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zevlors-tail · 4 years ago

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Hi I feel really bad for sending in an emergency request but bakugou, deku, or kaminari comforting and helping a reader who is going through a major depressive episode with suicidal thoughts. I’m so sorry I feel really bad for asking

A/N: I could not have gotten this at a more convenient time. I just want to say thank you for requesting this, and please don’t be sorry for asking about this. If you want to talk my dms are open, but I hope this helps! This was extremely cathartic for me to write. I only did Bakugou for the moment, but I fully plan on coming back at some point to at least add Denki (and also Deku eventually). Bakugou as a secret comfort character for me? It’s more likely than you think.

TW: Suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, suicidal reader, depression. PLEASE DO NOT READ if these things trigger you. It’s extremely descriptive and emotional!

Bakugou Katsuki

“Hey...are you okay?”

You barely snapped out of your foggy trance as you slowly blinked, your coworker’s face coming into focus eventually as you gathered your surroundings you had long since forgotten about. Your response was immediate, familiar words strung together with little effort after saying them over and over again. No longer did they drag you down and taste like lies in your mouth; now they were just the ghost of a feeling you struggled to remember, an empty shell with hollowed out meaning.

“Oh, yeah...just tired,” you drawled. And you were.

There weren’t too many days anymore that you didn’t feel drained, didn’t feel like the weight of the world was sitting on your shoulders. You felt heavy- both mentally and physically, like there were weights tethered to your arms and legs. It made you feel utterly exhausted at the end of every day and stole your motivation to get up in the morning. Your bed never seemed more comfortable, and your sheets never seemed so warm. If you had the choice, you would allow yourself to lie there forever, to skip work in favor of sleeping through the whole day, because what good was there in being awake, anyway? Lately it just seemed like everything was a waste.

“Are you sure? You just seem...down.” Your coworker gave you a concerned look, and you thought it ironic that the day you felt you might snap was the day everyone chose to finally ask if you were alright. Maybe she could see it on your face, or maybe you finally looked how you felt inside. Whatever the case, you didn’t care. In fact, you hardly cared about anything; it was hard to care about your life when you felt there was no value to it.

“I’m fine! Just really tired,” you repeated without hesitation.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” She seemed to take the explanation without any further question, shrugging and turning around to get back to what she had been doing before. “Just make sure management doesn’t catch you staring off like that; I think they’re in a bad mood today.”

Logically, you knew you were dealing with depression. Depression was not something new to you; this had happened before, and you had managed to dig yourself out of your own hole each time, but this time was...different. Logic didn’t stop the thoughts rampaging through your mind, didn’t quiet the voices that told you others would be better off without you. You felt like a burden to everyone, a walking problem that caused trouble everywhere you went. Just this morning at work you had dropped something accidentally, and it had spilled all over the floor and under the tables, the mess reaching into the cracks and crevices of the tiles where it would be harder to get to. You had done the best you could to clean it up, but in the end, the janitor had to step in and clean up the mess that you made. Maybe it was just an accident, and maybe you didn’t mean to spill your food, but you couldn’t see past the fact that you were always like this. Always spilling things, always causing problems for others, always inconveniencing everyone you came into contact with. Maybe...it would be better if you had stayed in bed all day instead of coming to work.

Maybe it would be better if you had never woke up in the first place.

...No!

You shook the thought from your head, doing your best to ignore it and focus on something else. Come on, you told yourself, focus on your job. But your mind remained hazy as you continued on with work, and it only served to cause more problems for you. By the end of the day, you had accidentally dropped a couple more items, slipped on some water and fell face first to the ground, and towards the end of your shift, just as you were clocking out, you bumped into an unruly customer who was clearly having none of it today. Hands reached out to shove you away and you stumbled, tripping over your own feet as you tried to get a grip and regain your balance.

“Watch where you’re going, god! Are you blind or something!? Jesus!”

For any other person, it might have just made them upset or angry, but it would have been passed off as a bad day, a bad moment in the grand scheme of things that would go away with time. But for you? For you it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Whatever motivation and will to live you had left, it was gone within the instant, replaced with a numb, empty feeling. What was the point in all of this? If this was life, if you were constantly going to cause problems and get in people’s way, what was your purpose here?

If nothing was enjoyable anymore...you just wanted it to end. It was too late for you anyways; you felt too far gone to be saved. And honestly...what was even left to save? You felt like a shell of your former self.

And that was how you left the store, feet dragging against the ground as you numbly walked to your car to go home. It took you a while to collect yourself, so you sat there for a few minutes in the parking lot, keys stuck in the ignition and hands resting loosely on the steering wheel. Finally, you worked up the will to actually start the car, and then you were on your way home. Home...where you would probably just lie through your teeth again and go lay in bed for the rest of the night.

Bakugou was in the kitchen making dinner when you padded through the foyer and announced your arrival, the smell of spices overwhelming rather than inviting or enticing. But then again, you didn’t have much of an appetite lately, and you found the thought of sleep to be more appealing than the thought of food anyways.

“I’m home.” Your voice was quieter than usual, your tone flat and monotonous. Bakugou didn’t respond for a minute, and you wondered if he had even heard you over the sound of something sizzling in a pan.

“Y/N, that you?” A head poked out from around the corner, red eyes meeting E/C. “How was work?”

“It was work.” You blinked and kicked your shoes off haphazardly, your body already caving in on itself as you made your way to the bedroom. If Bakugou noticed the change from your usual demeanor, he said nothing about it, only going back to what he was doing in the kitchen when you retreated to your sanctuary for the night.

Finally alone with your thoughts, you crawled under the soft sheets with your work clothes still on and curled up, eyes already shutting even before your head hit the pillow. At some point you must have managed to fall asleep, because the next thing you knew you were being shaken awake by Katsuki, a sweet and savory smell drifting through the air. Your stomach rumbled, and though it felt empty, you still didn’t feel like eating emotionally. The only thing you seemed to feel now was a heaviness settling on your soul.

“Y/N, come eat.” Either you were imagining things or Bakugou’s normally gruff voice was more gentle and relaxed as he woke you from your slumber.

You protested with a whine, your face scrunching up in annoyance from being woken up. “Tired...” you mumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But you haven’t had anything since you came home from work, babe.”

“That was only an hour ago...” you started, your voice still thick from sleep. But as you looked towards your alarm clock on the nightstand next to the bed, you were surprised to find that the little digital numbers read 11:58 pm. You’d slept for a little over five hours since you had arrived home. “Shit-!”

That seemed to do the trick, and you were scrambling up and out of bed in no time, panic and confusion washing over you from your prolonged nap. Had you really slept so long? You hadn’t meant to, but it did feel nice to have a small break from everything you felt when you were awake. And again, you caught yourself wondering if maybe the world would be better off if you never woke up. Eventually the haziness of your dream state faded, leaving you with the same reality you had been facing earlier in the day. You wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and curl up in your state of melancholy, but you were up now, and Katsuki would worry if you didn’t eat anything.

The two of you made your way to the dinning room table where a plate of reheated leftovers sat along with some silver cutlery, a cute little holiday napkin leftover from Halloween resting next to it. You stared at the pumpkin covered paper for a while before picking up your fork and stabbing at whatever dish Bakugou had decided on for dinner. Lately he seemed to be on a vegetable kick, though a healthy dose of fruits and meats were also thrown into the mix for balance. You mindlessly chewed, not really paying attention to the flavor if there was any at all. In fact, it felt like you were chewing cardboard. You didn’t enjoy the taste or feel; you only ate purely out of habit and need to.

“Do you not like it?” Bakugou pulled you from your reverie of thoughts, your head snapping up in his direction when he spoke.

“Huh?”

“The food. You’ve barely touched it in the last ten minutes.”

Ten minutes? Since when had that much time passed? Looking down at your plate, you realized he was correct. Over half of your food remained untouched, bits and pieces of it spread around from your fork and pushed to the side as if it was your least favorite meal. You hadn’t even noticed you were playing with it, and you wondered how long you had been just sitting there scooting food around with a blank look on your face.

“No, it was good.” Liar. You’d hardly been able to taste it. But it wasn’t just food that had lost it’s merit to you, if you really thought about it. The world just didn’t seem as lively; colors seemed washed out and faded, food held no taste, and music just didn’t sound the same. Nothing was enjoyable for you anymore.

“Y/N. You know you can tell me if there’s something going on, right?” Bakugou’s eyes bored into you while you just stared at the brightly colored napkin.

“Yeah, I know!” you chirped back, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his gaze before returning to orange pumpkins.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” It sounded like a question, but really it was an invite. He knew there was something going on with you. Asking you was his way of giving you room to explain yourself before he decided to pry. Usually he was mindful of any boundaries you might have had, but Katsuki was never a fool, and you tended not to open up easily. Sometimes a little pushing and prodding on his part was necessary.

“Not really? Just work, but it was the usual. I’m just tired.” Even as you tried to pass your unusual behaviors off as a bad day at work and exhaustion, you couldn’t hide the sour note that slipped into your voice along with the visible scowl you made. But the emotions were short lived, and you were back to feeling defeated and down within mere seconds.

“Hey...” You felt compelled to look up at him when he softened his voice even more, but everything in you told you to hold back and keep staring at those damn balls of orange on the napkin. Why, you weren’t sure- maybe it was to keep from crying, or maybe it was to suppress the feelings that were slowly surfacing within you, or maybe it was just because you no longer cared. “Are you alright?”

You visibly winced when he asked. Suddenly everything hurt; everything was a mess, it was all wrong, all of it, and you just wanted it to stop. The pain, the numbness, the thoughts- everything. It felt like you hadn’t been able to catch a break since the day you were born. Day in and day out you lived like that, and no one would ever ask if you were okay. No one took the time to check on you properly; no one seemed to notice when you felt like you were at your worst. Well...no one except Bakugou. He’d been your rock for a long time now, but lately everything had gotten much worse, and you had kept certain things from him so as not to burden him with your troubles. In your eyes, he had enough of his own problems; hero work was already rough on him as it was, so you kept things to yourself so he wouldn’t feel overwhelmed.

“Why does everyone always ask that when it’s already too late?”

The words tumbled uncontrollably from your mouth as your brows furrowed, a pained look clouding your dull eyes. Bakugou took a moment to process what you said before responding, eyes still locked onto you.

“What does that mean?” He already knew. You could hear it through the apprehensiveness in his voice, see it in the way he gritted his teeth anxiously. “Y/N, what does that mean?”

You glared at the blurry orange shape below you (were you crying...?), refusing to look Katsuki in the eyes. You were afraid of what might happen if you did. “I’m just...a waste of space.” There was a strange conviction to your voice, as if you’d made up your mind about something. Bakugou did not miss this. You, however, did miss the flash of fear in his ruby eyes as you spoke. “I cause problems for everyone I meet. I’m just a giant inconvenience to the world, and everyone would be better off without me. I don’t matter.”

“Y/N.”

“Would anybody even care if I was gone? I mean really, what difference am I making here?”

“Y/N, look at me.”

“It would be better that way. People wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore, and I don’t have to deal with all of...this.” You made some sort of gesture with your hands, your voice cracking as you held back hot tears. “Life. It’s just...it’s so exhausting. I’m so, so tired of having to wake up every day and drag myself out of bed and live. Nothing is fun anymore, and it’s hard just to breathe. I mean, seriously!? Come on, ya know? I didn’t ask for this, I don’t want to live like thi-!” You choked up, silent sobs wracking your shoulders as you buried your faced in your hands.

Across the table, Bakugou slid from his chair and made his way to you, feet thudding against the floor as he quickly closed the distance and kneeled down to your level. “I knew something was wrong, but...” He gently cupped your face in his hands, palms warm against your tear stained cheeks. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

You struggled to remember when this all started. Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, and days to weeks that blurred into months eventually. Time blended together, and you couldn’t recall the last time you felt able to get up in the morning without feeling like it was a chore. “I don’t know...” you answered honestly.

Bakugou rubbed his thumbs against your face carefully, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he brought you into an embrace against his chest. You didn’t fight it, instead leaning into his touch while crying, and the two of you stayed there for quite some time before Katsuki spoke up about how he was feeling.

“You may think that you don’t make much of a difference here on this earth, but that’s just utter bullshit, Y/N. You make a hell of a big difference to me and everyone else around you, and you would be sorely missed and grieved over. Don’t you dare for one second think that you’re not important or loved, because you are; you are so, so loved.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you cried.

“I know, babe. It’s hard to see it right now, I know. Your mind is telling you the opposite. But believe me when I say you are the most loving and caring person I know. You’re always reaching out to others, maybe even a little too much, and you’re always checking on them. You’ve made a world of difference to everyone. Your friends need you, your family needs you, and I need you here. And I would be devastated if anything were to happen to you.” It was hard to believe anything he said. You wanted to, you wanted to so desperately. But you weren’t sure of anything anymore, and the most you could do was cling to him like a koala and hope that what he said was true. “Let me in. Let me be there for you. Trust me, please.” You’d never heard those words from Katsuki before. They sounded odd coming from his mouth, like they didn’t really belong on his tongue. But you listened because it was Bakugou, and you wanted to trust him. You wanted to be able to feel okay, and he’d always been there no matter how much you’d tried to push him away.

“Okay,” you murmured against his chest, your tired eyes drooping shut in exhaustion. Your shoulders followed suit as they slumped downwards, and you gave in and crumbled into his arms.

“You’re not a waste of space. You’re extremely important to me, and I don’t tell you that enough. Every day when you leave for work, I miss you. I love when you come home and greet me, and I’m a better person because of you. Y/N, you’ve gotten me through shit I didn’t think I was going to make it out of. And you know what? We can do this. We can do it together, and it’s going to take a lot of work, but we will do it. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” You couldn’t help but to smile at that. “And I know you feel like a burden, but you’re not. Your problems are never a bother. People are here for you, they want to help support you and listen to you. I want to support you. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Everything’s gonna be okay. I love you.”

You couldn’t stop the fresh tears from falling, quiet hiccups taking over you as you cried into his shirt. “I love you too,” you managed somehow.

Bakugou rubbed a hand over your back, his chin coming to rest on your head as he sighed. “I’m not going to let you give up on yourself, no matter what.”

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #katsuki #bnha #mha #tw suicidal thoughts #tw suicidal ideation #tw: suicidal thoughts #tw: suicidal ideation #tw: depression #tw depression

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vaguely-concerned · 4 years ago

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The Mandalorian Chapter 14 reactions: HOLY SHIT THAT WAS AWESOME BUT ALSO I’M CRYING edition

- the good good din characterization is back after all the weirdness last episode!!!! that soft way he says ‘no, no, I’m not mad at you’? THAT’S din djarin, he would not be fucking impatient with his son having just been informed and seen for himself that he is terrified, go away mr filoni I know you’ve got all of canon memorized but you don’t get this lol. this feels much more right in how din being conflicted and still thinking he should give the baby away for his own good plays out too

honestly every line of dialogue for him in this one was perfect I was just whispering ‘I love this awkward clueless wonderful man just doing his best’ to myself any time he said anything. “...does this look Jedi to you?” sir I adore you more than words can describe

- we got din chuckling. asjdklfhsdkafghsdafsadhjkfsdahjkfh. fskahfksjad. side note: I can’t believe my joke post about din desperately trying to Force home school the kid with the one (1) jedi trick he knows about and the baby being delighted by it over and over anyway -- listen to his expectant excited laugh when din takes the ball and sets up the game!!!! -- was canon all along. and then the baby & mando music kicking in when he gently put the silver ball into the baby’s hands again and tells him he’s special (because he IS special. to din)? hmng. hmmmmnnnnn

they opened on the height of softness so we would all crumple under the weight of the rest of the episode and that was very mean of them in a way I sincerely appreciate

- nothing to see here... just a dad trying to walk through the literal manifestation of the unassailable underlying forces of the universe to get to his baby again and again........ the desperation in that, the love, the foolhardy devotion................... shit

- okay so I might be a dumbass, but I’d never noticed this before -- the silver ball has a blue spot on the top, like so:

and in addition we get the room where the baby goes full darth grogu (I have to laugh so I don’t cry okay) on those storm troopers, and there’s a red light in there dominating the room (and it did even more in the concept art):

in star wars blue means light side and red means dark side (it’s very sophisticated that way), meaning the visual storytelling here is that there’s a battle for the baby’s soul and gideon and all his nonsense (and the trauma bb’s been through in the wider sense) is pulling towards the dark, while grogu and din’s connection leads him towards the light. just... the image of the baby looking at his own reflection in the symbolic representation of his relationship to din? the way children find their sense of self through being safely reflected and held by their caretakers? god help meeeeeee I will go in there and fistfight gideon myself for disrupting that in any way

the smaller light seems to be blue too, like there’s still the presence of light even if it’s dimmed and small in that shitty horrible room, which is a change from the concept art!

- FENNEC SHAND SURVIVED BITCHES!!! I even called that she’d be back with new shiny robot parts back in season 1, could not happen to a cooler lady, I hope we get more backstory and interaction from her the next episodes -- sounds like she’s basically sworn herself to boba’s service in gratitude for saving her life, I wonder if that’s a cultural thing of whereever she comes from? does she live aboard slave 1 now too?? because that would be hilarious and amazing, it must be like two strange cats trying to get used to sharing the same space

- everything I could ever hope for about boba fett in this series came true, they went down the much more interesting and nuanced route with jango and boba’s identities as mandalorians, he looked cool as fuck and made din as a character shine rather than overshadowing him... amazing beautiful yesss

(I did 100% not anticipate just how ‘cool uncle boba here to help you fuck shit up’ he was going to be but I am delighted to get it anyway. uncle points deducted for getting someone to point a gun at the baby, but the main point still stands lol)

the power and brutality of his hand to hand fighting too... a w e s o m e , I enjoyed the action scenes a lot in this one

- they even recanonized him actually wearing jango’s armour. what more could I ask for. I’ve had confused parent & child feels about these two since I was like eleven and here we fucking go again. and jango fighting in the mando civil wars too!

- so I’m grieving the razor crest (and I always will be, rip you magnificent jalopy, always in my heart) but also there’s the grim satisfaction that my reading on it was sort of true -- it is (...was. oh god it’s going to take a while to sink in huh) a symbol of din’s self and life, and at this point when they take the baby it tears everything else to pieces. the only thing that’s left in the ashes is the beskar and the thing that connects him to the baby. and there’s... a strange solace in seeing that that’s all he needs to keep going? he’s fucking obliterated from orbit but he still has his love for the baby and the beskar and that can keep him going until he finds something new, everything else can be replaced?????? weirdly healing, though he is probably going to have a solid breakdown at some point after they get the kid back (shut up they are getting the kid back) and the cold distant fog lifts

also this scene/shot feels like it carries some Meaning, doesn’t it? I’m on record several times saying I never want din to be mand’alor and that’s still true, but there’s something about the framing of this and the way boba looks at him that’s like... hm. I’m not sure I have the words for it. there’s something heightened about it, anyway, for a moment he looks like something mythic there in the wreckage

(something I would be much cooler with is our clan of two growing a little bit and those new people rallying behind him, actually, that might be neat. imagine if a force user does show up for the baby and gets adopted into the clan somehow??? so many possibilities.)

- from the way he picks up the silver ball... din djarin is on his way to straight up murder some people huh

I think part of what reassures me about this scene is the music -- this mando flute is not distant, is not beaten, is not despondent, it’s clear and determined and strong.

I love this. I love when we get explicit baby POVs, it makes it feel so real and intimate and... like home. (I especially loved baby’s point of view inside the razor crest, which just made me tear up again. baby lost the closest thing he’s had to a home in a long long time on top of it all. everything is suffering)

Emotionally Significant Thumb Grabbing tm; the show

- din djarin looking for the ‘on’ switch on a magic rock fhsdakjfhsadlfhsdjah I can’t breathe

“Well, this is the seeing stone. Are you. Seeing anything?” fsafkdsajhfsa sdhfksjalhfkjsdahfkjsdhf

- the energy around the baby as he’s, in ahsoka’s words, ‘choosing his path’ is blue, and the force sort of works across time and space, right?? so there’s definitely still hope for our lil green bean to not have to come up with a really dumb unsubtle sith name for himself, as is regrettably yet delightfully tradition. darth babbu should never come to pass (I do like how they’re interrogating the normal dark/light side dichotomy in this series, seeing as this is a literal baby who can’t really be responsible for that stuff himself yet and has such capacity for both.)

- listen. listen, the way din says ‘can you please hurry up’ with no sarcasm or real impatience whatsoever, more like a harried worry, to his force-meditating son as he jogs off to make sure no one’s trying to kill them. is hilarious and also YES this is what the character is!!! weirdly and incongruously polite under stress sometimes and with a slightly odd reaction pattern to things!!! he’s not just quiet and badass, he’s a little strange sometimes and it’s so good!

- a friendly opening volley warning shot from boba there

also din uncertainly asking BOBA FETT if he’s a jedi... now this is the dramatic irony I’ve been looking for haha

I guess neither shand nor boba actually know din’s name after this either. baby you gotta start introducing yourself at some point it gets real confusing when there are two mandos on screen

oh the long weary sigh going through din’s frame when boba says he wants ‘the armour’ and he thinks it’s just someone trying to peel the beskar off his corpse again. sorry the galaxy’s so shitty dad

- “But fate sometimes steps in to rescue the wretched” is a killer line well done mr favreau. I like that boba actually offers din a good deal as well and seems to intend to deliver on it from how things are going.

- din using his beskar-covered bod to cover someone he’s fighting alongside!!! literal moving cover haha. also I love fennec’s costume design

- I don’t know where din got more whistling birds from and I don’t care, it was really cool haha

wow haha um so anyway --

(cue all the ‘who wore it better’ with cobb vanth’s ‘spiderman’s first home made costume’ look on one side and ABSOLUTE UNIT DADDY boba fett on the other side posts lol)

- aaaghh the music almost like a stunned desperate fluttering heart beat as din watches the razor crest be destroyed

- for someone who has willingly worked for them in the past boba sure sounds less than thrilled about having the empire back in any capacity

- oof the deadness in din’s voice when he says “The child is gone”. ooooh no that got me h e l p

- guessing next episode is at least partly a ‘gathering old allies and preparing the assault’ step before the grand finale, then! they cannot go for the season ender cliffhanger with this, I will fucking riot. anything can be up in the air except baby and dad being separated, I will not allow it

it would be very funny if the force user baby called out to comes stumbling into the middle of all this like the troy entering the room with pizzas meme too

- the music in the darth grogu scene is partially a dark mirror of the baby & mando music :’( is nothing in this world sacred

also from how he reaches out for it baby might have used a light saber before in the past with the jedi? ngl the idea of baby wielding the dark saber not when he’s all grown up but in like two episodes -- with all the chaos a toddler holding a laser sword would involve -- is all that is keeping me sane here

‘liable to put an eye out with one of these’ well gideon you sure have doomed someone to lose an eye with that one, here’s to hoping it’s you, for full dramatic payoff

he is a deliciously smug awful force with great musical cues tho, you have to give it to him

- okay so this

is obviously awful and horrible and it makes me so sad... but it is undeniably also very very very funny in how it’s framed. you know what? after all this bullshit baby grogu can have a little dark side tantrum, as a treat, we’ve all been there right

(forget finding a jedi, we need to go out there and find a child psychologist who can help him deal with this without adding the fear that he’s on the path to become a two foot tall evil space sorcerer to the mix Y_________Y)

- rip the razor crest except for the second time :’’’( gone but never forgotten

- the last thing din tells the baby is “I’m gonna protect you; I’ll be back soon”. and I hope that stays with the kid somehow and that it actually comes true, that din will be back for him as soon as humanly possible and all this pain and fear can be repaired. ggggghhhhh my emotions are too big for my dumb human body

#star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian meta #okay I'm gonna have to. go take a calming walk or something after this haha

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rpmemesbyarat · 3 years ago

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RP meme from Werewolf: The Apocalypse "Kinfolk: Unsung Heroes" Introduction & Ch.1

"I have normal human fears and frailties, despite my faith."

"I’m terrified I won’t be there when they need me, that I won’t be able to give fully of myself to save them when the time comes. And the price of my failure, for them, would be too high."

"It was like nothing else mattered, nothing else could fill my eyes like the sight of him."

"Now, of course, I realize I was in shock at the time clammy skin, disorientation, that sort of thing."

"That night misted over my senses; even now, it seems more like a vivid dream than anything else."

"I had to watch. I couldn’t turn away."

"That night, I saw I had to protect him. He needed me, and it’s just as simple as that."

"Let’s just say what I know has come in handy."

"The best folks give the most of whatever they can."

"Think about it — would you like to go through childbirth every nine months from age 14 to 50?"

"We’re human beings, dammit!"

"I’ll always do anything I can to help, even if I’m royally pissed; I don’t expect thanks or money, either. But it would be nice to get some respect."

"I'm not alone in saying that I hate being patronized."

"Give an inch, they’ll take a mile" is what some of them think about us."

"The rhetoric a lot of them use sounds like the same crap bigots give when trying to “justify” why women and minorities shouldn’t have equal rights."

