#which. the conclusion I came to is that 'it's not for me'

[cafeleningrad]

If it's ok, OP, I would like to add a personal anecdote. (If you feel like it's derailing, please let me know, I can delete my addition.)

So, it took many, many years of development but I ceased being a lonely uncool girl. Not in a "fake it till you make it" way but a mix of circumstances, own behaviours and reactions changed.

For one, the circumstances change. The geographical and social environment, especially school and classmates, that did judge me, did not pick me in sports teams, making it difficult to connect with people because personal background and interest were unusual did change.

Second, I sometimes still feel how I don't cease to be "the weird girl" in other environments. Innate habits like derailed rambling, sometimes lacking tact in preferring pragmatism over feelings, and niche interests that are not common are present in new social environments. But what previously did single me out in excluding ways, at some point became what made me myself, and somehow it does connect to others. I mean sure, I did also learn a bit to rail myself in, how to hold small talk, how to properly sort my arguments but in proper shape it turned out I could hold long talks with other people which were fun and engaging for both parties.

I mean, adults are incredibly varied people. Surely none will get along with everyone but one will find their kin. After years of struggling in school, and my first years in university, I did also make friends along the way who kept in contact over years. The thing is, the interest was mutual. The conversations were kept by a constant exchange of messages or if possible meet-ups, sometimes re-connections after pauses. Or it's meeting acquaintances on the street and having a nice chat - it made me realize, whatever little issues I have, even if for formative years caused isolation, people do remember me more kindly than I possibly think of myself.

By, example a former colleague once straight up told me I was weird, not knowing how deeply it struck. However, he did not mean it negatively. For this one comment, he was also the one helping me as often as possible when I needed help, we talk for hours when I drop by at my old work days, and regularly message each other for life updates. What did render me to self-conscious in my childhood, often being the new girl in class needing to double down on new language skills, evaporated because another friend, and him had been in the exact same situation too. They did survive, and we could share this experience of outsider'ness. Exactly my ramblings is something he seeks out because whenever we discuss social issues my dissection is what he wants to receive a clearer picture, even if we don't draw the same conclusions. In his life I might be the weird girl, but this is the weirdo he enjoys being friends with. I met other friends, and new colleagues at my old work place, and they do recall fun anecdotes from the time we worked together. Again, in which I realize that I'm remembered in a fond way.

Which leads me to third: Self interest. Talking about feeling like the "uncool, lonely girl" inevitably comes with using "I". The frequency of self-reference and limitation is unavoidable... however at some point I needed to unlearn to think of myself when interacting with other people. Granted, food service was personally formative, especially after Covid as guest interactions runs on social protocols. Here I did learn small talk, but also what variation of jokes or formality are apt for each group or person.

To say, social interactions at safe emotional distance can be learnt. More so, at some point I entirely got out of my own head, and primarily thought of: "What do the guests need?" And when guests were nice, I came to enjoy a simple friendly chat was enough to mutually create a lovely interaction in a day. I learnt to simply enjoy the company of someone else. Not "how am I perceived?" which is a feeling I only could formerly only shut-off with close friends or overly pompous internet arguments afforded by anonymity (and not having unlearnt the rage bait of social media attention bait yet...) As I first mentioned in how I got to hold long conversations with others, it came in a bit with learning to learn some etiquette which is all about being a bit more mindful of other people. The don't even need to be strict rules, just a little more consideration in interaction is already a start to not set someone off. Or, even if I still struggle to quickly connect with peers in my age, which were especially lonely years at university first, I did still made friendships that now last for years. These same-age group struggles lead me to connect more easily with older colleagues which was also really helpful. My old colleagues are women who were part of the first generation of women to live on their own, lived through much more sexist times at the workplace. The entire feeling of inadequacy is so far beyond them because there were so many external issues to handle that actions and defiance transformed them. And well yeah, at some age the inverted self-dissection really ceases to be of any matter. When we interact they do judge me what I bring to the table, whom I help, what I say in any given moment. To say, whatever I might feel inside, what one does in correspondence to the people around them is telling much more who they are, than whatever self-image I have.

Some people are really great at reading, and influencing people's perception. I'm not.

But the less I think how I want to be perceived, the less I think about an insecure self-image in fear it gets revealed, or discovered, the more I get to enjoy simply being with people. Experienced taught me: Some people like me, some don't, I know what's proper behavior, so I find my people. The more I get out of myself, the more I simply stay curious for other people, what's new in their life, why are some things going good or not so great at the moment, what do they need, is there a fun topic to share?, the less I do feel lonely, because I'm actually connected.

Uncool is such an irrelevant topic in adulthood.

Only immature, and in truth insecure people care about what's cool as adults. Yes it is a dismissive judgement but I tell you, I've had the misfortune to work with enough influencers, celebrities and their entourage during different catering occasions, whatever they try to represent is a constant gambling for social capital, attention which is for worship, translating into sales for redundant products. Sorry, but the self-contortion of behaviours like entitlement by being careless, very noticeable fake nice behaviour just to keep up good social relationships which can be used for collaboration and association. By all what's good on this earth, witnessing these people was an ideal cure. These people who're considered so aspirational, bombarded with attention and advertisement deals are constantly dancing the line between irrelevance and a possible next deal for income. And that's what their perceived aspiration and coolness is all about. I can tell you, whatever I deemed cool as a child, turned out to be extremely vapid and reckless towards other people. The coolest people who don't know how cool they're to me. Their secret lies in not caring about how they're perceived because they're self-assured in how they act about a certain thing. It's their way and nothing else matters. Sometimes it's having cultivated a self-confidence to do something just the way one does considers right.

Sure, a big Harley Davidson bikes aren't something I consider cool by any means. But anyone who deeply enjoys their ride, working on their bike, telling me about who they met and what they saw on their rides is much more in tune with themselves, are open to the world, and much more interesting as a person than someone who drives a Harley to mark what a tough nut they're. The latter are not really themselves because they're a persona build up with material signifiers.

Getting out of myself was one of the toughest developments possible. It is difficult because my superiority-inferiority complex held up my spine for so long in school, dismantling it meant dismantling the pillars of my self-confidence. In fact, dismantling a big chunk of my self perception. That's not to say we never look back inward for self-reflection we should never do that. However... the isolation that previously protected me, was beginning to suffocate me. By realizing how whatever made me feel singled out negatively, either singled me out positively, or simply wasn't relevant anymore, I also needed to change my outlook on other people. If other people's reactions shaped me before, the people who shape me now are different, so I can't think of them as I did with others previously. I don't have to prove them anything, there is no façade necessary to maintain because the more time I spend on others, the less time I have to think about myself - the more my actions towards the people in my life do prove what matters to me, what I indulge in or not, whom I'd like to help or not. At some point I cannot control how other people see me still they do see what I do in the immediate moment. Whatever I might think of myself, how bad, how brave, how awkward, how self-sufficent I consider myself to be... values are only good when put to test, and this is done by interactions with each other. I might think myself as uncool - to a neighbour I'm the one who helped out with cat sitting and groceries when she broke her arm. To a friend I'm the one who listened when they had relationship problems. What I am, is what I am to other people, small things I do, things I tell.

The worst friendships I had were in retrospect those I made because I was lonely, didn't think I could admit that I was struggling because what gave me a sense of superiority in highschool surely didn't apply in work life, and university anymore. By worrying how I didn't want to be lonely, how I wanted draw people to me by a play-acted off-the-cuffness, I remained awkward because I constantly was re-evaluating myself in interactions, wanted to keep the upper hand, but also needed. Well, in the compensation, I was emotionally at my worst. Further, I wasn't developing. The compensation for the uncool, lonely girl, desperately holding onto connections was grasping onto a friendship that did me no good - in fact I was grinding myself to low energy to prove to myself that I am the friend that always cares. It was not about the friend who took certain acts of helping for granted, if not caring primarily about herself, being flippant, dismissive, and self-righteous in order to maintain her self-image as never getting buttered down. Like, the older I get, the more people I meet, the most harmful behavior comes from people who're stuck on creating/maintaining a self image. Newly rich guests who're extra dismissive to staff because they need to mark how they need to care about other people because everyone submits to the money they pay. Guys who got aggressive when they notice that someone is as smart or smarter than they're but thought of themselves as the stiffest fry in the bag - just to give a few examples how self-curation foregoes actual likeability. In our 20s we're pointed towards many directions: Careerwise, we've new as well as many responsibilities, we should be adults, we should've a social life, be a fully-formed person. As we can see on social media we've many templates/archetypes what certain types of fully fledged people should look like, how they should dress, how they should behave, what the people in their life, and their overall life style should look like. But actually many people are just learning how to live on their own, or to earn their own living, gain an entire new input of ideas, impressions, and responsibilities they've to sort out. None is a fully formed person at this age, even if many feel as if they've figured the world out (they've not). So at this age it is much more important to be actually invested in the world, to go out of one's shell, abandon what they previously believed to be universally true. And by that interest in others, rethinking, rediscovering if you actually like or don't like something, figure out what's important to you yourself, you might discover that you're not the person you believed you were.

Maybe who you were was "lonely, uncool girl" as your environment labeled you this way. Maybe can't easily be someone else however, in a different context, experiencing something else, worrying less that who one is could pose a problem, the easier it might become existing without fearing that one is inadequate.

when you grew up as a lonely uncool girl it will never stop haunting you by the way. you will meet a cool person at a bar or the train station or at a friend's party and you can wear your most stylish outfit and striking eye makeup and you will swear that they can see through all of the facade and see the lonely terribly insecure teenage girl you used to be who desperately wanted to connect and you will swear that they know that there is like an insurmountable gap between you. this will happen forever

[heartyluv]

I love your writings of Zayne and Sylus! Can you do one of Zayne and Sylus (separately) where reader tells them that she thinks they should break up because she feels like she isn’t good enough for him so she needs to focus on herself, plus he’s been so busy, and they haven’t had time to be with each other for a while. Which leads up to this moment. Zayne and Sylus ofc get angry because they love reader so much and deny her request. No matter what they will always chose her and who is she to tell him how to feel. Kind of angsty, passionate, and deep yearning if you get what I’m saying. Thank you.🙇🏻‍♀️

Note: You guys are getting all the angst today LOLL. I had some extra time to actually get this done, especially since it didn’t need to be too long. I hope you enjoy, luvly! Thank you so much for being here.

Warning: You talk badly about yourself in this, but I’m here to tell you that all of you luvlys deserve nothing but the absolute best and nothing less. I luv you. 😚

Zayne

Zayne was worried when he got a text from you while he was at work during another one of his late night shifts. He hasn’t been able to be around you for long for the last couple of weeks because of being on call so often lately, so when you messaged him on your own accord for the first time in a while at almost one in the morning, all his focus was out the window. It was a good thing he was due to go home soon.

“Hey, Z. Sorry if you’re busy. Nothing’s wrong, but if you had time tomorrow, could I come by and we talk for a little bit? Love you.”

He wasn’t waiting until tomorrow. Especially when he tried to text and call you and you didn’t answer any attempt. And not when you texted him like that. No emojis, no babe, no lovebug, not even an I in saying that you love him. So when he finally was able to get out of the hospital, the first thing he did was drive to your home.

He doesn’t know about the mental turmoil you’ve been dealing with. He doesn’t know that it’s been going on long before he started getting really busy.

You’ve been feeling insecure about, well, everything. About you not feeling like you’re good enough for someone as talented, intelligent, and handsome as your boyfriend, feeling like he deserves someone who can match him in ways you believe you’re incapable of doing. The distance hasn’t helped, and all you could think of was all the pretty doctors and nurses that he’s around everyday, all the women he encounters on the daily who are undoubtedly just as enamored by him as you were when you first laid your eyes on him.

