#it's valid!! And not as unusual as people want you to think!!

[threadsun]

do u ever have a kink/ scenario that just makes u go AAAAA for knowing u have/ want to see explored in ze written wordz because u KNOW the moment u breath about it ud get canceled for it on twitter because its kinda #problematic and ur just like "plz i dont condone it in real life it just makes my insides tingle please" because thats me rn with like. a spefic version of orientation play im dying- fishie (leave me ALONE twitter mobs im QUEER im just DERANGED too

Unrelatable, BUT only because I refuse to go on twitter and refuse to feel shame about my sexuality and desires. It's not unusual for people to be ashamed of their kinks or otherwise nervous about being judged by people for them. Especially with people moralising about kinks and sexuality as if it's indicative of anything other than "body reacts good to [thing]".

I've got plenty of kinks people would consider either fucked up or just... weird? But that's not my problem. My kinks are between me and any adult who chooses to consensually engage in them with me (whether it be in person, online, or just through me writing shit and them reading it).

But yeah, orientation play can be fun!! I've done commissioned orientation play before, and while it's not something I've explored yet outside of my professional work, it's definitely a valid form of sexual expression. As long as it's appropriately tagged so people who don't want to see it don't have to, I don't see why it should be anyone else's business what a person finds hot wrt their orientation/identities being messed with/invalidated in a scene.

[daenerysstormreborn]

My blog is for me my blog is for me my blog is for me I tell myself as I notice a blog I like that I know I was following before is popping up in recommended and I’m not following them

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Why is it always so extreme why does having an unusual kink always make u a pedo fml 😭😭

well the dead serious answer is that accusing someone of something that's reliably considered as indefensibly vile by much of society, such as molesting children, is a great way to socially isolate that person by making others wary of affiliating with them (even if the accusations are false, do you want to risk being friends with someone who some people will inevitably still think molested children?) and also seemingly validates putting that under intensive scrutiny, since being intensely critical of any perceived sexual misconduct then becomes a matter of protecting The Children from a potential.

there's also the fact that a lot of people, even self-proclaimed progressive people, have absolutely no handle on their disgust response and automatically affiliate anyone who engages in any sexual activity that grosses them out - whether it's pet play, bondage, scat, or just queer people fucking - with every other sexual transgression they can think of, including abuse against children.

[altxrrmelancholy]

emotion verte - Jyh

>The title comprises French words meaning 'green emotion.'<

Your boyfriend gets jealous over something miniscule that causes an argument, and he thinks trying to make it up to you at a convenience store might earn your forgiveness.

｡⁠・Tags: bf!Yunho, jealousy, a bit of arguing, semi public shenanigans, a bit of smut, manhandling, previous crushes mentions.

｡⁠・Word count: I forgot to keep count sorry 😞. But I'm sure it's below 5k.

Note: I find it hard to specify tags, especially if it's to do with smut (if anyone has noticed). So if that is an issue, please tell me so I can specify. I'm not used to writing smut also so if it's unusual or awkward please bare with me I'm trying.

Also also I'm having difficulty writing/completing works. Zero motivation. So enjoy this in the meantime. Feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Minors? You know what to do. Here's the door (to leave)🚪

•••

"It doesn't matter if you thought there was nothing wrong. Men always have ulterior motives."

"What if he didn't? What if he was genuinely complementing me because he thought I looked good, ever think about that?"

Exasperated, Yunho stared blankly at you. "He thought you looked good? Y/n, come on I know you're smarter than that."

You knew that Yunho had a point. You were only wearing a sweater with tiny shorts and thigh-high socks. You didn't need to wear much as you were only going to the convenience store to get some snacks at 12 in the morning, so you just threw on a sweater and met Yunho outside your dorm building after receiving a call from him a couple of minutes before. Assuming he would protect you like he always did.

But you also knew that he had the tendency to overreact when it came to you. You're not totally bothered by his jealousy, you know that. In fact, it makes you feel validated, that someone so sweet and kind, so hot, could like you this much. To the point where he allows jealousy to take over him. To consume him sometimes that it ends with you face down on his bed, or even facing the wall, gripping onto his hand on your hip as he takes you from behind. You loved your boyfriend so much that you were willing to excuse his behavior after someone (a man) oh so casually touches your arm in the middle of a conversation. He would inform you of their behavior and then be extra doting that day. You loved that.

It was moments like these, though rare, that reminded you that you shouldn't be so dismissive of his behaviors. Moments where you would argue about his jealousy, like it was your fault that men are the way they are.

If you didn't leave the building you both were currently arguing in front of, someone was bound to complain sooner or later.

You gave your boyfriend a nasty look before you left towards the direction of the store. You were gonna get snacks without him and go back to your dorm. You heard doorsteps behind you and low-key sighed. You knew he wouldn't leave you to go alone.

"Y/n wait." You stopped. "I'm sorry, okay? It's just that..." You heard him sigh. "I'm not the only one that wants you. That guy..." He pointed behind him. "That guy was looking at you, it made me uncomfortable. And then I imagined you were here alone and then... What if you were here alone, huh? With that outfit?"

You turned towards him. "But I'm not alone Yu. I'm here with you. Besides, would you have allowed me to go out this late at night alone?"

He looked down, pouting. "No..."

"And so? I wouldn't have come out alone out of my own will anyway. You have to stop blaming my outfits every time other people look at me."

As you were on your way a couple of minutes prior, you were walking ahead of Yunho on your phone when a man shorter than him passed by you. He must've thought you were alone because he looks you up and down before stopping at your right and going 'you look good.' Before you could even react, Yunho stepped up in front of you, glaring down at the man with an intensity that could rival actual heat. He didn't even need to say a word before the man stuttered and abruptly left. You were about to make a joke about Yunho scaring people off when he said something about what you wore. That none of that would have happened if you just dressed appropriately. His own words.

You knew Yunho loved your little outfits. So hearing this from him kinda hurt you.

You approached him and placed your hand on his cheek. "I feel safe with you, okay?"

"I wouldn't want it any other way, darling." He said almost immediately, looking down at you fondly.

You smiled and lightly tapped him cheek twice. "I'm glad."

You began walking ahead of him. Just as you were about to pull out your phone from your sweater pocket, you heard Yunho begin to speak.

"Wait. Why would you wear such an outfit when you know you were leaving the house at this time, in this cold."

You sighed and turned around.

"Yunho-"

"You don't even like wearing such when you're outside my room." He said, referring to your skimpy shorts. "Is it because you know San is over at the apartment?"

You gasped. Never have you ever heard Yunho be quite audacious in this fashion. Even with his jealous tantrums.

"I told you that in confidence. How dare you." You whispered, your eyes wavering as you fixed your gaze upon your boyfriend.

"Well who knows, Y/n."

"Fuck you, Yunho."

You hurriedly left for the store, this time not caring whether he followed you or not.

You liked to think that you were ready for anything Yunho said, because he would randomly say things and his friends would be okay with it. He would be so blunt and his friends would just shrug because 'that's how Yunho is'. The fortunate thing about him is that he wouldn't be so careless as to blurt out another person's secret to other parties. That didn't mean he wouldn't blurt out yours in front of you. You remembered the night you told him about how you used to have a crush on one of his friends years before he even met him. You had to heavily assure him that it was not only small, but over with. That was the night you knew of Yunho's jealousy.

Yunho sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had to remember that you were not one of his friends, but his girlfriend. He failed to realize what he had said after he heard you curse him and storm away from him. Yeah, he shouldn't have said that.

You barged into the store angrily, not even caring that you scared the poor worker at their station next to the door. You walked stealthily towards the snack section at the back of the store, next to the dairy products.

"How dare he." You muttered. "How could he say something like that so... casually! Ugh!" You threw your arms in the air and proceeded to glare at the gummy bears in front of you.

Poor snacks.

This would have gotten a laugh out of you if you weren't so angry.

You noticed Yunho's black sweatshirt at the corner of your eye. You almost rolled your eyes. The audacity.

"Y/n."

You ignored him.

"Y/n that was out of line. I'm sorry."

How many times will he apologize that night? You suddenly found the German on one of the snack packets interesting. You even tried to read it in your head. Huh. Enthält Zucker und andere-

"Y/n, please." He sounds desperate though. Should I forgive him?

You stilled. He never usually lets you be angry at him for long.

"That wasn't fair, Yunho." You muttered.

"I know, baby, I'll take you home if you want to. Just please forgive me. Please?"

Hmm.

You looked at another brand of gummys and tried to read the language on it. Is that Russian?

"Come on, Y/n." Your boyfriend whined his voice deep but soft, slightly stomping his feet. This grown man.

You felt him sigh and come up behind you. You shivered slightly as you felt his warm presence. "Y/n~" He brought his hands up to your waist while you pretended to read the damn packets. "Baby~ I'm sorry baby, please~" His words, now a whisper next to your ear. You shut your eyes and bathed in the all-consuming presence of Yunho. You didn't expect to feel a hand creep towards the front of your shorts.

You jumped slightly, still in his hold. "Yunho! What are you doing." He ignored your question and proceeded to shove his hand in your shorts and underwear, lightly drawing circles on your clit with his surprisingly warm fingers. You didn't even have time to get surprised that you were in public. You whined softly as you felt the other hand rise up your body to cup one of your boobs over your sweater. You sighed, your eyes closing as you leaned back on his chest. "Y-Yun- ah-" his fingers quickened slightly.

"You're gonna forgive me, right? Because you love the way I'm touching you. You love when I make you feel good like this, huh? Come on, don't stay silent. Let me know how good you feel." He whispers in your ear. At this point you hoped you were the only ones in the store and that there were no cameras.

He continues to prod at your clit, knowing all the ways to make you moan and jump in his hold. He knew how much you liked when he touched you even more than sex itself, though you had never told him that. He just knew. He knew most things about you.

"You're c-crazy..." You moaned quietly, the fingers on your clit not easing up even a little. You had each hand on both his arms, trying to get him off of you. But you weren't even sure you wanted to stop, considering you were already so close.

"I'm crazy because I love you Y/n. I'm crazy because it makes me feel good knowing I'm making you moan like this. You're close, right?"

You whined quietly. "I'm so close... Yunho p-please make me cum pleasepleaseplease..."

"Then open your eyes and look at how good I'm making you feel, baby."

You opened your eyes slightly and looked at the silhouette of his hand moving inside your shorts. He smirked and increased the pace of his fingers, making you fall apart with a moan. The hand that was on your chest rose to cover your mouth, allowing you to moan through your orgasm. "Ssh ssh that's it, baby." He whispered next to your ear as you closed your eyes, his fingers still rubbing you through your orgasm.

After a while, his hands were out and off you. He left you leaning on one of the shelves with your hands trying to catch your breath. Did he just make you cum... in a store?

"Do we even still need snacks?"

You looked toward your cocky boyfriend as he licked his fingers slowly as if teasing you, his steady eyes on you. You turned away from him, feeling your cheeks burn up. He chuckled lowly and grabbed an assortment of various snacks and casually walked towards the front to pay for them. You sighed and tried to pick yourself together before following him, your steps slower than his because... well...

You met him at the cashier on his phone as the girl scanned the items one by one. You notice her pale skin turn pink at the sight of you. You look up at Yunho, finding him already staring down at you trying to hold back a laugh. You choke back a scoff. Oh how you were never coming back to this store ever again. Forever and ever and ever and ever-

After the items were done, you scurried past Yunho past the doors already dreading every second in that store. You could hear Yunho shamelessly laugh as you left the building. Just because he gave you an orgasm didn't mean you forgot what he said earlier.

"I can take you to my apartment?" Yunho caught up to you, swinging the polythene back on one hand, the other in his sweatpant pocket. You nodded, looking at your feet as your steps fell in sync with his. He smiled to himself as he looked up towards the road.

"I bet San couldn't make you cum the way I just did though."

Now-

•••

More notes ig: the German says, 'contains sugar and other-'

Tell me what y'all think. And don't forget to reblog.

I'm also always open for conversation. *Casually walks away*

[xiao-come-home]

thinking ab mechanic reader who treats boothill like he's still fully human and as if he's more of a patient than a machine in need of repair. always fully explains to him what they're about to do, asks if he wants to be conscious for the procedure (instead of asking if he wants to be shut down temporarily), says "this might hurt a little/you might feel some discomfort" as if he still has feeling in his limbs and never brute-forces their way through his body to find an underlying problem. Bonus points if they wash his hair after as part of the package. When he asks them why, they admit they've always wanted to help people and be a doctor but were terrible with blood, but that same empathy and role of a caretaker drew them to the career of mechanic, where they would still be a doctor, just for other life forms such as intellitrons or cyborgs like him. "I'm still a doctor. people come here with injuries or faults, and i treat them. they just don't bleed, which is mighty convenient for me. that, and the fact i don't need a medical license." they chuckle.

