#fiction =/= reality

[myfandomrealitea]

is writing or drawing noncon fanfics truly as bad as people make it out to be? what is your take away on it?

Its not.

Plain and simple, honestly, its just not. But that's not to say that I don't genuinely understand some of the reasons people say it is. I do understand the thought process behind those beliefs, but its simply not a reality that fanfiction is dangerous or that every single fic based on non-con is harmful.

If that were true, these people would also be going after historical literature, movies, music, TV shows and physical art.

Surprisingly enough, if you ask them, they don't. And there's usually a myriad of reasons why they're not, but the reality is that its easier and more accessible to harass individuals and small creators. Its easier to blame an individual person and assume an individual person is perpetrating evil than it is to tackle entire industries and decades of creativity.

There's a whole lot more I could dive into, but to keep it simple, no. Fanfiction about rape is not inherently bad.

[coockie8]

I mean a huge part of the problem is that antis just don't understand that different stories exist for different reasons, and not all stories are supposed to teach you a moral lesson, or any lesson, for that matter, right?

Like the entire plot of The Twilight Zone was basically "Wouldn't that be fucked up? I'm Rod Sterling." This show ran for 5 20-40 episode long seasons in the late 50's to early 60's.

Like yeah, some fiction exists to teach a lesson of some kind, or draw attention to real-world atrocities, or whatever, but not all fiction serves that purpose, nor is it supposed to!

And I know it's a fundamental lack of understanding, or wilful ignorance at the very least, because antis constantly bring up propaganda in this argument, as if propaganda isn't lies presented as fact.

Which is why it's dangerous; because it's not presented as fiction! If propaganda were presented as the lies it is, then it wouldn't fucking work, because the entire reason propaganda works the way it does is because you don't know it's fucking lies!

But if you're over the age of 10 and are watching something that is obviously just a fictional story for entertainment purposes, I would expect you to know better than to emulate everything you see in said story.

[eelfuneral]

People don’t *have* to like the Jedi, and people not being wild about a fictional group of space wizards is not the same as condoning genocide. Harassing people for talking about aspects of these very fictional people that they don’t like is not okay.

[shrimpmandan]

I honestly fucking hate when antis bring up that fiction DOES affect reality as a counterargument to proshippers bc the thing is they’re not even technically wrong. Fiction and reality are inherently intertwined on some level. For example, fiction often depicts the ideals and standards of the time, or the creator’s lived experience. Fiction can impact reality in the form of individual people, both positively and negatively. For example, a propaganda cartoon vs an educational cartoon. The thing is, antis refuse to acknowledge that the “fiction =/= reality” argument (in the context of proshippers using it) is a direct response to the incorrect assertion that fiction will make people act against their morals. This can be about anything from “incest/abuse/age gap relationships in fiction will normalize it irl”, “video games cause shootings”, “porn causes violence”, or any other amount of honestly baseless and reactionary assertions about the world.

I see propaganda brought up a lot, which is especially frustrating, because antis don’t understand how propaganda works. Propaganda is not something that you watch and suddenly, you’re racist. Funnily enough, propaganda on its own isn’t particularly persuasive or logical in how it’s presented-- it’s just manipulative. Propaganda specifically takes advantage of preconceived ideas, fears, and prejudices-- for example, anti-gay propaganda would play into the idea of gay men being predatory, deviant, and mentally disordered, because that was already the general consensus of the time. Propaganda, by nature, plays into existing emotions, or preys on the human fear of the unfamiliar. This is why the best combatant to propaganda is education.

You can apply this same thing to taboo fiction, violent video games, and violent porn. You could make the argument that these things could have negative influences on children, seeing as they’re much more impressionable and may have a harder time distinguishing between fiction and reality, but the bottom line is kids are not the target audience for any of these things. They are not supposed to be viewing NSFW writings, videos, or games. We already have things like ESRB ratings, “are you 18?” verification checks (as paper thin as they may be), and tagging systems in place for the express purpose of deterring kids (or parents of kids) from seeing something that aren’t meant for them. After a certain point, you really just have to place the responsibility on the parent for either not monitoring their children, or being careless about what kind of content they consume. Aka: NOT the fault of the adults who make or enjoy violent or explicit media.

