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navybrat817 · 6 months ago

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Hold You Tight: Part 5

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 4 | Series Masterlist | Part 6

Chapter Summary: You talk to Addison, but may have dug a deeper hole for yourself. Bucky has a chat with you, too.

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.5k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, dubcon phone sex, dirty talk, unease, possessiveness, inner turmoil, reader is trying to stay calm, needy Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight! Hope you lovelies enjoy and thank you again for the feedback so far! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. I no longer do taglists, so please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You woke up to the sound of your phone ringing. It never rang that early, minus the occasional call from the shop to see if you could go in early. With a groan, you opened your eyes halfway to glance at the device. You closed them when your vision cleared to read the name.

Bucky.

“Mmm. Too early for that,” you mumbled, rolling over to hug your pillow as the call went to voicemail.

He messaged you after you told him you had plans for the night, but you didn't read it. In fact, you hadn't glanced at your phone for the remainder of the evening after you got ready for bed. You only knew of the messages since your phone kept digging. You went through the rest of your normal routine and fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow. The date took a lot out of you.

Was it a good idea to ignore him though? This was a man used to getting what he wanted and for things to be done his way. There was a chance he wouldn't take you not responding to him well. Well, if he “cared” about you the way he claimed, he’d have to deal with it. Besides, it hadn't even been half a day since you spoke to him.

You bolted upright at the knock on the apartment door. “What the hell?” You whispered, pushing the covers back. Forcing yourself out of bed, you threw on your robe before you went to answer it. Your heart thudded as you looked through the peephole, half expecting to see Bucky on the other side. Your shoulders relaxed when you didn’t see anyone, but you only opened the door a crack.

A familiar scent filled your nostrils as you opened it more. It reminded you of the bakery you liked to visit once a week. Homey, warm, comforting. But your stomach turned when you spotted the bag since you hadn’t ordered anything.

Glancing down each side of the hall to make sure no one was there, you snatched up the bag and locked your door. Your lip wobbled when you looked inside and saw the note on top of the container. It matched the handwriting from the note in your bedroom.

“Most important meal of the day. Enjoy.”

You had half a mind to throw it out, but your grumbling stomach protested. It was your usual when you stopped into that bakery and for good reason since it was delicious. It should’ve been a nice gesture. It should’ve put a smile on your face. But how could it be when Bucky didn’t learn those things about you naturally?

The doorbell rang again as you got to the table, your heart jolting from the sound and the bag dropping to the surface. “Get a grip,” you whispered, going back to the door. Maybe Bucky could send you to a spa so you could try to relax. Not that you would ask him. He wasn’t your boyfriend.

Didn’t matter how rich he was.

You looked through the peephole again, smiling when you saw Addison on the other side. She bounced on the balls of her feet, her caffeine likely kicking in already. “Hey,” you greeted her when you opened the door.

“Hey yourself!” Addison smiled, pulling you in for a hug. She raised an eyebrow as she stepped back and took a good look at you. “How are you?”

“I’m great. Never better,” you tried to smile, stepping aside so she could go in. Guilt crept in from not being honest with a simple question. You weren't great at all. “Is everything okay?”

“Yep. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I just wasn’t expecting you to stop by so early, that’s all," you replied, double checking the lock on the door.

“I thought I’d swing by to check on you before I went to work. I didn't hear from you after I texted you and you’re usually really great about texting me back, so I wasn't sure if you were upset that we had to reschedule our plans or if something else was going on.” She paused when your face fell. You were so busy ignoring Bucky that you forgot to reply to her. “Maybe upset isn’t the right word, but bummed? I know we haven’t had much girl time lately outside of my wedding stuff.”

“I'm so sorry. I’m not upset. Last night just got away from me,” you assured her. “Bummed, I’ll give you that.” You added teasingly.

“Are you sure? I feel bad for bailing.”

“Please, don't,” you said. She had no reason to feel bad. “You get to go to The Terrace tonight, which is amazing. I don’t blame you at all for rescheduling.”

Brady was not only a nice guy and a hard worker, but he practically worshiped the ground Addison walked on. He would spoil her rotten if he could. He just wanted to make her happy and she wanted the same for him. It was the kind of relationship you admired.

Addison nudged you with a smile. “Have I told you how awesome you are? And right? I couldn’t believe it when Brady told me. It’s The Terrace!”

“You two will have a great time.” You said, leading her to the table so you didn't have to linger by the door. They deserved a nice night out. “Okay, I’m being nosy, but did he happen to say how he got the reservation? I mean, they’re usually pretty booked.”

“So, listen to this,” she began as she sat down. She had your full attention. “His new boss pulled him into his office yesterday and told him what a great job he’s been doing. Gave him a bonus and everything for all his hard work and said to celebrate by taking me out for dinner at a place of his choosing. He said ��The Terrace’ thinking there’s no possible way, right?”

“Right,” You said, taking the food out of the bag and being careful to not let her see the note. “Do you want some?”

“No thanks. I ate before I left, but that looks amazing,” she said before she continued. “Two phone calls later, there was a table booked for us! I think he was a little embarrassed when he told me since someone else technically pulled some strings for him, but I don’t care. He works his ass off and it’s about time it was recognized.”

“I agree,” you said, replaying the words in your mind. “Wait, did you say new boss?”

“Yeah, just started a couple of weeks ago. Kind of surprised Brady since his old boss still had a year or so left, but he took early retirement. And the new boss takes his job pretty seriously, but seems like a good guy from what I’ve heard.”

You swallowed heavily. “What… What’s his name? The new boss?”

Addison’s brows furrowed as you picked at the food. “I think his name is Nick. Why?”

Your next breath was much easier. Bucky was making you paranoid in all aspects of life. “No reason. I just think that’s really nice of him,” you smiled.

Your friend didn’t look convinced for a moment. “You sounded and looked really weird when you asked.”

“Just hungry. You know how I get,” you said, forcing yourself to take a bite.

She raised an eyebrow before she shrugged. “At least you don’t get hangry like Dana,” she teased. “But yes! It was nice of him. It’s a great way to support employees.” Her eyes lit up before she smacked the table. “Ooh! I should ask if he’s single.”

“No, no, no. Don’t do that, please,” you begged. The last thing you needed to deal with was pulling an innocent man into whatever was going on with you and Bucky.

“Why not? We need to find you a man and he’s good looking. Or you know what? I think one of the groomsmen might also be single now. Maybe we could set you up with him?”

“No, Addison,” you said, trying not to let your emotions get the better of you when she had no idea what had transpired in your life over the last couple of days.

Your friend sank back in her chair, her previous excitement gone. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” you said, putting another bite of food into your mouth in the hopes that you’d keep more words from tumbling out. It wasn’t good to keep it bottled up, but a powerful man had threatened her. Your best friend.

“Oh, yeah? Then give me a good reason why I shouldn’t set you up with someone. Just one,” she challenged.

“Okay, fine.” Bucky’s face shimmered in your mind as you said, “It isn't set in stone, but I may have a date for the wedding. Maybe.”

You shifted in your seat, wishing you didn’t say that. It was the only thing that could possibly stop Addison from setting you up with someone else. Pulling anyone else into whatever game Bucky was playing wasn’t a smart move. Not until you could figure out how to get yourself out of this mess.

Addison's eyes went wide as she sat up and swatted at your arm. “Oh, my God! You’re asking about The Terrace when you buried the lead?! No wonder you’ve been off this morning! Tell me everything!”

