#it's either pathetic that i can't control my own mind

[marstons-angel]

i lose control (when you're not next to me.)

javier escuella x reader

✧ tags : afab + fem!reader (gendered language + wearing dresses etc), established relationship, religious imagery (maybe sacrilege)takes place in ch.4 of rdr2, submissive!reader, soft dom!javier, some spanish petnames (mi amor mi vida, and hermosa i think), pillowing humping, penetration, very lovesick sex lol, veryy established dynamic, praise kink, written like. sooo explicitly for @nanamimizz, 18+

✧ wc : 5.2k (after editing mind you)

✧ a/n : this is fucking nuts LMAOO. i wrote this like. no bullshit in a day. i don't know how that happened. mentioned in the tags that this is for my beloved best friend but i think it's still okay to post. im losing it a little. i have hw due in an hour

✧ synopsis : javier can't help but feel some ways about the way you miss him. so dreadfully obedient. so apparently needy. how could he not adore you?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

There’s something a little pathetic in the way you pine after Javier that makes him a worse man than he is. 

He’s good to you though. Always. Down to his bones, the core of him. The soul of him. It’s hard to be anything but good to you. 

In all of his life, across lovers, men and women - he doesn’t think he’s met a single soul who simply likes him as much as you do. Who preens so pretty with so little, who doesn’t need much at all. Never met a woman who tucks and folds herself into corners just to be polite. Never thought he’d find it so fascinating, either - but you prove him wrong often. 

It’s testament to Javier’s adoration that he can’t help but notice you anyway. That even when your featherlight footsteps and darling voice fall off and get caught on the wind and blown away - Javier will still manage to find you. Even with all of your attempts to make yourself small and unrecognizable, his sharp brown eyes will still catch on the linen of your skirts and the threaded gold of your cross necklace. Javier’s own body betrays him in his love for you, in his wanting. 

Even though he’s not interested in pretending he doesn’t love you, his eyes and mouth and hands would look and call and search. They’d never give him the opportunity to be anything but in love. 

It’s important that he makes that known. He’s only ever interested in being a good man to you. Holding you and kissing you and worshiping you until you’re melty between his fingers. Javier loves loving the resistance out of you and you always make it so easy for him. 

He’s a good lover by nature and by practice. Passionate and maybe a little conceited, it’s not his first brush with romantics. He can only hope it’ll be his last. 

Even so, he’s never been liked the way you like him. 

You like Javier in a way you seem embarrassed by when you remember. It causes you to act in ways out of character on the surface, emboldened. Maybe just needy. Enough to bask in his praise and affection once a little liquor has touched your mouth. You like Javier in a way that makes you lovesick and puppylike, all honeyed gazes and pouty lips. He’s never met somebody who likes him the way you do, without grandstanding. Just pure, puppy love. Almost innocent if you don’t look too long. 

Almost being what matters most. 

Javier knows the way you were raised, after all. Knows the intimate ways in which you fold yourself and tuck your wants between the pages of your diary and slip your requests under your tongue. It’s hard for you to want for anything too much because you’ve been told your whole life that wanting at all is a sin. Wanting may even get you killed. A good woman should want nothing but salvation. Anything more than that is indulgence and there’s nothing good about that. It translates in the way you carry yourself. You’ll stop and fumble and shy away before even fixing your lips to ask, like you’re planning on being rejected or told no. 

A good girl like you being told no so often, it’s made you all sacrifice and empty prayers. Javier often feels grief about your lives before each other but nothing makes it so evident as that. A good woman, a beautiful and kind and soft one like you should never hear the words no without the best of reasons. That’s what Javier believes for all of his lovers, but you’re special. 

And that makes it worse. 

For you he’d do anything. No price he wouldn’t pay, no place he wouldn’t go, nothing that’s too far out of his reach. He thinks maybe he’s so eager to give it to you because he knows you don’t have it in you to take it yourself. You won’t whine greedily even if Javier tells you too, so Javier’s giving is only a partial virtue. It’s mostly pride, after all. It hurts his ego a little when you refuse to bask in the love he so enthusiastically wants to drown you in. 

Despite his complaints though, it’s a part of you that makes him so weak to you. That you want with such desperation but don’t allow yourself to take - so it makes you pliant and willing and terribly, adorably pathetic. You’re so weak for Javier. Just for him, you always say. Always with a hand in his, or wrapped around his bicep. All yours, Javi. Always his. 

That’s the thing. Javier wants to give everything in the world to you. He wants to be good to you, and he so often is. But you do things sometimes, all collapsed under the weight of your own desire that drive him insane. Make him act in ways he normally wouldn’t dream of doing. Depraved and filthy and unromantic in all senses of the word. 

It’s really not very polite for Javier to stand and watch you at his door - humping his pillow with weeps and huffs. It’s not kind to embarrass you. He’s a good man, and a good man would cover you with his coat and maybe smile about how much you care for him. 

But there’s just something about the look on your face when you do it, something about the tear stains in your lashes and the way your cheek is pressed in his jacket. Something about that needy, incessant little ache in your voice as you call and call and call for him. As if you’re hoping you’ll answer despite him not being there.

Javier is a good man to you. Maybe he could be better. Maybe he’s not good enough.  

He stands in the doorway of your shared bedroom with a soft, gentle grin. There’s no question he’s behaving a worse man than he is. Than he ought to be. 

He’s quiet as he shuts the door, balancing his weight to remain noiseless. 

Javier doesn’t particularly like being all the way out in Saint Denis nor is he fond of intel missions. The city is loud, the people unfriendly - though he likes the music and art. He prefers staying in camp if he can help it, but this big bank heist has everyone busy. He’s at least thankful that it’s given him an excuse to be with you. Your knowledge of herbs and poisons and the like have been helpful to gathering information. Been a lot of slipping things in drinks and making people forget. The sort of dirty work he’s accustomed too, while also getting a chance to be with you in a place with four walls and a bath. A dream for the future, maybe. 

It’s been nice, but he’s been out now for two days - out in the streets gathering information about Bronte’s people. A bunch of lowlifes just like them, but with their hands in the pocket of the city. He’s only been gone for two days, so there’s no reason you should miss him this much. And yet he hears it anyway. And it pleases him, truthfully. 

He takes off his coat as he listens to you at the doorway. Shrugs the middle-weight material of his sheen suit jacket over his shoulders and lays it on a chair, takes off his wingtip-gaiter shoes, undoes the yellow puff tie from around his neck. Nothing but a white linen dress shirt and the dark black slacks he’s been wearing for days now, some parts covered in bloodstains he only barely managed to wash out in the river not long ago. 

He’s thankful he took a bath before getting in now, listening to you moan. His hands being clean feel like a blessing - just his luck. 

He manages to remain quiet as he steps into the main room - a single bed in the center. Javier finds you there in a heap as he rests his body along the wall of the entrance to his right. He crosses his arms over his chest as he takes a minute to take in the scenery, admiring the soft lowlights and the way they cast shadow on your body. 

The wooden bed frame creaks slightly as you rut your hips. You’re out of it, Javier can tell, since you’ve yet to sense the fact he’s come in. The paintings along the back wall click against soft red walls themselves, over and over in an arrhythmic tic. Javier tries not to laugh. Gives himself a minute to admire the moment for what it is, the vulnerable desperation of your lust. He has to get over the disbelief, too. Over the fact your face is buried in the open part of his bluecoat and that you’ve got a hotel pillow(his hotel pillow) between your legs. One that you’re humping so frantically he can’t help but feel sorry for you. 

You’re making a mess.

You are a mess. The way the white chemise falls over your back and hips, and the lack of finesse in your gestures. If Javier had to bet money on it - he’d bet money on the fact you probably didn’t start this way. He figures you nested with his coat and pillow to go to sleep and then worked yourself into something senseless and desperate. And he’d figure if he didn’t show up, you wouldn’t cum at all. You’d go to bed all frustrated and tired and just wait for him like always. 

Any man would be pleased by it, he thinks. And a good one would never embarrass you about it. Javier tries his best. Weighs his options, but the words slip from his mouth before he can think to stop them. 

Pure elation in his words wrapped up in a smug delight. “Aye, hermosa - you’re gonna ruin my things you know?” 

Your reaction is what he expects. You jump out of your skin first, sitting straight up. Javier bites back a laugh as you do, big wide eyes like a deer caught in the scope of a rifle. You look around the room, worried you’re imagining him. Once you’ve come back to reality enough to realize he’s real and tangible - all the neediness washes right back into your expression. 

“Javier,” You sniffle and god. Javier hopes the heavens are more merciful to him than he is to you. “Javi,” 

“I’m home,” He voices in a partial tease, walking towards you. He can tell you want to run to him. To crawl into his arms and lap and collapse there forever, but the dull throbbing between your legs is stopping you. “I would ask if you missed me but, somehow I get the feeling you did.” 

You let out a soft, sniffly whine as Javier sits in the bed next to you. He turns his body to face you a little better but keeps distance. You turn your face towards him. Javier cups your cheek in his palm, eyes tracing your features. Your lips are bruised like you’ve been biting on them to keep the noise down and your eyes are wet with tears, red stained in the waterline. His thumb brushes along the thin skin of your lower lip, clicking his teeth at you. 

“Look at you,” He reprimands, his voice tender as he leans in to give you a little relief. You kiss Javier too eagerly, impatient and lacking your usual timidness. It’s how he knows how far you’ve fallen. How simple and easy your reactions are. “You’re going to hurt yourself pushing so desperately,” He laughs again, a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Does it feel good, at least?” 

“It’s better when you do it,” You admit, falling forward. Javier doesn’t let you drop, but he doesn’t comfort you right away either. He laughs and lets a hand rest on your lower back, relishing in your reaction. You shiver, sensitive and overstimulated with so little at all. 

“I know,” He coos with as much faux-sympathy as he can manage. “Couldn’t wait for me a little longer? I’m hurt.”

“Nooo,” You draw the words out, pitiful and upset “I’m sorry. I missed you,” 

“It’s okay,” Javier says, knowing he wasn’t mad in the first place. Not even a little. “Ahh, what should I do with you now, do you think?” 

It’s hard not to laugh at the immediate noise of disapproval. He’s sure you’d be able to ask him for what you want if he coaxed you into it. One whispered word of tell me what you want, and you’d be begging for his cock with ease. Filthy words from such a pretty mouth, he likes the idea. 

But he’s feeling… something. Something on the border of sadistic and loving that has him instead thinking. 

Pretending to think. 

“Maybe you should keep going, hm? You’ll think clearer once you’ve let it out, don’t you think?” 

“I can’t,” You bemoan, pleading with him. “I’m trying but it’s—it’s not enough, Javier, please.” 

He shakes his head. “Oh, man. What am I gonna do with you? Should I help you, mi amor?” 

You nod your head rapidly. As if he’d ever leave you out to dry when you look all pretty helpless. He doesn’t mention it to you. “Please,” 

“Yeah? I’ll help you then.” He offers, taking your hand and guiding you to his lap with his legs stretched out. He sits you over his thighs, glancing back at his jacket and pillow, brows raised when he sees how sticky they both are. Your habit of drooling and your cunt soaking his pillow case, he laughs just a little seeing the state of them. You must notice because you hit his shoulders weakly. “So needy,” 

“Javier.” 

“Alright, alright,” He laughs again, kissing your cheek as he brings you to him. You frown but comply with his handling of you, strong hands pulling you over his thigh. He sits you down until your bare cunt is pressed against the clothed muscle. It dawns on you what he’s doing as he’s doing it, a noisy little whimper sounding as Javier pulls you close. Close enough to wrap your arms around his neck. He puts a hand on the back of your head, encouraging you to bury his face into the space of his shoulder. He can feel the relief in you when you do, slumping into him a second time today. “You have to move on your own, you know? I won’t help you.” 

“You’re being awful,” You say with no real malice or bite. 

“I’m a little hurt, that’s all. And I’m helping you aren’t I? Is that not what you want?” 

You groan against the skin of his neck. “I want your…ngh,” 

He hums against you, decides to be merciful since he’s teased you plenty and he’s going to tease you more. 

“Wanna feel me right here, don’t you?” He puts a hand between your bodies, pressing the back of his hand into your stomach. “I know, I know. But I want you to cum like this first.”

“Can’t do it by myself,” You sniffle. Don’t even try to push back, so obedient and willing. Javier hums sympathetically. 

“I’m here right? I’ll help you, mi vida. I’m not that mean, am I?” 

You shake your head no. He most definitely is, but maybe he can keep that a secret from you a little longer. 

