#people trying to rationalize what happened to them.

[callingitquits]

Johan Relationship Headcanons (How You Break Him)

 I was thinking about this post…. You know, the one about how he hurts you (as he does, thoroughly and often). Necessary stuff. Emotionally cleansing. We processed.

But then I started thinking… okay. What about the inverse? What about the hurt you cause him? Not out of cruelty, but out of fear. Or just being human.

So here it is: the quiet ways you break his heart.

Let’s call it balance haha.

When You Flinch, He Sees Her Pull the Trigger Again

It’s not rational.

You’re not holding a gun.

You’re just stepping back.

But for a moment, he’s a boy again, watching his sister’s eyes harden with something like resolve.

And it cuts him, because she had to shoot him to save herself.

And you’re doing the same, aren’t you?

Pulling away to survive him.

You Reaffirm He’s The Problem

Not directly. But he hears it.

You say things like:

“I seem to attract broken people.” Or “Maybe I only know how to love things that are difficult.”

You don’t mean it cruelly. You’re just trying to understand yourself.

But he hears what you won’t say out loud: You’re the burden.

And it burns more than any accusation ever could.

You Don’t Hate Him. And That Hurts Most of All

Because he knows you should.

You should run.

You should slam the door.

You should scream at him for all the ways he’s hurt you.

But instead—you sit beside him, your hands trembling, your voice raw with conflicted care.

And he can’t bear it.

Your forgiveness is unbearable.

Because it means he has no excuse.

You Pull Away When He’s Gentle, Not When He’s Cruel

When he says something cutting, you meet it with fire.

When he needles you, you shove back.

But when he strokes your hair without speaking, or leaves your favorite book open to the page you stopped on—that’s when you recoil.

He doesn’t understand why.

Or maybe he does.

Maybe he just hates that his tenderness frightens you more than his cruelty ever could.

You Think the Worst Parts of Him Are a Phase

You say things like:

“You’re not hopeless.”

Or

“You’ve just been hurt too much.”

You mean it lovingly.

But he hears the subtext: This isn’t really you.

And it is.

It is him.

The way he sees the world.

The things he’s done.

You keep looking for a version of him that doesn’t exist and call it love.

You Keep Your Past From Him

He tells you things—terrible things—like they’re flowers laid at your feet.

Pieces of the labyrinth inside him.

But you keep your stories locked in your throat.

Or worse—you laugh them off.

“It’s not important.”

It makes him feel truly monstrous.

Like he’s handed you his worst sins, and you won’t even give him a scar in return.

You Say ‘You Scare Me’ Like It’s a Compliment

And it is. In your own way.

But he hears it like a prophecy. Something inevitable and true.

He never tells you that you scare him too.

Because what would you do with that?

You Ask If He’s Okay Like He’s Not Real

“Are you… alright?” you’ll ask, your voice hesitant, eyes too careful.

Not because you don’t care—but because you’re unsure if he’s even built like that. Like you’re asking out of obligation. Like it’s a script.

And he realizes:

You don’t see him as someone who can break.

Only as someone who breaks others.

That hurts in a place he didn’t know was soft.

You Talk About the Future Like He’s Not In It

You make offhanded plans.

“When I graduate—maybe I’ll move somewhere quieter.”

“Someday I want a little garden, maybe a cat…”

And you never say we.

Never include him. Not even hypothetically.

He smiles. Nods.

But something inside him goes very still.

Because you don’t even realize you’re writing him out.

And he doesn’t blame you.

He’s certainly never been sure of his own permanence either.

You Laugh With Your Friends in a Way You Never Laugh With Him

He watches it happen—how your shoulders relax, how your voice lifts, how you lean into them.

With him, it’s more careful. More tense. Even when you are happy.

It confirms what he fears:

He makes you less yourself. Not more.

Leaving the Light On When He Sleeps Over

It’s a small thing.

But it guts him.

He’s the one who sleeps with the light on.

But now he wonders if you prefer it too—not because you’re afraid of the dark, but because something in your subconscious still whispers danger. 

Even when you’re lying next to him.

The First Time You Hummed Without Realizing

You hum absentmindedly while organizing your bag.

Johan isn’t even listening—until the cadence shifts.

Soft.

Low.

Repetitive.

Something slams into his chest.

It’s not the melody.

It’s the feeling:

Being lulled to sleep in the dark.

A hand on his forehead.

A voice just out of memory.

He looks at you too long.

You don’t notice.

The Smell of Soap

Dish soap or bleach on your hands after cleaning reminds him of the back rooms of The Three Frogs.

His mother’s hands.

Worn from long shifts.

Cracked skin, a faint scent of citrus and exhaustion.

Once, he gripped your wrist absentmindedly and pressed his nose to your palm.

You flinched.

He let go—slowly.

Murmured an apology.

But his mind didn’t return to you right away.

It lingered somewhere far off.

You Ask Him About Her

He doesn’t talk about the lullabies.

Or the dresses.

He tells you how cold her hands were the last time she touched his face.

How her eyes wouldn’t meet his when she said goodbye.

You think he’s being cruel.

Detached.

But that’s the only version of her he can stand to remember.

Because the loving one still gave him away.

Resemblance

You find the photo by accident, tucked between the pages of one of his books.