“There isn't much to tell really, but…” Your heart sank as your friend literally moved to the edge of her seat, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and happiness. “He's handsome. Successful. Headstrong. Likes to read in his spare time. And for some reason, he really seems to like me.”

“Ahh! This is amazing. You're really growing out of your shell. I'm so proud of you.” Addison nearly knocked you out of your chair when she launched at you and hugged you tight. “And what do you mean he likes you ‘for some reason’? You’re a fucking goddess, okay? Say it. Say ‘I’m a fucking goddess’.”

“You’re a fucking goddess,” you joked, giggling when she hugged you tighter. “Okay, okay. I’m a fucking goddess. Let me breathe, please.”

“Yeah, you are.” She pulled back to take a seat again, a wide smile still on her face. “This is amazing news. I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Well, I'm sure everyone will love him,” you said. And you had no doubt they would. Something told you he would be the perfect charmer, telling everyone what they wanted to hear and showing them what they wanted to see. As well as being a doting boyfriend.

“If you like him then he must be great.”

“Yeah,” you said. You probably would’ve liked Bucky if things played out differently. “And you're sure he can go? I understand if he can't and I'm sure he would, too, since the wedding is just around the corner and it’s still so new.”

“Of course, he can go. Everyone is going to be thrilled.” She took one of your hands when you looked in your lap. You didn’t want to look up in case tears sprang to your eyes. “Hey. You’ve been the bridesmaid long enough. It’s about time you meet someone who finally makes you the bride.”

Tears filled your eyes anyway, but you blinked them away. If Bucky had his way, you’d be his bride soon enough. “Listen. Addison-”

“Shit, I gotta go before I’m late. I’m so sorry.” She grabbed her bag as she stood up and gave you one last hug. She was in such a hurry that she thankfully didn’t catch your misty gaze. It was better that way. “Text me, okay? We can talk more tomorrow.”

“Okay,” you nodded.

“And I won’t say anything to the rest of the girls until you do,” she promised, rushing to the door. “Seriously, so happy for you!”

“Thanks. I appreciate that,” you called after her. “Have fun tonight!”

“I will! Love you!”

The door shut, leaving you alone and in silence. You placed your head on the table with a groan. You were an idiot. No, that was cruel to think about yourself. You just felt cornered and reacted accordingly. And now you had to bring Bucky to the wedding, which was what he wanted.

What have I gotten myself into?

You lifted your head after a minute to finish your breakfast. As much as you wanted to lay about all day, you had to be productive. Plus you had to look at your phone eventually. You wondered how many more times Bucky messaged you. You also wondered if there were any stories or articles about him online.

Would snooping make things better or worse?

Making sure your front door was locked, you finally went to retrieve your phone. Stretching out on your bed, you picked up the phone and swiped until you got to Bucky’s messages. You scrolled through to the last one you sent, when you told him you had plans.

“You have plans? They really want to meet you.”

“I can still bring the dress over if you want. Just in case.”

“Already thinking about our second date. I want to make it special. I never want to stop wooing you.”

“Sweet dreams. Wish you were here so I could hold you.”

Your heart sank as you kept reading them, the words blurring together on the screen.

“Having a hard time sleeping since you haven’t answered me. I hope you're okay.”

“Maybe I should get you a new phone.”

“Ignoring me, Kotyonok? Playing hard to get?”

The last message came through a minute ago.

“Should I just come over and check on you?”

Your heart jumped to your throat as you typed out a message. What were the chances of him showing up if you didn’t respond? It was better not to risk it. You had ignored him enough. “Sorry, Bucky. I’m not glued to my phone and I crashed last night after our date. Thanks for sending breakfast over. That was a surprise.”

It wasn’t the end of the conversation, of course. “It’s okay. Just worries me when I don’t hear from you.” As if he had the right to worry about you when he caused you worry to begin with. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

You went to set your phone down, but saw more dots on the screen. “You sure I can’t see you tonight? The guys are really eager to meet you. I want you to meet them, too.”

Reading that made your stomach roll. Would they be like Ray? Complicit? “I told you I have plans. I’m sorry. Maybe another time.”

Another message popped up almost immediately. “Which one do you like better?”

Two images of Bucky appeared after the text. He stood with confidence in front of a sleek sink that you could only assume was in his bathroom. The pictures were nearly identical, minus the fact that the first image had him in a dark green jacket and the second had him in blue. But that wasn’t what made your next breath shaky.

He stared right into the mirror, the lens capturing his gaze so that it penetrated the screen. He seemed to be looking right at you. Unflinching. Unwavering.

Your fingers shook as you typed back to him. “The blue. It brings out your eyes.”

Your phone rang a second later. Now he was calling. You let it ring for a bit longer before you answered. “Hello?”

“Morning, Kotyonok.” He purred on the other end. “Hope I'm not bothering you. I just needed to hear your voice.”

“Morning.” When has a man ever called just to hear you speak? “Not sure why you need to hear it. I don’t think my voice is nice to listen to,” you said.

He chuckled. “You have a beautiful voice. I could listen to you talk all day.” Your cheeks flamed. He knew how to lay it on thick. “You’re right about the jacket. The blue is the better choice. And it’ll be a lot easier to get your opinion once we’re living together.”

You shut your eyes and counted to three. “So, you’re still convinced I’m going to live with you?”

“Before the end of the month. My promise to you.”

“We’ll see,” you said, blaming your lack of wit on your lack of caffeine.

There was some shuffling in the background that you could only make out since you went quiet. “Excited to meet my friends tonight?”

“I’m not meeting them tonight. I told you more than once that I have plans,” you reiterated. You weren't budging on that, even if all you’d do was curl up with a book. He didn't have to know.

He chuckled again, like he knew a secret you didn't. “That’s right. You did tell me that.” It was strange that he didn't ask what your plans were. “Are you ready for the day? Or are you still not dressed?”

Your eyes flickered around the room. He wasn’t there. He couldn’t see you. It was fine. “I still need to shower and get ready,” you said.

He hummed. “The shower here is nice. You’ll love the tub here, too. Has plenty of room for both of us.”

“Bucky-”

“It’s perfect for me to fuck you in it.” His voice was rougher and you thought you heard him incorrectly. “I dreamt about that last night. Bouncing you up and down on my cock as your cries filled the room, the water splashing around us. Sounded so fucking pretty.”

Your mouth fell open when you heard more shuffling. And moaning. A deep, hungry moan. “What are you…” Was he… Was he touching himself as he spoke to you? Jerking off? No. He couldn’t be. “Bucky, I’m-”

“I love hearing you say my name. Say it again, Kotyonok,” he rasped, his breathing heavier. So was yours. “Say it.”

You bit your tongue. You didn’t want to say it or hear any of this. It was filthy. Wrong. But you obeyed anyway. “Bucky,” you whispered.

The next sound he let out was something you could only describe as pornographic. “I’m so hard for you. And you’re wet for me, aren’t you? Fuck, I wish I was there to take care of you.” You rubbed your thighs together and ignored the heat in your body. It was a natural reaction. Fear. It had to be. “Talk to me. Let me hear that pretty voice.”

“I…” Your eyes squeezed shut, your chest lightly heaving. Dread gripped you and you didn’t know what to say. “I can’t.”

“Oh, I’ve imagined that, too. Telling me you can’t take my cock. That it’s too big. Too much.” He panted and something told you to keep listening instead of hanging up on him. “You’ll take it. You’ll take me. Like a good girl.”

You covered your mouth, afraid of whatever sound would come out as his heavy breathing persisted in your ear. You could almost imagine him pinning you down with his weight, taking you apart. Making you say his name. Spilling inside you as he said yours.