Going back to propaganda for a minute, with taboo fiction in particular (incest, age gap, etc.), it’s already, y’know, taboo. Meaning people are actively discouraged from participating in, or even just talking about it, since things like incest and pedophilia are already largely considered immoral. Most Western citizens would agree that irl abusive relationships, rape, and the like, are all immoral. So why would reading about it suddenly make them go against the entire worldview and moral upbringing they had? That’d be utterly absurd! However, if someone who was already considering or apologetic towards something like pedophilia were to consume media depicting it positively, it might, and I repeat, MIGHT have a chance to influence them into actually committing an offense. And even then, any evidence of that is extremely flimsy.

There’s been a small handful of IRL cases around fiction and reality. One that comes to mind is the murder trial of Scott Dyleski, wherein the prosecutor asserted that the Invader Zim episode Dark Harvest inspired Dyleski to commit murder. However, this statement was hardly backed up with any kind of proof, and in my opinion, is a weak argument on the prosecution’s end. There just isn’t any psychological evidence that makes a strong connection between dark/violent/explicit media and moral degradation, and while there have been studies done surrounding things like “do video games cause violence?” and “is porn making young men misogynistic rapists?”, these studies either came back inconclusive or even outright stating that no, these things do not lead directly to IRL violence. Simply googling “do video games cause violence?” or “does porn cause violence?” will yield countless articles stating that there’s no strong link between the two things. And, at its core, this is what proshippers mean when they say that fiction =/= reality. To say that fiction is responsible for all of society’s ills, instead of the fact that fiction takes inspiration from the tragedies of the real world, is an absurd take.

Overall, I think I’m still happy with the “fiction =/= reality on a 1-to-1 level” wording that’s since replaced “fiction =/= reality”. It’s far less generalized and overall more difficult for antis to counter with actual evidence (which, let’s be honest, they barely use anyways), even though the only reason proshippers were using such a generalized statement to begin with was to counter another generalized statement: that taboo or violent fiction will always, or almost always, lead to irl crimes and normalization.

[urcharactersclasspect]

anyway enough of all that

media literacy is actually dead these days and no amount of "well no its not dead we can have different opinions" will stop u from being stupid if you straight up critique media on the basis everyones a piece of shit just for writing a villian who acts like a villian who you arent meant to like in the first place

[kissofthemuses]

{ How do I keep ending up on "you're not allowed to actually like this evil villain" tiktok? Like fuck off. Is this VILLAIN a gross manipulative piece of shit? Yes. But that's WHY. }

[myfandomrealitea]

okay, so- this is coming from someone who really hasn't engaged in fandom discourse, especially regarding shipping and such. I dearly hope this doesn't come across as bait or troll, I'm genuinely curious and want to learn. apologies for the possibly-dumb question, but I really just need to ask-

what is proshipping? and what are 'antis'?

you know how it is, when you ask around you always get a biased answer one way or another. "proshippers are pedos" "proshippers all condone incest" "proship Bad and if you interact You Are Bad" (i think these are 'anti' points of view? am i using that term right? that's the rhetoric ive mainly heard). but despite all of that, i don't know if ive ever actually gotten a straight answer as to just.. what it factually is. because it doesn't feel like the sort of thing that you can boil down to insults or accusations or whatnot. it's all just very confusing to me, especially because i come from a place that essentially just told me to avoid like the plague and never look back. sorry, this became a bit of a ramble, lol. thank you so much in advance, i hope i'm not being a bother or insulting with this ^^;

The modern term; 'proship' (s.a; 'proshipping' and 'profiction') is an evolution of an earlier fandom acronym known as: 'SALS.'

Ship And Let Ship

SALS was one of the earliest fandom adoptions and interpretations of the concept of not bullying others for what they shipped or their fandom interests, and not trying to control or dictate what was "allowed" to be shipped or enjoyed. The most notable origin of SALS was during the early years of accessible fandom via Star Trek, and the present homophobia and misogyny in a largely male-dominated community.

As woman became more involved in fandom spaces, the presence of 'other' ships and pairings began to increase. M/M, F/F that wasn't purely for sexual gratification, and M/O and F/O (where 'O' is Other) pairings were popular amongst women, much as they still are today.

Not only did the presence of women in a "male space" receive a not insignificantly negative reaction, so too did them filling the fandom space with their shipping content. Now; sexism and misogyny and homophobia were not entirely to blame. Again as is still very much present today, people simply Did Not Like Certain Ships or Characters. And as they still do today, they'd spread hate about them and to the people who did enjoy them.

