#in a very human-centred world

[supermarine-silvally]

People rightfully talk about how devastating romantic solavellan is, but I think platonic solavellan can also be extremely devastating.

Like, my main Inquisitor was a Dalish rogue. She had no experience of magic, or the Fade, or anything like that before accidentally stumbling into the whole Corypheus ritual thing. Solas saved her life. He was by her side when she was confused and scared and trying to figure out what the hell had happened to her while all these humans were accusing her of a terrible crime she didn't commit. He helped her learn how to use the mark to seal the rifts; helped her understand what her new abilities were and that they were needed. When the humans began to call her the herald of a divine figure she didn't worship, Solas was the one person she could turn to when it all started to get a bit much (my Inquisitor was very much a Life of Brian-esque "I'm not the Herald of Andraste!" type). The conversation they have in the snow after everyone gathers together to sing "The Dawn Will Come" is such an important moment. Two elves, in the midst of a struggle fundamentally elven but that human beliefs had managed to co-opt.

Solas was her mentor. Her friend. Someone who opened her eyes to the vastness of the world; who complicated things she thought she understood. And she listened to him with an open mind and heart in turn. She was living proof that his unpleasant encounters with the Dalish were not universal. She had accepted her mortality, her lack of magic, because she knew no other way to be, and it probably broke his heart that he knew that HE was the one who had taken it from her. idk I'm just obsessed with all the dialogue that implies that the Inquisitor, through befriending Solas, changed a lot of his opinions about the modern world (modern elves especially), but that it wasn't enough to make him accept the world as it was in the end

idk man. platonic solavellan. really looking forward to seeing how it all plays out in veilguard.

[communistkenobi]

people fawning over the environmentalist themes in tolkien’s work has always made me deeply uneasy but I could never articulate why, and reading orientalism is clarifying a lot of that for me lol

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

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There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it��s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[ceilidho]

landscape with honey

summary: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 4. (read the whole thing on ao3 here) tags: light daddy kink, breeding kink, very nsfw, she/her pronouns for reader

-

He starts showing up at your house at odd hours. 

You’re fixing coffee in the morning, still fuzzy and warm from sleep, only to hear the sounds of hammering outside. Wrapping yourself in just a housecoat, you find John fixing the loose step on your stairs, barely sparing enough time to greet you before returning to the task at hand. When he finishes, he brushes off your attempts to pay him for the job, just loading his tools back in the car and driving off.

You sip your coffee and wonder. Odd.

The next day, you find him raking the leaves in your lawn. Two days later, he shows up at the grocers when you’re picking up produce, and helps you carry all your bags to the car. He also adds a peculiar amount of canned goods to your order and when you fret and try to tell him that you don’t need the pickles and sauerkraut and beans and all of that stuff, he just lays a hand flat on your head and drags it down your hair until you go quiet. 

He pays for the whole order.

You’ve never had to wonder about a man’s actions. Men are largely inscrutable to you, ever-shifting. They say one thing and mean another. They look at you like one might look at an oil painting, entitled something like Virgin Meeting Her Lover’s Eyes From The Top Of The Staircase or Landscape With Virgin. They speak to you as though an answer were entirely antithetical to their purpose in conversing with you. 

John listens to you with a focus that borders on intimidating, like he wants to hear each word enunciated exactly how you might enunciate it. It has the sharp clarity of respect, of a mutual acknowledgement of humanity. He also comes over to fix your sink without you having to ask. The world of men is still largely confusing to you. 

John grows surlier as the days grow shorter though. He doesn’t snap or snarl at you the way he does sometimes with his recruits (you rarely see him interact with them, but sometimes you’ll drop him off his lunch on the days when you’re feeling particularly generous and that’s when you’ll have the rare pleasure of hearing him shout at a trembling twenty-three year old for littering on the trail like a military captain), but it’s a near thing. 

The worst is when he catches you on a jog one morning on his drive to work. You see his truck with the faded red paint pass you by and you give a short wave that he returns. He passes you by about half a yard before coming to a full stop and reversing. You stare at him as the window rolls down, brows furrowed.

“Hi Jo—” you start.

“Get in the car,” John growls. You hear the doors unlock. 

“…My uh…my shift’s in two hours, John, I can’t just—”

“Get in the car.”

“This is my only time to exercise!”

“If I have to get out of this car and drag you inside, honey, I will. Don’t play with me. Get in.”

You get in the car. Probably wisely. Still dripping sweat and shivering from the cold—you’re not used to jogging in the winter, or at all for that matter, but it seemed like as good a time as any to start—you glance over to stare at the side of John’s face. His jaw is set, almost as if in anger. His knuckles are white over the steering wheel as he makes a U-turn and drives back into town. The cab of his truck smells like flannel pulled out from the back of a closet, almost musty, but comforting in the way that old clothes can sometimes smell. There’s a cigarette ashed out in the dish in front of the centre console. 

He takes you to the nearest bakery for coffee and a breakfast muffin and stares you down until you eat the whole thing. You feel like you have to scarf it down. Customers bustle into the bakery to order coffee to-go and fresh cookies and scones in waxy paper bags; everyone in town knows each other so you try to avoid the more curious stares when they’re turned on you.

“This is weird,” you say, staring down at the crumbs on your plate. “This is really weird.”

“This is what you get for exercising before winter,” John says, flagging down the barista for another muffin and a refill on your coffee. “Waste of calories.” The last part is said derisively, almost with a scoff. 

You frown. “Lots of people exercise. Even when it snows.”

“Winter is a time for hibernating. Not���sweat,” he says with a grimace, like the very thought is anathema to him. 

"Hibernating?" you repeat skeptically, scrunching up your nose. "I mean, I spend a lot of time indoors, but I wouldn't say I'm hibernating."

John stares at you until you look away, flushed. "Finish your breakfast."

The barista returns with another blueberry muffin and a fresh cup of coffee. At least John's the one paying. When he finally seems satisfied, he hustles you home and leaves you off at the door with a stern warning. 

“You gonna be good for me this time?” he asks, a finger curled under your chin, tilting your head up. One of his hands curls around the doorframe and your heart jumps when you hear the wood creak under his grip. This close, you can see the faintest silver streaks at his temples and the flecks of it in his beard.

“It was just a light jog,” you mumble, looking away. 

“Not a light anything,” he warns, ducking closer until you feel like shrinking back, like disappearing into your house. “Bake a cake if you have to burn off energy so bad. I’ll be over around seven, alright?” 

You mumble something, the words getting lost in themselves. It’s impossible to think with John in your space like this. It’s only when he finally pulls away and ambles back to his truck that you rock back on your heels, let go of whatever spell he had you under. 

The first week of December hits town like a truck. 

You’re trudging home alone after your shift when you make the decision to cut through the forest because you missed the last bus and you don’t want to spend an hour walking home. The first snow of the season has caught you off guard, clad in boots too autumnal and a sweater too thin for the biting cold. The flakes fall in thick chunks that stick for a brief moment before melting into the skin.

It’s not the first time you’ve travelled through the forest alone. The town is surrounded by pockets of the forest, like it can’t help enveloping whatever space is left for it. Oftentimes it’s easier just to cut through the woods rather than travel the long way around. You wouldn’t even call this the forest proper, not like the acres of trees sprouting over the mountains just off in the distance. 

A bush rustles. Your eyes flick over for a second, breath hovering in your chest before you decide that it’s just a squirrel. Nothing ever happens in a town like this. The man from the other day notwithstanding, nothing truly bad ever happens. You keep walking down the partially demarcated path, lit only by the full moon overhead. It’s so dark that the snow around you is almost blue. 

The bush rustles again. You stop this time, feet staying planted in the snow long enough for your feet to grow cold. You stare at the dark shoots covered in a layer of snow; it stripes the branches like candy from a time ago, licorice twisted with white bark, and it doesn’t move when you look at it. The bushes and trees are dense, impossible to peer through. Even walking through the forest doesn’t make you feel immersed in it. You follow a barely marked path, hard to see through the recent snowfall, and stare out into the dark woods with a kind of animal sense. Not sure whether you’re alone, whether something’s there with you, and whether it’s sensed you or if you’ve sensed it first. 

You start walking again when your feet go numb. Better to just get home.

It comes behind you again as a slightly louder rustle. It’s harder to shake off the fear this time, harder to say that it’s just the wind. The snow crunches under more than one set of feet, branches cracking under the weight of something larger than you. 

You don’t want to turn around, but the sound of something chuffing makes your stomach drop. The first thing that emerges when you turn to face it is its massive head, a white frosted muzzle, and the visible hump on its back. The wispy smoke of its breath puffs out when it breathes. Its eyes are dark, hardly reflecting any light at all. Then the rest of it emerges, the saplings bending out of its way as it clambers out of the woods and onto the path, staring you down all the while.

You’ve never seen a bear before. Not this close. Not so close that you know it’s been stalking you, know that it didn’t come upon you by accident. You’re staring down at your own body from somewhere else, fear displacing you. Rending you from your own body. There’s no way to guess its weight at a glance, but it’s easily twice the size of you, easily more than that. 

When it takes a step forward, everything goes dark. 

You wake up snuggled under the warmth of a thick blanket. Sleep is creamy thick, engulfing you on all sides, only the faintest prickle of awareness letting you know that you’re awake. 

It’s unpleasant to leave the cotton miasma of sleep, you think. Your nose scrunches up and you let out a tired huff, trying to will yourself back into it. The harder you try to force yourself back into it though, the farther away it floats.

Still it weighs you down. It takes an age to work up the energy to so much as twitch a finger. Even your eyelids insist on staying shut. Yet, the prickle of consciousness needles at you as if to say hello, wake up, you need to get up. You sigh and try to shimmy up onto your elbows.

A hand shoves you back down. The breath rushes out of you.

“Get…back down,” a rough voice grunts from over you and then the full weight of a man settles on top of you, pressing you deep into the mattress. 

Consciousness snaps back into you, elastic sharp. The weight of him pins you to the bed, makes you sink into the plushness of—and this is gradually coalescing in your mind—an unfamiliar place. All four corners of your body are trapped under him. The voice is familiar though. Ragged, brutal. A saw taken to the trunk of an old, thick tree, too many interior rings to count. You whisper John’s name and he grunts, making you flinch from how the sound reverberates through the side of your head.

Exhaustion is thick though and it leaves you heavy, even when John slowly lifts himself to his elbows from behind you. You feel him drag his body down the length of the bed, beard scratching into your skin with every petal soft kiss dropped along your spine during his descent.

“John?” you whisper, only just able to turn your head, not even able to struggle up to your elbows. “J-John?”

He doesn’t answer you. The room is near pitch black, only a window on the other end of the room with the curtain pulled back the smallest amount enough to let the moonlight in. Even the moonlight isn’t enough. You know from the shape of the window that this isn’t your house, that it must be somewhere else. You can only surmise from John’s presence that it’s his, but that thought passes over you like a rock skipping over water. 

“Wher’m’I?” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut when his lips press over the small of your back. Sensitive there. 

Rough hands with callused fingertips smooth over your ass, pressing into the flesh. His fingers pry your cheeks apart, thumbs dipping into the space between and pressing over your hole, making you burn all over. You’re too far gone to worry about any hair on your legs or anything about your body other than John’s hands undulating over your ass and thighs. You flinch violently when his teeth sink into the meat on the underside of your ass, so tender that even exhausted to the bone your body lashes out. 

Big hands pry your legs apart. You flinch at the sudden hot breath over your sex, a whine tickling your throat. His face hovers so close to your centre that the tip of his nose presses on the tender skin near your entrance. 

“Wha’ d’you…think you’re doin’...” you ask breathlessly. Your brain tries to order your leg to kick, but it stays flat and limp on the bed. 

The first touch of John’s tongue along your slit makes you melt, the flat of his tongue lapping upward and making your hips tilt up with it. It almost makes your mind go blank again, almost tips you back into the unconscious world because the synapses in your brain stop firing the second you remember that it’s John between your legs licking hungrily at your cunt. John from the grocery store, John from the ranger’s station in the mountains—the John you’ve been crushing on and coveting for months now, content to just be friends with the gruff, handsome man in the house next to yours. Now sucking one of your nether lips into his mouth and tracing his tongue up the inside, gliding it over the supple flesh.

“Yer in the den,” John mumbles into your pussy and it’s like he sears the words into your brain. “‘N I’m takin’ care of you, honey.”

“The…the den…?” It’s so hard to keep your thoughts in order. Each flick of his tongue makes you gasp, pussy growing wetter and hips grinding languidly down on his face.

He hums instead of answering. 

“Why’m’I so tired?” you slur. 

His tongue saws over your clit from behind. It tears a broken whimper from you. You feel every textured ridge, the way it flicks around in a circle and then up and down again. 

“Winter season,” John says, sucking your clit into his mouth until you whine at the top of your lungs. “Bear’s sleep in winter.”

“Tha’s silly. M’not a bear,” you moan. 

“No,” he agrees, humming into your sex. “Jus’ mated to one. Makes you sleepy too, honey.”

“Mated?” you repeat back, but it’s lost in the way you moan when he eats your pussy from the back, licking into you with renewed vigour. Hungry like a bear. Grunting like a satisfied man, slurping loud enough to make your face heat up. 

Words and old memories about bears hardly matter when the handsome man from next door spreads your legs wide, almost to the point of pain, and sinks his tongue into your hole again. You never would’ve expected John to be vocal, but he’s noisy behind you, groaning into your cunt. He keeps mumbling things under his breath that you can’t catch. 

“John—” you gasp, biting your lip when he sucks your clit into his mouth again. “John—John—”

He only has to give you a single finger to tip you over the edge, feeds it in nice and slow. Your cunt clenches down at the intrusion, teeth nearly breaking through the skin of your lip. 

When he crawls back over you, anticipation makes you shudder. You hear something faint in the background that grows steadily louder as John rests his elbows on either side of your head, until you realize that it’s your own voice murmuring, “Put it in, put it in, put it in—”

He obliges. A thick, steady plunge that hardly manages more than a handful of inches before you’re crying, and it’s too much, too much, too much. Pleasure not a limpid pool anymore but something cavernous and deep-dwelling, pulling you in or trying to make a home inside of you for it. John’s biceps tense with the strain of holding himself back. 

You balance on the knife’s edge between pleasure and pain. There’s a single thought in your head that it might burn you up from the inside; it runs a jagged hole through you. 

His nose drags through your hair. “Never expected you. Thought I’d go another season alone ‘till I started smellin’ you around town.”

You hiccup. “Y’never—never paid me any attention ‘for— before, ah—”

“‘Course I paid attention to’ya, honey,” John says into your ear, grunting when he drives deeper into your pussy, still just a languid grind of his hips, so mind-numbingly slow that your thoughts sizzle out of your head. He keeps dragging his hips back and plunging in, barely pulling away from you, all skin on slick skin. “Made a home for m’self in your house. Made sure we had ‘nough to eat for the winter.”

“The winter?”

“Won’t be goin’ anywhere for a few months.” He brushes your hair out of the way to kiss down your neck, giving in to the urge to bite just a little. His body stays pressed tight to yours, hardly an inch of space between the two of you. “Wasn’ sure at first if it’d be here or in your house so… fuck, I had to get ready. Make sure you’d be safe when it hit.”