Bucky said he wasn't a monster. That he wouldn't hurt you. But what was he going to do to you?

“Fuck, you’ll look so gorgeous when I…” Bucky trailed off, all sounds of pleasure on his end coming to a halt. “For fuck’s sake, what?! What is so fucking important right now?!”

You pulled the phone away from your ear, your heart pounding. You thought you heard Ray in the background, but couldn’t be sure. “I-I should probably go,” you said, grateful for the interruption.

“I understand, Ray. Just give me a fucking second.” Bucky exhaled before he spoke again. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t want to go, but I have to.”

His tone was much gentler since it was directed back at you. “So do I. I need to shower,” you said. To wash off whatever just transpired even though he didn't touch you.

“Wish I was there to help clean you up and get you dirty all over again.” You heard the smile in his voice and fought the urge to get sick. “Have a good day, okay? We’ll finish this later. I promise.”

You tossed your phone away and sat up, your hands gripping the sheets as you inhaled and exhaled. Did that really just happen? One-sided phone sex or whatever the hell it was? The sounds of his moans rang in your ears. Thankfully the heat was no longer spreading through your body.

This wasn't your fault.

But you could’ve yelled for him to stop. You could’ve hung up. You didn’t do either of those things. Could've, would've, should've.

Where was your fire?

“It’s fine,” you whispered, biting your lip almost hard enough to draw blood. “I’m fine. This is all going to be fine.”

You refused to be anything other than fine. And he wasn’t at your place, so you were safe and sound, right? You had to be.

Lying to yourself didn't make you feel any better. It didn’t stop you from rushing to the toilet when you dry heaved. And it didn't stop you from wondering when he’d finish what he started over the phone.

Bucky continues to leave an impression, doesn't he? And he's convinced you're going to see his friends, isn't he? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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froggiewrites · 4 months ago

Note

hi I had another idea for a request! dealer’s choice on the character(s) (but if you’re stuck for an idea maybe law?), but maybe the reader gets hurt in a fight and their (slightly in denial about being in love) future love interest nurses them back to health? can be fluff or smut or whatever you want I’m not picky I just love seeing your words

thank you I still love your work please keep it up

This request is from @toadmakes, on anon since it's her sideblog! I thought this idea was so sweet, so I just made a really fluffy, self indulgent little piece. Also, I let Law be cool last time I wrote about him so of course I had to make him a flustered little nerd in this one. I hope you enjoy it!!

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Law x Reader

SFW

Summary: You get hurt protecting Law, and he's not pleased. Warnings: Fluff, Lots of Banter, Very Little Hurt/Lots of Comfort Word Count: 1.3k

You don’t remember throwing yourself in front of Law, or being carried back to the Tang. You don’t remember the screams of your friends, or the shaking hands that so carefully bandaged you back up. But that’s alright, because they were all too eager to tell you how stupid you had been once you came to.

“–disgustingly irresponsible! Not to mention unnecessary! What good reason could there possibly have been to do that?” Law is the most furious you’ve ever heard him, and you fear it may be because he’s the most scared you’ve ever heard him. You don’t know how close of a call it was, but you know you hurt all over, and his eyes are shining with something someone who didn’t know better might confuse with tears.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” You try not to say it like an excuse or a plea. It’s simply fact.

His eyes shoot away from yours. You swear you see a hint of red on his cheeks, but just as quickly as you notice it, it’s gone. He clicks his tongue with displeasure before continuing. “I wasn’t going to get hurt. I could have very easily moved out of the way. You–” he sighs. “Don’t do anything like that again.”

“Well I don’t think I’ll be doing it anytime soon.” You try to give him a wry grin, but it turns more into a grimace as you shift, pain shooting through you. You’re covered head to toe in bandages, every part of you sore and bruised. You’re surprised you’re upright and conscious right now, honestly. “Can I get some painkillers?”

“You’re on enough to take down a horse.”

“But it still hurts.” You pout, and he grits his teeth and looks away from you again.

“Yeah. Almost dying tends to do that.” Even with the gruffness in his voice and face, his hands are gentle as they begin to fuss with your bandages, checking over every inch of you to ensure you’ve been properly taken care of. You could swear he hesitates slightly at checking the bandages around your thighs and chest, but he perserveres, ever the professional. You wince a few times when his hands brush a particularly tender spot, yelping when he makes slight contact with your ribs. He fiddles with the IV in your arm, and you feel a flood of relaxation and relief hit you. Looks like he found a reason to give you more painkillers after all. “You’re going to be out of commission for a long while, y’know.”

“How long?”

“At least six weeks, but probably longer.”

“What?”

“That’s nothing compared to what it could be. You have a couple broken ribs, not to mention all of the cuts and bruises. You’re lucky your organs weren’t crushed.”

“Can’t you like…shambles it away?”

“No.” His voice is flat. You look at him with wide, pleading eyes, and he scoffs at you. “Well, more like I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“If I just fix it you’ll run off and do it again, and next time you might not be so lucky.”

“Oh…so you’re just worried about me?” You giggle, filled with warmth at the idea. And maybe the pain meds. “You could just say so.”

“That’s not–” he lets out a soft choked sound when he realizes there’s no way to deny it without insisting he doesn’t care about you. As grumpy as he can be sometimes, he would never say something so unkind. Not to you. “Shut up.”

“Hey Captain?” You feel your tongue loosening with things you would never say, but you’re too out of it to stop yourself.

“Yes?”

“Do you like me?”

There’s definitely a flush to his cheeks now. “What?”

“I think you like me. A lot.”

“I–No!”

“You don’t like me?” Your voice cracks a little, tears coming far too quickly. Whatever he gave you is powerful stuff.

“That’s not–I–agh!” He roughly runs his fingers through his hair, desperately avoiding eye contact with you. “I like you. As a crewmate.”

You puff your cheeks out a bit with displeasure. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“I’ll believe you if you look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“You’re looking at the headboard over my shoulder, Captain.”

His eyes flick to yours, and he turns an even more brilliant shade of scarlet. “I li–” His shoulders tense and he suddenly shoots up and turns away from you. “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about this. You’re high off your ass. I bet you won’t even remember this when you wake up tomorrow.” You can see the tips of his ears burning as he gathers his things and prepares to leave.

“You’re gonna abandon me?”

“I have work to do!”

“I’m a patient, I am work!”

His voice is rising with frustration. “You’re already set up, what else is there to do?”

“I don’t know, Captain, I’m not the doctor here!” You try to raise your arm to reach out to him, only to let out a soft whine when you can barely move it.

“Please stop trying to use your broken bones.” He comes closer to gently hold your arm down, concern clear.

“It doesn’t feel broken.”

“It will soon.”

“You’re gonna let me hurt? On purpose? You’re so mean to me, Captain.”

He sighs. His thumb starts rubbing small circles onto your hand, though he doesn’t seem conscious of the action. “If I fix you up, do you promise not to do anything like that again?”

“No.”

The affectionate movements stop. “What?”

“I can’t promise that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m strong, I can take a little pain.”

“But I don’t want you to.” You know you sound petulant and childish, but you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t want you to hurt at all, I don’t care if you can handle it. You shouldn’t have to.”

“So you should?”

“Yes.”

“That’s stupid.”

You huff. “You’re stupid.”

He can’t help but break into a rare laugh, a chuckle that rumbles through him and makes your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s lost himself until he looks up to see you staring at him, eyes wide and cheeks red, mouth slightly agape. “What?”