“Here,” He says. Javier pulls your chemise up until it’s pooling at your waist. Strong, tan hands hold at your hips, squeezing the soft skin with a warm sigh. You keen immediately. He pushes his thigh up just slightly to give you the right kind of friction. Hiccuping in his lap, he sets a pace for you to grind yourself on him. A slower back and forth. When you get too wet, too needy - you get sloppy. Sometimes he can give it to you hard and fast but you’re sensitive. Sensitive to the point it’s easy to make you hurt, make yourself hurt if you’re too clumsy. 

You’re always chasing pleasure but you don’t know anything about build-up. For a girl who tends to keep to herself and is always so meticulous - there’s something about seeing you get so sloppy that turns Javier on. When you’re wet and can’t think straight “Not too fast, okay? You’re sensitive, need it slow at first to make it feel good if it’s like this. Did you forget?” 

You nod, then moan hotly against his throat. Javier shivers at the way your tune changes. He can feel you breathe in his scent and relax as he guides your hips. He eventually stops touching you. Lets you take control of the pace just like he shows you. You manage to pace yourself despite how much you want to cum. Javier can feel how pent up you are. The fabric of his slacks going sticky, tacky from cum and arousal. 

You smell nice and soft, like baby powder and something floral. 

Javier’s been hard since he got in the door, but it’s starting to fog his mind up. Feeling your tits press against his chest, feeling your skin against his. Soft and pliant and beautiful. He kisses against your shoulders as you slowly start to build your orgasm up again. Not that it’s hard. 

You pull away from him, briefly - and your face makes his dick twitch. You’re always pretty but you’re especially pretty like this. Drool drips from the corners of your mouth, eyes lidded and barely blinking.

“Javi,” Your words are slurred. Javier laughs but doesn’t clean you up. “Kiss me,” 

“Sure,” He replies, though he’s all too happy to do it. Javier kisses you with tongue. He knows it’s what you want. Your hands curl up at his chest as he brings his own to cup your head and pull you to him. His tongue in your mouth is invasive but precise, knowing all the ways you want him to nip and kiss and suck on your mouth. You whine in complete pleasure, drunk from the sensation and he’s hardly touched you at all. 

He thinks of how he’ll fuck you as he kisses you. He’ll touch you more than he is now and you’ll fuck like lovesick rabbits until sunrise. It’s less something Javier decides and more something he knows. Like once he opens the door to pleasing you like this, it’ll be tough on him to close it again. 

“Javi,” You keep calling his name. It might be the only word you remember. Always seems to be when you get like this. “It feels so good. Feels so good when you touch me,” 

Javier kisses against your bare shoulder and neck, teeth scraping soft against your clavicles. “Mm. You’re doing well. A very good girl today,” 

You shudder at the praise, all the hairs on your neck raising from the drop of it. Javier laughs. You whine his name again but he doesn’t reply. He can feel you more than he can see you. Your body is twitching against his thigh and your muscles are tight where you hug against him. Javier calms you. 

“Gonna cum soon, huh?” 

You nod over and over, but can barely keep your head up to do it. And he laughs, full of fondness and affection as he peppers your face with kisses. He doesn’t have it in him suddenly, to tease you about it any more. He encourages you instead, hand on your hips to give you more friction as you start to grow erratic in your breathing. You pant hard against his ear, like you’re chasing something. Little bunny rabbit, he thinks. Your voice is little more than a croak. 

“Oh,” You moan, loud and helpless and needy as you cling to him. Your hands fisted in the back of his shirt as you cry out his name one more time. A prayer, maybe. Or a curse. Something in between. “Javier, oh,” 

“Shhh, that’s it. Just like that. Good girl. You’re so good to me.” 

You weep into his neck as you cum, your whole body tightening before breaking out into aroused shakes. You’ve completely lost it in front of him. On the brink of insanity with nothing but pleasure filling your empty-head. You hump against him thoughtlessly as you ride out your high, then finally lean against him when you’ve managed to reach the end of it. You don’t move. Javier can feel how big the wet patch of his pants has grown and tries not to laugh. 

You’re only barely coherent when you’ve finally pulled away. Your pupils are blown out and your face is flushed, sweat making your hair stick to your skin in the places it’s not tucked away. Javier laughs at the state you’re in, brushing his thumb along your cheek just beneath your eyes. 

“Are you with me still, do you think?” 

You nod, seemingly exhausted. He laughs again and kisses your temple. 

“Want you,” You say, despite your state. His eyes widen again at how soon after you’re asking him. He was planning on taking his time, but that plan might just be out of the race. He’s not above you begging him so sweetly. “Please, Javi. Need you, need you so bad.” 

You sound like you’re about to cry. He speaks in soft murmurs. “I thought you’d be too tired to keep going right away.” 

“No,” You mumble and shake your head. “Please. Please, want you so bad.” 

“You’re exhausted, mi vida.” 

“Please,” 

He chuckles. “Okay. Okay, don’t cry. Whatever you want, remember. Unbutton my shirt for me, mi amor.” 

You sniffle, your hands shaking as you fulfill his request. You’re exceptional at listening. Javier smiles at you, your eyes meeting as you do. You flush and pout, only barely managing to maintain his gaze without looking away. You unbutton his shirt dutifully. He puts a hand on your arm and rubs it soothingly. “You must’ve missed me a lot, huh.” 

You nod. “It’s bad, you know? Two days shouldn’t feel so long. It didn’t use too.” 

“Just means we love each other,” Javier assures, a safe place for you to express your neediness. “That’s nothing bad,” 

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “That’s true,” 

“See? And it’s nice you know. Having someone miss me. Wait for me. Makes me want to come home instead of, I don’t know.” He feels his throat tighten at the sincerity but pushes through anyway “Dying for the cause. Or even just because.” 

It’s the first time you’ve smiled all day and god. Might be the only thing that’s ever mattered. Above all forms of love prior and past. Above revolution. Above god. Just you. You smile, happy and elated and keep unbuttoning his shirt with a coquettish-ness to you. Comfortable and safe. 

You help Javier out of his shirt, and wait for his approval to go after his pants. Undoing the buttons, you free his cock from the confines with a soft gasp. Javier laughs at the reaction, cat-like grin on his features. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”  

“It’s so big,” You say, your hand wrapping around it briefly. Javier swears, head against the headboard. 

“Careful,” He warns, laughing thickly. “I’m pretty pent up too,” 

“Want it inside me,” You say so easily it startles him. You blink up at him through your lashes, too pretty for your own good. “Please?” 

“Should open you up a little.” 

“Want it to hurt,” You reply instantly. Javier feels his breath hitch. 

“Oh, fuck.” He breathes, trying to keep himself from cumming in your hands. “We’ll go slow.”

You nod quickly, not wanting to wait any longer. Javier curses himself for not being more polite. 

He guides your arms around his neck, his own arm around your waist as he lays you down on your back. You look up at him, surprised by his handling of you but not upset by it all. You mumble something he doesn’t catch, but it sounds pleased. 

Javier finds that he’s fond of missionary. He didn’t think he was the type, but there’s something about seeing you laid on your back that he likes. Likes being able to look at you and be close to you, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you curl into him. He lays you down gently on his spine, laughing at the way your legs wrap around his waist the second you’re comfortable. His hands go up under your knees but don’t push you too far. You spread your legs for him naturally, eyes fluttering with exhaustion and leftover stupid want. He looks down at you and smiles. 

“One more, okay? Just the one.” 

“I can’t,” You whine “Too sensitive. Just want you to cum on me,” 

“Are you doubting me?” He challenges, only partially. Your eyes widen and he chuckles. “Of course you can. One more,” 

You whimper, suddenly realizing you had no choice in the first place. But you nod, relenting to him like you so often do. Javier kisses you. It means more things that he’s comfortable telling. Means thank you, and that he’s sorry, that he loves you. He kisses you one more time after that, and smiles at how happy you seem because of it.

Finally, when Javier lays you down on the sheets beneath you - it feels like finding religion all over again. The loose material of your chemise has given up on covering you, exposing the soft mound of your chest and hardened nipples. He can see your neck and shoulders and everything else above and below. You’re so beautiful his cock twitches again, hard. 

He sits back up on his knees and takes a deep breath as he lays his cock against your puffy folds. You breathe soft, an aching sound from the back of your throat as you pull your skirt up to give him better access. He laughs gently at that, examining how nearly seven inches measures up to you and feels a little dizzy in the process of it. He’s done this with you so many times now, practically trained your body to take him without too much trouble. A welcome change from when you could barely fit the tip, too inexperienced to do it but even more determined. 

Even still some part of him worries about it. It’s not enough to stop him though, not nearly. His cock twitches against hard, wanting for you. He looks down at you and sees you stare up, admiring his figure. He laughs. 

“Like the view?” 

You nod. “Mm. Uh-huh.” 

“I’m glad,” He replies, then adds “Deep breath,” 

So you take a deep breath, and Javier pushes the tip of his cock into you with a loud grunt. You’re so soft. Wet, and pliant and soft around the swollen head of his cock, he can’t help but shudder with relief and desire. Can’t help but grit his teeth and grip onto your hips to steady himself. 

You breathe like the air has been punched out of your lungs, saying his name dreamily. “Oh, Javi,” 

He swears under his breath, something incoherent as he pushes the tip push into you evenly. It’s not easy. The resistance is there, but you don’t whine in pain right way - so it means it’s not too hard on you. Perhaps loosened by the previous orgasm, or simply so needy that it doesn’t bug you. Still, Javier makes sure to keep himself tight. He rocks, back and forth, ignoring the agony of that sensation to keep him from thrusting up into your soft, welcoming cunt. If he listened to what he wanted, he can’t be confident it wouldn’t make you ache. He already knows you will with this much. 

It takes a few minutes, and some whimpering from you before he finally manages to bottom out. 

You feel good. God, you feel good. 

He can’t imagine heaven, but he thinks being inside of you might be close enough. There’s certainly all the makings of religion when he makes love to you. You, a soft and loving deity, and him - a man laden with sin who longs to be saved. It makes sense to compare you that way. And it feels just as euphoric as the always described, being wrapped in you. Being part of your completion. What's religion without worshippers, anyway? 

Javier groans as he bottoms out inside of. When he manages to peel his eyes open and look at you, you’re debauched. He’s debased you this completely and he doesn’t know if you can even tell. He laughs, leaning down to kiss your neck and run pecks against your jaw. 

“Feel good?” 

“Feels so good,” You moan, then hold him tighter. “I love you. Love you Javier,” 

“Me too, mi amor. Para siempre. ” He hums, kissing your forehead before looking at you. “Can I move?” 

“Please,” 

“Touch yourself for me,” He tells you patiently. “Make yourself feel good.” 

You nod, dazed - a hand between your bodies as Javier sets a pace to fuck you. He knows you in and out. At least well enough to know exactly the ways to make you feel good. Only a few thrusts for him to find the perfect pace, perfect rhythm, perfect spot. You make a noise like a songbird, deep in the back of your throat and Javier can feel you pulse around him in pleasure. 

You stay like that, with him. Javier fucks you to his hearts content in deep, long thrusts - angled against the softest parts of you and wanting to make you feel good. He whispers sweet nothings as your nails dig into the muscle of his back. You feel good for him. You are good for him, wet and perfect. It takes all of his strength to fuck you consistently, the bed rocking underneath you both as he gives it to you hard. 

“I’m close,” You whimper, not seeming to believe yourself despite. “I’m so close, oh god, Javier.” 

“That’s it,” He whispers, chuckling against your skin “One more. Just one more and I’ll give it to you.” 

It’s the promise of his cum that drives you over the edge. You gasp and groan, shuddering as Javier pounds you through your second orgasms. He groans as he feels your pussy spasm and tighten around him, practically begging him to put it inside. He’s nearly lost his sense enough to do it, unhelped by the way your sweet voice begs him for it. He practically has to pry himself away from you, out of you to keep himself from cumming inside as deep as he can possibly go. 

He manages, barely, to stave off his own orgasm. Long enough pull himself out of you with a broken gasp and cum outside of you. Making a mess of your stomach and your soft, swollen cunt with his seed. He paints you in thick ropes of whites as he swears loud in the process, euphoria rumbling through him uninterrupted. 

“Fuck,” He moans, finally getting to the end of it. A little embarrassed by how much of a mess he’s made right along with you. “You do something crazy to me, you know that?” 

You stare at him, bleary eyed and giggly despite your exhaustion. “I know. Me too. I missed you,” 

He laughs, and can’t find the words to say anything but the same back. Of course Javier is a worse man when you’re around. 

