#it was really scattered and not as cohesive

[gaylittleguys]

wowwwww that was SOOO pretty what a gorgeous showww

[rouge-the-bat]

it weird how so many people seem to act like oppression is the only struggle thats worth discussion. if someone tries pointing out something that negatively affects certain groups and put a label to it- regardless of if they make any statements on if its oppression or not- others have to jump in being like "uhmmm but thats not systematic oppression so you should shut up maybe. other groups have it worse"

like first off, why is oppression the end-all-be-all for discussions and other forms of bigotry/prejudices arent worthy to be talked about and are fine to be dismissed and belittled as less important (or even nonexistent), and shouldnt even have a term to label the specific issues around it? or if it IS oppression thats being talked about, then this is all just coming down to oppression olympics and treating certain groups like theyre the ones that have it worse and thus are the only ones we should be focusing on (and silencing everyone else and making their struggles more invisible). either way its severely fucked up

discussions about different groups issues arent a competition. people can care about multiple issues, and we dont have to try proving who has it worse than others and instead we can just. try to help anyone who is struggling.

additionally, oppression and prejudices arent cut and dry and generally affect multiple groups in the same or varying ways. groups sharing their stories about how something also affects them isnt trying to steal spotlight from the original group. it means yall have a common enemy, a common struggle (that may vary in similarity) to work against and speak out about.

if you feel groups are trying to take over the conversation, you should question whether someone is truly trying to drown out your voice and change the topic, or is just trying to add to the conversation and give more/alternate perspectives on what harm something causes, and build community for yall to work together and support each other. are your struggles completely losing focus in the conversation, or has extra perspectives simply been added, and your struggles are still in discussion? much less people are being/acting maliciously than it may seem, which can be especially hard to realize by those whove been repeatedly hurt by others.

please remember its better for different groups to support and listen to one another, back each other up, and fight their common or different enemies together. arguing about who has it worse and driving sharp lines between groups and their experiences, trying to cut out their similarities, only helps those who want to harm BOTH groups.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Daughter of the Rain and Snow

Concept: Around ten years after the events of Crooked Kingdom, 25-year-old Captain Inej Ghafa frees Maya Olsen from a pleasure house in Ketterdam. Maya is looking for revenge against the man who put her in her position, a man who she knows nothing about except his name: Kaz Brekker.

Tags: @wraith--2 @lunarthecorvus @just2bubbly @real-fragments7 @ethereal-maia @cartoon-clifford @origami-butterfly @lady-a-stuff

Content Warnings: in more general terms I want to remind people to be aware of the nature of Kaz and Inej's experiences and relationship since even if I'm not directly addressing these things they tend to be implicit in any writing about them, but specifically to this chapter there's death, gore (including burning bodies), descriptions of dead bodies, blood, ptsd references/responses, loss of a parent, implied abuse, and sorry I don't know how to word this but if you don't like/are specifically squeamish about eyes there is a reference in the gore that is specific to eyes so I thought it might be worth mentioning.

Chapter 21 - Maya

Maya was twelve when she first discovered she was Grisha. Little things started… happening. Things she didn’t mean. Or at least, they started happening much more frequently than usual. It wasn’t until then that Stephen Olsen had taken his daughter by the hand, and told her the truth.

Maya hadn’t cried, when she learned her mother had been Grisha. Had been killed for it. She didn’t know how to mourn a woman she’d never met. But she cried when she learnt that they had burned her.

“You told me she was with Djel,” she’d said, “That she died in childbirth and you buried her, to take root,”

Her father had looked down.

“Because I cannot think of the alternative,”

“Is that what will happen to me?”

He had wrapped his arms around her.

“Never,” he’d whispered, “I would fight a thousand armies before they reached you, little wolf,”

Her father hadn’t known that she was Grisha, he told her, or he would have got her out sooner. It didn’t occur to Maya, at 12 and in what was soon to become a perpetual state of fright and shock, to ask why her mother hadn’t been able to get out. To ask the entire circumstances of her loss. The next thing she knew they were making plans. They moved to Ketterdam, and the world ended before her eyes. 

That fucking ledger had set the wreckage on fire.

Maya tried to imagine the feeling of her father’s arms around her shoulders. She was his little wolf, and Djel had given her a gift to make him proud. But it was an untouchable memory, sinking beneath the waves just out of reach, tangled and bleeding and mixed up with the messy scrawl that set the last thing she clung to ablaze. 

Maya had left Inej telling herself that the ledger was a lie, but if that was true then why was she still thinking about it? Like the words were scarring her. Like they were smoke and she was choking on them.

The world was buzzing from a great distance. 

Maya didn’t know what she was doing.

She could feel the shadows of Aimee and Kiada’s hands throbbing across her own. It wasn’t quite pain, but it was excruciating. She heard everything muffled through a barrier of rushing blood, her head spinning and her stomach threatening to empty its contents into the canal. Real pain split her shoulder, pain worth feeling, piercing through the din of everything else. The kind of pain that meant you were alive. Her vision blurred, just for a moment.

Maya was realising what she’d done.

Kiada was on her knees, holding herself up with shaking arms. She looked at Maya like a rabbit staring down the barrel of a gun. There was a graze on her cheek. Maya felt herself choke, stumbling backwards and shaking her head.

“I don’t-”

The girls looked at her in silence.

Djel, what had she done? She was meant to protect them. She was meant to be brave for them. She wanted to be brave for them. 

“No, I didn’t - I -”

She stumbled a little as she stepped backwards, and she saw Aimee inch towards her before freezing in place. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words scratching her throat, “Oh, Djel, Kiada I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

She couldn’t breathe.

“I…” 

She was choking on the smoke. She was burning.

What had she done?

“Maya?” said Aimee, looking between her and Kiada

Maya realised dimly that Aimee didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know if she was safe to help Kiada.

Maya had done that too.

She’d made her afraid.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’m sorry,”

Aimee helped Kiada to her feet.

“Do you want to go?” she asked, staring at them, “You can. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t - I’m so sorry,”

“We need help, Maya,” said Aimee, moments before Maya thought the silence would become too much, “We have to go back. She said if you went back she’d help you,”

She shook her head.

“I can’t,”

“Inej did nothing to you,”

Maya’s shoulder screamed its disagreement, but she knew that wasn’t what Aimee meant. Still, she didn’t know that she believed it. If she was supposed to believe that her father had… no. One page of a gambling parlour record wasn’t going to cut it. She needed proof. There had to be someone she could make pay. She needed it, before it ate her alive.

And even if Kaz Brekker wasn’t to blame for this sickness inside Maya, his death would pay for Celina’s. Wonderful, wonderful Celina, dreaming of going home. Dreaming of the ice and the semla from the bakeries and her mother doing her hair for a village dance. Maya had seen the Reaper’s Barge only a few times; even from the shore the flames were high and bright enough to be visible. She imagined Celina, 6 slashes on her throat, a tulip on her cheek, lying at a broken angle with pale, twisted limbs tangled amongst a thousand others. She imagined the flames swallowing her, her glassy eyes still staring to the very last moment. Still full of their fear. Their guilt. Their blame. What happened to eyes, when they burned? Maya didn’t know. In her head they remained the longest, watching everything else burn away, and then they melted. Slow and grotesque.

She hoped that was what would happen to Yennefer. Maybe it already had. Maya thought of Yen's blood on her hands, congealing slowly beneath her fingernails. She'd wanted to be sickened by it, but she hadn't. She'd felt empowered - she'd felt high. She wanted to feel like that again.

Yen was to blame for Celina's death, and she'd got what she deserved. But Kaz Brekker was responsible for it as well. He would pay the price.

Kiada stood in dazed silence, half leaning on tiny little Aimee for support. 

“You shouldn’t trust her,” she told them, “She lied to us,”

Aimee’s little face was hard. Her arm hooked around Kiada’s waist to hold her up, and she reached to brush gravel off the graze blooming on the older girl's cheek. Even looking at it happen, Maya felt tension in her back and rushing all the way down her spine. She squared her shoulders. Holding Aimee through the makeshift blanket had been her limit - and she hadn’t managed that for long. The girl lifted her chin, a kind of shadow in her eyes that should not have belonged to a child so young. 

“She didn’t hurt us,”

That was all Aimee said before she turned away.

[ennaih]

Every Film I Watch In 2023:

185. Gulmohar (2023)

[blujayonthewing]

save me bulletpoints,

[hotsugarbyglassanimals]

ive been genuinely distressed about how bad my adhd has been this past month

[science-lings]

….do it - 🌸

I think i might have to, it's like my brand at this point. I see a blank slate kind of video game protag and I womanize him and make his backstory so sad but his found family so good

[justwhumptypethings]

tw: noncon drugging, disorientation, power loss

drugging.