"Just once, I’d like to feel like an equal, a partner in all this."

"Ever think about how hard things would be without us?"

"I see by your scowl that doesn’t satisfy you."

"Think of it as normal family responsibilities, magnified a thousand times."

"It’s practically medieval!"

"I mean, it looks like such fun to turn into a wolf."

"There are connections like you wouldn’t believe. Completely outside the law, these people can get dirt on the opposition, perform b&e without leaving a trace and provide muscle no other boss can beat. All they ask is some capital, some boltholes and a little legal cover. Sweetest deal in the world!"

"What do I think about it? Imagine what it’d be like for someone to call you and say you’d missed out on a million dollars because you got one wrong number on the lottery ticket."

"Some are too caught up in the things of humans —chasing after money to have what advertisers insist they can’t do without, living their soap-opera lives and not seeing what the world is really all about. I pity them."

"There is sweeter revenge than death."

"I laugh with joy thinking how your heart will burst should you ever have to face him in battle."

"It’s a great honor to be who I am, who we are. But it’s scary, too."

"Families can quarrel, snarl and cut one another to the quick, but in times of trouble, they’ll stick together."

"God, Allah, Gaia, the Great Spirit or whoever gave us this job, so we have to do the best we can with it."

"Blood also fetters our lives in hatred as well as love, I’m afraid to say."

"I’m not saying this is a fact, but if she was abused, it might explain some things."

"I’m sorry, I can’t quite imagine a moment of sensual passion with someone I don’t love, much less hardly know!"

"In other words, it’s the connections that’re vital, not the money or the mileage."

"Many have wealth, but not all; lineage, not money, is most important."

"That’s a heavy price to pay in a harsh world."

"Self-sacrifice is also important."

"Sacrifice comes in terms of emotional costs, too."

"It’d be pretty stupid for me to become a gun-toting mercenary, for example."

"To put a positive spin on all this, I guess I’d say it’s nice to be needed."

"I admit I don’t really understand what it is or when it’ll be, but many’s the Irish tale where a small oversight wreaked terrible disaster."

"So I got online and made a few phone calls and tried to get the “truth” in as many forms as I could."

"The word “family” has come to mean a lot more things than the 1950s concept of mommy, daddy and two perfect children."

"Raising children is no bed of roses, either."

"Kids love to test their parents and see just how far they can push and still get away with it."

"There’s no way this could be easy."

"Some days, I have to bite my tongue, and that does get old."

"I was just too stupid and blind to see it."

"I always felt like I was split, alone, part of something I couldn’t name."

"Listen, you have no idea what it’s like to watch someone you love slowly lose her mind."

"There are some, well, bimbos."

"You know, the ones that like to control CEOs and topple careers."

"Here, try a piece of this chicken gizzard. I get ’em real cheap down at the butcher shop. No one else seems to want these extra parts. I grill ’em with a little barbecue sauce and honey mustard. Delicious! Thanksgiving’s always the best time, though. Then there’s turkey necks for the takin’!"

"Our families are pretty big, and we figure even the most distant cousin or friend of a friend’s part of the group."

"I’m sure you know, working with people all the time, how far thanks and a friendly smile go when you’re dead on your feet. It’s like the sun’s come out on a cloudy day."

"I mean, some of that stuff is long outdated!"

"It’s more a matter of belief and pureness of spirit, if you ask me."

"The Network also has a lot of splinter groups that organize among youth, educators, environmentalists and so on."

"We’re steadfast and steady, yet vibrant and alive, warriors, artists, writers, musicians beyond compare."

"I don’t know if we can save them, but we won’t give up."

"To be tested and accepted by the greatest warriors in the world — no greater honor can we ask for."

"Think of us as the tiny little parts that hold a machine together. Maybe it could function without us, but not without a lot of wear and tear on the system. You get my drift."

"If leader seems weak, I test him. He shows strength, I stop."

"They’re the ones who are causing all the problems by rebelling against the people in charge. They need to settle down and just be content with what they’ve got, if you want my opinion."

"Why should I worry? It’s a clear day. Traffic’s light, but walking’s fine. You get to see where you’re going. I’ll hit a little town ’fore dark and trade a song or story for some food and a piece of floor."

"Revolutions are intolerable and inexcusable."

"The aristocracy attained their positions for a reason, for only the most worthy were chosen to lead, after all. If the

lower classes overthrow the aristocrats, anarchy is the sure result. One need only look at history; Can the Russians truly say their lot improved after they murdered the Romanovs?"

"History has always been a beloved subject to me."

"I pity those souls, displaced by fortune, who are ignorant of their heritage. How can one know who he is without knowing where he comes from? A man — or woman — is the sum of all who came before."

"Money is not the issue; many great families lost their fortunes, yet retain their nobility."

"It’s a poor teacher who doesn’t learn from her student; in this way, the knowledge of both increases."

"Dreams, of course, are the pathways of our souls; here rest our secret desires, fears and hopes."

"You doubt me. You don’t speak against me, but I can see your heart is dubious."

"There’s no greater glory than to serve the destiny of the universe."

"The lacerations looked exactly like the work of sharp teeth, deep into his flesh."

"I won’t go s’far as to say there’s undying loyalty, but we do have a lot of respect for each other."

"Were I as capable as my ancestors, I’d kill you now and never spare a second thought."

"No atonement can replace those lost children."

"Thus far, we have been lucky, but it’s just a matter of time before someone we don’t want sneaks in. It’s not that I want to close ranks by any means; I just wish we paid a little closer attention to who came in from the cold."

"Yeah, yeah, I know you think we’re a dime a dozen. I’d like to believe we’re a little more special than most."

"We’ve built too much for a rotten apple to spoil it all."

"I don’t believe this guy; it seems almost too perfect to be true!"

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #roleplay memes #Werewolf the Apocalypse #wta #World Of Darkness #owod #kinfolk

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historic-old-guard-lover · 4 years ago

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How good is each old guard at maths and arithmetic and handling money ? ( Personally I think Yusuf is the best since he was a merchant from a society that heavily emphasized maths and science )

In an attempt to keep this post a reasonable length, I’m actually going to focus on key points in the history of money (and the required skills and concepts for its use). If you want me to overview the history of math like number patterns, numeral systems, geometry, etc., just submit a second ask!

TL;DR: Headcannons For Each Immortal’s Background with Money:

Lykon: has an amazing memory for debts, carries an bag of tally sticks and I.O.Us, uncanny ability to keep cowrie shells safe

Andy: wishes that literally wearing money hadn’t gone out of style but can begrudgingly appreciate how much easier coins made life, is very happy when someone else manages the finances (she was a god, they don’t pay)

Quynh: likes to remind people that paper money was invented in the East (especially if she is from the very north of Vietnam which was part of the Song Empire), the quickest with numbers of the older members but can’t be trusted to hold onto the currency

Joe: designated banker of the group, picked up reading economics papers a few centuries ago for fun, knows the exchange rate of their destination even if he forgets where they’re going, definitely the one in charge of remembering which banks have their savings

Nicolo: got lazy after traveling with Joe for a while and just points to him when someone asks about money, 110% a gold-digger who spent all his wealth to come first crusade and then married a rich husband and 110% does not care when Nile calls him one, if you were insistent you’d realize that he’s picked up pieces of information from reading over Joe’s shoulder

Booker: pretty good at picking investments but makes sure to have Joe approve all of his major decisions, spent years as Joe’s apprentice and is now allowed to do most of the online banking so that Joe doesn’t have to, enjoys messing with people on the stock market (especially shorting stocks for famous companies - he’s in for the LONG run)

Nile: thought she was great at budgeting until she met everyone else, confuses and frustrates everyone by insisting that they should invest in bitcoin, gets overwhelmed when Joe and Booker lay out their financial system after she insists that she gets involved (she didn’t even know that there were that many banks!) and then never asks again

The underlying skills of managing money are nothing new to humanity. Humans have been keeping “count” for a long time. The oldest tool for documenting numbers and quantities is the “tally stick” which is exactly what it sounds like: a stick or bone that people kept track of things on. The oldest artifact found so far that archaeologists believe represents an attempt at recording numbers is the Lebombo bone which is between 44,200 and 43,000 years old. The current hypothesis is that tally sticks and similar tools helped keep track of money before the invention of writing (briefly discussed in this earlier post), but it is impossible to know for certain how the earliest money worked. This means that even the oldest members of the Old Guard who predate writing needed some experience with basic arithmetic and budgeting.

[ID: picture of the Lebombo bone showing the intentional tally marks.]

This brings us to the two broad categories for what money can represent: “money of account (debits and credits on ledgers) and money of exchange (tangible media of exchange made from clay, leather, paper, bamboo, metal, etc.)” as Wikipedia’s History of Money page explains. We’ve just covered “money of account” with the tally stick and writing. The “money of exchange” is also straightforward, a medium to convey the transfer of wealth. The value needs to be linked to something (redemption credit or inherent value), but this concept predates semi-precious metal coinage that most people picture. You can think redemption credits as early “I.O.U.” papers that would be traded around. The important part of “money of exchange” or currency is that it’s a physical object and not an abstract concept like “debt” that has no physical state (ie. you can’t own negative money). The currencies before coin-based money were livestock or agricultural products (or representative tokens) starting around ~9000 - 6000 BCE and cowrie shells around 1200 BCE in China. Fun fact: cowrie shells are both the currency that was the most widely used and lasted the longest. You go, you funky little mollusks!

[ID: ~6 visible threads of cowrie shells labelled as “NATIVE SHELL MONEY” with the note “Sections of “cowries” thread on cane. New Ireland, Pacific. Presented by Mr. J. F. Cockerell”]

Not to be a smart-ass, but I think that Lykon, Andy, and Quynh deserve credit for the best money-handlers in the literal sense. Physically, a cowrie shell is much more breakable than a piece of copper. I can only imagine how many shells would get accidentally crushed when falling off a horse or throwing your bag to the ground. If you dropped it, it was gone. I could never do it. I can barely let someone else keep track of *digital money* I’ve never seen in bank accounts. That is the idea behind history of money in my opinion: it becomes more and more abstract. It has always required abstraction since it replaced the literal exchange of goods for goods (bartering), but the digital era makes it possible for someone to hypothetically never see government-issued money in order to participate in exchange. Back to the old folks of the Old Guard, they understand money but probably don’t care for the craziness of the banking industry because money to them was always very physical. You wore you money or hide it, but you never misplaced it because then you had no way of regaining it.

After the invention and standardization of coinage, which Yusuf and Nicolo benefit from, the next big innovation is the invention of paper money or the banknote. (Note: yes, I’m skipping a whole bunch of history, but feel free to scroll through images of medieval coins here. Once coins are invented, they just get changed so much, any time the ruler changes. They’re a good historical tool and help show cultural exchange, but kinda boring in terms of invention.) True paper money appears first in Song dynasty China in the 11th century CE. It’s considered different from previous forms of paper currency (aka I.O.U.s or promissory notes) because the government issued them and specified their redeemable value in coinage. It’s like they say, running out of copper is the mother of invention. With the expansion of the Mongol Empire (who I love and wrote about here), paper money started becoming a thing throughout the rest of Eurasia as part of a coinage exchange system around 1200 CE.

At this point, we’ve built up the basic system of money that will become the basis for Booker and Nile’s understanding of currency. You may think that they have a distinct advantage over things like banking and exchange rates, but you’ve overlooked the Islamic Golden Age (a classic blunder!). Using the caliphate’s gold dinar as a stable currency system, Muslim economists invented “credit,[90] cheques, promissory notes,[91] savings accounts, transactional accounts, loaning, trusts, exchange rates, the transfer of credit and debt,[92] and banking institutions for loans and deposits[92]” from the 7th to 12th centuries CE. As a merchant, Yusuf has been involved with banking his entire life and is probably the best at it. He might need a little help with technology because of e-trading and online banking (provided by either Booker or Nile), but he grew up with one of the earliest “modern” banking systems.

[ID: the two faces of a gold dinar issued during the reign of the Fatimid emir Al-Mu'izz li-Din Allah in Mansuriyah in 344 AH (955 CE).]

It’s no wonder that Europeans wanted to invade the Islamic Empire - I’d be jealous too! Nicolo can have some credit, too. The European middle ages saw the invention of “trade bills of exchange” which we can understand as multi-purpose notes which could both act like a traveler’s check (deposit somewhere, withdraw money elsewhere) or a loan (take one out, then pay it back later). Get the pun now? It’s an early multi-purpose credit system that was handy for trade. Nicolo wouldn’t have been totally helpless with money and understood the basic tenants of banking (like credit) if he has a wealthy background, but I think he would have been impressed with the Islamic Caliphate’s systems.

The next innovation in banking is the establishment of the “fractional-reserve system.” This wasn’t possible until the establishment of the first central bank (the Swedish Riksbank) in 1668. Prior to this, you were supposed to be able to go up to a bank, ask them their worth, and then see the actual money that gave them their value. This would sometimes cause bank failures because too many people requiring that you give them the sum of their account at once (called a bank run) would bankrupt a bank as they tried to collect on loans and stocks to get the cash. In comes fractional-reserve banking in which a centralized body like a national bank sets up rules on how much money a bank needs to keep physically on-hand for the loans it makes. These rules, backed by national assistance, allowed bankers to make loans and credit less risky; as long as they always kept say ten percent of all the money they were in charge of, the government would temporarily help them out if everyone wanted their money suddenly. This means that Booker is the first immortal born after the establishment of modern banking, characterized by international exchange, government-stabilized banking, and venture capitalism. As a forger, he clearly has experience with money. Don’t be sad for Nile because there is one innovation that characterizes her lifetime: cryptocurrency.

[ID: an infographic summarizing how bitcoin works.]

Remember how I mentioned that money has become increasingly abstract? Cryptocurrency, starting with Bitcoin in 2008, is the total abstraction of wealth: it only exists as ledger entries. The entire system has no physical basis, not even a government guaranteeing that it has value. I grew up with Bitcoin and even I am confounded any time that I ponder it. Quite frankly, it proves to me that fiat money (money without inherent value, ie. a coin of gold versus a piece of green cotton that says $1) doesn’t make sense. Nile, who has been surrounded by modern computing for her entire life, is the one best suited to understand cryptocurrency and other digital banking systems. Andy feels like it might be dark magic, Joe is horrified, and Booker is torn between awe and terror.

#asks #lovely anon #math #money #historic #reference #tally sticks #currency #coinage #paper money #banknotes #cryptocurrency #fractional-reserve banking #the old guard

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nobody-knose--archive · 4 years ago

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well, today i figured i didn’t have anything better to do & liveblogged the pingry ep. it’s probably a better stepping stone further into the tally void than incomplete demos, coming right off of complete demos, at least.

-from what i know this one basically includes all the mmmm songs that weren't on complete demos (andrew singing ones wahoo) & the expected demos that didn't end up anywhere else + just a friend. i also believe this one was recorded similarly to complete demos so i really have no clue what to expect for taken for a ride's vocals. anyway here i go

-the bidding sounds impressively professional to start things off, but i suppose humming isn't a terribly complex technique anyway. the intro feels a little longer th

-whoah there if that aint a marked difference in audio quality here we go

-guitars also sound different & i don't remember if this album has steve or ross on it i now realize

-goodness the mixing is wonky for rob's segment. the backing vocals do not need to bounce between channels

-why do they have kinda weird voices for the chorus. sounds like they're trying an accent or something. i can barely recognize who's singing

-the keyboard backing in zubin's segment sounds the same as usual, as in, it sounds so stupidly similar to the questions answered backing music that i'm offended i couldn't pick up they're the same for so long

-less echo on disappear actually. at least they still had the brass section

-still a weird sound on the chorus but maybe i can chalk that up to different mixing & more red

-outro sounds not super different. still very good drumming on display which will give me the push i need to decide it's ross drumming

-however i don't hear him shouting out the auctioneer stuff, and given that it was presented as a video during the mmmm recording, i might assume it was done specially for the mmmm releases, so maybe he didn't drum for this album after all

-it does have a greater similarity to the live performances even if the keyboarding is using a different synth

-well now. that's a real piano

-and as any piano will be when played that low, it's out of tune. very

-and everyone's singing? i can't hear andy in the slightest. this is interesting

-i mean i can certainly hear him doing plenty on the piano. but. it's interesting

-i suppose given the ep's hallmanac description, as a compilation of acoustic/one-take recordings i shouldn't be surprised taken for a ride is this different. but boy is it jarring. sounds incredibly different without the heavy synthesizing and complementary instruments

-barebones certainly. not much more of a way to describe it. that's what i expected just not in this way. i like the sound of this bridge though

-do very much wish i could hear andrew's actual voice. even at acoustic live performances he would sing at the very least. then again, that was years later i suppose.

-and it's only now at the final chorus that i realize, somehow, this is a piano-only song. no guitar, no drums even. that's really interesting. even the album version had some drums & bass

-red's singing isn't as impressive here. not as many high notes. understandable. bitch

-different rhythm on the quick part! bet steve feels lucky he didn't have to drum this part although i am hearing some sort of. pants-slapping? now that would be a sight to behold irl

-and that's the end

-goodness. be born. considering how this song was always & every time performed acoustic live i really expect to hear nothing here i haven't from concert recordings

-we're missing whatever the hell that skittery little shaker is called. alas i am not a percussionist & do not know the name of every auxilliary instrument ever

-rippin it up on the melodica bay be. a suitable replacement for whistling considering that never was all that good live. nobody can compare to bora karaca at whistling

-there's extra bass harmonies on display here. swell

-also no percussion i'm realizing

-da-da-da!

-but yeah normally ross uses brushes on a box/seat drum (also don't know what that's called!) for some good gentle percussion & it's not here. really hoping this won't be a trend because i'm fond of drumming even if it's from stebev himself

-bah (chorus) bah

-wait a minute that's not a bah! that's a doo! big difference! what are you doing rob

-i can tell it's one-take because rob has to take a breath in the middle of that final long bah there

-ooh dropping off the guitar there real quick are you? and not even doing the full outro too. good way to spice things up at the end.

-honestly maybe the reason i & so many other th fans dislike be born so much isn't even the country sound and weird subject matter, it's the fact that this song lacks a whole lot of the variability that might separate it from other music. in the album versions there are violins/fiddles, and the live versions... don't have that. maybe some halfway decent whistling at best. it just is what it is. especially compared to the rest of mmmm- g&e could often be more faithfully recreated on stage, but mmmm got to mix things up most of the time, except for be born. food for thought

-anyway. of all the songs i would expect to be absolutely completely identical (other than be born) the whole world and you definitely takes the cake. a delightful song. i should listen to it more.

-but yeah it was a toy orchestra piece long before a tally hall piece, and toy orchestra was & is nothing but silly little live performances. how on earth could they make this one completely different

-other than. the "punk rehearsal" i've heard of from incomplete demos. that's just. a thing i think

-oh hold on i didn't even listen to the end of be born there was a tiny outro with chat at the end oh that's adorable

-hey i can hear andrew's voice! nice!

-starting off with a full ensemble vocals, all sorts of harmonies in action, and a normal piano instead of a toy piano, so already i'm being proven decently wrong on this song's inability to be greatly altered

-other than that. i kinda like how it sounds as if they're stumbling over their words at points

-boy has andrew's voice changed hasn't it. i know i haven't listened to the solo albums so i'm not exactly one to speak but he really developed his singing a lot over time

-clapping live & not in a studio sure sounds a lot worse, especially when it's like 4 people max doing it and not a whole crowd

-zubin (i'm pretty sure) flexing on us all at the end there. good for him

-ayyyyyyy

-it's the song that's sure to invoke an emotional response out of me >:}

-it's also the song i was convinced had andrew vocals in the background (the badadum's between verses) for a good while. still not 100% certain it's rob instead but it's not like i can ask them themselves

-yeah i'll admit it right here this is the song i listen to when i'm going through emotional turmoil. not this version of the song, and no, i don't mean i listen to i'm gonna win or even the tally hall rock version of this one. i mean i listen to the cover of it from we think we're playing in a band. and that's enough on this subject!

-however given the above information yeah i am pretty familiar with this song already. not a new experience right here

-i greatly appreciate the heavy piano work. it's one of my favorite parts about the song

-oh and i should stop talking about that subject right there as well. actually i think i should just say nothing about this song in general. you'll see why in about uhh pauses video

-this friday or so? damn that's sooner than i thought lucky me

-everything will be fine! i'll be making it through!

-oh hello there. "ALBUM" is not a word beamed directly into my brain with great volume thank you very much

-so. it's the outro to good day done with weird haste. looping. no actual chord pro-

-this is. is this some sort of radio performance? what the hell is going on

-steven!!! hello there thanks for the confirmation & god is it surreal to hear his name truly uttered in the context of red rob zubin andrew. wow

-pingry school spring fling. how the hell have i never heard about whatever the hell this track is before

-wait- is it over? song listed as good day but it's in fact the outro to good day done on. a radio program maybe. and now it's a really strange sounding performance of yearbook

-i genuinely can't tell if there's a filter on rob's voice or if the micro- shit that's loud

-what in the hell is going on is this another radio performance or something? like ok yearbook at least was on songs about girls by listedblack but i really want this to be made clear soon

-all i really think i need to know about yearbook is that it's another rob "heterophobic homophonic" cantor angsty boy band song and. listening to it for the first time her. that impression sure isn't going away

-at least i get to hear andrew twinkling those ivories in the back. got a good sound. even if the mixing here is all sorts of wack. a song this complex should not be performed live with only like one microphone

-alright rob i get it you were in love with a girl- and it's over? ok

-live performance of just a friend holy shit hell yes hell yes hell yes for some reason i thought this would be the studio version but no

-i cannot imagine what this song will sound like with steve on the drums hell yes oh will there be banter will rob forget his lines will red say some random 4-syllable phrase will zubin be the best singer in the whole damn band give me an answer now

-already hearing some banter :}

-they're moving weirdly fast and andrew's already got the piano playing even in the beatboxing part. wowie

-ooh kick it andy do those riffs hell yeah

-"that sounded fishy... zubin sedghi!" i'm in love

-KICK IT ANDY

-AND ZUBIN

-and there's the drums! go stevie. go stevie

-good ness andrew just will not let up on the sick as hell keyboarding will he fukc yeah bro kill it

-rob sounds unbelievably tired for this i'm half expecting him to trip up the lyrics at any moment

-"i don't buy it" "don't gimmie that!" you say it boys. oh classic zubin line right there preserved on an official tally hall recording for all eternity, what a treasure this is

-hm isn't this a bit early to go into the pseudo-breakdown chorus? no it works. andrew still rippin it up of course

-and there's the tambourine bay be!

-buildup to the "oh snap" isn't as intense as it could get in later performances which i will gladly blame in its entirety on steve <3

-boy oh boy does rob's voice just sound generally different here. so young so so young

-shooby-doo-wah. well i had low expectations which were not quite fulfilled but it's technically more than what we got on the studio recording so. i won't complain

-THERE IT IS

-BARBEQUE SAUCE BAY BE

-what a fool i was to pause the moment he said it. silly old me <3

-no, no, thank you for coming! but hold on one second. is there not... one more track? technically not a song, technically something i think i've heard before, but if i take a step over to the tally archive...

-cell phone call.

-circus you say? if i had to guess it's the whole world & you given the 08 version of the song but that's a vague guess. can't think of anything better but my current answer isn't that good on its own

-ah! it's joey jo joseph. this wouldn't happen to be that phone call spoken of that, like, invited joe into the band in the first place, would it? i remember that story from an old bio or something, but it doesn't seem like the type of thing that'd be recorded & put on an album. hard to say

-pj? like a certain rob cator frat dude voice JP!?

-well well well now. i'm not sure what to say. i don't recognize that song they're playing as the outro. it could either be some vague listedblack or miscellaneous early tally hall song lost to the void or a demo. i wouldn't exactly know. anyway that ends the pingry ep. shorter than i thought it be, lucky old me. hope you enjoyed!

#tis i #well now i want to listen to the wall party 06 performance of taken for a ride #joe is mentioned by name only at the very end & otherwise it's only indirect references #loolin liveblogs #i wonder why the comprehension amalgamation upload doesn't include cell phone call in there. hm #and yes i'm aware there's some other cell phone track in admittedly incomplete demos no need to tell me. if you will also #not tell me something it's any other spoilers considering aid i look forward to going into that song blind actually #to the world and back again

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winbutlerscowbell · 5 years ago

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Terminator Dark Fate Analysis Mexico Edition

Welcome to the Terminator Dark Fate Analysis Mexico Edition, where I’m going to dissect, comment and give my constructive criticism at every reference, landscapes, locations and well, everything that goes Mexican in this movie of ours.

First things first: I just realized the version delivered to the mexican theaters is DIFFERENT to the rest of the world, why? Because the characters who originally speak Spanish are DUBBED AGAIN, like double dubbed. So ironically, in Mexico we couldn’t get to hear precious things like “no mames”, WE WERE DAMN ROBBED.