Probably forgotten.

Or maybe not.

A girl, maybe eight—if that.

Standing still in front of some concrete building.

Pale. Solemn. Blue eyes.

You study it curiously, then glance at him with a faint smile.

“She does look like you.”

He doesn’t speak.

You have no idea what you’ve just touched.

How easily those words press into something that never closed right.

His face doesn’t shift.

But something in him recoils.

She looks like you.

The words loop—sharp, reflexive.

And with them, the question returns:

If she could have told us apart.. would it still have been me?

Or did I only get saved wearing my sister’s clothes?

He nods, just once. Enough to end it.

And you, still unaware, hand the photo back.

Never realizing what your fingers brushed against.

Not the scar on his head.

The one underneath it.

The Wrong Hand

He doesn’t want you to see it.

The part of him that never grew past that moment.

Not the man beside you now, sharp-eyed and still—but the child.

Small. Silent.

Clinging to a woman’s hand, whispering, “Don’t let go.”

And she did.

So he learned not to ask.

Not to reach.

He taught himself how to disappear first—or worse, how to be remembered in ways no one could ignore.

Because if no one stays, then being unforgettable is the only way to prove he was ever really there.

Not a shadow.

Not a mistake.

Not the wrong child pulled by the wrong hand.

So when you touch him like he’s worth staying for—when your eyes say you see him—something fractures.

He wants to hold on.

Tight. Tighter than he ever dared.

But he doesn’t.

Because if he does, and you still let go…. then what does he become?

[gentrychild]

Anon who left a huge block of text talking about canon break differences here again real quick bc I just realized some of what I said may be a bit unclear:

When I said that Miles and Miguel aren't that alike I meant it in terms of canon breaking (assuming canon is, one spidey per universe and certain life path events must happen) since as a different anon pointed out, they are actually really similar people

And this is just an extra note of interest, but I find it kind of odd that everyone (or almost everyone) in the spider society was resigned to have their lives dictated by "canon". Like. The whole point of spiderman is having the will to go on even when all the cards are down and it's gone to hell. Does that mean that the ending will be happy? Hell no. A lot of times it isn't. But the point is getting up again and still fighting even if it seems utterly hopeless. Something they drove home really hard in the first movie, so it's. Just interesting I suppose

Hello again, chatty Anon! Don't worry, I completely understood what you meant about Miles and Miguel not being alike in how they broke canon.

I think most of the spiders who are in the known were recruited at the lowest point in their lives. They just lost someone or went through a crushing defeat and someone tells them "Hey, you're not alone. They are other like you, who completely understand what you went through. And your grief? It exists for a reason. It made you stronger." So they jump into this society of likeminded people and they took comfort in thinking that there was a reason for their pain. What doesn't kill you make you stronger.

I think that Gwen is an exception in the sense that she was told about the canon events before she went through both of them. (Arguably, the death of someone close was her Peter.) But it's also telling that she was basically homeless, rejected by her father, and with only her work in the Spider society to keep her going. She accepted the canon events theory, the idea that her grief had a sense, and because of that... she accepted how things went.

There is no way Pavitr knew about the canon events at the time his girlfriend and her father almost died. And after it would have happened, the other Spidermen would have been here for him, explaining that there was nothing that could be done, because it happened to all of them. That losing people is inevitable, but that he will get stronger thanks to it. And with how aggrieved Pavitr would have been, it probably would have worked.

[ilikecrocssuckit]

See the sad part about this worldview is there is actually a consistency to the logic. Let me go deeper.

Imagine you live in a time period with no contraception and no antibiotics/vaccines/any extremely effective disease treatment. You there? Okay. Add on that you don't understand how conception happens beyond that when semen ends up inside a vagina, pregnancy happens with a fair amount of consistency and never otherwise.

Now, try to make sense of that, considering that those scenarios all have human actions being fairly powerless to affect the outcomes. Sure, it does involve a penis entering a vagina and sure there is some healthcare but the healthcare never seems to be 100% effective and sometimes people who have none at all still get better. Try to rationalize these outcomes.

When you put it in that frame of mind, how random it all seems (and to some degree still is even today), it makes a fair amount of sense to the lizard brain that a higher power is making some decisions here.

The rub, of course, becomes what happens when humans can prove that they can affect these processes.

And of course consider that the scenarios we're talking about are not the only random events that were rationalized by a higher power making decisions. Non-random ones as well. It's the non-random ones that matter most.

The concept of blasphemy being used to control people to justify human (read:those with power) decisions that were made but the population was ignorant of and keeping them in the dark that it was a human decision and punishing those who know or suspect it was actually a human decision has been ingrained in Western society for far longer than the concrete means of achieving consistent medical care. Sure, there have been abortions that whole time, but they were often as dangerous to the parent as the fetus and were much less reliable for much of that time.

The point being: blasphemy was used and abused by powerful people to suggest that humans taking control of random actions was antithetical to God and that you should be afraid to do so because He would punish you for taking control from Him.

Of course often this punishment was actually carried out by people and not, for instance, by being struck by lightning. This is why confession is a thing in Catholicism. If you come clean to God, via a priest, you are absolved of your sin, in these examples, the sin of pride to think that you could control your life without God's permission.

