#it was the kind of sex where i suffer just like i'm supposed to

[woundgallery]

Sarah Lucas

[a-s-ter]

"𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆"

— 𝐒𝐲𝐩𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬: If you don't want your butler to reach a breaking point and take matters into his own hands by 'disciplining' you, perhaps refrain from behaving like a spoiled brat next time.

— 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: rough sex , unprotected sex , brat!reader , overstimulation , bttm male reader , blowjob , smacking , swearing , dirtytalk , praise , manhandling , dirty talk , age gap , virgin!reader , making out , degradation , petnames , non con , public sex.

PART 1 , PART 2

You sat at the long, luxurious dinner table while the maid nervously watched you eat the food prepared for you. As you took a bite, the maid grew anxious, eyes fixed on your every move. Moments later, a displeased expression crossed your face, and the maid seemed to brace herself for what was to come, as if she had expected it.

"blech!" you spat the meal you were eating. "This is disgusting! Make me another one!" you shouted, throwing the plate of food to the ground, shattering it into pieces. You glared at the maid, who nodded and hurriedly began picking up the broken fragments from the floor.

As the maid cleaned, your impatience mounted. "Move faster!" you demanded. Startled, she flinched, causing the shattered glass to prick her skin, blood seeping from the cuts.

You didn't care. The sight of her blood, her pain—none of it mattered to you. You were a just brat after all.

"Hurry up! I'm growing impatient, you vermin!" you scolded, your harsh words causing tears to well up in her eyes. She nodded quickly and, once done cleaning the mess, ran off to get your new food.

"He wants another dish." the maid announced to the weary chefs. It was the fourth meal you had dismissed.

"Again? What does that brat even like?!" one chef groaned, exasperated. "He's just toying with us. He enjoys seeing us suffer because he has all that power," another chef complained.

The butler, Kyzer, heard their conversation as he passed through the hallways. The chefs and maid flinched when he entered the kitchen. "S-Sir Kyzer!" bowed the maid.

"Oh, Kyzer, what brings you here?" a male chef inquired.

"Pardon me but I accidentally overheard one of your discussion regarding the unfortunate incident with the prince. It saddens me that the boy has, for the fourth time, squandered your hard-prepared meals. I intend to address this matter with him personally, in the hope of curbing this unacceptable behavior." Kyzer declared, his words resonating deeply with the maid and the chefs.

"Kyzer, we appreciate it, but you don't have to do that! We can handle him... I think?" another chef responded, though his voice wavered with uncertainty.

"I must. I don't want your hard work and efforts to go to waste," Kyzer said firmly, his resolve clear.

"K-kyzer, you're so kind to us!" one of the chefs exclaimed, clearly moved by his actions. "I just don't understand why M/n can't be more like you—polite, kind, and well-mannered, instead of such a brat!"

"Well, he's been surrounded by abundance and luxury his whole life. His parents never taught him proper etiquette, so I suppose that's why he turned out that way," another chef remarked.

"Hm... Would you also like me to teach him a thing or two?" "

"Yes! That would be wonderful, Kyzer! Please change his behavior if you can," the chefs pleaded, bowing deeply in gratitude.

"I'll do my best. Now, if you'll excuse me," Kyzer said, bowing before leaving the kitchen. He walked purposefully through the grand hallways of the kingdom toward the dining room where you were waiting.

A few minutes later, Kyzer arrived and opened the large door to the dining room. There you were, sitting alone at the long table, surrounded by empty chairs, waiting impatiently for your food with an annoyed cute expression on your face.

You turned to look at him, his long white hair and piercing yellow eyes sending a chill down your spine. "Who are you? And where is that maid? Why is she taking so long? Ugh!" you grumbled, sounding like a spoiled child.

"My name is Kyzer, your highness," he introduced himself, bowing deeply with one hand on his chest and the other arm behind his back. "The maid is in the kitchen, and it takes time to prepare a new dish for you, your highness." he explained, maintaining his respectful bow.

"Then make them cook faster. I'm getting impatient here!" you demanded, scrutinizing Kyzer from head to toe.

"I'm afraid I cannot your highness. I'm here for other reasons," Kyzer replied, straightening up.

"What?! How dare a lowly butler like you defy my orders?!" you exclaimed, shocked by his refusal. "What even is your reason here?" you demanded, glaring at him.

"You."

"W-what?" you responded, disbelief evident in your tone.

"I'm here because of you, Your Highness," he said, his yellow eyes boring into yours.

You felt a twinge of nervousness under his intense glare, but you weren't one to back down. Crossing your arms defiantly, you retorted. "Me? What for? If it's something insignificant, you get out of my sight!"

"Oh, Your Highness, it's far from unimportant because it's about you."

"About me!? Just what are you trying to say?" you replied while staring at him with perplexity and fury.

He was starting to get on your nerves.

"It's about your behavior and manners, Your Highness. They need to change—"

You snapped, standing up abruptly and grabbing a wine glass. You threw it at him, but it missed and shattered against the wall instead.

"Don't try and give me lessons about behavior and manners, it won't work on me you imbecile!" you shouted, your voice echoing through the grand dining room. As you met his gaze, you flinched at the intensity of his icy glare fixed on you.

You were slowly getting on his nerves.

Somehow, you felt a twinge of regret for your actions, but what was done was done, and there was no turning back. "I'm giving you a chance. I'll let this slide for now!" you scoffed, striding towards him and 'accidentally' bumping his shoulder as you headed for the door. "Tell the maids to clean up the mess." you ordered, but he said nothing.

Weird.

Just as you were about to open the door, he grabbed you roughly by the hair, eliciting a pained sound from you. He threw you to the floor, and you landed hard on your backside, hissing in pain.

"What the fuck are you doing!? If my parents hear about this, your head will be cut off!" you yelled, staring up at him, though part of you wished you hadn't. Behind those intense yellow eyes, you sensed something ominous lurking. Something telling you that something bad was about to happen.

"This is your last chance."

"Change. Your. Behavior."

You chuckled, "And why should I?" you raised an eyebrow, smirking defiantly.

"People are suffering because of you. Your crude and mean comments, your filthy mouth—they need to be purified. And I know you didn't receive proper etiquette, so I'm willing to teach you." he explained.

"Purified!? fuck off! They deserve it. I don't care whether I hurt their feelings or not, they're lowlifes! They don't deserve to be treated the same way. And those chefs and maids? They're just servants, working for us. They're poor, probably came from the gutter, ew! They don't deserve special treatment like us royals!" you retorted venomously.

And then he finally snapped.

As he walked towards you, confusion clouded your expression. "What are you doing—" but your words were cut off as he grabbed you by the collar and dragged you onto the table. You struggled to pry his hands away, but he was too strong.

"Get your dirty hands off me!" you shouted at him, but he ignored your protests. With a swift motion, he threw you onto the table, and you cried out in surprise. Landing with a thud, you quickly placed both palms on the table, using it to support your weight.

As you tried to regain your composure. He forcefully stripped off your pants and underwear, leaving your lower body exposed. Your eyes widened in shock and embarrassment. "Stop! What are you doing with those filthy hands of yours!" you cried out, feeling utterly vulnerable and violated.

You found yourself facing away from him, your exposed backside vulnerable and humiliating. As you attempted to look back at him, he forcefully shoved your head to the ground with his hand, preventing any movement. Struggling to rise, you found yourself pinned in place, utterly helpless.

"S-stop this instant! Someone could walk in here at any moment, you idiot!" you pleaded desperately, but he only inched his face closer to your ear.

"Count." he whispered.

"W-what?"

Smack!

"Wah!" you gasped in surprise as the sharp stinging sensation of his hand striking your exposed ass jolted through you.

"I said, count." he repeated.

"H-how dare you tell me what to do—"

Smack!!

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as he delivered a firmer blow to your backside, the sensation igniting a mixture of pain and arousal that pulsed through your body.

"If you don't count, Your Highness, it'll only get worse and harsher," he warned, caressing your slightly reddened ass. "So please do as I say." he urged, his voice soft yet commanding.

Smack!

"O-one," you stammered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Smack!

"T-two..."

Smack!

"T—..three." you breathed out, your face pressed down onto the table. Each smack sent a jolt of sensation through you, a mixture of pain and a strange, exhilarating—....pleasure?

He seemed to be truly enjoying your reactions, relishing in the cute gasps and flinches you let out. A smile spread across his lips as he gently paused the spanks, caressing your ass for a moment before resuming with renewed vigor.

Smack!

"f-four!"

As the spanking continued, it eventually came to a halt when you ceased to respond. Sensing your exhaustion, he removed his hand from atop your head, understanding that you had no energy left to fight. Your rear end was now red and throbbing, you had lost track of the count. With gentle care, he soothen your reddened cheeks, offering a moment of relief and comfort.

"How many was it, Your Highness?" His voice was tender as he sought to ground you in the moment.

"I... I don't know," you murmured weakly, your voice barely audible over the echo of pain.

"It's 26, Your Highness," he informed you, his fingers coaxing your face to meet his gaze. As you turned to look at him, he couldn't help but feel a surge of desire. Your flushed cheeks, those endearing hiccups, those captivating eyes, those cute lips...

Fuck... Every aspect of you stirred an undeniable attraction within him, you were turning him on.

He gazed at your lips, inching his face closer to yours, slowly, deliberately. You tried to turn away, but he held your face firmly in place. He was so close, close enough to feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, close enough to taste your plump lips...

Knock, knock!

The sound jarred him from the moment, a surge of frustration coursing through him. Damn it, he had forgotten they were at the dining table.

"Your Highness, your food is ready," the maid's voice came from outside the door.

"Now, if you cause another disturbance, you'll face another punishment. You don't want that, do you?" he said, his eyes locking onto yours with an unwavering intensity.

"F-fuck you... L-let me go and get my pants! T-this is an order," you demanded weakly, still exhausted from the pain and the effort of keeping your screams contained so the maids wouldn't become suspicious and barge in.

Kyzer was going to follow your orders, but his eyes darted down to your shaft, which was standing up confidently. "Are you sure, Your Highness? You're quite... hard down there. You wouldn't want an uncomfortable erection, would you?" he taunted, his hand lowering from your ass to your shaft.

"N-no, it'll go down. Stop!" you stammered, but a moan escaped your lips as he touched you. "Look at this cute little cock, so pretty, just like its owner," Kyzer murmured, beginning to stroke you. You let out a loud moan and quickly covered your mouth.

"Your Highness, may I come in?" the maid called from outside, oblivious to what was happening inside the room. Kyzer continued to stroke you slowly, the deliberate pace heightening your frustration.

"H-hurry up!" you ordered, your voice strained with urgency.

"You want me to hurry? Then beg for it, Your Highness," he smirked, his hand engulfing your tiny lil sensitive cock.

You were embarrassed and humiliated at this point. You, a prince, begging for something? It infuriated you, but the thought of your reputation being ruined drove you to comply.

"P-please hurry up, please let—hng!...M-me cum." you begged, your teary eyes locking with his mischievous yellow ones. He licked his lips, clearly enjoying your submission.

"As you wish, Your Highness," he said, his pace quickening as he stroked you up and down, causing your back to arch off the table.

"Mmhp!?" you moaned, drool seeping from your mouth as you tried to stifle your sounds with your hand. He began to tease the tip of your cock with his index finger, swirling it clockwise.

"Your Highness, please let me hear those beautiful moans... Please let me hear how good I’m making you feel," he whispered. Lost in the pleasure, you obliged, moaning louder, no longer able to control yourself.

"That's it," he breathed, his lustful eyes fixed on your flushed face. Drool was seeping from your mouth, your cheeks were a deep shade of red, and your eyebrows were scrunched up in pure ecstasy. The sight of you like this almost made him cum in his pants. "That's a good boy." he grinned, his own arousal evident as he continued to bring you closer to the edge.

