#epic con entertainment

[equallyloyalandlethal]

Had a PHENOMENAL time at the start of Epic Con tonight. Tyler Posey and Phem and Derrick (sp?), their drummer, were AWESOME.

I loved it. And so did Pym.

God, like, this convention hasn’t even fully started and my dog is already famous.

[jakescapes]

𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖'𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕚𝕕𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨. (𝕥𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕣)

pairing: stalker!jake x reader (f)

synopsis: It all started when you met Jake Sim—the campus golden boy everyone adored. Charming, new, and impossible to resist, you quickly become his obsession. But as you fall deeper into his world, you realize the person you're falling for isn’t who he appears to be. And soon, you're trapped in a game you never agreed to play.

warnings: stalking (obv), manipulation, explicit smut, violence, physical and mental abuse, toxic jake, non-con and dub-con scenes!!, more to be added. (none in this teaser tho)

word count: 1.2k

author's note: hiii, im completely new to writing and especially posting as this is my first fic. dont know how much attention this will recieve but i'd appreciate some constructive criticism to improve!

release date: out now!

now playing: mind games by sickick

It all started when you met Jake Sim. He was the campus guy—popular with the girls, adored by the professors, the kind of person everyone gravitated towards, but still had the kind, innocent, and nerdy element to him. If there was a charity event, Jake was organizing it. If someone had tech problems, Jake was fixing them. He had this effortless way of making you feel like you were the center of the world when he spoke to you.

You weren't immune to it, either. As a new freshman, you’d heard his name long before you met him. So when you found yourself at a party a month into your first semester trying not to look out of place, Jake was the last person you expected to notice you.

You weren’t even supposed to be at that party. Crowded rooms filled with loud music and drunk strangers weren’t exactly your thing, but your new friend/roommate Ava insisted. She was the kind of girl who thrived in any social setting, the life of the party, effortlessly magnetic, something you learned the first day you moved into your dorm. With her status as an upperclassman, she knew everyone worth knowing and had declared that you had to go to the “first party of the year” because it was “going to be epic.” So, naturally, she dragged you along.

Now you were nursing a watered-down drink in the corner of a house that smelled like cheap beer and vanilla-scented candles. Ava stood beside you, casually pointing out all the people she deemed “important”—guys and girls she seemed to have endless stories about, whether those memories were good, bad, or in between.

“Oh!” she said suddenly, nudging you with her elbow. “That’s Jake Sim over there. Real nice guy, everybody loves him.” 

You followed her gaze across the room. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to a group of people who seemed completely captivated by whatever he was saying. Even from a distance, it was easy to see why. He had that kind of face—sharp jawline, warm smile, the perfect amount of confidence in the way he carried himself. His dark hair pushed back slightly over his forehead, like it had been styled that way on purpose. 

You nodded without saying anything.

“You know,” Ava smirked, “I feel like he’s been eyeing you across the room for a while.” 

You blinked, startled. “No he hasn’t.”

“Oh, he has. He’s doing that thing guys do where they pretend to listen to the conversation but keep glancing at you like you’re the main event.”

And who’s to say you weren’t the main event? Sure, this was your first official college party and the atmosphere felt a little out of your comfort zone, but it’s not like you spent your whole life as some awkward wallflower. You’re hot and you have what it takes to make men gawk and stop to stare at you on the streets. Even if you were oblivious about it. Even if you didn’t care. Plus you were a new, young face to the campus. And what do college boys with raging hormones love more than some new, hot, fresh meat?

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush it off. I mean, yeah, Jake was cute, but you weren’t going to entertain the idea of him eye fucking you across the room from your very tipsy friend who definitely should take it slow with the alcohol. You came here to accompany your friend, not for some popular boy. And that’s what you were going to do. At least that’s what you told yourself.

You couldn’t help sneaking another glance in his direction. Sure enough, his eyes met yours for probably the hundredth time that night. Your breath caught for half a second as he smiled. Not a quick, polite one, but the kind of cocky and sly smile that made it seem like he knew something you didn’t.

“See?” Ava whispered, “Told you.” Before you could argue, Jake excused himself from his group of drunk friends and started making his way towards you. Your instinct was to bolt, but Ava was quick to grab your arm, holding you in place. “Oh my god, he’s coming over here.”

“Shut up. Don’t make it weird,” you hissed under your breath.

“Me? Never,” she said, but the mischievous glint in her eyes told a different story.

Jake stopped a few feet away, holding a red solo cup in one hand, the other casually tucked into his pocket. “Hey,” he said, his voice so smooth but unassuming that for a second you didn’t know if he was talking to you or Ava, until his eyes eventually met yours. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Jake.”

You hesitated for a moment, your throat dry. But Ava on the other hand, ever the social butterfly, was already beaming with her response. “This is _____. She’s a freshman. And she’s my new roomie.” 

“Ah, Jake said, his smile widening as he held out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Freshie huh? Welcome to the chaos. If you ever need a hand settling in, don’t hesitate to ask. I know Ava over here wasn’t exactly the most put-together during her freshman year,” he playfully teased.

Ava rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah yeah, whatever,” she replied in defeat. You could tell they shared some history together, though the details weren’t something you cared to uncover at the moment.

You shook his hand, feeling his strong grip and his overwhelming gaze. “Thanks,” you managed to mumble, your voice quieter than you intended.

Ava, clearly delighted, nudged you again before stepping back. “I’m going to find another drink. You two have fun.” She shot you a not so discreet wink, one Jake clearly noticed. He responded with a low, undeniably attractive chuckle that stirred something inside you, something you knew you shouldn’t be feeling. 

And just like that, she was gone, leaving you alone with him.

Jake tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that made you want to fidget. “So, what do you think of the party?” 

“It’s… loud.” 

He chuckled and you awkwardly laughed in return. “Yeah, not really my scene either,” he admitted. “I was actually about to head out. Want to join me? I know a quieter place where we can talk.”

You hesitated, something about his directness caught you off guard. You’d been in similar situations like this before—situations where boys had tried to talk you into following them to their rooms and the like. Now, you weren’t inexperienced when it came to men, but a one night stand with someone you’ve been conversing with for about 45 seconds didn’t seem like something you were interested in at the moment. But that wasn’t what Jake was implying. You could tell he wasn’t like other guys in the past, the ones who were all too eager to make their intentions clear. There was something different about the way he carried himself. 

And something different, there definitely was. But we’ll get to that part later.

Jake was patiently waiting for your response while you contemplated. You looked up at him and he smiled again, that disarming, perfect smile, and for a moment, you forgot why you were even questioning it. 

“Sure,” you replied, not realizing then that this was the moment that everything in your life would change.

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, Ch7 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

Word Count: around 7K

Warnings: non-con, somnophilia, handjobs, fingering, lactation kink, mommy kink (geto calls reader mamma)

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59666119/chapters/153693205

It’s hard to look him in the eyes, but you know you don’t have a choice anymore. Bed time with Geto consists of him keeping you huddled close to you while he does some of his nightly reading. He looks so deceiving in these moments with you, ditching his traditional robe for casual clothes—an over-sized block cotton shirt and pants. He looks so normal. He looks like an everyday citizen who won the genetics lottery.

But you know that to be so far from the truth. You know the ugly that lies beneath the angelic features, and all those pretty lies he spews from those kissable lips of his. Beneath that mask lies a serpent prepared to strike its prey at any given time.

In another world, he may be anyone’s dream man but this is not that world for you.

Tonight he opts for rereading one of his epic fantasies that he adores to info dump to you. You don’t care to entertain him, wishing for it all to go in one ear and out the other, but it doesn’t matter. You’re here to fill some kind of void in his black heart—that is assuming he even has one anymore—and you’re not even sure if you’re fulfilling that role he’s forced you to play. He’s the one tugging at your strings, and while you can put up a bit of a fight, he’s quite the masterful puppeteer.

The punishment he’s inflicted upon you isn’t all that cruel, in retrospect, but you can’t feel much between your legs at all. You’re practically numb from the waist down. It’s the kindest he’s been since your captivity. After that ordeal, he’s still provided some semblance of aftercare—a little bit of a massage with some proper ointment, he’s even offered some chocolates if you had an appetite for them following something like that. After seeing him so disappointed with you when he’s just confessed to you that he’s found some kind of affection towards you.

You don’t find it flattering in the slightest, but if it means he’s going to show you a bit more mercy, you’re going to take advantage of it any way you can. 

“God, the protagonist in this book can certainly make questionable decisions,” Geto muses, wetting his thumb before flicking to the next page. “I can’t seem to make sense of it each time I get to this part of the series.”

You wish you could groan. You almost do, but that’s asking for immediate death.

Who fucking cares?

Instead of saying what you really think, though, you just hum, nuzzling your head into his shoulder, trying to appeal to him. Trying to make him happy because that’s what you’re here to do. That’s all you’re meant for now.

But you’re still going to find a way out or so help you….

“Getting sleepy?” Geto teases with a light laugh, but it doesn’t have that mocking tone to it. It’s….endearment. It’s sickening. You want to vomit. How can a man act like this when he’s just made you lose feeling in your lower body because he let his paranoia get the best of him (even if he’s kind of right)? “Rest, Mamma. I’m going to be up for a bit longer. Although…don’t be surprised if I help myself a little to you while you’re resting.”

Fucking psychopath. Of course you expect nothing less of him. This is all he does. He hasn’t stopped himself before!

But, you don’t protest, you know better than to do something like that now. You do something worse. You squeeze your eyes shut. You lift your head off of his shoulder. You pucker your lips, expecting a kiss good night, and he accepts your invitation, smiling against your lips as he hums in delight. You’re about to pull away but he catches your lips again, moving his languidly against yours, soft, fervent, desperate. Faint rustling of him setting aside his large red leather book as his hands cup your face, thumbs brushing against your soft, buttery, supple skin. Geto almost seems to marvel at you, the way a follower may a God. He breaks the kiss barely moments later, lips barely centimeters apart as his forehead rests against yours, his violet eyes boring into yours as they soften the longer they stare. They shine so brilliantly that it might as well serve as the only source of light in the bedroom then, apart from the soft amber light emitting from the side table lamps on either side of the master bed.

“I adore you,” he whispers in a reverent tone, making your breath catch in your throat. In the worst way possible. “I don’t expect you to feel the same.”

Because you never are going to feel the same. He knows that well, all too well.

You don’t respond, turning away. His fingers slip away from your face and he doesn’t react as you rest on your side facing away from him. But you do feel him staring as you will yourself to sleep, clamping your eyes shut, desperate for the comfort of darkness to consume you. It doesn’t matter what he helps himself to while you’re in a blissful state of sleep.

Your body tenses as the pads of his fingers ghost up your arm, as he bites back a longing sigh. A part of you almost wants to pity him, but how can you pity a man as pathetic and lowly as him? Your mind can’t even register him as a man the way he can’t register the majority of humanity as worthy.

For someone as prideful as him, that must penetrate like a wasp’s stinger.

It does make your heart swell with a bit of pride, but it’s not enough. You need to deal a stronger blow; you need something that will really, really eat at him. What might that be?

He draws his body closer to you; you feel his lips ghosting the nape of your neck before he slides all the way down until he’s caught between your legs. You try to sleep, but a moan escapes your lips when his mouth closes over your folds, suckling on them with need.

