#that the ‘care’ literally does not exist

[consultingfujoshi]

having some barely formed thoughts about the three severed women we know of (excluding o&d) and how they're all sort of experiencing their own misogynist hellscape and how severance not only exacerbates the existing struggles of women but reduces those women down to nothing but their suffering

gabby's innie exists purely to gestate and give birth to children and then is switched off again and never gets to raise or even meet her child until her husband decides it's time for the next one. episode 7 suggests gabby is not the only woman who has done this to herself. how many female innies exist just to be a walking baby incubator?

gemma is quite literally in hell. dozens of versions of her are being subjected to physical or psychological torture at the hands of the same white guy, at least one of which is in an endless performance of housewifery, her body given over to the hands of strangers, and she has to willingly walk into each room knowing anything could be happening to her in there and she will never know what, only that her alternate selves have literally never known anything except suffering. you did it to yourself, you asked for this.

and even when she tries to free herself she is immediately sent back by one of these innies who literally does not know what is going on and why she's here, and doesn’t know enough to question what she's being told. these women she becomes do not have the tools, the knowledge or agency, to fight back. if you'd known better, you'd have stopped it. why didn't you stop it? why weren't you smarter about it? why weren't you more careful?

tell me you love me before you go, sweetheart

and helly. she's more complicated but there's really something to be said about helena, a woman that by all accounts should see her as a sister, and uses that very idea to propagandise herself and inflate her own status, but in reality does not even see helly as human - she is constantly at the mercy of a woman far more affluent and powerful than herself who feigns care for her to the masses whilst happily subjecting her to torture. and then without that support from another woman, without that sense of solidarity, she seeks refuge in the arms of a man who can somewhat understand what she's going through because that feels like her only option, to gain approval or social standing through a man, but even that is hollow and it is soured by the very woman she is at the mercy of competing with her for that same man. she has been forced to place all her bets on the love of a man, like that'll prove she's real and worth something, and even that she can't have for herself

severance is used in all of these cases as a means of further dehumanising, objectifying, and reducing women down to their base biological functions and forces them to subject themselves to the whims of men. all in totally unique ways but all very real experiences that women go through every day, crytallised by having it quite literally be all they exist for. severance as just another tool to exert violence upon women

[mariasont]

That anon was living under a rock because your smut fics (all of your fics tbh!) I reread wayyy to many times, lol. But if you’re taking smut requests, I’d love to see more bimbo!reader and Hotch! I can’t get enough.

I’ll take anything!! But more specifically, their first time, all of that built up tension (that you write so perfectly!) finally breaks!

Anyways, I never send in requests but I saw a window of opportunity and had to take it, haha.

Third Date Rule - A.H

summary: the third date proves to be worth the wait when you and hotch experience your first time together. pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexy time, fingering, oral fem receiving, p in v, they did not in fact wrap it before tapping it and it's not really discussed so yeah idk about that one, aftercare wc: 7.7k

This was so overdue.

Technically, it's only been three dates. Technically.

But if you count all the years you'd known him, the months spent daydreaming about this moment, the weeks of waiting while he played the world's longest game of restraint, then really, you should have had him naked ages ago.

And if Aaron (which still feels like a thrill to say — Aaron — because you're dating now and you can freely call him that) wasn't so stubborn and noble and insufferably gentlemanly, you would have.

But tonight was finally the night. The third date. The sacred, hallowed, much-debated, universally accepted gateway to getting into the sheets. And yes, okay, maybe you barely survived the wait without jumping his bones, but that's hardly relevant now. The point is, you did it.

And now you're in his lap, his tie wound tight around your fingers, his tongue deep in your mouth, and gods, if this night didn't end with him inside you, you might actually die. 

Like, literally. Heart failure. Sudden death.

This was premeditated. At least, for you. You moisturized like your life depended on it, doused yourself in perfume that could be classified as a controlled substance, and selected a bra that made your tits look so insane, it might actually be illegal in some states.

And then you spent an embarrassing amount of time picking the perfect dress that says oh, I'm classy, but also please take me home and rip this off with your teeth.

You pull away, just enough to see him. To take in the slow bloom of pink trailing from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, the way his pupils are so wide they’ve all but erased the brown of his eyes. And his lips — swollen and red from kissing you — part like he was debating how bad it would be to drag you right back in. You wouldn’t mind.

“Aaron,” you sigh, fingers burying into his hair, marveling at how absurdly soft it is, how freely he lets you have this piece of him. “We should go to bed.”

For a second, he locks up. Not hesitation but calibration, a body processing desire so sharp it might break him. You feel it in the way his chest expands, in the quiet exhale through his nose.

"This wasn't my plan for the night," he murmurs, voice softer now, not strained, but steeped in something much gentler. Something careful. "I wasn't —," He shakes his head, like the whole concept doesn’t sit right in his mouth. "I don't want you to think this is just —,"

"Sex?"

You can see the way he wants to argue, like he wants to carve the word out of the air and replace it with something that means more.

"Yes."

You can’t stop the stupid, lovestruck smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it’s the wine from dinner finally working its magic. (It’s not.) Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, all serious and earnest, like you’re the only thing in existence, and if he blinks, you might vanish. (It definitely is.)

A laugh bubbles up, light and giddy, body not knowing what to do with all this adoration. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, just to see if he’ll let you. (He does.)

“Are you serious? If you just wanted sex, you wouldn’t have spent actual years pretending my very dedicated, very expertly executed attempts to seduce you weren’t happening.”

His brow arches, but you see it for what it is — a stall. “Expertly, huh?”

"Remember that heatwave last summer? When I just had to eat a popsicle at my desk every afternoon?"

His eyes darken like the memory is playing in high definition behind his eyes.

"I remember."

"Do you?" Your fingers slip beneath his color. “Because —” You tilt your head. “I always seemed to finish them standing in front of your office —"

You don't even get to finish your sentence. 

One second, you’re speaking, the next, you’re airborne. Lifted clean off the couch, legs locking around his waist automatically, arms thrown around his shoulders like you planned this all along.

You didn’t, but you wish you had. 

Not that it matters, because he’s already moving, already walking straight to the bedroom.

You bury your smile against his jaw, letting your breath tickle against the shell of his ear as another giggle slips out. It couldn’t be helped.

"I really hope you know," you whisper, “that I am, like, stupidly excited for this. Like, counting down the days excited.”

Aaron sets you down on the mattress gently, but his body doesn’t follow right away, hovering over you.

"You're not making this easy for me."

You ignore him because you’re much more distracted by how insanely soft his sheets are. That was your first thought when your back hits the mattress, hair fanning across the pillows.

For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’ll catch the scent of your perfume tomorrow. If he’ll notice the ghost of you when he lays down alone.

Your second was that this is so not the time nor place to get emotional. 

But this is his space. His bed. His room.

It’s tidy, but somehow not sterile, everything having its place, but not afraid to be used. A book sits on the nightstand, a book mark sticking out mid-thought. A photo frame faces the bed, though from this angle you struggle to see what’s inside.

There’s his suit jacket from yesterday, draped over the back of a chair, a little rumpled. 

And maybe it's silly, but you feel weirdly honored to be here.

You should probably be processing this moment, what it means to be here, with him, like this. Instead, you take a second to admire the view.

The lamp softens the sharp lines of his face, making him look almost gentle — which is funny, considering how you hoped to be thoroughly destroyed by him.

Something expands inside you, stretching against the walls of your chest, something too big, something that terrifies you.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

“I can’t believe I’m about to sleep with my boss.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his exasperation, his forehead dropping into the crook of your neck. “Sweetheart—,”

"What?" You giggle, letting your fingers slide through his hair, letting your nails rake lightly over his scalp. "It's true."

His sigh is nothing short of pained, but then he kisses your cheek anyway, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. You were starting to feel like each was a thinly veiled attempt to tame you.

"Please don't phrase it like that."

"Yes, Mr. Hotchner." 

Every self-satisfied thought evaporates the moment he kisses you – really kisses you.

It’s not just a meeting of lips but a focused intensity, tongue sweeping inside your mouth and suddenly nothing before this mattered, because clearly, clearly, every kiss you’ve ever had was just practice for this one. 

Your body responds before your mind can catch up, spine arching and he doesn’t stop you, just kisses you with a hunger that makes teasing obsolete, that makes breathing secondary to the way he’s taking from you, giving to you, all at once.

His lips wander, dragging across your jaw like he’s leaving invisible ink behind, pressing something permanent into your skin.

You hope you’ll wake up tomorrow and still feel him there.

Your hands move to the nape of his neck, drawn by craving, by the need circling inside you like a ribbon of fire.

It stretches outward, licking at your skin, threading through your veins. His hands hold you still, spanning over your rib. His breath fans over your pulse, and you swear he can feel how fast it’s racing.

You should be gloating right now. This is, after all, exactly what you wanted, what you worked for. A biting remark sits on the top of your tongue, but then his mouth moves, and he finds it.

That wicked, traitorous little dip beneath your jaw that turns your entire brain into pink, glittering static. He pauses, listening, feeling, before sealing his mouth over it again, tongue dragging over the sensitive skin like he’s testing a theory that he already knows the answer to.

Your fingers clench in his hair, a startled sound choking in your throat before you can stop it. And then, the bastard laughs. Not sweet, not kind, but low and sharp and smug because he knows exactly what he’s done. 

You had the upper hand. Past tense.

"There it is," he murmurs, pressing another kiss there, his tongue flattening over it just to make you squirm. "You want to know how I figured this out?"

You hum, or try to. But it’s pathetic because you’re barely conscious, every cell fried to uselessness by his mouth.

He mimics you, just to be an ass about it, mocking the dazed little sound like he hasn’t just reduced you to it. "You always reached for it when I looked at you too long."

Your mouth opens. Closes.

"Or," he continues, "when I stood too close to you at the coffee machine. You'd fidget, tuck your hair behind your ear like you weren't thinking about it." His exhale burns against your pulse. "Cute."

You gasp, a little offended, mostly turned on. "Oh, wow. Profiling me? At work? That's, like, wildly unethical."

"Didn't need to," he murmurs. "You were practically begging me to figure you out."

His mouth is perfect in the way lightning is perfect – striking, searing, and completely out of your control. It’s perfect enough that you can pretend not to hear him.

He sucks, slow and hard enough to tear a sound from your lips before you even know it’s there, something that feels like vulnerability in its purest form. Something you would never willingly give him.

His laugh is quiet, wrecking, as he pulls back, lips slick with your skin. "That good?"

His mouth makes quick work, over your collarbone, down, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, down, branding every inch of skin he can reach. 

He stops at the neckline of your dress, and suddenly, you can't think about anything except how it's still on.

You want to strip it off, want to offer yourself up as a willing sacrifice, but you’re well aware that if you try, if you even reach, he’ll stop you. Or worse, he'll make you wait. He'll slow you down, draw it out just to watch you squirm because patience is his weapon of choice, because he lives for making you suffer.

His teeth graze the swell of your breast, just enough to sting, and whatever fragile grip you had on yourself disintegrates on impact. Your hands fumble blindly for his face, fingers shaking, needing to see his eyes.

"Please, Aaron.” It’s an exhale, a prayer. “Need you."

You see the ripple of tension along his throat. And for one tiny, blinding second you think this is when he finally snaps, abandons his tolerance and just takes you.

"You don't know how long I've wanted you like this," he rumbles. "I'm going to take my time."