I know it’s a classic, but I’m really not over sedatives. it makes whumpee all loopy and clingy, sitting on whumper’s lap and not able to take any of their weight as the world spins. they can’t think, can’t move. even their fear response is dulled.

whumpee knows, hypothetically, in a far off way, that something is probably very wrong. but it feels like their consciousness has been shredded to pieces and scattered into the air above where they’re siting slumped, and it’s making it hard to have any type of cohesive thought.

whumper running their hands through their hair, soft and pretty, and saying demeaning things about how broken whumpee is. whumpee won’t remember any of it in the morning.

[toastermuffles]

Hey guys welcome to my massive rant about q!Fit and how cc!Fit is incredibly talented and underrated. Since y'all kinda blew up my twitter post LOL.

There are SO many things I could touch on so it's probably gonna be scattered around a lot.

1) Fit had a great character set up from the beginning. From the very start many people knew Fits reputation as a 2b2t veteran, a place with a toxic environment and brutal people. He was no exception, he was closed off to relationships and was very cautious/closed off to many things. Not only that but his past made people distrust him in the beginning. I loved the suspense it brought with his character and the question of why he WAS actually here. Since the whole "vacation" thing was never very convincing. My favourite part was a lot of this was IMPLIED! He built on the character he portrayed in his YT videos and it worked so well, adding small comments about his character here and there (like when he said q!Fits hearing was bad BC of all the explosions he's experienced).

2) His RP skills were another level, not only was he in character almost the WHOLE time when he was live (even donos) when he first did lore he would tease elements of it by writing cryptic messages when others were live. SUCH a good idea when you have a smaller audience and want to create suspense. Not only that, he would have set dates and times for BIG lore stuff, this honestly made it so much easier to keep track of and engage in, not only alone but with friends too! His actual lore was very different from many others, it was cinematic and well planned, yet it still left room for sudden changes. The final result was a cohesive story line that the audience could interpret. I just loved how I could understand what was happening but also have questions/cliffhangers!

3) the fucking MUSIC. Throughout his lore and start of his streams I adored his choice of music, "Stranger in Paradise" being a personal favourite that was not only reoccurring in more than one language but fit SO WELL. I also think it was very clever how a lot of his music choices for his character didn't make sense until you understand the full story e.g. "Can't say goodbye to yesterday". All of this really added a new perspective on his character, almost through cc!Fits own eyes. Along with his music choice just being absolute bops OFC.

4) THE SYMBOLISM. My absolute favourite lore moment of his was at the end of the "Attachments" lore stream. Where the sun is setting over the mountain, slowly covering a patch of roses in darkness. ALL WHILE an instrumental Italian version of "Stanger in paradise" played. Roses of course being a symbol of not only his and Pac's relationship but love in general. His love for Ramon and his friends. The love he had to grow, just like a rose. While the darkness symbolizes his past catching up to him, more specifically his deadline. His time with his family and friends ending, his loves disappearing. Chefs kiss because it makes me cry everytime fr.

5) q!Fit's sexuality (gay). There is something so poetic about a gay guy from an extremely homophobic wasteland learning to come to terms with his own sexuality and love in general. Him slowly building a loving relationship with Ramon, Growing feelings for Pac, Nervously coming out to his son and then finally indulging in the first relationship and FAMILY he had ever had. Finally learning to love and to be loved in return. Even if he is scared about his mission, or taking things too fast. Just learning to live a normal life.

6) Fitmc is criminally underrated and overlooked. I still remember when Fit got his first proper piece of fanart in the museum. It was like... JULY? or something. And I think that says enough. People had no idea he was even doing lore at some points. Averaging at about 1-2k viewers in the beginning, until hideduo came into the mix. A lot but still compared to others very low. I think because his viewers consisted of his YT audience it didn't translate well. But I'm so glad he was able to build a loving community on twitch <3

Anyways it's 3am for me, I probably have more to talk about but this is basically what I meant when I posted that tweet. Feel free to reblog and add your own favourite observations or moments. I wanna hear them! ❤️

[enviedear]

hey Olivia talk about Jason and love letters pls

i can never say no to you, not like i'd say no to rambling about jason lmao!! link here to what inspired this <3

swing by my askbox 🧸���ི

basically, i think believe that jason would be not only the best at writing love letters but also the most genuine about it. to him, they come from a place of utter devotion. in my hc, i think he'd just really struggle with getting his words out. he hates the way they sound, that they never fully convey what he means, that he stops himself more than he allows himself to speak, and mostly, he cannot handle the pressure of a time constraint. even if someone were to give him all the time in the world to open up, his chest would still get tight and his throat would feel scratchy and raw. jason todd is a victim of analysis paralysis there i said it.

no—he NEEDS another outlet, another form of communication. so he writes. he always loved reading, annotating in the margins—now he does it to his own words. At first, he doesn't even count what he writes as love letters. he's not waxing poetry, he's just explaining his fucked up perspective because you deserve to know. you deserve to be privy to whatever's going on in his head. he fails (for a while) to understand that is love, the very crux of it. the devotion to spend his free time explaining what his mouth refuses to say is love in its purest form.

his words are sweet too, no matter what he's writing. he knows his audience, you. his letters always start the same, with the salutation of 'sweetheart' and an "i love you." sometimes, all that's written is a long run-on about how he feels, how overwhelmed he is. other times, it's reminders of how much you mean to him, how happy you make him. and of course, quotes.

i am a firm believer that jason todd quotes his favorite books (modern and classic) so you better assume he's throwing in quotes that remind him of you. things like "what does money matter? love is more than money." from dorian grey after you had confessed to feeling bad about him spending money on you, or "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more." from emma after an argument rooted in his apprehension for sharing, and "I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes." makes a common appearance. you're unsure as to why he quotes shakespeare so much, especially that line—but he's not. he knows it's the truest cohesion of words he could possibly find to explain to you just how crucial you are to him. detrimental even.

but it's not always super intense—a lot of the times it's simple letters. letters hung up on the fridge, on the dryer, in your car, even scattered little love notes in your purse/wallet. things like, "washed your clothes. you really need new leggings, i put money on the counter." / "changed your oil. remind me again in six months. i love you." / "missed you this morning. i'm coming home with dinner, your favorite. i love you."

where other men fail to find a form of communication that works for them, jason todd exceeds. besides, he's seen death once and he's not meeting it again without you knowing just how much he absolutely adores you. if he can't be here forever to give you the love he's practically overflowing with, at least the letters can outlive him. he'd like to be remembered that way—just by his saccharine sentiments for you

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐲 @ 𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 (𝐦𝐞)

[silentium-symphony]

A Lamb in Wolf's Clothing (Link x Reader) SMUT

(a/n) hey ya'll! i'm so sorry for going MIA for a few months--as some of you may know, I have just recently graduated from college, so there are a lot of big changes happening in my life right now! i appreciate your continued patience with me :) this fic was commissioned by the lovely @mistressofdeathsblog! thank you for giving me such a fun prompt, I had a lot of fun trying smth new and I hope you enjoy it too!

before you start reading, please take special note of the cw below. also, please remember that this is not a healthy relationship you want to emulate and is written for the sole purpose of entertainment. if you are in a relationship that strips your autonomy and you feel unsafe bringing this issue up to the offending party/parties, please reach out to someone you trust. there is no power in staying if there is no freedom to leave. stay safe out there.

and ofc, since this is smut, minors do not interact with this piece.

cw: dubcon, afab!reader, ooc!link since i highly doubt Hylia's Hero would be so life-alteringly possessive of their lover, tp!link, reader being chased, reader being held against their will, blood, tight spaces, swearing, name-calling, dumbification kinda??, cunnilingus, doggy, mirror/standing sex

wc: 5k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Sweat and blood dribbled down your forehead, stinging your eyes with a salty, metallic bite. Thorn-kissed hands grasped and blindly waded through thick patches of bramble. The dark, bristling whips that surrounded you worked every exposed piece of skin into a raw, bloody mess quivering from the forest's cruelty.

You couldn't care less.

The birds overhead guffawed at your efforts as splotches of pale moon danced mockingly, titillatingly along the cold earth. You chased every moon patch with the frenzy of an escaped convict a morning away from freedom.

Because that's what you were, really.

The beginnings and ends of thoughts knotted and frayed into each other, flurrying your head into a cohesive garble. Just how big was this forest? It looked like a sprawling mess from the fortress you were locked up in, but it was absolutely impenetrable now that you were in the thick of it. It was as if the very woods were enchanted to keep you from ever escaping.

A ring of pain hooked the topside of your foot, propelling all of your momentum downwards and towards the forest floor. You couldn't even scream before you bashed your cheek through a thin layer of crusted mud. The cold soil caked your flushed cheeks--the only shred of relief you've felt since your mad sprint to freedom.