“Don’ even…know wha’ that means,” you mumble into the mattress, then squeal and fist the fists when John shoves a hand under you to grope your chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” he shushes you. “All y’have to do now is lie there ‘n take my cock, okay, honey? Can’ya do that for me? I’ll get some food in you after we’re done, then send ya back to bed.”

Only a whine comes out when you open your mouth. John’s arm by your head forces you to breathe in the scent of him, musky and rich. You stare at the hair on his knuckles and his thick fingers gripping the sheets as well, old nicks and scars decorating his hand. You can’t stop staring at his fingers and thinking that he had one of those in you before, that he’s felt you from the inside. 

He never pulls away, never changes positions, just fucks you on your tummy in his bed. You’ve never been in John’s bedroom before, but this has to be his room—even the pillowcase smells like him, pine needles and cigar smoke. He keeps up a steady pounding into your cunt, rutting like a wild animal. Has to be close. Gets so close to you that you feel smothered, trapped in place. Like if you struggled, he wouldn’t let up. You want to test it, see if you could, but the heaviness is still in your limbs, keeping you docile. Convenient. A little convenient thing for him to use, like a doll to get himself off with.

“Never coulda imagined such a pretty girl f’r me,” John groans, getting a grip in your hair to twist your head, tugging you into a kiss. Your whole body sparks to life, so shocked that you can’t even kiss him back at first. You wait until he pulls back, staring into his half-lidded eyes through the mess of your hair all tangled up around you. “Gave up on thinkin’ there was anyone out there. Thank fuck I found you first, honey. Can start workin’ on all the good stuff now. Get you to give daddy a baby.”

“D-daddy?” you gasp back, almost scandalized. 

He pants into your shoulder, worked up now. “Yeah, honey. Don’ I take care of you? Buy y’r food, fix y’r house? Give you someplace nice ‘n warm to sleep?”

You feel soaked with sweat, twitchy, on the verge of something dangerous. Vision all fogged up, heart beating so fast that your skin buzzes. Stretched out on a fat cock and pinned in a man’s bed, nowhere to run or hide. 

“Y-yeah,” you stutter when John gets a bit rougher, his breathing getting more staggered, laboured. 

“That’s right, girl,” he grunts, “I’m y’r fuckin’ daddy then, aren’t I?”

Magma bubbles up from deep inside of you. Rockslides off in the distance beat against the ground. When you cry out, it gets lost in the rubble. 

You stumble into the living room maybe hours later after using the washroom across the hall. Maybe a day later. It’s hard to say how many times the sun has risen and fallen behind the mountains. The clock face stares back at you uncomprehendingly. 

Come drips out of you onto the floor. Thick droplets run down your inner thighs. John is still sleeping in the bed where you left him, snoring like a chainsaw. It must’ve been what woke you up. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been since he first brought you home, since he left a mess in your pussy, which is still puffy and sore from rough use. You walk with halting little steps to try to minimize the ache. 

You stare bleary-eyed around the room. It feels somehow different than the previous times John’s had you over; there are more throws and blankets draped over the couch, candles scattered around the living room with a lighter on the mantle. 

There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace, blanketing the house in a layer of warmth. It makes you sluggish, stumbling forward only a handful of steps before the shaggy rug in front of the fire drags you back down to the floor. 

“What’re you doing out of bed, pretty girl?” someone rumbles from behind you. 

“Had t’pee,” you say, blinking. You try to rub the sleep out of your eyes unsuccessfully. “Why’m’I still so tired? It’s been…I slept so long…”

“C’mon, honey,” John says, coming up behind you and curling his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Told you it was gonna be a long winter. Maybe just one more and then somethin’ to eat, okay?”

It’s easy to sink to the floor, so easy. Especially with the fluffy rug under your feet. Especially with the fireplace toasting you from the outside in, the tinder crackling in the hearth. Everything in the house is dark and warm, only the fire giving you any light at all. Outside the window, the moon is still heavy in the sky. 

Something about the humidity of the den makes you suddenly so tired, boneless, pliable when he goes to move you, when John curves himself around you in the furs and reaches down to slide a hand between your thighs. 

He grunts when he finds you wet and wanting, sinking a couple fingers in and palming your clit. He doesn’t talk much still, but he says good girl when he cants your hips and slowly stretches you out on his cock. Feeds it into you achingly slow, like molasses. Like nothing’s due for another few months, so why rush it? He’ll take his time so you’re nice and happy and sweet come spring for cubs.

You’re not sure what that means. The pace is slow and deep, like before but less intentional. Like he just wants to savour the warmth of your body. 

When he finally comes deep inside you, your body goes limp, collapsing in a heap onto the rug. You expect John to pull out and turn over, maybe pull you onto his chest so you have somewhere to rest. Instead, he sighs all tired and content, and stays in you, still plugged up in your cunt, his spend only just starting to leak out into a pool beneath you. 

“Are we gonna eat?” you mumble, already half-asleep.

Somewhere behind you, he laughs; it’s soft like a snowfall in winter. “Yeah, honey. After a nap, we can eat.”

[leyiorr]

i wonder what i look like in your eyes.

gojo ⋮ geto ⋮ sukuna ⋮ toji ⭑ how they see you and what you are to them.

¡! wc: 1.1k

¡! genre: tooth-rotting fluff, awful + contagious cases of lovesick men, you're literally their reason for existence

¡! an: i dropped this on another account but then abandoned it so its being posted here lolz!

☆ - satoru gojo ⋮ a nebula

when it comes to satoru, he's always been alone in his orbit. a level of his own. he's a god among the mortal race; both blessed and cursed to walk the earth. he's his own galaxy - the brightest and the boldest.

yet his galaxy is unbearably lonely. it's expansive, a cosmic canvas of infinite possibilites. it's an inky black celestial wonder, one that leaves a hollow feeling in his chest.

until he meets you, and you become the only being in existence allowed to orbit with him. you're his nebula, chaotic and disorted yet so effortlessly the most beautiful element of his galaxy.

you blaze in brilliant, radiant light; core searing it's permeant place in the midnight backdrop. you illuminate the space with shades of the deepest indigo and violets, mingled with wisps of turquoise and teal. crimson and oranges are vibrant in your centre.

the colour stretches into the void forming intricate patters, ones he finds himself untangling to better understand you.

in the silence of space, your nebula spoke volumes; comforting him at his worst, lulling his mind into dreamless sleep. your edges are softer, the colours more muted as you bleed into him. no one can tell where you begin and he ends.

you are so so small in comparison to the void, but so unbearably bright that you light it all with practiced ease. he tends to watch in awe as you decorate his solar system; nursing new stars to weave into his soul.

with you there, his universe becomes easier to live in, easier to navigate. you're a cloud of interstellar stardust - held together by the gravitational attraction of satoru's galaxy.

☆ - suguru geto ⋮ the artist

to suguru, you're the best thing that's happened to him. ever.

anyone who sees him with you knows. they know he's infatuated, enamoured. he's so far gone that people often think that he's been blinded by love, but he has simply never felt an emotion so intense.

with you he thinks he truly sees the world in all it's glory, innocent and pure. with you he traverses unpolluted by the atrocities of the world, you who colours his world.

he looks at you like you personally hang the stars in the sky when night rolls around, like you paint the sorbet sunsets by hand. he stares at you adoringly, as if you chose the colour of the sea and dusted white on the peaks of mountains to keep them warm.

he peers at you like you solely gift the flowers with their petals, dipping them in shades you deem beautiful enough. like you create the sand from scratch and lay it in pretty semi-lunar shapes next to the ocean.

he gazes at you like diamonds were invented in tribute to your tears, like you drew the prettiest landscapes alone in the quiet, before the age of humanity.

he studies you like you've sculpted the very shape of his heart - every ventricle and atrium handcrafted with your pretty fingers. as if his very existence was molded by you, hence why you fit so perfectly together; two pieces of a puzzle.

he could stare at you for hours and days on end, eyes full of love for the person who introduces him to a plethora of hues and tones that he imprints on the back of his eyelids when he sleeps.

☆ - ryomen sukuna ⋮ the breath of life

sukuna is not a good person. everybody knows that. he's taken innocent lives, sapping their energy like it's nothing. he's all-powerful; he stands amongst the deities - gods who have the capacity to bend fate to their will.

but after millennia of having everything under his rule, he's gotten bored. he has servants to order as he pleases but nothing they do entertains him. the god of death is bored, embarrassingly so.

until he acquires something known as a significant other, the other half of his soul as the humans say. you're his breath of life, a release of old, stagnant energy. it's as if you breathe vitality into everything you touch, all life forms flocking to you naturally.

you're so much softer than he, touch delicate yet profound, an ethereal caress that lights sparks in his eyes. he tends to linger quietly by your side when you walk in the garden he constructed just for you - though he would never tell you that.

wildflowers are coaxed into bloom with you around, their colours a testament to your nurturing touch. the dew-laden grass basks in your presence, gleaming a shade brighter than before. even the trees seem to gravitate toward you, branches reaching for you as you pass by, their leaves sighing in contentment.

sukuna's convinced the waves follow your pace, each push and pull matches your breathing.

you were the essence of renewal. his world had found it's pulse, it's rhythm, as you dance the unending dance of life in the centre. you sustain his beating heart, so sukuna's oddly content with merely watching.

☆ - toji fushiguro ⋮ a lover

toji sees you as not only a lover, but the lover. the only one he will have in this life and the next. there's no after you. it's a forever kinda thing.

something so simple as the title of 'lover' is so complex for toji, a man who's a veteran assassin, a man who previously had no regard for anyone else.

you're the only person toji promises to protect, to never lie to, to make happy for as long as his heart pumps and his chest rises with each breath. you're a miracle gifted to him by the gods - though he doesn't know what he's done to deserve it.

he's rough around the edges but with your standing as 'lover', you smooth him out.

he subconsciously thinks of you, always worrying for your satefy. you must be a deep ocean of the emotion known as 'passion' because he's willingly drowning, not even looking for shore.

toji looks at you like you're an extension of himself, the other half of him that the deities intended for him to find. he can't remember times before you or imagine a future without you.

he makes a deal of reminding you that you are his, just as he is completely and utterly yours. as his lover you hold his bloody, beating heart in your hands; he knows you'll keep it safe.

he stares at you like you'll disappear; like he's not even sure you actually exist. you love a man like him after all - that's a miracle in itself.

[hadesoftheladies]

This might be one of the most important posts I've ever made. (Please Read)

@bakerstreetdocter per this post where i responded to the sports poll i made

on the poll for why folks in radblr didn't watch women's sports, the overwhelming majority of you said it was because you just weren't interested. i needed to make a whole post to respond to this because let me tell y'all something:

WOMEN'S SPORTS IS A HUGELY IMPORTANT INSTITUTION FOR ADVANCING WOMEN'S RIGHTS AND DISMANTLING PATRIARCHY

Let me tell you why.

#1. Sports and Male Hegemony

Do you know what keeps patriarchy so strong? Male camaraderie. The reason rapists and paedophiles don't go to jail, the reason men are paid more, the reason patriarchy even fucking exists is because men invest primarily in men. Sports doesn't just reflect this, it PERPETUATES it more efficiently than most other institutions (like it's right up there with religion and porn). I'm not kidding. Male sports is where men go to bond over everything. They bond over beating up their wives (I've seen it in real time), they gather to celebrate male strength and achievement, and elevate male dominance. The reason sports is so important to the patriarchy is not just because it perpetuates, centralizes and publicizes male excellence, but because it nurtures male camaraderie. It gives them space to be openly "manly," because it is really a festival for male dominance in every way.

Not only that, but it RADICALIZES boys and men in male supremacist ideology. If male peerage is where boys and men slowly corrupt each other with misogyny, men's sports is where that sort of thing is concentrated to the MAX. I'm talking MASSES of men and boys. Uncles and fathers taking their sons to bond over men they believe represent them and their perceived superiority. This has also had consequences for women and girls. Domestic violence rates shoot up during different (men's) sports seasons. The demeaning and brutalization of women is common in these environments.

If you think porn is a huge industry that radicalizes boys and men into becoming rancid misogynists, sports is the next big thing you should worry about, because however effective porn is for dehumanizing women, men's sports is the one most effective for popularizing male dominance and supremacy on a global and generational scale. Forget music and movies, THIS is something feminists should be fucking worried about.

(Read more of this article here.)

#2. Women's Representation, Power & Social Influence

Compared to the crumbs of proper representation we have for women in music, movies and mainstream literature, women's sports centres and normalizes every kind of woman you can think of. Big women, small women, muscular women, single women, masculine women, feminine women, women with wives and husbands, mothers, tall women, unattractive women, cocky women, etc . . .

I have never encountered a visual franchise that humanizes women more than women's televised sports. Never. Not in movies, not on the internet, not in shows. The raw humanity and personhood of women is given centre stage in every angle. We see women sweat, we see women bleed, we see women bump each other in the chest, we see them fight and scrap, flaunt, beg, roar . . .

This humanization has affected not only women who finally feel represented by other women to the world, but even men. Many men and boys who watch sports have far more positive outlooks on women than their counterparts. They are forced to appreciate the skills, strength, intelligence, and personhood of women.

In sports psychology, there's the topic of how people tend to form identities around the athletes or teams they admire. They perceive themselves as an extension of those teams/athletes. This is a very powerful social phenomena, because it strengthens intra-community investment by giving the individual a personal stake and sense of belonging.

It is powerful when men view male athletes and men's teams as an extension of themselves. When mothers take their children to these games and kids identify with the male athletes on the pitch. It is very effective in re-enforcing male-as-default for everyone.

But it is also powerful when this happens for women. When men, women, children begin seeing female athletes and teams as extensions of themselves, it strengthens the perception of kinship with women of all kinds. It humanizes women in an intimate way. Where it's no longer about the "women's team" but about "US." When men and little boys identify with female athletes, point and say "US" instead of "THEM" it lays crucial ground for male allyship.

This is partly why many women's leagues across multiple sports got banned historically. It was because they completely overhauled the idea of women as other and that was a threat to the status quo, because if men started identifying themselves with women, started seeing women's victories as theirs, started seeing women as their heroes, it made male dominance unnecessary and obsolete. It made women heroes for men, women, boys and girls to believe in. It made them leaders and icons. Champions. It destroyed all the lies patriarchy lived off of.

#3. Female Centricity, Community and Consciousness-Raising

I've talked about what this does for men, but I want to zero in on what this does for women.

Right now, in society, men have multiple institutions and industries to boost their camaraderie and male supremacy, whether that be sports, religion, gaming or pornography.

Now, can one of you name a single institution or industry that brings women together to bond over womanhood? Can you name a bonding ritual for women that doesn't include femininity? Most of you will probably only have entities like certain female musicians (taylor swift, blackpink, etc) rather than industries. Currently, the biggest industry that women bond over (and even then, it's not really a social event) is make-up. We're mostly broken up into different fandoms, or maybe we find each other studying certain women-dominated degrees. In most other cases, we're with each other doing something domestic (baby showers, cooking/planning during family get-togethers, etc). (though based on trends, university campuses may soon become women-dominated spaces in totality XD). The domestic sphere is perhaps where most of the consciousness raising has occurred historically.

Unfortunately, the biggest contributor to women's consciousness raising with the most global reach is our shared trauma. That is the one thing that unilaterally unifies women and girls everywhere, and even then, not totally.