You whine, frustration bleeding from your fingertips where they clutch his shoulders, fingers digging in like you can physically push him into moving faster.

He does not move faster. 

His hands slide up to the straps of your dress, as he drags it down with all the urgency of a leisurely Sunday stroll. 

Your mind is halfway through an exceptionally justified complaint about how slow he is moving when he folds the dress.

Folds it.

Sets it aside. Doesn't toss it.

And that may be the hottest thing he's ever done.

Because you know he knows. He’s always known. Known that your things aren’t just things — that your dresses, your heels, your overpriced lip glosses aren’t frivolous, aren’t some shallow indulgence, but tiny, curated pieces of you.

He has listened to you decide between two pairs of shoes that are, for all intent and purposes, identical. He knows jasmine is mysterious and vanilla is flirty, knows that you’ll debate your right to own the same three shades of pink. 

And instead of dismissing it, instead of rolling his eyes (though he does that too), he folds your dress. As if it matters.

You stare at him, somewhere between melting and spontaneous combustion, and he simply raises a brow. “Something wrong?”

"No." You shake your head for emphasis, voice a little too weak to get the point across. "Just thinking I might have to marry you."

His hands settle at your waist, fingers tracing over the pink lace like he’s trying to process it, like if he touches it enough times, it’ll confirm that this is actually happening and not some cruel illusion. His thumb brushes the scalloped edge, breathing shallow. You were pretty sure he’s currently having a full-scale existential meltdown over lingerie.

"Agreed," he murmurs, distracted, hooded eyes still glued to your chest. "I think the courthouse opens at eight."

Your giggle stutters, hiccups right out of you, because his hands are suddenly everywhere, roaming with no clear plan, just a man in crisis over how much of you he wants to touch first. His palms skate over your stomach, down your thighs, up over your breasts.

"So, this is all I had to do to convince you to do what I want?"

His mouth follows, retracting the path of his hands, rewriting, reworking, perfecting – because apparently, the first time wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thorough enough. 

"You think this is what did it for me?" His voice is hushed. "You could've walked into my office six months ago and told me to get on one knee.” A kiss, open-mouthed, starving, just below your navel. “I would've done it."

Six months ago. You don't know if you believed that.

Except now you're spiraling, backtracking, rewinding, piecing together little details like some lovesick conspiracy theorist with red string and a bulletin board. Every interaction, every loaded glance, every time he let you get away with high-level flirtation without so much as a blink. You thought you were testing him, but what if he was never fighting at all?

And before you can even recover from that, before you can file an official grievance about why no one told you sooner, his hands squeeze at your thighs, his mouth so close to exactly where you need him, and his voice —

"You're so beautiful."

His nose presses into the damp center of your panties, and your hands fly to his hair so fast it’s practically reflex, breath stalling in your chest like your body forgot how to function for a second. 

This is everything. What you've wanted, dreamed of, written in the margins of notebooks (hypothetically, of course).

It should be perfect, but suddenly, it isn't.

Uncertainty slips between the cracks, heat turning into something less solid. You don’t have time to find it, to name it, because he’s already there, already sensing it, already fixing it before you even know what’s wrong.

"Hey." His voice hooks into you, gently reeling you back from wherever your brain was about to go. "We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"No, I—," The words come out far too fast and desperate, and you can't decipher why it's so hard to say. "I do want to. Obviously." The nervous laugh that follows is definitely not your usual flirty confidence. "Have you met yourself? Because if you haven't, I would love to introduce you. Tall, devastatingly handsome — you'd love him."

His move curves, but his eyes stay patient and focused, giving you a second to breathe.

"It's just..." Another pause, another frustrated sigh. "I haven't been with anyone in a while."

"That's okay, we can take it slow." He moves so that he's hovering above you again, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, his smile just amused enough to leave you flustered. "How long?"

"May."

"May?"

"Yeah, like, May. Three years ago."

Aaron just stares at you, processing. You can see the gears turning, the little mental loading wheel spinning, his expression caught between stunned and deeply interested.

His fingers creep up, sliding under your ribs, just close enough to the heavy swell of your tits to remind you exactly where you are. What he was doing to you before you so rudely derailed this into actual conversation.

"Really?"

You pinch his arm. "Hey! That is not an absurd amount of time."

"No. I know. I didn’t say that," he says quickly. "I'm just... surprised."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His lips part and he immediately shakes his head, exhaling like he's physically trying to dispel what just ran through your mind, knowing exactly where your thoughts were.

"I just mean — I don't know how every man you meet doesn't immediately worship the ground you walk on."

"Oh, well, they do." You smile. "But I was only ever planning on letting one of them take me to bed."

You reach for his dress shirt buttons, tugging insistently, but your hands refuse to cooperate, not properly communicating with your brain.

It's his fault, you decide.

He looks too good, and it was extremely hard to focus on anything but that.

You have no idea how you survived dinner. Or the car ride home. Or even the eternity it took to get past the door, because that was definitely a struggle considering your mouth was all over his, tasting the whiskey he’d barely touched, before he could even get the key in the lock.

You spent all night picturing this, the way his hands would feel in you, the way his mouth would taste, the way his suit would look crumpled on the floor.

Which, in hindsight, probably meant you were a pretty terrible dinner guest. Nodding, smiling, pretending to listen, all while barely holding back the need to ride him in public.

Aaron laughs, clearly entertained by your struggle, and then, because he’s nothing if not arrogant, he starts undoing the buttons one-handed, to be a show-off.

It’s rude, really. Because now all you can do is watch, helpless as he peels himself open to reveal golden skin, dark hair dusting over firm pecs, trailing lower, disappearing beneath his belt. 

Your manicured fingers glide over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pushing his shirt away like uncovering some lost Renaissance painting that scholars would kill to get their hands on — something that should be in a temperature-controlled glass case, not just here, sprawled above you like he belongs to you. Which, he does, because he’s just letting you do this, letting you look. And you look. He is art. No, better than art. Art is stationary, lifeless, some brushstroke interpretation of what beauty should be. But this, him, he is warmth and breath and muscle.

Museums wish they had something this valuable. They’d burn down in despair if they knew he existed just for you.

"May," he muses, letting the word roll off his tongue, turning it over in his mind. "That's an oddly specific answer."

You make a vague sound of agreement, mostly just to acknowledge that yes, technically, he did say words, but you’re too busy to actually care. Too busy with spreading your hands over the planes of his chest, with grabbing at his belt.

"You were hired in May three years ago."

Your hands freeze. 

"That's... um weird." A slow blink. "Weird that you know that. Weirder that you noticed."

You work his belt loose, tugging it free. It’s meant to be a distraction, a well-placed touch to shift his focus from his revelation.

But then your plan backfires spectacularly because he’s hard, thick, unreasonably big and suddenly your fingers feel useless.

Aaron makes a sound — half a hiss, half a laugh — and his hands snap to your wrist, catching you before you can explore further, like he knew you were going to do that. "It’s okay, honey."

"I—I don't—," You blink up at him, floundering, desperately trying to sound casual. "That's, uh, I don't know what that's supposed to mean."

Aaron’s smirk deepens, his grip on you slackening just enough to trick you into thinking he’s going to be nice.

But then his other hand moves, slipping between your bodies, sliding beneath the heat trapped between your thighs, finding the neediest part of you, and pressing.

Your whole body jerks, a startled gasp catching in your throat as sensation flares — hot, sharp, mercilessly good.

His fingers start to move, rubbing tight circles against you. Your hands cling, one locked onto his bare shoulders, the other pressing against his dick, desperate to make him feel even a fraction of what he's doing to you.

It earns you a groan, low and gritty, hips twitching against your palm, his breath is hot against your lips, his mouth hovering just barely out of reach.

"I won't tease," he promises, but the way he bites at your bottom lip feels like a lie. His tongue is quick to follow, flicking over the welt he’s just left, soothing the burn before sealing it with a kiss, just this side of messy. “Three years… that’s a long time.” His lips skim yours again. “For both of us.”

A pleased sound bubbles up from your throat, slipping between his lips, that makes it obnoxiously clear just how much you love those words. That is a sentence you’d like embroidered on a pillow. Maybe cross-stitched into a nice, elegant frame for your future shared bedroom. 

"Oh," you sigh, a smile stretching against his lips. "I really, really, like knowing that. That's, like, incredible news."

Your brows scrunch, and you pull back just an inch. 

"Just to be clear, though, you do mean in a wow, you've ruined me for other women way, and not in a I've been to busy for a sex life way, right? Because those are two different things, and I need to know which one we're working with here—"

Aaron huffs a laugh and instead of answering with words, his hands slip into your panties, fingers finding your clit without prelude. Skin to skin now, no fabric, no flimsy barrier. Just touch.

His fingers dip lower, dragging through the slick, indecent in how easily he moves through the mess of you. He makes a noise — nearly a groan, mostly a hum of appreciation, of possession — before he spreads it, smearing your own arousal over your clit, rolling circles.

"Oh, wow, sweetheart."

Your thighs fall open like you have no say in it — because you don’t, because every instinct in you is reaching for him, needing it like a fix.

And maybe, maybe that should be embarrassing — the obvious, shameless way you seek him out — but it’s a gorgeous kind of humiliation, a flush that spreads lower.

"Well," you gasp, chest rising in stuttering little pants. "Y—you kept me waiting forever."

Aaron hushes you with a soft tsk, his fingers pressing, stroking, coaxing you into sweet, mindless submission. Every movement feels preordained, like he already knows your body, like he’s a man who’s spent years thinking about this.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothes, murmuring it against the fragile skin beneath your ear, punctuating it with a kiss. "But I think I'm making up for lost time pretty well."

"I guess," you manage. "Th—that's acceptable."

Aaron chuckles, the vibration traveling straight into your skin. His lips descend, an idolization thing, but it’s the kind of devotion that sets you on fire.

His hands spread over your thighs, parting them gently.

Your underwear drags down, slipping over your thighs, grazing the curve of your knees, and then off. And suddenly, there's nothing separating you from his eyes, from the way the air licks over you, cool against the sticky heat between your thighs.

His lips part like he wasn't expecting to fall apart so easily. Like he thought he'd have more time, more control. And the power in it, the sheer, intoxicating power of knowing he's just as affected as you are, that this is breaking him open, makes your skin fizz, burn, ache for him even more.

If someone had told you a year ago that Aaron Hotchner, mister all-business-all-the-time, would be between your legs, staring at you like he's never seen anything more perfect, you would have said something nonsensical. Something about fate. Or destiny.

And you would have been right. Because you always knew this was a definite.

"Oh, honey.... You're gorgeous," It's almost a whisper, like the words were dragged out of him against his will, stolen straight from his lungs the second his eyes landed on you. His gaze drinks you in, head tilting, lips parting, tongue skating over the swell of his bottom lip. “I knew you would be, but…”

A sharp, sizzling spark races up your spine, white-hot and unbearable, but when it should tip over into relief, it withers into frustration. The kind that makes your body revolt against the absence of touch. Your hips buck, thighs squeezing as if you can somehow force the friction you’re being deprived of.

"Give me a second, baby," he teases, caressing his nose along the inside of your thigh. "Just wanna look at you."

His mouth moves in decadent passes, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your inner thigh.

Another kiss. Then another. So close.

Then he detours. Veers off, pressing his lips into the dip of your hip instead, dragging his tongue along something that is not your clit.

"So perfect."

