#think what you want you aren't doing anything to ME

[bi-writes]

anatomy of us | alpha!ghost x f!omega!reader

we cannot change who we are at our core.

type: limited series, part 1 (6.4k) in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you.

series cw: reader described as plus-sized/curvier, alpha/beta/omega dynamics + universe, dark!simon, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of murder + violence, military criticism, protective!simon, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, size kink, praise kink, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving) 18+

Whenever she woke up marked the last day of the rest of your life. One moment, the world inside of your head was unnervingly quiet. The next, someone else was there, whispering in the dark, taking over.

You aren't proud of her. No, you hate her. There is no one you hate more, you don't think, because she lets the direction of the fucking wind distract her from what really matters. She paints her environment in a soft, glazed picture, and she tries to hold up her canvas and convince you that her reality is real. But then you blink, and you get flashes of how dull the sky really is and the dirt that stains your shoes, and you know that she's just a liar.

A controlling, desperate thief.

When you heard her voice for the first time, you begged your reflection in the mirror to just kill you already.

If you were an alpha, maybe you could've just drawn away into yourself and lived a quiet life in the middle of nowhere. If you were a beta, perhaps the weight of nothing would've given you a little more freedom to do the things you wanted to do.

But no. You're an omega. Nature's servant. A natural follower. Destined for nothing except to open your legs and say, "yes, alpha, all for you," because if you are anything but complacent, you're unwanted and a waste of your very being.

Your eyes stung when you took your first little pill. They rattled in different colors in a little orange bottle, and it felt like sand as it dissolved under your tongue. Even though it makes you sick, you take them anyways. Even though the pills change colors and shape and efficacy because you buy them from someone different every time, you take them because it makes your omega shut the fuck up finally.

You bury her. And you won't let her out.

The truth of it is that you're only fighting yourself. Your omega, she is you, isn't she? She's a part of you, she makes up your very genetic makeup, and to hate her is to hate yourself. But nature is cruel–it gave you years of freedom. Years to know what life was like without her, when she was dormant, asleep, just waiting for you to finally wake up.

Then your very self locked the cage. Your fingers claw at the bars, but it's no use. It's your very own punishment. So in turn, you bury her, too, silencing her cries, quieting what she wants most in the world, because it isn't fair, fuck you, you whiny bitch.

She's a pathetic puppy; and you are more than happy to step on her fucking neck.

Your aim is off today. The sound is muffled through the earphones you wear, but they've never thrown off your balance before. When you lean over the railing and squint at the target papers towards the back, you can see the bullet holes just a few inches off center.

You're never off-center.

"Getting rusty on me, Kit?"

You turn around, setting the gun down, and you smile wide when you see a familiar face. You pull the headphones off, putting them aside before making your way towards her.

Kate Laswell is surprised when you throw your arms around her and hug her tight. She smells good; she smells like chocolate, dark chocolate, something bittersweet. She's got that edge to it that they all do, something a little heady and all-encompassing, but she's the only alpha that you've ever found comfort being near. You see her nose scrunch a little when she embraces you back.

You must stink like synthetics. You care, only because you hate to make her nose sting this way. It's never been meant for her. At times, you thought maybe you could do a little convincing; maybe if you batted your lashes enough, she’d take pity on you, hide you away in some CIA shack with her deep on a Montana farm and play house. You’d cook, and she’d protect, and you’d be perfect little alpha and omega until the end of your days.

But Kate doesn’t like baggage. Not even the sweet kind, and especially not the kind that makes it even more difficult to make the hard decisions.

Kate isn’t a soldier. She makes choices based on the greater good, the lesser evil. She doesn’t get to be selfish. She doesn’t have that luxury.

When you pull away, she looks down at you strangely. She looks tired. Her dark hair is in a mess of a braid tucked under a cap, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days. Her attempt of a smile emphasizes the lines around her eyes. You open your mouth to tell her something, but she shakes her head.

"I'm not here as a friend," she says softly, and you frown a little.

"Aren't...haven't we always been friends?" You ask, and Kate lets out a shaky sigh, nodding her head behind her.

"We need to talk. C'mon."

You retrieve the gun and holster it, fastening it into your thigh holster before you follow her. She has a car waiting outside, a big, black SUV with the door already open for her. When you get inside, she knocks on the divider, and the car immediately starts moving. You brace yourself against the side of the car as it speeds off, reaching for a seatbelt.

"Jesus, Kate, what's going on? I-I have training later, I can't–"

"You're not...going back to base," she says evenly. You frown a little, leaning back in your seat, and you put your hands in your lap as you try and get a read on her. Even exhausted, Kate is hard to decipher. She has a stone-cold expression, calm and unbothered, and you curse her CIA training for making her impossible to understand, to even get a glimpse of what she might say next. Her face makes you anxious, and the scent in the car that changes puts you on edge.

"Okay," you scoff a little. "Then where am I going?"

Kate sniffs a little, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn't break eye contact with you when she says, "Wheels up in 30. I have an assignment for you." She reaches under the seat, pulling out a manila folder, setting it down beside you. When you pick it up and flip it open, you narrow your eyes.

"I'm..." You shrug your shoulders, "I'm not really CIA. You don't give me orders."

"As of one hour ago, you're mine. And this...this is your duty."

Your eyes blur as you skim the text on the pages. You flip through the papers flimsily, getting more and more irritated until you throw it at her, your chest rising and falling fast as you pant, barely able to see her through your tears.

Program. UK. Field assignment. Mate. All the keywords to make your stomach curl and your autonomy shrink in front of your very eyes.

"Kate, don't do this," you beg her softly. You soften your voice, and you let your omega drip syrup into it. You want to see her eyes dilate–you want to make her protectiveness kick in just enough that she might just appease you. It’s desperate, and you know it’s wrong, but you do it anyways, you have to. "Please don't do this. Please. You fucking promised me, you promised–"

"You need to understand that I don't have a lot of fucking choices," she says sharply. She pities you, that much you can tell. She looks pained, but it doesn’t matter how pained she might feel because it isn’t happening to her. It’s happening to you, and she put you on that base so that it wouldn’t happen to you, and she tricked you into getting into this car, and now it’s her–

"Kate, I'll do anything, please," you gasp. You reach over and grab her hands, tugging her towards you. "You know. You know what...w-what I've been through, what this all is, you know...please. Please..."

You promised me. You gave me your word.

"I can't–"

But the CIA can’t be trusted for shit.

"I'll be yours," you try, squeezing her palms. Appease. Beg. Bare your neck. Give her what she really craves. "Just claim me yourself, a-and...and we don't have to do this, w-we can...I-I can go back to–"

Her face contorts, offended, disgusted. You try and swallow down the sting of her rejection, but you cannot help yourself. You would do anything to not be subjected to this fate, to the fate she promised she'd save you from. The only alpha you have ever trusted, and she's pulling away from you, bit by bit.

"I could never do that to you," she interrupts, shaking her head. "I couldn't."

"But you'll do this instead?"

"It's the lesser evil," she says finally, pushing your hands back. It aches. Despite you never leaning towards her, it is still an alpha turning their nose up at you, and the thing inside of you cries at the feeling; she begs you to do more, but you swallow her down, fingers itching for another pill just so you can really squash her singing. "And in my world, that is the best I can hope for."

"It's punishment!" You cry, and she reaches over, cupping your cheeks, pulling you close. You scrunch your face at her touch. Her hands are cold, and they do not welcome you. "A-And for what? For being something that I can't change?!"

"It's mercy," she whispers. Her thumbs stroke your cheeks in soft circles. "I can't protect you anymore, do you understand? They don't want you there, and I can’t take you with me. Even taking meds, even spraying yourself to shit, they don't want you, and I can't protect you if they send you away, do you understand me?" You start to cry, closing your eyes, and you hear the familiar voice in your head preening. She's desperate, slipping through the cracks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you try and force her backwards. You’re panicking, and maybe she’s trying to help, but you hate her. "I have to get you out of there, and this is the only way."

"Please..."

"I can't protect you," she says gently. "But he can. And he'll be good to you. I promise, this...this I can promise."

You rip yourself away from her, curling into yourself as you scoot away from her as far as possible. You press yourself against the door, tucking your knees into your chest. Whatever passes by outside is a blur, and your brain doesn’t register any of it. The only thing in your head is betrayal, traitor, those sick, stupid bastard alphas, all of them–

"Fuck your promises," you whimper, and when she reaches out for you again, you flinch, burying your face into your hands.

Kate is a liar. She never keeps her promises; that’s her job, it is what she does. The CIA is nothing if they aren’t incredible liars–it’s what they’re known for, and Kate takes to it like a fish to water. As far as you are concerned, she lured you in with bait, and now she's shut the door on a trap. It is lined with padding, soft, delicate, but it still holds you back, it still keeps you still and stagnant and forever chained to an existence that you detest more than anything. She used you; it was in her best interest to keep an omega under her thumb, to do with you as she pleased when she needed one, and you suppose once you are taken, she will find another to do the same with. She will give another desperate one like you false hope, and when she needs another omega to keep someone else complacent and willing, she will offer them up with her signature on paper–just like that.

She tries to touch your hand before you board the plane. She tries to meet your eyes, get your attention, anything. You cower when she reaches out, and when she steps backwards, you walk on.

You never look behind yourself. Not even when you sit, and not even as the ramp closes shut.

Fighting is futile when you are who you are. It's unexpected. It's frowned upon. You are made up of something that is intended to be docile, to be big-eyed and soft. If you were a dog, they would want you to roll over and bare your belly and forget how to do anything but obey, but that is not the kind of thing that you ever wanted to be, even when you were small, even before you knew what you really were.

You hate what you are. You medicate yourself to the point of being incoherent, you bare your teeth and aggravate the submissive nature you inherit to deter any kind of match. You make yourself undesirable, not just in your physical nature but in the very essence of yourself.

You want to start over, as something else, or you want to never have been at all. You hate this place, you want them to cast you out, you want to be left to your own devices because dying alone and unwanted is better than submission; it;s better than the imprisonment that your kind subjects themselves to, willing or not.

It sickens you. You watch your own kind fall to their knees, close their mouths, and allow their very being to disappear just to make another satiated. Happy. Their entire lives, reduced to being someone else's waiting hand, someone else's property. It's sad, it's pathetic, it rocks you to the very center of yourself, and you demand more of it, you reject this life and the voice in your head that fights with you every single day of it.

She hates you, too, your omega. She claws at your insides and begs for something to drink, but you dry her out. You don't allow her to even breach the surface of the wasteland you've suffocated her with. She is naïve; she doesn't know what is good for her, she doesn't know that you are saving her from a life of constant torture. She screams for you to let her out, but you take another pill and force her back into the dark.

Or at least you did. You haven't taken a pill in days. They won't let you, even when you asked, even when you began to beg. You promised to be good if they just appeased you. You promised to be quiet if they just slipped it under your tongue, even if they injected it into your very veins, anything, just please, please, I don't want to–

Everything is surreal. You feel like you're seeing everything in color. What used to be dull and uninteresting now sparkles in your very eyes, it glows under the sun. Everything is sharper and less blurry. Sounds are clearer. You can hear the wind more loudly in your ears and feel it under the soles of your shoes. But what dizzies you the most is your sense of smell.

Everything before had been so bland. You have been under the effects of suppressors for so long that you don't think food has ever smelled so bad and so good (eggs make you gag now, and the crisps they give you make your mouth water).

They keep you confined in a small room. You are not allowed in the presence of any alphas; you can smell them passing by the door, but whenever the stink of one of them lingers, there's loud voices, lots of heavy boots. A beta comes to collect you to do a daily workout and to shower, and then you are back in your room, your meals delivered on a tight schedule (and the food, after a few days of your tray being barely picked at, gets so much better–it's better quality than you've seen on any military base, and when you asked, all they said was "lieutenant's orders").

Today is different. Today, along with your breakfast, a large black hoodie is folded underneath the tray that they leave on the end of your bed. You set the food aside, picking up the hoodie, and when you unravel it, you spread it out, gawking at the size of it. Whoever this hoodie belongs to is more bear, more beast, than human. An enormous thing, but when you pick it up, you immediately pick up on its strong scent.

You press the front of it to your nose. Your eyes flutter shut, and you sink into the bed a little as you take a deep breath of it. Warm, but gritty, like charcoal. Cigarettes. Military-issue soap. Clean. Eucalyptus. Fire. Something with depth, something with teeth. You don't realize what's happening to you until it's too late.

