#the only thing I can say for sure is that this game rewired my brain

[astellarrion]

So I finished Titanfall 2... No words. Absolutely no words.

I don't think I'll ever recover.

[lu-sn]

Rank the VegasPete kisses 😈

suz i stg this ask is gonna get me super mega cancelled. when you find my mangled body in a decrepit alleyway tell my family i loved them

-

6. i love you, pete.

listen, no okay, LISTEN, put down your pitchforks, this is an s-tier kiss okay, i know!!!!! I KNOW BUT EVERY VEGASPETE KISS IS INSANE!!!! SOMETHING HAS TO BE AT THE BOTTOM

i did and still do think it's a lil cray cray of vegas to say he's in love with pete like ten days after dicking him down, but the blood-streaked mouths and vegas's devastated face as he pushes pete away afterwards sure do make up for it

5. you must suffer until i'm satisfied

the thing that gets me about this one is the total lack of artifice on vegas's part. despite every touch of his before this having been part of a long, cruel, twisted performance, this one is so gentle. so unassuming. a gift, more than anything else.

the conversation after is critical to their relationship, and i'm not sure pete would have wanted to open himself up like that without this kiss as proof of vegas's... sincerity? vegas isn't playing a game anymore — and pete can finally stop playing too.

4. psycho

head in hands!!! i can't believe this isn't in the top 3 someone send me to jail rn

i don't need to talk about this yall Know. third eye opened brain chemistry rewired brainrot permanently acquired "you like me like this" "i know exactly what i want" the way their hands paw at each other the way vegas smiles the way pete's KNEES GO WEAK I'M FOREVER SCREAMING

3. you're the most important person in my life

ugly sobbing in the gutter they trust each other they cherish each other they're going to work so hard to stay together they're coming together as EQUALS in the LIGHT AFTER THE STORM I'M—

it's the way they cradle each other's faces in their hands, okay. it's the unbearable tenderness, and it's the promises they're making to each other!!! that shit just gets me real bad 😭

2. (we only kiss people we like)

their entire sex scene is characterized by an unexpected, intense tenderness, and this last kiss is really the nail in the coffin for me. the way pete is leaning up into this, chasing vegas's mouth — the way vegas is so unbelievably soft as he presses himself into pete — the space they've carved out together in the darkness for this moment of startling intimacy — something has changed here, in both of them. and it's going to be their undoing.

1. i need you, pete.

I DON'T CARE IF YOU DISAGREE WITH ME I WILL DIE ON MY LITTLE HILL THIS IS THE BEST KISS IN THE ENTIRE SHOW. SCREENSHOTS DO NOT DO IT JUSTICE. vegas is TREMBLING into this kiss he is TERRIFIED he's made an awful awful mistake and he's about to lose the best thing he's ever had he is CLINGING TO PETE trying to press all of his monstrous love into pete's skin i'm so sorry i didn't mean it i need you i will worship you look at how gentle i can be with you? look at how desperately i want to cherish you please please pete don't leave me MY GOD I AM CHEWING ON THE WALLS IT HURTS SO GOOD

and pete is so vulnerable to this kind of touch. he's shaking too, he's gasping and sobbing and almost can't believe what he's about to do in return. pete intends for this to be their last kiss — and vegas has no idea.

[samobservessonic]

Why do you want to read Sonic the Comic?

The short answer is because it was my intro to the Sonic series as a whole, but I haven’t reread most of it since I was a kid. But I’ll go into a little more detail about that below the readmore, as well as outlining what I will and won’t be reading for this blog

Sonic the Comic issue #80 rewired my brain and changed my life

Now, the first issue of StC that I bought as a kid was #80. I should add a disclaimer here that there was a kid I knew back then who recommended me the comics - she had issues #78 and #79, so I probably at least glimpsed those as well. But #80 was the first issue that I had for myself (and I still have my copy!), so that’s the one that gave me my first impression of Sonic

I’m sure StC fans will know why this issue was a big one and even Sonic fans who have a casual familiarity with StC will probably see Super Sonic on the cover and guess that a lot of stuff happens in this issue… and you’d be right! I’ll save the review for when I actually get to this issue in my reread, but the basic premise is that Sonic goes to visit his friend Porker Lewis on the Floating Island (later known as Angel Island in the games), where the chaos emeralds and master emerald are kept suspended above a giant… hole thing that holds their power (kid me didn’t ask questions, adult me still doesn’t). Sonic fell in this hole and got a full whack of their power, turning him into the evil Super Sonic who’s hellbent on destroying the last person who’d been on Sonic’s mind, who happened to be Amy Rose

The story ends on this cliffhanger and I can pin-point this single image as the reason I got into Sonic in the first place

…Like, look at this!! The art is so cool! What’s going to happen to Amy Rose? Why has Sonic turned into a crazy powerful being who wants to kill her? I have to know more! I have to get the next issue and maybe devote my entire life to this series! Like, Super Sonic looks so powerful and Tails looks terrified of him! But Amy still looks quite calm and collected. Maybe she’s only just noticed Super Sonic zooming into the scene or maybe she’s just composed enough to not be as fearful of him as Tails is. Obviously, even without knowing anything about the series, I could tell that Amy is Sonic’s friend and I want her to be okay. But something about seeing her reaction in this panel made it seem like the “Next Issue: Amy vs Super Sonic!” advertised at the bottom of this page wouldn’t be as one-sided as some might expect it would be And that’s how, on (roughly) 21st June 1996, an 8-year-old who’d just spent their £1.20 pocket-money had their socks blown off by a Sonic comic (Out of curiosity, I looked up where Archie Sonic was at around this time and it was… issue #37! The Knuckles spin-off comics would also be released the month after this. But I wouldn’t know about the existence of either of these until later)

Now, 80 issues into an on-going series is obviously a late point to hop on, but I can honestly say that it never hindered me reading the comics as a kid. Every two weeks I’d get to see Sonic and his friends have adventures and sometimes they’d mention established lore that I might not have known, but it was easy just to write that off as something from an earlier issue and carry on Also, after a certain point, StC started to reprint older stories. Which was both a blessing and a curse, because on one hand it meant that I could catch up with older stories I hadn’t read before, but on the other hand it deprived the issues of newer stories, until the comic would eventually become entirely reprints from issue #185. Even so, I can confidently say that there are probably stories in the first 79 issues of the series that I’ve never read, so I’m looking forward to getting to those on my read-through So, will you stop reading at issue #184? While I intend to read from #1-184, the reprints issues do feature new covers from Richard Elson

Many of which show newer takes on earlier stories, featuring the green-eyed Sonic of the modern era. So while it’s far away now, I’ll most-likely do a post about these covers to conclude my read-through. Although man, looking at #185’s cover in particular puts me right back into being there as a kid, expecting to see new stories, only to open the comic and get entirely reprints…

Will you be reading the non-Sonic stories?

Early on in its run, StC featured stories from other SEGA titles of the time, before committing to being entirely about Sonic. While not to diminish the merits of these stories, I just don’t have the same familiarity with most of their source material that I do for Sonic, so I won’t be reading them. The exceptions being probably the Ecco stories (because I did play Ecco as a kid) and Decap Attack, because Decap Attack was still running after I started reading the comic and I remember enjoying it. But I won’t be blogging about either of these in the same way that I will be the Sonic comics themselves, so you won’t have to skim past posts about loads of other series to get to the Sonic stuff

What about the Sonic spin-offs?

I will absolutely be reading these once I find or make a good reading-order that slots them into their proper place. The above summer ‘96 special was also one of my first StC issues and I remember it fondly

What about the Captain Plunder stories?

Yep! Captain Plunder exists in Sonic’s universe and I enjoyed his standalone stories as a kid, so I’ll be including him in my reread Anything else?

For a time, StC included game reviews and ofc they also had a fanmail and fan art section, like Archie and IDW. For the most part, I’ll only be including small bits of these that I find interesting or relevant, but I won’t be talking about them wholesale. Though I’m sure that a Sonic comic’s reviews of Sonic games will be worth a look at

[ocean-waters]

hey ocean!!! :-) for the love your fandom ask game, let's try 14, 16 and 25!! ✨

Hey Rin! Thanks for the ask ❤️ you picked some good questions

#14: the ship that always makes you smile

Hmm. I wonder. Yknow.. I can't seem to recall any that would.

Alright, seriously, there has not been another ship like rinharu. Honestly, I struggle to put it into words since it's mostly feelings.

This pairing altered my brain chemistry and rewired me. Literally defined my taste when it comes to ship. If it reminds me of rinharu, there is a high chance i'll ship it. It's a ship that's got it all. Just the dynamic is so addicting and fun and thrilling. There is not one moment when they're together that is not overloaded with feeling. They play off of each other so well. They're both opposites, but also more similar than they realize. They have fantastic chemistry, and they are both so passionate, but they can also be pretty soft with each other too. Their moments make the show. I mean, they are the "core-axis" of free! After all.

From the very beginning of their story together, it's always been so entertaining. I loved seeing how their relationship started, grew, and evolved. It was love at first sight (or I guess you could say it was actually love at first swim). Rin's determination was unwavering, and he kept trying until he finally smashed his way through Haru's walls and eventually won him over with his charm, all while being absolutely enamored by Haru himself. And he truly did shake up Haru's entire world. Haru was so sure the only thing he needed was to feel the water. Then, in comes this smiley and annoyingly persistent kid and shows him a sight he's never seen before, and makes him feel so many funny feelings.

They're both so taken with one another, even if they don't want to admit it. I love how Rin gushes about Haru at any chance he gets, and how Haru is constantly thinking about Rin whenever they're apart. And i mean, gosh he quit swimming because he thought he hurt Rin. He had that much of an impact on Haru. They both drive each other forward, improve one another, and becomes their best selves together. Their relationship certainly wasn't without its bumps along the way, but i think that just makes it more interesting.

Seriously, when it comes to these two, they could be doing anything, and they would still have me smiling. I will treasure them forever.

#16: a tiny detail in canon that you want more people to appreciate

Not sure if some of these really count as "tiny", but:

● I just genuinely love that whenever Haru has flashbacks of his childhood moments with Rin, the first thing he remembers/thinks about is his smile, and the scene is always tinted pink with cherry blossoms.

● Rin's friendship with Nagisa. He pretends to be aggravated by him, but he's got quite the soft spot for him too.

● How perceptive Nagisa truly is. He notices the small things about his friends and their behaviors. It's so sweet

● Haru's love for weird looking creatures, like northern stoplight loose-jaw kun. He would have loved sacabambaspis.

● Haru's hobby of wood carving. I would love one of his handcrafted iwatobi chan charms.

● Also one I learned about recently: Haru actually has double-jointed knees!

#25: a piece of advice for taking care of yourself in fandom spaces

Fandom, as fun as it is, unfortunately has its rotten side. You'll inevitably come across pointless discourse of any kind during your time in it. The best thing you can do is honestly just avoid engaging with it. Don't ruin your own happiness by starting arguments with people who simply won't listen. If they're constantly popping up on your feed, simply block them and keep enjoying your side of the fandom. Constantly being met with people being destructively negative about the things you enjoy will do nothing except bring you down. It is so much nicer to just be able to enjoy things. You don't have anything to prove to anyone, and you don't need to justify yourself for liking a certain character or a ship. Just post what you want in your own circle. Be free!

(That being said, there are actually interesting discussions one can have with people who are actually willing to listen and debate properly, and those can be good experiences too. I'm just talking about discourse like ship wars or arguments like: Rin Matsuoka is a toxic character, and you're problematic if you like him!!1!!11! and such)

[From the "love your fandom" ask game]

[radiantbastard]

So here's some ADHD advice that's actually useful:

If you're doing a job/chore/whatever that has a lot of things to do, make a list of the tasks you need to complete. The chief complaint of ADHD is executive dysfunction. Executive dysfunction is literally defined as the inability to internally organize tasks (among other things). This is why tasks like, for example, cleaning the kitchen feels so daunting when you have ADHD. Your brain can't internally put the steps together to figure out how to do the tasks, so you just become quickly overwhelmed. By consciously making a list, you are bypassing that internal organization for an external organization, and the task will feel a lot less overwhelming when you can tackle it step by step.

Another great piece of advice is to remove barriers to finishing a task. One of my hobbies is fiddling with electronics (old game consoles, controllers, fixing various electronic devices, etc). This requires a lot of soldering. Back where I used to live I used to have to store my soldering equipment in the closet. Every time I wanted to solder something I had to pull my stuff out, set it up, do the task, pack it up, and put it away. Realistically taking it all out and packing it back away only takes about maybe 2 minutes on either end, but ADHD brain says no, so I'd rarely actually do anything with my hobby. Now I have a desk in my room with all the stuff set up ready to go 24/7, so whenever I feel like working on a project, I can just sit down and do it. I've been engaging in that hobby so much more now that I have that station ready to go.