“I really like you, Captain.”

He grows horribly flustered, but for once he doesn’t pull away from you. He keeps looking you in the eye, even as every part of him screams to run and avoid his embarrassment. “You do?” His tone is heart-wrenchingly hopeful.

“I do. So, so much. You’re the most beautiful and wonderful person in the world.” You can feel your smile grow dopey and lovesick. “I’d take a million hits for you. A billion, even.”

“What if it’d make me happier if you didn’t take any hits at all?”

“Then I would say you shouldn’t have let me join your crew. Getting hit is part of the job. But that’s okay. You’re worth it.” You lean forward, begging him for a single touch, since you currently can’t lift your arms. You can feel your eyes drooping, but you fight to keep them open long enough to receive what you want.

He sighs, but you can see the affectionate smile creeping onto his face. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, resting a hand against your cheek so tenderly you could weep. “Get some rest. I’ll fix you up in the morning.”

You hum as he uses his palm to gently push you back down, his other hand on your shoulders to recline you slightly. You’re fading fast, finally losing your fight with sleep, but before you go, you swear you feel the ghost of his lips against your forehead.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

#law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece x reader #law x you #law x y/n #trafalgar law #one piece

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noonwardmoss · 7 days ago

Text

Late Night Snack ♡

CW: somno (m receiving), oral (m receiving), blink-and-you'll-miss-it daddy kink, service reader(?), slight powerplay

Summary: Butcher and you haven't been intimate for a while, so your thirsty ass takes matters into your own hands.

Tags: @angelically-yours @konartiste-sideblog @chocolategiverzombie @bobabilbil @frank3nfag @tsundere-queen @daydreamingdarl

Notes: this is not beta-read don't kill meee

Smut below cut

Butcher didn't exactly remember how this dynamic started. All he knew was that it'd been going on for a while. You were a young thing prancing about like he'd sculpted the Earth. He couldn't not get a taste. And after that first one, he got another. Then another, and another, to the point you two were semi-frequently having sex.

He'd told you that you could come to him any time you needed it. He hadn't expected you to take that literally.

The day went relatively normal—they'd gotten a good amount of work done and retired at a semi-reasonable time. You were a tad more fidgety than usual, but it didn't raise any concern.

It clearly should have, though.

Not much time passed between Butcher falling asleep and waking back up—his body grousing awake at the feeling of clumsy fingers trying to grip his length from underneath his boxers. A soft voice sounded a small whimper. Your voice.

His eyes popped open, and he immediately came face-to-face with the figure mouthing at his pelvis. You must've been at it for a bit because he was already half-stiff in his sleep-slurred state.

Was he still asleep? On his luckiest nights, he'd dream of you like this—desperate for him, initiating…

“Oi,” he croaked, voice thickened with rest, “fuck're ‘ya doin'?”

At his words, your eyes fluttered to him. You made a pretty sight, hunched over his crotch and straddling his knees. He could see your pupils fluctuating in the dark, trying to discern his reaction as your cheek went to rest against his bony hip.

“Needed it,” was the only reasoning you provided, tone that of a whining pup. He could tell you were tired, too—but apparently not enough to prevent you from doing whatever *this* was.

A gruff, almost amused scoff shook through Butcher's chest. You always were a pouter.

“Yeah? And this is how you decided t’ get it?” There was a lazy playfulness to his demeanor—one that only encouraged you. As you nodded, one of his large hands found its way to the back of your head, carding through your hair.

“You said anytime.” He smirked at your defense.

You'd never been the one to initiate before. But now, you were the one who came to him—needy and desperate. He had to admit, he liked the sudden boldness. It made him feel wanted. Your sex lives were in no way vanilla by now, and he'd talked about it being on the table before.

Was that why you were so twitchy today? The idea was a bit humorous, you have been on edge from being horny and wanting him. A whining pup, indeed.

His thumb found its way to your lower lip, pushing inward to feel the soft heat of your mouth. In his current hazy state, it didn't feel real.

“That I did, pet,” he hummed, tone only slightly breathless. God, you made such an image… His cock had fully hardened now to strain against the cloth of his boxers. “Just didn't expect it to actually happen.”

His finger hooked against your bottom teeth, prying your jaw open just a bit more.

“It's been too long,” you admitted. His digit in your mouth made the words slur together. “I needed to taste you, sir.”

He nearly groaned at that word—sir. It seemed to be something you uniquely called him. No one else garnered such a tone of respect and reverence from you. How he earned it—placated you—he'd forever be clueless and impressed to.

“How long was too long, princess?” His dick twitched at the sight of you being so uncharacteristically greedy. He'd usually be pissed over being woken up so late in the night, but the prospect of you itching for him all day was a bit… flattering. A toxic bubble of pride welled up in him, even though any reasonable person would've been concerned.

“It's been weeks,” you huffed, and even in his half-asleep state, that surprised him. He tried to wrack his brain for the last time you two had sex, but his focus was more on the fact you hadn't done anything about your desire until now.

“You been aching for me for weeks, pretty thing? Couldn't find anyone else to help?” He tutted mockingly. As expected, you shook your head.

“No. Only want you.” You nosed into his length again, and he stifled a groan. Despite knowing that'd be your answer, he still felt a wave of satisfaction at your insistence. His hand tightened in your hair as he tilted your head back.

“Been a proper good girl, have you? Only wantin’ your daddy to take care of you…”

You nodded the best you could in his grip, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his cock through the cloth.

“Can I please, then?” You murmured, looking at him through your lashes as the vibrations of your voice traveled through him. He gave a low hum.

“You don't need to ask.” His answer came with a gruff tone, as though saying ‘obviously’.

He pushed the blanket completely aside and shifted so he was sitting properly against the headboard, pulling the fabric of his boxers as some sort of encouragement.

“Go on, pet,” Butcher huffed. “Take what you want.”

Your fingers eagerly found the hem of his boxers, hooking in and pulling them down. His length bobbed, hitting your cheek from the proximity, and you made a small noise.

You'd think after all the hookups you've had so far, the shock of it all would wear off and he'd just sit and enjoy it. But no. Every time he felt the gentle touch of your hands, it was like a goddamn dream. In an idle fantasy in his head, he'd often imagine you like this. Needy, almost desperate. Somehow, the reality was better than anything his mind could have fabricated.

You lapped at his tip near instantly, and he hissed through his teeth. Your eyes returned to his at the sound, mouth opening wide to tap him on your tongue. Christ, had he taught you that?

“Yeahh.” The word tumbled from Butcher's lips with a groan, fingers rooting in your hair loosely enough not to scratch your scalp. He wanted to be selfish and buck up—to take—but you were taking rare initiative. He wanted to savor the change in dynamic.

A low moan slipped from both of you when you wrapped your lips around him and swirled your tongue. While you lavished the tip with attention, your hand found the base and stroked.

A breathless puff of laughter was pulled out of Butcher, and he shifted his hips down a bit for you. A million things were going through his head, and they all involved you. All of this—this whole scene—was ripped straight from one of his more daring dreams of you.

“Just like that,” he praised, hand running through the strands of your hair. It only encouraged you to take a bit more of his length. You swallowed around him before bobbing experimentally, teeth just barely scraping the sensitive skin in the way you knew he adored.

A low groan rumbled from his chest, and his hips tilted forward. The mix of your enthusiasm and inexperience was sending waves of heat down his body.

A low ‘tsk’ escaped his lips at the grazing. “Teeth, baby, remember?”