While our shared suffering has been a great tool in radicalizing us for change (though it's already an L that we're suffering in the first place), it isn't something that actually empowers the community of women. Radicalization does not equal empowerment. And women need hope and joy to have strength to fight. They need to identify with each other, not simply with each other's suffering. If anything, women are in desperate need of an industry/institution that isn't crippling them with enforced femininity and isn't centred on their misery, but rather, celebrates their womanhood and the joys of being a woman. Centres womanhood. Something that gives them space to celebrate themselves.

The things that do that are the ones fiercely under attack, e.g. women's sports, lesbian festivals, etc. You need to have a hard think at why that is to realize how vitally important things like this are. The difference between something like women's sports and lesbian festivals that gives women's sports an advantage in being the most socially influential, is that women's sports encourages the participation of everyone and posits itself as relevant to all people within the geographic location it is a part of. So it gets more eyes and has more sway.

I have been brought to tears seeing crowds of thousands scream to a deafening degree over a young woman scoring a goal. I'm talking men, women, children losing their fucking minds. Chanting a woman's name from the stands. Rushing to take pictures with her. Cheering for her to break another record. Women need to know there are alternatives to being hated by men. You guys need to know what it feels like to see entire cities show up and show out for women. Where women are glorified, practically worshipped, not for being sexually attractive, not for being the epitome of beauty, but for being skilled, for being amazing women. You need to see women horsing around, unrestrained and free to talk shit. You need to see them acting goofy, without makeup. You need to see them surrounded by love and support no matter who they are. You need to see them having the time of their lives with each other. Real women, doing real things. You need to know what it's like to see a woman do incredible physical feats. You need to see how powerful the female body is. You need to see this day in and day out. You need to know it like you know your name.

Because that's what men have every day. And when I tasted it, I couldn't get enough.

The next generation of girls and women need this so fucking bad. Now more than ever.

#4. The Destruction of Gender

(Portia Woodman-Wickliffe, rugby player for New Zealand)

Which leads me to my next and pretty much final point as to the necessity of women's support of women's sports. Whether or not you're willing to admit it, most of you aren't interested in women's sports because of your gendered socialization.

This could be subconscious resistance (e.g. you're so used to it being mocked you can't fathom getting into it), or it could be simply because of your upbringing and current social environment. I've noticed, that most people engage with sports based on a pre-existing culture concerning sports. Most sons are introduced to men's sports by their fathers, and, as established earlier, it becomes a bonding ritual. Many of us didn't have those experiences as girls, so we never saw the value.

But I think this is also a part of enforced femininity. Right now, some parents don't want their girls watching women's sports because of how unfeminine the women are (and this usually goes hand in hand with homophobia, since a fair share of athletes are lesbian/bi). We're taught to be ladylike. To be demure. Female athletes can rarely afford to be. Even if they wear lashes to the court XD. They have to body their way through. They have to work and scrap and fight for their victories.

It's even more sad to me, since I'm now a very active watcher of women's sports (which I decided to get into on a whim one night, no lie, like I didn't feel like it I just decided to Google random stuff and look at highlights and then I got invested) how crippling that feminine socialization has been to me. How much I've missed. Not only has watching women's sports increased my own pride and confidence in my body, given me a space to experience joy in being a woman (outside of femininity), but it has also made me feel far more connected to women in a predominantly positive way (rather than trauma-bonding). It has humanized women for me, too. Even as a feminist. It's really kicked the shit out of what internalized misogyny I had left.

This is the primary reason women's sports has been so vilified, as I have pointed out in my other post on this topic: it is the loudest anti-gender campaign in society. It destroys patriarchal myths about womanhood and makes femininity and masculinity obsolete. This is why its still resisted today, and this is why it's integral to the feminist fight. Not only does it empower the fight for women's liberation, but it also bolsters movements for things like LGB rights, another movement that seeks to demolish the institution of gender in society.

Conclusion: This Is Urgent

While women's sports is on the up-and-up, female athletes NEED predominantly female audiences to ensure the integrity of their leagues and to minimize exploitation. If men remain the predominant stakeholders in women's sports, they get to demean, belittle, objectify, starve, sabotage and command the female athletes. They get to use women's sports to perpetuate misogyny and the dehumanization of women. At a time where women's liberation is gaining global traction and is heading to a potential climax with patriarchal society, this is something that is vital to our fight. I'm dead fucking serious. It stands to be one of our best assets in the global fight to humanize women. It is one of the best anti-patriarchal propaganda machines we have. We must protect it via our support both financially and with our time. We cannot let men take control of one of the biggest weapons we have. Girls need this. Boys need this. Society needs this.

WE need this.

[reasonsforhope]

"The Netherlands is pulling even further ahead of its peers in the shift to a recycling-driven circular economy, new data shows.

According to the European Commission’s statistics office, 27.5% of the material resources used in the country come from recycled waste.

For context, Belgium is a distant second, with a “circularity rate” of 22.2%, while the EU average is 11.5% – a mere 0.8 percentage point increase from 2010.

“We are a frontrunner, but we have a very long way to go still, and we’re fully aware of that,” Martijn Tak, a policy advisor in the Dutch ministry of infrastructure and water management, tells The Progress Playbook. 

The Netherlands aims to halve the use of primary abiotic raw materials by 2030 and run the economy entirely on recycled materials by 2050. Amsterdam, a pioneer of the “doughnut economics” concept, is behind much of the progress.

Why it matters

The world produces some 2 billion tonnes of municipal solid waste each year, and this could rise to 3.4 billion tonnes annually by 2050, according to the World Bank.

Landfills are already a major contributor to planet-heating greenhouse gases, and discarded trash takes a heavy toll on both biodiversity and human health.

“A circular economy is not the goal itself,” Tak says. “It’s a solution for societal issues like climate change, biodiversity loss, environmental pollution, and resource-security for the country.”

A fresh approach

While the Netherlands initially focused primarily on waste management, “we realised years ago that’s not good enough for a circular economy.”

In 2017, the state signed a “raw materials agreement” with municipalities, manufacturers, trade unions and environmental organisations to collaborate more closely on circular economy projects.

It followed that up with a national implementation programme, and in early 2023, published a roadmap to 2030, which includes specific targets for product groups like furniture and textiles. An English version was produced so that policymakers in other markets could learn from the Netherlands’ experiences, Tak says.

The programme is focused on reducing the volume of materials used throughout the economy partly by enhancing efficiencies, substituting raw materials for bio-based and recycled ones, extending the lifetimes of products wherever possible, and recycling.

It also aims to factor environmental damage into product prices, require a certain percentage of second-hand materials in the manufacturing process, and promote design methods that extend the lifetimes of products by making them easier to repair.

There’s also an element of subsidisation, including funding for “circular craft centres and repair cafés”.

This idea is already in play. In Amsterdam, a repair centre run by refugees, and backed by the city and outdoor clothing brand Patagonia, is helping big brands breathe new life into old clothes.

Meanwhile, government ministries aim to aid progress by prioritising the procurement of recycled or recyclable electrical equipment and construction materials, for instance.

State support is critical to levelling the playing field, analysts say...

Long Road Ahead

The government also wants manufacturers – including clothing and beverages companies – to take full responsibility for products discarded by consumers.

“Producer responsibility for textiles is already in place, but it’s work in progress to fully implement it,” Tak says.

And the household waste collection process remains a challenge considering that small city apartments aren’t conducive to having multiple bins, and sparsely populated rural areas are tougher to service.

“Getting the collection system right is a challenge, but again, it’s work in progress.”

...Nevertheless, Tak says wealthy countries should be leading the way towards a fully circular economy as they’re historically the biggest consumers of natural resources."

-via The Progress Playbook, December 13, 2023

[probablyasocialecologist]

In place of blanks on the map, we’re now able to see highly cultivated landscapes with massive infrastructure stretching back to the early centuries BCE. Road networks, terraces, ceremonial earthworks, planned residential neighbourhoods, and regional settlement systems ordered into patterns of geometrical precision can be traced across Amazonia, from Brazil to Bolivia, as far as the eastern foothills of the Andes. In certain parts of Amazonia, the forest itself turns out to be a product of past human interaction with the soil. Over time, this generated the rich ‘anthropogenic’ earths called terra preta de índio (‘black earth of the Indians’), with levels of fertility far in excess of ordinary tropical soils. Scientists now believe that between 10,000 and 20,000 large-scale sites remain to be discovered across Amazonia. Similarly startling finds are emerging from Southeast Asia, and we might reasonably expect them from the forested parts of the African continent too. Of course, the same procedures are changing our picture of tropical landscapes that did witness the rise and fall of great kingdoms, and even empires. Archaeologists now believe that in the year 500 CE, between 10 and 15 million people lived in the Maya lowlands of Yucatán and northern Guatemala. For comparison, the Atlas offers a figure of just 2 million for all of Mexico in the same era, including the Indigenous cities of the Altiplano (at least some of which, we now know, were organised not as empires or even kingdoms, but fiercely autonomous republics, long before the Spanish conquest). It is easy, encouraged by works such as the Atlas, to imagine ancient history as a chequerboard of kingdoms and empires. But it is also very misleading. Ancient polities in the Maya lowlands and Southeast Asia had porous boundaries, constantly shifting, and open to contestation. Authority waned with distance from the centre. Warfare and tribute were largely seasonal affairs, after which coercive power shrank back behind the walls of the capital. As the archaeologist Monica Smith points out, only the most naive historian would assume that the claims inscribed on imperial monuments are a simple reflection of political reality on the ground. Of course ancient rulers loved to present themselves as ‘sovereigns of the four quarters’, ‘masters of the known world’, and so on. Yet no ancient world emperor could even have imagined powers of surveillance, such as those now enjoyed by any minor dictator or oligarch. On a global scale, we are witnessing a revolution in our understanding of ancient demography. To ignore it, these days, is to indulge in a cruel sort of intellectual prank, by which the genocide of Indigenous populations – a direct consequence of the planetary revolt against freedom, in the past 500 years – is naturalised as a perennial absence of people. Nor can we just assume that if we want to understand the prospects for our modern world, the only ‘big’ stories worth telling are those of empire.

5 July 2024

[freyadragonlord]

One of my favourite things about the end of The S-Classes That I Raised novel (major spoilers ahead),

is the realisation that the reason why Yoojin and Hyunjae's relationship looks so much like a love story at times is because it actually, honestly is.

Like, we know that sctir is a novel about love since the beginning, that's not surprising. Yoojin's capability for loving monsters (both literal monsters and the human kind) and the power of that love is at the centre of the plot.

But by the time you get to the end, you realise - and the author confirms this themselves in their final Note - that Yoojin's relationship and love for 2 specific people was the true core of the story, and what allows him to save the world in the end:

One is, of course, Yoohyun.

And that love is absolute; you cannot say that it's inevitable, cause we know Yoojin had to make a choice when he was a child between Yoohyun and his parents, and he almost chose his parents, but from the moment he decided to love Yoohyun onward, then it was unconditional and eternal. It's the love of a brother, but also the love of a parent and a caretaker.

And the other person is Sung Hyunjae.

And that love is not unconditional nor inevitable or absolute at all. It's not something that can be taken for granted. We actually see, because of how it ended between them before the regression, and thanks to the White Bird's power of seeing possible futures, that there were so many timelines where Yoojin and Hyunjae would have never come to care about each other fully (tho they are always at least somewhat interested in each other, because their personalities are actually really compatible).

But the White Bird also sees that the only possible future where the world is saved is the one where they love and hold on to each other. And that is how the story goes!

So, just like a romance novel, the necessary end is the one where they both love each other and accept that love. And it's not easy to get there! It's a slow burn.

From meeting to getting to know each other, appreciating each other's skills and intelligence, finding out they have fun together but still not trusting each other, to working on building that trust.

They go from a strong but superficial mutual interest to actually caring about each other as people.

Yoojin has to go through the self-doubt of feeling inferior and fearing that Hyunjae will lose interest in him. Hyunjae has to learn to stop pushing Yoojin away because he doesn't know how to handle having someone he cares about so much, and also someone that cares about him, because nobody in the world (except in part Song Taewon) likes Sung Hyunjae as a person, he is only ever admired from afar.

And in the end, after going through ups and downs and a few "break-up arcs", they make it. They accept their own feelings and each other's feelings.

And that's when Yoojin makes the choice to use the power that the transcendents gave him at the very beginning of the novel, to save Hyunjae. Not the world. Not even Yoohyun! Just Sung Hyunjae!

Yeah, the whole "gather 50 S-Class people", the very thing that gives the novel its title. That is not a power that is used to save the world!! It was meant to, but Yoojin is "selfish", and he will always choose to save the people close to him first.

And being able to love someone so selfishly gives Yoojin the power to save the whole world, too. As a bonus! A reward. Just a side effect.

So yeah. Is it romantic love? No. Canonically, there's almost no romantic love in the whole novel.

But is it a love story?? Yeah. Absolutely it is.

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Stede Bonnet, Renaissance Man (Or an Exceptional Man who Thinks He’s Mediocre)

I’ve posted before about Stede’s love of beauty. He’s an aesthete, finding wonder in art and creative self-care rather than the transcendental. Stede’s a freethinker. He challenges the orthodoxies of his time, rejecting forced heteronormative behaviours, and even questioning the accepted traditions of piracy.

The thing about Stede is he often asks ‘why?’ It’s partly what makes him dangerous to some. This slant towards subversion is much of what Izzy observes and detests. It’s one of many reasons Stede must be kept from Ed. Like a number of Renaissance-style thinkers before him, Stede refuses to go along with the status quo. He is ‘doing something original’, questioning dogma. Many find it ridiculous, bizarre even. And it’s significant that instead Ed finds Stede enchanting, because it demonstrates who Ed might be given the chance to find his own path.

Stede is also a polymath and likely an autodidact - I doubt he learned about ‘insane foliage’ at school. He is self-motived and seems to have knowledge across a broad spectrum of disciplines. Literature, drama, botany, entomology, psychology, art, textiles. Stede’s very much about the life of the mind.

And he’ll approach areas at which he’s not so gifted, such as cartography and sword-fighting, with the enthusiasm of a dilettante; when he can’t succeed the traditional way, he simply subverts the discipline and does it his own. However, the most important thing for me in defining Stede as a Renaissance man is his humanism. People are front and centre. Sometimes that person is himself, and he loses sight of others. But it’s okay as that’s the point. Humanism is partly about being a messy individual who can do better. And Stede is someone who can learn and alter his position when circumstances change. He might not do so in the best way all of the time, but he is a quick-learner and highly-adaptable.

Stede also understands that no culture or institution is bigger than the people within it. The most important thing is human dignity - it’s what he shows and teaches Ned’s crew: that they deserve to be respected as people. Stede also has a strong moral core. When he messes up, he feels it deeply. He demonstrates strong ethics towards the natural world too - he’s absolutely disgusted by turtle vs. crab. Stede believes not so much in human superiority, but human responsibility, and this is the flip side of having dignity as a human being.

Another aspect of Stede’s humanism is his belief that culture should be accessible to all. Some of this might be naivety on Stede’s part rather than a well-thought out philosophy, but he believes in it intuitively. Stede wants the crew to have access to his library despite not recognising they can’t all read. He gives them musical instruments and sports facilities - he’s interested in what makes people flourish. And Stede practically invents art therapy!