OK HERE WE GO:

That bridge is sending me, it really looks like a bridge from here or vial distributor like they call it in a more elegant way.

No, forget it. That kind of bridge doesn’t exist here but nice try, I appreciate that.

Here’s where something really funny starts because what they say doesn’t match with the subtitles at all hahaha

The girl says “no mames” and it’s subtitled to “Oh my God” AND it was dubbed as “No inventes” hahaha this can’t be...

And here, the guy says “yo siento lo mismo”, it’s subtitled as “I feel it too” which is accurate but when they dubbed it they went with “¿y esos ojos?” lmao

Can’t forget to mention this ICONIC scene, of course.

The moment when the cops arrive reminds me of the meme where there’s some thiefs robbing something and the cops are asleep but there’s someone naked or doing something else and a fucking troop arrives, here is one example of the meme I’m talking about:

kidnappers - cops asleep, thiefs - cops asleep,narcos - cops asleep,an old lady selling flowers - the fucking troops.

"¿Qué le pasó a tu amiga, wey?" the cop saying this hahahsha lmao like I said WE WERE FUCKING ROBBED.

The girl saying “qué pedo wey” when they’re arresting her hahah, I actually predicted at least one “que pedo” would be said in this movie and finally I can see my prediction turned out to be true #SamPatchVidente

The casa de papel guy aka the cop is going to be beaten the shit out for wanting to take Grace to the ministerio publico.

Cops getting beaten the shit out of them: oil on canvas

And here’s the first mistake: the patrols have signs saying “policia municipal” and “cdmx” (Mexico City). In real life that’s impossible as “policia municipal” (municipal police) is one thing and “cdmx” is a totally different city, patrols can’t have both things but hey, the design is spot on.

"Eso estuvo padrísimo wey" hahsha lmao this time I prefer the dubbing where they go with “eso estuvo padrísimo, güera”, cause I like when they call Grace güera.

Never in my life I imagined I’d be alive to see this piece of art: Mackenzie with “Sí señor” playing in the background. The first time I saw this I was losing my shit even more cause Mackenzie was somewhere in the same room, probably watching the scene too. This is so powerful, wow.

This is sending me hashaha, in the dubbed versión the guy shouts at her “pinche gringa ratera” (fucking gringa thief or something) and it’s translated to “Go to hell lady” come on hahahaha so I prefer that over the original version, damn it I wish I could have a hybrid version of this cause is gold.

The heroic CDMX, fuck yessss! I would have loved to see the Popocatepetl. I’d like to think the suavicrema is in the background, so maybe is Chapultepec?. So what is a suavicrema? Could be like a brand of ice cream wafer and that tall building in the background looks like one, lol. Omg, ok I’ll stop.

Next: we can see doña pelos in here cooking her food. Doña pelos or doña lupe is how we call every lady who sells food in the street, so for practical effects this lady is doña pelos.

Here’s the proof we call them like that:

It translates: “So doña pelos is taking marketing courses” cause she’s using an Adobe logo to promote her food of the day, which is “adobo de cerdo” hahaha

Let’s move on.

No, it’s not “do you want your tamal”, it’s “tortita de tamal” aka the famous guajolota, that’s what she’s asking. A guajolota is “a sandwich composed of a tamal placed inside a bolillo or telera, which is a rounder version of a bolillo.” Yes, I got it from Wikipedia, don’t judge.

Also, a lady selling garnachas (like quesadillas, etc.) AND tamales? That’s new.

She also sells mangos? Wowowowow that’s versatility.

And “le robo un manguito” “can I steal a mango?” Dani, you have to pay for that, you can go to jail for like 30 years, I’m serious, remember the meme of the cops?

Someone said she may be a prostitute and I can’t even…so you can’t dress with whatever you want? But also I’m a little suspicious and she actually may be one depending on what zone is Dani supposed to live.

A pink cab! I thought it was a Nissan Tsuru because they always are but this time it’s not. Missed opportunity, production design team.

“Let’s put Frida Kahlo to emphasize this is Mexico, what a good idea , why not?”

Multifamiliar o vecindad? we're about to find out.

Why does she have a bike hanging on the wall? Is that a thing?

The fruit on the table, the vase, and the squared table cloth, that evoked things in me.

About the music: I mean, it’s okay they put latin music but I am fucking sick to death of this Bomba Estereo song, I fucking hate it. There, I said it.

147 likes, that’s how excited the guys who think they’re Dj’s or something are when they upload things to soundcloud.

One thing I don’t understand is: if they live in Mexico City, why are they talking in english now? Did I miss something?

Never seen anyone in my life name a dog “Taco”, only “Chilaquil” but that’s another story.

Arturitooo from la casa de papel! or how I like to call him: el cñor <3 (it means señor but with a c because it sounds the same).

Interestingly, now there are two actors from la casa de papel appearing here hahaha

LMFAO that’s a flagrant fucking typo: “tomalito” hahshaha that’s an unforgivable mistake. It’s “tamalito” obviously.

Now, what’s up with the serape blanket on the wall? Hahaha we call them sarapes but come on, we’re not like that…well yeah but no… It would have been funny if the serape had a drawing of the last dinner hahaha that would have triggered childhood memories.

The cñor from la casa de papel is going to the imss for his medical check up. Imss is a horrible public health institution but that’s what we have so…

Ok, this is GOLD: the serape blanket, a picture of la Virgen de Guadalupe, the couch covered with sheets and ANOTHER serape blanket, the sewing machine hahaha they missed the calendar from the fruit store or the butch shop, damn haha

Did taco survive? I guess not :(

Also when Diego sings: Y’all, you could have saved some good money by picking up another song, I mean, it’s a beautiful song by Juan Gabriel but I heard it was very expensive and now in retrospective you could have saved something in this little simple thing.

So it’s a vecindad I guess.

And how did they hang the clothes in the middle? :v Can these people fly? That would be a Mexican super power to take advantage of the maximum possible space.

Un viejo encueradooooo, tápese cochino.

A green bussssss!!! We call them microbuses and the location gives me historical downton vibes because of all the people in the street.

Oopppp another pink cab, I love it.

I am the only person on this planet who is excited to see those microbuses in this movie, yes I am.

I FINALLY KNOW WHAT THE ROUTE OF THE MICROBUS SAYS! It says "LAGO DE GUADALUPE, E. ZAPATA" WHICH IS INCORRECT HAHAHAHA. Also, the man with the hat hahaha it’s Mexico City not Monterrey.

Lago de Guadalupe is not in Mexico City and “E. Zapata” maybe is the subway station but they’re absolutely not close to each other, well let’s move on.

The casa de papel guy aka Dani’s dad is speaking with a heavy spanish accent tbh

And... Goodbye Mr. casa de papel :(

They make it look as if everybody works there, it’s not a little town, you know?

Why the fuck is an employee riding a bike inside the factory? I don’t get it.

When diego says "chale" hahaha same.

"Un robot, que chido eh" hahaha chido and it’s subtitled as "it's cool" adjka god help me please.

El señor Sánchez represents me.I mean, there was a little bit of criticism because all the mexicans represented here are white but hey, try looking for someone who looks like a mexican in damn Europe, they did the best they could.

Aaaagain: if they are in Mexico City, why the hell are they talking in english? I’ll never understand.

Typical police guy distracted with the damn phone, yes we are in Mexico.

That policeman looks like Burt Reylonds (?)

Wish Grace would’ve arrived in that microbus hahahaha

That microbus is weird, nope I don't know her.

That microbus has the same route as the previous one but it has something else under “E. Zapata”, like “Tecnologico” or something like that, ooofff maybe it’s Tecnologico de Monterrey hahaha that college is kinda near Lago de Guadalupe so haha ok, let’s keep going.

Another distracted cop, my Mexico.

I love how Grace beats cops everywhere, this is an irrelevant scene for this analysis but I just love it so much.

Back to the factory: "Qué hace aquí tu jefe?" jasjdd "que haces aquí, jefe", the slang is on point here haha

"Olvidaste tu comida mijo" jasdjkhd

"Me quieren reemplazar por esa pinche máquina" apparently translates to a "they’re replacing me with that damn machine" jaksdj at least put a “fucking” or something.

Again that heavy spanish accent with that deep voice, hmmm

I’m going to ignore the Factory fight because there’s no Mexican stuff here.

Well, Diego and Dani keep saying “vámonos” and they don’t fucking leave haha

“GET IN” and Dani saying "ya güera ya güera" jakdhakjd I love her

Pink cab is saved from being destroyed by Grace.

Here comes the policía municipal to spoil everything.

Ok, my theory is they are in the limits of Mexico City and the metropolitan area aka the state which is also a kinda not very good looking place and omg hahaha I love that.

Here’s when Diego slips an almost inaudible “no mames”, I know I heard it.

And well, THANK YOU GOVERNOR OF MEXICO CITY BECAUSE THE PATROLS ARE NOT THE SAME COLOR AND THEY’RE NOT ACCURATE ANYMORE, THANK YOU FOR SPOILING EVERYTHING.

These are our patrols now:

Ugh.

Noooo the tacos :( this really hurt a lot.

This is where I think they enter a highway called “circuito exterior mexiquense” that effectively connects the metropolitan area of the state with Mexico City and I LOVE IT. I love everything, do I?

Also some say the Rev-9 is driving a snow plow truck, is it? The only time it has snowed in Mexico City was in 1967, a long time ago.

Everything is screaming “circuito exterior”, yes I’m getting those vibes and I’m here for it.

Another pink cab is seen. Fun fact: because of its pink and white colors, we call them “hello kittys” and before that they were like wine color and gold so we called them “iron man”.

“FASTER GO FASTER” Grace: “shut the fuck up, dummy” and giving looks that could kill.

Hahahaha those license plates are so damn old and they say “Chihuahua” and “Guanajuato” ahaha doesn’t make very much sense.

The car of my friend hahaha

The truck behaving like my friend’s car.

Here’s where as a mexican citizen who used to drive every day in that highway, I detected some continuity details in the pursuit scene:

ROAD SIGN 1: Nextlalpan/Jaltenco haha on the opposite side of the road.

ROAD SIGN 2: Querétaro/Toluca/Tultitlán on the right side they’re driving

ROAD SIGN 1 again: first mistake fellas, now the sign is in the lane where they’re driving.

ROAD SIGN 3: Ecatepec/Texcoco, how do I know? I just do.

ROAD SIGN 4: This is my fave because in this one there's my shitty town hahaha SALIDA LECHERIA-TEXCOCO AV.JOSE LOPEZ PORTILLO Y COACALCO hahaha

It really looks like the circuit, I drive there a lot of times and Grace was there, destroying everything :')

ROAD SIGN 4: My fave sign now is on the opposite side, mistake number two.

Each and every one of the times I went to the theaters to watch this movie, in this scene everyone was like "ohhhh what? omg nooo"

ROAD SIGN 4: Mistake number 3, the sign of Lecheria is shown again when the Grace truck had already passed there on the other side of the road.

ROAD SIGN 2: There's again the sign of Queretaro/ Toluca/Tultitlan when Grace's truck has already driven over there.

ROAD SIGN 5: Toluca/Lago de Guadalupe, remember? Lago de Guadalupe, just like the microbus route sign.

ROAD SIGN 5: Just because I love to see Mackenzie with those signs in the background hahaha

Anyway, the circuito exterior mexiquense is a fucking mess and of course I love it.

Dani, I wouldn't go to the police either, they’re a bunch of useless idiots and I'm sure they would blame YOU for everything and get you into jail for 40 years.

Really bitch? RECETA MEDICA AJSDKASDK he's asking her for a prescription lmao her face I can’t...

Also I always wondered how Grace understood the pharmacy guy but now I know that in the version brought up here, this guy was dubbed to spanish while in the original version he spoke english, those little differences and I’ll never understand why they did it.

Typical guy filming the mess hahaha

"Qué pasa güera" traduced to "what the hell", nice (not actually)

That looks like a little town but God knows where is it, eww

Sure, we all have an uncle who is a coyote (no, not true). We call them polleros, not coyotes but whatever.

"Ojalá ustedes no fueran tan blancas" "I wish you two weren't so white" hasjdaj Love it.

So they're going to the famous BESTIA (beast), that's the nickname of the train because it's so huge.

I'm laughing hard because in some sites they called this scene "train station scene" hahaha this is everything but a train station haha ffs

Fun fact: I see that train everyday just without migrants, I think they ride the train in other certain places. This is a pic a took of the real bestia:

LOS HEROES TECAMAC JAJAJAJAJA lmao lmao I can't fucking believe it jasjdkaja the little shitty town close to mine LOVE IT

Ciudad Valles jaskdja

Ciudad Victoria.

China??? wtf now that's just random places.

EDIT: Someone replied to his post and told me it’s a place in Nuevo León and yes it is, CHINA, Nuevo León Mx. close to Ciudad Victoria AND LAREDO. And this means I don’t know my country enough. Gracias @vickysan24

Is this supposed to be Guanajuato? when on earth they went to Guanajuato? I need to talk to Sonja Klaus asap

Mackenzie saying "hola" is one of the best things that could've ever happened to me.

ahhh the food jasjdja has a lemon in it, I don't know, could be sincronizadas? hahahsha I think it’s eggs and beans with pico de gallo.

Mastering the skill of grabbing the tortilla like a spoon, nice. She has my seal of approval.

cartel de Sinaloa... really?! I really don't know what to think about this one...come the fuck on.

So that's how they cross huh, they keep putting walls but people always will find a way.

La migra got them:(

I’m going to do a big skip here. The border patrol and the detention center are next and key in the story but I don’t really know how can I bring something new in this analysis, maybe I’ll try later.

Next: When they find Carl.

For a looong time I really thought those beers were Corona and now it turns out they weren’t, sad day but oh well there are much better beers out there, so... *nail polish emoji*

Is that... MOLE DE LA COSTEÑA???? JAJAJSJAJD Did you think I wasn’t going to see that?! That’s a great product placement.

And another picture of la Virgen de Guadalupe.

I'm far from being an expert but i'm not sure if we drink beer like that, with the lemon in the bottle.

Another beer? Yes, thank you.

Even Grace is not sure if beer is drank in that way.

But beer with lemon and salt is everything, I admit it.

Ok, fast forward, no mexican things until the very end;

"Mataste todo lo que quería cabron" jsadkhdjha what a delight! and it’s been translated to "you took everything I had, bastard" lmao yeah, right. Sounds better in spanish, obviously.

Yes people, only a mexican can throw herself to a Terminator and fight with it with her own bare hands.

And to finish this deep analysis, I want to point the great originality (sarcasm on) they had with some character names: Diego Boneta is Diego, Alicia Borrachero aka Carl’s “wife” is called Alicia and at some point the Rev-9 is called Gabriel, like hmm ok, I remember Diego Boneta’s character was rumored to be named Miguel but yeah it was just a rumor. Ohhh and the lady selling tamales her real life name is yes, you guessed it: Mona.

If you’re reading this, I want to thank you for getting this far, for taking your time and I hope this “little analysis” helped you to understand some things better about the movie that maybe you’ve missed in your viewings or to discover new things about Mexico. Did I miss something? Let me know what you think.

#terminator dark fate #Mexico #terminatordestinooculto #film analysis

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shireness-says · 5 years ago

Text

A Sparking Attraction

Summary: Emma just wanted a nice, relaxing weekend. Who knew her car trouble would be the ticket into her hot's neighbor's pants? Rated E for smut. ~3.7K. Also on AO3.

A/N: Inspired by my recent car trouble. Unfortunately, Emma’s the only one with a hot neighbor to come to her rescue. Thanks as always to @snidgetsafan for her beta-ing!

Tagging the usual suspects: @kmomof4, @teamhook, @profdanglaisstuff, @scientificapricot, @thisonesatellite, @thejollyroger-writer, @optomisticgirl, @snowbellewells, @ohmightydevviepuu, @let-it-raines, @winterbaby89

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

“Goddamn, motherfucking, piece of fucking shit —”

This was, to say the least, not the morning Emma had hoped to have. It was a rare weekend off from the station, and as much as Emma usually loved her job as a Storybrooke Sheriff’s Deputy, a couple days off were much needed after a week where it seemed like the entire town had been out to irritate her personally. Leroy and his brothers had gotten into yet another screaming match, Ella Cruller wouldn’t lock up her dogs again, Victor Whale had been drunk and belligerent at the Rabbit Hole on a goddamn Tuesday night the list went on and on. Emma needs some ice cream and a grilled cheese and probably a stiff drink, and above all to hermit at her apartment and not re-emerge until she’s back to work Monday afternoon.

Unfortunately, to achieve those pathetically small dreams, Emma has to go to the store. And unfortunately, since Emma has things to do, her fucking car won’t start. Probably the battery. Of course.

She shouldn’t be surprised, really; it’s not like the Bug is some pristine new machine that’s in perfect working order. She loves that stupid thing, but it’s old, and old cars have problems. The only minor miracle is that hers is a new enough model to have the battery properly in the rear compartment instead of under her back seat. Of course, she doesn’t have one of those handy cordless battery jumpers David is always on her to buy; no, that would be too simple. She’d meant to buy one for a while, but they’re fucking expensive and what were the chances she’d need it anyways?

Famous last words, obviously.

“Fucking traitor,” she mutters again, scowling at the exposed engine where she’s propped the back hatch up and kicking lightly at one of her tires. Ok, not so lightly, but the car deserves it, even if her toes don’t.

She’s just about to start up with another string of profanity in order to avoid trying to actually fix the problem when a voice calls from behind her - directly behind her, in fact. “Car trouble, lass?” Even if the soft accent and tone of voice aren’t alarming, the proximity is, and Emma claps a hand over her chest above where her heart is spasming. Apparently, she hadn’t noticed his approach in her focus on cursing at the little car.

“Fuck almighty, you scared the shit out of me,” she accuses, whirling around to meet the eyes of her neighbor. It’s Killian Jones, of course; if the accent wasn’t a dead giveaway, her current streak of luck would dictate it anyways. Because of course her effortlessly hot neighbor who Emma definitely doesn’t have anything resembling a crush on, no sir, no way, would show up now when she’s ratty-looking and irritable. At least she showered this morning; it’s a scant blessing.

At least he has the decency to look a little sheepish. Serves him right, after the scare he gave her. “Apologies, love. I heard a commotion, looked out my window to see your hood popped open, and thought I’d come offer my assistance.” He pauses for a bare second before picking up again, not even enough time for Emma to start responding. “Though really, is it still called the hood if it’s at the back of the car?”

Emma just stares for a moment. “Seriously?”

“You’re right, doesn’t matter,” he concedes. “Do you need any help? I can’t say I’m good at car repair, but I’m decent at taking directions.”

“It’s fine,” Emma replies. “Not my first rodeo with changing the battery in this car. Call me an old pro or something. Don’t worry about me.”

Not that it stops him, a concerned little wrinkle set stubbornly in his forehead. “Well, you’re going to need a new one, right?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“Can I drive you to the auto parts shop, at least?”

Emma pauses at the offer. Honestly, she’d planned to call David; technically, he’s working, but she thinks with some finagling this could fall under the “public assistance” bit of his job description. Emma is always hesitant to accept help if she doesn’t have to - call it an unfortunate remnant of a shitty childhood - but Killian is here, and he is offering. Even if Emma doesn’t want to accept his help on principle, she knows he won’t judge her for taking it or think she’s weak. She may not know her neighbor that well, but he’s never been anything but polite and chivalrous, if a bit flirtatious at times.

(Maybe one day she’ll take him up on that flirting; for now, at least, she can take him up on that offer of a ride.)

She must have been thinking for longer than she thought, because Killian looks like he’s about to withdraw the offer in embarrassment. He’s a stutterer when he’s nervous, Emma’s noticed; not that she’s had much cause to, but in a town this size, it’s impossible not to catch folks in some kind of embarrassment eventually, and she’s seen him with his brother.

“You know what? Sure, a ride would be great,” she agrees. The way Killian’s shoulders drop in a small show of relief makes her more confident in her choice, especially when he smiles at her in what she almost might call delight. “Let me get the old battery out first, it goes easier when I can just drop the old one on the counter and ask to swap it. Can you grab my toolbox out of the trunk?”

“Of course, Swan.”

With Killian’s help - ok, more like “supervision” - the car surgery goes quickly. Emma’s only had to do this once before, but muscle memory is a powerful thing, and it’s easy enough to detach the battery once she knows what other pieces need to be carefully extracted and set aside to get at her goal in the limited space of the Volkswagen. It’s easy, too, to get a new battery when the owner of the auto parts store is one of Leroy’s brothers who she’d had to deal with earlier in the week - just one pointed glare on Emma’s part, and the little whiny man had quickly gone to get her replacement without any long lectures about how to reinstall it or how some people just don’t take good care of their vehicles.

“If I didn’t say it before, thanks for doing this,” Emma says quietly as Killian drives them both back to their apartment complex in his little SUV. He’s a careful driver, she’s discovered, navigating them smoothly around corners and executing gentle stops. It speaks well of him, she thinks, that he’s gentle in even this most mundane of activities.

“It’s not a problem, love,” he smiles. “I promise. Truthfully, watching you work on the car is all to my benefit.” The statement sits in the air for a moment before he continues. “Oh, now that sounds sketchy, doesn’t it?”

Emma laughs. “I mean, I think I know what you mean, but yeah, probably not the best choice of words.” It’s been interesting, watching him bounce back and forth in the months they’ve been acquainted between a suave flirt and this more bashful version of himself.

Honestly, it’s pretty cute too.

“I just mean…” He tries again, pauses. “It was impressive. Watching a woman perform her own car repair. Attractive.” He groans. “God, just let me put my foot even further into my mouth.”

“No, no it’s okay,” Emma assures him. “I… thanks, I guess.” It’s flattering, really - especially since she’s been ogling him from down the hall for months now.

“You’re welcome.” They sit in silence. “So, shall we talk about literally anything else now? Let’s do that. Please.”

Knowing what he admitted, though, it’s hard not to put on a little bit of a show when Emma re-installs the new battery. Maybe she lets her shirt ride up, and maybe she leans a little more exaggeratedly over the rear compartment as she works. So what? She’s a woman with needs like any other, and any desire to spend the rest of her weekend alone has melted as she spent her morning with Jones.

When the repairs are finally done, Emma slams the hatch back shut and turns to face Killian, whose eyes skate up and down her figure as she slides her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She knows the posture accentuates her breasts and pushes her hips forward into something that almost might be a sway or a swagger; she’s counting on it, in fact.

“Thanks again for the help,” she tells him, dropping her voice to a more sultry register. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I don’t know about that,” he replies, before slipping into an attitude to match Emma’s own. “If you feel that way, though… well, who am I to argue. Perhaps a… token of appreciation is in order?” He even taps at his lips, the saucy cheeky bastard.

(She’s so going to fuck that.)

Emma can give as good as she gets, though, both in banter and in other, more private things. “Funnily enough, that’s what the thank you was for.” Even as the words leave her mouth, Emma sways further into Killian’s space, proving them to be just a facade.

“Is that all your precious Bug is worth to you?” Killian is close enough that Emma can feel the warmth of his breath wash across her face. She could just tilt her head up the smallest bit and claim his lips…

So she does. There’s absolutely no reason why she shouldn’t, especially since she’s felt this sizzling something simmering beneath her skin, a scorching heat she’s seen reflected in Killian’s eyes, ever since the moment they first ran into each other in the hallway five months ago. He’s just as good a kisser as she imagined, though the way their lips meet is nearly feral in its intensity. He, too, gives just as good as he gets, each thrust of Emma’s tongue met with a parry of his own, all accentuated by a forceful tug to bring her hips into contact with his own. God, it’s good.

Frankly, Emma would be happy to keep at it right here in the parking lot, let their clothes drop into the backseat of the Bug and figure out the logistics of sex in the world’s most cramped car, but there’s the matter of neighbors and passers-by and public indecency. “Inside,” she manages to gasp just as Killian squeezes her ass. Lord only knows how she manages to keep her train of thought after that. “We gotta go inside. Now.” She even pushes him away and towards the door in emphasis.

“Your place or mine?” Killian trots after her as Emma sets a determined pace, still managing to reach the door in time to hold it open for her. Stupid gentleman, they don’t have time for that.

Vague memories of dirty laundry on the floor decide for Emma. “Yours,” she tosses back to him. If this is going to be more than a one time thing, she doesn’t want his first impression of her place to be an utter disaster. They live mere doors apart anyways; it’s not like there’s one apartment obviously closer than the other.

The elevator ride to the third floor seems to take forever, but it’s still better than taking the stairs - even if they have to stay in opposite corners to keep from jumping each other in the little box. It’s funny; normally, the enforced distance would cool the fire raging in her blood and knock Emma to her senses, but it only leaves her imagining all the things she wants to do with Killian, to Killian when they finally make it behind locked doors. She wants him, and there’s no denying it.

At least he has the presence of mind to spend the elevator ride locating his apartment keys; once they reach his door, it’s the work of a moment to slip inside. Killian immediately cages Emma against the wall next to the door, trapping both her hands above her head as he attacks her mouth and neck with his lips.