You hummed again as an answer, the resulting vibrations making him jersey his hips. You gagged, but managed to keep yourself on him. The vixen you were, you knew how he loved the danger from the pressure of your teeth.

And well, if you wanted to play like that, he could certainly provide.

His large hands tangled tighter in your hair, pulling at a sign of encouragement. His pelvis stuttered before he pushed himself further down your throat, a breathy groan leaving him.

“You're doin’ good, sweetheart.” The praise was laced with strain, low and cracking. You moaned around his dick, picking up enthusiasm again.

If it wasn't enough for you to look so damn good, the sounds were driving him further insane. He let you control the pace momentarily, an itch to control bubbling under his skin with each moment.

“If you were in such a rush, y’ shoulda come to me sooner.” The low growl was punctuated by a push of his hips, fingers tightening in your hair to keep you in place. You drooled around him, sinking down a bit more with hazy eyes. And the two of you were too similar in this way—you both got pleasure by giving it to your partner in bed.

Your nails grazed his pelvic bone, barely digging in. There was an electricity that buzzed just under the surface of Butcher's skin, a tingling heat that began to cloud his mind. That, coupled with the fact he was still half-convinced he was asleep, created some feedback loop of fuzzy pleasure. The sharp sting of your nails had him bucking up into your warm heat, lolling his head back with a harsh groan.

You choked again, taking deep breaths through your nose to somehow willpower yourself to stay on his dick. Then, once you'd gotten your gag reflex under control, you sank all the way to the base, nose nuzzling his public hair. Your throat fluttered with the effort, dragging a breathy moan from the man under you.

“Ffuuuck yeah—yeah, good girl. Stay just like that for a bit, darlin’,” came his murmur, voice just barely more than a rough growl. The last of his breath was pushed out almost like you were taxing him, and with his praise came the soothing pet of his hand through your hair. You blinked the tears away to keep your eyes on him, face flushed in the dim lighting. You swallowed around him ever-so-often as you obeyed, staying flush to his pelvis.

And those teary eyes staring at him with so much desire nearly made him lose it.

There was a moment where he just felt overwhelmed—a rush of a million sensations he didn't know how to name rushing to his head and making it spin. A shuddering sigh spilled from his lips at them.

“Look at you.” His voice was but a ragged breath now, hand running down from the top of your head to your cheek to brush away stray tears that had fallen. “Such a pretty thing, you are, doll.”

His touch made you keen as you decided that was encouragement enough to continue. With a long drag up his length, you released a small noise from your throat. Your sounds weren't helping Butcher's current state much.

“Don't stop. Fuuck—yeah. Jus’– Just like that, sweetheart,” he rumbled with another groan. The feeling was enough to make his legs feel unsteady—and that feeling had him rolling into the wet warmth of your mouth.

He was embarrassingly close embarrassingly fast—but in his defense, it'd been a while, and he was barely awake. Not that you seemed to mind either way, though. The thrumming in your veins was nearly unbearable, the desire to please having been melting you for days. You wanted to please him tonight—which might've come at the cost of your own pleasure considering he could be too exhausted to do anything else.

His grip on your head tightened, his breathing growing increasingly shaky and his hands shaking with the effort not to just fuck your throat with wild abandon.

“Just like that, baby– Just like that… Shit, I'm gonna– F-fuck–” He was cut off with a harsh, breathless moan as you doubled your efforts. You needed to see him contort with the pleasure you knew he deserved again—almost as much as you needed air. His hips stuttered into your mouth with his thrusts, long and shallow with tire.

You pulled off, much to his displeasure, leaving your mouth open wide as your hand returned to his cock. Quick, hot breaths left you as you rested him against your tongue while you stroked him to completion.

When he came, you gave a small, sweet moan. His spend coated your tongue and lips, satisfying your taste buds in some cruel way that made your loins burn. Your hand gradually slowed as you swallowed, lapping at him lazily afterward until he was completely flaccid and hissing with overstimulation.

“I needed that,” he exhaled once you stopped, a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. The grip in your hair released, fingers soothing over your scalp as if apologetic for how hard he'd tugged. Then, his hand returned to its place on your cheek, wiping the drool from your chin. His eyes fluttered shut as he did so—it seemed he truly was, in fact, dead tired.

“Such a good girl, huh?” His eyes flickered down to your shifting thighs, catching the way they searched for any relief. He wiped some of the mess he'd left from your bottom lip, and you sucked his thumb into your mouth. Your tongue swirled it clean before you released the digit. The action caught him off-guard, a sharp intake of breath resulting. God, he wished he had the energy, but he was already struggling to stay awake.

“You make it goddamn difficult to last, princess. Can see how wound up you are,” he huffed, amusement and disappointment toward himself laced through his tone. You pulled yourself up, tucking him back into his pants before shifting to curl up into his side. He sighed as his arm went to wrap around you. Despite the fact you'd needed him for weeks apparently, you seemed content to ignore yourself for a little longer.

“You– mmh… don't want me to take care of ya, love?” He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. He wasn't going to complain, but he'd certainly make up for it later. For now, though, he was well and fully exhausted. And the bed was comfortable. When you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, he hummed.

“I'll take that as a no, then. A bloody shame, but I s’pose you've tired me out.”

“Tomorrow?” Came your whisper after another moment, and his lips twitched upward.

“Whenever you want, baby.”

#my first time writing a lengthy 2nd pov... hope its alright #thinkin butcher thoughts #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher x you #william butcher x reader #billy butcher imagine #billy butcher #billy butcher smut #the boys amazon #the boys #this is my first piece in a while and its bad stop liking it

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ethosiab · 18 days ago

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we've been here before, 5 or 6 times

Etho and Tango hang out. A new game is soon to begin, so they talk.

They find it’s not exactly a matter of if they’ll join, but how soon.

beta read by @silliest-sideblog and partially inspired by these fics by @oh-snapperss

(read on ao3)

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

When they receive the message, Etho and Tango are hanging out in their corner of the shopping district, in the bowels of Ravager Rush. Sheets of paper are scattered about everywhere at Etho’s feet where he’s sat sifting through them.

They could have chosen a better spot to be doing this, but hey! If Etho gets an epiphany about one of the numerous bugs he’s been dealing with since deciding to rework the scoring system, the game is right there. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has abandoned the other on one of their so-called ‘dates’ to fix a redstone issue.

(Pearl likes to call it that- a date. Even though neither of them are really interested in that sort of thing, and they spend the whole time barely saying a few words to each other, content to work on their own projects as long as the other is nearby. They don’t really mind it though, so maybe Pearl’s onto something when she says it.)

Etho flips through a stack of pages, each scribbled with notes, ideas, and small diagrams that he’s jotted down quickly in between doing other tasks around Frogger and his base. Generally, he’s able to keep his notes more organised than this, but between fixing all the bugs as they came up after the game’s opening, and redesigning the scoring system after the other hermit’s competitive insanity, he hasn’t had much time to sit down and simply sort through them.

Tango, meanwhile, sits a couple metres away from him, lying on his stomach. He’s propped himself up on his elbows and is currently staring very intently at a document open on his communicator with a sour look on his face.

“I can’t believe I missed some of these. What sorta redstoner am I?” Tango says, lifting a hand to flick through the list. “I mean, surely if I’d been less lazy when I got into this I wouldn’t have half of these bugs.”