His ship is also a safe-space for human relationships to blossom - romantic, platonic, and in between. Zheng’s ship might appear to offer collective harmony, but it’s mandated and dogmatically applied. Opting out of morning tai chi for a 24-hour shagathon might be viewed as an act of dissent. No such big brother is judging you on Stede’s Revenge.

And all of this is because of the man Stede is, and the influence he has on those around him. Sometimes it falls on deaf ears. Many don’t like what Stede’s offering. Others actively rebel against it. But anyone with an ounce of goodness will get what Stede Bonnet is about and embrace it. Stede doesn’t seem to understand his own power, it comes from such an authentic place. For me, it makes him all the more endearing.

[theresattrpgforthat]

hi! have you seen the TTRPGS for Palestine bundle yet? and do you have any recommendations from it

https://tiltify.com/@jesthehuman/ttrpgs-for-palestine

THEME: TTRPGS for Palestine

The TTRPGs for Palestine Bundle is going from April 12 to May 7, so there's not much time left to get it, but here's some recommendations of some really awesome games that you can find in it.

Gubat Banwa, by makapatag.

GUBAT BANWA is a Martial Arts Tactics and War Drama Tabletop RPG where you play as martial artists poised to change the world: Kadungganan: the cavalry, the wandering swordsmen, the tide turners, the knights-errant, the ones to call in darkest night in a world inspired and centering Southeast Asian folklore.

Witness, grand warriors, honorable gallants that trudge and toil under kings and haloes. Witness, KADUNGGANAN, that refulgent name. That blasted name: WITNESS NOW. The end of days is upon us: and the new world MUST BE BORN. Bear your blades, incant your magicks. Cut open your tomorrow from the womb of violence. Inscribe your name upon the very akasha of this world. 

Gubat Banwa is designed for fans of 4th edition D&D, with in-depth character abilities that make you feel both unique and powerful, in a colourful and flavourful world full of vibrant cultures and clashing conflicts. The game uses an action economy with different action options carrying different weights, which also reminds me quite a bit of Lancer. If you want a game that pushes you to strategize with your friends and weigh your advancement options carefully, you want Gubat Banwa.

Gun & Slinger, by Nevyn Holmes.

GUN&SLINGER is an RPG geared for short, episodic sessions about a weapon and a wanderer. A Maestro and two players (Gun and Slinger) set out into a dead planet mutated by a god's forgotten child and hunt strange bounties, investigate the world and unlock hidden powers. During play, they seek to learn the nature of what’s hunting the Slinger, figure out why the Gun is sentient and discover how the world died.

This game is specifically for three players, using the rules of Go Fish as a resolution system. Gun & Slinger is all about using your resources to the best of their ability, and your resources might exist on your character sheet, but they also exist as cards in your hand.

What really intrigues me is the lore that’s baked into your character sheets. One of you is a wanderer in a twisted world, tempted by strange powers that guarantee to change you into a monster. One of you is a sentient magical gun, borne by that wanderer and designed to deliver death and pain.

Gun & Slinger has expansions included, allowing you to instead play as a wanderer possessed by a demon, a mech and a pilot fused as one, or someone who bears a cursed sword. I think the fact that it requires a small table and the fact that the characters’ lives are tied together makes this a high-stakes, terribly intimate game.

Apocalypse Frame, by Binary Star Games.

In a ruined and terraformed world where most of humanity is under the yoke of a brutal regime, the former workers of a once-remote factory - now known as The Collective - have risen up to create a future of freedom from oppression. You are an Ace - a highly skilled pilot referred from a Division in The Collective and assigned a humanoid combat vehicle known as a Frame. You and your Strike Team of fellow Aces must take on The Collective’s greatest threats, ensure its survival, and carve a path for its continued success.

Apocalypse Frame takes mechs and fits them into the LUMEN system, which centres competency as well as fast but effective rounds of combat. The game includes a variety of different threats, allowing you to tailor your campaign to your group’s tastes, and the tailoring doesn’t stop there. You choose both a division that your character belongs to, and then one of three mechs within that division, allowing players to share similar fighting styles but differ in weapons. You can also modify your basic frame, adding general modular systems alongside systems and armaments that can come with your mech, making character creation and progression exciting for folks who love tweaking and tailoring to their heart’s content.

If you’re a fan of Armored Core or Battletech, you’ll want to check out Apocalypse Frame.

Here, There Be Monsters!, by wendi yu.

No matter what they tell you, there’s still weirdness and wonder everywhere. You just have to know where to look. At the edges and cracks of ‘normal’ life we exist, we persist, and we resist: the monsters, the magicians, the anomalies, the freaks, and the outcasts. We gather in the shadows, trying our best to live our lives in a world that, when it doesn’t exactly fear or hate us, doesn't even believe in our existence.

here, there, be monsters! is a rules-lite response to monster-hunting media from the monsters' point of view. It's both a love letter and a middle finger to stuff like Hellboy (and the BPRD), the SCP Foundation, the Men in Black, the World of Darkness games and the Urban Fantasy genre in general. It is an explicitly queer, antifascist and anti-capitalist game about the monstrous and the weird, in any flavor you want, not as something to be feared, but to be cherished and protected.

Here, There, Be Monsters is a love-letter to anyone who has been made to feel monstrous, as well as an homage to media such as Hellboy, the SCP Foundation, and Men in Black. It’s urban fantasy meets organized power structures, and as the monsters, you’re here to burn those structures down.

This game uses descriptive tags to slap onto your characters to represent what they can do. You can choose from a number of different monster character backgrounds to give you guidance towards, and there’s plenty of monsters both in the base game and in the game jam wendi ran back in 2022. If you want a game of power, anti-capitalism, and punching up, this is the game for you.

Pale Dot, by Devin Nelson.

Pale Dot is a collaborative storytelling game for 2-5 players about a crew of non-human cosmonauts leaving their planet to explore a strange solar system, finding threads to unravel the unknown along the way. It is fantastical, surreal, and perhaps very unlike humanity’s own ventures in space exploration. Though one thing is universal: leaving home is terrifying, dangerous, humbling, and a catalyst for changing one’s perspective. 

Pale Dot is a GM-less game where players work together to create an alien setting and subsequently envelop it in cosmic mystery, embodying cosmonauts called Dustlings, as well as one of 5 different settings. During their journey they will be able to travel to 24 different locations within their solar system, each with several prompts for improvisational scenes. Each player will also have to manage the integrity of their cosmonaut and their shared ship while avoiding space's many perils.

The cover for Pale Dot gripped me the first time I saw it; a tiny creature in an astronaut suit, looking up in fear at something in the sky, as vegetation blooms inside their helmet. You play as the Dustlings, non-human but sentient species exploring the Cosmos, a strange, horrifying and wonderful universe that changes those who venture into it.

Mechanically, Pale Dot uses a GM-less structure similar to Dream Askew, but there feels to be a much bigger emphasis on the setting your cosmonauts explore, rather than the cosmonauts themselves. Your characters are assembled traits, drives and equipment, almost all of which can be expended to cause or solve problems. Each player is also responsible for at least one setting element, such as The Cosmic Wilderness, The Wondrous Endeavour, or The Omnipresent Danger. As you visit locations, different elements will be prompted to influence the scene, while your cosmonauts try to navigate the scene and try to finish the mission. If you want a game that is collaborative and evocative, I definitely recommend Pale Dot.

Fractal Romance, by Ostrichmonkey Games.

A never ending abstract landscape of rhythm and soft glamour. Wander the halls, rooms, and chambers. Encounter strange Denizens and get to know them better; befriend them, fall in love, just chill. Try and fill out your own blurred edges. Fractal Romance is a tabletop role playing hangout. You will pick up a character to play and explore the Fractal Palace, generating its infinite sprawl and the Denizens that inhabit it, as you play.

Fractal Romance is all about searching; for something you need, something you want, or even for who you are. It feels rather surreal, perhaps like a dream dimension that you are moving through. The game uses a deck of cards to generate rooms, as well as the denizens of this gigantic, dream-like palace. This game uses rather simplistic playbooks, each asking you to choose three descriptive words, and then uses cards to fuel your character’s actions: you have things you can always do, things that cost a card to do, and things that you must do in order to draw another card.

If what you want out of a game is a chill time with friends, moving from one vibe to another, and generating emotional stories for your characters, you might want to check out Fractal Romance.

Himbos of Myth and Mettle, by huge boar.

You are big. Big arms, big tits, big thighs, big brai- you're big where it matters. In addition to a heaving, throbbing body, glistening lightly with a thin sheen of pleasantly fragrant perspirant, you have one singular unifying trait  - come hell or high water, you are going to help.

Himbos of Myth & Mettle is a high fantasy, high camp role playing game of epic proportions (of body), for 2-5 players, one of whom will act as Game Guide.  The rules center around a simple roll under mechanic and prioritize narrative flair and cinematic descriptions. Himbos is inspired by many classic fantasy properties (and could be considered OSR adjacent) , but leans towards a more garish, salacious and queer (gay or odd, pick your fighter) style of play. It is designed with comedy and flamboyance in mind, but is not without it deeper and darker touches. It's definitely not grimdark, but there will probably be blood. Think classic fantasy pulp in style, but contemporary sensibilities, modern rules-lite mechanics, and a player philosophy centred in helping, kindness and being fucking hot.

I’ve heard rave reviews for Himbos, and I think the idea of leading an entire group of well-meaning but possibly over-ambitious adventurers is a great set-up for a game full of laughs. Himbos is very much designed for a light-hearted evening of fun, flirting, and fucking up (but in the best way).

Other Games from the Bundle I've Recommended:

Space Taxi, and Creation Myths, by GothHoblin.

Caltrop Core, by Titanomachy.

Souvenirs, by Rémi Töötätä.

Thunder in Our Hearts, by Marn. S.

Eldritch Courts of Some Repute, by AlanofAllTrades.

[ohtobeleah]

Day Ten [The Secrets we Keep]

Summary: You have a patient booked in for an early ultrasound….What you don't expect is for it to be the new partner of your ex-husband. Bradley Bradshaw.

Warnings: Abortion. Marriage Breakdown. Bradley Bradshaw x F!reader. Heartbreak. Self-worth issues.

Word Count: 2.1k

Whumptober Prompt Day Ten: Self-worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

Author Note: Please make sure you read the warnings provided. Disclaimer: I do not condone nor endorse the actions that are written about during the month of October. These works of fiction are just that, fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for this year's prompt list.

Whumptober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Quinn? Steph Quinn?” Just like we need food and water, humans need each other. A brain study revealed that, when placed in an MRI, a patient’s reward centre lit up when another person sat in the room. Neurons fire when we talk to or think about someone, and they go haywire when we hold someone’s hand. 

“Oh, that’s me,” The woman with the complexion of a goddess smiled as she stood from her chair—clipboard of information in hand. “Hi,” 

“Hi there Steph,” You smiled politely as you reached out to take the clipboard from your next patient. “I see we’re down for an early detection ultrasound?” You knew what she was here for, but it was always nice to double-confirm with whoever you were about to scan. 

“Yep. Me and my boyfriend are expecting,” Steph placed a hand over her barely visible baby bump. If anything, she looked slightly bloated, but other than that you’d never know that the woman standing before you was carrying a child. 

“That’s exciting, congratulations,” You smiled softly as you double-checked that all the information you needed was present on our forms. “If you’d follow me this way, we’ll get you gowned up and ready to go,” 

“Oh, Bradley shouldn’t be too much longer,” The name that escaped the woman’s mouth had your heart dropping into the pit of your stomach. “He just ducked off to the bathroom really quick,” She explained politely as she stalled. “He came straight from work to be here, said he wouldn’t miss this for the world,” 

“Proud dad already?” Our brains and bodies are actually programmed to seek each other out and connect. So why do so many people prefer being alone? “What was your partner’s last name? Just so I can pop it down on the form,” It wasn’t something that necessarily needed to be done, but you were secretly praying to whatever God or Goddess was on duty that day for the woman before you to not say, Bradshaw. 

Time stood still as the little bell rang out from the front office door, a familiar figure stood tall and strong in the doorway, just as shocked as you it seemed. Bradley Bradshaw hadn’t seen you in, well, months. Long enough to get another woman pregnant it seemed. 

“Oh, there he is!” Steph cooed excitedly as Bradley took a few heavy strides toward where his expecting girlfriend stood beaming. “This is him, Bradley, Bradley Bradshaw,” She introduced the man who had gone ahead and decided creating a human life was actually something he wanted. It’s funny how people change, and adapt to their new surroundings. “My boyfriend, baby-daddy and aviator extraordinary,”

You could have thrown up in your mouth at that introduction, but you were a professional. Your scrubs said it all. You’d been a sonographer for the better half of Bradley’s own career. But in this very moment, you could have passed the clipboard that you were clutching for dear life off to the colleague in the next office after yours. You weren’t paid nearly enough to deal with this. You thought you’d processed the heartbreak of your failed marriage, but as Bradley stood there with his new and improved plaything, your heart broke all over again. 

“Well, if you and your partner would like to follow me, I’ll get you two ready and sorted to see your pending child,” Bradley could see it in your eyes, how truly shocked you really were. “Right this way please,” You gestured as the couple walked ahead of you hand in hand, Bradley caught your eye for a mere second and chose to keep a tight-lipped gesture, a mixture of sorrow and awkwardness, across his face. 

After all, in all the years you’d been together, in all the years you’d known Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw for, he’d been adamant he never wanted children. But as it turned out as you watched him walk hand in hand with a woman who looked half his fucking age down towards your office, you came to the jaded conclusion that it had just been you, he didn’t want kids with. 

His high-school sweetheart, his former best friend, and his now ex-wife. 

Why do we often run for the hills when we feel the slightest connection? Why do we feel compelled to fight what we’re hard-wired to do? Maybe it’s because when we find someone or something to hold onto, that feeling becomes like air…..and we’re terrified we’re going to lose it. 

“If you’d like to pop this gown on for me,” You passed Miss Quinn the basic white gown you gave all your ultrasound patients. “We may not need to, but in case we need to do an internal ultrasound, this will just make the process a little easier access-wise,” You explained, never once paying any mind to your ex-husband whose eyes never left you. 

It had only been six months, the divorce hadn’t even been finalised yet. Legally, you were still Y/n Bradshaw. But recently you’d gone back to your madame name at work. Six months and Bradley had already gone and created a life with another woman. 

It had your brain malfunctioning, what was so wrong with you that in all the years you’d been together he’d never been able to entertain the idea? But here he was……in your office, expecting a child with someone else. 

“I’ll give you a moment to change,” You smiled softly as you left the room, leaving the couple to their privacy. “Jesus fucking Christ,” You sighed as you tried to keep yourself grounded in the hall. This was never a situation you thought you’d find yourself in. You saw dozens of couples, single parents, happy and sad about their current situations. But never in a million years did you ever expect to see your ex for an early pregnancy scan. 

“Y/n?” Fuck. You heard Bradley say as he stepped out of the office under the disguise of needing something to drink. “I’m–” 

“Oh, oh no–no, we’re not gonna do this here,” You shook your head as anger as evident as anything overcame your entire being. “You’re a fucking joke, Bradley,” 

“I didn’t think I’d run into you here,” It was probably the dumbest thing Rooster could have said knowing this was your place of employment, but he truly thought he wouldn’t. “I can explain!” Your imminent laugh sent anger coursing through Rooster’s veins. 