Thus: the birth of SALS.

(In other words: I like what I like and it has fuck all to do with you. Shut up and move on.)

Back then, SALS was mostly contained to just that. Ships and characters. Since back in that era 'taboo topics' and 'sexual content' were still pretty covert, people weren't exactly arguing the merits of incest in public forums and at conventions.

However, as all things do, the internet evolved. Society evolved. Media evolved. And so too did 'SALS' evolve in keeping with the new culture and subjects present in fandom spaces.

Suddenly it wasn't just ships and characters to be advocated for. It was themes. Subjects. Kinks. Plots. The more things people found to enjoy, so too did the more things people found to hate.

'Proship' is actually grammatically pro-ship. As in; in support of shipping. This is why I always state that the modern conceptions of proshipping would more accurately be coined profiction. It is no longer just about ships, but fiction as a whole.

However; the core value and sole inherent point of being proship, SALS, profiction and so forth remains exactly the same:

[I/We] believe you have no right to harm others over the [ship/content] they create or consume and [I/we] do not have the right to dictate what is or is not allowed in fandom spaces.

That's it. Don't harass people for what they enjoy fictionally. Don't try to force them into not enjoying or being able to enjoy it.

Of course, the modern adaption varies wildly in terms of 'additional values' thanks to the evolution of the term and what it can encompass. However, there is certainly no obligation to:

Create or consume content you are uncomfortable with.

Create or consume content regarded as 'taboo' or 'triggering.' Such as incest.

Be involved with any aforementioned content beyond turning a blind eye if its not your thing.

Inherently, anyone who says they're 'neutral' on the matter but firmly believes in minding their own business is just a proshipper refusing to use the label if you're taking the term solely at its core value.

In terms of 'antis' they're just the antithesis of the above. Antis are people who generally believe that fiction is irrevocably tied in with who you are, what you believe/condone, and that real-life limitations and values should also apply to fiction.

Although, its is heavy debated and it wildly varies per individual to the degree this is taken.

(E.g: some 'antis' believe you should only write rape fic if you are a victim using it as catharsis or education. Other 'antis' believe there's absolutely no excuse or reason to write rape fic at all.)

Antis typically believe that enjoyment or being invested in content which is regarded as harmful or illegal in real life is morally unsound and reflects that you're a bad or morally unsound person.

Although I disagree, I can honestly say in some aspects I do understand this reasoning. I don't agree, but I do understand why people may come to that conclusion.

As with proshippers, antis vary from people who simply ignore and block content they don't agree with to radicals.

'Anti' is again a prefix. Although modern adoption of the term uses it as a singular signifier, it would grammatically be anti-[fandom], anti-[character], ect. As was commonly used in the past.

The rhetoric that all proshippers are pedophiles or support incest is common-spread and effective 'anti' propaganda. Similar to how so many people believe 'proship' inherently signifies that you must create and/or consume taboo or darker content.

It doesn't.

¹ Proship may also be accurately termed as simply: 'anti-harassment.' ² Its important to note the 'definition' of these terms may vary wildly depending on the individual. However, detailed above is the most historical use and evolution of the terms and their definitions.

[malinaa]

if i think about the hunger games in peeta's perspective i WILL start sobbing

[big-moon-little-moon]

so called TPK enjoyers once they realize their graph paper wife is a part of the P that's supposed to get TK-ed

bonus:

[cacodaemonia]

I watched Grave of the Fireflies a little over 20 years ago, and I was deeply depressed for like a week. To this day, I cannot watch the film again. Does that mean it wasn't an incredible work of art or that stories about US attacks on Japanese cities during WWII shouldn't exist? Because the movie made me sad uwu?

That's how ridiculous people sound when they make the same arguments about depictions of kinks, sex, sexual relationships, sexual violence, and sexual abuse in fiction (because it's always the sex they're upset about—not murder or any other kind of violence).

I think some people forget that some literature and some media is meant to be deeply uncomfortable and unsettling. It's meant to make you have a very visceral reaction to it. If you genuinely can't handle these stories then you are under no obligation to consume them but acting as if they have no purpose or as if people don't have a right to tell these stories, stories that often relate to the darkest or most disturbing parts of life, then you should do some introspection.