“Been thinking about this for a long while, Swan,” he murmurs against her neck as he finishes sucking what will be a very impressive hickey into her skin. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

“Oh yeah?” She gasps back. “Me too.” He can take that any way he likes; she means it, regardless.

Abruptly, Killian lets go of her hands only to hoist her into the air. Emma’s legs twine around his hipson instinct, but she’s got other, more important things to worry about - namely, kissing the living daylights out of Killian and the way his toned stomach rubs against her center as he walks them to the bedroom.

She squeals as he tosses her lightly onto the bed, Emma’s body bouncing on impact. Emma scoots up the bed to watch as Killian begins to undress, whipping his t-shirt over his head and starting to reach for his shoes before he notices her staring.

“Are you planning to strip, love?” He asks with an arch of his eyebrow. The hunger is evident in his eyes and in the tenting of his pants, which only makes Emma want to tease him.

“Nah, I think I’m just going to watch.”

“Now, that’s not fair,” Killian whines, halting his own disrobing to crawl over Emma’s body again. “I’ve shown you mine, and here you are, still all wrapped up.”

“I mean, technically, all I’ve seen is your chest. It’s nice, but…” Emma trails her hand down the hair and flesh of his abdomen until she hits denim, twisting her hand to squeeze his erection. “It’s not really what I want to see.”

“You make a good point, love.” His voice catches in his throat in restrained pleasure; Emma kind of loves it. “Now, what do you say that I show you some more of what you’re looking for, and you take care of some of your pesky layers?”

To borrow the kind of words he’d use: she’s amenable to that plan.

He’s got a great dick, really, once she’s down to her bra and underwear and he’s bare in front of her. It’s large without being impractically massive and bobs proudly and eagerly towards his stomach. He obviously knows he’s worth looking at, if his confident stance is any indication. God, Emma can’t wait.

“Let me help you with that, darling,” he purrs, moving back into Emma’s space to reach behind her and unclasp her bra. Thank god her most comfortable bra also happens to be her most flattering, and passably pretty at that. Not that it matters when the garment is already on the floor and Killian’s fingers have ducked beneath the elastic of her underwear to draw them slowly down.

“Like what you see?” She asks coyly as the cotton hits the ground. She already knows her answer if the way Killian peruses her naked form with wide eyes is any indication.

“Only a fool wouldn’t,” Killian comments, “and darling, I’m no fool. I must say, though, I’m a little less interested in looking than in touching.”

“Then you’d better get over here.”

This time, when Emma falls back on the bed, pulling Killian with her, she intends to stay there.

Killian grinds his cock against her core, the most glorious sensation after all this banter and buildup. Skin-on-skin feels good, satisfying, though not quite enough to satisfy her craving. There’s only one thing that will do that, she knows, and as much as she wants the slick burn of his body within hers, this friction just feels too good to stop. It’s hard to push away the man who’s rubbing against her clit just right.

Finally, though, her craving is too strong to deny. “Condom?” She asks, pushing lightly at Killian’s shoulders to capture his attention.

“Aye,” he pants, a little breathless in his arousal. “Side table.” He doesn’t take the direct path, however, doesn’t just roll off her and reach for the drawer; he detours instead to her breasts to graze his teeth along a nipple and make Emma shudder in pleasure.

She allows herself to get distracted by his attentions for a moment; it’s been a long while since a little boob play has felt this good. Maybe it’s his own skill; maybe she’s already so aroused from everything else that it’s heightened the sensations. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter as long as he keeps making her moan. There’s greater pleasure to be found, however, and with that in mind, Emma makes herself pull Killian away from her chest with a tug on his thick, dark hair. Killian pouts at the interruption - god, what an adorable idiot - but she’s insistent. Plus, she’s got something even more pleasurable in mind.

“Seriously, Jones. Condom. Sex. Now.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Killian mutters as he finally shifts off Emma to open the drawer and extract a little foil packet. Before he can move to do anything about it, she plucks the condom out of his hand and pushes at Killian until he lays back on the mattress so she can straddle him.

“So you want to be on top, hmm?” He asks her breathlessly as Emma rolls the latex down his length. As she pumps him with her hand, making sure everything’s snug, he moans. “I suppose it’s a good thing I like a woman in charge.”

“I suppose it is,” Emma replies, rising up to situate his cock at her entrance, “because you’re about to get one.” And with that, she gradually sinks down on him, feeling the burn as he stretches her inner walls.

For all her talk, this part always takes a moment to adjust to, with little rocking motions and shallow thrusts of Emma’s hips until she settles into that perfect angle of penetration. Beneath her, Killian’s eyes are blown wide and dark with lust, and his hands grip at her hipbones.

“You’ve got to move,” he gasps. “For the love of God, you’ve got to move.”

Emma clenches around him, eliciting another moan, before heeding his plea. There’s no reason a woman in charge can’t be a little bit merciful - for both their sakes. The angle is so damn good, especially when she adds a little twist of her hips on each downward thrust. Maybe it’s just because this unspoken thing has been sitting between them for months, but Emma can already feel her pleasure building.

“Want to help a girl out?” She pants as she increases the pace, chasing for the orgasm she can sense just out of reach. When Killian doesn’t immediately move - by the looks of things, too distracted in watching where her body envelops his own - Emma forcibly grabs his hand from where it had been stroking the flesh of her hip and drags it just above where they meet. He can figure it out from there, if he’s half as clever as he acts.

Sure enough, when he gets with the program, tendrils of sensation start chasing down Emma’s legs all the way to her toes. “You like that, love?” He asks breathlessly.

“Fuck yeah. Just like that,” she gasps out. “Fuck.”

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Killian prattles on beneath her. Emma truthfully doesn’t pay much attention; the way the curl of his accent sets her blood pounding is more important than anything he has to say. Still, he continues. Maybe he knows she’s not listening, maybe he doesn’t; in the end, does it matter? “Come for me, love, I know you want to.”

And with his thumb on her clit and his cock throbbing within her, she does, flying into a flurry of sensation and bliss.

She’s barely come down from her high before Killian flips their positions, sliding out of her heat for the barest of moments before he thrusts back inside. He’s still hard within her, obviously not having found the same release she has. Emma moans as his cock strokes along her inner walls. “You feel so good around me, so tight, darling,” he croons as he sets a steady pace with the snap of his hips. “Do you think you’ve got another one in you? Do you think you can come for me again?”

Emma doesn’t know for certain, but she’s certainly willing to find out.

It turns out, Killian’s a talker in bed when he’s the one holding the reins - little endearments and dirty talk Emma wonders if he’s even aware of saying. She can tell his orgasm is close when the words stop altogether, replaced by little grunts as he works above her, arms braced by her sides and head bowed over her chest.

He comes with a deep groan just as the tingle of her own release starts to build again; Emma could almost curse in frustration, even if she did already climax earlier. Killian must sense that frustration as he hurriedly drops his hand back between her legs as soon as he’s finished, rubbing furiously at her clit. He pulls out as his cock begins to soften, only to plunge two fingers within her fluttering core instead to thrust and stroke instead. It’s not the same, but it’s enough, and Emma soars over that peak one more time with a mighty exhale of what might almost be Killian’s name.

“God, that was good,” Emma gasps as she comes back to herself again. Faintly, she’s aware of Killian taking care of the used condom, though she can’t bring herself to care about the details. “Good job team, or… something.”

Killian chuckles as he shifts back to curl around her. “You know, you might even say I gave you a jolt,” he teases.

“Oh, that was awful,” Emma groans, even as she wiggles deeper into his embrace. “Promise me you’ll never say that again, please.”

“I make no promises,” Killian laughs back. “This wit won’t be contained.”

Emma can work with that. After all, she’s she’s currently making several plans that involve him this weekend - and they'll be sure to make sparks fly for as long as their batteries hold out.

#Captain Swan #cs ff #cs smut #my writing #A Sparking Attraction #it's just smut y'all

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mintgator · 5 years ago

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MDZS fic ideas

Things I’d love to see in Mo Doa Zu Shi fanfiction. These are my notes for things I have told myself I am not allowed to write. I’ve read...so many fics for this fandom, like most of the archive, and I’m sad that I’m pretty much at the point of rereading/waiting for updates. These ideas have been swimming around in my head that I have no time to write, so PLEASE someone take them and gimme some new words to read, I beg you. Of course, end goal should be wangxian in some way, because otherwise WHAT IS THE POINT, but I don’t have time to write these, so...here you go. Please let me know if you use them. I wanna read these, but I don’t have time to write them, so maybe someone else will want to.

*Time Travel AU in which WWX goes back and for some reason tells Madame Yu all the bullshit that’s gonna happen, so they team up and fix all the things. I just...really want Mama Yu to like WWX thanks. And dear god, LET JC BE HAPPY! I need so much more resolution on that front. Even the book did not satisfy me. I WANT MY BOYS TO GET ALONG! And I want Mama Yu to not be awful and abusive to WWX! I mean she had reasons for being salty but uh that is NOT good justification for the shit she pulled with WWX. Also, hell, let Jiang Fengmian get his core melted and have Madame Yu run the sect. WE NEED FEMALE REP.

*Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze live so WWX gets to grow up with his parents. He meets LWJ as a rogue cultivator or something idk. This would make a fun oneshot.

*LWJ’s mother lives! Honestly, I just want happy Lan-fam. Can I get that please? Just how much would it change the dynamic of the story if LWJ’s father led the sect properly and his mother wasn’t locked away in a goddamn building and actually got to spend more time with her kids? I am forever salty that we’ll never know why Mama Lan killed her hubby’s teacher or w/e. Somebody GIVE ME SOME REASONING.

*WWX gets taken in and claimed as heir by Wen Ruohan...and WWX doesn’t learn that their ways are wrong until he’s at least a teen (perhaps when sent to train at the Cloud Recesses?) and realizes how the other Sects really feel about them. Give him some convoluted morals that he has to unlearn. Make Wen Xu and Wen Chao hate him for being chosen over them. Change Wei Wuxian/Wei Ying into Wen Ying/Wen Wuxian and have it be a secret that he’s not actually a Wen. Have WWX actually not want the Wen Sect destroyed because despite how messed up its people are, not all of them are bad--mostly just those in power (it still baffles me that the other clans just DESTROYED an entire sect, like I know the Wens burned Lotus Pier but DAMN that’s cold!) Even some kind of variation where WWX influences Wen Ruohan and his children’s evil mindset would be really interesting. Otherwise, can you imagine WWX with Chenqing on the Wen side? Ouch. Also, this sticks WWX with Wen Ning and Wen Qing early on and I LOVE THEM, so there’s that.

*WWX doesn’t come back after his first death, and LWJ achieves immortality because he’s stubbornly still looking/waiting for WWX. Two centuries pass (we’re going to ignore any technological advancements and replace them with cultivation advancements or something) and LWJ ends up befriending a nice lady cultivator who falls for him, and even though he only considers her a friend, he agrees to marry her. They have 1 very stubborn gay daughter (only from consummation sex which brings up a boatload of other problems) who somehow stumbles across a reborn!WWX with all his memories--daughter is hella bitter that her father clearly does not return her mother’s affections and that he is apparently pining for someone who is so long dead that people don’t actually remember his name (ie - people remember Yiling Laozu but not that his name was Wei Wuxian). But without knowing who he is, the daughter ends up liking WWX until she finds out the truth about who he is and drama ensues. Can you tell I’ve wanted to write this one so badly? I mean I could just about draft an outline, but I HAVE TO FOCUS ON MY ORIGINAL NOVEL I’M SORRY.

*Time Travel AU in which Yanli alone gets a do-over with all the future knowledge and fixes everything just by being her amazing self. I feel like she’d be a really keen manipulator.

*The story from NHS’s pov. I wanna read all his manipulations and him putting them into place. Is there anything like this out there? Because oh my GOD I wanna know what’s going through his head sometimes. I really, really do!

*Jiang Cheng/Wen Ning - AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS THIS WOULD BE AN ENTERTAINING SHIP? Just...I sort of tolerate the JC/LXC and JC/NHS pairings because they’re commonly used, but honestly, I’m not crazy about either one. However, WN is such a sweetheart and JC is such a hothead and there is so much opportunity for drama there. Also, in some cases depending on timeline...WN is, yunno, a corpse--a fixable thing if you weave in WWX’s involvement and make him and JC get along again. GIVE ME THAT. Like I don’t read much other than wangxian focused fic, but I would read the hell out of this (also you could easily balance those two pairings).

*Somewhere in the waiting gap, LWJ is given three tasks by a deity of some sort who promises to bring WWX back if he completes him...but these tasks have to UTTERLY go against LWJ’s character and completely destroy his reputation as Hanguang Jun. Honestly, this could go cracky or painfully dark.

*No idea how, but Mo Xuanyu manages to bring WWX back fully in-tact and they both get to live. WWX of course takes MXY under his wing, and together they avoid the notice of even LWJ for a lot longer than WWX did in canon. I would love to see them figuring out the whole JGY plot in the background and LWJ tailing them around just a little too late to the party each time a major event goes down until finding out in some kind of dramatic finale that WWX has been back for a while. I have yet to see characterization for MXY that I really like. Most people make him either ridiculously whiny or so much like WWX that they may as well be the same character. :/ So, uh, maybe a different approach? I mean MXY is allowed some complaints, he’s had a rough time of things, but come ON.

*Lan Wanji never finds Wen Yuan and poor widdle Shizui manages to survive into adolescence living on his own in the burial mounds...accompanied by the fragmented ghost of his Xian-gege who very slowly is pieced back together by A-Yuan, who has sort of naturally started using demonic cultivation and somehow develops a heroic reputation as a rogue cultivator. Why? Because he’s Shizui, and Shizui is SO PURE OK? Maybe he has a fascination with LWJ, even though his memories of Rich Gege are kind of fuzzy. Shizui matchmakes his two ridiculous dads. Oh and inquiry doesn’t work on WWX cuz his soul is shrouded by the resentful energy in the burial mounds.

*The Wen clan burns the Cloud Recesses to the ground around the same time WWX has lost his parents, but LWJ somehow escapes. Reportedly, everyone in GusuLan is now dead, but he somehow ends up in the same town as WWX. They meet and bond immediately. Maybe LWJ saves WWX from the dogs. Anyway, JFM never finds WWX, so he and LWJ grow up together in poverty, eventually teaching themselves cultivation and night hunting, until their fame grows so much that they catch the attention of the Wen clan (or something). Have them ridiculously dedicated to each other, already in love and thinking of themselves as cultivation partners. I want their bond to straight-up shock people. LET THEM BE SHAMELESS. LWJ would have to have a fake name and wear something other than white.

*LWJ and WWX figure out their relationship stuff a lot sooner and end up building a proper sect in the burial mounds. I want LWJ wearing WWX’s colors. I want demonic cultivation to work hand-in-hand with regular cultivation. I want them to find artifacts or books or something in the burial mounds indicating a civilization used to be there that also studied demonic cultivation, or maybe they actually find some long forgotten god/dess of demonic cultivation who empowers them in exchange for worship.

*LWJ was not whipped for protecting WWX, he was imprisoned for life, not in GusuLan, but in some godforsaken prison that is so intense no one in the clans really likes to talk about it. I want him flung into some hellprison with ghosts and demons, where only his cultivation keeps him alive (and relatively sane) for that decade-ish gap until WWX’s fragmented ghost somehow finds him. Of course, WWX realizes LWJ loves him, which triggers in WWX a want to finally come back to life. He finds a way back to the living world and rains hell upon the people who decided it was a good idea to imprison LWJ until someone finally tells him how to get to the prison. He frees LWJ and helps him recover while all the JGY stuff is going on the background. Wangxian returns to the cultivation world in time to stop that catastrophe. (Before LWJ is imprisoned, he makes LXC promise to take care of A-Yuan of course!)

*WWX gets flung into the burial mounds and embraces demonic cultivation, but realizes he has somehow bound himself to the awful place and can’t leave. Over time, he lures stragglers and refugees to the mounds, where he welcomes them to stay and live safely. Outside, the Sunshot Campaign is a failure and what remains of the sects bow in subservience to the Wen clan. Inflicted with some permanent disabilities from the war and left to run GusuLan now that his brother and uncle are dead (sorry Xichen), Lan Wanji never gets the chance to go looking for WWX. Thirteen years pass and WWX has absorbed so much resentful energy from the burial mounds that he is practically a part of it. Finally, he is able to leave, but the world he finds is much different from the one he remembers, and his health fades fast when he is outside of the mounds. Somehow, WWX figures out that demonic cultivation doesn’t damage the body/soul/temperament if somehow counterbalanced properly with a golden core--and since he doesn’t have one, he and LWJ do a soulbond thing so that their cores (WWX: demonic and LWJ: golden) balance each other. Then he can take on the Wens.

I could literally whip out ideas nonstop, but these are the big ones that have been just...beating on the walls of skull trying to get out. Of course, they don’t always account for everything, so more thought is needed. Anyway, if you write any of these, please let me know so I can read them, and of course a shoutout would be nice. c: My username on ao3 is the same as here. Enjoy~!

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wangxian #fic #fanfic #ideas

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arysafics · 5 years ago

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Dirty Laundry

Summary: Bellamy develops a thing for wearing his roommates underwear.

for @the100whatthefluff

Fluff trope: roommates Badwrong: uhh... panty stealing/wearing?

Rated E, ~5.2k words

Bellamy tips the laundry basket full of clean clothes onto his bed. It’s not a surprise to find that half of them are Clarke’s. He rolls his eyes, wondering when the last time she did her own laundry was. She’s always throwing her things in with his. Usually just a few t-shirts and some socks, but still. She could at least ask.

He starts sorting through it, folding his own clothes, but just piling Clarke’s in a heap. Yes, he’s petty. She can fold her own clothes. He’s absently folding and sorting, thinking about other things, until he picks up a pair of black cotton panties. Well, those definitely aren’t his.

He stares at it for a moment, then flushes when he realises he’s picturing Clarke wearing them. He swallows. Just another inappropriate thought about his roommate. They’re becoming more and more frequent these days.

The stupid thing is, they’re not even a particularly sexy pair of panties. Just black cotton, a regular old bikini cut. Yet his cock has jumped to attention at just the knowledge that they’re Clarke’s. He strokes the cotton with his thumb, heart pounding. He chews his lip, still staring at the panties, thinking about Clarke wearing them and nothing else.

He should just throw them onto her pile and forget about it probably. But then, she’s not home, and he’s half hard already. Seems like the perfect opportunity to jerk off without having to worry about how loud he’s being.

Before he can change his mind, he shucks his pants and boxers and falls onto the bed, panties in hand.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s aware that jerking off over his roommate’s panties is kind of creepy and fucked up. But he’s too horny to feel gross about it yet.

He squirts some lotion from beside his bed into his hand and wraps his hand around his cock, gently stroking himself, letting his erection grow to its full size.

He closes his eyes, toying with his cock with one hand, Clarke’s panties bunched in the other. Except they could be any random piece of clothing, clenched in his fist like that. He needs to be able to see them, or feel them properly. He briefly considers rubbing the panties against his cock, but then he’s not entirely convinced that wouldn’t give him some kind of dick burn, even though the cotton is pretty soft.

He has a sudden flash of a vision of himself in the panties, and his cock throbs. Fuck, what’s that about? And yet, now that he’s thought of it, he can’t get it out of his head. Him, wearing a pair of Clarke’s panties.

“Fuck,” he groans. He opens his fist and lets cock go so he can grab the panties in both hands. He’s shaking as he slips his feet into the panties and tugs them up his legs. It’s s struggle to get them past his thick thighs, but they’re kind of stretchy so he manages to get them up and over his ass.

They’re tight. Evidently, Clarke has a smaller ass than he does, plus she doesn’t have a cock and balls to deal with. He bulges out of them everywhere, and he barely gets them over his cock. They’re going to be so stretched out after this, there is no way he can give them back to her. But he’s wearing them, and it feels so fucking wrong, and so fucking right.

Something about the thought of his cock rubbing against the same material where Clarke’s cunt has been. The way the soft cotton rides up his ass, smothers his cock and balls. Knowing he’s not supposed to be doing this, not just because they’re Clarke’s panties, but because he’s got panties on at all. The thought of someone, anyone, but especially Clarke, walking in and seeing him wearing a pair of women’s panties. How humiliating that would be.

He shoves his hand into the panties, curling his fist around his cock again. He tugs at himself, his hand moving quickly, up and down, his eyes fluttering shut, his head rolling back. His mind is full of Clarke, sucking him off while he wears her panties. He moans, low and long, picking up the pace as he draws closer to orgasm.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he swears, as he feels his balls tighten. He comes hard, groaning, thick spurts of it filling Clarke’s panties. It trickles down his balls and thighs as he lies there in the aftermath, breathing hard, face burning.

It’s only a few moments before he starts to feel disgusted and ashamed of himself. God, if Clarke ever found out, she’d think he was a complete pervert, taking her panties, wearing them, and then coming in them.

He knows he has to take them off, clean himself up, hide the evidence. But he lies there for a few more minutes, unwilling to remove the panties just yet. It’s embarrassing, but he likes wearing them too much. He’s surprised at himself. He never thought he’d be into the emasculating feeling of wearing panties.

He swallows. This is just for him. He’s never going to let anyone know about his new found kink. Not a one night stand, not a girlfriend, and definitely not any of his friends. They’d never look at him the same again.

He ends up tossing the used panties in the trash. If Clarke misses them, she’ll probably put it down to the dryer eating them or something. She need not ever find out.

He manages to act normal around her, even though all he can think about every time he sees her over the next few days is what he did. He burns with shame and desire at the memory. Part of him wants her to figure it out, accuse him of it so he can admit to being a dirty pervert. But she doesn’t, because why would she? It’s just one dumb pair of panties she probably has no idea she even put in with his laundry.

The thing is, once he’s done it, he can’t stop thinking about it. About sliding Clarke’s panties up his thighs and over his cock. He kind of wants to try wearing them for longer. Under his clothes while he’s at work, or while he’s sitting on the couch with Clarke, with her none the wiser that he’s wearing her underwear. And then locking himself in his room and rubbing his cock until he comes all over himself.

He considers going out and buying some ladies’ panties of his own, but the thought does nothing for him. It seems it’s not purely about the taboo of wearing women’s underwear. It’s about the taboo of wearing her underwear, specifically, knowing she doesn’t have a clue about it. Knowing she’d be horrified if she found out.

He wonders what other kinds of panties she has tucked away in her drawer. Something lacy, maybe? A thong? He’s definitely seen her with a Victoria’s Secret bag more than once. And while the thought of her wearing sexy lingerie is hot, his mind keeps straying, and he always ends up with the image of himself in a lacy black thong burning vividly in his mind. It becomes a daily distraction, a growing urge, and he gets himself off to the thought of it more than once.

It’s two weeks after the first time that he finally gets up the courage to do something about it. She’s out on a date, much to his chagrin. Not that she doesn’t have every right to be on a date, especially when he’s never given her the slightest hint that he might want something more than friendship from her. Anyway, it gives him the opportunity he’s been waiting for.

The plan is to sneak into her room and go through her underwear drawer, and find a pair that he thinks she won’t miss, at least for a while. He’s not sure how he’s going to tell, but hopefully he’ll know in the moment.

He waits half an hour after she leaves for her date, just in case she forgets something and has to come back. When he’s sure she’s really gone, he heads for her bedroom, adrenalin rushing through his veins. He opens the door and switches on the light. Her room is actually tidy for once, and Bellamy wonders if she’s planning on bringing her date back here later. The thought makes his chest tighten with jealousy, but he ignores it, instead heading for the chest of drawers beside her bed, where it seems likely she keeps her underwear.

Before he reaches it, however, the laundry basket in the corner of the room catches his eye. It’s full of dirty clothes, and on top, a pair of pink and white panties with a lace trim. His cock throbs. He heads for the basket. She’s much less likely to miss a pair that she’s just worn and thrown in the laundry basket to be washed.

His pulls the panties out of the basket. Not exactly what he was imagining, but he can’t deny the femininity of the colours and the lace does something to him. And the fact that she’s worn them recently. Today, even, maybe. There’s a slight stain on pink material on the inside of the crotch. He’s sure it’s from her arousal. Maybe she even came in these panties.

His heart thuds dramatically as he brings the panties to his face and presses them against his nose. He breathes in deeply, whimpering as he relishes the heady scent of her cunt for the first time. He knows what he’s doing is sick, but he can’t bring himself to care that he’s turned into some panty-sniffing creep. God, he wishes he could taste her cunt. He salivates, but he stops short of actually licking the stain on her panties. That would be fucked up.

He takes the panties back to his room and makes sure the door is shut tightly before he strips off his sweatpants and boxers and replaces them with the panties. He pads over to the full-length mirror, pulling his shirt up so he can admire himself.

He looks ridiculous. They ride up his ass badly, his balls and pubic hair hang out the sides, and his erection makes the material bulge obscenely. They’re completely impractical and uncomfortable. It’s so fucking hot. He strokes himself over the panties, feeling his cock twitch. He wants to come. He wants to jerk off right now and come in his panties again. But he also wants to tease and torture himself. Walk around the house all night with Clarke’s panties on.