Your spine slinked up into a curl--a pathetic attempt to get up, to begin your chase again, but your battered body refused to endure further abuse. (E/C) eyes flitted about you, trying to interpret the shadows that danced and weaved through the trees.

Running in this state would be pointless. You dug your forearms and elbows to crawl towards an ivy overhang that promised hidden refuge and curled into as tight of a ball you could muster. The silky white dress he gifted you had been ripped past recognition. The airy fabric that once brushed your ankles now clung tightly to your blood-laced thighs, soiled from the toils of flight. You pulled your legs closer; your lungs fought for precious breath against your pounding heart.

What a shame. If only it weren't beating so fast, you might have heard the crack of a single twig located too close for comfort.

From several paces into the unseen was a pair of blue eyes misted over with sinful hunger; your quivering, shorn form was scintillating to watch and feasted his mind with imaginations more heart-racing than the last. Your blood, sweat, and tears mixing with your natural scent proved to be the most tantalizing olfactory cocktail, scattering his thoughts into overdrive.

He hated the rush he got from seeing you like this--lost and confused without his guidance through these nested thorns, yearning for warmth and safety he knew he could provide (and had been providing since you stumbled into his castle that fateful day).

Why did you leave him? Was he not enough for you? But he'd given you everything! Everything! Freshly made home-cooked meals, tailored clothes that hugged your form, a bed warmed by him, his body...

He could still feel the soft plush of your flesh sinking and dimpling in his hands as he thrust into you with the faux tenderness of a starved man. Your beautiful eyes locked with his own, only leaving to disappear into the back of your head. Your mouth agape to let the cutest sounds escape...

If you were happy with him, why were you leaving him?

Not waking up to your face smooshed into his pillows, not beholding you in all the pretty silk and ribbons he had lying around, not fucking you in every position you could possibly think of, not spending every waking moment with you...

Why, he'd rather die.

If it made you happy, he'd allow the ambrosial drippings of freedom to bead your lips.

If it made you happy, he'd let you delude yourself into thinking you were far enough from the castle to be away from him.

But only for now. Link prided himself on his chivalry and patience, but even that was growing thin from your incessant attempts of escape. He was going to have to show you why it was such a good idea to stay here with him, forever and ever and ever.

You were nodding off now, it seemed. The way your head kept dipping and rising in a futile attempt to stay wary was so adorable, he just had to ravish you right then and there! He had barely managed to stave off his intrusive thoughts as he stalked closer to you, still clinging closely to the dark cloak that hung off twisted branches.

You saw something shift from the corner of your eye; your neck snapped up and a croak clawed out of you.

"Who's there?!"

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Why was it so quiet?

Had it always been so quiet?

Where have the birds gone?

A familiar silhouette emerged from the trees.

"L-... Link..." Your throat, parched and scratched from heaving the cold night air, rang a voice unfamiliar to you.

Azure eyes that once beheld you with all the love in the world now stare back with deadpan coldness. Words need not be exchanged here; his presence alone blew any hope of escape in the next breeze that ruffled his fur.

A calculated step towards you retreated you further into your little alcove, a prayer that the ivy could take you in as one of its own on your lips. There was no telling what he was thinking, or how close to the edge he was. But that look, that hunger.

That familiar, craved look your body knew too well pulsed anxious tingles through your fingertips.

Another step.

Then another.

Another.

Finally,

He was here.

You could feel him, all of him--his hot breath against your arms, his fur bristling against your thigh, his warmth freezing your blood where it ran. You hadn't realized how much you were shaking until you heard the rhythmic shifting of ivy buzzing into your ear.

He pressed his head into your lap, prying you open to make way for him. And you sat there, obeying him like the perfect little doe you were. As he lazily dragged a tongue across your thigh, lapping at the dried blood that crusted your flesh, he looked up. Relief, adoration, love. That stifling comforting, possessive protective obsession love that he had so readily wrapped you in the moment he met you. For a moment, he looked like a lamb in wolf's clothing.

So many thoughts swirled inside you, your brain numbing to prevent overstimulation. But amongst the chaos, a single thought backdropped every complicated emotion you were feeling.

He had found you.

Had it not been for the blood drumming through your ears and temples, you would have thought time had frozen in this purgative state. He was splayed atop you now, seeming to rest from his hours-long stalking; he wasn't crushing you, but it was clear he had all the control in this dynamic. Any undesirable shift away from him, to preserve your own personhood, would most certainly have led to a 'gentle' nudge toward him.

A single cobalt eye lazily cracked open after a million years ticked by. His piercing gaze, though fringed with some life, made it abundantly clear that your race to freedom was placed at an indefinite standstill. He had never once snapped at you, but the fear lodged in your chest informed you not to test him further.

He hauled himself up, joints locked from inactivity popping to life as he arched into a long stretch. His carefree pose hinted at obliviousness--borderline forgiveness--to your impertinence, but you knew better.

Link never forgets.

He eyed you again with a sort of child-like excitement that twisted your gut into a sickening pattern. His tail arced to and fro, painting his excitement in broad strokes. He wedged his snout between the small of your back and the wall and firmly pushed you forward, scooting you a couple inches toward your prison home.

You knew better than to anger him.

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Link's skillful navigation through the thorns was unimpeded by your clinging onto him. It had taken hours to get to where you once were, but a quarter of that time for the wolf. The gloomy castle you had called your home for months (years?) broadened into view until you could clearly see its spires puncture through occasional clouds. The moon, basking in its celestial sovereignty, jeered at your return.

Link slipped through a tiny crack in the iron-clad door, made by the wolf confident in its tracking and retrieving abilities. You slugged off him with practiced movements; a sound akin to obscene magic asundering flesh preluded your captor's transformation. Grisly black fur gave way to sand-blonde hair; the worn, patchwork shirt which heralded his humble beginnings as a rancher ran taut against the back you had spent several minutes clambering onto.

He continued looking ahead unblinkingly as you idled a few paces behind him, your chest constricting and mind frenzying with murky anticipation. Your nerves, frayed from adrenaline and brain-altering fear, now swam in the heavy nothingness of silence; you were a breath away from weeping before a tenor tone disturbed the still.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

Silently, you both moved through the halls, paying the torchlit shadows the special type of attention one gave to the mundane in moments choked with awkwardness. Worn, freshly torn hands bunched the hem of your dress until your knuckles whitened. A part of you wished to never reach your destination, preferring thickened stillness over the unpredictable inevitable. You rounded a familiar corner and gathered the shreds of your sanity to brace yourself for whatever may come.

The sullen wooden door gave way to the man's heave and you followed him in. A large bathroom decorated only with the essentials filled your view. As Link ran the faucet, your eyes absently glazed over the rickety plumbing he had installed to transport hot spring water to the tub. For the first time since his transformation, he turned to you.

"Strip."

His clear, authoritative tone cut sharper than any thorn that had shredded you. Eyes downcast, your fingers wrought the straps of your dress further, further down your shoulders. Your skin burned from your clammy fingers; you blamed it on the steam that had begun filling the corners of the room and ignored the heavy, heated stare placed on you by the male.

Link followed your dawdling, hooking his fingers under the hem of his shirt and lifting it to reveal a stomach sculpted by years of farm work and adventuring. The straps of your dress coiled close to your elbows before settling by your ankles. Your hands immediately scattered to cover your exposed parts as Link finished undressing himself, his fully erect length blurred by warm mists and (eventually) a deftly wrapped towel.

He reached over to squeak the faucet shut; the comforting, monotonous lull of running water now halted to scant droplets. After pulling out the small basket of rags and soap, he sat on a bar stool and beckoned you with a lone finger.

"Come here. You're filthy."

You shuffled out of the shredded dress and forward, keeping your eyes trained on the end of the tub where he sat.  The wanton desire for a hot bath waived your concerns over the situation, dulling your fears enough to throw a leg over the edge and sink everything but the top half of your face below the water.

The warm panacea cloaked you in an elixir of ease, and a satisfied groan unintentionally lapsed your lips; your hand figuratively slapped over your mouth when the air honeyed into something...

Sinful.

Link dipped a small bucket into the bathwater and slowly poured it over your head, calloused fingers expertly combing through knotted, crusted strands. The hardened skin tenderly brushing the back of your neck jolted heated memories to the forefront of your mind.

You could still feel the harsh, almost desperate grip laced in your hair as he pounded you from behind, panting sweet promises to give you more for the rest of your lives. Your face, buried in his pillows, blindly nodded along to the specifics of what he had said, your mind too blurred to focus on much else aside from your umpteenth high of the night.

The warm water felt like a cold deluge and a noticeable shiver ran through you. Soapy hands stopped caressing your scalp.