“You think I need you to explain the fact I wasn’t good enough to have your children?” You hissed as you looked around the empty hall, checking to make sure that it was in fact, empty. “That, girl?” You made sure to put a little more emphasis on the fact she was still a ‘girl’ in your eyes. Putting pressure on the fact she was probably half Bradley’s age. “Is carrying your goddamn child and you think I need you to explain to me that I, your ex-wife, wasn’t good enough to even consider the possibility of having children with!?” 

“I didn’t mean to knock her up!” Bradley hissed under his voice as you tried to leave the conversation. He reached out to grab your arm, keeping you in close proximity to him. He wasn’t finished explaining himself to you. “This has nothing to do with you or us,” 

“No, it just has everything to do with the fact that within six months of us being separated, you went and got someone pregnant,” You pulled your arm out of Bradley’s grip with a frown that could kill. “I gave you everything I had, I was willing to sacrifice my own desires of having children because I loved you so much more than the idea of ever being a mother,” You could feel tears welling in your lower lash lines as you growled at your ex-husband in the hall of your place of employment. “I don’t even know who you are anymore, Rooster,” 

“People change,” Bradley snarled back as you stood close enough to start a war. “I never did this to hurt you, you don't need to earn someone's love, you don't need me,” 

“Of course, you’d say that!” You laughed pathetically at your own rage at the situation. “You never do anything without your own interests at the forefront!” It was clear you weren’t dealing with any of this well at all. But it was now or never to let Braldey know how you really felt. “I’m so grateful I never had kids with you,” You made sure to look your ex right in the eye when you said that. “With every fibre of me being Bradley, I mean it when I say I dodged a fucking bullet the day you decided I wasn’t good enough to be your wife anymore,” 

“I understand this is a really difficult time, but I loved you,” Bradley sighed as he held a hand to his hip and another to the bridge of his nose. “What we had, what we shared was real, but sometimes it’s not meant to last,” He sounded like he took that straight from some couples counsellor. Perhaps he did, perhaps it was written in a notebook he kept inside his bedside table from when you were trying to save your marriage. “Don’t make my choices in my new relationship about you,” 

With that, all you could do was laugh in disbelief. Was this really the same man who told you he could never see himself as a father? Was this the same man who begged you to go on birth control? Was this the same man who reminded you every time you held a friend’s newborn, or toddler or babysat a grown child, that you’d never have to worry about being a mother? 

“Your father,” You began. You already saw the drop in Bradley’s facial expression at the very mention of his late dad. “Would be rolling in his damn grave right now,” You spat. “And as for the mother?” You added as you smiled wildly with relief as you reminded yourself you were so much better off without Bradley Bradshaw in your life. “I’d be thankful she isn’t still here to slap you sideways,” 

The silence in the hall was deafening as Bradley stared you down with a rage you’d never seen before. His nostrils flared as his face threatened to turn a shade of crimson only reserved for hatred. 

“You really do harbour hated, don’t you?” Bradley asked as he watched you wipe away the few tears you’d allowed yourself to cry. “You couldn’t just accept me for who I was, who I am!” 

“I gave up, my dream, FOR YOU!” You couldn’t help yourself as you shoved at Bradley’s chest. The shock was evident across his entire face as he stumbled back slightly in the hall. “I aborted the only child I will ever have because YOU didn’t want to be a father,” It was the first time you’d ever told Bradley you were once pregnant with his child. 

“Y/n,” You knew the revelation was a lot to take in, but so was the fact your ex-husband was expecting a child…after you gave one up for him. “I didn’t–I didn’t know,” Bradley softened his voice as he reached out to cup your face, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away your tears. 

For a second, you allowed yourself to soften within his touch, but it wasn’t enough. It was too little, too late. 

“Some, some random girl you’ve known for all of a minute is in my office waiting to see your soon-to-be child on an ultrasound, Bradley,” You pulled yourself together, remembering the only time you saw your baby on an ultrasound you have to yourself, alone. “You should go,” 

“What if I’ve made a mistake?” He asked as you pulled yourself out of his gentle touch, sniffling as you fixed yourself up. Knowing full well you’d already made the biggest one of your life. 

“Then you accept your new reality and be the damn man you should have been for me,” You hissed through gritted teeth as you walked back into your office, immediately making eye contact with the woman who you wished to be. “Ready to meet your little blop?” 

*******************

[signedkoko]

Hello if you don't mind I'd like to request lucifer and Lilith x a reader that is a half sinner half demon like readers one Parent was a demon and the other was human, type of vibe you know

And maybe since the reader is half demon they are like stronger then the overloards in the pride ring

Lucifer X Reader X Lilith [Romantic]

In which you were born of a sinner and demon, which give you the advantage most overlords lack. Genderneutral reader.

Not many sinners and demons got along, considering the powerful advantage most sinners had over demons and the distinction between the groups

Despite that, your parents were anything but normal, and they lived as they died—in love

Unfortunately, you lost them to an extermination, and while it was a stab in the heart, you knew it was an inevitability

You'd been extremely lucky to that right, since your creation not another had been born or made to exist; you were hell's own miracle

Your appearance made heads turn, journals typed away about your life, and despite not living the life of a celebrity you were treated like one by the press

Your existence was, of course, of interest to Lucifer, who was more than eager to introduce himself the first time you were face-to-face

He was with his wife, who easily towered over the two of you, and embarassingly enough, they cooed at your features—a mix of two worlds

Royalty was royalty, so you did your best to be calm and introduce yourself, which ended in a long string of chatter until the two were pulled off

Lucifer is mostly interested in you since you are the first hell-born human.

Lilith is interested because you are both similar, somehow sinners and demons combined, albeit in much different ways

One day, you receive concert tickets in your mail to see Lilith perform as a VIP

There is a personal note from her mentioning that she would love to see you at her performance and that she hopes you enjoy the show

Of course you go! You even splurge on a nicer outfit

Her show is outstanding, and you had one of the best nights of your life being treated so kindly by so many, as well as not being the centre of all eyes for once

Of course, you were invited backstage, and she invited you to dinner with herself and her husband, to which the rest is history

Now you were part of the family, living with them and learning plenty of hell that you'd never known prior

Their story, their goals, their interests, and their hobbies—what made them tick

They trusted you with everything.

Their favourite aspect of your mixed blood is that they can take you on dates down to the other rings and show you only the finest that hell has to offer

Your favourite is that now you aren't 'the sinner-demon hybrid' and instead 'one third of the Morningstar trio'

It is certainly a shift in lifestyle for you, from rag to riches, and they are very amused but also baffled by your way of doing things

Still, they love to hear about what hell is like from your perspective, someone who wasn't given everything

So into whatever rundown restaurants you bring them to, especially Lucifer, he would love sloppy, fucked up food

Lilith prefers bitter sweets and coffee; she ends up loving your favourite cafe, too, and now you visit at least once a week

 

Author's Note - Of course I don't mind! I love these two so much, still one of my favourite duos to see x readers with because maaaaaaaan!!! I hope this is what you were hoping for, please enjoy 🖤

[dogw1tch]

Escapism 🍂

18+ Minotaur x Gender Neutral Reader

(Size difference, Breeding, reader has afab anatomy)

DogWitch Notes: Thank you guys for the love on my last story! It makes me so happy to know people are enjoying my work :) this one has a little more build up but it might call for multiple chapters?

Summary: The library is off limits after dark but knowledge waits for no one. Besides, reading mythology is much more immersive at night. So immersive, in fact, that the breath on the back of your neck feels very, very real.

You had been crouching behind the bookshelf for so long now your legs were starting to loose feeling. Finally, though, the university librarian had finished making his checks and began turning out the lights. He was an anxious looking man in his thirties and you felt a little bad deceiving him like this- after all, it was him that had given you the book in the first place. But the tome was a relic that couldn’t leave the library to be read in your dorm room and you were so desperate to finish it. So, since stealing seemed a bit dramatic, you would have to settle for trespassing. You heard the large wooden door echo closed and dragged yourself from your hiding place, book still clutched to your chest. Your eyes took some time to adjust to the darkness as you dug around in your pocket for your lighter. Slivers of moonlight through the window seemed to die in the shadows of the towering book cases. They looked almost identical to the grand towers of the university in the darkness and the chill in the air gave you the feeling of walking through the streets at night.

Lighter in hand, you slowly navigated the corridors to find your much beloved reading corner and lit the candles you had left there. The little corner of light looked so cozy and you smiled as you gathered yourself up in the blanket you had bought and settled down in the old armchair with your book. The title ‘Portentum Complexus’ was embossed in gold into deep red leather. Much of the writing was still in the original Latin and you had been taking your time to carefully translate. However there were passages written in English, seemingly added by a scholar years later as well as beautiful etched illustrations. From all of these pieces, you had managed to put together a tale of a strange beast, roaming the land to find his lost lover. There had been a great war between worlds and the beast was trying to bring life back to his realm. Though the creature was described as being a hulking monster, triple the size of any man, covered in corse hair, obsidian black horns and pointed hooves; he still had a gentle feel about him. There was a sadness in the Latin passages that didn’t seem to properly translate into English. Perhaps that was why previous scholars hadn’t bothered to do so. But you poured over them, wanting to find the words to understand this creature who everyone, bar the monsters of his realm, was so afraid of. Your heart hurt for him a little; after all, he was looking for his love, he must feel so alone.

So this was how you intended to spend your night, curled up on the moth bitten armchair reading about lamenting fictional creatures. University was certainly the right choice. You flicked to the last English passage you had been studying. The beast had been captured by a human army and, not wishing to harm them by fighting back, had ended up bound by thick ropes in the king’s dungeon.

‘The corse binding bit into his soft flesh as he cried out into the empty corridors. He cried for his love, for his mate. He cried for them to find him in this cold and lonesome maze. His sorrow echoed from the cold stone and surrounded him.’

A sudden noise broke you from your immersion. It sounded like the lowing of cattle, strange since you were in the city centre. It was quickly replaced by the constant groaning of the ancient building before you could pay it much mind. The library was surprisingly noisy at night.

‘The beast cried until his throat was horse and even the reflection of his own voice left him alone. He feared he was to die here in the darkness. He spoke a silent prayer to the gods that his love might be safe. His chest heaved against its restraints as the monster resigned himself to his fate.’

Again came that noise, closer now, and sounding more laboured. You looked around but saw nothing in the darkness. Your mind must be playing tricks, you knew you shouldn’t really be here after all.

‘Movement. Movement in the darkness. The beast stirred and strained to see who approached him. Staring, wide eyed and loving through the bars of his captivity there stood…’

The words cut off back into Latin. You sighed and contemplated packing in for the night, translating seemed a tiresome chore at this hour. But something kept you going, call it intellectual curiosity. You needed to know what happened to the monster you had grown so fond of. Slowly but surely, word by word, you uncovered each sentence.

‘His love. His love had come to rescue him. They picked at the lock and made their way inside. The beast stared in disbelief. After all this time, all this searching, his love had been the one to find him. They approached with caution, unsure whether they recognised their mate after all these years. “Please, do not be afraid my heart, it is me.”’

The voice startled you. You read the words but they seemed to come from behind you. You turned again but again saw nothing but empty corridors through towering shelves. Perhaps your love of escapism had just left you with a very vivid imagination.

‘His love came forward, running their hands over the restrains that bound their lover. With a deft hand and a sharp blade, they began to cut through the rope. The beast sighed in relief as the pressure on his chest was released.’

The back of your neck tingled as a warm gust of air blew through the library. You could not shake the feeling you were being watched now but the story had you too gripped to care.

‘Like felled serpents, the ropes lay limp on the stone floor and the beast rose up from his stupor. He towered above his lover but they were not afraid. They knew he could not hurt them nor anyone else. They were bound together by fate and they would always find their way back to one another.

“My love. My heart. Please, I have craved for you endlessly. Let me hold you and make you mine once more.”’

Without warning you were pulled into a sudden embrace that knocked the air from your lungs. In your confusion, you did not even scream as large hands pulled you bodily from your chair. You were suddenly being held against a wall of corse fur, inhaling the bitter sweet of hay and sweat. You look up to see, towering over you in the candle-kissed half light, a great Minotaur.

He held you flush to his soft, strong chest as though you weighed nothing at all. His breath was hot on your skin and as a rough, black tongue ran up your neck making you shiver. “My mate…” The creature’s voice was low and surrounded you just as fully as his embrace, “How I’ve longed for this.” With one sweep of his arm, the Minotaur sent your books and papers fluttering to the ground. You had to crane your neck to gaze up at him as he placed you down on the desk; his dark eyes bore into you with such deep lust that you couldn’t help a pang of arousal coursing through your body. Nobody had ever looked at you this way. The great beast stood tall over you, taking in your body like he wanted to consume every part. You felt then, something hot and heavy resting next to your thigh. Your face flushed red and you had to look away for a moment, suddenly finding yourself embarrassed as the obscenity of the situation dawned on you. The creatures cock was longer than your thigh and just as thick. It made sense with the rest of his towering form but you were suddenly feeling very exposed under the beast’s hungry glare. He seemed to notice your hesitation and cupped your face in his palm, tilting your head to look at him. “Do you fear me?” Despite it all, you shook your head. Embarrassed? Yes. But not afraid.

“I shall endeavour to be as gentle as I can. You are to bear my calfs after all, it is my duty to treat you well.”

Before his words could register, the creatures head was between your thighs. He had ripped away the fabric there and his thick, rough tongue was lapping at your folds like a man starved. A cry of pleasure escaped your lips as you threw back your head. Your thighs clenched around his head, seemingly spurring him on. His tongue began to push deeper, curling inside you and igniting every nerve in your body. A single finger, large enough that you could wrap your hand around it, began to toy with your clit, rolling in gentle circles as you struggled to hold back wanton moans. He seemed to revel in the sounds you made, thrusting his tongue deeper inside with every whine of pleasure until you were rocking your hips desperately against his snout.

You were sure you were about faint from the overwhelming sensation of it all when the creature finally pulled his head back to see his work. You were a drooling mess against the table, slick and stretched open all for him. Still not open enough to take him inside you. A chuckle echoed above you, as though he had read your panicked look. “No, not here. Once we are home, my love, I will have you completely. But for now…” He picked you up with one hand around your waist, the other positioning his cock beneath you. “For now I have other ways to fill you.”

He began pulling you up his length, fucking in between your thighs and coating himself in your slick. He groaned deeply as he used your body to pleasure himself as if you truly belonged to him alone. You couldn’t help but let out your own whimpers of pleasure as your clit rubbed against his rough skin, getting wetter with every thrust. You found yourself wishing he were inside you, his scent, his growls, it all seemed so right, so familiar and you wanted to belong to this great beast that had captured you. You pressed your thighs together as tight as you could as he man-handled like you were nothing more than a toy made just for him. “That’s it, just like that..” he groaned. The muscles under the creature’s soft belly tightened and you knew he was close. “When we’re home I’m going to keep you full every minute of the day. I’ve spent too long without you. I’m going to hold you on my cock and fill you with my calfs until you’re stretched and moulded to my shape. No one else will be able to have you. You’re mine.” Without warning, he pinned you back to the desk and pressed his engorged tip against your entrance, stretching you around him. He let out a deep, echoing growl as he released inside you, filling you so much that you felt his cum leaking out of you and down your thighs.