“Suguru….”

“Rest,” he grunts, between desperate sucks and kittenish licks. You can already feel the slick beginning to build. “Mamma, I got it from here.”

You cling the covers to your chest, your fingers digging into the plush velvety smooth fabric as he suckles on your clit particularly hard. You try not to focus on the sensations. You try to sleep. You try to listen. He’s going to take what he wants regardless whether you’re awake for it or not.

Eventually, you’re lulled to sleep by the light squelching noises of his tongue sweeping along your folds.

Yet another visit from Tweedledum, never mind the numerous protests from Tweedledee.

It’s not like anyone can control what a grown adult does. These two beg to differ when it comes to you, but to them, you’re not an adult with agency. You’re just something for them to bend and to shape to their will and nothing more. Perhaps in Geto’s mind, you’re something beyond that. Perhaps something beyond a pretty pet, a gorgeous trophy, but you refuse to entertain the idea. Men like them, who believe they’re above humanity, above morality, even…is there any use trying to understand the world in which they hail from?

“Princess?” Gojo calls, patting the seat next to him on that plush velvet sofa. You can’t even hide the wince as you amble over to join him there, but keep a slight distance. Giving a displeased sound—it’s a terrible sound—he hooks his arm around your waist, digging his nails into your skin and scoots you in closer until your bodies are flush against each other.

“We don’t have to do anything all that scandalous today,” he says with a cheeky grin, his tone cheery as if he hopes that might lift your spirits a bit. He can tell something’s amiss with you, something other than the usual. He knows you don’t want to be here in the first place, that you’re already unhappy, but there’s something else he’s caught onto because Tweedledum’s smarter than you ever dare to give him credit for.

A shadow crosses his face when he doesn’t find your reciprocating like you normally do—especially since Geto isn’t in the dungeon presently. Still attending to some matters with his family so he’s going to be late. “It’s just going to be a nice, relaxing movie night, yeah? Lots of sweets to chow on, though you’re the sweetest of them all as always!”

“That’s nice of you to say, Satoru,” you manage to reply through clenched teeth. But you don’t do anything more. You don’t try to snuggle into him; you don’t try to kiss him or feel him up which he usually enjoys. Those blinding sky blue eyes of his glimmer with concern as the tip of his finger glides down the side of your cheek.

“Why the long face, gorgeous?” he whispers, tone solemn for once. It’s out of character…he seems almost…shaken.

That’s a new one. In another world, you might have been elated that you can get that kind of reaction, but after the other night… you don’t know whether you should wade through these murky waters.

“It’s nothing, Satoru,” you speak, your lips twitching into a forced smile.

“It’s Suguru, isn’t it?” Satoru growls, shaking his head. “What’d he do?”

“He was upset at something I did. That’s all,” you explain, “H-he thought I went against his orders.”

“Oh.” His lips purse. “He’s not supposed to hurt you. He can hurt any other non-sorcerers for all that I care, I can’t control what he does since he’s a grown man, but you’re supposed to be out of that equation. We agreed on that. I can talk to him, you know.”

“He didn’t hurt me. Not…not physically,” you say, a half-lie of sorts, averting your gaze to the television screen. Looks like it’s a Lord of the Rings night again and he’s just about to reach the middle of the third film, where Pippin climbs that tower in Minas Tirith and lights that fire. One of your exes has made you watch these movies as well as The Hobbit trilogy numerous times, so you know the scenes by heart. You can practically recite them line by line. You can do that with Star Trek and Star Wars too.

Satoru leans in, his weight dipping next to you.

“What did he do?” he growls into your ear again. When your eyes land on his, they’ seem to emit a glow. “We agreed—no harm is going to come to you. You’re supposed to help him.”

“I…” You gulp. “Satoru, it’s not important.”

“Yes it is,” he grumbles, gripping your knee, squeezing reassuringly. “You’re important to us.”

Oh, how you wish you can believe that. Gojo leans in to kiss you on your cheek, and then on your temple. They’re soft, fleeting, gentle, like he actually loves you as much as he claims to love you, much like Geto claims to love you.

But how can people who claim to love someone do things like this and expect things to just blow over?

Why do you think you have a right to be upset? You don’t have rights here. Not anymore.

“H-he just, um,” you stammer, hugging your chest. “He…he…um…”

“It’s okay,” he sighs in clear defeat. “I think I get what you’re trying to tell me. I’ll talk with him when he gets back down here. Okay?”

He kisses the crown of your head and you utter a low whimper. He glances at you with another concerned look on his face. You hate it.

As if this is going to solve anything…

“Satoru, I, um…” you begin, tentatively resting your hand on his lap, fingers brushing over his pelvis which makes his breath hitch. His sharp eyes darken in anticipation.

Should you do something to thank him? In case Geto does something?

“Can, I, um…” you gulp, sporting on your best determined look. You have to be a good pet, right? You can do that. You can definitely do that. No matter how much it permanently stains your pride. “Can I…touch you…?”

Gojo inhales sharply as he pulls out his cock, guiding your hand to it.

“Of course you can, Princess,” he coos while flashing you a toothy grin, stroking himself to hardness. You’re not surprised he was already half-mast when he pulled himself out. He’s just getting himself nice and ready for you. “You know I won’t say no, but you don’t have to, okay?”

“I-it’s fine,” you breathe, grasping his cock at its base. “I…I want to.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, raking his fingers through your hair. “You really are the perfect girl.”

“U-um,” you can’t believe it, you’re being shy, but he probably can’t blame you because you haven’t been forced into sucking dick since the first time with him. You don’t really know what to do, so instead of diving right into it, you lick a line up his shaft, which earns an eager whimper out of him. That encourages you to continue, to just pepper soft little kisses around along the skin, ignoring the salty tang hitting your tongue each time. You’ve come to find you’re not a fan of it, but maybe it’s because you’re not attracted to him in the slightest. Being attracted to him might help in this regard but this feels more like a duty as their pretty pet.

But you know the more you can please them, the more they’re willing to do for you. At least, that’s more true for Gojo than for Geto, regardless of what he says about his ‘affections’ toward you.

“I-is this okay? I don’t really, um, know what I’m doing,” you admit, laving your tongue around the leaking head of his cock. He bites back a little whine, jumping in his place.

“It—it’s fine. You’re doing great. Better than great, Princess,” he praises, lips parted slightly as he reclines a little bit into the couch. He’s not even focused on the movie anymore and all of his attention is on you. You kind of like that you can take control every now and then here. Even if Geto is off taking care of his own business, if he’s here, you have no real agency because he’s the one monitoring everything you’re doing with Satoru.

“I guess Suguru hasn’t done this with you much. He’s always been more of a giver in this regard,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling in fondness at the thought. “I should know.”

You don’t comment on that, suckling experimentally on his tip as more precum leaks out. He jolts in his spot again.

“Fuck, baby. That feels so good. You could just use your hands too, you know,” he suggests, much like a teacher.

Well, he does mentor students at wherever he works, so that makes sense, you suppose. But in this context, that feels rather odd.

“Oh…..um. How?” Gosh, you really are playing up the naiveté there, huh? As long as he believes it…

Gojo laughs, his shoulders shaking with mirth as he motions his own hand in a ‘jerking’ motion.

“Like you would a pump. Just pump me with your hand,” he tells you, grinning wide. “You don’t have to use your mouth, though it would be nice.”

You respond with another little suckle over his tip while using a hand to ‘pump’ him like he instructed. He throws his head back, groaning low, his hand reaching over to smack your ass in approval.

“Fuck yeah. Good girl,” he purrs, fondling your ass a bit too roughly which makes you squeak. He laughs.

Faint footsteps descend down the stairs, and you don’t have to look up. You feel Geto gawking a bit at the sight, a little disappointed that you’ve started without him but he probably expected nothing less, either. You don’t stop pumping your hand up and down his length, amazed at how silky and smooth it feels even this hard and swollen looking it is. Your fingers lightly squeeze his shaft, eyebrows furrowing at the texture. You feel like you’re doing a science experiment, but the results are more pleased groans erupting from deep in Gojo’s throat that are soon cut off when Geto twists his head and kisses him.

“It seems she’s becoming more comfortable with you, Satoru,” he murmurs into his lips. “Don’t take that lightly.”

“You know I’m not,” he breathes, his face flushed. “She’s a quick learner, you know. Her hands feel so soft.”

Gojo’s hand that swatted your ass earlier pulls the fabric of your panties aside, his finger teasing the tight ring of muscle of your ass.

“You must need a little attention too, Princess,” he grunts out, biting his lip as he glances down at you with a dangerous look in those sharp blue eyes.

“Suguru,” he drawls his lover’s name lazily, jerking his head to a direction. He gives your ass another playful squeeze and you let out another yelp. “No reason to hold back, right? I mean, she’s primarily yours. I’m just part of the package deal here.”

“I wonder if she’s ready for us both,” Suguru muses out loud with a raised eyebrow.

You feel your muscles tense, but you don’t stop attending to Gojo.

“Actually,” Suguru—thank God—retracts that idea immediately, likely upon seeing your reaction as if he gives a damn about your feelings, as if you matter to him, as he joins the two of you on the edge of the sofa, prying your ass cheeks apart to get a good view of either of your holes. You whimper as he spits into your asshole, his lips twitching into a devious grin as he dips two thumbs into the tight ring to stretch it. “It might be too soon for that. She needs a little more preparation. She still struggles to take my size when it’s just me and her. You might be a little easier to take, though.”

“You are definitely right there. Your dick is way too thick for her,” Gojo concedes with a hum, moaning as you glide your tongue around his length again. His dick twitches; he’s so close already. “We could just use more dildos or something. Get her used to it a little more.”

“True,” Geto replies, but something’s amiss in that tone of his. It’s softer. Affectionate, even. You don’t want to admit it, but it is. It’s missing that hidden layer of greed, of ulterior motives because a part of you still believes he can’t have any real feelings—not even toward Gojo.

You don’t like it for some reason. However subtle the change in Geto is. Sometimes you much rather he be cruel than considerate, because his kindness feels far too comical. Unnerving.

But maybe, once upon a time, he really may have been a considerate, kind, compassionate man. You don’t know anything about these two or what they do or what they’re capable of doing or why they have ended up the way they are.

You don’t really care to dig into that rabbit hole. It’s not of your concern. They say so themselves.

You suppress the confusing thoughts swirling in your mind like a vortex. It’s not something you should be focusing on, anyway, instead focusing on bringing Gojo to a climax, which, it already seems like he’s nearly there. You give a few more pumps, wincing at the wet noises the skin makes before shyly closing your mouth over his tip.

“Fuuuuck. That’s it, baby. You know just what to do. Don’t doubt yourself like that, alright?” he praises as seeds of his orgasm shoots onto your tongue. You wince again. You find it all far from arousing, but that doesn’t matter.

You keep suckling on his tip as he shoots more of his seed into your mouth, panting as he comes down from that electrifying hot high. His gaze flits to Geto who’s watching him with amusement twinkling in his darkened violet eyes but he’s still hovering between your legs, far from finished with you. Your body once again tenses; you do not like that he’s actually refrained from touching or playing with you the entire time you focused on pleasing Gojo.

Like he’s…being considerate, giving you breathing room.

It’s so unlike him.