Etho looks up from the papers. “If it makes you feel better, I spent hours trying to figure out why the game wasn’t turning on last night,” He says, “It turned out a silverfish had burrowed into a stone block and broke the redstone on top of it when it came out.” That was a new one. The kind of bug you only get when you’re placing redstone while half asleep. Bdubs had been around, and even then phantoms can’t get to him underground, so there hadn’t been much reason for Etho to actually sleep. Unfortunately, he doesn’t function well when tired, and acknowledgement of that fact has not magically fixed his sleep schedule.

Tango makes a variety of exasperated and unbelieving noises at the confession. “Wh- Yeah that does make me feel better!” He pushes himself up from the floor, and leans back onto his knees. “What are you doing building on natural stone for, man! That’s disgusting!”

“Look, I was−”

Tango interrupts him. “Gah! Can’t believe we gave Joel all that flack about not using smooth stone or wool, when you Mr Hopper Clock himself, can’t even be bothered to-”

He stops when the holographic display of the bug list he had open in front of him fizzles out, and the touchscreen of his comm stares up brightly at him in its place. In the same moment, Etho’s own comm materializes at his hip.

The devices chime with an incessant and annoying note, designed to grab the players�� attention—and keep it—until they do what it wants.Etho hasn’t heard that sound in almost a year. He silently wishes that year had lasted longer.

He doesn’t need to unlatch it from his belt and open it to know what it says. He does so anyway.

<████> Join the Game?

He can’t read the IGN of the player who sent it. They gave up trying to figure that out a few games back.

Etho swallows back a lump in his throat. “It really couldn’t give us a rest for a little longer, could it?” He says, chuckling a little. It wasn’t funny.

Tango gives a frustrated huff from where he’s stood up. He half looks prepared to chuck his communicator along with its stupid join prompt into the nearest wall.

“I’m going outside,” he says, “Getting some fresh air.” His tail flicks side to side with obvious pent up anxiety. The fire in his hair has come to life, and Etho would fear for his low hanging redstone if he didn’t know for a fact that Tango’s flames are practically harmless, not like a real blaze’s fire.

Etho has grown to understand Tango’s large emotive reactions to things like these. He can’t see his own hair, but given the growing ball of static he feels in his chest from the prospect of a new game, he can imagine the clouds are more unruly than normal.

He keeps a hand on the stack of papers he was sorting through, worried the cold breeze would scatter them, and ruin the last half hour of work he’s done. It often followed him, the breeze, especially when he was feeling like this. It’s almost starting to become normal.

“Don’t leave without me,” Etho says, looking up at his friend. The words surprised even him. He doesn’t know why he thinks the possibility would ruin him.

Tango’s smile is small, but it’s there. “Never.”

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

They sit at the edge of Tango’s factory base, legs hanging off the ledge and looking out on the horizon—on the rest of the server. There’s redstone under Etho’s nails, from his work last night. He should really clean it out before he burns himself by accidentally activating it. Doc’s always pestered him about wearing gloves, especially ever since he lost his eye. He does agree, he’d like to never experience pain like that again. Redstone reacting with his blood, infecting an already corrupted wound. Etho’s not a smart guy when it comes to this sort of thing, though. He likes his fingerless gloves. He likes the itch of redstone dust under his fingernails. He finds it grounding.

Tango’s head rests on his shoulder, a similar grounding force. His tail is partially wrapped around Etho, swishing side to side and knocking into Etho’s shoe every now and then. Etho’s not even sure Tango knows he’s doing it.

“Are you going to join?” Tango asks.

Etho huffs a bit in response. Is he? Every game so far has only served to drive him further to the edge. He’s almost reached a tipping point many times. And yet, every time his comm chimes with that unignorable message, he can’t help but consider it. He’s played in death games before, holds the scars of those days gone by, but he’s older now. He should be more level headed about joining a hardcore server designed specifically to drive him to murder and kill his friends. Is he a bad person for considering this?

“I mean, I haven’t missed one yet.”

Tango pauses. “Didn’t they have another one?” He questions, half speaking into the fluff on the hood of Etho’s vest. “Earlier this season? A lot of the guys disappeared on April fools. Something about an ‘out of body experience’. I know you weren’t there for that.”

That makes Etho freeze a little. Of course, Cleo won that one. He missed the join notification because he specifically put his comm as far from himself as possible so he could avoid distractions while sorting through the junk all over his single player world. Did he really forget something like that? “Hm. Yeah you’re right. Had a lot of stuff at home to clean up, I guess. Cleo did mention it though. Said it was fun.”

“Heh, I don’t know if the others all really agreed with her,” Tango chuckles. “Apparently Joel couldn’t stop throwing up for at least a day or two after. Really fucked with his code, that one.”

Etho could relate. He got sick towards the end of the last game and was almost relieved when Scar drew his sword through his stomach for the 3rd time. The rough respawn meant he was stuck curled up in his bed in his Decked Out 2 cubby until Tango found him. He did get up, after a regen potion or two. No death game would stop him from running the dungeon, after all.

(Tango wasn’t happy with him for that. He wanted to force Etho to be on bedrest for a bit. He was convinced in the end though, probably recognizing how late in the season they were, and how disrupting it would be for Etho to miss out on the final phases.)

Etho doesn’t voice his thoughts though. “Maybe this one will be similar. Fun, I mean.”

He doesn’t really believe himself when he says it. Cleo’s game was short, probably didn’t last long enough for anything to really hurt. Something tells him he won’t be as lucky this time.

Tango apparently doesn’t believe him either. He scoffs. “Yeah, right. And I’ll win! We’re saying things that won’t happen now, is that what we’re doing?”

Etho leans back. He puts his comm to the side for now, but doesn’t power it off or tuck it back into his inventory. Tango shuffles to the side slightly, lifting his head to give him space.

Etho turns to look at him. He shifts the subject slightly. “You gonna team up with me?” He asks, once again saying the first thing to come to mind. What the hell is Tango doing to him? “We could uh- really show them what 37th and 39th place could do.”

He adds the second part, almost as an afterthought. A joke, just to keep it- It can’t get too real.

Tango does him the service of ignoring the crack in his voice, and lightly whacks him. “HEY! 34th place actually!”, he exclaims, “I’ll have you know I’ve moved up in the world since I had you lot draggin’ me down.”

Which does hurt a little, Etho admits to himself. But it’s a joke, he knows, so he ignores the ache in his heart. He just chuckles.

Tango lets his hand drop, actually considering the question now. He’s still smiling, but it’s faltering and he can’t quite seem to look Etho in the eye. The horizon looks mighty fine, about now. They can see a lot of the server from here. Tango’s unfurnished and frankly abandoned steampunk cottage, Gem’s research facility and mountain skull, Skizzle’s pyramid, Pearl’s beautiful orchard. The fact that they’re both so close to abandoning it all for weeks, on purpose, for something that’s only ever hurt them—it sits wrong with him.

Tango continues, “But uh, yeah. I’m not giving those sorts of promises man. We can’t- I can’t control what happens in there. You know that.”

Tango’s voice is quiet as he says the last bit. He looks troubled. Upset at the words he’s saying, maybe. Etho knows they can control what happens in the games, to a degree. They’re not compelled to do wrong by some outside force. He supposes that’s what makes it so scary. It’s easier to think of their betrayal and implosion as inevitable, than to face the prospect of having the choice but choosing wrong every time.

So Etho doesn’t verbalise his disagreement. He nods. “Mhm. I know.”

The message on his comm still sits there, glaring at him harshly in the low light.

Join the Game?