"Are you gonna cum for me, Your Highness?" Kyzer's voice dripped with seduction, his smile widening as he saw you lost in pleasure. "Fuck... You're so adorable when you're messed up." His face flushed as he leaned in, licking the tears streaming down your cheeks. The sensation made you shiver, and he grinned, quickening his pace.

"Nngh—!... Ahh! I-I'm gon' c-cum!!" you cried out, your body trembling as you threw your head back.

"Cum for me, Your Highness. Be a good boy and cum for me."

"A-ahh~!" Your cute little cock spurted, painting the marble floor with streaks of white as you panted heavily, sweat glistening on your skin.

"Well done, Your Highness. I'm very proud of you~♡" he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "I knew you could do it." He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"Your Highness? Are you there?" the maid called from outside the door, her voice filled with concern.

"Let's get you dressed up, yeah?" Kyzer said softly, his voice a mix of amusement and authority. He retrieved your discarded clothing, his touch gentle but firm as he helped you back into your garments. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he adjusted your clothing with meticulous care.

You were still trembling, the aftershocks of pleasure making it difficult to stand. Kyzer's hands were steady, though, guiding you through each movement as he redressed you.

"Remember, Your Highness," he murmured, his lips close to your ear, "I will change your behavior. This is just the beginning." He smirked.

Once you were fully dressed, he took a step back, his eyes scanning you with satisfaction. "There you go, presentable as ever." He straightened his own attire, ensuring he looked impeccable before turning towards the door.

As he opened it, the maid stood waiting with your meal. "Your food, Your Highness," she said, bowing slightly.

Kyzer gave you one last meaningful glance, his eyes lingering on yours. "Enjoy your meal your highness." he said smoothly, before stepping aside to let the maid through.

[quantum1mmortality]

hihi! I saw your curly stuff, I love how you write him!! If it’s possible, nsfw headcanons for what turns him on? have a great day <3

Have I ever mentioned how much I love writing Curly? No? Well I am now. I love writing him. He's so awesome sauce, so boyfriend. My scrunkle

Tw/cw; lingerie, praise, mentions of masochism, accidentally almost wrote a one shot for the last one whoops lolololol, semi public sex IMPLIED

Not proofread

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1; Lingerie

You guys can't look at me and tell me this man wouldn't go BALLISTIC for a nice set of lingerie. He makes good money at his job, good enough to be able to buy multiple sets of high quality, lacy lingerie for you to wear for him; then make you do a fashion show for him when you get them. Curly definitely comes off as a thigh guy, so he'd pick out all the sets with garter belts, specifically so he can slip his fingers under the seam and let go to see all that thigh movement. It actually drives him wild. Those sets can be pretty expensive, so hopefully he gets a raise soon since he's tearing apart every set he gets you.

2; Praise

I know it's overdone to say a character gets turned on by being praised but idc. This man has a praise kink and I will DIE on that hill. For anyone else, a praise to him wouldn't matter. He hears them constantly in his line of work, so at this point it's just noise. But from you? You like something about him? Oh no, he's hard. You could compliment him on the most mundane of things, say his uniform looks good on him and he's thinking about that the entire time he's at work. By the time he gets home, he's in genuine pain at how turned on he's been ALL DAY and not being able to help himself. He could, but he'd rather you do it. He's quite the masochist.

3; Titles

Imagine this; you're the wife of a well respected captain at Pony Express, and you decide to be a good wife and bring your beloved husband lunch. How sweet! You go to his department and call out to him, "Captain, I've brought lunch for you~" you giggle, drawing out his title. He looks up from.. whatever he was doing only to find you, holding a lunch box with a smile. Okay stop imagining, it's headcanon time.

Obviously the first thing he's going to do is thank you for lunch, he was famished. But after that, it's all blurry. It's like being with you has unlocked a bunch of new experiences for him, he never thought being called his title, the title he earned, would turn him on so much. It's like hearing it come from you was completely different from anyone else saying it. You ended up staying his entire lunch break and talking to him, only for your words to fall on deaf ears. He could barely even focus on what he was eating, let alone what you were telling him. Eventually he just had to excuse himself from the conversation, leaving you alone as he attempted, ATTEMPTED to satisfy himself. After a while he just gave up and went back out to where you were, told you the situation, and asked for your help. He was practically begging you, what were you supposed to do? Leave him there? No, you're a good wife. Of course you'd help him, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n; sometimes I forget I'm supposed to be writing hcs and accidentally lock in too much and go on little tangents. I'm suffering from success but it kind of fucks the vibe up ngl

[untitledmemes]

Hazbin Hotel Prompts

Part I An assortment of prompts taken from the series Hazbin Hotel on Amazon Prime. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. In case of Multimuse, don't forget to specify which one/s. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

“ Oh, shit. Did you hear all of that? ”

“ I enjoy your theatrics. ”

“ I just hope what I'm trying to do here will work. ”

“ Well hello there, you wayward sinner. Do you like blood, violence and depravity of a sexual nature? ”

“ Your last attempt at salvation starts here. ”

“ Thank you so much for making this. Seriously. Amazing. ”

“ Oh, fun. You had a little fun with it? ”

“ Sex sells, don't it? ”

“ I really don't want to exploit you in that way. ”

“ This body was made to be exploited. ”

“ I could keep goin' all night, baby. ”

“ Why do you think I'm here? ”

“ I like being forced. ”

“ I'm choosing to be here, and I think it's all stupid. ”

“ That's kind of the end of the road, ain't it? ”

“ Just because nobody made it out before, doesn't mean it's not possible. ”

“ There's just no way I could blow it, not this once in a lifetime chance. ”

“ It's a happy day in hell. ”

“ Ha! I fucking got you!. ”

“ So, I'm happy we got this opportunity to meet. ”

“ I need you to be less horny, if possible. ”

“ I ain't no actor! I can't memorize this shit! ”

“ So, anyway, we fucked and it was awesome. ”

“ Fucking love putting my name on shit. Shit's the best. ”

“ Alright, um, maybe we can try and fix it in post. ”

“ Seems like you're having a bit of trouble there, hm? ”

“ I wouldn't try that, my dear. ”

“ I don't care who or what you are. If you're staying here, you are going to make this work. ”

“ Awesome job, danger tits. Pound it. ”

“ Those are my people. You know that, right? ”

“ They had their chance and they earned damnation. ”

“ How does that feel? To know how little you matter. ”

“ Let me stop you right there, save us all precious time. ”

“ Did I hear you imply they don't deserve death? ”

“ It means we're all royally fucked. ”

“ We should just go down there now and destroy them. ”

“ Oh please, you had less than half a chance when you started all this. ”

“ Well, it's not like people are going to show up at our doorstep. ”

“ Now that's good television. ”

“ Whatever could be the problem, my dear? ”

“ Fuck my life. ”

“ I have a fire to put out upstairs. ”

“ Well, looks like you have everything under control here. ”

“ Take care of the piss baby. ”

“ That fucking slut walked out on me. ME. I fucking made him! ”

“ Which of these makes me look sexier? ”

“ What are you doing? You're not going over there. ”

“ Now that's why they pay you the big bucks. ”

“ I think he's had enough. ”

“ Thank you... For letting your guard down! ”

“ Can't let my new project fall into disrepair already. ”

“ That fucker is back! ”

“ You still pissed he almost beat you that time? ”

“ Things changed a lot since he left town. ”

“ Welcome home. I'm gonna make you wish that you stayed gone. ”

“ Did anybody miss him? Did anybody notice? ”

“ Where's he been? Who gives a shit? ”

“ You old timey prick, I'll show you suffering. ”

“ I'm gonna make you wish that I'd stayed gone. ”

“ How exactly are we supposed to stop it? ”

“ Who would want to use their last days not fucking and fighting? ”

“ I didn't come looking for a fight. ”

“ Aren't you supposed to protect this place? ”

“ I give you a week. Tops. ”

“ It's nice to have someone interested for once. ”

“ Never leave me again. ”

“ I definitely remember you now. ”

“ It's great, right? Keep going. ”

“ The only cool thing has is to say no to drugs. ”

“ I'm off to not have sexual intercourse before marriage! ”

“ You like me. You really like me! ”

“ You actually think you can change? ”

“ You slippery little shit! ”

“ I fucking knew there was something shitty about you. ”

“ Get your aggressively average body off of me! ”

“ This little bitch is a traitor! ”

“ Wait, you were caught? It hasn't even been a day! ”

“ The path to forgiveness is a twisting trail of hearts, but sorry is where it starts. ”

“ Why are you so lame? ”

“ You'll have to try better than that next time, ol' pal. ”

[netherfeildren]

FEAR OF GOD : Chapter I : I dreamt that time had ended

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: What was monstrousness? What was it, but a certainty that there existed within you multitudes of desires, needs, guilts, impulses – humanity? At the end of the world, when the dust has finally settled, Joel grapples with what it is to take hold of your own monstrosity – your own humanity – and live with it. And what it is to bear that truth in the palm of your hand held towards the person you love, offer it to them, and have it be accepted for what it was. Courage, above all else, it is courage that is necessary to go on.

-OR-

Big bad Joel Miller falls in love and doesn't know how to deal with it.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Mentions of suicidal ideations, unprotected sex, oral sex (M receiving), vaginal fingering, breeding kink kinda, Emotionally Constipated Joel Miller ™️

A/N: Hello, this is my first foray into posting my writing publicly. To be honest, it feels fucking weird and scary, but alas, here I am, pretending to be brave. Art is Botanica No. 23 by Gail Potocki.

Word Count: 6.2K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER I: I dreamt that time had ended

I'm most dangerous when I’m hungry. I’m most hungry

when I’m hurting. Seems like I’m always hurting. Nothing

but teeth. Nothing but the same words calling out to me

in my sleep. Grief asking its ghosts not to leave. Please.

It’s not up to me when I get to stop crying. Or hurting. 

Or holding memories in my mouth, gentle as bees

I promised not to eat, but oh, the hurt is so sweet.

- Saeed Jones, from “Date Night,” Alive at the End of the World

Loneliness and being alone were two things you’d always thought to be one and the same — a pair sitting side by side on the spectrum of human suffering. Now, at the end of the world, you knew differently. You’d gotten in bed with both. A kind of intimacy that made your bones ache.

After Beth, your sister, you’d been alone – out beyond the protection of the community you now called your own in Jackson – where you’d carved a little place for yourself. Then, you’d been so entrenched in your grief and shock, that you’d not been lucid enough to really feel loneliness at all. You were alone, but were too far gone to feel the specific melancholy of loneliness. It was all a vicious, almost unthinking, clawing for survival. That creature out beyond the walls was you, and sometimes you liked to pretend and tell yourself you left her out there, but in moments of stark honesty, when you let go of the lies you comforted yourself with, you don’t feel very sure.

Looking back, it’s almost a surprise that it never occurred to you, in those delirious days, in the aftermath of watching Beth get ripped to pieces by infected, to ever think to follow her in death. You think you’d just been too numb and shocked at the time to even consider the tidy solution a bullet to the head would’ve provided you. You can’t even tell if you regret the lack of foresight at that time or not. You suppose now, looking around yourself, at the somewhat full life you’ve settled yourself into, you’re grateful. 

But in Jackson, in Jackson you’d found loneliness. Despite being surrounded by a community that wanted to help you from the first moment, to care for you. Most especially because, in the light of this new life, you remembered everything about the aftermath of your sister’s death – with vivid clarity. The details were glaringly bright in your mind, and the peace and fullness of this new life you’d been afforded made those memories hurt all the worse. 