You jolt in place as a sharp hand comes down to smack your pussy. You immediately pull away from Gojo’s cock, ignoring the light pop and the line of spit still connecting your lips to the tip of his cock which you break off with a swipe of your tongue as you meet his eyes.

He smiles down at you, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. Your eyebrows flash in confusion. That’s a smile that doesn’t reek of deception or otherwise.

“We can stop here for today,” he suggests, “Besides, Satoru has other duties he should be attending to right now.” That gentle smile immediately melds into something a bit firmer, stricter, as he gazes at Gojo. “You do have to get back to Jujutsu Tech grounds before Yaga realizes you’ve been gone longer than you should have been, right?”

Whoever the heck Yaga is. His boss or something? That’s all you can infer from that.

“It’s not like it’s surprising to them if I show up late,” Gojo quips, “Besides, I want to stay longer with you, Suguru. We have to talk.”

Geto’s eyebrows furrow at that and you gulp.

You glance up at Gojo, eyes shimmering in concern. He doesn’t acknowledge you, keeping his eyes locked on Geto’s.

Uh oh.

Trouble in paradise, indeed.

Geto sends you off under Miguel’s watch, catering to the twins while he remains behind with Gojo elsewhere in the underground area beneath the temple. There’s another section you haven’t entered yet. This is not how he’s hoped to spend his quality time with the love of his life; he’s hoped for something more intimate and far less serious than this, but Gojo often did choose the worst times to be serious about something and apparently that something involves your well-being.

Which, of course, Geto has come to care about as well.

“Well talk,” Geto ushers, folding his arms over his chest as he stares Gojo down, his nostrils flaring. “We could be doing something else, but I’m forgoing our original plan to hear you out.”

“Something we should have done years ago,” Gojo mumbles, shaking his head. “Which is talk it out. You wont let me in. I just want to get why. But before that, we have to talk about her. She shouldn’t be afraid of you. I mean, she shouldn’t disobey you, but she should feel like, she’s, you know…”

“Part of the family,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know.”

“So what the fuck, Suguru? I don’t care what else you do, but she’s supposed to help you sort your own shit when I’m not around. And I know once Yaga gets a hold of me I’m not going to be able to come back around as much anymore. I want to keep being your rock, Suguru, but to do that, you have to let me in.”

“So then,” Suguru scoffs, twisting around with his back facing Gojo for a moment. “If that’s true, then why did you vent to her about me first?”

Gojo’s eyes flashes. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Geto’s gaze flits back to him, assessing his features. He can’t stay mad at a face like his—even when he’s angry, he looks like a lost puppy who’s been mishandled. Geto ignores the way his chest burns at the sight. He hates hurting Satoru. Whether or not it’s unintentional is irrelevant.

“Why didn’t you trust me enough?” Geto demands, softening his tone as the muscles on his face relaxes. “If you had been so upset with me, why didn’t you just bring this up sooner?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Gojo claps back, glowering at him. Geto winces; that’s likely deserved, all things considered. Well…it’s obviously deserved. He has massacred hundreds to make a political statement and half for the sheer fun of it. “I wanted you to open up to me but when I tried you just told me it was ‘the summer heat.’ Summer heat my fucking balls.”

“So you did sense something, even that long ago,” Geto sighs, more and more guilt pooling into his stomach. How foolish he is to not give credit for Satoru where credit is due. It’s his fault for shutting everyone out, even Shoko; he has to admit to that fault of his.

“Of course I did! Obviously I just didn’t expect something like that,” Gojo replies, his shoulders sagging a bit. Geto takes a step closer, a hand reaching out to him. Gojo shuts his Infinity completely off during these moments but he doesn’t appear receptive to touch right then. Geto bites back a sigh. He doesn’t like to hurt those he loves, truly loves, and Satoru stands above everyone in his life. Now you are in the same plane as Satoru’s existence and he’s doing something wrong in trying to get you to lean on him, to trust him.

“What are you trying to say?” Geto replies, eyes downcast as his arm falls to his side.

“I’m trying to say why didn’t you just come to me in the first place?” Gojo answers, but his tone isn’t accusatory. He never has been with Geto. He’s always tried to understand. Even back then, he’s tried, but it’s Geto who pushed him away. “We could have worked it out then.”

“Now we’re going in circles,” Geto scoffs, gritting his teeth. His expression melds back into a softer one as he approaches Satoru, cupping his face. Satoru doesn’t pull away; he can’t, even if he wishes to, and Suguru should have seen that sooner.“It’s because of her, isn’t it? Perhaps we need to set the record with her. I already punished her once, but now she’s making you think you’ve done something wrong.”

“That wasn’t her doing,” Gojo counters hastily, “All she did was actually listen. Which, you know, I could do that too! If you let me listen. And like I already told you, she’s not supposed to be afraid of you, remember? This doesn’t warrant punishment. In fact, she should be rewarded because now we’re actually talking.”

“Satoru,” Geto starts, brushing his cheeks. “It’s not that simple.”

“It isn’t,” Gojo concedes, “But we can figure it out. Like we always do. Remember? And please, for fuck’s sake, go easy on her. She…really isn’t happy.”

“She isn’t?” Geto snarks, a little sharper than intended. He deflates when he notices how Gojo winces. “No, of course she isn’t. It’s foolish to think otherwise, but it’s not like I wish to bite. I don’t know why I do. I’m not an angry dog, you know.”

“You’re not,” Gojo agrees, resting a hand over one of Suguru’s. “You’re a cowardly dog. You bite because you’re scared. Just try wooing her a little, you know? You should have just taken the normie route and asked her out on a real date instead of dragging her into this.”

“That’s not my style,” Geto huffs. Gojo laughs, but it’s hollow.

“Proper communication? Yeah, I am well aware,” Gojo quips, grinning a little.

Geto glares at him.

“Satoru…” he warns.

“You know,” we don’t have to be arguing,” Gojo remarks, “I want to fix what happened. The charges may not be able to be lifted, but we can still…work around it. You know?”

“I know,” Geto relents, pulling Gojo in closer, so close he can inhale his expensive Prada cologne that he doesn’t find as nauseating and overpowering as his other scents. “But it’s too late to make amends for that.”

“No, it isn’t,” Gojo insists, practically on his way to getting on his knees for Geto, at this point. He may as well if it makes a statement. ““I can find a way around it. The only person who can execute you is me, but I can postpone that, obviously.”

“Postpone as in never allow it?” Geto interjects in a sullen, yet knowing, even teasing, tone.

“Exactly,” he exclaims, “Just think about it! You could just become a Sensei, with me. And you don’t have to worry about getting executed. Not with me on your side.”

Geto considers the options for a moment.

“No.”

Gojo’s confidence over his solution completely falters.

“The hell do you mean no?” he jabs, “No one else can actually kill you but me you know! And I obviously don’t want to, so there!”

“It won’t be on my terms,” he answers simply.

Gojo goes silent. His mouth hangs open for a moment, as if to counter with something, but then he shuts his mouth again as he ponders over what else he can say to convince Geto. There’s not much more to this, isn’t there? Geto doesn’t want to be a puppet; he’s made that abundantly clear. Gojo might find his resolve admirable if not for the lengths he went to just to prove his point.

“So is that what this is about?” Gojo mutters, sulking. “I guess I kind of get it. You don’t want them to pull the strings and you want to forge your own path. I gotta say, this was not the wisest decision, babe, but…I understand why. Kind of?”

“Precisely,” he affirms, “Let them think whatever they like about me, Satoru. I want no business with them anymore.”

“But…” he starts, but Suguru cuts him off with a chaste kiss. Satoru melts into it before Geto pulls away.

“Satoru, you shouldn’t play into their shit either. But you know exactly why I didn’t want you to follow me.”

“I know,” he replies with a frown. “But…”

“You shouldn’t have to be a puppet either, Satoru. You shouldn’t be a weapon to them.”

“No,” he agrees, “But for some reason, I find comfort in it.”

“Everyone—sorcerer or human—clings to what they find familiar,” Geto murmurs with a little grin.

“You know, regardless of being a sorcerer, you still are human, baby,” Satoru teases while matching his grin.

Suguru responds with a dark laugh, kissing him again.

“Don’t make me kill you,” he murmurs seductively into his lips.

You’re back in the bedroom when evening falls and Geto finds you splayed over the bed, flipping through one of his books sittig on the nightstand on your side of the bed. He beams at the sight, perhaps misconstruing it as a sign that you’re making yourself more at home here if you’re making more use of his belongings. He treasures his books like he does his adopted girls.

“Have you read that book before?” he asks as he shuts the door behind him, disrobing and setting the material aside. You don’t look up from the page you’re skimming, mostly because you’re not interested in seeing his pasty face but also because you’re actually quite invested in the mystery.

“Only heard about it,” you admit, “I understand why people are frustrated with the main character. She’s so obviously getting played by that guy.”

He chuckles, “It’s a frustrating thing to watch unfold, indeed. She doesn’t seem to pick up on that even when others have warned her.”

You shrug, stopping at the chapter you’re on to glance up at him as he settles onto his side of the bed.

“Love makes you blind, I guess,” you comment, gazing up at his face. “What did you and Satoru talk about, darling?”

“I should apologize,” he starts, frowning. “I’ve been harsh on you when I shouldn’t have been. I was wrong for that. I don’t expect you to forgive me so easily, but—”

“—it’s fine,” you reply a little too quickly, but you’re trying to stay in his good graces for a reason. You have only gotten a hint of what his ‘bad side’ looks like. You don’t want a repeat of it. “I’ve already forgiven you. I-I was out of line. I’m sorry.”

“No, you weren’t,” he replies, “You did a good thing. You did what I should have done. You did nothing wrong, Mamma. I did.”

“O-okay,” you whisper, a little pathetic because a part of you is still frightened he can switch gears at the drop of a hat. And he definitely can and has. “I understand.”

A silence falls over the two of you for a few moments. Those few moments feel agonizingly long, drawn out like a scroll rolling across a table. But some rustling beside you breaks the silence as he loops an arm over your frame and snuggles you close until you’re nestled into him.

His finger fiddles with the gold chain around your neck, a fond smile playing at his lips. Yeah. Of course. You’re his pretty little thing, after all. Just his pet. A little appendage to his messy bond with Satoru.

His eyes dip lower, and that smile only widens. You’re bare all over; you’ve forgone clothes the moment you enter the room now as opposed to just stripping to your undergarments. Of course he’s pleased with the change; it just means it’s another way he’s going to misconstrue as you becoming more comfortable with being here, under his ‘care.’

He trails kisses along your milky collarbone, suckling on your softer, tender spots, and you clench your fists, grunting a bit. You have only just begun to gain some feeling back in your bottom  half from his punishment last night, and now he’s intent on making you lose feeling in your legs again if this goes any further tonight. And you know it will. That’s how it always is.

Just an appendage. Just a pet.

He doesn’t love you, no matter what he says, and it doesn’t matter that he tries to find other ways to accommodate you. He still takes what he wants in the end. One way or another.

He pulls away briefly, his tongue darting between his lips as his eyes trail down between your breasts.

He kisses the area just above them, and you freeze, feeling your blood run cold. You feel like you could crash right then and there; you can’t take another minute of this but you know you don’t have much of a say. It depends entirely on Suguru, whether he’s truly in good spirits or not and you can’t even tell half the time.