You tried to convince yourself that this was just you having a moment of weakness, that you simply missed him so much that your brain couldn’t help but try and pin something on you since you haven’t seen him in what feels like forever. It got so bad that you genuinely wondered if he was working overtime, longer than usual, just to get away from you.

Because you knew Zayne was never that cruel, you came to the conclusion that it was time to talk, to tell him that perhaps breaking up is good for the both of you so he doesn’t have to deal with you.

You were rehearsing all of what you hoped you could properly communicate in your bed, when you got a text.

“I’m outside. Please open the door.”

Your whole body froze. He wasn’t supposed to be here now. But you couldn’t just leave him out there, so you dragged yourself out of bed to get ready to tell him something you’d never be prepared enough to say.

His eyes were full of curiosity, confusion, and concern when you stood face to face. He was so worried that he didn’t even bother removing his coat or making himself comfortable. Instead, he just turned your light on so that he could see you properly.

“I got your text, yet you didn’t respond to me when I tried to message and call you back. You’ve worried me. Tell me, what’s wrong?”

You swallow, feeling the tears in your eyes burn as you tried to get yourself right to say what you needed to. But every time you looked into his worrying eyes, your heart cracked. For yourself and for the fact that even with the love in them, you couldn’t help but feel like you were undeserving of it.

“I think we need to break up, Zayne,” you rush out, shutting your eyes and breathing out as if you were being held underwater. No amount of tugging on your pajama sleeve was going to ease your nerves, so you resorted to your fingers, picking at the skin until it hurt.

Zayne hated that. He placed a large palm on both of your hands, looking down at them before he looked up at you.

“Is it something I’ve done wrong? Because of my recent increase in absence?” he studies you, trying to look for any of your ticks to try and see if you’ll lie.

“I just—” the tears fall loosely, rushing down your cheeks. Instead of piecing your thoughts together, they just start spilling out uncontrollably. “I just believe you deserve so much more than me, than what I offer you. I could never be what you need, what you deserve. You’re one of the youngest and most successful surgeons in the world, Zayne. You are so perfect that it makes me wonder how I was so lucky to be given someone like you. And because of that it’s best for me to just let you go so that you—“

“Stop,” he interrupts you. “You don’t get to tell me what I deserve when everything and all I’ve ever wanted, needed, is standing right in front of me, trying to leave.”

Your heart beats rapidly from the intense emotions and heavy stress you’ve weighed upon yourself.

“I could lose my job, lose everything I’ve ever earned in this life, and the only thing that would keep me going is you, do you understand that?” He reaches his hand up to cup your face. “But because you’ve come to me with this, it’s obvious that I’ve failed in making sure you know and understand how special you are to me. And it is my responsibility to instill that security in you and us, again.”

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. He shut all of that down before you had the chance to dig an unnecessary hole deeper, even if that uncertainly is still in the back of your mind.

“I will listen to your concerns and I will mend your heart, but I will not let you discredit or talk down on the only person I’ll only and will ever, love. Is that fair?”

You nod, unable to speak due to embarrassment, relief, and even because of that tinge of fear in your chest. “I’m sorry,” you only mumble.

“There’s no need to apologize to me. It’s my fault for letting these thoughts have the chance to stew in your pretty mind when I know that reassurance is one of the things that keeps us strong. We’re okay, my love. We always will be.”

Sylus

When you started ignoring Sylus’ text messages today, he tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. You had times where you forgot to even look at your phone, so he couldn’t fault you. His kitten, funnily enough, was still human. He was bothered that you had only spoken with him once this morning and it was almost five in the evening now.

Even then, he figured that since he’ll see you later, you can tell him what was so much more important than him while he teased you about it. But when you ignored his phone calls, he knew there was a problem.

You never missed a call from him because his ringtone was the song he had playing when he asked to be your boyfriend. It was a beautiful night on a luxurious rooftop restaurant that he rented for the night as a special way to romance you. It was unique and the song always had you smiling, floating to your phone when you went to pick up as that same dreamy memory replayed in your mind. So now that you’re not answering, his anger and concern began to mend together.

“She’s home?” Luke says with confusion when he gives Sylus your location. He had him find you after his first and only attempt to call you went to voicemail.

“Boss, did you do something?” Kieran asks, his tone laced with shock. You never got like this and the only thing he could think was that after almost three years together, you must’ve had your first real big fight that they were unaware of.

Prepared to debunk that theory, he suddenly got the text message that had him in front of your house faster than anything or anyone could comprehend.

“I’m breaking up with you, Sylus. I’m so sorry.”

Sylus angry was scary—because he didn’t look angry. He had the face that you could compare to a sleeping baby; calm, peaceful unbothered. But under the surface, he was one wrong sentence away from losing his shit.

Your door was thrown open, broken off the hinges when you ran into your living room. His head quirked to the side when he saw you. Puffy and eyes, runny nose, oversized clothing in a relatively warm house. He didn’t know what was wrong, but running from him? He wasn’t allowing it.

“It seems you’ve gotten my attention as you anticipated, sweetie.” He steps toward you, feeling his heart twist with concern as you look at everything but his eyes. “You ignore me, and I allow it all day. Yet to repay me for my generosity, my sweet kitten decides to push her luck and sends me nonsense.”

His playful attempt to control himself drops when he thinks of how prepared you were to just send him that message as if he would ever just accept such a thing. “There is nothing above me that I an incapable of fixing when it comes to keeping you happy. Talk to me. Tell me what needs to be done so that we can resolve it together like we’re supposed to.”

You taught Sylus what real communication was. In this moment, he’s thankful for it because he’s determined to use it to get rid of all your worries and concerns. He tilts your chin up when you refuse to look at him and that sends the waterworks rushing again.

Sylus has been so busy that this was the first night you would’ve seen him face to face in over a month. A part of the reason as to why you were driven to send him that message is because you felt like he was only ready to see you since you nagged him so much.

Even if you didn’t seem to understand that, it couldn’t be further away from the truth for the man looking down at you with determination. Being away from you was hard, but your safety meant more to him than anything. Being apart from you was necessary to ensure nothing ever touched a hair on your head while he handled things you didn’t need to concern yourself with.

Between him being gone and the type of charismatic man he is, you firmly believed that Sylus would inevitably find someone better. You became so dependent on him in a way that made you feel desperate. You felt that maybe you were way in over your head, that this separation was needed so that you could accurately reflect.

You believe that he should have someone secure in themselves, someone who could keep up with him. Someone that was better than you, someone more than you’d ever be.

“I’ve been thinking… And I believe that it’s good for the both us to separate. I didn’t intend to drop this on you, not like this. I just feel like I’m not worthy of you—that you’re a man that women would give nothing but the best to. All I want is for you to get the things that make you happy, not have you settling for something like me.”

You’re surprised that he actually let you finish.

He breathes out, shaking his head slightly. “For someone so smart, your mind must’ve worked tirelessly to convince you to believe something so ridiculous.”

His thumb runs along your bottom lip, staring at them before he looks into your eyes. “It insults me that you don’t think that I know what I want, that I know what I deserve. It insults me that you would belittle the only real thing I’ve ever had in my life, so boldly. It angers me, that I’ve not done my part to properly ensure that you know that you are the only person alive that I would destroy this planet and myself for.”

Your breath hitches when he pulls you closer. “If you ever believed for a second, that I’d let you simmer in this darkness, that I’d let you leave me, I need to do a better job in showing you the kind of man whose children you’ll carry.” He kisses your nose. “Whose ring you’ll bear.” Another kiss to your lips. “Whose heart you will always own.” A final one to your forehead.

“Sylus…” you whimper, feeling the emotions bubble inside you again, threatening to spillover. You want to believe that what you sent was a spark of simple insecurity. But you know it’s been inside you long enough for it to erupt the way it did.

It’s the fact that he would never even allow you to deal with any of this on your own that makes your tears spill.

“You don’t need to say anything, pretty.” He rubs the tears away, one by one as they come. “The only thing you need to tell me are ways we can make sure that this belief never plagues your mind again and how I can keep you confident in my love for you.”

He simply takes your hand, walking out of your apartment and makes a phone call to have your door repaired tonight because you’ll be staying with him until further notice.

“You’re stuck with me for life, kitten. Not even death could keep me from you. And I’m going to make sure that you always understand that.”

[abbessofflesh]

On The Rocks

A/N: Just watched Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Had some brainrot I needed to purge from my system. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve been on Tumblr so please let me know if I’m not tagging something right. Likes/Reblogs are very much appreciated! But if reblogging, I ask that you keep it in the Remmick x reader tag. I want to leave the Sinners tag for the thoughtful analyses and not clog it with depraved filth. The readers appearance is left open to interpretation but please inform me if something in my writing indicates otherwise.

Summary: You attempt to switch roles with Remmick in the bedroom. It does not go as planned.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: MDNI 18+, Dom!Remmick, Naive/Inexperienced!Reader (kinda), Biting/Blood, Dub Con/Non Con Elements regarding Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Gentle Sex, Oral Sex (m!receiving), Restraints, Feral Behavior, Corruption Kink, Attempted Switch!Reader that Remmick can only entertain for so long, A touch of Sub!Remmick, Female descriptors for reader, No Plot (haven’t seen the movie yet), Author doesn’t know vampire rules, Remmick is a manipulative asshole but reader is blinded by love, Attempted!funnyRemmick, unbeta’d, probably riddled with errors

The cold metal stings your skin as you turn the makeshift restraints over in your hands. It’s a stark contrast to the muggy, subdued atmosphere, the biting chill offering relief to restless fingers.

The textile sheaths the harshness of the biting edges; the silk fabric belonging to the previous owners of the homestead you and Remmick are currently occupying. The material wrapped around iron handcuffs you plucked from a particularly nasty lawman Remmick killed and didn’t bother to change.

“I do not need that type’a negativity in my head, darlin’.” was his only explanation, paired with an exaggerated grimace when he came back from yet another unsuccessful hunt. A hunt whose prey he never made you privy to.

All he shared with you was his desire for connection, something with which you concluded yourself early on into your...cohabitation. From your first meeting and onward, he struck you as lonely.

Despite his desperation for family, he’s been particularly choosy as of late. There are two conclusions you have drawn: that your presence and companionship serve as a balm to the ancient wound that refuses to heal, and a comment you made about not being enthused to eventually share memories and a mind with heinous individuals.

You know it’s entirely possible you’re little more than a blood bag he’s carted around, regardless of his charm and dulcet words. Ever since he seduced his way into your home- your life- you’ve served a purpose whether you were aware of it or not. That he hasn’t turned you leaves you under no illusions that he wouldn’t do so when the fancy strikes him.

Those are other assumptions you rarely entertain. That your usefulness in welcoming him into domiciles and remaining a steady source of sustenance is all he truly cares for. There’s also the chance that he’s not being truthful and has amassed a following he won’t inform you of until you’re turned and incapable of protesting.

You don’t like to dwell on those assumptions. You’ll keep your rose-colored glasses on for the time being, thank you very much.

You see it in his gaze sometimes. Feel his trembling frame against you at night, as he often does when being any kind of physical with you. As if it takes everything in him to be this gentle, and it is gentle for what Remmick is. It should scare you more than it does, his restraint a thin wire that barely holds from snapping and ripping you apart. But knowing he’s just as wrecked as you-just in another sense-always has you falling apart around him, pliant and needy.

Perhaps it’s a smitten fallacy, but you get the feeling he feels fondness for you, in his own way.

It shouldn’t fill your head with dizzying affection. Your chest shouldn’t be laden with warmth and hope that you could live out an idyllic life with him.

And yet.