I just really like the idea of Boothill having this presence in his life who casually and thoughtlessly affirms his and other's humanity or validity as people like it's second nature to them. no grand declarations, no big gestures, just a completely natural part of their personality.

OH MY GOD YES 🥹

Usually when Boothill gets some sort of treatment, he's very talkative. VERY talkative, whether it's something about his recent adventures, rants about his body, that delicious beer he came across last time, hoping his technician gets a little bit more talkative as well.

During your procedures, he's unusually quiet. He watches your hands work on him, gently warning him beforehand what you're about to do, only letting out quiet humms. He usually refuses to be shut down, opting for observing you instead - the way you move his parts with such precision and care, it makes him almost too calm.

Boothill gets surprisingly bashful when you begin to wash his hair, saying it's not necessary at all and that you've helped enough, but he lays still as you insist and already massage his scalp gently, asking if the water is to his liking.

But what's more shocking to him is that all of this is coming truly from your heart; well, your words were just enough to confirm this, but... He knew. He felt it. And as unexpected it is to him - he finds himself enjoying watching your care and your presence as well - it makes your heart swell with happiness that yet another patient trusts you so much, especially Boothill, who deserves to have his humanity acknowledged.

[leidensygdom]

The ways in which being asexual feels isolating

I've been pondering whether to post this or not, but I figured out I wanted to explain a bit of this experience.

So, I could go on a very long tangent on how being asexual is usually a lonely experience, and how much I've been otherized here and there- Specially in real life. How the same people that claimed to be queer (or allies) had been much weirder about my asexuality than they were about me being bi/pan or whatever.

But I think I wanna talk about how something like that bleeds in every aspect of socializing, even down to something like fandom. I stay away from fandom usually- I like to look at cool fanart and that's about it. I hate discourse, I hate drama, I hate reading people getting worked up because they're treating fanon as canon. But there's one thing I've noticed, over and over, that just sends me off my rails.

And it's how fandom tends to treat asexuality (or aromanticism). So, you get a character in some piece of media that explicitly, unequivocally, states they're either ace, aro, or both. "I do not have interest in a partner", "I don't desire to have sex nor do I enjoy the topic", whatever. And as an ace person, I do appreciate being able to see myself in media- There isn't many chases where something is established that bluntly.

Now, you decide you want to check some fanart for that. Fandoms have this tendency to make absolutely everything about shipping, even when the media they're basing it in does not revolve about that (and it's annoying, because a lot of times people aren't interested in the actual themes- It's all reduced to shipping). Suddenly, you notice people treating the aforementioned character as anything but aro or ace. It's all about shipping. "This person interacted with this other person in a way two friends would, but we gotta make this their entire personality now". Some people may instead go for "well, maybe the character is not having sex, but they're probably an absolute freak about it, studies it extensively, has encyclopedic knowledge about it-"

Now, there's of course sex-favourable aces, and that's completely valid, but it's already straying from what, canonically, the character had mentioned. Asexual or aromantic characters aren't really allowed to exist as themselves. People often see them as a blank slate to fill, to change, to fix. I could talk forever about how people react to real life aces like that. I've had people asking me incredibly invasive questions because they saw my lack of sexual attraction as something broken, something they could fix.

And I hate that! I think I'm allowed to say that I hate that! It's hard and unusual for media to cement an aro/ace character, because they're defined by the lack of interest for something, which is often hard to show. But when it does- No one seems to care. It's all shipping, it's all "well, he's gay in denial", "well, she's probably super repressed". If you took a canonically gay character and made them straight on a fanfic, you'd get angry people. Which is bound to happen when you erase representation that people identify with. But aro/ace characters are NOT even seen as queer, they're not even seen as "representation" by most people. You can erase that bit of it, put some god awful shipping on top, and people will applaud you. And it sucks!

I wish people would see being aro or ace as an identity worth respecting, not an identity that needs overwriting. It feels a bit too close to how people often treat aro/aces irl, and it sucks. It reeks of this sort of exclusionism, where "aro/aces are technically queer but it's queer lite at best, it's less interesting than being gay, and we kinda don't want them near us anyhow". Again, I've had far worse experiences about being ace than I have about not being straight.

Sorry if the post got long, but I hope this experience may at least resonate with other people who have been struggling with this, too. It has always felt just kind of lonely to be ace, and see how little people do even consider it an identity, even when it comes down to something like fandom.

[yjhzies]

“Cheers to youth.” — YJH

⸝⸝୭ ˚. fluff . comfort . angst

⋆ pairings : jeonghan x gn!reader ⋆ warning : reader being scolded by their boss, crying (there shouldn't be any more, lmk! <3) ⋆ wc : 0.8k [✉️] · Always portrayed as "perfect" feels like a nightmare now. But with Jeonghan, everything will be fine.

⋆ - note : got scolded by the teacher for no valid reason and my inner writer came out ^^ (ty ig and welcome to depression era) | trying angst for the first time, I think I'm going insane :( stay safe jeonghannie 🌷

"Love?" Your boyfriend's voice was soft, and everything you needed to hear after a disastrous day at work.

You gripped your phone tighter and gathered the courage to respond.

"Hm, hannie,"

"Are you almost off work? Do you want me to pick you up?"

"I'm almost done with work, it's okay, I'm fine." Your voice breaks with the words 'I'm fine', because you were clearly not. But, he didn't have to know.

You, who is known as the 'Perfect' one in your workplace, were feeling like a failure. Not that you liked the way people labelled you as 'perfect', but you did want to meet the expectations of your boss. You've always had this habit - feeling the need to meet people's expectations, afraid of disappointing others. This, something you have had since school days, was becoming a nightmare.

Your boss was rumoured to have had a break up; something that is completely none of your business - you knew. So when he lashed out at you, simply because of his gloomy mood, you were in disbelief.

"I heard you've been focusing on everything except for work? I remember the time you were considered as the perfect manager, but now? I doubt that. You've been lacking behind everything. From doing the files to arranging the meetings properly. If you keep doing this, I doubt you'll be here in my company for long."

Those words haunted your mind, and it kept repeating. For no reason. You knew you did nothing wrong, you knew you were not in the wrong here.

But words hurt so much.

Especially when you're trying your best.

Especially when you feel you've done enough, and you hear this.

"Are you sure?" Jeonghan asked, worried because you have had to stay at work for long, and it was unusual.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Silence soon followed, and you took a heavy breath to stop the tear threatening to roll down your cheeks.

"Are you really, baby?" He asked softly. As if he knew everything despite not knowing anything.

You didn't expect that question. All the tears you had held back finally escaped your glossy eyes, and you broke down. Right in the middle of a bus stand, but thankfully, no one was there.

"Baby?" Jeonghan felt a surge of panic wash over him. The sounds of your muffled sobs echoed in his ears through the phone.

The last thing Jeonghan wanted was you crying all alone.

You slowly lowered your hand, the phone in your hand dropping to the floor as you continued weeping. There was no one around to help you. To ask if you were okay.

"Please, baby," he softly pleaded. You were there alone. All by yourself. "Please answer me."

He grabbed his car keys, opened the location tracking app that you both agreed to use in emergencies and rushed out of his apartment. The drive was gonna take at least 20 minutes, but he couldn't care less.

All he knew right now was that he had to be by your side.

"I'll be there, don't worry, okay?" He tried to calm you down, despite panicking himself.

Everything faded into the background, as you finally let all the feelings burst out in the form of tears. All the taunting you had endured throughout the day was driving you insane.

It wasn't your fault. You did nothing.

You don't know when time passed by, and Jeonghan's car pulled up on the road - but you felt a hint of relief at the sight of him.

He got out of the car in a hurry, running up to the bus stop where you stood. Very slowly, you turn your gaze on him and he catches a glimpse of you - puffy eyed, cheeks red with warmth, tremors still coursing through your body, dried tears that were being replaced by fresh ones.

"Hannie..." You choked out, sobbing.

Without wasting a second, he threw his arms around your torso, engulfing you in a warm hug. He rested one of his hands on the back of your head, caressing it, as he wrapped his other arm around your waist protectively.

You've never felt so secure and safe in someone's embrace before.

You closed your eyes, placing your hands on either side of his shoulders, and began sobbing again. But this time, you knew Jeonghan was there to protect you.

"Shh, I'm here, it's all gonna be okay." His voice was barely above a whisper, as if those words were only meant to be heard by you. So soft, so loving, and it conveyed so many emotions to you.

He felt like home. Like the warm hug and kiss you crave after a long tiring day at work. Like the cold, but relaxing drop of rain on your skin.

"I'm- I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, don't be, please."

You're grateful. So grateful that you both don't have to know the reason to simply be by their side. The reason can be unknown, or known later, but what matters is that you're there for each other.

– taglist : @gyubakeries @k1eev @haowrld @armycarat2612

[check out masterlist - pinned post to be added to the taglist!]

[nonotnolan]

Swap Broker: Social Climbing

Seeing James in a suit, Clay suddenly felt a bit self-conscious about scheduling a meeting at his modest apartment. The car that James drove was probably worth more than this entire building. Still, that was part of why he was hiring James in the first place. Clay was trapped in the lowest income tiers of society, and upward momentum was unheard of. He didn't regret dropping out of high school to take care of his younger brother when their mother passed-- their father had never been in the picture-- but now that his brother had a full ride to college, it was time to take care of himself for once. If he wanted any sort of life outside of minimum wage retail work, he was going to have to take drastic action.

"Legally, I have read you a few disclaimers before we begin," James said, pulling out some papers from his briefcase. "You are purchasing my services as a swap broker. This does not guarantee that I will be able to match you with another customer, and some customers may request additional payment. My servicing fees must be paid up front and in full. The body real estate market is new, and may be subject to new regulations at any time. You cannot trade more than ten years plus or minus your original date of birth, and any attempts to defraud security regulations will result in legal action, up to and including life in jail. If either client is able to prove misleading or fraudulent claims about their new body within the first 30 days, the swap will be reversed. Customer dissatisfaction is not a valid reason to reverse the swap process, so care should be taken prior to confirming purchase. If you agree to these terms, your payment will be considered a legal signature."

Clay paused, staring at the wad of cash in his hands. "You, uhh… you do take cash, right? I didn't even think about trying to get a money order."

James simply smiled at him. "That will be fine, Mr. Clay. It's not standard, but for you I will make an exception. Truth be told, I'm already making a few exceptions for you, but I've been able to pull strings to have it classified as charity work. Besides, all of your of the mandated background interviews have come back with glowing recommendations, which is why I have no issues taking such a risk on you."

"And I appreciate that, don't get me wrong. All the same, I… I'm just worried that no one will want to take my life in exchange for theirs," Clay said, kicking the carpet with his boots. "But anything will be better than this, and … well, I'm trusting you, James. I'm trusting you to find something for me."

"I actually do have a very promising lead for you, if you're willing to take it," he said, adjusting his necktie. "It's a very unusual situation, which is why most of my clients have not accepted this body. But for you… honestly, this might work. My client is local businessman Richard Hargrove, but the body for trade or sale is the body of his son, Aiden Hargrove. It's… legal, technically, though I'm not convinced Aiden fully understood the paperwork he was signing."

Clay raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess… Richard expects great things from his son, but his son isn't matching those expectations?"

James nodded. "It's a tale as old as time, and it's a lot of emotional baggage to carry over into a new life. If you want to inherit the family money, you'll have to make certain that you keep Richard appeased. There's going to be a lot of family drama, while most people on the market for a new body are looking for a swap with no strings attached."

"No strings, you say," Clay said, absent-mindedly scratching his chest. "How often are people swapping bodies, anyway?"

"Honestly, we're starting to see a lot of designer body circles where people swap bodies every few months like clothes. People are trying to establish winter bodies, vacation bodies, bodies for formal events… it's a bit of a mess out there right now. But most people don't want to be locked into a new body forever, which… is what Mr. Hargrove is looking for. But since it sounds like that is what you're looking for as well... here's a photo of Aiden," he said, passing a headshot over to Clay.

Clay could feel his cock stirring to life in his jeans. Aiden was incredibly attractive. He also looked like an insufferable spoiled rich kid, but… well, that was probably true. "James, this man is gorgeous. There has to be some sort of catch, more than just the family drama angle you described."

"Well… yes. As a part of the swap agreement, Mr. Hargrove is requiring that the person taking his son's body signs a five year habitation agreement. It includes a stipend of $100,000 spread across monthly installments, but it states that you will only be able to contact your prior family through written, voice, or video correspondence. Nor will you be able to contact any of your prior friends ever again. For most people, that's a complete dealbreaker. For you, however…"

Clay couldn't help but laugh. "My younger brother is going to college several states away, so I already have limited contact. And the closest things I have to friends are people who are nice to me at work." He paused, taking off his cap and squeezing its brim as he thought it over. "I really don't have anything to lose," he said. It felt odd to say it aloud, but… he hadn't fully realized just how much he had been putting everyone else's needs over his own until it was pointed out like this. "I always knew it, I mean… it's why I hired you, I just… I never quite thought about it like that. James, I accept. Whatever you need me to sign, let's do this."