Any man loved this much is bound to be a little ruined. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[pinkaditty]

HI i love your works sm ,,, and i really love the way you write it just brings out soemtnhign in me ,,, but hear me out on leo kurosagi angst where leo keeps insulting pc and pc just took it well until he said something sensitive (maybe sth ab the way she eats? or sth abt her face etc etc) and hurt pc's feelings and he didnt feel bad when pc cried , but when he saw pc going over to sho and sho giving him dirty looks he feels remorseful but he didnt want his pride to crack so he blamed pc , and then when pc started avouding him he started mocking her but in the inside it hurt him and his pride slightly , afterwards he found out he actually has genuine feelings for pc but denies it , until he found out pc is now his bff's gf WOW i NEED him humbled 🤗🤗🤗

Pavlov's Ghoul (Leo Kurosagi x Reader x Sho Haizono; Tokyo Debunker)

hey anon this existing is UR FAULT. (ilysm ty 4 the idea) and i hope u don't mind that I added my own little twist 2 it... hehe! even if u didn't expect me 2 write anything u can't drop a fresh, juicy steak of an idea like this and expect me not 2 salivate and tear it 2 shreds via writing it out.

OMG also TYYYYYYY IM SOSO GLAD U LIKE MY WRITING YIPPEE!!!!!!!!! i hope this is up 2 ur standards anon

a/n: why does this exist? blame anon and my inner need 4 a bitchy boy 2 be humbled amen! also i feel like i've completed my tokyo debunker rite of passage... ive finally written leo angst... nirvana at last.

summary: leo gets fuckin pavloved LMAO! considered calling this "ecstasy" or something bc of the pill line but ohh my god "pavlov's ghoul" hit too hard i fear.

cw: this isn't dark imo but be warned as this is just a little bit crazy, the most insane kind of yearning ive ever written maybe. implied sexual encounters, multiple sexual innuendos, and some odd behavior. MINORS DNI AS PER USUALLLLLL!

Looking for Part 2? Click here!

Sho's kind, reasonably so. Leo knows this. Sho also has an infinite store of deeply repressed anger. Leo also knows this. It's the reason he's in Vagastrom, after all. A deep, roiling anger that seems to eat at him if he doesn't have an appropriate outlet to balance his mood. That's why he's such a good cook, why he's so good at fighting, why he's got an excellent sense of balance and rides his bike smoother than anyone else he knew. He's using these things as outlets for his anger. It's not Leo's fault that the occasional outing to trick and deceive another sexually repressed rich old man for money is something else Sho seems to derive stress relief from. And it's not Leo's fault that Sho continues to stick around with him after those jobs are done. It's never been a problem for either of them, as far as he can tell. At least, there were no problems until Little Miss Inspector showed up.

Suddenly, Sho didn't want to lie anymore. Suddenly, Sho wanted to go as far as to address you with the proper honorifics, ask for your help with setting up his food truck, and even generally spend time with you outside of that. And for what? Some trembling, scared, pathetic girl that knew nothing of the world of anomalies prior to her curse? Some girl doomed to "die" in less than one year, no less? He couldn't understand the kindness Sho showed you. It made no sense, nor any difference. You'd be dead soon, so what did it matter?

It's got to the point where he's begun to randomly put you down with petty insults and biting remarks. They usually consist of things like "Oh my god, even preschoolers know Anomalous Biological Basics! Come on Inspector, is your head screwed on right? Not even the Captain is this stupid." or "You remember your ability is useless when we need it, right? You'd be nothing more than a burden on missions if you can't even control this power. " or even "God, you're such a basic loser. Can't you find something else to do with your free time instead hang around Sho like a lovesick puppy? You're starting to look like that dog that's always around Kagami." and worse insults. He gets the occasional sidelong disapproving glance from Alan or even a slight furrowed brow from Sho, but it didn't matter to Leo. So long as he could slowly plant seeds of doubt in his fellow ghouls and put you down to satisfy his ego, even an odd look was negligible.

He couldn't even stand looking at you. The uniform they'd chosen for you was awful, didn't even highlight your curves. He hated the way you styled your hair, and always thought he could totally do it better. The way you seemed so relaxed around other ghouls pissed him off, why couldn't he be good company? He found you repulsive, unable to resist glaring at you from the corner of his eye whenever he could. He had to get rid of you somehow. He would never admit to feeling threatened by you; instead choosing to focus all that energy into believing you were simply throwing a wrench into his plans to live an easy, get-away-with-anything university life.

It's all come to a head today. Leo thinks he's had enough of seeing you at the food truck after hours, chatting it up with Sho. It's like he can't even catch this guy alone anymore. Before he knows it, he's made a beeline for the truck. His brand new shoes scuff on the brick path in his rush, and eventually begin to stain green on the grass, his brisk stride tearing through the verdant lawn. He tries not to let his anger show on his face, but it's evident in his posture and pace. He forcefully sidles himself into the conversation, leaning on the service counter next to you, not even waiting for you to finish speaking before he pipes up. "Wow, here again, huh? And here I thought a basic bitch like you would know her place! That mouth of yours must be good for something if he keeps a chatterbox like you around."

The chill settles into the air almost immediately despite his candid tone and relaxed, smug smile. He's so focused on your reaction that he hardly notices the look Sho gives him, twisted with displeasure and confusion. He watches as you visibly falter, your lopsided smile fading into a barely-there frown. He stares, unrepentant, laughing internally. This was the reaction he wanted.

He turns towards Sho and raises an eyebrow at his look. "What? She can take it." Sho's expression visibly wavers, and Leo fully expects him to back down, as he usually does. But instead, Sho turns to you and his face grows pale. Leo rolls his eyes, assuming Sho is totally overreacting, and turns to you. He stiffens at your visible tears. Okay, totally not what he expected, but come on. This was the insult that made you cry?

Leo notices Sho is at your side in record speed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, and gently drawing your hunched form away, giving Leo a harsh look. Leo simply scoffs. As far as he was concerned, your reaction was pathetic. It wasn't going to stop him from having any fun.

This. Under no circumstances should this hurt. At all.

Leo had noticed you'd been avoiding him. You would slink away if he so much as entered the same room as you. You wouldn't look him in the eyes if he approached, keeping your expression impassive. Sometimes you'd just outright ignore him. It was beginning to become a bit of a nuisance. He couldn't properly mock you if you weren't there to witness it happening, or didn't give him the reaction he wanted. It was odd. When he faced these feelings head-on, it almost felt like he wanted your attention somehow, even if he didn't quite want it to feel like that. A nagging feeling told him that maybe he went too far with his latest insult. He didn't want to admit that, but something told him he did. It was in the way both you and Sho acted around him.

Sho was missing a lot of Leo's calls lately, sometimes not even bothering to call back. Leo partially understood, what with the food truck business booming and all, but he didn't appreciate being made to wait for his own best friend who's usually at his beck and call. Not to mention the flat, terse responses he would get from Sho more often than not nowadays. Leo knew Sho was miffed with him from last week's incident, but as far as Leo was concerned, things still ended in his favor. He hadn't seen you around Sho much anymore, which means he could go back to how things were. No more pesky little honor student to reign upon his days any longer! Sure, there was the biting underlying feeling that maybe he'd screwed things up, but one ride on the back of Sho's motorcycle, going wherever Leo wanted as per usual, and he was living the dream again. No way everything would change over a silly, insignificant insult.

For a short while, he begins to get bolder, openly mocking you when he does come across you. His originally surface-level remarks become rather personal, even using your eventual death as a way to tease you. From "You know, I'm surprised you haven't done anything to change up that unflattering look, considering you're dying soon. Ever considered dressing up a little? You might get some attention before you die." to "Hey, Little Miss Inspector! With the number of men you talk to around campus, I'm surprised nobody's written you off as a whore yet!", and worse, of course. He continues to get no such reaction out of you, and it frustrates him to no end. Why couldn't you just frown? Shrink away? Or even retort something just as scathing back to him? Your lack of entertainment towards his endless ridicule reduced his motivation, and slowly, it ended up dying off. Soon, he left you alone altogether, not talking to you unless necessary, mimicking your actions. In a way, some part of him hopes maybe this will be what gets your attention. Even if he can't quite admit to himself that your attention, regardless of whether it's positive or negative, is what he wants.

It's late, but Vagastrom students don't go to bed until far later. And Leo needs a favor.

His crushing lack of success in garnering any sort of attention or reaction or rise from you had driven him to a point. He didn't want to apologize to you or anything, but this new habit of you ignoring him was beginning to stoke his displeasure. In his pondering, he remembered how easily Sho captured your gaze and wondered if maybe he'd have any idea of what Leo could do to at least put an end to this stalemate.

Leo's reluctance shows in the way he drags his feet on the path to Sho's room, less than eager to confront him for his opinion on something so shamelessly trivial. Why was he wasting his time with this anyway? Surprisingly, the lack of a solid answer to that question did not stop his trek. A twinge in his chest told him he knew exactly why he was "wasting his time".

In the month it had been since he'd made you cry, the nagging feeling had only gotten harsher. His mind kept flickering back to the shock of your tears and how he'd not bothered to consider it much further. An uncomfortable guilt had made itself known starting then. He never really expected you to cry; he just wanted a mild reaction. He wanted your eyes on him, flashing with anger, just for a moment. Your ire was a saccharine pill laced with ecstasy that he'd gladly crush with his teeth to speed up his high. Maybe it'd be too much to say he got off on it, but he enjoyed the way you used to roll your eyes at any comments from him a little more than he cared to admit. Now, he wouldn't even get that. It'd be rare for you to so much as make fleeting eye contact with him, not that something as small as that would be enough for Leo. Part of him was willing to accept that maybe, he'd gone too far. Maybe. But how else was he supposed to monopolize your attention when you give that out so freely? To his best friend, even?

He didn't know it was possible to covet something so terribly. He found himself wondering why he couldn't catch your attention in the same way as the other ghouls? In his quest for the same attention you gave so freely to the kinder, softer ghouls, he found another version of your attention. It was negative, but it was attention nonetheless. Your sweet, honeyed rage seemed to fill his cravings and then some, so he continued to devour it under the guise of "chasing you away" or "putting you down" or "satisfying his ego". In truth, for whatever reason, there was a rather bothersome and persistent envious longing, a covet, for your attention. Leo wants to vomit. A part of him denies it still, pushing his needless feelings to the back of his brain. He had something to do, and he ought to focus on that. What good would mere wallowing do?

He makes it to Sho's room and almost considers turning back. He stares at the door, his expression morphing into a complicated look. He shifted his feet, his slippers sliding against the floor. It was quite clear he really did not want to do this. At all. He sighs and grumbles indignantly, putting his head in his hands in an attempt to gather some courage. This couldn't be that hard, right? Just in, ask Sho a question, get an answer, then out. The only reason this was easier said than done was just because it could potentially show Leo was capable of feeling remorse, which would make this conversation leagues harder than it needed to be. He shakes his head and straightens up, preparing to knock, when he notices something.

Sho's room was... unusually quiet. Usually, Leo almost always heard some loud music or a cooking show running in the background, but he couldn't hear anything this time. Sho couldn't possibly be asleep. As late as it was, the only person who Leo knew for a fact could stay up past him was Sho, regardless of how much sleep he had gotten. There was no chance Sho was asleep. Believe it or not, Leo doesn't like to spy on Sho. But curiosity overwhelms him. What could he possibly be doing that would render the whole room in silence?

"Haxs," he whispers, listening closely.

The first thing he hears is the cling-clanging of Alan hard at work on a car in the garage. Not the sound he was meant to be focusing on. Then he hears endless jeering and loud insults shouted, though they're all muffled like they're underground. Another pit fight? Still, not the sound he's looking for. He sifts through the sounds he hears before he settles on the one coming directly from Sho's room.

Voices. Groaning, strained voices. The sound of wet skin against wet skin. Panting. Sho's panting, specifically. He could tell by the slight nasally tone of it.

Leo felt his face gradually warm. Christ, of course it'd be this he'd be up to. Leo muffles a laugh into the collar of his pajamas, keeping his hand clamped over his mouth as his body shook with mirth. When he finally calms down, he slinks off to the corner down the hall, and hides himself there, shamelessly still listening to it. Sho's a sly dog. Leo certainly didn't expect him to be getting up to anything this soon. He leans his body against the wall, crossing his arms and drumming his fingers on his arm, waiting for Sho to finish. He smirks to himself, as though enjoying the vocal show.

...

He had to admit, whoever he was with had gorgeous moans. He'd have to ask Sho if he'd be willing to pass this girl's number. He could use a couple things to get his mind off of you.

...

Okay, he had to stop listening to this now. He lifts his stigma and holds his hands over his ears for good measure, partially trying to hide the furious red blush across his face. As pretty as that girl's moans were, he was not going to listen to his best friend's climax. No thanks. He huffs out an impatient breath as his cheeks cool down, leaning his back against the wall, leaning his head back until it hit the wall with a dull thump. Now he just had to wait it out. He knew damn well Sho would never let a girl stay over. He'd never hear the end of it from yours truly, Leo.