Alpha. It smells undoubtedly like alpha, and you're certain by the size of it that it belongs to one. You nuzzle your face into it a little, instinctively, and you don't even register your omega knocking, peering through the door that's been cracked open for her.

She squeals with delight. She's getting dizzy, drunk, and you feel a soft noise in your chest bubble as she pets the back of your mind, keening at the introduction of it. She’s giggling. You can feel her tugging at your insides, whispering in your ear–See? I told you. I told you that you’d like it.

They smell strong. They smell capable. They smell pure.

When you put the hoodie down, your legs are pressed together, shaking from how hard your thighs are squeezed. When you relax, you refrain from the need to touch yourself, but you failed before you even started. You can feel how wet you are; your panties must be soaked, and you feel yourself pulsing with some sort of distinct urge to give in, give in, give in.

It's unnerving, the lack of control you have. Your omega has always been a few feet underwater, but she's breaching the surface now, her lips gasping for air.

You try to push her back.

Stay down.

When the clock strikes for dinner, you aren't surprised by the knock. But you are surprised that when the door opens, there isn't a beta in uniform holding your tray. Instead, you cover your nose a little, blinking harshly as a large man comes into the room. He's got a strange beard and a floppy hat, and when he smiles, he reminds you of a teddy bear. You can tell just by his physique what he is, but his eyes are kinder than you're used to.

You will yourself not to trust them. You trusted kind eyes before, and now you’re locked in a prison of your own making.

"'ello," he introduces himself, holding out his hand. "'m Captain John Price. 's nice to meet you."

You glare at him, not saying a word. When he figures you won't shake his hand, he just nods. He lets his hand drop, hooking his thumbs into his tact vest, and he rests at ease.

"I've come to collect you," he says lowly. "It's time."

You pick up your tray of food from behind you and hurl it towards him. He ducks just in time, moving one shoulder backwards as the metal hits the wall behind him and clatters to the floor in a splattered mess. John shakes his head a little, scratching the back of his neck, and he clicks his tongue. You’re unnerved and a little pissed off when a hint of a grin flickers over his face.

"Fuckin' hell," he breathes. "Yeah...you'll do."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Let's go," John snaps. "Won't ask again."

When he reaches for you, you swipe the fork from the bed, stepping close and sticking the little prongs up against his chin. You aren’t satisfied until you can feel his scratchy beard against it, piercing the skin just enough.

"If you touch me, I'll shove this right up your chin through your goddamn nose," you threaten, and John’s nostrils flare, his hands going up flat beside his head.

"Easy," he murmurs, and you feel like he’s talking to a skittish mare. "Just need to guide you, that's all."

"Well, I don't want to go anywhere."

"If you don't do this, I have to send you back," John explains. "And Kate made it very clear that is supposed to be my last resort. And you don't want to go back."

"Anything is better than this," you hiss, and he narrows his eyes.

"Not this. What they do to unruly omegas..." He leans forward, snarling a little. "Ones like you. Ones that bite. And scratch. They don't deal with them. They'll sedate you and use you as training practice. And while Kate might have a heart big enough to keep you outta that place, I don't have it. So get your arse moving. Now."

You put your hand down, dropping the fork, letting it clatter to the floor. He grips you by the collar of your shirt, urging you forward, and all the hairs stand up on the back of your neck as he gets dangerously close to scruffing you. It's enough of a threat that you immediately relax, your own body betraying your emotions as it tries to make itself smaller. To appease. To submit.

"This can't wait any longer," John mutters. "Has to happen today."

Your lip trembles.

"What has to happen today?" You ask.

"You're meeting your mate," he says. You know that was the answer, but you had to ask it anyways. You think of the hoodie you received all those hours ago. The smell of him, complete intoxication. "Simon."

Simon.

"Sounds like an asshole," you snap, irritated, and John chuckles a little.

"Mmm. He is. You'll adore 'im."

You flinch at the flickering fluorescent lights as he leads you down a narrow hallway. When you pass other soldiers, John puts you in front of him, glaring and baring his teeth a little. You're confused by this sudden display of aggression on your behalf, but when you spot the looks in others’ eyes, you're grateful for it nonetheless.

You know your scent is strong; piercing the walls around you, displaying your displeasure, discomfort, fear so plainly. It's an awful thing to not be able to hide how you feel, to not feel like you have any control over how you present to others, but you have no practice masking any of it. You have been drowning your omega for so long that you didn't realize the strength of her building up behind the synthetic walls you had built. She's livid, angry, permeating the spaces in your mind that you thought were solid and now are broken and hollow inside.

You stop in front of an unmarked door. John looks over you, eyeing the jacket you wear.

"Take tha' off," he says lowly. You frown, stepping back, but he nods again. "Take it off. You'll get it back, just give it to me."

You shrug your jacket off gently, handing it to him. John holds out his hand for yours, and when you cautiously give it to him, he rubs the fabric against your wrists to soak it in your scent before disappearing behind the door. You wait outside, pressing your ear to the metal, but you hear nothing but low mumbles. You do hear a heavy gait, big feet moving around that don't belong to Captain Price, and you close your eyes as you try and see if you can hear his voice.

You don't.

The door is opened just slightly, John cocking his head to the side.

"He wants to see you."

You raise a brow.

"Your mutt?" You ask smartly, and John scoffs a little, kicking the door open wide finally. Behind it, you can see a small little office situated. Dozens of file cabinets, a stained wooden desk, a peeling leather chair. There are papers everywhere, a disorganized mess and walls filled with medals, plaques, letters, pictures of faceless men. And standing beside the desk, towering over it with his head nearly hitting the ceiling is a bear.

A fucking bear.

He's so tall. Over six feet of hulking man, big shoulders taking up too much space. You can tell just by looking at him that he has to duck his head and move his body sideways to get through the doorway you're standing in. He has big hands and thick thighs, and your lips part when you realize his thigh holster has been released as much as possible just to still fit snugly around him. He's wearing dark jeans and a thick black hoodie, and he looks even bigger with a strapped tact vest that holds numerous little gadgets, weapons (fuck, he looks like he can kill you with the pencil laying haphazard beside him).

You can't see his face. He covers it with a mask, a snug covering tucked under his hoodie with the plastic front plate of a skull sewn to its front. He's holding your jacket in one hand, the other clenched in a tight fist as you step through the door.

"Is this your dog, Captain?" You ask finally. Simon doesn't speak. He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you, taking in the way you look from the tips of your combat boots all the way up over your head. His gaze lingers on your middle, the wideness of your hips and the curve of your body.

John crosses his arms over his chest.

"Suppose so," John shrugs, rolling his eyes a little. You blink, finally making eye contact with Simon. His eyes are dark and beady. He's intense, just as his scent had been. Your omega warms your throat and screams in your ear.

Grab him. Latch onto him. Don’t let him go. Do you see him? Look at him–

"Does it bark?" You wonder, glaring. Simon unclenches his fist, rolling his fingers out a little. They twitch beside his leg. His face twitches a little, too, you can see the mask move just slightly.

"When he wants to."

"Does it bite?"

John snorts. "Mmm. Afraid so." He opens the door behind him. "Don't kill each other. If I don't see her for supper, Simon, I'll hold you to it."

When you are alone, Simon still remains silent. He hasn't moved from his spot by the desk, still in a strange staring contest with you as you stand there trying to read him. Like Kate, he's impossible; this time, you don't even have the luxury of looking over his face, although you suspect even without the mask, he must have mastered some kind of expression of nothingness. He seems like the kind of brute to give nothing away. Not even his displeasure.

"Hope you're good on a leash," you say finally, crossing your arms over your chest. "I like to go on walks."

His face moves under the mask again. Finally, he moves. He unravels your jacket in his hand, holding it open for you to put on again. You eye him strangely before coming closer to fit your arms into it.

When you turn your back to him, you realize how much of his shadow you're tucked under. When he drops the fabric back on your shoulders, you still as he leans over one side of you, bending. Without thinking, your head tilts to the side, giving him more space into the side of your neck. You do it without even thinking. Your omega bleeds through you, and you feel her warmth everywhere now, making you move, but you let her this time.

Your scent gland pulses there under your ear. He can see it, hear it practically, rushing like the blood in his ears. You close your eyes when you feel him come closer, the cotton of his mask just barely grazing your neck as he takes a deep breath.

The growl he lets out shakes you to your core. Your pupils get blown wide at the sound, and your head flops back slow, exposing more of your neck. He uses the opportunity to bend just that much more, until the front of his mask is pressed against the gland, and he can breathe you in, right at the source.

He's snarling under the mask. You can hear his teeth knock together, his tongue wetting his lips. You shiver, leaning into him, your hand raising up to caress the back of his neck as he nuzzles his nose there, taking another deep breath. You step back enough that he presses up against you from behind. You can feel his pelvis right against your ass, and you arch your back just enough to fit him right where he belongs. A gloved hand catches you at your waist, and you put your free hand on the desk in front of you until his cock is right there between your ass.

Your omega is panting. She's clawing, right there at the edge, fighting against quicksand as she's desperate to meet him. The feeling of him, the scent of him so close, it's an aphrodisiac, potent, suffocating. Something warm is wrapping around you, sliding along your skin, tickling your toes. It's between your thighs, in your mouth, wetting your tongue. You're not sure what this feeling is, but it's thrilling.

He's purring. Big, rumbling sounds coming from deep in his chest. More animal than man as his tongue comes out under the mask, and you can feel him lick a nice stripe over the raised, warm skin under your ear. Your omega is being pulled to the forefront. She’s like a magnet to him. The closer he gets, the stronger she bites into you. Your mouth drops open when his hand falls between your thighs, gripping onto you and pulling you up against him in one, slow grind. You can feel the length of him, fucking enormous, and you’re leaking into your cargos as his fingers squeeze the fat of your thigh.

"Fuck–okay!" You pull away abruptly, turning to face him. You put your hands on his chest and push him back a little. He doesn’t move at your touch, but your voice startles him enough that he moves his hands up and away from you. He straightens up, blinking away the haze in his eyes, and you swallow hard. "T-Too much..."

He huffs, moving forward to bury his face into your neck again, but you step back, putting a hand on his chest firmer this time. You have stepped out of the cloud that surrounds him, but you can still taste it, and it’s pulling you back, and you’re losing control.

"Simon," you say his name gently, and he stops, his face scrunching a little under the mask before he stands back up again. "If I have to be your mate...we need to set some boundaries." He blinks, saying nothing. "Like...a-asking for permission."

You can tell by the way his mask twitches that he doesn't usually ask for permission. He wants, and he receives.

Typical.

“What?” You ask, scoffing. “You don’t talk?”

He doesn’t move. You crane your neck to look up at him a little better, and you smooth your hands lower on his chest. You can’t help but appreciate what you feel. He’s wearing a tactical vest, but you can still feel the deep breaths he’s taking, the strong, fatty muscle under your palms. He is the epitome of sheer strength and undeniable ability. Your omega draws your hands back up his chest, over his pecs that pull taut, and they wind up around his neck as you stand up on your toes and lean into the curve of his jaw. You put your nose to it, barely. Simon moves his hands down, cupping you under your ass and picking up your weight with not even a grunt until you can press your face deep into him.

Fuck, it’s like a drug. It’s addictive. His scent impales you. He smells like war. Like chaos and smoke, and your mouth starts to water as you keep breathing him in. You pull back just enough, blinking up at him. You look a little dizzy and intoxicated, and he squeezes your ass to hold you steady as he puts you back onto your feet.

“Uhm…” You sniffle a little, holding onto him. Your hands curl around his shoulders, and you keep yourself upright like this. “I didn’t wanna be here. I don’t…I don’t want this. I never did.” You blink away tears, but he sees them when you draw your eyes back up to his. “T-They made me. It hurts.”

“Wot hurts?”

His voice scares you when you finally hear it. Your lip shakes, and when you blink again, your tears fall down your face. Simon snarls when he sees them, reaching up with hands too rough and wiping them off your face, but they keep coming.

“I’ve never been o-off my meds–” You gasp, and your breaths start to come in panicked and too fast. “Everything hurts. T-The lights are too bright, everything hurts my nose, the sheets are too itchy, and I-I can’t breathe–”

Simon moves away from you immediately. He closes a fist and pounds the lightswitch, and only the yellow glow of the lamp on his desk illuminates the room. You curl into yourself, hugging your own arms, and Simon comes back to stand in front of you, narrowing his eyes.

“I did not want you either.”