Now, to return to abortion and vaccines and other 90+ % effective healthcare and where they fit into this: By the logic of this oppressive worldview, humans trying and succeeding in controlling the outcomes of health afflictions they find themselves with is heretical. These treatments and preventions are seizing control from God. To destroy an outcome that God must have bestowed on the parent, since only He can decide when it happens is monstrous. In addition, to trust in humanity (the sinful monsters we are) that we have a strange liquid and pills that claim to be able to make it so that no one has to die from the very tools God uses to humble us and remind us of our sin is equally so.

This worldview's central tenent, whether those who believe it fully understand or realize it, is that humanity should not have power over our destiny. Especially individuals. To this worldview, individual humans are just God's to judge and punish as He sees fit.

Of course, those who believe this are happy to believe that all the good things that happen to them are also because God loves them and not because there are human forces at work too. What can humans do, after all?

It's a darkly brilliant logic that absolves people from interrogating their privileges (yet, most Abrahamic sects also involve being thankful and grateful for blessings) and crushing them with shame and guilt for failure and allowing others to do the same by giving it the justification of God's will be done.

Personally, I say fuck that shit.

Humanity is powerful, and we're only in the last perhaps 100 years or so truly reckoning with and recognizing at all just how powerful we are. We can no longer sit back and say "If it happens it was God's will." There are people who don't believe that, or pretend to (more dangerous) who will do something just to see if they can get away with it. That's why Frankenstein remains a powerful story even if you take away the idea that the monster's creation was heretical. The monster is largely human in its responses and is clearly intelligent and articulate in the book. It's not a mindless but driven devil sent to punish Frankenstein for his transgression. It's a human being that was cast out by its parent, shunned by society, and formed into a monster which believes that if it can't have a good life, its parent doesn't deserve one either. It's a reversal of the worldview onto itself. Jurassic Park is that but modernized.

The point being that humanity has power, seeks power, and has continued to uncover power we don't fully comprehend yet. We can't sit back and say that our destruction or our salvation is "God's will" (random chance). We have tools to destroy ourselves as much as we do to save ourselves. We, as a species, need to step up and be responsible for the outcomes we create. Largely the tools we have to save ourselves allow us to do this. Abortion is about responsibility. It's about recognizing that you do not have the capability to be a responsible parent and so you take the responsibility of making sure that you do not bring a being into the world whom you cannot take care of and irreparably damage (sound familiar? Worth remembering Frankenstein was written by a woman.) Vaccines are just as much. They're a tool to responsibly care for yourself, your children, and the people around you as you protect them all from disease-caused harm.

Which brings me to a coda thread: for the worldview I've explained and dissected here, disease is God, whether that's explicitly stated or not.

Disease is, in many cases, too random for us to really get a complete hold on. Cancer is the most random, but viral diseases are often quite random as well in terms of who is resistant and whether the infection holds. This randomness aligns with this worldview that God moves through and saves the penitent and punishes the sinful.

Bacterial diseases, which are largely curable these days, represent a golden opportunity for those who manipulate and abuse this worldview because the level of reliability we've reached in curing them means we've taken away a tool for God's wrath. That can't be tolerated because God needs his wrath to punish the sinful (read: those on the outs). So the worldview gets urged away from these cures. Because we can only be certain that humanity is powerless. Not that we have power.

Again, fuck that.

We have power. We need to seize it and be responsible with it. It's too late to put it back in the box. It'll just re-emerge and likely in the hands of someone who doesn't want to be responsible with it.

Let's take responsibility for our actions now and celebrate those who do it on an individual basis and make the world better while we can.

And go read Everything is Tuberculosis by @sizzlingsandwichperfection-blog because that book spells this out better than I ever could.

[crownedwille]

I've come to the conclusion that loving young royals doesn't mean I can't be critical about it, maybe especially bc I love the show so much I have such strong feelings about it, good and bad and I can love parts of canon and agree with it and appreciate it but I don't have to love it all. I have accepted that it's okay if I don't accept the ending and I don't have to force myself to support it. It's okay to not agree with all of canon and it's okay to not side with all of the creators' intentions/views. Loving a show doesn't mean you have to take everything the writers say on face value and that's the only version that is allowed to exist. Canon isn't everything and fandom is about curating your own experience that makes you happy and not miserable. You don't have to dismiss canon in every aspect and ignore it entirely, that's certainly not what I want but there is a fine line between being canon respectful, allowing some parts to exist and sometimes, yes, you just have to say "fuck canon" and move on for your own sanity and wellbeing

[duskstarskies]

mugm for real is in everybody’s videos but his own im ctfuuuu😭😭

and btw idk why but mugm can never be normal with his teammates. (from manes new video) WHY are teamed with wyll again and of course he “”betrays”” for a single god apple😭. “mugm’s wyll not my will” normal things being said by manepear mc.

[chunibyo-x-sorcerer]

No need to tell him twice. Control over his cursed technique, Flames of the Dark Pheonix is something he struggles with. Of course, he has control over the technique with the help of Eito; his shikigami. But he tends to go overboard when it comes to defeating stronger curses or getting overwhelmed. Or maybe getting too into the battle.