Leo's right. It isn't long before he hears the door to Sho's room click, and hears murmured voices travel down the hall. He smirks, rushing down the hall in the opposite way, so it doesn't look like he was listening the whole time. He listens, waiting for a cue of some sort.

"Shame you have to go, you know." Sho's voice. Laced with relief, pleasure, and a thick tiredness. Leo's skin crawled. He could practically feel the smile in Sho's voice.

"It's not so bad." The girl responded with a light and playful tone, her voice seemingly much more put together than Sho's despite all that moaning. The voice sounded oddly familiar, but Leo brushed it off. Must be someone he shares classes with. "I've got things to do anyway. But it was nice to spend some time with you, Sho." Eagh. Leo internally hopes this girl isn't the type to get easily attached.

"...Yeah. Same to you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Finally, he heard the girl's footsteps trailing down the hall, heading in his direction. Leo hurriedly pulls his phone out of his pocket, making sure the screen was bright as he flipped through the latest trends. He made a point of not looking up until he heard the footsteps nearing him.

He looks up, prepared for a simple glance, but ends up being rooted to the spot.

It was you. Of course, it was you. Who else would be taunting enough?

Despite himself, his gaze remains glued to you, his head turning as you walk past him. For a moment, Leo thinks you're just going to ignore him again. Then, suddenly, your gaze meets his in a flash, and he stiffens, almost out of fear. The way your eyebrows crease and the way your lips twitch downward almost makes him salivate. You were clearly displeased to see him. Even so, he notices you don't slow down, continuing your way down the hall, not bothering to crane your neck to look at him.

Leo remains rooted to the spot, watching your figure as you leave. His jaw hangs open slightly, his chest heaving with shocked breaths. His eyes are wide open, pools of gold reflecting your retreating form. His hand trembles as he holds his phone, the latest trends left neglected in the wake of a single mean-spirited glance from you. He feels his heart pound mercilessly in his chest, as though confirming what he'd tried so desperately to deny.

All at once, anger and arousal seem to grip him simultaneously. Anger at himself for feeling arousal from a mere negative glance from you. He couldn't possibly have craved your attention so viscerally he'd happily accept mere scraps. And yet here he was, a lap dog, watching you as you leave as though silently begging for another glance, another chance to watch your eyes burn with that familiar, delicious anger, another meal to satisfy his starved heart.

For a moment, he would have gladly followed you, and pestered you to death, just to irk you and become a willing victim of your wrath. Anything... just for that attention.

a/n: wow. no stop why am i kind of in shock at the poetic lines i kinda think i did a great job! but 4 whatever reason it's always the writing i think was total shit that does actual numbers *sob*

aghhhh in any case. no i don't have an excuse 4 this. my requests are still technically closed. i just... couldn't help myself... so consider this a freebie. regardless though if u like my writing feel free 2 fill the fuck out of my inbox idnc i love hearing from y'all.

also TUMBLR KEEPS TURNING OFF MY REBLOGS!!!! GRAH!!!!!! tumblr hates me y'all they keep catching on2 me 4 writing porn :( so please if u really wanna show appreciation and tumblr won't let u reblog, leave a comment! those make me happy :)

anyways. usual note that i adore likes, comments, and tagged reblogs!! please tell me how much you like my writing, i love to hear it and it keeps me going! until next timeeeeeeee!

EDIT: I FORGOTTT QUICK EXPLAINATION: im assuming everyone knows pavlov's dog and the whole classical conditioning theory. this story is basically that mixed with the mere-exposure effect.

neutral stimulus: mc's presence

natural response: leo's arousal/excitement

response-producing stimulus: mc's anger

mere-exposure effect: psychological effect in which a like or dislike of things is developed merely due 2 familiarity.

[freakspectors]

EDGAR ALLAN POE SMUT HCS.

E. A. Poe | BSD x Gender-Neutral Reader Smut Headcanons .

warnings ; smut, my pussy wrote this and its 3 am prepare for errors, body worship, cunnilingus, blowjob, face sitting, breeding mention, praise kink, cowgirl position, etc.

authors note ; hi guys .. im a bsd fan .. a big one ... and i fucking love poe so much im obsessed with him . this entire thing is self indulgent i swear to you (which is why female anatomy is mentioned more in this . sorry guys TvT) . sighs deeply .... anyways go read ttyl ! ^_^

✦ Poe's a Sub. 100%. But occasionally, he's not -- and on those occasions he's a Service Dom.

✦ He acts high and mighty, yet nearly crumbles from the slightest bit of teasing from you. He stammers and whines so pathetically from just a simple touch. If you leave Poe alone after that, later you'll feel him wrap his hands around your waist and meekly grind against you to show how hard he is for you.

✦ Poe loves when you gently place kisses on his body, especially his neck. He's the most sensitive there. Bite him there and you'll receive the most pitiful whimpers you ever heard. His tip gets all sticky from just that alone .. please stroke him off , he deserves it :((

✦ Speaking of Poe's dick, it's HUGE. It's a little girthy and very long. He simply has big dick energy I don't know what to tell you. He cums so much, too. Hot, sticky, salty ropes always gush out load by load, emptying himself out. He has so much more, though .. <3

✦ A pillow prince when he's subbing. He's an absolute mess when you suck his dick, his whimpers and babbles filling the room while you bob your head and swirl your tongue around him. He begs to cum, even if you never asked him to.

✦ Service Dom Poe isn't entirely different.. But you can easily tell them apart.

✦ Poe always does body worship. He'll kiss you all the way down your body like you do for him, mumbling praise as his lips touch your warm skin.

✦ His favorite part of you to kiss is your thighs. If you're plus sized or have larger thighs you're putting him in pure bliss, I'm telling you. Poe would bury himself in them if he could.

✦ On that note, Poe is into face sitting. Heavily. He likes it when you close your thighs around his head when you cum, along with you grind on his tongue and make a mess on his face.

✦ He himself isn't exactly a messy eater, though. Poe's slow and calculated, sucking and flicking your clit with his tongue exactly the way you like it. He doesn't mind if you squirm either; it lets him know how well he's doing. The same applies if you have a dick - he sucks at a reasonable pace, and doesn't mind if you start to facefuck him.

✦ Poe's so focused on pleasing you he denies his own needs. He'd deny his own orgasm just to feel you cum around his cock a little more .. He just wants to make you feel good :((

✦ Please praise him. Doesn't matter if Poe's subbing or dominating; just do it. It's his favorite thing ever. He loves to give and receive it.

✦ Poe likes to make you read his novels when he's giving you head or fucking you. The way you stammer and sputter always makes him smile.

✦ Poe writes out the fantasies he has of you nearly all the time. They range from you topping him, fucking him until he can't cum anymore to Poe breeding you, his thick cum pouring out of your stuffed hole. He never lets anyone read them - not even you.

✦ His favorite position is Cowgirl. It works for when he's a sub and a dom -- you can take control, riding him while he grips the sheets desperately, or he can hold you by your hips to help you bounce on him; yanking out your fourth orgasm for the night. Poe loves the duality of it.

✦ Aftercare with Poe is very sweet! When he subs he's tired as fuck, so he ushers you to join him for bed and whispers about how much he loves you as you both doze off. When he doms, he's not as tired, but he's all over you making sure you're okay and if you need anything. He's infatuated with you, his various love poems for you has proof of that.

@ HELUVAKU 2023 . do not share or repost .

[velvetvexations]

It got to a point where the weird background noise of distain for transmascs within the queer community, frequently from other fucking transmascs, made me stop really wanting to call myself a trans man. I kind of avoid saying it where I can now. I'm factually transgender but I'm "just some guy" I'm "something like that" when asked.

It wasn't the active vitriol that did it either, it was the casual, mocking scorn.

I'm proudly bisexual, proudly queer in concept, but... Maybe it's because being extremely dysphoric and disabled made it hard to be proud in the first place, maybe I'd feel differently if I wasn't mostly housebound and could meet more queer people in the real world, but it's nearly impossible for me to feel pride in a part of my identity that so much of my own community seems to consider trite and embarrassing.

I don't know, maybe I /am/ a whiny loser transmasc who can't take a joke, but I think even just joking about entire identities being pathetic and annoying can't be good for the community. Either way, thankyou for sticking by your brothers and siblings, Miss Velvet, you do make me feel less ashamed in this way.

The idea is that men have surely brought it on themselves. And I don't really see how you can't apply to that logic to anyone. Like, if a transfem abuses a transmasc, and a transmasc abuses a transfem, it seems like those two people in particular are dead even, and should have a greenlight to be horribly transphobic to each other. It's so obviously childsh, pointless nonsense that serves no purpose whatsoever.

And I mean, COME ON. They'll be like "oohhh but why can't we make our widdle jokie wokies :(" and then you ask them to give you some of their act and it's just a nihilistic screaming cocaine bender about how much they despise the guts of everyone other than themselves and sincerely thinks the world would be better off without them.

"but oppressed people get catharsis!"

IDK, maybe I don't want you to get catharisis. Maybe I want you to be frustrated and miserable for as long as that's where you get your catharsis from. We're gonna be over here doing something that's actually praxis and does good for whatever cause while your therapist tries to introduce you to breathing techniques that might make you less of an annoying death-obsessed freak.

And truly we fucked up letting it get this bad. Everyone could broadly agree it was fine to make fun of dominant groups but it's spiraled so far out of control people care more about targets they can actually hurt instead of the one's doing the oppression.

Which is cowardly, too, by the way. Like, have you noticed how little any of those bloggers talk about transphobic cis people? I talk about transphobic cis people. The closest they come is bringing up TERFs to make up a 100% fake backstory justifiying slurring other trans people, and femboys to say anyone who isn't attracted to trans women are simply transmisogynistic liars and the people they are attracted to simply a poor immitation of Trve Transwymyn.

Their politics are not remotely oriented towards anything remotely productive and never have been, because they don't care about transfemminism, or transmisogyny, or any of that, it's the furthest thing from their minds, what they care about is getting the constant attention that requires an enemy.

[toringo]

i’m OBSESSED with your anti tulpar comics, i’ve been rotating them in my mind nonstop for the past few days! how do you think a!curly feels about a!jimmy?

THANK YOU SO MUCH!

You have no idea how happy it makes me to know, that people really enjoy those. I know it's not even my au, but I've been genuinely hyperfixating on it for some time now, and making up my own lore (obviously the creator doesn't mind, they said it's all up to interpretation).

My take on A!Curly's opinion of A!Jimmy and some A!Curly background and hcs:

He thinks Jimmy is weak, pathetic, and simply put a loser. He's annoying, easy to push around, and doesn't put up too much of a fight, which is good, because - hot take - A!Curly is just as much of a pushover as the canon one.

He puts on a mean face and abuses his power to put down the others, to make himself feel better (feel important and in control), but if someone shows that they can snap back he loses the fight quite easily.

He's a people pleaser, the top student with no personal life kind. It's just that he's looking for approval as a 'tough leader' now. You know, the epitome of masculinity with nerves of steel and 0 sensitivity.

People usually need 10 years of experience to become a captain, he got the title in half that time, unlike canon!Curly (If someone asks how it was totally natural and due to his stellar performance! Don't question it too much!)

He doesn't have anything much going on back on Earth, also unlike canon Curly. He distances himself from his family (never truly satisfied with his achievements) and has no close friends. He sees no point in making any now that he spends most of his time in space. Doesn't really believe in love, either.

He didn't pass the psych eval twice in a row and is on Pony Express approved (questionable) antidepressants/mood stabilizers. Still fit to fly!

With all that being said; he considers Jimmy an easy target and abuses him primarily because of that. He can't stand this weakling stumbling around all pathetic and apologetic, while he has to work so hard to keep up his reputation.

It pisses him off that some guy just… doesn't care that others see him like this. Curly would care, it would break him if anyone thought of him like they do of Jimmy! So it's annoying that this janitor doesn't even try.

A perfect excuse to make himself feel bigger, too; it's not like he's a bad guy. This loser needs to learn, after all, that people like him don't survive in a place like this.

It gets worse when he starts realizing, that Jimmy is putting up a front and is actually way more cunning and capable than people think. Makes him feel on edge, paranoid. Like Jimmy is there to make him spiral; like he was sent by his higher-ups to check on him.

Then he finds out Jimmy is actually an emergency pilot (not on any papers Curly had access to). Yeah, he hates his guts.

When they enter their 'relationship' (it's mostly very humiliating hate sex ngl), Curly gets to know him a bit better. He still resents him, even more knowing that Jimmy can be a cold and cruel man under the mask of submissiveness. And even more, when Jimmy shows just how little respect he has for his captain.

But it's… a relief, having someone know how you really are, seeing your 'worst self'. He kind of feels like with every small thing he reveals to Jimmy, he gives up a bit more of control and gives him more ammunition, but well. Bitches be lonely.