The Minotaur didn’t seem satisfied to let this happen. He ran his fingers over your thigh and pushed the residue back inside you, fucking it deep into your stomach. You cried out with each thrust of his fingers, rocking your hips and riding out your waves of pleasure. It felt so good to be full of him.

You stayed there a while as he kissed and lapped at your skin, nuzzling into your neck and plugging you full with his fingers. He mumbled under his breath sweet nothings about how he would take you home, back where you belong. How he would keep you full and satisfied in every way. How you would give him such strong and beautiful young. How life would be so sweet now that his mate had been found. You tried to focus on his words, but they bought such a familiar peace that you found yourself lulled into sleep, breathing him in as you snuggled into his warm fur.

“That’s it my love, rest now. I will find you again soon”

***

It was the librarian who found you in the morning. He had gotten some idea of what was going to happen that night but was honestly surprised by the sheer amount of fluid involved. He tried his best to keep his eyes shut as he threw your blanket over your body and placed you back in your reading chair. The book he had lent you was open on the floor, displaying an etching of the Minotaur and his lover in an intimate embrace. The librarian quickly pushed it shut, not wanting to be anymore invasive into your private life. He thought about waking you, there were so many things he needed to tell you before the creature came back to claim his mate. But for now, you looked so peaceful.

He locked the library door, flipping the sign to closed and letting you get your rest.

DogWitch notes: a part two may be in order if you like??

Part two <3

[determinate-negation]

“The magnetic power exerted by patently threadbare ideologies is to be explained, beyond psychology, by the objectively determined decay of logical evidence as such. Things have come to pass where lying sounds like truth, truth like lying. Each statement, each piece of news, each thought has been pre-formed by the centres of the culture industry. Whatever lacks the familiar trace of such pre-formation lacks credibility, the more so because the institutions of public opinion accompany what they send forth by a thousand factual proofs and all the plausibility that total power can lay hands on. Truth that opposes these pressures not only appears improbable, but is in addition too feeble to make any headway in competition with their highly-concentrated machinery of dissemination. The extreme case of Germany is instructive of the general mechanism. When the National Socialists began to torture, they not only terrorized the peoples inside and outside Germany, but were the more secure from exposure the more wildly the horror increased. The implausibility of their actions made it easy to disbelieve what nobody, for the sake of precious peace, wanted to believe, while at the same time capitulating to it. Trembling voices persuade themselves that, after all, there is much exaggeration: even after the outbreak of the war, details about the concentration camps were unwanted in the English press. Every horror necessarily becomes, in the enlightened world, a horrific fairy-tale. For the untruth of truth has a core which finds an avid response in the unconscious. It is not only that the unconscious wishes horrors to come about; Fascism is itself less 'ideological', in so far as it openly proclaims the principle of domination that is elsewhere concealed. Whatever humane values the democracies can oppose it with, it can effortlessly refute by pointing out that they represent not the whole of humanity but a mere illusory image that Fascism has had the courage to discard. So desperate have people become in civilization, however, that they are forever ready to abandon their frail better qualities as soon as the world does their worse ones the obigation of confessing how evil it is. The political forces of opposition, however, are compelled to make constant use of lies if they are not themselves to be completely wiped out as destructive. The deeper the divergence of an opposition from the established order, which ar least affords it refuge from a blacker future, the more easily Fascists can pin it down to untruths. Only the absolute lie now has any freedom to speak the truth. The confounding of truth and lies, making it almost impossible to maintain a distinction, and a labour of Sisyphus to hold on to the simplest piece of knowledge, marks the victory in the field of logical organization of the principle that lies crushed on that of battle. Lies have long legs: they are ahead of their time. The conversion of all questions of truth into questions of power, a process that truth itself cannot escape if it is not to be annihilated by power, not only suppresses truth as in earlier despotic orders, but has attacked the very heart of the distinction between true and false, which the hirelings of logic were in any case diligently working to abolish. So Hitler, of whom no-one can say whether he died or escaped, survives.”

Adorno, ‘Pseudomenos’ (1945) from Minima Moralia

[irasamu]

 . . . (🍷) ֶָ֢ 𔓘 BAD INFLUENCE, PLEASE PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME ; an osamu dazai fic. ❞

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . me when dazai.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 🍷 ꒱ . . . tw ; fem!reader, troublemaker!dazai, richboy!dazai, nsfw, public sex, getting caught, dazai has a choking kink, food play, dry humping, going in rough, begging, dazai is a tease, needy!reader, needy!dazai, desperate!dazai, desperate!reader and that's all i remember.

there aren't 'two kinds' of people in the world to be frank. sure, the ideal includes having two different personalities which are a contrast to each other but those were the foundation upon which many branches were created from.

the 'good' and 'evil' are just the original trunks through which many branches sprouted -- all different in some way and similar in other ways.

the leaves of the branches stick together and that is what's normally referred to as a 'clique'.

dazai knows you and him are different people but he can't help but return the smile you offer him as he waves dismissively at the professor who is screaming at him for entering the class after fifteen minutes since it's start.

the brunette thinks the professor should be glad that he even decided to attend it and the reason why he did so is simple really, the teacher is in great luck to have you in his class because by now it was a known fact in the very back to the very front of dazai's brain that wherever you are, he will be too for even getting as much as a glance at you once is enough for him to be content for the entire day.

"sir is screaming at you." you point out in amusement, eyes trained to stay on the man who is now shooting daggers at dazai through his eyes but does the latter really care?

no, he doesn't. what he does care about and feels grateful for is the unexpected friendship --- no, rather it's an acquaintance type of relationship that you two share for the only time you two talk is in this specific class or sometimes outdoors as well if you two end up bumping into each other -- that he found himself developing with you.

"he can't make his wife scream so he does it instead." dazai joked to make you smile like he always does as soon as he enters the class, he likes to think you sit with him at the last bench in the last row is due to his ability of making these boring lectures fun by his side comments.

you snicker quietly as you shift to make space for him and he smiles at you, plopping down on the space next to you but making sure to be as close to you as possible.

"thanks sugar," he muttered to thank you for saving him a seat. this is why you like sitting next to him. to be as close as possible while making it look like it's natural, it's necessary.

dazai had this habit of placing his arm on the back of the chair and you had a habit of discreetly leaning on it a few minutes later after you make sure he is paying attention to the on going lecture. he then proceeds to rub his thumb on the space between your two shoulder blades and that would be the routine. well it used to be.

dazai's eyes glances downwards and even if this isn't his first time seeing you in a skirt, this is his first time seeing you in thigh high socks. the way the socks bring out the essence of your thighs out more has him gulping.

dazai is a man of power and of great patience but he is a human after all and humans are weak infront of their desires.

so he really shouldn't be blamed when he continued to cast his eyes downwards to observe in every detail of your thighs through your ridden up skirt. he gulps once as he is almost tempted to run his hand over your thigh but stops himself when he feels the professor looking at him.

straightening up immediately, the troublemaker smirks at the professor with a raised eyebrow as if asking him the reason of making dazai his centre of attention. said teacher sighed before shaking his head as he muttered something under his breath, probably curses at dazai.

"dude, what did you do to him? he seems to hate you with a passion." dazai tilts his head to look at you who mumbled, a amused smile playing at your lips as you stare up at him before cocking your eyebrows up.

"guess he can't stand seeing someone as good looking as me, hm sugar?" dazai grinned at you cockily and you felt your heart beat escalating, you hum as you glance at the professor to see his back turned towards the class as he looked at a stack of papers on his desk. you took the chance, looking at dazai and eyeing him before you cross one leg over the other as you know really well how the action would make your skirt ride up.

hook up culture isn't something you are fond of but one night with this man is all you ask for, like a virgin maiden had you opened your arms to the sky as you prayed to the entity above before taking this very big step.

you felt your heart beat a particular thrust which made even you acknowledge its beat when you make dazai's eyes trail down to ogle at your exposed midthighs and those thigh high socks which makes your thigh look oh so grabby.

the notorious man found himself leaning in closer towards you just a bit as he smirked charmingly and raised his hand to drum his fingers against your temple.

"or maybe that old bastard is scared of something else which he knows i am capable of doing." he whispered. you were about to turn your head to stare at the front again had it not been for his other hand which immediately your jaw to hold you in place.

"capable of doing what?" you whisper out as you realized you had no choice but to stare at him, dazai smirked as he winked.

"let's play a game? if you win, i'll tell what i'm talking about to you." he offered and the maiden always found herself tempted by the devil, you nod.

"good girl sugar. this class is boring anyway." he brings your hand towards his cheek and leans on it and you playfully scoff, giving your professor a scared glance to see him not noticing what you two are up to, you look at dazai,

"oh hush now, not everyone is a genius like you dude. some of us actually gotta study like hell." you playfully poke his cheek.

dazai shrugs as he chuckled before leaning down to get something from his bag, you curiously peek at what's in his hand and seeing you do so, dazai decided to help you by opening his palm and you raised your eyebrows in curiosity and wonder when you noticed a pack of gummies in his hand. you look up at him, face painted in amusement and confusion and oh, how did he stop himself from leaning in and kissing your lips right now? even he isn't aware but he has always been a man of great self control and pretence.

dazai only grins to cover up the urge to bite his lip and thoughts which are urging him to push you on your knees right now and have you take him, even the thought itself makes him poke his inner cheek with his tongue while he tears the packet open and picks up one of the gummies between his index finger and thumb before he extended his hand to push it past your soft glossed lips as he lets the pad of his index finger linger a little on your upper lip to feel it's softness before he pulls his hand back to himself and smiled innocently as if he isn't imagining choking you on his dick.

he side glanced at the front of the class to make sure no preying eyes are being entertained, leaning near your ear to breath out and let his hot breath collide with the shell of your ear, dazai feels ecstatic to see you try to cross your legs discreetly. "is it good?"

the words sound lewd to you as you repeat the three words but imagine yourself in a completely different scenario, the tricks played on you by your inciting fervor for the male sitting next to you. you gulp before nodding.

dazai slumps down on his seat as he placed his arm around your shoulder to bring you a bit closer to him, his hands gripping your forearm and he whispered,

"say whatever you want to but isn't this class just a little too boring?" he whispered near your ear, a smirk on his face and if possible, said smirk only became more cocky when you nodded immediately as if not even aware of your own actions.

the gummy swirled in your mouth and you could feel it's flavor bursting into your tongue but all you could focus on was the desk infront of you as you realised that if you tried to move a bit, you could be against dazai's body. his words are a blur but his voice is prominent as always.

teasing, seductive and hot.

"why don't we play a game? i'll give you your answers if you win and i'll have a source of entertainment in this boring class, okay? see, this is a win win situation for the both of us." dazai shrugged, feigning innocence but when you nodded, he couldn't help but smirk devilishly.

devilishly in the sense that when you turned your head to look at him and you saw him staring down at you, the smirk on his face made you shiver as it made you realize how powerless you are against him and his intellect.

"the one to give up first loses." is all he said, didn't bother to explain the rules as he thought it would be better to show you how the game is played. because something about the fact of having you trust him without knowing what he has in store for you is addicting and pleasurable. to have you trust him blindly makes him feel giddy.

dazai picked a gummy from the packet and after a glance to the front to make sure no one is looking as you two are still in a classroom, he places the gummy on his collarbone before grinning at you.

"eat it." he mumbled. you widened your eyes for how is this man sane when he is asking to play this game which could be seen as nothing but sexual in a classroom full of students? doesn't matter if you two are situated at the very back of the class and the taller students sitting infront are towering and hiding you two barely.

"you must be joking." you muttered but all dazai did was shake his head, a cocky grin on his face.

"i can assure you that i am really not joking right now. what, you scared?" dazai teased and if possible, the cockiness dripping from his grin only increased as he looked down at you from his position.

you scoffed as you raised your eyebrows at him, you quickly looked at the front to make sure no one is looking before you leaned towards his neck. dazai snickered, the way you anxiously made sure no one would look behind was too adorable for his heart to not squeeze in fondness. he hooked his finger under his collar before pulling on it to make his collarbone and skin more visible and available for you.

you gulped as you leaned near the gummy and parted your lips which came in contact with his skin and dazai shuddered at the feeling. even though the touch was barely felt, it still has an effect on dazai who closed his eyes when he felt your lips press against his skin more as you gently bit on the gummy, leaning back with the gummy between your teeth had given you the opportunity to look at the way dazai's chest slightly heaved up and down and the furrow of his eyebrows.

as he opened his eyes and tilted his head with a smirk, you ate the gummy while taking another one from the packet and looking down your body as you tried to think of a spot which would get him just as flustered as you but then you pause, sparing a glance at the man who continued to watch you contemplate with a mocking pout on his face and you wonder, is it possible to make the dazai osamu flustured?

with a defeated sigh, you place the gummy on top of your thigh high in such a way that half of the gummy laid on your bare thigh skin and the other half on your sock.

you did not, even in your dreams, ever expect the man who could walk and have the trail of footsteps he left be crystallized and worshipped, to bite his bottom lip while a slight and and faint blush leaves its stamp on his cheeks.

"if you keep on staring, the lecture will be over soon." you taunt but in a playful fashion due to not being able to sit still under his intense and trance like gaze and dazai knew his actions and their effects on you.

"what a tease." he muttered as he extended his hand to pinch your thigh while leaning down leisurely and as his tongue passed his lips to swipe the gummy off your thigh, his hand slipped between your thighs to grab a handful of your flesh and squeeze it -- all just to elicit a very faint whimper from you which would reach only his ears.

"you really shouldn't be the one to utter that." you mumble, clearing your throat as you pull the gummy from his lips and twisted it between your fingers before you toss it in your mouth, covering your mouth with the back of your palm as you looked at the front just in time as the professor looked back and he, upon seeing dazai stare at you while biting his lip as he tried to restrain a smile from spreading onto his lips, shook his head.

it's not like he can actually correct the behavior of the brunette who comes from a family under whose feet money and people alike falls.

money speaks volumes to the public more than education ever did after all.

"what are you so scared for?" dazai began as he proped his elbow on the desk and leaned on it, staring at you with an obnoxiously attractive and smug grin but when you do not look nor speak to him in fear of getting caught by the professor, dazai puffs his cheeks a bit before he picks another gummy from the packet.

he shoved the packet into his pocket before he leaned forwards, a grin comparable to a mischievous child on his face as he drops the gummy between your breasts and he leans in to immediately scoop it between his teeth as well as moving his hand to grip your thigh again.

the reaction elicited was one dazai would remember and smile over for days for how could he not when you jumped slightly in your seat when you felt the gummy dropping on your chest and immediately feeling his breath on your skin, the way you looked down at the back of his head with widened eyes when you felt him lick a strip towards the gummy, you felt your legs clenching had it not been for the hand of his which is holding your one thigh and not letting it squeeze against the other -- for dazai needed to know what his limitations laid.

but what he did not know is there are no limitations you hold when it comes to dazai for how could you when your free leg crossed over the one dazai was holding so that he has no choice but to sit for the entirety of the lecture with his hand between your legs.

dazai raised his slender fingers to hook around and pull down on your top, he nibbled the top of your breast where the gummy laid before picking it up between his teeth and as he sat straight, the cocky smirk he showed wasn't meant for you but for the professor who was discreetly looking at you two and curling his fingers into fists, what a bad influence you are dazai.