“Suguru, I…” you sharply inhale as he kisses lower, lower… humming to himself as if he can’t help it, marveling at you. You try not to sound too audacious when you decline this. “I-I can’t. I…”

“You’re afraid of me,” he remarks, lifting his head to stare at you, his forehead creasing as he frowns.

Your eyes widen.

“No!” you exclaim, but he only raises an eyebrow and you try not to deflate. “No, Suguru, no… nothing like… that…”

“I don’t want you to be,” he mutters, resting his face into your lap like a child, like a beggar, even, is more appropriate. Your eyes triple in size at this. Geto has never behaved this way before. He takes your hands into his own, running his thumb along your knuckles.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he goes on, resting his forehead against your hands. “Mamma, you are in my world now. I want you to feel like you belong here. The twins adore you like a mother. I adore you already. I wouldn't take that lightly. Satoru has come to find some kind of affection for you too, but the man is too damn prideful to really say anything to your face about that.”

You don’t have anything to say to that. (Not that you really give a damn, but as long as you stay in their good graces, can you really complain? It makes things less Hellish for you, ultimately.)

“Moreover,” You try not to groan, so he isn’t finished babbling then; he clears his throat. “He told me you were unhappy. Which is expected, given the circumstances. Unfortunately I don’t think anything will have gone differently if I had done things normally. While I can’t change the past, I can only hope you’re willing to let me make things a little easier for you here.”

This feels too easy.

You can’t anger him.

“Suguru,” you start, bringing your hand to his cheek and tilting his head. His eyebrows flash as he tries to understand what you’re doing, but he can piece together a situation very quickly as you present one of your stiff nipples near his face. His face flushes a little, eyes half-mast as he glances at you with pure adoration before slurping hard onto your nipple, making a gasp leave your lips.

He hasn’t used this in a while, so he must have really needed it today. As long as it means he doesn’t try to hurt you, because you don’t have to make this as bad as it is.

A hand finds your waist, steadying himself as he suckles hard on your nipple with more need, and your lips part, breathy, broken whines filling the room and seeming to encourage him. Because he chuckles against your skin, grinning.

“Does Mamma enjoy taking care of me?” he growls before closing his mouth over your nipple again with a long, lewd suck.

It’s like the typical routine now. Once he finishes with that bud, he pops off and latches onto your other one, milking you for all that you’re worth until he feels like he can carry the world on his shoulders again. Whatever these supposed burdens of his are, you don’t care, it doesn’t concern you.

“Suguru…” you utter softly, a bit embarrassed by your lack of real reaction, and his pupils roll upward to observe your face. You don’t realize how flushed and debauched you are, and he might’ve made a comment if not for how occupied he is sucking on your tit like his life depended on it like he usually did. But again, this has been the first time in a few weeks since he’s taken advantage of this. He’s been keeping distance, respecting your space, up until the moment where you crossed an ‘unknown’ boundary between he and Gojo.

The hand resting on the dip of your waist snakes lower to the fleshy, meaty part of your thigh, his rough callouses brushing against your soft skin. He hums against your little bud, nibbling slightly on it as he adjusts you, sliding you into his lap and groaning as your cunt brushes against the growing tent in his pants. He bucks upward, growling from the delicious friction and making you gasp, and he grins before pulling on your nipple with his teeth as he moves away. A little playful twinkle in his eyes as he does before he finally releases the oversensitive bud, licking off the leftover droplets of milk coating the corners of his lips, a bit dribbling on his chin.

He buries his face between your tits again, kissing the skin between them, biting and licking the marks he leaves behind as his other hand moves to play with your folds, already lightly soaked. He hums, obviously tickled pink at the discovery and you can’t find yourself to be more embarrassed by your physiological reactions. Two dexterous fingers slide easily into your slicked entrance and you breathe sharply through your nose, hiding your face into his neck which makes him chuckle.

“Don’t be so shy with me, Mamma,” he teases as he adjusts his position, kissing into your neck as his fingers twist and curl inside of you, making you jolt in your place. “You haven’t been whenever Satoru’s been around.”

The dark tone in his quip catches you off-guard. It shouldn’t, and yet fearful eyes meet his. Is he…?

There’s a deep scowl now in place of his malicious grin. You don’t know which is worse. Stone cold violet eyes bore into yours, and you feel yourself shrinking more from fear.

Hasn’t he just told you he doesn’t want you to be afraid? That he wants you to feel like you’re home?

Perhaps that’s still true, but…

“Regardless of you doing the right thing for us or not,” he grunts, plunging those two slender fingers of his deep into your spongy walls, making you wriggle in place but he secures his hold on you. Your walls are clenching around them. He doesn’t relent that agonizing pace, seeking your release. “Satoru isn’t supposed to be benefitting from this arrangement more than I, Mamma. Understand this- you belong to me. First and foremost. Satoru is part of the deal with me, yes, but that doesn’t mean he gets to toy with you whenever he wants to. Most of all you shouldn’t initiate anything with him—I’ve seen you. You mustn’t question my authority when it comes to this relationship.”

But it isn’t a relationship for you. It’s an obligation.

Between Satoru and Suguru? Sure, that’s a relationship. A weird one. The weirdest one you have probably ever seen in your life, but that’s still a relationship between them.

“I-I’m not questioning your authority over m-me, Suguru—!” You come in a hot flash, clenching tight around his fingers and at least that frightening scowl of his twitches into a satisfied, toothy grin as he fucks his fingers into your cunt for a few moments longer before sliding them out. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he groans as he sucks on your intimate juices; You can’t look. So you don’t. But then you hear the little whisper of clothes as he yanks his pants down, pulling out his fully stiff cock and patting the head against your slick cunt.

“Good,” he hisses as the head breaches your hole. “Then we’re on the same page. You’re mine, Mamma. Just mine. Satoru is out of the question.”

You answer with a pathetic whine as he plunges deep inside you. He laughs darkly, huddling you close, whispering disgusting little words to you as he continues to take everything from you.

[whumpsandwhimpers]

INTRO POST!

HI fellow whump lovers!! I'm Aster! (my main is @ablatheringblatherskite!)

I have finally decided to make a whump blog. Mostly because I'm having a hard time sorting and finding the posts I reblogged on my main. My main will still be getting a bunch of whump stuff, but this sideblog will be exclusively whump!!

I'm mostly a fanfic writer, although I do have some original stories in the works!

Some fandoms I've written for (and want to write for): Phantom of the Opera, One Piece, Manifest, Epic: The Musical, HTTYD, Les Mis, Spider-Man, Daredevil, Wednesday, Hamilton

Blorbos I've Whumped (Or will whump): Raoul de Chagny, Erik (the Phantom), Roronoa Zoro, Sanji, Zeke Landon, Peter Parker, Matt Murdock, Tyler Galpin, Telemachus, Odysseus, Hiccup Haddock III

READ MY WHUMP FICS HERE!

IMPORTANT NOTE:

I'm also a Christian. So far the only whump I avoid is explicit and NSFW whump. I'm fine with graphic gore and violence, but avoid the more sexual side of whump. I ALSO DO NOT EVER INTEND TO WRITE KINKY THINGS! So if it seems that way TO YOU that is definitely not how I meant it to be

Some whump stuff I like!:

Restraints!!!! (shackles attached to the wall or ceiling, chained, tied to a chair, bound on the floor or in a stress position, gags, cloth gags and duct tape, collars and muzzles, hidden restraints, etc.)

Kidnapped and capture!!

Body horror (especially paired with non-con body mod)

Resigned whumpee, especially a defiant whumpee becoming broken and resigned and afraid

Small cages

Trophy Whumpee (Whumpee to be shown off and be pretty)

Mouth/eyelids stitched shut

Manhandling!!

Royal whumpee

Stress position

Dehumanization, Infantilization, and Humiliation/Degredation

Torture!!

Pet whump (obviously not the NSFW kind)

Roleplay whump (like, when the whumper forces the whumpee to play a specific role for them. Like their child, or spouse, etc)

Creepy whumper

Intimate whumper (yes ofc not the NSFW kind. More like ruffling their hair, patting their cheeks, holding their face, playing with their hair or ears, etc.)

Non-sexual, noncon touching

Exhaustion (but particularly when it's with an art form)

Performance whump (is this a thing. Like being forced to sing/dance for whumper's entertainment, or for whumper's gain)

Art whumpee (whumpee that's somehow turned into art)

Cosmetic whump

Doll Whumpee (Whumpee being treated like a doll)

Experimentation and lab whump/medical whump (Lab rat whumpee!!)

Living Weapon

Forced obedience

Manipulation, mind games and gaslighting

Body control (Like, when whumper is only in control of the body but not the mind, so whumpee is maybe trapped in their mind and forced to watch)

Enslaved whumpee (IDK WHAT THIS IS CALLED but basically when a usually non-human whumpee is forced to serve and obey their master, whether that came about through a contract or the master somehow finding a way to trap them into servitude)

Whumpee being turned into a puppet (literally and figuratively)/Literally being puppeteered with strings

Brainwashing/mind control

Cybernetics whump

Sensory deprivation

Branding

Carving skin with a knife (carving words, or maybe a creepy smile on the corners of whumpee's mouth!)

Public whump (public humiliation and being used as an example/to discourage people mmmmm)

Dismemberment/General Mutilation/Permanent damage

Waterboarding/Head being dunked into water forcefully

Good ol' classic beating while whumpee is restrained/already down

Trauma

Comfort

And probably more that I've forgotten!!

Masterposts:

Chrumblr Whumblr 2024

Whumpuary 2025

Stuff I've Written:

Muzzled / Mossball on a hook / Foot on mouth / Missing / a boy's devotion

Stuff I've Drawn:

Kiki being tortured / Raoul locked up

Aaaand that's all I guess! Let the whumping begin!