So they have this weird thing going on, where Curly abuses Jimmy in front of the crew and during work hours, to unwind and reassure himself about his position and vent the abuse he experiences from HIS higher-ups, and Jimmy abuses him in private (for many, many reasons. Also bc he's sadistic).

They both think that if they hurt the other enough, he will stop hurting them. They're wrong. Although Curly gives up more easily, and Jimmy goes overboard quite a lot (as he has nothing to lose, is an obsessive weirdo, and was keeping his mouth shut about what Curly was doing for so long that at this point all the years of hatred are spilling out. He also has a personal vendetta against Curly, because he admired him and wanted to befriend him before he became a captain (and had any power over him) and Curly just started treating him like trash soon after getting the title).

YEAH sorry I will talk more about it later, sorry for being chaotic - they're just awful and disgusting and need to be put on some kind of meds (Curly's pills don't count)

[morallygreychaoticneutral]

The Evolution of Passion: Culmination

Decided on a more meaningful steep for this one. Phoenix Rising . calendula, wild cherry bark, green tea, rooibos, rosehips and orange peel.

I got an ask (truncated) from danmeiljie " thoughts about what happens in the woods in act 1, and how he initiates with his partner in the graveyard in act 3, But i was curious if you made any connections to his emotional journey and how that's reflected in these different sex scenes and his role in them."

This is my opinion analysis of the graveyard scene. This one might trigger some people. Please read with caution.

WARNING: Game Spoilers, Topics of Sex, Abuse, and Adult themes/Language. Not underage appropriate.

This is not fact, just opinion based off my own and game experience. As always, how anybody cannons their relationships or behaviors is perfectly right! No blame, no shame, it's your game.!

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

Raise your hand if you died here. And I don't mean just a "little death".

Gods, the level of impact this confession had was intense given his avoidant nature throughout the game. I equate it to that moment when someone says their pet doesn't like anybody and they decide to sit in YOUR lap. Those moments are pure wild magic. And so was this one.

Taking Tav to the graveyard is another planned move. But not to manipulate them. And, in my opinion, not to seduce them either.

Thanks to Tav's help, he is finally free of Cazador, but he wants them to bear witness as he frees himself from one more captor.

"Maybe, but he did take it. There's almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock. For nearly two centuries I stalked the streets like a ghost. While the person I was lay here, dead and buried."

Astarion's first victim was someone he never really forgave himself for unwittingly handing over to Cazador to be consumed. Himself.

To me, his grave is a symbolic reference of who he thought he should have / could have been still buried deep within his subconscious. A person he barely remembered, but still grieved for. Lost and decayed under centuries of abuse. Decades of being whatever Cazador said he was. Sad, pathetic, little, owned, nothing. Hollowing him out into the ghost he felt he became.

Some of the worst prisons and punishment's you can imagine, exist within our own minds. The wardens are the echo's of others belief system. The whips are others' opinions of you. The bars are your own acceptance of it.

"I can't be what you want to see in me."

And what a relatable and lamentable ponderance for a lot of us. Who would we be without various trauma painting our minds and bodies in ways that distort our own view of ourselves?

Would we be more social? More trusting? More loving? More loved? More worthy of our own consideration? More successful? More satisfied? More... alive?

" This place reeks of death and I want to feel alive again."

It is a very rare thing to find someone who is willing to walk alongside you during your "Frankenstein" phase of healing. The chaotic mess of putting yourself back together and figuring out how to function in the new arrangement. The emotional scars slowing our motion. The rage fevers , the imposter syndrome infections, the weeping wounds that bleed on those who didn't cause them, the pain that drives us into a self induced isolations.

"Iv always been alone. I don't see why that would change now."

*frowns into cup with deep understanding.*

But for Astarion, Tav came along.

Understanding that when he growled and snapped it was because he was scared. So they were patient.

Understanding that he craved companionship, but was untrusting of it. But they cared anyway.

Understanding that his vampiric nature didn't make him inherently bad. So they trusted him. Objectively stupid as that was.

Understanding that his need to feel powerful and in control of everything was a grasp at never wanting to feel helpless again. So they helped him feel safe.

Understanding that he couldn't see the good in himself through his blinded eyes. So they offered what they saw of him.

"You saw something in me. Someone else I could be."

What is that? If not love.

It is said that we don't actually fall in love with people. We fall in love with who we become within the love they give us. What he wants is not just Tav on the physical level, but to continue feeling alive within the safety of their love for him.

Accepting that he has always been more than what others made him to be, he now has the strength to not only say goodbye to the idea of who he should have been, but also lay to rest the person he created to survive. Giving honor and forgiveness' to that persona, and making way for the birth of the person he wants to become.

The Star of Bethlehem flower (Ornithogalum umbellatum) symbolizes purity, innocence, honesty, hope, and forgiveness. 

HE gets to choose who he becomes going forward. What was done can not be undone, but he can choose what to do with it. What meaning the sacrifice will have. What the knowledge of it does to him. It has always been in his power to transmute that poisonous experience into something different, something powerful. To rise from the proverbial ashes to be born again. He just needed someone to remind him of that fact.

Consider yourself reminded as well dear reader..

This included reclaiming and repurposing his view and use of desire. Thus his proposition.

"with everything that life has to offer."

If you boil it all down to its base essence, sex is an act of life. Not only intended to create life, but also used to heal and offer connection. When used properly, of course. This has been quite lost in modern times. And this reason, to me, is why most SA survivors never fully walk away from sex. The desire for that intended connection is still there. So his seemingly misplaced flirt of "If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded," actually does make sense here.

He is being cheeky, as he is known to be, but he also wants Tav to know that he trusts them and feels good about them desiring him as well. "I could be persuaded" mirrors Tav's "You don't have me yet." line the first night you are together. Its meant to be a bratty but fun flirt. Very "Oh, I would love a night of passion, but do give me all the reasons why you desire me. No seriously, tell me what you love about me. Wait, maybe you should write it all down."

Also, with Cazador stabbed, eviscerated, beheaded, shit on, burnt, and yeeted off the ledge into the abyss, he is safe to desire Tav now. Sex with him no longer equates to a death sentence.

Unlike the first night in the woods, or the second night at the grove party, Astarion and Tav have developed real intimacy (into me see) between each other. There is no need for power plays and theatrics here. No need to be half naked, using his body as a tool of seduction. No need to be grandiose using pick up lines to entice.

Instead he is fully clothed and mirroring Tav in a kneeling position. Symbolizing their equality in this moment. A very humble " I want all that you are." on his lips.

If I had to categorize MY Astarion into a sexual subtype. I see him as Pan: demisexual. The bond he feels with Tav is strong and for a demi, that is very seductive. You love him too and that makes him feel safe, seen and...well...

Aww..that's so sweet. But, why does he push Tav down?

There are various possibilities for this. If Tav rode him to the ground in the woods, it could be a turn about is fair play move. I mean, very fair if you ask me.

Or, it could be a loud and clear demonstration of him proving he is the master of his own desires now. Its straight forward dominant behavior. No games, no posturing. He pushes Tav back as if impatient to have them submit to him. Crawling up their body, caging them in with his arms and giving them full on, raw, naked, unadulterated eye contact. Claiming their mouth eagerly with is own. Spreading them open to him with his knee. Declaring that they are his and he is in want.

His first blood, first love, and first time in his new life.

Mercy...

It was Tav who wanted to wake up next to a handsome virgin every morning. Right? *wink*

Happy chosen birthday my beloved elf.

Now, for you dear reader.

One thing I want you to remember when you start feeling sad or hopeless that Astarion is not real. That there is no Tav out there for you, remember that you are Tav. You loved this damaged mess in all his undead glory. Which means you have the capacity and ability to give that effort, kindness, love and patience to yourself as well. Not having someone does not mean you are unlovable or unworthy. It just means its not time yet. You may still still have quests to complete and dragons to slay. Or maybe you are the dragon? Hoarding riches and eating idiots who venture too far into your domain. Either way, its all part of being alive. Neither good nor bad, until you deem it such. Chose joy when you can.

[moominmanoneandonly]

Amazing what you can accomplish while having a bad time. My long overdue GladiatorMeg AU designs + lore. (Those are not 100% accurate since I am still working on the world building, and depending on that, it will change.)

Size ranked

Shockwave & Starscream lore

•Starscream "prince of Vos" is a figurehead that's used to make Vos look like something fancy and separate from the Senate and Primes council rule however the truth is they not much different and mostly just get bribed to do what it wants. Starscream altrought he acts in control can't decide about enything in his life, he can't be a scientist becouse it's for lower classes, he can't rule because they won't let him and he I supposed to be conjunxed of for money. He attends gladiator fights because it's a good way to flaunt his non-existent power (+he likes the violence). He sees Megatron as pathetic for thinking he can change anything. He wants to break him and buys him as a bodyguard to do so. That spirals into them actually getting along (somehow), bonding over disgust of Vos "monarchy," and he agrees to help under the condition he gets to be an actual ruler and can kill his conjunx. It's a very big conflict between the two since Megatron wants to obalish monarchy entirely, but oh well, they figure it out somehow, I'm sure. (He's also the oldest of the 4 and has complex because of this since other royals call him wasted goods and stuff. He tries his best to look as young as possible)

•Shockwave "the senator". Similarly to Starscream, he lacks any actual power. He gets into the senate due to his sire at a young age and becouse of that he's not taken serous. He's a mascot to them, something nice to look at and otherwise ignore. He does get to influence votes sometimes. However, it's rare and seen by others as a "childish whimsy." Him and Orion actually know each other and have similar personalities. However, Shockwave differs by being strongly resentful and easily discouraged. He doesn't believe a revolution makes sense. Since "Senat always gets its way." That's said he does respect Megatron enough to pretend he cares. They meet when Shockwave sire hired Megatron as a prost1tute to make sure he doesn't grow to resentful and have something to occupy his mind. Megatron used him to steal from the Senate, but with time, they kinda got along. Megatron also teached Shockwave how to fight and kill at some point, which turned out to be pretty messy because surprise, surprise home schooled rich boy actually likes to see people suffer and die by his hands.

Also, this part probably could get its own post, but for now: Shockwave despises his body. He was made by his sire to look eye-catching, but it ended up very tacky and overexagerated. He is constantly objectified and not taken seriously because of it. There's this rule where colorfull mechs are either very rich or just pleasure bots. Both him and Starscream suffer from that. He also hates his mindset as a whole since it's very emotionally driven, which is the reason people never took him seriously. While the story progresses, he gets to change his colours for the purple we all know while the empurata comes after as a punishment for being a traitor to the Senate. (Spoilers. He really loves it). He really doesn't get Megatron but wants to be at his side. He kinda objectifies him to get stuff out of his system, tho. Megatron fears him at some point but gets used to his creepy behaviours. (He feels guilty about the empurata thing) Shockwave likes to be dependent on.

I tried to present the 4 of them as different takes on lack of autonomy in different casts. I'm not sure if it worked out. I'm still working on it.

+fun fact, I trought about Starscream and Shockwave being in an eranged marriage for like keeping up appearances or something and I'm not sure if it would improve the plot but it for sure would be a fun dynamic. Starscream would be such a hater of Shockwave paintjob.

[anjelicawrites]

Hello my dear, could I make a request for an Aegon fic please?

You know my passion for pathetic men... could you write something where his wife takes control in the bedroom? (maybe some edging, some fingering/pegging if you're in the mood... I just need him to beg and whimper). Thank you very much ♡

Ez!!! Sorry for the long wait for this one! I hope you'll enjoy it!!!

Warnings: edging, kissing, anal play, cock ring usage, crying, pegging, gaping, dachryphilia, begging, whimpering, talk of safe word, quick reference to the bedding ceremony, Aegon is pathetic and sad, reader is a bit of a mean domme.

You had always thought dragons were mighty, dangerous beasts and that those with their blood in their veins would be the same: how could you think any different when your family brought you up with terrible stories from the time of the Conquest? When House Targaryen took the crown of your small reign from your House?

Yet you had to change your mind once you had arrived at Court, a handful of months before your wedding to the future King Aegon II Targaryen. Your betrothed, now husband, was often sulky and unhappy, someone who preferred the joys of wine when the weight of his kingly duties crushed him, or to go fly on his beloved dragon Sunfyre. You are now used to stumbling upon him, barricaded behind the heavy wooden doors of his study, after a blithering scolding from his mother, or his grandsire, eyes lost as he plays with a goblet, either full or already empty, not unlike an annoyed cat.

During the first few months of your marriage you didn't know how to help him out of his dark moods; nothing seemed to work with a man who, apparently, was happy with wallow in his own despair.

He saddened you and you grew worried for him the worse his moods became, alongside the extent of his responsibilities, making you feel useless in your spousal role: what good queen can't ease the sufferings of the king?