“That’s just grand, this is perfect,” you hiccup, and Simon grunts.

“But I have orders.”

“You act like your Captain is just debriefing you for a fucking mission,” You snap, glaring at him. “I’m a fucking person. I know your kind may not see us that way, but I am. I’m not a mission. I’m not something for you to win or to conquer, you fucking asshole!”

When you raise a hand to hit him, he catches your wrist before it lands. He squeezes just enough to hold you at arm’s length, and you lean forward and spit on him instead. It wets the mouth of his mask, and he nearly loses himself as his eyes flash with something dark. He looks away from you for a moment to collect himself. When he turns back, he uses his other hand to cup the back of your head, silencing you.

“You listen ‘ere, omega–” The way he says your title makes the fight in you shrink. Your omega squeaks, ducking her head, that bubble of submission pilling in your throat as he holds you so close to your naked scent gland. “Dunno wot anyone told you, but I don’t have to win you when y’r already mine.” He ducks his head, pulling you closer, and you freeze when he presses his masked mouth at the base of your pulsing scent gland. It wafts into his nose, dilating his pupils, and he snarls. “And when you inevitably lose control of yourself–you already fuckin’ are, you reek of it–I’m goin’ to sink my teeth right ‘ere, and then it won’t fuckin’ matter ‘ow you feel.”

Your eyes blur with angry tears. You gasp, your breaths hitching, and Simon seems to feed off of your fear, your misery. If he wasn’t wearing a mask, you imagine he’d be licking your tears for a chance to taste your sadness. The worst part of it all is that your omega adores it. She’s been aching for so long for this kind of authority. For that edge to tickle her right under her chin where she likes it. The whiff of alpha that she’s getting is driving her out of control, and you don’t know how make her quiet down. She’s so loud in your head, banging against the walls–give it to him, give it to him, give it to him.

“You’re a fucking monster,” you whisper, glaring up at him. It’s no use–you will never scare him. Simon is what scares other alphas into submission. In one paw, he could crush your windpipe if he wanted to, with just a squeeze. Simon hums, and you imagine him smiling under that mask, some kind of vicious grin that you would love to smack off of him.

“Tha’s right, swee’eart,” Simon mutters. “I am. ‘n now you belong t’me. Everything that you are–” He smooths his hand down your neck. You seize when his hand slides over the curve of your waist until it cups under your ass and forces you up against him. “‘s mine. Your omega–’s mine. Your mouth–mine. Your arse–mine. That cunt that’s going to take my knot like a good little omega should–mine. So y’r gonna get y’r things, and y’r gonna move them into my quarters, and then we’re gonna go get supper, and y’r gonna shut y’r fuckin’ mouth.”

“I hate you. You’re the biggest son of a bitch I have ever met in my entire life, you are exactly the kind of asshole I knew you would be, you are no different than I thought. You’re a terrible, awful, horrible–”

“I can smell you,” Simon snaps. “Don’t try to be fuckin’ smart with me, I can smell how wet your cunt is, so why don’t you just be a good girl and do as I say?”

You bare your teeth a little, and Simon sticks a gloved thumb into your mouth. Without thinking, you relax. You suck it into your mouth and sigh, and Simon rubs his thumb against your tongue, shutting you up nice and well. He traces your teeth with it, and you start to cry. You cry because you don’t know why you can’t fight. Your grip his forearm, but your nails won’t dig. Your feet are planted to the ground, and you can’t move. Your mouth sucks, and he pushes, and you’re frozen here.

He knows what to do. Doesn’t he taste so good?

He seems to like your teary eyes. The big, fat tears. His eyes crinkle, and you know he’s smiling, and you wish you could rip that expression off his face, but all that stares back at you is death. Simon growls, and every bit of resistance in you fails. Slow, like molasses, your knees buckle, and he catches you. He pets your mouth, and when he leans in and presses his mouth to your ear, all you can do is cry.

“That’s it. Good kitty.”

NEXT

[http-shield]

I am definitely not thinking about Bucky's first time in around 100 years like he is so sensitive to every touch already, the serum coursing through his veins heightening each brush of your skin, each hitch of your breath as he licks up the column of your neck, the quickening of your heart as his fingers trail over the ribbon on your panties, don't even get me started on how overstimulated he would get as you trail your fingers down his torso, over the waistband of his pants, sliding down the zipper, his cock hot and aching against the seam of his trousers, and when you finally make contact when your fingertips graze the outline of him through his boxers, he quite literally almost busts right there and then, but I am 10000% not thinking about how he would lose his composure the second he slides into you.

Bucky has barely sunk his aching cock in you before he pulls out with a wince, his mouth pulled in a pained frown.

"Buck, what's wrong?" panic floods your body as you begin to sit, pushing yourself up on your elbows. "What's happening?" The heat that had once filled your body as you worked each other up is replaced with ice, and the terror at crossing his boundaries fills your muscles.

Bucky shakes his head, muscles in his jaw tensing as he hisses through his teeth. Every indicator points towards pain. The furrowed brow, closed eyes, tensed jaw, heavy breathing—these are all bad signs, terrible signs, so you begin to move, to slowly pull back from him, afraid to cause any more damage, but his hand on your bare leg stops you. Vibranium fingers dig into the plush flesh, gripping the fat of your thigh as he releases a shaky breath.

"I'm not- I'm fine," Bucky assures, grip on you loosening.

"Are you sure? We don't have to do this. I don't want to pressure you into anything that you-"

"You aren't pressurin' me into anything, sweetheart." His voice is a defeated sigh. "It's just—" he shakes his head. "Really sensitive."

You blink at him for a moment, brain slow to connect the pieces of the puzzle laid before you. Seconds tick by as you finally start to work it out. Your eyes shift between his embarrassed smile, the hand on your thigh, your bare legs and his, frankly intimidatingly, hard cock, pre cum oozing like pearls over perfect pink skin.

Oohhh.

Oh.

"Buck-" you start, a teasing smile creeping across your face.

"Angel, don't." Bucky fixes you with a rather intimidating look, but you press on, no longer daunted by him.

"Bucky..." you press. "Were you gonna com-" You can't say another word as he interrupts, cheeks flushing bright red.

"It's been a long time, okay?" he explains, blush spreading to his ears.

"How long?"

"Longer than you've been alive."

“That long?” You balk. “Even after you coming back and - not even then?”

“When would I have had the time? Between tryna figure out who I am plus meeting and dealing with you, I didn’t really have all that free time to get it on” Bucky explains, fingers creeping up your thigh to squeeze the fat at your hip.

"you did not just say get it on."

“what was i meant to say?”

"i don’t know, anything but that!"

[vampiresbloodx]

She tastes so sweet.

Pitfighter!vi going down on you for the first time and becoming addicted.

warnings: smut 18+ ONLY, vaginal fingering, semi public sex, bathroom sex, hook ups, clubs, alcohol, kissing, marking, service top!vi, reader has no confirmed gender but they're wearing a dress in this for the scenario reasons, vi is quiet a fuckboy, oral sex (reader receiving)

Vi has always had her fair sure of fun over the years, she wasn't new to this, after she wins a match she just really wants to fuck someone.

She goes to a club where she'll know exactly who to find, she's scanning the room where her eyes land on you, who happen to be dancing with their friends, enjoying yourself as you look so pretty.

Vi smirks.

That's the one.

You just looked so nice in that dress you were wearing, she just wanted to rip it off and see whats underneath, your smile is enough to make anyone swoon, she wonders if you even know those that eye you in the dark from afar when you aren't watching.

The loud music blasts in her ears as she takes a sip of her beer, everything was loud, but she liked it, she needed it.

She felt good and she wanted to make someone else feel good.

It's not the first time she's seen you around, she's spotted you before, she's just been watching you, keeping her eye on you, making sure you're okay, while your friends get shit faced drunk, you don't seem like the type to get drunk easily, maybe a little tipsy, but that happens with everyone after a few cups.

When she sees your friend whisper something in your ear she knew she was going to leave you alone, she didn't like that, not when she spotted a guy checking you out, was she doing the same thing? Yes, but that guy had red flags all over him, he was bad news.

Vi didn't trust him.

As soon as you were left alone, seemingly in your own world, enjoying the music, the guy makes his way to you, taking advantage of it. Immediately, vi places her drink back down as she walks through the crowd of drunk people.

Before the guy could even say anything to you, she grabbed a drink already and purposely bumped into him, spilling it all over him, he swore under his breath.

"damn, you should probably go clean that up" Vi said, staring him down, he should know vi wasn't playing around with you and he scoffed, cursing more as he stormed off.

Then there was you, still oblivious to the whole thing.

She taps you on the shoulder, causing you to jump slightly as you turned around, probably expecting your friend.

"hi?" You slurred, she smiled, thinking it was cute. "Have you seen Hannah? Is she back yet?" You ask.

Vi shakes her head, "sorry, dunno Hannah is."

"fuckin' bitch probably left me with some dick" you groaned in annoyance, she couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"I could accompany you, if you want", vi offered, she wanted to be smooth about this, not being to obvious that she wanted to get in your pants, but the way you raised your eyebrows at her and checked her out, your eyes roaming her entire body which made her heart flutter, she knew what you wanted.

Before she knows it, she's pushing you against the wall of the bathroom that smells like shit but she couldn't care less, all she focused on was the taste of your lips and how soft they felt against hers. She heard you chuckle, as she pushed your dress up, you held it up for her as she kissed her way down, leaving her marks, enjoying the way you squirmed for her and moaned, fuck, she needed you.

She places her fingers inside your panties to tease you, she moans at how wet you already were, you let out a moan as she dipped her finger easily inside your wet folds, you felt so good, she pumped her finger in and out of you slowly at first, you were a whining mess, your hands gripping her shoulders.

She watched you in awe, as she felt you clench around her, it was making her dizzy, she's never fucked someone this wet before, well, not in a long time.

She pulls her fingers out hearing you whine, she doesn't say anything but grins, bending down on her knees as she kisses down your stomach, just above your waist, you body was begging for it and so was you, she loved the way noises you made, it drove her insane.

Once she pulled off your underwear fully, it was soaked, she moaned at the sight of your pussy, how pretty it looked, how much it needed her. Her own core throbbed, as she leaned in, pressing a kiss to it as she licks up your slit, hearing you moan louder and grip her hair harder, she smirks.

Vi dips her tongue in between your folds, twirling it around and making you squeal and squirm, she was showing just how fucking good she was with her mouth and she wanted to make you come on her tongue. She knew you were close with how she purposely didn't let you come before on her fingers, she wanted to taste you instead, and my god, you taste wonderful.

She couldn't get enough.

She keeps going, her hands on your thighs to hold them up as she watches you, your head against the wall, your eyes closed, getting lost in the feeling as she can't help but feel cocky about it.

Her tongue goes to tease circles at your clit, you whined, pushing your face into her, you looked so pretty like this, looking like a complete mess, moaning and whining for her while she eats you out.

She knows how much you like it too.

Your grip gets tighter as she knows you're close, she just wanted to relish in this feeling, she finally got you where she always wanted. She couldn't help but feel more smug, knowing how easy she can make you cum, make you a crying mess for her, she's obsessed, really. She wants more. She pushes her tongue into you, hearing you gasp as she fucks you with her tongue, moaning at the taste, you whimper above her, riding her face as she's in heaven.

She watches you come with a cry of her name, not even caring how loud you are in the moment, she loves it, she loves every bit of it, she leans away, licking her lips as you stared at her in a daze with a smile, your hand still in her hair.

"you wanna come to mine, sweetheart?" She asks, you've never agreed to something so fast in your life.

[boomstab-papa]

Oh absolutely, giving misogynists captive girlfriends/wives isn't going to fix anything. Being a little more misogynist to try to appease misogynists won't work.

But "giving any credence" is such an interesting phrase to use here, because it's so ambiguous and also accusatory. What does "giving credence" mean? Who has been doing it? What have they been advocating for? Who, for example, has been saying leftists should be more misogynist, and how?

I'm not alone in this confusion, either, there are several comments on the tweet who are equally perplexed.

The fact is that the left DOES NEED a better approach to people who are feeling lost, angry, and scared.

Alt-right "self-help" authors and programs are hugely popular. These predators target lost, scared, and angry people. They're cults, really. And no matter how much the left discusses things like "can we stop parroting bioessentialist bullshit because hey, men aren't destined to be misogynistic assholes"... these alt-right cultists don't ever even have to TALK TO a leftist to repeatedly hear "leftists hate you for being born white/male/rich/etc". I really can't get over how Rush Limbaugh popularized the term "feminiazi" and told an entire generation that feminists were angry man-haters when they literally are not. But that's exactly how the grift works!! I should know, I grew up in exactly this Rush Limbaugh kind of house!!