His fingers prod through your folds, parting you, fingertips wading through the slickness pooling at your entrance. The sound that spills from him is sinful.

All of your muscles coiling tight, every inch of you scorching with unmet need and just when you think you're going to have to beg him, just when the words start to form —

He gives in. 

His tongue is there first, dragging a flat, broad stripe through your center, licking over every hypersensitive inch of you before looking up at you through hooded eyes. You swear you nearly come from the sight alone.

"Knew you'd be sweet."

Aaron doesn't waste another second, burying himself in you, mouth moving like he's been ravenous for this. 

His grip is firm as he spreads you wider, keeping you at his mercy. His lips wrap around your clit for a split second before he moves again, tasing, licking, humming, lapping up everything you're giving him.

It's messy. Wet. Dripping. His mouth moves as he tries to wreck himself on you. Each second convincing you that he wouldn’t mind suffocating here if it meant another taste.

His nose nudges against you, the angle so cruelly perfect it sends another violent tremor through your body, legs jumping against his shoulders. Your fingers grasp blindly for purchase, gripping the sheets, tangling in his hair, at anything you can reach. 

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs into you, words muffled by your pussy. "Let me hear you."

"Oh — " The sound falls from your lips, your eyes squeezing shut like you can block out the overwhelming pleasure if you just try hard enough.  "Oh, that's — "

Your hips stutter, thighs tightening around his face.

Aaron chuckles darkly, and you feel it more than you hear it, the sound pulsing through your core.

You’re not sure you have a body anymore, not sure you exist outside of this moment. You’re just sensation, just trembling atoms held together only by his hands, his breath, his voice. There’s no past or future – just now, just him.

If this is what it means to transcend, to be unraveled and rewritten in the same breath, then let it consume you whole. You could die like this, and it would be the kindest death you could ever ask for.

A single finger ghosts over your entrance, teasing but never quite committing. He dips in, just the barest of intrusion, and you shudder, clenching around nothing because it’s gone just as fast. 

He waits, just long enough to hear the next breathy fussing before finally spearing back in. Your eyes flutter shut, breath breaking apart in little puffs.

The sounds coming from your cunt should embarrass you, sticky, so shockingly loud that if your brain was working, you’d be mortified. But it’s not working. Not even a little. 

His hand flattens over your stomach and suddenly the pressure doubles, triples.

"Tell me, baby," he murmurs, "feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, yes, oh my gods, Aaron, I—"

Your normal senses have left the building. Packed its bags, hit the road, abandoned you to whatever dark magic this is. Because this —this isn’t how your body works. This isn’t how guys work. You don’t come from this. 

But here you are, hurtling toward it at full speed and all because he decided you would.

It’s happening too fast, the pressure stacking. Your thighs shake open, stomach clenching so hard it aches. Your mind is lagging behind, still reeling, still trying to rationalize but it doesn’t matter because your body has already made its choice, has already given in, has already decided this is happening, whether you’re ready for it or not.

"Aaron, I think—,"

Aaron just groans, finishing your sentence for you, lapping up your confession with his tongue,

"I know, baby." Hot air blows against your swollen clit. "Let me feel it."

It crashes over you, back bowing off the bed. Your body splinters apart, thighs trembling so hard you couldn’t stop them if you tried. The edges of your vision smear into nothing as the pleasure consumes everything in its path. 

His mouth stays on you, tongue and fingers pushing you through the aftershocks until you’re clawing at the sheets, until that pleasure tilts so far into oversensitivity that makes you unaware if you’re pulling him closer or pushing him away.

Your limbs feel like liquid, consolidating into every inch of your body, melting into the mattress as Aaron moves to be face to face with you.

He's looking at you like he's the only thing keeping you tethered to this planet, and maybe he is, because when his lips get close enough, you tug him the rest of the way down, crashing your mouth into his in a way that's all sloppy desperation.

You can taste yourself on him, can feel the way he groans into it when you sigh against his mouth, all soft and dreamy and drunk on gratification. 

When you pull back, your fingers card through his hair, fixing nothing but feeling everything.

"Oh my gosh," you gasp, dissolving into giggles, toes curling as you flop back against the pillows. "I knew you'd be good at that, obviously, but I wasn't expecting all that. Like wow, you should get a certificate of excellence or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you sigh dramatically, "Or like, a trophy, a raise, a sash that says best head giver in gold letters—," You pause for a breath, sucking in air like you just realized how winded you are.

"— and I mean, I've never come like that before. So. You should probably put that on your résumé."

When Aaron presses against you, you feel every inch of him. Thick and unfortunately still restrained. His slacks are a cruel barrier, the rough drag of the fabric catching your clit in a way that rips a whimper straight from your throat.

His teeth scrape along your jaw, then he's mouthing at your neck, sucking, teasing, marking you.

"Firstly," he murmurs. "I hate the idea of anyone else touching you."

An involuntary shiver rolls through you.

"And secondly," he continues, "the fact that they didn't even know how."

Your hands are frantic as they fly to his waistband, fumbling a bit, the last hindrance between you offensive in its existence. 

"Well, yeah," you sigh, looking up at him through fluttering lashes, glossy lips parted just for him. "I mean, you're literally the only one who's ever known what to do with me. That has to mean something, right? Like, cosmic destiny or whatever."

Aaron shoves his pants and briefs off, barely sparing them a second thought, and then he's back, fitted between your thighs.

"You already know the answer to that." His lips brush your temple. "I'm the only one who knows how to handle you. And I plan on proving it."

"Yeah, okay," you say, squirming beneath him. "Not gonna argue when that sounds like the best idea ever."

You've seen a lot of versions of Aaron. You've seen work Aaron, serious and bossy, looking at crime scenes like he can hear the evidence whispering just to him. You've seen grumpy Aaron, glaring over his coffee when you talk too much at morning briefings (but you know he likes it, he just won't say). You've seen soft Aaron, the one who lets you steal his jacket even though you definitely don't need it.

But you've never seen this Aaron. This post-kissing-you Aaron. Lips slick, still damp with you, evidence of where he’s been, what he’s done.

His eyes flick to yours, and there’s no shame, no rush to wipe it away. If anything, he tilts his head, letting you see it from a better angle.

"You're so handsome, Aaron." Your voice trembles. You don't even know if you said it out loud or just thought it so hard he must have heard it anyway.

"And you,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your cheek, “are so damn sweet, honey."

You beam at that, overwhelmed, so unbelievably happy that your thoughts are practically spilling out faster than you can catch them.

"Okay so I just need to say — this is so exciting, like, you do realize I've had a crush on you for years, right? And now this is actually happening, and that's just — wow."

You suck in a sharp breath, nails dragging over the thick muscles of his arms, across his shoulders.

"I mean, it's us, Aaron. Can you believe that? Like, I feel like this has been building for so long and now I'm just — gods, you're so hot, this is actually distracting me. I can't even finish my own thought —,"

You laugh, because you already feel so full of him and he isn't even inside you yet.

"And I know you're being all careful and slow because you're sweet and romantic and, like, the most perfect man alive, but also —,"

You grind up, chasing friction, his cock sliding just right over your clit. Your breath stutters, hands fisting at the nape of his neck as you try to remember what you were saying.

" — I'm literally at your mercy right now, so you should probably take advantage of that before I —,"

"You talk so much, baby."

And then he shuts you up. Hard.

His mouth rams into yours, ingesting the comment, the breath, everything.

He doesn't rush. 

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance before he finally, slowly, pushes inside.

It knocks the breath from your lungs. Your mouth parts against his, lips catching on his as a little sigh slips out. Your nails dig into his shoulders, helpless against the way he's opening you up. 

He stills, a sharp, fractured inhale slicing through the air, fingers digging into your hips — hard. He is struggling. You can feel it. The way his cock twitches inside you, like his body is screaming at him to move.

"I-I'm good." Your laugh wobbles, catches at the edges, barely disguising how badly you want him to believe you. "You can keep going."

"You're tensing because it's been a while." You don't mean to, but your body reacts before your brain can tell it not to, stiffening. Stupid, stupid. His exhale is shaky, and his lips press against your cheek. "I know that. I expected that."

You swallow, but it doesn't help.

"I also know that you think if I notice, I'll stop." His forehead rests against yours. "But I need you to hear me, baby. I'm not stopping."

His lips graze yours.

"I'm going to work you through this. Just let me in, princess."

And the second you do, the second you finally give in —

He groans, pushing deeper, stretching you completely, filling you to the hilt. 

"There we go," he breathes, wrecked with praise. His hand presses to your lower belly, feeling how deep he is, how well you take him. "That's my good girl."

Your head tilts back, lips parting, body doing the melty thing that feels really, really nice but also really, really dangerous because you swear you're seconds away from levitating straight out of your own skin.

"Okay, so I did think this would feel good —," Your fingers twitch against his chest, nails raking lightly over sweat-damp skin as another sharp moan tumbles free. "— but, um, wow, this is like — this is so —,"

Your words taper off, get lost somewhere between your psyche and your mouth, because oh. Oh, wow. He's so deep, so heavy inside you, pressing into places you didn't even know existed.

"Go on, baby," he murmurs, a smirk plastered across handsome features as he dips his head. "You were saying?"

"You know," you gasp, words all flimsy and loose, like they've been shaken up inside you, "I kinda always wondered how big you were —"

Your breath hooks halfway through, hiccups on a moan, brain scrambling to keep up with your mouth, your mouth scrambling to keep up with — him.

"Not that I, um — I stared at your pants or anything —" Another sharp inhale, another desperate moan, your walls fluctuating and squeezing around something too thick. "I mean, I try not to because I'm a professional —"

An involuntary clench makes him curse, makes his fingers dip into your hips, makes his head plunge forward hard against your shoulder.

"Honey, shit—,"

Your lashes flutter. "What?"

"Sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that while you ramble about my cock, I'm not going to last."

Your mouth clicks shut promptly.

"That's what I thought."

Hotch rocks his hips, just once, a sharp gasp fissuring from your lips like you weren't expecting it. 

"Jesus, sweetheart. You're trembling." He cups your cheek, his thumb skimming over your bottom lip, eyes dark and aflame. "Does it feel that good?"

You nod, and he hums, dragging his cock almost all the way out before pushing back in. 

His hand drags down your waist, spans over your belly, fingers pressing like he's charting the way he fits inside you.

"I used to tell myself I wouldn't do this," he admits. "That I wouldn't touch you. Wouldn't ruin you like this."

Your head lolls back, eyes fluttering, lips parted prettily, gasping as he rocks into you again, and again, and again. You shake your head, or at least, you think you do.

"You don't —" You try to shape words, but they liquefy on your tongue. "Don't ruin me, Aaron, you — oh, you make me —"

Hotch's throat bobs, his pupils blown.

"You make me so, so good, so soft, so perfect."

His hand cups your jaw. "You're already all of those things, sweetheart."

"Not before you," you sigh. "I've been waiting so long, Aaron, so, so long —"

"I know, baby," he groans. "I know."

His hand veers between your bodies, his fingers finding the swollen, neglected bundle of nerves.

“Aaron — oh, wait, wait, wait —,” Your hands shoot up to his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can, I mean, I can, but it’s just —,”

His cock throbs inside you, his rhythm stuttering for half a second before he finds it again, harder this time, his fingers matching the pace.

“Too much?”

“Yes, no, kind of? I don’t know, I can’t—,” You choke on your own breath as another thrust knocks every last rumination from your head. “I can’t think.”

