#how does this all get resolved? who knows!

[recursive-muse]

Well I suppose to start off, obviously trans misogyny "isn't real" it's not made of matter, it exists in a very loose sense as a general pattern of discriminatory and cruel behavior directed mostly, but not exclusively at trans women. But I suppose you'd want me to ask you how can something that isn't even made of matter have definitive qualities? It can't be set in stone or 'definitive' any more than Christmas or the qualities of a unicorn can be.

So while you can be correct or incorrect about the particular details of an instance of discrimination experienced by a particular person (be they trans or otherwise). There are no concrete rules as to how anyone is discriminated against, just general guidelines that people learn from each other by watching their behavior.

So I suppose it's true that if you insist on narrowly defining trans misogyny as a form of discrimination that is both a) uniquely experienced by trans women, and b) defined by trans women as a collective. Then it's true that no such thing exists as the particulars of how and why discrimination is doled out are decided by the discriminator in the instance of discrimination, and instances of mistaken identity are fairly common (i.e. a trans man or cis woman could be mistaken for a trans woman, or vice versa).

What's more, It's not at all clear how you intend for point b of your definition of trans misogyny to work. Do all trans women need to attend a meeting to agree on the definition, do they put it to a vote or is it by consensus, and if it is how much variance in the understanding of the definition is tolerable? How closely does someone have to identify with womanhood to count as part of this community and how many members need to be present for them to hold quorum?

This is all of course in jest, we both know there is no one definition of trans misogyny that all trans women agree to, there are some generalities but every definition has its detractors and there is no binding consensus. This too is another vague social construct that lacks definitive qualities.

As for your conjecture that I am either 'misusing' or 'misdefining' the word trans misogyny which you somewhat unhelpfully declined to define yourself. I don't see how that's possible when language itself is socially constructed. Now yes, there are prescriptive, academic, and dictionary definitions, all of which can be quite helpful in clarifying what we mean when we use certain words. But as I'm sure you've noticed with slang people can say whatever they like and meen whatever they like by it and as long as they're understood by some subset of the population they've successfully used language. Now I know it's tempting to say that slang isn't 'official', but as you may have guessed the official quality of anything is also socially constructed (see aren't social constructs fun, we're 'surrounded' by them all the time and yet we hardly ever get around to recognizing them as such). As again I'm sure you've noticed definitions can vary from one dictionary to the next and academics themselves can quarrel over the precise details of any given definition, while still agreeing on the broader points. So there are no 'definitive' definitions just ones that are agreed upon by groups of experts, but even then who gets to be an expert, how much schooling do they need, if groups disagree how should they resolve their differences? These questions have plenty of practical answers, but no correct ones.

You also seem to imply that you have some sort of information that I lack which would better clarify your point. Now I very much doubt that, but I suppose you can claim it to be true, I don't care. Then you imply that my points are for some reason 'despicable' I'm guessing you want me to interpret this as some sort of unsubstantiated moral claim, tho I don't understand what you mean by it. Honestly, I see it as an emotional reaction to my position different from your own, or perhaps you simply dislike my phrasing. Either way, my positions are correct and I don't care why you dislike them, they are factual after all.

To round this out I'll clarify two more points for you. I'm gender fluid, and I have a degree in sociology. So there, I hope this hasn't ruined your day or anything. Personally I don't really think that matters, but there it is.

“everyone talking about transmisogyny is a binary trans woman, as evidenced by the fact that I assume everyone talking about transmisogyny is a binary trans woman”

sigh

[yuikomorii]

do we think that yui fell first and it was ayato that fell harder or do we think that it was ayato that fell first and yui that fell harder? 🤔 this has been on my mind for years and i've never came to a definite answer

// OKAY, LET’S GET THIS STARTED—

Yui definitely fell for Ayato first in HDB. From the start, she kept calling him cute and imagining them as friends. After Ayato gave her her first REAL kiss, she began picturing them as lovers, and he kept giving her more of that "cuteness aggression" that only deepened her feelings. Ayato, on the other hand, seemed to start falling for her after waking up from a nightmare, when Yui willingly offered him her blood and confessed that she actually enjoyed it. By the end of HDB, Ayato definitely loves Yui, but it’s clear she fell harder for him, especially given the things she does in the After Story.

Anyway, as for MB, we’re not sure who exactly fell for the other first. All we know, based on his route description, is that they both had feelings for each other even before the Mukamis arrived.

“With the appearance of the Mukami brothers targeting the heroine Yui, the bond between the two who have feelings for each other becomes even more intense. Ayato, who desires her heart, not just as prey, hides his painful feelings behind his rough words and actions.”

I think it was pretty clear that Yui fell for Ayato the fastest, since in the second chapter, after taking the truth, she confessed to him. Ayato also seemed happy when Yui asked for his kisses and bites there, so it’s pretty obvious he had feelings for her too. I also remember a scene from one of the earlier chapters where a classmate gave Yui two cinema tickets, and she wanted Ayato to go with her. Even though Ayato claimed to dislike movies, he was still willing to go with her. It’s clear he liked Yui; if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have done something he wasn’t interested in.

The problem with his MB route lies in how Yui constantly objectified him and pushed him to return her feelings, without ever considering his struggles. I also understand that Ayato’s past gave him trust issues, leading him to the belief that "I won’t make anyone special again because they won’t reciprocate my feelings." His intense bloodlust, likely worsened by the fig curse, pushed him to the edge too. But honestly, it was sooo tiring to watch. It felt like it was the same scenario over and over again, and I can't help but think that everything could have been resolved if they just COMMUNICATED earlier. Yet, I suppose the writer wasn’t feeling inspired when they wrote that route. 🤷🏼‍♀️

As for the After Story, sorry not sorry, but it’s undeniably the best-written one in the entire franchise. The way Ayato went to university for Yui, despite the deep trauma studying caused him, was incredibly moving. He didn’t pressure her to get a job; instead, he wanted to surprise her by building a good future for both of them, which I find really admirable. It’s also heartwarming how Yui continuously praised Ayato and helped him with his studies. In the Vampire Ending, she waited years for him to wake up from the coma, and all those years he kept searching for her in his dreams, therefore in the end, they both fell deeply in love with each other.