This doesn't just apply to hobbies though. Keep your dish soap and scrub sponges out by the sink, so the moment you get the impulse to wash the dishes you can just do that without having to pull the soap/scrubber/sponge out from under the sink. Keep your hygiene products out by the bathroom sink, rather than in a drawer or cabinet. Whatever you can do to reduce the barrier to starting a task will make it so much easier to actually start doing them, because ADHD brain doesn't like multiple steps.

And for fixations, like when you're stuck playing a game/making art/watching tv/etc when you have another task to do, but you can't pull yourself away? Just make a pros and cons list. What are the pros of stopping the activity to do what you need to do, what are the pros of continuing to play, and the cons of each. Make a physical pros/cons chart, not an internal one. Remember, the internal systems that handle that are on the fritz. You need to do it externally for this to work. That's it. You don't even need to stop doing the activity. You can keep painting, making art, or whatever it is you're stuck on. Making the pros and cons list and consciously going through the consequences will slowly rewire your brain to understand what's going to give it rewards vs what's going to cause it grief from consequence. Again, you're bypassing the dysfunctional internal systems with external alternatives.

I'm sure I can think of more, but those are the three big ones off the top of my head.

There's a bunch of adhd advice out there that's like "people with adhd tend to work better under deadlines due to the anxiety so here are ways to artificially induce a stress response in order to get you to get work done" and it's like well what if I don't want to be stressed out all the time in order to function

[harrowharkwife]

for the ask game: 1, 10, 21, and 45!!

!!!!!!!

1. who is/are your comfort character(s)?

oh man ok here goes... I'm sure I'm missing people here but the ones coming to mind are evan buckley bc he hits me right in the dysfunctional family issues and watching that man look at his parents with tears in his eyes and say "love me anyway" rewired all my neural pathways, eddie diaz bc he is my ultimate babygirl most beloved and also The Best Dad. castiel will always have a frankly embarrassing grip on my psyche, the tenth doctor (a new but very beloved addition to this list!), eliot waugh, gansey from the raven cycle, eve and villanelle from killing eve, dani from bly manor, the lady in the lake from bly manor, nell from the haunting of hill house, lucretia from taz balance, every character from the big ship at the edge of the universe book series, all the characters from the wilds, taissa and shauna and lottie from yellowjackets, spencer hastings and hanna marin from PLL lmfao

any character whose story involves adoption or found family probably belongs on this list, especially dads, and any character that takes genuine pride in having made the conscious choice to make caring for their lover/their family their Life's Purpose, not in a "this is the only way i can contribute to the world" misogyny patriarchy way but rather in a radical gay "fuck the concept of success and careers and leaving a legacy, just loving each other and building a safe and happy and quiet life for your family and friends and community is in and of itself a massive fucking accomplishment" way. the eliot waugh life in a day brain damage if you will.

also the trope of immortal or nonhuman characters falling in love with humanity and/or experiencing immortality as a very lonely and painful thing... oh man. love that shit. see also: characters who know they're going to die and have to deal with that. MAN i love that trope.

10. would you slaughter the rich?

if i could absolutely guarantee i wouldn't get in any trouble for it I'd line all the billionaires up like a trolley problem and then run them over in my Mazda and then put ol' girl in reverse and do it again for good measure

21. something you’ve kept since childhood?

i still have the BEAT up hardcover copy of anne of green gables that my mom grew up with and passed down to me, a quilt made out of old t shirts from my childhood, and a license plate from the car i learned how to drive in

45. can you remember what happened yesterday?

uhmmm i slept in a little bit, i went to visit my dad and my grandma and my brother to keep them company because my mom was at the ER with my grandpa, he's thankfully doing a bit better today. my grandma made chili for lunch, i helped my brother with his homework, i finished some last minute work for my job, then i went and had family dinner with my wife and my mother & brother & grandmother in law at my MILs house, wife and i brought her brother back to the house to hang out for a bit and smoke weed and watch dr who, then we dropped him off at his house and went to bed lol

[denial-permanente]

Hey :)

You mentioned that Tom is allowed to cum quite often while you have sex with his faux cock. May I ask how often that is? And how does he feel after that kind of (ruined) orgasm? Does his submissiveness drop at all? Is he still horny afterwards?

Did I say quite often?

Although I enjoy when he tells me how long it's been, I honestly don't bother keeping track because it's really not that important to me. The important thing to me is that he is locked up... just keeping him locked makes his libido higher, and all it takes is a little cage check from me to turn his low simmer into a boil. 😈

Tom says that he doesn't really keep track either, but it works out to about once a month that we make love and I either allow him (or sometimes make him have) a caged orgasm. But it varies. His last stretch was over 2 months. But I've also given him them 2 "dates" in a row, although not very often. It depends on my mood. And somerimes we make it into a game where he tries to hold back and I try to make him. I always win when I put my mind into it, but sometimes I let him stay denied. Again, it's all about how I feel at the time.

Tom has said that up until a couple of years ago, the caged orgasms felt weird. Not totally ruined, but never very satisfying. But by the time he passed his 3rd year being permanently locked up, he discovered that they were becoming very enjoyable. He says that I've rewired his brain so that they now feel as good as what he remembers them feeling like in the old days. I can tell you that when it happens, he makes a lot of noise, and grabs my hips, and does even more bucking and moving that he used to do. It sure looks like he's enjoying them to me. 😆

I don't really consider him to be submissive, but usually I can tell he's "off" for a day. He's still affectionate, but the passion isn't totally there. But after another night, he wakes up the next morning as horny as ever. I think it's because the cage never comes off, and without the stroking and pumping, maybe when he comes now he's only 90% satisfied? I don't know. Again, all those little details just aren't important to me. All I care about is that I always have a loving and attentive husband. 😊

[berniecranes]

Also, we know Lincoln was taken by Sammy and Perla when he 13, and he leaves when he's 19. It's wild to think that was only 6 years. Like sure that is some time, but certainly isn't that long. It's weird thinking that the m*litary was his """"home"""" for almost the same time. He was there for 4 years. These two major things in his life that deeply changed his core weren't even a thing for that long, yet of course had such a major affect on him in the long run.

I think Lincoln being RA M*litary really gets over looked. The M*litary completely rewires you. You're no longer an individual, you're a soldier. And we see that Lincoln is very militant and structured. Whether it's by his actual stiff stances and body language, to few words being spoken, to the straight forward and kinda blunt, no flowery language. (Thinking of Lincoln making a comment of Cassandra's men, saying, "If I was them, I'd get over it. We don't have time to go around coddlin' people." Very M*litary man here.) And you can tell, even during all of the 'The Home Fires Burn' chapter, though we don't see Lincoln before the a/rmy. I'm sure everyone has interacted with someone that is m*litary, that you can easily see where that is within Lincoln. I doubt this will ever be something he unlearns. Even more so, look at Lincoln compared to John for example, they both were away for awhile, but John still has a flow to him, some arrogance if you will. He walks like an entitled man, because he is, yes he was in the war for 7 years, but he is NOT RA, he is C*A. THAT is very apparent especially when you compare someone like Lincoln who structurely still follows the base idea of how m*litary men hold themselves and speak. Idk I think this is very facinating just seeing how much those 4 years ingrained in him.

But, I can't forget where Lincoln actually spent the most time; with Father James at the orphanage, yet it's hardly ever mentioned. But Father James was there for some of Lincoln's biggest, if not most important developmental period. So, it can't be ignored how important of a figure Father James would have been to Lincoln. And while yes, it's shown morally speaking in the game, we are only given a tiny bit of it pre the betrayal. He was actually someone Lincoln could express his feelings of leaving and starting fresh somewhere.

He just makes my brain buzz, though much like all M*fia Protags, we aren't given much, but at least with Lincoln I can say we were given more than the other two were.

[joshslater]

End of Shift

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

My life is over. I've been playing a high stakes game, and somehow landed on one side of the odds all the time, but my luck was bound to run out sooner or later. I guess I should be happy that it turned out to be later, but it sucks no less. I got sloppy. I was looking through the items near the cashier, as always, trying to mostly use reflective surfaces to see what was going on, as always. I need to be within 15 feet or latency becomes an issue. Some old lady still using the old wallet was buying KokaKola and a pack of Ziffs. This would be easy, as always. I discreetly pressed my watch as she was ready to make the purchase, activating my EM-swiper. I wouldn't take much, a few credits more. She probably wouldn't notice it, or think the store stiffed her, or think she bought two packs of Ziffs and lost one. I'm not stealing to get rich, just to get by.

As the EM-swiper went off a high pitched beeping starts behind me. I barely have time to turn my head enough to see the charging police officer, before he slams me into the side of a KokaKola fridge. Shit, I hadn't done a survey pass through the store as I always do. I could barely register what he was screaming in my ear. "Drop it," I realize, and let go of the magazine. He must have thought I had the EM-swiper in my hand. He told me to put my hands against the wall and performed a pat-down. It's only him, so he must be off duty or not on a real patrol. He empties my pockets on the cashier table. Nothing of value, and certainly not something incriminating. I may not have been fortunate enough to afford academy, but I'm not stupid.

"You are detained under suspicion of committing proximity fraud. Do you understand?" he asks me in that commanding yet bored tone of a laborer having to recite corporate bullshit, only in his case it is in the pretense of justice. "Yes," I answer him. He doesn't have anything on me or he would have arrested me right away. Probably. "Put this on to acknowledge you've read the Citizen Rights Act and agree to an investigation in this matter." He hands me a pair of handcuffs to put on. I hesitate for a second. He is behind me and in the way of the store exit. I can stall for time and tell him to recite the CRA, but that immediately counts against you, as it is your duty to know it. I have no choice but to put them on. It's the latest model. I haven't seen any up close before. Light, thin, all metal, no key hole. Probably opened remotely or only inside a police cell or some shit. I put them on.

"Turn around, pick up your stuff, and exit the store." I do as told, turn around and begin to pick up my stuff and put them back where he took them. It's an older police officer. None of them young, jacked up types. Perhaps he is one of the fair ones. But then I am the criminal, so what good would that do me? There's a small, black duffle bag by his side. So he is on his way home. Perhaps he is tired. Perhaps I can shake him. Have Leo remove the shackles and then stay low for a fucking long time. Or this just doesn't amount to anything more than a slap on the wrist. I walk towards the door, him behind me.

"Nice watch," he says, pointing at my wrist as I reach or the door.

He knows. Unless I can get away now my life is over. All I can think of is the monstrosities the state churn out as punishment. Equal part labor force and sadism. I open the door as little as possible and as soon as I am through I dash down the block. I don't dare look behind me, but I don't hear him in pursuit. Halfway down the block I swerve into the alley that cuts across the building and out on the block on the other side. If I can cross that block and then down south I'm in the park and there are plenty of places to hide there.

My hands are not on fire. This surprises me as I look down on my hands, screaming in pain. There is a high pitched sound coming out of the handcuffs, like capacitors charging, but it is continuous. The pain emanating from my hands is something unlike anything I've ever experienced before. My legs buckle. I know I need to move, somehow, somewhere. It's just so difficult to think of anything but my hands that are not on fire. It would probably be a good idea to not scream my lungs out, but I don't really have a choice in that.

Just as suddenly as it started it stops. I'm still writhing in pain, but my hands are not on fire in a much more comforting way. "The payment proxy is in your watch, is it not?" the policeman asks, standing a few steps away. I'm panting, I realize when I attempt to answer him. Panting and sweaty. I can't manage to speak. I just nod my head.

"The state vs. item RK-220553 finds the defendant guilty to breach of contract with the state, executed by judicial AI 5" he reads off his handheld screen. I'm confused to what just happened. "No trial?" I manage to wheeze out. "You entered into a cooperation contract when you put on the handcuffs, as you are aware of as you claimed to know the Citizens Rights Act. Disobedience at that point allows for immediate trial by AI as long as no forensic work is needed." He sounded like the same bored cop as he was in the store, reciting memorized text for the thousandth time.

I struggle to get up on my feet. Not only am I shaky, but having my hands locked together makes it surprisingly difficult to get up. "You know, this is bad timing," the cop starts. "I was on my way home and don't have all the standard gear. It's supposed to be a swift punishment, for deterrence, but there is really only one thing I can do." Why is he so apologetic? He opens the bag and pulls out a fucking tactical human transformer. I've never even seen one in person before. He turns it on, selects something on the screen, and points the device towards me. "No, I can..."