[somewhereincairparavel]

everyone keeps talking about Jason vs Percy but why isn't ANYONE talking about how powerful they looked when they both used their powers TOGETHER at the same time, side by side, in Mark of Athena? Like Annabeth even got goosebumps watching them cook up such an intense storm from afar. Sparky and Seaweed brain, Power duo smh.

[woman-respecter]

men jerking off to videos simulating rape or at least violence featuring real women often facing actual pain and abuse is not the same as fanfic girlies reading about sasuke being exposed to sex pollen. be fucking serious.

also you basically never hear of someone injuring her partner during sex because she read destiel bdsm omegaverse, but men will demand their partners try extreme shit they saw in porn, sometimes with severe consequences.

[jjkbambi]

sorority car wash luigi mangione x reader (18+)

smut summary: your best friend’s brother luigi visits your sorority’s spring fundraiser

warnings: long ass argument, our frat boy #graduated, rough as usual, name-calling, p in dis v :3, is car sex public? car sex, implied cheating, jealous quickie, assume everything is unedited

the fundraiser had drawn out the worst of penn state: truck drivers, high school football coaches, republicans with obvious gambling addictions. despite the obvious discomfort around dancing around frat row in a bikini, there was an undeniable satisfaction in knowing every passing gaze was a dollar to your name.

well — not necessarily your name. it was a dollar to your sorority house, your sisters, your reputation. your public display was, in all, an investment for an impressive bullet point on your college resume. any level-headed businessman would’ve been able to see that.

unfortunately for you, luigi mangione majored in computer science.

your heart falls to the floor the second you see his car swerve into the street. your feet move quickly, running up to the side of his car before any of the girls could hound a dollar out of him. his window is down and you’re in it, both whispering and yelling, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“car wash,” the brunette boy says flatly, gesturing to the hastily painted cardboard signs wrapped around your sorority house.

“it’s for penn students only.” you say, trying to wave him off. the thought of him—or anyone else from back home—meeting your new fair-weather city friends is unbearable. it would take months to salvage your pride.

“it doesn’t say that anywhere.” luigi argues. “plus, i’m an alumni.”

interest washes over the crowd of busy rich cheerleaders as they begin to inch nearer to the scene. you’re frazzled and fucked. “mangione, please don’t embarrass me.”

“you’re embarrassing yourself,” luigi says. his eyes glance over your body, skin exposed and wet with the moisture and mess of the event, boobs perky underneath your strappy bra. “seriously, what the fuck are you wearing?”

you feel a rush of insecurity as you bring your arms up to cover yourself. “it’s sorority tradition—“

“we didn’t do any of this at my frat—”

“it was an engineering frat, you didn’t do anything—!” as your whining comes to a close, a pool of your sorority sisters begin to flood around you. your heart rate sparks.

“who’s this?” your roommate asks.

the italian boy is quick to smile at the new company, his earlier furrowed brows and fault-finding demeanor vanishing in an instant. “i’m luigi,” he says with a brief wave. “i’m with y/n.”

“he means we’re friends from back home,” you correct quickly, shooting a glare at him. “he actually went here. he was in phi psi.”

“aw,” your roommate coos. “those guys do my homework all the time.”

he reaches over to open the car door, the force pushing you aside as it swings open. “get in the car,” luigi says. you pause, confusion swirling around you. then, luigi glances at your crowd of sisters, acknowledging them with a slight nod. “i’m borrowing her for the day. is there some sort of curfew i need to know about?”

“no, but it’s karaoke night,” one of your sisters tell him. “you should come! it’ll be at zbt.”

luigi raises a brow. “the sports frat?”

“yeah,” your sister says, grinning. “y/n’s boyfriend is the president. he’s super nice—you’d like him.”

his eyes flick to you. “boyfriend?”

“luigi’s busy tonight,” you say, forcing a tight smile, desperate to change the subject. “besides, he’s probably super jet-lagged—he is supposed to be backpacking through asia right now, after all.”

“yeah, well,” luigi says, his voice cool but with an edge that stings, “i stopped by for my sister’s birthday this weekend.” his eyes narrow as he looks straight at you. “guess one of us had to remember.”

your shoulders stiffen under the weight of his words, heat rising to your face.