"Don't blame the hyper-wealthy for ruining the economy, blame women and foreigners for taking all the jobs! Don't blame the ruined economy when nobody wants to have kids anymore, blame the women! Don't blame patriarchy and all the misogyny it taught you when women avoid your misogynist ass, blame the women! Remember, the feminazis hate you!!"

So what to do?

On an interpersonal level, sometimes it can be really easy. This is a comment made to Innuendo Studios's video "How to Radicalize A Normie" on this exact topic (which I highly recommend watching).

"Hey, ex-alt-right member here. First, really like this series. I feel like you’re validating the radicalization that me and my male friends experienced. Putting it into words and showing us how we got tricked, exposing the magician and their tricks. Second, I vot out not through argument and discussion but actually through feelings. I was very edgy and would use the n-word in jokes all the time. My male friends would not call me out on it. But a female friend of mine said it made her uncomfortable and that she didn’t appreciate these jokes when we played fortnite together. That shook me to my core as I cared for my friend and that’s how my deradicaliztion started. Just wanted to add in this personal story, keep up the great work :)"

If this is someone you know, tell them their behavior is not cool.

THIS GOES DOUBLE FOR THE MEN READING THIS. Misogynists are more likely to listen to you than they are to listen to women!! If someone is being a shithead in your vicinity, consider: are you gonna let it slide? Or are you maybe, possibly, going to be the one thing that yanks them out of a hatespiral and prompts them to re-examine their hateful worldview? Tell them "hey not cool".

This might not work the first time. This might not work at all for some people. But if the situation is relatively safe, then it's worth trying.

And this does not mean that you personally are responsible for "centering men in your conversations" or "marginalized people putting in even more emotional labor" or "if a man is misogynist it's because you failed him" what the fuck ever like I've seen in this discourse. Come the fuck on.

It means you can probably try saying something to somebody you know. And if it doesn't work? You can say you tried.

On a policy level, we have more work to do. It shouldn't come as a surprise to any leftist that the current economic and political system in the USA exists to separate and exploit people. I think we all agree it really sucks to live in a system like this. Your average reactionary misogynist also thinks the system sucks, but as explained above, they've been trained to place the blame on some convenient scapegoats instead. Immigrants. Women. Queer people. Muslims. Anybody who's not white. Et cetera. "Government needs to get out of the way of smart people and then Elon Musk will build a utopia for The Faithful (which includes me) on Mars" or some shit.

These people need to hear that their anger is justified, but that their blame is misplaced. They need policies that will hold the responsible parties accountable. They need policies that won't leave them impoverished and isolated and exhausted after working a 40+ hour work week. They need to realize the system isn't sorting people into "the worthy rich" and "the unworthy poor", rather, that it's exploiting everyone except the wealth-owning class. They need to realize it's their politicians' biggest campaign donors that are doing this to them.

The Democratic Party needs to actually talk about this. I'll be dangerously pithy here: the Democratic Party needs to sound more like Bernie Fucking Sanders. Politicians need to oppose health insurance companies and get Medicare For All going. Politicians need to stop voting to give the military two fucking billion dollars every single day and fund free college and trade schools. Politicians need to tell business interests to fuck off and get a livable minimum wage AND a universal basic income passed, which will severely undercut employers' ability to exploit and isolate us.

And we need Citizens United repealed. Badly. I'm not trying to imply the problem is only with Republicans' campaign donors, because Democrats' biggest campaign donors are also often the same people exploiting us. But look at how Democrats did a tiny little bit of pro-union and anti-trust work these past 4 years and they screamed bloody fucking murder. If Democrats are relying on these people's money to get them elected, I think it's going to be really hard to get policies passed that will actually make USAmericans safer and happier (ie. address Republicans' economic fears that they keep blaming on various scapegoats).

Although with Republicans controlling the entire Federal government for the next two years minimum, this feels more distant than ever.

That's what we need to be taking seriously. If you don't give any credence to the fears and insecurities underlying the horrifying reactionary politics, you're not actually addressing anything. If you can't admit that capitalism fucks all of us over and makes all of us miserable and looking for a remedy, are you even a leftist?

[ariestrxsh]

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 content warning: smut, an insane amount of teasing, dirty talk, praise, sexual touching, masturbation, oral (f!receiving), mentions of sex, power play, switch!chris, switch!matt, switch!reader

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 summary: matt and chris decide to participate in no nut november. the competition gets even more interesting when you get involved, making a bet with the two boys about who can last the longest while you're actively working against them.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 this fic was inspired/requested by this ask, and this ask, and the song/title was requested by this ask 🤍

love potions

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day One

"Oh, come on. You guys aren't seriously participating in that stupid trend, are you?" You scoffed after you'd walked in on Matt and Chris talking about their latest competition. "It's not just a trend. It's like a sexual reset," Matt said to you in a serious tone.

"Oh. Okay. I still think it's stupid. Why would you want to torture yourselves for a whole month?" You shrugged. "It's like a test of willpower and whoever makes it longer without needing to nut wins No Nut November," Chris explained.

"What do you win?" You wondered, looking between the two of them. "You're just the winner," Matt shrugged. You rolled your eyes. "And what are the rules?" You inquired, wanting to hear more. "No sex, no masturbation, and you can't do anything to make yourself cum," Chris replied.

"That's crazy. If the regulations are going to be that strict, I think you boys both need a little incentive," you smirked at them. They both glanced at each other and back at you. "What do you suggest?" Matt wondered aloud. "How about whichever one of you loses has to watch the winner fuck me, hmm? Don't you think that'd make it a little more interesting?" You proposed.

"Incentive? That sounds like a punishment," Matt replied, lifting his brows in a shocked manner. "Only if you lose," Chris teased him with a smug smile plastered on his face. "Punishment, reward. Same thing. Same desired outcome," you sneered at them.

"I think that would really help incentivize me," Chris eagerly nodded at you. "Can we both just rub one out real quick and start right after that?" Matt asked, biting his lip. "No, Matt. November has already started," you smirked at him.

"Okay, so the winner of No Nut November gets to use me however they want, and the loser has to watch. But I have a few rules of my own I'd like to instill. You guys both have to make it at least two weeks. If the loser caves on week one, the bet's off, and no one gets to use me. Also, I get to tease you guys as much as I want," your lips curled into a malicious grin.

"That's not fair," Matt glared at you. "Sure it is, Matt. If I'm the reward, don't you think it's only fair that I get to put in place some rules of my own?" You raised an eyebrow at him and crossed your arms. "Okay, fine," Matt huffed, rolling his eyes. "You boys are really in for it. I've been extra horny lately," you said in a luscious voice, looking them both up and down.

"What if we both go the whole month without breaking any rules?" Chris asked. "Then you can both tag team me," you smirked, glancing between the two of them. They both eagerly nodded at the sound of that.

"And what if we both lose at the same time?" Matt asked curiously. "Then I get to use you two however I want, and I get to humiliate you while you finish," you responded, putting your hand over your mouth to hold back a chuckle.

"Oh, don't tell Matt that. He'll like that too much," Chris teased his brother. Matt punched him in the arm. "Ow!" Chris shot back, rubbing his arm. You were already planning all the different ways you were going to try to seduce them and make them slip up.

"I'm going to go run some errands. I'll be right back," you teasingly waved at them both before strutting out the door. "Whoops," you said, purposely dropping your keys so you'd have an excuse to bend down in front of them.

Unfortunately for them, you were wearing your favorite pair of jeans that hugged all your curves perfectly, and as you accentuated your movements while you bent at the waist to fetch them from off the floor, Chris and Matt's eyes immediately traveled to your bottom.

Then they both glanced at each other, exchanging a look. It dawned on them that they may be in over their heads. You waltzed out the front door on your way to buy a new lingerie set along with some other things to tease them with.

A few hours later, you came back in with a few shopping bags in hand. "What did you get?" Matt wondered, peeking into the bag. He caught a glimpse of white lace before you yanked them away from him. "You'll find out," you told him, tucking them out of sight and wondering off to go plan your strategy.

You had a few tricks up your sleeve, but you couldn't just whip out your craziest idea in the first week. Your tactic was to keep it playful at the beginning, just little touches that would linger a few seconds too long and subtle comments here and there to fluster them.

Over time, you'd slowly work your way towards the more overt seduction after they'd let their guards down.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Two

Throughout the day, you kept finding reasons to lightly and sensually touch both boys. You'd playfully hit Chris in his well-toned bicep when he'd say anything funny, and afterward, you'd make some comment to puff up his ego.

"You been working out? Your muscles look so hot lately," you said to him in a sexy voice, your eyes dancing over his lips while you spoke to him as you squeezed his upper arm. "You're gonna have to try harder than that," Chris arrogantly stated, well-aware of what you were doing.

Later on, you went up to Matt after spritzing yourself with a new perfume you'd gotten recently. "Hey, Matt. I want to get your opinion on this fragrance," you innocently told him, holding a lot of eye contact.

You tilted your head up, and he leaned down to smell where you had sprayed it just above your collarbone. Notes of jasmine and lavender filled his senses.

"Mmm. It smells nice," he commented. "No, you're not close enough," you responded, running your fingers through his hair and reeling him in nearer to you until his nose was resting against your neck.

"What do you think? If we were on a date and I wore this scent, would you take me back to your place and fuck my brains out?" You seductively asked him, gently massaging his scalp with your fingertips.

"Shit," Matt muttered, blood started rushing to the tip of his cock as he pulled away from you. "Nice try," he said, leaving the room.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Five

You decided to ramp it up just a little bit. Throughout the day, you kept purposely dropping things so you could bend over and show off the little thong you wore under your miniskirt.

They couldn't help but fall for it every time, even though they knew you were doing it for the sole purpose of riling them up. You loved witnessing the desperation slowly creep into their expressions while you taunted them. You held a lot of eye contact while talking to them, purposely staring at their lips a lot and licking your own while you watched them become nervous.

That night, Chris was in his room, sitting shirtless in his gaming chair and playing a video game when you came into the room and started rubbing his shoulders for him. "Mmm. You're so tense," you stated, working through a knot on his shoulder blade. "Gee, I wonder why," Chris chuckled.

He let out a soft, satisfied groan as you massaged his back for him, making sure to whisper praises in his ear. "I bet you're so sore because you've been hitting the gym so much, huh? It really shows. Your back looks so toned right now," You cooed.

"What else am I going to do with myself?" He smirked, knowing he'd been working out every day since November started to fend off his sex drive. "I bet since you exercise a lot, you have good stamina, don't you? Bet you could fuck for a long time," you whispered in his ear. He responded with a loud scoff.

"I bet you're the kind of guy who likes to get off multiple times a day, don't you? So this must be extra hard for you. You're so disciplined for not caving yet. I could never do what you're doing. I swear, I'm horny all the time," you told him.

"I am disciplined," he reiterated. "So disciplined in fact that this doing nothing for me." But it was a lie. His dick was starting to perk up at your words and your tone of voice. "Mhmm," you said, unconvinced as you left the room to go tease Matt.

He was downstairs making brownies in the kitchen when you found him. "Have you been a good boy? Keeping your hands out of your pants, hmm?" You gave him a sly smile. He immediately met you with a needy look. Matt was a little more transparent than Chris, not quite as good at hiding how turned on he was.

"I've been good. Still going strong," He nodded at you while he stirred the brownie batter. "So well-behaved. Good boy," you said, your tone saturated with lust. Matt started to get a little hard at how you were speaking to him, but he tried to take his mind off you with chocolate.

"You should try this. It's really good," Matt said, dipping his finger into the brownie batter, but before he could get another taste, you gently grabbed onto his hand, and as he looked over to make eye contact with you, you were slipping his digit between your parted lips and sucking off the chocolate.

"Mmmm," you hummed with your mouth wrapped around his finger, subtly moving your head back and forth. His dick twitched in his sweatpants and he let out a soft whimper as you excited all the nerve endings on the tip of his finger.

"Maybe you're not such a good boy after all. I think you liked that a little too much," you taunted him, releasing his hand from your grip. It took everything in Matt not to run upstairs and go jerk off to the thought of your mouth on another one of his extremities. Instead, he went back to making brownies.