Your father had been a physician, a surgeon, before the outbreak, and early on he’d decided it was essential to pass on what he could. That he needed a protege. You fit the necessity nicely. You’d had a mind that absorbed knowledge at a rate that wasn’t necessarily useful in a world like the one you’d now found yourselves in, but he’d made good use of it, made a tool of you in the manner of an extension of himself. He’d started early trying to train you as best he could, given the circumstances. You’d had a fairly peaceful childhood up until you were eighteen living in the San Francisco QZ, given his position, and at around twelve years old he’d started a demanding study regimen. He was determined to make you into the closest semblance of a doctor he could through his own personal means of teaching. You’d always been well suited to a life of taking orders, doing what you were told, being who you were told to be. At the end of the world it was easier, you’d found, to do and be what you were told to – it came easily to you, and after all, your father knew best. You liked the security of being able to follow a set of directions without the anxiety of conjecture or uncertainty. A clearly laid out path was a safe path, and you found comfort in that. So you’d learned what he’d told you to learn. He said it was necessary, and so it became a necessity to you. Practiced what he’d told you to practice. And eventually, become what he wanted you to become. After your mother and father were killed in a raid shortly after your eighteenth birthday, it was just you and Beth, and you’d taken on your studies and training yourself. It wasn’t as efficient, especially after the QZ had fallen and you were forced to leave, could have been more thorough, but you felt well versed in the knowledge you’d gained thus far. Secure in the fact that you had the ability to help people as best you could with what you knew. It gave you purpose and allowed you to follow that path that’d been laid out for you. Provided some sort of comforting reminder of your father, your childhood, as well. The two of you had wandered for several years up until the time of her death. 

When you found Jackson after Beth, after days and days of wandering, of savage fear and a desperate clawing to just stay alive, just make it a little further, it was like coming upon paradise. An Eden safer and more cherished than anything before in all history. Connie, their resident doctor, who they were so lucky and grateful to have, had taken you under his wing. Connie and his nurturing comfort. Doing everything he could to build on the knowledge your father had instilled in you over the years. All the knowledge and practice he was so desperate to pass on to you. To build on your foundation. Doctors were few and far between, hard to find and even harder to keep, and Connie was old. Now well into his seventies, he was tired. His mind and body, nowhere near as agile as they’d once been. Your arrival in the community had been seen as a benediction, once he’d found out what your father had started in you. It was difficult to build a comprehensive curriculum, to find the right means of practical training in a world like this, but the two of you had managed fairly well. A deal had been struck with the leaders of the community to provide donated cadavers when they became available, if the families so allowed, if they had families. This allowed the two of you to practice hands on general surgical techniques he felt were essential for you to know. He’d tried, so far, to build a curriculum that was generally comprehensive – general surgery, obstetrics and gynecology, and internal medicine. In your spare time you read everything he’d ever found on botany and herbology. Everything else you supplemented with a collection of texts and scientific literature he’d been collecting since the outbreak, and had guarded and cared for fiercely . He saw his collection of medical texts as the key to the preservation and furthering of knowledge, and you agreed with him. After losing your father you couldn’t have asked for a more caring or dedicated mentor. 

But not only was his caring practical, for he’d brought you back to life with his patience. He’d lead you out of that hazy numbness you’d lost yourself in after Beth. Something you’d have stayed lost in the rest of your life if not for his guidance, the loss of her so devastating it was something molecular. The feeling left you so tired, almost emaciated in your grief – the only instinct was survival, no thought for perpetuation or preservation. And then, of course there was Ellie and Dina, Tommy and Maria. All who’d done their best to welcome you into the embrace of their friendship. You were grateful for them in ways you couldn’t ever put into words.

And yet, and yet, despite all this good; a caring community, a giving teacher,  loyal friendships, things you now knew you’d die to keep and protect, you were lonely. An aching kind of desperate loneliness, it’d blanketed you with a film of numbness that you hadn’t even really noticed, until one night you’d gotten home to the lovely warm house that’d been assigned to you, a place you’d been able to make a home, to realize, you had no one that was only yours. No one waiting for you. No more sister, no parents, no blood. No one to give yourself to. No one you’d always belong to, no matter what. 

You’d felt a level of desperation in that moment worse than many of your worst moments in this horrible thing the world you knew had come to be. 

But then there was him.

Joel.

Joel who was cold and stern and who had, at first, seemed so wholly disinterested in your existence you’d never thought there was any way he’d ever even think of looking at you as more than the girl he went to for stitches every now and then. As anything more than the person who patched up his never ending litany of scrapes and bruises. But who, at first sight, you’d seemed to take in and then never again look away from. Who you’d felt you’d known, recognized, at first glance. It was everything about him, really. His countenance – the air about him, slightly threatening, but in a way that told you you’d always be protected, safe,cared for if held in the circle of his embrace. And then his physicality – his face, his body, his smell . The feel of his skin beneath yours when you were closing or covering his wounds. The broad, thick planes of him, his long legs and tall frame that towered over your own. The man could overtake you if he chose to. You’d look at him and couldn’t help but think how hard he’d fuck. And you thought about that often. What it’d be like to cradle the heavy weight of him between your thighs, inside of you. What his skin would feel, taste like beneath your tongue. How you’d map the smattering of sun freckles on his chest and shoulders. And his eyes, deep and dark, and you knew they saw everything. That they were ever aware of what was going on around him. Wondered at what they’d feel like roving the hills and swells of your naked body – just for him. That he could probably see the yearning coming off of you like heat waves off the hot pavement. 

Joel who seemed to care fiercely about Ellie, who he saw as his daughter from the little you’d been able to garner from her and others about their connection, and not much else. He’d come to you on more than one occasion after Ellie’d been into the clinic for attention demanding an update on her condition, asking if there was something wrong. Ensuring she was alright, that she’d remain alright. And being completely taken aback and offended when you’d refused to disclose patient information. There was a rift between them, so it seemed, not that anyone had been brave enough to talk about it aloud. The unspoken elephant in Jackson was the current  ongoing estrangement between the two. Something that, without knowing him beyond being his doctor, you could see hurt him worse than anything you could’ve ever treated him for. And there was Tommy, his brother, and his wife Maria – who it was also obvious he appreciated and cared for.

He was cordial and helpful and always willing to be a good neighbor to those in the community. But he was set apart. A man estranged in a way you could see was self imposed. You could recognize it for what it was, the same shroud of loneliness that blanketed you. And what was it they said about the experience of loneliness? It creates a vicious cycle that only further perpetuates itself the more alone you become. You start to reek of it the longer you enshroud yourself in it. Contagion spreads. But then one day, you’d seemed to distract him from maintaining that self imposed exile long enough to entice him into looking at you, even if for a second, really looking at you. 

It was like this: he’d never looked at you. Until he did.  And then it was like fire, like a natural disaster or disease, like cordyceps . Uncontrollable, and as hard as you both tried, or didn’t try, it could not be put away once it had been set upon. You’d circled and circled each other – blood in the water – him in reluctant silence, you almost desperately, until you’d come together in a clash of limbs and tongues and teeth, and then he was shoving you onto your desk in the small space of your examining room and then shoving, hard and savage into your cunt, and that was it. You’d given him as much as he was willing to take, and if he’d wanted to take more, you’d have given it willingly and gladly. It was not a question of how much you were willing to do, or how much of yourself you could part with. If in that instant he’d asked you to open your vein to him and let him drink you think you might have invited him to gorge himself. The way he’d moved in your cunt that day, hand wrapped around the column of your throat as he drew a thin helpless sound out of you – like he owned it already, like he’d always owned it, and it’d just taken him a second to come and claim what’d always rightfully been his. The way he’d brought his fist down, hard, on the desk beside you as he emptied himself inside your pulsing walls, growling the start of your name between clenched teeth before it turned into a guttural wordless snarl. You knew there was a part of him angry at you in that instant. Furious at how fucking good it felt to take him inside you, to finally give in, to ravage and take and fuck the way both of you had wanted to for so long.

You’d wanted him with a kind of anguish that frightened you for the fervor of it. Something you’d never experienced. There’d been others before, well, one other, but that now seemed laughably pale and tepid compared to this. A blight of inconsequential nothingness in your past, that had in no way prepared you for what you’d come to experience with Joel. This was something to cause terror if examined too closely. But he’d peered at you one afternoon, opened his arms to you and invited you in, and how were you ever supposed to resist sinking your teeth into his flesh? Ripping out a piece of him all for yourself.

He’d promised that’d be the only time. That it could only ever happen that once. You’d both taken the lie for what it was. You knew this couldn’t be stopped once it had been started. 

You’d always been a girl willing, glad, to do as you were told. To abide by the space allocated to you, to take what you’d been given with gratitude and accept your limitations. But loneliness makes monsters of even the best of us sometimes. And in a world now filled with monsters, it was easy to assimilate into one if given the opportunity, to let greed render you into what it may.

-

Joel watches your wonder at the sight of the little bird through the window, and he considers his own monstrousness. Your naked form is draped over his bed, tangled in his sheets, the loveliest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. The soft afternoon sunlight swirling along the planes of your skin, warm and buttery, and he accepts that he’s been deformed by his own brutality and violence. That he’s done a lot of truly heinous things in this life, but taking a little bird like you for himself, is perhaps the worst. The sparrow flits away and your eyes follow it– up, up, up. There’s a soft gleam in them, and his heart and gut twist at the sight of you moved by the sparrow. It’s been months of this, of the two of you tangled together. He hopes he never sees an end in sight, but at the same time, feels it pull at him. A vicious self sabotaging need to bring his fist down on this tenuous house of cards you’ve built together. Watch it smash into pieces. 

There’d been times where he’d look at an infected, right before killing it, and felt an understanding so poignant.

That is what I have become. 

He never needed to have been bitten to lose himself. To have been overtaken by something beyond his control. The viciousness of life had done it for him. Infected him all the same. 

He was better now. He could acknowledge that. Ellie, and all that came with her, had served as a balm to his ragged edges. Jackson and its people. Having Tommy back, and the family he’d built with Maria.  But he wasn’t naive. He’d known his day would be up eventually. His reckoning with Ellie would come, and it had. Nothing stayed buried forever, and eventually she’d discovered what he’d done. To keep her alive, to keep her for himself. 

Perhaps his greatest sin was always trying to keep the women he loved. Always a failure.

Sarah, Ellie. You. 

And now here he found himself again, on that same field in the middle of the night, surrounded by the end of the world, and clutching his whole life in the circle of his arms. Failing. Losing again and again.

Ellie had always been his reflection. A more hopeful, innocent mirror to all his cynicism and violence. But the same, nonetheless. 

But you. You were his opposite in every big way that mattered.

Good and soft and honest. Strong.

And yet, there could be violence within you, when you so desired it. You’d let him have a peek of it on occasion.

Like the sun that burned his eyes from their sockets. 

Violent, but necessary for survival. 

You’d dedicated yourself to saving lives and healing, for Christ’s sake. All Joel’d ever done was destroy and kill. Even what he and Ellie had was on the precipice of death now. 

And despite all of this. Despite everything he’d done to push you away. To hurt Ellie, no matter his intentions, he wanted. Savagely.

He wanted Ellie to understand why he’d done what he’d done. To forgive him. And even if she couldn't agree, then to just accept it. To set it away and let things be between them. To let it go . 

What a selfish fucking thought, Joel Miller.  

But he couldn’t help it; the goddamn world was over. Couldn't they just accept the bad things they’d done, or not done, and put it all away. And yet, at the same time, he could not hold it against her. Not even fault her. Because he knew her– he’d always known that the road would always inevitably lead them here. And still, he’d made the choices he’d made. In a way, he knew he deserved her ire. And so he bore it. Accepted it. Waited. But then– something new. You had come. 

And he wanted you.

With a violence he’d never felt in a life filled with little other than violence. He could sanctify you with the fervor of his wanting. If he wondered at your own desires, he’d ask if there wasn't ever something you’d wanted so bad it pushed you into the depths of selfishness. A selfishness that bordered on cruelty to the outside world, but you just could not help yourself. You just had to reach out and take. He wanted to be that thing for you, that thing that turned you cruel and selfish. 

And maybe that’s what this was, him taking you for himself; cruelty– like taking Ellie’s choices from her. But he couldn’t have helped it. He’d tried. God, he’d railed against this vicious want. But after the first time he’d touched you, tasted you, hell, the first time he’d fucking looked at you; all sense of choice had been taken from him. 

