I the Keep if it wouldn’t ruin your honour, that he’d never cum so hard as the first time you sucked on his cock. You’d heard other women of court say their husbands enjoyed it so you thought you’d try. One morning, whilst your new husband was laying peacefully by your side, you sunk down under the covers of your marriage bed and licked him from root to tip. Only when you enveloped his tip into your warm mouth and sunk down as far as you could go did Aegon rouse from sleep. A deep groan rumbled from his chest as his lifted the sheet to see your head bobbing on him slowly. A sight he never wants to forget, especially when he shot his seed down your throat as you stared up at him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

His pace is usually quite fast. He’s impatient and wants the rush of ecstasy for both of you now. There’s only been a few times that he likes the pace slow. When you’re teasing him, or when he just needs to be close to you – feel you beneath him and have your arms around him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Aegon loves a quickie. Loves how you can both get your pleasure from each other quickly and carry on as if nothing ever happened. But he knows. He can almost imagine the way his seed slips out of you and drips slowly down your thighs. Sometimes he can see it in the way you squirm, or walk slightly off centre.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Aegon loves to take risks. If you’re down for it, so is he. Whether it be a different place to fuck you in, or something new you’re bringing into the bedroom. He’s almost always down to experiment.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

On average Aegon can go a solid two rounds a night. If you’re both completely pissed out of your box its probably more like to be one – if you make it to the end without both passing out in a sweaty mess. There was one day where Aegon had you a grand total of 6 times. Still a shining record in his eyes. First thing in the morning, the light was illuminating your body perfectly and he couldn’t help himself. Then again at the breakfast table, or rather over the breakfast table. The third time you had hidden yourself under the table when Aemond and Criston had come in to talk to him, about what neither of you could quite remember; but he did remember how he had to shove several grapes in his mouth not to moan when he shot his seed down your throat - or how, as soon as they left, he pulled you up to your feet immediately and sucked another orgasm from between your thighs. The fourth was later that afternoon when he found you in the garden, then again right before dinner with his family – up against the door. The final time that evening was his favourite. You snuck away briefly just after dinner; gripping your arm as he dragged you along the corridor, and into his mothers bedroom.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Any and all. He’s always down to experiment with whatever new thing his men whip out for a laugh. He’ll laugh along with them ,gloating at how or why anyone would ever need a leather cock; or swinging round a whip one of them brought back from the silk streets; neighing ridiculously when its cracked. Though behind closed doors he’s only too eager to show you. At first he’d brooch it lightly, not seriously asking anything of you but testing the waters. When you ask him, over a cup of wine, if there is something he would like to try he can only say yes. And there’s so much he wants to try.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves to tease you, or more taunt you. He knows that if he riles you up enough you’ll take what you want from him, and he’s a lazy little sod so he loves when you take it from him. When he does tease you though, he giggles at your stroppy demands to stop and just make you cum. His delirious joy at seeing you fall apart for him, watch the pleasure and torment wash over your face and knowing it is his doing, oh boy!

What he doesn’t expect is how much he enjoys you teasing him. He’s a prince of the realm, a slightly spoilt prince of the realm; who has never really had the word no said to him by anyone. So when you’re riding him like a champion one evening, both of you hurtling towards your ends, he almost screams when you stop dead in your tracks, staring at him, nails raking lightly up and down his bare chest as he takes deep breaths. He’s begging instantly, even if he doesn’t realise it. “Why have you stopped? Please, I was so close” he’s whimpering and gripping your thick rump. A sly, wide grin spreads across your face as you clench around him. A gasp leaving his lips as you do. “ Naughty girl.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Naturally he’s not very loud – to everyone’s surprise. He mainly whimpers and begs when you ride him, and even when he’s on top of you – small growls that if you weren’t in the moment may remind you of an angry kitten. That’s not to say he’s never loud. When you’re romping about outside he can ramp it up when there’s a chance someone else will hear you both… cheeky little shit.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