James smiled. "Excellent choice! I'll put in an offer this afternoon, and I'll be in touch with the next round of paperwork. It's not official yet, but given that Aiden's body has been on the market for over five weeks, I can't imagine that we're going to get any resistance."

------------------------------------------------------

"Alright, so that was four strokes, which puts me at… +8," said the new Aiden. "Not great, but at least I'm slowly improving. Ready for the next hole, Dad?" The first week or two had had its share of uncomfortable moments, but he was slowly easing into the expectations of his new life. Now, after a few months, life as Aiden Hargrove was becoming second nature.

Richard smiled at him. "I'm proud of you, you know."

"Agh, Dad…" Aiden said, feeling himself starting to blush.

"No, I mean that," he said. "It was hard enough having to disown my first son… I was so worried about who my new son was going to be. But you… you're hard working, you're dedicated, you're sincere… how could anyone not be grateful? I'm… I'm bad at knowing how to show people that I care, Aiden. Too much tough love, they tell me. And if I'm going to start training you to take over the family business, that will only get worse. Which, I will be training you, son, you've picked up on sales like it was second nature. So… when we leave here, and I'm back to being a dick… it's because I expect a lot from you, okay? I'm proud of you even when I'm not showing it." Richard leaned in for a hug, which Aiden returned with an awkward embrace.

"Also, son, I keep meaning to ask-- have you been getting your dick wet?"

Aiden felt his stomach drop out from under him. "Jesus, Dad! That's not… do we have to talk about that?"

"You're almost thirty," Richard said, folding his arms. "It's well past time for you to get married. I'm not going hold sins of the old Aiden against you, but people are already starting rumors. An eligible Hargrove, unmarried? It's unheard of. I don't even care who you marry, as long as they make at least $150,000 per year. Are you gay? I've seen the way your eye wanders in the country club's sauna. The old Aiden was straight as an arrow, but we can smooth that over easy enough."

"I… yes sir, I am a gay man," Aiden admitted, as he desperately prayed for the ground to open up and swallow him in. "I haven't, uhh… I haven't had sex in this body yet. I've been focused more on living as the new Aiden. Adding a relationship to things felt… complicated. Especially since the thought of a queer scandal had me afraid to… pursue things, as it were."

Richard waved a dismissive hand. "Well, start pursuing them. You're a Hargrove now. We don't have scandals, we just have bribe money. Your mother and I are going to be celebrating our 40th wedding anniversary next year, and I expect to you be engaged by then. I need everyone to see that you are a force to be reckoned with."

------------------------------------------------------

Aiden leaned against the bar of the country club, waiting for his date to arrive. It was easy to adjust to the trappings of his new life, but he hoped to never fully lose sight of his roots. The navy suit he was wearing tonight was a designer piece that cost about two months of his old life's salary, and he was about to spend over ten hours of minimum wage labor on a single dinner. The universe had managed to reward all of those years of thankless labor with the opportunity to live Aiden's life, and it wasn't something he ever wanted to take for granted.

Trying to date as a gay man looking for marriage was complicated enough. Trying to date men who fit his new father's limited criteria was proving to be almost impossible. Most of the men who checked off all of the necessary requirements were either straight or insufferable-- but usually both. All the same, Aiden had high hopes for his date with Hunter. Unlike his previous dates, Hunter came into his wealth by creating and then selling his business at the right time. Hopefully that lack of a privileged upbringing would make him a tolerable human being.

Dinner with Hunter proved to be everything that Aiden had hoped for, and more. They were able to hold actual conversation, shifting from topic to topic without his date trying to brag about prior accomplishments or disparaging Aiden's interests as puerile. It was taking all of his restraint not to mount Hunter right there, in the middle of the dining room.

"Would you like to join me on a brief walk?" Aiden asked, once their meals had been finished and billed to his family's tab. "You'll have to forgive me if I am being too forward, but I took the liberty of reserving one of the... private cabana rooms at the edge of the grounds." His eyebrows waggled as he emphasized the word private, and the flush on Hunter's cheeks confirmed that the innuendo had not been lost on his date. Aiden swelled with pride as he observed the outline of Hunter's erection against his blue slacks as the man stood up, the most sincere sort of compliment he could receive. His own manhood was straining against his silk boxer briefs, and he found himself hoping that Hunter was sneaking glances.

"I... do have a confession, before we get too serious," Hunter said, as they strolled across the greens. "This is not my real body. My swap broker arranged for a three month loaner, while my real body is...being acclimated to my new wealth, shall we say. I'm paying someone to lose weight at the gym, whiten my teeth, develop a suitable skin care regimen... that sort of thing. And once I do get my body back, there will a wardrobe and hairstyle adjustment period..." He started to tug nervously at his collar. "Just a temporary side effect of being new money. I hope you don't find that too scandalous."

Aiden gave him a warm smile. "Far from it, I assure you. Your newfound wealth and status is part of your charm. It means you don't have any of the odious habits of my peers." He wrapped a possessive arm around Hunter's waist and pulled him close, a trophy to be displayed. "Besides, that sounds like an incredibly smart usage of a swap brokerage contract. If things get serious, I'll have to tell you about my own family's dealings with swap brokers."

[mysaintkitten]

idek what to title this, i’ve been procrastinating and i’ve been thinking about capa so now we’re here.

prompt: needy reader and needy capa get it on (18+, MINORS DNI !!)

WARNINGS: kind of subby!capa ?? (he’s just so horny), oral (f receiving), veryyyyy temporary mutual masturbation, unprotected sex (p in v)

*not proofread*

it had been months, no, years, since you’d been intimate with anyone. prior to joining icarus II, you weren’t exactly getting too much action. but now that you’re out in space with limited people and a very stressful job at hand? you had essentially become celibate, whether you liked it or not.

it was easy to manage at first. no one on board really peaked your interest— besides capa. he’s handsome, smart, funny if he’s in the right mood, overall not too shabby. and since you had very few others to gawk at, it made capa stand out a lot more.

the harder you started to crush on capa, the more difficult things became. not only could you not have sex, you could barely get off. the only true privacy you get is in the shower and even then you can only be in there for a limited time, so there’s no point in wasting water.

then when you were assigned to work with capa full time, you reached your tipping point. you’d spend hours alone with him, working, sometimes talking, but working for the most part.

but, during an unusually slow and boring day, you and him talked for what felt like hours. you even got comfortable enough to open up about your desire for intimacy, although you hoped that it wouldn’t come off as to desperate or “slutty” (as if being a slut really matters at this point in time).

capa opened up too, he wasn’t as open as you were willing to be, but he was vulnerable enough. he’d been struggling too. really, everyone was probably struggling in that sense, but it felt nice to be validated by capa in a way.

things started to get a bit ‘playful’ between you and capa, you kept it hidden as best you could, but when you were alone together you were sweet and a bit affectionate. of course, nothing wild, but little things like playing footsie, hand holding, even hugs. that’s all you allowed yourself to indulge in for the first little while.

but one night, when everyone was asleep, you and capa snuck into a vacant observation room. initially, you had intentions of only talking, but that was shut down almost immediately.

you and capa giggled like children as you locked the door behind you, feeling a rush of adrenaline despite not doing anything explicitly wrong. as you place your back against the wall while smiling kindly at capa, you notice his demeanour has changed. he isn’t giggling, and he’s still smiling, but for a different reason.

“you know, i’ve been thinking ..” capa murmurs as he slinks his body closer, leaning on his shoulder directly beside you. “if we’re smart about this, i think we can both get something that we want. and no one would have to know.”

“what do you mean?” you question with a confused face, although you already have an inkling as to what he’s hinting at.

capa smirks and caresses your palm with the pads of his fingers “you know ..”

your eyes go wide at his confirmation. you want to feel him so badly, but it’s too risky. a moment of pleasure doesn’t outweigh a lifetime of regret.

“capa, i don’t know if we should ..” you whisper, fighting your urge to push him down and fuck him right then and there.

“we can be good about this!” he pleads, inching himself closer and turning his body to where his chest is nearly touching yours. “we’ll be fine, you’re a smart girl, aren’t you?”

you feel yourself becoming flustered, you struggle to look capa in the eyes. they’ve become darker, slowly but surely filling with lust.

“i am.” you reply with a swallow,

“yes, you are.” he agrees, brushing stray hairs from out of your face. “so come on. and we’ll probably work better without all this pent up energy, huh?”

your heart starts to race and a heat between your legs begins to form, “yeah .. that makes sense ..”

“mhm.” he purrs, his body now flush against yours, you can feel his bulge straining through the fabric. “can i kiss you?”

you nod, lips slightly agape. he brings his lips to yours, moaning quietly at the sensation of your soft lips against his. the kiss quickly becomes heated with capa trailing his hands down your body. his touches are sexual, but they have a hint of curiosity to them. it’s been so long since he’s been this close to a woman.

how they feel, how they taste, how they smell, he’d almost started to forget it. but with you here, it’s all flooding back to him now, and he can tell his body is slipping into a primal-like overdrive. he feels your pheromones are nearly intoxicating to him.

“feel like a teenager again ..” capa giggles breathlessly between kisses. you decide to get handsy as well and place your hands on his back, feeling up his shoulder blades and spine.

“fuck ..” he mewls, “need more ..”

he dropped to his knees and began to pull your shorts and underwear down, promptly revealing yourself to him. you hadn’t been anticipating any sort of sexual contact, so you weren’t exactly groomed to your liking. if you had known this was going to happen you would’ve shaved for him, but alas.

“i’m sorry i’m not exactly .. bald ..” your voice trails off as you blush, dancing around what you actually wanted to say. you were afraid the faint hair may put him off, but it didn’t, not in the slightest.

“i don’t care .. fuck, i don’t care ..” he groaned, nearly whining at the simple sight of you being bare right in front of his eyes. he runs his dry hands up your thighs, gripping the soft skin gently. while panting from pure arousal, he begins to kiss your thighs, occasionally looking up at you with an infatuated glare in his eye. like you were some sort of god to him at that moment.

“you’re a woman.” he breathed, it rolled off his tongue like a praise. he continued to kiss along your thighs, inching closer and closer to your aching core. it had been so long since you’d been touched, let alone ate out. your knees nearly gave out from anticipation.

you card your fingers through his hair as you watch him, his breath getting heavier and heavier with each passing moment. while making eye contact with you, he begins to kiss your needy cunt. slowly switching from wet pecks to desperate licks. he moaned at your taste, gripping your ass as he pushed your hips against his face harder.

“c-capa-“ you whimper at his eagerness and the sudden wave of pleasure. with a hum, he brought his tongue to your hole to lap up any and all of your spilling arousal, using his nose to stimulate your clit.

“tastes fuckin’ incredible ..” he admitted, quickly resuming his licks and sucks. what he lacked in skill he made up for in passion and eagerness, he wanted to make you feel so good, and it was clear by the way he whined and huffed against you.

“i missed having good pussy on my tongue.” he chuckled, smacking your ass playfully. you yelp at the slight sting, but it quickly shifts into a moan as he nips at your sensitive inner thighs. “i could eat you all goddamn night, but i need a little relief of my own, baby.”

you feel yourself becoming slicker as capa begins to tug off his pants, his flushed member standing to attention. as soon as his cock is freed, he begins to weakly pump it for you. his eyes scanning up and down your body as he basks in your feminine presence.

copying his behaviour, you slowly begin to play with your clit, watching how he sighs and slouches at the gesture, clearly enjoying the show.

“could i ride you?” you blurt out, almost embarrassingly fast, your arousal clouding your thought process. no point in pretending anymore, you want to fuck him and you want to do it now.

“fuck, please.” he begs, he sounds pathetic, but that only further enables your arousal, knowing you have a man on his knees begging for you.

you push his shoulders back gently so he’s laying against the cold floor, as he lays back you straddle his lap and begin to roll your hips against his member. you and capa both moan at the sensation, capa balls his fists up and begins to rut against you as well. at this point, you’re just grinding against each other raw.

“baby ..” he pants, dipping his head back for a moment. your stomach tingles at the pet name. “if we keep doing this ‘m gonna come.”

while biting your lip, you raise your hips and align his tip with your opening, teasing him slightly before lowering yourself down into him. you gasp at the fullness, while capa groans at your warmth.