All that was left after that was what would happen. What was inevitable. The thread that connected them was deep and dark and red. Not to be ignored. 

The two circumstances were one in the same. And he couldn’t help but compare the present destruction of him and Ellie to what would become an inevitability between the two of you if he tried to be with you in any real way. Things always ended in one place for him. 

And he’d ripped out so much of himself to cure the pain of Sarah’s loss, he now felt he had nothing left to offer, and what little he did, had gone to Ellie. The feeling of inadequacy was suffocating. Of missing some essential part of himself. He didn’t know if he was capable anymore, of that, of giving himself to someone new. 

But he was afraid.

“C’mere, Birdie.” You crawl into his lap. 

“Birdie?” A sweet, shy laugh. There was something about you, so akin to that sparrow. So small and fragile, but with the enviable ability to fly away if necessary. Within yourself, within your heart. There was a space within you he found unreachable to him. And he hated it and envied it all at the same time. Raged at himself for even wanting it in the first place. Knew that it only existed as a form of self preservation, of protection, against him. And the sound of your voice – lilting like the song of that sparrow – it fucking haunted him, it haunted him, it haunted him. Maybe he was a little like that bird, as well. Hollow. 

Sometimes he just wanted you to hate him. To yell and scream and gnash your teeth and fucking demand something from him. Demand he let go of his cowardice and hesitations and fear. But he knew that very well of self preservation also allowed you to intellectualize his actions, parse together his motives and follow the thread to his root. Understand him in a way he shied away from. 

He existed in different spectrums of himself. Different shades of a past that all coalesced into this man he was now trying to be and remain. Which was, perhaps, the hardest part of it all. To maintain that semblance of a good man he was fighting his hardest to be. A good father. A good brother. Helpful to his community and neighbors. Open to the world. It was fucking hard. Falling into old habits, letting the past crest up like a wave and drown him, that was the easy route. Staying on the straight path was the true test. And he knew– he knew how much he had to hold on to now, and all the responsibility that came with that. To cultivate and maintain his relationships, his friendships. He was appreciated, respected in this place he’d made a home. He’d lived a long time without respect from anyone, the world – or himself. He wanted to hold on to that.

But he was also aware that there was something missing. Something he still wanted, and before he’d met you, he’d been unsure of what that was. But the feel of a woman beneath him, around him– someone to know him as a man, and not a father or a brother or a friend– yes, that was definitely missed. And then, not just any woman, but you, you, you. Your appearance in his world had changed things for him. A burst of blinding light, an inferno creeping in his veins, without preamble or warning – the intensity of it almost unendurable for its sudden unexpectedness. It was empirically impossible for one to turn away from a change of that magnitude. 

He thought of Tess sometimes. Her easy companionship. Her friendship. It was simple being with someone who never expected anything from you except to not get yourself killed. To stick to what was expected of you and not fuck up too badly you couldn’t keep your end of the bargain. But then… that wasn’t necessarily the truth of what they’d had either. Something still difficult for him to confess, even after all these years. And anyways, he was too old for that now. Shied away from getting into something like that again. A small curl of self consciousness making the appeal of it unsavory now. And this, between the two of you, he couldn’t codify it. Didn’t know what to make of it. Knew what he wanted of himself, of you. Knew what he would like to be able to give you and to take from you as well. Saying it out loud, confessing that, following through on it, was harder though. 

Birdie, Birdie, Birdie

You reach up to scratch gently through the underside of his chin. The soft, thick bristles catching beneath your nails. Just one more inevitable thing in a world full of inevitabilities. 

Sarah. Cordyceps. Ellie. Taking you for himself. His unwillingness to accept a thing, never made it any less true. Stubborn ass that he was, still after all this time, he could not kick the bad habit. 

You settle your plush bottom into his lap and weave your arms around his neck, his hands coming up to curve around the bend of your elbows, pull you in tighter, as if he could stitch you to his very skin with the intensity of his wanting. 

“You’re like a little bird,” he nuzzles the soft space behind your ear, sucks on the edge of your jaw, breathes you in. “My Birdie.” The soft sound you make goes straight to his hard cock and you spread your legs wider across his lap, grind yourself down onto him.

-

You bask in his attention, mind hazy and floating. You’re drunk on his touch, his scent, the sound of his voice, and you feel like you need to give him something. Give him some more tangible piece of yourself. Something you wish he could put in his pocket, tuck in his memory, carry with him always like a small, smooth stone, the weight of it knocking gently against his thigh as he moved about the world. You slink down the bed, settle yourself between his strong legs.

His middle is soft and thick, and you press a kiss to the swell beneath his belly button, further down to nuzzle into the soft thatch of hair around his cock. You breathe in the heady musk of him, and he’s restless, verging on aggressive beneath you — his control held on by the grace of a snapping thread. You take him in hand, show him you’re merciful, and give the hard thick length of him a slow tug. His size is obscene, held in your small hand, you can barely get your fingers around his girth; it makes you cunt clench and weep jealously. You gaze up at him, and the look in his eyes is feral, teeth bared in a gleaming snarl at you. You often think that he unmoors you, but in this moment, you have the power to unmake him. 

You press small kisses to his thigh, the jut of his hip bone, nuzzle your nose at the soft skin there. And then finally, you offer him your tongue, tap the broad, dark red head of him once, twice, and then soft little kitten licks, across the crown, down his shaft. Not yet ready to give him the reprieve of your hot suctioning mouth. You lift yourself up on your arms to hang your head over his erection then, letting salvia pool on your tongue you let it dribble down in a long obscene thread onto his waiting cock, slide down. “ Fuck – fuck, fuck,” he growls then, savage: “Fucking swallow it or come up here, and give me that cunt. No more teasing, Birdie.”

You bend back down to tongue the slit and he hisses, snaps his teeth together; he’s harder than a fucking rock. You start to jack him slow and tight in long pulls, from the very base, up, up to twist your fist around the weeping head, pressing soft kisses to the tops of his thighs. And then finally, finally you wrap your puckered mouth around him and start to suck, hollowing your cheeks and laving your tongue all around the thick girth. It’s sloppy and so wet, your saliva dribbling down to slide over his balls and into his hair. Messy little girl . He grips the back of your head, fingers fisting in your hair. You look up at him in permission, and he starts to fuck your mouth in earnest. The muscles in your throat tightening around his head with every thrust. “Shit, shit, that’s good.” He lets his head fall back, and you take in the strong column of his throat. You can feel your pussy leaking onto the sheets beneath you at the sight of him and you squirm, rubbing your thighs together to relieve some of the ache. He’s so fucking hot. And you want him so badly, always. 

He feels your desperate squirming between his thighs, “Play with that little cunt, baby. I know it hurts.” You moan in response, suck him deeper, swallow around him as you slide your hand under your belly, down between your thighs and play with the wet mess there. You cup yourself and start to rock your hips, you know he’s watching your movements, the rise of your ass, letting the heel of your hand grind against your throbbing clit and then slide down to your entrance, dip your middle finger in to penetrate you there, gentle and shallow. You pick up the pace of your grinding, everything is so slick and wet, and your mouth opens on a shallow gasp, his throbbing length slipping out of your mouth and falling wet and heavy onto his belly. The two of you watch each other as you fuck your hand slowly, and then he’s rolling you over with the strength of his thighs, quick as a viper, as he manhandles you to his liking. He’s sliding on top of you, and then he’s got you on all fours, face pressed down into the pillows and ass up, up in the air, pulling on your hips and spreading you wide for his eyes to feast on. You feel his big hands grip your ass cheeks and pull you apart, your pussy wet and aching, you’re sure he can see your hole clench desperately. He bends to give your flesh a sharp, painful nip and you keen in response, his tongue soothing over it after. 

“Please, Joel – please.”

“What do you need, baby? Hmm?” he croons. “You need my cock to fuck this little pussy?”

“Please–” you cry, a mess of tears and spit covering your face. 

He runs a gentle knuckle over your soaked, puffy lips. “So red… so needy… Say it, wanna hear it.” He gives you his thumb, catching just over the edge of your opening, your mewl is high and whining.

“ Please, please, please–”

“ Tell me, Birdie.”

Hitching breath, he pulls out his thumb, swipes over your clit, just barely. “Please, fuck my pussy.”

And then his hand is gone and he’s giving you the whole unrelenting length of him in one quick thrust, and he’s fucking huge and harder than stone. Pressing up against your cervix until it hurts and holding there, and you want more, more, more. It feels so fucking good and you’re so wet – dripping down your thighs, you can feel it pooling in the crevices behind your knees, mingling with the collected sweat there. It’s lewd. Your walls clamp down on him, tight as a fist, and he lets out a snarl: “Don’t move.” A shudder wracks through him and you can feel him throbbing inside you, holding him heavy and hard in the deepest part of your cunt. You mewl, high and desperate, “Don’t move, don’t make a sound—” You can’t help the whimpers, he pulls them out of you forcibly.

“ Fuck–” and then he’s ramming into you relentlessly, over and over, kissing your womb on each thrust, and you see stars behind your eyes. His hands hold you open to watch where he impales you. “Prettiest little pussy, fuckin’ perfect and tight, Birdie” he says through gritted teeth. He pulls out suddenly, bends to swipe a long wet lick from your clit to your asshole. Oh, he’s filthy. You can only moan in response, flushing red and hot from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Your breasts are heavy and aching, the tips furled into tight points. And then he’s fucking back into you. “Gonna fuck it full of my come, baby. You want that? Want me to stuff you full, pretty girl?”

“Yes– please, please. I need it–” His hand slides up the length of your back to curve over your shoulder, pulling you back onto his impaling cock harder. His balls slap sharp and wet against your clit, and then you’re coming around him, something so deep and sensitive inside being rutted against unrelentingly. Your cunt pulls tight, almost painful, a hot little furl around him, milking his own orgasm out of him. He groans deep in his chest, torso folding over your back pressing you deeper into the mattress, and you can feel the heavy throb and jerk of his cock spitting inside of you. The fist in your hair jerks your head to the side and he swallows your pleas, tongue licking deep into your mouth. “Good– good girl,” kisses the tip of your nose, your brow. 

-

“Little bird… s’soft” he whispers later. “ Who’s gunna look after these fragile wings that dream so big and want to fly so high?” The tips of his fingers ghost up and down the length of your spine, over the fine wings of your shoulder blades. His skin is rough, his trigger finger thickly calloused, and each pass makes you shiver. 

“Can’t you?”

“Don’t think so,” he mouths at the tender nook behind your ear, along your hairline, “Ain’t got it in me. Not gentle enough, don’t think.” But how could that be true when no one in all your life, in all the world, had ever touched you as softly as he was now?

“My Birdie,” he murmurs, and he’s still semi hard inside of your sore, stretched out cunt. Leaking out of you. Messy. The both of you had stopped being careful a while ago. Stopped caring, really. And you know it’s an unspoken point of resentment in him, the fact that he can’t control himself. That he feels an instinct to fill you and mark you. To make you his in the most primal way he can. The fact that he can’t pull away from you, in this most precarious of moments, despite all the other ways he can, it chafes . The both of you look away from it, like so many other things between you – turn your faces away. Unwilling to stop, and do the right thing. Unwilling to consider the possible consequences. 

Sometimes you wonder if the thought of those consequences appeal to him. Appeal as a form of subjugation. If that were to happen then he’d be forced to stop forcing himself to push you away. He’d be able to keep you the way you know he really wants to. 

It is a delirious and precarious situation, the business of believing in something that’s constantly denied to you. 

You wrap your hand around his thick wrist and bring it to your nose, breathe him in deep, press a kiss to the tender skin over the blue hued spidering of his veins. His heady scent of soap and sweat and musk, all mingled with your own scent on his skin. It makes you clench tight around him and he groans deep and wanton in his chest, grinds his hips further into you from behind. 