On top of that, there’s this official short story, where Ayato mentions not remembering when he started liking Takoyaki but then Yui rizzes him up with this confession:

Translated by Koiiro

In conclusion: They’re both down bad for each other, lol.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To Those Who Wait 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, virginity loss, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are tired of being the safe one so you decide to pay for some excitement.

Characters: escort!Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett

Note: yeah, I couldn’t resist.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Tony loves himself. Take care. 💖

'Morning, sunshine.' 

The sarcasm burns into every letter. You stick your tongue out and type your reply. You lay in the dim of your drawn curtains, still half-nestled in your bed. 

'Morning, sparky.' 

Curtis' response makes you giggle. 'Sparky?' 

No emojis. He's not the type. You laze despite the minutes ticking by. Your thumbs flick over the digital keys. 

'Give it but can't take it.' 

The next bubble has you breathless; 'oh I'm more than willing to give'. Oh, okay. You don't know how to answer that. You send a wink emoticon then prompty groan at your own cluelessness. 

You lock the screen and sit up. Is this what life is? Torturous obligation and cringey efforts to be normal. You want to send a message telling Curtis it's okay if he just gives up. You're a mess.  

You drag yourself out of your room. As you try to empty the reusable filter for the coffee grounds, you spill it everwhere. You need to start emptying it after use. Another missed checkbox. 

Your phone buzzes again. Great. You're sure it's just him calling you lame. You snatch the cell and go to swipe away the message but it isn't Curtis. 

WhatsApp. 

Hm. Maybe another recruiter cold messaging? 

You tap with your thumb, resolved to finally delete the app and wipe the slate clean. You just need to forget that mistake. If you can. 

The message waiting for you doesn’t bode well. 

‘Feeling thirsty yet?’ 

You stare at it. You can’t be sure it’s Hugh. The number isn’t the same, you would recognise the last few digits at least. The coffee machine spits out the last few droplets. You turn to grab your cup, the phone buzzing in your hand. 

You read with dread, ‘ah come on, just one more go.’ 

It has to be him. Who else could it be? What else could they be referring to? 

A video pops up and plays automatically. You click it to make it bigger as you try to make out what’s going on. Your heart drops and your phone nearly does too. You stare at the recording of yourself on the bed, undressing as you huddle near the top of the hotel bed. 

A cold splash sends a chill through you. You remember him turning on the speaker. He must have connected his phone but then you didn’t see what he did with it after that. You didn’t think to pay attention to that, you were too swept up in your own catastrophe. 

‘Let’s talk.’ 

Those two words spike your panic. What did you do? You’re so stupid and yet how are you surprised? Nothing ever goes right. How dare you even try to believe things could get better? That maybe Curtis could be something more than a disappointment. 

Loser. Loser. Loser! 

You want to bang your head on the counter. You want to scream. You want to crumple into a heap in cry. 

You don’t do anything of that. You simply key into the screen; ‘why?’ 

He sends a laughing emoji. Then a real message. ‘That’s what we’re going to talk about.’ 

Your eyes glaze with tears and you shake your head. He’s taunting you. Toying with you. This is all just an ego stroke for some narcissist that gets off on himself. Why else would he do what he does? Well, who are you to judge? You paid for his services. 

‘That cafe near your office. 12:30.’ 

You toss the phone on the counter like it’s acid. What the hell? How does he know where you work? How does he know there’s a cafe there? No, no, no. How does he know anything about you? Why does he care? 

You pace around hectically. You can’t stay still. You scratch your skin as if you might peel it off. An unbearable itch burns through you. You make a noise somewhere between a sob and a wretch. 

You reel in your doom, just enough to retrieve the cell from the floor. You shakily send a thumbs up. That’s all you can manage. Not a good job, just a confirmation. You’ll be there because you have no other choice. 

⛅

Your morning is frantic. You have a thousand things to do at once. The phone calls are endless and Shania double-booked another reservation. Don’t you always get the happy job of informing the guests they have to rebook. Fun, fun, fun. 

The demanding customers are the least of your problems. Work at the Travel Agency can be downright agony but right now you prefer it to the alternative. It’s the rare instance where you curse the clock for going too fast. 

Usually, a trip down to the cafe is your relief. An indulgence on an especially stressful day. That day is more nerve-wracking than any but you don’t think a dose of caffeine would make it any better. You’re already rattling through to your bones. 

You reluctantly leave your desk. Your phone is firmly in your purse, where it’s been all day. You don’t want to look at it, even if it’s Curtis making it buzz. You just want to shut down. 

You take the stairs. You don’t want to be around other people though you realise the cafe will be busy with the lunchtime rush. You wonder if that’s deliberate. You get to the ground floor and make your way outside. 

You stop before the cafe. You peer along the tinted windows and your eyes stop on the singular familiar figure. There he is. Hugh. Somehow, he looks different than that night. How, you can’t say. He’s wearing a similar swear, a light robin’s egg blue, luxurious even. The sweater can’t be cheap given the small logo embroidered on one side of the chest. 

You enter and skip the line. You go straight to the table and stop behind the chair opposite...him. You cross your arms and glare at him. Hugh casually lifts his chin and smiles up at you. Your forehead wrinkles in disgust. 

“You look wound tight,” he sits up completely, the last consonant sharp. “Need help with that?” 

Your nostrils flare and you drag out the chair. You drop into the seat and push your elbows into the table. You lean across it and snarl, “what do you want?” 

He snorts, “I like that about. Always straight to the point... even when you have no idea what you’re doing.” 

Your cheeks tingle with heat and you look away. You push your shoulders back and shift in discomfort. Even as the bruises fade, if you think hard enough, you can feel that night still. 