You had never lain with anyone before Remmick. The reveal of his age and erotic pursuits that came with had you feeling naive and virginal. Centuries of walking the earth would indeed give someone experience, especially one as handsome and suave as he is. In the early days of your relationship, he often told you about his youthful trysts just to see you bashfully duck your head, hiding your scandalized amusement in the crook of his neck. “Did a lot of catting around when I was a young lad.” The seduction of married women, preacher’s daughters, and frolicking naked through fields was too much for your sheltered mind.

If past you saw how you lived now, you’d have dropped dead of mortification.

A few months into your relationship, you now consider yourself thoroughly exposed to carnal pleasures. Though when you voice this to Remmick, he laughs, and if he has recently fed, it’s until he’s red in the face.

That conversation usually follows with him demonstrating just how mistaken you are. Every night, you learn more about the pursuit of pleasure, and that Remmick might have a predilection for corruption.

The sky outside begins to lighten, tendrils of light threatening to pour through the askew curtains and snapping you out of your reverie. Bitter uneasiness nags at you when Remmick’s this late, though he often is. If you were to ask him about his nighttime activities, you’d get an absent non-answer. If you were to ask for a romantic night out in the town, it’d lead to a thorough distraction cutting well into the precious hours of moonlight.

The fretting and cast-aside feeling emboldens you to try a more domineering approach to get your point across. The point of how you’ve been there for him, blood, body, and soul, yet you’re not feeling like a priority anymore. If you ever were.

You make your way into the bedroom and look down at the silk-covered handcuffs, weighing your options. A brief image of a bound Remmick, fucked-out and spent sits heavily on the side of the mental scale labeled ‘pros’. On the other side sits another image, frightening but no less pretty, of the consequences that come with a wrathful vampire.

There’s also the chance that the silk will come undone, the possibility of the iron causing him harm. It would be minimal, and he’d no doubt heal after a few mouthfuls of your blood, but you’ll never want to see him hurt.

The creak of the front door interrupts your musings. Your heart rate hastens and you lunge for the headboard, slipping the restraints through the pine slats and concealing them with a rumpled pillow.

He’s home.

Through some prey instinct evolved long ago, you usually sense when Remmick is near before your eyes or ears locate him. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, every one of your senses heightened for that initial touch.

It’s no different now. Though you usually don’t jump as high when his thick forearms sling around your middle.

“Jumpy today. Up early, too.” His lips burn through the straps of your slip, trailing up until he can rest them against the spot where the rush of blood in your neck is strongest.

“And you’re back later than usual. Find another dame in need of defiling?”

It’s hard to put heat behind your words while in his unyielding hold, nose trailing down the side of your neck, suckling at your pulse. He doesn’t seem to hear your words, or more likely, is choosing to ignore them. It’s not exactly uncommon for you to taunt him about his promiscuous past.

But then he freezes, pausing his tender onslaught on your neck. His head tilts, turning ever-so-slightly toward the bed. He inhales two short, quick sniffs.

You’re not sure what he’s more likely to catch scent of: the musty, metallic odor of the cuffs or the saccharine musk of your earlier activities on the bed, when you were missing him and fantasizing about a confined Remmick.

In a quick effort of distraction, you deftly spin out of his grasp. He allows it with an appraising gaze. It locks onto the nervous bob of your throat like the predator he is.

You grab a hold of yourself for a moment to take him in. His undone suspenders hang by his hips, likely shucked off the second he got in the door. There’s no blood flaked around his mouth and while it’s possible he could’ve cleaned up before meeting you, you get the feeling he had another unsuccessful night. His face never betrays any disappointment, but he has all the patience an ancient being could have.

“Everythin’ alright?” The sing-songy slurring of this accent draws your eyes back up to his face where a preening, smug grin rests.

“Uh-huh.” You reply in an idiotic manner. You’re high-strung at the thought of getting him to where you need him before he discovers your plan. It only takes a brief moment of deliberation to capitalize on the scent he no-doubt smells on the disheveled sheets. “Would you like to have sex?”

His eyebrows damn near shoot up to his hairline. A short, startled laugh bursts from him.

“Al-right-”

He’s halfway through his answer when you hurry to light the candle by the bed as another aroma to throw him off, hand trembling in what you hope passes off as nervous anticipation. Remmick goes to assist you but you wave him off, absently instructing him to settle.

On your way back from ensuring the closed curtains were extra secure, you shuck your nightdress off. It hits the floor in a whisper of fabric and you’re left in nothing but his gold chain around your neck. His skeptical stare at your frenzied return makes you realize it’d be more alluring-and less suspicious-to put on a show for him.

Sure enough, he’s still fully clothed. And staring at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“Why are you still- get naked, please.”

“Are the Sídhe pulling my leg? Or is my girl standing bare in front of me, lookin’ me in the eye?”

Your palms twitch, fighting the urge to cover yourself. There’s disbelief, sure, but you think he’s incapable of not looking at you with debauchery. Dark eyes rove over faded marks that still linger from previous love-making, past the necklace he had draped over you after. It assists your ploy of keeping him distracted and crushes that nagging bit of insecurity.

Just have to keep him occupied.

Despite his questioning, his fingers (are they trembling?) proceed to the fasteners of his button-up. You remain locked in his stare as you reach the bed, slowing your crawl over the mattress for a more sensual appearance.

You feel like a bumbling fool with your heart threatening to burst from your chest, the beat pounding in your ears. You would think your little performance would be nothing but a silly sight if the man you were settling over didn’t gaze at you with riveted awe.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Gorgeous.” He flirts back in that exaggerated southern twang, lips pulled over naturally pronounced canines.

A giddy smile brightens your face, made worse by the way his drops further in blind adoration. It’s the perfect moment to grab his hands, working your way down to his wrists as you raise them slowly above his head. Right to where you want them.

“Oh-ho. What d’we have here?”

A deep, engulfing kiss shuts that mouth of his. He gives twice as much as he gets, starved and full of longing. It’s enough of a diversion to slip those cuffs around his wrists, the ratcheting clicks securing him in place.

He goes still beneath you.

“And we will continue that,” You push yourself up from his chest, grinning like a maniac at the success, “but I wanna talk first.”

“Wha-” You see the deliberation, the flexing of his forearms as he weighed the option of letting you play. More often than not, he’s considerate about his reactions. There are a few moments in your time together when you manage to catch him off guard and elicit a truly authentic response with a drawled quip. Now is not an exception, as his head cocks slightly to glance up at the cuffs, his eyes trailing back to yours in what seems like some genuine bewilderment and a touch of amusement. “What’s this, then?”

You’re caught up at the sight that jumped right out of your depraved daydreams. It takes a moment for you to start the speech you rehearsed about ten times this morning.

“When you convinced me to leave everything behind, you promised me the moon and stars. That we’d do all the things lovers do. That we’d go out together. Dinner. Dancing.”

“Which I said verily, but you ain’t leaving this house until you don’t have two fuckin’ left feet-”

“Remmick.” You braced yourself for his jest, his usual method of distraction that’s entirely your fault because of the prospect of it working.

“Darlin’-“ His brow furrows, scrunching his eyes in a tired expression as if this wasn’t the first time you’ve hashed this out, but the tenth. He lazily turns his hands in the restraints, no doubt checking their durability and effectiveness. You watch as he manipulates his countenance into faux patience when he discovers he’s well and truly stuck, like you’re a particularly stubborn lamb he has to explain the concept of slaughter to. “Once I build our family, I’ll bring the dancin’ to ya.”

His eyes flash as a smirk pulls his face back into that familiar lascivious demeanor you’re used to dealing with. “An’ I can get my dinner right here.”

It’s tough to refute his taunts when he says it like that. Tone all sticky with honey and undercurrent scheming. Your irritation at his wants taking precedence over yours again allows you to ignore the latter statement and power through the brief ache between your thighs.

“You said that before you ate that lawman-"

“He was an uncouth, prejudiced individual, that one.” Remmick butts in with an affronted look. You snort, choosing to keep your mouth shut about the other bigoted individuals he rectified, historically. “An’ I ain’t like the way he was lookin’ at you. Killed three a’ his wives, y’know.”

You didn’t know that, but you don’t sway at the look on his face, soft eyes expectant of your usual approval. “The couple from the farm-“

“They was a bit too sacrilegious for my taste. Pretty sure they was siblings, honey.”

“And that one old woman?“

Remmick pauses, lips pursed and eyes wandering as if he’s struggling with the recollection. You see the exact moment it hits him as he nods to himself and shrugs.

“I was hungry.”

His nonchalance stokes the insecurity and spurned virulence you had pushed down from earlier. Instead of facilitating his flippant attitude as usual, you jump to vehement accusations.

“Admit that you want me all to yourself. Locked up, bored and alone day in an’ day out.”

In a breath, Remmick’s face darkens, the minute change so delicate you almost missed it. Those prey instincts of yours work overdrive to compensate for your infatuated, simple-minded decision-making. You feel a stab of worry at the idea that something you said offended him that deeply, but it’s gone at the revival of his usual easygoing demeanor.

“So this is how ya show me? By actin’ out?”

Perhaps not entirely gone.

“I’m tryin’ something new.” You tilt your head, angling your chin in what you hope conveys defiance and not clumsy inexperience.

Despite the inconvenienced air he tries to maintain, you see the mirth in his eyes. Like he’s watching you show your teeth for the first time.

“Al-right.” The leisurely drawl is at odds with the way Remmick’s eyebrows raise and lips part in exaggerated disbelief. “Don’t let me stop you, darlin’.”

Metal clacks as the cuffs grind against the bed frame halfway through a gesture of go ahead, then. The slow tilt of his head up to glare at the manacles puts the pale column of his throat on display. A brief, primitive urge of yours is to curve your hand around it, to feel him swallow under your palm in a reversal of your usual bedroom roles. You decide not to push your luck so soon into your game, instead waiting as he settles his irritated gaze back on you, brows furrowed and lips pursed.

You can’t help but smile at how put out he looks. An expressive, pouty face that exudes attitude.

You lean forward with the intention of capturing a kiss from him out of habit, but pause halfway up his chest. His eyebrows raise expectantly, head cocked and the well? is unspoken but very much heard.

“Thought better of it, actually. Best keep outta reach of those teeth.”

“Now darlin’, I am offended-” You dip your head to take a nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue in what’s probably a cheap imitation of the expertise he uses on you. Your hand goes to fondle the other one and you delight in the surprised, desperate little noises you’re able to pull from him.

“And where did you learn that-”

You reach beneath you to grab his cock, smiling at the hiss he lets out and the discovery that he’s already hard and heavy in your palm. He must have enjoyed your little display of dominance, too. Once you line him up, you rut your hips against him, dragging his length back and forth through your folds.

You continue working him with your hand and hips until an earlier nagging thought draws you back, bracing yourself on your forearms, hips lifting and hovering above his groin.

“Ah, wha- hey. That was just gettin’ good.”

“Sorry.” You smile, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “Where’d you go tonight?”

“Where did I- fuck’s sake.” His head bounces against the pillows when he sees that you’re serious. “A speakeasy, in town but off the beaten path. Tried to get in by playin’ a tune. Sounded damn near perfect too-”

“And did you?”

Your eyebrows raise at the silence, taking it for the answer it is.

“So no one in that place was turned tonight.”

“…No.”

Your lips occupy themselves with a kiss to his abdomen to keep from chuckling. Poor thing. Not everyone found your vampire as charming as you did.

You take pity on him and continue your journey downwards, past the sparse hair of his belly to his neglected cock, red and leaking.

Your lips press against the tip of him in a chaste kiss. He shudders, hips jerking slightly. You chance an admonishing glimpse up to catch that darkened look has made a reappearance, though this one is for another reason entirely. It emboldens you to slide your hand from his hip to cup his balls, touch just a tad too light by the way he writhes in your grasp.