#until i do more writing this is going in that tag #ethoslab #tangotek #hermitcraft #wild life smp #life series #slabtek #this is not explicitly romantic but theyre not. not in a relationship #hermitcraft season 10 #wuahg. ty jam for beta'ing this for me #you're amazing.#nics writing

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star-anise · 5 months ago

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Ask I got on my sideblog but am answering here:

Hi there! I know you're a therapist and I have a question: I saw some people arguing on Twitter about the impacts of trauma. There was a therapist among them, and they had a masters degree in social work, they post about it often. They say that people who have experienced trauma hurt other people because it benefits them or gives them pleasure, and they are disconnected from empathy and sympathy. That seems wrong, but maybe it's not? That's all, thanks!

Ooof, yeah, that's... complicated. It's technically true, but also frequently used as a lie.

Trigger warning: Child abuse, child grooming, interpersonal violence, trauma (childhood & intergenerational), true crime, totalitarianism

Because basically, that describes MOST humans who decide to hurt other humans on purpose without a strong ulterior motive. That's not a trauma thing, that's a human thing.

I babysit for a family with a 1-year-old and a 3-year-old. When the 1yo does something to upset their older sibling, and that sibling winds up and smacks them, that's the same basic thing. It benefits them (makes 1yo go away), brings them pleasure (having an outlet for their anger is very satisfying), and they're disconnected from empathy (they're often surprised and confused when the 1yo is crying, because they're 3 and THEY feel fine and they don't really understand yet that other people's feelings really exist) or even sympathy (understanding that if you hit someone, they will probably be upset). That's something we adults have to watch out for and intervene in, because empathy and impulse control take time to learn.

But as for where trauma figures into this... how to explain.

There's this old logical puzzle about categories, where you say things like:

All dogs have four legs*

A dog is an animal

And then the catch is that you can't extend that to say

All animals have four legs

*RIP to all the tripods and legless animals that apparently aren't dogs anymore for the purposes of this logic exercise

Animals obviously include fish and millipedes and whales and snakes and jellyfish. The number of legs an animal can have is HIGHLY diverse, and will eventually lead to a debate on what the definition of "leg" is.

So there is this common thing we see:

Some people are much more violent and aggressive than other people

These violent and aggressive people have almost always experienced some form of trauma/abuse/neglect

And the link people are really prone to thinking is:

People who have experienced trauma/abuse/neglect will go on to being violent and aggressive with other people.

This is incorrect. To some degree, I can see why it's widely believed - after all, way more people tune in to learn about a serial killer's abusive childhood than for the more common story, which is survivors of trauma slowly going about their lives in ordinary undramatic ways.

Because the thing is, trauma is REALLY diverse. Humans are inherently varied and a bit chaotic, since we can choose very different ways to live and operate, and trauma splits that variability like a prism turning light into a rainbow. Only about 30% of abused children grow up to be abusive themselves. The other 70% choose very different lives.

And yet. My eternal question is: WHY is this such a meme? Why do so many people with a shitty childhood flinch at the 30% statistic and think, "Is that me? Am I destined to be a monster?" Why does this story have legs, when so many other facts about trauma have way more empirical backing and usefulness and get very little attention?

I submit that there is one group that fucking LOVES the idea that traumatized person equals abuser. One group that pushes it into the discourse, in international media or around the family kitchen table, with great ingenuity and gusto.

Abusers.

They love it for two reasons. The most obvious reason is: It absolves them of their actions. "It wasn't ME who hit you, it was my childhood trauma!" A veritable classic excuse that takes their agency out of the equation. And it really can be hard to tell when it's a good excuse and when it isn't!

Reason two is the more insidious one: It cuts their victim's sense of goodness, worthiness, and moral certainty out from under them.

It's as simple as saying, "Look at how you pushed back at me (when I was abusing you)! You're the REAL abuser here!" It's the heart of what domestic abuse researchers call DARVO (Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender). It can be that simple, or it can be so complicated and byzantine it makes your head hurt.

I only really got a handle on understanding this thanks to a friend, who said she was okay with me sharing this story if I didn't identify her. I won't go into any unrelated details of her abuse, but for the record, hers is probably the most extreme case of anyone I've personally interacted with, and I used to work as a therapist and in domestic violence shelters. Her dad heinously abused her as a child. He'd also studied psychology in university. I have been trying to fathom how the fuck anyone could do what he did to her for YEARS, and I think I've got a few viabletheories.

So. She was an ordinary child, bright, warmhearted, well-behaved, and a bit autistic. A bit more naive and trusting than your average preschooler. I imagine that from his perspective, there was the convenient benefit that he often had unrestricted access to her, and he could relatively easily overpower and manipulate her.

But she had one serious downside: If anyone ever found out what he was doing to her, they would go fucking apeshit. She wasn't really prone to lying or acting out, so people would treat her as a fairly credible reporter; several other adults found her she was lovable, innocent, and endearing; and what he wanted to do to her was, I repeat, heinous.

So while he abused her, one of the things he said was: "I'm doing this because I was abused as a child. That's how it works. All abusers come from abuse. There are statistics proving it. This means you're an abuser too. See what society thinks about child abusers? That's what people will think about you, if they know that you've been abused."

And she was, you know, a child, not someone who studied psych research. He was her dad. So she believed him.

She thought that he was using his adult brain to correctly assess the truth about her as a person, for purely objective reasons. The way you'd try to teach a kid who talks with their mouth full about table manners. It's been a couple decades now, but she is still very slowly chipping away at her core belief that she is inherently awful and only her father recognized the truth about her.

Sometimes when we talk about it I have to bite my tongue because I'm sitting here trying to figure out what the fuck was going on with him, an adult man who wanted to abuse her because he'd really enjoy it. I think about him trying to figure out how to manipulate an innocent child into accepting being abused, and minimize the risk that he'd go to jail for it. And although I hate his everloving guts, I'm almost a bit impressed at his level of machiavellian audacity, to come up with a line that was SUCH hot bullshit that people have devoted their entire careers into proving it false, and yet, because it hit exactly the right psychological issue at exactly the right psychological stage and his intended victim was so trusting, he could get her to believe him enough to turn that lie into her core identity.

Praise be to G-d and Criminal Minds, he did not, in the end, get away with it. She got enough courage to tell people, and get free of him. And she is not, in fact, a horrible abusive person.

But I think what he did so very brazenly is what a lot of abusers do, in more disguised and indirect ways. Probably partly because it really helps, when abusing people, not to treat them like human beings with their own thoughts and feelings, but if one must posit that they have something going on between their ears, it's easiest to assume that everyone else responds to trauma with aggression and abuse. After all, considering the possibility that someone like them could choose not to be abusive takes all the fun and plausible deniability out of the whole affair.

But now I see echoes of that "my victims are just as bad as I am" tactic all over the place. I honestly think it's a very similar mechanism that Hannah Arendt pointed out in The Origins of Totalitarianism. She observes that violent totalitarian regimes routinely accuse their intended victims of the very act they intend to commit themselves, to justify a "retaliation" that's actually just aggression. Think claiming "Our opponents are rigging this election" as an excuse to rig an election in the opposite direction.)

To sum up: You're human. Humans can do good and bad things. It's not necessarily good to completely forswear anything violent or angry in you, but to come up with a framework of how to be assertive and get your needs met in an ethical fashion. There are times it is appropriate and even necessary to escape or fight against somebody else's will.

On the other hand, If find yourself inflicting pain on other people on a regular basis, get some support and take a good hard look at your life choices. Sometimes it's hard to figure out how to solve problems in your life without violence or aggression, and you might need some help with that. Maybe talk to a counsellor or learn anger management skills.