"You can't have any more until they're ready," he glared at you, trying to will away his erection.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Six

It was nearing the end of the first week, and you approached Chris early one morning as he was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal and flipping through his phone. "It's almost the end of week one. How do you feel?" You asked, coming up behind him.

You seductively ran your fingers along his chest, whispering into his ear and making sure your hot breath hit the side of his neck while you did. "I feel great. I haven't had any urges at all," Chris lied through his teeth, trying to ignore the way you were touching him.

"Oh really, hmm? Maybe I'm not teasing you enough," you chuckled into his ear, gently nibbling on his earlobe. He let out a soft moan and his cock immediately grew hard. "Not even a single urge, huh?" You provoked him, staring down at the tent in his pants while you started to kiss his neck.

"Fuck, you're making this so difficult," Chris got up and stormed off, leaving his cereal unfinished. "Better not be going to touch yourself!" You called after him.

"I'm not. I'm going to the gym to burn off some of this energy," Chris huffed, heading to his room to change into basketball shorts. You smirked at his arrogance he'd displayed a few minutes earlier before nearly folding under your touch.

Around this time, Matt came downstairs in his Pokémon pajamas and started rifling through the fridge for something to eat.

"Hey, handsome boy. How did you sleep?" You asked, gently caressing his arm and asking in a sultry voice. "Really good," he said, avoiding eye contact and trying to hide the fact that he had morning wood.

"I slept well, too. Except I had this dream that I can't stop thinking about," you seductively bit your lip. "What did you dream about?" Matt naively asked. "Well, I'm a little embarrassed to say, but it was a wet dream. About you," your eyes flicked up to meet his. "Really?" He asked, falling right into your trap.

"Yeah, you were making me scream your name because of how big your cock was and how hard you were fucking me," you teased him, painting a picture in his head. "Fuck. Please don't tell me anymore," Matt replied, still peering into the fridge.

"You mean, you don't wanna hear about how I played with myself after I woke up from it?" You simpered at him. Matt let out a loud sigh and pulled out a carton of eggs and some bacon while he ignored your temptress ways.

"You don't wanna hear about how I rubbed my clit in circles and filled my pretty, pink hole with my favorite dildo while I thought about you and moaned your name?" You snickered. "This is so unfair," Matt replied, covering his ears and looking at you with his desperate expression and his puppy dog eyes, his dick aching in his pants.

"If you think I'm being unfair now, you just wait," you responded before skipping off to go plan your next move.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Nine

A few days later, Chris came out into the living room to find you sprawled out on your yoga mat in a tank top and spandex shorts. "Oh, thank god you're here. Mind helping me with something really quick?" You innocently asked him, batting your eyelashes in his direction.

"Depends. What do you need?" Chris skeptically asked, narrowing his gaze. "Will you come over here and help stretch me out?" You requested, smirking at him as he grew flustered at your word choice. "Fuck this. You're on your own," Chris said, immediately walking the other direction.

"Chris! Wait!" You called after him. He stopped, let out a loud sigh, and slowly turned around. "What?" He asked impatiently. "Chris. I'm not trying to pull anything. I just really need your help. Please. My muscles are so sore," you begged, pouting at him.

After a few seconds of deliberating, he rolled his eyes and started heading back over towards you. "Fine. What do you need me to do?" Chris asked, kneeling down on the floor next to you and immediately regretting it when you spread open your legs.

"I need you to push my thighs apart," you told him, trying to conceal your condescending grin. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Chris snarked at you. "No, I'm not kidding. I'm really sore. Just put your hands on the insides of my thighs and push down," you directed him.

He did as you said, trying to ignore the damp spot on the front of your shorts. "Oh, Chris. You stretch me out so good," you maliciously moaned. He clenched his jaw as he glanced into your eyes. "I haven't cum in nine days," Chris responded.

If looks could kill, the look Chris was giving you right now was damn near fatal. "Nine days? Only twenty-one more to go!" You sneered, reminding him he wasn't even a third of the way there yet. "You fucking bitch," Chris dug his fingertips into the fleshy part of your inner thighs and started pushing them apart until you let out a pained whimper.

"Oh, Chris. Don't stop. I love when you're mean to me. It turns me on so much," you responded in a sultry voice, flipping his power move back onto him. He let go of you and stormed out of the room to go play video games and take his mind off what was between your legs.

About ten minutes later, Matt came downstairs, his eyes immediately falling onto you in a compromising stretching position. "Oh, Matt. I'm so glad you're here. Think you could give me a hand or two real quick?" You cooed, motioning with your finger for him to come here. Matt nodded despite the fact that he knew you were up to no good.

"What do you need?" He asked, eager to please you in any way. "Will you give me a little massage? My muscles right here are very sore," you motioned towards the muscles on your inner thighs while you bit your lip, peering up at him. "O-okay," Matt stuttered, walking into the next trap you set.

He couldn't help notice how wet you were, but he tried his best to ignore it. He kneeled down between your legs and started massaging where you had asked. You let your eyes roll back in your head and let out a few satisfied sounds as he worked his thumbs on each one of your fleshy thighs.

"That's it, Matt. Just like that," you whined in a sexual manner, causing his dick to twitch in his pants. "Go up just a little further," you said, guiding his hands closer to your pussy. He nodded, doing as you asked. "Good boy," you moaned as he rubbed that spot over and over again. His eyes shot wide open.

"Can you move up just a little further?" You wondered, batting your lashes. "I-I can't," Matt shook his head, knowing if he moved up any further, he'd be right on your private parts. "Here," you said, grabbing his hand and placing his thumb directly on your clit.

"There you go. Now move it in circles. A little more pressure. Oh, just like that. Good boy," you cooed, looking seductively at him. Matt knew it was a dangerous game for him to be touching you there, but he couldn't stop.

He loved the words and sounds that were falling from your lips. He loved the way you were looking at him with desire in your eyes and pleasure written all over your face.

"Faster," you whispered, throwing your head back. Your shorts were soaking wet where Matt was massaging you with his thumb, and your legs started to shake while your cries of delight became louder. Chris came downstairs to see what all the commotion was.

You started seeing stars as your orgasm crashed over you. You moaned Matt's name over and over as he rubbed your clit in tight, fast circles, completely mesmerized by you finishing for him. Your whole body trembled until your climax subsided while Chris watched from the bottom of the stairs.

"Holy shit, Matt. I think you just lost No Nut November. Fucking pussy," Chris smirked. "What? I did not! I didn't break any of the rules!" Matt exclaimed defensively. "He's right, Chris. He didn't break any rules. He did, however, make it way harder on himself to follow the rules," you devilishly grinned, peering down at Matt's neglected cock that strained at the fabric of his pants, begging to be stroked.

"Now you gotta deal with having that boner until it goes away on its own," you chuckled at him, closing your legs and getting up. You rolled up your yoga mat, bending down in front of them both, and they each angrily groaned at you and stomped out of the room.

You were plotting your moves for the next few days. Meanwhile, Chris had a plan of his own. Upon learning that he was allowed to touch you however he pleased as long as he wasn't sticking his dick in you, he decided he was going to make you sweat a little the same way you were doing to him and Matt.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Twelve

The next night, in an attempt to turn on the boys, you tried on your new lingerie you'd bought at the beginning of the bet. You stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom dressed in a white lace bra and matching panties, knowing it was going to drive Matt and Chris crazy.

You wandered off to the living room where Matt was sitting on the couch, flipping through movies on Netflix and trying to find something to watch. "Hi, Matt," you cooed, leaning up against the wall. "Hey," Matt responded, his eyes flickering over at you and back at the television, and then back over at you when he realized what you were wearing.

"Wow," he whispered, studying the way you looked in white. "I have to show you something," you said, wandering over to him and straddling him on the couch. "What are you doing?" He asked, accusingly.

"Look," you said, pulling down your bra to reveal your breasts to him. "I got them pierced about six months ago, and they were finally healed enough for me to change out the metal," you couldn't contain your smug smile as you flashed Matt.

"Wow," he whispered again, reaching up to grab both your breasts, and he ran his thumbs over the heart-shaped rings. You shuddered at his touch. "They're so much more sensitive now," you whimpered. "Did it hurt when you got them pierced?" Matt asked, looking up at you. "A little, but I liked it," you snickered and bit your lip.

Without thinking, Matt leaned forward and took your right nipple into his mouth, delicately swirling his tongue around and gently suckling on it before moving to the left. You let out a few soft whines while he pleased you. You started to rock your hips back and forth, grinding up against Matt's rock hard cock.

"Okay, that's enough. You're being totally unfair right now," Matt said, lifting you off of him and shoving you to the other end of the couch.

"Hey, what's the matter, Matt?" You asked, crawling back over towards him. He jumped to a standing position. "I have to get out of here. You're too good at this," Matt grabbed his keys off the coffee table and headed out the door, fleeing from temptation. You smiled to yourself, getting so close to making him cave for you.

You picked up the remote and started searching through the various streaming services, waiting for Chris to come home so you could tease him next. Chris came bursting through the door, mad as hell. There was something about his demeanor that was off and slightly unsettling.

"Are you okay, Chris?" You asked him while sitting on the couch in your lingerie. "It's been twelve days since I've had an orgasm. I'm full of testosterone and cum, and I've had a shitty day, and I can't even to go to my room and beat my meat about it. I need to take all this aggression out on someone," Chris responded, his eyes sparkling and his lips curling into a smile as his eyes landed on you.

He walked over towards you, fell to his knees in front of you, and forced your legs apart. "You're such a fucking tease, skipping around in my house in your fucking lingerie. I hope these weren't expensive," Chris growled, ripping a hole in your lace panties.

You gasped and your eyes widened as you watched while Chris' lips latched onto your clit. He started moving his tongue in fast, jagged movements, making animalistic sounds while he ate you. "Chris, it's so sensitive," you squirmed around beneath him. "I don't mind," he smirked at you as he went back to assaulting your pussy with his mouth, sucking on your clit and licking it at the speed of light.

"Oh, Chris!" You called out, tugging on his hair, but he didn't let up. "If you want me to stop, just say that," he said, his lips vibrating against you. You didn't want to tell him to stop because you knew he would altogether. Malicious compliance was always one of Chris' favorite pastimes. "Don't stop, keep going," you whimpered, closing your thighs down around his ears.

You pulled down your bra again, gently tweaking your nipples while you looked down at Chris. His eyes flicked up at you. "Oh, my god. I didn't know you had your tits pierced. That's so fucking hot," he whispered, reaching up and grabbing a handful in each palm while he went back to eating your pussy like he was enjoying his last meal.

He squeezed your breasts and started pinching your nipples and rolling them between the pads of his fingers. You threw your head back and let out a satisfied moan as you began to shiver. "Yeah? You think you get to cum after all the shit you've been pulling?" Chris said, withdrawing all attention right before you finished.

"Nice try, fucking slut," Chris responded, spitting on your pussy and getting up to walk right back out the door. "Chris, please!" You called after him, nearly on the verge of tears from being teased like that. Chris slammed the door shut behind him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Well played, Chris," you whispered from the couch, staring down at the torn fabric that barely covered your bottom half while you decided to take matters into your own hands. You reached down to soothe the aching feeling Chris stuck you with after leaving you high and dry.

You rubbed your clit in fast circles with one hand and pinched your nipple with the other as you finished, remembering the way Chris' mouth felt on you. Just as you were trembling and reaching your much-needed climax, Matt walked back in through the door after finishing up his late night drive, his eyes immediately landing on the way your fingers were manipulating your clit.

"Oh my god. You're relentless!" Matt exclaimed before running up the stairs to take his mind off the scene that had just unfolded in front of him. You breathlessly chuckled about being caught. You hadn't meant for Matt to walk in on you and be tempted by you even further, but you weren't mad that it had played out that way.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Fourteen

You decided to kick it up a notch in the teasing department. By now, both Matt and Chris were very skeptical of you any time you wanted to show them anything or ask for help with something, so you had to get more creative with it.

You started taking naked pictures of yourself in the bathroom mirror after your shower, saving the good photos. After walking out into the hallway in just a towel, you opened up the group chat and sent in the best nude photo you'd taken, following it up with an "Oops! Didn't mean to send that! ;)" But they both knew better than to trust that it was a simple mistake.

When Chris opened your message, he let out a loud, annoyed grunt that resounded throughout the house. A few seconds later, you heard Matt's voice from down the hall, "You're evil!" You decided to strut around in your towel for the rest of the night, randomly dropping it while you were around the boys.