Tags and stuff:

#asterrisks, #favorites, #aster's writings, #aster's snippets, #aster's art, #my reblog additions, #blorbos, #aster's inbox, #aster's asks, #to watch, #was tagged

#whump writing, #whump writing references, #whump, #whump art, #whump gifsets, #whump prompts, #whump writings, #crack whump, #whump dialogue, #whump humor, #masterlist

#whumpee, #whumper, #caretaker, #carewhumper, #multiple whumpers, #multiple whumpees, #non human whumpee, #trophy whumpee, #lab rat whumpee, #resigned whumpee, #broken whumpee, #possessive whumper, #intimate whumper, #creepy whumper, #creepy/intimate whumper, #royal whumpee, #defiant whumpee, #scared whumpee, #sarcastic whumpee, #stoic whumpee, #royal whumpee, #sadistic whumper, #scared whumpee, #immortal whumpee, #child whumpee, #owned whumpee, #battery whumpee, #doll whumpee, #feral whumpee, #winged whumpee

#restraints, #bound, #chains, #duct tape, #hanging from the ceiling, #tied to a chair, #tied to a tree, #strapped to a table, #cages, #cells, #gagging, #muzzles, #mouth stitched shut, #muted, #silenced, #blindfolded, #leashes, #collars, #shock collars, #electrocution, #forced drinking, #drugged/drugging, #paralysis, #stress position, #forced to watch, #forced to hurt a friend, #forced smile, #forced labour, #forced obedience, #mind control, #controlled, #body control, #loss of autonomy, #punishments, #manhandling, #kneeling, #stepping on whumpee, #noncon touching, #bullying, #torture, #sleep torture, #past torture, #injuries, #digging into injury, #broken bones, #beating, #stripping, #whipping, #starvation, #strangling, #suffocation, #dehydration, #waterboarding, #branding, #tattooing, #noncon haircut, #noncon body modification, #experimentation, #sensory deprivation, #solitary confinement, #gunpoint, #guns, #knives, #glass whump, #curses, #sacrifices, #sickness #being recorded, #used as bait, #parting words regret, #transportation, #buying and selling, #mutilation, #dismemberment, #gore, #permanent damage, #death

#conditioning, #mind games, #self-deprecation, #self harm, #self sacrifice, #sacrifices, #mind games, #screams, #sobbing, #resignation, #dehumanization, #humiliation, #infantilization, #degradation, #desperation, #trauma, #triggers, #vague discomfort, #distrust, #dazed, #horrified, #mocking, #betrayal, #guilt, #amnesia, #hallucinations, #exhaustion, #nightmares, #begging, #gaslighting, #manipulation, #abandonment, #insecurity

#captured, #body horror, #rescue/rescued, #recovery, #aftermath whump, #hostage whump, #royal whump, #lab whump, #medical whump, #magic whump, #superhero whump, #pirate whump, #superpower whump, #undercover whump, #public whump, #surprise whump, #pet whump, #domestic whump, #cybernetics whump, #performance whump, #cosmetic whump, #living weapon, #hurt/comfort, #parental whump, #family whump, #psychological whump, #roleplay whump, #prison whump, #performance whump, #holiday whump

[ana-cantskywalker]

Honestly one of the biggest things that is both a pro and a con about EPIC for me is that, as a person with ADHD that has a large tendency to hyperfocus on interesting little riffs and sections of music, and then also vocally stem by singing them over and over, there are SO MANY.

Which is good because it's keeping my brain entertained and I have no shortage of things to sing (a problem that i dont think is normal, but sometimes I will really want to sing but not have anything in particular that I want to sing so I'm just kinda in limbo because I cant think of anything in the style that I want to sing in (ie if I want to sing something soft, sometimes the only songs I can remember are belting songs))

But also sometimes I'll be minding my business and all of the sudden its; and Ithaca's waitING, my kingdom is WAITING, PENELOPE'S WAITING FOOOOOR MEEEE.

Or, one that's really got me lately: baaack at home my wife awaits for me, she's my everything, my penelope, and she's alllll my power, ALLL MY POWER, but its been TWELVE LONG YEARSSSSS OOOOOOH. but like, six times in a row while I am doing the dishes.

[rafaelsilvasource]

RAFAEL SILVA TO ATTEND EPIC CONS CHICAGO 2 IN SEPTEMBER

Via Epic Events and Entertainment on Instagram:

Rafael will be appearing Sunday, September 15, 2024, and will have photo ops, autographs, a duo with Ronen Rubinstein, a meet and greet, as well as appear on an Epic Panel. Tickets to meet @/actuallyrafa are available at 3pm EST today on epiccons.com. #ECC2 admission is required to purchase any of Rafael’s a la carte items.

Epic Cons Chicago 2 will take place September 14-15, 2024 at the Donald E. Stephens Convention Center in Chicago, Illinois.

Tickets

[gplusbfics]

Anson Mount Talks About the Strike

Last weekend at Dragon Con I attended a couple of great panels with cast members of Discovery and Strange New Worlds. Due to the strike, discussion of the actual shows was off the table and so moderators and audience members had to limit their questions to other things. It worked nicely, IMO. Anyway, the one exception to the not-talking-about-the-thing was in a panel Saturday moderated by Garrett Wang (Harry Kim, Voyager) featuring Christina Chong, Celia Rose Gooding, Anson Mount, Ethan Peck.

Wang kicked things off by talking about the strike for a minute and then handed things over to Anson Mount. I don't know if he knew in advance, but Mount proceeded to deliver parable about the SAG strike that was just epic. I had to wait a few days to locate video but once I did, I transcribed it to share. I've cued the clip so it starts right as Mount begins to speak, but I'm including Garrett Wang's intro in the transcript.

Garret Wang: I'm going to start right now with a discussion on the strike. Let's talk about the strike. I think we should. So a lot of people have misconceptions about the strike. Just to give us some facts, just to lay it out there: Only 87% of SAG's membership make enough per year to have health insurance. That threshold is what-- is it $26,000? Something around there, something very low. And that's not per month, that's per year. So not every actor is Tom Cruise. This strike is really not about greedy actors, this is about being treated fairly, about being treated with respect, which is not happening right now."

Anson Mount: Imagine you're sitting in a bar in Los Angeles and outside this big, stretch limo pulls up. The limo is hauling behind it a mega-yacht and the mega-yacht has got one of those helicopter pads on it, with a gold-plated helicopter on it. And from the back of the limo steps a guy with a $7,000 Italian suit, he's got a 24-carat gold tie pin, slicked-back hair, little pencil-thin mustache. He's got an assistant, who's got an assistant, who'se's got an assistant.

And he walks in the bar and he sees you and he sidles up next to the bar and he says, "Have I got a deal for YOU!" And you say, "Okaaay, what's the deal?" And he says, "Well! I'm starting a business in this brand new field called entertainment-- and I think you'd make the perfect business partner." And you say, "Entertainment, huh? Is that a very lucrative business?" "Oh, no no no no no, we're not making ANY money."

And you say, "Well, OK, what's in it for me, then?" And he says "Well! I will pay you to come in to work for me for one half a day for minimum wage and in exchange you will grant to me permission to use the video of you performing your expertise, as well as your expertise, for the rest of time, in perpetuity, whenever I want, without paying you any more money or asking permission."

And you say, "I don't know… Have you thought about to include me in this? Like maybe a little small percentage of profit, just a little like 2 percent?" And he says, "You're insane! We're standing in the breadlines as it is!" And you say "Wait, wait, wait. If you say you're not making any money, 2 percent of nothing is nothing. You wouldn't have to pay me anything." And he says "That's a wonderful idea! I'll pay you 2 percent always-- of nothing." And you say, "That's not what I'm saying. So: let me put it this way. You must have an independent adjudicator or somebody who counts your numbers and lets everybody, all your shareholders, all your workers, know how the business is doing." "Oh, no no no, our numbers are all proprietary information." And you say, "Well, how do I know how the business is doing?" "Well, you'll just have to trusts me, of course."

And you say, "You know what? I just… under these given circumstances I'm not sure I want to work with you." And he says, "How DARE you?! I am going to walk straight out of this bar and when I come back -- and it won't be for a very long time -- but when I do, you'd better be here here waiting and you had better be grateful for my very generous offer of 2 percent of nothing!" And he whips his cape around and he walks out of the bar, followed by his assistant and his assistant and his assistant, and they all pile into the back of the limousine, and the driver tells his assistant driver, "Peel out!" With the mega-yacht, with the helicopter.

I think at that point, any reasonable person would turn to the bartender and say, "I think that guy's out of his fucking mind!" Right? Is it just me?

Garrett Wang: Anson, I gotta say, I've been on many panels and we've had many conversations about the strike, but no one has done a staged reading!"

--

Meanwhile, after dwelling a bit more on the strike, the conversation moves on to (necessarily) non-Star Trek topics and is highly enjoyable.

--

P.S. Yes, I still exist. No longer active on Tumblr but not because I'm boycotting or anything. We just drifted apart. I do still read Garashir fic but mainly just the same 20 favorites I saved to Instapaper, over and over :)

[girl4music]

Xena and Gabrielle in their immense journey go from:

Strangers

Travelling acquaintances

Friends

Best friends

Like family (Sisters)

Lovers

Enemies (very briefly, don’t worry about it)

Spiritual guides (as angels and guardians)

Married (reincarnated lives)

Parents

And finally… Like family (Wives/Domestic partners) and each others heroes and warrior princesses.

But throughout it all, through their lives as Xena and Gabrielle, all their past lives and all their future lives.

SOULMATES.

They’re an EPIC LOVE STORY because there’s so many different types of love they have for each other.

It’s romantic; it’s familial; it’s maternal. It’s everything.

They fulfill every role they ever need in their lives. And I think a relationship like that cannot happen twice.

You will not see a relationship like this ever again.

Certainly not in TV art/entertainment.

It really is an incredible journey. And that’s what you want with WLW representation. You want a journey.

A journey where you see everything - all the ups and downs and twists and turns and pros and cons -

You want to see it all because that’s what it’s all about.

Well, that’s Xena and Gabrielle.

That’s why they’re so iconic and beloved.

Because you see a JOURNEY of a RELATIONSHIP.

I wish I could articulate how deep and intense and profound it is but you really have to watch it yourself to know and understand how strong and substantial this ship is and why it’s them that began a legacy for WLW representation in television. They’re the OG.

And they still hold up so incredibly well to this day because I have yet to see a relationship like theirs.

That’s as all-encompassing and epic as they are.

[icbrothers]

Here's insta poll character number three...

Tai - Level 6 Monk - Kenku HP 24 - Chaotic Good - Entertainer background

STR 9 (-1) DEX 14 (+2) CON 11 (+0) INT 10 (+0) WIS 13 (+1) CHA 9 (-1)

Tai might not be the strongest monk, but he has a heart of gold underneath the flamboyant clothing, feathers, and the smell of booze. An entertainer by trade, Tai has spent his life hopping from one travelling troupe to another, using his mimicry skills to perform epic tales, and serenading beautiful ladies with his trusty pipa. He also claims to be a close confidant and friend to Lady Xīn Yán - but who can say if that's true, with all the tall tales he tells. Whilst Kenku are not always welcome guests, Tai works hard to bring a bit of fun and levity to the small village taverns he visits. A monk specialising in the Way of the Drunken Master, Tai is always ready to defend someone in need, using his small frame and tipsy sway to confuse and neutralise his combatants. He is never cruel though, and his fights often prompt delighted applause and laughter from nearby patrons, rather than fear. Tai's current troupe are travelling to a small village on the edge of a supposedly haunted forest, and he is excited to gather inspiration for his stories...