“You know what I think you’re missing?” he murmurs into the sensitive shell of your ear– your messy hair moved by his breath. “Besides more of my cum–” He laughs – and oh, he thinks he’s so damn funny– another thrust, sharper now. Regaining strength. He grasps the inside of your thigh and pulls you open, hooks your leg back and over his hip. Moaning low, you say, “What’s that?” You wind your hand up and back to clutch his hair while he starts to fuck you slow and deep. You want all your conversations for the rest of time to be just like this, whispered into each other’s ears always. 

His other hand slides down your belly, to slot his fingers over the place where he fits inside you, feeling the tight stretch of it. He cups you there and anchors you to roll your hips more deeply on to his hardening erection, the mound of his palm grinding into your oversensitized clit. This sort of stamina’s not normal for an old man, you want to tease. But then he says: “Some selfishness,” a little bit like a question. A little bit like an admonishment too. And you pause, he’s serious and it makes you afraid that it’s also posed like a warning, just for a second. “Be selfish, Birdie. Be selfish for me, just a little bit.” For me, he says, and it appeases you, comforts you. You think you may agree. 

“Who says I’m not already?”

Chapter II

Netherfeildren Masterlist

[flowerslut]

I might be projecting because my love language is gift giving and I am the kind of person who needs every detail of my life planned down the second and even my routines have routines but-

I have so much pity for Jasper. Like, don't get me wrong, he's got a great family and his wife is the fucking best thing since sliced bread, but she can see the FUTURE. imagine him trying to plan something special for their anniversary, a trip abroad or something, a wonderful surprise. First of all, he can't even decide until the very last second because he wants to keep it a surprise, which is already impossible, but then, THEN. He books the tickets and before he can even tell Alice what he's planned, she's packed their bags and figured out the itinerary and has already experienced the whole trip in her head and is already telling Jasper how great it will be and how much they will love it and how much nasty back-breaking sex they will have at every opportunity. He would love it, I'm sure, and loves her power and her having total control over him but!!! This poor man can't even plan anything special for his wife because she sees it happening before he does it!! Every gift is left to the last minute, and every experience has to be spontaneous, I don't know why he even tries honestly. That's why Alice is in charge I suppose

(I say this all in jest, I love Alice and her ability and that's probably one of the things Jasper loves most about her but. Imagine the suffering)

Jasper having to go along with any and all schemes he gets roped into is such a goldmine for comedy. It’s so great. I don’t feel the least bit bad for him; it’s like a delicious extra layer of karma. Like, sure sure we can argue that his empathy superpower is karmic justice being served against him, but him being reduced to a standing lamp who sometimes gets plucked out of Alice’s accessory pile to be promoted to Bag-Holding Arm Candy is absolutely incredible.

Listing out his trauma/problems just gets funnier the longer you go on because his problems range from "horrifying appearance that terrifies other vampires no matter what" to "wife has never once taken his advice". He’s a vampire who is hardwired to kill because murder = survival but he has an honest-to-god eating disorder because he feels the suffering of all his victims. He’s a two-time veteran where he was nothing more than a body tasked with inflicting violence on opposing forces to retain power and control over others but he’s married into a family of pacifists who like to play human in a world where being found out by said humans can and will get you killed by the vampire mafia. He has dogshit willpower but he has to sit through high school English classes with depressed/horny teenagers over and over again for appearance’s sake. He's a bulletproof immortal struggling to get a good grade in Being Good because of his ingrained ruthlessness and he will never once surprise his wife with an anniversary present because she’s a bratty, meddling little psychic.

I agree with your entire assessment here but I also laugh so hard when people try to woobify Jasper or be like “poor baby” because as a Jasper stan I love seeing this bitch suffer. Jasper will never know a moments peace no matter what happens to him and I can't help but point and laugh at his misfortune ♡

[hadesoftheladies]

"you are killing a baby"

i am killing a fetus, not an infant. an egg is not a chicken. potential is not actuality.

"you are murdering an innocent."

it doesn't matter who is innocent. a hungry lion may be innocent in wanting to eat me only because it is hungry and may not have the cognitive capacities to exercise something like restraint or conscience. that does not mean i should not defend myself from harm. it is still self-defense. all animals are expected to protect themselves first and foremost. you are just so used to the idea that women (especially mothers) are supposed to sacrifice their lives for their children in order to be good people--like they aren't human beings with self-preservation instincts.

harm equals anything that threatens the life or health of a person and pregnancy does both.

"your body was meant/designed to do this"

miscarriages are as natural as pregnancies. why do you think the placenta exists? pregnancy sickness? the female body can grow a person, yet also has resistance mechanisms for a pregnancy.

also, just because i have genes that make me a good runner doesn't mean i have to become a marathoner. like think for a second.

"what will the father think?"

women don't owe men or society themselves. i know that's very hard for you to grasp but there's no time like the present to start. there is no ethical way to make a woman a commodity or government assigned asset for reproduction or sex.

"the baby is conscious"

so is the lion in the hypothetical. also, that's debatable. also, what are your thoughts on veganism? since you care so much about the suffering of conscious beings (that is beings with selves)

"but animals aren't humans. they don't deserve the same rights as humans because of their lower cognitive capacities"

great. now apply this ethic to babies and mentally disabled people and then try to explain to me why that has to be different without mentioning how you feel or your religion. :)

"a baby has more potential than an animal."

okay, and why does that potential automatically mean better or more valuable? higher cognitive capacities haven't stopped wars and mass murders have they? (and i would argue that bringing a child into a violent world increases their chance of becoming unhealthy or complicit persons, so you can almost know what the character of your child will be like for certain based on where you're raising them).

"a baby has a soul"

there are two kinds of dualisms within christianity: thomistic and cartesian. cartesian dualism has gone out of fashion even amongst christian theologians and philosophers.

Substance dualism, or Cartesian dualism, most famously defended by René Descartes, argues that there are two kinds of foundation: mental and physical. Descartes states that the mental can exist outside of the body, and the body cannot think.

'Thomistic substance dualism' (TSD) centers around two beliefs: 1) the rational soul is an immaterial substance, and 2) this immaterial substance is the human person.

aside from the fact that both of these philosophies are rife with problems, I think thomistic dualism is the stronger of the two. the rational soul is, in a way, a word for the self.

regardless, both of these describe a self as a soul. so i'm just going to define a self.

The psychology of self is the study of either the cognitive and affective representation of one's identity or the subject of experience. The earliest formulation of the self in modern psychology forms the distinction between two elements I and me. The self as I, is the subjective knower. While, the self as Me, is the subject that is known.

a self is a centralized consciousness with their own memories, introspection and reflections. we know through neuroscience, psychology, behavioural science and sociology that a person or self is formed via experiences (where memories and impressions are gathered, how people learn), language and socialization (economy, history, family, culture) and possibly some genetic expressions (although i think this is more about capacity than actualization).

this is why things like dementia or alzheimer's are so scary and difficult. when a person loses memories, they lose aspects of themselves. when a person changes their environment, they also become different people (even while maintaining some similarities with their past selves).

this is mirrored in popular media, characters that lose their memories lose versions of themselves. this is also why, when you look at stories that feature a multiverse, the same character becomes a different person in different lives. in short, you are not born a person. you become one, and although your self remains singular and centralized (even with age), that self still changes. both the self and the people around the self create the self.

this is also why socially isolated individuals devolve and become mindless or sick (and even have reduced lifespan). certain higher human capacities like "conscience" or "empathy" can be socialized out of a human being, as well. i'd even go so far as to say that children begin conceptualizing themselves as individuals only when they begin to sense the presence of other human beings. they cannot conceptualize their own identity without the presence of other people. they probably don't know they are a self until they recognize other people and then realize they themselves are also people, and people are individuals.

legally a person is:

. . . an entity that the law recognises as having its own distinct personality. This usually means one that is able to act in its own right, and capable of possessing legal rights and liabilities, including individuals (or "natural persons") and corporate organisations.

my point is, how can a fetus with virtually no experiences (which born animals have), no language or skill (learned) to introspect or reflect (or abstract), possibly have a self? when they are not exposed to the outside world? certainly they have the capacity to develop a self, but as established earlier on, potential is not actuality. so legally and psychologically, a fetus is very likely not a person.

but we do not need this to be true to justify abortion regardless, because an innocent person is still causing harm, whether directly or indirectly. so the woman/girl has every right to resist.

[it-was-too-cold-always]

Always Read the Fine Print Chapter 11

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Who actually reads all the terms and conditions? After mindlessly checking a box years ago, our Reader unintentionally agrees to be part of a scientific study to create super soldier babies. To make matters worse, her fellow test subject is the brooding and intimidating Bucky Barnes.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: SHIELD adds yet another layer of discomfort to Bucky and reader's relationship.

Warnings: arranged marriage, forced proximity, lots of angst, violence, PTSD/nightmares, panic attacks, language, SMUT 18+ only, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex, size kink, let me know if I'm missing anything

Your entire body buzzed with anticipation as Bucky pulled into the SHIELD parking lot. You spent the ride in comfortable silence, Bucky’s hand resting possessively on your thigh as he drove. It was enough to calm your nerves, at least until the car shut off. Then your anxiety flared up and your stomach did flips. Please god don’t let me throw up in his car, you thought. That would not be cute.

“Hey, look at me,” Bucky said softly, taking your hand in his. “Whatever happens in there, we’re a team. We can get through it together.” You nodded slowly, As long as you could stick with Bucky, you’d be able to handle whatever they threw at you. You could be brave.

Your bravery did not last very long. The moment you stepped into the conference room, you were whisked away to yet another exam room. Was Bucky nearby? Was he still in the conference room? You wished you at least knew where he was.

The nurses had you change into a gown and lay down on the table. They were shuffling next to you, setting instruments onto a tray in preparation for whatever was coming next. The moment you saw a huge ass needle, you decided it would be best to stare at the ceiling instead. Hadn’t they done enough poking and prodding?

After a few excruciatingly painful stabs to your cervix, the nurses instructed you to get dressed. It would’ve been nice if they told you what the hell they just did to you, you thought. You then realized it didn’t matter – you already signed your rights away.

When you got back to the conference room, Bucky was sitting alone at the long glass table. He stood immediately and walked over to you, placing a finger under your chin so he could study your face. “Are you okay? What did they do to you?” He was panicked. You looked like you were in pain, and that made him angry. He was the one that had to pay for his crimes., yet you were the one suffering the most.

“I’m okay, just a few pokes. A couple needles can’t scare me,” you lied, thinking you could comfort him. Bucky frowned. Kind of a stupid idea to think you could lie to the Winter Soldier. The truth was you were in quite a lot of pain, and you were terrified to find out what they just injected into you. But if you voiced all this to him, it would become more real. It was more calming to pretend like everything was fine.

Deciding not to push you further, Bucky pulled out a chair and motioned for you to sit. You didn’t protest – the pain was making you a little woozy. He rubbed your back gently as you both stared at the door, waiting for whatever was coming next. You jumped when the door finally opened. That abrasive woman from before walked in with her stupid pencil skirt and tall black heels. Following her were a couple men in suits and the man you recognized from before – Bucky’s lawyer.

“Good morning! Mr. Barnes, you look well. I hope that little farmhouse is living up to your standards.” She was mocking him. She really was the worst. Bucky grunted in response, not even looking in her direction. You hoped that made her feel disrespected.

“Well, I suppose we better get down to business. I assume you’re wondering what we did to your little friend here?” she asked, motioning to you. Her question was met with silence, so she continued. “I’m sure it’s no surprise that I don’t trust you very much, Mr. Barnes.” Bucky scoffed but she ignored him. “I had to ensure full participation in the study. What we injected into this young lady is a series of sensors. They’ll be able to tell us the exact moment sperm moves past her cervix.”

“The consent that Y/N and Sergeant Barnes signed allow no such devices to be implanted. You’re overstepping,” his lawyer cut in. You were so glad you had someone on your side.