You got Aegon to eat fruit by introducing it into the bedroom. Now you catch him happily sitting on his balcony, swinging his legs as he looks over his kingdom, plucking cherries from a bowl and chewing gladly on them. You smile lovingly as you watch your husband, turning back into the room. What you don’t see is him launching those cherry pits over the balcony and onto the training field, straight down onto Aemond and Criston Cole.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His cock is on the thicker side, but not bulbous. The stretch is just enough to shock you a little every time you’re together. He’s got a decent length – around 6 inches and he takes on such a lovely cherry red flush when he’s desperate. You love teasing him just to see it flush and throb for you, and the pretty sounds that fall from Aegon’s mouth to accompany this don’t hurt either.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s Aegon – the boys like a little wind-up kids toy. And it only gets worse when your small pregnant belly starts to show. He loves how it starts off as a little round bump, just barely showing through your layers and folds of dress fabric. Then you start getting bigger; even though you cannot see your bump from behind he can see the way you start to waddle -and it lights something inside of him. He comes up behind you and winds his arms around your body, gently cradling your bump, with his chin resting on your shoulder. At first you thought he was just becoming soft; he’d caress your bump and press his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply. But then he’d also press his groin against you, lightly, so as not to raise suspicion. He’d whisper the filthiest things to you – what he wants to do to you, or how wonderful your bottom looks h=now that your dress pulls just that bit tighter. You feel like you spend more of your pregnancy in bed than you did your honeymoon.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Falls asleep so quickly. Its adorable the way he’ll try and keep his eyes open for you as you lay in bed together. You can see as his consciousness fades; his mouth slipping open as soft snores leave his lips. As he’s drifting further and further off he’ll reach out for you, grabbing like a babe to snuggle up against you. He’s distraught if, in the morning, you are not there with him.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

please. please i need house to call me a faggot and a tranny while balls deep in me. please.

YES ANONS GLORY TO THE LAW OFFICES OF SLAMMIN SLAMMIN MCGILL 🫡⚖️

warning: transphobia, homophobia, slurs, degradation, humiliation, fucking medical ethics violations i guess, hair-pulling, drug abuse, mentions of pregnancy, misgendering kinda, not to doxx myself but im using my own medical info for ease of writing specifics

anatomical terms: vagina/pussy/cunt

“Okay, current medications. Let’s see what’cha got…”

Clinic duty was never enjoyable for House. It was really just a slew of NPC’s for him to verbally abuse until someone showed something interesting. A weird rash, an inexplicably high fever, or, in your case, a discrepancy in your suspected genital anatomy.

“This… says you have a birth control implant. So either someone fatfingered your actual prescription on the computer, or—“

“It’s… accurate.” You replied sheepishly, lifting your arm to highlight its location. “I actually do have one.”

The doctor looked perplexed, almost angrily so. Like you’d just spat in his face and dared him to call your bluff. He aggressively limped towards you and gripped your arm entirely too hard. With his other hand, his two fingers prodded around for the implant until he got it.

“Well!” He scoffed, rolling the stick underneath your skin, pressing on either edge to seesaw it within you. “Thank god you’re not reproducing. Imagine some poor preschooler having to bring your fruity little ass in for Mother’s Day. Kid would get turbo-bullied on the playground. Good on you for being responsible.”

He hobbled back over to the computer to return to your file, leaving you stunned, speechless, and sputtering. What is this guy’s fucking problem? What in the actual ever-loving fuck did he just say to you? And why was it... kinda hot, in all honesty?

“Ah, there it is. Testosterone cypionate. Jumped the gun on that one. If only I had scrolled down. Alphabetization makes fools of us all…” He continued reading the details of your dosage. “0.6 milliliters biweekly, self-administered intramuscular injections. Ooh, so you’re a masochist too.”

Your reaction was an unfortunate reflex, on par with if he’d tapped your knee with that dinky little hammer, only much more embarrassing. You had no chance of stopping the pathetic whine that escaped your vocal cords. “Mm~!” You gasped, then coughed, hoping to sufficiently cover the sound, and shouted, “What?! N-No, no I’m not!”

“Oh, please, you are not a good liar.” House tapped his cane on the exam table, right between your legs. Not touching you, not even close. He just wanted to imply that he could. “To administer a masculinizing dose of testosterone in patients assigned female at birth, they can either self-inject, or they can rub themselves with what’s essentially lotion. So why would you choose stabbing yourself in the leg unless you want to stab yourself in the leg? And why would you want to stab yourself in the leg? Because you’re a pain slut. Am I wrong?”

No. No, he was not. Well, that isn't why you chose injections, but you were a pain slut. Of course, you didn’t wanna admit that to him. That’d just make you even more pathetic. Oh well, it’s not like you needed to say anything anyway. The mortified look on your face was proof enough.