"don't try to ignore me, you are breaking my heart and making me loose faith in romance." dazai scoffed playfully, faux sadness on the pout he displayed and you looked at him with the same playfulness he carried as you mockingly pouted too.

"why aren't you dead yet?" you teased and watched as the man let out a small and breathy whine, taking advantage of this playful and comfortable mood between you two to get even closer, laying his head on your shoulder and tilting his head to brush his lips against your neck which made you shudder.

"if sir catches us and if i get in trouble, i will make sure you pay for it." your warning is nothing but a joke and he knows it but even if it wasn't, it wouldn't have been much of a problem for he knows what words to use to make you go all shy and giggly.

"you won't get in trouble sugar. i'll make sure of it. but it's amusing how you are scared of sir catching us rather than focusing on the fact that a guy is extremely close to you to do whatever he wants to." dazai breathed out and watches how after his breath hitting your skin makes it a tourist destination for goosebumps.

in response, you squeeze his hand (still sandwiched between your thigh he is gripping and the back of the other one) hardly but it only makes him hum as he parted his lips to let his tongue out and moisten his plush, bottom lip.

"not afraid?" dazai whispers. you shake your head as your eyes fall on him and you smile.

"you don't give me a reason to be." you whisper out as it felt right to be quiet in such a vulnerable moment shared and when you looked into his eyes, how were you supposed to look away from this man who makes everything so breathtakingly beautiful whenever he is doing it?

"good, let's keep it that way." dazai mumbled yet his eyes fell on your lips and you knew he shared the same thoughts, desperation and feelings with you. you knew you aren't the only one feeling suffocated from not being able to just lean forwards and capture his lips in a kiss.

dazai's lithe fingers slipped into his pockets and into the gummy packet from which he picked one and raised it towards your lips, your eyes shakily followed as you tried not to make your unstable respiration visible but when has something ever been hidden from the man who is the master of hiding?

your lips part as dazai gently pushed half of the gummy into your mouth and when you tried to look to the front to make sure if anyone had turned to look at you two, you found your movements restricted by the man whose hand came to grab your jaw while the other (still sandwiched between your thighs) squeezed your thigh.

you let out a confused hum and to hear more noises leaving the temple of your mouth for dazai to worship is his wish as a human bounded by his desires, to have the maiden kiss his feet after he fulfills her wish is his desire as the devil, lulling you into him. so why won't he do what he did when his hand which was grabbing your jaw pulled you forwards and he tilted his head a bit to take the other half of the gummy between his teeth.

his hand immediately left your jaw to grab both of your hands and place it on his crotch, pushing them down onto it and letting you feel as his cock hardens a bit under your palms. the intensity of the situation making your eyes close shut.

a breathy whimper leaves your lips and it makes dazai hiss as he presses your palms harder onto his crotch and as a result, you squeeze his hand tighter between your thighs in an attempt to cross your legs and not feel how his actions are affecting your cunt and hormones.

"dazai osamu." the name called in a very cold and strict tone is what made you to immediately pull back. much to dazai's displeasure as he made sure to keep your hands still above his crotch and with a bored gaze, turned to look at the professor.

"yes sir, how may i help you?" his voice is overcoated with sugar and sickening honey as he blinks innocently yet the grin on his face just makes it clear how 'innocent' he actually is. dazai stares into the professor's eyes, not shying away from making direct eye contact.

you, on the other hand, gulp when you notice most of the class turning their heads to look back at you and you just hope they don't find this position weird or suspect anything as dazai refuses to leave your hands, instead, he guides your hands to squeeze his dick and your breath almost hitched at the small and barely audible whine he let out. does money make one so brave or does he truly have, like he claimed, a trick up his sleeve which makes him one step superior to the professor?

you try to appear normal and not flustured but how can you when the constant movements of the man's hand makes your own to squeeze down on his cock and the way his thighs jerk or he lets out short intake of breaths meant to show how much pleasure he is gaining from all this is constantly reaching you, so, how can you appear normal?

"please do stay back after class and let's have a small tea party." the professor speaks sarcastically and his words weren't meant for you, you knew yet still your ears burned in shame when the class snickered or straight up giggled but so did dazai.

dazai giggled sweetly, pretending to be flattered and shy as he replied back, "my my, is this a date between us two sir?"

you look down to try to muffle the snicker that was to leave your lips at the humorous words of the man and the sight of you being affected by his words like he hoped to, made dazai's heart fuzzy and and his cocky smile to widen.

so it really isn't much of a surprise when dazai is seen happily making his way to the professor's office, behind said authority figure, but what is surprising is you walking alongside dazai. you aren't in trouble and your professor made that much clear when he told you he had a departmental meeting to attend and wouldn't trust dazai in his office alone. as a fairly well performing student and sometimes making small talks and jokes with the professor, he thought you will make a good choice (also considering that you are one of the few people the troublemaker seems to get along with) to be the one to supervise over dazai and said troublemaker was overly ecstatic too with the professor's choice.

however, you weren't. not even in the slightest to be asked to stay back after lectures and you made it known to the joyful troublemaker next to you by walking with slumped shoulders and furrowed eyebrows which said troublemaker found adorable.

but he couldn't have you sulking, can he?

so dazai takes a step closer to you and at the same time wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you closer, your eyes widening in surprise; flattered, and it made his heart flutter when you let out an almost inaudible gasp as you feel his fingers teasingly lift the hem of your skirt, dazai almost giggled but to stop himself from doing so and risking the professor looking back at you two, he tilted his head down to nuzzle his face against the crook of your neck and then he smiled, in your shade.

"you don't look pleased. am i that displeasing for you to look so bothered?" his words were provocation and he knew you didn't know of so and this is why he continued on with this act when you furrowed your eyebrows and looked at him ; you shook your head as you felt panick begin from your toes and raise towards your lower abdomen, you looked down at his hand on the side of your thigh as it played with the hem of your skirt and when the panick reached till your chest, you grabbed his hand and clasped it tightly as you looked at him, eyes wild in panick.

panick of loosing this tension created and of things going back to the way they were because you really can not tolerate going back to being casual deskmates after playing such a dangerous game which had desire and self control as its two rules.

dazai felt the ends of his lips curl up into a satisfied grin when he stared right into your eyes and watched you bringing his hand towards your mouth -- towards your lips specifically and he practically leaned on his toes when he felt the faintest touch of your lips on his hand before you pulled his hand more near and bit the skin of the backside of his palm.

dazai, in return, bit his lip as he looked away with a smile and when you freed his hand from your grip, he looked down at the pink skin and teeth mark left by you and smirked.

he leaned his head on your shoulder again and this is when you mumbled , "someone was being all cocky and saying they wouldn't let me get in trouble. what happened to that?"

dazai snickered quietly at the teasing tone and hummed, tilting his head up to slightly lick your jaw before he whispered against it, "isn't trouble worth it if it's with me?"

when you do not reply but only look at him with a cocked eyebrow, dazai puffed out his cheeks yet again to let his displeasure be known as now he sulked, yet unlike him, you didn't try to make any efforts in making him feel better.

"i hope you don't hold me asking you to stay here after lectures against me --" your professor began and you immediately separated from dazai, nodding at the man and the way you took a step forwards to listen to your professor better had dazai poking his inner cheek with his tongue, not liking it at all.

for when the devil sees one fearing his own kind more than him, he feels humiliated, challenged.

dazai osamu never liked feeling second to someone else but he stays put and doesn't do anything except glare at your back and if only you could turn your head to look at the ferocious glare he has, maybe you would drop on your knees right there and then and maybe he knew it too and this is why he continued to glare at you yet a cocky smirk slowly crept to his lips like a snake slithering towards its unsuspecting prey.

"i will be back in thirty minutes or before, please keep an eye on that troublemaker and i'll make sure to give you extra credit for this." your professor promised and who were you to refuse?

the maiden found shelter in the priest and his vows yet a shelter is different from a home.

a home.

dazai.

no one else.

. . . is it understood?

maybe it was your naivety to not notice or find anything wrong with dazai's unusual quietness as you two entered the professor's office.

or maybe you knew it damn well and still decided to go for it because the maiden grew greedy and wanted more, to make a deal with the devil.

dazai's sharp eyes followed when you sat on the leather chair next to him and he watched your eyes scanning over the office before you hummed, impressed.

yet he also watched the stack of papers on the professor's desk which caught your attention and how you immediately approached it while saying something along the lines of, "these must be the class test papers. do you want to see your paper too?"

"not really, go ahead." dazai muttered lowly and he felt his finger twitch when you only hummed. is his voice not seductive? why are you being so nonchalant?

did you ever wonder why the devil approached the pure maiden? maybe it is the devil that got seduced and not the other way around and maybe this is why the devil wanted to make a deal with the maiden so he could keep her all for himself.

you leaned down a bit on the desk as you searched for your paper among the many others and found it after a great deal of effort being used and this made you a bit tired to have to go through all the different papers to find your's and then arrange them back in the pile. you looked down at your paper with a slight excitement mixed with a slight anxiety but when your eyes fell on your mark, you raised your eyebrows in awe.

not bad. most of your answers were correct but they weren't what you were interested in, you were more interested in seeing the ones you got wrong and so to make yourself more comfortable, you leaned on the desk.

dazai gritted his teeth and looked away when he saw your breasts being squished between the glossed wooden table and your body and slowly, oh so slowly, his eyes trailed to your lower body to see your skirt riding up (due to leaning and practically laying on the table).

dazai stared long enough to make out the colour of your panties and if he stared a bit more, he could make out the outline of your cunt and he did. for if he hadn't, then he wouldn't have seen the wet patch on it and gotten the courage to do what he did next.

dazai knew it was too weird for you to not have any effect because of his flirting but now that it is clear you were only putting on an act of nonchalance to hide your obvious reaction to him, he felt his deflating ego rising from the bottom to take lead of him again.

like an eagle, he stood up from the chair he was sitting on to approach you and made his presence very obvious to you. your breath refused to leave your windpipe when you could easily make out dazai's crotch pressing against your ass, his legs on your's and when he leaned down, you could feel his chest against your waist.

your hands holding your quiz paper shook slightly and he smirked upon seeing so as he raised one hand to run it down your back.

"show it to me, sugar." dazai muttered lowly against your ear and lord, oh lord, the gravel tone he spoke in made you want to beg him to take you at the very moment but self restraint is a humorous thing and it won't let you submit till it broke in half.

you do not reply but lick your lips which suddenly got really dry, shakily raising your hands to let him have a clear view of your paper and you looked down, staring at the desk you are inappropriately laying on.

"next page," dazai ordered when the first page showed no incorrect answers and when you failed to listen to him, he gently pinched the back of your thigh which made you to slightly jerk forwards at the unexpected action yet what followed it was his crotch being pressed against your ass.

you whimpered at the touch as the more he pressed his crotch against you, the more you felt the wet patch of your panties rubbing against your wet folds.

"hey, i asked you to do something so why won't you? wasn't i clear?" he hissed down next to your ear and you wondered why is he so worked up?

but how would you know when your forehead is pressed against the desk and your forehead is all sweaty? how would you know how his eyes didn't even glance up to see you pathetically trying to turn the page with shaky fingers and failing.

"what are you even gonna do after seeing it? you don't look even a bit interested in it." you try to speak but your voice comes out as a whine which makes dazai close his eyes. he hummed, moving his hips back before he pushed his crotch against you again to elicit the sound from you one more time. he felt as if didn't hear it right, didn't savour it right the first time.

"what are you --" you mumble when he humped against you again but soon found yourself missing the touch and rhythmic thrust when he stopped and the way his hard on cock could be felt between your ass cheeks.

"-- no, please don't stop." you begged softly and with such fragility that it was evident how your arousal and attraction towards the man behind you is playing with your mind. but when the man only snickered, refusing to move and fulfill your wishes, you took matters into your own hands and pushed your ass against his crotch.

as he hissed, you were made very aware of the hard and clothed dick pushing your skirt and panties between your folds and it made you let out another needy whine

you hide your face against your arms, forehead pressed on the desk after dazai grabbed the paper from your hands and carelessly tossed it on the stack of other papers ; he humped against you again and released a deep breathy sigh.

"ah . . . fuck, fuck, fuck." dazai cursed lowly under his breath as each curse was accompanied by a thrust which left him breathless, his throat felt dry while your legs felt hot and so did your core. you had to spread your legs for him but you didn't find the energy to do so and neither did dazai who has no greater urge then to rip your skirt off but all he could do at the hands of the one who now has him in captivity, is to let out whimpers and curses as he pathetically dry humped against you.

why he felt at such a loss of energy could be explained with great simplicity, really. he felt so because he is in a great state of euphoria, more then what his body and heart could handle and so he feels overwhelmed.

"please, please let me -- ahh, please? fuck, gotta fuck you. need to feel your preety pussy sucking me in, please let me sugar. please." needily he whined as he leaned down even more to bury his face against your neck and whisper against it. his pleas were answered with you grinding against him as short breaths, gasps and whines were all that left the castle of your mouth and through your lips.

though he isn't dazai if he doesn't turn the odds to his favors soon.

"let me fuck you? gotta fuck you. maybe then you'll realise what you did wrong." he rapsed but as if it's a secret between you both, you and dazai knew he wasn't referring to the quiz paper but to something else which was revealed with his next action.

and it seemed like he wanted a verbal answer for your nod had no effect on him and didn't push him to go through with his next course of actions.

dazai's lithe fingers found access under your skirt and he ran the back of his index finger along the plush of your ass while he whispered, "why don't you cling to me instead of that old professor sugar?"

his voice was between a whine and a growl and it only made you to grip the edge of the table at the tone he spoke in only made you aware of your own needy state.

"come on, you know i'm better than he could ever be, right?" dazai whined against your neck and to get a response from you other than the short breaths you let out, he nibbled at your skin while at the same time, in perfect coordination, his hands moved towards the waistband of your panties as he pulled it and stopped, eyes looking down at the table you are squished on with wrath,

"gonna fuck you on this table yeah? old hag needs to know he isn't better than me," dazai tilted his head up towards your ear as he whispered out, "and definitely not a better choice for you." he licked your earshell.

the movement of his crotch rutting against your ass stopped as he moved a bit back only to smile arrogantly when you whined out loud, hooking your ankle around his in a pathetic and quick attempt to stop him from taking a step back.

"please . . ." you opened your eyes and leaned up to look back at him, sweat drops forming on your forehead and lips almost swollen from how hard you were biting down on it, ". . . fuck me. put your hands all over me dammit!" you whined, irritated at the lose of touch.

"yeah? why should i?" dazai raised his eyebrows as he stared down at you for a few seconds before he crumbled, his arrogance being bullied around by his arousal and he found himself leaning forwards to grab your breast, squeezing it harshly as a demand for a response.