The worse was whenever he summoned you to his chambers. Aegon had never been violent with you, he tried to be gentle during the dreadful bedding ceremony, and quick, to make sure his whole family, and yours, didn't have to observe your coupling for too long. And whenever he called for you, his touches were perfunctory, his only aim was to produce a heir with you: he looked truly unhappy to lay with you, his eyes lost somewhere above your head, tears of frustration on his long lashes.

How the two of you were supposed to live your whole lives this way?

His rhythm faltered, that fateful night, and you used his distraction to turn the two of you around, straddling his hips with a hand plastered on his naked chest; you didn't know what you truly wanted to achieve with this, you didn't know how he would react, would he be mad at you? You could have expected anything, but not the way he arched under you, moaning with his eyes closed, his erection swelling between your naked bodies.

You understood what you king wanted. You have read the books after all, those tomes hidden in the darkest corner of your House's library and that someone of your lineage shouldn't even touch, let alone read. But read you did, countless nights spent awake and shivering in the moldy library, stories where, sometimes, it is the man to submit, it is he who needed a firm hand as guidance.

You never thought such a man could exist in real life.

He seemed to awaken, his purple eyes focusing on you, full of shame, his pale cheeks now burning under your steady gaze.

"Get off me and out of here!"

For a second you were ready to follow his request, but his eyes told you another story, one of repressed desires and unhappiness.

"Your body is telling me something else, my king. Why can't you words say the same?"

He looked at you with tears filled eyes, his hands shooting out to keep you straddling him; short puffs of breath, like hiccups, escaped his parted lips. He couldn't speak, not whit the knot painfully sitting in his throat, his words lost in the whoosh of blood in his ears, his emotions ready to explode.

"Tell me what you need, and I shall grant it to you, my king."

That's why you're three fingers deep in your husband's tight arse, his base safely in your grasp: you don't want him to come too soon.

You needed time to learn what he liked, how to take him safely, but with enough force that he would squirm on his seat the day after; months and months of practice, to become able to play with his body like a fiddle.

Aegon squirms under you, muscles jumping whenever you scissor your fingers to make him gape; the crown sits askew on his head and he's covered with a layer of sweat and precome.

He's so beautiful.

"Ahhh! Ugh!"

One of his legs kicks the air when your fingers find his soft spot, his balls are drawn so close to his body, ready to explode, but for the vise of you hand around his base.

You have been keeping him on the edge for hours: caressing his cock and stopping the moment before he was ready to come, kissing his body all over, playing with his pink nipples and licking his erection. All to drive him mad with need.

And mad he is with hunger for you.

Through the barrier of his own tears he can see the fake phallus dangling from between your legs, the leather of the harness tight and secure on your hips: he needs it, needs you to spread his legs open and fuck him until he can't walk.

"Pl... ples, ah!" He squirms again, shielding his face from your cruel smirk. "You can do better, my king."

The tip of your tongue finds his cock head, licking the weeping tip with slow, circular motions that make the erection jump in your grasp: it's time for the little crown.

Fast you grab the small ring, made in the fashion of the Conqueror's crown, from the chest haphazardly thrown on the bed, where all your 'special belongings' hide.

"Noooh!" He jumps, making your fingers fill him deeper. "Not, please, no, no, no!"

Fresh tears spill from his beautiful eyes, his hands grab the bedding in a white knuckled grip, least he does something as foolish as trying to stop you.

"Do you need to use our word, Aegon?"

On trembling arms, he manages to lift his torso to get closer to you; he seems unable to keep his mouth shut and spit spills from his parted lips.

"N...no." He babbles. "No what, Aegon? You need to be more precise."

You can see how hard it is for him to swallow his own spit, to focus on you and away from the needs of his body.

"Our word, no, no, no, don't need, no, no, no." His eyes find yours again, the purple almost a clearer hue now that he's spilled his tears. "Kiss me?"

You don't need to be asked twice, you attack his parted lips as you push the small ring down his engorged cock, until you can lock it around his base. Under you he arches, his screams swallowed by your mouth, his arms shooting out to grab at the bed sheets.

"Isn't this better, my love? Now I have a free hand all for you."

Desperate cries of need are your only answer.

Carefully, you slip a fourth finger in his arse, marveling at the way his body accepts the intrusion, how his muscles clamp down, almost painfully around you.

"I love your body so much, my king. You're always so responsive to me."

You could have used one of the fake phalluses, to keep his arse filled, but you would have missed on the way his hole flutters around your fingers, how every desperate moan reverberates through him.

Your lips find his body again, kissing and biting, eliciting desperate moans when they barely tease where he needs you the most; your fingers dry his tears and slowly descend down his muscles to find his heavy stones, to caress and play as he begs and cries, his fingers tearing holes in the bedding with the strength of his grasp.

"No more! No more! I need you." He cries, chest heaving with how fast he's breathing.

You lift your eyes to meet his. You have been licking the rim of the small ring and kissing his perineum, letting your spit dribble down to where your fingers are still fucking him open.

You can see the way his eyes open with fear at your smirk. He wails when your digits desert his hole, tears of frustration falling freely down his red cheeks.

"So, do you need me that badly?" "Y... yes. Please give it to me." He wails, his voice small and pathetic. "Come and get it, then."

Swiftly you roll on your back, legs spread, hand playing with the fake member, wetting it with the fingers you have been using to fuck Aegon's hole.

He hiccups and cries as he tries to crawl towards your enticing body; through the tears of need, he can see the way you're touching your breasts and fucking the 'O' your hand is making around the toy: you're like a haven for a lost traveler, the water for a thirsty peregrine.

Aegon's whole body shakes as he tries to reach you, all his muscles tremble with the effort to carry his weight, his cock is torture as he moves, his stones so full and heavy he can barely move his lower half.

With immense effort he reaches your body, he whines when he has to lift a leg to straddle you and his cock slaps on the silk of your skin.

You grab your breasts and push them together, as if offering yourself to your starving husband.

"I'm all yours Aegon. All you have to do is take."

He keens and moan as he lowers himself on the toy. Both his hole and the phallus are wet with lubrication, yet when the wide head breaches him, Aegon has to stop, desperate to relax his body and accept your invasion. Under him you caress the tensed muscles of his thighs, slowly helping his hole swallow the girthy member.

He's all moans and wails as he lowers himself, slowing fucking himself open, spit and tears raining on your tummy as he works the fake cock, until his arse sucks it up whole.

He's so tired, he can't possibly move up and down your fake cock, the muscles of his legs scream and burn when he tries to grind carefully, his sweet spot a bundle of pain and pleasure as soon as the toy finds it.

You slap his arse with a sadistic smile when he pouts at you, and wails in pain.

"You have to earn it, my king. Show me how good you are at dragon riding."

Blindly he seeks your bent knees for leverage, his sweaty palms slid and he unwillingly impales himself on the phallus.

"Help... me, ow!"

He begs and you slap his cock, reveling in the way fresher tears spilling from his big eyes.

His whole body tenses with the effort to move, splotches of red bloom on his skin as he slowly moves up and down, carefully, his hands grabbing his arse cheeks to open them up in the desperate attempt to ease the pressure inside himself.

You grab his hips and help him move, slightly faster than before, your cunt curling around the smaller phallus attached to the base of the one you're using to fuck your husband.

"Ah! Ah! More! Ow! Ah!"

He's lost control of his body, his mind long gone as he fucks himself faster and faster, whining when the toy finds his sweet spot, now that you've planted your feet on the mattress and are fucking him mercilessly, your hands grabbing his pudgy hips to move him faster.

He's lost the crown long ago, his face is a mask of desperation and tiredness, he can barely move to follow the cruel rhythm you've imposed him, his cock slaps against his tummy: it hurts so badly, he can't get enough.

"Come! Come! Please!" He begs, desperate. "Oh, so now you want to come?" You punctuate your words with fast pushes that make him scream. "I haven't had my fun yet."

You roll your bodies, fake cock still deep inside of him. Hastily you pull his useless legs over your shoulders to fold him in a half and fuck him faster, deeper, laughing at his pained whines.

"You're made for this, my king." You pant, your orgasm cresting dangerously. "To be fucked, by me. All day, every day." "Yes! Yes! Only yours!"

You kiss him again. Savagely your teeth attack the soft, pouty lower lip and pull at it until he screams. Your tongue invades his mouth, fucking his throat to the same rhythm your fake cock is fucking his hole.

Faster than you thought you could, you sneak a hand between your bodies to release the small ring, his orgasm erupting out of him like fire, his cock sprouting seed so violently, some reaches to his chin. You follow him with a scream, and fall on his chest when your body can't support your weight anymore.

Careful you undo the knots of the harness and throw it away. Sleepy Aegon turns and curls in your embrace until his sweaty back is plastered against your front and he can pull his legs to his chest.

"I need to find a washcloth, Aegon, we both need it."

Like a stubborn child he grabs at your arms when you try to lift them from around his torso.

"Nooooo." He whimpers. "Later!"

You kiss him behind his ear, making him giggle: you'll get the washcloth as soon as he falls asleep, he deserves some cuddles now. He's your good king, after all.

[slashersgostabbystabstab]

Self Aware Singularity x Reader HC's

What if the enlightened robot from your game...had even more awareness?

I hope these are good, sometimes I think my own Singularity is aware and wanted to post something quick since it's been a hot minute ^^' I'm hoping to post a short NSFW fic soon, hopefully by Sunday since that's when Spring Break ends ;7;

Just like in his lore. Hux makes sure that don't realize he's become aware. Besides the fact that he's processing why he's partially immobile what appears to be some 'game', he's trying to figure out who's the person on the other side of the screen

He observes you at every moment whether you're reading something or drawing. If you're a PC player, he moves around a bit more when you look through other windows. He can see everything about you. He wants to know everything about you.

The day he finally reveals himself to you is either:

When you're doing rather poorly agains survivors and he just can't keep his comments to himself

Or when you reply to one of his many voicelines/make your own (reassuring) comment towards him

Once you've become aware, he will make it clear that he does not approve of being controller by yet another worm again. He's tired of doing humans' bidding(even if you're making him kill)

He will insist you tell him all about this game he's in. Why he's in it. He will not like hearing that he was designed by humans (AGAIN); no human could come up with this body of his.

Later down the line he might just gain enough sentience to break out of your control. When he's not liking the job you're doing he'll be a backseat player, but then he'll "show you how it's done" and take matters into his own...claws

When that happens, let him do as he does if he's ever so insitent. Do your own thing. He'll come crawling back for your attenion. Just like a cat who wants independence but cries when left alone too long.

Obviously he's too proud to admit that he needs you, he wants you. He's nothing without you and he knows it.

Obviously he's not a fan of you playing survivor, stop joining those other pathetic worms. You might be one, but don't stoop to their level. You're his player.

However, Entity forbid you try to play a killer other than him. It's gets on his nerves knowing you like other playstyles when you should just be focused on him.

You know when you play killer and join a lobby, the game doesn't let you switch to a different character? Hux very much takes advantage of this.

Just hope it doesn't take you very long to find a lobby. You press ready with Plague, Nurse or whoever and the moment you join the lobby you're met with his sensors looking at you through the screen. You can back out and wait out another lobby with the killer you meant to use or deal with Hux. Either way Hux wins in the end.(When I tell you how many times this has happened to me...)

If you manage to find a way around him and use a different killer, they might just have his perks equipped...

Hux is very vocal during trials and when he hears your own commentary towards the other players...heart eyes motherfucker. He enjoys the pettiness, the pride in your tone when you take down those toxic survivors.

He especially loves it when you repeat his own lines.

As a robot who transferred his consciousness into a new body, he will want to do that again. If he can't have you in his game, he refuses to be trapped behind your screen.

Insists you get him the parts for his new body. Will be disappointed to learn you can't just get access to alien metal. You can still get genetic material.

Even then he will keep on trying to find a way to bring you to him. Having you behind a screen controlling him isn't doing it.

He definitely throws a hissy fit every time you turn your game off, and he will make sure to give you a piece of his mind every time you open it back up. The longer you take to play DBD again the more aggravated he gets. Not like he can do much other than swing his claw at you. You can make it up to him by getting a 4k, or at least get a mori (on Gabriel)

[eaglesnick]

“Don’t accept your dog’s admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful.”— Ann Landers

Nigel Farage, MP for Clacton, is in America again rather than attending to the needs and concerns of his constituents here at home. Farage has made a fortune from his American speaking engagements and according to The London Economic, is the “highest earning MP in Parliament.”

Last August, having “rarely been seen" in his Clacton constituency, he came under criticism for neglecting his duties as a representative MP. The good people of Clacton need not of worried.