“could i-i, fuck, could i see your tits?” he whines as he involuntarily thrusts up into you, he feels like he can’t control himself at this point. every ounce of his being is burning with arousal.

you lift your hips up and ride him, meeting his thrusts. while you ride him, you shakily lift up your top. you leave the shirt on but bundle up the fabric above your tits, for some reason it feels hotter that way.

capa groans and plants his feet on the floor, holding your hips in place as he fucks up into you harshly.

“o-oh fu-uck!” you sob as capa pounds into that sensitive spot from within you, hastily you bring your hand between your legs to rub your clit. both of you knew this wouldn’t last long, so you just want to enjoy it while you can.

capa feels like his brain is melting, he doesn’t know where to look. he can either watch your tits bounce with each thrust, he can watch your pretty little face contort with pleasure, or he can watch his cock slide in and out of your heavenly cunt. he can’t settle on one, so he eagerly switches between each of them.

“you’re so fuckin’ wet ..” he choked as he watched his member glisten with your arousal. since being on icarus II, capa began to dream of situations like this. it was normally faceless women, but he was absolutely feigning for some tight wet pussy, despite how much he tried to hide it.

“don’t stop— please ..” you huff. you know capa won’t stop, he’s too far gone to quit now, yet the words still fell from your mouth. you haven’t felt so good in so long, you don’t want it to end.

“won’t stop.” capa slurs as his thighs shake from exhaustion, “fuck. can’t stop stop, baby, feels too fucking good.”

your orgasm begins to build up from within you. both you and capa are shaky, sweaty, desperate, and close. you place a hand behind you for stability and dig your nails into capa’s knee as he thrusts into you, your other hand still stimulating your clit as best you can.

capas cheeks are flushed, his pupils are blown, and plush lips hang agape. you want to tell him he looks gorgeous, but you can’t seem to find the words to at the moment.

“‘m getting close.” he hissed as his grip on your hips got tighter, “come on my cock. please, baby. i need to feel it. please.” capa rambles mindlessly, you’ve felt like an absolute dream the entire time but the sight and sensation of you coming undone on his cock would be the cherry on top.

“yes, yes, yes-“ you gasp as your orgasm finally breaks through you, the stimulation on your clit comes to a stop but capa continues to fuck into you as you come for him. you release a loud, guttural moan at the pleasure. mere seconds after, capas whining beneath you about how close he is and how pretty you look when you come.

after pulling out, capa feverishly pumps himself and quickly spills his load onto your ass and his thighs while groaning and whimpering.

you shakily slide off his lap and sit on the cold floor beside him. while attempting to fix your appearance, you both giggle at what you had just done. since it had been so long, it felt almost innocent. just two desperate people who wanted to feel each others bodies.

“can we do this again tomorrow?” capa asks while attempting to catch his breath

“tomorrow?” you raise your brows, “you want to make this a routine?”

capa laughs, “you shouldn’t have given me a taste, baby, now i’m going to keep crawling back for more.”

—

sorry, had horny capa thoughts, can you really blame me tho.

[peachiieu]

Heyy, I really like your writting. You're really talented making these fanfictions/headcanons (or I don't don't know how to call them). Can you make "the ninja with sensitive reader". How would they deal with and treat them? Thank you for reading it! Have a nice day<33

the ninja with sensitive!reader

pairings: main 6 x reader (separate, ninjago)

warnings: insecurity, cussing, slight mention of violence

authors note: yayy first request!! sorry i haven’t gotten to this request quickly. thank youu, i’m trying to get good at writing and i love doing it :) i hope u enjoy, sorry this is so short 💗

word count: 1.1k

COLE BROOKSTONE

cole is probably one of the most understanding people when it comes to emotions

he’s somewhat a nurturing person and is proud to validate you and many people’s feelings

he tells you feeling more than others do is a gift although you don’t think it is, others are too apathetic and selfish

gives you ways to deal with disrespectful people in situations, walking away personally helps him and telling someone what they said made him upset so they can resolve it, apologies are shared

if someone offends you on purpose and it’s obvious, they insult you and continue doing it then he’ll confront them

“dude, what’s your problem?”

if you crave touch when you’re upset, he’ll cuddle with you in bed so you’re warm and feel loved in his arms, under the soft and fuzzy blankets

JAY WALKER

jay’s sensitive too, often becoming jealous and upset when you talk to other guys without him

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you, he just gets insecure sometimes

he can get a bit frustrated if you become worried about him talking to other girls, not romantically of course, but understands where you come from

if someone says something degrading to you, he’s immediately standing up for you and even starts talking crap about them and insulting them right in their face

constantly voices his love for you, shows it through every possible way you can imagine; touch, words, acts, time, etc

because he rants and talks quickly, most of the time he doesn’t realize he’s said something to hurt you until you start sniffling or your eyes are visibly red

immediately apologizes and feels bad, reassuring that you’re perfect and the only person he could ever truly love

KAI SMITH

kai gets nervous when he upsets you, if he says something rude he’ll apologize while stuttering, unusual of him

“wh— what, no, that’s not what i meant… sorry babe…”

he gets overprotective if anyone dares to say something slightly offensive about or towards you

right after someone disrespects you, his eyebrows furrow as he turns to them, a cold look on his face as he tries to intimidate them

“you wanna repeat that again?”

he’ll gladly beat that persons face in if you ask him to, only wanting you to feel confident in yourself and to have good self-esteem

mostly reassures you by telling you everything will be okay and that not all people in your life will be respectful, that some will be asses and there’s nothing you can do about it besides remove them from your life

in attempts to make you laugh, he insults the one who made you feel bad and kisses your cheek, rubbing your shoulder in a comforting way

LLOYD GARMADON

lloyd can be sensitive too because he gets insecure about things, so he understands exactly how you feel

he gets awkward when you’re in need of words of affirmation and reassurance but tries his best, he didn’t have much love when he was younger so he doesn’t have much experience with comforting others or being comforted

when someone’s rude to you, he’ll try to calmly talk to that person and tell them to knock it off but he’s secretly upset about it

the only reasons why he attempts to be as polite as he can with that person is because he believes in second chances and doesn’t want you to see him in a bad mood

he realizes when he’s said something to upset you and apologizes for it, says he won’t say it again and feels ashamed

helps you write things down and voice your emotions, tells you not to take what people say or do personally because they’re probably just having a bad day, it doesn’t validate their actions but lets you know they don’t necessarily have something against you

NYA SMITH

nya’s a bit sensitive but is good at hiding it, she doesn’t want others to worry about her and believes she’s fully capable of taking care of herself

she’s extremely protective of you and like her brother, won’t hesitate to go after anyone who disrespects you

although she gets impatient easily when things don’t go her way, she won’t back down until the disrespectful person apologizes and admits their wrongs

reassures you whenever you feel bad about being sensitive, tells you people are dickheads but you can’t control what they say or do

gives you hugs and kisses on your temples, saying she understands why you’re upset and that it’s okay

she’s such a loving person and cares so much, that makes her an amazing person but she doesn’t always know how to comfort you

what she knows how to do well is just be in your presence, not talking unless you want her to or if you want her touch

ZANE JULIEN

zane always tells you it’s okay to feel how you feel, you can’t control it, and you should be proud of being able to have feelings because there will be ups and downs in life

whenever you get particularly upset about something, he’ll make you your favorite comfort food and drink while you talk about your feelings

as he knows some people prefer emotional validation over logical ways to deal with emotions and scenarios and vice versa, he gives you both

helps you learn to walk away from situations if you don’t feel good about a conversation or how someone’s acting

if someone says or acts disrespectfully to you, he’ll either walk away with you or have a full-on argument with the person, depending on how upset you are about it

he thinks about what he says before he goes through and says it, sometimes not fully thinking it through and accidentally hurting your feelings

when he realizes he upset you, he apologizes and says he’ll do better not to hurt you next time the two of you talk

he’s overall really sweet to you if you’re upset, is surprisingly understanding with emotions, and always lets you know your feelings are valid

what he will criticize you about is how you act based on how you’re feeling, for example, if you’re sad and lash out at someone, he’ll talk to you so you can comprehend the full extent of your actions

[sage-nebula]

That look into Mimic's psyche was so fascinating, because—despite him being the most obviously unreliable of unreliable narrators—it truly seems that his actions stem from him being a deeply mentally ill man, torn between a desperate need to be loved and rejection sensitivity so powerful it drives him to paranoia and murder.

Few things before I elaborate:

I'm not going to "diagnose" Mimic with anything specifically, aside from what I myself have—namely, rejection sensitive dysphoria. Particularly when it comes to villain characters I think that armchair diagnosis can be really irresponsible, and reading symptoms off a website isn't comparable to living with an illness or disorder. I used to do that kind of thing, but I've since learned not to. So this isn't a "Mimic has x" post, aside from extreme sensitivity to real or perceived rejection, because oh boy.

Mimic being mentally ill is NO EXCUSE for everything he's done, and I don't feel sorry for him in the least bit. This is not an "alas, poor Mimic" post. Again, I have RSD and I don't go around murdering people because of it. But it is fascinating to look at.

He is canonically 32 years old. He is indeed a man, not a boy.

So as I said, Mimic's main thing is that he is torn between two powerful emotions within himself: a desperate need to belong and be loved, but also an intense fear that he'll be rejected by those who might ultimately love him. Mimic being an unreliable narrator, he's a bit all over the place with this, but he does acknowledge his need to be loved in a few places:

But as you can see, he tied it up with "the spotlight" — with validation and appreciation, something he later tries to convince the reader he believes is beneath him (hence—unreliable, because an attentive reader knows he's a lying ho):

He just wants his skills appreciated, and it's childish to yearn for friendship and belonging, so he doesn't and won't. Along with that lie, he also claims he only joined with his other teams out of cold practicality as well, and betrayed them for the same:

It's important to note that his "I mean, in worldwide discord . . ." justification came immediately after "again I felt that nagging ache [. . .] to belong." So yes, he's lying to himself and the reader to cover what really happened.

And what really happened?

Mimic displays a pathological fear of rejection. It's impossible to say what started it. Mimic claims all of his issues stem from the war:

But to quote Phoenix Wright, he's lying, damn it, and I can prove it!

In the very first panels of the flashback, set before the war starts, we're shown a scene of Mimic on set during his actor days. And what happens?

He gets forcibly removed from set after he ruins the scene. Look at how he reacts: wide eyes, reaching back for set . . . he looks panicked. And these were people that he at the least considered colleagues. Instead of just telling him not to do it again, they kicked him out altogether. They rejected him. And at this point, he already had a strong need to be seen and accepted.

While I don't think that this was where it all stems from—I think Mimic faced rejection before this as well, for rejection sensitivity to flare up as bad as it does for him—this incident did stick with him. We know it did.

So no, the war did not fuck Mimic up. Mimic was fucked up long before the war. And exactly how is Mimic fucked up? What is it that he's doing, specifically?

Rejection sensitive dysphoria is when a person experiences an unusually strong, negative emotional reaction to real or perceived rejection. What serves as a rejection trigger varies from person to person. For some people it's things like, everyone suggests a restaurant for an outing but Jessica says she doesn't like your choice, and your RSD brain takes that to mean shs's rejecting you. For me, I've always struggled in situations like group chats where my messages seem to be ignored but everyone else seems to interact and get along really well. It sets my RSD off something fierce. It's really different for everyone.

Just like there are a myriad of triggers, there's also a myriad of reactions. Some people, and especially those who may not realize yet that they have RSD, may lash out and get angry. So Jessica might get blown up at because she said she doesn't really like Chipotle and suggests Five Guys instead. Others may start fawning and clinging, figuring that if they pretend to love Five Guys hard enough (side note: Peridot, that's lying!), Jessica won't reject them anymore / after all. And still others might bail, figuring if THEY leave first, then it'll hurt way less than if they're asked / told to leave later. This has always been my go-to in the past, unhelpful though it is to maintaining relationships when I'm tempted to do it on "perceived" rejections my brain made up.

And Mimic . . . Mimic also perceives rejections that are not there, mostly via catastrophizing (another out of my brain's playbook), and then takes "bail" to a whole new level: "murder." (I personally have never done this.)

Let's look at the meltdown scene, shall we? Here's what triggers it:

Before, he was working with the Diamond Cutters, and they expressed admiration for his skills, yes. That was all fine. But here, they're giving him special masks that essentially make them a real, bonafide unit. Smithy describes them as being one on the battlefield. And he is included in this, absolutely, without any question; a personalized mask was made just for him. Whisper says, despite Mimic's internal narration telling her not to, that she's so glad that he's there to watch their backs and that he makes the team complete. This is the Diamond Cutters truly, unreservedly, letting Mimic know that they accept him, they care about him, he is one of them, he is their friend. He belongs with them.

And that is the rejection trigger for Mimic.