He grabs his sweatpants from off the floor and pulls them on over the panties, letting out a shaky breath. He looks in the mirror again. The pants don’t hide his erection well, but there’s no way to tell what he’s wearing underneath. Only he knows.

He spends the rest of the evening wearing them. He makes dinner wearing Clarke’s panties. He washes up wearing Clarke’s panties. He sits on the couch with his book, wearing Clarke’s panties. He’s aware of them the whole time. The tickle of the lace trim. The rub of the cotton between his ass cheeks.

He’s about to put the book down and shove his hand down his pants, when he hears the apartment door open. He checks the time on his phone. Just after ten. He listens for voices, but he hears none, and he can only make out one pair of footsteps. Clarke rounds the corner and walks into the living room alone.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, putting down the book as Clarke comes towards him. I’m wearing your panties, I’m wearing your panties, his brain screams. “How was your date?”

Clarke shrugs, falling onto the couch beside him. “Average. She was nice but there wasn’t really a spark. What did you get up to?”

Well, I snuck into your room and stole a pair of your panties. I’m wearing them right now.

He swallows. “Not much.”

“Sounds amazing,” Clarke smiles.

Bellamy’s cock is truly throbbing now. All he can think about is that he’s wearing Clarke’s panties, and she’s right there, wearing a sexy little black dress with an enormous expanse of cleavage on display. He wants to pull his pants down and show her. Wants her to tell him what a naughty boy he is for taking her panties and wearing them. Wants her to tease him about it, make fun of him, rub his cock until he’s about to come and then leave him hanging as punishment.

He squeezes his eyes shut. He’s learning way too much about himself lately.

“You okay?” Clarke asks.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says weakly. “Just tired.”

“Me too,” Clarke agrees. “Time for bed, I think. Night, Bell.”

“Night,” Bellamy returns. He watches her ass as she heads for her room, and as soon as she’s gone, he races to his own room, pants hitting the floor before his door is even closed. He comes in under a minute, silently as possible, knowing Clarke is just down the hall.

He lies there in his own come, feeling guilty and ashamed. Already he’s thinking up ways to get another pair of her panties. He groans, hating himself. How did he get here? Obsessing over his roommate’s panties like some slimy teenager who can’t get laid? It’s humiliating. And yet, he knows the fact that it’s humiliating is part of the appeal.

But he can’t do it again. He’s resolved. He can’t keep taking her panties without her noticing. One pair she might not notice. Two pairs she probably will, but probably won’t realise what’s happening to them. Any more than that, Bellamy knows she’ll stop at nothing until she figures it out.

Bellamy ends up secretly washing the pair of pink and white panties in the bathroom sink while Clarke isn’t home. He tries not to think about wearing them again, but it’s impossible. So he wears them. He wears them to work, and he wears them out with friends, and he wears them at home, and in between wears he washes them, and keeps them in the back of his own underwear drawer.

It only lasts two weeks before they stop satisfying his needs. They don’t really feel like hers anymore, now that he’s the only one wearing them. They don’t smell like her, and she hasn’t worn them in two weeks. They may as well be any pair of women’s panties by now.

He still keeps them in the back of his underwear drawer, but he stops wearing them. He’s desperate to get his hands on a new pair. He’s pretty sure he can get away with it. All he has to do is take a pair of Clarke’s dirty panties, wear them, wash them, and then claim they got in with his laundry somehow. It’s a trick he can probably only use once, but hopefully he can come up with something else next time. He’s not even pretending there isn’t going to be a next time.

He decides he’s going to do it under the guise of being a nice roommate. She’s in her room on a Saturday evening, blasting Carly Rae Jepsen. He knocks on the door, and opens it a second later, knowing she won’t be able to hear over the music.

She grins when she spots him in the doorway, and turns down the volume. She’s in her sweatpants and a t-shirt, though her make-up and hair are done. Half her closet appears to be laid out on her bed.

“Spring cleaning?” he asks, amused.

“I’m going out with Harper and Maya tonight. I can’t decide what to wear.”

“You want me to help?”

“No offence, but I don’t really trust your fashion sense.”

Bellamy scowls. “Gee, thanks.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “I came in here to see if you had any laundry you want me to do while I’m doing mine, but maybe now I won’t bother.” He glances at her full laundry basket.

“I can do my own laundry, Bellamy.”

“Then why am I always finding your things in with mine?”

“I just like to make you feel needed.”

Bellamy gives her a dry look. “Just give me your laundry and be grateful.”

“I’ll do something nice for you later,” Clarke promises, grabbing her laundry basket by the handles and hoisting it up. She carries it over to him and drops it into his waiting arms.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bellamy says, trying to hold back a smirk.

He carries the basket of laundry to his room, pretending to be nonchalant, in case Clarke is watching him, though he knows she’s still in her room, preoccupied by her wardrobe dilemma. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, though he’s dying to look in the basket to see what’s waiting for him. He manages to keep his composure until his bedroom door is shut behind him.

He drops the basket onto his bed, and starts rifling through it like a dog digging for a bone. There are a few pairs of panties in there, but none catch his fancy, until his eyes land on a scrap of red lace. His heart stops and his cock jumps. He pulls it from the hamper, holding up the flimsy thong, heart lodged in his throat. Fuck. He doesn’t know what’s hotter, the thought of Clarke wearing it, or the thought of him wearing it.

He bunches it in his hand and brings it to his nose, taking a long sniff. They smell so fucking good. So Clarke. Once he’s let her aroma settle into his nostrils, he pulls his pants and boxers off and slips into the thong. He’s trembling with excitement as he pulls it up, the string of lace resting between his ass cheeks. The front of it does an even worse job of covering his junk than the previous pairs, partly because it’s so tiny, but it’s also totally see-through.

He gulps as he looks down at his swollen cock, jutting out of the thong. He walks over to the mirror, loving the way the lace feels against his skin. It’s soft, but also a little itchy. He pulls his shirt off and stares at his reflection. He repositions the thong so it’s over his cock more, though it’s never going to contain the whole thing.

He turns around and looks over his shoulder, admiring the thin strip of lace nestled between his ass cheeks. It looks so good against his brown skin.

He hears the sound of his door opening, and he whips his head towards it, just as Clarke walks into his room, holding the sweatpants she was wearing earlier. Bellamy’s stomach drops.

“Shit, Clarke, wait—” Bellamy chokes out, but it’s too late.

“Can you wash these too— oh my god.” she stops, her eyes alighting on him where he stands frozen by the mirror, dressed in nothing but her little red thong. There’s nowhere to hide, and anyway, his feet are glued in place.

Clarke stares at him, and doesn’t look away. His eyes find the floor, and he wishes it would open up and swallows him whole. His whole body burns with shame at being caught out. He doesn’t know what’s more humiliating, being discovered as a pervert who steals women’s underwear, or a weirdo who likes to wear it.

Plus, his cock and balls are totally on display too, and while he has nothing to be ashamed of when it comes to his size, these are so not the circumstances he wanted her to see them under. He doesn’t try to cover himself. His fists are clenched by his sides.

God, it’s so fucking humiliating. He feels small, weak, unmanly. As much as he fantasised about Clarke catching him, he never actually wanted it to happen. She’ll think he’s disgusting, sick in the head. She’ll never be attracted to him after seeing him like this. She’ll tell all her friends, and they’ll laugh at him. She’ll make sure he never gets a date again.

And despite all of this, or maybe because of it, he’s more turned on than ever. His engorged cock makes it painfully obvious, both to him and to her.

“Is that mine?” Clarke finally asks.

“Yes,” Bellamy whispers pitifully.

Clarke throws her sweatpants into the laundry basket on his bed. Bellamy lifts his eyes, but not his head. She obviously found something to wear. A sexy little red number. It matches the thong he’s wearing.

“It looks good on you,” she says. Bellamy swallows. Does he imagine the slight waver of her voice? He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t know how to. “Have you been taking my panties so you can wear them?”

Bellamy nods sharply. “Yes.”

Clarke bites her lip. “You like wearing women’s underwear, huh?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “No.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke says, coaxing. “It’s okay. I’m not judging.”

“It’s not—” Bellamy starts. He squeezes his eyes shut. Her reaction is not at all what he expected. She’s not laughing, or yelling, or calling him disgusting. It makes him feel like maybe he can tell her the truth. That he can really trust her. And it’s not like he didn’t trust her before, with normal things. But he didn’t think he’d be able to trust her with this. “It’s not just any women’s panties,” he admits, growing braver. “Just yours.”

Bellamy swears he hears her breath hitch from across the room. She pushes the door shut behind her and leans against it for a moment, before standing up straight and walking towards him. Bellamy feels something shift between them, and he swallows thickly. She stops a couple of feet away from him.

“What is it about my panties specifically that you like?” she asks, voice low, curious.

“Um,” Bellamy flushes. “I like knowing you wore them. They smell like you.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. Fuck. Now she knows he fucking sniffed them too. “So you wear them and smell them. Anything else? Get yourself off? Have you ever come in my panties?”

Bellamy nods, ashamed. “Yes.”

“Can I take a picture?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy stiffens. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”

“I won’t show anyone. It’s just for me.”

“Why?”

“I think you look sexy.”

Bellamy flushes. “No I don’t,” he whispers. “I look like an idiot. It’s humiliating.”

“No,” Clarke shakes her head. “You look so pretty.” Pretty. Bellamy blushes again. If the thought of her punishing him wasn’t arousing enough, this is so much worse.

“You don’t think it makes me—less of a man?”

“Of course not.”

“You don’t think I’m disgusting? A creep? A weirdo?”

“I don’t think you’re a Radiohead song, no.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy begs, a little desperately. He’s on display here, at his most vulnerable, and she’s making jokes.

“Sorry,” Clarke whispers, stepping closer. “I don’t think you’re a creep. Although it was very wicked of you to steal my panties. You could have just asked me.”

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy says softly. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“I think you did want me to know,” Clarke says. She’s so close to him now, looking up at him. She’s so tiny, yet he knows she holds all the power. He wants her to hold the power. Wants her to use it. “Down inside, you wanted me to find out, didn’t you? You can tell me.”

“Yes,” Bellamy admits.

“And what did you want to happen when I found out?”

Bellamy closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at her. “I wanted you to punish me,” he croaks out. “For being a bad boy.”

“Do you think you’ve been a bad boy?” Clarke asks him. “Do you think you deserve to be punished?”

Bellamy opens his eyes again, nodding. His whole body is trembling. He wants her to touch him so badly, he doesn’t care how. Spank him or suck him, he just needs her to do something to release the tension.

“Go and sit on the bed,” Clarke commands. Bellamy feels a thrill go through him. He tries to tone down his excitement as he obeys her.

Clarke watches him take his position on the end of the bed. He sits there, forcing himself to be still, patiently waiting for her to tell him what to do next. She follows him over and stands between his legs, spread wide out of habit.

“I’m not going to punish you,” Clarke tells him. He feels a swell of disappointment. “Because I don’t think you’ve been naughty.”

“You don’t?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I think you’ve been a very good boy, Bellamy.” Bellamy can’t control the whimper that escapes his lips.

“But I stole your panties,” he says.

“Hm, true,” Clarke says, tilting her head, considering. “Perhaps I can punish you for that another time. But for now, I want to reward you for being so brave and honest with me.”

“Okay.”

“Would you like that?”

“Uh huh.”

Clarke smiles. “Thought so.” She reaches out and brushes a curl from his forehead, the traces her thumb along his cheek. She leans down, and presses her lips gently against his. They’re so soft, and she’s so tender with him. He feels weak.

She kisses him harder, and he responds in turn, his head spinning. Clarke pulls back, leaving Bellamy wanting. She reaches behind her and unzips her dress, before slipping it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. She’s naked underneath. Bellamy’s eyes rake over her body, her glorious tits, her dark pink nipples, her shaven cunt. She’s so gorgeous. He half believes that none of this is real.

“I want you to keep my panties on,” Clarke tells him. Bellamy nods. He wants that too. Clarke kisses him again, climbing onto his lap as she does, running her fingers through his hair. Her pussy presses against his hard cock, and he can feel how wet she is through the material of the panties he’s wearing.

Bellamy wants to wrap his arms around her, touch her all over, but he keeps his hands by his sides, waiting for her instruction.

“You’re such a good boy, Bell,” Clarke says. “So patient.” She runs her fingers down his arm and takes his hand, guiding it towards her cunt. He slips his fingers inside her. “Feel how wet I am for you,” Clarke gasps.

Bellamy wants to finger her. He’s desperate to make her come, to make her feel good. But she grabs his wrist and removes his hand from between her legs, and lifts up to his lips. He sucks his fingers into his mouth, tasting her, finally. Clarke watches him, her pupils wide, her gaze steady.

She takes his fingers from his mouth and places it on her waist. His other hand follows. Clarke’s arms lock around his neck, and she grinds herself against his erection. It takes all his self-control not to thrust against her. Her wet cunt, the panties between it and his cock, her tits bouncing just slightly as she rolls her hips towards him. It’s a lot to handle. He feels like he’s barely breathing.

She reaches a hand between them, fondling his balls while she continues to hump his bulging cock. He whimpers.

“That feel good?” she asks.

“Yes.” His voice comes out weak and strangled. Clarke drops her lips to his neck, then trails them up until he can feel her hot breath against his ear.

“I want you inside me,” she says. Bellamy’s breath hitches.

“Please,” he says.

Clarke stops her motions, shuffling back on his lap a little so she can use her hand properly. She runs her finger along the outside of the panties. They’re soaking from her arousal and his precum. She peels the red lace away, letting his cock free. She wraps her hand around him, stroking him gently.

“Look at how big you are,” Clarke says. “Don’t know how you got this big boy in these tiny little panties. Must have been desperate for it.”

Bellamy nods. Tears form in his eyes. Clarke notices, and gives him a sweet little kiss.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You’ve been so good.” She strokes his hair some more. He likes that. He closes his eyes and leans into her hand. He opens his eyes again when he feels her weight shift, looking down so he can watch her sink onto his cock.

He grips her hips tightly, his breath coming out shaky as she lowers herself onto him. She lets out a small whine as she takes the whole thing inside her, her mouth hanging open. Bellamy groans, then kisses her, frantic and messy. Clarke’s arms wrap around him tightly, kissing him back hungrily.

She rocks against him, slowly at first, teasing herself and him. Her warm, tight cunt grips his cock, and it feels so good he thinks he might pass out. He groans as she picks up the pace, his head dropping to her shoulder. He doesn’t know how long he can last with her riding him like this.

“Fuck,” he swears. “Fuck, Clarke. You feel so good. I need to come so bad.”

“You can hold on a little longer,” Clarke tells him, sounding breathless. “I know you can, baby. I’m almost there, and then you can fill me up with your come, okay?”

Bellamy nods. Clarke bounces on his cock, her moans getting higher and more frequent, and then she grinds down, hard, titling her head back as she comes.

“Yes,” she cries. “Good boy, Bellamy, you can come now. Come in me.” Bellamy couldn’t hold back any longer even if he wanted to. Her orgasm, calling him a good boy, grinding on his cock, her come squirting all over his crotch, all of it is too much to handle, and it sends him over the edge.

He moans her name as he comes, dropping his lips to her shoulder, shuddering through his orgasm as he empties himself into her cunt.

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, holding each other, breathing heavy, Bellamy’s soft cock still inside Clarke’s pussy. Eventually, Bellamy can’t hold himself up anymore, and he lies back on his bed, taking her with him. Clarke shifts off him, his cock slipping out of her, along with a trickle of his come. Her red thong is totally ruined.

Bellamy watches her as she settles herself beside him. She grins. “That was good, right?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy agrees. Clarke strokes his chest.

“I never thought you’d be into something like that,” Clarke admits. “It’s so hot. You wearing my panties.”

“You still need to punish me for stealing them,” Bellamy reminds her.

“I will,” Clarke promises. “But I didn’t want that to be our first time. And we should—talk about what this is.”

“Later,” Bellamy says. “I need to rest.”

Clarke giggles. “Okay. We can share my panties from now on, if you like. You don’t have to keep it a secret anymore.”

“That was half the fun,” Bellamy admits.

“Don’t worry,” Clarke tells him. “There are plenty more ways we can have fun.”

#bellarke fanfiction #bellarke #The 100 #the 100 fanfiction #the100wtfluff #mine

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lysung · 5 years ago

Text

Wabi-sabi (part 1)

Genre: angst, fluff (in the upcoming chapters :))

Pairing: Minsung (Jisung + Minho)

Words: 2,750

Summary: Wabi-sabi means imperfect or incomplete beauty. This is a central concept in Japanese aesthetics, which comes from Buddhist teachings on the transient nature of life. A pot with uneven edges is more beautiful than a perfectly smooth one, because it reminds us that life is not perfect.

Han Jisung and Lee Minho are two average high schoolers who have differences in common; two of them are being from the other high schoolers are being a part from the LGBT community and too thoughtful in an unhealthy way, besides many other things society would see as "flaws". After accidentally knowing each other through Twitter, they eventually became best friends but both of them still had colorless and monotone lives outside internet, until that, someday, one of them is about to get beaten up for being LGBT and the other one defends a random guy from getting beaten up by one of his best friends.

Warnings: bullying, homophobia, depressive thoughts

A/N: hello! i'm alexis and this is my first au :) i know this blog is supposed to be a fluff imagines blog, but i've been feeling like writing some ansgt lately. i hope y'all don't mind it ^^ i've worked hard on this since it's my arts homework as well, so i didn't have all the time to write this, but i did write it on my pace and, honestly, im still a bit unconfident about this one. if this gets a great reaction, i will definitely continue this asap ❤️ i hope you enjoy and please leave a heart and/or reblog, it would help me a lot and make my day 💕

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Legend says that, as soon as you’re born, you get a red string tied to your finger, connecting you to someone you’re destined to meet, regardless of time, place or circumstance. The string may stretch or tangle but it will never break.

Han Jisung always found the Universe majestic but crazy at the same time. Isn’t it weird how everything happen as it wills? Or, maybe, would it be They? Who is in control of the universe, if there’s someone with such power? Would they be God? But who is God, actually? Is there someone above God? — This kind of thought dominated the teenager’s mind every once in a while and, when it did, it would always keep him up at night. The thought of living his own life but, actually, being controlled by a divine existence, would scare him sometimes.

But, the thing is: the Universe, be it "it" or "they", never did anything out of the blue. Everything happens for a reason; whether if we trip or fall, cry out of pain or laughter, fake or genuinely smile, nothing happens “just because”. And we live to grow up as individuals and learn each and every lesson “it” has to teach us, even the small and silly ones.

Laid down on his bed, Jisung, who strongly believed in such legends, turned off his phone and stared at his dark-ish room’s ceiling, slightly bright thanks to the street lights outside.

These thoughts were, once again, haunting him. All he could do was wonder 3 things: What is he supposed to learn? Why? And, specially, who is going to help him?

These thoughts were soon replaced by self depreciative ones as soon as he looked through the window and noticed the sun rising. He would soon have to be up to get ready for another monotone day of school. He turned around, his back facing the windows, closed his eyes and, one more time, tried to fall asleep. But, as time passed, his thoughts wouldn’t go away; neither his usual philosophical thoughts or the self depreciative ones. There were hundreds of voices screaming in his head – some were calling him, some sounded mad, you would be afraid if you could hear them too. And when he least expected, his alarm ranged, meaning not only it was time for him to get ready for school, but also that he lost another fight to his strong mind.

Later that morning, during class change, he noticed 3 of his seniors in the other side of the corridor. Changbin, Hyunjin and Felix were staring at him and laughing out loud; he tried to ignore them and got his material for Math class. Walking to his classroom carefully, trying his best to avoid them, but they eventually came to him and Changbin pinned him to the nearest locker.

"Where are you trying to go, you shameless fag?" Changbin, their "leader", said to his face in provocation.

"Leave me alone, Changbin. Mind your own busin-" The younger tried to say and break free from his strong grip, but failed and was cutted out by Changbin.

"What are you gonna do? Are you gonna run away? Huh?" The oldest said, the provocation never leaving his tone.

Jisung was speechless. The small anxious boy didn't know what to do — should he fight back? Say something mean to them? Run away? He was totally alone and lost; there was nothing he could do.

"What is going on in here?" A high-pitched voice echoed through the, now, empty corridor, and, right next to them was the school's principal, looking pissed off as usual.

"Oh, nothing, Mrs. Kang! I was just... just... asking him how he'll go back home after school, so that I would know if I should take him home or not, hehe! I love this guy, Mrs. Kang. You have no idea how much I lo-"

"Detention. The 4 of you. And, Mr Seo, I'll let you go this time but, if you ever try to lie to me again, it's detention for a whole week. No buts." Mrs. Kang said and left, cutting Changbin's excuse off and getting a sigh from each of them in response.

"Listen up." To turn back to Jisung was the first thing Changbin did as soon as Mrs. Kang left. "I will get you and teach you how to behave like a real man, annoying faggot. Wait for it." Changbin threatened again, looking deep in Jisung's eyes and left. He watched their figures get smaller as they walked through the long corridor, fear and regret as evident in his eyes than never. Changbin had something in his eyes that made Jisung even more confused and lost.

As soon as the group had finally disappeared, Jisung bursted to the school's restroom without looking back, not being able to hold back the tears. Poor boy wouldn't make it to Math today and he was very aware of it.

This was just a tiny bit of Jisung's daily life, but it always shattered his heart in a billion pieces. He wondered, how can people be this heartless? Why are people like this to people like him, who were just born "different"? What's so wrong in being different? In being yourself? In loving someone, not minding their gender identity? What did Jisung do to deserve to live in such a inhumane society?

What did people like him did for the universe to punish them like this? What did they do to deserve such pain?

Jisung eventually lost his hope on society and hated his mind even more for being so cruel to him. All these voices calling him out, calling him names and saying stupid things would never shut up. How great would it be if he had somewhere to scream freely, without fearing to be heard...

As he walked through a dark path in life, it only seemed to get darker. He tried his best to run away, but something was stronger than him, pulling him further into the endless darkness, regardless of how much he fighted back, until he couldn't fight anymore. That's when he gave up.

After two hours spent locked in the bathroom, including some time to calm down a little bit and reduce the swelling in his eyes at least a little bit, he finally left the restroom and safely got his stuff and went to his classroom, lowering his head to hide his swollen eyes.

And this is how Jisung spent the rest of his time at school: hiding himself from everyone, specially his eyes. No one should see his eyes, or else he would be bombarded with questions and feel even worse with people pretenting to be concerned.

When he was finally back home, his safe place, the first things he's done was locking himself in his room and throwing himself on his bed. It was a way too long day for Jisung and all he wanted was to sleep forever.

Hence he couldn't sleep, he unlocked his phone and tried to look for a calm and soothing song to sleep when he received a message from one of his favorite people ever: Lee Minho, a friend he knew through Twitter. They were like best friends; sending memes, using matching icons, tagging each other in random "love yourself" tweets and even writing sweet things to the other, just to remind them that they are loved and appreciated. It was the kind of friendship people either envy or ship. They would never stop talking to each other and Jisung would never find the exact words that can express all his gratitute for having such an amazing person in his life.

"hey, how was school today? did those dumbasses disturb you again?" Minho asked him in the most "Minho" way as always. Jisung's heart always skipped a beat whenever he would receive a message from him - he's one of the few people who actually worry about him and he loved this feeling.

"it actually sucked as always, but there's not much I can do about it anyways. and yeah, they did, that's why :(" Jisung replied, trying hard not to remind of what happened earlier.

"wait right there bub, i'll brb i will get some tickets to go to your city and kick some asses to mars" Jisung smiled at his reply. Ever since they talked for the first time, Minho's personality amazed Jisung. They were completely opposites, and that was the fun part - their differences made everything perfect.

Minho was, unfortunately, the only person Jisung told about Changbin and his "crew". He just couldn't gather the courage to tell anyone but him, blind by scenarios of his family's possible reactions.

"you're so weird" "i love you so much" Jisung replied and smiled as wide as he could. This kind of reply between them would be pretty common. Now, the question is: is it really a joke or not? Did they mean it, or not? They never even thought about saying this, but it obviously made both of their hearts best crazily fast.

"now that's a lie because i love you more" and tons of heart emojis and memes were shared.

They were each other's happiness, home, a safe place. It was incredible how each message would melt both their hearts. Happiness was endless whenever they would talk. "If only universe could make us live near...", Jisung said to himself. He just wanted to hold tight this bright light that had been brightening up the path Jisung was going through.

"hey, I didn't go to school today so i kept on reading about random facts and found out about a japanese legend that says that two people who are destined to meet are connected by a string tied to their hands and i thought of you" "you said you really like legends like this, so i was wondering if you knew about this one..." Jisung's cheeks began to hurt for smiling for so long. Minho makes him feel so loved, which is a feeling he's still not used to, but he wish he could feel all this in person.