"(F/N)?"

"H-Huh?"

"How about we play a little game?" Link murmured suddenly, absently twirling your locks in his fingertips. Had it not been for the taut fingers interweaved through your hair, your surprise would have been more apparent.

"What... What game?"

"A little game similar to hide-n-seek." He started languidly, as if savoring every vowel that lisped his tongue. "If you can evade my capture until dawn, I will guide you to the forest's edge so you may leave. However..."

Rough fingerpads traced up the side of your bicep as darkened ears caught your quiet, involuntary gasp.

"If I catch you... You're mine. Deal?"

Throat tightening and heart palpitating, your mind fought to keep its last ounce of calm as your captor's hand circled to your front to cusp and knead your--

"What's the catch?" You breathed, somehow managing to divert your attention away from Link's sinful reaches.

"There is no catch, but there are rules." He pecked your cheek, his lips curving into a soft smile that thinly veiled iller intents.

"You are allowed to hide anywhere in the castle grounds and use whatever means necessary to hide from me, so long as neither of us gets seriously injured... The moment you step foot in that forest, I will claim you where you stand. Is that fair?"

Was this a trick?

A sick joke meant to dangle tonight's failure in your face?

Surely it was... But what if it wasn't?

His steady stare that peered shamelessly through your soul conveyed a degree of seriousness and sincerity required to make a truthful statement.

"How do I know that you won't go back on your word?"

"I have never lied to you." He gritted his teeth. "Can you say the same?"

The genuine hurt masking his eyes ached your chest, but the tiniest shred of dignity you had left netted the apology that almost escaped your mouth.

"Is there anything else I should know before I make my decision?"

"No. I have told you everything you need to know and will uphold my end of the deal. The final decision is yours."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Moonlight masqueraded through the gaping windows, streaking drab grey pillars with hints of alabaster. The halls which you have called home for what felt like time immemorial now crowded your vision with a foreign bite, sinking into your flesh an unnerving uncertainty around every corner.

Your neck swiveled on all axes, one eye trained in front of you and the other separating the benign from foe that hid in every dancing shadow. Bare feet pattering against olden stone filled the gaps in between each racing heart beat, drumming your ears in a never-ending symphony of chase.

Legs aching, quaking, begging for proper rest are promptly ignored, outcompeted by the more urgent matter at hand.

Your final gambit for freedom.

You cursed under your breath as you ascended a spiraling staircase, your lungs burning with the rage of a thousand suns from heaving in the cold, arid air. The stone floor kissed knicks into the soles of your feet as you skidded around a corner and madly dashed down the hall, shifting down a narrow crawlspace that branched off from the main hall.

Whispered hisses and curses bounced off the tightening walls as rough-hewn stone jagged into your skin, reopening recently closed wounds from the brambles. You could only pray that Link was far enough away to not pick up on freshly streaked blood.

A familiar carpet--the one from the main hall--filled your view and you slowed your shimmying into a momentary pause. You fought to see through your grimace to peer around the corner and hoped that your heart wasn't beating loud enough to mask the signs of your stalker.

All good...?

You scooted out of that uncomfortable position and ducked towards the exit.

The private gardens opened up to you. Trails of ivy found residence in the cracked grey of decayed walls and the fountain was spewing the most delicious water your parched throat had ever seen. You circled the mini courtyard, your frenzied mind shunting the garden's haunting aesthetics in search of a practical hiding place. To your right was the more open space of the main courtyard, and to your left were the untrimmed topiaries of Hyrulian heroes commemorated only in flora.

Streaks of morning were just beginning to tip the horizon.

Your feet teetered toward the right, but a certain non-human shadow slinked past the threshold. All color drained from your pallor as you scurried around the topiary's wide base and hid behind the cloister's stone pillar. The sounds of flesh ripping and reanimating shot through the air; tears began to freely flow as a carefree whistle ambled closer to you.

"My, my... It's almost daybreak. I must find my beloved soon, or else I'll lose her forever."

The sky was just beginning to tinge a magenta-red.

"Is she... Hiding by the door?"

Boots clicking against stone rang like a departed's dirges. Your clammy fingers dug into the side of your face--a feeble attempt to muffle your whimpering.

"Is she... Behind these topiaries? No? Hm... But I'm getting close, aren't I, (F/N)?"

All strength, all hope, had been sapped from your body; your knees locked and buckled.

"Oh? Have we always had a little walkway back here? What a wonderful surprise! I know my darling would love it here."

Your vision darkened.

Leather nestled softly into your face as the heat of another poured and mingled with the cold stone pressed to your back.

"Guess who?" He sang.

You felt all your muscles simultaneously release their tension; your legs folded in on themselves, but secure arms hooked them under and hoisted you bridal style.

As you were carted inside the dark fortress, the morning sun greeted you in its soft-rayed glory.

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The stale castle air flooded your lungs as your body was unceremoniously tossed onto the bed. A hand tightened around your wrists and hot, agitated lips locked with yours before your brain could register the cotton plush of your sheets. His other hand feathered up your thigh, learned fingers grazing all your tender spots and teasing your thoughts into a foggy mix of want.

Your figure writhed uselessly under him as he flattened you further into the bed, using his full weight to keep you pinned where he wanted. The hand that carried out its sinful ministrations below shot up to seize your cheeks. Rough fingerpads bruised the softer flesh as he craned your neck to make way for his lips, flushed with a feral red and coated with soft proclamations of domination.

"You're mine... All mine..."

Hot breaths ghosted the surface of your neck, tickling a heated whine out of you. Your needy noises hitched into a gasp when you felt moistened lips lock onto your skin, suckling and teething the flesh into discolored patches. Rich vermilion fringed with a sinful violet bloomed below your jawline, trailing down and darkening with each claim closer to your chest.

He yanked the noisome dress down, exposing all of your chest to him. The snaps of cloth ripping from its handles and the sudden whip of cold air across your most sensitive parts pierced a jolt through your body. He pulled away to admire the shades of purple and red marring your fair complexion, a visual reminder to the dust haunting old halls and courtyards lost to time that you were his, and his alone. A lone tongue swirled around an irritated bud.

Trembles quaked through you--from heated anticipation or disgust, you were unsure. He hooked his fingers back into your cheeks and pried your face to look into his own. Sky-blue eyes, which once beheld you in crinkled happiness, had dimmed into a hazy navy clouded with lust.

"So pretty... My gorgeous, gorgeous girl."

Soft lips brushed your forehead, ambled down to your nose, and finally settled on your lips.

"My good girl."

Lips warmed with depraved whispers silenced around your bud. Starved suckling backdropped the more apparent whimpers scratching your throat, dredged in pleasure with a dulling edge of resistance. Scarred skin delicately cusped your mounds, tweaking and flicking your perkiness until it was a rosy red.

Your growing sensitivity stung tears into your eyes. Achy hands, now free from his grasp, grappled onto sinewy shoulders but did little to convey genuine discomfort. A deep groan purred from his chest as Link balanced your sore bud in a soft knead between his teeth. A pop filled the room.

"Let me see those eyes."

Your eyes wedged open to see blown-out blues taking all of you in. Your heart pounded a flush into your cheeks and christened an unholy flame to spread through your core.

"That's it... Now watch me..."

He dragged his body lower and lower, his eyes unwavering from yours for even a second. Steady hands balled into the collar of your dress and tore through the silk, the symphony of rips bouncing off the walls and knocking coherence out of your head. His lips matched the pace of the ragged unveiling and chased progressively exposed flesh with soft kisses, down, down, and farther down. Feverish breaths along your inner thighs sent chills up your spine.

"Watch me as I make you cum for me."

Hands gnarled from knighthood knotted into the delicate lace separating him from his prize, tearing it apart with ease.

"Link, hold--ah!"

Your eyes shot to the back of your head as your mouth gaped into a silent 'O.' An orchestra of colors, conducted by a madly indulgent maestro, symphonized into a crazed, otherworldly experience. His tongue coiled and stretched into you with the practiced precision of many amorous nights while his thumb circled the space around your clit, teasing the nub until agony. It was only a matter of time before your impassioned gasps and pleas competed with the downright sinful wetness Link lapped below.

"Tell me you love this--that you love me."

"Link, please! Just give it to me please, please, please...!" The top of your head rolled further into your pillow when the painful prick of a pinch shot too much for too short a time.

"Don't look away. Don't you dare look away, you filthy slut." Deft fingers plunged into you until pleasure fried your brain. "You'll cum when I tell you to."

Your whines and whimpers hiccuped into full sobs for release, whistled with pleas and promises you both knew you wouldn't keep.

"You'll love me forever, right? You'll be my good lil' cock slut forever, right?"

"Yes! Yes, I promise! Please Link, just let me cum already, please!"