“aw, luigi, you’re so sweet!” one of your housemates chimes, completely oblivious to the tension brewing. your guilt crashes over you, hot and suffocating. it’s almost embarrassing, the sudden clarity of how far you’ve strayed, how horrible you’ve become. “y/n’s boyfriend does cute stuff like that too. he came all the way down this morning to get pictures of her in this new outfit.”

if you didn’t feel stupid and cold before, you most definitely do now.

luigi glances over his shoulder. “isn’t the zbt house just around the corner?”

your housemate, still oblivious, grins and adds, “yeah! he’s always doing cute stuff like that for her. like, he prints a bunch of pictures of her and made a wall in his room because he thought she’d think it was sweet.”

you had no intention of your best friend’s brother ever finding out about your flamboyant college romances, yet here he was, gossiping with your girls. “he took that down as soon as i asked him to,” you explain.

“yeah, and ever since then, he sends flowers like, everyday.” your sister hums, bright-eyed. “so thoughtful, right?”

luigi’s jaw clenches, and his shoulders tense. “yeah, cute,” he says, voice low and biting. “guess that’s what happens when you’ve got nothing better to do than play personal assistant.”

“luigi.” you say, a desperate attempt to draw the line.

“get in, now,” he beckons.

luigi’s dark eyes never leave you, boring into you with a relentless intensity that makes your stomach churn. the look isn’t anger—it’s something deeper, more personal, and it clings to you as you fumble into the passenger seat. each movement feels heavier than the last, his unyielding stare haunting you as you slip inside, shutting the door between you and the reality you can’t escape.

the car swerves sharply, pulling you from your thoughts as you put your head in your hands. “i totally forgot,” you mutter, voice barely audible.

“clearly, you had distractions,” luigi says, his tone colder than you expected, like a wall between you both.

you feel his disappointment radiating through the air, and it hits harder than you’d like to admit. “you know,” he continues, his voice laced with bitterness, “back when we were close, you never would’ve forgotten something like that. but i guess things are different now.”

you wince, knowing he’s right. you’ve been so caught up in college, in the chaos of sorority life, parties, and the constant buzz of new experiences, that you’ve lost touch with everything that once mattered. and now, forgetting his sister’s birthday feels like the final nail in the coffin.

the silence hangs heavily between you, suffocating and full of unspoken truths. you can’t even find an apology that would suit the sin.

he reaches over to the backseat, tossing his jacket over your cold body, his fingers brushing against your skin as he does. “you look stupid like this,” he mutters, his voice laced with something deeper than frustration.

“it’s fucking weird,” luigi continues. “i used to watch you, how effortlessly you picked things up, how eager and excited you were for everything.” he sighs, his gaze flickering to you for a moment, like he’s trying to see the version of you he once knew. “but now… now it’s like you’re someone else. all that potential, all that drive—it’s like you’ve buried it under all this nonsense. i don’t even recognize you anymore.”

“oh, come on, luigi,” you say, defensive. it felt weird to have him like this—so cruel, so suddenly. “i make one mistake and now you don’t recognize me?”

he tuts, then rolls his eyes. “don’t act fucking dense.”

“i’m sorry, okay?” you say, half-defeated. “you’re not exactly giving me a chance to explain.”

“an explanation isn’t good enough.”

“just because i forgot one day doesnt mean im not here,” you argue. “you’re the one left the fucking country!”

luigi almost laughs at the dead argument. “and you stayed and still couldn’t show up when it mattered. how’s that any better?”

“i didn’t forget on purpose!” you can feel your temperature rising. “i’ve just been swamped with everything, alright? it’s not like i don’t care.”

luigi’s hands grip the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. “so that’s your excuse?” he says, his voice sharp. “too busy to remember my sister’s birthday, but not too busy for that stupid fucking boyfriend of yours?” he laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “god, you even joined that sorority for him, didn’t you?”

your face goes white and he takes it as confirmation. “fucking knew it. that’s exactly what it is, isn’t it? you’re too busy trying to be a penn girl, pretending like you fit in, just because he’s part of it. you’re so caught up in his world that you can’t even bother to remember the people who actually care about you.”

you’re cold underneath his judgement, almost speechless. almost. “this is why i didn’t want you finding out about him,” you truth.