“Good.” His forehead presses against yours, his lips parting against your mouth, panting, his control slipping. “I don’t want you thinking. Just feel me, sweetheart. Feel what I’m doing to you.”

Your body is shaking, shaking so hard that you don’t even know if you’re moving or if he’s just pushing you through it. 

“I know, baby. But you can take it, can’t you?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter, body twitching. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, groaning as he grinds into you, stretching it. “One more, honey. You can give me one more.”

It hits you slowly, unwinding through your organs like smelted honey.

“Oh, oh —,” Your breath falters, mind going blank, the pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body until you can’t do anything but let it consume you.

“Christ,” he groans, feeling you clench around him so tight it nearly undoes him.

You barely register the way you’re gasping, twitching, babbling out breathless little moans, vision blurring, and for a second you think you might black out.

“That’s it, princess,” he rasps, fucking you through it the reverberations. “So, so good for me.”

His pace turns shallow, sharp, chasing the tight, perfect squeezing of you still thrashing around him.

“You’re so tight, honey,” he grits, hands bruising your hips, your breath still catching from your own orgasm.

You’re too gone to respond, too wrung out to do anything but whimper as he takes you, using your body to pull himself over the edge.

He groans, low and deep, his fingers tangling in your hair, his mouth ghosting over your cheek as he finally breaks.

A shudder, a muttered curse, his body jerking, hips slamming into yours as he spills inside you.

He doesn’t mean to collapse, you know that, because even as his body gives out, his arms brace, still trying to be careful, even now. You want to cling to him, lock your legs around his waist, but you barely remember how to move, so you just let out a sleepy sound, nuzzling blindly at his throat. 

He murmurs something low, something that sounds like praise, maybe worship.

His lips press to the side of your face, half-gone and still recovering, and then his muscles tense, trying to lift himself off you.

Your arms wind around his neck before he can get too far. 

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, “I’m crushing you.”

“Don’t care,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse. “Feels nice.”

“You did so good.”

When he finally pulls out, you feel the loss and everything that comes with it, his release sticky and warm beneath your thighs. 

Aaron disappears into the bathroom, and you barely have time to miss him before he’s back with a warm cloth in hand.

You giggle, squirming before he even touches you, already restless, and the second he presses the cloth to your inner thighs, you jerk, laughing helplessly.

“Oh, wait —,”

Aaron sighs, one hand pressing against your hip to keep you still. “Sweetheart. You have to let me clean you up”

“But it tickles—,”

He smirks and continues his work. “How do you feel?”

“Like I saw god actually,” you ramble, kicking your feet against the sheets. “Or, like, like, if I had to describe it, I’d say I transcended reality for a little bit —,”

Aaron just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your knee as he finishes cleaning you up. Each swipe reminds you that your legs might not be on speaking terms with you tomorrow.

When he’s done his mouth finds yours again. It’s easy to kiss him. If it were physically possible to stay attached to him, twenty-four hours a day, you’d gladly test the theory.

“Worth the wait,” he breathes into your mouth.

“Well, yeah,” you murmur, smirking up at him. “I figured it would be for you.”

He laughs.

“Yeah, baby, you were good,” he mutters, kissing right over your stuttering pulse. “You were so good.” Another kiss. “So good I’m already thinking about the next time.”

Your heart hasn’t even slowed down, and you’re already thinking about the next time. Already plotting, already ready to drag him back down and see just how quickly that next time could turn into right now. But before you can so much as tug at him — Aaron is rolling out of bed, pulling on his pants, disappearing into the kitchen.

You mean to protest, to demand why he left you alone in a post-bliss haze, but then he’s back, pressing a glass of water into your hand, watching you drink it like it’s his personal responsibility.

Then comes food, something light and something he feeds you between kisses, between lazy murmurs about nothing. 

At some point, the blankets are back over you, his lips pressing against your forehead, his voice saying something about getting some sleep before you got any ideas, before pulling you against him.

You hum, content and drowsy, shifting a little, rolling over to get more comfortable —

And then your eyes land on that photo frame from earlier. You had a clear view of it now.

It was you.

It takes you a second to place it, but once you do, you almost laugh. You know this photo — because Garcia took it. She printed it out months ago, probably as some ridiculous gag, and stuck it to Aaron’s office wall with a bright sticky note that read your favorite obviously. You’d rolled your eyes at the time, called it workplace favoritism, but he’d never taken it down. 

And now, somehow, it’s framed. On his nightstand, like he’s been looking at you every night for —

You don’t finish the thought.

Instead, you just smile, huge and uncontrollable.

He doesn’t say anything.

And you don’t need him to.

Because you already know.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[littlemissshifter]

How to 'let go'.

To know how to 'let go' you have to understand what it is. I highly suggest you to read this post first.

Letting go is not a act of forgetting but one of perseverance. It's meaning is quite literally it's opposite. Letting go is not you leaving everything behind and focusing on your life but living regardless. It is the celebration of being alive.

No matter what I write, it won't change the fact that everything you 'want' exists. Everything is already available to you. It has happened and only waiting for you to acknowledge it. The integration of a desire in your reality does not mean that it didn't exist before in your life. It's you realising that it was always there. Staring at you right in the face when you were 'waiting for it to arrive'.

To let go you must know, you must know that searching for something outside of you when you're it is useless. I understand your want, your need, your desparation. But it's literally here? The thing you want is already your reality. Everything is happening now. Why aren't you acknowledging the truth?

Perseverance is something you do, not caring what the physical plane is showing you. The physical plane is you. It is your conscious decision on something. You keep moving forward. You keep rising and falling but you keep going. That is what letting go is.

It's your ability to keep moving forward, your ability to keep doing what you want no matter the present or the result that you seek so hard. It is you never stopping. Now I don't mean that you keep going and never rest. Remember, to move forward you must create momentum. To create momentum you keep doing what you like. What you know you want to do.

Doesn't matter what the world says. If you need or want to rest right now, you must do it. Because that's what's important. That's what you want. That doesn't stop the flow of life. It keeps life going. Your decision to do what you want to do keeps life moving.

It doesn't matter if you spiraled for a million hours or if you feel like you ruined your chances to shift/manifest. It doesn't matter if you think you can't do it or whatever the fuck people think these days. The main most important question is what do you want to do right now? What do you want right now in this moment?

The only way to move forward is to keep doing what you like. Doing what you want in the present. It is focusing on one thing at a time. Whether it is playing a game on your phone, taking a nap, eating an apple, crying your heart out or screaming at the world because you're mad. It is the continuing of the cycle of life. It is the continuous energy in motion. Your emotions felt, seen and heard. Your existence acknowledged and appreciated.

It includes every decision you take. Small or big. It includes you acknowledging yourself in every decision. It includes you looking after your wants, your needs, yourself. Stop running after your desire and run after you.

That's all you need to do to let go. It's all letting go is. It was always just moving with yourself and not leaving yourself behind. You are your greatest asset. Stop waiting for people to help you. Get up, cry and move on. Feel and love. You were yours before the world took you. Come back home to yourself and live.

[pickingupthepunchlines]

2x07 feels like severance’s thesis statement. all of mdr’s hijinks and journeys, all of the goats and the paintings, they exist as ameliorations of the beating heart of the show: there are people who can and will stop at nothing to make their own lives just a tiny bit less uncomfortable. they have the resources to create an underclass in their own bodies, and they do not care about the consequences.

mark has been consumed with grief (& likely targeted by lumon), and, at first, seems to view severance as a gift to his innie: a version of himself with the grief removed. dylan clearly does this for financial reasons — he’s got kids to feed. at the end of the day, they (and irv, and presumably most of the severed workers) are already laborers, already under the boot of capitalists (yes, professors count. they generate value for institutions over which they have little to no say).

in s1, this theme, the blatant disregard of capital for anyone, even the capitalists themselves, is shown via helly and gabby. helena allows helly to be tortured, driven to the point of suicide. when we all saw devon meet gabrielle after she’d given birth, we all thought, “what a horrible thing to do; severing yourself during labor. how awful it must be for gabby, to live only during those painful moments.” and then other stuff happened, and our collective focus drifted.

we cannot look away from 2x07. gemma and her various innies are tortured in the name of research & development. the rooms are full of labor that one cannot outsource: dentist appointments, physical travel, going to the gym (gemma briefly wears gym clothes & we see mauer in a coach’s outfit). you can hire someone to do your taxes or move your belongings or even inflict the kind of cruelty that milchick, cobel, and mauer do every day. an eagan or a rich state senator can eliminate almost all discomfort and unpleasantness from their daily life. almost. because the answer to all of their problems thus far has been the subjugation of others, the building of an increasingly powerless underclass, this is the only solution they can see. they have no interest in developing dental tools that are less painful, workouts that are less laborious, ergonomic pens that write quicker and cause fewer cramps. why would they, when they can just outsource the labor to another self? they don’t care about the costs — not the fact that they are creating another person who will experience only the things they want so desperately to avoid, not the fact that it’s literal brain surgery, not even the fact that severance leaves their bodies open to exploitation by basically anyone (see helly’s speech & dr. mauer’s creepy vibes) — they just don’t want to have to do anything they don’t want to do

if this is how people are willing to treat themselves, their own bodies, the show asks, how will they treat you?

[seokminfilm]

seventeen as my memorable school experiences

♫ pairing, seventeen x reader ♫ warnings, fluff, unserious/crack, non-idol au, very short, headcanons, debut/high school age seventeen, cliches, cursing, kind of dramatic, my personal stories

♫ author's note, hi everyone 😞 school and deadlines have been driving me insane so i'll be semi-active until further notice 🧍 ANYWAYS wanted something fun (slightly unserious) and quick, so i thought of this idea! these are all in good fun so don't worry 🤍 without further ado enjoy these headcanons (and tell me if you like them/want more of this format!)

seungcheol would definitely be the type of guy to hold the littlest things over you 😭 definitely one to pull the "I'm older than you" or "I'm stronger than you" card in literally every situation 🧍 you know the kid that was like "i'm so fast i can run here and back in three seconds"? seungcheol would be the one doing that, and trip over something and face-plant 💀 i would not take him seriously let me tell you that

jeonghan teacher's pet 100 percent LMAO definitely the type of person to tell on someone when they're not doing something they "should" be doing. has to be the teacher's helper, passing out papers and running errands for them. jeonghan would be the sly one that is actually one of the most unruly ass students but gets away because he sucks up to the teacher 😭

joshua he'd be the popular transfer student that everyone would be focused on for like a week. he's the talk of the school okay 😭 has that generic 2010 gelled/swooped to the side hair with a button-up for sureee joshua is the kid who's really polite and sweet and has the teacher singing his praises, but when he gets around the right people, he cannot be stopped

jun jun's the really quiet one you forget even exists sometimes 😭 your teacher is taking attendance and says "who are we missing" and you say someone jun, while everyone else is yelling another person 🧍like no jun's sitting right behind you, he's just really quiet. (part two of getting around the right people and being loud)

hoshi hoshi is that one kid that cannot be embarrassed by himself. he will do the most cringy things known to mankind, and still be able to walk away normally after it 💀 does not care about what he likes (definitely an anime kid i feel it in my soul), and makes references that no one gets. people are scared to have to be his class partner let me tell you 🧍

wonwoo not be overused or anything but i seriously do see wonwoo as a gamer boy 💀 my childhood best friend (who goes to school w me & is in my class) is an absolute dork when it comes to video games. wonwoo would be the person to bring a sketchbook skilled fo video game characters 🧍 would also be the person to listen to video game osts while doing homework/assignments

woozi part two of "the really quiet kid you forget even exists sometimes" LMAO woozi is definitely to be the one in the back of the classroom minding his business, doing his work, or sleeping. woozi can be funny, but just doesn't feel like trying 🤷 has great timing with the things he says and makes the whole class laugh

the8 did (or do) you know that one kid that would correct your grammar or pronounciation without your consent? the8 would SO be that kid omg 😭 lord forbid you stutter around him cause he'll go straight to mocking you for it. the8 would be such a stickler w that i fear (i can just imagine you having him read something you've written and there he is correcting your run-on sentences 💀)

mingyu there's this one kid i see walking around in the hallways of my school with a mop of curly hair shielding his eyes 🧍 that just screams mingyu to me LMAO idk he tries so hard to be cool and hip but it just doesn't work 😭 considered one of the more popular people of the class, even if it's just because he's "mysterious".