Not because of anything the Diamond Cutters did, per se—but because of what Mimic thinks they could, or will do. He outright says this himself in one of his rare moments of blunt honesty (and I think the tell that he's not fully in control here is the stuttering):

Yes, the Diamond Cutters accept him now. The Diamond Cutters love him now. But Mimic is terrified that the second they learn who he "really" is, they'll turn on and reject him. They'll throw him out like his colleagues at the theater company did. That is why their friendship hurts; because it is, as Mimic himself said, what he wanted. It's what he has always wanted. But the second he gets the love that he desperately craves, his brain immediately starts sounding the rejection sensitive alarms, telling him that there is danger ahead, that this cannot and will not last, that if he lets himself accept this, it will be to his own downfall.

But here's where things go from "Mimic is having an understandable trauma reaction to something that happened in his past" to "Mimic clearly has deep psychological issues that have never been treated or seen the light of any healthy coping mechanisms and he makes this everyone else's problem by murdering them."

If Mimic left it at, "If they saw the real me, they'd reject me" and bailed, then he would be putting the blame on himself. But this is not something that Mimic is truly capable of doing. While Mimic does say at the end of the comic that he is selfish, cruel, and cold, he also says that he's happy and that he likes what he is. That, too, is part of him being an unreliable narrator, I believe; I don't think that this desperation he has inside of him for love and belonging has ever actually gone away. But nonetheless, Mimic isn't really accepting blame for anything by saying that he's cruel, selfish, etc. He's not putting the onus on himself as being the problem. Instead, he's celebrating himself and almost recommending that others do / accept the same thing he has. It's a defense mechanism. A shield. He's reclaiming being a ruthless, remorseless, backstabbing murderer so that such accusations can't hurt him.

And Mimic does something along the same lines in this meltdown. He doesn't—he can't—leave it at, "if they saw the real me, they'd throw me away" because that puts the onus on him. And he also can't just leave these people that have accepted him so earnestly, that he wanted to accept him, that he himself wants to accept. So instead, he twists them. He takes the perceived future rejection (which, reminder, has not happened and he has no proof even would happen!), and takes it several steps farther, deciding that all of this has been a lie and that they're monsters and therefore he's doing the right thing by plotting to kill them:

A few panels ago their love and acceptance was making him hurt from the terror he felt at the idea that they could reject him. Now he's convinced himself (at least on some level), that they are untrustworthy liars that he needs to dispose of, for his own (emotional) safety. As I stated before, Mimic lies not only to the reader, but to himself; and he does it so harshly here, with such fervor, that on some level he makes himself believe it.

So then, we get to this:

(I have to upload this from desktop rather than mobile, and it looks blurry on desktop . . . hopefully it's not blurry when actually posted.)

As I mentioned before, some people with RSD will bail on those they think are rejecting them, a sort of, "I'll abandon you before you have the chance to abandon me." But Mimic is so far gone that his strategy is to go to the farthest extreme imaginable; he has them murdered, because the thought of them still existing in the world without him—the idea of them smiling, laughing, having fun, loving each other, without him there—causes him pain. He can't stand it. Mimic feels—or at least, he tells us that he feels—that the only way that he can be at peace and move on from his time with the Diamond Cutters is if they're dead. If he can't be friends with them, then no one can. They're not even allowed to live.

Of course, the tragic thing is, he could have been friends with them. He was friends with them. But he was too fucked up to see that, and I think accepting that now would destroy him to the point where his psyche won't let him acknowledge it as even a remote possibility. Because if he acknowledges that none of the Diamond Cutters were lying, and that they truly did like him—and, more than that, that they would have kept him even knowing about what he did in the past—then it would mean admitting that he killed them for no reason. And I truly don't think that he would be able to handle that.

Again, I don't feel sorry for him. I'm mentally ill myself and I deal with RSD. One of the several things I'm working on in therapy is my RSD, in fact, because I'm very bad with the whole "perceived rejection, time to bail!" thing, and I don't like how difficult it makes my life. Mimic was a 32 year old man who, instead of recognizing and finding a way to deal with his mental illness, decided instead to murder a bunch of teenagers and one barely adult (Smithy was the next oldest at only 20). And even now, he's still stalking and trying to murder a 16 year old girl who is just trying to move on with her life. I don't feel sorry for this man, and neither should you.

But it is still interesting to look at how he ticks, to see how he created the self-fulfilling prophecy that led to Whisper rejecting him so hard that she would not hesitate to bust a (wisp) cap(sule) in his skull-less head if given the opportunity, all because of deep-rooted psychological issues that I don't think Mimic himself even realizes are there. It's certainly more interesting than "he's just evil" or "he did it out of cowardice."

All my love to the original Diamond Cutters. Mwah.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

not sure if you've done this one before but how would the vanilla + SVE bachelors react to the farmer giving them a shirt (or any top article of clothing) with one of those boob windows? What if the farmer pleads them with puppy eyes in hopes of convincing them to put it on?

🌚

No, I definitely didn’t write a headcanon about this topic. And today we will fix it~ (thanks for the ask, dear anon!🫰💕)

_________________________________________

SDV/SVE bachelors react to their Farmer spouse who gives them clothes with a "boob window":

Alex thought at first that that line on the T-shirt was a damage, but when Farmer explained to the athlete that this was the way it should be, he hesitated for a couple of seconds, and put the T-shirt on. Though Alex blushed a little at Farmer's stare, he realised that he looked pretty good in it and started to look at himself in the mirror. "Hey honey, you know what's better than this 'titty' t-shirt? No t-shirt!". He took off his t-shirt and with a smug smile began to flex in front of his spouse. Farmer should give him credit: it's impossible to disagree with such a valid argument.

"Nice try, dear, but still no." Sebastian sat on the couch with his laptop while his dearest spouse ran around him and begged him to at least try on a t-shirt with an oval cut on the chest. Neither the sad eyes nor the bribe-laden entreaties worked on the emo, who seemed to be amused by Farmer's futile attempts to convince him. "Yeah we'd sooner have an obsidian portal on our farm than I'd wear this." Bad mistake. Because a few hours later there was a huge obsidian archway on the farm (the portal is working, btw) and the Farmer was standing nearby, triumphantly handing a flushed Sebby a t-shirt.

"Honey, don't you think that's a bit much?" Elliott is a fan of unbuttoning his collar and being in dramatic poses when he's writing another masterpiece or posing for a drawing. But here, he'll probably draw the line. No, not to say he hates it at all, this sweater with the... hmm, rather unusual cut, but Elliott's used to his style of dress, and this doesn't fit his image in any way. Even Farmer's tearful pleas won't make him change his mind (though Elliott must admit, he almost gives in, because Farmer knows how to make professional puppy-dog eyes).

"Ah, fuck it. Give it to me." Shane, as it turned out, wasn't hard to convince. His only stipulation, though, was that he would only wear that "boob window" shirt ("Heh, what a fucking name...") at home on the farm. Because even if the chicken man himself doesn't give a shit about most people's opinions and dresses as he pleases, he still doesn't want Jas and Marnie to catch him wearing that t-shirt. It would be... awkward, to say at least. This cloth is comfortable tho, plus his size. "Heh, boob window. Enjoying the view?" Farmer is definitely enjoing the view.

Huh... Sam had tried all sorts of extravagant clothes in an effort to find his unique style in the past, but this was new even to him. He certainly wore that t-shirt with the cutout on the chest, purely out of curiosity. It's cool, but... not his style. The young guitarist had thought about unusual clothes for his music band, but a side boob shirt cut was more his style than this. Sorry Farmer- hey, c'mon, don't give him this sad look! They know it's hard for Sam to say no to them with those sad eyes... Ok, but he won't wear this to a family dinner, deal?

If the Farmer wanted Harvey to stand flushed for a minute, congratulations - they've achieved their goal! With all due respect to his spouse, the local doctor is not too keen on wearing a sweater with such a cut. But interestingly enough, he has asked them not to put these clothes far away, as the resourceful doctor has found a use for it. If Farmer insists on staying late in the Mines, Harvey just needs to drop his selfies of himself (still flushed) wearing this sweater. Farmer teleports home at lightning speed and almost kicks in the front door. Works every time!

"Please!" "No." "Please!" "No." Farmer had been following Magnus around like a duckling following its mother for about fifteen minutes now, hoping to change their stubborn husband's mind and at least try on that sweater with the big line on the chest. Attempts, so far, had been unsuccessful. "Please!" "No." Magnus is quite happy with his magical uniform, which gives him charm and mystery vibe. Especially since he doesn't want any of his colleagues to catch him with that sweater. So wizard has to say no to his beloved spouse. Although they are stubborn. "Please!" "No."

"My dear, is this your way of trying to hint to me that I should unbutton my shirt more often?" Lance smiled slyly at Farmer, and the blush on their cheeks made it immediately clear to the gallant adventurer that he had hit right on target. That clothes with a cut-out on the chest, if the truth be told, is not to his taste. Especially since Lance doesn't see the point of it at all, if he and his spouse can find alternatives. All Lance has to do is simply undo the gilded buttons of his snow-white shirt, spread the collar a little for... *chuckle* a better view for a Farmer, and that's it. The effect will be the same.

Victor had a heap of doubts, but it was hard to resist Farmer's puppy-dog eyes, so, to Farmer's glee, he put on the T-shirt they handed him with.... "Boob window"? Is that what it's called? What a name..." The size is certainly his, and the fabric is of good quality, but... He feels a little bit uncomfortable. And Yoba forbid his mother catches him like this, otherwise it would take a long time to explain everything. Victor could have just unbuttoned his shirt. Or... or no shirt at all, if Farmer wanted to hint to him that they'd like to have fun tonight...

[spacetimeaccordionfolder]

As several folks have pointed out, a lot of Erin's struggle is likely not just pride, but feeling as though he has to help people. He's got the power to do this, so why can't he? If he can't, is he powerless? If he can't fix the problems then how can he help people? It's not that he thinks he actually has control over everything, it's that he thinks he has to have a solution ready to be able to fix anything and everything. If he doesn't, then what is his point? He is the Elemental Magus, and first Void Mage, and already had unusually powerful soul channels as a child. We know he was fragile and prone to passing out as a kid (Tess says this to Falst after Falst insists he's fine after being hit by the knockout powder- implying Erin would also do that- insist he's fine before falling over.) I already made a post a month or so ago about Kendal's comment on Erin's desperation, and how Kendal is speaking from his experience with his desperation leading to him not valuing his own life, and stabbing himself. I think we could also connect Erin's need to have a fix for everything or a semblance of control to Kendal's constantly pushing forward to help Vash, with little regard for his own well-being, prior to the end of Arc 1. (Kendal knowing that Zuurith might target him, and trying to handle that without getting anyone else involved, as it's god business; telling everyone else to leave during the fight with Tynan; everything that happens in ch 18). While Falst, Alinua, and Dainix's criticisms of Erin are valid and make sense, given their viewpoints and life experiences, I think Kendal might be at a place where he could talk to Erin about this and Erin might listen. The current page (2.2.29) is just the two of them, and Erin seems pretty close to having his last semblance of control snapping. I wonder if we'll get a repeat of the "I won't be alone" or "we grow," but even if we don't I will enjoy what ever happens. Practically anything could happen on Fridays page and I will still pace in circles with excitement. I love these characters so much.

To sum up:

Erin: I have the ability to fix the problem! And I can totally fix it! That's what I do!

Kendal: last time I was thinking that line of thinking I ended up stabbing myself do you want to talk about it

[animasolaoriginal]

A B A N D O N E D 🥀 1/3

A new-in-town urban explorer stumbles upon a (not so) well hidden secret in an abandoned building, turning his life upside down when he takes more than pictures and leaves more than footprints.

Normal dude meets broken girl turned sex toy

WARNINGS: Urban exploration. Implied past rape. Implied past caning. Wounds and injuries. Objectification. Submissive character. Strangers to lovers. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Fluff. Eventual smut*. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 7.6k

A/N: This is a spin-off to my original story INFATUATED, set in the same universe. There's no need to have read INFATUATED, just know that there's a man we refer to as Sir who took in (kidnapped) a girl we refer to as Darling to make her his personal little plaything (but then proceeds to develop “feelings” for her), and this is the story of one of the unfortunate girls before her. A "study" on what a normal dude may think about an abandoned sub. Remember: this is fiction! A product of my own sick little mind, a fantasy. Our guy here may have some opinions later that may or may not stem from my own view on things (just some rants about certain kinks, and if those insult you, please forgive me, I don't mean any kink shaming. Everyone is valid around here – except Sir who might not get the best reviews in this story). By the way, the protagonist may have a name here, but it's only mentioned a few times, so you can still imagine any character here if you want to!

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Glass crunches beneath his boots as he makes his way through the abandoned building. It's eerily quiet, just the wind howling through the broken windows and holes in the walls. The occasional rustle when debris or dry leaves move under the breeze. Nature's completely reclaimed this old house that used to be an apartment building with a bunch of tiny shops on the ground floor. Too off the beaten path, the shops became obsolete when a large mall opened only a few blocks away.