“So! What brings you in today? Bruised butt-cheeks from your Daddy taking you over his knee too hard?”

You rolled your eyes at his snarky comment, trying to stick up for yourself and what little shreds of dignity you had left. “My STD test results.”

“Oh, sure. Figures you would need to know that. Can’t have Typhoid Mary taking backshots at the circuit party. What types of sex are you having?”

Used to these questions every time you get tested, you rattled them off nonchalantly. “Vaginal, oral, and anal.”

“Not letting anything go to waste, huh? I like it. How many sexual partners do you have currently?”

Wait a minute. You just needed to hear the results. What’s this guy doing? “Uh… didn’t the nurse already ask me these questions?”

“I’m sure someone did. I just want to hear you answer them.”

You crossed your arms and stared straight through him, silently, baring an expression that sufficiently said cut the shit without the need for any verbal assistance.

Dr. House pouted. “You’re no fun.” He opened the folder he had came in with, what he was initially supposed to give you. He had just been dilly-dallying to kill time. “All negative. You’re clean. Well, in this one aspect, you’re clean. Morally, you’re about the furthest thing from it.” Again, he smacked his cane on the table, in between your legs, this time in rhythm. “Just. My. Type.”

You squirmed, trying to shimmy backwards away from his cane. You cast your eyes downward, obscuring the profuse blush on your face. He didn’t need to know that he was getting to you. Still, it was flattering. You cleared your throat. “Uh… Thank you? I guess?”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and one more thing. I saw that your chart lists recreational ketamine usage. Is that true?”

“Yeah, actually. Why do you ask? Are you gonna tell me to quit?”

“Ugh, please. I’m a doctor, not a narc. Here, watch.” Dr. House reached into his pocket and took out a jar of pills. He opened it, poured a ridiculous amount of pills into his palm, and dry swallowed them. “See? Now we’re both junkies! But, you do have a point. It’s my Hippocratic duty to look out for my patients’ well-being. The street supply of ketamine can be mixed with dangerous additives like fentanyl or crack, which would put you at risk for overdosing. You want a scrip for the good shit?”

Oh? On god? Ethics and potential felony charges be damned. The weirdly hot doctor wants to hook you up with substances? Weapons grade ketamine? You’d be an idiot to pass it up. “Oh! Sure, thank you!”

“It does come with a pretty hefty co-pay though.”

“Oh…” Your face dropped. “How much?”

“Bend over.”

—

“Ahhh, modern medicine is amazing, isn’t it?”

Dr. House sighed in pleasure as he rutted into you from behind. Your legs were cramping, held apart in an awkward position. Your arms were cold against the metal slab of the table, and so was your face, buried within them to cover your shame and soundproof your moans. Apparently, that “copay" he mentioned was just a euphemism. Some dumb excuse to get you to trade pussy for premium drugs. And you were dumb enough to do it. Just his lucky day. Keep your face down, keep your mouth shut, and just let him use you. The high will be well worth it.

"Hey, faggot," He spat, and yanked you up out of the darkness by your hair. Your eyes stung, shocked by the fluorescent clinic lighting. "I'm talking to you. Are you always this rude to everyone who fucks you?"

"S-Sor—Sorry! I'm sor—fuck! Fuck!"

"Shut the fuck up, whore," House clamped his hand over your mouth, holding you even tighter against him. You couldn't move, you couldn't speak. Your only function was getting him off. "If we get caught, you don't get your ket. Now, mmm, fuck yeah, tell me... Isn't modern medicine amazing?"

Without the ability to verbally agree, you nodded.

"Do you know why I'm saying it's amazing?"

You shook your head.

He chuckled devilishly before growling in your ear,

"Because I can blow my load in a tight little tranny boy's cunt without worrying about knocking him up."

[aliciavance4228]

Was Athena a Feminist or a Female Misogynist?

Athena is perhaps the one most famous goddesses from Greek Mythology, and was for a very long time considered a good role model for women and a feminist due to the fact that she's a smart woman who can fight in battles. However, there are also a lot of people who claim that she is in fact a female misogynist and consider her to be the original "pick-me girl" or "I'm not like the other girls" girl. And the fact that she's seen besides male heroes most of the time or the myths of Medusa and Arachne doesn’t make this situation any better.