“That boyfriend know about me yet?” He sips from the tall porcelain cup in front of him. You shake your head and put your eyes to the table. 

“Aw, well, I can’t blame you,” he clinks the cup down. “He wouldn’t be able to handle the competition. Would he?” 

“I have to get back to work so whatever you want, just say it.” 

He chortles again and hums, “I said I wanna talk. We’re talking. Isn’t it nice?” 

“I don’t have money if that’s what you’re getting at--” 

“Money? Hm, that’s real funny. Oh, you think... you think I’m desperate? I wanted some Balenciaga.” He flicks a finger up and down the mug handle. “Thanks for that, by the way.” 

You huff and shake your head, “and it’s better that you get off on embarrassing me? Well, I hope you’re enjoying it because you’ve done a great job.” 

You peek up at him and his grin slants. He leans an elbow on the table as he sits forward. His eyes crinkle as he considers you. 

“It’s not about money, not even about a joke,” he says. “It’s the way you squeezed me. The way you whined for me,” his voice lowers to a sultry rasp. “The way you drained me fucking dry. You know how many princesses I’ve had on my dick and they just lay there and--” He makes a motion with his hand, “dead fish.” 

You frown, “you’re gross.” 

“I’m secure in myself,” he argues. “Real rich of you to act like you didn’t like it when you came all over my fucking fingers. Didn’t even take much.” 

You rub your neck and stare out the window. Your stomach is boiling. You just want him to get his kicks and go. 

“It’s how I know you didn’t lie. About being a virgin, or whatever,” he says. “You know, you could’ve sold that yourself but I guess you were having some trouble finding a buyer--” 

“My lunch is almost over,” you grit out. “Get to it, Hugh.” 

He laughs louder than before. He scoops up his cup and drains it. “You’re so funny. Really. You make me laugh.” You glower and his smirks widens. “Alright, alright. Pretty simple, you probably already know what I want. Just one more time. I just need to feel it again. That grip--” He makes a fist and you scoff. 

“I told you I’m not interested--” 

“No? Not interested at all in your porn debut,” he taps his phone and you reach across to swat his hand back. 

“Why did you do that?” You hiss. 

“Woah, I gotta be safe. I record in case something goes wrong,” he pushes your hand away. “Lucky me, it went so fucking right. You know how many times I’ve watched it?” 

You groan and rest your head in your hands. You’re fucked. Utterly and totally. Likely literally. 

“Tonight,” he says. “Tell the goth boy you’re doing overtime.” 

You sit back and stare at him. Your chest pits and your eyes glimmer. It shouldn’t hurt so much but it does. You don’t want to lose Curtis, not yet. 

This is exactly why you didn’t want to get attached. 

☕

You don't text Curtis. You can't bring yourself to do it. You just leave him hanging. He'll probably assume your busy. You're sure he has something better to do. 

Just like most things in your life, it's over before it begins. Why did you let yourself believe it could be anything? After tonight, it definitely won't be. 

That time is different. You don't primp yourself or preen over whether you look good. Instead, you toss all those things you bought to do yourself up the first time in the trash. Everything but the condoms. 

You pace restlessly around your apartment. That's another violation. You offered another hotel. 'Your place.' The argument was short. Fuck. 

He can't come here. He can't do this. You can't do this. Not again. 

Your legs wobble and you teeter to the couch. You sit down and fold over your knees. You can feel the dull pain already. Back in that room, bawling as he pumps into you, scraping out your guts. 

You're going to be sick! 

You lurch up and run to the bathroom. You spew into the toilet and pant through the acidic saliva left in your mouth. You shut the lid and flush. 

You should leave the residue in your mouth. It might repulse Hugh enough to get rid of him. Yet if you don't rinse out the acidic flavour, you'll just hurl again. 

You brush your teeth slowly then look at yourself in the mirror. You look scared. You are but you look utterly terrified. Why is this happening to you? 

You're not stupid enough to think you're special. No, you're weak. He's a shark and he smelled blood in the water. He set you up for this. You were too nervous, too desperate, and too stupid to see through his ploy. 

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it, even as it thrums against the table noisily. If it's Curtis, you might just cry. 

The door buzzer chirps. Right. You push away from the sink and shudder.  

Your feet hit the floor clumsily and you walk as if you're wadding through thick mud. You hit the button as your stomach churns again. His voice adds to the broil of sickness. 

"Baby, I'm here." 

You press the button down without as response. You stagger away and linger by the door. You hear him coming down the hall. You open the door at the first knock. 

"Someone's eager," he snickers. 

You don't say a word. You step back. He enters and whistles. 

"Not bad. Cozy," he says. "Bouta get real cozy, huh?" 

You shut the door and lock it. He turns and examines the walls. You stare at him. 

"Jeez, baby, you got a knife or something? Looking like you're about to crack up over there," he taunts. 

That might have been a good idea if you weren't nervous of stabbing yourself in an attempt. Besides, he's a lot stronger. You remember how thick his muscle was, how easily he ignored your pleas. 

"Hospitable too," he sniffs and slips off his velvet loafers. "Whatcha got going on?" He struts further into the apartment. "Wine? Beer?" 

He goes to fridge and pops it open. You loom like a shadow against the wall as you tiptoe after him. He sucks his teeth as he examines the contents on the racks. 

"Ugh, boring," he remarks.  

"Don't drink," you croak. 

"You didn't seem to mind the wine," he shuts the fridge without his bounty. "Fuck, well, it'll be good. You'll like it better sober. Although I do prefer a sloppy fuck." 

You grimace. He makes no pretense as he continues his exploration. He strides past the living room and head through your bedroom door. 

"No cute jammies tonight, huh?" He calls through. 

You waft into the doorway like a ghost. That's what you are. You are hollowed out. You resign yourself, surrender yourself to ruin. It's all over. 

Goodbye, Curtis. 