Proficiencies: History, Insight, Deception, Sleight of hand, Acrobatics, Performance, disguise kits, lutes, calligrapher's supplies, brewer's supplies, simple weapons, shortswords Languages: Written common and Auran, as a Kenku he can only speak using mimicry Kenku skills: Expert forgery, mimicry Monk skills: Unarmoured defence, deflect missiles, Ki empowered strikes, slow fall, flurry of blows, patient defense, step of the wind, stunning strike, Tipsy Sway (leap to your feet, redirect attack)

[pissgod-639]

THE URGE TO PUKE ALL MY INTERESTS RN

Games: Buckshot Roulette, Roblox (Buckshot Showdown, Westbound, Daybreak 2, In Plain Sight 2, Guts and Blackpowder, Untitled Boxing Game, A Stereotypical Obby/Repleh Archives, Specter 2, Tower Defense Simulator), Outlast, Boyfriend to Death, Fear & Hunger, Until Dawn, Price of Flesh, Transformice, Persona 4 & 5, Honkai Star Rail, Genshin Impact, Resident Evil, Class of '09, Detroit: Become Human, Minecraft, Animal Jam, Epic Seven, D4DJ, Fortnite, Guilty Gear Strive, Rainbow Six Seige, Overwatch, Team Fortress 2, Skullgirls, Somnium, Muse Dash, Dragon Raja, Up All Night, Red Dead Redemption, Five Nights at Freddy's, Doki Doki Literature Club, Fatal Frame, Blasphemous, Hylics, Needy Streamer Overload, Ace Attorney, Danganronpa

Reads: I'm Dating a Psychopath by Nosleeparewe; Daybreak by Moosopp; Clinic of Horrors by Merryweather; Winter Moon by Merryweather; Your Wings and Mine by Hakeism; Deathsitter by Puppetology; Ghost Lights by Fantakoi; Uriah by Toffuo; Welfare Center by NANA; Stagtown by Punko; @CRC_Luna's Conspiracy Research Club, The Predator by Shin Heebin/Chi Chi; Happy Sugar Life, Killing Stalking, Black Mirror, My Dearest Self with Malice Aforethought, Takopii's Original Sin, Blue Lock, Chainsaw Man, Goodnight Punpun, Chobits, Lady K and the Sick Man, Tokyo Revengers, Berserk, All Quiet on the Western Front, Prairie Fire

Watches: BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN, Girl from Nowhere, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Monster, Death Note, The Walking Dead, All Quiet on the Western Front, Kakegurui, Madoka Magica, Violet Evergarden, Expelled from Paradise, All of Us are Dead, Japan Sinks 2020, Pretty Cure, Glitter Force, Words Bubble Up like Soda Pop, Voltron, Gun Gale Online, Squid Game, Hunterxhunter, My Little Pony, Carole & Tuesday, Petscop, Ena, Mandela Catalogue, Gemini Home Entertainment, Children Under the House, A Quiet Place, FNAF VHS, Bambi, Frozen, Mulan

Content Creators: Markiplier, Jerma985, Nexpo, Kubz Scouts, Jack Stauber, Joel G, Quackity, Prykations, Kkelsey_spring, grayworms, breakingthepage, ashiiu, pyro.cri, m.emityy, nyoomian, rabbits.foots, munkaei, ccoffeeplz, nikoco_11, dotswappu, keo_chooo_, Antlergrave, Jumi_bits, plastic_pots.png, pocaarii, demaymayart, hagushka, lesmestiar, Nosleeparewe, Jin_jing93, aki.strike, Caseoh

Music: Mitski, Lorde, Tv Girl, Cocteau Twins, Mother Mother, Machine Girl, Grimes, Poppy, Cigarettes After Sex, Matt Maltese, Radiohead, Dazey and the Scouts, Roar, Mars Argo, Current Joys, Violent Vira

Other: Methods of execution/torture, Marine Biology, Forensic Science, Arctic Biomes, True Crime, US History, Germany, Game lore, Making lore from games, Frutiger Aero, Survival preparation, Military, Sharks, Cowboys, Gore, Flawed characters, Niche characters/games, Making art for communities, Biblical themes, Gods, Paranormal

Characters: Finley Marai (DB2), Dakari Bowens (DB2), Ren Hana (BTD), Lawrence Oleander (BTD), Strade (BTD), Finn Lewis (IDAP), Scott (IDAP), Meowscles (FN), Jing Yuan (HSR), Blade (HSR), SUNDAY (HSR), Nanook (HSR), Fuli (HSR), Yaoshi (HSR), Columbina (GI), Scaramouche/Wanderer (GI), Beam (CSM), Ironclad (IPS2), Payday (IPS2), Subzero (IPS2), Tony (IPS2), Chris (UD), Sam (UD), Mike (UD), Carlos Oliveira (RE3), Chris Redfield (RE), Miles Upshur (OL), Waylon Park (OL:WB), Marina (F&H:T), Ragnvaldr (F&H), Cahara (F&H), Pocketcat (F&H), Crow Mauler (F&H), Oh Sangwoo (KS), Yang Seungbae (KS), Yoon Bum (KS), Aiko (GNPP), Bandit (R6S), Cole Cassidy (OW), D.Va (OW), Luluca (E7), Pavel (E7), May (GGS), Faust (GGS), Millia (GGS), Ramlethal (GGS), Happy Chaos (GGS), Bridget (GGS), Johnny (GGS), Dizzy (GG), Akira/Ren (P5), Futaba/Oracle (P5), Ryuji/Skull (P5), Yu (P4), Yosuke (P4), Nagi (BL), Kaiser (BL), Foxy (FNAF), Luna (MLP), John D. Rockefeller, George Washington, Nick Torres (UAN) and more

My Characters: Leonore Dietrich, Yumi/Charlie, August Derrick, Wolf Dietrich, Osprey Davis, Griffin Dietrich, Célestine Albine, Hunter, Leandro Cillian Otto Constantine of Eden, Arlette, Bailey, Devon, Neo, Tai, Astro/a, Zadkiel, Sparky, Skinner, Adam

[perpetualdaydreamerr]

Upon the Eternal Shore: An EPIC the Musical Fanfiction (Chapter 10)

Snippets of the 7 years Odysseus spent with Calypso.

---

CONTENT WARNING: heavily implied r*pe, non-con, victim-blaming, emotional abuse, PTSD, descriptions of violence. Please consider before reading.

---

Day 1,703

-

The morning felt heavy in his limbs. It was as though the dewfall rested on his body, heavy as stone, and held him down. He didn't want to leave the bed, couldn't fathom having the energy to fulfill the obligation he'd accepted. It was easier to stare out the window, watch the way the sun’s rays refracted against the glass. Far simpler to become enchanted by the dance of the shadows created by the tree that grew in front of the palace. Ever bending, ever curling. A persuasive hymn.

The energy to get up came to him all at once. A sharp, stubborn tick that pushed his feet off the side of the bed, made him stand. Pulled him towards the wardrobe, helped him dress himself. The faintest whisper of determination. He wasn't sure who brought it forth, how it was able to survive in the bedroom’s stifling air. And yet it did.

The goddess was waiting for him outside, bright eyed and enthusiastic. She had been positively delighted when he'd made the arrangement the day before. A day together, and arrows in exchange.

The two started off, side by side. An effortless path.

Calypso floated beside him, her perfume tying itself to her painted smile. “May I ask what you want arrows for?” she asked, leading the pair of them away from the marble palace. She had complete dominion over the activity of the day, and the King of Ithaca merely followed.

“...I want to practice shooting,” Odysseus responded honestly. “It's been years.” He'd had to reteach his body so much, recently. How to endure labor, how to tolerate physical strain. In turn, his body had reminded him of old habits. Building, running, swimming. Things he'd been proficient at in another lifetime. Before the island. It begged and nagged him to return to them. He entertained the idea now that foreign, subtle persuasion towards productivity had been born again in him.

“Were you a good archer before?”

“...An excellent one.”

“Oh, really? Why don't you show me?” She mused, clasping her hands together in front of herself. “That's what we can do today. I'm not in the mood for shells, anyways.” She reached over, draped her hand on his shoulder. He felt the weight of his old quiver materialize against his back.

He nodded, pleased by the proposition. It would make the day less of a waste. He touched his hand to the quiver and ran his finger across an arrow. It was an old, familiar sensation. His body remembered.

They walked together, side by side, down the cobblestone path. He'd go to a clearing by the cliffside, where tall pines stood. There'd be plenty of targets to aim at. Leaves, animals, bushes. The anticipation in his stomach grew. He'd see whether the skill had died during his time on Ogygia. He prayed it didn't.

“You know, I learn more about you by the day… Do you ever wonder anything about me?” Calypso asked. Her words cracked through his busied mind.

He tilted his head towards her. There on her face was the familiar look of expectation. Deep longing twisting around her features. It was a look he knew well; one that often preceded outbursts of emotion, expressions of frustrated disappointment.

He tried to configure a question in his mind. Something to satiate her quickly. “...Why are you stuck here?” A stark question, one that he realized afterwards he probably shouldn't have asked; but it was the only thing he'd ever particularly wondered about her. The goddess was hellbent on his captivity. He'd attempted before to convince her to leave with him- to abandon the island together. She'd made it clear that it wasn't possible, that she couldn't leave, even if she was interested in sailing away from the paradise. He wasn't sure if it was simply another trick or not. Whether she too was just as incapable of escape as he was.

Calypso’s face contorted. A dreary expression of melancholy took hold of her eyes. He regretted his question, and she spoke. “...A long time ago, there was a war between the titans and gods,” she explained, her voice gentle as a passing breeze. “My father was a titan… I was just a girl at the time. I didn't understand what was happening, not really. Only that my father needed my help. I tried my best to assist him,” She looked at him, tried to see if he understood.

He did. He nodded slowly in comprehension. She was cursed by the gods, confined to the island as a punishment for her crime.

“...And will the gods ever…?”

“No. I… I have no reason to believe so, anyways,” a dry laugh tumbled out of her lips. Cold and bitter, stained by years of withering hope. “And I don't… have the privilege of dying. I've been here for a hundred years, and I'll be here a million more,” she whispered, the words drying up as she spoke them. She became silent, swallowed her voice.

He watched her. He hadn't ever seen her look the way she did now. It was desperate, raw- marked by vulnerability that wasn't conjured or masqueraded. Visible grief at a life spent entirely alone. He could see it, somehow. What the island had done to her- how it had aged her, despite her eternal, divine youth. Twisted her into something she hadn't been before.

Something formed in his chest. An emotion he hadn't managed to feel in years. A foreign object, slowly developing in his heart, growing against his better judgement. Something that should've been impossible for him to feel for her. Something he could hardly manage. Miniscule, but genuine. Pity. “...I'm sorry, Calypso” he murmured, somehow meaning it.

He made eye contact with the nymph. In her eyes, a pool of water. Genuine sadness cradled the brims of her eyes. She nodded, looked away from him. For a moment, he could see what she was. What she had been, long before he had arrived.

A silence settled between them. Nobody spoke but the wind and their footsteps. Whispers of the past crept through the air. Quickly fleeting, impossible to hold. The echoes of time.

They approached the clearing of the forest. “...Well, anyways,” Calypso broke through the tension between them. Her voice was now returned to its typical intonation. “Let's see what you've got, hm?” She smiled, handed him a longbow he hadn't realized she was holding.

Odysseus nodded. He took the bow from her, feeling its weight in his hands. Lighter than the one waiting for him in Ithaca, but heavier than the ones he used to practice with. He stole an arrow from his quiver. The movements were smooth and methodical, reminiscent of a time long since passed. He knocked it, feeling the tension of the bowstring grow tighter and tighter.

He stepped back towards the cliff, getting distance between himself and the nearest tree. Along its curled bark was a knot in the wood. A natural bullseye, teasing him. He narrowed his eyes, concentrating on it.

He felt a breath leave his body. Steady on the balls of his feet, he felt the wind rustle against him. Heading east, only slightly. He felt the influence on his arrow, predicted it. He turned the arrow’s head ever so slightly. He released his hand.

The arrow cut through the air in a whiz. It flew, straight and precise, the evidence of practice in its flight. It pierced the center of the knot with a satisfying thud.

Odysseus’ gaze fixated on it. Dead center. After so many years, he had fired a perfect shot. Excitement threatened to rise in him. He was still a seasoned warrior. The island hadn't taken that.