They used what willpower they could muster to keep their eyes off you as you relentlessly teased them with your body. While it was the closest they'd each gotten to saying fuck it about the whole No Nut November challenge, no one caved that night...

INTERACTIVE CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN ENDING AHEAD:

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 if you choose to have Matt and Chris both fail the challenge and become your submissive little fuck toys, click here 🤍

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 if you choose to have Matt and Chris win the challenge and turn you into their submissive little fuck toy, click here 🤍

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[harmonysanreads]

hi! i love the way you write aventurine, could you give me some tips on writing for him bc im struggling her to grasp his character :(

if you don’t have the time then that’s alright!

Hello, nonnie. Thank you so much :') Since you didn't mention whether this was in the Yandere context or not, I'll list some general tips. I hope you find these helpful!

— FOR BASIC CHARACTERIZATION

One of the most important aspects of Aventurine is that he's insanely smart, but they always sign it off with luck at the other side of the equation. This is intentional of course and whether or not luck really is the ultimate deciding factor isn't really the question we should be pondering about for a video game. Everything Aventurine does is through careful strategizing, scheming and calculating. What you need to remember is that ‘luck’ is more like a protective layer on top of it all. When deciding upon a plot, try your best to keep Aventurine's intelligence in mind. Then you can seal it off by using ‘luck’ in classic Aventurine style, or use dramatic irony with this point.

I think, for Aventurine, having a reader who surprises him is very convenient. It doesn't need to be a head-on challenge, sometimes the strongest impressions are made through silence and passivity. Remember, Aventurine is an incredibly observant character. For example : when he offers the Trailblazer ten thousand Credits after their first encounter, if you refuse politely, he becomes extremely pleased, as opposed to his somewhat miffed reaction if you pick the other option.

As you know, he's often partial to extremes. His ‘all or nothing’ motto can be useful to stir inner conflict.

Body language is very important for building his character. Instead of writing a whole paragraph about how beneath his bravado, he's always scared of losing, they conveyed much more through revealing the fact that he hides his left hand behind his back during all daring gambles. Aventurine isn't the type to be upfront about emotions that can make him vulnerable — that's detrimental to survival. So I think you can reveal those emotions through body language.

He's a very... unconventional gambler. His tendency to pose things as gambles and bets is more like a shield than anything. In any case, it makes for a great tool in adding drama.

— FOR DIALOGUE

Aventurine is a pretty complex character so I often forget certain things if I don't stay in practice, listening to his voicelines really helps me get a quick refresh in those cases. There's this channel on YouTube that compiles the characters' scenes individually, it's very helpful.

I think we all can agree one of Aventurine's greatest strengths is how he weaponizes words against others. There's more to this though. Be mindful to the upward and downward inflections in his sentences, the pauses between phrases and which words he's putting emphasis on.

He's also an interesting mix of straight-forward and roundabout. He says he prefers people to be direct and he often is direct himself. But with his ‘insults’ in particular, he's very roundabout. By the time you realize what he just said, it's already too late to shoot a comeback and he has you exactly where he wants.

— MISC. TIPS

Keep his backstory in mind and be respectful to it, but don't let it stop you from experimenting.

He has religious trauma, survivor's guilt, trust and commitment issues, as well as a complicated attachment style. Do you research on how these things affect people in relationships.

Aventurine's arc hasn't ended, which is why many things about him aren't definite. Consider how you might use it to your advantage.

[jilted-love]

Aging being normal and unstoppable doesn't mean you have to look bad about it. Look at people from older generations and how they aged before compared to now. There's a big difference because people are now taking care of their skin's health. If you want to see what dull skin is like, I literally uploaded how I looked like before I started taking care of my skin. I've got a healthier glow to my skin now even if I've gotten older. I'm proud of this progress so I'm actually recording it on my phone that's why I have before and after images.

A lot of Asian countries can speak English well. Like mine. I'm Asian and speak English fluently. Do you think Asians should not talk about things we feel relevant to us even if we have better experience about it just because our first language is not English? Because that sounds racist.

The post demonized first a practice that's widely accepted as part of people's health in Asia and gave a caricature of what people "look like" if they get into anti-aging. So that's why I inserted an example of my experience and what I look like. I'm human, an ordinary person, and I use anti-aging products and still look like a human being. You think you can separate skincare and anti-aging because you have a certain bias against anti-aging but in other countries, anti-aging is normal both for health and aesthetic. So many people think Asians look young by default or that it's because of our genes but no, it's because of better care for our bodies.

The only thing I ignored from what you sent is the list of toxic ingredients because I have never used L'oreal, Olay, or Garnier on my body. They're overpriced to start with. I personally use a retinol serum that I know the concentration of which fits me and I also research into the products I use instead of just blindly using anything being sold for their branding.

I'm reacting to this post about anti-aging because for me and a lot of people benefiting from anti-aging, THE POST WAS DEHUMANIZING. I do not look like a cutout patch of skin just because I use products and buy into the "industry" that Westerners do not approve of.

I'm pretty sure the West also has anti-aging products that aren't out to kill you. You just have to look for it and research into anything you use before putting them on your body. Pro tip: most things being advertised on mainstream aren't good.

If I demonized people who look old and aren't taking care of their skin, it's because I was dehumanized first. This whole post compared someone like me to that thing from Doctor Who. The picture doesn't even show a person, just a patch of skin. You don't think I have a right to be offended of that? Feel free not to do anti-aging in any of your routine, that really has nothing to do with me. But do not look down on me like I'm not a person while you might look like you need some moisturizer. If I wasn't dehumanized first, I wouldn't care about this post at all.

But yes, Westerners being demonized is a thing for me. Have you checked around you? 2024 and there are so many problems with the West.

I saw anti-aging word in the original post. Not plastic surgery. Which by the way, people can do if they want to and should be normalized instead of being shamed. It's also prevalent in Asian countries and only demonized by Westerners or misogynistic men who think women are fake for makeup and other cosmetics.

honestly more media should portray the anti aging industry as horrific and decidedly unhuman. it IS body horror it IS grotesque it DOES go against nature. it WILL kill you. yes.

[iid-smile]

content: suggestive (16+), ribbons and bows, suguru may or may not be into getting tied up, playing hot or cold on his body, gn!reader

it started off as a simple ribbon in his hair.

unfortunately, suguru's hair was too heavy for a measly piece of silk to hold up, so you settle for a half up half down. then a bun (with the help of a few actual hair ties), then space buns, french braids, and a high ponytail.

once you got bored, the bows started going elsewhere. the first was a scrap piece around his pinky, and then you mummified his entire hand into a mess of pink and white, with the loops of the bows extra large and floppy. soon, after lifting his sleeves, there was ribbon one around his bicep, and the other, and both of his forearms too. you half-jokingly offered to put one around his neck, but he profusely disagreed with the idea (unfortunately)

the most absurd place you could think of putting your next bow was around his waist, which was definitely pretty. pretty enough for you to snap a few shots of him looking all cute and dolled up. perhaps it awakened something inside of you, perhaps you'd use these pictures for your own endeavours later on tonight.

at that point, you were ready to clean everything up, he stops you, gripping onto your wrist, his expression almost offended. "aren't you missing somewhere?"

you're genuinely confused, your eyebrows furrowing as slight worry starts to rise. "somewhere... where?" oh. it finally hits you what he's hinting at, but you keep your cool, tilting your head as your lips form into a pout.

his eyes narrow in disbelief, talking as he adjusts your positions so you were comfortably sat on top of him. being a tease was always a good starting point. "are you gonna make me play hot or cold? is that it?" his chuckle sounds bitter, but you can tell he's not serious about it.

you'll take your chances.

his neck: extremely cold, you still wanted to put one there, but whatever. his shoulder: cold, not an ideal spot anyways. over his ribs: warmer, but then the silk wouldn't be long enough to do so. your hand drifted lower and lower, towards his hips, and you seemed to be getting warmer and warmer, but you purposely miss the target.

"now you're just acting dumb." he tugs on your wrists, your chest pushed up against his own. it's impossible to ignore the heat blooming between the two of you. suguru pulls you closer, fingers slipping over your back and into the waistband of your underwear as he whispers. "sorry, but one of these bows might get a little wet."

'a little' was an understatement; it got soaked.

a/n: never written anything this spicy in my life + i cant find the right dividers

[prettyboykatsuki]

yuta gets bricked up when you excuse his stalking behavior as being a caring senpai and you don’t even know he’s listening :(

he doesn't even mean to hear the conversation you know.

its maki whose warning you. you're hanging out with all of them and yuta leaves for a few minutes for the restroom. and before he gets back, when maki assumes he's out of earshot, he hears her urging you to be careful around him.

he really doesn't mean eavesdrop. for once at least. it's an accident.

maki is urgent. from where yuta peeks from around the corner she's gripping your hand trying to shake some sense into you.

"look. i'm not saying he's evil, but he's not who you think he is,"

you shake her off. stubborn. self-assured. "he wouldn't do anything like that. he's always been kind to me and i don't want to spoil that with doubts. overbearing maybe? sure, but it's not like he's stalking me,"

yuta feels something stir in his pants. you're just so sure. you're so certain of it that you don't even think it's something to question and it makes him feel so lightheaded. it's what he likes about you so much. you're not innocent.

its more like you still think so highly of everyone. everyone is a good person until proven otherwise. but yuta especially, despite how many times he pushes the envelope.

"yuta senpai is important to me and i trust his word."

he only barely swallows the moan threatening to leave his mouth hearing the softness in your voice when you say it. and it takes him five more minutes to collect himself enough to come back. you're just so sweet aren't you?

[dangermousie]

I was chatting about this with a mutual and it made me want to expand this because I've been thinking about this for a bit on and off.

I think the disconnect/arguments between people who watch/read books/shows/movies etc, label things as green flag/red flag and complain when there are "problematic" characters or "dynamics" - both in terms of the narratives and people who enjoy these narratives being targets and people who like me love some intense/fucked up/weird stuff is because these two groups of people approach fiction in two fundamentally different and incompatible ways.

The former view it as a sort of aspirational content or self-insert - they want to watch/read about people/lives/situations they would enjoy being in/with in real life. It's sort of a self-insert wish fulfillment, the way other people watch youtube channels about traveling the world or cooking or home decorating - you imagine yourself in this.

And I think this is where the disconnect comes in - because a decent chunk of them assume everyone else uses fiction for the same reason so if you enjoy e.g., watching a dysfunctional relationship or a bad dude/lady or some world set up that is nuts it's because you think this is all great in real world and that you want to be (or be with) with a problematic partner/in problematic situation and you think it's morally worthwhile.

To that former "aspirational" type of fiction consumer, fiction taste = morality.

But the disconnect is that for that latter "we like fucked up/dark/problematic/intense/whatever" group it's not really about aspiration or self-insert. People didn't love Hannibal because they secretly long to run off and cook humans in a stew. The fans of 2ha don't really want to kidnap their hot teacher and keep them as a sex slave in a palace. Harem dramas aren't popular because women are dying to poison and frame others to get to sleep with a fat old powerful megalomaniac. Most of consumers of mafia romances don't really think it's a great idea in real life to be taken against your will by a hot killer with abs who can't control himself around you and is great at forcing you into orgasms against your will.

That latter group (among which I find myself) likes all that stuff precisely because it's nothing they have or want to have in real life. It's a safe way to explore fantasies that would not be great in real life (I assure you most people who have noncon fantasies don't want to be raped in real life; also in real life no most people don't want to bang a buff but super murdery villain; fiction is a safe place in a way) but also to explore situations and interactions and characters you would never want to in real life from the safety of the page/screen. To use a very easy example - think of the large audience of action movies. I am pretty sure most fans of action franchises don't want to be in car crashes/insane chases/explosions/etc. Any more than roller coaster enthusiasts want to actually be thrown upside down for real or horror movie fans want to either chase someone with an axe or be chased with one. I myself love really intense situations in fiction, ones that push characters to their limits and sometimes beyond, but I cannot imagine anything less pleasant to go through in real life.

Unlike with the self-insert group, this is actually the very opposite. It's like a game of what-if, a glimpse into an alien world fascinating precisely because of its difference with my life. An exploration of aspects of life/relationships that one could never safely or happily do in one's life but are interesting at a safe fictional remove.

This is getting repetitive so I am going to stop but I really do wish more people would understand that enjoying X in fiction does not mean enjoying X in real life (or approving of X in general.) I mean, I love period epics but you'd pry antibiotics and rule of law out of my cold dead hands.