". . . please, please? fuck, please, i just need to -- you can't do this to me after riling me up so much . . . hah, seriously? fuck. stop looking at me like that." you mumbled because your arousal froze when you stared at his brown pupils, the ones bearing many secrets and plans, many fortunes and tragedies and how on earth can even lust bow down to admire someone's beauty?

the way his hair sticked to his sweaty forehead and he stared at you with an obnoxiously arrogant smirk yet the pink dust spreading onto his cheeks gave it away how he, with an overbearing beauty, is affected by his hormones and feelings and emotions and lust and why aren't you playing along with him so he could just fuck you?

no. he don't want to just fuck you. when the one who never had anything handed to him with love finds someone he wants to invest his love in, no matter in which shape or form it is in, he won't be satisfied with normality.

he will torture you and himself till he gets what he wants.

for who do you think he is? isn't he the one who walks so even the demi-gods and goddesses can admire and feel envious for feeling threatened and admiration for a mere mortal whose ecstacy comes from being in situations where his heart accelerates and he is hanging on the thin line between life and death.

"why should i when this is how you look at me during lectues?" dazai breathed out and his raspy tone could ascend you to the deepest pits of pleasure and then push you to the cliff of greed and desperation for more. dazai who still has your breast between his fingers, squeezed it as he glared down at you, "always looking at me so prettily and giving that old hag more of a chance to pick on me --"

he leaned a bit towards you as he extended his other hand to twirl your hair strand, "-- do you do it on purpose? knowing i won't focus on shit?" dazai muttered lowly, voice seductive and smooth like honey flowing through a honey comb and luring a man towards its, hiding its danger behind its tempting look.

"that's not my problem." you scoff yet the arrogance laying in your eyes at the sudden fact is not something he will let go so easily.

dazai pulled on your hair to pull you closer before he peppered small kisses along the curve of your jaw, you felt his lips extremely close to your own but before you could feel even the lightest touch of his lips on your own -- he moved back.

"then you being a needy mess isn't my problem as well." he squeezed your breast again before leaving it but before he could pull his hand back to himself, you grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand towards your breasts again. he could feel your legs shaking as you looked at him with a slight frown, desperate to do anything to please him so he could do so in return. this chance won't be coming again and so it should not be wasted at all.

dazai's hand grabbed the flesh of your breast, continuing to squeeze it and with each squeeze, the next one got prominently rougher and harder while he stared into your eyes. something about the sweatbeads on your forehead, bottom lip being sucked in as you pursed your lips and bit them and the especially tempting,  pure and desperate flashing in your eyes had his breath increasing greatly.

and a few and very dragged out seconds, dazai lets out a shaky and frustrated breath before his hands left your breast and hair strand to grab the curve of your body and turned you around so you were once again facing the table. dazai leaned forwards to hide his face against your neck while one of his hands left their initial position to slither down towards under your skirt to your ass.

"you are being such a brat. why are you being a brat? can't you just be good for me sugar? let me fuck you like a good girl?" he whined out and as his frustrations grew by the way he seemed to torture only himself by teasing you, dazai gently bit your neck and you hissed out at the sudden action but with each second passing, the intensity and force in his bites increased till he was biting you hard enough to leave his teeth marks.

you shuddered a bit when you felt his index finger drag down your ass till it reached the waistband of your panties, his cold fingers provided an oddly addicting sensation but it soon disappeared when he pulled your panties down and let them pool by your ankle. and he impatiently grinned against you again, this time, however, the only thing separating his clothed cock from your bare ass is your skirt.

his sneaky hands found a path between his quick and continuous humping to pull your skirt up to your waist. he stared down at your ass with a hungry stare and he would've loved to go on his knees and just have a taste had it not been you fueling his sexual frustration and neediness with the way your whimpers and soft whines only accelerates his frustration further and his frustration pours the spotlight on the growing arousal he needs to get relieved of now or else he won't be able to feel the same pleasure he could feel at this moment if he tried to pleasure himself later, he knew.

"fuck, be a good girl already sugar so I can just fuck you already." dazai whined loudly, pulling down at the sleeve of your top to move his lips against your shoulder to plant a soft kiss before he parted his lips to let his teeth sink into your shoulder, biting it hard. you yelped.

was this not your breaking point with the way his teeth teased you and brought you pain yet the humping against your naked ass brought you pleasure? the heat from his body behind your's and the slight shake of his body with each whine and whimper he released only made you break further. and you did.

your head was buried between your arms on the desk as you loudly begged, "please please please -- ah, i need you, I want you, please!" you raised your voice in sexual frustration.

the man behind you who played a dangerous game by playing with your and his lust finally felt satisfied and hence why he was quick to unbuckle his belt with the flick of his hand down the buckle of the belt.

you raised your head and looked over your shoulder, licking your lips as you began to rub your thigh together and watched him pull his belt out and as much as dazai enjoyed watching the fat of your ass move with your leg movements, he could not let you pleasure yourself -- not when he is there.

he raised his knee to push it between your thighs and to stop your movements and you pouted again, as you stared at him but he had no mercy as he took his belt and leaned forwards to wrap it around your stomach and pull it along your back, tying it and gripping the leftover part in his palm.

you saw him pull down his zipper with haste before he pulled his jeans and boxers down to his knees. he used the belt he tied around your waist and stomach as a controlled of sorts, jerking it to tell you to look forwards and he leaned in, placing his hand on the edge of the desk and next to your hips.

with the other hand, he grabbed his cock and stroked and pumped it thrice (you knew cause your eyes refused to leave him and devour in the sight of him), he guided the tip wet with precum towards your inner thigh and rubbed it against it twice.

"'i'm sorry! sorry! sorry! please dazai, don't be like that. fuck me! fuck me!" you whined out loud and dazai snickered at the way you were so fucked up by his teasing that you didn't even realize you were apologizing to please him when the situation isn't even asking for it. he could feel his cock twitch at your willingness to please and flatter him.

"yeah? you are? not gonna be a brat now, are we?" dazai taunted but at the moment even his taunts are so sexy to hear so you comply, nodding.

"yeah, i'll be good. promise, dazai! for real!" you whine again as you feel him increase the pace of rubbing his tip against your inner thigh. dazai hummed as he spreaded your cheek with one hand and grabbed his cock again, pushing it against your inner labia to collect some of your juices to guarantee a smooth entrance for him and mostly you.

"yeah? but sugar don't you realize where we are right now? what if sir walks in?" dazai smirked as he raised his eyes to stare at you staring at him with wide eyes and a pout as you shook your head quickly, arching your back and trying to push your ass against his crotch but he stopped you by pulling at the belt again.

"we will be quick! trust me, please? i will go mad if you don't touch me right now." your whines, the more he heard, the more he desired to hear more.

dazai fauxed hesitance as he looked at you with faux uncertainty but you knew of the act he is putting on immediately as his actions heavily contrasted his words ; he slowly pushed only the tip of his dick inside your hole.

"i mean i'm up for it sugar but what if we get caught? you'll get in trouble too." he teased, mocked your patience even when he saw how transparent his lack of care for getting himself or you in trouble is, he has the sources to get out of trouble anyway so why would he be afraid?

he warned but then why is the danger himself lurking closer to your breasts before slithering upwards towards your neck as if poison spreading through your veins?

but then again has temptation and lust ever been less dangerous than actual poison? one who kills you physically or one who messes with you mentally and emotionally and then physically?.

temptation has always been the devil's strong weapon, his pride and his charm.

"but didn't --" oh the man whose fingertips spreads temptation and adulterous thoughts into your head, why would you not even let the girl infront of you, bending for you, to complete her sentence?

rudely thrusting into you to break a moan out of your vocal chord is what he did and hiding your face in your arms is what you did.

"were you saying something sugar?" dazai smirked, you know he did cause it was evident with the edge of arrogance in his words but you took advantage of not being able to look at his face to speak up or else you would've surely stuttered and stumbled on your own words.

"for someone claiming they won't let me get in trouble, you are awfully going back on your own words a lot of tim -- dazai!" you yelp out his name but surely you'll wonder later if your words weren't what dazai seemed as interesting for he intrupted you everytime with a thrust.

but this one had you screaming out his name ; bare and skin to skin, warmth and wetness, clamping down and penetrating were all simulations you two felt at once.

"yeah? welllll," he dragged on, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue before he jerked the belt and pushed on your back to make it into a perfect arch and began thrusting at a rapid pace after dragging out his teasing for too long and he rasped out in between, "guess i gotta keep my word. can't go back on them now, right sugar?"

dazai asked but when he didn't get any reply other then filthy moans from you, he tutted in what seemed like faux disappointment though its hard to hear his voice over your pleasure filled one.

his hand went down to graze and grab your knee before he pushed it up on the desk, leaning his head near your neck again to whimper against it while pounding into you.

his cock penetrated in and out of your walls before but this new position had given him an opening to graze the tip against the one spot which made your b shiver upon it being disturbed but once you didn't feel the head of his cock grazing against the spot as he pulled back (before thrusting in again just two seconds later), you found yourself missing it and so, you tried to meet his thrusts ; you moved your hips back at the same time as he thrusted forwards. a breathy moan left you as you digged your nails on your elbows (due to having your arms folded on top of the desk).

"fine, if you won't answer me then make sure to scream my name out as loud as you can." he muttered in between whimpers and whines, he could feel sweat drops dripping down his back and forehead, the way your walls sucked his dick in as if promising to not settle for anything other then drowning it. this is what lead to his quick thrusts as he wanted to feel the feeling again and soon.

the desk began to move with each movement and if only you were conscious and rational enough to worry about the stack of quiz papers falling down, you would've raised your head to look at it and would also be curious to look back and that's when you could've seen the hand holding onto the belt around your waist and how tightly he was holding the ends. hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

your eyes barely stay open as you feel dazai tug you closer using the belt around your waist and you probably heard him take a step forwards as well but you aren't sure when his hand reached down towards your core to push against your inner thigh, making you spread your legs a bit more.

your eyes close and you rely on your other senses as your hardened nipples find pleasure in the friction created by your clothed breasts moving against the desk with every thrust dazai makes.

over your own pleasure filled voice, it is hard to hear anything else but due to the close proximity and dazai's lips moving against your skin, you felt and somewhat barely heard his whimpers and unstable intakes of breaths.

the hand on your inner thigh slithered upwards when he felt his balls tightening and your walls clamping around him even tighter to the point the man felt his knees growing weak.

dazai let out a shuddering breath as he leaned his chest against your back, squeezing you against him and the desk as his fingers traced around your wet outer labia.

"dazai!" a scream ripped through your throat when you felt it clearly ; the way his cock hitted your g-spot. your scream made him caress your outer labia using a bit of force, your back arched and dazai's lips peppered kisses along your neck and shoulder, pulling down on your top sleeve using his teeth to continue marking your shoulder with his bite marks.

dazai's eyes rolled back as your walls squeezed him tighter with each hard thrust to your g-spot and he stopped pushing and tracing your outer labia. he raised his hand and head to look at the glossy coating on his fingers and with a smirk, he brought his finger near his lips before smearing your juice all over his lips and licking it.

a high pitched moan left his lips as he tilted his head back at the way he is teasing himself. closing his eyes to hear the erotic sound of his dick slamming in and out of your wet cunt, his balls hitting against your ass with each slam and your moans and whines -- this all pushed him over the edge more but he wasn't satisfied with this much and wanted more so, dazai traced his hand along his chest before raising it towards his neck and slightly choking himself.

he raised his head to look at your fucked out stare and still arched back, a very faint red blush began to spread on his cheeks as his eyes narrowed. curling his toes and digging his nails in the base of his shoes to obtain any kind of stability, he began to move even faster and you chocked on your moans.

"can't really let you cum here sugar. you'll ruin the professor's desk." dazai smirked and relished when your breath hitched and you shook your head, loudly begging.

"no! please no! don't be so mean to me dazai!"

"but i am only being considerate of our professor sugar." dazai snickered and you had to bite down on your lip before you parted them to speak out again,

"w-what a mean guy! you don't even kiss me but say all kinds of romantic things! you go around teasing me but when i try to do the same, you act like a fucking virgin. i make you loose focus in class? yeah as if --" you stop to moan as he licked a spot on your neck before sucking on it,

"-- what about you and your sneaky touches? always teasing me! making me so worked up and hot. and now when you are finally fucking me, you deny me of my orgasm!" you squeal when dazai pulled hard on the belt and all the while, his thrusts never once lost their velocity.

"you wanna kiss me sugar? i am a mean guy tho." dazai teased and squeezed his neck a little harder, moaning lowly at the pleasure surging through his body.

"yeah." you moan out as you decide you can't reply with a witty remark as you feel the knot of pleasure being pulled in two directions ; one by dazai's dick and the other by the rubbing of your squeezed breasts against the desk.

"soon. yeah? gonna kiss you really soon and really good." dazai uttered a promise and once again dropped his face against your neck, abandoning the belt to wrap both of his arms around your waist and under your stomach to lift your ass up a bit for even more easy access as he panted.

one thrust to your g-spot had sparkles flying inside your entire body. your knot of pleasure was reaching its limit as he pulled at it even more.

the other thrust made him gasp as your walls squeezed down hard onto him.

the third thrust made the desk to inch forward, rocking it and along with it you felt the friction hitting your hardened yet clothed nipple and it spreaded a very raw ounce of pleasure behind your chest and towards your back, making it arch.

the knot grew weaker and weaker and was barely holding on.

the last thrust was followed by him whimpering out your name and your knees went weak, you would've fallen on your knees if it weren't for him holding you up.

the knot broke and cum flowed down his dick making it hard for him to thrust in and out without his dick slipping out and so he stopped to allow you both to catch your breaths.

". . . can i kiss you now?" dazai slowly mumbled when he felt you calming down from your high and a hiss left your lips when he pulled his still hard dick out of your hole.

you chuckle breathlessly, "lord, you are unbelievable."

yet you still try to support yourself on your arms before realizing dazai still has his arms wrapped around you and so he lifted you before turning you around.

your back hits the desk, cum dripping down your thigh yet your focus is on his still hard dick even when dazai cupped your jaw in his palm and raised it to capture your lips in his, your eyes immediately shut close yet your hands travel down to grab his dick, stroking it once using your index finger as if to feel it.

this had dazai gasp against your lips. you wrap your hands around his dick before beginning to pump it and dazai shows his appreciation to your action by moving his hips as well, thrusting into your hands.

you part your lips when you feel him part his but you are taken by a pleasant surprise when instead of letting his tongue explore your mouth, he tilts his head in such an angle that he can nibble on the side of your bottom lip as well as move his lips below your bottom lip.

your grip on his cock tightened when you sense his thrusts become faster yet you still remain unaware of how dazai's eyes are opened and boring holes into the ones of the one on the door who is flabbergasted, shocked ; the professor.

dazai winked at the professor before tilting his head up to capture your lips in a kiss again, mouth parting open and shamelessly moaning into your mouth when your last pump made his cum to shoot out and stain your hands with it.

dazai's arms wrap around your waist again, close to your waist as he makes sure your skirt is covering your bare ass before reaching towards your cunt to swipe some of it on the pad of his index finger and pulling his hand up to show it to the professor.

you feel dazai's lip attack your upper lip, kissing and sucking it before kissing you again, saliva mixing with your's and a filthy wet sound being produced which he is sure the professor heard.

you pull back from the kiss, panting as dazai used his other hand to push your head against his shoulder, mouthing the words with a mocking and cocky smirk to the man whose presence you are unaware of,

"tissues," he mouthed and when the professor began to glare at him again, about to shout, dazai looked down at you again before leaning in to kiss you again.