Remmick’s pants and hums taper off into a growl that makes you throb.

You have no choice but to ignore your aching clit. Now that you actually have him tied up, chest heaving, at your mercy, you know you’d finish embarrassingly quick.

Your tongue busies itself with the vein underneath the length of him, flattening and dragging yourself back up to the top, paying attention to what draws the sweetest sounds out of him. You’re prepared to make your descent when you notice his hands flexing in the cuffs, wood squeaking worryingly. At first, you’re concerned your handmade cushioning didn’t hold up.

“Your wrists okay?” You take a breath in, scenting the air for the smell of burnt flesh. Remmick lets out a depraved noise at the sight.

“Doin’ just well.” His voice thickening with a cadence that betrays the southern drawl he uses to integrate himself among the locals. “Wanna hold yer hair for ya, love.”

“Nice try. Let me know if you start goin’ up in smoke.”

“How fuckin’ sweet of ya.”

You cut off any further gibes by placing your mouth on him. All those nights with him down your throat have prepared you to take the majority of his length without gagging. You breathe through your nose like you practiced, cheeks hollowing, lips gliding terribly slow. Pure delight makes your heart sing at how far you’ve come, how those ruinous twitches and groans are because of you.

“Tha’s it, a little deeper, love. Go on.”

Forgetting yourself, you go to do just that. It takes an embarrassing few moments to remember your goal. You come off of him with a pop, eye twitching at the gall he has to give you orders.

And that you followed them like a dog, you little slut.

“You’re not in charge right now, mister.”

Molten anger and humiliation swirl in your chest as you listen to him chuckle. His head rests comfortably on the pillows like he’s on goddamn holiday.

“Sure, that’s you.” He pauses as you pull yourself up, hands braced on his abdomen but your stare remains burrowing into him. He hums, mouth ajar and eyes appraising. Then acquiesces. “I’m at your mercy, darlin’.”

You leverage yourself with your knees on either side of his thighs and your hands roaming his stomach, not-so-discreetly pawing at his sturdy core muscles.

You lower and resume your grinding against him. Slow, so slow until you see his jaw tick, lips curling back in a snarl.

His sweaty hair mused, mouth half open as he groans, loud and rasping. His unwavering, starving gaze boring into you. A whimper nearly escapes you at this sight of his swollen biceps, fists clenching and relaxing in delicious torment.

He looks like sin.

The swivel of your hips falter at the show he’s putting on for you.

You return it as best as you can, panting out little mewls as his cock head catches at your entrance. You’re unable to resist sliding down the length of him when he finally sinks in, closing your eyes and letting yourself have this moment. You made sure to make all the pretty sounds you know he’s fond of, sighing and gasping as you took your pleasure.

His own breath stutters, eyes glazing into that enraptured stare that borders on too much.

It’s beginning to get too daunting to look at him. The needy look in his wide eyes. Choked sounds he tries to bite back but can’t. You swore you’ve caught flashes of scarlet, and when those teeth come out, you’ll lose your nerve.

But that hasn’t happened yet.

“That’s it. Tha’s it- what in the fuck.”

He slips out of you and that brittle patience of his wears thin.

Definitely a flicker of crimson hue in those eyes. Before he can throw too much of a fit about it, you power through to your request; the goal you’ve had in mind since the start and had definitely not lost sight of.

“I was thinking we make it a weekly thing. Our date, I mean. I’d like to go back to bein’ well and properly courted-”

“Lemme go.” The chains rattle against the frame in a sharp, worrying tug.

“No.” You hum distractedly, eyes drifting closed lest you lose your nerve. “You’re not havin’ fun?”

“I’d much rather be eatin’ that cunt of yours until I can’t get the taste off my tongue. Until the thought of accusin’ me of not takin’ care of ya’ is fucked out of your head.”

It’s impossible to hide your vicious shudder, toes curling against the strewn sheets. You could’ve came right there if the savageness of his tone didn’t make the gears turn in your head. Your eyes fly open.

He- what.

What?

Is that what he’s so pissy about? An imagined blow to his male ego?

Stay focused. Stay. Focused.

“Hmm. Never got my answer.”

His hips spring up in an attempt to continue rubbing against your folds, intent on reminding you what exactly he can give.

“Ah, ah.” You scold, lifting further out of reach and giving his nipple a pull. “Be a good boy, Remmick.”

“Enough beatin’ around the bush. If you’re gonna fuck me, darlin’, fuck me.”

You’re trembling with excitement, but also uneasiness. It makes you feel like when you were a girl, doing something that you knew you’d be in trouble for if you were caught. You’re undoubtedly in hot water now, but the thought of backing down with a lenient punishment is out of the question. Not when he sounds so done in.

It also pays to run on spite and desire.

“Maybe try beggin’.”

Fangs elongate, spittle catching on his lips. Eyes a persistent glow with simmering temper.

…There's something wrong with you, isn’t there? Feeling the way you do about that look?

“You're the one that’s gonna be beggin’ me to stop when I get free a’ these.”

Well, you’re definitely not letting him loose anytime soon. Maybe after he’s nice and spent.

“S’a bit funny. Given the events of tonight.” You explain at eyes narrowed in confusion. “Can’t get in, can’t get out.” Your head tilts to motion towards the outside of the house, then to glance pointedly at the cuffs. A slow smile draws across your face, voice sultry and low. “Can’t get off.”

“Real brave a’ you. With me tied up like this.” Though a twitch of his lips betrays the severity of his tone.

You lift a shoulder, coquettishly fluttering your eyes. You’re not sure what seductive temptress climbed into you, is speaking through you, but you feel on top of the world. You don’t recognize her, but you think you like her.

It seems Remmick does, too. Past the shimmering agitation, you catch a hint of quiet approval. Pride.

That, and he’s been hard as stone since you first got him in those chains.

You go to torment him some more, the tip just barely breaching when Remmick plants his heels on the bed and thrusts up with savage strength. It strikes deep, the ache and shock of it drawing a yelp out of you as your eyes fly open. You flail briefly, having to brace yourself with palms gripping his sweat-slick shoulders, shaking thighs no longer capable of stabilizing yourself. Your breath hitches at the sight you were trying to avoid. Your wide-eyed stare lands on his vicious grin of too many teeth, drool spilling from the side of his mouth.

“Hey!” You stutter, paired with a hard slap on his chest that doesn’t even make him blink.

Fuck, you’re in over your head.

In an effort to maintain control, you scold him. The false, shaky authority nearly makes you wince. “Behave.”

His eyes glow red in the dim room, candlelight casting shadows over his face. “Oh darlin’, I am. Believe you me.”

You’re locked onto each other for a moment. A slow trail of your eyes over the spit pooling around his collar.

“Poor thing.” You coo, carefully staying out of biting distance.

Your send your hips back, dragging over his cock to settle on his thighs. His gaze tracks your breasts as your back arches, pulling your hardened nipples over his torso during your descent.

Truthfully, you’re thighs are burning. But you’re not going to allow his disobedience to go unchecked. You allow yourself a small smile at the lowered pull of his brow when you begin to turn around, your face now concealed from his predatory scrutiny.

There’s a change in the air. The life sucked out of it. Everything seems to still.

Your vampire is no longer amused.

Remmick has an almost reverential fixation with watching your face as you lay together. He’s fucked you from behind before, sure, and you felt primitive and dirty and thoroughly taken as he laid claim to you. Even then, he kept your head turned and in his view. Mouthing in some form between kisses and bites hot against your cheek, your neck. Growls and whines in your ear. The look on his face alone was enough to get you to fall apart.

Denying him this was perhaps the worst sin you could commit tonight.

Your hands find his thighs, muscles tensing and shifting underneath your palms. You continue your newfound game, hips sinking back enough to capture the head of him into your opening. You stay shallow, the thrill and tease building the warmth in your belly.

“Hey.”

You persist, swirling your hips, sighing sweetly at the sound of gnashing teeth and frustrated groans behind you.

“C’mere to me.”

It’s hard to ignore the acceleration of your heartbeat, blood pumping in your ears. It’s harder to ignore the fact that he can hear it. He’s more monster than man right now but you tune him out as you focus on sliding him through your slick folds.

A sharp, guttural call of your name. The growl behind you catches your breath. Voice distorted by fangs. You disregard it and the warning it imparts as you move with newfound urgency. Maybe he won’t be too upset. Maybe you can get to the door-

You start to cum, cresting over the precipice just as the sharp crack of splintering wood fills the air and shoots through your body like a lightening bolt.

Within the same heartbeat, still-bound hands find your upper back-chilled metal grazing your skin tauntingly-and shove hard, knocking you face-first onto the bed.

The jarring occurrence leaves you winded, enough so that you’re momentarily distracted from the sensory overload of Remmick rutting into you. Linen sheets press and stick to the sweaty skin of your forearms, your cheek. Your hips are in the air, framed by two strong hands.

”Remmi-” you begin to beg, like it will do anything but encourage him, excite his predator instincts.

You have known what kind of monster he is. That he’s capable of such brutality it would be vain to even attempt to understand it. He had been careful not to expose you to any violent depravity, and while you know what you’ve unleashed would be considered merciful in that regard, it’s unlike anything of what you’ve seen in your time together.

Through the immobilizing shock and fear, you absently feel your body coming back down from it’s high, thighs shaking and toes curling. The nerves and awareness of overstimulated skin making itself known and surpassing the score.

“Rem-remmi-fuck!” Mewls and half-formed cries fall past your lips. It takes several heaving breaths to form some semblance of coherence, to enunciate in more than fragmented pleas and whines. “Please, listen, Remmick-”

“Poor thing.” A guttural, deranged voice reverberates in your ear. “I told ya, you’ll beg me to stop. And I won’t, I won’t, not until I fuck you within an inch of yer life.”

A flash of silver crosses over your field of vision, confined hands coming to rest on your front, gripping you close as he fucks you brutally. A hand finds itself around your throat, resting, keeping you against him with a controlled amount of force. The other hand finds your breast in an aching grasp, a sound emitting from you that would have had you hiding your face in your palms a month ago, if he hadn’t fucked any and all decency out of you since then.

Just as your face begins to flush red in an old habits die hard fashion- his teeth sink into the junction between your shoulder and neck.

The initial bite is the equivalent of being doused in ice water. Your heart contracts, fighting each pull into his mouth and losing. Unlike his previous feedings, there’s a feral urgency brought on by the involuntary restraints and cruel teasing. The deprivation of blood and oxygen paired with the sedative-like component in his saliva contributes to a feeling of weightlessness.

Your body responds to his feeding in its usual betrayal. Conditioned to fall apart around the cock pulsing inside you, frenzied movements encouraged by the sustenance.

You sink into the bed. Limbs heavy, formed of the iron you trapped him with except you never were a match for it.

“I know what you like, what you need. Don’t even need to be inside your fuckin’ head for it.” He slows the pace of his hips, thrusts more punctuated but no less ruining than they were.

Remmick’s face is buried in your hair, panting, growling, whining in your ear. He noses along your cheek, breathing in the scent of you-your arousal makes your blood sing-and his own interwoven with yours. It’s enough to cause that feeling in your belly to crescendo into a steady ache.

He releases your throat in favor of barring a forearm around your neck. You gasp, a little mewl escaping you at the rigidity of him. You’re kept flush against the hard contours of his body. The reprieve of arching your back away from him made null by the force of his thrusts, rendering you unable to do anything but sit there and take it. It’s stifling. Terrifying. Your attention split between every sensation until you’re dizzy with it.