“You're a brilliant archer!” the nymph praised aloud, her voice warm and light. She clapped her hands together. “How long has it been since you've practiced?”

The question gave him pause. It was simple enough, and yet it reminded him of a painful reality he had tried to neglect. He wasn't sure how long he'd been on Ogygia. When he'd first arrived, his count had been meticulous. But somewhere, somehow, in the midst of exhaustion and misery, he'd stopped counting. He cleared his throat, tried to force back the growing discomfort in his chest. “I… don't know. How long have I been here, Calypso?”

“Not terribly long- I just meant that you haven't reached for your bow recently, that's all,” she dismissed, a sweet smile lining her lips.

He shook his head, unsatisfied by her answer. He knew she knew. “No, I mean… how many days?” How many years? He looked at her, silently pleading for honesty.

Her eyes caught the slightest golden glow as he stared back at her; he was unsure if it was the sun or something else. She hesitated, but spoke. “...One thousand, seven hundred, and three,” she replied, the words leaving her mouth like a poem.

A shiver danced across his spine. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the number settle in his mind. 1,703. An impossible length. A horrific amount of time. 1,703 days. 1,703 nights.

He felt bile threaten to rise in his stomach. Over 4 years. How much taller had his son grown in that time? How much of Penelope's hope had dissipated? He gripped the bow, tried to steady himself. He couldn't let his pulse grow swifter, couldn't let his mind spiral out of control. He sucked in a deep breath, made himself hold it.

He took another arrow from the quiver and aimed it, upwards now, to a beautiful crimson bird sitting on a high branch. He had to focus on what was real. What he could hold. What he could control. The bow. The bird. The arrows. Physical and tangible.

His arrow tore through the air, struck the creature before it had the chance to turn its head. He stared, watched as it fell. A red echo, dropping through the air. Beautiful and dead.

“Nothing tries to fly away here,” he commented softly, fixating on the bird. A victory undeserved, irregardless of the size or distance.

“...I could make you moving targets,” Calypso offered, standing up from her sitting position. She took stones from the ground. Her eyes began to glow, and the rock changed colors- warped into clay, light and thin. Targets the size of apples. She stepped back and threw one in the air. It was impossibly light, flying high above the treeline as if carried by wings.

Odysseus turned quickly, aiming the longbow up. He felt a rush of adrenaline course through his veins. He fired. The arrow cut through the sky and found its target. The clay ruptured in half, crumpling mid air.

Calypso cheered. He felt another twinge of pride. She threw another. This one began to twist in suspended figure eights, twirling clockwise aggressively. He aimed, let another arrow fly.

It went just to the side of the target, missing it. Odysseus quickly reloaded, faster than he knew he still could. He aimed again, and this one hit.

“I just need practice,” he mumbled, loading another arrow as the goddess prepared another target.

He continued firing at them, hitting most, and only growing more determined when he missed. The arrows were endless. It was methodical, corporeal. He lost himself to it. Felt every arrow leave the bow like a bird in flight. Watched as the wind bent it, pushed it towards its target. It reminded him vaguely of his youth in Ithaca, when the best thing a young boy could be was a good archer. All of the hours spent drawing his bow, learning the skill through sheer determination and time.

He dared to imagine himself back home. Any great skill he still had wouldn't show itself on a battlefield ever again. He'd resign himself to being a mentor. He could teach Telemachus. He imagined himself, standing beside a boy who hadn't ever known a father. He imagined teaching him everything he knew. How to feel the wind against his hand, how to account for it. How to twist an arrow in his thumb to feel its weight. All of the secrets that would be whispered down their family line, father to son, a thousand times over. He allowed himself to dream. Arrow after arrow flew.

Her voice cut through his trance, demanded he come back to reality. “You're incredible,” she swooned. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, how many targets had been struck. She'd gotten creative with them- making them different shapes and sizes, moving at different distances in different shapes. She paused now, standing up from her position on a nearby fallen tree. “Won't you show me how to shoot? I've never tried to fire a bow before.”

Odysseus cocked his head in her direction, his perception of the goddess returning. He'd gotten lost in the practice, halfway forgetting where he was. “I doubt you've had much of a reason to use one,” he replied, his statement teetering on comedic. He returned the arrow in his hand to the quiver.

“I haven't,” she admitted, shrugging her shoulders. She approached him, determined but light. “But it looks fun! Show me?”

He wanted to continue practicing, but as he watched the goddess, he remembered the price of the arrows. A cost he'd agreed to. He nodded. “You'll want a shorter bow for yourself, this one will be too tall,” he said, holding up his own as if to prove his point.

She looked down, picking up a stick that had fallen nearby. In an instant, it curled, warping into a longbow more appropriate to her height. She stepped beside him, holding it. She turned her head up towards him and smiled.

“Try shooting the tree,” he offered, gesturing back to the tree he'd started on. It was close to them now, easy enough for a juvenile boy to strike. He remembered training young men before, how their eyes had darted away nervously at his gaze and instruction. Boys, really.

Calypso took the bowstring in her hand, pulling it back. Her hand was wrapped around the grip awkwardly, too high and loose. The arrow shifted in her hand, wobbling up and down.

Odysseus frowned, watching the clumsy attempt. “Watch me,” he offered, taking his own bow and holding it up. He drew it back, trying to display the way he held its center. “You need to move your hand down. You're off center, that's why it's moving like that.” He had seen many such mistakes with young soldiers, had corrected them more times than he could count.

Calypso moved her hand slightly, a frown on her lips. She fumbled again with the string, pulling it back, but not nearly far enough. A soft huff left her lips. The bow wobbled again, unsupported by her stance. “I just can't get it,” she complained. “...Won't you help me?”

Slowly, mechanically, he moved towards her. Stepped behind her, keeping his distance, but lining up his arm beside her’s. “Move your hand and grip it-” he murmured, pushing her wrist with his fingers. “And keep your elbow straight, that's the most important thing. You need there to be enough tension.” He nudged her arm, raising it higher. “Keep your shoulders square and move your legs apart.”

“I can't pull the string back far enough,” Calypso decided aloud, disregarding his other crtiiques. Her head moved towards him ever so slightly. He could smell the perfumed oil on her skin. She leaned against him, let her hair graze his jawline. “Won't you help me pull it?”

She was a goddess. He'd seen her turn stone to clay, and yet she was unable to draw back a bowstring. The peace that had settled in him when firing the arrows was slowly dissolving, developing into nausea. His body knew what she wanted before his mind did. Tension blossomed in his arms, traveling through the rest of his body like a venom. And yet he reached his arm around her, put his hand over her’s. He pulled the string back further. She'd fire the arrow, and he could go back. She could go back. He made himself look at the tree before them. One strike, one success, and she'd be pleased.

“Let go on three, two, one…” he counted quickly. They both let go, and the arrow whizzed through the air. It struck the tree, a few feet above his previous shot.

“Look at that! You're the best teacher!” Calypso sang pleasantly. She turned to the side, faced him directly. The longbow fell from her hands. Her body was against his’ in an instant- their skin overlapping.

“...Thank you,” he managed, immediately overwhelmed by the pressure against him. He stepped back instinctively, his eyes darting back to her.

She smelt like honey, suffocatingly so. Sweet, sickly sweet. Her eyes were wide, round as the seven olives, filled with the temptation of favors that demanded payment. “Why don't you allow me to show my appreciation…” she whispered. She put a hand to his waist, curled it inwards. Persuasive and hungry.

“Calypso, please, he whispered, taking gentle hold of her wrist. He didn't move, didn't jolt away the way his mind demanded he did. He'd dissolve the moment, let her lust leave naturally with the breeze. He'd turn her attention away, distract the nymph.

“What's the matter?” her voice came out in a melodic whine, wrapped around his neck and choked him. She moved her other hand to his shoulder, her chest now flush against his’.

He tried to remain calm, tried to compose his voice into something more persuasive. “I just… don't want to spoil our day together,” he insisted, carving a smile onto his face. “Let's keep practicing, it's been so long since I’ve-”

She pulled her hand from his grasp. “I won't spoil anything, Ody. You'll love this. Let me show you…” Her arms were around him again, her lips on his neck. Her lips, moving like a spider, crawling across him, faster, ready to paralyze him.

“Calypso, I don't- I don't want to take advantage of your kindness, let me- let me shoot for you, why don't you watch-” his words broke up, became frantic. His mind lost its edge, dissolved away as fear took the place of wit.

“Shh,” she whispered against his skin. Her hands moved faster now. She pushed herself against him, rocking like the tides.

He felt panic take hold of his body. Fear seized his hands, made them shake. His stomach turned, tension and nausea fighting for dominance. “Calypso, please,” he pleaded. “I don't want to right now. I'll do anything else you want, anything,” He'd pull the clouds apart if she wanted, tear down the palace brick by brick and rebuild it, rearrange the stars in the sky if it pleased her. In a sudden jerk of restraint, he tried to pull away. “Just not-”

An involuntary cry left his mouth as piercing pain jolted through his ankles. Blades, ripping into his skin. Then more, then more, puncture wounds, crawling up, searing and sharp. He didn't have to look down to know what was taking hold of him; thick vines, covered in thorns, working their way up his legs.

“Why do you fight me, Odysseus? After so many years? After everything I've done for you?” Calypso cried, her voice raised, dripping with ire, its sweet sugar shell now gone. Her fingers grasped his face, forced his eyes to meet her’s. He preferred the thorns, couldn't fight either. Her nails curved in, cut into his face. “Why do you make it so hard to love you?”

And then her lips were against his’. Hot and bitter, the tears that had sprung from her eyes salting his tongue. His heart tore through his chest, terror gripping his body. The pain in his legs grew more agonizing, the thorns growing and twisting. He felt the rush of his blood watering the plants that only grew with her frustration. Her hands tangled in his hair, her madness sucking the breath from his lungs. He was choking, drowning, dying just like his soldiers, just as helpless. Her hands moved, crawled across him in a crazed conquest. Unrestricted, unwilling to restrain themselves. Forever demanding. There was no ceiling to stare at, no way to force his mind to die to time. He was stuck, rooted to the ground. Rooted to reality, on Ogygia, with the goddess.

She tore herself away from him. Off of him, moving away. In a sudden flurry, with unclear provocation. “I didn't mean to get carried away,” he heard her say. He could still feel her skin. He could still smell her. He could hardly hear her.

A gasp left his lips as the thorns abandoned the sheath of his skin. They curled downwards, back into the earth. So quickly he hardly caught a glimpse of them.

His legs were covered in trails of blood. Wrecked with punctures, dark red, coated with the smell of metal. They began to contort, shifting as a gold glow enveloped his legs.

He watched as the injuries withered away like rapidly decaying vegetation. The thorns had entirely returned to the ground that bore them. Every scratch, every welt melted off his skin.

There was no evidence of what had happened besides what clung to his memory. What would live in his mind, and resurface in the late hours of the night. His body would remember, even if there weren't scars.

“Take another shot. I want to watch. You're a brilliant archer, Ody.”

Her voice like a spell, once again a sweet song. The tears had dried on her face, and her eyes sparkled in the sunlight. His own blurred. He couldn't force breath back into his lungs. It was too heavy, too hard.