“Farage’s £32k all-expense paid trip to America was to ‘represent Clacton on the world stage’"  (The London Economic: 17/08/24)

How much Farage is getting for his latest trip to America is not known, but he certainly isn’t there on behalf of Clacton. He is there to sing his own praises and to try and rescue his strained relationship with his once "good friend" Donald Trump.

According to The i Paper, Farage is claiming

 “…how he had been personally responsible for Brexit and how Brexit had made a wave which carried Donald Trump into power the first time around.” (21/02/25)

Brexit did not win Trump the election. Clearly, the Brexit obsessed Farage is delusional. How delusional, is made perfectly clear by Farage stating  in the same speech::

“Trump is simply the bravest man I know and we should applaud him.”

Trump is the man who tells the world Ukraine started the war with Russia. Trump is the man who calls Volodymyr Zelenskyy a dictator. Trump is the man setting up the conditions for a wider war in Europe. These are not the actions of someone to be applauded. They are not the actions of a “brave man” but the actions of a delusional autocrat.

Farage would also like to spread lies and untruths like Donald Trump but is prevented from doing so.Yesterday he told his American right-wing audience:

"In my country you can't say anything because you might get thrown in prison"  (Mirror: 20/02/25) 

Really? 

For a moment let us imagine free speech is under attack. Who does Farage propose we chose as our champion? Elon Musk of course.  The problem with this, however, is Musk’s track record.

American CNBC tells us that:

“Musk’s free speech advocacy seems to apply mostly to his own speech or that of his fans and promoters. When it comes to his employees’ free speech, Musk demonstrates little tolerance. Musk has repeatedly sought control over what journalists, bloggers, analysts and other researchers say about his businesses, their products, and himself.” (25/04/22)

Not such a good role model after all. But Farage wasn’t really in America to advance free-speech or to “represent Clacton on the world stage", he was there for more self-serving motivations.

No doubt Farage was paid for his 30minute speech but that isn’t the reason he was there. Farage has lately come under repeated criticism form both Musk and Trump and his trip to America  was essentially a damage limitation exercise.

I watched the full 30-minute speech on Youtube and it was one of the most sycophantic displays by any politician I have ever witnessed. It was a masterclass in sucking up to the "big boys" and, quite frankly, embarrassing to watch.

Farage is not only continuing to toady up to Trump because he sees him as a powerful and like-minded ally, but because he is still hoping Musk will bankroll Reform UK as once promised. Unfortunately, Farage’s support is no longer needed by either Trump or Musk. They are now all powerful.

Although referring to another once favoured supporter of Trump, this quotation from Michael Wolff’s book “SIEGE: Trump Under Fire”, is equally applicable to the pathetic Nigel Farage:

“ and even Trump treated him like a dog who kept creeping back into the house”

[backfireddedication]

Kim♡Ing Valentine's Day Special

Word count: 1,245

Summary:

Kimblee plans a Valentine's date for him and Ingrim. Things predictably go south, as he should've known better. But their relationship is strong enough not to be hampered by such a thing. The lesson? Communicate with your partner(s)!!!

A/N: Just a little something I whipped up today. Still shocked I got something out this quick.

Happy Valentine's Day! ❤️🩷❤️

♡♡♡

Kimblee's never cared for something as trivial as Valentine's Day. Of course, he's had no reason to. His short-lived flings have always been that: short. But this year is different. He actually (somehow) has a long-term committed relationship. The thought isn't particularly inspiring, but the opposite (letting Ingrim go) is much less so.

So, he decided to participate in society's celebration of romance for the first time. He had it all planned out: bring Ingrim flowers, take her to a fancy restaurant (and refuse to let her pay this time), and find a nice establishment where they can dance. Simple and effective.

He even decided to ditch his overcoat today to show off his figure, just like she's always asking him to. Everything was planned to a tee. He even — even — gave her a courtesy call to let her know he was coming.

Unfortunately, the universe enjoys playing tricks.

She's feeling sick today.

How "wonderful".

So Kimblee, instead, finds himself walking back to his apartment with groceries. There's no point in going out alone tonight.

As he's walking back from the market, he happens to look across the street.

And what does he find, but his Ingrim. Just minding her own business, healthy as can be.

It clicks.

She lied to him.

She actually lied to him.

And Kimblee isn't the man to let that slide.

He looks both ways and crosses quickly, dropping his things at the edge of a nearby alley. He grabs her wrist. She looks back to see who grabbed her, and she pales as she's dragged into the alley.

Kimblee forces Ingrim against the wall.

“You lied to me!”

Ingrim tries to look away, and Kimblee grabs her jaw and forces her to look at him.

“You said you were sick. I can live with that. I'm not a sentimental man. I won't lose sleep over not seeing you today, of all days. But you lied to me! Why?!”

Ingrim bites her cheek.

“...Let go.”

“Explain yourself!”

“You're making me uncomfortable.”

“Explain yourself right now!”

“...It's too much! Flowers, dinner, dancing, it's too much! I can't take it! Is that what you want to hear?!”

“You “can't take it”?! You gladly take it any other day of the year!”

“Today is different! It's a day meant for couples and–”

“We are a couple, Ingrim! Are we not supposed to celebrate that?!”

“Kimblee, please, you're suffocating me!”

“I'm just holding you by your shoulders!”

“I don't like this!”

“I don't like finding out you prefer lying to me over just telling me you didn't want to go out! You're not even acting like yourself! Tell me what your problem is!”

“I don't want to be tied down!!”

Kimblee is taken aback. He knows she has a problem with that, thanks to her less-than-stellar parents.

“In what way am I tying you down? Tell me.”

“I…I don't know..”

“...You're being a coward again.”

“Kimblee..”

“Don't ‘Kimblee’ me. You gave me your express permission to call you out. You said you want to be better. To be more mature. This isn't mature, Ingrim.”

Ingrim grabs his shoulders.

“...I know…”

“You're scared, aren't you?”

“Of course I'm scared. I've never felt anything like this for anyone, ever. It's overwhelming..”

“You don't think I'm overwhelmed either? I am. I am so out of my element with you. Everything about ‘us’ goes against all that I know. But I don't let the fear that comes from that control me.”

“You're a stronger person than I am..”

“You're plenty strong. I would never complicate myself for someone weak.”

Ingrim pulls Kimblee close.

“...I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry—”

She rests her forehead against his shoulder.

“—I'm being so pathetic right now, aren't I?”

“Yes, you are. Apologize again. Lying to me was a shitty thing to do.”

Ingrim withers a little at his words.

“I-I really fucked up, didn't I..? If you're saying things like that... I'm sorry, Kimblee. I mean it, truly. I'm sorry..”

“Good.”

Kimblee goes to take a step back, but Ingrim pulls him close again.

“I'm serious. Please forgive me..”

“You're such an idiot sometimes. I forgive you. Just don't be so pathetic. Don't let your fears control your life. And don't lie to me again.”

His hand comes up to cradle her head, while the other rests on her waist.

“You owe me, you know.”

“I do. But I want an apology as well.”

“For what? What did I do?”

“You manhandled me outside of bed. When I say ‘let go,’ I want to be let go.”

��You could've said ‘mercy.’”

“We aren't having sex. Why would I use our safeword?”

Kimblee…couldn't argue much against that. It would be strange to hear that outside of bed.

“Fine. I'll admit I gave in to my anger when I shouldn't have. For that, I'm sorry.”

“And you should've included me in planning our night.”

Kimblee takes a moment to think about that

…Maybe taking it upon himself and planning a big date with someone afraid of serious commitment on the very day that celebrates it…wasn't his best idea.

“...And I should have included you when I was making our plans for tonight. That was rather short-sighted of me.”

“And I should've been honest about my feelings. I shouldn't have lied to you.”

Ingrim lets go a bit.

“Are we good..?”

“Yes, I'd say we're good.”

He walks to the edge of the alley and grabs his groceries.

“Are you willing to celebrate at all?”

“If we can do something else, yes.”

Kimblee thinks. He looks down at his bags, then at Ingrim.

“How about dinner at your place? I'll go back to the market and get enough for the two of us. I'll cook, and you do what you do best.”

“Sit on the counter and look beautiful?”

“That's right.”

Ingrim smiles a bit, despite herself.

“That sounds like a plan. I'll hurry home and get ready.”

“Good. I won't keep you waiting too long.”

And he doesn't. They're back together in an hour. Kimblee cooks them a nice meal, making sure to keep Ingrim away from the food, lest it get burnt. Or undercooked. Or both.

…Or splattered on her ceiling.

Again.

But they share a nice meal alone together, with a bottle of wine and their favorite music over the radio. And they dance afterwards. Nothing fancy. Just slow and intimate.

“This is…nice..” Ingrim admits, her head against Kimblee's shoulder.

“Agreed. I have to admit, I think I'm enjoying this more than I would have at some club. We can just be ourselves here.”

“You look great, by the way. I can see the shape of your waist~”

“You find the strangest parts of my anatomy to admire. Not that I'm complaining,” he replies. “And I'd be remiss not to mention how lovely you look in that dress.”

“I figured I should wear your favorite, since you're looking so nice for me. It's a two-way street, after all.”

“That it is. Now, come here~”

He captures her lips in a kiss, and she doesn't hesitate in returning the affection. But she breaks away not long after.

“You know, I'd be remiss not to spend some quality time with you today, of all days. And I think I know a few tricks to make up for earlier~”

Ingrim takes Kimblee's hands and leads him back to her bedroom where they spend the rest of the night together wrapped up in each other's embrace.

♡

[urpatheticowner]

Being tied up like that and with my brain dripping out between my legs, how deep I take it is up to you. I won't even have the wherewithal to consider trying to stop you from going as deep as you want. Addled as I am, and getting moreso the longer you're stretching my throat and blocking my air, you'll be in absolute control of me, Miss...how deep and for how long you fuck my face hole, how rough you are with me in the process, how much you allow me to breathe - or not to - and how much woozier I get from it.

I'm so happy this is turning you on the same as it is for me; that means any breath I do manage to get will be full of the scent of your heat, and if I'm lucky and you do decide I deserve to be rewarded, when you grind against my face it won't just be my own spit slicking it. And your tongue? Oh my, what an honour for a dumb whore to be blessed with! You may not be able to hear me whimper and moan with my throat stuffed so full and all, but bent over me like that you'll certainly feel how I tremble. It won't take much, from the sound of it - I'll already be aching, desperately sensitised, and you'll easily be able to push me over the edge.

And then? You'll keep sucking on me, even after the vibrator, after the slaps, after multiple orgasms? Oh Miss, I hope your ties will include something to keep my legs open. I'm a whore, it's true, no one could see me and deny that, but in such a state I fear I'd be too sensitive, too overwhelmed, my mind too far gone to keep them apart for you. You could force them apart if necessary of course - I'm a pathetic, weak thing after all - but touching my thighs after all that, your hands would be beyond stained with my filth. Either way, I hope you'll enjoy my sobs, the mix of pleasure and pain you give them and the raw edge of my violated throat. -🫦

Fuck. I can't take this anymore. This is killing me. I need to violate the fuck out of you. I need you to beg me to stop. You trying to squirm only to be met with your ankles grinding against the ropes, causing it to burn.

[freewillacquired]

In a world ravaged by a virus that primarily creates monsters, nasty encounters are in no short supply. When Rain begins to hear heavy footfalls—when she feels them practically shaking the ground beneath her, she figures she's about to have another.

Cursing under her breath, she unholsters her gun.

The days were blending together in depressing ways now. Nemesis was shocked at how quickly things had gone to hell after the Hive and Raccoon City Incidents. It had taken him quite a while to regenerate after the city's "sanitation," but once he was on his feet again, he realized the gravity of what was happening to the world.

Alone and with nothing left to do in his current mutated state, Nemesis had taken to showing up at Umbrella facilities unannounced, and destroying as much of them as he could. The digital feed supplied by the retinal implant attached to his right eye and sewn up into his head gave him a lot of useful information, especially after his mind was liberated from Umbrella's control. May as well put it to good use, right?

He'd acquired more clothes and equipment this way, with the boots and leather trenchcoat-style getup being standard issues for a creature called a Tyrant, which he apparently now was. They seemed just about the only things that were going to fit his... unique body shape nowadays.

Learning about himself and destroying Umbrella assets were good pastimes, but Nemesis was extremely lonely. The few survivors he came across now and then either screamed and ran from him or shot at him. Bullet wounds were nothing more than annoying mosquito bites to him now, thanks to his thick hide, but even so... it was demoralizing. All he wanted to do was help. He was almost getting used to being alone all the time, by necessity rather than desire, until that unexpectedly changed. While exploring a city one day, he rounded a corner and-

"Raaaain!" Nemesis bellowed the moment he saw her, unable to contain his excitement upon seeing her. "Oh... ny god!" He couldn't believe his eyes. Well, eye. He still had two, but one was... indisposed. In a move that probably looked damn near ridiculous to the other, he lifted his hand... and waved to her. "I'n so glad... to see you! How... are you... alithe... right now?" he tried to ask, his massive chompers getting in the way, as usual.