"you're so adorable :( and yes i do know this one, it's one of my favorites!" "i wonder who's on the other side of my string..."

"if you're not gonna be on the other side of my red string then what's the point."

"i love you. i wish i could say this in person."

"i love you too bub and that's fine. some day this will happen, okay? we can and will make it happen. promise?"

"promise."

(...)

It was time for another monotone day at school. He would always know what was going to happen because it's been like this for a while now: he goes to school, sleeps in class, is bullyied, sometimes sleeps a bit longer and then, go back home. It's like he's stuck in a viscious loop - in the end of the day, he would always come back home with a sad expression in his face but he couldn't change this.

At school, waiting for biology class to begin, Jisung decides to try talking to someone. If he wants to stop avoiding people, he should be able to have short conversations with anyone. While talking to this girl who sits beside him about a test they would have later that day, a group of boys sat next to him and started to talk in a much higher tone. Jisung couldn't see their faces before they sat, but it was, surely, Changbin as his crew. Soon they started "talking" about gays and how they are ridiculous. Nice. What a beautiful place with sympathetic people, yay. Poor boy could barely focus in class because of all the noise they were making.

As his class ended and he was about to get his materials for his upcoming biology class, the same group of boys pinned Jisung just like the day before. He was shaking; it was happening one more time and he still didn't know what to do. Shaking under his breath, he didn't say or do anything. He wouldn't dare.

"Hello fairy, we're back." This was enough for Jisung to want to disappear. No, not these feelings again...

"H-hey... b-b-back for w-what?" Jisung asked, stuttering, in deep hopes it wasn't about what he thought.

"I told you we we would teach you how to be a real man, didn't I? And we'll do it now. You'll thank us later when you finally understand what being normal is." Changbin said, clearly trying to scare Jisung even more but, unfortunately, he couldn't get anymore scared. He could barely move or speak. He definitely gave up when he saw Changbin's fist in the air, getting ready to punch him, but another yell from the other side was calling for Changbin this time. His attention was divided between Jisung and the mysterious guy.

"What are you even trying to do?" The guy asked, trying to separate Jisung from them.

"N-no, it's not like that, I swear-"

"What is this supposed to be, then? I saw what I saw, and heard what I heard. So, you're gonna teach him how to 'act like a real man'? Because of what, he's gay?"

"Minho, what are you doing?" Changbin tried to reach him and grab his arms, just like how they would do when they were children, but, this time, Minho wasn't feeling like it. He completely understood what was going on and something must be done about it. He wasn't going to keep anything to himself in such moment, even if the one he's confronting is one of his best friends.

"First of all, he is a man. He's not 'less manly' than you, just because he like boys. Love is normal. Don't you even dare try to say it is not normal, or a sin, or whatever excuse you want to give." Minho kept on yelling and pushing Changbin and his other friends. It did hurt him inside, but he wouldn't stop. "You believe in God, right? Well, God wants you to respect His children as who they are. Also, stop acting as if 'gay cure' exist. You think beating a gay up will 'cure' him, huh? Well, this is not and will never be the right option, Changbin. He's done nothing wrong and there's nothing to be cured. You are the one who should learn to be a man. I thought you had finally understood me when we had that talk, maybe you really weren't paying attention at all, apparently. I can't with all this. You have absolutely 0 respect for people who aren't like you, and I won't stand this anymore. I can't do this. You will never change." At this point, there was a crowd watching Minho, their jaw dropped. He really thouched each of them deeply. Jisung could feel the pain and suffering in his voice. All he wanted to do was to hug him, if it means it would make Minho feel better, even if just for a while. He thought he is so brave for standing up for someone like Changbin because of a stupid dude he didn't even know. This is insane.

Maybe you can still have hope on this society, after all.

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lookingfornoonat2pm · 5 years ago

Text

Love As a Political Force

Introduction

This piece ended up longer than I would have liked, but I am publishing it, even unfinished, because I’m not in any university. I’ve tried to keep it spicy, with a lot of provocations, hot takes, and rhetorical flares. I welcome comments, feedback, and (non-shitty) criticism. It grew to be so long because I wanted to not only move towards a politics of love, but to describe the chief challenges it must rise to. Doing the reading is helpful, but not essential. Familiarity with the play, Angels in America, will help a lot. It would also be helpful to be familiar with Erick Erickson’s structural theory of psychosocial development, as well as Carol Gilligan’s crucially important feminist critique of it. Much of what I’ve written follows a rhetorical path meant to reflect these concepts of individual social and emotional development. But this, too, is not essential. You can get away with only reading part one. The rest addresses contentions and then seeks to invoke radical social change.

Love as a Political Force

tw: rape mention, HIV/AIDS, suicide

More Life

“But still. Still. Bless me anyway,” says Prior Walter to the angels in heaven, in Tony Kushner’s masterpiece, Angels in America. Facing the likelihood of a life cut short, and dramatically diminished by AIDS, in 1985, before AZT became widely available, Prior begs the angels to allow him to endure, even in all the pain and sickness. They tell him that the world will be undone, that life on Earth will end, and that there will be more death than all the great disaster of history thus far. But still—“More life.” Prior Walter blesses the audience at the close of the play. He survived long enough to get on medicine, and outlived the AIDS crisis by the play’s ending. The angels ask him: Who could want to live through such times? Who could want to face the apocalypse and not flinch? What is cowardice now, if we are all willing towards exactly that blessing, all trepidation aside? Much philosophy is dedicated to the question of what sort of person desires beyond the horizon of their death. We are all that now. Instead, I want to ask who the person who faces that horizon must become in order to not be alone on the other side. That answer is easy: A person in love.

We all like that. There, you are done: you have loved, you are forgiven of your duty to reconsider. You know what you mean by love. What could reading on possibly contribute to that? Especially if Hannah Arendt was right, that love is killed the moment it is displayed in public: if you were to argue with me about love, we would both lose everything on this account, or else arrive at not much more than an aesthetic, mutually inscrutable juxtaposition. Arendt is wrong, but I’ll get to that momentarily. Love, I will argue, is the chief theological question of our time, and if you do it right, we might just make it out alive. What I mean by love here is not agape, or the love of the divine, or even a love which is its English homonym, an “agape” love that accepts all. What I mean is a certain kind of love that is a political love. And it is a love which is not a given, nor naturally felt by all, the way the banal emotions are. For this kind of love to exist, politics must exist. But still it may not be the sort of love of Prior Walter for the audience.

Certainly, it is not the love of his ex, Louis—or of God—the characters who abandoned their beloveds once sin and disease befell them. At best, these forms of love are a kind of useful evil. As Zizek said in an easy-to-find youtube video, love is evil. Of all the many reasons to exist, the many reasons to give life, the many reasons to work or to improve oneself—or even to endure horrible indignity in the name of sacrifice—I choose this one. You. You, in particular, above all else, are my reason. This is the love of young sex mates, and of the narcissistic parent. This sort of love says I was ready to abandon this world, to give all my time and wellness to font a fountain in my own bath tub, my own personal Red Sea of healing, but then you came along. You, in particular have given me a reason to share the glories of being, the trials of becoming. Once you cease to be a sufficient reflection of my own reality, somewhere to project and reflect my deepest fears and individual needs, you are no longer worthy of my petty love. Our desire for this reflection is always in surplus of the limited capacity of any person to provide for it. To demand they do so any way, this is philia, and I absolutely chose that word in order to make this tangent: God is a homophile. But he does not love us. Not since we asked for more. Not since we began to ail. It is still love, however, and that is important. Our identity and sensation begins to crawl into the skin of another, and we are put at risk of great disturbance thereby. But it is only the beginning of what love can do for us.

Rainer Maria Rilke writes that young lovers should like to fall in love with a great “tearing down [of] all boundaries; [while] on the contrary, a good marriage is one in which each partner appoints the other to be the guardian of his solitude.” If my touch is the only boundary between myself and the object of my love, my own self-destruction appears to be aimed at them, and I feel theirs to be aimed at me. This would, however, remain true of two lonely stone towers, however joint. No doubt, Rilke’s understanding of love is head-and-shoulders above the mystifications of Zizek or of Arendt. But, if Rilke’s love-as-a-sanctuary respects the dignity and autonomy of the individual, it also robs autonomy from love itself. Love, on this account cannot possibly be theological in its nature (unless our theology is ecstatic or dualist), because it flits out of our reality the moment we stop working with our partners to maintain this sacred vigil. Rilke’s mistrust of our tendency to overextend ourselves in the name of love is related to his distrust of the crowd and populism: that we often find ourselves the instruments of irrational forces. Love in this way can be tragic—we love against our own well-being. Rilke proposes the equity of solitude as a remediation to this threat. It redounds, therefore, to a condition in which love is a sort of contract, and once again our world depends on the well-being of our trustee. Your sex mate chain-smoked a pack of cigarettes just now, or guzzled a heart attack of coffee, or drove home drunk—you are at war with the horizon again. We may disrupt our solitude to try to save them, but this is the folly of the person who is always trying to save their lovers. If you can love from this distance, even in crisis, and you remain in love in spite of these failures, then higher love cannot be either what keeps us separate, or what breaks down our little ego forts. This is love. But it, too, is only another level of love in its development.

The achievement of autonomy and the overcoming of egoism are essential political tasks. Arendt’s mystification of love then can be understood as a latent desire for illimitable love, of the kind Zizek amply describes. Still, her politics contain the form of isonomy before the disaster and before apocalypse which I believe is core to love as a political force. By Arendt’s account, politics can be very nearly encapsulate by this contradictory mandate: Become more yourself even as you forswear any pursuit which empowers that self over others. Yet for Arendt these selves are aggregable, and she resolves this contradiction in the process of alliance, and the being-towards-the-future of natality. We mate and produce offspring (provincially, and not necessarily) with those we love, and we see our reflections in our community, and ideally, in the other communities that make up our political sphere. For we cannot be egoists about the world where we’re dead; “the general future of mankind has nothing to offer the individual life, whose only certain future is death.” Our autonomy is enumerated in part by what we elect (or are forced) to replace ourselves with. This choice can only ever be made by the abolition of individual autonomy and the choice to extend sensation and identity to another, over whom we have no control. Isn’t that another way of saying love? Not love of the state, nor an anonymized brotherhood, but love of our children, and the possibilities their world may contain is what guides, for Arendt, our private love to take on a public life.

There. We may have a tenable sort of love now. Arendt names as “the political” the process by which we will ourselves into immortality and therefore die. Arendt wouldn’t call this love, of course, but she could not imagine a love that is beyond the individual, like Zizek, or Rilke, or Louis or God. In his magnum opus, The Accursed Share, Georges Bataille writes, “Individual love is not in itself opposed to society; yet, for lovers, what they are has no meaning unless it is transfigured in the love that joins them; otherwise it is unavoidable meaninglessness… [Love] is in itself an opposition to the established order.” While Bataille’s writings on love pale in comparison to his writings about sex, we can detect something of what we’re looking for in this passage on silly young people fucking. We want an idea, a sensation, like a talisman or idol that will contain for us the whole of another way of being, even when we are submerged in the evils of life, even amidst apocalypse. As in Zizek’s image of love, the rest of the world fades away, and the object of our love becomes the center of a new, subversive symbolic order. Bataille’s thought here is helpful when we find, for example, that our habits of mind or body, taught to us by our society, are found to be harmful to the people we love. We change, therefore, in our will towards this love. Rilke might blanch—wouldn’t this be allowing love to overturn our sovereignty? In fact, it is the very opposite. When we aim to change to please our beloved, we compromise ourselves and that very ill-founded growth. When we aim to change the quality of our love, we must start with affirming our own sovereignty in that process.

Prior Walter isn’t the only person in Angels in America to actually see the angels. While coming to visit her newly made friend, Prior’s ex-lover’s new lover’s mother, Hannah Pitt is also visited by the angel that has given Prior his visions. Actually, the angel makes her cum. It’s really great, you should totally watch and/or read it. I mean, Meryl Streep performs the divine orgasm in the HBO version, and come one. You want to see that. What brings Prior and Hannah together, oddly, isn’t Prior’s newfound religiosity, but Hannah’s steadfast one. Hannah flew to New York to try to save her closeted gay son’s failed marriage, and finds herself spending most of her time at a Mormon community center. Prior walks in, in a daze of heartbroken misery and HIV-associated dementia, and she starts to try to help him. There are three ways to read this. The first is that Hannah is simply acting out of charity: she sees someone ailing, she’s a good Mormon, and so she helps him. The second is that Hannah is reacting in distress: she sees someone in pain, and seizes upon the demand that places on her—as a person, or a Mormon, or a community center volunteer. Either of these can be easily explained away because charity and duty both stop short of beginning to listen once Prior, the apparent madman, begins to speak. The third, and I believe correct one, is that Hannah is acting out of love. What can we call this love? Something like spontaneous, atomization-crossing enjoyment of the presence of the other.

Crucially, Hannah begins by listening to Prior. He tells her that he knows her son. She’s his ex-lover’s ex-lover’s Mormon mother. So when he collapses in the community center, Hannah begins to actually help him because he has something she wants. She allows herself to be curious about the needs and experiences of a total stranger. She wants to learn more about him. But that’s only a moment before Prior falls to the ground. In 1985, she could have easily called the police, and convinced herself that the sick man was going to make her sick as well. Our excuses for not helping those in our immediate path are plentiful. But Hannah doesn’t only help him stand up, she also goes outside to help him get a cab. She doesn’t only help him get a cab, she goes with him to the hospital. Because of this, and only because of this, Prior learns that she has something that he, as a budding prophet, needs: theology. The book of Hannah and Prior is the book of political love. Wrested from angels, it is a love of love itself; a love of the heroic possibilities and catastrophic risks entailed in pursuing a shared thriving. And it takes practice. Hannah delivers probably the deepest cut against our overdeveloped pseudo-intellectualism: “At first it can be very hard to accept how disappointing life is […] because that’s what it is and have to accept it.” The Mormon mother turns out to have amor fati. What’s more, it is this present, living, breathing love that puts Hannah in a position to receive those in need of it.

The absolute poet of love in our time is bell hooks. On the subject, she has written so much that to address it briefly is cruel both to those who adore her work, and to those who are yet deprived of her insights. However, for the purpose of exploring a politics animated by love, bell hooks cannot be avoided. She writes, “For most folks it is just too threatening to embrace a definition of love that would no longer enable us to see love as present in our families.” This is because love and abuse cannot coexist. We needed fuller, more satisfying, more fire-quenching love, and for too many of us, our parents were either too overworked, or too dependent upon petty pleasures to provide it. And it is now up to us as adults to relearn even the first, all-consuming love so that we can strive to contain it in the second, co-equal love, and develop it further into a love of love itself. Only then can we begin to practice healing that is a vocation of our heart, instead of being blood-bags for the desperate. Hooks furthers her critique through both dialogue with regular people, and material analysis of the actually existing society. She notes that our capacity to love cannot develop under conditions designed to dominate, or which teach us to dominate. We must be be both alive to our connections with other, and respectful of the illimitability of inner experience. Arendtian love disappears in our need to speak honestly and frankly about our families and how they taught us to love. Zizekian love, in its joyful negation of the world in favor of its object, severs the social and spiritual connections which in fact comprise the persons themselves and therefore must be overcome. Rilkean love begins to multiply its autonomy-stewardship dynamic, ideally, to a point where solitude becomes untenable as a description of our lives.

What hooks describes as “a commitment to spiritual life,” is based on the fundamental understanding that in order to thrive, we must have a material base of minimal comfort, and social base of recognition. While we can recognize that love, in its own sovereignty, may bless us with greater capacities to love than what a statistician might predict, this understanding of the spiritual life is core. When we love and seek to magnify that love, and seek to extend its possibilities for the lives of others, we everywhere confront material and spiritual deprivation. Even children of wealthy families find their parents locked in the narcissistic pursuits of public esteem and private capital, and therefore unable to give them the love they needed to thrive as young people. “Spiritual life,” writes hooks, “is first and foremost about commitment to a way of thinking and behaving that honors principles of inner-being an interconnectedness.” Thus, we can see the political life of love as the extension of this network of reciprocity, admiration, nourishment, and respect. When we love love, we desire for all people to develop this capacity to its utmost. We are called on, therefore, to act not from charity, nor from duty, but to protect and uphold the possibility of love growing from every corner of our communities.

When I asked my lover what she thought political love could mean, she described an experience she often has on the subway. Some old woman, or some sad-looking man will board the train, and spontaneously, she will feel that that person deserves her unconditional support and love. The feeling may pass, but the moment is absolute if it seizes us. We become, like Hannah, instruments of love, when we allow our futures to be altered by the love of those we find along the path. We can have this experience with neighbors, if you’re not too closed off to it. We can have this experience with whole communities, if you spend enough time in public to enjoy the life of the city streets. This sort of love does not die by exposure to the public. It lives only through our exposure of ourselves to its possibility in the stranger, the fellow bus passenger, or the neighbor. And we can develop in ourselves our capacity to feel this love. Because I am, in many ways, still trapped in Zizekian love, I will take my lover’s authority on this matter to be beyond critique. Arendt’s structure of the frail plurality of the future, and our relation to it describes the same gambit love as a political force demands. bell hooks describes what that love must contain in order to be a strong, capacious love. Kushner’s Prior Walter shows us how to love ourselves, and protect ourselves from neglect and wrong. Kushner’s Hannah Pitt shows us how essential and unbreakable the love of love becomes when we practice it daily.

The Virtual and the Spiritual

It is an exciting time to be alive, if you have even a modicum of derring-do and/or masochism. The perennial cycle has arguably returned to theology (from its stint in aesthetics from 1989 to 2018) precisely because of the stakes in our politics: Once again, the apocalypse isn’t just an idle threat of clerics, or Schmittian protestants, or geopolitical goliaths. It is a visibly active force reshaping whole countries, and it is a sort of polymorphous death angel: Here the death of a democracy, there a coup; here the burning Amazon jungle, there the burning down of all our parents understood to be honor; here a culture wiped out, there a culture that fetishizes the new to the point of cannibalism. Here a hurricane, there a singularity. The specificities of the apocalypse are uninteresting to me, philosophically speaking, because they all amount the same thing: an unavoidable horizon, and after that, perhaps a freefall. Supposing it is a freefall, there is surely value in investing in parachutes, so to speak, but that’s what people said about bitcoin. The air might be too thin for the parachute to spread properly. Acid rain may burn it any way.

In practical fact, the apocalypse is primarily a matter of labor value. Understanding the apocalypse in terms of freedom is less than useless—noxious, even. You are free to die. Go ahead. Understanding the apocalypse as a matter of justice comes closer to confronting the theological dimension: the caprice of the Earth which produces the obviously unjust situation in which the most polluting nations have thus far experienced the mildest consequences. Labor value more fully encapsulates the primary practical consequences of apocalypse. Life will be made considerably cheaper, to the point of the rule of sovereign brutality. Furthermore, thinking about it in terms of labor value connects our immediate experience to what is beyond the storm. It’s hilarious these days to go to interviewing for white collar jobs. I haven’t heard the question, “Where do you see yourself in ten years?” since 2016. We know the answer, and it’s probably either shoveling heaps of shit or else meticulously placing your shit in the shit container to be delivered to the shit heap. But what is the work for? What good does it do a person to work all their life, if the fruits are enjoyed by someone else? Why should I develop myself any further if I’m just going to jump into the gristmill of someone else’s idea of progress? Understanding the practical reality of the apocalypse as a matter of labor value reasserts the importance of love: what we live for, what we commit to against our better judgment, what wills us beyond the horizon. However we characterize the passive feeling of love, its ugly namelessness accompanies us unconditionally whenever we desire beyond possibility, for the wellness or joy of others.

But which others? For the conservatives, that is practically the only question. With the advent of the virtual, we of course have a massive panoply from which to answer this question. That changes absolutely nothing for the conservative, of course: if anything, it lengthens the list of people not to let past your little stone fort. The earning of trust and respect is paramount for the conservative of course because he believes it is in man’s nature to seek conquest. Only in love is there an exception. However, even if consent is given, his love remains a sort of rape because it is love for him insofar as it is illimitable: the Zizekian love, the Platonic love of abstraction, the love of Tony Kushner’s Roy Cohn for the law. What can we call this sort of philia? Perhaps a chauvinist love—a trap I may well fall into myself by seeking out the highest love. Nevertheless a difference persists. Who you allow into the realm of intimacy—the realm of sovereign connection, where emotion is the primary rationality, and relationship is based on identity-as-genital/s, and expands out from there—reflects who you are as a person. In treating love as this holiest of exceptions, against which neither god nor God nor society can intrude, the conservative reveals his failure to love love.

It is easy to see how charity and duty are handily enough satisfied by the virtual, to the point of imbecilization. Love demands more. The best this mistrust of love itself can achieve is Rilke’s love between spouses, and even then, the conservative political project is underwritten by a belief that only one gender truly deserves their solitude.

The german idealist notion of the virtual/representational as the spiritual persists in our irony towards it, but it is false. The virtual is fun, but fun is the shallow end of a blunted spectrum. The other side is nausea. We watch these horrors, and while the horror is easily felt to be universal, it is absolutely essential to sort it out. Our virtual relation to the global, and therefore to each instance of the apocalypse, can go no deeper than fun or nausea as its absolute extremes. It is a horizontal abyss in which, as Baudrillard says, “only few things and at rare moments achieve pure appearance.” On this account, our love can walk the streets, perhaps even chant and hold our fists high, but only because the public has been eclipsed by the virtual. Every disaster has a gofundme by the end of 24 hours. The state’s response to climate change is implicit already in its response to each small calamity, each life boat on the Gulf or Mediterranean. It is already culpable in the displacement in the first place, as centuries of colonialism rot into wasteland. The apocalypse, as it is made to appear in the virtual, seduces us to stay comfortably lost between nausea and fun.

Love—political love, love that is a force in politics—is like chocolate. You ever see a kid eat chocolate candy for the first time? They didn’t know how empty and meaningless their life had been until that first rush of dopamine. Love is chocolate for the apocalypse. We can expanded our capacity to love such that the virtual horrors inspire something more than fun or nausea, not just sometimes, but as a way of relating to the world per se. Perhaps then we could see the biome and its torments as implicit in our decision to love on a day-to-day basis. You don’t know how good you can be until you’ve tasted it.

That expansion is something people actually already know how to do. And it is the practical life of spiritual development. Expansion of sensation and suspension of identity are not boxes on a spreadsheet, which can be supplanted for this-other-religious-belief, or that-other-political-commitment. Extending empathy is a skill you can actually improve, using your actual body. Actual bodies require labor. And if any of our actual bodies make it out to the other side of the apocalypse, they will not be drawn together by the ecstasy of the virtual, but by the necessity of the spiritual. There are hundreds of thousands of people who have already survived an apocalyptic visitation, and they have names, and if you live in a democracy, you can probably go meet them if you’d like.

You, Yer Dad, and Everyone You Know

One time at a party, I got trapped in the corner with some insufferable hippy like myself, and he made me listen to his spiel. He said, “According to the Buddha, if there are gods, or even, you know, big-G God, then that changes nothing. If they have an identity and a desire, they’ve got the same problems as you and I.” He smelled bad, but the lesson is a good one. Supposing this is true, it would remain true of any sort of hostile AI singularity event. On the Buddhist account, life is suffering, and compassion is the key to unlock what lies between ourselves and our enemies. If it suffers, then the humanity can love it. Well, so what? The machine doesn’t love me back, so who gives a shit? We are done with what Sloterdijk called “loser romanticism,” so this love had better actually do things. Because, if it doesn’t, we all have a lot of other emotions—hate, greed, boredom—that motivate whole industries.

Love is an essential political task now because so few people seem to be worthy of it. You, yer dad, and everyone you’ve ever loved is living on a planet that is dying, and the apathy with regard to that fact is galling. Even some of the brightest, most optimistic minds cleave to a sort of processual nihilism. “We’re doing everything we can!” said one friend. Another said, “If what it takes is some kind of horrible, overwhelming violence, or dictatorship, or both, to turn climate change around, maybe it was meant to happen. Maybe that’s the tragedy.” You can hear echoes of this in almost every response to climate change that isn’t coming from a tanky or a nazi. The religious find a different confidence. We need love, not just to have it, but to pursue it, magnify it, and seek within each instance the grain of a higher love. We need it because if we actually loved ourselves and our loved ones as much as we say we do, we would not need to scrunch down and hide when we look at the apocalypse. Love becomes a political force not by some fiat, some laser eye-beam of pure eros. Nor does it become a political force merely through solidarity with either our tight little chauvinist circle, or our cadre, or merely our fellow worker. Love becomes a political force when we seek with others to magnify the possibility of love, for ourselves, and for others.