"Looks like you don't got much in mind but don't worry, baby, I planned ahead," he faces you with a wink. "Wanna try something new?" 

No. You don’t want to do any of this. You glower. 

“Shit, baby, you keep looking at me like that and I’m going to have to wipe that look off your face... along with something else,” he grabs his crotch and growls. “Hard already, you know? Just thinking about what I’m about to do.” 

Your lip curls as disgust crawls up your back. “Just get it over with,” you murmur. 

“Trying,” his eyes flash dangerously. The retort makes you think of Curtis but he never spoke to you so harshly. 

You step out of the doorway before you can fall apart. Your breath clouds in your chest until it feels like someone’s standing on you. You let it out slowly as plays with the black cat figuring on your bookshelf. He scoffs, unimpressed. 

“So,” he faces you and tugs at the hem of his sweater, inching it up, “why are your clothes still on?” 

You glance away angrily. “Your phone goes in the drawer,” you point to the night stand. 

“Pfft, come on. I already got the good shots. What’s another dirty movie, baby? I gotta say, you look good on film--” 

“Put it in the drawer,” you insist.  

“Damn, don’t gotta be so mean, baby.” He snickers and wiggles his phone at you then puts it in the night stand. 

“I’m not your joke, so stop laughing at me.” 

“Lighten up. I’m not laughing at you, baby. I just...” He pauses as he pulls his sweater over his head. He wears a thin white tank underneath, his reddish chest hair peeking out the top. “How many women do you think hold my attention once I’ve been in ‘em? Let’s just say, we both had our first that night.” 

“Don’t try to flatter me,” you snip. 

“Girl,” he squares his shoulder and the humour flickers from his expression, “get your clothes off.” 

Your mouth twitches. You take a breath and turn away. You look down at the wrinkled blouse you wore to work. You’re sure he’s full of hot air, he’s just mocking you, especially since he’s wearing Calvin Klein and you’re in Walmart clearance. 

You unbutton it as you hear his clothing rustle softly. A shiver speckles across your back as you throw it in your hamper. Your pants go just as easily as you push down the elastic waistband. Another wave of nausea threatens but you keep it down. 

You unhook your bra as your bed squeaks. You keep your eyes down and step out of your panties. You pause as you dangle them over the basket. You blink away the heat in your eyes. Why did you run away from Curtis all those times? Why does it have to be Hugh? 

You spin and march over to him. He sits on the end of the bed, naked, knees wide. You reach for him, intent to be done with him, but he catches your hands and holds them away from him. 

“Uh uh, you really think it’s going to be that easy,” he sneers. “Oh, baby, I didn’t get any of that mouth.” 

Your lip quivers and your nose scrunches, “what?” 

“Don’t worry, it’s fun, baby. I can train you up for the sad boy,” he chuckles. 

“Shut up,” you twist away from him. “Don’t talk about him.” 

“Aw, what’sa matter? He don’t make you wet like I do, huh?” 

You stomp away and snatch the box of condoms from behind your dresser. You take one and bring it to him. He snorts. 

“You like the taste of rubber?” 

“Put it on.” 

“You think I’m dirty? You saw my test results.” 

“I don’t care,” you shove it into his chest. 

“Be a lot nicer if you tasted the real thing,” he huffs. 

You cross your arms and wait. He rolls his eyes and peels the wrapper open. He pinches the thick ring then presses the rubber to his tip. 

“Well, get on your knees. You’re the one so anxious to get this done with. Is the boy toy on his way? Scared he’ll catch—woah!”  

He lets go of himself and the condom rolls up just to his tip. He catches your hand before you can make contact with his cheek. “I told you not to talk about him.” 

“I like this zest,” He stands and raises your arms above you, “but you won’t like mine.” 

He spins you and pushes you onto the bed. You fall heavily and bounce, your teeth snapping down on your tongue. You whimper as he slides his fingers around his dick, pushing the rubber to his base. He climbs up on his knees, straddling you as he advances up your body. 

You push on his thighs as he gets higher. Once more, he has your wrists. He clasps them against the mattress, locking them above your head. You flail your legs and he laughs again. His other hand goes to his length and he strokes himself as he presses the lubed condom to your lips. 

“Open up for daddy,” he jeers and pushes until he meets your teeth. “I feel the hint of a nip and I’ll skip the kitty and go straight for the peach. Understand that, baby girl?” 

Your eyes widen as your bottom puckers. Your fear radiates from your gaze and draws another pleased hum from him. You open your mouth and close your eyes, gagging as the rubber smears lube across your tongue. 

He angles as he dips down, touching your reflex as he invades your throat. You choke and spasm under him as he wiggles his hips, testing your limits. You can’t breathe. 

He rears and you heave in before he blocks your airway again. He groans and tilts again. Thrusting in and out as you writhe. Tears crest along the brims of your eyes and your saliva smears around your mouth. Each time, he pushes a little further. 

“Fuck, baby, how is it just as good as the pussy?” He purrs as he clutches your hair, rocking over you as the smell of the condom adds to your revulsion. 

He pumps into you until you’re raw with agony. He lets go of your hands and you push on his hips, begging for him to stop. He doesn’t care. He just keeps going. He quakes and groan, grasping the blankets around your head as he fucks you your head into the bed. 

“Gahhh,” he pulls out of you so quickly you gag. 

You cover your mouth as he bounces over you. He rolls the condom off and keeps stroking himself. You’re surprised as he spurts his cum onto you, the slimy mess string over your knuckles and onto your nose and cheeks. You put your hand out to shield yourself as he grunts and sits back on his heels. 

“The hell?” You gasp. 

“I couldn’t fucking hold it, woulda split the damn thing in half,” he puffs as he cups his balls. “Speaking of splitting things in half--” 

You lift yourself on your elbows, trying to drag yourself out from under him. He snags you around your ribs and pushes you flat. “Where are you going?” 

“You just--” 

“Finished? No, that’s round one,” he snickers. “You don’t think I got a few tricks? I mean, a blue pill keeps me in business.” 