And the very first problem in this equation is that people are using a lot of modern terms (and a modern mentality in general) in order to label a figure that was firstly mentioned thousands of years ago. So there's a LOT to unpack here.

The first mentions of Athena come from mycenaean mythology. Back then the place that later became Athens surpringly had a matriarchal view on society, which would explain why Athena as a female figures isn't depicted in a traditionally feminine way. But years have passed, and things have changed a lot both socially and culturally. Athens, despite of being one of the most developed cities from Ancient Greece, had a very patriarchal view on society, to the point where even the other cities considered it to over exaggerate. In order to understand just how misogynistic athenians were, they believed not only that the woman is a disfigured version of the man, but that men could find a way to reproduce themselves without the help of women and that the female is nothing but a vessel when it comes to reproduction.

The thing is that, while a lot of things changed in the Athens in time, the goddess that was the patron of that city remained the same. So the question that naturally comes is: If women are inferior to men, then why is our patron deity a goddess? And so, the only play which specifically depicts Athena as a female misogynist appeared: Eumenides. This play was obviously written by a male Athenian, and its pure intention is to answer to that question. In the Eumenides, Athena says this thing:

It is my duty to give the final judgment and I shall cast my vote for Orestes. [735] For there was no mother who gave me birth; and in all things, except for marriage, whole-heartedly I am for the male and entirely on the father’s side. Therefore, I will not award greater honor to the death of a woman who killed her husband, the master of the house. [740] Orestes wins, even if the vote comes out equal.

As you can observe from this quote, the dialogue is ment to confirm the ancient athenian perspective about reproduction, as well as their views on women in general. Despite the fact that Metis was supposed to be Athena's mother since she was pregnant with her when Zeus ate her, in this play she is completely erased and Athena has one single parent figure: Zeus.

In other words, Athena was clearly a product of the society that worpshipped her; a society that believed that traits such as high intellect or strenght cannot be attributed to women. It is up to you guys to decide wheter the Eumenides is canon to the rest of Greek Mythology or not.

However, aside from this particular play, Athena shows no ill-will towards women purely for their gender. She had a very close relationship with Pallas to the point where she even takes her name after she killed her by accident (Thank you, Zeus!), and acted as the big sis towards Artemis and Persephone, as it is suggested in Homeric Hymns to Demeter.

Furthermore, if you ever read the Iliad then you would observe that her interactions with mortal women are very different compared to those with Medusa or Arachne from Roman Mythology.

In the Iliad, Athena gifts Penelope in handicrafts, wiles, and storytelling, making Penelope an anti-Arachne due to the fact that she isn't punished by the goddess for her talents, but rather blessed for them.

Athena has endowed her above other women with knowledge of fair handiwork and an understanding heart, and wiles, such as we have never yet heard that any even of the women of old knew, of those who long ago were fair-tressed Achaean women— [120] Tyro and Alcmene and Mycene of the fair crown—of whom not one was like Penelope in shrewd device…

At the same time, we have the story of Cassandra and how Athena avenged her. Cassandra was brutally raped by Ajax the Lesser in her temple. She asked Athena for revenge, telling her what happened to her. Athena was absolutely livid, sent a storm to wreck the Achaeans' boats when they failed to kill Ajax, then destroyed his ship near the Whirling Rocks and left him to die, or lifted him in the sky during a storm and impaled him with her father's thunderbolt. At this point, Cassandra is an anti-Medusa, because she was avenged instead of being punished for being raped. Furthermore, in the original greek myths Athena herself was about to be raped by Hephaestus at some point. She was very aware of the fact that there's a difference between a woman who had sex on her own will and one that didn’t consent to it, so it makes no sense why she wouldn't help a rape victim.

Medusa and Arachne were later additions by Ovid, and their stories were anti-Authority Propaganda.

So instead of quickly coming to any sort of conclusion and deciding wheter or not Athena was a Feminist or a Misogynist, perhaps people should understand the fact that the situation was way more complicated as she was nothing more than a character that was depicted both according to the societal and personal views ancient greeks had on women (which were more or less different depending on the century and the poet), and that the answer is way more complicated than we think.

[el121a]

Being Elijah's Wife would include

Your flirtatious and magnetic confidence lingered in the memories of those you met, making you a topic of conversation long after the event had ended.

1 word to describe you would be genuine.