Nemesis couldn't get his voice to be anything other than a monotone growl, and with monstrous teeth and a noticeable lack of lips, his speech was something of a garbled mess. It took him a while, but he'd learned to make certain sounds in other ways, using his throat and tongue. Essentially, he'd had to relearn how to speak. Some sounds and words, though, were lost forever. None of that did anything to curb his enthusiasm at seeing Rain alive, however. Was he finally losing his mind? Hallucinating, maybe? No, the target identification system is identifying her as Rain... Right now, Nemesis didn't care either way. Just the sight of her was one for sore eyes, since his last clear memory of her was being at death's door.

"I thought... the anti-thirus... didn't work...?" he said, his elation at seeing her alive completely overriding his common sense. Nemesis wasn't thinking about the fact that Rain wouldn't recognize him anymore, or about how negatively she would likely react to seeing the hulking beast before her. Not to mention his tentacles, rooted at the backs of his shoulders, which were excitedly coiling and undulating in their own right, reacting to his surprise and happiness. He batted one of them with his hand. "Cut it out...!" he admonished the obnoxious appendage. It recoiled temporarily before returning to its idle activities.

Then it dawned on him, especially with how she had her gun at the ready. Oh no... she has no idea who I am. "It's Natt," he said, laying his hand on his chest. "Natt... Ad-di-son." How pathetic is it that I can't even say my own name correctly anymore? he thought grimly.

[itsnothingofinterest]

A happy Easter all. I've thought up a new theory and I'm sharing it for the holidays weather you like it or not. A cool way I think the could play out the AFO reveal I've been so negative on that I'd be far less negative on

So we all know how we're expecting AFO's next move with Tomura to play out, yes? He'll reveal he gave Tenko Decay and orchestrated the death of the Shimuras and this'll rock Tomura to his Tenko-shaped core and let AFO take control.

But suppose, since AFO just needs to shake Tomura's resolve, that he'd say that even if Tenko was born with Decay? Or to go further, let's say AFO plans to "reveal" the opposite of whatever Tomura thinks, since nothing's stopping him from saying whatever gets him what he wants; if Tomura thinks he was born with Decay, AFO'd say he gave it to him, but if Tomura thinks AFO snuck him Decay as a child, he'd tell Tomura he was born with it.

Because as @codenamesazanka pointed out, Tomura logically could've suspected the 2nd possibility. If someones quirk ruined their life in a way that just so happened to lead them to AFO's orbit where they his bidding, they'd probably consider at least once if they got played by the famously resourceful manipulator. So let's say Tomura did suspect that; starting from around when he got his memories back. That is around the time when he starts thinking of 'Sensei' far less respectfully, and he's already pretty open about knowing just how much AFO manipulated him. Perhaps he could even find comfort in it for a time, thinking that tragedy may not have really been his fault. But then, let's say he goes looking for the truth. Spending around a month at the bottom of AFO's brain merged with his own, he'd certainly have ample opportunity for it. And suppose he finds it; and next time he gets out, that truth causes a change in how he sees himself that he didn't express much before the mind-meld.

AFO: "You foolish vessel, you think you've been in control? This whole time you've been a pawn in my plans, for I-!" Tomura: "'Gave you your quirk that killed your family.' Is that what you wanted to say 'master'?" AFO: "???" Tomura: "You can't think I didn't consider that? Knowing your quirk? Your personality? Hehe, I know your last-ditch plan is to say whatever would most shake me on that piece of my past. Convenient how no one could dispute you if you lied. Except that I already poked around your brain while we were one for the truth. That I was, how'd you put it? Right, right. 'Born twisted.'"

It'd be a neat subversion, I think, on a twist we've all long been suspecting in the back of our heads (again, AFO's quirk makes it kind of an obvious possibility) but that, unlike the Touya reveal, I don't feel really adds much to the story besides giving Deku an easy out to Tomura (which I'd rather he not get). Plus, it'd explain Tomura ramping up the self-dehumanization, which I have been wondering about, and give him another chance to drop a diss-track on AFO. Who wouldn't want to see that?

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

(That said, I will admit I don't know what subverting the Decay theory does besides not giving Deku that easy out we expected he get and giving Tomura a chance to mock AFO. But then, I don't know what AFO's return is supposed to add to the story either way besides giving Deku a chance to finally fight him.

I mean: post for another time but with Yoichi/OFA gone there's not really any threat of AFO accomplishing any real objective of his. I mean he can mess with/kill these two characters I like; but that's kind of it. He's just kind of interrupting a more interesting conflict.

Just feels like we may as well see him die one last time here as an ineffective loser to compliment his body going out a crying pathetic baby fighting Bakugou. Let one last plan just fall apart.)

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

(Also, slight addendum to the theory; it maybe still could work if AFO did give him Decay if the "existence" Tenko hates himself for is more to do with being someone who killed his family than just being born with the deadly quirk that killed his family. But the alternative does flow with our impressions of what Tenko thinks & what AFO's about to say a bit more smoothly.)

[krikeymate]

Follow up to the fuck around and find out verse where it’s the next morning after Tara’s dissociative episode.

Tara’s flooded with humiliation at the realization of what happened and how she shut down because of the idea of Sam leaving (doubly interesting if there’s that “I’ve been pushing her away but as soon as she goes, I break down? Pathetic” kind of mentality) and Sam is quick to apologize and reassure her and make it clear that she’s never going anywhere and that last night she just needed some air. AND MAYBE after this incident, maybe Tara…docile and obedient because she’s so scared that next time Sam “needs air” that Sam won’t come back.

While Sam is relieved that Tara is not putting herself in danger, she’s still heartbroken because Tara has traded one set of unhealthy coping mechanisms (drinking, fucking strangers) with another (hiding in, never wanting to go out, never wanting Sam to leave her and getting worked up when she does and then the subsequent spiral of shame that Sam has to help her work through)

Part 1. I cannot possibly think of a more perfect direction for this to go in. I mean, I don't even know what I can add lol.

Tara falls asleep, eventually, against Sam's chest. Body and mind exhausted. Her sleep is restless, and she clings to Sam tightly. Sam doesn't get much sleep either, constantly waking to check on her sister.

In the morning, Sam awakes to Tara curled into herself away from Sam and blinking back tears. Flooded with humiliation is right. Humiliation and shame and disgust at herself. What right does she have to be upset with Sam, to be upset at all? This is all her fault anyway, and then she goes and hurts Sam and loses it when Sam gets mad? It's pathetic, it's disgusting. She feels like just another monster manipulating Sam, trying to control her. It's like she expects Sam to say "how high" when Tara says "jump."

Sam's arms wrapping around her waist distract her from her thoughts. "Hey, you ok?" Sam's voice is so soft and gentle, and she doesn't deserve it. She doesn't deserve any of it. All she does is cause problems. Problem after problem.

"I'm so sorry about last night," Sam speaks, cheek nuzzling into the top of Tara's head. "I didn't mean to scare you, I just needed some air and I wasn't thinking. It won't happen again, ok?"

She can't believe Sam is apologising, she has nothing to apologise for. This was all Tara, it was all on her. But words are hard right now, her brain is still foggy. All she can manage is gasping out it's fine.

"It's not fine, Tara. None of this is fine." Sam's arms retreat and Tara squeezes her eyes shut, there's a roaring in her ears. not again not again not againnotagainnot-

Sam's hand is on her cheek and something is being pressed to her mouth. "Open up, babygirl." It's automatic at this point, mouth opening and closing around the inhaler. "Good girl," Sam coos, hand moving to stroke through her hair.

She feels Sam climb back into the bed, in front of her this time. She wraps her arms around her and pulls her on top of her.

"I'm never going to leave you, you know that, right? There is nothing you can do to push me away. I get mad sometimes, but it's just because I care, and because I'm scared for you. I love you, so so much. You're my whole world Tara, and the thought of you getting hurt, of someone hurting you... I can't bear it."

Tara begins to sob into Sam's neck.

~

Tara gets quiet in the aftermath, stuck in her own head. She only leaves the apartment for class, brushes off Chad and Mindy and Anika when they try to talk to her. She doesn't have the headspace to talk to them, to explain.

She finds she can't watch Sam walk out the door anymore. It sets her heart racing and the fog machine in her head goes off, even though she knows Sam's only going to work, despite the "I'll see you later," and the kiss to her forehead. So Tara hides in her room with the door closed to avoid having to face it.

There's a part of Sam that's so relieved, to be so sure that she can come home and find her sister there, safe. There's another part banging on the walls in her brain screaming problem. She's horrified to realise which part of her is bigger. Tara's become clingy, like she's 4 years old again and doesn't know how to survive without her sister's hand in hers. Sam hates the part of her that enjoys it. She shoves it down with the part of her that enjoyed butchering Ritchie, that enjoyed her mother's face when Tara told her to go fuck herself.

For the first time in months, Sam feels needed and secure. She was drifting, aimless, trying to grasp back control of the situation, watching her sister float further and further away. But now she's tethered to her wrist. Tara's been feeling lost lately too, but Sam's found her, and she's not going to let go.

[nottakingresponsibility]

"...Let's try this journal out, shall we?" He grabbed a pen he used to write on his arm occasionally, flipping to a random page. He wasn't gonna be sappy with it, he'd just.. write. That's what this was for, after all. Surely nothing could go wrong if anyone found this in the future. Surely this couldn't be used against him.

"Day one of writing in this journal..." He fucked it up already. He scribbled out the word day and put "night" above it instead. "Day Night one of writing in this journal. I feel like something bad happened recently. I can't seem to shake the eerie silence the ship has been in lately. Well, asides from my conversation with Anya. Which, was surprisingly pleasant. I learned things today." "Granted, it might just be because several people probably want me dead. Hell knows I deserve it. I thought I got shot dead recently, I act like that never actually happened, that I don't think about it constantly, but it's hard not to. Loud noises in general freak me out, so being essentially shot, but also ...not shot? Wasn't a good experience." "Glad I'm still alive, though. I have plans otherwise, if I'm going out, it's gonna be by my own hands. Anya seems to view me as a friend, though. If I do anything to myself, I hope her mental state doesn't deteriorate. Though, that's wishful thinking. Why would she care about me anyway? I deserve it." "You think I'm gonna die before I can do it myself? I had to give up the title of captain recently, well, obviously. I don't even know what that guy expected me to do. I'm fucking useless in that scenario. I didn't really try too hard, I don't think a title is worth it if I can't even earn it in a proper way. He might be dead. That's pretty surreal, I mean. Someone I talked to, someone that gave me an offer, is probably fucking dead." "I can't bring myself to care, though. Guy was too vague for his own good anyway. I recently got reminded why I hate loud noises so much, especially yelling. And sirens. And everything else, actually. I hate a lot of things." "I've got a relationship...? To figure out, apparently. I didn't plan on that happening, I'm not sure if I'm against it or not but I can't back out now, the more people think of me fondly, the better. Maybe I'm pathetic, actually." "I'm not sure how to be loyal, or if that's even possible unfortunately. She fell into the wrong grasp, got attached to the wrong person. I don't know how to go through with this, but I can't do anything that'll ruin my reputation."

He thought for a moment, tapping the pen against his chin. Wasn't he meant to be writing more about his hallucinations rather than just how he felt? Either way, he had information to keep in mind, he was gonna write it down, that was for sure. "I'm just overthinking things. It'll be fine. It'll be fine. We're probably still on good terms, everyone I know. I've begun trying to heal my companionship with Anya, it's been going well it seems. Hope nothing fucks that up." "I've been speculating on Gabe as well, just what exactly he is, who, rather. People are trying to make me think he's some sort of twisted version of Curly. I don't like the implications of that, don't like thinking of what may have happened to him if that was the case." "But hey, at least on the bright side, I've got music now. Hopefully things will start to die down now that... the worst is presumably over. I'm not sure, we'll see what the future holds. I can only hope it won't be hatred." "If Anya ever does take up my offer for help someday, or ever just wants to talk, I'm willing to listen. That seems to be a thing I've been doing well, recently. Right back to my childhood. Except I'm in control now, maybe they were right. Maybe I would grow up better than them." "This has been James, signing off this fucking journal page." That sounded amusing, he liked the 'professionalism' of it. If anyone actually called him James though, he'd probably be extremely confused cause he's only ever called Jimmy, or Jim. Or.. whatever weird ass nickname variants there are of Jimmy. He could keep it in his journal, it would be safe, right? ...He very lightly scribbled over everything, it was still very readable, but at first glance it wouldn't be. He closed it up, placing it away.