This time I am on fire, if only so briefly. There is a blinding light, a pulse of heat, and the smell of burnt plastic. As the transient heat subsides it keeps falling colder and colder. I'm naked. All my clothes have been singed from my body. My watch is gone. My shoes are gone. Underwear gone. And, I realize, my hair is gone. The cop keeps punching in selections in the menus of the devices. I manage to get up on my feet. "Stay on the ground," he tells me. Not so much as an order, but as an advice. I sit down again and he trains the device on me.

I don't know how to describe it. It's not pain exactly. There is something about rewriting the code and cellular structure of your body while your brain is engaged that makes it give up in disbelief. "This can't be what's actually happening," it thinks and gives you completely nonsense sensory interpretations. But it also gives up on all other tasks. Time becomes irrelevant. Critical thinking put on hold. When the device stops you are utterly confused for seconds. Possibly by design, but it makes sense that you can't rewire the brain in flight without some glitches.

"I want you to stand up," the cop says in a firm voice. "Who?" I ask, still dazed, just to make sure. "You. Get up on both feet. Take this." He throws an orange bundle to me, and I feebly grasp for it but my one arm yanks the chain to the cuff of the other arm. The bundle brushes by and lands on the ground next to me. He looks disappointed, more at himself for thinking it would work than on me for not catching it.

I look down at my hand and see something orange in my grip, but it is not the orange that interests my but the grip. My arms, thin from lack of food and nimble from grabbing P2 storage modules out of vendor racks. are enormous. Big, well defined muscles with popped veins going up and around them. They look longer than before and even the hands are larger than they used to be. I can see that not only my arms are different. My chest is all lean and strong-looking as well, the legs have these weird lines showing different groups of muscles under the skin, and I can almost bet that the ground is further down than it used to be. Orange! I'm holding something orange in my hand.

"I only have an emergency kit with me, so not very many options for you I'm afraid. If you had come with me I think they would have found some better use for you, but as I said, I didn't have much to chose from beside himbot," the cop said while putting some beat-up looking boots from his bag next to me. He grabs the chain between my cuffs, and both of them pop open instantly, and he folds them up and begins to place them back into the cuff holder in his belt.

There was something he said that was important. Like, really important. I feel cobwebs like I had just been awakened from a deep sleep. "Put on the jock," he tells me, and again I am confused, but of a different kind. It's like I urgently need to know what he means, somehow. "You're holding them in your hand." I again look down at my hand and see the orange piece of cloth, which obviously is what he meant. I flip it around in my hands and finds it to be an orange jockstrap with a generous pouch. Looking down I also see the reason for that, since my dick and balls are large. Much larger than I remember them to be. I don't want to keep him waiting, so as quickly as I can manage, with my balance a bit off, I manage to place one leg in each loop and pull up the jockstrap. It neatly collects everything in front into a large orange ball.

Himbot! That's what he had said. It's like the government robots but human. What was the I and M now again? Wait, those are just mindless sacks of muscles roaming around doing whatever menial task is available.

"Himbot?" I ask him. "Yes, you are a himbot," the cop answered. "Put on the shirt."

I immediately grabbed the orange bundle from the ground I assumed to be the shirt. To my delight I was right and with just a few tries I managed to get it on me. It isn't a real shirt, but one of those without arms, whatever they are called. Quite a lot of skin showed. The shoulders were bare, as were the sides and the nipples unless you positioned the strings just right. Stringers! It's called a stringers, or something close to it. I feel so tired thinking of words.

"And the boots"

I grab one of the boots. There is something missing, but I'm not sure what it is. I has something to do with the small holes, I think. Well, the large hole is missing a foot, so I put one in it. Then I put the other foot in the other boot, and looked at the cop to see if he approved. He looks about the same. Good enough I hope.

"Face me and raise your hands" I comply immediately. He is pointing the large gun at me again. I don't like it, but I must do what he says. He presses a few buttons and then there is a sharp headache.

"Who are you?" "Himbot 220553." "What is your assignment?" "Walk along path 228-red responding to requests." "What types of requests?" "Any type of requests."

[sparxwrites]

@manoessay​ replied to your post:

This post activated my brain harder than most so even though you arent gonna make a fanfic i will add, Dream testing how many times you can bring a person back on quackity once he gets out.

(i absolutely fully got possessed by this idea, and then wrote this self-indulgent and weirdly experimental fic feverishly at like 1am last night. this is... probably not what you were imagining, but it’s what fell out of my brain, so! enjoy? written to “innocence” by madeon.)

cw moderately graphic torture / gore, mental breakdown, mind games, temporary character death

[ao3]

-

“How many times have you died now, Quackity?”

The words flash hot through his skull, but don’t translate into meaning. Don’t translate into anything other than noise. The floor is cold beneath his palms. Russet-brown flakes up beneath his nails when he claws at it, chest heaving, lungs trying to remember how breathing works.

His first inhale gurgles, wetly, makes him jerk on his belly like a worm on a hook. His throat is raw from disuse, from screaming, from the sword that had sliced through his trachea like a knife through so much butter. When he tries to speak, the only thing that comes out is blood.

It goes like this, every time Dream drags him back from Limbo: his ears full of a high ringing, his lungs not working, his body numb. The link between flesh and brain is faulty, sparking wrong – like the battered neurons take a few precious minutes of life to rewire back together fully. It fixes itself a little less each time, the link; he’s permanently numb down most of his left side, now. The fingers on his right hand are going insensate in terrifying inches.

“How many times?”

Crooked mask, ragged voice, cracked porcelain smile. Dream looks better than Quackity feels, but not much – crouched low on a stone floor that’s caked in layer after layer of old blood, watching Quackity like a bug under a magnifying glass. His hair’s a greasy mess, his mask dirty-white and chipped, his clothes spattered with weeks of gore. With Quackity’s gore.

There’s blood dripping out from beneath the mask, though, fresh and hot. His hands shake. The knuckles clenched around the hilt of his sword are white, the skin beneath his fingernails faintly purple-blue.

The eyes behind the mask are just a little too green.

“Can you even hear me?” There’s a giddy slur to the edge of Dream’s words, the manic lilt of a man high off the same shit that’s melting his brain out through his nose. That feeling was familiar to Quackity, in another life. “Quackity. Hey, Quackity. Anyone in there?” He laughs, short and cruel and batshit crazy. His eyes are the colour of battery acid. “Have I finally broken you?”

There’s no response – because Quackity’s still trying to remember how his lungs work, remember what ribs are, remember how to do things that aren’t screaming and curling in on himself and rocking – and the amusement in his voice turns angry, sour. “I said tell me how many times, Quackity.”

Dream stands, unsteady, swaying as he does and leaning heavily on the sword for balance. His hands are still shaking. The blood’s stopped dripping, but there’s a sickly tinge to it, and when he wipes at his chin with the back of one hand it leaves a smear that’s more brown than red.

There’s a flicker of something, as his knuckles touch the half-inch of exposed face – dirty white light, bridging the gap between skin in a static-shock flash. There and then gone, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it.

The eyes behind the mask glow a little brighter. A little greener. A little less human.

The point of Dream’s sword sinks into Quackity’s shoulder, splits open an old scar. Quackity’s covered in them, now, more scar than skin. More ruined than not. He spasms, chokes, bleeds wet and red and fresh over the dried blood that carpets the floor. The noise he makes is animal, leg-in-a-bear-trap high and thin and dying. Barely alive five minutes, and he’s bleeding out again already. It’s almost funny.

Dream laughs, and leans on the pommel of the sword. It pushes in another inch.

“Month!” manages Quackity, forcing the word out through the wetness in his lungs, through the broken-bone grind of his throat. If he weren’t so many shattered parts, pasted back together by unholy power and Dream’s capricious whims, it might have been a howl. As it is, he barely has the energy to sob, the words raw and hoarse and threadbare. “A month, a month– thirty– haha, thirty-six days in, in, in Limbo, fuck, please, please–”

There’s wet on his cheeks. Tears? Blood? Worse? He can’t tell any more. He can’t even feel the left side of his face.

He grabs for Dream’s boots, presses his forehead against them, gasps for air that doesn’t seem to bring any relief from the cold ache in his lungs. One of his hands finds an ankle, a strip of bare skin between shoe and pant leg. Dream’s skin is fever-hot, sickly, bottled lightning gone past its sell-by date.

The shock of the contact knocks him silent for a second, though. They won’t touch him, in Limbo, the ghosts – or can’t, or both, can’t and won’t. Because they’re bastards, because they hate him, because he isn’t one of them. They can’t-won’t touch him, can’t see him, won’t see him, won’t speak to him– and he’s left, alone, in a room full of the faded impressions of people he once knew, once loved, once was loved by. A room full of people who do not see him, and do not touch him, and do not hear him when he talks.

(When he screams, when he swears at them, when he tries to claw their eyes out with unsteady hands that don’t make contact– when he begs, when he pleads, when he wheedles and bribes and bargains to deaf ears– when he wraps arms around himself, when he rocks himself back and forth until the blood rushes in his ears, when he whispers to himself until his voice fades to nothing, and tries to pretend it is the same thing as being loved and held and comforted–)

“Please, don’t– hahah, don’t kill me, fuck– please, look, look, hurt me, please, hurt me– anything, anything, I don’t–” He doesn’t have the breath for this. Doesn’t have the energy. Doesn’t even really have the words any more, after screaming for thirty-six fucking days straight, after talking to himself for so long his vocal cords wore out and left him mouthing silence in a desperate attempt to keep himself company. “Don’t, don’t send me– not, don’t send me back, please, fuck, anything, ha, haha, don’t, don’t–”

“I said I’d make you beg for death,” says Dream, amused, bored, manic. “Not torture. Not that I’m complaining. It’s just kind of funny. Don’t you think? I think it’s funny.”

He pushes the sword in, another inch. Quackity sobs, desperate and pathetic, and feels no shame for it. Presses his face to Dream’s boot, clings to his ankle like a lifeline, and feels no shame for it. Shame was beaten out of him, bled out of him, several lifetimes ago. “But that’s not what I asked, though. How many times have you died now, Quackity?”

The sword in his shoulder twists, and Quackity screams. Something severs with a pop, and then another, and then another, until the joint is little more than a hot ball of pain and wet meat, grated bone. Until he can no longer scream, gasping desperately through the pain, weeping like a child. Another twist, and something else severs, something vital, a second’s resistance before a give and a spray of warm blood.

He bleeds out between one sob and the next, tumbling into darkness, the golden net of the respawn reaching up to catch him as he falls.

He wakes up three feet away, sprawled out on the filthy bed that occupies one corner of his cell, still sobbing. The respawn clings to him like a second skin, like weights around his ankles, frightening and familiar all at once. It fades slowly, reluctantly; slower each time he dies, he thinks. Like it’s getting used to holding him. Like it doesn’t want to let him go.

It’s only barely gone by the time Dream crosses the space between them, two short steps, no time for him to flinch, no time for him to hide–

Dream grabs him by the wrist, wrenches his body up from the bed, and slots the sword neatly through the front of his throat. The broad, well-used scar carved across it parts for the blade like an old friend, swallows it whole – and Quackity dies for the second time in as many minutes, choking on his own blood.

The respawn catches him. Drags him down into darkness. Drags him back up to the surface of reality, deposits him back onto a bed now sodden with crimson. He’s shaking. He should be used to it, but he’s shaking so hard his teeth clack together, so hard he’s not sure it will ever stop.

Dream drags him off the bed, back onto the floor. Back onto the filth, the layers and layers of dried gore, a carpet constructed from every time he’s been slaughtered like an animal in this tiny, lightless cell.

“Dream,” he begs, quietly. “Dream, Dream–”

Even to his ears, it sounds more like a prayer than a plea.

“It’s a simple question, Quackity. How many times have you died now? Properly died. How many times have I brought you back? I just want a number. Just a number.” The mask obscures Dream’s mouth, but his grin is audible. His eyes are so bright, they hurt to look at. “How many times have I proven to you that I’m a god?”

Quackity tries to curl in on himself, but Dream is in the way, one boot by his shoulder and the other pinning his wrist to the floor beneath its toe. He’s not surprised. Dream is everywhere, always, omnipresent. His free hand seeks out Dream’s ankle onces more, curls around that curdled-lightning skin, desperate and needy. It grounds him, touching the only real person in his whole entire world, and he hates himself for it.