Elijah would never tell you, but even though it was too dangerous for a human to accompany him, he believed you made him look better and enjoyed having you around.

You are Elijah's pride.

Being Marcel's friend, you navigated the supernatural world with grace and charm.

Even when you're mad at Elijah, you can't help but believe in him. "Elijah has re-constructed diplomacy to bitchy insults and it still works, so… Yeah, I think he’s got this."

You may have not been a vampire, but you knew how to take care of one.

You were warm and approachable but commanding, a perfect balance that captivated those around you.

You and Elijah would work out together, finding entertainment in witnessing what a vampire could do.

Being the closest to Kol and Davina, you bridged the gap between the Mikaelsons and their extended family.

Being a mother figure to Kol, and of course Davina now that they're married.

You're just as much of a fashionista as he is, You wore only the finest. Picky is an understatement . No zippers,glitter, or anything that looked cheap to you.

Elijah was possessive of you since you were his greatest treasure.

Having children with Elijah after a thousand years of not being able to reproduce was a blessing and a testament to your unique bond.

You didn't care to insult anyone like your husband did, but your sharp wit was a force to be reckoned with.

Elijah is a sex god in your eyes- or anyone's of reason, and you're not shy about expressing it to his praise kink.

Elijah is busy, but you take on some of his responsibilities willingly, understanding the weight of his duties.

At first, he was afraid to ask for sex, but that notion quickly faded as he realized your desires matched his.

Elijah always buys you flowers on your monthly dates, a tradition that never fails to make you feel cherished.

He married the most gorgeous person in the world — you! And he tells you it's his biggest feat, a sentiment that never fails to bring a smile to your face.

You and Elijah share great laughs, finding joy in the simplicity of each other's company.

You teased him for losing his Viking demeanor to a suit during sex, and he's gotten less snobby trying to prove himself to you. Everyone has noticed, but no one will ever know why.

You both walk around the quarter at night, immersing yourselves in the timeless charm of New Orleans.

He's comfortable being a vampire around you.

You both read and write together, creating a world where words are your shared language.

After your showers, he braids your hair into Viking braids for the night or the rest of the day, a small intimate ritual.

And you braid his, a gesture that signifies the intertwining of your lives.

You guys cook together. Taking your time and talking about your day or upcoming day with him. The most relaxing part of your day as his Wife.

You knew him since you were a teen, so you feel like you know him in and out.

He's mostly submissive, except in bed. He tries to be, but he just can't keep his hands off you.

You didn't drink vervain because you felt that to be an insult to your husband, trusting him completely. You were an amazingly powerful sorcerer though.

Elijah fell inlove with you becasue of your love of Ideas, always having critiques, theories and your philosophical rants encouraging him to talk. How you listened to him like no other.

You created another type of magic for vampires in your studies of the supernatural because the human sacrifices weren't cutting it for you — pun intended.

When you first came back into his life, he was scared to love you because you were all he owned. Nothing Klaus had. By loving you, you taught him how to love himself. Congrats to you.

He has a secret breeding kink, One that you take advantage of. Along with his sir, Mr, and teaching kink. Nothing too wild, He's more of a romantic.

He grew a stubble for you when you told him you thought it made him look more like a DILF, embracing his role of a father.

Elijah doesn't want you on the tip of your toes to kiss him, so he lifts you effortlessly, creating a height equality you both relish.

He's your best friend, and he can say the same about you — a companionship that transcends time and immortality.

[himezoro]

their reaction to hearing a famous love song written for you ! (with luffy and zoro)

After a long hiatus I’m finally back to writing!! I’m very sorry for my absence and hope this fun drabble will bring you joy (just to make you wait for drabbles with deeper themes haha). I had the idea on the subway on the way to work when listening to music, feel free to use any music you like from any group/singer/rapper, and feel free to share it in the comments <3

i used kpop songs because I was listening to this playlist at the same time lmao.

Luffy – Gravity by EXO

He saw Nami, Usopp and Chopper singing loudly and dancing to catchy music and decided to join. Luffy loves having fun and genuinely thought the song to be good, and these vocals? Impressive!

He enjoyed reproducing the choreo and singing to the lyrics on display and had the time of his life. His flexible nature made it easy for him to get the moves right, but his energy resulted in him bumbing into his crewmates, stepping on their foot and punching them in the face.

Kept on calling your name to show you his moves, his bubbly attitude trying to catch your attention ruining the choreography Usopp took very seriously.