Fluid drips down between your breasts, saliva and blood blending into a pink mess. Droplets fall from his maw and stipple your shoulder blades. The scent of his sweat and yours, of sex and musk and warmth. The bedding is already ruined beneath you.

Teeth gnash against your throat, tongue laving up the trickles leaking from fresh wounds, frenetic fangs occasionally scraping them open. That tremble of restraint that’s usually there but amplified tenfold.

Your head lolls onto folded arms to try to muffle your wailing, the sensitivity becoming intermingled with pleasure until you can’t discern between the two.

There’s something about the way he channels the urge of ripping you apart into fucking you; a clemency only you could appreciate.

“Don’t, Rem’ck, don’t don’t-” Meek whimpers sound more like prayers.

“Don’ fuss. Just givin’ me lass what she asked for.” Your battered cunt sucks him in, contracting and squeezing him in a vice grip. “Greedy girl, ain’t she?”

It sneaks up on you, a pooling warmth shot down to your abdomen, through your glistening, puffy clit. Your mouth falls open in a broken gasp, body trembling as you clench around him. Tremors inch up from your core, up the column of your spine until you’re sure you’re going to shatter apart.

When you do, it’s less intense than before but no less devastating.

“That’s it, girl. Fuck, darlin’-“ Remmick draws, his cock bullying its way into your tightening cunt. His voice joins yours in a chorus of breathless moans, each as ravaged as the other.

He throws the both of you onto your sides, the arm around your throat and the sturdy body behind you protecting you from the rough jostling, like he’s the only thing allowed to cause you any discomfort.

His grip on you softens. Palms sticky with sweat and blood slide over your breasts, your hips, to find their home on your quivering thighs.

Coming down from the orgasm is catastrophic. You shift in his hold, unable to do anything but retreat into his body or his hands. The tightening of your cunt alerts you of his cock that’s still heavy inside you, rocking you gently and rejuvenated from the feeding.

He tongues the sweat off of your neck, swirling down your neck and back up until you can no longer tell where he is or isn’t. Your skin is too tight, quivering, aching to be rid of the monster that melds you against him. Your tender mind hopes he’ll keep you in his hold or else you’ll fly apart. He’s the most dangerous predator and the only one to make you feel safe.

Remmick’s making contented little noises as he mouths at you. Warm drool steadily drips on your shoulder, falls down your back. It spreads and sticks obscenely as he tugs you back to meet his chest. A warm tongue laps against your shoulder blades like he’s trying to clean you but only results in a bigger mess.

Suddenly you’re empty, bereft cunt feeling strangely vacant but it doesn’t last for long as you’re maneuvered with little resistance onto your back, face to face with something out of a nightmare.

Gleaming eyes peer down at you, bloody mouth agape and breathing hard like you’re something holy. His stare never falters, like watching you come apart is the equivalent of basking in the sunrise that’s evaded him for years.

He’s somehow still achingly hard as he slides against your clit, shushing as you sputter your mangled protests. The heft of him slipping through your throbbing folds.

The sticky mess between your thighs hinders his frenzied attempt to rock back into you, his cock catching against your opening several times before he sinks home. His hips pick up in a slow, relentless pace. A sob tears from your throat as he moves in and out, raw from the previous times he’s taken you.

“Please. Nuh-“ Your voice catches on a hiccuping sob and a plethora of broken little noises. “No more, please, Remmi-”

“Shh. S’alright. There she is.” The red glow of his eyes somehow adorns a cherishing appearance. No trace of his earlier hostility to be found. Only contentment. Fondness. Comforting the lamb so the meat tastes sweet. Sharp, jagged teeth find your ear, alternating between kissing and mouthing around it. “Me lass.”

His thrusts do not still between the shushing and cooing. Kisses pepper your face in what feels like a desperate attempt of his to cover as much skin as possible, to smother you in him so there’s no beginning or end between the two of you.

You try your best to match them, catching the corners of his lips in an attempt to placate him, show you’re willing to play along.

Mercy, please.

There was no denying him, this time. As if your brief refusal to face him kept him in ravenous desperation for years. He was going to take what he was due.

His hands find whatever softness they can reach, digging into your back, your belly, your breasts, finally landing on your ass. His forehead presses to yours, swaying gently from side to side as he continues to rock into you. Glowing eyes remain unblinking, taking his fill of you as a man starved. This is what you’re used to; the unnerving adoration he has with watching you come to ruin.

Dripping wet lips find yours and your mouth falls open on trained impulse. All you can do is take what he gives, saliva spilling past your lips, coating you inside.

An interwoven jumble of Gaelic and English is snarled into the skin of your shoulder as he empties himself inside you, hot breath imperceptible against your heated skin.

He all but collapses on top of you, reminding you that he was using some restraint when he lay melded against you.

Curly brown wisps cover your bleary eyes that refuse to focus. The events of the night hit you, and a crazed little giggle bursts from your lips. It transforms into a full-blown laugh at the raising of his still-constrained hands, jiggling pointedly in an impertinent request of removal. You absently inform him of the keys in the bedside dresser.

“You could- You could’a got free s’whole time.” You slurred, warm and sated in the grasp of his strong arms. Anxiety quieted now that you have your Remmick back.

”Aye. But you wanted to play, and I wanted to see how far you’d go before ya lost your nerve. “ A kiss landed on the side of your sweaty cheek, his body shifting in a way that caused his softening cock to pull out of you. “You surprised me.”

Reduced to nothing more than the dim-witted fool you are, you smile uncontrollably at the treasured possession of his words.

[linkspooky]

THE PHILOSOPHY OF KAGURABACHI

So, Kagurabachi is my favorite manga in shonen jump right now, but my enjoyment of it comes from a different place than most people's. While I liked the first chapter, the manga did not really click for me until chapter 17 when Chihiro was forced to recognize that his enemy had interpreted the actions of his dead father entirely differently, and he was fighting with a conviction too, even if Chihiro did not agree with that conviction.

Since then, Chihiro has slowly been changing his outlook on the world from a simple avenger to acknowledging the complexity of the world around him and this is the most interesting aspect to me - Chihiro and his changing beliefs over the course of the story.

I have been waiting in anticipation for Chihiro's reaction to learning the truth about the war, and the genocide one of the sworsman carried out with his father's weapon. We see his reaction this chapter and I was a little bit surprised to say the least.

Chihiro states that it's wrong to kill all five of the sword-bearers in order to disarm the nukes essentially, remove the potential for anyone else to cause another disaster and wipe out hundreds of thousands of more people. This seems inconsistent with something that has been Chihiro's belief since chapter one, his entire mission is to take his father's swords back in order to make sure they never end up in the wrong hands and can't be used to hurt innocent people.

I had to ask my friend @kaibutsushidousha for Chihiro's reasoning here, but thankfully Comun is really smart and has good taste:

I feel like Chihiro is extremely influentiable. He has a lot of moral opinions inside his head, but can only use one at a time. And the one he holds changes easily depending on the most recent thing people tell him. What he's currently holding is how much he relates to Iori, so he's in it to prevent Iori from losing a father like he did Only once that's resolved that he can start thinking about his other moral opinions that conflict with this one.

When I read that I returned to the question of: what are Chihiro's morals? I finally realized the answer that Chihiro is practicing what we call moral relativism. If we dig in a little deeper we can see some of the ethics and morality that Kagurabachi is exploring in the story as a whole.

LETS TALK ABOUT ETHNICS

Moral philosophy is defined by the oxford dictionary as "sign up to pay a $9.99 subscription in order to read the rest of this article."

Moral philosophy is the study of morals. What people do, how should they act, what principles should guide their lives. Which started out all the way back with Plato who argued for the "form of the Good." Plato was theorizing on where higher-minded ideas like "justice" comes from and his conclusion is that these ideas exist as "Forms", perfect, eternal, and changeless concept existing outside of space and time.

Plato asserts that goodness is a force outside of us, that pushes us to strive towards things like justice. His argument essentially that good is inherent, that people possess the spirit of good inside of them and that drives them to seek out good.

This is what you would refer to as moral absolutes. That morals exist outside of us and they are absolute rules we should follow. "Goodness" isn't just an idea, it's a force which compels us to do good.

Rules like "Don't kill people" are absolute. They don't exist because someone wrote down in a law that it was bad to kill people, but because the moral principle of "don't kill people" is universal and should be followed by everyone.

The question is if these moral principles are absolutes then where do they come from? Plato put forward the idea of an objective moral order linked to a transcendent reality, while Aristotle believed that morality came from objectivity and human nature.

Under Christian doctrine morals are also absolute and there is an idea of good which we all strive for, but the reason those morals are absolute is because they are given to us by god. "Don't kill people" becomes "Thou must not Kill."

The opposite of moral absolutism that morals exist as a set of rigid principles that exist outside of us, is moral relativism. Moral relativists assert that there are not "objective" morals, usually following two basic principles.

1.  Moral judgments are true or false and actions are right or wrong only relative to some particular standpoint (usually the moral framework of a specific community). 2.  No standpoint can be proved objectively superior to any other. [SOURCE].

If I say "killing people is wrong no matter what the situation because human life has inherent value", I'm arguing for moral absolutism. If you rebuttal with "Chihiro was killing human traffickers, who if they had lived would have created more victims" that is an argument for moral relativism.

To dive deeper into moral relativism though, let's explore one of the biggest critics of moral philosophy.

In Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to the Philosophy of the Future, Nietzsche rejected the works of all of the moral philosophers that had come before him, especially to Plato who argued for that "form of goodness." He took a special offense to the idea that good and evil and in the first place. Nietzsche suggested the modern man and the modern philosopher needed to reject good and morality entirely.

"Let us not be ungrateful toward it, althought it must certainly be admitted that the worst, most drawn-out, and most dangerous of errors hitherto has been a dogmatist error- namely, Plato's invention of the Pure Spirit and the Good as such. But now that it has been overcome, when Europe, rid of this nightmare, can again breathe freely and at least enjoy a healthier sleep - we, whose duty is wakefulness itself, are the heirs of all strength which the struggle against this error has fostered. turning the truth on its head and denying perspectivism itself, the fundamental condition of life, to speak of the Spirit and the Good as Plato of spoke.

Nietzsche's took particular umbrage with the idea that good is fundamental and innate. That these are not concepts just made up, but they just exist... somewhere.

"Here we need to learn to think differently, as we have learned to think differently about heredity and "innateness."

In Nietzsche's viewpoint humans aren't rational creatures striving towards some objective good, but rather they are extremely subjective, and all of them fallible to their own personal biases. People aren't driven by the spirit of good, they are driven by emotions and instincts, and their own personal values.

"Conversely, in the philosopher there is absolutely nothing impersonal; and expecially his morality furnishes a decided and decisive testimony as to who he is - that is to say, in what order the innermost drives of his nature relate to others.'

One of these most important drives is what Nietzsche labeled "the drive to power", but it could also be translated as the "drive to agency".

"A living being seeks above all else to discharge its strength - life itself is will to power - self-preservation is only one of the indirect and most frequent results thereof."

A lot of the material covered in this book is a criticism of christian doctrine, which puts forth that we must follow these absolute morals because they are imposed on us by god. Nietzsche pointed out and rightly so that for a large chunk of european history, a peasant class has been ruled over tightly by an aristotcratic class, one that is supported by the church.

His explanation for why the peasants never rebelled against the aristocrats and why this structure remained in place is that christianity wishing to keep the lower class complacent began espousing morals about "turning the other cheek" and "the meek should inherit the earth". Suffering under the boot heel of the rich and not fighting back became a moral virtue. In Nietzsche's mind the church has hoodwinked the general population into believing that instead of rising to power they should remain powerless and suffering in this lifetime, for the reward of happiness in some theoretical afterlife.