He tries to make excuses or rationalize his choices that it's fine. After all...places that curses linger, made the house tainted. Better to destroy the whole thing as a way to purify the area. That's what he is trying to say to himself. But now.

As much as he didn't like it, he had to hear it from someone who tells him straight. He looks down a bit, hearing that. He chuckles a little.

"Thanks for letting me know that I'm not weak." Daichi smiles. "Although...it does sound like I am pretty weak if I don't control my technique when it gets tough." He said.

Power without discipline is chaos waiting to happen, huh? He completely agreed with that part. It seems like Maki experienced this before.

"The last thing I wanted is to hurt people. I don't want to hurt people by accident while saving them from curses." He said. "That makes me not cool at all. Not hero-like." He said, lowering his fork on the tray. "I would rather be hurt than hurt other people." He said. "Alright...got injuries but...I'm used to." Daichi said. "That's why I want to join this school, to utilize my cursed technique. Fire is more than just burning people. It can help people, too! Fire is what gives us the ability to create stuff!"

"Seems like you need to work on your control," Maki remarked coolly, pausing mid-bite as she set her chopsticks down against the rim of her bowl.

Her voice wasn’t harsh, but there was a blunt honesty to it—the kind that didn’t sugarcoat the truth, especially not in a world where weakness could get someone killed. She leaned back slightly, letting her words hang in the air for a moment before picking up her food again.

She didn’t rush, taking her time with the next few bites. But even as she ate, her sharp, assessing gaze never left Daichi. It was clear she was still watching him—studying him, really—measuring not just his skill, but his reaction.

Only once she’d finished chewing did she speak again.

"Power without discipline is just chaos waiting to happen," she added, casually wiping her mouth with a napkin. "I’ve seen it before—people who think brute strength or raw potential is enough. It’s not. Control separates the survivors from the casualties."

There was no malice in her tone—if anything, it almost sounded like advice masked in critique.

"I’m not saying you’re weak. Far from it," she continued, tilting her head slightly. "But if you don’t rein it in, that strength of yours could end up hurting the wrong people… or yourself."

Her words were firm, but not unkind. She wasn’t trying to belittle him—she was trying to sharpen him. Just like any weapon worth wielding.

With that, Maki returned to her meal, her eyes still flicking toward Daichi every so often, waiting to see whether he’d take her words to heart—or brush them off like so many others before him.

[savage-rhi]

🫂

[sigmundthesorcerer]

M would be obsessed with the fact that vault-tec dropped the bombs bc she's a paranoid freak who's been running off a conspiracy theory that america nuked itself as a population control tactic and the rest of the world is doing fine

but the point is that she's supposed to be wrong!!!!!

[elytrafemme]

long theoretical post about my friend hugging me

like. to dissect a matter that none of you are involved in and then i'll delete in the morning: my friend in college hugged me about ten minutes ago and i don't understand why. he's a physically affectionate person so we knew it was bound to happen, it was a running joke between us that we'd like schedule our hug to happen. nothing extraordinary happened tonight. in the second half -- which is when i spent the most time with him -- i was so fucked up that i barely processed what was going on? i was listening to what he was telling me, he just rambled about stuff, and it's interesting and i could recite all of it if asked and the expression he made at each part, but there was absolutely nothing in my head. and he never asked if i was okay which i think he would have if he thought something was wrong, because he's done that before. and we were alone so he could have and there would have been zero consequences. but he didn't ask me what was wrong, so it's hard to assume that the hug was for emotional consolation reasons. he wouldn't have noticed me on the brink of tears, either, he's not that observant. i would have known if he had. and i didn't do anything truly kind to him today, i listened to him talk about his interests and we hung out for a while, but that's what we do all the time. nothing happened. there was the chair thing but i thought i played that off well, i tried to have a coherent narrative about it an hour later too so he would guess what i had hoped, and i think i was successful. he wasn't distressed, i would have known. and he was tired but he's been tired a lot before and he's never acted like this. so he had zero reason to hug me unless he maybe sensed that this entire time i just really fucking wanted him to hug me, but he wouldn't have, and i would never have voiced that, because i don't want him to see me at that level. but i needed that hug badly. and i don't understand why i received it.

[nestavadavat]

Me when I remember i was a bad person

[eyrieofsynapses]

and also: the trolley problem is representative of a badly designed system specifically, but really, any system is going to have flaws. we can design them to be better! but no matter what you do, every societal system will have some variance of the trolley problem.

obviously there are ways to design it in which a) that scenario is incredibly unlikely and b) where the collateral damage is significantly less (ex. a broken arm instead of several deaths). but the trolley problem's fundamental question--what do you do when there is no good answer?--is applicable in any society, because humans (and evolution/nature/the universe in general) are fundamentally flawed. we're kind, yes, but no matter what we do, we get angry, we get greedy, we mess up. we're monkey-brained. we don't think purely logically. the systems we design will always have problems.

so it's not just about "how do we deal with the problems in our current society?" it's "how do we best handle the problems that arise in all systems?" or, perhaps more so: "how do we come to terms with the fact that we cannot build a perfect system and there will always be times when we only have bad options?"

The root of my frustration with a lot of trolley problem discourse is that 'What does it mean to act ethically in a world where shitty luck and the actions of strangers you'll never meet have left you without any purely good options?' is, like, possibly one of the most relevant and universally applicable questions moral philosophy might help answer.