dk he's definitely the type of person to make you come undone with an "are you okay?" or bunches of compliments CHANGE MY MIND i have a friend who's so good at coaxing feelings & tears out of me w a simple "hey, are you okay?", and i feel like dk would be the same way 😭 gives you a hug every day when you're leaving, and texts you on school holidays/breaks because he "misses human interaction" ("i miss you so bad ☹" "seokmin it's been 2 hours since i last saw you")

seungkwan theatre kid or choir kid 🤷 also probably has his mom working as a teacher so has those privileges to where he can visit his mom's class and participate in a bunch of things since his mom is already at the school 🧍probably also a generic popular girl too LMAO hears things from other people and spreads it professionally (probably to the8: if you see them two conversing and looking at you, 9/10 you're being secretly roasted)

vernon debut vernon to me screams "random boy every girl in your grade liked with a windshield wiper laugh and thick, brown wavy hair" 🤷 had this one boy in 3rd grade that EVERY SINGULAR GIRL THOUGHT WAS CUTE. also probably says cringe things (ex: dude, bro, fire, lit, sike, etc) unironically because he has an image to uphold or something. please don't make him laugh really hard (you'll hear this squeaky grating sound that makes you want to stuff your head in your backpack)

dino dino is the popular boy by association 😭 he's not really popular on his own, but when with vernon/mingyu suddenly multiplies in popularity. he's actually a really chill, down-to-earth dude LMAO lord forbid he makes a terrible joke though 💀 he'll be so embarrassed he'll shut down and never come back. would friends with vernon and probably practices the windshield wiper laugh in his bathroom at home 🧍

a/n: lowkey very cliche and personal but still fun/comforting to write (speaking with experiencing most of these things firsthand LMAOAOOA!! tell me what you think about it LMAO

[that-hippie-user]

Without hypnosis, how would you encourage someone to become a diaper-addicted bedwetter? What’s the best argument you could make to win them over?

i'd like to answer this in the form of a ramble. no hypnosis, no traps, no triggers. literally just a lesson from me to you. click below if you're curious.

some folks describe the world we're in as one that tries to fit you into a mold, to shape you a desired way.

but a mold is a very simple process, pour liquid substance into a vessel with the desired shape, let it solidify, and its done. taking an otherwise shapeless thing and giving it shape in a very easy way.

life is not a mold, but an extruder.

a length of meterial is sent down a tube, which itself gradually shifts from the original shape, to the desired one.

the process is gradual, the material shapes itself almost as if it were meant to, but it's being guided to that shape by the tunnel its in.

you werent given a role from the start and made to fit it, you were gradually acclimated to that role until it became normal.

its the small things. being corrected on how you sit, or how loud your voice is, or telling you to stop tapping your feet, or saying particular interests dont fit your role.

i used to naturally cross my legs, i had an interest in pink, i loved made for dvd cartoons like strawberry shortcake or tinker bell. turned out i was transgender, and the role of "boy" was one i was shaped to be through peer pressure.

now, what does this have to do with diapees?

put simply, you NEVER had a say in potty training.

kids often have no say in a lot of things, its taken for granted that a kid needs guidance if they're gonna be safe in this world. but potty training is a universal lesson.

how did YOU react at the time? to being told you have to "graduate" from diapers. were you agreeable? upset? did you try to rebel? it doesnt matter, all roads lead to you being potty trained.

its so deeply ingrained in our society its practically a core foundation. think about this for a moment, KINDNESS is not mandatory. sure, as a kid you're taught to share and care, but how many people do you know who carried that into adulthood? in fact, in a capitalist sense, kindness is a weakness to the goal of profit.

so, we live in a world where you CANNOT under ANY circumstance choose to be diapered, unless you "need" to, like, if there is no alternative. and yet you can live life as the biggest jerk in history and you're not even guaranteed a reprimand for it.

and yet... everyone ALSO agrees that being a kid is the best thing in the world, and you should enjoy it while you can because it wont last, you cant go back to that.

and that much IS true... but you CAN go back in some ways.

oh sure, you WILL grow up. lessons get learned, fears develop, motor function improves, your body gets taller and stronger, and your brain naturally develops as it goes, that much is ALL true...

but... you CAN still wear diapers... in fact, it almost seems like you're gently encouraged to? cuz like... every store with a pharmacy has a nearby section for adult diapers, they got ENTIRE ISLES of diapers. in every size you'd need.

because as much as society tries to tell us diapers are meant to be left behind, we cant deny that sometimes they are necessary, stores NEED these if they can have them.

and if thats the case... if systems are in place for people to wear diapers... what exactly is wrong with using them?

and furthermore, its probably the ONE holdover from childhood you can always go back to.

no matter how big you get, you cant change one universal fact. diapers exist, they have an intended function, and you CAN use them, if you are brave.

and if you do? you're being a TRUE rebel, moreso than most really. you're doing the ONE thing adults must NEVER do, the thing that potty training was MADE for.

if you wear and use diapees, you are choosing to reject an instinct of adulthood in favor of your own personal rebellious joy, and that is BADASS.

and why shouldnt you? if gender is a social construct, then so is growing up. you CAN redefine what it means to you. you can decide for yourself what it means.

and if you do... you ALSO have the option... to take it FURTHER.

because you know... training like that can be UNDONE too.

not fully, mind, your body now has the ability to know when it needs to go, that much stays.

buuuuut. your ability to hold it CAN be undone.

;3 and thats not even hypnosis, all you have to do is use your diapees! X3 im not joking, peeing yourself outside of a bathroom scenario gives your body and brain permission to do it elsewhere.

UwU and with time... it gets harder to hold it. ;3 how long does it take?

3 WEEKS

3 weeks of continued diaper use is all it takes to lose control.

but why? why lose control? what point is there is making you wet yourself? (or mess if thats your thing. X3 its certainly mine!)

because if using diapers is rebellion, then unpotty training is FREEDOM

its the ultimate middle finger to the training you were given, a sound rejection of the thing you were taught is most important.

and once you reject that... the skies the limit!

do you have any idea how much CONFIDENCE it takes to willingly make yourself a puddlepants?

if you're willing to do that, no force on this earth can stop you. gender? redefine it as you please. fashion? you wear diapers for underwear, wear whatever you want. hobbies? passions? do what you like! ;3 not like bathroom breaks can stop you anymore.

so go nuts! have fun! live life on YOUR terms.

diapers are fun, diapers are soothing, diapers are freeing, and diapers are YOURS to wear.

be free, be a mushtush!

[anamericangirl]

It happened again! Nother convo between me and a lib friend.

Me: I thought you didn't support the death penalty?

Friend: I don't! And I never well. Those are human beings in a correctional facility. The purpose of them being there is to help them transition back into society as a normal human being.

Me: As someone who studies criminal psychology I regret to inform you that the criminally insane do not magically become normal people while in prison.

Friend: That doesn't mean we shouldn't try. [This is my favorite quote in here because this friend says religion should be outlawed because if we can't see God he doesn't exist. So his logic of "Just because we've never seen it doesn't mean we shouldn't try" goes out the window when it's religion, but he's all for it when it's gender ideology, criminal correctional facilities or communism being a good form of government.]

Me: So can I ask you about all the memes you've been posting? [Context: He's been posting memes non stop about how that healthcare guy got shot and saying it's hilarious]

Friend: Dude there's a huge difference between someone who made a mistake and someone who deliberately fucked over millions of people with health care scams

Me: I really implore you to watch criminal psychology videos with me sometime. These are not people who made a mistake, these are people who take pleasure in murdering as many people as they can.

Friend: They can still be helped. CEOs can't be helped, they're too far gone.

Me: I literally just watched one about a woman who killed her pregnant daughter and then cut her open and ate the baby inside of her, and you think she can be helped but CEOs can't be?

Friend: Yes I do, she's still a human being.

Me: She's not, she's dead. She got the death penalty for that. It was in Texas.

Friend: And what problem did that solve?

Me: Well there's not a woman who killed her daughter and ate her unborn granddaughter in the world anymore, so she can't go on to do that again.

Friend: Yeah but that's one person. This CEO killed millions of people.

Me: It's two people, and I dunno about you but I really feel like when you literally murder someone you don't deserve the life you've been given anymore, no matter how many people you murder. If we're gonna weigh the severity of murder on a bell curve that's fucking retarded. We don't go "Yeah he killed 10 people but he doesn't lose his humanity card until he kills a lot closer to 6 million people." I feel like in both cases we should probably get rid of the murderer.

Friend: Well, you got your wish apparently since both are dead so what the hell are you complaining about?

Me: I'm not complaining, I'm trying to understand your logic. You're completely okay with someone getting shot to death because you claim they've killed millions of people, but then when someone kills 1-10 people and is in prison you fight for their human rights. I'm personally glad that in both cases they can't keep hurting people because I'm of the opinion that the death penalty for heinous criminals who are a danger to society is a good thing. My confusion starts with you being okay with one but not okay with the other. You're entirely inconsistent on who you're okay with being killed.

Friend: I'm completely consistent with who I'm okay with being killed. If they're nazis, billionaires, CEOs, maga, racist or antivaxxers they can get killed and I'll be happy.

Me: What's the bar for CEO? Because a small business owner is still a CEO. And when you say racist, do you mean specifically white racists who are racist against non-white or are you at least being consistent there and also hoping black and latino people who hate white people die too?

Friend: It's not racist to hate white people.

Me: Got it. And the CEO question?

Friend: CEO and billionaire are the same thing.

Me: They absolutely are not. The term "CEO" literally means "Whoever is in charge of a business or corporation." That means that a family owned business does in fact have a CEO, even if that business is only worth like $10,000.

Friend: That's not the definition of CEO, CEOs are billionaires in charge of companies like EA and Ubisoft. A small business owner is a small business owner.

Me: The guy who makes tiki torches is a small business owner, you want him killed?

Friend: He's a nazi.

Me: He's a nazi because the KKK bought his product?

Friend: Yep!

Me: It is shocking how easy it is for you to wish death upon someone. So you think the tiki torch guy should be shot?

Friend: Absolutely, yes.

Me: Let's change the subject, this is getting stupid. You still ride horses?

Friend: Yeah

Me: Fucking nazi.

Friend: [He sent a groggy anime girl emote]

Me: What? The KKK owns horses, haven't you seen Django Unchained?

Friend: I'm going to bed.

Me: By the way the tiki torch CEO is a left-winger who went on CNN to say he was appalled by the protesters using his torches.