"From the beginning, Christian faith is a sacrifice: sacrifice of all freedom, all pride, all self-confidence of spirit; at the same time it is enslavement, self-mockery, and self-mutilation."

I'm not going to go into religious philosophy, but I do think these are important questions to ask. Why does the church tell us we shouldn't envy our neighbor? Why does the church tell us we should not desire for more than we have?

You could apply this very easily to the modern day. Several christians say that trans people are immoral, because god says there are only two genders and these two genders are absolutes there is no wiggle room. Not only is being transgender immoral, but also they have the right to create laws regulating what people do to their own bodies. Governments have to make laws violating people's personal autonomy like this for the greater good? But, for who's greater good is this?

Nietzsche's describes the origin of christian morals as master and slave morality herren- und sklavenmoral. Master and Slave morality has some negative connotations so let's try to explain this using memes instead.

[Source]

Nietzsche's assertion was that the chads of the world don't listen to the church and the people in power telling them that suffering is righteous, that they should fast, and stay impoverished. That they should not make a morality of suffering like it is some kind of virtue.

"It cannot be helped: we must mercilessly call to account and bring justice he sentiments of surrender, the sacrifice for one's neighbor, and all self-renunciation-morality ... There is far too much magic and molasses in these sentiments "for others" and "not for myself" for us to not have to be doubly distrustful...

The chads of the world are out there employing chad morality. They are goated enough to invent their own morals, to think for themselves, and assert their own power. Not only is the nietzschian viewpoint that morality is relative, but also that a free thinker must create their own morals.

Which is where we finally tie this back into the manga, is Chihiro as a character following Nietzschian principles? Is he employing Chad morality to become a truly goated individual?

Has he taken the steps beyond good and evil?

Well, to start with you would have to ask what Chihiro's morals are which is a hard question to answer because they are not consistent. Early on he states that the swords are to: defeat evil and protect the weak. He definitely believes that evil exists.

However, he doesn't view them as absolutes. He admits himself that murder his horrible, that killing people makes him a monster and therefore evil, but he also believes that this evil is killing others can be done to commit good.

There's a pretty obvious contradiction in Chihiro's ideals. He is simultaenously both a killer, but also a hero protecting others. He maintains that same paradoxical view of his father and the other sword-bearers, they are responsible for the deaths of countless people but they are still: "heroes." Chihiro may be going to hell for everyone he has killed, but there's still a nobility to what he is doing.

The idea of going to hell and being punished for his evil means he knows on some level murder is horrible and he'll eventually face punishment for it, but he is going to do it anyway even if he goes to hell?

Is there a paradox to this statement? How can one be a hero and a murderer at the same time? For Nietzsche there isn't. Nietzsche would argue that following christianity's ideas of meekness and turning the other cheek you can never be a hero, and the only way to be a hero is to transgress.

That the only people truly capable of being heroic are not those who passively turn the other cheek, but those who have the strength to to fight back and assert themselves.

"A man who seeks to achieve goathood, looks upon every one whom he encounters on his way either as a means of advance or a delay and hindrance - or as a temporary resting-place. His characteristic, lofty kindness to his fellow-men is only possible once he has reached the height from which he rules."

So, let's touch briefly upon Chihiro's choices again. Chihiro's father is murdered and he is left alive with a scar, and all the blades his father made to end the war are stolen by criminals except for one. Chihiro could have gone into witness protection like Iori and lived a normal life. You could see that in one of two ways, Chihiro is deciding to be above revenge and trying not to continue the cycle of harm. Or you could see it as Chihiro passively accepting all of the harm that's done to him, shutting up and taking it instead of choosing to fight back against the evil done to him.

Chihiro has a second choice which is assert his will-to-power, and evolve into Chadhiro someone who has the power to fight for what he believes is moral.

A man who says: "I like that, I take it as my own. nd will guard and protect it from everyone", a man who can conduct a case, carry out a resolution, remain true to an idea, keep hold of a woman, punish and overthrow insolence, a man who has his indignation and his sword, and to whom the weak, the suffering, the oppressed and even the animals willingly submit and naturally belong; in short, a man who is a master by nature- when such a man has sympathy well! That sympathy has value.

Because Chihiro embraced Chad morality and became the Chadhiro, he gained the power and strength to help people, people who would not have been helped if he did not decide to become an avenger.

So you may ask in the first chapter what does it matter that Chihiro did not quibble over slaughtering human traffickers in the first chapter? He was using his power to do what he thought was right, killing criminals in order to prevent them from selling any more human beings in the future.

Then I would ask: Who gets to decide whether they deserve to live or die?

The Nietzschian response is Chihiro does. Chihiro decides his own morals for himself, and has the power to assert them over others. In fact if he didn't, he would be completely ineffectual. If Chihiro passively turned the other cheek and forgave his enemies, then he would not have the power to help anyone.

Is there something wrong with this? As we see in the story, Chihiro is very principled, he hates unnecessary killing, he has sympathy for people like Hakuri and Iori and won't sacrifice them for the greater good.

He's even capable of putting aside his revenge if it means saving people like Hakuri and Iori. If all morality is relative, then isn't Chihiro just doing what everyone does, deciding for himself in the moment what is moral and what is not?

Even in opposing Samura's decision to disarm the nukes that could potentially blow up the country at some point in the future Chihiro is raising an interesting point, is it fair that an orphan like Iori has to lose her father because of a danger he might represent? Is it alright to trample over an orphaned little girl and take her father away?

If Chihiro has the power to protect the people he wants to protect, to punish the people he sees doing evil and harming innocents, then what is wrong with him asserting this power even if it means killing people?

Is the option to choose to passively suffer somehow more noble?

"It has the same effect on them as Epicurean philosophy on the sufferers of higher order by refreshing, refining and effectively using suffering and finally even sanctifying and justifying it. There is perhaps nothing so admirable in Christianity and Budhism as the art of teaching even the lowest to elevate themselves by a piety to a higher, illusory order of things and thereby keep themselves satisfied with the actual world in which they live in great hardship - but precisely this hardship is necessary!"

Well alright, it seems like we've got this figured out. Chihiro is someone we can trust, because he creates his own morals and he has freed himself from the biases society's morals. We can trust he will do good, because he has the strength to always think for himself and follow his own morals and he doesn't submit to anyone else. Chihiro would never submit to anyone else's morals, and he would especially never join a shady government organization that was totally cool with doing nothing when humans were being sold on an auction block in the auction arc.

Oh, wait hang on a second.

DR. STRANGELOVE: OR HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE BOMB

The flaw with moral relativism is that it is at best incoherent and vague. Let's take the nietzschian argument, if there are special people in this world who have the right to transgress over other people in order to achieve great things, like the way Chihiro has murdered so many in order to achieve his revenge then how do you distinguish that type of special person from a normal person.

"They begin executing other people?" "If it's necessary; indeed, for the most part they do. Your remark is very witty." "Thank you. But tell me this: how do you distinguish those extraordinary people from the ordinary ones? Are there signs at their birth? I feel there ought to be more exactitude, more external definition. Excuse the natural anxiety of a practical law-abiding citizen, but couldn't they adopt a special uniform, for instance, couldn't they wear something, be branded in some way? For you know if confusion arises and a member of one category imagines that he belongs to the other, begins to 'eliminate obstacles' as you so happily expressed..." Crime and Punishment

This quotation is taken from Crime and Punishment where the main character Raskolnikov is discussing with a detective his theory that certain people have the inherent right to remove obstacles out of their way in order to achieve greatness. The detective's counter argument is the obvious: Well, what makes them so great exactly?

Well, from Nietzsche's perspective there are in our society members descended from an ancient Aryan race... wait, what?

"Was Nietzsche Woke?" Philosophytube

Nietzsche died in 1900, but fascists loved using his ideas as justification for their actions, especially Hitler and Mussolini. Does that make Nietzsche specifically responsible for it, well not really because he's dead.

Instead of discussing whether Nietzsche's ideas are inherently fascist which I think is a boring discussion, I am going to touch why fascists find these concepts of moral relativism and nietzsche's rejection of morality so applicable to their won ideas and the answer is that it's vague. If your entire belief system is just "everything is relative" then you're not really operating under any kind of consistent rules.

Trying to string together a consistent ideology from Nietzsche's writings is hard because so many of its writings contradict itself, that his message becomes very vague. Trying to describe what moral relativists believe is like trying to describe post-modernism or porn to other people, I don't know how to describe it but I know it when I see it.

I talked about how earlier that if you reject the notion that "Thou must not kill", then Chihiro has every right to assert his power over the human traffickers and kill them in order to punish them. Yet, if as Nietzsche argues that the "drive to power" exists within everyone then what about the human traffickers? Don't they have the same "drive to power" and right to assert their power over other people, in this case by kidnapping humans and selling them in order to make money? If there are no objective morals, then slavery isn't objectively evil either. Neither Chihiro or the Human Traffickers are good or evil, they are just both asserting their power. Then Chihiro isn't the moral victor, he's just STRONGER than them.

"All morals are relative" is in itself, paradoxically, a moral absolute. As much as Nietzsche challenges us confront our own biases and challenge what society taught us to think for ourselves, there's also no such thing as an unbiased person. If you read Nietzsche's work, a lot of what he says is also parroting pretty common attitudes of Jewish people at the time in germany.

Chihiro is definitely not unbiased either, he is extremely biased by his hero worship towards his father. So far we have seen him completely sidestep the greatest moral dilemna of this entire manga.

When Oppenheimer was released, a lot of Japanese people protested the movie, especially the decision to focus on the man who made the bomb instead of the over 200,000 victims that the bomb created.

The swords are nukes. They are explicitly nukes. They were dropped on an island nation and wiped out the entirety of the population in order to end a war. Nothing short of godzilla crawling out of the water to attack Chihiro could make them more obviously a metaphor for nukes. 200,000 is around the estimated number of dead at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

The enemy had surrendered, a peace treaty was signed to preserve the civilians of the island, and then one of the five swordsmen decided that was not good enough and killed 200,000 people in an instant.

Who's fault was this?

Well, one obvious one is the guy who made the nukes in the first place. If that weapon had never been placed in the hand of the fifth swordsmen, then he never would have had the means to kill an island full of 200,000 people.

The justification that the Kamunabi give is that they needed the magical swords in order to fight off the invaders, and if they didn't have those swords the number of casualties would be much higher.

I am an American and this is the exact same justification I have heard over and over again for Nagasaki and Hiroshima. "Well, the japanese never surrender so way more people would have died in a land invasion if we didn't drop the bombs."

The underlying point though is that if you decide who gets to do what based upon who has the power to do it, then that very quickly slides into fascism. Why did the last swordsman decide that he had the right to kill 200,000 people because someone gave him the power to. He used his power to do what he believed was right even if it means stepping on other people, and eliminate his enemy.

Is Chihiro killing criminals the same thing as killing an entire island's worth of people? Not necessarily, but in principle Chihiro is killing people because he believes he has the right for himself to decide who lives and who dies, and the way he asserts that right is by power.

Am I being reactionary by saying that Chihiro's philosophy that he is entitled to revenge resembles fascist ideology and can spiral out of control into fascist ideology? Well, maybe - but objectively right now Chihiro is working for a government that committed a genocide against a nation of 200,000 people that they had signed a peace treaty with and then covered up the fact that they committed that genocide in the first place.

It's also very easy to fall right down that slippery slope. Fascism is very appealing to people who are feel they have been injured or victimized by something, and want the power to take vengeance against that vague something.

Chihiro would not kill civilians right now, he draws the line very clearly and will even give his life to protect civilians but it is also true that Chihiro is not unbiased and his morals are very bendy.