“…T- ten?” he tries, and knows as he says it that it’s wrong. The panic rises like the respawn, choking him. He can’t breathe. “Ten, ten times– maybe eleven– fuck, fuck, Dream, please–”

The sword-tip finds his back, finds the space between his fourth and fifth rib. Finds the ropy scar there, beneath the rags, soft from re-use – like a zipper, easy to pry open right down to his weak, wet heart.

“Good guess,” says Dream, quietly. “Closer than before. But still not right. You need a little longer to think about it, I guess. But– hey, you know what? I’ll be nice, and give you a hint.” He pauses, and Quackity’s world stands still. “You’re guessing too low.”

He pushes the sword down. It slips between Quackity’s ribs like an old lover, lodges in the crusted filth and stone below, pins him still against the floor. His heart beats once, twice, a butterfly-flutter around the diamond skewered through it. His body convulses. He falls still.

The blood from his mouth dyes the toes of Dream’s boots crimson, as the light leaves his eyes.

He wakes in Limbo, on his knees, in a room full of people – full of impressions of people, like the ghosts of a faded photograph. He sees them all there, their backs to him, as they move amongst one another, as they talk amongst one another. Tubbo, and Schlatt, and Fundy, and Wilbur, and–

Sapnap, who looks right through him. Karl, whose eyes skate over him. They hold each other’s hands. The rings on their fourth fingers gleam weakly in the strange, nebulous light of the afterlife. They do not hear him when he says their names, ragged and desperate, like a plea. Like a prayer.

And then they, too, turn their back on him. And Quackity – still raw, still bloody, still skewered open right through his butterfly heart – screams and screams and screams.

[unwilling-survivor]

11, 14, 13, 37, 47 - Smut dialogue

SMUT DIALOGUE PROMPTS

11) “I bet you think you’re real cute letting them put their hands all over you. We’ll see how cute you look later when I get you home.”  14) “Do you think you deserve to be punished?”  13) “Touch yourself for me.”  37) “Did I say you could stop?”  47) “You deserve a reward for being so good today, what would you like it to be?”

((This got... very long. Like... 3200 words long. Whoops ^^; TW for blood play, dubcon?, and general Entity!Samuel shenanigans.))

-

“I bet you think you’re real cute letting them put their hands all over you...”

Sam practically jumped out of her skin, every hair on her body standing on end. It haunted her at this point, that voice, memories full of blood and pain and terrifying euphoria. She whirled toward it, eyes wide and shoulders stiff, stumbling away a few steps. Him. That… thing. Not Samuel. The twisted inverse. 

He’d seen that? She hadn’t even done anything! She’d just been hiding in the locker, she hadn’t expected someone else to join. She hadn’t asked them to put their hands on her, and she wouldn’t have. And all over was certainly an exaggeration. 

But maybe he could see into her head… Maybe he knew the thoughts and images that had paraded there, how she’d wanted more contact, more affection, more attention. She hadn’t said a single word to her teammate, just waited with them, her touch-starved mind imagining, but… he knew. He’d been right to carve the label into her skin, a spot that was suddenly tingling. Slut. He knew she wanted, and she wanted so much. 

“...We’ll see how cute you look later, when I get you home.” 

Her hand lifted to her mouth, stifling her own whimper, brows pulling together. That wasn’t fair. She’d been so good this trial. She’d done her work, she’d helped her teammates, she’d run when she was supposed to run, and jumped when she was supposed to jump. A model survivor. ...Maybe. Her teammate had found her, on accident, when running from a killer. A killer she could’ve distracted to give them a chance to escape. There was always more she could do. 

The self-doubt rooted itself in her mind, even as the entity disappeared again, leaving her to finish her trial. The doubts themselves tripped her up, her performance suffering for it, but at least she tried to do better, even if she ended up doing worse. 

She ended the trial on the hook. It was something she dreaded. She knew how this went: all of her soul, scraped out of her chest, leaving just the smallest piece left to replenish itself, leaving her ringingly hollow and apathetic for hours afterward. 

Except this time, it was different. Slightly.

-

“Sammy, how kind of you to join me.”

It wasn’t a choice, sits on the tip of her tongue, but she seals her words behind closed teeth. He probably already knows that. That’s probably why she’s here. 

Here being… somewhere else. Not the vast emptiness of the void - the place she only ever half-remembers in the wake of a sacrifice - and not the campfire. Somewhere else. The fog. 

“Such a trial for you, today.”

She feels constantly uneasy. Unsure if she should speak or remain silent. He gagged her, in the past. She’s not sure if speaking will invite that treatment again. She’s stuck in her head, thinking about it, worrying about it, analyzing why she’s here and what she can do to leave. 

“How do you think you performed?”

It feels like a trick question. She’s crawling with self-doubt, after his appearance in-trial. She could’ve done better. She could’ve done much better than she did, could’ve been more altruistic, more clever, could’ve taken more risks and made more saves and done more. 

The entity takes a step closer and Sam almost jumps, feet shuffling back slightly as his lips split into a sharp grin. She feels the ghost of faded bruises and not-yet-faded scars. The word carved into her belly tickles, sending unwanted sensation to nestle between her thighs. Bastard. Monster. Whatever he did to her, it wasn’t normal. Whatever he does to her, still. Still pulling his little strings, plucking here and there in his web of manipulation. 

“It is a very simple query, my dear.” 

His voice alone gets to her. That twisted echo under the words; all overwhelmingly other in comparison to who that body used to be. Her skin is crawling, making her twitch and squirm. He takes a step closer, and her eyes fall to his feet, unable to look him in the face. 

“Did you play the game, Sammy?”

Why does he make her doubt so much? She thought she did - she was sure she did - but now, her resolve feels liquid. She uneasily takes a step back, unable to answer. 

“Did you do your best?” 

Another step forward, another shuffle back.

Is honesty the best policy here? She feels like it might be. She can imagine his fingers digging into fresh cuts, reminding her do not lie to me, pet. 

After a moment of hesitation, she shakes her head.

She can feel his pleased smile, even if she isn’t looking at him. He takes another step forward, she takes another back. Her ankles hit string. Turning her head to look, her stomach flip-flops anxiously; red string, more red string. A spiderweb strung up between trees, interwoven with fog. 

“Do you think you deserve to be punished?”

His voice is too close, and when Sam turns back to look, he’s mere inches away. He radiates power and control and sheer malevolence. A curiosity for destruction and pain. Not a drop of humanity in him. 

She whimpers quietly, stumbling back again, the string vibrating against her back with her movements. Her body is already lighting up in all the wrong ways, every impulse that’s been rewired backwards.

Dark brows lift expectantly, and Sam knows she has to say something. 

“...Yes?” she breathes, almost pleading. If she accepts it, maybe, it will be quick. Perhaps penitence will yield mercy. 

His head cocks slightly. Is he… pleased? Maybe? Or amused? 

When his hand lifts, Sam flinches back, catching herself on the web before she can fall. String catches between her fingers, bouncing slightly, unsteady, but keeping her upright as she holds on tight. It won’t keep her stable, but it will keep her on her feet. But was she ever really stable to begin with? 

Undeterred by her movement, the entity cups her cheek with that mockery of affection, and her eyes shut tight.

Touch.

It means so much to her, and it’s not fair that he’s perverted that, that he’s corrupted it with whatever fucked up ability he has. 

“But what is the appropriate punishment for such behavior, hm?” 

The hand on her cheek trails down, brushing past her jaw, down the side of her neck… 

An uncontrollable shudder goes through her, the effect of such close proximity to the source of intoxicating nightmares. Her mouth waters. Her body heats. He’s leaving a trail of ruin in the wake of his touch. 

He pauses, lifting his hand away for a moment, and Sam risks opening her eyes, only to bounce back against the web again as she yelps at the sudden appearance of a familiar knife. Her motions do her no favors, the tip biting into her skin briefly before the entity pulls it away slightly. Strings start to weave over her grasping hands, keeping them out of the way. 

“You will keep your volume to a reasonable level, please. As much as I enjoy your lovely array of sounds, do try to hold your tongue, pet. You know what will happen if you do not.”

Her whole body is on fire as the knife slices down the front of her clothes, just as it did before, and tears spring into her eyes as much from frustration as panic. Right down through the first M of SAMMY where it’s carved into her chest, nicking the front clasp of her bra, but this time not cutting skin nearly as much. He’s changed the angle. Like maybe he’s not just trying to slice her open. 

He doesn’t cut through her shorts, but he does pause, hooking his finger through a belt loop and tugging them down slightly to admire the SLUT scarred under the waistband. 

“Such excellent craftsmanship; how nice to see you still hold the title.” 

She’s flushing a brilliant pink as the tip of the knife teases across scarred skin, threatening to cut but not quite doing so, and her thighs press together anxiously. She can’t help it. Something about him, the air around him, clicks something in her brain. Her toes curl and her breathing is labored, eyes going dark even as she whines quietly. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. 

She wants it. She wants to be touched, and toyed with, and granted pleasure. Craves it. 

And she hates that. Hates him. Wants him. 

It’s miserable. 

And she can feel his eyes on her, drinking in that misery, that desire, that shame— feasting on it.

The strings have crept and wound and worked their way to hold her against the web. Not so restrictive as rope, but still keeping her there, keeping her upright. Probably stronger than they look. 

When the entity leans in closer, she feels the force of that aura like a heatwave, biting her lip, fixing her eyes on his collarbone to avoid his gaze as her body calls out for him. The knife is gone, though she doesn’t realize that until she feels an empty hand on her bare arm. She jerks in surprise as two fingers hook under her waistband, back arching and pushing her hips toward him as he pops open the button of her shorts. 

“My, such an eager whore.” 

The strings fall away from her arm as his touch  glides past them, grasping onto her wrist. She’s confused, and aroused, and embarrassed, and isn’t quite sure what’s happening, even as he lifts her fingers to his mouth.

It feels backward, like he’s taking her job from her - and then Sam is hit with the mortification of finding it her job - when he wraps his lips around two of her fingers, tongue sliding between them briefly as he smiles. Heat is pooling in her belly, throbbing between her legs as his other hand tugs down the denim around her hips.

She needs so much. Hungry for attention. Squirming like a fly in his web.

The subtle sucking at her fingers has her breath shallow and another soft whimper hummed from her lips before he lets her go, and she still feels wet skin tingling. Whatever he is, that isn’t normal. Some kind of drug, or pheromone, or something in that saliva, some kind of mental and physical stimulation.

“Touch yourself for me.”

The order alone makes her draw in a short breath, and heat rushes to her head again. ...And… other areas. 

She pauses, wondering if maybe she misheard, or…

But he steps away, watching her expectantly, and she suddenly realizes her position. The string may be keeping her up, but it’s allowed her arms free, apart from where her shoulders are wrapped into the web. She’s got two - trembling, fumbling - hands and a body that craves attention. If she just… pretends he’s not there…

Closing her eyes, her hand trails between her legs, fingers still glistening from the entity’s attentions, and the brush of wet on wet causes lips to part in a sharp inhale. Definitely something unnatural about that; how it sends her arousal higher and higher, making her hunger for more. Her other hand grips at her chest— going from nervous to eager to desperate in an instant.

Her breath is heavy, eyes closed, focusing on the wealth of sensations that have only been heightened by the entity’s gift.

It’s good. She’s the one in control, grinding against her own hand and rubbing just where she wants it, just how hard, backing off when necessary; she is the one in control, and it’s good.

In the silent, fog-dampened woods she can hear the wet sounds like a bell of shame, but she’s too taken in by it. Grinding, arching, writhing, rolling and twisting and playing with herself where she’s trussed up on the web, breath heavy and interspersed with short moaning whines.

She wants more, she’s hungry for it— she wants him, and she’s disgusted with herself, but she has hands and she can use them and she’ll take out all of that frustration on her own body and force her mind out of the way.

Pleasure. Just pleasure. 

It doesn’t take long.

She can be brutal with herself, and she needed it so badly, and even if she’s slipping out of her usual over-analysis, she’s still dimly aware of her situation and wants it to be over. No matter how good it might feel, there’s still that psychological weight. 

She knows her body well enough to find what works and push and push and push it. Her muscles seize up, breath caught in her throat and a throb off pressure in her head as she comes undone, choking on breath, chewing her lip, head thrown back. Her whole body is shaking in the aftermath, fingers still soothing a nipple for a moment as she heaves breath after breath, relying on the web itself to keep her standing. The release of tension is a blessing. Not a punishment. 