“Oh Mr. White, I had a feeling you’d argue with me on this. Please refer to page 104, section 8. You’ll see that we have full authority to use whatever medical devices we deem necessary for the success of this study. I’m afraid we’re perfectly within our rights,” the lady retorted. “As I was saying, we’ll be notified the moment sperm moves past the cervix. You cannot play games with me, Mr. Barnes. If we do not get a notification at least once a day, you’ll be paid a visit, and it won’t be a friendly one. At least not for your little friend.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked and his fists clenched. They were threatening you, and it made him furious. He vowed he wouldn’t let anything happen to you. One day, he would kill every single one of these bastards. But for now, he had to do everything he could to protect you.

Back at the house, thoughts swirled around in your head as you fixed dinner. Sex with Bucky was amazing – life changing, really.  It was the most magical thing you’ve ever experienced. You were afraid to admit it, but you wished you’d get to experience it every day for the rest of your life. But having SHIELD know exactly when you were having sex, and how many times? Talk about an invasion of privacy. It made you feel incredibly uncomfortable.  

Bucky spent the entire meal trying to read your mind. How did you feel? Violated, he assumed, but he wasn’t sure if your opinion of him changed. You were suffering once again because of his actions. He was supposed to be the one paying for his crimes, not you. Rage bubbled up inside him as he watched you eat. There you were, offering a comforting smile with a mouthful of pasta. He didn’t deserve you. He was only hurting you. He was disgusted with himself.

You could tell something in Bucky’s demeanor changed, so you took his hand from across the table and gave it a squeeze. He wouldn’t even look at you.

“Bucky?” you whispered. He could hear the hurt in your voice but didn’t respond. “Bucky, what’s wrong? Please don’t shut me out.”

Hearing the pain in your voice, how you were begging him to open up, it broke his heart. He couldn’t bear to see you like this,

“I’m sorry, doll. I’m so sorry,” was all he could say. He wrapped you in a tight hug and buried his face in your hair. You weren’t quite sure why he was apologizing, so you just wrapped your arms around his slim torso and reciprocated the hug. He released you just enough to lean back to look at your face. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

“Bucky…” You didn’t know what to say. He didn’t deserve this either. It wasn’t his fault, but clearly he feels guilty. Words wouldn’t come to you, but you had other ways to comfort him. You reached up and traced along his jawline. Slipping your hand to the back of his neck, you pulled him down for a kiss. You were gentle and cautious – one slow, meaningful kiss. You pulled back and searched his face. The deep lines in between his eyebrows were softening, and his eyes were lighter. The kiss must have eased some tension, but that wasn’t enough for you. You wanted him to feel good.

Leading him to the couch, you motioned for him to sit down. You knelt down in between his knees, moving slowly to see if he’d stop you. When he didn’t, you slowly unbuckled his belt, pulled down the zipper, and sprung his cock out of his pants. Your eyes widened and you instinctively licked your lips. You’d never get used to how big he is. You looked deep into his eyes as you ran your tongue from the base all the way up to the tip. His eyes rolled back and a moan escaped his lips. You swirled your tongue around his shaft, slowly taking in his cock inch by inch. Bobbing your head as you made your way down. What you couldn’t fit in your mouth, you rubbed with your hand. Your other hand was gripping his strong thigh for support. You lost yourself completely, so focused on how amazing he felt in your mouth. His hand was tangled in your hair, holding you firmly but not pushing down. You released his cock from your lips with a pop, looking up at him. He looked in complete bliss. He blinked, trying to get back to reality, and his eyes met yours. His look was sinful.

“Get up,” he demanded. You obeyed and stood in between his legs. In one swift motion, he took off your shirt and threw it across the room. He peppered kisses along your stomach as he undid your bra. His lips immediately found your nipple, while his hand mercilessly kneaded your other breast. He covered your chest in kisses and bites, sucking deliciously on your tender skin. The moans leaving your lips only encouraged him more. His hands were everywhere: the back of your thighs, up to your ass, your hips, your breasts.

“Bucky, please, I need you,” you panted, his touch alone making your body shake.

“I’m not done yet,” he replied, guiding you to the couch. As he spread your legs open, he kissed his way down to your core. Without any mercy, his tongue dove into your folds, sucking and running his teeth across your sensitive clit. He sat back on his heels and slowly worked his fingers into you, twisting and pumping his digits in and out of your pussy. “Such a good girl,” he cooed. “My beautiful wife.” His words alone sent you into a fiery orgasm. As you came, he increased his speed until he was finger-banging you into oblivion.

He kissed you deeply, quieting your incoherent mumbles and resetting your brain. You twisted your fingers in his hair and pulled his pelvis into yours, grinding shamelessly.

“Please,” you whispered. He chuckled.

“Alright, doll. I’m yours,” he replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. He slid his shaft into you slowly, letting you adjust to the size. You moaned loudly as he began thrusting his hard cock in and out of you. You desperately grasped his shoulders, trying anything to ground yourself. The sensations were overwhelming. But suddenly you remembered the sensors in your cervix. SHIELD was watching and waiting. You panicked.

“Wait wait wait,” you breathed, suddenly feeling extremely anxious. Bucky, on the verge of coming, pulled out immediately and climbed off you.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Talk to me, doll,” he was scared. Terrified, actually.

“I just…I…um…” you stuttered. “I don’t think I can do this. Not when I know they’re monitoring us,” you admitted. Bucky nodded his head and covered you with a blanket. He kissed the top of your head and went outside without a word. You felt like you had whiplash. The stark change from mind-blowing orgasms to the sudden panic of being watched, then Bucky just up and leaving. You weren’t sure what to make of it.

You waited for Bucky on the couch, but after a half hour or so, you decided he wasn’t coming back anytime soon. You waddled your way upstairs and got ready for bed. You heard a car door open and looked out the window – it was Steve, handing a paper bag to Bucky. You wondered what could possibly be so important that Bucky would just walk away from you to get this.

You were warm and comfortable in bed when Bucky burst into the room. “Doll, you gotta get up. It’s almost the end of the day and the sensors haven’t gone off yet,” he said hurriedly. It was true – the day was almost over and Bucky had not come inside you. You shivered at the thought of what they would do if you failed.

“Okay, you’re right,” you said solemnly. It made you feel uncomfortable, but you were sure the punishment would be even worse. You didn’t have a choice. The magic of sex with Bucky would completely disappear, but you had to do it.

Bucky grabbed your hand, gently kissed your knuckles, then set something in your hand. Confused, you opened your hand to look at what he just gave you. It was a long plastic syringe, filled with a white substance.

“Bucky?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed. What the hell was this?

“Semen has to pass your cervix. They never specified how,” he explained. “Leave it on the nightstand when you’re done. Goodnight, doll.” He walked out of the room and closed the door.

Chapter 12

Taglist 💛

@kandis-mom @learisa @pono-pura-vida @smile1318 @stinkerbelle007 @glitterydeputyshepherdwagon @wonderland2425 @lowkeysebby @cookiie-c @mrsevans90 @touchit-pcy @vicmc624 @mrsbarnes32557038 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @wonderland2425 @tsofo26 @missing-loki @aesthetic0cherryblossom @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @ladyvenera @buggy14 @emmsybucky @crist1216 @jessicaloons @vrittivsanghavi @avenirectioner @nancymcl @kenzs-world @reguluscrystals @cjand10 @coldheartedmar @browneyedgirl22  @globetrotter28

[veliseraptor]

hard and soft vegaspete headcanons please! i am utterly in love with your brain <3

aw, thank you, anon! right now me and my brain are on a friendship time out until it starts behaving itself again but I will pass that on anyway.

hard headcanon: For the first several months post-canon Vegas is absolutely terrified of doing something wrong. In general, absolutely, but one place this manifests is sex, where Vegas is torn between being absolutely ravenous and treating Pete like glass because he's not sure what the rules are and god forbid they talk about it. (They don't. Vegas knows they should, certainly, he understands that about BDSM procedure, but is he going to open that conversation? no. And Pete certainly won't.)

Now Pete, on the other hand, is losing his mind because after years of I think a largely lackluster sex life suddenly it feels like he is turned on all the time and by nothing and here Vegas is being all weird and tentative about it and it's driving Pete insane. And of course Vegas slips at some point and gets a little rougher and Pete is like "YES FINALLY" and then Vegas probably has a full-on panic attack and that kind of ruins the mood.

Pete is trying to be sympathetic, he really is, but it's hard when on the one hand he's like "come on, just stop thinking so much and move right along past all your troubles without looking at them like I do, it works for me" (it doesn't) and also like "you did this to me, fucker, are you going to do something about it or not?"

When things do eventually give and they start working it out it is kind of the worst, though. They're so unbearably all over each other. Things get weirdly sexually charged even if there are other people around, and it's not an exhibition thing, they just kind of forget about other people being there. Macau is suffering.

soft headcanon: I think Vegas loves giving Pete gifts. Particularly extravagant gifts. Pete will casually mention an interest in/wanting something and the next day it will be delivered to him with bows on by a Vegas who is, perhaps, ever so slightly desperate for approval. But it's also just about enjoying spoiling him a little! From Vegas's perspective he's very "poor Pete, he's never had anything for himself and he's never had disposable income to spend on whatever he wants so now I'm going to fix that!!!" and it's not like money is an object. Or at least he's not used to it being.

Frankly this makes Pete really uncomfortable. Ostentatious extravagance makes him feel funny! Conspicuous displays of wealth makes him feel weird and out of place and also vaguely anxious! He doesn't know what to do with this and also he's never had this much stuff in his life, where's he supposed to put it, some of this isn't even useful (which, I think Pete is deeply tied to thinking of things for himself in terms of utility) but he can't get rid of it because Vegas's feelings will be hurt.

Vegas does pick up on this eventually but his solution is less to change his strategy and more to adjust so that his extravagant gifts are less obviously extravagant. That kind of expensive that doesn't look expensive. Pete doesn't have to know how much that thing cost.

Vegas is just very much here like "nobody else has been spoiling Pete and someone's gotta do it" and Pete's like "no, nobody has to do that actually" and Vegas just ignores that completely.

Oh yes, also the cat, who Vegas sometimes calls "baby" in exactly the same way he talks to Pete.

[joyfulapostate]

hey! i love your work so much, i think you're doing amazing things and i always look forward seeing your posts on my dash.

i was wondering if you'd consider doing a post/sharing your thoughts on the concept of "being in the world but not of the world." it's something that's been on my mind lately, the kind of simultaneous victim/superiority complex that idea could potentially inspire. some verses related to that idea are 1 John 2:15-17 , John 15:19 , and Romans 12:2 .

in any case, i hope you have a fantastic day--you have no idea how important your work is, not only to me but countless others too.

Hello! I am so touched that you find my work meaningful. Thank you for sending this in! It's a fascinating subject and a lot to unpack (after all, it's the whole world we were asked to give up).

As a former fundie, the anti-world messages in these verses hit me pretty hard. They remind me of the years I lost to the faith and the paths I didn’t take. It's strange, because these verses felt so run-of-the-mill when I was a Christian. Of course I was not of the world, I was merely visiting this planet and I would return to my heavenly father once I passed his earthly test. 

I was told as a Christian that the secularization of society was a direct attack on our way of life, that “the world” wanted to replace all of the things that I valued with cheap knock-offs. Sex instead of holy matrimony, prideful independence instead of relying on my heavenly father. I had a very us-versus-them mentality where the "us" was guaranteed to win in the long game of eternity. I won't lie, I felt superior to secular people when I was a Christian. But the trick was, I didn't think that the superiority belonged to me, it belonged to the Christian god. It wasn't me who was better than other people, I was just letting my god protect me from the pitfalls of an earthly existence. If there was goodness or glory in that journey, it did not belong to me. It all belonged to him. It was a “get-out-of-pride free” card.

I had been sold this idea that the world was against “us.” I didn't notice that that hadn't been true for quite a long time. But most of the people around me were acting as if they were still in danger of being persecuted by some modern equivalent of the Romans. The persecution complex was strong, but entirely baseless. Because living in a multicultural society is not the same thing as persecution, even though they were treated as one and the same in my fundamentalist community.