You curl your lip again and he laughs even louder. You glance up at the night table at the box of condoms. He sighs. 

“Fucking tight ass,” he hisses. “Want me to see if that’s literal?” You look at him and bare your teeth. He waves you off and climbs off you to grab the box. “Whatever. At least you had the good sense to get good ones.” 

You slowly sit up and wipe your face. He leans on one knee and slides on another condom. He quivers and exhales through his nose. He grabs your shoulder and nudges you. 

“Wouldn’t mind it from the back,” he says. 

You resist and he snarls, “relax. If I go through the back door, I might not get it out with you being so uptight.” He pinches your nipple cruelly. “Go on, show Ransom that booty.” You tilt your head curiously. Ransom? His eyes dart away, “you gonna listen to daddy or you want some spankings while I’m back there?” 

You move reluctantly. You roll over and he grabs your hips, guiding your ass higher as he jostles behind you. He drags his hands around your ass and down your thighs, then up again. He smacks you harshly so you feel the jiggle. You yelp and he guffaws. 

“Oh, fuck, should flipped you over the first time.” He gropes your ass and rubs himself against you. 

Your insides curdle. You hide in yourself. You try not to think about reality. Not about the desecration of your home, your safe space, of the place you made all your own. Nor the same being done to your body. To your relationship. 

Whatever, it was never going to last. 

He glides down between your cheeks, lingering as if considering it. You twitch and he snorts. He trails further down and presses against your cunt. He groans as he stretches you slowly. It isn’t easier. Not better. Not like they say. 

No, they say the first time is the worst. No, this is. This is torture. This is hell. 

He leans into you, grunting as you squeeze him, as your body resists his intrusion. He bends over you, his torso flush to your back, and thrusts. He impales you complete and you cry out. You push against him as your body racks in agony. 

He pumps again and you squeal louder. Fuck. Your fingers curl until your knuckles hurt. You hang your head and shudder. He rocks into you, playing with your hair as he nuzzles your nape. He puffs into your skin and it sends a roil of disgust through you. 

You sink down until your face is in the blankets. You crush your arms beneath you and drone into the bed. He hooks his arm under you to keep your ass up, rutting faster and faster. Your flesh claps like thunder, a never-ending cacophony. 

He growls and brings a hand under your chin, then his other. You wriggle as he squeezes your face and hooks his fingers in your mouth, pulling taught your lips. You arch your back and whine as he keeps his callous pace. 

You grab onto his arms as the strain in your lips feels as if it might tear. He lifts your head and you deepen the curve in your back, trying to balance him at both ends. His nose tickles the back of your ear. 

“Yeah, baby, squeeze me just like that. Ugh, that pussy knows what it wants better than you do,” he taunts. “Ugh, you latched on tight.” 

You can’t speak, you can’t shake your head, you can’t deny him in any way. 

“You feel so good,” he snarls. “The way you go me... fuck I feel it in my gut... I’m gonna...”  

He slides his hands from your mouth and wraps his arms around you instead; one at your neck, the other around your middle. He pulls you up with him and pounds relentlessly. The bed rocks furiously beneath you as your addled voice gurgles from your throat. The headboard knocks into the wall in a frenetic tempo. 

“Yeah, so good,” he rasps between deep breaths. “So good. Never... think I’d let you go, huh?” 

You hang from his embrace. Defeated. You did this to yourself. So take it. 

[holycatsandrabbits]

How to Write Romantic Pining

When writing romance, pining is everything. Readers want to see how desperately a character wants the romance, and how fervently they believe it’s never going to happen. That way, when it does happen, the rush of happy emotions takes the reader right along with it.

Writing pining is all about playing with your character’s emotions, which romance writers probably enjoy far too much. Let’s start with the happy part:

Your character is in love.

And probably lust as well. In any case, they believe their crush is the most wonderful, beautiful, amazing person in the entire world. Your character imagines what it would be like to spend a day with their crush, a dance, a night, a lifetime. Your character wants to be their crush’s special someone, the person they come to when they need help, whose comforting embrace they seek. The person who’s allowed to touch and kiss and openly love them. 

Now it may be the case that your character is already some of these things to their crush: a best friend, a confidant who knows what makes them laugh, a person who’s seen what their smile looks like under every kind of light. It might even be the case that your character and their crush are already lovers. But it’s just not enough for your character: they are in love, and they want it all: to be able to tell their crush how much they love them, to have a relationship that lasts the rest of their lives.

So now here comes the heartbreak:

Your character thinks it’s unrequited.

Your character must believe there is no path to a happy ending. Maybe their crush has a romantic partner already, or has rejected romantic overtures from your character before. Maybe the crush doesn’t seem to be into people of your character’s gender identity. Maybe the crush has sworn off romance or just seems completely satisfied being friends. Or your character believes they’re not pretty/smart/cool enough for their crush to ever think of them romantically.

This part is entirely emotional. It doesn’t matter what the outside circumstances of the relationship are. What’s important is your character believes that their crush is not in love with them now, and will never be.

But let’s talk about those outside circumstances a little:

Also, it’s impossible.

It’s a great idea to put additional barriers between your character and their crush, so the reader (who knows it’s requited), still thinks it really is unworkable. Maybe one of them is betrothed to someone else. Maybe the romance would need to cross a boundary: warring families, a commoner in love with a royal, or one of them’s a werewolf. It doesn’t have to be literally forbidden: maybe one is very outgoing and the other hates parties, or one is quite wealthy and connected and the other poor, or there’s an age difference (between adults). The point is, even if they are in love, your character and their crush will have to work to get past whatever sticking point you wrote for them.

But get past it, they will, of course, because this is romance, and your readers are looking for the payoff. The hopeless pining that abruptly resolves into joy when the characters realize their love is requited. And the more desperate you make your character, the bigger the rush when it finally happens.