“i was in a frat, y/n. i’ve seen girls like you before. weekends spent doing dumb shit like car washes for the sorority, all glittered up for spirit week like it’s some huge fucking accomplishment.” his anger cuts into you like a blade. “you're too fucking good for that.”

your heart is pounding now, and you feel your face flush with anger, embarrassment, and something else—deep, gnawing ache in your chest. your fingers tighten around the door handle. you can’t stand sitting here, suffocating under his judgment. without thinking, you yank the door open, trying to escape the weight of his accusations.

but before you can move, luigi’s hand shoots out, slamming the door shut. “what the fuck are you doing?”

“i don’t want to talk about this anymore.” you say, trying to push down the panic rising in your chest. you don’t want to be here anymore. not in this car. not with him looking at you like you’re some stranger.

“you’re not getting out of this car, y/n.”

you don’t respond. instead, you unbuckle your seatbelt and shove the door open, stepping out of the car before he can stop you. it’s like your whole body is running on autopilot—everything inside you screaming to get away from the mess he’s created, from the mess inside you.

“y/n!” luigi’s voice cracks, rising in a panic as he stops the car and jumps out after you.

you are not turning around and getting into that car and letting him humiliate you. your hands shake as you pull out your phone, desperate for some relief, something to help you make sense of all this. the contact name lights up on your screen, and you hit call, needing your boyfriend now more than ever.

before you can even hear the first ring, a hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and yanking your phone from your grasp. you whip your head around, heart pounding in your chest, only to find luigi, his jaw clenched tight and eyes burning with fury.

“what the hell are you doing?” you demand, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and frustration. “give it back!”

but he doesn’t budge, holding your phone just out of reach. his voice is a low growl. “you’re fucking unbelievable. you’re seriously calling your boyfriend right now?” he’s glaring at you, his face hard with a mix of disbelief and something deeper you can’t quite place.

“you made your point, mangione!” you say. “clearly you already hate me, so i don’t see the point in sticking around for the ride. thanks for the reminder! see you around!”

“y/n, stop, i don’t hate you—“

“y/n? hello?” your boyfriend’s voice crackles through the phone, confused, a little worried.

luigi straightens, his hand tightening around the phone as he holds it to his mouth. “she’s busy.” he tosses the phone back into his car, cutting off the call with a finality that makes your heart race in frustration.

he opens his mouth for another lecture but your hard heart won’t let him in anymore. you’re beyond annoyed. he can keep the fucking phone, for all you care, you really just needed a second. you try to turn away, but he’s too fast. he grabs your wrist, pulling you back, and you’re caught off guard by the force in his touch. the heat between you is unbearable now, and the intensity of it makes your mind race.

“let go of me!”

“no,” luigi snaps, his voice harsh but laced with something you can’t quite place. “you don’t walk away from me.”

“i can do whatever i want!”

“you’re sure about that?”

without warning, he pulls you toward him, and before you can fully process what’s happening, his lips are on yours. it’s rough, unexpected, and it throws you off balance. your breath catches in your throat, and for a split second, you don’t know what to do.

your mind spins. this is worse than wrong. you shouldn’t be kissing him.

his grip on you is unyielding like the force of gravity, and you’re suffocating underneath the pressure, your confusion mixing with a strange, undeniable pull that makes your thoughts scatter. you pull away quickly, breathless and disoriented.

“luigi, no—stop,” you say, trying to regain your bearings, but your heart is still racing, your body still tingling from the kiss.

he doesn’t. he won’t.

his mouth is on yours again, aggressive and intent and so fucking mean. your balance is completely lost, your feet no longer sure of the ground beneath you. luigi doesn’t let up, his body pressing you into the side of his car and it’s like everything you knew about him is shifting, unraveling before your eyes.

when he pulls back, your chest heaves as if you’ve been starved for air. you try to summon another surge of pride, but luigi moves faster than your thoughts can catch. “lift up your legs,” he grumbles against your lips. you do. he carries you on him as he yanks open the door to the back seat, his hot breath hovering over your neck.

“you’re so fucking stupid,” luigi mutters into another sloppy kiss. “need me to teach you how to behave, yeah?”

desire and desperation muddle your better judgement. everytime you come up for air, you try to return to reason. “we shouldn’t—”

“let me,” he says. “i’m gonna take care of you.”

you shake your head as his warm hands grope and clutch at your cold nude. he was right—it was a stupid fucking outfit.

“relax,” luigi says, climbing over you, biting and sucking at your neck. you feel him between your legs, hardening. “you need me to teach you how to show you the ropes, don’t you? you need me, right, baby?”