The mystics may balk, but we as a society actually know a lot about how to produce that kind of love. Without the ability to form secure attachments as a toddler, that ability is hampered throughout life. Without the opportunity to play and make mistakes free of repudiation or humiliation as a child, our capacity for open play is hampered throughout life. Without the ability to assert oneself authentically as a young person, one’s ability to do so in relationships with lovers, friends, or family is perpetually hampered throughout life. Without the opportunity to give, receive, and reciprocate intimacy through the kinds of intense relationships that form as a young adult, our belief in solidarity, and ability to extend trust is damaged. These are essentially empirically sound facts gathered from a century of psychological science. And at each phase, the ability to form a higher love can be thwarted or nourished. Without stability, without assurances of health and well-being, and accompaniment, none of these capacities can thrive, and yield the fruit we crave. The love of hooks, the political love of the stranger—these are not given to us simply by our development as human creatures, but rather require practice, and the security in which to fail. So why don’t rich kids become rich people who love more? They hit about 21, form those intense relationships we all like to reminisce about, and get cock-slapped by patriarchy and capitalism. At some point, your dad says something amounting to “You’re letting a bunch of fuckin faeries steal all the weed outta yer garden! You dumb fuck. Stop feeling so much and get your shit together.” And somehow, they always do.

We can, in fact, observe empirically how lower forms of love grow to become higher, more secure, more generous, more certain forms of love in the individual lifespan. These transformations appears to be an individual choice one some level. We have to practice good communication to be any good at it. There is some genetic component, but it appears to be made negligible by the simple power of a present, loving face, warmth, and food at infancy. Yet under all of that is the value of labor. If the value of labor is high, parents spend more time with children, neighborhoods have more healthy activities in them as people naturally bridge their isolation with their free time—they may then neglect their children, as bell hooks says, by supplanting loving presence with material objects. Yet the fundament of material safety is necessary to develop our fullest capacity to love. Political love which is love of the leader or the country or the state is in fact simply chauvinism: loving what you see of yourself in the object (and is why romantic love can be a source of danger under the rule of any philosopher-king). But it does not ascend the level of loving difference, as Rilke’s true partners might. Instead, if we want a politics of love that is not chauvinist in nature, we have to begin at the moment of immediate experience, which is to say, praxis.

When was the last time you experienced a sudden, uncontrollable desire for the health, happiness, and joy of another? Have you sought to cultivate this capacity in yourself? What is stopping you from doing so? Why do you associate love, and especially the radiant quality of your own love, to be a liability for you? Was yer dad a cruel prick?

Angels in America ends with the characters having what is supposed to look like an ironically unwinnable conversation about theory and practice, and the necessity of both. Louis comments that he doesn’t want the play to have a Zionist tone, with its reference to the angel who would bring forth a new wellspring in the holy land. Kushner’s writing intones both a joy and a detachment with regard to theorizing: the only character who does it, really, is the sick-lover-abandoning Louis. Identifying the practice of love, and the magnification of love, with the daily experience of living and loving is not meant to subvert the divine. Divine love is no doubt something we are all capable of with the proper development, and besides, it radiates through us any way, whether we like it or not. Prior Walter, the AIDS-stricken prophet, has blessed you with more life. He wants you to thrive, like the bodhisattvas and the Christ. No one can take that away from you. But they can take away your polis. The massive chasm that separates love in its form as a political force from love as the force of creation itself is that political love must be willing to defend itself. If capital is an imminent force of calculability, then love emerges as its opposite, not because of its illimitability, but because of its refusal to supplant or replace or liquidate or substitute. Love cannot do without its particularities, given from each according to their ability, and seeking always for needs it can meet. Love in its chauvinist form is seductive for our political impulses because it promises to magnify our love for our neighbor by replacing him with someone we already love. Love in its political form—which is to say, love that respects the autonomy of self and other, while still seeking to overcome individual egoism—is the expansion of sensation and identity by means of cultivating this capacity in oneself, and guaranteeing the minimum social needs are met for your neighbors to cultivate it as well. You don’t need to bless the whole audience, you just need to bless more than the person you bless.

This is the love you must be in in order to survive the apocalypse. If a love that is so open-ended yet certain and specific; that is defined by its radiance, rather than its negation, or its qualities of exchange, cannot be willed into history, it will be willed out of it in retrospect by whatever comes next.

#lookingfornoonat2pm #slavoj zizek #bellhooks #hannah arendt #politics of love #apocalypse

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dr0wning-in-hell · 6 years ago

Text

Ready - Sweet Pea

summary : Y/N decides that it’s time for her and Sweet Pea to move onto the next level of their relationship, and while in the heat of the moment they forget to protect themselves which leads to an unexpected surprise.

word count : 3.5k+

warnings : a little bit of angst, nervous!reader, scared!reader, cursing, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up folks!), fingering, oral (fr), teen pregnancy, super sweet Sweet Pea, SHIT TON OF FLUFF SO GET READY

pairing / characters : sweet pea x virgin!pregnant!reader, Toni Topaz,

prompt : “Hiya, could you do an imagine with Sweet Pea? Prompts 34 35 and 38. I feel like you could make a great plot for this! Also you’re imagines are amazing 😍” - @sweetpeatrashxo “Can you do a sweet pea x Reader were she's a virgin and he is super sweet to her” - @jeromeandjeremiahvaleskafreak

34. “We live together. You can’t blame this on anyone else.” 35. “I think I might be pregnant..” 38. “Think about it. The little patter of children in our home.”

A/N : I decided to pair these two together thinking it would work out pretty well, so enjoy! THIS IS FILTHY OKAY BE READY

new masterlist | requests | prompt list

Sweet Pea and Y/N had been dating for almost over a year now and they had never gone over the limit of a make-out session. Sure, Y/N and Sweet Pea both wanted to go further, but Y/N didn’t know if she was quite ready yet. The day that Y/N decided she was ready to take it a step forward with her boyfriend she confided in her best friend Toni first.

“I think I’m ready to move forward.” Y/N said, a shy smile starting to cover her lips.

Toni was more than happy to hear those words come from her friend, especially because she knew that Y/N was only going to do this act with the person she wanted to be with for the rest of her life. Toni knew from the moment that her two best friends started dating that they’d last forever. “If you really want to do this we have to go get you some sexy lingerie, it’ll make you look even hotter.” Toni said. “We can go look at some things and then hopefully make it back to your trailer before Sweet Pea does.” Y/N nodded. The two girls went to the store that day, looking at all the lingerie they had to offer.

At first Y/N wasn’t sure if she could pull any of the outfits off, but those thoughts were quickly put to rest when she found a piece that she liked. It was a dark green piece, lace covered more than half of the material and there were small scales sewn into the fabric. She picked up the piece, smiling at it. Y/N tried it on, her thoughts once again telling her she wouldn't look good in it but they were wrong. The set made her look absolutely stunning. Y/N loved how the green and the scales matched perfectly with her serpent tattoo that laid on her forearm. Y/N couldn’t wait to see her boyfriend’s reaction, mostly because she had other tattoos in places he wouldn’t see until now.

Y/N bought the set of lingerie and then hurried back to her and Sweet Pea’s trailer. The two had moved in with each other at the six month mark of their relationship, mainly because neither of them had parents that lived with them and they were struggling to pay for everything on their own, which resulted into them moving into one shared trailer.

Y/N quickly took a shower, making sure to wash her body and shave thoroughly in all the right places so that this wasn’t to awkward of an experience for either of them. After that she sprayed herself in Sweet Pea’s favorite perfume of hers, matching it with its paired lotion. Once that was all done she put on her new set and then put on a sexy outfit just to make sure that everything would be perfect. Y/N waited for Sweet Pea to get home for another hour, so while she waited she decided to Google some tips on sex for first timers. She read through several articles, finding some interesting and not so interesting things on the topic.

When Sweet Pea arrived back at the trailer he ignored Y/N for a few minutes by going into their room and changing out of his clothes and into a fresh pair of sweats and a muscle tank top. Y/N was the only one who ever saw him wear anything like this, and she was happy about that because boy oh boy would she have issues with other girls starring at her boyfriend. Y/N was still going through some articles on her phone when Sweet Pea came out and sat next to her on the couch, instantly laying his head on her shoulder. At that moment Y/N began to rethink whether or not she should go through with her plan.

Shutting her phone off Y/N began to run her fingers through her boyfriend’s hair, his soft sighs of content making her smile. “How was practice today, babe?” She asked softly.

“Rough, we got worked overtime and than Mantle wanted start pissing me off by talking about you and how he could get into your pants easier than I could.” He huffed. “But I know that will never happen.” He looked up at her, his brown eyes gazing into her Y/E/C orbs. “Something’s on your mind, what’s wrong?”

“I um.” God, how I am going to do this? She thought. She just had to tell him straight forward that she was ready, it was just like ripping off a band aid- well kind of. Taking in a deep breathe Y/N sat both her and Sweet Pea up, “I’m ready to move forward in our relationship.” She said.

Sweet Pea’s eyes widened, “Babe, are you sure? Is because of what I said about Reggie?” He quickly questioned.

Y/N shook her head, a smile appearing on her beautiful lips, “No, no it’s not that.” She sighed, “I talked to Toni about it this morning and I decided that I was ready for it now.” Y/N waited for Sweet Pea to say something, which began to scare her, but when he quickly captured her lips with his that feeling was replaced with a different one.

“I love you so much, you know that right? I’ll never do anything to hurt you.” Sweet Pea mumbled against her lips. She nodded, mumbling ‘just kiss me again’ before pulling her boyfriend to her lips again. The two teens made out for a few minutes before the Serpent boy pulled the girl onto his lap and began grinding her hips into his. The friction between them was unimaginable as Y/N’s jeans rubbed against her clothed core and her center rubbing up against Sweet Pea’s growing erection. When Pea was fully hard he stood up, hoisting Y/N’s legs around his hips and walked them to the bedroom. Y/N squealed and giggled as he kissed her face and neck.

Sweet Pea placed Y/N on her back on the neatly made bed then taking a step back to admire the beauty he got to call his girlfriend. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He breathes out, “Fuck I love you.” Y/N sat up a bit and pulled Sweet Pea on top of her, resulting in her falling back again with her boyfriend on top of her.

“I love you too baby, so much. I’m never gonna leave you.” She whispered. The two began to kiss again, this time the make out session much hotter than the previous one. Sweet Pea’s hand roamed all of Y/N’s body, memorizing every single inch of her. His hands slid up her waist and under her shirt, tracing random patterns on her smooth skin. “You can touch me, Sweets it’s okay, I trust you.” Y/N said in a small tone. Sweet Pea took the time to take off Y/N’s shirt, revealing the lacy bra she had just bought. Y/N heard him groan in satisfaction at the sigh of her in the piece. Again, his large hands trailed up her skin, this time stopping at her breasts. Y/N’s nipples were perked up, pressing against the material of the bra. Sweet Pea ran the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, earning a gasp of delight to come from his girlfriend. Since this was the first time he had ever heard her make a noise like that he was awestruck at how beautiful she sounded.

“‘M gonna make you feel so good princess, I promise.” The serpent whispered as he kissed down his girlfriend’s stomach and down to the hem of her jeans. Y/N nodded at him, telling him it was okay to take them off. He did, dragging them down her legs ever so slowly. When they were fully off Sweet Pea’s eyes were glued to her body. For the first time he saw the other tattoos that his girlfriend had. She had a large underboob tattoo that Sweet Pea was practically drooling over, and then one right on her thigh. “Never told me you had such beautiful tattoos, babygirl.” Pea rasped out as his fingertips traced the markings. “They look so good on you.”

Y/N blushed. “Mm, well now you know about them.” She whispered. Sweet Pea continued kissing every inch of her body, teasing Y/N for the longest time that she thought she might burst from just the small touches.

“As much as I love seeing you in this piece, it’s gonna look a lot better on the floor.” Pea mumbled. Y/N nodded and sat up just enough to unclasp the bra and throw it the floor. She thought she would be more nervous about exposing herself to to him for the first time, but because she knew him so well and she trusted him so much she was comfortable with it. Laying back, Y/N watched at Sweet Pea pulled down her lace panties and through them with the the rest of her clothes. “Fucking hell.” His eyes were glued to her cunt, the sight of the freshly shaven area making his mouth water.

Sweet Pea kneeled down and gently spread Y/N’s legs open so he could see all of her. When the cool air of the trailer hit her exposed core she couldn’t help but let out a low whimper. Sweet Pea dragged his fingers through her soaked folds, collecting her wetness on his digits. “I’m just gonna warm you up, okay baby?” He asked, Y/N nodded. “I need your words babydoll, want to know that you want this.”

“Yes,” Y/N breathed out, “I want this, fuck I need this Pea, please.” She whispered. Sweet Pea nodded and continued on with his actions. The tip of his middle finger prodded at Y/N’s entrance, then slowly pushed through her walls. Y/N gasped, her hands clinging to the sheets quickly. At first the new feeling stung, but then once he started to move his finger in and out of her slowly it turned it a good feeling, a feeling that Y/N was falling in love with. Sweet Pea added a second finger a few minutes later and began to thrust his fingers faster into Y/N’s tight cunt. She was a moaning mess, each time his fingers moved in the slightest way she was whimpering in pleasure. She loved this new feeling, she loved that her boyfriend was the first to ever please her like this.

The boy blew his hot breathe onto her clit before he gently sucked the nub in between his teeth. “Fuck!” Y/N mewled out, “Fuck, Pea, gah f-feels so good.” She stuttered out. He smirked at her words and pulled his fingers from her pussy, causing a whine to escape her mouth.

“Taste yourself, love, you taste fucking delicious.” Sweet Pea stretched his arm out and hovered his fingers over Y/N’s lips. She didn’t hesitate for a second before she sucked Sweet Pea’s fingers into her mouth. The moan that came from her mouth just made Pea’s boner strain against his sweats even more. He continued to eat out his girlfriend, relishing in the taste of her for the first time. His tongue lapped up all of her juices, spread apart her folds and sunk into her center, while his thumb rubbed lazy circles onto her clit. The way Y/N’s body was shaking and the way her hands were constantly reaching out and grabbing something gave Pea the memo that she was close to her first orgasm. “Gonna cum for me baby? Come on, cum on tongue, wanna taste you.” Y/N didn’t hold anything back, she let that tightening knot in her stomach unwind and she felt her first orgasm wash over her. Sweet Pea moaned at the taste and feeling of his girlfriend’s cum on his tongue. He lapped up every last drop before pulling his face away from her core. When he sat up Y/N could see her wetness dribbling off of his chin. “You have no idea how good you taste.” He said.

“And you have no idea how much clothes your still wearing.” Y/N smirked. “All that,” She gestured to his tank top and sweats. “Off. Now.” Sweet Pea chuckled at his girlfriend but did as told and began to take off his clothes. Y/N watched closely as he took off his sweats and his member sprung free from it’s confinement. “No boxers?” Y/N teased. Sweet Pea playfully rolled his eyes.

“You’re absolutely positive that you want to do this?” Sweet Pea asked again.

“I’m 100% positive, Sweets. I promise.” Y/N said. He nodded and crawled over his girlfriend, pressing a soft and loving kiss to her lips. “I’m ready for you.” She whispered. Sweet Pea nodded and lined his cock up with her entrance. Before pushing in he lubricated himself in her wetness, then slid himself in. Y/N’s hands clung to his biceps, her nails digging into his tan skin as she tried to adjust herself to his length. Sweet Pea began to worry when she hadn’t said anything. but when her grip on his arm loosened and she told him it was okay to move he did.

Sweet Pea started out with slow, gentle strokes. The serpent may look tough and scary, but deep down he was just scared to hurt the love of his life. Y/N and Sweet Pea’s hands were intertwined, squeezing each other’s hands each time they moaned. Once Sweet Pea knew that Y/N was fully comfortable and used to the feeling of his large cock in her, he began to move faster. Y/N’s moans began to grow loudly, practically screaming as Sweet Pea thrusted into her cunt. He wasn’t being rough with her, he was just making sure that she was enjoying herself.

“Fuck, Pea, feels so good.” She mewled.

Sweet Pea grunted in response, snapping his hips against hers. “You’re doing so well for me, babygirl. Taking my cock so good.” He praised. Leaning down, he attached his lips to her neck, leaving small love bites at first and then sucking bright purple marks onto her skin. “So good for me, so happy I got to be your first.” He whispered as he pressed his forehead to hers, “I love you so fucking much.” Y/N just moaned in response, her hands scratching down his back as he continued to make love to her.

After a few more minutes of thrusting into her and praising her for how well she was doing, both Sweet Pea and Y/N were getting closer to their climaxes. Y/N felt that knot began to grow in her belly, causing her to buck her hips up to meet each of Sweet Pea’ thrusts. “’M close, baby.” She whimpered. The boy nodded and continued thrusting into Y/N until he felt her walls contract around his dick and he felt her cum fall onto his length. Y/N’s orgasm set of his own, causing his hips to still and cock to pulsate in her pussy. They both moaned at the feeling of him filling her up.

When they had fallen from their high Sweet Pea gently pulled from her pussy and got up, going to the bathroom and getting a damp cloth to clean her up. Y/N was breathing heavily as she smiled to herself. Sweet Pea came back with a cloth and began to clean Y/N up, being gentle as he wiped her clean.

“How do you feel baby?” He asked as he crawled under the covers and laid with her. “I wasn’t too rough with you, was I?”

Y/N smiled and shook her head, “No, no of course not.” She pecked his cheek, “It was perfect, you were perfect.” Y/N yawned and snuggled up against Sweet Pea’s chest, “I love you so much.” She mumbled, exhaustion taking over in her voice and laying her to rest in his arms. Sweet Pea smiled as he watched Y/N sleep peacefully. He loved his girlfriend so much, he would do anything for her.

The next few weeks went by smoothly, Y/N and Sweet Pea now constantly trying to find time to please one another. It wasn’t that Y/N was addicted to sex, she just felt more confident in herself and the fact that she could please her boyfriend in more than one way.

One weekend, when Sweet Pea was going to wake Y/N up with morning sex, he was shocked to find Y/N hunched over the toilet vomiting her stomach out. Like any good boyfriend would do, Sweet Pea ran in and held her hair back and rubbed her back to calm her down. When she was done throwing up she leaned her head against Sweet Pea’s shoulder.

“Something’s wrong.” Y/N mumbled.

“What do you mean?” Sweet Pea asked as he stroked Y/N’s hair.

She sighed, “My period was supposed to start two days ago.” Her eyes gazed up at her boyfriend, “I’m not on the pill, and I know we didn’t and haven’t worn a condom when we have sex, but-” She let out a breathe, “Pea, I think I’m Pregnant.” Y/N’s voice was wavering, almost like she was about to cry. In her head, she thought that if she got pregnant that Sweet Pea would ditch her or that she’d be a horrible mother, or that they couldn’t give their child the life they deserve. All of her thoughts were making her want to vomit again.

“How? I mean, you- you don’t your pregnant or not.” Sweet Pea said nervously.

“We live together. You can’t blame this on anyone else.” She said. “Are you going to leave me?” She whispered, tears now filling her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. “If I’m pregnant, are you going to leave me?”

Sweet Pea’s eyes widened and he shook his head quickly, wiping away his girlfriend’s tears. “No, no I would never leave you baby, never.” He said, holding her face in his hands, “I made a promise to you that I would never leave you, I plan on keeping that promise.” He assured her. Y/N nodded slowly and closed her eyes. Sweet Pea pressed his lips to her forehead softly, keeping them there for a few extra seconds before pulling away. “Why don’t you brush your teeth and I’ll make you something to eat, yeah?” He asked softly. Y/N nodded and the two stood up. He walked out of the bathroom and headed to the kitchen to get them something to eat. Y/N brushed her teeth, blinking away the rest of the tears in her eyes.

Y/N went back to their room and laid under the covers, holding the warm sheets to her chest. She was so scared about whether or not she was pregnant, but there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she wasn’t. When Sweet Pea came back into the room he gave her a small smile and kissed the top of her head. “Thought you may just like some cereal.” He said as he handed her a bowl full of her favorite breakfast cereal. She gave him a sad smile and slowly began to eat.

“I’m sorry.” She muttered after a few minutes of silence. Sweet Pea looked at her as if she as crazy, not knowing what she was apologizing for. “I don’t want to fuck up your life with having a kid, I never wanted to ruin your life, I’m so so sorry.” Y/N cried.

Sweet Pea took the bowl of cereal and placed it on their nightstand then pulled her close to him. “Don’t say that, you have never and will never ruin my life.” He reassured her, “I don’t mind having a kid, in fact I want a kid with you. I want a long, happy life with the woman I love.” He said smiling, “Think about it. The little patter of children in our home.” He kissed the top of her head, “You haven’t ruined my life, or yours, we’ve just started our life together.”

“Are you even ready for a kid?” Y/N asked as she looked up at him.

Sweet Pea chuckled, “I think we’ll be ready, we always are.”

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elliesproblems · 6 years ago

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To whom it may concern,

Chapter Two

Meeting the Other Jays

Entry: December 23rd, 2017

Sometimes I try to save my own life. I get these big boosts of energy like all of a sudden I’m ready to put my life back on the rails. It’s never worked the past dozen energy boosts, but it’s something to look forward to. Maybe it doesn’t get better, but at least it’s not all shit on the downhill path to nowhere.

Right now though? Right now, doesn’t count towards anything. It feels like I’m walking in a dream where I would soon wake up to real life. Everything here is just a figment of my imagination, even cars I’ve never seen before or jokes I’ve never heard before.

Or maybe I’m still coming down from the worst high of my life and it has badly scrambled my concept of reality versus multiple dimensions. Sure, I had always joked about ‘sleep Jay’ and her irritating knack for giving away my things in the middle of the night. It started out with missing nose rings and earrings, and then to missing blankets only to find them across the room in my sisters bed. My roommate had an idea it was just ‘me trying to be nice’ and while I’m awake I have the very needed, ‘no wait, I need this thing I want to give away’, but ‘sleep Jay’ doesn’t have the second following piece of thought.

All in all, I never meant that ‘sleep Jay’ was another whole being. I said it as a joke and it just stuck. I never thought I believed in the multiverse theory either, but here I am, not completely sure if I’m in the right dimension.

December 23rd, 2017

For the first time in several years it feels like Christmas is actually coming, but for now, that’s just a side note.

Last night we went to T***'s house and for once, I took a hit out of his new gravity bong, or whatever they’re called. At first it was like I couldn’t breath, which wasn’t that much more awful than what I’m used to. I’m always a bad cougher so I didn’t think anything of it.

But as it settled in and the high made residence in my head, it was beginning to feel way different than the usually lightheadedness and overheating body that I was used to. It was as if everything was moving like stop animations, always catching the main movement, but there’s frames missing here and there. I could see the three frames at once, the new frame pushing the old one out, and it’s a lot like how television shows a first person point of view before the pass out. But I never passed out. Instead, I could feel the sensations from each frame as well; E***'s hand on mine in frame one and the cool hitting my hand when she let go in frame three. The frames didn’t last long, it was still relatively a fluid movement for stop animation.

I haven't spoken since I stopped coughing and for a while I couldn't figure out how to open my mouth, much less let words out. It was a little too much like I forgot to move my body and my brain was sitting at the control panel with buttons it’s never seen before. What I did realize though, is that when I ran my fingers over my arm, not only did I have the tripled sensation from my fingertips, but I also had the sensation from my arm in a total of six different feelings at once. It made me laugh uncontrollably how much it tickled. And I’m sure I looked a little unsettling to my friends, just sitting on an air mattress tapping my arm like someone would a desktop when they are bored or just want to make noise, and laughing my head off after a while of being silent and unresponsive. I knew I look like one of those high idiots who’s all giggles and rocks back and forth like a psycho on tv, but it was the only way to keep the frames moving so I took to the roll very well. The weird part was I was all mentally there, watching my real body fall apart like a mad man.

Someone where along the line, I figured out how to open my mouth other than to laugh, but T***, who has a tendency to block out what makes him uncomfortable, wasn’t listening to my attempts at explaining what I was experiencing. Which, to be fair, the words coming out didn’t make sense to me either, but I was trying to explain with the idea that everything your experiencing is a simulation and there’s people in white suits all controlling your sensations via computer while your real body sits in a tube of liquid, and something really went wrong with the visuals of the computer because there was some serious lag going on here. He didn’t listen long enough for me to get my words right anyways, he kept apologizing for the cat like I wasn’t saying anything. No matter how long I got into my spewl, he’s interrupt with an apology identical to the one before it and, possibly I was witnessing a visual loop and I would just see the same thirty seconds over and over for what seem like a total of three minutes before I gave up trying to explain.

I look at his stereo instead, making sure I can see more than just him and the wall behind. Neither one of them ask me what I was going to say, and he apologizes for the cat again. I know I need to hold it together, even though I’m not really part of the scene happening in front of me, I can’t ruin it for whoever shoes I’m in. So I do my best to pretend I’m listening to whatever conversation they’re having.

They’re eating tacos that I remember ordering earlier. The box in front of me has those cinnamon twisty things that I like so much, and I remember that I specifically asked for them. I never thought I would be so relieved to be in my own shoes. So I stand, refusing to pretend I’m someone else. Looking down at them feels a little like I’m watching them through a screen rather than in real time, but they look at me like they’re not sure if they want to ask. It’s a fair reaction I guess.