Friend: Don't care.

Me: Still shoot him?

Friend: Yes. Good night.

Me: Aight.

I'm still reeling from "murderers can be helped but CEO's can't be because they're too far gone."

lol.

lmao even.

There's nothing wrong with being a CEO. It's not a crime. So wtf is he talking about they're too far gone and can't be helped? Like the problem with the United Healthcare CEO was that he was supposedly a murderer but I thought murderers could be helped???

Being in charge of a business isn't a bad thing omg. Sounds like your liberal friend, like most liberals, is just jealous some people make more money than he does.

Consistency would kill these people.

[xxcallmemaryxx]

*gasping for breath*

my liege! a- a letter!! from,, the village!

*cautiously, u take the note, opening it slowly*

scrawled in a hurried hand are two words that chill u to the bone: vampire vessel

u know what u must do

👀🙏

So this is the coolest way anyone has ever requested something and it literally tore me right out of writers block. So thank you!!

Vampire Vessel under the cut ~

Vampire Vessel who spent weeks watching you. Always in the shadows. Always hidden. Always just out of sight. It was a life he was accustomed to. Always getting so close yet never being allowed contact. Ever. He’d been around long enough to know that his safety, and his family’s safety, prioritises all else. No matter how deeply he feels, or how long he’s dreamed of something, if it impacts his safety he can kiss it goodbye. He still remembers the way ii looked at him when he realised where Vessel was going the first time.

“Leave it alone.”

“… leave what alone?”

“You know what, Vessel. We are safe here.”

“I just want to see.”

“… Do not be seen.”

Vessel knows ii has a weak spot for him, he takes advantage of it, but the way ii looked at Vessel before he slipped out the door was pleading. He can’t help his curiosity, he’s been alive for so long that new people tend to make him careless. He was honest when he said all he wanted was to see you. Just a look. To see what you were like. What colour your eyes were. If you had anyone with you. It’s not every day someone new moves into these woods. It’s quite rare. He likes to know things. To know what’s going on outside the manor. To know if he and the guys needed to be more careful than they already were. And truly, that was his intention the first time he came to visit you.

He can’t say the same now. He’d be lying.

It’s been a month. And he never stopped coming to see you.

It’s been a very long time since Vessel has been genuinely interested in someone new. He’s never known his teeth to ache like the way they do when he watches you. He’s never known his throat to close up like the way it does every time you unknowingly meet his eyes in the dark through your kitchen window. He’s never known the urge to run away from a human who wasn’t actively hunting him like the way he feels with you. Because your presence within these woods makes Vessel feel like he is being hunted. And what terrifies him more is that despite that, he can’t stay away from you. He wishes no harm upon you. He wishes no trouble upon you.

But he yearns.

He wants to feel your human skin under his frozen fingertips. He wants to hear your heart race every time he looks at you. He wants to feel the way your breath stops every time he gets close. He sits by your home for hours just watching you live. Watching you exist. He’s beyond fascinated. He’s forgotten a lot about human behaviour, but he’s just obsessed with the way you choose to be. Every time he spends the night with you, he occupies a sturdy tree branch just far enough away to be shrouded by shadows, but close enough for him to still see and hear you.

ii has tried to steer his obvious desire towards something safer. Thinking maybe he’s just hungry and is getting restless. He forces Vessel on hunts with him or sends iii out to mess around with him for a bit, to blow off some steam or get whatever it is out of his system. But every other night the manor is void of Vessel. No matter how recently he’s eaten, or how much like his normal self iii and iv can pull out of him again, he always ends up back up in that tree with his eyes glued to your every move.

Vessel can never just leave it alone. Despite iis warning.

Because long after you’d gone to bed, Vessel couldn’t bare to part with you. He sat up in his tree, with a lap full of sticks and twine he’d made himself. And for hours he worked his long practiced skills and crafted a small gift for you. A dream catcher, in the shape of a heart. It was small, but beautifully put together. He debated leaving it for you the whole time he was making it. Weighing up if it was worth the hell he’d have to pay should any of the guys find out. But as the sun started to peak over the horizon he didn’t think twice. Jumping down from his tree, he hung it off your front door handle and took off back to the safety of the manor.

He tells himself that he technically did keep his word to ii. He hasn’t been seen.

But if ii finds out what he did this morning, Vessel knows ii would find a way to give him human life again just to kill Vessel again himself.

.

.

.

Thank you reading!!

I hope I did this ask justice but just know this isn’t the last of vampire vessel. He will be back.

[raincoatpng]

nobody asked but here is my take on Yona because I need to get it out somehow.

This is a pro-Yona rant from a sidlink fan, addressed to people who enjoy media analysis. Because I don't think it's necessary to pretend a whole character doesn't exist in order to enjoy a ship, if you can learn to look deeper. I am not claiming to know the universal truth, this is just my opinion and my read on things.

I don't want to spend too much time on this first point, but a lot of people seem to be of the opinion that Yona's existence in Tears of the Kingdom was a ploy from Nintendo to bury sidlink. I personally don't think that's the case, firstly because I think it's overestimating the reach of sidlink to assume that Big Nintendo would care to go out of their way to sink the ship, and secondly, a lot of things just do not make sense if that indeed was their intention.

Now, I can't claim to know what every writer and game dev involved in TOTK was thinking, but from a purely logical standpoint, why would they include so many gay ass scenes if their intention was to destroy the ship? I'm thinking first and foremost about the scene where Sidon gets on one knee and gives Link a ring as "proof of his vow." There's just no way that not a single person in the writers room saw the implication there, let's be honest. Why on earth would they put this scene in there if they cared at all about killing off sidlink? It's like using oil to put out a fire. Like I said, it simply makes no sense.

Onto the topic of Yona herself, and the reason I'm posting this in the first place, I don't think I'm the only one who noticed the lack of chemistry between her and Sidon. We know the TOTK writers were capable of writing good chemistry because they did it with Rauru and Sonia, and through just a couple cutscenes at that. So I don't think it's a coincidence that Sidon and Yona don't have that between them.

If you've not read the new zora stone tablets written by Sidon scattered around Lanayru, there is one where Sidon describes how he had once seen Yona as a sister and how he admired her just as he did Mipha. Yes, granted, it is written in the past tense, but why on earth would they include this in the first place? why not say they were merely childhood friends, why precise that they viewed each other as siblings (or that Sidon did at least)? As for the part where he says his feelings have grown harder to describe with time, that is such a vague line it could literally be interpreted any way you like. I have no clue if this is unique to the english translation, so if anybody reads japanese and has read the tablets, please let me know if this was originally intended.

Regardless, Sidon also mentions that Dorephan informed him that Yona would be his bride, implying in no uncertain terms that this was an arranged marriage. The lack of agency in this relationship doesn't exactly scream romance, now, does it?

LASTLY!! the most significant on screen interaction between Sidon and Yona by far is the scene where Yona scolds him (rather sisterly behaviour I might add) for refusing to go to the Water Temple with Link and let her help with the sludge. She accuses him of projecting his grief over losing Mipha onto her and letting himself be paralysed with the fear of losing a loved one again. Similarly, the most significant interaction Yona has with Link is when she fixes his Zora armour up for him – the very armour that Mipha had made for him. I'm gonna say this straight up, it is odd how much the game directs our attention to the parallel between Sidon's supposed love interest and his sister. That is, unless, there is in fact no romance between him and Yona.

So. Rather than writing off Yona entirely as many people are quick to do, I invite you to think deeper on her role in the game. Yes she's very underdeveloped as Sidon's love interest, but ask yourself if that even is the most interesting way to view her. I know a lot of people don't care to think about sibling relationships, even less so chosen family, but for those of you who do, I'm asking you to try to revisit Yona and Sidon's relationship in that light.

Consider the tragedy of losing one sister to war and another to politics, of growing apart from someone you considered family and be robbed of the opportunity to rekindle that bond because you are now betrothed to them. Imagine suddenly being nobody's brother, nobody's sister.

Even if that interpretation isn't as compelling to you as it is to me, at the very least, I'm tired of seeing unwarranted hate for a character that is nothing but helpful and kind. You are perfectly allowed to like or dislike any character, you are entitled to your opinion, but you are not entitled to misogyny. If your only reason for hating a female character is that she "gets in the way" of a ship, you are being sexist. Full stop.

[splinterofpandora]

Batman is dead.

I know it sounds vulgar.

Oh, you didn't like one comic book and now the character doesn't exist for you. Come on, we go through this every day! Stop clowning, you're not Joker!

But they actually did it in 2023. A year later, I realized exactly what happened. And I think I know how to change it. Hold on, because I'm going to tell you who Bruce Wayne was, and why death was good for him.

Chapter one. This is where the story begins.

Ok, we all know that. The alley. The boy next to his parents' bodies. No one hears his tears. A promise by the bedside. The training. Criminals are a superstitious cowardly lot. The Bat.

We rarely talk about Thomas and Martha because it was never their story. It was the story of a boy who found the meaning of life...no, at this stage, of existence...in fighting Evil. It was 1940s. The early years of The Dark Knight, in terms of plot, emphasized the common person's ability to overcome challenges and help those who cannot defend themselves. At first, the reader saw a “cool and intimidating” costume. The vigilante in action.

However, diving into the text we find that this Frightening Guardian is very...soft. He stays and tends to the victims of crime. Doesn't let people get discouraged. He is feared by criminals. He doesn't mind much that the police can do it either. But he's not an enemy of the society.

Later, Robin shows up. Alfred. Batwoman. Batgirl. The League...

But Batman remains their friend too. And so does Bruce Wayne, who...started life in the 1950s.

Chapter Two. Creating Identity.

Until about the early 70's(I'm using decades for simplicity, the actual timeline is a bit different) Batman's adventures explored the big issues people care about - corruption, war, crime. The wrapping of this was removed from reality. Took the form of evil clowns, spies in funny costumes, even aliens. Comics didn't want to pour complex things over our heads in their purest form.

But the important thoughts, the problems themselves and their possible solutions, along with the dreams of Mankind (flying cars, new discoveries in medicine, exploring the world), have always been the theme of the issue. For this reason, most of the dialog was directed at external things. The characters showed themselves through their actions.

We saw that Bruce can truly doubt, worry, and do crazy things. But he always cares about his young partner and wants to give him the best of what he himself has. Often in his interactions with Dick, Wayne shows pride in his son, his support. Many times he even risked Batman's life to save Grayson. And yes, the idea of separating man and suit, outside of formalities, didn't exist back then.

The idea of a billionaire wasn't a big deal yet, and 99% of the problems were solved by the masked vigilante, while the rich guy was a good cover for gathering information, which he did in the first issues.

Comics and media(audio, animated series, books) that recall this period especially emphasize the moment of complete father-son trust. As the point of supreme discovery of Bruce Wayne's mind. He wants to see a world where people are friends with each other. Openness. Sincerity. Idealism without drifting into absurdity. This is the Bruce Wayne of DC's first 30 years.

Chapter Three. Flowers are better than batarangs.

It's ironic, but with the visual darkness (relative to earlier works), 1970's Knight was the perfect middle ground between Bruce and Batman. The conflict of concepts was not yet seen from the angle of falling into darkness, but made many, not always consciously, afraid of their own protector.

My words should not be taken too literally. Gotham loved him. He openly cooperated with the police. Easily walked through the door of people's homes if invited. However, he could also be tough on crime and move like a shadow. That was troubling. But Batman doesn't cross the line. He's too kind. Everyone knows that.