He's also in a very bad neighborhood, and nobody seemed to care about this particular building for a long time. Overgrown and broken, glass panes a good target practice for your usual teenage delinquent or bored child, doors ripped off their hinges by age and decay and maybe some random angry dude who needed a place to vent. Furniture long gone, either taken along or stolen later, things that couldn't be moved too easily (like sinks or toilet bowls) smashed into tiny pieces.

Normally he prefers places stuck in time, where tragedy struck and nobody's been back in decades, with faded photos on the walls or on dusty shelves, the smell of slowly rotting armchairs and a hint of mold in the air. Those make the best pictures. Little time capsules, evidence of older times, in the midst of a blooming bustling city. This building, however, looked more promising from the outside.

He raises his camera and takes a shot of a broken window where thick vines of ivy crawl around the frame and up the wall, the light of the setting sun giving the scene a soft glow. He changes the angle a few times, then moves on, up the stairs, looks through open doors into old apartments, mostly empty, walls vandalized with crude, unreadable graffiti, carpets full of dirt and a (not so) healthy layer of mold.

What strikes him as a little unusual is that the hallways look as if used fairly often, leaves and dust bunnies line the sides, but there's a path between the debris, leading further up the building. Not too unusual, these kinds of buildings usually attract a lot of shady people or bored teenagers, some to meet for illegal business deals, other to party hard in a place Mom and Dad cannot find them.

Maybe it's used for all kinds of things as he notices a growing abundance of empty soda cans, broken alcohol bottles and other garbage lying around (the most striking sight was a trail of discarded condoms and empty lube bottles). His destination is the roof, maybe he can at least snap some pictures of the sunset and the city around him from this place, for all he got now are shots of broken windows, nature reclaiming the urban space and your typical down-the-hallway shot. He even found the one-single-chair-in-the-middle-of-an-empty-room motif.

Of course he's not the first urbexer to walk through here, it's been abandoned for a long time, probably old news for the locals, but this is his first time here, in the city too, and he wanted to see as many abandoned things as possible. He heard from others that this house had good bones, meaning stable stairs and floors, no risk of breaking through and landing in the moldy basement with a pipe through your torso. He is looking for adventure, the thrill of being alone in a lost place, inhaling the intoxicating scent of debris and decay, he is not looking to pay a horrendous hospital bill because he's been too careless.

He takes the last section of the winding staircase, stepping onto the upper most floor, the roof access visible at the end of the corridor. There he hesitates. Unlike the floors below him, there's something different here. It's not as dirty, and the most prominent thing: all the doors are intact and closed. It almost looks like an actual floor of a still lived-in apartment building where you would find the same amount of dust and grime on the floors and walls.

Raising his camera, he takes a few shots, cursing when he realizes it's too dark to get it lined up best. The only light source is a badly boarded-up window at the end of the hallway, a tiny skylight above him and the glow creeping up over the staircase from the lower levels. Why is this window boarded up? What's happening up here that nobody wants to have witnesses for? There are other buildings around this one, still functional, mostly, probably for seedy reasons as well, but there's still the chance of people noticing what's going on here.

The closed doors irritate him. Everything else about this building was ripped out and broken and vandalized, nothing left in its former state. He came in through a bent-out-of-shape shutter gate, most of the former shops have so many holes it's fairly easy to get access to the rest of the house. And nobody seems to care about people walking about. There's an old No Trespassing sign near the boarded-up front door, but that's about it.

Though it doesn't surprise him in this kind of neighborhood. He might be new in this city, but he knows a crime haven when he sees one. Everything looks old and run down, shops are only fronts for other businesses, grim looking people stand around, gangs linger in groups in neglected parks or on the curb corners. He also saw some prostitutes walking the streets, looking as worn and shabby as the clothes they were wearing. Most normal people would avoid going deeper into the belly of the beast, but he likes the more dangerous places, and frankly, he fits right in.

Tall and bulky, he could pass as one of those bouncers standing in front of shady clubs, but he looks also young enough to be confused with a fresh gang member or mafia initiate or whatever. At least he thinks so because he's gotten no curious stares as he entered the neighborhood. Though he was glad nobody talked to him, his accent would have given him away for sure.

He feels his heart beating faster when he approaches one of the closed doors, the hairs on his arms rising in anticipation. It's a thrill to find something unusual in a place you've already pushed aside and declared boring. His hand grabs the door handle, twists it... and nothing happens. Locked. A locked door in an abandoned building. How curious. He tries the other ones, the same thing occurs. When he reaches the last door, he almost jumps back when the knob turns and the door opens with a click and then a creepy squeak.

One open room on a floor full of locked doors. His breath quickens, but he forces himself to remain calm. He doesn't even know what he's expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. The room is almost bare (but not as empty as the rooms he's seen before), aged wallpaper peels from the walls, the windows are covered by thick curtains, old and rugged looking, there's a couch in one corner, covered in blankets that have seen better days too. But the most unnerving sight is the bed in the middle of the room.

It's literally in the middle of the room, a sturdy looking metal frame he could walk around if he wanted to. But for now he only stares. There are handcuffs chained to the headboard, ropes tied to the low bed posts. And then there are the stains on the old mattress, lighter and darker ones, some are definitely blood. Old and dried, though one looks a little fresher, on the lower part of the bed. He's mesmerized, disgusted but mesmerized, almost forgets the weight around his neck before a shiver crashes through him.

It's an automated gesture to raise his camera and take pictures of what he sees. Pics or it didn't happen. It's a strange sight, but he isn't sure he wants to share this scene on his official page. He's known for showing off decaying architecture and nature reclaiming its place in the world full of stone and people. To share a potential sex dungeon might not be the way to go. But he still has his side blog. He has to share this, work through the experience, hoping somebody knows something about this.

Though he hasn't even seen everything. Slowly he takes a step into the room. There's a table behind the door, a longer one, fit for a person to lie on, and the leather belts attached to it suggest the same. Fuck. Is this really one of those freaky sex rooms?

He doesn't want to imagine what goes on in here, but he can't completely ignore that he has seen similar settings in various porn clips. Echoes of crying girls crash through his mind, creepily leering men in ski masks standing around the bed, the table, the couch, cocks in hand, others holding paddles, canes, vibrators, ready to torment whoever is unfortunate enough to be strapped to the structures.

He wants to believe there's consent involved, a scene being played out, discussed beforehand, those girls willingly trapped with a bunch of horny men, but sometimes it's hard to imagine that anyone would want to go through that on their own free will. He swallows, only now noticing the stench of the room. Sweat and sex, various bodily fluids all around, with a metallic undertone. Blood.

Shivering he can't help himself, he takes more pictures, walks around the room as if treading on thin ice, careful not to disturb the scene. He's also hyper aware of the noises around him now, the low buzz of the city beyond, voices passing by the building, birds landing on the roof above him, pigeons cooing, crows cawing, seagulls screaming. He tells himself he'd hear if somebody came back to clean up the scene he's witnessing right now. He could flee to the roof, hide it out, maybe find a way down from there.

Goosebumps attack his bare forearms when he rounds the bed and notices a pile of blankets on the floor. But it's the hair poking out of it that makes his heart stop. No. He freezes on the spot, staring down, camera heavy in his hand. He's heard stories of other urban explorers encountering unsettling things, the more harmless one coming into contact with a squatter, either awake or passed out in some corner, and the most disturbing one... stepping onto a crime scene, finding blood, bones... or dead bodies.

Yet instead of panicking, with the urge to run as quickly as he can, he finds himself staring with an obscene fascination. His eyes trail the blanket, noticing how it's wrapped around whatever is curled up inside it, and he bends down a little, crouching beside it, the smell overwhelmingly strong down here. His stomach protests, but his curiosity is too obnoxious to ignore. Shifting his camera into his other hand, he reaches out, carefully, knowing he should probably wear gloves, but he also doesn't care. He has to know.

His fingers grip the edge of the blanket, and he pulls, gently, his eyes widening as the scene unfolds in front of him – together with the body of a girl unfurling from its curled-up position. He will never share his first impression with anyone, because it's primal, an instinct, the thought of a man whose cock has a mind of its own: she's pretty.

Also naked, covered in grime and other substances, pale skin adorned with angry red welts and purple bruises, something pink caked between her thighs. She's on her side, legs scissored open, arms bound behind her back. Her thick dark hair is braided into two pigtails, and one of them seems to be cut off as the hair frays out and lies around her head like a dark halo. Tears and sweat allowed a thick layer of dust and dirt to cake to her face. Eyes closed, long dark lashes clumped, full lips swollen and raw looking, slightly parted.

Before he continues taking in every detail of her, he has the urge to bring his finger to her nose, and the relief when he feels the slightest bit of air movement against his skin lets him exhale loudly as well. She is not dead. And there's the problem. She looks like she should be, like it would be the better fate. The sight scares him as much as it fuels his morbid fascination, which may explain why he's still frozen on the spot, staring at her instead of calling the police or an ambulance or doing anything to help her. He can't take his eyes off her.

Her slender neck is covered in dark bruises as if someone has tried to strangle her, probably thought they succeeded too. Why else would she lie on the floor here? Left behind after whoever assaulted her was done? And assaulted she was. Sexually, physically. The welts on her body look horrible, thin red lines all over her small breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs, on her ass as well from what he can tell. She was caned, the poor thing. He hates watching those kinds of porn videos. He can see the appeal of spanking, the hand on ass contact, but hitting someone with a rigid cane doesn't seem very pleasurable, it's only about inflicting pain and having evidence of it days later.

A sadistic move, and sadists were definitely at work here. There are more bruises on her thighs, probably from strong hands holding her down and open while various cocks forced themselves into her holes. He feels his cheeks warming up when he takes a closer look at her pussy. Apart from layers upon layers of what he assumes to be cum and other fluids, there are welts and bruises on there too, on the soft skin of her inner thighs, on her puffy outer lips (that look stretched as if held back and open by clamps or whatever these bastards used), but most are on the strangely swollen clit. Ugh. Genital torture, a genre he really hates. Spanking a woman's clit is just downright sick and barbaric.

The more he looks at her, the worse he feels. Not just for what she had to go through, but knowing he can't really help her. How should he? Call the police and wait for other horny men to find her? He never trusted the cops, and in a neighborhood like this he is certain there won't be a good guy among them. Calling an ambulance may be an option, if he does it anonymously and flees the scene quickly, but that leaves him wondering if anyone ever found her. And again, in an area like this, the people who did this may still be around watching the place, stopping help before it can get anywhere, maybe even finishing the job, killing her.

And if he stays and wait, he will be in danger of those people seeing him, and as he now knows too much, even took pictures of the evidence, what's stopping them from killing him too? And even if they don't find him, he fears the damn hospital bill might be his end. Yes, strange priorities, but his brain is buzzing and he feels sick and nauseous the longer he stays in this horrible room, staring down at the poor girl.

She looks younger than him, maybe a few years, maybe a lot, the pigtails give the illusion she might still be a teenager, but her body looks too developed for that. A thin face with high cheekbones, no baby fat, soft albeit small breasts, a narrow waist, plump hips, thighs just rounded enough to create that amazing thigh gap he likes so much. The initial thought is still there, and his cock agrees, she is beautiful, despite the state she is in.

And maybe that's why he forms an idea in his head: why not take her with him? Away from this place, into safety, then assess what help he can get her. She can't stay here, that's for sure. A better man would face the danger of being discovered by her abusers, to make sure she'll get the care she needs, no matter how expensive and uncomfortable it may get. A better man wouldn't crouch beside her limp body and stare and drool.

But he's not. He's a runaway, dropped out of college to party, then got too old and paranoid to return. Too distracted by the world around him. Traveling on a budget, with just enough money to feed himself once a day, couch surfing, loitering, pissing his life away one day at a time. It's only been during the last years that he's gotten a bit more stable, making a name for himself as a photographer, selling prints and doing commissions, and by coming into this city he's hoped to make it even bigger.

Renting an old loft he hopes to transform into a photo studio one day, he's trying to settle down. He still has barely any money, lives off those stupid strangers willing to pay for his pictures even though they're not even that special. He always hopes for the occasional exceptional find, something he could sell to newspapers, but even those prefer to steal their pictures off other people's Instagram instead of paying for a more professional shot. Tough times.

As he crouches next to the unconscious girl, the hand holding his camera twitches. It's an instinct to raise it, bring it in front of his eyes, look through the finder and press his thumb down to take a picture of her. He feels sick for it, but also... not. She's part of this little sex dungeon, the main attraction, actually, and it's an inborn need to burn her image into a bunch of pixels. Pics or it didn't happen. He considers sharing her story with whatever newspaper may want it, but then his name would be attached to the evidence, he could be linked to this scene, and what's stopping any corrupt cop to call him guilty for this? Or the bad guys to come and erase any kind of evidence? Him and her included?