As I said above, Chihiro says he that he will do anything to protect innocent people, but if that's the case then shouldn't he be in support of killing Samura and disarming the nukes even if it means all the swordwielders have to die?

He is making a personal judgement that Iori is more important than the potential deaths of hundreds of thousands of innocent people, not based off of any ethical principle but because his dad died and he relates to Iori and she also loved her father.

Chihiro's morals are not consistent and well-thought out, and that is dangerous because Chihiro doesn't really submit to anyone's authority other than his own and he definitely does not follow due process. We as the reader have to trust Chihiro's judgements that he is a moral person, but Chihiro is biased.

Chihiro is currently working for the government organization that decided to cover up their mistake in killing an island full of people, use the heroes as propaganda and brand the island dwellers as inhuman savages, and then not disarm the nukes.

Why didn't they disarm the nukes? Is it because the government thought it was unfair to kill the four other heroes for the actions of one of the swordwielders and that they didn't deserve to be punished for rewarding their country? Or is it because of the much more likely reason that they didn't want to give up the magical swords that could completely wipe out an enemy army if they ever needed to use them for self-defense again?

For example, if the Kamunabi had done the opposite then what then? What if the Kamunabi had arrested Chihiro's father in front of his son, dragged him into court, gave him a fair trial and then decided to hang him for his crimes against humanity in his decision to build the bomb I mean the swords.

If that had happened would Chihiro have accepted the decision, or would we be reading an entirely different manga where Chihiro was fighting against the government in order to avenge his father?

That's a hard question to answer, because Chihiro's morals are so vague and easy to influence. Hopefully Chihiro will figure it out for himself over the course of the story, because as badass as Chihiro saying that he'll choose to face god and walk backwards into hell in order to get his revenge I think it would be much better if he found some other reason to live for revenge by the end of the story.

[titvs-androgynous]

If I may add to this, I think that (and please hear me out) even the "solavellan" ending suggests that both Solas and the Inquisitor are a thing of the past and it is time for them to move on and make space. Ten years ago they were important, yes, they were the heroes and the fate of the world relied on them. Times have changed though, and new heroes came to save the day. Such is life.

Maybe it's just my personal view because I have also moved on from my Inquisitor - I played Inquisition about 4 years ago which isn't long, but enough for me to play other games, experience other stories, and change as a person. When I played Veilguard I still cared about my Inquisitor and I was happy to see her get the ending I think she'd like, but the actual in-game story was about Rook - a different person from a different time, saving a different world under different circumstances.

I have to say at first it made me feel confused - why did I "only" feel happy but didn't go "positively feral" when one of my first cRPG characters, whom I still remember fondly, got a conclusion to her story? And why did I shriek with joy when my Rook planned his life of adventure with Davrin? Because Veilguard made me care about its characters and the cameos were just that - cameos, polite nods to the past, as they should be.

I think the main problem is that people are afraid to move on.

Veilguard is about how time has passed and you can't go back to the past. The language has changed with young people, weapons have changed while Emmrich still uses a staff, conflicts of ten years ago are just a memory. People have moved on. The world has moved on. Some bastard is trying to bring back the past because he hates this new world. People aren't going to bring up the Tranquil unprompted on the streets because chances are that the practice is completely dead.

And the fandom's reaction to Veilguard is poetic in that regard. It is really like that guy who didn't realize the war was over.

[dontevenpmodarlin]

Hi so since all of the Willtresor- or candle if you may- episodes are out there for the free readers, I’d like to talk about my favorite yet aspect of their relationship, which makes me kick my feet so hard that Duke would’ve been out of the wall quicker with the intense force of my bare dawgs than if Lenore had a bulldozer spectre or if Pluto came in swinging on a wrecking ball.

And the muse behind my feets adhd is the aspect of honesty that Candle has for one another.

And now you guys may be like “Whatttttt? But OP, this is toxic yaoi, Monty’s manipulating Will.”

But shush my huzz, let daddy explain.

Montresor in many occasions is shown to plainly manipulate Will the same ways he does with Ada.

And now one may think that, yes, not holding Will accountable for his actions is bad, because no matter what Montresor says, he isn’t really forcing Will to do anything at the end of the day. That’s true.

He sure as hell emotionally manipulates him, like in the cemetery scene where he tells him “Well!? What’ll it be, pal? Hightail it like a wimp, or die standing up?”

It hardly matters if Montresor believes in that statement or not, or in which cases he thinks it applies and so on. He knows what he’s doing.

But at the end of the day he is never forcing Will do pick what Will picks to do. The choice is always Wills, so yes, trying to take the fault from Will would be counterproductive for him because regret is the only way to atonement or forgiveness or whatever your aim is, and rationalizing why his actions are okay is denying him what he actually deserves, which is the honest consequences- emotional or physical.

But rationalizing and trying to understand are like two diff things that get mixed up I fear ig?

Now yes, of course we agree on the fact that Will’s perception of the world and relationship with himself is what traps him in this relationship and situation and forces him to take choices that may finally lead him to define him as a person- which is after-all what bro is out here looking for even before he dropped dead.

He wants to matter, and the issue with Montresor aligning with what Will understands as mattering and being important is the thing that derails him. But that’s still on him, and I’m not saying that he should blame himself for understanding the world wrong, because both he and Monty are basing their understanding the same way we all are in many cases, which is sadly with the flawed conclusions we got from bad experiences.

Because the experiences themselves were bad in that matter- or Well, they surly were with Monty, - and the understanding that he has created on them was purely self defending I think? Which doesn’t mean that he isn’t selfish or bad, because he literally is, it just doesn’t erase the other stuff.

But since they both are basing their actions on faulty understanding of their experiences in the world, it is given that their actions will be flawed.

So Will choosing Monty’s ways and morals over what he clearly feels is and isn’t right (as we can see on his facial expressions and even in words) makes sense for him, but yuh it doesn’t excuse him.

He is being manipulated, and the action itself is not good- people like to say that “There’s no good or bad, there’s just an experience.” Or “There’s no bad decisions, there’s just lessons.” Which are appealing but gravely wrong at the end of the day.

Thinking of stuff to just be lessons is bad because it takes you out of the state of regret, which disallows you to register the mistake etc and if you think that bad decisions doesn’t exist then you can’t even feel remorseful because you rationalize your way out of the natural feelings of making a mistake and don’t allow yourself to get the forgiveness for it or just make it as right as you can.

(Which isn’t to say to like drown in guilt, that’s an extreme the same way like thinking everything is neutral)

So, like, yes! Their actions are wrong asf! Annabel’s and Lenore’s and Ada’s are as-well!

I think it’s just plainly obvious who is more gone in terms of being a bad person. Because their actions do define them at the end of the day. So we could fx talk about Ada’s clear regrets in situations, and how that is a good sign and thing for her, but at the end of the day she and Will maybe-unknowingly are using Monty too.

They’re all using one another in different ways, and it’s worse to us to see Ada and Will be used because they’re not that far gone with fx feeling guilty in the Duke wall scene, whereas Montresor is living his life and Annabel tries to figure out if this late night escapades will affect the curves of her curls.

Either way what I’m leading up to with allat is that the fact that Montresor is manipulating and using Will is not defying that he is also honest with him. And I mean in an ‘abnormal’ for him way.

(And I’ll also talk about his honesty with Ada and Annabel, and why it differs from the one he has with Will.)

Let’s start with the basic situation where Will is held on a gunpoint by a freshly out of a one? two? years long situation-ship lesbian, and Montresor offers him advice on personal hygiene & God on a random morning before breakfast.

Now Bro realized that LeNo was there and such, but he didn’t have to stop and mention his personal opinions to Will. And yes, he likes to boast abt his world views as we’ve seen in the graveyard scene with Eula being the victim of Yee Yappatron Haw, but this situation differs a bit?

Let’s quickly go over it.

Your eyes do not deceive you, my fellow sigma, Montresor stops and turns around, just to throw Will one of his ‘golden’ quotes that he’d put on MySpace if he could.

But why is it that he decides to stop and do that? Maybe it is simply that he feels so strongly about church and religion, but then he wouldn’t do this if he did, right?

He at first here isn’t mansplaining Will why he shouldn’t do whatever he does, so maybe I’m delusional for thinking that, but the head flick seems to be one of sort of affection, and then him stopping to tell Will the thing is coming out as a double meaning from him trying to lowkey calm Will down or encourage and challange him?

I’ve alr explained what it may say about Monty’s beliefs what he’s saying to Will there in an earlier post so we won’t go over that here. But that last part of “We’ll see, partner.” Might just be him planning out loud in secret to himself as in “Ye you think idk shit abt that lesbian in ur room so you don’t think ill save you, and what will you do with my advice then?”

But it’s an honest advice at the end of the day? If it’s good, well, in this situation for Will growing a backbone is a fair idea and interpretation overall and such, and from Monty’s perspective it’s a honest advice too. It’s something that he has based a lot of his decisions on, I believe.

So why tf would he tell Will that? If he either way was coming to save him? he does not need to tell him that.

So if he’s sharing something he deeply believes in with Will, is this to motivate Will into being what Monty would think of as “better” ?

Why would bro need to do allat if he just needs Will to manipulate him around. That may be the thought process and his goal, but it doesn’t mean that this action was purely done out of nowhere or just to flex Monty’s beliefs on us, I think.

And then Will promising Monty to do his best, and Monty mocking him with “That’s your best!?” & “Shit, Will. Some backbone” may theorize that he said allat because he knew that Will wouldn’t actually make it and understand what he said, and so to just make fun of him.

But that’s lowkey like boring? I think that if we see this as, yes, maybe Montresor did hardly expect Will to ‘succeed’ (in his understanding) in this situation, but still offered him an advice for some reason, would make this much more interesting about his character.

I mean we saw him fighting off all those dogs.

Buuuuut reversing without that little reverse mirror we have in cars swiftly back to the ‘honesty’ I mentioned him having with Annabel and Ada, I appear not to be crashing. Which thanks Holy Samantha, because I have no insurance on my opinions.

Nah ok but the honesty he is giving Ada is the kind that is mixed with lies leading to his advantage.

I talked abt this in the earlier post where I analyzed him, where I believed that he is using this method of lying and mixing it with truth the way his mother did.

So for the instance, when Ada has her valid crash out caused by Prospero’s valid crash out, he finds her and tells her that she is pretty. Now I doubt that he lied abt it bcus he called her sugar way at the beginning and I believe that the authors of the comic mentioned that their relationship- or rather his interest in her was supposed to be foreshadowed (tho that’s sadly hard to see when he tells her and her ginger gf to bark) but I believe it’s there nevertheless.

So he used a truth of him thinking she’s pretty, and maybe his note of Prospero being lucky to be alive was true indeed, but his action of telling her that comes out of a place of getting her under control. So he may be using honesty here but only for his gain.

With Annabel Lee he’s forced into it. Since bleeding out on the stairs, as hot as it may be, is hardly a worthy death, and bro alr got hit by a train so he now has some minimal standards to uphold.

But with Will and their dogs, he has nothing to gain from it. Sure, someone could object and remind of the fact that now that Montresor may highly be of belief that Ada is dead, or is on her way to be dead, he can’t possibly put himself at a disadvantage of loosing another one of his loyal meowlings, and it would be a fair thing if his own words wouldn’t go against that idea.

Bro fucked up if he wanted to uphold that illusion- but before we get to that quickly I want to include the other moment of random honesty? Which is more muddled than the staircase one but still interesting.

Now he may usually not bother, but he does plainly tell Will that he’s a bootlicker in the classroom ProAda fake relationship, strangers to strangers 1 day breakup scene, but there he does it in a haha way. Here he is angry at Eulalie and others for the lack of the attention on him, and then his pain as he hits himself, and it goes out on Will because he offers him help.