But in no way is it predestined, inherent, implicit, or doomed, that your experiences and brain wiring make you violent or evil. You always have the choice to define yourself beyond what was done to you.

#child abuse tw #trauma tw #grooming tw #domestic violence tw #ipv tw #intergenerational trauma tw

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picaroroboto · 1 year ago

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For the past couple days, I've been unfortunately cursed with thinking about Zenos yae Galvus. I don't even particularly like him - not that I dislike him either, Zenosfuckers you can put your scythes down - but it seems to me like a lot of the fandom either greatly misunderstands him, or doesn't even care to try to understand him, which from an objective standpoint as someone who cares deeply about writing in video games kind of pisses me off. But I'm more pissed about the fact that I'm apparently going to keep thinking about this issue until I actually write a character analysis of him.

Q: "But, what even is there to analyze with him? Isn't he all about wanting to fight the WoL and nothing else?"

Well, you wouldn't be wrong with saying that. That motivation is at the forefront of his character, and even if you look closer, everything about him comes back to either "violence" or "lack of understanding of others". But there are more meaningful sides to his deceptively simple character. That question of meaning is what I really want to look into - what does his character mean, what symbolic or thematic role does he play in this story?

Q: "Better question: why are you posting this on your art blog/Fate meta sideblog?"

Good question, with a stupid answer: I have all of 6 followers on my FF14 sideblog, and around 150 here. Let's go under the cut so they don't have to read a wall of text, unless they want to.

When you look at and compare FF14's villains, you can see a very clear change, no doubts thanks to the change in main writers. ARR Gaius and Thordan are more or less two-bit villains - Gaius's memeable iconic Praetorium speech gives us insight into how fascists try to justify themselves but little into Gaius's actual personality, while all Thordan gets as far as depth of character is an NPC in a sidequest remarking that he wasn't always a bad person and was probably doing what he thought best for his nation. Nidhogg is a little more understandable, since revenge is a relatable motivation to anyone who's been hurt by others. In Stormblood, Zenos and Yotsuyu are both presented as deserving of pity even as they do terrible things. Come Shadowbringers and Endwalker though, the story takes a greater interest on why villains like Emet-Selch and Elidibus do the things they do, and the player is allowed more options to try to understand them and see how similar they are to the WoL. Hell, Hermes and the Endsinger are barely "villains" at all, with the level of sympathy the story shows them.

What I'm getting to here is that Zenos, with half his arc in Stormblood and the rest in Endwalker, is sort of caught in the middle of this shift. He played the role of the rival character in Stormblood really well, but come Endwalker, he's standing on a stage full of heroes and villains with grand causes and deep motivations, as the guy whose sole motivation is fighting for pleasure.

It seems he's not unaware of this contrast himself - when Jullus confronts him for ruining Garlemald for no good reason, he retorts with "Would you be happier had I a good reason?" Zenos makes no attempt to justify his own actions and doesn't care that his reason seems incomprehensible and unforgivable to others. Yet in that same cutscene Alisaie hits him with the fact that if he keeps living solely for pleasure, he'll die alone. When next we see Zenos, he's alone at the Royal Menagerie waxing philosophical about what he really sought in the battle with the WoL.

See, what really motivates Zenos isn't just the thrill of battle - this guy has gotten Battle High and the joy of human connection confused. Really.

Even before he gets so perturbed by the idea of dying alone, there's other suggestions, like his proposal of friendship to the WoL when they fought in Stormblood, and then later his dying words in which he explains that he never understood others - at his core, he's just lonely. I know there's an official side story that tells it, but you don't need to know the exact details to glean that he had some sort of tragic backstory. Sad, but not a surprise, considering he's the prince of the Garlean Empire, raised to take the throne and continue the Empire's legacy of violence.

At his core, he's a very lonely person, but also a thing of violence, raised using violent methods for the purpose of causing more violence. Violence is how he lives and breathes - the only way he gets any sort of connection with others in a world of hurting and being hurt is the brief connection warriors dueling as equals can sometimes find. Don't deny that this sort of connection exists - FF14 is great at making fights that are both fun and tell a story. Hence, why he goes crazy for the WoL, but also refers to them as "friend". In their fights, he senses (or thinks he senses) similarity between him and them. Beneath all the madness is a pure, genuine joy in seeing the self reflected in the other...but he also instantly gets on the train to projection-town, population Zenos, and assumes the WoL is exactly like him, ignoring or failing to notice that they also fight for deeper meanings. The worst part is, he doesn't even notice that what he's actually seeking in fighting them is connection until Alisaie's aforementioned callout.

So he goes and angsts for a while, then turns into a dragon again and flies across the universe to help us kick the Endsinger's tail feathers, then issues his challenge for that duel he'd been longing for. But what's changed is that he starts with a question - "Such pleasures you sought for their own sake, and for no other reason, is that not so?". Dying after the duel, he's full of questions too: "Was your life a gift or a burden? Did you find fulfillment?" Alisaie's suggestion that he'd die alone actually spurred him to realize what he actually sought in the WoL, and now he's asking all these questions in an attempt to, for the first time in his life, genuinely connect with another human being.

The questions aren't important just because they're a sign of how Zenos has changed in Endwalker - they're actually the thematic heart of Endwalker! ARR may have had "Answers" as it's theme, but EW is the expac of questions. Namely the biggest question of all: What is the meaning of life? Different characters have different answers to that, leading to the grand-scale symbolic conflict being the Endsinger's despair - her belief that there is no meaning in life - versus whatever reasons the WoL chooses to live for, left, as always, up to player interpretation.

When you look deeper, Zenos isn't actually as out-of-place in the symbolic conflict as he first seems. His depressed worldview - that metaphor about drowning in a swamp again - seems to align with the Endsinger's view about life being meaningless. But he aids the WoL in defeating her. In that way he serves as part of the answer to her question about the meaning of life. He may have resented life at times, but he still found meaning in chasing pleasure. Not the strongest or most beautiful reason to deny oblivion, perhaps, but it did enable him to help the WoL triumph. I think of Zenos's philosophy as being connected to the concept of "Amor Fati"...largely because this quote explaining it sounds like something he'd say, or at least agree with on some level:

"and if our soul has trembled with happiness and sounded like a harp string just once, all eternity was needed to produce this one event—and in this single moment of affirmation all eternity was called good, redeemed, justified, and affirmed."

So he does have a meaningful role in Endwalker, as the "Amor Fati" against the Endsinger's "Memento Mori". I think that in this the story shows that his reason for living, while somewhat shallow, is not necessarily a morally wrong thing in and of itself (setting aside for a second all the people he hurt in his pursuit of that). It's just that, since it is a lonely pursuit that denies everything except for his target, it still feels empty. The core of the counterargument against the Endsinger's despair is that both pleasure and fulfillment are necessary to live a meaningful life in a meaningless universe, and that's why Zenos is here in Endwalker. Why he even exists in the story in the first place.

Even if you're one of the people who deeply hates Zenos...well, you probably wouldn't have read this whole thing if you did, but I still think it's important to read into characters you dislike, because every character in a story is written for a reason. Plus, trying to understand even their worst enemies is one of the WoL's key traits as of ShB and EW. With his last breaths, Zenos was trying to understand the WoL too - carrying this understanding of him with you as we move into our next adventures is the least you can do for your "friend".

#ff14 #ffxiv #zenos yae galvus #zenos viator galvus #endwalker #ffxiv meta #endwalker spoilers #meta posting on my art blog #god why did i spend my afternoon on this all this proves is that I need to be put in an English class again purely for enrichment purposes

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