You damn liar.

He pulled away, coldly gazing at the weeping, quivering, gasping mess of his beloved.

"Link...? W-why did you--"

"Your heart may have forgotten, but your body remembers..."

His sweet lips, tinted with a hint of bitter longing, moved with yours in a desperate, crazed dance. Every lust-filled, haggard groan ripped from his lungs masked the quieter crack running up his heart.

The bed creaked from the sudden redistribution of your weight as he spread you on all fours. He aligned himself to your entrance and, in a single motion that he had done hundreds of times, completed you. A wail, colored in pleasure and streaked with pain, contrasted Link's blissed-out groan. Tears brimmed the corner of your eyes; each droplet slipped down your cheek in time with his frenetic pounding until it had thickened into a steady stream.

He wasted no time in his pursuit for pleasure, hitching his pelvis to your ass, pulling away, and slamming back in with the gentleness of a starved wolf ripping into a lamb. His fingers dug crescents into your hips as he adjusted himself, propping one of his legs up to angle himself deeper and faster into you.

He was stretching you past your limits, and every thrust was accompanied by a heated flash of pain. Your upper half sunk towards the bed as he moved your hips higher, closer to him. Helpless (E/C)s stared at the creaking bedpost while your whitening knuckles dug through the sheets clumped in your hands. A salty mixture of tears and saliva pooled on your pillow as honeyed cries haunted your walls.

"What, is my princess not having a good time?" He jeered, reaching over to give your engorged clit a cruel flick and your ass an even crueler slap. "What does my baby want me to do to her? Huh? What do you want me to do to your tight pussy?"

"L-Link, It hurts! It's too--!"

The side of your quivering hips slammed into the mattress and forced you on your back. Your face snapped into the pillow when his writhing tongue replaced his thick cock, tonguing and lapping at your dripping pussy as if your ambrosia would be the last thing he was to taste. He pulled out and spat on your entrance, pressing his tongue flat against your pussy and swiping up towards the clit that he coiled.

"Mmph... Fuck, I love you... Give me more... Gods, give me more."

A bruising ache pressed into your hips as his frenzied circling spurred faster, faster, faster. Pleasure dizzied your senses towards a dark void; the familiar knot in your stomach that ached to unravel popped with the abrupt re-emergence of Link.

"Mm, tight as ever... How're you feeling, my dove?" He husked, ragged breaths encapsulating the shell of your ear.

"Too b-bi--Link, you're too big!"

"Shhh... You can take it. You've taken it hundreds of times. C'mon, squeeze my cock like a good girl."

"It's so--Link, you're stretching me out, I need to--"

"Not yet. I'm not done fucking you yet." He swiveled you back on all fours and pounded you into the mattress, your cries and pleas be damned. Slender fingers snarled through your tresses and strained you away from the pillows that held your screams.

"When I'm ready, I want to watch you cum all over my cock." His erratic pounding slowed for a split second, enough time for a certain thought to come and go. "I want you to see it too."

Your abused cunt finally had a moment to breathe and process; if only your brain had that same luxury.

The bed sighed a relieved groan as Link crawled out and wrapped his arms about your lower abdomen to hoist you up. When it was evident that this pathetically limp curl was the best you could do, toned forearms hooked under your knees and spread your legs in the most vulnerable position you've ever been in. With a huff, Link brought you front and center to the mirror. You both watched breathlessly as he lowered you onto his slicked cock, sinking every inch into your gummy walls.

"Fuck, you're so tight... I need you, (F/N)..."

His crazed pistoning began once more; the sensations that ransacked your body were unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. The tip of his cock so easily, so effortlessly rammed into your sweetest spots; every thrust he slammed into you turned you into a shamelessly shaking, overstimulated mess.

"Look at you," he hummed darkly, "look at all the sin running down your legs."

Link's voice was so far away now. The way he kept disappearing into your sopping cunt and your juices dribbling over your thighs consumed your every thought. The only tangible you could feel was the building pressure coiling in your gut, tightening with each passing second.

"So beautiful... So tight... Don't you want to do this forever? Hm? Don't you want to be ruined by me forever and ever?"

His teeth sunk into your neck, adding to the carnal collection and ripping a hoarse cry out of you.

"You're my good girl, aren't you? My good girl... You're all mine--all fucking mine."

Veins marbled his arms and forehead as he nuzzled into your neck, tongue tracing the edge of every bite. The labored grunts that occasionally wheezed out of him, along with his stuttering hips, signaled that he was teetering closer and closer to the edge. Hooded blues stared piercingly into your own, weighed down by mindless intoxication. His lips brushed a flame through the curve of your ear.

"Look at me..." He purred. "Look at me and confess your lust to me."

A shattered cry, followed by a wave of profane heat, collided with your system. Winced eyes lolled to the back of your head while you spasmed and twitched in still arms. Your violent clenching and knowledge of your release strained a guttural growl through Link's chest as he spurted his cum as deep as it could go. Thin, white threads coated your walls and trailed out your still-plugged hole until drips of sin stained the stone below.

Link tripped to the foot of the bed, his body folding into the sheets the second his foot made contact with the wooden post. With arms wrapped comfortably around you and the familiar presence of your spent lover, you passed out the moment your body recognized blissed finality.

As you commenced your near-immediate foray into the realm of dreams, a familiar voice--soft yet broken--rang through your last layer of consciousness.

"Sleep well, my dove. If eternally precarious possession is the closest thing we will ever have to love, I will gorge myself on it."

[alwritey-aphrodite]

"wow I really cant speak huh? must be how pretty you look" with tasm! Peter parker

Peter knows he’s not exactly the epitome of suave and charming. He’s a little awkward, lanky and clumsy despite his choice of extracurricular, and May says he still leaves the house without his clothes matching or ironed most days. Still, he can’t help but want to talk to you, even when he trips over his words and makes a fool of himself every single time.

“Hey, can I sit?” He asks, voice too loud for the quiet library as he gestures towards the empty chair across from you. There are plenty of extra seats, open tables scattered all throughout the room, but you’re like a magnet, and every time Peter sees you, he can’t help but make his way over.

“Go ahead,” you respond in the appropriate volume, with a smile that makes your eyes shine as he sets his bag down, backpack thumping against the floor and causing all eyes to settle on him once again. He’s quick to pull out his own supplies as you turn back to your open textbook, highlighter gliding across the page every few minutes. Peter gets no work done, but he really can’t be blamed because how is he expected to focus when you’re so beautiful when you’re concentrating? Terrified of being caught staring, he turns back towards his blank page and scribbles some nonsense, hoping you don’t think he’s a complete weirdo.

He’s so focused on trying to look like he’s busy without actually doing anything that he doesn’t notice when you shut your textbook and slide it into your bag, and he nearly jumps out of his seat in shock when you lean forward to tap your knuckles against the table.

“Wanna grab lunch?” You ask, leaning across the table to keep your voice down but all Peter can focus on is how pretty your hair looks, illuminated from behind like an angel.

“Yeah, sure, that would be awesome,” he struggles to form any sort of concise or cohesive sentence, but you smile anyway, leaving him to miss your proximity as you straighten up and haul your backpack onto your shoulder.

It really is a beautiful day, and it seems like the entire city is in a good mood, celebrating the end of winter and the beginning of warm weather and sunshine. It won’t last long, and soon everyone will be angry and rude and hot and miserable, but for now, the weather is perfect and people smile as you walk past.

“I’m so ready for this semester to be over,” you say as you tilt your head upwards, like a flower seeking out the sun, and Peter’s so enamored he almost forgets to respond, until you sneak a glance out of the corner of your eye, your lips quirked up in a teasing smile, something less soft but no less beautiful than the smile he typically receives.

“Oh yeah, me too,” he manages to reply, your knuckles brushing against his as you swing your arms while you walk.

“Any big plans?” This time you tilt your head towards him, and the full force of your attention is almost too much, almost enough to make Peter’s heart stop and his brain shut down. He doesn’t trust his brain to create a full, coherent response, so he just shakes his head, smiling as you reply, “Me neither,” before he even gets the chance to ask.

The two of you stop by one of the many cheap takeout restaurants near the library, grabbing your food and finding a bench to enjoy the weather, keeping your head tilted up to the sun as if it’s truly magnetic, as if you don’t have a choice but to bloom. Peter tries his best to be a good conversationalist, but he’s got so many thoughts and feelings swirling through his brain that every time he looks at you, or can feel you looking at him, he’s unable to respond the way he wants to.