Saying it's a bad question because it's the negligent trolley engineer's fault literally exactly misses the point - yes how to deal on a personal level with systems and infrastructure that designed without much care for human collateral damage is an incredibly useful thing to think about!

[arolesbianism]

Ok I know I said Joshua is the only oni character I have backstory hcs for but that was a lie I forgot abt argumentive baby Olivia hcs. Lil baby Olivia having the favorite hobbys of going "um actually" and "nuh uh" everytime anyone says anything ever. The local church hates her! Tiny child unable to not be an atheist for even a moment

[thebibliosphere]

One thing I really appreciate about my therapist is that she stopped asking me a long time ago, “and do you think that [anxious thought] is rational?”

Because she knows. She knows I grew up in and escaped a high control group (cult) before. She knows that when I’m noticing things other people are scoffing at, I’m the canary in the coal mine beating my wings to try and escape the cage before I get dragged under by the people around me who are refusing to see the signs. Either because they believe it will never happen to them or because they don’t see it as a problem.

And she knows I can’t run. Not really. So instead her responses are, “it’s good you can acknowledge you feel this way, but let’s try and focus on your breathing and what we can do to help you get through today,” because that’s really all I can do at the moment. And I know it’s all a lot of us can do right now too.

So if you need permission to do nothing but the bare minimum to survive today, here it is. Take one step at a time, one breath at a time if you need to. And outlive the fuckers no matter what.

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Countdown

I startle awake and I find myself strapped down, on my knees, with my legs straddling a sybian and my arms tied tightly behind me. There are more ropes wrapped around my knees, keeping my body pressed firmly against the machine. I’m naked and I can feel the ridges of the machine pressed harshly against my bare core, the pressure forcing my clit to bear full contact against the smooth material of the machine.

My eyes dart around the room as I struggle uselessly against my bindings. The room is so dimly lit that I can hardly see a few feet in front of me.

“Help! Please! Someone help me!” I scream into the empty space, my voice filled with desperation and fear as the gravity of the situation hits me. Suddenly, as if in response to my plead, lights pierce through the darkness, illuminating everything to full brightness.

I gasp and instinctively squeeze my eyes shut, the sudden light a harsh assault to my senses. When my vision finally adjusts enough for me to look around again, I feel a surge of terror when I see the set up around me.

There are several cameras and microphones laid out surrounding me, clearly set up to get 360 coverage of me. Directly in front of me is a massive screen that show the live camera feeds and I feel a shiver of fear creep down my spine when I see how helpless and vulnerable I look, naked and strapped down. On the bottom half of the screen there’s a blinking red light with the words Livestream Disabled flashing. My stomach clenches when I realize that the live footage of me, tied up and naked like this, could be livestreamed to who knows how many people across the world.

Tears well up in my eyes as panic starts to settle in. I let out a soft sob, wanting nothing more than to curl into myself, away from everything around me. “Please, don’t do this! Please let me go!” My voice is choked with tears and fear as my futile struggles against the bindings are coldly captured by the cameras and my begging is met with absolute silence.

All of a sudden, the machine I’m straddling roars to life. I scream as my back instinctively arches to try to reduce some of the sensation with no effect. The ropes around my legs force my entire weight to sink onto the machine, pressing my pussy mercilessly against the now-vibrating sybian. The vibrations are steady and I feel them wash over me as my clit takes the brunt of it all.

I gasp as the sensation starts to build and my mind wrestles with the juxtaposition of fear and pleasure. The rumbling vibration of the machine is drawing out soft moans and whines from me as I feel the sensations mounting. I writhe as much as I can but there’s nothing I can do to slow the onslaught of pleasure that is very quickly overwhelming me. There’s nothing else in the space around me to distract me from what’s happening to my body, though I’m not sure there’s anything that could distract me right now.

I try my best to shift my weight to take some pressure off my clit but there’s no leverage for me to move my body. I let out a desperate whine as I feel myself getting closer and closer to cumming. My mind is scrambling as I’m trying to rationalize everything that is happening, being strapped to a machine and forcibly brought to an unwanted orgasm. I can’t hold back any longer and I feel my orgasm wash over me, my eyes fluttering shut as I my clit pulses and my pussy clenches. A moan escapes me as I writhe atop the machine, my hips grinding into the vibrations as my release tapers off.

The machine mercifully slows underneath me, the vibrations coming to a halt as I pant, trying to catch my breath and regain my bearings. When I glance up again at the screen, I feel a new wash of terror grip me as I register a few changes.

There’s a new line of text under where Livestream Disabled is written. It says Countdown to Livestream: 1 of 5. It takes me a moment before I register the meaning of the words: if I cum 5 times, the livestream turns on, showcasing my naked, shaking, cumming body to the entire world. I realize that whoever set up this cruel situation has every intention of forcing me to bend to their will so that I helplessly and reluctantly cum my way into putting on a show, my own body betraying me. I don’t have time to process any further before the sybian turns on again, this time at a much higher frequency.

A cry escapes from my lips and my body lurches as I desperately try to escape the stimulation. It’s too soon since my first orgasm and my clit is tingling with sensitivity. The machine doesn’t care as it relentlessly batters my body.