“i have a boyfriend,” you whimper.

“doesn’t matter.” he says. “you belong to me.”

you’re in the corner of his car and there was no escape. luigi was all over you, grabbing, pulling, biting. “come on,” he beckons, coming in for another kiss. “make yourself useful, baby, i came all this way.” his fingers moving your bikini to the side and sliding his slender fingers into your aching clit. you quiver as he breaches your entrance.

“how often do you fuck him?” he asks, his two fingers digging into your core, storming your senses. the abruptness of the question made your nerves spike. there’s a certain amusement in his gaze, as if your misfortune is his greatest entertainment. “where? hm? hallways? dorms? in the shower, after his games, d’you spread your legs open to make him feel better about being a goddamn loser?” he’s intent on leaving your skin covered with evidence of him. he paints across your neck with his hot wet tongue, sucking and biting at your sensitive skin. you whimper at the sensation. “you’d make a perfect fuckin’ trophy wife.”

“i didn’t—“ you truth, shaky and red. “we never…”

“god,” he moans. “good fuckin’ girl, saving yourself for me.”

your mind is hazy, though not completely lost. “you’re jealous? of him?”

“why would i be?” luigi asks, smug. he knows he has every damn right he every right to be—he feels your slick drooling out of you, your body quivering underneath him. “i’m the only one who gets to have you like this.”

he reaches for his belt. you need this as much as he does. he can see the way your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his shifty friction, and it sends heat rushing down his abdomen. no reason to be patient about this.

“someone’s gonna see,” you whine.

luigi laughs against your mouth. “go on then, show them what a perfect fuckin’ penn girl you are.”

you barely hear him. your lower lip is between your teeth as you work to free his cock from his boxers, and he hisses in pleasure as you pump him gently, smearing his precum down his shaft. he reaches between your legs to hook his finger around your panties, pulling the gusset to the side.

your cunt glistens. you’re soaked.

“you’re unbelievable,” he grunts. “acting out because you couldn’t get any good dick?”

“you’re so mean to me.”

“just missed you, is all,” he murmurs.

you’d never expected him to be so big. you brace yourself on his shoulder with your free hand, sinking down on him gradually. you’re so wet that it only takes a moment to adjust to his size before you’re rocking against him again, and he pulls you back in for another hungry kiss, guiding your hips with his hands. a grin etches at the edge of his lips when he feels your cunt tightening around him when he brings his fingertips to your clit. “what, already, babe?” luigi teases, pretending his own release isn’t just moments away. “c’mon, that’s gotta be a new record.” you try to laugh, but he pushes the pressure on your clit, and you arch your back as the coil in your belly tightens.

“you’re so big, luigi,” you choke out.

“i know, pretty girl, i know,” he tries to assure, though he’s too lost in his storm of pleasure to have the decency to slow down.

tears well up in your eyes as he buries his cock deeper into you. hot flashes of pain and pleasure overwhelm you; it’s a devastating spell of torment and sanctuary. “luigi,” you whine. “too much, i can’t—“

“you’re so fuckin’ tight.” luigi says. “fuckin’ perfect, you know that?”

“i can’t, lu,” you whine. “you’re too big—”

“be a good girl,” he says. his cock bullies into your sensitivity. you swear you hear yourself snap in half. “let me fill you up, princess, let me make you mine.”

you’re a mess underneath him, whimpering and crying at the unfamiliar pleasure. something in the background begins to hum over and over and over until luigi glances over his shoulder. “your boyfriend’s calling,” he says. “you should answer, show him what a perfect slut you’re being for me.”

you run your head back and forth. “no? you don’t wanna do that for me?” he questions, eyebrow raising. he raises your body—closer,deeper—just to slap his hand against your ass. you jolt at the pain, shivering. “thought you were being good.”

“luigi,” you cry. “it hurts.”

“fuck,” he moans. he can’t help but slap your ass again. “you gotta make it up to me, y/n. you gotta let me come inside you.”

“lu, wait—“ you begin weakly, tangling your fingers in his hair. he cuts you off by sucking harshly at the delicate skin of your throat, and instantly you feel the coil snap.

“jus’ like that, baby, all mine,” he growls into your skin. you feel him smile against your neck as he marks it up. “i should visit home more often, yeah?”

“lu, please,” you moan.

“tell me who you belong to.”