When he hears Nami say this love song was written for you, he suddenly stops, Chopper tripping on his feet at the sudden stop.

He thought the song was great, and that it was cool you had your own song!!!

Yet, he feels like it was something he should do for you. Considering he loved you a lot more than anyone, and that anyone includes the one that wrote that song in homage to you, he simply knew it was his duty to write one for you as well.

It did not matter that the lyrics he just heard made it clear to the world the writer’s feelings for you were real and that you two probably shared history. All that mattered to him was the fact that standing next to him as future King of Pirates, would be you.

So in the middle of his fabulous performance, he ran away and asked Brook for help, for Usopp’s greatest pleasure.

Comes back a few hours later with a whole new arrangement he sings in front of the whole crew with the scratchiest voice ever, but with an amount of pride, sincerity and love that could be heard to the depth of the ocean.

Needless to say you had to quickly shut him up with a hug or else he would have awaken the dead.

Zoro – Eyes, nose, lips, Taeyang.

He was fed up with Usopp, Luffy and Chopper’s karaoke with Nami’s lovesick playlist. It felt like hours and he was trying to sleep.

(Yes it is the middle of the day, but it is the perfect time for a nap and hearing the lousy trio was giving him night terror.)

You could feel his grumpiness from below the crow’s nest and debated going up to ease his pain but decided not to, to avoid having a fuming Zoro to deal with.

When the bridge of the song hit and Luffy tried hitting the high notes alongside Nami that decided to join in, this was the last straw for our swordsman.

He got down angrily and stormed towards the deck where the now quartet performed and turned off the music, only realizing it only triggered his friends’ energy more as they simply went acapella on the song.

Sighs in exasperation and starts walking away when he hears Nami say, “Gosh, (Y/N) is so lucky to have had a guy writing this for her. It’s iconic. Guys, let’s sing it again!!.”

His already bad mood just got worse. Not only the nightmare would go on again, but this stupid song was written for you? Such a pathetic sad love song was written for you? How weak could this man be to weep on the international entertainment scene as he sung for you? Making a show out of himself, how preposterous.

Would throw the speaker overboard if it weren’t Nami’s and would have to pay it back.

Keeps on thinking about the “pathetic song” on his way back up to the crow’s nest and as he laid down on his hammock. Zoro is far from being insecure indeed. He knows you cover him with a love so unique and special, it was bestowed for him. Yet, he could not help but thinking about how he had never been able to express his feelings for you with… this much words and nuances. Hell, he can’t barely remember the last time he ever told you he loved you with words, and had he even said it at all ? And with a love expressed so loudly, maybe your past history was more meaningful to you than the one you’re sharing right now ?

Surprises himself overthinking.

If you decided to hop on the crow’s nest to spend some time with him, be prepared for a needy boyfriend that aches for your touch, reassurance and mostly, to tell you how much you mean to him (but not by singing, that’s still a no.)

[ccastellans]

love letters.

luke castellan x gn!reader

SUMMARY: luke castellan decides to give you a love letter during a difficult day.

AUTHORS NOTE: no usage of y/n (just “reader” insert), this is very unedited, i haven’t written in a few months so don’t judge me 😭😭

————————————————————————

it was an incredibly hot day in camp half blood, and of course they chose strawberry picking as the activity of the day.

the scorching heat was already keeping you on edge, but it just so happens that nothing seemed to be working in your favor today.

you had accidentally dropped your bucket and spilled all of the strawberries you had managed to pick so far. and to top it all off, some of the other campers were being particularly pushy and rude, making it impossible to simply relax and enjoy the activity.

as the strawberry picking went on, your frustration and short temper only grew, and you began to feel like you were losing control. your fingers began to fumble as you were desperately trying to pick this one tough strawberry that just wouldn’t come off the green vine.

suddenly, you feel a soft tap on your back. you jump from the sudden contact, and quickly turn around defensively. although, your stance and gaze soften when you see that it’s just luke castellan.

the curly, brown haired boy silently greets you with his welcoming grin, and hands you a little folded up paper before running off to continue his counsellor duties. you already feel a little lighter just from the small interaction you had with the hermes cabin counsellor.

you focus on the folded up paper that he has handed to you. as curiosity takes over, you begin to unravel the paper.