I’m trying to take deep breaths, to distract myself from the vibrations wracking my body. My clit feels hypersensitive and I silently beg my body to please, please don’t cum again.

I can feel myself getting closer and closer to a second orgasm and I’m doing everything in my power to hold it back. I’m determined to hold out, to not let this demented situation bend me to break. The pleasure makes me gasp and whine, my clit turning into a focal point of unadulterated ecstasy. The sound of my own ragged breathing fills the air as I’m drawing in desperate deep breaths to try to calm myself. It’s no match against the machine beneath me as it increases in intensity and I lose the shred of command I held over my body. A scream is wretched out of my throat as I cum.

The text on the screen changes in response: Countdown to Livestream: 2 of 5.

I let out a choked whine and I’m grasping at straws as I beg into the empty space, hoping, praying for a miracle to make this all stop. “Please,” my voice is shaking, “Please, help me. Make this stop, I’m begging you, please!” There’s no miraculous rescue in response to my pleading. This time, there’s not even a break between orgasms. The vibrations only kick up a notch, pulling a gasp from my lips.

“No, no, no, please! Please stop! I don’t want this!” I cry out, unable to stop myself from begging even when I know it’s useless. There’s no sympathy for me. I feel the horrible pleasure start to build again. My hands clench into fists and I dig my nails into my palms, gritting my teeth as I will my body to ignore the pleasure. It didn’t work earlier and it doesn’t work this time. My sheer will is no match against the machine bending my body to its wants. I shatter into a third orgasm, the pleasure rushing through me so intensely that I feel my head spin.

Countdown to Livestream: 3 of 5.

I jerk and struggle uselessly against my bindings. I feel the vibrations start to slow and I gasp in relief as my body comes down from the high it was forced into. There’s a growing feeling of despair as I realize I’m only two orgasms away from the livestream starting. And it doesn’t look like I have any hope to withstanding the pleasure to hold out for much longer. As if on cue, the machine restarts its vibrations.

The previous orgasms have pushed my body into overstimulation and my clit feels raw with pleasure but there’s nothing to give me a break. My pussy is drooling over the sybian, clenching and pulsing as pleasure makes me a slave. I’m being pushed higher and higher as I focus every measure of my mind to holding this orgasm back.

My teeth dig into my lip as I try to ground myself in the pain and my eyes are screwed shut. I teeter over the edge but out of sheer will, I hold myself back, begging my body to comply. For a moment, I manage to force my body to obey, curbing the pleasure. Then, the vibrations increase again.

I let out an anguished cry as the pleasure rushes through me, shattering all of my efforts at containing myself. I feel my cunt spray my release all over myself, my body locked in the throes of my orgasm. The sounds exploding out of me are a combination of pure pleasure and sheer torment.

Countdown to Livestream: 4 of 5.

I’m one orgasm away from the point of no return and the terror of being broadcasted to the world makes me want to cry. The vibrations pick up speed and there’s a sense of resigned acceptance that washes over me as my body obeys the machine and begins to inch towards my final release. But this time, it’s so much worse than I could’ve anticipated.

The sybian batters my body as it has with the past four orgasms. It expertly and unrelentingly drives me higher and higher in my pleasure, pulling moans and gasps out of me as it works. My body is barreling towards another all-encompassing orgasm when suddenly, all of the stimulation cuts off just as I’m about to cum. I let out a loud gasp as my body jerks in response to the loss of pleasure. I don’t understand. I was so fucking close and it all stopped. My eyes dart to the screen but there’s nothing there to explain what happened. The words Countdown to Livestream: 4 of 5 seem to taunt me.

My body slowly creeps back from the edge, my breathing stabilizing as the haze of pleasure slowly fades away. And then, the machine restarts. The vibrations are harsh and intense against my clit and I cry out as the previous pleasure suddenly slams back into me. Before long, I’m letting out gasping cries as my body once again is at the very precipice of pleasure. Again, it all stops. I can’t control the whine that slips out. I should be happy. Whatever is making the machine cut off at the very last second is obviously saving me from the livestream starting but the deep, primal, needy part of me wants to cry at the pleasure that’s being withheld from me.

The cycle continues when the machine restarts. At the very last moment, when just one more second of stimulation would push me over the edge, the machine stops. This time, I cry, hot and desperate tears falling down my cheeks.

I can’t even bring myself to care about the livestream anymore. I’m so fucking close, so desperate for the pleasure that I would sell my soul to cum. The last four orgasms do nothing to curb this insatiable desire that’s built up since the edging began and I’m mindless with need. My cunt is clenching around nothing, my clit throbbing in time to my heart beat but there’s nothing I can do to push myself over the edge. I feel my orgasm fading away and I let out a needy whine.

A few moments later, the sybian starts up again and a lewd moan slips from my mouth. My back arches as the pleasure washes over me, the previous edging driving me so close to the brink that even a few seconds of vibrations are enough to push me to the edge again. But again, the machine stops.

“Please! Please, I’m begging you, I need to cum. Please let me cum! Please, I need to cum.” My pleas didn’t work earlier when I was begging for the pleasure to stop and they certainly don’t work when I’m now pleading for an orgasm. It’s a cruel joke to make me such a slave to pleasure that I’m begging for my own demise.