Bruce is finally the man we know. Playful and frivolous, but the rich who loves beneficial initiatives for the city and its residents by day. And caped crusader by night.

He adores his children, starts many foundations and even a detective agency to help those in need and make police work easier. At the same time, Bruce's personal life is also going well. The authors are constantly looking for the man to be the love of his life, and the idea of retirement with the possibility of helping the world in some other way, without the cape, is increasingly glimpsed in stories about a possible future.

Unfortunately, the picture limit does not allow the narrator to continue his never ending battle, and so he will continue in the next post!

P.S. That and other themed post can be found under BrightKnightUpcoming tag.

[blackstar-liveblogs]

So, the potential conflict or underlying tension within the Teal Titans? More complex than you may think.

When you look at the other members aside from tr!Aimsey, you might get the biased look about them and the situation that the character is giving, but things are not as simple as ''the Blue faction doesn't care about tr!Aimsey.''

Because, here is the roster:

- As the clip above explains, at least for tr!CPK, the character very much does care about tr!Aimsey and cared that they were gone. The CC has said before that tr!CPK cares for tr!Aimsey like a sibling.

The thing is, like the CC expresses during this clip, tr!CPK is someone who remains calm, collected and controls his emotions. Bro has a place for meditation. He approaches the situations with logical and analytical thinking, instead of allowing feelings to block his view of what he can actually do that can be helpful during these dire scenarios.

Personally, I doubt a Keeper would have allowed him any kind of deal or method to get tr!Aimsey back, plus that would mean that he would potentially leave Blue with no leader. He was taking the responsability that was bestowen upon him seriously and decided to then help tr!Aimsey whenever they returned in whatever way he can. Work it out from there together.

- You have tr!Scott, who is an amnesiac thanks to the freaking snails, that is doing his very best to re-learn how a person and other people work, what's normal and not, how to handle emotions from others, what's the appropiate way to react to situations, etc.

He struggles to show care, because he doesn't remember how that was. And yet, he still does acts that can help people feel better. He hugged tr!Aimsey to comfort them when it was announced the chosen would be wiped from existence, as the distress was very clear and obvious.

And earlier he attempted to help tr!Pangi and tr!Ros via a place of understanding and experiences that he does know about/can relate to, like how he had to adjust after being a snail and the lack of past memories.

He's literally a person you need to be patient with, as it's clear his past snail was extremely hungry and took so so much more from him than the other three Warriors.

- There's no way to defend tr!Tubbo, bro gkbgkj. Dude saw tr!CPK was named leader and tried to take the position. He even has attempted to act as the leader while tr!Aimsey was right there a couple of times. It is actually so bad that tr!Tubbo was the only Blue member tr!Aimsey got to see, genuinely. It's clear he does not trust them completely ever since the whole situation when tr!Scott joined happened, or at the very least there's a bit of a grudge that remained there.

- tr!Piso has not joined in a while gkbgk.

And there it is, two characters who are way more analytical thinkers than emotional, and tr!Tubbo's shenanigans. In short, not the appropiate people to expect very emotional reactions from or the kind of actions that the audience would want from them.

Will this bite them in the back? Very possible. tr!Aimsey it's already set on the idea that they don't care to save them, so things will either go down or tr!Aimsey will refuse to express any of this to them.

[monabee-draws]

Character Motivation, Inciting Incidents, and Veilguard Backgrounds

Okay, big title for what will likely be a short post but I hope this draws out some cool idea-generation from the fandom. [Spoiler, it got long and out of hand, apologies.]

One crucial aspect of the origin stories in Dragon Age Origins is that it answers the question "Why the hell is the protagonist out here?" in an incredibly definitive way. None of the warden candidates start out wanting to be a warden. Many of them are full-on coerced into it at the end of their storylines by Duncan, and the choice is taken away from them as part of their narrative. They aren't presented with any other option. This is echoed in both Hawke and the Inquisitor's 'inciting incidents' even if we never see their background play out before the tale begins: Hawke is running from the Blight and not only has to leave home, but is actively corralled into going to Kirkwall and staying there by his deal with Asha'bellanar. There is no other option for them - Carver says so outright ("The Wilds are to the south, that's no way out.") The Inquisitor is faced, similarly to a Warden Tabris, with the threat of being hunted down and killed if they don't accept the protection that comes along with playing Herald. You begin the story in chains, and the condition of your release is effacing yourself to become what the Inquisition needs you to become.

None of these stories offer any kind of meaningful alternative to the direction the protagonist must follow to begin the narrative. If Hawke tries to sell or lose the amulet, it reappears. If someone refuses to drink from the chalice at the Joining, Duncan kills them. The Inquisitor has to play along just long enough to prove their innocence to the wider world, and by that point it's impossible to get out of it.

By contrast, Veilguard assumes Rook wants to be here without offering us any reason for them to be (positive or negative.) Now, I'm sure you want to say 'but their backgrounds!' but please, hear me out first. "Rook is a heroic character, they're a good person who wants to save the world and hey the world needs saving!" is a very 'Guardians of the Galaxy' character motivation: Greg lives in the universe so they would very much like said universe to continue existing. From one perspective, this supports Rook's characterisation as (almost) too selfless. Of course they jump onto the Solas bandwagon with Varric and go off to save the world! They're a hero, that's what heroes do. However, this is true of literally everyone in Thedas (except for some reason the Venatori and Antaam, though I guess they want the world to survive in a very specific way, so.) What makes Rook's heroism special? The lack of ability to insert nuance here harms Rook's 'Realness' as a protagonist. We cannot actively roleplay the kind of motivations that would push someone to travel with strangers away from everything they've ever known in pursuit of quarry they're not even sure they understand (Rook is confused in the introduction about Solas' many names, which I read as poor explanation on Varric and Harding's part of the true nature of their quarry; additionally, Laidir's letter from Isabela implies that Varric hasn't really explained Solas to Rook yet in the 'Six Months Ago' letter.)

Yes, each backstory justifies why Rook cannot go home, but why does Rook go with Varric? This aspect of the story is written around - Varric is there and Rook always cares about him. But why? Why not lay low somewhere until your faction drama blows over? For certain backgrounds leaving isn't even required, just suggested, and you could easily relocate your operations for a little while (GW, SD) or stay home away from work (MW, VJ.) Only a Crow and LoF Rook could reasonably expect to be hunted down and killed even if they laid low, maybe Shadow Dragon at a push. The backgrounds are written in such a way as to justify why Varric might see a spark of good in Rook, but give little to no reason why Rook would consider following that spark to work with Varric. I reiterate here: Taking a hard stance and writing Rook as a heroic character IS FINE, but even heroes have motivation. We as the audience NEED to see that to become invested. Not everyone is willing or able to make things up to fill this gap.

This is why, like many others, I think we should have had the opportunity to play through our origin missions rather than merely reading them in character creation/having information drip fed to us (if you're lucky and play a MW or Crow Rook) or not be expanded upon at all during the game. [Disclaimer: Yes wardens absolutely get the most reactivity but not in a way that explains who Rook was, which wardens they knew or areas they worked in, or anything beyond them knowing Antoine and Evka from before.] Show us how we meet Varric, and why we should care about him. Plenty of Tabris' probably hate Duncan, plenty of Broscas and Aeducans probably love him. But all origins give the player the groundwork to decide how that dynamic is going to play out before the character exits the narrative. So when Duncan haunts it - through Alistair, through Loghain, through Wynne's dialogues about duty and sacrifice and through the Landsmeet decisions - it actively draws out an emotional connection.

Veilguard gets away with handwaving a lot of emotional investment because it trusts players have played at least one game with Varric in it already - and if you have, of course you'd love him and follow him to save the world. It is practically impossible to not be friends with Varric in DA2 and Inquisition (unless you make very erratic, specific decisions on purpose.) Would Rook be any different? But there's the rub - Rook doesn't get to decide if they are any different. There is only one option - to travel with Varric to help stop Solas. But because that is never defined - we never see the lack of alternatives, we are never faced with the Blight or the Wilds - the motivation along this single path never arrives. All Wardens have to stop the Blight. All Hawkes have to survive. All Inquisitors have to become the Herald. But we get to see the moments in which that non-choice is made, and it is a crucial moment to understand who a character is, and what kind of narrative they live in, and why they maintain forward momentum along that path. Rook's story is a hero's story - specifically the kind where they actively decide to be that hero - but we never get to be there when the difficulty of that choice occurs.

All that to say, in the end, that I am deeply curious why YOUR Rook decided to try and save the world. What is their relationship with Varric? With the task at hand? If you had to write the recruitment mission or Inciting Incident to reflect your Rook's morals, beliefs, motivations and relation to Varric, what would it look like? These are big questions I wish we could have played out even basically in Veilguard proper, but I'd still like to know. It's a question I struggle with for all of my Rooks, and there's great fanon out there. It would have been nice to not have to rely on that.

[misakiisstupid]

Headcanon: Jason Todd vs. The Internet (A Losing Battle)

Jason Todd is many things.

A crime lord? Sure.

A vigilante? Absolutely.

A walking embodiment of chaotic violence and trauma? 100%.

Tech-savvy? Not even remotely.

And nobody realizes it until it’s far, far too late.

The Problem? Jason Missed the Internet Boom.

Jason was 15 when he died. The last time he was alive, the most advanced thing he used was the Batcomputer, and even then, it was mostly just:

"Enhance that image."

"Pull up the GCPD files."

"How do I delete my search history before Bruce sees it?"

Then? He was dead.

By the time he came back, the world had moved on without him.

Smartphones. Social media. Streaming. Apps. Online banking. Memes.

Jason Todd had no idea how any of it worked.

But Jason is Also a Little Shit.

Which means he refuses to admit it.

Tim once made an offhand comment about how Jason wasn’t on social media. Jason, not wanting to sound out-of-touch, just scoffed:

"Pfft, as if I’d waste my time on that."

(Translation: I don’t actually know what that is, but I refuse to be perceived as old.)

Steph once tried to add him to a group chat. Jason took one look at all the notifications and noped out of there.

Cass once sent him a link. Jason stared at it for five minutes before giving up and just asking Duke what to do.

The Man is Just Out Here Not Acknowledging the Internet Exists.

If Jason needs to find information, he doesn’t Google it. He asks Barbara, Tim, or literally anyone else.

If someone tells him to "DM" them, he pretends his phone is broken.

If people try to show him TikToks, he just nods like he understands.

When Bruce tried to introduce online case files, Jason printed them out and handed them back in a folder.

Once, he accidentally clicked on an ad and it crashed his browser. He just never opened it again.

Jason’s Excuse? "I Don’t Care."

And the thing is? It’s a damn good excuse.

Because who’s going to question him? Jason Todd is a 90s kid who was raised on street smarts and paperback books. He doesn’t need all this tech nonsense.

So when someone asks him why he doesn’t use the internet, he just shrugs:

"Why would I? I already know everything I need to know."

(Translation: I don’t know how to open a PDF and I refuse to learn.)

Then Zoe Asks.

One day, his surprise-adopted (kidnapped) daughter, Zoe, asks him for help with her school project.

“Papa, can you show me how to make a slideshow?”

Jason freezes.

His entire soul leaves his body. A slideshow. That’s… PowerPoint, right? People still use that?

But does he admit his ignorance? Absolutely not.