She can't stay here. He can't keep staring at her. Something has to happen.

Before he puts his camera into his backpack, he can't help but take a few more pictures of her, of her wounds and injuries, of the evidence caked to her skin, the blood trailing down her inner thigh. Maybe justice will come one day, but he'll need pictures of the crime scene to make it happen. He also snaps a few shots of her face, peaceful in slumber, of her soft curves, those tiny feet with the ankles covered in rope burn. Those he does in several angles, maybe he has a future in selling feet pics. And it's not his fault the market exists.

The world is a sick place, and he's just trudging along.

Eventually he stores his camera in his backpack, then moves the blanket back around the girl. His hand finds her cheek, and it's warm to the touch, she's certainly still alive, and probably in pain, so he doesn't want to disturb the few quiet moments this cruel world has given her. He wraps her up and scoops her into his arms, a barely there weight, poor thing looks and feels malnourished on top of being treated so horribly.

Lifting her up, he realizes the light has turned from the soft sunset glow into the harsher, darker tones of the street lamps coming to life. Time to go. Maybe her abusers will return soon. He carries her out of the room, she's warm and soft in his arms, head resting against his shoulder, hair and one half of her face peeking out of the blanket cocoon. She's tiny, in comparison and in general, and knowing her fate he feels even worse for her.

His heart clenches by the time he's descended all those stairs, and when he reaches his point of entry, he hesitates. It's one thing to slip into a building during the day, nobody cares about a man with a camera creeping around old houses much, at least not in this kind of area, but knowing this place is frequently used for terrible little sex adventures, he feels uneasy now. The night is fast approaching, and he knows these kinds of things probably happen when the shadows fall.

Looking around, he decides to find another exit, preferably one leading around the back, and luck is on his side when he finds a broken window looking into a backyard filled with black trash bags. With the girl still in his arms, he climbs through, but slips on something at the last second. Curling his back, trying not to harm her further, he feels his backpack scraping over the rough wall, hoping it didn't damage his camera. It's one of his few prized possessions, but thinking about it, maybe he should reconsider his priorities.

He's carrying a life in his arms, a life he intends to save, so a broken camera, a replaceable thing, really isn't that big of a deal. He can always salvage the SD card inside anyway. No harm done. Rolling his shoulders, he shifts her against his chest, then continues through the dark alley. He's parked the hunk of metal he calls his car a few blocks away, at the edge of the neighborhood, hoping he'll still have all tires when he returns.

And indeed they are all there, as full and dirty as he's left them. The old truck was the last thing he could afford after renting out the loft, so even if he's bound to this city, relying on random strangers to finance his life, he has a means to get away if he has to. For now, he's pulling the passenger door open and carefully puts down the bundle of limbs and hair and blankets, and when he does, she suddenly stirs.

He freezes, staring at her as her eyelids flutter open. A soft groan escapes her, but when her wide eyes, beautiful dark irises, glazed and a little dull, but beautiful nonetheless, meet his, she stiffens too, lips parted, and he expects a scream, a distress call, anything, but she doesn't issue a single peep, just looks at him, almost calm, probably just glad she's still alive or thinking she died and woke up in a weird realm between the worlds where it's normal to wake up in unfamiliar places, facing unfamiliar people.

He still feels the need to calm her. “Hey, it's alright. No need to be afraid, I'm not here to harm you. I want to help you, okay? Do you understand?”

She blinks, her lips trembling, but then she utters a barely audible “Yes, sir”, and he feels his heart jumping a little. To his own shame, his cock does the same. He clears his throat, nods to her, then closes the door with a thud and rounds the car, putting his backpack into the covered truck bed. Her eyes are following him when he slips behind the wheel, despite her slouched position on the seat. She's eerily quiet, not at all concerned about a strange man packing her into his car.

He watches her as he pulls the seat belt over her small frame, then buckles himself in. “You'll be alright,” he says softly, giving her the hint of a smile, and she continues staring at him. She must be in shock, no other way to explain this behavior, probably fighting the pain coursing through her, the soreness and burning, the stickiness between her thighs, the memory of the whole ordeal. He can't blame her. It must have been absolute hell.

He starts the car, glad it does so on the first try, and maneuvers it back into the nightly city traffic until they reach the old warehouse at the edge of it. It's the cheapest he could find, between two concerning neighborhoods, but those are still better than the one he found her in. At least he has running water and electricity, and a bed. Hmm. One bed. He'll give it to her for now, trying to squeeze his big body onto the small couch. It'll work.

She's still only staring at him when he unbuckles her and picks her up, though her breaths are a bit more labored. Maybe the shock is fading, letting through the pain more and more. He hums soothingly to her, tells her it'll be alright, knowing the more he'll repeat that, the more she'll believe it. It's his life motto too, fake it till you make it. She's that pliant body in his arms as he carries her to the old elevator, hoping it'll last another day.

When he reaches his apartment door, he shifts her in his hold, and she winces, a horribly pathetic little sound he hopes never to hear again. “Sorry,” he mutters as he fumbles for his key and unlocks the door. “You'll feel better soon, I promise.”

Her warm breath hits his neck as she presses her face closer against him, a strangely submissive gesture, a naive hope to trust a stranger. He takes her straight to the bathroom, where he sets her on the closed toilet lid and slowly unravels the blanket from around her. She's sitting perfectly still, the only movement coming from her almost curious eyes as she watches his every move. She winces when he brushes against the welts on her skin, chest rising and falling a little faster, but that's about all the motion he gets from her.

When the blanket falls away, she's that naked thing covered in sweat and cum and blood, and it occurs to him what a strange situation this is. For him to just take her away, without informing anyone, authority or not, and for her to just accept it like this. She's awake, maybe a little dazed, but conscious enough that a normal girl would stir more, talk more, fuss and strain against his touches, maybe even try to flee or do anything to ensure her own safety.

But she is just sitting there, arms folded behind her back, watching him. She doesn't seem real. Like a robot. A brainless toy... And it occurs to him, that might just be what she is, what she has been. A body to use, handed around between vulgar men, an object to utilize in their sick fantasies turned reality. Of course he's no stranger to the news, especially the darker ones, those about trafficking and forced sex work, even if those stories barely make it past the usual political drama. It's another one of those morbid fascinations he can't seem to break.

He might just be as sick as those actually partaking in these illegal little sex gatherings, he's watched those videos, even though he's handled them like any other porn he's come across. As fake, a scene played out, a fantasy made as real as movie magic can make it, but to find this girl in this room, discarded and abandoned like a broken doll, left behind after everyone else was done and satisfied in their twisted, primal needs, shows him that those were not scenes, not fake, but brutal reality. It makes him angry.

“Can you stand?” he asks her quietly, tilting his head as he towers over her, and she nods, looking up at him, before straining her bruised body when she tries to move. His hands find her elbows, and she flinches, but lets him pull her onto her feet. “Oh fuck, your arms, I forgot,” he presses out, and quickly leans back to grab a pair of scissors off the counter behind him, then carefully moves around her to cut through the ropes holding her wrists and forearms together. When he's done, he lets her go, and she sways, arms flailing a little, her hands twitching as if she wants to hold onto him. He guides her into the shower, then steps back. She turns around immediately, eyes wide. “Do you need help?”

She bites her swollen lip. “Please,” she croaks, and the hoarse sound of her voice breaks his heart (but also thickens his cock). He nods, swallows hard, trying to fight the strange warmth pooling in his stomach, before he toes off his boots, strips off his hoodie and jeans, then steps behind her in just his boxers. He wants to show her he's not a predator, but he also doesn't want to get his only good pair of jeans wet and dirty. One day he'll be able to afford another one.

He grabs the shower head and turns the knobs on the wall, waiting for the water to heat up. She's shivering, her frail little body so tiny in front of him, one hand rubbing up and down the other arm, a mindless gesture, trying to ease her nerves probably. Her eyes, however, stay on him and his every move, very attentive, almost eager. It should feel a little bit more bizarre to share a shower with a girl he's just met (or rather found), but it's as if he's running on instincts, feeling the need to help her, make her feel better, ease her pain.

The steam fills his nostrils, and when he puts the water jet to her shoulder, she winces, flinches away, lets out a little whine, but ultimately returns under the spray and lets him clean the grime and sweat and other substances off her skin. He's careful not to put too much pressure on her bruises and the welts, and is glad they didn't break her skin, even though they look horrible, shining in a bright red as if the blood is pulsing just beneath her pale skin.

When he lowers the shower head to point it between her thighs, he hesitates, looks at her, but all she does is take a little side step and spreads her legs a bit more to allow him to do so. So fucking obedient, it's almost scary. The grime on her inner thighs is so persistent that he has to move his hand over her skin before he realizes he should probably use a wash cloth. Stepping back, he leans around the open door and grabs a small towel, wets it and then proceeds to rub the dirt (and cum and other things he doesn't want to think more about) off her thighs. She whines quietly when he moves the soft cloth over her folds, and he holds his breath, trying to be as gentle as he can be.

When he touches her clit though, she shudders and gasps, legs trembling, and her hand is on his arm then, holding on tightly, with a strength he wouldn't have expected from her. He watches how her eyes roll back, how her lips part and a little moan escapes her, and he just freezes, wash cloth pressed to her sensitive nub, unintentionally drawing a strange little orgasm out of her. Was she trained to be this sensitive, so responsive? To come on touch alone? He didn't even rub that hard.

He takes the cloth away slowly, and she calms down a little, breathing just a bit harder, but when her eyes meet his, she furrows her brows, bites her lip, mumbles a croaked “Sorry” as she lowers her head. He frowns at that, tilting his head.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he says quietly. “I... uh, didn't mean to do that either...”

Is she one of those poor girls who was bound to their master's (or whatever the man called himself who had her) will, to only do as he told her, to come on command, and to feel bad if she does so without permission? What a horrible fate... He would never ask her to hold her orgasm, he would want to see that reaction over and over again, allowing her all the pleasure she can get. Not that he'll ever want to do anything to her, but... in theory, of course.

He keeps cleaning her then, lets the warm water soak her bruised skin, and she just stands there, chin tilted up, eyes closed, wet hair cascading down her back, hanging over her shoulders, one side shorter than the other (how cruel to take away something from her, even as benign as part of her braid, but it's definitely crueler to treat her like a soulless body, and he's glad she's not missing any fingers or limbs instead).

Considering, her state could be worse. She's standing on her own, breathing just fine, she's probably very sore and aching, but the pain will fade and she could have a normal life after this, more or less, not counting the psychological trauma that seems to still hold her hostage. Well, it's not ideal, and maybe death would have been a relief after the torment, but she's young, she can work through this, it's possible. And maybe he can help her cope...

Looking at her petite frame, he feels his stomach tensing. It's wrong to feel like this, he knows it, he shouldn't even allow the smallest little thought into that direction, but he is just a man after all, standing with a naked young woman in his shower, and it's blatantly obvious what his cock thinks about this whole situation. He hopes she doesn't notice the tent in his boxers.

But he shouldn't worry, she doesn't seem to notice much, standing still under the spray of the water, and when he turns it off eventually, deeming her clean enough, she inhales deeply and opens her eyes, blinking away stray water drops. She remains immobile, and while he turns to grab a towel, she doesn't move an inch. When he starts drying her off, rougher than he intends, but his hands feel like they are shaking from the tension growing inside him, she winces a couple of times, but then presses her lips together and endures.

He's watching her like a hawk, apologizes for accidentally hurting her, tries to be as gentle as possible, and her eyes are glued to his face, not completely focused yet, still glazed and hazy, pupils blown for some reason, her gaze almost curious. What a strange little creature. He'd expected a victim of whatever type of rape she's experienced to be more... hysterical?

When he finally wraps the towel around her small body and another one around her damp hair, she seems to relax even more. Then she opens her mouth.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispers, looking up at him before bowing her head.

He stares at her, blinking in confusion. “Uh, you're welcome,” he says. “But, uh, you can call me Sam, okay? I'm Sam. No need for... honorifics or whatever, you know?”

There's a frown on her face when she looks back up, her lips moving as if she's repeating his name in her mind.

“What's your name?” he then asks, leaning against the sink as he watches her.

The frown deepens, her eyes moving away from him, flickering here and there as if she tries to find the answer somewhere in his bathroom. “I...” she starts, eyebrows furrowed before she exhales deeply, her shoulders sagging. “It doesn't matter,” she then replies.

“Huh?” he makes, staring at her. “What do you mean it doesn't matter? I'm sure you have a name. Did you forget?” He kicks himself mentally for assuming as much and for his harsh tone, but it's ridiculous.