The unrelenting cycle continues as the vibrations resume. There are incoherent babbles of desperation spilling from my lips as the pleasure mounts. Again, I’m held at the torturous edge as the machine plays my body like a familiar instrument.

Again, the vibrations cut off just as I’m about to cum. I scream. “Please! Please let me cum, just start the livestream, please, I just need to cum!”

It seems that I’ve said the magic words because the machine beneath me restarts with a fervor. I barely have time to draw a breath in when my orgasm slams full force into me. I shatter into unrelenting, all-encompassing pleasure as my cunt squirts out my release. Every single cell of my body is flooded with ecstasy and my consciousness shatters under the force of it all.

When I regain my senses again, I glance up at the screen and see the fated words reflecting back towards me: Livestream On, Countdown to Livestream: 5 of 5. I can’t bring myself to care when the machine underneath me increases its power and my eyes roll up as my overstimulated body is forced to react.

[flwrkid14]

The Case of the Phantom Lipstick

Tim Drake is many things: a genius, a detective, a vigilante, a caffeine-dependent insomniac with abandonment issues and seventeen backup plans for every imaginable outcome.

What he is not, however, is delusional.

Which is why when he finds a kiss mark—an actual lipstick kiss mark—pressed to the inside of his favorite hoodie, he does not panic. He calmly, rationally, pulls the hoodie off, examines the fabric, and blames Steph. Probably Steph.

Except… it’s neon green. Not Steph’s color. Not Cass’s style either. Babs doesn’t do lipstick. Kon doesn’t own lipstick. And the only people who’ve been in his apartment recently are Bruce (definitely not), Damian (God, no), and Alfred (crime).

He throws the hoodie in the wash. Industrial cycle. Hot water. It should come out.

It doesn’t.

It doesn’t even fade.

It glows slightly under UV.

Okay. Fine. One hoodie. Maybe it’s old. Maybe he forgot something. Maybe he bought it that way.

But it happens again.

And again.

And again.

Old hoodies. New hoodies. Hoodies buried at the back of his closet that he hasn’t worn since he was sixteen. A hoodie still in the packaging, tags attached—he opens the bag and there’s a green kiss mark on the inside sleeve, like it’s been waiting for him.

They’re always placed differently. Sometimes hidden in the seam of a cuff. Sometimes pressed on the back hem. One tucked into the folds of a sleeve. One directly on the chest, over his heart.

He checks for tracking devices. Hidden ink. Sensors. Spoilers. Anything.

Nothing.

And it doesn’t stop with the hoodies.

One day, after a long patrol, he peels off his Red Robin gear and catches a glimpse of green near the collar of his suit. He freezes.

Another kiss mark. Same color. Right on the inside lining.

There’s one on his glove. One hidden under the fold of his utility belt pouch. One on the lining of his cape.

What’s worse? The Batcave scanners pick them up. There’s residual ectoplasm. Babs runs the data three times before looking at him like he’s either cursed or dating something from the beyond.

(He’s not. He’s pretty sure.)

Every attempt to investigate it fails. The cameras glitch. Video footage loops or scrambles. Laser grids are bypassed by something moving through walls. Magical wards short-circuit. Even Constantine shrugs when Tim reaches out.

“Strong liminal energy,” Constantine says, puffing a cigarette. “Someone’s got their spectral claws in you. Not a curse though. Feels like... courtship.”

“Courtship,” Tim repeats.

“Yeah. Spectral wooing. Ghost smooches. Congrats on your engagement, mate.”

Tim hangs up.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

Meanwhile, Gotham is experiencing what can only be described as “mild haunting.” But by Gotham standards, it’s barely a blip.

There are no mass possessions. No destructive battles. Just… ghosts. Hovering. Watching. Whispering things when Tim walks by. They show up at patrol spots. Float past his apartment. Some even drop cryptic notes: “May your union be fruitful,” and “Blessings upon the Chosen.” Occasionally they throw gifts at him. One leaves him a glowing thermos full of ghost flowers. Another—a floating knight in spectral armor—bows low while handing over a box of what Tim can only imagine is their version of chocolate, before vanishing with the words “For the chosen consort.”

Tim’s furious.

He’s not dating a ghost. He doesn’t know any ghosts. He doesn’t want to be courted by one.

...Probably.

Except.

Except sometimes, when he’s alone, he swears he feels someone there. Not threatening. Just present. A warmth in the air. A flicker in the corner of his eye. A soft sigh on the back of his neck. A whisper:

“Mine.”

And Danny Phantom—Protector of the Ghost Zone, King of the Infinite Realms, 100% a disaster bisexual—floats outside his window every other night with his face pressed against the glass like a cat trying to figure out if the human inside likes him.

Because Danny’s not trying to scare him! He’s just following tradition!

See, ghosts mark their chosen with energy. They ward off rivals. They court with gifts and blessings and acts of devotion. And yeah, maybe leaving lipstick marks on someone's battle gear is a little extreme, but Danny’s working with ghost etiquette, okay? And from where he's standing, no one's stopped him.

(Though Jason did try to stab him once. Danny considered it a bonding experience.)

Now Danny just needs Tim to say yes so the full wedding rite can be completed. The lipstick marks? Those are just... engagement placeholders.