Thanks for reading! To spice up your pining, check out How to Write Sexual Tension. And find more on how to set up that big romantic payoff in POV Switching in Romance.

This article was first published on my writing blog

DannyeChase.com ~ AO3 ~ Linktree ~ Weird Wednesday writing prompts blog ~ Resources for Writers

[rockwgooglyeyes]

It's been over a month, but I’m back to talk about reincarnation AU:

We haven’t talked about the setting of this AU, but I’m thinking of just putting the characters in a world like ours so that they can process what has happened to them in their previous lives away from the Segyein and what they put them through.

Previously you brought up the idea of Till running away from Ivan when he finally finds him because he doesn’t want to intrude on Ivan’s new life. I like this idea, especially if Till has come to realize how much of Ivan's previous life revolved around him, so he’s like, “Even though I want closure, I would rather Ivan be happy this time around, even if that means we don’t resolve what happened between us before.” I think that would be an interesting development for him, especially if he started out his quest of trying to find Ivan headstrong and maybe even a bit mad at him. Of course Ivan goes and confronts him, though. He’s been making sure that he’s out of Till’s way this time around, so there's no way Till being here is a coincidence.

The dynamic gets turned on its head like you said before, with Till trying to leave Ivan alone because he thinks Ivan is trying to move on completely from his past life and Ivan trying to get to Till because he thinks Till wants closure for what happened between them (although his idea of closure isn’t Till trying again with him but instead Till cutting the tie between them properly instead of the avoiding Ivan’s been doing).

After they reconcile and Till makes it clear that he’s missed Ivan and has always cared about him, Ivan starts trying to go back to his old ways or, more accurately, tries to be more like the person he was before.

He doesn’t like his old self. He doesn’t really like himself now either, but he definitely doesn’t like his old self. But still he tries to go back because he feels guilty about not being the person Till’s been looking for all this time. He very much still is the same person and knows that in a self-hating kind of way, but also he thinks he’s changed too much from who Till remembered him being, and he doesn’t want to disappoint him.

Ivan’s goal up until Till came back into his life (besides avoiding him) has been to live as comfortably as he can, but he’s willing to trade that away to be the person Till needs/wants him to be. Till’s always known him to have short hair, so he’ll cut it! (He likes having his hair long.) Till thinks he should start singing again and even wants to perform together. Great! (He’s fine with singing, but he wouldn’t say he’s passionate about it.) He’ll even go back to that old awful schedule he had so he can try feeling like who was before!

Till will realize this eventually and confront him about it, and they’ll have to finally have that nice long talk about Ivan's willingness to throw his life away for Till (Till probably tried to have this talk with Ivan when they first met again, but Ivan can be very stubborn, so they probably didn’t get far with it).

Geo oh my god Geo I am so sorry it has taken me this long to get to this, life was just very hectic for me the last few weeks and this slipped my mind :(. I definitely agree on the idea of them being reincarnated into a more "modern" world, or a world that's akin to ours, simply for the ease of plotting and distilling their experiences down into something more translatable to the story we're trying to tell :D

The idea of TIll seeking out Ivan and then backing off after realizing that Ivan's life used to only be about Till, more or less, and this time around, Ivan has a life outside of him and Till is thoughtful enough to not want to mess that up, I love that because it shows a kind of depth to his character that doesn't really get touched on that often, I think. Additionally, since you mentioned Ivan being the one to choose to confront Till in the end, it does put the ball back in Ivan's court and gives him the ability to choose whether or not he wants Till back in his life, even though he was originally self-isolating for Till's sake.

Man oh man . . . Ivan giving his life up for Till despite living comfortably and while he wasn't happy before Till arrived per se, he wasn't miserable, and he makes himself miserable by drowning in the past, for the sake of being the person that he thinks Till wants him to be. It's funny I was actually thinking about this kind of concept last night, Ivan giving up all of these things for Till without ever asking Till if he even wants them, Till not realizing at first what's happening but once he does, he's horrified (specifically was inspired by the song Two by Sleeping at Last, "I just want to build you up, build you up, 'til you're good as new, and maybe I'll get around to fixing myself, too.") Till doesn't strike me as the type of person who would even think to try and change himself completely for another person, not necessarily because he's uncompromising (like he might try to grow/change a little bit for someone he loved) but more because I don't think he would view changing himself for someone as something that you would do out of love? Like he never tries to change for Mizi or become more palatable for her, nor does he do that for Ivan. He subtly changes, adapting to them, but that's subconscious rather than Ivan's conscious adjustment.

To be honest I think Till confronting Ivan about him changing himself for Till (to his own detriment) would honestly be a good chance for Till to be like "I sought you out because you were the guy I remembered but I stuck around because you're Ivan and I want you in my life" or something along those lines, especially because Ivan was changing to be like the person from the past, whereas Till isn't really *as* fixated on the past (just, like, as a person) and he's probably more confused as to why Ivan would try to change to be like the version of him from the past at all. But I dunno fully, it's one of those difficult things where I do feel like Till would have to corner Ivan/force him to talk about it because Ivan wouldn't talk about it willingly lmao

I adore the way you touched on Ivan's self loathing and how he would be like "I'm too much the same person (in a bad way) but I'm not enough of the person he remembers so I have to change myself" which is just so utterly Ivan that it fuckin hurts, as well as the parts where you note on the things that Till thinks are innocuous requests but Ivan takes as pledges, promises, things that he needs to "fix" about himself so that he can make Till happy OUGH gets me in deep in there like ouch owie my bones goddamn

[aibafiles]

i have begun to suspect that the question is not "where is zagreus" but rather "when is zagreus"

[lucabyte]

i feel like people are sleeping on the occam's razor situation of how buckwild it is to outright accuse a guy of being a clone of your friend even if you DO have a lot of circumstantial evidence. there's other options is what im saying. they could just be like. a guy. that's a sensible deduction. you should explore that deduction. ignore my shirt that reads I <3 RED HERRINGS.

i still think odile has the correct theory on lock but she's smart enough to know it needs like... a real smoking gun to be able to bring it up without sounding insane.

anyway. (mirabelle voice) i know its rude to speculate but has anyone else noticed the grieving? they seem to be grieving. does anyone have any thoughts on the grieving? i have some thoughts on the grieving.