The moral panic over fiction reminds me both the old "video games make you into killers" panic of a few decades ago and the much older belief that reading novels would wreck morals of society especially by those weak women since the novels' (lack of) morality would warp them. Most people have brains and use them and can distinguish between fiction and reality. I wish people would accept that.

P.S. A corollary is conflation of morality/quality/enjoyment. By that I mean I wish more people would accept that moral message, quality, and enjoyment of work are all three separate things. You don't need to prove that some fictional piece is immoral and/or badly made to justify you not enjoying it. It can be well done and just not for you. And conversely, you do not need to prove a work having societal value or being high quality to justify enjoying it. It's fiction. Just enjoy it or don't.

[swamp-world]

Ooh genuinely the best and most stressful part of going out of town is trying to make everything line up for this to all happen SO. my checklist of things to always do before you go:

Full disclosure: if possible I tend to take early-morning or late-night trips, so I often don't sleep before flying or travelling (anxiety about being late), so I tend to do all of this the night before travelling. I can't really advise on the best way to fit this into daytime leaving-times but you are clever people.

Stinky things. The obvious ones but it's easy to forget one or two. Clean the bathrooms, empty ALL the garbage and compost and recycling, flush the toilets and scrub them. It is tempting not to scrub your toilets before you go away because you are going away and will not be using them. This is the devil talking. Scrub your toilet. Also wash the sinks themselves. I don't care if you normally do or not, do it before you go away for three weeks. Put fresh garbage bags in. I know you are not going to be using the garbage for three weeks but you-in-three-weeks is going to be pissed at you-right-now when you get home and just want to toss out your garbage and fall asleep. (yes it is a small thing. yes it is worth it.)

Bath/shower. Make sure your shower curtain is spread out! Save yourself the mildew! If you like baths, make sure your tub is clean so that if you want to come home and soak you can! Either way, have things ready to have a shower when you get back.

Laundry: sheets, towels, clothes. This one is the most pain in the ass because it involves timing your laundry for a few days before, if you're like me, but there is nothing better than coming home to fresh sheets on a newly made bed, clean towels laid out, and pyjamas all ready (or a set of clothes that you don't have to think about, if you have to go to work/school/other things as soon as you get back in).

Laundry - sheets. The night before I travel I'll change out my sheets and ideally since I'm up all night wash the dirty sheets and put them away so I don't have to worry about them upon return. If you can't do fully fresh sheets, wash them the day before, and take a few minutes to make sure your bed is made nicely. That way when you get in you can either fall asleep right away, or start unpacking and sort things on your bed without having to strip or remake it.

Laundry - towels. I do my sheets and towels all together, so the same rules apply. Leave a full towel set ready for yourself (and however many other people in the house are travelling). If you have roommates who aren't travelling, this isn't as much a problem, but still make sure you have towels set aside for yourself for when you return, in case your roommate used them all and forgot to do laundry.

Laundry - clothes. I don't like leaving laundry sitting before going away in case it stinks or starts to take up smells, so same as the sheets, I'll do all the dirty laundry before going away, so that hopefully the only dirty laundry I have is what I'm wearing when I leave the house. If I have to, I'll do laundry the day before I travel, and whatever clothes I'll be wearing for that day, I make sure I would want to take them with me, so that I toss them in my bag and clean them while travelling. Same with pyjamas.

Speaking of pyjamas! Make sure you leave a clean set ready. Put them under your pillow or lay them out on your bed. Same goes for clothing--before you leave, it's never a bad idea to lay out some outfits for when you return. If you can, have a nice outfit and a casual outfit, even if you're planning on getting home in the evening and not having to do anything. There's always a chance your flight gets delayed or rescheduled, and this way if the worst-case scenario hits and you need to get home and run out the door to work, you're set and have saved yourself a few minutes of stress; and best case scenario, you can just come home and change out of your gross travel clothes and into comfy clothes.

And about your clean clothes: fold them and put them away. Half of this is all less about having to do the work itself when you return and more about the relief of not having the visual clutter, mess, or reminder of further chores to be done. Coming home to empty laundry baskets just feels good.

Dishes. Self explanatory. Don't leave any. Wash the sink itself. Leave them to dry themselves, no worries. But DO NOT leave the dishwasher full; in my experience unless you clean your dishwasher regularly the dishes in there are just likely to get gross all over again.

Fridge. Go through it a few days before you go. Make sure you're using what can't be frozen. Don't wait until the day before to start sorting and packing things up to freeze. And more things can be frozen than you think! Look it up if you're not sure! Last time I left I was up late prepping a huge block of paneer for freezing because it took prep work, so make sure you're prepared to take a bit of time for that instead of getting blindsided.

Floors. Sweep them, mop if you get a chance. Dust is going to settle while you're gone and you are going to have to sweep when you get back anyways, but better to minimize that so you aren't super grumpy when you take your socks off. Same goes for vacuuming carpets.

The rest is mostly just tidying up clutter and making things look organized. You're doing this for no one but yourself, so don't be too harsh about it, but think about what you-in-three-weeks will want to return to. It doesn't have to be "everything in its right place" but certainly enough that you're not having to clean off counter space or sort through piles, or looking at a pile and sighing because you will have to sort through it.

If you have the ability to plan food for yourself for when you get in, do that. See if you've got something shelf-stable or in the freezer that you can have for breakfast the day after you get in so you aren't panicking about buying groceries immediately. Try to have a prepped meal in the freezer that you can microwave or something of the sort if you don't want to have to buy a meal.

This is about giving yourself some room to decompress after travelling! While it's a break from work or school or whatever, it's often also stressful, and if the travelling aspect itself isn't stressing you out, there's likely a bit of dread about returning to work, or having to cook, or just...daily life. Make it so that when you get home, you're able to relax for a little bit longer. That the chores you have to do are related to unpacking, not cleaning up your messes from three weeks ago.

Don't be afraid to ask people for help with all of this. If you live with roommates and can't wash your sheets before you go, ask if they can wash them for you. If a friend is watering your plants and collecting your mail for you, leave $50 and a grocery list and ask if they can grab some essentials for when you get back. If someone is housesitting for you, make sure they know your expectations for how clean the place should be when you return. Maybe ask if they can sweep a few days before you get back. Get them to take the leftovers out of the freezer so that they're thawed by the time you get in.

I am not very serious about planning for travelling. What I am serious about is planning for returning. That last point is probably the most crucial: if you have friends or family or loved ones who will be able to help when you get back, ask if they can. And do the same for them! When someone is going away for a long time, ask if there's anything you can do to help. If they've got a ride to or from the airport, if you could bring them a meal when they get back. It's nice for if they're returning from a vacation, it's better if they're returning from travelling for more serious reasons, and it means you get to see them to say hello, if only for a few exhausted minutes.

Trust OP when they say that returning to a clean house is better than sex. (And perhaps if you aren't too tired after travelling you can in fact have great sex in your clean house!)

edit lmao i just actually went through the rest of the notes on this post to find someone else saying "DO NOT STAY AWAKE ALL NIGHT THE NIGHT BEFORE TRAVELLING TO GET THIS ALL DONE IN A PANIC, MAKE A CLEANING PLAN OR SCHEDULE FOR THE DAY BEFORE TRAVELLING" and you should probably listen to them, unless you're like me and going to be awake anyways, in which case just make sure you don't start at midnight and need to be ready to leave at 5am.

adding something to my "adult advice that i had to discover for myself either because no one told me or when i saw adults do it as a kid i couldn't possibly understand," featuring such hits as "grill sandwiches with mayo" and "almost no quality matters more than flexibility," and it is:

clean your house before a vacation because returning to an already clean house is waaay better than sex

[togglesbloggle]

I've got to say, it's a very strange feeling, becoming the sort of person that is in the exact target audience for Buttercup Festival.

Like, this thing has been running for decades, since 2000 if you believe wikipedia, and it got around without ever being really discussed explicitly by people I know. The strips always drifted past me every now and then without incident- neither offensive nor inoffensive, a bit puzzling at times.

And then... something? Something in me, not in the strip, that much is clear enough. But now I just love these little things to death, on a good day it's competitive with Calvin and Hobbes or something else really top-tier.

And it's just bizarre, you know? They certainly don't rely on what you'd traditionally call humor, and even when there's a belly laugh it's not because there was anything like a joke per se. But if I try to explain to people what it is that makes the strip work, I just come up with all these ridiculous sentences that may or may not mean anything.

So I went from not getting the strips at all, and just walking past them without registering their presence, to really enjoying them and considering them one of my favorite comics ever, without once passing through a moment in time where I understood what made them so poignant. Just bouncing between two very different kinds of ignorance.

And that's interesting in itself, no? One kind of wants to reason through one's aesthetic preferences. I know I do. I suppose, on the grounds that I want to reason through everything. But my experience with Buttercup Festival seems determined to resist that treatment, at least so far.

Jokes as an art form are rather interesting- they get a laugh out of us before we know why they're funny, and discussions about humor tend to be unsatisfying after the fact. Explaining a joke doesn't make it any funnier, and the experience of 'funny' itself can't really be explained. Most forms of art, you can develop a deeper appreciation of the form by breaking it down in to specific shapes and methods and styles, and find new layers of beauty as you explore the structure of it. But it seems like laughter doesn't follow the same path, exactly.

Jokes aren't necessarily the only thing with this kind of structure. The koan, also, is supposed to open something to the student without any intervening explanation or analytical framework. Like a good joke, a koan often don't seem to make any damn sense at all, and like a good joke, a koan is often quite short. So that's two examples.

So there's this tricky thing where there's a class of experiences that seems to resist explanation, and we mostly encounter it through humor, but it's not actually limited to humor per se. I don't think I have the slightest idea where the contours of that thing are, or how to explore it, even though it's quite beautiful.

I don't think it's meaningless either, even though it sort of challenges the usual ways we define that term. I don't know how deep it goes, though it's much deeper than I expected. And you can grow in it over time, either because of certain experiences or certain insights or... I don't know. It wasn't signposted. I just kinda woke up here one day.

[buckgasms]

Umm so random thought if you'd care to join...

Naive princess!reader (hey what's new with me? Um nothing?) and I'm kinda thinking an a/b/o thing but let's see... And prince!Bucky.

Maybe you are visiting his palace as part of a relationship building thing between your parents? I reckon there would be other princesses there? It's probably like a 'find him a bride' type scenario, but you, being your naive self aren't really aware of that, you just think it's a beautiful place and you want to explore the beautiful gardens as soon as you can.

Ok let's make it a/b/o

So you are there for a few days and you've been dragged to various events and dinners and the best you've gotten is a glimpse of the prince and a peak outside. You aren't feeling very happy about any of it.

Your mother is constantly moaning about how you are all being ignored and the royal family should be treating you better. Better seats, nicer rooms all that jazz. It's suffocating.

But finally one morning you are free of obligations so you throw on a pretty gown and dash from the room before you can be held back and head to the gardens.

On your way you bump into him. Prince James. He's actually gorgeous up close and you feel your tummy burst into a million butterflies when he smiles at you and makes a slight bow.

"Not running away are you princess?"

You giggle and shake your head.

"Only from my mother. I wanted to look around the gardens."

His eyes light up. "Can I be your guide? My mother will be thrilled to know someone is enjoying them."

You chuckle and take his arm, which he kindly offers, feeling electricity where your body meets his.

He guides you along, pointing out various features and areas, whilst casually probing you for information about you. Things you like, your family, your kingdom.

You spend ages among the flowers, flitting to each one like a bumblebee, sighing at the perfect scents. You don't notice him watching you with a soft smile on his face. You do notice his scent though, sandalwood and sea salt. You blush when you think about how it would smell close up.

The sun keeps you warm and dances across your skin as the morning wears on, until you find yourselves at the entrance of a maze.

You feel like you should probably go back. In fact you definitely should. But his boyish grin pushes that from your mind.

"Race you to the middle?"

Before you can really answer he dashes off and you blindly follow, almost immediately losing track of him. You follow the path, going this way and that until you realise that you are a bit lost.

You stop at a fork in the path and nibble on your finger. What now?

"James?"

You call out and for a moment you don't hear anything.

"James! Are you there?"

Suddenly his voice drifts from a few paths over.

"I'm here princess. You can find me..."

Panic sets in a little. How are you supposed to do that?

"Come on, you can find me, just use your nose."

You shut your eyes and try and find that sandalwood scent, you think about his golden skin, the way his hair looked so fluffy and soft and suddenly your feet where carrying you along the path.