“Wow, I really can’t speak, huh?” He asks rhetorically after stuttering over his words for what seems like the millionth time, “Must be how pretty you look.” He spares you a sideways glance, a little afraid to look at you fully, but he can’t help but grin when he sees your mouth open and close, silently attempting to form a response. He laughs and you follow suit, leaning against his side with the force of your giggles and sending him into a spiral all over again. You'd been on equal footing for a minute, but even as his heart pounds against his ribs and you straighten up again, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[the-way-astray]

The Keefe Sencen Infantilization Argument (because I've seen people say that saying he infantilizes Sophie is a bad-faith argument):

(Note: This post is a repost. I had my thoughts scattered out over a few posts, so I wanted to put them all together in one cohesive post. If you've already seen all the original posts, then aside from like two sentences being reworked and the format being better now, there's like nothing new here for you. Sorry.)

Examples of Keefe infantilizing Sophie and my explanations as to why this is infantilization and not okay:

Lodestar, chapter 4. What I originally said: “There you go, rocking the whole adorable-when-you’re-angry thing. I think that’s what I’ve missed about you the most.” Keefe infantilizes Sophie by saying she’s cute when she’s angry. She is trying to express her feelings, and all Keefe can do is be all Awwwwww. Isn’t that so cute? She’s angry! How adorable. It’s a form of invalidating someone’s feelings, by treating them like they’re just entertainment or by brushing them off like that. It’s some of the most manipulative behavior out there. It also saves Keefe from having to actually take Sophie’s feelings into account. His infantilization of her also shows up in his incessant need to protect her. It’s icky and gross, and authors should stop encouraging this behavior.

Sophie and Keefe are having a mental conversation and Keefe starts talking about Sophie's love triangle/square situation and Sophie doesn't want to talk about it. Not a fan of this, because Keefe butts into Sophie's personal business, then when she gets worked up, he heavily implies that he thinks it's cute. But this one isn't particularly bad compared to the others. Don't get me wrong, I still think this is infantilization, but the best I can say about it is it's not the worst example.

Lodestar, chapter 46. What I originally said: “You’re so cute when you worry, he told her.” More classic Keefe infantilization. He once again invalidates Sophie’s feelings by dumbing them down and acting like they’re this cute, quirky, inconsequential thing.

Sophie is obviously incredibly worried. Keefe clearly knows this. And his comment is to be like Yeah, but don't you know that makes you sooooo cute??? Like, sir.

Lodestar, chapter 65. What I originally said: “Is this going to be another one of those nights where you spend the whole time yelling at me to come home? Keefe asked, making her sit up straighter as his thoughts filled her head. Because as much as I love it when you get all feisty on me, now’s really not a good time.” God, Keefe is so subtly invalidating. He treats Sophie like she’s just his personal worry machine, not a person with valid concerns and ideas. The flippant way he talks about her worry for him makes me so mad. He takes her worry for granted and throws it back in her face, without a care for how it would affect her mental health. He brushes her off and invalidates her because he thinks he’s so much smarter than everyone else. Not to mention he calls her worry “feisty” and further infantilizes her feelings and ideas.

This one honestly stands alone. Context doesn't really do anything to it. The infantilization for all these quotes is in the quote itself, because it is invalidating to treat someone's outburst of negative emotions as entertainment. Keefe basically just says that he finds it cute when she insists he comes home because she's worried about him??? He's like, yeah, Sophie's worried about me, tearing up her mental health over me, but like. She gets feisty when that all becomes externalized and she begs me to come home! Again, it's just a way he's able to brush Sophie's feelings off and disregard her opinion entirely.

When I say Keefe acts like Sophie is his personal worry machine, I'm saying he acts like her worry only exists for his amusement. He doesn't see the deeper feelings behind that worry (or if he does, he certainly doesn't respect them), and only see it for what he sees it as: something cute and adorable.

Nightfall, chapter 24. What I originally said: “‘I know! Our little girl is growing up and getting so snarky!’ Keefe pretended to wipe his teary eyes. ‘I’ve never been so proud.’” “Our little girl” . . . that totally isn’t creepy or infantilizing at all. The way Keefe talks about Sophie here is genuinely so gross, even if it is a joke. 

This is a joke. 100%. But it's a joke that sat very poorly with me because of the way Keefe verbalizes this. The problem for me is in the quote itself, again, because I feel like saying these sorts of things constantly is just so weird.

Nightfall, chapter 32. Wouldn't say what I originally said adds anything new, so I'm just gonna move past that. The larger problem here is 100% the fact that Keefe is clearly trying to joke to deflect Sophie's anger away. My argument isn't about that. My argument is that saying that someone's anger is adorable is textbook infantilization. In context, Keefe uses it as a way to deflect or joke. But the simple act of saying that is a form of invalidation where Sophie's emotions are made out to be some silly, inconsequential thing.

Anyway, about this quote in particular. Sophie is obviously freaking out, and she is clearly and seriously trying to tell him that his joking behavior is unacceptable. Keefe responds, not by listening at all to what Sophie said or what she's feeling, but by instead saying this. This invalidates Sophie's very real feelings as well as saves Keefe from having to confront what Sophie's telling him. And yes, this is a product of his deflection, but my point here is that saying someone's anger or worry is adorable or cute when they are trying to be serious is textbook infantilization, because it treats that opinion they have as a silly, child-like tantrum. "Awwww, isn't that anger adorable???" is what you say about a tantrum-throwing toddler who just got their favorite toy taken away, not someone your age presenting a valid, serious opinion. My issue is with the statement "Your anger/worry is adorable/cute" itself, not how Keefe uses it to deflect. It also presents Keefe, subtle as it may be, as the only one with valid opinions on things because Sophie's adorable little feelings get in the way of her rationality.

And before you say Sophie calls him out on this, yes, but he doesn't change. I'm not going to talk about it at length here, but Keefe apologizes to Sophie in the Nightfall scene after his bed rest more out of a desire to make up with her than a desire to change his bad habits. You can see this because he continues to do it into Unlocked.

Nightfall, chapter 34. Again, I don't think what I originally said adds anything relevant, so I'll skip that here.

The famous scene. I do admit that Sophie calls Keefe out this time. However, as I've already said, this doesn't stick, so it hardly matter. Keefe continues with this behavior through the series and into Unlocked, where he doesn't necessarily say these things out loud, but you can see he still thinks them.

Nightfall, chapter 70. What I originally said: “‘Much as I’m enjoying this sudden overflow of adorable Foster-rage—it’s not worth it.’” Ah, more of Keefe infantilizing Sophie and invalidating her feelings. If someone finds your anger or worry “adorable” and acts like it’s this cute little quirk, then that’s never a good thing. Especially if they enjoy it. Someone who cares about you should never enjoy seeing you angry or worried.

Sophie's having a serious, key word here is serious, discussion (we'll call it a discussion, even though that's not particularly correct) with Cassius, and even though her rage isn't aimed at him this time, Keefe telling Sophie her rage is adorable when she's being serious is still dumbing down her emotions to that of a toddler throwing a tantrum, not a grown-up (at least relative to Keefe) having a very valid reason to be angry. Just because he agrees with her anger, doesn't mean he can't still infantilize her.

Flashback, chapter 1, page 12. I think what I said in my original post just about sums it up: “‘You’re so adorable when you worry. I’ve told you that, right?’” (12) Yes, you have, and saying it more doesn’t make it any less icky and gross and infantilizing. It’s like he’s dumbing Sophie down to this object who only exists to entertain him with her adowabuw wittle feewings, instead of a person with very real, very complex emotions.

Keefe fans the air, so we have physical evidence he knows exactly how worried Sophie is. And his response is to be like, so cute! So adorable! Once again, this is serious, and Keefe is acting like Sophie's worry exists only to amuse or entertain him. I don't know else to communicate that that isn't a good thing. Someone being worried usually means they have something they're worrying about, worry doesn't just manifest out of thin air for entertainment's sake. Sophie also responds poorly to his writing her off, with what and the glare and all.

(Side note: When I was looking for that quote, I found a quote where Fitz says the exact same thing, I'm talking word-for-word "adorable when you worry" stuff. Like I mentioned in my disclaimers, I'm not saying he's more right for this and I'm not letting him off the hook. It's icky when Keefe does it and it's icky when Fitz does it. But I'm solely focused on Keefe, which is why I'm not bringing that up. It's also worth it to note that Fitz doesn't say this over and over again, the way Keefe does.)

Flashback, chapter 17, page 304. I think I'm just going to copy-paste exactly what I said in my original post because it's exactly what I'm trying to say: “‘Hear that, Ro?’ he interrupted. ‘She’s giving me her serious voice.’” (304) Another example of Keefe infantilizing Sophie and dumbing her feelings down for the sake of a joke. Awwww, isn’t her serious voice so cute? She only does that when she thinks she has something important to say to us grown-ups! Awwwwwww. 