when you finish unfolding the paper, you’re greeted with a lined sheet of paper, covered in words. you can feel a pair of eyes burning a hole into the back of your head as you stare at the lined paper. you acknowledge the little doodles littered around the page. little red hearts, smiley faces, and even some messy ones that you’re unable to decipher. the letter reads;

“ to reader,

hey there! :) it seems like you’ve been having a pretty rough day, and i just wanted to let you know that you're doing great! <3 dont let the other campers get to you, and don't focus on the strawberries you've lost. i love you so so much!! you always bring a smile to my face and make my heart feel so full of joy, so i hope this letter can make you feel that way too.

with all my heart,

luke castellan. :) “

your heart flutters as you process all of the kind words luke wrote to you. you cant help it when your eyes search for luke amongst the field of strawberries. it’s almost as if the two of you were thinking the same thing, because as your eyes find his; his eyes are already trained on you. and of course he’s wearing that adorable smile of his.

you cant help but grin at the boy, and silently mouth the words “thank you” , hoping he can read your lips. luke just nods back at you, as the grin on his face grew impossibly larger.

————————————————————————

copyright © ccastellans 2024

all rights reserved. no part of my writing may be reproduced as this account on tumblr is the only place i post my writing.

[rafeskai]

Game On | Gamer!Rafe Cameron x Gamer!Reader

Introducing Gamer!Reader

Summary: A chance encounter during your first Call of Duty match introduces you to Rafe, a confident and charismatic gamer. What begins as casual sessions evolves into a deep connection through late-night games, Discord chats, and shared victories.

Pairings: Gamer!Rafe Cameron x Gamer!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Author's Note: This is a headcannon for my upcoming AU! Enjoy!

gamer!reader might be a newbie, but she has a serious gaming addiction, playing for hours every day. No one in her real life knows the extent of it—she hides it well, keeping her gaming life a secret from her friends and family.

gamer!reader is generally introverted, preferring the comfort of her own space to social gatherings. She finds solace in gaming, where she can escape and connect with others online.

despite being more reserved in person, gamer!reader is highly competitive in her games. She loves the rush of winning and pushes herself to improve with every match.

before meeting Rafe, gamer!reader preferred the anonymity of online gaming. She didn’t mind hiding behind her avatar and preferred not to reveal too much about herself.

gamer!reader often feels disconnected from her offline peers and feels that online gaming is the only place where she can find genuine connection, even if it’s just with random teammates.

gaming serves as an escape from any personal or family issues gamer!reader may have. It’s a way for her to forget about stress or difficulties in her real life and focus solely on the game.

gamer!reader is a newbie but very skilled in games like Call of Duty and has a knack for strategy, though no one in her life knows about her expertise. She’s always been quietly proud of her gaming achievements.

gamer!reader has a tendency to keep her personal life private, even online. She’s wary of sharing too much and only lets a few people in—those she trusts deeply.

while gamer!reader enjoys the competitive nature of gaming, there are moments when the reader feels the loneliness of not having close relationships outside of the gaming world.

© 2025 rafeskai | All rights reserved. My work is a work of fiction inspired by different characters, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[bats-and-birds-24]

Daughter of a Dark Angel:

Disappointment.

It was the first thing he felt when he first held his daughter.

Primarch Guilliman and Lion' El Johnson had just recently agreed to allow the astartes to reproduce, so that it would be easier to get neophytes who were compatible with their Primarch's geneseed.

Even if they weren't compatible, or were girls, they would have an iron will of an astartes, and would bolster the Imperium's numbers against Chaos.

Yet, most marines still preferred to have a strong son, one who will one day join their ranks as a battle brother. So when his assigned partner passed away, delivering only a tiny, premature girl, his hopes for an heir were dashed.

He could not simply be assigned another concubine right after one had just died, that would be callous. As dictated by the Codex Astartes. Not that he believed in any of it, he held no love for his now deceased partner. He only wanted a son.

He sighed. With her dead, the burden of raising the infant fell on him. As though he didn't have enough to worry about. This was also deemed necessary by the Codex, to encourage a 'parental bond'. He tutted in annoyance, he was an astartes, he was beyond such baseline emotions.

At first, he only cared for her out of duty, but as she grew older, he began to see her potential. Her mind was quick, even for a child sired by a space marine. She grasped concepts that would have been beyond most children her age.

If only she had been born male, he lamented.