"That's it... Don't worry, I'm here..."

You drift along, your fingers itching to touch him, even though you don't really understand why. It's just an urgent, deep need within you.

You reach another fork in the road and you don't know where to go because he's everywhere. You close your eyes again waiting when suddenly you hear his footsteps and he's behind you, gently wrapping his arms around your body and pressing his lips to your shoulder.

"There you are" he mumbles, pressing a chaste kiss to your skin.

You turn in his arms and stare wide eyed at him, your hands gripping his shirt.

"James, we can't... You shouldn't..."

Your words falter as his lips run along your jaw and press butterfly kisses to your cheek and nose, failing completely when he presses a chaste kiss to your lips.

You whine when he pulls away, making him chuckle. He leans back down to kiss you again, taking a little more time and you let your arms wrap around his neck, unable to control the ache in your body, desperate to feel his body tight against yours. But your mother's scandalised voice rings in your ear and you pull away.

"No, James we can't. It's not proper! You're a prince, you're the prince."

He laughs, pressing his forehead against yours and squeezing your waist.

"And you are my princess. I want you. I've been waiting for a chance to be with you all week. And now I know for sure... I want you..."

🏵️

The rest of the visit, your family is top table, and you are seated next to James the entire time. You occasionally catch glances from sour faced girls who seem to really hate you, but he just whispers something in your ear and you're back in your happy bubble.

Other hopeful families start departing as they all see the writing on the wall. The prince has chosen his princess, and there's nothing they can do to capture his interest.

🏵️

Every morning he brings you a different flower from the garden.

Every lunchtime he brings you a sweet treat from the kitchen, and you eat it together on the steps of the palace.

And every evening he knocks on your door and you give him a kiss. Gentle and full of promise of a long love to follow.

*sigh*

[coralchoral]

honestly thinking about the sonadow twitter takeover and how the plummeting to earth thing very much affected Sonic a lot more than it affected Shadow. like in a previous takeover Shadow even made it a positive memory about Sonic trying to save him.

Meanwhile in Prime, Sonic has a moment of saving Shadow from falling into the void that's very reminiscent of that other fall (in the same way Prime has a lot of motivations and references that only make sense from a fandom insider perspective).

Sonic also gets repeatedly tilted, loud and anxious, (which I'm pinning more on RCS's/whatever writer's sense of humor, as is all the voice acting gags) and is coping badly any time Shadow comes out ahead. I think Sonic's insistence on his ability to grow chest fur is as big a Cope as floaties=fashion statement.

But really, Sonic's repeat date suggestions and Shadow's own descriptions of Sonic's behavior (dragging out their races, etc "just to annoy me") reads, whether romantically or platonically, that Sonic just really wants to spend time with Shadow.

He feels he needs to justify it, though, insisting that he and Shadow have something other than occasionally getting in each other's way ("two sides of the same coin") (friendly competition being "why you keep me around-" seemed like odd wording to me).

Needing to make it meaningful, because that's what Shadow wants out of a relationship- Shadow /says/ he dislikes Sonic for being frivolous and inauthentic, that (for instance) his hugs don't mean anything, and that he doesn't want "(Sonic's) kind of hug."

Sonic really wants to spend time with Shadow because he's also intimately aware that that time is limited. Either Shadow's patience (and/or social battery) is limited and he's liable to make a batman exit if he doesn't want to be somewhere (not that we've ever seen Shadow do this in canon, he seems to awkwardly/quietly hang around as if he doesn't realize he can just hit the bricks (or he likes being there and has no idea how to express it re: smiling at Big the Cat) ), Or Sonic and Shadow will get caught up in their own lives again and not see each other until Fate Deigns to Allow Them to Cross Paths Once More.

And Sonic misses him.

(This ties in with my Sonic Frontiers is the Saddest Game Ever posting from a while back, too. Sonic is lonely AF and Needs Other People to Talk To or he'll start talking to the walls and robots, and Shadow will almost always either talk back or groan in exasperation, which is as good a reaction as any.)

All this, plus Sonic's opinion flip-flops (shopping with Amy vs shopping with Shadow, opinion on Orbot) could be either (Sonadow Optimist) Sonic is Down Bad and not even conscious of his mirroring Shadow/trying to appeal to Shadow, or (Sonadow/overall Pessimist) Sonic trying to appeal to the Most Popular Character Right Now and getting increasingly desperate as he is rebuffed.

A few of these Twitter Takeovers have had moments of Sonic in particular getting thrown off and not really able to recover. (which makes me question what the writing is like, if there's any at all and these VA's aren't just riffing on an outline. Considering they don't talk over each other constantly, there must be something like a script, but it also does occasionally feel like a bad roleplay (and I've been a bad roleplayer).) It leads to a Something Is Wrong feeling in the "We're doing this for fun" question-answering joke show. Sonic needs therapy. (We all need therapy.)

Meanwhile, Shadow really is pulling out all the grunts, groans, and whines with Sonic that, if scripted, would be egregious as hell to read or write. He doesn't make these noises in the games (or shows, really?) mostly because there's a sort of efficiency necessary to production that cuts out that interpersonal realism and partly because it's annoying? Shadow, you're the annoying one?

Unrelated, everybody latched on to Sonic's "Go off, King" but nobody even noticed Shadow's "Deal With It."(sunglasses drop) How soon we forget the sacred texts and/or the deep magic, I guess? (It's an old meme, but it checks out!)

[naamahdarling]

So, the other night in an effort to show a friend that LLMs can produce very credible fiction and relatively inventive ideas, I played with ChatGPT for about 10 minutes I was able to make my point flawlessly. Don't get up my ass about this, that's juvenile.

ChatGPT has watched enough Dropout to be able to reasonably (and genuinely amusingly) impersonate Brennan Lee Mulligan and, to a lesser extent, Sam Reich. It's successfully produced a script for Game Changer where the show was entirely about cats and Brennan couldn't win, and parts of it were actually funny. It also produced an AITA post from the point of view of Brennan Lee Mulligan AS DM OF DIMENSION 20 that was in places absolutely hilarious.

It is able to very successfully postulate a set of G1 my little ponies that do not actually exist, complete with colors, cutie marks, and back card stories. It had a little trouble with G1 versus G4 due to the sheer glut of content, but its ideas were genuinely appealing because the source material it was drawing on was designed to be appealing.

It generated a list of birthday party themes that would terrify an arachnophobe, two or three of which were really good. A request for it to generate a list of queer pride birthday ideas didn't produce anything particularly original, but it was all appropriate and convincing.

It produced a short script where Johnny Sims from the Magnus archives receives birthday gifts from his coworkers, and one of those was a knife-wielding tentacle. This script was in places a little less sharp than the actual writing, but it absolutely nailed the speech patterns, and each gift was appropriate to the character giving it. It was genuinely funny. In places it was clever. It actually made me laugh.

I have most of these saved if anybody wants to see them instead of playing with it themselves.

It really isn't a question of what has been dumped into the data set. We can just assume it has been dumped in there somehow.

We can't undo what has been done and we're never going to be able to name all of the people whose work has been used to train these datasets.

I have both positive and negative feelings, strong ones on both sides, about this technology. If someone wants to use this technology to create a script for a movie in the Predator franchise, or a sequel to their favorite book, or whatever, that is a neutral act. Profiting from that is highly questionable, passing it off as the real thing is completely indefensible, using this technology to replace writers and artists and real people doing ANY work where there is no benefit to humans (like identifying cancer cells -- "AI" does that) is the second worst thing that can be done with it.

That's what worries me about this. It could produce infinite Simpsons episodes without the need for a single writer. Eventually it will be able to animate them so accurately you could ask it to make it look like it had been recorded on a video cassette and it would be completely convincing. It would be able to imitate the voice actors perfectly.

We do not want corporations to have that power. Worker protections are critical. It isn't that AI produces art that is bad or soulless or whatever. Those are completely spurious arguments and irrelevant to any true discussion of whether or not it is ethical.

What matter is is that we keep this shit out of the hands people who want to delete us from the workforce. They aren't going to delete the data. We need to protect workers.

P.S. Artists, Disney and Adobe do not have your best interests at heart. Copyright issues are more complicated than they are being presented, and if you find yourself on the side of one of these companies in any capacity, re-examine literally everything you think immediately. Unions. You want unions.

For reference, because I think it's really important to bring this up as often as possible, the worst application of this technology I can think of would be deliberately or accidentally misapplying data that could be used to affect things like a person's medical care, criminal record, and credit score, all of which are actually currently things that a single company can do, APPRISS, now owned by Equifax, yes that Equifax, and fucking nobody, none of y'all, are freaking out about that even though it's the single most frightening thing I have seen in 20 years. I cannot overstate its potential to utterly destroy the lives of literally anyone who comes into contact with the system that uses it, and those are unbelievably common. They are currently selling their product to law enforcement so that cops and businesses can use it to predict who will engage in criminal behavior, I'm literally not kidding about that, they come right out and say it. It is being trained on existing data and refined constantly.

Enjoy breaking your leg and needing painkillers, which get you flagged in a medical database that will try to prevent you from accessing them in the future (already happening), and also entering you into a law enforcement database that knows you have taken them. Then add in whatever eldritch fuckery bringing credit bureaus into it would cause.

We aren't fucked, I'm not a doomer who insists that all people are terrible and that we have no future and we might as well let things burn, I do actually care about the world we live in and the people who populate it and I consider humans a delight rather than a plague, but we need to start seriously resisting the use of this shit by entities more powerful than us. They are already way ahead.

“I can now say with absolute confidence that many AI systems have been trained on TV and film writers’ work. Not just on The Godfather and Alf, but on more than 53,000 other movies and 85,000 other TV episodes: Dialogue from all of it is included in an AI-training data set that has been used by Apple, Anthropic, Meta, Nvidia, Salesforce, Bloomberg, and other companies. I recently downloaded this data set, which I saw referenced in papers about the development of various large language models (or LLMs). It includes writing from every film nominated for Best Picture from 1950 to 2016, at least 616 episodes of The Simpsons, 170 episodes of Seinfeld, 45 episodes of Twin Peaks, and every episode of The Wire, The Sopranos, and Breaking Bad.”

😡

[sickficideas]

Ooooh since you're doing dandadan now, can I request general headcanons for sick okarun and momo? Like who'd get sick more often, how badly would it affect them, symptoms, caretaking etc? Whether or not it's related to your current wip :)))

YES!!! absolutely anon i am happy to start talking about them...!!!!! You gave me a lot to work with and I tried to include everything you mentioned but if you ever want anything more specific from these feel free to come back !!!! 👽👽💖💖

PS I'm fighting demons on whether to call him Okarun or Ken but he's Okarun for this post since that's what you've called him lol

- Okarun is definitely sick more often but only as a result of his body not being able to handle his Yokai form. Like random high fevers, awful body aches, nausea, tinnitus, nosebleeds (i think even worse things like coughing up blood or absent seizures from over using it)...he's kind of a baby about it, he has a very low pain tolerance and fevers are so overwhelming for him with all of his senses being muddled 😭😭

- Momo isn't necessarily sick often but her similarly her newfound powers give her the gift of frequent headaches and migraines 👍 they don't hold her back most of the time, she just pops a ton of pain killers and moves on (after complaining), but bad with migraines she's huddled up in her dark room and just praying it goes away 😭😭😭

- Momo's fevers don't get as high and aren't as frequent as Okarun's, but the fever really messes with her abilities. She can't use it properly with Any higher temperature, but she gets really weird visual and auditory hallucinations too and she has a hard time distinguishing them from reality. This Deeply concerns Okarun any time he notices and he'll usually pick up on her hallucinations before he realizes she has a fever 😭 she hears him ask her something when he didn't even speak and he's on high alert all of a sudden like, miss Ayase I didn't say anything are you okay what's wrong?????

- Okarun does a good job taking care of Momo if she's sick but he's a tiny bit overbearing (to the point where she might snap and accidently scare him off...she Wants to be taken care of she's just very easily embarrassed) and also Horribly worried. Especially if she's acting weird or quiet he Might cry and she has to comfort him and he feels guilty about it. Vicious cycle lol

- Momo is similarly the overthinker of all time, she's watching all of his movements and focusing on everything he says and does when he's sick because he won't verbalize how he's feeling to avoid worrying her. Dummy. So she tries to figure it all out herself. She takes good care of him though and tries to make sure he's not too overwhelmed 🥺🥺