Apparently, people don't get why this is a bad thing, so: acting like someone isn't being serious when you can literally feel their emotions and know they're being serious just because you don't like what they're saying is not just invalidation, but infantilization, because you are dumbing their emotions and the complexities behind them down to that of a child attempting to be serious.

I'd also argue that this shows Keefe's true colors: he only really listens to her opinions and respects them when he agrees with them. Disagreeing with someone is all fine and good, but you can still respect the other person's opinion and not dumb it down and act like it's lesser than your own. If Keefe said "Sophie, I hear you, but I think you're wrong" (in Keefe jokester language, obviously, not word-for-word what I wrote) then I wouldn't call this infantilization, I'd call it respect. My problems arise from when Keefe acts like Sophie's opinions are stupid because Sophie is the one saying them with that adorable little pouty voice.

Flashback, chapter 21, page 355. What I originally said: “It’s always fun when you get feisty.” (355) I’ve said this about a gajillion times, but Keefe’s infantilization of Sophie is so horrific, it’s like he doesn’t care about her at all. He just sees her emotions as amusement for himself.

This is a sad scene, and Keefe has every right to be emotionally . . . off in this scene. But it still doesn't change the fact that he calls Sophie's anger "feistiness" and then says it's fun when she gets angry. You could say that's not exactly what he said, but it's likely that's what he meant given the past few quotes I've shown. Keefe has demonstrated a pattern of thinking Sophie's anger is amusing or adorable or fun. Anger is a negative emotion. When Sophie feels anger she doesn't feel good. And Keefe is like, yeah, but it's cute! Do you see how that's not the greatest thing to say? It says a lot about his internalized beliefs about Sophie, and is essentially confirmed by Unlocked. And even if that didn't represent the way he saw Sophie inside, that's still a really shitty thing to say because it still carries the invalidation.

Legacy, chapter 3, page 70. What I originally said: “‘Tell me why you have that cute little crease between your eyebrows.’” (70) You already know what I’m going to say. Keefe finding Sophie’s worry cute is textbook infantilization. But also, if he finds her worry and anger so adorable, what’s he gonna do when the Neverseen are defeated and Sophie doesn’t have as many things worrying her?

So, the crease between the eyebrows is obviously because of worry. So by saying he finds it cute, Keefe indirectly says he finds Sophie's worry cute, though I'm sure I don't have to spell that out because he's already flat out admitted he finds Sophie's worry cute several times. I'm going to sound like a broken record if I repeat what I've been saying this entire post about why this is infantilization, so instead I wanna talk about that last paragraph there. Keefe literally knows how queasy Sophie's worry can make her sometimes, and he has expressed this before, as well. So he knows exactly what Sophie's going through when she worries. And still, he acts like her worry is amusing, funny, cute, or otherwise a quirky little thing. I don't understand how Keefe can be so invalidating, having had firsthand experience with Sophie's emotions.

“But I was only half listening because she gets this cute little crinkle between her eyebrows when she’s trying to be serious, and it makes me want to reach up and smooth her forehead with my fingertip—and I’m betting she’d think I was super weird if I did that, since it’s not like she’s my . . . ” (Unlocked, very first paragraph of Keefe's diary entry, 481)

Don't have an e-book of Unlocked, unfortunately (boooooooo). So the context is that Keefe is giving us (or himself???) an intro to what he's doing here, which is writing about his drawings. He explains that Sophie gave him the idea and gives a general overview of what she said to convince him. Then he says this quote.

Here's what I said, which I stand by: I hate the way Keefe talks about Sophie. She’s just this soft, kind of ditzy, child-like sort of figure in his head. He admits that he doesn’t care what she has to say, he just cares about how adorable she looks while she says it. This is a textbook sign of a toxic relationship. You should care about what your partner/crush says, because that shows that you see them as a person, not as your personal cover model. Also “trying to be serious” paints Sophie as this impudent little child who’s trying to get the attention of the older, more experienced adults and it very much implies that Sophie is not serious, but awwww, look how cute she looks trying to be serious, isn’t it adorable? Except Keefe and Sophie are the same age. So this is another case of textbook infantilization.

Personally, I think I made it fairly clear why I think this is infantilization. Keefe did not listen to the latter half of what Sophie said because he was too busy imagining how adorable she must've looked as she said it. I don't know how to make it more clear that Keefe does not respect or care about Sophie's opinions. He did what she asked, sure, but he did not actually listen to her. Again, implying Sophie was not being serious when she was is infantilization. It takes away the weight of what Sophie is saying and makes it out to be a thing of like, Oh well, Sophie told me to, so I guess I'll humor her adorable little wishes and give it a shot, but let's get back to what's more important here, which is how cute she probably looks! I don't know how else to explain that that's not an attitude you want in someone who claims to listen to you and respect you.

Addressing some other things (Keefe calling Sophie herself cute [1], Keefe's deflection [2], Keefe praising Sophie's prowess [3], Sophie not seeming bothered [4], and The Real Problem [5]):

I don't think Keefe calling Sophie herself cute or adorable by itself is infantilization. That's just a cute, fluffy teenage crush. 100% cool with that. My problem is with Keefe dumbing Sophie's negative emotions that have complexities behind them down to something cute or inconsequential by calling them adorable. There's a quote in the diary entries where Keefe describes Sophie's blush as adorable and proceeds to describe it in vivid detail. I don't like it for personal taste reasons, but I would never argue that this is infantilization. Because. It's not. There is no dumbing down of emotions here, no shrugging off experience or maturity. There's just a kid with a crush.

As for Keefe's habit of deflecting stuff through jokes, yes, it's a flaw and yes, some of the times Keefe infantilizes Sophie, he's using it as a joke to deflect. Yes, that's the larger issue. But the point still stands that the way in which he thinks of Sophie's worry and anger is infantilization.

There are moments where Keefe talks nonstop (sometimes in a very unnatural way, in my opinion) about how powerful and amazing and brilliant and talented and spectacular Sophie is and how he respects her choices and whatnot. I don't see this as particularly contradictory to his infantilization. Keefe can dumb Sophie's emotions down to cute, inconsequential little playthings while also insisting that he thinks she's amazing and powerful. I do think he does think that she's incredibly talented, but he also invalidates or disrespects her choices because he sees her emotions as adorable and unserious. Sophie is objectively powerful and talented and smart, I'm not really sure how saying those clear facts out loud changes the fact that Keefe still sees Sophie as very juvenile in his head. He can respect her prowess and capacity for talent while still disrespecting her opinions and emotions. The two can coexist. This is why I say Keefe pedestalizes and infantilizes Sophie simultaneously.

As for saying this doesn't bother Sophie (except in that one instance where she glares at him), I'd hardly say it matters. People can be the object of toxic behavior without realizing it. Sophie doesn't really seem to care past a handful of seconds when Keefe reads her emotions without her permission (on purpose, with intention), but I think most of us would agree that that doesn't make it acceptable. And Keefe's infantile views of Sophie say more about him than they do Sophie, which is the argument I'm trying to make. My point is that Keefe sees Sophie's emotions as inconsequential little things that don't need to be taken into account. This is all mapped into how he sees her internally. Again, just because Sophie doesn't seem bothered by Keefe's comments, doesn't mean they're acceptable, especially considering it gives us a view into the way he truly sees Sophie. And if Keefe thinks of Sophie is such an invalidating way, how are we supposed to believe he'll respect her when she argues with him, instead of just writing it off as "that adorable rage"?

And last but not least (as this is literally the reason people are annoyed with Keefe, regardless of what flaw you're talking about): the infantilization isn't the problem. Not really. What the problem is is that it is never called out by the narrative and when it is, it lasts two seconds, doesn't stick, and Keefe continues with it having not learned a thing. He doesn't change, and I can give you a thousand explanations for why Keefe may be so prone to infantilizing Sophie based on his childhood, trauma, and everything else, but none of that is an excuse. And I'm certainly not a fan of the way we're constantly told that Keefe respects Sophie when he's clearly so ready to undermine her emotions or dumb them down. If you're going to have him say things like this, it should be understandable that it's not a good thing.

I think it all comes down to this: Imagine you were trying to get a very serious point across to someone or otherwise feeling very emotional over something and then you look over and the other person's reaction is like, Aw, you're so cute when you're all worked up trying to be serious! Anger so adorable! Worry so cute! I love it when you get feisty! Wouldn't you feel like they don't respect what you're saying? Is that not incredibly icky and weird?

Here is the definition of infantilization. I think it's very difficult to make an argument that Keefe is not doing this to Sophie. And if you think that's bad, oh boy, is it so. Much. Worse. In the actual Unlocked novella. It's very difficult to deny that Keefe only sees Sophie as an adorable little cute thing that amuses him when you read it. But I'll get there . . .