But the feeling of his eyes on her, taking in her debauched figure, half-naked, wetness smeared over her hand and thighs, sweat making her sticky… Her skin burns. Her chin falls to her chest, crumpling. 

Debased. By her own hands. 

“Did I say you could stop?”

The noise she makes is unintelligible, her body practically convulsing for a second. A plea, though she’s not sure what for. 

Lies, she knows exactly what for.

Don’t make me.

Except it’s not just ‘don’t make me.’

Don’t make me do it alone.

She almost sobs at that realization. How much she wants him. How she’ll settle for anything, if it comes with the right touch. Cut her again, just do it while thrusting into her. It’s all she wants. All she can think about. Whatever he’s made of, it’s intoxicating, and it’s taken up residence in her head, worked its way into her bloodstream. She’s addicted. It’s unnatural, this hunger that controls her in his presence.

“We have more to go, my dear. Another.”

She can’t bring herself to look at him, not when she knows the burning of those black and gold eyes. She just breathes. A moment. Takes a second to collect herself, to ready herself. “...Please…”

He doesn’t ask please, what? Doesn’t prompt her to continue, and doesn’t scold her for her hesitation. He doesn’t need to. Because he knows she’ll do it anyway.

He broke her with pain before, now he’s simply reinforcing that he has her obedience, testing her submission, and he must know how much easier it is for her to follow orders of this variety. Working his way up. If he can get her to do this to herself for his amusement, surely that can escalate. How long before there’s a knife in her hand and she makes no attempt to turn it on him? How long before he doesn’t have to be the one slicing her flesh, til she’ll do it of her own accord; some twisted offering to the entity. 

The silence is oppressive when she can feel his will hanging in the air. 

A shiver rolls through her and she whimpers softly. Her hands return to their task again, gentler this time, having to start slower. 

It goes on.

He touches her once. Just once. The web weaves its red string around her again, keeping her arms away, and the knife retraces the letters on her stomach. Shrieking, sobbing, she bites her lip harder than intended, wincing and hanging her head as blood slowly drools from her mouth. 

Thin fingers trace the freshly opened scars, lifting to wipe at the blood rolling down her chest, and he tastes the liquid like it’s honey, humming his satisfaction. In a fluid move, half-curious, he drags freshly licked fingers down her body again, drawing a bloody line down her torso before slipping into her.

One touch. A couple short pumps of blood-stained fingers, the brush of his thumb, and she’s screaming release again, buckling with the force of it, arms wrenched by string as the web keeps her on her feet. 

But that’s the end, at least. Blood trickling over the curves of her body as he steps away again, the slick of too many orgasms running down her thighs, soaking into half-removed clothing. Broken and sated and stinging, aching, shivering. 

She thinks she might hear the echo of her scream still ricocheting through the trees. Every inch of her trembles, exhausted. 

“You deserve a reward for being so good today.”

Wh… what?

“What would you like it to be?” 

Sam’s brows pull together, raising her head just enough to look at him, eyes stinging. She looks utterly distraught. Betrayed and confused, and so open with every trace of emotion, every wall so carefully built to hide behind having been torn down by subtle words and ripping claws. 

Good? But… but this had been a punishment. Hadn’t it? She’d… she’d done poorly, and had to be punished for it. ...Right?

“What?” Her voice is barely a croak, throat raw from every noise that had been pulled from her.

“An obedient slut deserves her reward.”

She’s quiet, just staring, unable to grasp the situation entirely. She wants rest, she wants to sleep, she wants to heal. She doesn’t know what’s acceptable, what might draw the wrong kind of response. 

It can’t mean anything good that, after all she’s been through, the first thing that comes to mind is still how much she aches for deeper penetration. She can’t take it, she doesn’t - and shouldn’t - want it— especially not from him. 

Shaking her head, she tries to find words. “Let me go.” 

His head cocks again, that inhuman curiosity.

“Heal the wounds, and clean me up, and let me go.”

He takes a step closer again, and she flinches, sensing that aura pulling at her again, filling her exhausted body with a hollow want. “You are sure that is what you would like?”

No. She’s not sure of anything, not around him. He’s the embodiment of doubt, and she had plenty of that before he ever showed up. “Yes,” she whispers, avoiding looking at him. 

Her eyes snap shut as fingers brush her face again, and her jaw clenches, forcing herself not to change her mind. 

A hand flattens against the word carved into her skin, and she sucks in a pained breath at the burning sensation as fire closes the wound. She can tell it’s not quite right. Like individual burning sutures instead of the all-covering gauze that usually comes with her own healing abilities. Like too much movement will make them split again. A temporary fix. 

The hand on her cheek strokes gently, lips grazing her temple. “We will see each other again soon, my dear.” Everything in her writhes in trepidation. “...Mind you behave yourself.”

[tartareus]

Do you condone/ship incest? I was reading your rules and got confused about your sentence where you said if people are uncomfortable with fictional consensual incest this isn’t the blog for you. Except Incest is incest regardless of if it’s fiction

hi there, friend, how do you do?

while i'm not particularly fond of anons (nex time you'd like to discuss something regarding my rules and/or character portrayal, i strongly encourage you to do so via ims - i don't bite, and if our points of view don't quite match? that's alright, i promise i'll leave you in peace :) ) for various reasons, i'm so glad you've read my rules (that probably makes you one of the few who follow me - at least i presume you do, idk - who has done so, so thank you so much!), i cannot stress enough how important they are to me. if i happen to follow you, rest assured that i have read yours (unless, ofc, i couldn't find one in your blog - in any case, if i happen to accidentally break one of yours, just hmu or gimme a nudge).

considering that you've asked more than one question, i'll answer to you in separate sections - needless to say that while i break it down your questions, the answer might become a little longer than usual (again, i'm sorry). i'll keep this tagged, in case any of my followers don't feel like reading about this. without further ado, let’s dive in.´

“do you condone/ship incest?”

short answer? nope. but that is not a black or white question i’m afraid. no, i – nox, the human behind this blog of fictional characters – personally do not condone incest , never have and never will, and  don’t ship it. i do, however, ship consanguinamory on rare occasions, and when i do happen to write it i never do it in a good light.

for those who are not familiar with the term, here’s a little bit of info about it x && x. in short, the key difference between them is: incest is usually linked abuse (a fictional example that can be used, taking in consideration one of my very own muses, in this case is margot verger – who was sadly abused by her brother in the hannibal books) while consanguinamory (the lannisters, for example, or even the sharpe siblings from crimson peak are examples of consanguineous relationships) is the consensual romantic and/or sexual relationship between members of the same family who are of consenting age.

[ personally, i find both of them gross as fuuck irl but when it comes to fictional works i may get over this first disgust and ponder more on that && take in consideration the characters arch, plot, thoughts and the whole world they are set in. ]

i suppose the turning point here is the consent. i never, never, condone any sort of abuse – not in fiction and neither in real life – and while it’s a subject that bothers me to no end in real life, when it comes to fiction i am less inclined to project into them. i may write dark and toxic relationships, but i obviously do not condone them. that’s the point here – people on this hellsite usually mix the two together (condoning something and shipping/writing it, that is) when in fact they shouldn’t even be in the same box to begin with.

let’s say you write a fictional serial killer – norman bates, tate langdon, hannibal lecter, catherine tramell (that chick from basic instinct), patrick bateman, mrs lovett and sweeney todd, kai anderson, bellatrix, grindelwald and voldemort (the list of plausible examples could go on forever…) – here and ship with them; does it mean that you, the writer, condone every single action and choice your muse does? if writing something purely fictional equals to condoning it in real life, well… the world is even more fucked up than i first thought.

you see, in this little exercise in imagination, you could’ve easily picked a good guy or gal to write, the hero; the goody two shoes. why didn’t you? well, it’s complicated to pin point why some are drawn to darker works of fiction and characters while others are not, i suppose each individual has their own reasons && i can only speak for myself when i say that i am drawn to these sort of fictional works because they the safest way to explore dark topics that pertain to human society. on my side, it’s nothing but raw curiosity.

there’s also the issue of how different cultures see these relationships. in case you haven’t noticed, i am not from the states but actually from brazil. especially in the rural area, it’s not uncommon for second cousins to date or even marry (ew, i know, pretty gross). that’s something that is luckily falling out of practice, but you can easily find it, more so in the poor rural areas that are really far from the cities.

you may have noticed that most of the sources for the terms come from a blog that advocates real life consanguinamory – but make no mistake, i don’t support it. these were the only places i’ve found as sources in a quick look online. i don’t support it irl, but whatever consenting adults are doing amongst themselves is no concern of mine – i have no say on the matter and all in all, i don’t give a damn. i just don’t like it. everything i’ve discussed here is related to fiction, consent and is only ever related to people of consenting age.

“i was reading your rules and got confused about your sentence where you said if people are uncomfortable with fictional consensual incest this isn’t the blog for you. except incest is incest regardless of if it’s fiction”

to be honest with you, anon, i couldn’t possibly see how you’ve got confused with this. i thought i was pretty clear with that, but perhaps not. sorry, my english is not perfect. however, with the risk of sounding like a meme, i said what i said. if you personally feel uncomfortable or even triggered with fictional consensual incest otherwise known as consanguinamory, maybe my blog isn’t for you. not because i – as the mun –  condone it, but because i might mention it or even allude to it when i write certain characters. again, consent is the main thing here – you won’t ever see me writing that awful part of margot’s past, but i might mention it on some threads as it is part of her trauma but i will write jaime’s feelings regarding cersei and joanna’s love for tywin – and that should not be overlooked.

“except incest is incest regardless of if it’s fiction” 

so far so good, am i to assume that you also believe that “murder is murder, regardless of if it is fiction or not”? should we call the police on, idk, george rr martin for killing....hell knows how many characters...at this point i’m sure not even he knows. leaving my petty comment aside (it’s the arthritis, i’m always annoyed when in pain), i see where you’re coming from; fair enough.  but you missed a big point here – consensual. i do not write abuse, even to the muses who – in the canon source material – have done so    ( like jaime lannister himself – who’s in a consanguinamorous [therefore, falling under the category of fictional consensual incest] relationship with cersei – who abused his sister next to their son’s dead body [ yeah, jaime apologists, i’m out to get y’all...jokes aside, i do not acknowledge people claiming that cersei manipulated him into going to bed with her, while they are both shitty and toxic as fuck people, their relationship is mutually messed up – gag if you must but jaime lannister is far from innocent angel ] )     in the past. i. don’t. write. it. but i do write jaime’s feelings for cersei because they are canon and are also a big part of the character he became.

all of that, of course, has to do with my own position on the “war” between the people who believe fiction has a great power and influence over reality vs the ones who do not believe in that. personally, i find it hard to believe that fiction is a brainwashing tool rewiring people’s brains  - i find the idea itself ludicrous, the ones who strongly stand for that aren’t that different from flat-earthers and people who believe in reverse racism tbh – but i do acknowledge the influence media has on society. its not nearly enough to turn someone to the “dark side” alone by itself – those who claim that videogames, for example, made them violent most likely already had something different and perhaps wrong with them before the games triggered something. i don’t believe that media creates things on people, but brings buried things (fears, feelings, emotions, hopes) back to the surface. it’s all about the stimulus.

if you wanna be scared, watch an horror movie; if you wanna be happy, a comedy video.  wanna feel warm inside and live unrealistic romantic expectations vicariously through fictional characters? read a 50.000 words slow burn fluffy happy fanfic of your otp at 3 am even though you gotta wake up early in the following morning....

point is, they are not creating things, they are bringing forth responses from you that were already there in your brain (everybody has laughed before and felt fear, it’s part of human development). and how you react to certain content is entirely to you and your past. say, if you drowned as a kid on the sea - and had trauma from that - the idea of watching titanic is not so fun, is it?

it’s not my place to decide what you should do, that is entirely your own choice to make, just be aware that, as i’ve stated before countless times, i may write dark topics that may or may not be triggering to some.  i do so because it is my blog, and i don’t react so harshly to this content (in fact, i love horror, thriller and dark fictional stuff – meanwhile i dread the thought of rom coms, hell knows why??) for i am lucky to be able to separate fiction from reality. basically, whilst writing a villain, i myself do not become one in real life – that part remains in fiction only and doesn’t affect me.

that is not a constant, sure. i don’t just write dark shady stuff – there’s plenty of fluffy shit on my blog, but i like to warn people beforehand to make sure we are all on the same page. it’s for your own comfort, i suppose, because i may not understand certain points of view on fiction but i will always defend your right to be comfortable and safe.