One day his little daughter came up to him when he was on break and asked him what her job in the Imperium would be. He managed to give her a vague answer which seemed to satisfy her for the time being.

However, the question still lingered in his mind. What would she do, now that she was here? She had a quick mind, and once her body's development catches up to that of a normal child, maybe she could join the Sisters of Battle.

He mind balked at the thought, his daughter ending up as one of those shrill harpies worshipping a man who never wanted to be a god revulsed him. She deserved better than that.

He then thought of the mechanicus. This too, disgusted him. They too worshipped a god, their omnissiah. And the thought of having to witness his little girl cutting of pieces of her own flesh, only to replace them with sterile metal made him want to vomit.

Any other options such as being a serf, or a remembrancer were so laughably beneath her station as a child of an astartes that he didn't even bother thinking about them.

He grumbled in dissatisfaction as he glanced over at the little cot his daughter slept in.

There were no good roles for women in this Imperium, the best life he could provide for a woman of her standing was marrying her off to a wealthy planetary governer, or beneath that, a fellow astartes. If she proved her mettle in political affairs, she could then join the ranks of the Inquisitors.

Satisfied in his decision for her future he drifted off to sleep.

The next few years were filled with stacks of books he had borrowed from the ship's library and papers that he personally corrected as he attended to his daughter's education.

As she became a young woman, almost in the blink of an eye, (he chided himself, normal baselines aged faster than enhanced transhumans, he cannot forget that) the proposals started to roll in.

Most were from fellow battle brothers looking for a concubine. They were Dark Angels, so they didn't think to ask the girl herself, asking her father would be good enough.

He went through, and declined them at an astonishing speed. Most were too old for his little girl, and the younger ones were too brash. The last thing he wanted was for his daughter to be left a widow as her reckless husband ran straight to his death.

Until that message came.

A new planetary governer had been selected, and after going through his child's credentials, they had decided that she would make the perfect wife and First Lady of the planet.

It was a great honor that she had been selected.

That was what he told himself as he met the man who was to become his son in law. He was childish, naive, and handsy towards her. He disliked him immediately. But he grit his teeth as he repeated the mantra in his head; 'it is a great honor'.

He stoically saw her off to her planet. He remembered as she continued to wave at him even after their ship had left the ground.

He remembered when he only returned to her side decades later, him having only gained a few scars, while his child looked as though she was on death's doorstep.

This was why he didn't want a daughter, he wouldn't be able to stay by her side, he would lose her too soon. He despaired at the short amount of time he still had left with her.

The two talked of her life, how the bastard he had married her off to, was an irresponsible and cruel leader. Going so far as to try to get rid of her, so that he could replace her with his mistress.

By the time the mess had been dealt with, she had lost three of her fingers on her right hand, only the thumb and pinky finger still being intact.

He raged at the injustice, if only he could've gotten his hands on that imbecile, he would have been nothing more than a fine red mist by the time he finished.

Nevertheless, she had proved her mettle, and became the planetary governor in his stead.

This led to a huge quality of life improvement for the citizens.

Resources that had originally been extracted by a constantly abused, destitute workforce were replaced by a respectable, dutiful, healthy population renowned for their inventions and craftsmanship.

She had built schools and hospitals, and homes and libraries. She had taken a backwater people and turned them into proud, productive members of the Imperium.

By the end of her story, she had only one request to make of him;

"Hold my hand while I sleep, just for tonight Da'."

She made him pinky promise, as though she were a child again. Her wrinkled hand with three stubs, contrasting his own strong, muscled one.

She passed away that night.

When he returned to his quarters the next day, the mask cracked. He wept in despair at the loss of his Daughter.

Why didn't he love her more? Why did he have to marry her away to that scum? Why was he ever disappointed in having such a brilliant woman as his child?

When he came back to attend her funeral, he saw that the entire planet was in mourning. She had changed the lives of everyone around her.

He listened to the stories of baselines as they regaled him with tales of her selflessness and valor.

By the end of the event, he had no more tears to shed, his anger at himself and at the injustices of her life had dissipated. There was only one emotion left.

Pride.

---------------------------------------------------

So this whole story was written because I couldn't get the thought of a Dark Angel having to come to terms with having a Daughter instead of a son in the astartes can take concubines au we had going on a while back.

@kit-williams @moodymisty @mothiir @the-raven-lady @bispecsual