Anyway I'm leaving it off with this because these are the vibes I get from Keefe every time he makes an infantilizing comment about Sophie (minus the yelling, Keefe doesn't really yell):

[markrosewater]

Having just watched the Duskmourn trailer, I'd like to give feedback that the tone felt completely off. That depiction of Nashi is entirely dissonant to the grieving Nashi we saw in the stories. The pristine clothes and action scenes made it seem like a theme park with no actual danger and the "real life" spliced up retro-horror videos didn't fit with everything else (it feels like a bunch of scattered ideas and no cohesion aside from the Marina and moths bit).

I try to be understanding of story dissonances since not things get made in different order, but the whole Nashi thing (referring to his mom's memories as "Tamiyo's scroll"??) feels disrespectful to the hard working people who work with the lore/creative that weren't involved in the process of the trailer at all and ultimately to the player.

How did others feel about the trailer?

[ceccolia]

my beloved mutual @mi-kitamura keeps sending me devastating Armand meta and headcanons so it’s up to me to restore order to the universe. here are five Armand headcanons that are happ(ier)y in nature:

⚠️Warning⚠️ I’m not good at headcanons this just came from a place of deep need that we have some balance in the ecosystem. Have my half-baked ideas.

He goes all out for date night. This one is barely a headcanon. But I think showmand in particular has really demonstrated a love for the cheesy romantic shit. He’s lighting candles and scattering rose petals on a white table cloth. He’s drawing a bath with carefully selected oils and herbs. He’s taking Louis to a fairground with a detailed itinerary. He will get irrationally mad at a carnival game that’s obviously rigged because he has to win that stupid stuffed bear for Louis to prove his worth

It makes me happy to think maybe he has a little secret sketchbook. This is not based in anything really except his history as an artist except now he just doodles for fun. Magnolias are a reoccurring theme.

While I’m on the topic of hobbies I’ve been screaming this from the rooftop for months but HOROLOGIST ARMAND. He was DEFINITELY part of the clock craze in the 90s. He would love taking them apart to see how they work. I just know he’s got a workshop in that penthouse somewhere.

He’s weirdly defensive over Nosferatu (2024) because it commits so deeply to its aesthetic and we know that a cohesive aesthetic in art is important to him. He’s definitely not still mad about Santiago backseat directing and suggesting to get rid of the projections. It has nothing to do with that at all.

I think he convinced Malik to “accept” that he “wanted” to die by bullying him so hard about the sunglasses. Which he then immediately stole 😭

[koushuwu]

» watch me — jean kirstein x reader  *:･ﾟ✧

18+ content | 1,309 words | cw: afab!reader, sex toys, pet names (specifically “baby”), exhibitionism, voyeurism, oral sex f!recieving, dry humping, character cums in pants. | coaxing Jean into watching you wasn’t the hardest feat, but not being able to taste you was like torture to him.

“When you come home, I want you to watch me.”

Every single cohesive thought escaped his brain like dew in the morning sun. Just completely evaporated as his balls clenched and his cock twitched in his grasp. He almost dropped the phone, but managed to keep it up by his ear.

“What?” he croaked.

“I want you. To watch me,” you repeated. Your own words hazed by your own pleasure. For a moment he had to seize all movement so he wouldn’t cum right then and there. “Like this. But together.” With all gullible responses stolen straight out of his lungs, he frantically searched for some way of expressing himself, as his climax rapidly approached.

“Okay,” he agreed. Pathetic if you asked him later, but at that moment, no other words would form in his throat.

Now, Jean had arrived home from his travels, an early saturday morning, and what he found when he came home, was undeniably the most breathtaking sight he’s ever laid eyes upon. There you were. The love of his life, leaned back on the bed, completely bare and a dark look in your eyes. Time seemed to slow around him as he took you in. Your legs were spread wide, and beside you lay the toys he’d bought for you before he left.

“Jean,” His name on your lips sounded so sweet, but it sounded so far in his trance like observation of the sight unfolding before him. Not only were a variation of toys scattered on the bed. Oh no. One toy, a baby pink rabbit vibrator, was in your hand. Was inside you, pushed deep in between your walls, and teasing your aching clit. “Jean,” you moaned his name, and this time your voice snapped him out of his trance. His bag dropped to the floor and– “Stop.” The one word uttered by you, had him nailed to the spot, just as he’d taken his first step towards you.

“What?” Jean’s voice cracked and he had to swallow hard before he could continue. “What do you mean?” His eyes were glued to your figure, and your hand had stilled on the vibrator. For a moment it was quiet around you, save for the whirring of the toy in your hand. In your pussy. You had wanted to wait for him to come home before starting. You really had meant to, but as you’d laid out the toys and stripped down, teased yourself to make sure you were ready as soon as he’d arrived, you found yourself excited. Of course you’d be excited but you found yourself spurred on by the thought of what was to come, that you’d found yourself unable to stop yourself from going just a little further. And that’s when Jean had arrived home.

“Watch,” you urged, breathlessly. “You said you would,” you reminded. Jean’s jaw slacked as he stared at you, unblinking. It wasn’t that he didn’t fathom your words or remember what you were talking about. But he hadn’t expected you to hold him to it so soon. Or maybe he hadn’t actually thought you’d meant it when you said it, but oh was he wrong.

“What? Now?” he asked, clearly in disbelief. Sucking your lower lip between your teeth and biting down, you nodded in response. The way his gaze followed your every movement as you slowly began to pull out of your cunt as if mesmerized was thrilling. Intoxicating even. 

“Come on, baby, please!”

Jean’s arms hung loosely down his sides as he watched you shake your head at him. You angled the vibrator and pushed back inside and mewled.

“Baby—“ Jean’s hands balled at his sides. His jaw all but hitting the floor and he just wanted to touch you. To taste you. So so bad. “This is torture, look at you. Shit, I just want to taste. Just a little taste. Please.” The vibrator whirred as Jean practically begged and you felt powerful. In control. Your eyes locked and even looking into his eyes, you could make out the strain against his pants out the corner of your eye. 

Watching the toy thrusting into your sloppy cunt really was torture to Jean. He really tried his hardest to keep a level head for you, but his mind was spinning. His mouth watered and the very air around him seemed to be strumming. Quaking. Reverberating along to the sweet tune of the very toy responsible for his agony. He really did try though, despite his aching cock and the continuous pleas falling from his lips as you whined and writhed before his eyes.

He watched you. He ached for you. He craved for you and when you finally nodded in response to his pleas, Jean’s entire body moved entirely on its own accord. His knees dipped into the mattress and his hand curled around yours as he claimed your lips with his own in a hungry, almost starved kiss. Tongues tangled, saliva mixing and hot breaths’ shared before he broke away, hungry for everything that you could give.

Jean stared at you intently and pulled the toy from your drooling pussy. Your body felt like it was already burning, but when his eyes bore into yours as he switched it off and brought the toy to his lips, all that the heat in your body rose erratically. And when his tongue pressed flat against the slick surface you shuddered, pussy clenching around nothing. Aching. Jean groaned low in his throat when the taste of you finally danced on his taste buds. Under his excruciating gaze, you tried closing your legs, but in an instant Jean dropped the toy, taking hold of your knees instead, keeping you from hiding. There was hunger in his eyes and he needed you. He needed you bad, and he needed you now.

It didn’t take Jean long, nor did it take him much effort to move you up the bed until he could lie between your legs. With his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs, he spread you open and dove in with no regret. Another deep guttural sound tore from Jean as his tongue finally met with the source of his deepest pleasures. You knew Jean, and you knew about his desire for the juices he now so eagerly drank from your lap. Yet, it sometimes surprised you just how much he seemed to enjoy it. But he did enjoy it. In fact, Jean relished in finally being allowed to taste you and bring you the pleasure he so desperately wanted you to feel. And you did. Jean was skilled. Eager, excited, but skilled. He instinctively slurped, licked, kissed, flicked and lapped at your pussy in such perfect sync with the song your body sang to him. You couldn’t hear it, but he could and it was a blissful symphony that he joined with his own lewd sounds.

Sounds that grew deeper as his hips bucked, rutting his cock against the mattress underneath him. The mattress, already giving way, ever so slightly under your writhing form. Writhing from the pleasure he gave you. The pleasure you gave him. The friction caused when he bucked into bed was good. Oh so good. Even better with your taste on his tongue and your sounds in his ears. And so he thrust his hips forward again. And again. The pleasure in his mouth and the pleasure pressing and sliding against his cock sent his head spinning. It pushed him steadily towards the edge. Rapidly as he pushed you towards it as well. Pushing. Pushing until you both reached it. Pushing until you both tumbled over it. You cumming on his tongue, just as he’d wanted, and him spilling in the confinement of his pants. Pushing. Even then, Jean could not get enough. He could never get enough of you.