so yes, if you aren’t feeling well at that notion, please unfollow and block me if you must – i never wish to cause any discomfort to anyone – however, before you do so (that is, if you do so) i beg you to just send me an im warning me beforehand, please? that way i can block you – and your other blogs as well – so the chances of me running into you again and causing you discomfort will be minimal. that way we’ll both be on own respective lanes and happy about it. i mass follow very often and don’t usually know which blogs belong to whom (uh, did that make sense? my latina ass is not used to using whom in a sentence....), i may follow another blog (or the revamped blog) of someone who has blocked me and never even realise it – that’s not me following you around and stalking like a total creep, that’s probably me not even remembering who you are. again, sorry – i don’t mean for this to come off rude or anything but???? its the truth? you know the drill, big following list, big followers list (well, big for me tbh, i cannot remember the name or alias of 600 people for the life of me, excuse me if my memory doesn’t serve me right), hard to keep track. there will be no witch hunts, at least on my part, because i deem them to be childish and way too dramatic for my taste. if you’d like to speak in private, adult to adult, i’m always game – i dread vague posting, i personally see it as a pathetic and weak trait. 

as long as you’re civil, so am i.

either way, do whatever makes you feel comfortable and safe on your blog – your  mental health is far more important (to me, and hopefully to you as well) than a hobby, than tumblr, rp or whatever fictional stuff someone’s writing or reading; you are responsible for your own online experience, and i am responsible for mine. that’s an empowering thing that should be reminded more often.

i truly hope i’ve managed to answer whatever doubts or questions you had in mind, if not my ims are always open and so is my discord. once again, thank you for reading my rules and stay safe!

edit; my dumb ass forgot to drop my disco handle, since i change often. it currently is   DOCTOR BITCHCRAFT !!! | 𝒏𝒐𝒙#1398

[meraki-sunset]

2nd Part of what i think it’s coming on hiveswap (check part 1 <3)

I tried to calculate how old  this guy could be if they were human according to what they described that they knew and to what temporary time on earth he belonged.

I wanted to know if they belonged to the time period of Joey (14) and jude (12) (1994) or to John, Dave, Rose and Jade (13) (2009)

They mentions both memes and blockbusters as something of their everyday life, along with vage claims about going to highscool and katare clases and never anything specific.

In the end with the revelation that reader may not be human and their memories may be false (this timeline is now irrelevant -_-) everything makes sense, all the information they have about the earth comes from the internet.

That's why they can not stop referring to everything with references from famous movies and viral jokes, instead of personal experiences,

They are a dumping ground of human pop culture, all processed and squeezed inside their brain to make them believe that they really came from earth when in reality they are an alien both on alternia and earth. They’ve never been there

(That actually makes them in my opinion the perfect homestuck reader. Homestuck it’s an internet culture dumpster, and for Reader to have their sense of identity surrounding that, seems pretty symbolic)

The reality is that doc sratch needed some points to connect and needed a pawn (pun intended all over) in alternia for that to happen. The reader’s actions on the planet saved the lives of some trolls and connected others with each other. In one way or another, they encouraged a rebellious vein in many of them and helped everyone grow as individuals.

So they can all be ready and motivated when  dammek’s revelion takes place

Dammeks revelion it’s crucial, as we’ll see later.

Doc had to restart several times because reader died many times trying to carry out his plan. Maybe with the help of the handmaid or by his own hand. Like moving the threads from behind, causing disasters that would make it easier for the reader to make friends with the trolls after helping them

Then again the word  PAWN is not just for aesthetics, pawns are sacrificed during the game of chess, trying to get to victory. The pawns can not retreat, just advance, in the same way that peregrine mendicant could not back down in her series of errands and tasks that were assigned to her, no matter what  

no mater how dangerous they are, Reader can not stop making friends and can not retreat no matter what kind of danger they have in front of them, and if they do Doc Scratch just restarts the time line until they move correctly.

Besides, Doc has “rewired” their brain in a way that if they ever try to go against their “befriending order” they begin to feel sick or that something its wrong. And they have to repeat themselves constantly what his life story is, and dismiss any idea that could indicate otherwise.

Also, even if now they are “programed ” to dismiss all signals that something it’s wrong to keep making friends non stop, they still feels like they are following a script made by someone else and that there are patterns in his actions that repeat

and also ignore basic weird stuff regarding their body like not needing to eat or their bones healing way faster that whats normal for a human

And the more time they spends on Alternia, the more they feel that something it’s wrong. They are tired, they are becoming aware and feels they won’t be able to go on for much longer

The only time thay regain control and get’s free from Doc Sratch’s control while being on alternia it’s when they DIE on karako’s bad ending. And then, while doc it’s loosing his grip on their mind, reader questions everything they have been doing, and why the hell are they acting that way, and wonders if it’s all plotted by a higher entity

in the end, their ability to remember multiple timelines due to all the resets and how they began to become aware of being part of something else was something Doc scratch hadn’t planed

Where i’m trying to get with all this it’s that This guy is important. Their mind is way stronger than what it seems. Doc Sratch is an omnicient beeing, and even him was taken back by Reader’s actions and capacity to understand his situation despite the mind control.

Then they had a collapse, after Doc brings them to his lair on the green moon and deactivates their urge to make friends.

their identity is falling apart and they can not feel any appreciation for the memories he made in alternia. they don’t feel that the people they met are their friends. The memories they made with everybody now feel cold. They want to feel again what they felt when they thought of them, they feel uneasy now that they doesn’t have a script to follow, but  they want answers. He wants to understand.

And that's when the important things begin.

they are trapped

but at the same time they are free for the first time

They will now read homestuck and learn about the whole context about doc scratch, alternia and the end of everything.

In fact scratch leaves them alone to read the comic because he has more important issues to attend, because there is someone else who is about to arrive.

Reader makes an “appearance” on homestuck, when the second disc breaks and needs to go to doc scratch to get it fixed. that explains how the reader (that now is considered an actual character) was in doc scratch’s moon in the first place, disc in hand

(now, i don’t remember fully about this, but i’m not sure if doc sratch ever told anybody to call him that? i remember everybody just calling him white text guy. i could be wrong but maybe that’s just how reader refers to him, due to him fixing the disc. i don’t know, i’m probably wrong but would it be cool if that was the case)

And this text I think it’s important 

he doesn’t say “I am an exelent host” he says “I continue to be an exelent host” because he has been hosting reader for a while, they hadn’t just arrived, they arrived a while ago (i don’t know about ya’ll but reading all homestuck took me a couple months) reader was just in a diferent room (that place is hella big. Hussie got lost in there) and had no choice but to go to back scratch’s apartment and ask for help

Also, this text makes a lot more sense to me now, because reader DID influenced the story at some extent

And the somebody that scratch it’s waiting for is spades slick who will attack him, and later Snowball, they will both then make a huge mess fighting, make out and slick will shoot her

Now this is what I believe will follow. From this point on it’s even more speculative but bear with me. There is a lot of plot holes left to fill

Reading the comic and adding 2 plus 2 Reader will discover that they are not human, learn where they come from, and that his friends are going to die permanently when the events of the hivebent happen, the meteors begin to collide with the planet, the 12 trolls enter sburb and the vast glub kills all trolls in the universe

they will also discover at the very end of homestuck, at the Act 7, that there is a safe planet in another dimension, where humans, trolls and Carapacians live together in peace. (yes i know reader is confirmed not a carapace, this theory it’s old) They will have to find a way to get there and take everyone with him there

They will escape and go back to alternia (probably there will be some time shenanigans with the window portal and some time has probably passed since he left) 

and there, eventually at some point, they will encounter Joey

But i’ll explain more of that on the third part of the theory

*Pronouns fixed*

Thanks everybody for all your support and suggestions!

Part 1 - Part 2 (you’re here) - Part 3

[advice-n-help-queen]

How to TRULY move on...

“This is a long post but I have to get it out because it’s been killing me.

Me and my ex had been close friends for almost 3 and a half years. We met our senior year and from that moment on I had a huge crush on him. It wasn’t until the summer before our sophomore year of college that I admitted I had feelings for him. To my surprise he felt the same way. He was bi but that didn’t bother me. We weren’t official till school started but I assumed we were exclusive because of how he felt about me. Two weeks before classes started he told me he had to admit something. While I was away house sitting he had a short fling with a girl from his work. He made out and sent nudes back and forth with her. I was devastated. During his fling he’d visited and acted like everything was ok. It took me till school started to even speak to him. I knew I should have ended things right there but I was a stupid 19 year old girl who finally had a guy who liked me. I told him as long as he cut all contact with the girl I’d forgive him. He said he did so I did. For the next months we were happy. I even told him I thought I was falling in love with him and he said he felt that way too. It wasn’t until November came that I felt the change. He became distant and would leave me on read. I chalked it up to midterm stress. After a week of barely talking or even seeing each other I confronted him. I told him I didn’t understand what was going. He told me it was nothing and led me to think I was over reacting. By Thanksgiving I’d had enough. When we were on the phone I told him I wanted the truth or I was breaking up with him. He again told me I was overreacting and nothing was going on, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted to be with someone who cared about me and didn’t gaslight me. I told him I was done and if he couldn’t be honest with me I couldn’t stay around. He didn’t try to stop me or even say anything. I hung up in tears and cried myself to sleep. A few days later he posted a very intimate photo with a male friend of his. My heart broke. The entire time we were in a relationship he was cheating on me with him. The fact that it was a guy didn’t bother me it was the cheating. I didn’t care what gender the other person was all I cared was that he cheated on me. Word spread fast through our friend group that he left me for a guy. They talked about how he only dated me because I wasn’t girly and I was basically a guy with boobs. I avoided all of them for the rest of the semester. I went to class and went home. My depression got worse and I thought very little of myself. Over break I took a lot of time to myself and worked on liking myself again. When school started again my ex wanted to talk. He said him and the guy broke up and he really wanted to be friends again. I told him I couldn’t, he broke my heart and destroyed my self esteem. But he didn’t understand. I walked away and haven’t spoken to him since.

People say I need to forgive and forget. But I can’t. I need advice on how to move on and pursue other relationships and not feel like with everyone it will end like this.”

I’ve been absolutely ITCHING to respond to this. I’m sorry in advance for how long this is going to be lol, but I have a LOT to say.

First, I’d like to say that I appreciate how difficult this has all been for you, especially considering how long he has been in your life. But the quicker the grieving process begins the better and easier it will be for you in the long run. You’re going to cause yourself more hurt by holding onto the past and the memories. He’s shown you who he really is and what he’s really like. Believe him. Don’t make excuses for him. The longer someone has been in our lives, the more inclined we feel to hold onto them and not let go. But as the saying goes, quantity does not always correlate with quality. Yes, he has been around for a long time, but in hindsight has be actually added anything positive to your life? Has he made you happy in all of that time? Has he considered your feelings, and has he ever been concerned about hurting you? NO. Are you better off without him? YES. Which is exactly why today is the day I help you officially be rid of this undeserving ****.

When you first got with him, you weren’t wrong to assume that he felt the same way about you. I mean he gave you the impression that you two were exclusive, right? He made you feel special, confessed his feelings. So, don’t feel regret or blame yourself. I myself have no clue why people are like this. Some people just love to play games, some people are just complete narcissists. They make us fall for them only to go back on their word and hurt us. And it sucks that we get tangled up with these types of people. And it sucks even more that it’s usually the pure-hearted, sincere people that end up in these helpless predicaments.

Just know that you did the right thing by leaving. A guy who genuinely likes you will never ever consider cheating and will never entertain other people, even if this does just include a “harmless flirtatious text”.  I don’t care what anyone says. That’s why I think no one should ever condone or make excuses for someone who cheated on them. And I know it’s easier said than done which is why people forgive and get back together with someone who cheated on them. And I know people have their reasons for doing this. But I believe cheating should signify a definitive end to a relationship. I believe that people who give second chances are doomed to a life of insecurity, regret and negative thoughts that will slowly eat them apart. A relationship without trust is not a relationship at all. I feel even more passionate about this having witnessed a genuine relationship, a relationship full of love, trust and understanding. Now don’t get me wrong, no relationship is perfect. But if your partner shows, not only through their words but their actions too, that they are completely devoted to you then this is more likely to be the person you spend the rest of your life with. 