I try to remember how to speak again, but I’ve only managed to cry. He turns back to his food in his best effort to block it out, my roommate is trying to understand what’s happened from my laughing to now. Yeah, that was me, I was the one laughing and now I’m the one crying when we’re supposed to be relaxing and eating junk food together like other millennials our age.

I manage to tell her something's not right. I can’t explain how, I don’t know how anymore. I can’t remember what is supposed to be a normal high. I feel the need to tell her it’s me, and that I know all of this is real, and not some stupid computer simulation. I tell her I know this is nothing more than just a bad trip, but I still see the frames through my tears, and it’s like some of them belong to the person I was pretending to be, some of the things I am experiencing are not mine. But the frames keep moving and maybe I’m alone in a theatre with a really big movie screen that’s a little too easy to disassociate with. Maybe I never knew them at all. Maybe I am really just alone in a dark room dreaming to be some kid on screen having an existential crisis.

But I end up laying on my side on the cheap air mattress and I can hear the air leak out of it three different times, but I can also hear my roommate heartbeat against my eardrum the correct number of times and I only feel her arms wrapped around me once. It’s as if I can cry whatever was frying my head out and the tears fell hoter on my skin than they should, but I only feel them once.

I can manage to only look at one frame if I hold still, every moment causes a blur of other frames, but I’m in control of it now. I learned I can drum my fingers to control the frames; their speeds and how they feel on my skin. It feels like a index card roll you see on desks when I roll on my skin. It doesn’t tickle this time, but it’s addicting. I want the frames to stop ,I want it all to just go back to normal, god, I just want to go to sleep so it’ll be over. But I can’t, I have to drum my fingers on anything I can. I can’t stop going through the frames because then it all will stop and maybe I will cease to exist.

There’s another experience in every frame, like not all of them or mine, or hers, or whoever's. But I know of all these people, they’re all in the same place as I am; on an air mattress in their roommates arms. They’re all Jays. They’re all me from different timelines, but they all have roughly the same story. They’re only enough differences for them to take this experience differently. Some are at a different state of panic, some are still coming down from the existential fear, a few are still in the theatre witnessing it all via screen, but all are in their roomates arms. The feelings flash before they are replaced with a new feeling from another Jay. As I begin to figure out which one owns the body, the variety of experiences get smaller and smaller.

All the while, the closer I get to figuring out that what I am experiencing is nothing other than a bad reality constructed by a bad trip, the lesser the pain is, but the further I fall into psychosis, the hotter the feeling I have on my head like I’m wearing a crown.

I manage to sort the feelings down to two Jays, hoping I didn’t accidentally throw out the real on in all my rushed sorting. But the final two I remember the clearest, because I know one was born out of fear.

One, who I believe I am living out of right now, has gone through a hardship with T*** and a close friend of his almost two years ago. Things aren’t necessarily perfect, but they’ve begun to heal after so long. This Jay considers him a good friend, and despite her worry of the same thing happening twice, she hopes for the better.

The second being the Jay who had been hurt as well by T*** and his roommate that she at one time considered a friend, and believed time had changed who T*** was. This Jay is too naive to figure out that the people she’s come to love and trust do not feel the same way, and despite their obvious expression of the truth, she’s too optimistic to see it.

I fall asleep with both of them.

The longer I sit on this information, the more I worry about the possibility that these Jays are the same person, and all that experience was, was the complexity of what the human eye sees and how the brain processes it and the many emotions someone is capable of feeling at once, just simplified like oil and water rather than mixed together.

A part of me worries if I’m in the right dimension at all, and the possibility of the dimensions flipping rather than the Jays and I got stuck in Jay number twos world.

Still, when I woke up, it was too much to have possibly happened in the real world and I wrote it off as a dream. But my roommate and T*** refuse to talk to each other in the morning, and she claims that he littered my head with trauma he won’t own up to. He seemed dodgy the next day, and she seemed angry.

Perhaps I am Jay number two, and maybe I wound up still in the right dimension.

The whole experience can be summed up in one of these dumb videos they have for explaining how your dreams reflect what you are truly feeling. I was still in and out about the whole ' I'm not Jay' idea, and for me to stand up, high out of my mind and refuse to pretend to be someone else, was a bold move that I never dared to replicate until almost a year later.

I knew I didn't come out of that ordeal in one whole piece, but I didn't want to admit how literally broken up I was. The angry, and scared part that I no longer claimed, and gave to 'Jay' was still there. I never wanted to go back to her and the problems meant for the both of us.

#to whom it may concern.#chapter 2 #elliesproblems #ellies log #osdd system #osdd #did #disasociative identity disorder #weed #bad trip #bad trip tw #personal

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shooter-nobunagun · 6 years ago

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Alabaster 1/2 (R-18)

//Been a long while since I wrote any drabble/stand-alone stories, let alone a fluffy one that didn’t involve smut or angst (lol). Kinda sensual, but nothing explicit. HAHA JUST KIDDING 🙃

Edit 1: This was supposed to be a fluffy drabble but it turned into more fleshing out/nuances of ‘how e-genes work’ in the canon sense; especially since Hisa-sensei recently answered a bunch of questions on Twitter regarding more mechanics of e-genes and the like, I wanted to explore those ideas (and now I realized that a lot of my stories might not match up canonically. Whoops).

Edit 2: There wasn’t supposed to be smut but then...smut... *sighs* I guess that’s what happens when I don’t give my muses smut for a long time...

Edit 3: Adding smut made it get a lot longer than just a drabble....why me

Warnings: suggestive sexual content

Smooth, unfettered, and perfectly pale-white; like looking at one of those marble statues carved by the great masters, to her it seemed almost as if she were gazing at an art piece, so perfect was his figure.

Well, truth be told if she ever told her husband she thought him equal to a Roman god, he’d just sigh and roll his eyes. Sio clicked her tongue wryly and decided against waking him up just to tell him such a particular comment, instead filing away said tidbit in the back of her mind. Maybe later, such as when she needed to appease his ego and get him to ravish her senseless. Not that last night had been unsatisfying by any means, oh no; rubbing her thighs together slightly, Sio letting the tingle of faint pleasure run through her spine. They said on average it took about half a year for pregnancy to go from planning to actually happening, and seeing as how they were coming up on their fifth month of trying...

Though personally, if remaining non-pregnant for a few more months equated to some more intense lovemaking sessions, Sio had no qualms about that.

A soft sigh on the bed beside her, Adam turning over just slightly on the pillow but otherwise remained unmoving. His hair, which was just as pale as his complexion, fanned out around his neck and the top of his back--which, Sio discovered, was not actually completely white but upon closer inspection, was dotted with a tiny band of very pale freckles, just across the top. She’d discovered this adorable feature after lounging over him one day, lazily enjoying the feel of his skin against hers while tracing imaginary patterns between them.

‘Ooh, you’ve got freckles back here!’ Sio exclaimed with a squeal as her fingers smoothed across his muscular back.

‘Oh, guess I do...not that I’ve paid much attention. Probably too much sun...’ Adam replied blithely, trying not to let on he was actually ticklish near his hairline.

Sio only smiled before placing a light kiss right between his shoulder blades. ‘Well, I think they’re cute. It looks nice against your skin...kind of like, stars. You know, like how the Milky Way has all those tiny little stars?’

At this comment Adam rolled over, forcing Sio to get off. ‘Stars? You always have quite the imagination, love...’

She giggled a bit at that memory, not in the least because it led to some of the most intense sex they’d had in a long time. Silently she traced the hard ridges of muscle along his back, marveling at how perfectly etched each line seemed to be. Back when she’d first walked in on him changing--an accident, truly--even with that irksome attitude of his, she couldn’t help but be captivated upon the sight of his muscular backside, not super-macho but a solidly-built figure with strong arms that felt wonderful to be held in...

A surge of heat pooled between her legs and Sio had to resist the urge to slip a finger down there. In hindsight, perhaps graduating from an all-girls high school had some downsides...

Beneath her the sleeping wolf was finally stirring, no doubt awakened by her feather-light touches as they dipped below his waist. “Hmmm...well I suppose that’s one way fer a wake-up call in the mornin’...”

“Ah, ohayou, Adam...”

He blinked those sleepy emeralds at her, clearly amused by her wandering hands as he rolled over and stretched, Sio shamelessly taking advantage of the view to burn his fabulous six-pack into her mind. “Don’t tell me yer thinkin’ of spicin’ up the morning already...it’s not even,” he glanced briefly at the clock, “9 o’clock yet...”

“Wee-e-l-ll, I mean it’s up to you,” she suggested coyly, “’cause let’s be real, when would I ever pass up the opportunity?”

He smirked at her response, running a hand through his bangs before he sat up and pulled her into his lap. “Actually, I can think of a few. But let’s not talk about that right now...I was thinking of some tea first, maybe? Perhaps a bite to eat?”

Just as he finished the sentence her stomach rumbled, Sio turning a dark shade of pink while Adam quirked a single white eyebrow. “Er, okay--I guess breakfast sounds pretty good right about now...ah ha ha, ha...”

“Right-o. Well, let’s rustle something up first, shall we?” He gave her a light kiss on the forehead and, despite being married and now attempting to start their own family, Sio still couldn’t help but blush to her very roots. “Oh Sio, you’re as cute as ever...”

“A-Adamu...” she muttered, his name taking on a more Japanese-accent than usual whenever she got flustered. “Sometimes I still can’t believe it...that, this is real, and it all happened...even though it wasn’t really that long ago, it feels like a lifetime, almost...”

He stared at her for a few seconds, before pulling her into a warm embrace she eagerly returned. “Same here, love...sometimes I almost forget I still have someone else’s DNA floating around my veins...but, I wouldn’t trade any of those struggles for this. For you,” he emphasized, touching their foreheads together. “Sometimes I find myself thinking about how much I changed, from before I met you to...now.”

“Yeah, you were kind of a jerk back then,” she shot back dryly, “but you were also...honest. And you still are, which is good. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I find myself missing your sarcasm sometimes...”

He let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head slowly. “Well, if you really miss it that much we can certainly arrange something...” his voiced trailed off slowly as her fingertips traced his skin once more. “...Something else, love?”

“Eh? No, it’s just...I guess I never realized how many scars you ended up getting, too...” Her eyes dimmed a little, mouth forming a thin line as she traced that particularly nasty gash along his left side, which never disappeared after that first battle in Taiwan. “Maybe I’ve just gotten used to them, but when you actually look...”

“Don’t worry about it, squirt,” he gently took her hand and laid it to her side. “Like I said, these are nothing; if anything, I could say the same to you...”

That horrid memory of when she lost control, and the only means to save her was a literal knife through the heart in the heat of the moment...despite the sensual mood she woke up with, Sio found herself quickly losing interest on that front, replaced with a need to simply feel him here, to reassure herself that what happened in the past was long ago, and nothing would happen to them now.

“Ah--Sio? You all right?” Adam was a bit alarmed at her sudden embrace, but didn’t hesitate to hold her tightly. “Hey...sorry, didn’t mean to bring up bad memories...”

“No...I brought it up first, so it’s not your fault,” her muffled voice came from his chest. “Mmm...I love you Adam...I love feeling you like this, touching and being with you and stuff...it feels so nice...and you smell nice, too.”

“Uuhh...hmmm....” Adam could only give a wordless, half-mumbled reply, not sure how to respond. Sio was sweet and honest, but surprisingly conservative with her words; rarely did she so earnestly declare her feelings for him, instead preferring to show it through physical acts or other small quirks. Adam on the other hand, despite his aloof appearance and often dry wit, never failed to shower her with affectionate quips whenever she was feeling down.

How different things were now, compared to when they first met; after joining DOGOO he’d quickly earned a reputation to be snarky and acerbic, the loner who preferred to do things his own way simply because it was easier than attempting to get along with everyone. Even his first words exchanged with the sniper were decidedly less-than-kind: jabs about her lack of skill, her inexperience, chastising her to stay out of his way and ‘leave it to the professionals’ and to not show any signs of weakness...Adam couldn’t help but smirk wryly to himself. Oh, how shocked his peers would be if they knew how drastically he’d changed. It wasn’t that they no longer teased or sparred with words--but rather, the circumstances changed. It pained him slightly to remember how often he’d put her down in the beginning, but looking back, perhaps it was a sign of his inexperience in forming relationships with others, be it friendship or something more. Being a loner for much of his life made it difficult to gauge others, to know who to trust and how to show that trust; the only way to protect yourself was to hurt others before they hurt you, or else drive them off, because the pain of betrayal was even worse.

He looked down at the woman in his arms, who was now nuzzling and resting her head comfortably against his chest. Who would’ve ever thought his type would be petite brunettes with flat chests? Adam sweatdropped a little as the last thought floated through his head; while it was true he judged people more on personality than appearances, his imaginations used to be about the typical ‘full-figured’ women much like their friend Jess Beckham, although he should’ve guessed that wasn’t the case the day he first met the blonde formally, and then proceeded get assaulted with an overzealous tongue--he shuddered slightly even now. No, love was more complicated than that, and now he found himself very much enjoying her lithe figure, the way she fit so nicely against him and how perfectly each breast could fit into his palm...he shifted his legs slightly, hoping Sio wouldn’t notice a rather suspicious hardness near her bum...

“Oh, sorry...am I sitting on your legs? Sorry...” Before Adam could say anything she scooted back onto the bed, to his disappointment. “Anyway, no matter how you change, you’ll always be the same Adam Muirhead to me. E-gene holder of Florence Nightingale, and one of the world’s saviors.”

“Hah! Shouldn’t I be saying that, Miss Sio Ogura? E-gene holder of Oda Nobunaga and Kaoru Asao, master tactician and the one who actually saved us all by ending it at last?” He teased, tapping her on the nose.

“That’s Mrs. Sio Muirhead to you, Mr. Muirhead,” she tapped his nose back. “Even though I still miss Asao-san...at least, I guess she’ll always be with me...in a manner of speaking...” Her eyes took on a distant look as she hugged herself. “I’m kind of jealous...I wish I could talk with my e-genes the way you do with Nightingale...the most I ever get are just one-way images and thoughts, not an actual conversation or anything like that...heck, I can’t even see them most of the time, and when I do, it always feels more like a dream...”

“Eh, to be honest, it’s not really something I’d wish on anyone...” For reasons none of them fully understood, not all holders could communicate with their perspective e-genes on the same level. There had been a report one time with Saint-Germain and Vidocq theorizing about the supposed levels of synchronization between holders and e-genes, and the different factors that affected it (personality, mental state, genetics among others) but Adam only remembered hearing the beginning before zoning out into a quick doze, the presentation not even half over.

Still, out of all the holders he was probably one of the most perceptive, the only one who could actually see and hear them as he would a regular person; often seemingly lost in thought as he listened to the voice inside his head, even interacting with them as he would a real flesh-and-blood human. Though research in this area wasn’t definitive, he gathered most other holders didn’t even see or talk to them, or if they did, it tended to come in dream-like fragments and memories, much like how Sio re-lived Oda Nobunaga’s memories to tap into his strategic prowess. “Seriously, it can get pretty annoying at times...not to mention creepy, now that I think about it...” Adam’s faced darkened as he remembered the number of times Nightingale seemed to just choose his path for him--whether it was something as innocuous as which shirt to wear after a shower or menu item to order, or (his face blushed darkly at this memory) Nightingale’s shocked expression when he was staring at two smutty DVD covers, unconsciously asking her which one to indulge in. But those were just trivial things he usually didn’t care about (except maybe the porn, which was one incident that never repeated itself again); in the heat of the battle, like that time when she forced his hand and turned his eye towards the target on her heart... A shiver ran through him and he held her a little tighter, smoothing out stray strands of her chestnut hair. “Trust me, it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. I mean, if you think about it, it’s kind of like having an audience in your head all the time, whether or not you want it...”

The words seemed to have an effect on Sio, as she slowly digested their exact meaning. “Wait, so does that mean Nightingale can see what you see too?” Adam nodded. “Whoa...whoa, hey wait a minute, does that mean she can see when we, we’re...you know...” Her face flushed a brilliant red, her expression a cross between embarrassment and indignation. “Oh my god...! And what about my e-genes...just because I can’t really see them doesn’t mean they aren’t...spying on us?! Even Asao-san...! Oh god...our e-genes are peeping on us! Aaarrggh!” Sio punched her pillow in frustration. “Oda Nobunaga, if you’re listening--and I bet you are, you sneaky bastard--I swear, one day I’ll get you for being a perverted old man--!”

“Hey hey, calm down Sio, I doubt--well all right I can’t guarantee anything--but at least I know, Nightingale isn’t aware of everything I do,” Adam hastily moved the remaining pillows out of her reach before she could chuck them. “It’s more...complicated than that. I mean, it’s...” he sighed, wondering how to best explain this intangible yet crucial bond between an e-gene and holder. “Think of it this way: yes, Nightingale may always be in the passenger seat, but ultimately I’m the one who grants her access to what it is I’m experiencing. And I can assure you, she’s never once barged in during any...intimate, moments.” Or at least he hoped so; Nightingale was a fairly straight-laced woman, but sometimes Adam sensed a bit of mischief from her as well.

‘You’d better not be peeping around, you old hag...’

The words did little to calm Sio down however, her face still a brilliant shade of red as she hugged the pillow tightly. “Mo--ou! I can’t believe this...how come they can see us but I can’t see them...this sucks...” she pouted, although in reality there was not much they could do. E-genes were a pretty permanent part of them; the only reason Oda Nobunaga’s influence had diminished so much was precisely because Adam cut out the abnormal growth from her heart--taking much of the e-gene with it and only leaving just enough for her to manifest a hand cannon. “Well, I guess it is what it is...the price you pay for becoming a hero...”

“Don’t fret too much, Sio. I doubt they’d really do anything against your wishes,” Adam tried to reassure her. “At the end of the day, they are, first and foremost, looking out for our best interests. If you really don’t want them interfering in our lives, they won’t.”

“Hnn...Asao-san and Nightingale I can believe, but Oda Nobunaga...I dunno...” she muttered, glancing at him with wary eyes. “Don’t get me wrong--it’s not that I resent or hate him, even after what he did...after all, Hunter did tell me about the theory of e-gene corruption after so many generations, so I can’t exactly blame him, especially when he has helped me out so many times...but I mean, he is known as the Demon Warlord for a reason...”

That, and it was just slightly disconcerting to realize all the potential moments she could’ve let her personal thoughts and emotions slip through... ‘Then again, aren’t I supposed to be his reincarnation or something? So theoretically, I am Oda Nobunaga, as well...’

“Oy, cheer up love.” A gentle pat on her head brought her out of her thoughts. “I doubt it’s the disaster you’re imagining it to be, demon lord or not,” he gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m sure Asao-san won’t let that git do anything. And worst case, if I do ever catch him peeking out...well, rest assured he’ll hear it from me. If anything, I’ve probably got more t’ worry about...”

“Huh?”

“Well, you know what they say--out of sight, out of mind, right? Kind of hard for me to do since I can’t exactly turn off this ability...” Vaguely he wondered if his keen perception of e-genes wasn’t also tied to the ‘Voice of God’, that allowed him to view things others couldn’t. To his immense relief, nothing dubious had happened yet, but lately Adam couldn’t help but feel as if there were some invisible pressure that was...judging him, particularly when it came to making sure Sio was fully satisfied...

‘You say Oda Nobunaga’s the one to worry about, but why do I have a feeling it’s your friend Asao who’s the real concern...’ Suddenly a cold chill went down his spine, and he wisely decided to stop the train of thought right there and then.

“A-Anyway, don’t worry about it, squirt. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Adam swiftly changed topics before Asao-san really decided to come out and give him a piece of her mind. The last thing he wanted or needed was to get lectured on his performance in bed and the ‘proper’ way to please Sio from her best-friend-turned-e-gene, in full view of his own e-gene and that crazy warlord. ‘Besides, I’m her husband for Christ’s sake, I’d like to think I’ve got this down pretty well, thank you very much...’

“I hope so...but I guess you’re right, you can’t have your cake and eat it too. If having to put up with this means I’ll always have Asao-san with me...then I’m willing to accept it.” Sio unwound her arms from the now-crushed pillow, sinking backwards in exhaustion. “Oh man, that was a mental exercise...I’m tired again...”

Adam couldn’t help but smile, Sio’s whimsy really was too adorable at times. Some might mistake that for air-headedness, but he knew better than that. “Or, perhaps we can finally have some of that tea I mentioned earlier...?”

“Mm, can you bring it here? I’m too tired to move...” She grinned at him playfully, knowing full well Adam could never deny her requests. “Besides, if it were me, I’d probably spill half the teapot and drop the cups before I even made it back...”

That brought a roar of laughter from the man, who only shook his head but proceeded to get up, tying a yukata loosely around his waist for some modesty. “Of course, of course...sit tight, be back in a few...”

Sio only smiled wordlessly, taking another shameless peak at his chiseled ass before it was covered in the white cotton. When the heck did she go from a blushing, nose-bleeding, innocent high schooler to a shameless pervert who wasted no opportunity to catch her husband naked...sighing, she simply chalked it up to another one of those changes that occurred as you grew and went through life--or perhaps she’d never been that innocent to begin with.

Now that she thought about it, it would probably take Adam a decent amount of time waiting for the water to boil, then picking just the right blend of tea for this morning (he was quite peculiar about having a certain type depending on the mood), then letting it brew for the correct amount of time, not to mention fetching a matching set of cups and saucers...all told, it would probably be at least 20 minutes before he came back up. Which, her mind hungrily suggested, should probably be just enough time for some quick self-pleasuring...

Before Sio could weigh the pros and cons and even with the slight warning that her e-genes might possibly be aware of her actions, a hand slipped between her thighs, a finger gently caressing her pink pearl as tingles of pleasure instantly started running through her body and she felt her muscles start tightening with anticipation, her folds becoming moist with arousal. One aspect that surprised both of them was how high her libido was; even though she basically never masturbated or even thought about such matters before meeting Adam, in hindsight perhaps all that lust had been channeling into her military obsession, and only after meeting him did it find another outlet to express itself...

“Oh...god, it feels so good...” Moaning quietly to herself, Sio spread her legs a little wider, her fingers now soaked as she pumped them in and out, enjoying the sensations of something sliding against her g-spot. Her nipples were stiff and sensitive, her free hand wandering up to pinch them slightly and her walls convulsed around her fingers from the pleasure. At first she was concerned if she could finish before Adam came back but at the rate her body was heating up, she’d be lucky to last another 5 minutes at most; her libido, combined with a wild imagination as Adam’s smooth, pale warmth came back into her mind, caused Sio to feel horny beyond belief. Her body was sweating as she arched against the sheets, torn between drawing out the pleasure or just letting it all go into one furious orgasm. ‘I-I can’t believe...how good this still feels...e-even, after all this time...!’

Panting, she propped herself slightly on the pillows, gazing at her own naked body as her hand worked itself furiously between her thighs, Sio getting incredibly turned on as she watched her own fingers pleasure herself. Her juices were streaming down her fingers onto the sheets, and the musky scent of arousal caused her to moan with ecstasy as she recalled all the times Adam ate her out, tongue licking and teasing her swollen pussy. Maybe it was the thrill of trying to discreetly masturbate while her husband was downstairs, or maybe she really was just a shameless pervert, but whatever the reason, this time all her senses seemed to be turned up to 11--every touch and sensation threatened to send her crashing over the edge, her insides throbbing in time with her pulse as her fingers rubbed tight, little circles around her clit.

A slight whimper escaped her lips but she bit it down, careful to not let her voice get too loud. Another aspect they discovered (and Sio was embarrassed by) was her tendency to be quite vocal during sex. Whether it was dirty talk or begging to be fucked raw, or the random stutters and and moans she uttered, it was a good thing they didn’t have neighbors to contend with...

“Oh...ooh, god...I’m close...” Her bud was tingling with pleasure and the heat swelled until she was sure it would burst, Sio writhing hard against the bed as her thighs started trembling in anticipation. ‘It’s good...it’s so good...feels good like this...’ Her hand moved faster against her insides, back arching as Sio dug in her heels for the inevitable climax. “Nnnngg...! Mada...!”

Her breathing all but stopped, all senses now focused solely on the fingers pulsing against her g-spot and the single digit caressing her swollen clit, Sio clenching her teeth and biting her lips as the pressure built to its highest peak...and a second later she crashed over helplessly, gasping hard for air while her body shook unevenly, hips thrusting against her own hand as she moaned in pleasure. The sheets were damp underneath her crotch, fingers now sticky and wet as her juices dripped out as she sighed in limp satisfaction. Lazily she glanced at the clock, which indicated a mere 12 minutes had passed. That, combined with the fact she didn’t hear Adam at the door yet meant she’d successfully masturbated while her husband was unaware, so she proceeded to shut her eyes for a quick rest while she waited his return.

Or at least, so she thought...

#documentation #!nsfw #my sweetest one #//why #//do drabbles never stay short #//and fluff #//turns into smut #//I JUST WANTED SOMETHING SWEET AND SIMPLE BUT LOL NOPE

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