The problem? Tim doesn’t know he’s essentially dating a ghost.

The bigger problem? Gotham’s ghosts do.

And they’re ready to throw hands with anyone who thinks they’re a better match for Tim Drake than the literal Ghost King himself.

Tim? He just wants one hoodie without magic lipstick on it. He’s not even asking for peace anymore. He just wants answers.

He’s so tired.

[reyalvr]

SHE’S MINE | 00

CATCH ME, I’VE FALLEN IN LOVE FOR THE FIRST TIME.

synopsis ┊ thrust into the spotlight, ken sato had easily become the next big thing tokyo had seen in decades. alongside his fame came the inevitable string of rumors, of which sprung forth scandals and discrediting information against his image. of course the obvious and most rational solution would be to address them like every other celebrity, but this was ken sato; nothing would ever be rational with him, which is how you wound up with a ring on your finger and the sato name in your papers.

genre ┊ fake dating, fake marriage, idiots-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, mild angst, chaotic fluff, smut

pairing ┊ ken sato x fem-PA!reader, ken sato x fake-wife!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, eventual smut, mentions of alcohol, all events in ultraman: rising take place a year after kenji moves back to japan, RUMORS isn’t related to anything that happens in this series

word count ┊ 798

author’s note ┊ YAY i finally wrote it! i really love the fake dating/marriage convenience trope and i’ve been itching to write it with kenji. this is highly inspired by one my favorite books of all time, terms & conditions by lauren asher! if you enjoy fake dating i highly recommend reading it. as mentioned at the top, this is only the prologue! i'll be putting out part one and the series masterlist asap hehe... as always, happy reading!

prev. | next

SOMETIMES YOU WONDERED IF ANYTHING YOU SAID EVER STUCK WITH KEN. For the past year and a half, you had the supposed “dream life” that every assistant yearned for. It confused you, really, as you tried to ponder on what part of your job was envious. Were the late nights drafting NDA breaches so desirable? What about the press statements after altercations, were those résumé worthy? You let out a deep sigh as you watched Ken from the TV in his dressing room, crossing your arms as you sunk deeper into the couch.

He was on a press tour for his latest collaboration, his overconfident persona charming everyone left and right. You had to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes when he used his signature flair to charm the show’s host. At least he was sticking to the script… for the most part. He wore the product, threw in a few adlibs, and of course, flirted. Be it a talk show host or a random photographer on the street, Ken always found a way to leave people smitten with him- save except you. 

It’s not like you were actively trying to hate him, he just made it so easy. At first you thought it was just some awkward phase, like he was just trying to adjust to working with a new team. But then he just kept doing the same things over and over again. A brawl with an opposing team member? Just another Sunday night. A rumor about having a fling with yet another supermodel? Sounds just about right. 

“I mean of course I have to thank my team,” Ken’s voice cut through your train of thought. “It was a dream of mine to play for the Giants as a kid, now I actually get to do it.”

Tone it down, asshole. You thought to yourself, noting the sarcasm laced in his words. Of course the general public wouldn’t have caught on, but you had no doubt his coach and the other players would. Then again, he’d been relatively untouchable because of his rank in the sports world. You poked your tongue into your cheek, shaking your head as you sat through the rest of his interview. The clock on the wall counted down the remaining time, the bright red numbers casting a reflection on the screen. Two minutes left, and all he had to do was to keep the act up…

…Until he didn’t. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what was about to happen next. 

“Now I don’t want to hold here any longer, but you know I have to ask it,” The host teased, almost like an overexcited child ready to tattle. “Any special someone back home?” 

Ken chuckled, just like he usually did when asked the question. “Cheeky question,” He paused and grinned, his eyebrow raised slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. “What if there was?” 

“Well, is there?” The host pushed, his tone eager to have the Ken Sato answer such a juicy question. He gestured toward the crowd before he continued. “I mean there are a lot of fans here today who would love to know more…” 

“Yeah? And if I said yes, then what?” He replied, his smile growing brighter and his eyes shining. 

The crowd cheered even harder, itching to find out the truth. You shared the same sentiments, trying to figure out what the hell Ken was up to now. Did he have a girlfriend? If he did, why didn’t anyone know about it? You stood up straight now, your right hand deathly gripping the remote. What the hell do you have up your sleeve, Kenji Sato? Your inner voice seemed to yell as you waited for him to speak up. 

“I mean only time will tell, yeah?” The host replied, leaning back in his seat. “C’mon Ken, it’s not nice to keep secrets.”

Ken mimicked the host’s moves, leaning back into his sofa chair as well. He shrugged his shoulders, licking his lips as he fiddled with his fingers. He bit the inside of his cheek, and though it was brief you caught it. You knew that look; his look of contemplation. Your grip on the remote was still taut as your breathing seemed to quicken the longer he waited. Granted it was only a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours. 

He tilted his head slightly then, his eyes staring directly at the camera. It slowly zoomed closer to focus entirely on him, and he let out a small laugh before he finally replied. His gaze was strong, and it almost felt like he was actually looking at you.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He finally said, throwing in a lovesick smile for good measure. “And she’s the best damn thing in my life right now.”

reyalvr © 2024 … do not repost, alter, or steal my work.