When someone truly loves you they will  prioritise your well-being and happiness; make sacrifices for the good of the relationship; listen to you; acknowledge their mistakes (big or small) and commit themselves to making things right; make time for you; respect you, and will NEVER make you question their love for you. Also, you will not have to pretend or compromise your identity with this person, they will love you for you. Which sounds cringe I know, but it’s honestly the truth. If a person is not putting in the maximum amount of effort, then they are showing that they don’t care whether they lose you or not and thus are not deserving of you. A guy who likes you will never leave you on read, ignore you, become distant without an explanation. It shows they aren’t thinking about you, do not care about upsetting you and simply do not care. Do not settle for this type of treatment. Never settle for less than what you deserve or sell yourself short. There is someone out there who is desperate to give you what you deserve and treat you the way you should be treated.

You not ending things immediately, despite everything, does not make you stupid. Maybe a little naïve but then I guess I am guilty off the exact same thing. All the warning signs were there but I sub-consciously chose to ignore them. The feeling of being liked and worth someone’s time is so SO addictive. Especially when you’re not used to that type of attention and I guess when you’re a little insecure too (because that annoying, nosy insecurity bitch always likes to get involved).

It takes a really strong person to put an end to things and realise the toxicity of a relationship despite the temporary (fake?} comfort and happiness it provided for us. So guess what? That makes you an extremely strong person even if right now you’re feeling weak and defeated. And that is a key step to moving on. Do not victimise yourself but instead view yourself as a strong individual. After leaving a toxic relationship it is normal for us to blame ourselves. Our instincts are to remember the good times but forget the manipulation, the control and the isolation. Our minds rush to remember the kind words, romantic gestures and the undeniable chemistry you and your partner shared. But this is the same person who left you broken and emotionally traumatised. This is the person who made you feel so much self-doubt, insecurity and loneliness. So I am going to help rewire your brain and help get it back in check. I am going to remind you that you left him for a reason - a reason that is COMPLETELY and UNDENIABLY valid. Never try to compromise your decision or give it a second thought. He treated you like shit. You are a queen yet he treated you like a peasant.

Please please PLEASE get mad with me. Does this not make you mad?! I am mad for you. I am mad for all the people out there who have been mistreated and unjustly disrespected. I am mad at all the people out there who think it’s okay to play mind games and toy with people’s emotions as if they are not human beings. I am just straight up MAD. Please don’t allow yourself to get sad anymore, I’m sure you’ve had your days where you’ve cried and helplessly broken down. And you are completely entitled to these days, we need to get it all out of our system to truly allow the moving on process to begin. But now I just want you to think of him for what he is. A dishonest, manipulative, insensitive piece of ****. This is the motivation you need to allow yourself to move on. You need to reprogram your brain. You are a boss ass bitch. You need to channel that. Rather than spending your time thinking about him, spend that time on yourself. You deserve your time more than anyone else. This is a step that really helped me move on. And I’m still in the process of moving on, so trust me, I’m not going to preach to you like it’s easy, but a start is better than nothing. We can do this together. We’re strangers but gurl I feel so connected to you right now.

You know what you should do? Go to the gym. Work on bettering yourself and making yourself feel good for YOU, not for anyone else. You think someone liking you is an addictive feeling but that has NOTHING on the feeling of self-love and self-appreciation. Nothing is more empowering than that. We don’t need any man to make us feel happy and good about ourselves. Sure it can help add to it. But that’s all it should be. An accesory, not the complete outfit. (Did that make sense? in my head it sounded like poetry but writing it.. i’m not so sure anymore lol). You don’t even have to go to the gym - it’s all about doing things that you genunely want to do and want to dedicate time to. Whether that be yoga, reading a book, going out with friends…

Oh and that’s another thing. That “friend group” of yours is no friend group. You should be around people who uplift you and bring nothing but positivtiy and good vibes. After my break-up I spent the weekend with my best friend, eating an abundance of food that was bad for us and screaming the lyrics to enpowering songs. These are the type of people you need to surround yourself with. Not people who bully you and make you feel bad about yourself after a traumatic experience. Hell, I’m more of a friend to you than them and we don’t even know each other. Girl, talk to me. You don’t need them.

I’m so proud of you for walking away. I tried being “friends” which someone who broke me but it was just impossible. I don’t know how people do it, but it’s just not possible for me. Why burden yourself with the constant reminder of the pain someone caused you with no remorse? The worst thing is, as you said, they just don’t understand. They will accuse you of “over-reacting”, making you feel stupid for feeling the way you feel. I tried talking to my ex just to try and understand why he did what he did, to get some “closure”. But it just ended up doing more harm than good. People claim we need closure in order to move on but I don’t think this is always the case. Sometimes we just have to accept that some people are shit and that they do shit things. It’s not on us, it’s all on them. Why they are so shit is something they have to figure out, not us. You need to rid yourself of him. Delete his number, block him if you have to. Don’t message him. Don’t have any association with him. He’s not worth your time or space. Also posting sexy ass pictures now and then doesn’t hurt either. Show him what he’s missing. Because he really IS missing out.

And I know you fear getting into another relationship because you are worried it’s fated to have the same outcome. But trust me, when you spend time prioritising yourself and when you eventually grow to fully love and appreciate yourself, you’ll attract people who are good for you. You’ll learn to set boundaries and know your worth and NOT tolerate any bullshit. You’ll keep your standards high and will be able to detect the lying, conniving assholes from a mile away. You got this. The same thing won’t happen again because you won’t allow it to happen again. You hear me?

I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through. You asked for advise on how to move on and I’m sorry the answer hasn’t been so straightforward. I think the important thing is that you constantly remind yourself of how amazing you are and how wrong he was for treating you the way he did. Yes I don’t know you, but what I can tell immediately is that you’re a compassionate, loving and genuine person – someone who a guy will be extremely lucky to have some day.  Also, another important factor is time. You need to give yourself time. Everyone says this but it’s true. Don’t beat yourself up if you occasionally relapse and find yourself broken again, it’s all a part of the process. But just know you WILL get through it. And remember, if you ever need someone to talk to, I can assure you that I am here. <3

I’m also going to make a mini playlist of songs that helped me feel empowered. Something as small as the music you listen to can also play a big part in changing your mood and aiding the moving-on process. BUH-BYE to songs that make us feel sad and nostalgic.

Playlist

·       Lil Boi (Big Talk) [Ayanis ft. Queen Naija]

·       Unlove You [Ann Marie]

·       Heard It All Before [Toni Romiti]

·       B.I.T.C.H [Megan Thee Stallion]

·       Switch Up (Part 2) [Toni Romiti]

·      Who Dis  [Toni Romiti ft. Russ]

·      I Know [Toni Romiti]

·      Need Me [Toni Romiti]

·      Unimpressed [Toni Romiti]

·      Time To Leave [Toni Romiti]

·      Options [Toni Romiti]

·      None Of Your Concern [Jhene Aiko ft. Big Sean]

·      Rebound [Savannah Cristina]

·      Self Care [Savannah Cristina]

·      Self Love [Dreameville, Ari Lennox & Bas ft. Baby Rose)

·      So What [Amaal]

·      Later [Amaal]

·      Just Might [Summer Walker ft. PARTYNEXTDOOR]

·      Not The Same [Sybyr ft. Landfill]

·      Unleash me [Sybyr]

·      I Don’t Like You [Sybyr]

·      No Scrubs [TLC]

·      See Me [Melii]

·      Best Thing I Never Had [Beyonce]

·      Why Don’t You Love me? [Beyonce]

·      Freakum Dress [Beyonce]

·      Irreplaceable [Beyonce]

·      6 Inch [Beyonce ft. The Weeknd]

·      Freedom [Beyonce ft. Kendrick Lamar]

·      Sorry (Original Demo) [Beyonce]

·      I Don’t Fuck With You [Big Sean]

·      Be Careful [Cardi B]

·      Bodak Yellow [Cardi B]

·      I’m Every Woman [Chaka Khan]

·      Deuces [Chris Drown]

·      Handle It [Chris Brown (ft. DeJ Loaf & Lil Yachty]

·      Grass Ain’t Greener [Chris Brown]

·      Cheetah [Chris Brown]

·      Zero [Chris Brown]

·      Level Up [Ciara]

·      Needed me [Rihanna]

·      Wild Thoughts [DJ Khaled ft. Rihanna]

·      Bitch Better Have My Money [Rihanna]

·      Sorry Not Sorry [Demi Lovato]

·      Games [Demi Lovato]

·      Say My Name [Destiny’s Child]

·      Survuvor [Destiny’s Child]

·      Nice For What [Drake]

·      7 rings [Ariana Grande]

·      breathin [Ariana Grande]

·      in my head [Ariana Grande]

·      thank u, next [Ariana Grande]

·      Broke Up With You [Toni Romiti]

·      A Woman’s Worth [Alicia Keys]

·      Right Back [Ar'mon and Trey]

·      2 [H.E.R]

·      U [H.E.R]

·      I Won’t [H.E.R]

·      I Will Survive [Gloria Gaynor]

·      Crooked Smile [J. Cole]

·      Love Yourz [J. Cole]

·      Ain’t Your Mama [Jennifer Lopez]

·      Love Don’t Cose A Thing [Jennifer Lopez]

·      Stronger [Kanye West]

·      I Hate You So Much Right Now [Kelis]

·      Poetic Justice [Kendrick Lamar ft. Drake]

·      Bitch, Don’t Kill My Vibe [Kendrick Lamar ft. Emeli Sande]

·      Alright [Kendrick Lamar]

·      Leave Me Alone [Michael Jackson]

·      Love Me Right [Moxie Knox]

·      Feeling Myself [Nicki Minaj]

·      Don’t Cha [Nicole Scherzinger]

·      Medicine [Queen Naija]

·      Karma [Queen Naija]

(I know I said a MINI playlist but I couldn’t help myself…)

Also, I’m going to add some youtube videos that helped me a lot. They’ll help remind you that you are, and always will be, a boss ass bitch.

·      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Jo1rSII6vU

·      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RTFp8cuBVLk

·      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m1SLA7cmeHo

·      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I64AVJKsaWc

·      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2dh1W-1Ulgo

·      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jUjwVVxW0Mc

·      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hMOPCvTM0o8

·      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hcJ9vxn2yY

·      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-NqX-g99jA

@wonderland-delusions

[realm-sweet-realm]

Asylum story, chapter 2

Hey, anyone remember this? Well, I was asked to write a second chapter for the story where Joey rats Sammy out for being gay and drops him off at an asylum. I’m not sure why I decided to do it, but the story could be worse. I might give it a proper ending if there’s enough interest. TW for homophobia, a slur, and me doing 0 research for historical accuracy.

Anyhow. Expect the first chapter of the Showdown Bandit completion fic to go up by the end of the week. I have been working on bit projects for far too long.

Sammy was knocked back to reality by a knock at the car window. It was two workers from the asylum. Joey lowered the window a crack. "One of my old gentleman callers. I was wondering if you could help him out," he explained.

"Ah, okay," one of the workers replied, as though Joey's request was simple and routine. They opened the passenger-side door. Sammy tried not to freeze- he knew he had to think fast.

"He's lying," Sammy insisted, as the two men grabbed his arms. Sammy did not go willingly, and so the two men were forced to drag him. "I'm not gay. I'm not. Let me go!" he begged as they got further from the car. The car started and drove away.

"Now, listen. We can do this the hard way or the easy way," one of the workers said to him. "I hope you'll make this easy on yourself."

Sammy was fuming, but he also realized that there was no sense in resisting anymore, so he straightened up and complied as they walked him to the building.

"There we go. Now, I know you don't expect this to be pleasant, but the more you comply with us, the more pleasant we can make it."

The inside of the building was reminiscent of a hospital setting. The two men escorted him past a secretary and then into a hallway, where they passed several closed doors before they found one with a sign that read, "empty."

"This is where you'll be staying the night. Activities won't start until tomorrow. Goodnight."

Sammy entered the cell. It had two beds, a sink, and a toilet in it. It was clean, primarily painted blue, and so looked so mundane that Sammy nearly crawled into one of the beds before he saw a figure curled up at the end of it, reading a book titled, “The Basics of Psychoanalysis.”

The man, brown-haired and looking to be in his mid-twenties, looked up at him. “Oh, hey. Didn’t hear you come in, roomie. My name’s Daniel. Yours?”

“...Sammy.”

“Nice to meet you, Sammy. Are you new here? You look new. Can I give you some advice on how to make it here?”

A shiver went through Sammy at those ominous words. “Sure...”

“You need to learn how to play their game. Your intake interview is going to be first thing tomorrow. You need to convince them that you’re gay for psychodynamic reasons- basically, because of your childhood experiences. If they think that, they’ll try to use therapy to fix you. If they think it’s biological, they’ll put you on medication. You don’t want to go on medication. That stuff speeds your heart up.”