[inkskinned]

oh you know it's all latestage capitalism but the thing is. how are you supposed to be a person inside of this. a person trying to be a better version of yourself.

oh, you started working young, which was kind of hard, but it's just the way stuff works sometimes. and it was 2008 and your family couldn't afford heat. but it's fine, you grow a spine and get used to the professional world and besides it was the suburbs we're talking about here, like, your life could have been actually hard, so what if your father lost his job and you can't afford to move or turn the lights back on. and once you start making money, it's good. you keep doing that. because now they're relying on you. so you have to do that.

oh you were in thousands of dollars of debt at 17 years old so that you could go to school, because you have to go to school if you want to get a "real" job. you even did it "right", you worked parttime and attended community college before you transferred to a public school. you were under so many merit scholarships.

which is fine. you pick yourself up and you say like, okay. i graduated college. i'm holding down a job. i'm doing the Adult Thing, which looks and acts like this, according to all the books i've read. you start with the shitty job and then you climb that corporate ladder.

but the shitty job doesn't cover rent and you stretch yourself too-thin so you get sick. good luck with that. the shitty job no longer pays for your meals. everyone asks why you don't just move, but there's nowhere to move to. and with what money are you going to be moving? and then the loans come back, because they were never going to forgive them, because you were 17 and trying to do the right thing, which was stupid. people are now saying you shouldn't have even gone to school.

which is fine. but because you have no other option, so you do the shitty job, and you apply every day for like 5 new ones, and despite the fact everyone says "there's no one who wants to work!" it's actually just that nobody is fucking hiring so you can either work for 13 dollars an hour in the shitty place you know (where at least you have a passingly friendly relationship with the manager) or you can start from scratch again with a different 13 dollars an hour without knowing how much abuse from the new job you'll be taking.

and if you quit you lose your insurance. if you quit you lose your housing. if you quit, you'll be another burnout kid. the lazy ones. these assholes, look at them!

and you come home to a family dinner and you hear from your father the same old thing. how he worked hard at his job and yes it sucked for a while but he was able to provide for the family and then the house and the dog and the rest of barbie's dream vacation. how the insurance did cover some of it. how you just really need to start speaking up more in manager conversations so they know you're a go-getter. you want to tell him - did you know we're actually doing more now hourly than any previous generation? - but you can't remember where you heard that statistic, and you're far too tired for the fucking argument. and then he starts in on his usual bit. where's the house? where's your kids? where's your ambition.

the same job the same money the same hours doesn't do it anymore. the same nose-to-the-grindstone now just shreds your face off. there's no such thing as upwards mobility, not really. and as far as you're aware, the money certainly is not trickling. you do the soulless stupid shit you signed up for because you fucking have to or else you literally risk your life (food, the apartment, the insurance), but it's not getting you anything. you download the stupid "save more" app and you budget and you do every right thing and then the price of eggs is 7 dollars and you say - oh great! another thing i have to fucking worry about now!

and you go to your stupid job and everyone in your father's generation just tells you to be better about being an adult. they have their homes and their savings account and their bailout and they say. well have you tried not drinking starbucks. well your generation just spends too much on clothing. well you might just be too addicted to travelling. and you - because you need the job - you bite your tongue and don't say i am being held prisoner and you're suggesting i stop pacing my cell if i don't like the scenery and you don't say what the fuck do you think i've been doing with my money and you don't say i haven't spent a cent on something nice in literally forever much less coffee you arrogant asshole. you open and close your bank app and check your loans and check your credit score and check fucking zillow and ziprecruiter and apartments.com just one time more. and still they give you that demeaning little grin and say - see, what you need is -

what you need is for your meds to stop being so fucking expensive. what you need is for the housing bubble to explode into dust. what you need is for billionaires to choke on their wealth. what you need is actual help. what you will get is more economic advice from people who are older-and-wiser.

and above you, almost in a glimmer, you can see the wedged smile of your debt getting toothier, wider.

[quietwingsinthesky]

of ten’s companions, if the doctor couldn’t handle losing them and crossed his own timeline to trick them into traveling with future!him instead of past!him so that he’d have a little more time with them:

rose would do it. first because bless her but she has the situational awareness of a rock, and legitimately would not realize this isn’t her doctor until his facade starts to break down and he starts bleeding grief-laced love for her at every turn. but once she does realize it, she’s both deeply sympathetic and a little scared that she could make him into this. it’s a lot to be confronted with having that much power over someone, to break them so thoroughly. rose would try to get back to her doctor, but while she’s with the future version, she tries to do what she can to ease his pain. (she also tries to figure out a way to subvert her fate. she fails.)

i think martha would be harder to trick. she can smell desperation on the doctor like a bloodhound. she is so tapped into the fact that this man wants to off himself so bad and that she’s 90% of his self-restraint, so present her with a doctor who is lacking that and she’s onto him immediately. however, assuming he gets her to come with him, explains why he’s doing this, there’s like. a minute where she’s kind of. not flattered exactly, but surprised, giddy with the realization that he’d come back for a little more time with her, especially if this is early season 3 martha. which would all come crashing down around the time that he reveals that he wasn’t pushed to this by losing her to some tragedy or her death or anything- but that she chose to leave. that is the point at which martha goes ‘oh i need to get the fuck off of this tardis right now’ and ghosts the past!doctor that she was also traveling with because holy shit, man.

donna, like rose, is easily bamboozled into following the wrong doctor home, provided that he shuffles her along into his tardis too fast for her to argue. but she catches on far quicker than rose does. like, three minutes tops of watching the doctor move through the tardis in a way that’s definitely not enthusiastic piloting and looks more like guilty panic. and then she yells at him for lying to her. and she yells at him for kidnapping her. and then she stops yelling because he’s gone sort of still and quiet and his eyes are just broken. and he doesn’t explain himself, he confesses. donna is going to try to stay with him after this btw. because how do you go back to looking your best friend in the eyes when you know he’d take everything you’ve become away from you, even to save your life? and this is still the doctor, he still did that to her, but he regrets it. regrets it so much that he can’t live with it, he’s breaking time and space just to hear her say his name again. and donna doesn’t want to lose him anymore than he wanted to lose her.