I didn't want to notice that it wasn't loving to ask people to give up their whole lives. I had inherited this ancient contract that told me that I could gain an eternal life. All I had to do was give up everything. I was supposed to treat the world like a den of vipers, to regard everything earthly as garbage, and to live as if I was born in heaven's waiting room. There was no negotiation and the details that I did have were quite hazy as to what that eternal life would be like. And I was supposed to give up the only life I’d ever experienced for vague promises, sight unseen.

As a fundamentalist, I took the sacrificial mathematics of Christianity for granted. Our sacrifice mirrored Christ’s own– it's a compelling story. And I can see how it's attractive for people who crave the purpose, belonging, and freedom from suffering that Christianity promises. But I'm not ready to give up on this life and on this world for an incredibly shady deal. I don't believe that the only way we can be good people is by handing our lives over to someone who does not allow us to have informed consent in an eternal contract.

We deserve to have a connection with this world. We know that this life is real and ready for us to participate in. And if someone wants to separate us from the world, then they'd better be ready to tell us, in detail, the conditions of that contract.

Otherwise, I'm going to go ahead and love the world and the things in the world as long as I'm alive.

links, glorious links

[n--n]

So can you elaborate on the lyrics of Poison being uninspired? I think a big problem with them is that there’s supposed to be a dramatic switch up in tone at the end, but it’s not actually big because the song has no dark subtext, the darkness is pure text. You can’t have a character say “My stories gonna end with me dead from your poison” then expect us to be shocked when the song gets sad in the end.

Addict was something people could have actually comfortably danced to in the club, which makes it hit when the concept is flipped to the dark side of itself, and it fits thematically, because it’s him coming down from his high, and he’s taking in what’s become of his life. Angel wasn’t happy before the ending of Poison so why is the song suddenly sad now like anything has changed?

But to me the lyrics seem unique enough. Like I can’t say any of them are cliches or platitudes. Though it kind of annoys me that the second verse like a regular pop song, but a real pop song has eight lines in verse one, this one has six and the Yeah yeah yeahs don’t count, so the second verse has an odd number of lines and just feels incomplete. That could be an example of it being uninspired.

Thank you for this ask it gives me an excuse to surgically open this song and really understand why it bothers me so much. Also it's 12 and I haven't rewatched it in a while so I might come back tomorrow and rewrite this so take it w a grain of salt sorry abt that.

In a nutshell- it's uninspired to me bc its such a nothingburger of a song. Like what do we get from it that we don't already know about Angel- either from the show itself, side content like the Addict video, or even from posts about him? Nothing. And lyrics aside, although the beat is good it's just a generic pop tune like Addict was a generic Kesha tune ya'know? Nothing about the melody particularly stood out to me as unique on its own or helping the storytelling. Even the fact that it's so upbeat in spite of the lyrics and visuals works against it when it gets towards the end and fails at trying to surprise you that it's sad.

"...so the second verse has an odd number of lines and just feels incomplete"

^^See thank you for articulating this bc I don't actually know much about how to articulate my thoughts on music, but this does help me make sense of why the actual tune just didn't grab me/felt off.

Also, going w/ the comparison to All You Wanna Do again- it's uninspired in that it also tries to do the thing where it makes a character use sexual innuendo to cope/describe the sa but falls so flat. Like,

"So far beyond difficult to resist another gulp

Yeah, I know it's poison You're feedin' me poison I'm chokin' from the taste and I can't help but swallow Up your poison I made my choice and Every night I'm wasted like there's no tomorrow"

Angel Dust does his dance as he sings this-and the images of him in his fetish gear/parts of the assault appear on screen, and he even poses in the positions it's implied he's being assaulted in. Like, was ALL of that necessary when the lyrics are already telling us directly what's happening to him??? Katherine made sex jokes abt her sa too, but we get to see her as her own character outside of the assaults and we learn so much about her pov, how it affected her entire life, etc. I feel like I wouldn't find it even that egregious if we had gotten to have scenes where the audience gets to see Angel be himself outside of the performative mask he wears+his suffering, but he was only used for cheap sex jokes when interacting w the others at the hotel. And now in his song, he redundantly sings abt his situation which we have already been shown:

"I got so good at bein' untrue I got so good at tellin' you what you wanna hear I disassociate, disappear Yeah, yeah, yeah"

We saw his conflict w Husk over how fake he is, saw him placate Val over the phone, and I can't recall if we saw him disassociate but regardless. The point is we know all this, it didn't need to be a song let alone a whole music video. If we left the scene after Val abused Angel in the backroom and made Charlie leave it would have been waaayyyyy more weighty and foreboding than this song/MV.

ALSO:

"You can’t have a character say “My stories gonna end with me dead from your poison” then expect us to be shocked when the song gets sad in the end." + "...and it fits thematically, because it’s him coming down from his high, and he’s taking in what’s become of his life."

^^^^THIS!! They really tried leaning into the tragedy of his situation but really just ended up making him a tool for whump instead. Addict was put together wayyy better musically, thematically and visually- it actually felt impactful when we're left with Angel Dust crying on the bed w his pet comforting him, whereas Poison leaving him on the ground left me feeling nothing but annoyance.

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

Love is Better the Second Time Around - final thoughts

If you've already seen some of the final takes going around for the finale of this show, I'm of much the same mind. It started really strong for me, but the last couple of episodes did get muddled.

As much as I would love longer Japanese BLs, typically I feel like they work quite well in their shorter formats - Perfect Propose and My Personal Weatherman both felt like complete and satisfying stories to me. But this one did seem to suffer from the lack of time.

Pros:

Loved the two leads. They were excellent and did so much with microexpressions and body language. And hella chemistry.

The assistant - he was a fun character, and I'm sorry we didn't get to see him turn his bitchiness on Sugimoto. His helping Miyata also made sense to me, because he cared about Iwanaga.

It was refreshing to have a show not treat sex as some sort of end game final reward, but rather a part of relationship building.

The acknowledgement that the two of them running away as teenagers probably wouldn't have worked in the long run, but they were in a better place now to be together as fully actualized adults. I enjoy stories where young people get together, but there's also a part of me that is very dubious about longevity - it's just a part of life experience and seeing how few people are able to maintain that kind of relationship long term, especially considering how in your 20s you are still learning & growing so much.

The ending song slaps.

Cons:

I do want to be careful here, because I feel like some of the things that didn't work for me had strong cultural elements. For example, the discussion with the mother at the end. As a Westerner, I would just be all "fuck you" and peace out with my love, but I know some of that is being from a more individualized and less deferential culture. But it just felt unstructured and I didn't quite see the point of it.

I feel like they tried to make Miyata take a lot of the blame for what went wrong as kids, and that just didn't work for me. He was less popular, less wealthy, and more isolated than Iwanaga, and we're supposed to blame him for thinking he was being made fun of?

The breakup just annoyed me.

Sugimoto. Having both him and the assistant be in love with Iwanaga was a bit much, and just didn't really make sense to me considering his actions. It would have made more sense if he was wanting to take over the family business and was trying to get Iwanaga out. And then he's supposed to be helping in the end? But why? It was too short a series to introduce a dynamic like that last minute.

I enjoyed it, but don't expect I'll rewatch this one.

[weebsinstash]

All the posts on the multiverse and ‘canon events’ has gotten me thinking. I love everything about the Yandere where having a relationship or family is meant to be canon. The inevitable destiny that feels like a chokehold. The peer pressure and complete lack of consideration to accompany an increasing loss of agency. But imagine if it were the opposite. The yandere looking through hundreds of different worlds and finding that they never even cross paths with you in the street. Hundreds more that where you do have a relationship, it always falls apart. The opposite of an MJ and Peter Parker. Just imagine them growing more and more unhinged as they desperately search for any justification, any way that proves their love could and should be reciprocated and have the universe consistently show that it’s not meant to be. Or worse, that you getting into a relationship at all could even constitute as an anomaly.

Honestly like, I'm almost absolutely positive Beyond The Spiderverse will "reveal the truth" because canon events as a concept is way too fucking depressing? I also feel like it's inherently making double meta commentary on, not just the whole "oh people don't want to accept miles/new mantles of a hero" but also, specifically for Spiderman, there's been a trend of trying to find new ways to make him suffer? Despite Peter Parker being literally one of the most friendly and pure hearted comic book heroes --his whole deal is literally being your friendly neighborhood Spiderman who friendly banners with his villains-- Peter has been given some absolutely AWFUL comic book fates

There have been comics where Peter has accidentally killed Mary Jane just by being in love and having sex and his radioactive seminal fluid gave her cancer. There have been comics where the world was overtaken by a zombie virus and Spiderman is running around trying to save a collapsing world from ruin, having to literally weave Mr Fantastic into his webs, literally put the stretching guy's skin in his webs, to try and stretch literal actual rotting people back together. Ironically one of the happiest comic book endings for Peter Parker is when he has to fake his suicide after society shuns him for not being a mutant and he actually stops being Spiderman and gets to live a private peaceful life of seclusion with MJ and their baby. So. His happy ending was literally only achieved by quitting being Spiderman because uh people were literally wanting to rip him apart over, essentially mutant based racism

There's this narrative that "oh with great power comes great reaponsibility" and for Spiderman it's pushing this idea that, in the scope of this movie, these heroes don't actually have a choice and truly ARE "destined" to suffer. It's like. No one wants that kind of story actually. At least not on the scale we are seeing it in this I dusty and franchise. Stories where the protagonist is being constantly spit on despite being nothing but good and doing nothing to deserve it isn't exactly uh, what the super campy hero comic books were made for? It's kinda like some grotesque mixture of writers trying to be edgy and capitalism trying to profit off of "shocking" new ideas. Superheroes are supposed to be campy and goofy and at the end of the day it's about saving the day and getting your happy ending and no one should "have to" suffer to achieve that

Like do yall see how awkward it is to see Peter B with Mayday while knowing that Mayday is absolutely already on her way to being a Spider herself with her own canon events. Like it's actually depressing. She's going to take over the mantle of Spiderman when her father gets his leg broken. Does Peter know? Does he ever think about his baby's future? Does Jessica? Are Spider people essentially being forced to have kids that they know are going to be miserable? Can you even imagine, being told "yeah you're supposed to have a child and also that kid is going to suffer just like you and no actually you don't get a choice not to have them"

Like by all means, upholding the canon is actually kind of frightening. Miguel is genuinely trying to save people's lives but some of these canon events are extremely personal things. I know it's kind of only damaging if you know beforehand but like.... wouldn't it fuck you up if you were in a happy marriage with someone who loved and accepted you and be doing your thing for years and then you join the Spider Society and you find out every version of you is with every version of your partner. I dont... know if I would actually find that romantic at all actually. I think my automatic reaction would be "wait are we made for each other? I literally never had a chance with anyone else? There's literally only one person who would ever love me? Did either of us really even have a choice?"