“...And that’s bad because...?” Sammy questioned. He got the feeling that this person wasn’t telling him everything.

Daniel shivered. “There are certain things here that they do to everyone. They kind of throw the whole kitchen sink at the issue because they don't know what causes it. Two methods they use on everyone are prayer, and aversion therapy. I have a book on that. But it’s more important that you read up on psychodynamics. You should start on page 36- that’s when they start talking about homosexuality.” Daniel broke eye contact, looking forward as though haunted. “Aversion therapy is just applied behaviourism- pretty simple school of thought. Don't bother researching it- even if you did, there's no avoiding the electric shocks. And if your heart and brain are already off-kilter from the meds, well... deaths have happened. Disabilities have happened. It doesn’t happen to everyone, but I’d definitely stay off the meds.”

After Sammy thanked Daniel for the information, they both took to their books. Afterward, they talked about their lives a bit. Daniel had suggested going to the lounge and playing some chess, but Sammy wasn't up for it. Daniel left, and Sammy was asleep by the time he got back.

In the morning, Sammy received his daily schedule alongside his breakfast and a warning that if he failed to show up for any of the listed activities, he would be severely punished. First was his intake interview. It took place in what seemed to be a typical therapist’s office. Sammy sat down in the armchair and waited for the therapist to come. She was a professionally dressed but disarmingly small woman- hardly any bigger than Susie. “Hello, Mr...”

“Lawrence.”

“Lawrence. My name is Ms. Acker. I understand that you’re not here willingly.”

��No,” Sammy admitted. His plan was to keep giving her as little information as possible until it was time to tell his fake story- one he'd designed the night before based on what he'd read about psychodynamic theory. Until then, anything he said could be used against him.

“Well, sorry to hear that. Who brought you here?”

“My ex-lover.”

“Care to tell me your feelings about him?”

Sammy's gums curled back from his teeth. “That backstabbing, self-hating fucking snake thought he could choose my Goddamn life for me! I-" Sammy stopped. The woman was writing daintily on a clipboard. Right- don't give anything away.

“Interesting. Well, given the circumstances, it makes sense that you'd be angry. Though, I do think that you will eventually see that it's for the best. Can you tell me about your feelings towards him before he put you here?”

From the well-highlighted pages of Daniel’s book, Sammy had learned that, according to psychodynamic theory, homosexuality in men was thought to be caused by a lack of, or lack of attention from, the paternal figures in the man’s life during their late childhood and adolescence. It was thought that homosexuality was a way of attempting to get that missing paternal link from a romantic partner.

"He was like a father to me. He was eleven years older than me and treated me like a son. My favourite part of being with him when he let me stay overnight after we'd made love. I could fall asleep in his arms, and it was like it was healing something in me." Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. It was actually painful to make himself sound so weak in the face of Joey Drew. But, Ms. Acker was once again writing. That was a good sign.

"Is he the one who introduced you to homosexuality?"

"Yes."

Ms. Acker nodded. Sammy imagined this was like solving a puzzle to her. Sammy just needed to hand her a few more pieces and she'd be satisfied.

"Okay. Last question, Sammy: how was your relationship with your father? You said that receiving affection from your lover made you feel like you were healing. For a lot of homosexuals, that's what they're trying to heal."

Sammy looked down. "Do I have to talk about it?" Hopefully she'd just take that. Sammy loved his father and really didn't feel like dragging him through the mud. For good measure, he buried his hands in his face and shook a little. Hopefully it looked convincing.

"Oh... not yet. I think I know all I need to for now. Given your circumstances, it's reasonable that you'd want to be loved by a man, and so when your lover offered you love in exchange for sex... well, you found it hard to resist. Am I safe to assume that?"

Sammy nodded.

"Okay. Well, Sammy, I want you to understand that no matter who says what in this institute- and I know some of it won't be nice- you're not at fault for being gay. But it's an addictive and self-perpetuating coping mechanism that isn't going to help you in the long run. Now, what's going to happen is that you're going to get some appointments with one of our male psychologists so that he can help you to properly heal from your father's actions. And in the meantime, the other staff will help to rewire the associations you have with homosexual sex. Alright? You can go, now. Looks like you'll have about twenty minutes of free time before your next session."

"Thank you," Sammy said, letting only a minimal amount of bitterness slip into his voice. He got up to leave. While having his homosexuality treated like a disease was awfully frustrating, all that had been awfully... mundane.

Sammy arrived to the room of his next appointment- the feared, "behaviourist rewiring"- on time, only to find a crowd of perhaps eight other men already there. Shivers went up Sammy's spine as he saw the looks of dread on their faces. The door opened, and two large men in uniforms stepped out and herded everyone inside. Inside, there were a dozen boards with wired straps, each facing a wall. Extremely grim, several of the men took their place laying on the boards, leaving only two left standing: Sammy, who was frozen stiff, and a short little creature who had gone into panic and was trying to claw his way through the door. The two workers took a man by the arms and forced him onto a board as he kicked. "I can't get shocked!" he yelled. "I have a heart condition!"

One of the men gave him a punch to the ribs. "That's for resisting. God, I can't wait to turn this fruit into a vegetable."

Then, the men turned their attention to Sammy. "You feeling lucky, punk?" one of them said. Sammy got on the board, feeling like a coward for not doing anything for the other man. He made up for it by spitting in the worker's face as he did up Sammy's straps. The worker struck him in the face in retaliation, but it had been worth it.

"I see we have a new face in here today. So, to explain what's about to happen, we're going to project some homosexual pornography and pictures of half-dressed men onto the wall. The straps are designed to gage your arousal in a way similar to a lie detector. If you are aroused, you will be shocked. This way, your brain will be rewired to have an aversion to homosexual activity, so you will no longer wish to engage in it or to look at men sexually. In the meantime, my partner and I will be making our rounds. Anyone who closes their eyes to avoid this exercise will be shocked at the highest voltage. Alright- let's begin."

The films started. Sammy tried to block out their images, thinking of the strongest non-sexual stimuli he could think of. Being back at his old apartment with his banjo and a hot drink as the snow fell outside. The fur of his cat between his fingers. His anger at Joey. His frustration with the world. His desire to be home. None of it worked. The shocks coursed from his wrists and ankles into his core. He could feel his organs- heart, brain, lungs, everything- shaking with electricity.

Sammy wasn't sure how long the exercise lasted- he just knew that it had been a long time, and afterward he felt exhausted. The man who'd complained of a heart condition didn't leave with the rest- he was unconscious. Hopefully just unconscious, anyhow. Sammy felt defeated. Tricking a therapist was easy- how was he supposed to trick a machine that could read his bodily cues? He supposed that he'd just have to hope that the treatments actually worked somehow so that he could get the hell out of this place. Or, he thought, looking out a window at the barbed-wire fence, he could try to dig his way out.

[avatarofthevast]

Influences, Autonomy, and Responsibility

(Hoo boy this got long. Also it’s a rambling, disastrous mess but I just kinda... got going. But it’s all... more or less relevant? Probably way more detail than many people care about, lmao I’m sorry.)

Lots of discussion has been going around about Jon the Archivist, and how responsible do we hold him for his actions particularly in MAG 141 and 142? And I want to tell you, this was a SIGNIFICANT point in that tma philosophy thing I was writing a while back (currently stalled indefinitely, sorry, I am what I am). So let me take a nice, hefty chapter out of that and weigh in on the subject.

I saw one or two people compare it to addiction, and that is a very good comparison. Let met explain why: Addiction works by hijacking the reward center of your brain. The reward center is what we have gained through evolution that has kept us alive as a species, rewarding us with dopamine when we do things that keep our species going, such as eating, drinking, or sex. We call these "instincts"; our brain's natural encouragement toward dopamine-seeking behaviors.

When a substance is introduced that artificially releases dopamine, the reward center recognizes this as a new viable source of dopamine, and starts rewiring the brain to seek it out, just as we seek out food or sex. It creates a brand new "instinct" for this new source of dopamine, to seek out the substance. This new instinct, or "craving", is just as real and powerful as your other natural instincts like hunger or thirst.

This, I believe, is very comparable to a person claimed by a power. Trevor Herbert and Daisy described it as a hunger, and Jude Perry said something along those lines as well. Jude also said, "I don't know what it would feel like for you, and itchy eye or something." So there is.... something. Some new instinct implanted in them. An urge; a call to action. Trevor Herbert even said it was stronger than the call of heroin.

So, now that we've related it to addiction, what does that tell us about personal accountability? Well, in my research I came across the article "Addiction, Autonomy, and Informed Consent: On and Off the Garden Path" by Neil Levy. (I'm sorry, I can't find a link that's not behind a pay wall. I don't know where I found it originally. But if you google it, it'll come up.) In it, he discusses the ethics of performing a study with ex-addicts in which the addict is offered their drug of choice. (Keep in mind being an EX-addict is no small feat. It's a lifelong struggle and a journey that includes a lot of tears, pain, and introspection. These people KNOW the price of giving in.)

The very young, very elderly, or otherwise mentally compromised are sometimes said to be unable to give informed consent, due to lack of understanding of the situation or its consequences, or because they are incapable of proper reasoning. So the question is then, does addiction so mentally compromise the brain that an (ex-)addict cannot be said to give informed consent in such a situation as being offered their drug of choice? Surely they have understanding of the situation. And generally they extremely thorough understanding of the consequences, yet many addicts will describe being offered their drug of choice as feeling as if they "can't say no."  But, can they truly not? It's very possible to find many cases in which addicts were in such a position, and DID say no. So how literally can it be taken to say that they "can't say no"?

Let's look for a moment at autonomy, or agency. Personal agency is what is deemed to be required to give informed consent. And autonomous action is one that is freely done given conscious consideration to all viable actions, and an autonomous agent is one that is capable of autonomous action. Not all actions of an autonomous agent will be autonomous, however. If you are reading a book and scratch your nose, you may not even realize you scratched your nose. This actions was not autonomous, because although while you were free to do it, you did not make a conscious decision to do so.

And it's not black or white, where an action either is or is not autonomous. Autonomy can be partially taken away to various degrees, whether by mental conditions, intoxication, or conditions that may impair proper cognitive function. Cravings, urges, or our natural instincts can interfere with autonomy. Yes, even something as simple as hunger itself. I made the comparison in my Jon&Daisy fanfic: If you trap a starving man in a room and tell him he only gets food if he drives a nail into the hand of a stranger, how much do you blame him if after a month he decides he can't take starving anymore? In the case, this man does not have full autonomy, as it is being inhibited by his urge to eat.

So how do we determine if an action of an agent is fully autonomous? If an agent has full autonomy, it is believed that that agent will act within their own personal morals. We can say then, if that agent performs an action that is outside of their morals, doing something that they believe is wrong or that they do not want. In the case of the addict, this is saying yes to drugs that they know will take them down a road they do not want to go. In Jon's case, this is believing that submitting innocent bystanders to the terror he inflicts is cruel and he hates himself for it, but he does it anyways.

Ok let’s wrap thing up here; I’m rambling. How much responsibility do these people hold for their actions? The addict, Jon, and Daisy? Well, there is no clear line. Some might say it’s just a matter of willpower, but there are many other factors involved, and it’s not that straight forward. The intensity of the craving, and the mental state of the agent (142 may have been shortly after the mess where he tried to Know Lukas’s plan, leaving him weak and dazed) both play significant parts as well. Intensity of cravings can range from “having the munchies”, to hyperventilating and openly weeping. And if one person doesn’t have quite the same mental fortitude of another person (willpower), does that automatically make them a worse person?

You can never know what another person is going through. And so, I don’t think we can judge Jonathan Sims to be a monster just yet. We can feel sad or scared for him. We can feel disappointed in him. But what would it take for him to truly be a monster? I think that would be when he puts aside his moral; when he no longer has any problem with what he is doing. You might ask, wasn’t he just justifying himself to Basira? Yes, however, I don’t think he was very confident about his reasons. I think he’s scared, himself, and was trying to justify his actions to himself as much as he was to Basira. Because after his conversation with Daisy about how he believed he was too much of a monster to deserve to live, I don’t believe he would flip that fast for no apparent reason. I trust Jonny wouldn’t do that (this isn’t Game of Thrones).

Wow, well thank you for sticking with me through my incredibly long rambling analysis of Jon’s recent behaviors. I was thinking about writing a fic from Jon’s perspective about his own thought process through episodes 141 and 142, but judging by how long it took me to trudge through getting this written, that doesn’t seem likely. Anyways, if you actually read this whole thing, I’d be curious what your thoughts are on it.