“Take another shot.”

He could still taste the salt on his tongue. His hands curled in and out of fists. He tried to focus, tried to bring himself back.

He would do as he was bade. He could hardly see, and yet he found the discarded longbow. He took it in his hands again. His trembling hands. He held it up, drew it back. He wasn't balanced, his shoulders weren't straight.

The arrow flew from his grasp. It wobbled as it left him, teetered in the wind. It landed to the right of the pine- toppled to the ground, its flight broken. It clambered against the ground with the same inaptitude of his breath.

“Try again, my love. You'll get it this time.”

He could feel the phantom sting in his leg. Or perhaps he had orchestrated that in his mind. Or perhaps it didn't matter at all.

He took another arrow. He aimed. He fired again.

-

Link to other chapters

[lauravanarendonkbaugh]

My Eventual Writeblr Intro Post

(It's only taken me how many years to do an intro post?)

Hi, I'm Laura VAB. I make my imaginary friends fight each other for my personal amusement.

I write fantasy in several flavors (and some non-fiction, too, but that's probably less relevant here) and occasionally I dabble in other genres. I do a fair amount of epic fantasy, and some of my stuff, long and short, has won awards.

I usually have some free or 99c stories on my website, such as:

She Speaks In Flames (historical fantasy)

Wight Christmas (valkyrie Mrs. Claus takes names)

A Red Banner To Fly (historical fiction, not fantasy, at Japan's Battle of Dan no Ura)

A Midwinter Theft (short set in upcoming epic fantasy world)

Neon Green in D Minor (cyberpunk Pied Piper short)

Good Spell Gone Bug (urban fantasy comedy of magic gone wrong)

Free Fiction Sampler (taste it all!)

(Psst! You can use the code WRITEBLR to get a 99c story for free!)

An abducted Greek girl ends up in Asgard, telling her own Greek myths to entertain the Norse gods -- until one of her stories leads to murder.

My published epic fantasies include The Songweaver's Vow, which has a shiny gold sticker on the cover to say that more than just my mom liked it.

And I also have the Shard of Elan epic fantasy series, in which an outcast soldier can save his only friend's life, if he sacrifices the people he swore to protect.

I also have a Japanese historical fantasy series and stories about magical women in WW2 and all kinds of stuff.

My newsletter is the best way to keep up and get previews, discounts, and free stuff. I'm also on various social media, which you can find from my website.

More about me?

I am a professional animal trainer, and I teach professional and trainers around the world about positive reinforcement. (Yes, for humans, too!)

My work always, no matter the genre or setting, features someone finding agency and hope where they thought they had little or none. The world may be gritty, but the story offers hope. (There's also a lot of the found family trope!)

I'm a professional member of the SFWA and other writers' organizations, but that's just a membership card or four. I self-publish my long-form work and self-publish or sell traditionally my short-form work.

Most of my stuff sits at the PG or PG-13 level, if we borrow the MPAA scale. I'm always happy to provide a content guide, if anyone has questions.

I love research and history, and I love to speak at cons or libraries or other events about Japanese history or myths about Norse folklore and all kinds of stuff.

I've had a lot of experience pitching and querying, and a lot of self-publishing time, so feel free to ask questions!

[darkshrimpemotions]

If you say Destiel and Nandermo are the same level of queerbaiting I don't believe you actually lived through Destiel.

SPN writers, cast, and crew explicitly teased, gaslit, and insulted fans over a period of twelve years. They refused to be upfront about their intentions for the show, even when we begged them not to do that to us. They dangled the possibility of a big epic queer romance to keep us invested for over a decade and then killed both characters and all but erased one rather than deliver. They deliberately edited promos and openers in a way that suggested these two men would be in romantic love by the end. They actually wrote that ending and then used the pandemic as an excuse to scrap it. They openly mocked Destiel fans publicly at cons and on social media. Creation Entertainment straight up banned Destiel questions at cons even after Cas being in love with Dean was canon. They made Misha Collins lie on twitter for them about a rogue translator, ffs.

If you think that's the same as a group of writers and the showrunner looking their audience in the eyes and saying, explicitly, over and over: "look, of course this is a queer love story, but that doesn't mean it's a traditional romance" and then delivering exactly that...I don't fucking know what to tell you. 🤷

[olderthannetfic]

Escapade Dance Party 2023 Writeup 1/3

Seeing as Escapade Online is coming up this weekend, I suppose I should finally write up some stuff about last in-person con that I never got around to.

I don't usually bother with a full con report, but I do like writing up the dance party. Instead of just playing music, I do a playlist of vids that we project on the wall. It's a small con, somewhere between a hundred and a hundred and thirty, generally, so I don't bother to ask permission. (This is also why we don't broadcast or redistribute the dance party in any way or do one for the online con.)

Escapade is a venerable con. In fact, it's the oldest still-running slash con. Back in the 90s, people would come here to find out what was going on in fandom that year, get pimped into the latest fandoms, find out about new zines. Fandom moves a lot faster now: between when we decide on panels and when the con happens, a whole movie fandom could have risen and fallen. Still, it's as easy as ever to feel out of touch, just for different reasons than in the 90s.

I want people to come away from the dance party feeling like they've heard of some of the Next Hot Things. It's also a great opportunity to cover some of attendees' own fandoms that may not end up in the main vidshow. As a vidder, I despise cons that try to make the main vidshow purely audience-focused and just about whatever ships are big. A con like that sees vidders as providers of entertainment, not fellow fans and attendees. But a con that honors vidders' actual current interests is a con with a vidshow full of weird fandoms of one and glaring gaps in what older fandoms are included. So having another curated show, like this dance party, is a nice way to bridge that gap.

The party is essentially like an enormous mixtape. It's a chance for me to make thematic links between vids and to inflict music I actually want to dance to onto a captive audience. Each discrete vidding community tends to have extremely boring taste in music. Sorry, not sorry. And for dance music, this is even worse. I often can't find what I'm looking for, but I can try.

Every year, I begin by looking at attendees' profiles on the Escapade site, filtering the m/m tag on AO3 for what's been active in the past year, and browsing around until I come up with a list of fandoms of interest. Fandoms that people suggested Escapade panels for also go on the list. These may be the big ones, but there are usually a lot of idiosyncratic options since it's a small con. It doesn't matter if Steve/Bucky is big if nobody at this con is going to care.

I set up my spreadsheet for my epic vid search: This involves not only sheets for my fandom list but vocabulary lists for searching: Слэш, 燃, etc.

After that, I go through the past year of the AO3 'fanvids' tag and maybe the 'amv' one, looking for interesting vids. They need to be at least somewhat danceable and 2-5 minutes without a ton of show audio. That's easier to find on AO3 than Youtube at large, but it still knocks out most vids I open everything, put the playhead to the middle of the vid, and test the sound. If I hear something viable, I go back and watch the vid. But if too many people I know have kudosed, I take it off the list since people have seen it already. For this step, I don't care about fandom, just about the vid being interesting and preferably slashy. (Yes, this is how I fell into Beyond Evil.)

After that, I start looking on Youtube and Bilibili, fandom by fandom, ship by ship. Some fandoms I never do find. They're just too unpopular with vidders. Some I find, but only a ship I have banned. I have a lifetime ban on Klance, for example. Anything too redolent of antis goes on the banned list. Anything with surprise tentacles is a shoo-in.

I also have some other rules for myself that I've developed over the years. I want at least a couple of vids with women, preferably f/f. Escapade is more m/m-focused, but a lot of attendees are queer and/or ship f/f as well. The show must have at least a vid or two that focuses on somebody other than white or East Asian characters. I mostly avoid vidders who are well known to people who attend the US slash/Media Fandom/vidding type cons unless I really cannot fill a particular fandom need elsewhere. I especially try to avoid vids that have already shown at other cons recently, though depending on how they're labeled, I may screw that one up. I've been more and more strict about this over time. I find a lot of vidding communities pretty incestuous, so this is a chance to shake things up.

A big one that surprises some people is that I try to avoid most multifandom vids and many ensemble vids. This one is negotiable depending on the vid, but I find that there's a distasteful pattern where a juggernaut will be deemed worthy of taking up a whole slot for itself with just a focus on the one ship while other things are relegated to an Awesome Ladies compilation. Those vids are fantastic in isolation, but if you play a lot of them together in a vidshow, let alone a vidshow that's a dark, noisy dance party, they all blend together into mush. A great ship vid or single character study, on the other hand, still manages to grab people. If you aren't willing to say "This ship gets the Star Wars/MCU/etc. slot, not that ship", what are you actually saying?

I try to find a fresh choice for any fandom that has been directly requested (so pretty much just Sentinel) and any where I know some attendees are mostly or only in that one fandom (The Professionals).

Of course, I can only play what people have already made, and this is a dance party, so sometimes, there just aren't any choices. I do shoehorn in a couple of not-very danceable vids most years, but they can only go right before or after the intermission or right at the end, so the number has to be limited.

One thing I don't always care about is the strictest standards of "quality" in a snobby vidder sense. Not only do different communities have different standards for what counts, but I'm more interested in novelty or great music. I won't play anything I think is terrible, but I'll take a B+ vid by a rando to an A+ song over an A+ vid that everyone's already seen.

For 2023's con, I decided the party should have a theme of vampires since I had guessed—incorrectly— that the new Interview with the Vampire show would be the latest hot thing everyone was talking about. In retrospect, I should have picked mafia for Kinnporsche and Gonchraov. At least vampires gave me good decorating ideas for cheesy fake candles and black spiderweb-draped tables.

It also sent me looking for goth club music, which I did find to some extent, but between who didn't attend this year and how awesome the cocktail party outside was, we got much less action on the dance floor than usual. (Excuse you! That music is totally danceable! "Drunken tai chi" as we used to say!)

At least my themed cocktail list was a hit. As an annoying cocktail nerd, it infuriates me when people just take a famous drink and slap a fannish name on it, so I insist on making a fannish cocktail list I find respectable.

Playlist in a moment.

[dailybrittanysnowpics]

Another Tucker?! 🎬️ Almost 18 years after the release of ‘John Tucker Must Die,’ Jesse Metcalfe, Sophia Bush and Arielle Kebbel reunited at Epic Cons Chicago and revealed a sequel to the film has been written. 😱 Arielle revealed that the script “does involve all of the OG cast” and told the crowd that Jesse’s character “may or may not get a chance to change.” -Entertainment tonight!

Brittany would have to be a part of all right? 😱

[kassy-djomunson]

💖 HEY LOVES! 💖

This is your monthly reminder of 2024 to request Joe Keery as a guest for the Fan Expos events close to you (or not!).

We all know he doesn't go to conventions that much, but what if this year is different? It doesn't hurt to at least try, right?

Keep in mind : the more they receive guest request for Joe Keery, the more they will try to have him or convince him (or his team) to come! We would loved to have him at more conventions!

All you have to do is go on this link : https://fanexpohq.com/home/events/ and click on the event of your choice (or you can choose to do all of them). Then, go in the section ''About us'' and click on ''Contact''. Finally, click on the costumer service option to fill in your guest request! It's that simple!

I also added a link to the Epic Cons guest requests tab, if you guys would like to see him again at these types of events (I sure do ;))

That being said, as always, thank you for your service, keery nation <3

Reblogs are always appreciated <3