[butwhatifidothis]

Still baffled that Hopes so blatantly wrote Claude as the typical Evil Vaguely Middle Eastern Man set on destroying the Good White Nation for his Evil Vaguely Middle Eastern Nation that is often seen in fantasy settings - complete with him being seen as worse than a white woman who does many of the same evil deeds he does in-verse, even by his friends (should it be the bad ending route of SB) - and so many in the fandom were so eager to gobble that shit up. INSIST that "Clearly A Racist Stereotype" is LEAGUES better than "Subversion Of A Racist Stereotype" even. Like I don't think I'll ever get over how supremely fucked that is

[childrenofthesun77]

Assuming that the whole 'mahiru is the vessel needed to bring back the count and the 9th servamp will be the servamp of vainglory' theory will be correct, it's interesting how both mahiru and touma can be accused of this sin even if the way it applies to them is opposed.

What touma wants is to be acknowledged and to that end he was willing to become the villain who destroyed the world before mahiru and tsurugi managed to change his mind:

Mahiru's way of being vainglorious seems a lot more positive at first because he wants to be a hero who saves others, but it's self-destructive and encourages laziness in others:

But thankfully we see mahiru starting to let go of the need to make other people proud of him and to prioritize making himself proud in his conversation with tsurugi:

and later when mahiru has a meltdown because he fears his uncle might be dead and suggests sacrificing his life to save the world kuro rightfully yells at mahiru for acting hypocritical and not listening to his own advice:

(I want to mention here that I really love how horrified kuro looks as he realizes that mahiru's reckless hero behaviour comes from a very self-destructing place:

because not a lot of manga I know really acknowledge that maybe the way a lot of their protagonists try to be heroic is actually pretty unhealthy and shouldn't be encouraged? Like Sigurd pointed out at the C3 meeting, it's kind of shameful that the children have to save the day)

Which is why I love that mahiru decided to trust kuro to handle tsubaki without him going with him:

He decides to stay back with everyone else, showing that he has learned that he doesn't need to be the one to do everything and can stay back with the others to buy kuro time.

Interestingly we see touma doing something similar. Opposed to his old need to have the whole world acknowledge him he now wishes for everyone to believe he's dead and he's helping to protect the city by creating a huge barrier without making it known that's he the one doing this:

He's helping the protagonists seemingly with no intention of earning acknowledgement for it.

I think in a way it could be cool of servamp to subvert the shouned trope that for the finale battle the only one able to defeat the big bad is the protagonist while everyone else just watches on from the sidelines, not allowed to do anything because this is the protagonist's moment of glory.

What if lily's plan when he put kuro in mahiru's path was that if kuro tried to stop tsubaki at the gate surely his eve would need to be there with him, right? Because of course he needs his eve to fight and then there's also the distance limit. So why not make the vessel you need at that gate for the ritual to work kuro's eve? Then the vessel would be at the place where you need them without you even needing to do something because naturally they would be thinking they are doing the right thing by going with kuro to fight tsubaki together. And surely someone as vainglorious as mahiru would never pass up the opportunity to be the hero who stops tsubaki. It's foolproof!

Unless of course before the ritual the vessel learned to let go of their vainglorious nature, accepted that it's okay to take a step into the background and trust in others. And additionally also found a way to break through the whole forced proximity thing that the servamp and eves had going on.

I don't know, I feel like it would be a neat bow on mahiru's character arc and a unique way to thawrt the antagonists' plans if the creation of the servamp of vainglory failed because the 'it has to be me' guy they wanted to use as the vessel decided against glory and stayed back to let his partner handle things with tsubaki alone because he trusts him. Kuro on the other hand wants to make up for his past regrets and resolve the conflict through communication this time. Learning to trust in himself again by managing to talk tsubaki out of going through with the ritual on his own would be a logical conclusion to kuro's arc.

[tlgtw]

Man that DLC's final boss has got me feeling kinda fucked. I'm kinda depressed about it now that I'm done. Everything else is, was, so good. But I do not like that plot development. I honestly think it is bad. Why did they choose not to foreshadow this in literally any way? Why did Miquella attempt to resurrect Godwyn at all in the first place, then? Practice? Was this really what was originally planned? There's no actual evidence to the contrary so you gotta assume it must've been.

So yeowch...

[slightlytoastedbagel]

when you think about it Vivid Bad Squad was the first time any of them truly had people outside of family and not just classmates or family acquaintances. it's no wonder they got so ride or die for each other despite the rocky start they understand each other in ways no one else has before

[girlivealwaysbean]

i think growing up is just life repeatedly sucker punching you and saying bitch you thought things were gonna better lmao no you're so naive and stupid for having hope in 20 years the world will be flaming bag of garbage and no matter how hard you work you'll get eliminated at some point

[ehlnofay]

I've been having fun dipping into martin's perspective lately... it's helping me flesh out my interpretation of him and he never fails to be suffering tremendously in a way that is excellent to write

[fatelcved]

alrighty, folks, we've got ourselves a starter call for spicy/tension-filled interactions! there's no cap on this one as i'll do them as inspiration hits throughout the week -- i really wanna get away from reserving suggestive writing only on sunday, and i tend to prefer writing build up with these things anyway. please specify a muse unless we have an established dynamic, and please let me know if you prefer to keep it sfw! you're free to use this as an opportunity to test the waters of a ship or to simply torment your muses <3