“you, luigi. i belong to you.” you cry out as you convulse around luigi’s cock, slumping forward onto his muscular chest with a shiver. the sensation of your walls clamping down on him like a vice makes luigi dig his fingers into your flesh as he pumps his own release into you, swearing raggedly as his hips buck.

aside from the sound of your breathing, the car falls into a complicated silence, the windows clouded, blurring the world outside like some unspoken secret. your heart races as you both sit there, dazed, caught between confusion and something deeper. the empty neighborhood feels almost dreamlike, a quiet refuge for a moment too fragile to face the world. silently, you’re grateful for the solitude, for the way it shields you both.

“relax,” luigi mutters, his voice cutting through the haze. “this whole street was bought up by some real estate asshole. prices went sky-high, and no one took the bait.”

you glance at him, startled by the sudden softness in his tone. “is that true?”

luigi doesn’t answer right away. instead, he reaches over to the passenger seat, grabbing your phone. the motion is deliberate, almost taunting, as if he’s enjoying how unsteady you’ve become.

he tosses the phone onto your lap, the thud startling in the heavy air. “penn daily did a piece on it” he says, his voice low but cutting. “you can look it up after you break up with your boyfriend.”

your eyes widen, and you grab the phone quickly, clutching it as if it could ground you. “god, can you stop bringing him up for two seconds?”

“why?” he retorts, leaning back against his seat with a knowing smirk. “you brought him into this when you started dating the guy who shows you off to frat row and makes you fake-smile your way through glitter car washes.”

“he wasn’t even at the car wash this time,” you mutter, frustration bubbling up.

“too busy setting up karaoke night? are we going to that?”

“no.”

“my sister would probably love it,” he points out playfully. “and i know you didn’t get her a present.”

you roll your eyes, trying to avoid the guilt that wells up. “don’t remind me.”

“don’t be a brat,” he retorts, his voice firm but not unkind.

“I’m not being a brat,” you snap back, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in your tone.

“yeah, you are,” he says, his voice softening just a little. “but we’ll deal with that later.”

he glances over at you, a hint of a smirk on his face. turning your gaze to the window, avoiding his eyes. god, how were you meant to recover from this? another silence encapthres you and the awful spell of awkwardness washes over you both. until—

“you know i could never hate you, right?”

“hm?”

“you said earlier i made up my mind about you,” he murmurs, his eyes holding yours in a way that makes it impossible to look away. “i have… but not in the way you think.”

your breath catches, his words pulling at something deep inside you. “then how?”

“i’ve always liked you,” he says softly, his voice steady but tinged with something deeper. “hated seeing you go. hated the idea of you at college with some asshole who doesn’t see you the way i do.”

your heart skips, his words unraveling every doubt you’ve ever had. “and how do you see me?” you ask, barely finding your voice.

he leans closer, his gaze unwavering. “as everything.”

[girllblogging777]

daily reminder that there’s a reality where your s/o shifts for you, reads fanfics about you and writes to you on character ai

[lifeofcynch]

legendary post, op! i’m so tired of people acting like fiction is as harmful as real life actions. also i wonder if msexcelfractal is kissing Disney’s boots for pretending their racist movie Song Of The South never existed instead of owning up to and being open about their not so wholesome past?

Your personal triggers and squicks do not get to determine what kind of art other people make.

People make shit. It's what we do. We make shit to explore, to inspire, to explain, to understand, but also to cope, to process, to educate, to warn, to go, "hey, wouldn't that be fucked up? Wild, right?"

Yes, sure, there are things that should be handled with care if they are used at all. But plenty more things are subjective. Some things are just not going to be to your tastes. So go find something that is to your tastes and stop worrying so much about what other people are doing and trying to dictate universal moral precepts about art based on your personal triggers and squicks.

I find possession stories super fucking triggering if I encounter them without warning, especially if they function as a sexual abuse metaphor. I'm not over here campaigning for every horror artist to stop writing possession stories because they make me feel shaky and dissociated. I just check Does The Dog Die before watching certain genres, and I have my husband or roommate preview anything I think might upset me so they can give me more detail. And if I genuinely don't think I can't handle it, I don't watch it. It's that simple.

[zu-is-here]

Selfish request of Dreammare pls ?

Pygmalion

idea by @clownyclowns

Dream & Nightmare by jokublog

+ the perfect finger sketch :'D