Instead, he just goes:

"Of course, kid. Just… uh… remind me what you need again?"

(Translation: I am absolutely going to ask Barbara to do this for me.)

The Batfamily Finally Catches On.

One day, Tim jokingly says:

"Man, I bet Jason doesn’t even know what a meme is."

And Jason, completely deadpan, responds:

"That’s the thing Alfred uses to season food, right?"

Silence.

Dead silence.

Bruce looks disappointed. Dick is choking on his own laughter. Tim actually falls out of his chair.

Jason? Realizes he has made a grave mistake.

Now? It’s a Running Joke.

"Jason, do you even know how to turn on a laptop?"

"Jason, you’re so off-the-grid that even Bigfoot has better Wi-Fi than you."

"Jason, when was the last time you used an ATM?"

"Jason, do you even know what streaming is?"

[velvetvexations]

"This poor tgirl has the opinions she does because she's so wrapped up in self-loathing and brainwashed by transandrobros."

This is literally exactly how you people talk about transfeminist trans men. Christ you're just the biggest hypocrite alive aren't you?

lol you're wrong because I have so much less empathy for non-transfem TRFs

Like eighty percent of the transmascs have told me they believe trans men have power over trans women because they "used to be" horrific transmisogyinists who ostracized and bullied helpless trans women. They believe this shit because being empowered by the patriarchy is gender validating.

When I saw a transmasc politely explaining how good and praxis it was for him to respectfully gave up a headcanon he was really attatched to because some trans women had Superior Literary Analysise that proved the character was actually transfem, I skipped straight past pity into thinking he were a worthless sniviling creep. Like genuinely one of the most disgusting people I could imagine existing. I could feel my stomach churning with rage and I had to take like an hour off the internet just to cool down.

Like, genuinely, I want people like that to know and fully take into their hearts that they're repulsive to me and any other transfem that isn't obsessed with having doors opened and jackets thrown over mud puddles for them.

Have I made that clear? I don't feel sorry for those transmascs. I feel sorry for the ones who passively absorb this stuff and I have in fact been told by several anons that my blog helped break them out of hating themselves for not being women, but anyone actively involved in the discourse? They're just as bad as transfem TRFs.

I might even dislike them more, becasue I find their patriarcal power LARP and desperation to throw themselves and their brothers under the bus so a radfem will praise them for being big strong allies taking care of helpless women more obnoxious than the much simpler motivation of selfish egocentricism.

Staring at my screen trying to think if there's any way I could further express how much revulsion transmasc TRFs instil in me. It might go beyond what the English language is capable of expressing.

And by the way, anon, transfeminism isn't just for radfems! Check out Antigonism.

[donetbhlmao]

okay potentially unpopular opinions on the most recent severance ep (seriously dont read if you dont want to engage with criticism of the show)

i'll be honest, the most recent episode was beautifully shot. but i think it was among the weakest of the series (TO ME!) because:

i genuinely dont feel like i learned more about gemma as a character. while dichen lachman had to carry this episode on her shoulders, i found her performance to be a little wooden? and that made it difficult for me to feel for/resonate with gemma because i just couldn't understand what she was about. does she have family? does she have friends? what life did she leave behind? was she funny (she makes like two half-jokes i guess)? witty? rebellious? who IS she outside of mark and her desire for a child? it's really been bugging me that i dont really understand what she was about, other than the fact that she and mark had a happy marriage (for the most part) and she wanted a kid. i now feel like innie mark in that i obviously want her to be relieved from all that suffering, but from a human level, not because this episode made me feel specifically affected by her character and story. if the show wanted me to care about gemma the person outside of mark-and-gemma the couple, then this was the opportunity to evoke those feelings, and i just think it fell flat.

i thought the severed rooms (allentown, tumwater, etc) were cartoonish and i didn't find what was happening behind those doors compelling. obviously the idea that you can sever someone multiple times so that you effectively never have to experience negative experiences horrific but i hated the dress-up and the sets they concocted for gemma's various innies to exist in. it actually took me out of it and (TO ME!!!) downplayed the horrors her innies are being subjected to.

the pain of dealing with fertility issues is real. it is SO real. and please do not take this as me denying the mental and physical toll it can take on people. but. a lot of the beats of how that story was told were cliche (gemma sitting in the shower fully clothed for one). in a show that routinely avoids cliches, i found this to really stand out in a bad way. i also think that, since it's since been implied that mark maybe didn't want a kid that badly, it should have been demonstrated more clearly, but i will concede that since he loved gemma so much he would have gone along with whatever she wanted.

the happy couple montage, while beautifully shot, just didn't work for me. i'll be the first to admit that im markhelly-pilled to the MAX, but this goes beyond that. but it just seemed like another cliche. beautiful people being in beautiful love in their beautiful house. it just didnt give me a REAL dynamic to sink my teeth into. what really draws mark and gemma together? one of the things i loved before this episode was that severance's allusions to gemma were always barely there, just enough to get the audience thirsty for more. well, with this episode, we were drinking out of the firehose and idk if i find it as charming as a lot of viewers did. maybe im just an asshole. the biggest thing i took away was that mark scout used to be a very different man, and with everything that's happened since then, that guy will never come back.

i miss helly dylan and burt. i literally need mdr back and the idea that i likely wont get them for at least one more episode pisses me off.

[oh-no-its-bird]

I cannot lie to u guys. A big motivator driving me to write the Shang Qinghua in Naruto fic (and specifically to finish it) is that I so desperately need to see one very specific scene of Houhua somehow getting zapped into canon

I genuinely don't remember if I've posted about this yet or only written it out in my notes app but like .

Houhua's gets into a fight and his mangekyou (relating to time shit and directly connected to the 'real' naruto universe via the system) kind of smashes into Obito's mangekyou (dimension travel shit) and also possibly even into Sasuke's own (idk whether he has the rinnegan or not in this au / at that point, but he's also there, and if he does have it, it'd also pitch in w time and dimension)

And basically, all three of them get tossed face first into canon naruto for a bit! I'm sure this can't possibly go wrong.

They get scattered across fire country ,,, They were originally fighting in some 3rd location and Houhua lands back inside of Konoha, and assumes (logically) he just got regular teleported and not hit with the fucking dimension travel beam.

So, yk, he goes 'oh FUCK I lost Sasuke' and goes straight for the Hokage tower to tell Tsunade what happened, bc

a) last uchiha(s),

and b) they were quite possibly specifically sent out on some mission together by her when it was crashed by Obito

Maybe they were going to try and hunt down Itachi ?? Sharingan vs sharingan,,,, idk but if they were then Itachi is also probably around here somewhere due to the dimension zap. No one ask me the specifics I have no idea yet, this would be so down the line in the story

But anyways. Just. Houhua bursting into the Hokage's office then immediately bursting into tears and wailing smthn ab having "lost Sasuke" to a very confused Tsunade and very alarmed team of ANBU agents

More realistically, he'd never be able to make it up into the Hokage's office, so like. Houhua being stopped (by people he knows !! that no longer seem to know him !!) at the doors as he is confused and angry bc WHAT THE FUCK YOU GUYS HE HAS TO REPORT IN LIKE YESTERDAY !!! THEY HAVE AN EMERGENCY ON THEIR HANDS !!!

Houhua accidentally manages to bullshit his way into the Hokage's office by just acting so confident (bc ofc he is! He fr thinks he's supposed to be allowed to be here!) and also jabbing his finger into an ANBU's face and calling them out by code name like he knows exactly who they are, going SPARROW U ARE NOT DOING THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW !! THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR THIS SHIT !!!

Maybe he throws in Itachi's name somewhere in there if the mission he was sent on involved trying to hunt him down

Either way, the ANBU are successfully convinced (and confused) that this guy... must belong here? Is he some higher up? Was he undercover? They dont know but he sure does know them and is acting like everything is ok, so...?

I just need Houhua interacting with canon tbh, au x canon is my favorite thing ever, in the entire world. He deserves to get zapped into naruto canon w Sasuke for a while !!

Meanwhile, Obito is now in an alternate world close enough to the one he left that he doesn't really care (Houhua's existence has not impacted him much tbh) but like. No consequences. Obito doesn't have to worry ab his plans here bc this isn't his world so nothing really matters. But it's still similar enough that the people (read: Kakashi) he might interact with are basically the same to him

So anyways Obito goes to give Kakashi some special 1 on 1 harassment. Could literally go in any direction tbh

Obito probably appears in his room like a little freak and just starts fucking w Kakashi as Kakashi goes through the "who are you how did you get in here" routine (while slowly sliding into an "oh god its Obito" realization fueled panic attack the longer the conversation goes on)

In true Obito fashion, Obito mood swings like no one has ever mood swings before, alternating between making some serious threats to saying straight up creeper shit he'd probably never even voice aloud in his original world

But he can say them all here because there are no consequences, and he wont even have to look himself in the mirror later when he goes home and itll all be fine :DD

Kakashi is having a straight up bad time.

Meanwhile Itachi is just having. A time.

He probably goes back to the Akatsuki only to be faced to face with HIMSELF and immediately checks tf out of just. All of this. He is dissasociating.

The Itachi's haaateeee each other btw, pure self-loathing directed at eachother in such a passive aggressive way. It's very telling, actually.

It would be incredibly uncomfortable for anyone to watch but most of the Akatsuki (Deidara and Hidan especially) are watching with rapt attention while shoveling popcorn into their mouths. Deidara is especially delighted to see that even Itachi himself can't fucking stand another version of him

(As if Deidara could last 1 minutes alone in a room with another him without trying to blow each other up)

Eventually ofc they realize the root of the differences between their worlds (Houhua) tho I think the first real difference they'd note would actually be Jun's existence-- just because he's the easier topic between them, since he's occasionally partnered with (our) Itachi

Idk how they bring up Houhua but like, once he's prought up, (canon) Itachi would be like "Who?" in just the flattest voice as (our) Itachi has a little episode of 'oh. he doesnt exist here.'

Itachi having to describe Houhua to someone else,, but that someone else is himself so he finds himself being more honest than he might have otherwise been w literally anyone else,,, ough,,

(canon) Itachi has Izumi, and mmmayyybe they'll realize that they're just gender bent versions of each other (kind of, anyways) but I kind of doubt it. Either way, thatll be a fun conversation to have

Even more fun of a conversation is the inevitable Sasuke conversation, which I do not even know where to begin with

WHICH ALSO BRINGS US TO SASUKE. WHO IS OUT THERE SOMEWHERE. IDK WHAT HES DOING BUT MAN IS HE LOST.

Sasuke's part of this arc could go in a lot of directions depending on if he defected from the village or not (still undecided on that but for now lets say he isnt, since Tsunade sent him on that hypothetical mission w Houhua)

Just. A slightly healthier and more stable and sane Sasuke who was raised by Houhua after the massacre. Ok and now throw him at his canon counterpart. I think they would also dislike eachother

Canon Sasuke probably burns with envy at the knowledge that this Sasuke got to keep one of their clansmen, and that Houhua helps to shoulder the burden of revenge. But he also has scorn for the fact that Houhua has seemingly "held him back" from revenge or some shit. Not entirely to mask his jealously, tbh

Idk but like, Sasuke vs Sasuke. It's a mess.

Don't let Naruto meet the Sasuke who never left Konoha / possibly came back or he'll lose his mind ab it

Anyways yeah !!! Houhua au meets canon ,,, I need it so bad,,, fuck,,