She shakes her head, not to say no, but to clear her mind maybe? It's a frantic gesture. “It doesn't matter. I don't matter. I am... I am yours to... to use,” she mutters under her breath, hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“What now?” He gapes at her.

And then she is suddenly on her knees in front of him, the towel falling away, her small body folded with her hands lying neatly on her lap, her chin tilted up, looking at him with big eyes. “Please use me,” she says quietly.

He takes a step back, bumping into the cupboard next to the sink, staring down at the girl. Is she serious? He shakes his head, then walks back and grabs her elbows. “Come on, get up, no need to kneel before me, okay? Get up!”

His harsher, also slightly agitated tone makes her wince, but she's on her feet immediately, letting him pull her up, then stands stock-still before him, head lowered, a soft little whine escaping her. “I'm sorry...”

“Stop apologizing!” He lets go of her and runs a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “I mean, ugh, wow. I'm sorry, too. You must be... well, you've been through so much, I don't mean to scare you or anything, I just...”

“Please,” she mumbles, breathing a little harder. She's shivering without the towel, the one on her head coming undone as well the more she shimmies on the spot. He stares at her, she has her hands clasped in front of her sex and squeezes her thighs together, small breasts squished, nipples erect, a deep blush almost hiding the red welts on her skin. “Please use me,” she then says again.

“No!” he blurts out, and she flinches, another sob escaping her. He groans. “I mean, come on! I will not just use you, I just met you, I found you! In that freaky sex room after you've been...” He stops when he suddenly meets her gaze. Her pupils are fully dilated, her already dark eyes shining entirely black. “You're in no condition to do anything but relax now, okay? Take it easy. Come on, I'll show you the bed.”

He's about to grab her hand when she turns her shoulder, avoiding his touch. He freezes, frowns. “In... no condition? Am I... not good... anymore?” Her voice is that feeble little hum, a desperate song sending shivers down his spine.

“What? No! You are good, you are perfect, you are so beautiful!” he croaks out, unable to stop the words. She tilts her head, blinking. “I mean, yeah, uh, you are, but that's not what I mean. You are... Look, whoever treated you like this, whoever hurt you, just left you there. And I couldn't not take you, you know? I want to help you, do you understand that? I want you to feel good again after –”

“Then use me,” she whispers, breathing harder, hands falling away from the obedient pose as she rubs them up and down her thighs, still squirming on the spot. “Please, it hurts...”

“Of course it hurts, they hit you with a fucking cane! They raped you!” he shouts, a little too loud, his emotions getting the better of him.

She flinches back, gasping with her lips parting, her eyes wide. “No... no, they were... they had to punish me because I... I was bad... I deserved it... and they... they used me like they should use me...”

Her words are mumbled, but he can still hear them, even though he wishes he couldn't. What a sick way of seeing things. What a fucked-up world where a pretty girl like her has these thoughts planted into her head.

Anger makes him clench his hands into fists. “They shouldn't have done that. You are a human being, a young woman, a beautiful girl, not a doll to play with, not a toy to use!”

She stares at him, eyelids fluttering, chest rising and falling faster, small breasts bouncing. Really not the time to notice that, mate!

“But,” she whispers, wincing slightly as she starts chewing on her lips. “But that... that's my purpose... I am... I am yours to use,” she repeats these last five words like something she had to learn without knowing the meaning behind it.

He approaches her slowly, carefully, his big hands find her small shoulders, and the touch makes her look up at him. “You are your own person. You have a name, even if you can't remember it right now, you had a mother and a father, maybe even siblings. You went to school, you had a job, maybe. You had dreams, everyone has dreams, for the future, things you wanted to have, places you wanted to see. You are not just a body for strange men to use. Not like that. Not without consent! You were not made to be punished, to be hurt because some random sicko gets off on it. Your body is so much more than just... holes to fill... and a canvas to soil with bruises and welts and... cum...”

His voice has become calmer, like a mantra, new thoughts to plant into her muddled brain, so he hopes, and she listens with her lips parted, eyes directly looking at him. Sometimes she frowns, sometimes she blinks, and when he finishes she licks her lips.

“But I want this,” she says quietly. “I want to be used...”

He sighs deeply and lowers his head, then shakes it in frustration. “No, somebody told you you should think like that! Nobody in their right mind wants to be raped and mutilated like that!”

A single sob makes him look up, and he lets go of her, straightening up. Her lips are trembling and her eyes watering before tears stream down her face. He lets out a groan.

“I'm sorry,” he grunts. “I didn't mean it like that! You are valid, whatever you want, of course, but... but you gotta agree it's a little strange?” She only cries harder, her small frame shaking. “Okay, look, no kink shaming or whatever, I just... I assumed, the way you were lying in that room, the state you were in, I thought you needed help! You looked horrible! I was about to call the police!”

She freezes at that, staring up at him. “No,” she gasps. “Don't do that! Please! I... I don't want any trouble... I... I'll do anything, but... please... not the police!”

He raises an eyebrow at that. This reaction surprises him. “Why not?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. She averts her eyes, breathing harder. He isn't very fond of them either, but why wouldn't she? Why would she prefer being gang raped and beaten and strangled over calling for help?

She presses her lips together, doesn't say a thing. For a moment they are both silent, standing in the bathroom, the naked girl and the guy with his tented boxers. Even now his cock doesn't agree with him. But he doesn't care about it anymore. This is a mystery he wants to unravel.

“Tell me,” he says, tone harsher, pointedly. She seems to reply better to commands.

And it seems to work. “He said he'd kill me if I talked to them,” comes her quiet answer, spoken to the tiled floor.

“He? He who?” he asks, his arms falling to his sides.

“Sir,” she replies, her shoulders shaking.

“Sir? Who calls himself Sir? Who is that? The man who did this to you?”

She shakes her head. “No. He... he found me, he took me in, and then... he... he sent me away because I was... a bad girl and he... he... they...” A series of sobs escapes her before her hands fly up to cover her face. Her cries pierce his heart. “Why did he send me away? What did I do?” she wails softly, muffled from behind her hands. “I was a good girl... always a good girl... did everything he said...”

He can't watch it anymore. While his rage for this unknown man grips his insides, he steps forward and pulls her against him, arms wrapped around her shuddering form, but she keeps crying, lets it all out, desperate and heartbreaking. He scoops her up and carries her to the bedroom, her tears hot on his skin, her whines loud in his ears.

Putting her down carefully, he pulls the blanket over her naked body and tucks her in, gently rubbing her side as she curls in on herself, continuing to cry miserably.

“Please stop crying,” he whispers, sitting down on the edge of the bed, hand still on her hip. “I'm sorry he treated you like that. But he let you go, you said so, so why don't you use that as a chance to move on, look ahead, find a new Sir? Or live your life without any man for a while? I'm sure that's nice too...”

She stares at him from under her clumped lashes, momentarily paused in her sobbing, only to cry out again when he suggests moving on. He sighs, letting her wail and whine until hiccups shake her form. She's not calming down, but she gets quieter, and he stands up then, walking down the stairs into the kitchen to get some water and a snack. When he returns, she's lying on her side, staring blankly ahead, eyes reddened, face flushed and wet, but she's stopped crying for the moment.

He sits back down on the edge and holds the water glass to her face. “Come on, drink something. Please.” She doesn't even look at him. He exhales loudly and puts the glass on the bedside table. “Fine. Well, it's there if you want it. I also brought some crackers, maybe you're hungry. I can get more later. Or just sleep, you definitely need that. Rest, get better, and tomorrow we'll figure something out, okay?”

She doesn't give a reply, and he shakes his head and leaves again, settling on the lumpy couch under the stairs, his eyes drifting back up to the loft area every now and then. He falls asleep thinking it was probably a bad idea taking this girl with him. For his sake. What if she is so sick in the head she'll stand over him with a knife in the middle of the night? Great thought to slumber over, really.

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End notes: *And this was the plot part of our story, stay tuned for the sex frenzy to begin in the next chapter!

There will be three chapters in total, I'll upload every Wednesday.

Thank you for joining me on another little original story I needed to get out of my system.

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Murderbot and Pronouns

This is my personal opinion, so take it as such. But it felt like something worth saying.

I used to get very frustrated when people used the wrong pronouns for Murderbot. I remember thinking more than once, why can't they just get it right.

But, a few years ago, my mother read All Systems Red in Russian of all languages. In that translation, Murderbot is referred to, partially, as a robot, which is masculine in that language. When she talked to me about this human-robot, it was also in Russian, and using masculine descriptors. It became "he" by translation.

I'm told that in the Hebrew translation, the pronouns are feminine, but that might be hearsay.

Then, a dear friend of mine finally finished ASR! And she kept referring to MB as a "she." When I asked my friend why she did it, she said it was because of how its voice is described at the beginning of the book.

She'd imagined a tough-looking butch with short hair, a no-fucks-given attitude, and a kind voice. Like herself.

And that made me pause. She had seen herself in Murderbot the same way I had. Her choice of pronouns was coming from her perspective of the world, not from a desire to misgender MB. She wasn't trying to hurt anyone. She'd missed the pronouns (especially in book one) and saw herself in the main character.

And I understood her logic.

The thing she helped me realize as we spoke is that MB has unusual-by-US-standards pronouns, and when people didn't get them right, it made me feel like they wouldn't accept my pronouns either. That their supposed disrespect would extend to me, the person.

But that wasn't true. My friend knows my pronouns and doesn't get them wrong. It was never about that.

So, now I try to be kinder and gentler when I see people call MB a he/she/they. What I want is for people to respect my pronouns because I'm a living, thinking being, and I want my autonomy to be respected. And by being observant and kind to one of my favorite characters, people showcase that they may be kind to me and respect my autonomy.

And that's what I tell them now. I care about MB's pronouns because its autonomy is one way for me to explore my autonomy in a world that wasn't willing to give me the freedom to be myself.

And I find that people understand that, just like they see themselves in MB, so do I. And why that makes it important for me to see them get its pronouns correct.

And some people didn't read the books deeply enough to really let the "It/Its" sink in. Or they're trying to reference Skarsgard-MB without misgendering the actual human playing MB.

Either way, may I recommend kindness and compassion?

You're valid, your frustrations are valid (and this is to everyone, not to anyone specific). You deserve to have the world acknowledge your pronouns and your autonomy!

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

You know, if I have to read another take or fic that treats Ed ordering that racist French captain skinned with the snail fork as proof of Ed's anger issues, or, somehow bizarrely commonly, has Stede talk down to him about it, I'm gonna lose it. Both Ed and Stede indirectly cause some pretty major violence in s1e5, but only Ed's seems to be proof of a violent nature. Strange.

And I'm honestly a bit tired of talking around this, because when you look at what some portions of this fandom can excuse and what they can't, it becomes very obvious how this is really just a racism problem. I mean, in this episode:

Ed responds to racist abuse by ordering the French captain killed. It's in the context of him having already given the captain a chance to back the fuck off ("what's that supposed to mean," said very calmly considering we all know what "your kind" means), has to visibly hype himself up to start yelling, and is responding to being called a donkey. It's vile and Ed deserves to be upset, not to mention he knows he can't just let that slide when senior crew members like Fang are right there watching. Ed is visibly upset and shaken by this whole situation and what he thinks it says about him as a person.

Stede, upon learning that the party guests were cruel to Ed (in a passive-aggressive but undoubtedly racist way), is angry on his behalf, and also wants to retaliate, just as Ed did earlier. It's sweet that he's defending Ed, but this is surely also personal for Stede, who felt mocked and belittled earlier and has had to deal with a lifetime of that. We see the results of Stede's playing the crowd here, with the boat burning in the background and the screams of people jumping out into the open sea, and Stede is also visibly pretty stoked about the whole thing.

There's no way around it, I think: we have been conditioned to think it's morally superior for someone to "turn the other cheek" and "be the bigger person" in the face of racist abuse, and Ed doesn't do that, so that's why this is still such a big issue for some people. When Ed gets upset again at the party, unlike earlier when Stede was put off by Ed ordering the captain skinned, Stede validates his feelings and is the one to respond, and that's the difference in reactions, I think. In the second case, Stede has validated Ed's anger and pain - Ed's feelings have gotten White Permission to exist.

OFMD does something really very unusual in the current media landscape, and that's how it treats racism in itself as violence. It doesn't expect characters to look away, turn the other cheek, or try to make amends with racists when they're cruel to them. And the only problem here wrt Ed is that some viewers of the show, bringing in the biases of the society we live in, will get uncomfortable when Ed acts in accordance with the show's philosophy - it doesn't matter that Stede is much more gleeful about being the one to respond in a similar situation, it matters that Ed is brown, and we therefore expect him to have to put up racist abuse. The show doesn't ask us to pass judgment on Ed in this episode, and I think that if you're automatically more inclined to believe Stede's actions more "reasonable" and "justified" than Ed's, you just might need to unpack that.