You go home and look at your spouse you've known for years and it's almost like your opinion of them has been permanantly changed. You're no longer looking at the other half of your heart who loves you. You're looking at the poor victim who got stuck with you. You're looking at your Canon Assigned Lover who is never going to get to experience true, actual love, because you're here. It's almost like, you still love them, but it hurts to love them now, and you're positive in your heart that, they don't ACTUALLY love you, their love isn't "true". And you leave them, straight up leaving signed divorce papers sitting on a table of a home you're never going back to. Somewhere at Spider Society HQ, there's a little light dinging or pinging or something in Miguel's face, "Canon Diverted/Canon Changed" and he's going to start physically tracking you down

I mentioned it before but I still like the idea of Reader somehow being in Miguel's Canon despite being in separate dimensions and he doesn't find this out until both of you are on really bad terms with each other, like the equivalent of not finding the search you need because you're off by a single letter or keyword, his systems miss that You are His future spouse because there's so much data it's combing through. Like, Miguel's obsessively researching all the different versions of you and he has who he thinks is supposed to be your future partner on his radar, he KNOWS basically everything about your future and is trying to nudge you towards it, pressuring you, basically breaking your heart when he and the Society kind of straight up tells you to go home and not come back until you're in a relationship, and after you basically hate his guts you have some idk a Miguel with an eyepatch emerging from the shadows with the rest of the Miguelvengers about "you're one of us, hurry, come, there's no time to explain" and there's some bullshit where this emotionally constipated ass man is told he has to apologize and woo you until one of his alternates is like "or you could just take em, that's what I did and my Canon was Just Fine"

I also like the idea of, lmao, "Miguel and Reader WERE canon but he fucked up so badly another Miguel was actually able to just come in and totally steal you and that's HIS canon and Miguel 1 is forced to watch you ride off into the sunset with basically his replacement when he was there first and loved you first"

Idk i just. I really want to break this barrier and write something 😩 its down to me not being able to decide which idea I have. I've been getting new drafts down but not finishing anything, just today I started something new for Batman/the Batfam/the JL even though we've been crooning over Miguel 😅 I just had like 5 days off in a row and I started more drafts so... I guess it's a start? Getting these drafts done is apparently NOT my canon event 😩

[animebw]

So The Woman Called Fujiko Mine feels like an argument against itself.

I don't mean that in broad metaphorical terms. I mean that this show quite literally looks into the camera and tells you that the very concept behind it is bullshit. It's a grim and gritty re-imagining of Lupin III that seems to regard grim and gritty re-imaginings as little more than contrived nonsense, something hastily slapped onto a perfectly fine piece of media with no regard for what makes that media work in the first place. I don't think I've ever seen a more purposefully self-defeating work of fiction in my life.

What do I mean by this? Well, the basis of this show seems to be explaining the backstory of Fujiko Mine, the Lupin franchise's resident femme fatale cat burglar. What kind of experiences, it asks, would lead someone to sleeping and stealing their way through life? And this being a supposed grim and gritty re-imagining with Naked Titties and Fucking, the answer it comes to is, of course, horrific sexual trauma. The final arc descends into this ludicrously overcomplicated conspiracy involving hallucinogenic drugs, human experimentation, possibly actual magic, all to explain how Fujiko was horribly abused as a child and repressed those awful memories through a life of cheap sex and fancy trinkets. Even the OP screams this point at the start of every episode: "The act of stealing lets her forget everything and keep her memories at a safe distance." She covers herself in jewels and men as if they can hide her shameful, scarred body from the horrors it was forced to endure, a lifetime of cheap thrills to escape the pain of her womanhood.

Except just when you think the whole conspiracy justifying this backstory can't get any more complicated, it overcomplicates itself even further to reveal that none of this actually happened. Turns out, Fujiko's repressed trauma memories were false memories implanted in her when she was already an adult as part of some roundabout cry for help from the actual victim. And in fact, Fujiko was already a sex-loving, treasure-grabbing femme fatale by the time those false memories were put in her. Not because of trauma, but because she just likes having sex and stealing things. And I'm not exaggerating when I say she all but looks the audience in the face and outright says, "See? Isn't it stupid and condescending trying to force a contrived rape narrative onto a female character just because she likes sex? Why can't I just be a bombshell who loves what she does without having to feel ashamed of it? Or does it only count as feminism if characters like me have to suffer for our sexiness?"

It's a genuinely wild subversion that feels a decade ahead of its time. But therein lies the problem: you still have to sit through a mostly straightforward grim and gritty deconstruction to get to the point where it points out how stupid most grim and gritty deconstructions are. And if the point was to criticize those kinds of stories just by being an example of one, well, all I can say is that it succeeded. It absolutely feels at times like a pointlessly dark and edgy paint job slapped on top of a story for the sake of feeling "mature" when all that really means is lots of rape and uncomfortable sexual hangups. Did I mention there's a Class S episode where Fujiko becomes the teacher at an all-girls school and proceeds to have affairs with multiple of her students? Because that happens, and I could feel my skin trying to crawl off my body the entire time.

Like I said in an earlier post, this isn't fanservice in the traditional sense. In fact, with the ending reveal in mind, the presentation and execution is almost maddeningly confrontational, as if daring you not to see it for the cheap shock value it is. You can almost hear Yamamoto and Okada laughing behind the scenes as you scramble to find an explanation for why all this misery porn needed to exist, only for the show itself to say "Actually, yeah, this was all pretty tasteless and crass, who would actually want Fujiko's story to be like this?" But it's still a frustrating fucking show to watch in the moment because all that possibly intentional metafictional subversion just reads as straight-up boring edgy grimdark before you're shown the man behind the curtain. Or, woman behind the curtain. Whatever.

I dunno, I don't think I can give this one a proper score. 5/10, I guess? Ask me in a few months and see if that's changed at all. For now, I'm more than happy to polish off my Yamamoto back catalogue and move onto something else. Which 2013 show will take its place, I wonder?

[velvetvexations]

Hi Velvet! Would like to open this ask with a bit of positivity-- I've been having it rough lately, both in the general life department and my personal issues department, and scrolling your blog really helps calm me down and relax <3 I wish good things upon you, your loved ones, and the community you've built here. I'm really sorry for dumping this super long ask into your inbox, but I'm not sure who else would engage with what I have to say here. And on that note, I'm also extremely grateful to you.

I've been thinking a lot lately on all the "tme privilege" discourse that's pretty much overrun this site and wanted to throw in my two cents to the conversation as a bigender person (male + female). Full disclosure that I'm an AFAB perisex individual, and do not identify with the transmasc nor the transfem label. I haven't personally made any original posts on the topic myself, but I'd like to believe I generally have a grasp on where everyone is coming from.

In the broadest sense, I think holding these kinds of charged discussions during a period in which society is experiencing a collective moral panic over trans people has put a lot of us on edge. It's caused us as a community to forget the base truth that ultimately we are trying to navigate our very personal traumas through these discourses, and our priority has shifted from proactively extending compassion and sympathy to each other to defensively antagonizing and segregating ourselves out of hypervigilance. The natural consequence of such hypervigilance on social media platforms is the creation of an environment where opinions and perspectives are constantly being policed. So to a certain extent, I'd posit that the argument is not so much a direct trans intracommunity issue as it is a online socialization phenomena that intersects with trans digital spaces and our current political climate. As a lot of older trans people (by which I mean 30+) have observed, this is a fairly recent trend in trans discourse, and conversation was typically much more open and less hostile even a decade ago.

In the more specific, rhetorical sense, I can't make heads or tails of the logical throughline in any of the most radical arguments. It is just the case that sometimes lived experiences will contradict each other, and sometimes the things that have shaped one person's suffering will have shaped others' in similar but also very different ways-- it's frustrating that no one seems to understand this. Watering down the nuances of reality to these very clear-cut definitions of what makes up specific types of people's experiences is just strange to me. I am supposed to believe I would be TME despite identifying as a woman who also seeks gender-affirming care that would masculinize her bottom parts. I would love to hear what exactly would distinguish me from the specter of the degenerate trans woman in the eyes of society if I start walking around with a cock and boobs at the same time while calling myself a woman and a man simultaneously. I certainly would no longer be treated as a member of the social class of women, and I most definitely would be excluded from the social class of men. And yet by all means this is supposed to fall under the umbrella of transmasc experiences, despite me not claiming transmasculinity in any way shape or form. If I have physically transitioned and I am a woman, and then experience transphobia in ways that interface with my womanhood, how can that not be called transmisogyny? Then do I call myself TMA? But I was born with the sex designation of female! I was socialized as a girl and wouldn't possibly be able to grasp the depth of the trauma that real trans woman go through… It just goes around in circles. This is also honestly why I find myself identifying much more with intersex individuals than I do with binary trans individuals in general but, man, these circlejerks sure do jerk those circles.

I'm always happy to give people a space to talk about things. There's way, way too much hostility going on between people who should be working together. It's always important work to push back against that and to not swallow what you're told you have to accept as reality. You're doing really good at that.

[elvensorceress]

For the WIP game

Tell me more about bluebonnets, please 😊

🌼

Hi, Ty! 💕

So, Bluebonnets is the "Broke My Own Heart" story that @eddiebabygirldiaz and I were working on once upon a time. It's set in s2 where the boys immediately start sleeping together in a "you're hot and I'm mad about it" way. Later they of course start catching feelings, but Eddie has to talk to Shannon and she wants to make up and try again. Eddie figures since he and Buck are just having sex and its No Big Deal that the right thing to do is break it off and work on his marriage. But at this point he's completely fallen for Buck. He's stubborn though and refuses to admit it even though Shannon quickly realizes that Eddie's in love with Buck and tries to get him to admit it. He won't. But then Buck gets crushed by the ladder truck and nearly dies and Eddie breaks. (Shannon also lives because reasons.)

There are snippets we've both posted this one being the crux of it all but I'll give you another little snippet 😘💕

Below the cut is Eddie after he had to break it off with Buck. Buck had made them dinner and bought flowers for him. They get broken when the boys argue about ending it.

Ask me about my WIPs

It’s quiet when Eddie walks into the door. The house is empty, and it will stay that way for the rest of the night. Or indefinitely. He’s not really sure. He sets down his keys, takes off his shoes, and goes to sit at the kitchen table. 

When he lays out the bouquet, a tumble of bruised petals and broken flowers spill all over the hard surface. Deep blue puddles and splotches of venous blood, deprived of all oxygen. The kind that will never again return to the heart and be restored. 

Does he even have a heart anymore?

He gently unties the sheer navy ribbon holding the flowers together so nothing more will suffer. Carefully, he gathers the fallen petals, the banners and the wings, sets aside whole florets, dissects out the damaged parts of each stalk, and places the ones that aren’t too injured in a blue vase filled with water and a sprinkle of the packet of plant food that was tucked away in the stems. 

He tries to stabilize the surviving stalks with wooden dowels and loose loops of twine he digs out of a box in the storage shed. There are a few that aren’t broken, a few that weren’t casualties of being carelessly discarded, but all of them have missing blossoms, bare patches, bent stems. 

He could dry the fallen florets and keep them. Just. To remember. He doesn’t know what he’ll do with them once they’re dry and brittle, even more fragile, but he sets them on a paper towel and leaves them on top of the fridge. 

The ribbon has wires in the edges but the fabric is soft and delicate. He smooths it out as best he can and then folds it neatly. He’s not sure what to do with it either, but he can’t throw it away. 

He can’t throw it away. He can’t throw any of it away. 

He threw it all away. 

He tosses the broken pieces too damaged to salvage in the trash bin, lets them fall from his hands, and they ache. He aches. Everything hurts. 

It was just sex. Sex isn’t anything. It’s selfish and momentary, and lots of people have casual sex all the time. That’s all it was. It doesn’t mean anything. He doesn’t feel anything. 

He cleans up until everything is put back where it’s supposed to be. 

There’s a wedding band somewhere. With a heart and a flower engraved on the inside. But he’s pretty sure it’s still in Texas. He took it off because it was hopeless. And he can’t exactly put it back on now. It’s not here. 

It’s all hopeless. 

The flowers will die eventually. They’ve already been cut, butchered, mistreated, sentenced to death. They’ll wither and rot and it’s only a matter of time before it happens and they’re gone forever. 

It’s gone forever. 

But right now, they’re in his favorite vase that his abuela gave him. Right now they still look vibrant, bright, colorful, like they’re alive and wild and blooming. Parts of them are gone but they’re still propped up and beautiful. They still smell sweet, like home. 

He smells like home. Like he should be here. 

Except he’s not supposed to be here. 

Eddie is married. He made vows. His son needs his mother. Shannon is his first and only love. Buck only offered him sex. It was just sex. It was fleeting comfort and solace, not anything real. It wasn’t anything more than momentary relief. 

Eddie leaves the bouquet in the kitchen, mangled and shoddily patched together as it is. 

And texts Shannon that it’s done.