And ig in Monty’s understanding needing help means you’re weak, so Will offering it is offending.

Then he gets mad at Will for being scared and flinching, and that’s just imo the whole thing abt hating Will’s weakness because he sees the younger version himself in him.

Will reassures him that he ofc isn’t and that they’re besties, toe holding and shoplifting at the same time for ever typa shit, and that causes Monty to say the whole thing.

So, Will says “We’re best friends”

And Montresor’s bare angry understanding and logic leads him to tell Will that if that’s true then he needs to do him a favor, and stop licking his boots.

Because honestly, in Monty’s eyes how could he ever have a bff that is a bootlicker? I mean maybe he doesn’t even believe in bffs 👯 but overall I think he’s saying here, oh if you believe that, then here’s what I believe for it to be true.

Will doesn’t get the memo and apologizes and Montresor keeps being mean bcus he thinks he’s in the right and gotta take his anger on smth aswell.

Eula has her whole ‘Stop bullying” middle school talk, because her child labor slavery in life had a safe space rule to speak up about one’s feelings since they required total honesty in order to summon ghosts and let them take over the poor and vulnerable young and moldable children souls, so Eula could chitchat with the dead.

So ig she bringing her working environment regulations with her to after death fits.

Either way her too womanly woman way of womaning isn’t appealing to Will because he’s gay and also because even if it may sound true and reasonable and just be the truth, it doesn’t fit into the other stuff that he believes or want to believe to be truth.

Monty loves the attention so he’s living his dead after life, and tells Will that he got himself an admirer. Now idk tf he is thinking, if he fr thinks that someone standing up for someone else means they must like the other person in some way or if he plainly is thinking her stupid and just uses her words to make fun of the situation.

Either way he wraps her words into bs

I mean the expression on his face there really tells us everything lowkey. Bro really tryna appear as a helpful friend but then he hardly respects or thinks of Will as a friend there, because he just told him that to be bffs 👯 you gotta stop licking my boots, kittah. (No matter if he wants that or not) and he can’t rly take Will srsly when Will is like this.

Now idk tf to say abt his flashback other than Johnny and Sally using him as their third wheel that would give them shit they wanted. How does this reflect on his relationship with Monty? I mean yeah he has been tricked and used since when alive.

And then we got him acting for the approval of Montresor, saying stuff that he thinks Monty will like.

Does Johnny and Sally remind him of Monty or Eula’s offer of friendship. Does he mean that she doesn’t understand because he doesn’t remember how his ‘friends’ were and Monty remind him of them, or because Monty is the opposite of them? Ngl no idea either way not the point mb.

Either way he gets impaled part 2.

Which leads to their uwu yaoi meow moment that sm ppl hated on😔

Monty runs, we think of it as nothing new, Will doesn’t either, but then Monty returns and it’s shock etc.

Now he has no reason to tell Will that he did good. Like even if he lied here, then it’s not much about that. He doesn’t think that Will is beyond saving either for him to try to be nice to him and lie, which idk it would be ooc I think either way, and so he drags them both away and shields Will with his body.

Now the whole dog this is I think about him seeing his younger self and Will in the dog. It doesn’t know better may be him being sympathetic because he didn’t know better either as a child and got punished still, or for whatever reason, and then he says that he doesn’t care about nuthin or no one bcus that’s what he believes in.

But by an instinct or idk tf it’s called, moving without thinking, he kills the guy that tries to shoot the dog.

It’s clearly a choice made without thinking but just by feeling. Why he has that as a reflex? Probably protective thing, not letting someone hurt that dog because of what such a creature symbolizes to him, the same with Will.

And then he also says how stupid it is to become an outlaw this way, and we see how much this costs him, but he still doesn’t blame the dog, and takes it with him. Calls it worthless etc.

And cmon, why tf would we get a flashback of him doing that exact thing if it wasn’t connected to what’s happening rn.

Will mentions how he just contradicts himself but Montresor tells him to stfu because he doesn’t want to explain himself bcus well, fucking scissor me timbers, he wouldn’t be able to.

Then we have the iconic convo where Will confronts him and Monty basically admits that he doesn’t know why he does what he does (the honesty here?) but states that he’d be lost without him.

Now ok where here is him like trying to in-debt Will? Will tries to thank him, but Monty denies even the situation to be abt him doing anything for Will, and if he does this, he can’t rly bring it up later now, can he?

And Monty tells him too, that maybe it all wasn’t really about Will, and yeah this kinda is abt Monty. It’s about how he feels about stuff and why he makes those choices- as he admits himself that he doesn’t even understand.

He is disgusted? Or dislikes very much the idea of Will, “guess it’s just that you’re so damn pathetic. Cant seem to take care of yerself, and no one else cares to.”

He seems irritated by the thought of that in the panel

& “You’d be lost without me.”

Has a face expression of disapproval too.

The whole thing is that he really doesn’t need to share allat? He is just being honest but he isn’t getting anything of this, of saving Will rn, and yes, he is probably doing it because of the same reason that he saved that dog and it all connects to where the reflex itself came from, but then this means that he isn’t doing this rn to manipulate Will (he could surly use it later to do so, tho I doubt bcuz this feels like HIS weakness, not Wills, that he stays to save him)

So still, no matter if the reason he is cool here is coming from the fact that he can empathize because he possibly went through the same, it’s the fact that this places him in a spot where his and Wills relationship shifts kinda.

This is how he views Will. He views him as all those bad things, and thinks he decided to believe are bad, but then he can’t leave him because it reminds him of other stuff.

Bro is stuck lol.

Also as Lenore said he truly may be the only person in the whole academy to truly care abt him.

Then when Will talks abt the tombstone he also answers truthfully what he thinks.

I think that this whole convo will shift some core thing abt them, or unravel new sides of it. Because Will is being truthful because he is dying, Montresor is being honest because idk shock or just because he thinks Will so weak that he hardly does need to lie to him because he can’t do shit to him and also does not want Will to die here.

And he gets actually worries about Will as well, and when Will dies he allows himself to mourn him for a short while.

Will is lying to Monty with stuff like “I’m not afraid of you ofc” because he is so in no touch with his feelings and is desperate to believe in the idea he has of them and tries to make Monty happy.

Monty manipulates him around and doesn’t respect him and can’t because Will is also making it impossible to respect him in some ways by how he is disrespecting himself 24/7.

Now idk how this whole thing will exactly change them, but the fact that they keep having those short moments where they’re honest about how they feel or think about stuff- even if the way they think is flawed- is what may just make them super interesting!

So yeah lol ig that’s the thing I wanted to yap abt. #Candle for life. Also if anyone doesn’t agree and have some cool opinions and other povs pls tell me!

Also mb for the spelling I wrote this at four am

[celuere]

Juno has always been a rather calm person. Even in moments of urgency. She was never a person to express negative feelings through things such as yelling, screaming or even insulting. She thinks it‘s a sign a of low intellect- probably something she connects with her late Mother, Crucabena. The woman has always been stupid in her eyes.

But right now, it seemed almost impossible for her to do anything that doesn’t involve strangling her husband and her colleague as Juno was faced with the fruits of her research- a project she has been working on for the last four months- scattered across every possible surface in her laboratory. Even the two culprits were not spared. Splatters of a yellowish substance soaking the expensive fabric of Arlecchino‘s coat which she long ago took off to give it a wash in the nearby sink while Childe- was standing in a literal puddle of what used to be his friends hard work mere minutes ago.

„So. Let me make this clear. You two thought it was a great idea to touch anything in this godforsaken room?“, the scientist didn’t dare look into the ginger‘s direction. The sight alone of him standing there like a puppy in the rain pissed her off enough for her hands to twitch at her sides. As for her husband-

„I didn’t touch anything. That was all Tartaglia‘s doing.“, a curse flew over her lips as she slowly came to the realization that she might have to throw this particular piece of clothing into the garbage.

„Me?! You were going through her bookshelf yourself!“

„So you came to the enlightening conclusion to play around with the suspicious looking substances on my wife‘s table?“, he was lucky enough that Arlecchino had her back turned to the both of them or else the scowl on her face would have probably killed him. Her finest coat. Ruined like that. She will shove the bill for the replacement so far up his ass that he will be shitting out snippets even three weeks later.

And if the situation couldn’t get any worse, another glas exploded right behind Juno. Who didn’t have the chance yet to put on her labcoat so right now she could do nothing but feel the liquid soak the fabric of her new Chioriya Dress.

Juno never yelled. But this day she did. Loudly. So loud that half of the S.R.T piled up behind the door to listen to their colleague rip two Harbingers a new one for the next 15 minutes. Even switching to fontainian at some point to give her husband a one-way ticket to hell.

Rumors claimed that Arlecchino had been banned to the sofa for the next week.

And that Childe scrubbed her laboratory clean for weeks on end.

[hidefdoritos]

reflecting on life and realizing that I was actually really close to being the third in some good friends' relationship o.O

[totheidiot]

i am on episode 9 in the dn jdrama and i have come to three conclusions about the people who made this drama: 1. they ship lawlight. an unhealthy amount. lawlight is their jam, the whole drama was created to have them together. 2. they think near is really neat :D like that is their boy !! their best friend near !! 3. they are so fucking in love with teru mikami, it's embarrassing.

[darealsaltysam]

okay but why is this season of the boys such a mess. like. episodes 1 - 5 were actually pretty good (especially 4 and 5, specifically the homelander + hughie and his dad plotlines respectively in those were SO good), then ep 6 was a clusterfuck outside of butcher's stuff, and i kinda thought we were on track for something pretty okay when annie took hughie's assault seriously at the end of the episode only for it to just be brushed off this episode AND hughie gets SA'd AGAIN?????? HELLO?????

[blamebrampton]

Nobody writes more cogently on fandom than Elizabeth Minkel, and she is also always kind in the way that she approaches all the people in any discussion, which is a skill in itself.

This is an brilliant read on the impacts of AI on fanfic and on people who would write it. I would echo her conclusions: the most awkwardly written prose by a human has a sense of a real person thinking their way through an idea and how it would impact characters that no AI will ever have.

To my mind, the problems with AI fanfic are analogous to the problems with AI ‘writing’ in general. To illustrate: I’ve been deep in ceramics land for the past few years. Having not gone to art school and lacking the time to do so now, I have a lot of basic gaps in my understanding. Some of these can be filled through textbooks and courses, but some are the sorts of things you would ask a practitioner for. My ceramics friends are all very niche, so when I have questions about, say, the differences between water, brushing medium and other media as carriers for oxides, I have to turn to the net.

Very often, results that look positive in their search summation open with something like ‘Oxides are powdered minerals that have been used to add decoration and colour to ceramics for millennia. They are often used in conjunction with glazes. Glazes are carefully created mixes of colours and glass-creating elements that will melt to your ceramic in the kiln. Kilns are used to …’

It’s at this point I say fuck you Chat GPT and backbutton out of there.

If I turn to Reddit, where there are a lot of ceramics pages, I do have the horror of having to deal with Reddit, but I also get ‘So I read that I could just do a wash of iron oxide in water and then wipe it back and anyway I think I fucked it up a bit because this bit looks good but what the fuck is going on down there? sorry, I’m not explaining myself very well, but you can see in the photo there is something funky from the middle down. But I like thta bit at the top. Maybe it was because I switched from a sponge to a cloth?’

And yes that second one is rough, but I am learning things all the way through that post, while I learn nothing from the first. It’s the same with fic: you read it for the stories and you read it to learn about how people are people. The roughest fic writing will still tell you something about the person who wrote it, which is inherently interesting. The most polished AI will tell you what a computer thinks is an average way that sentence would end in an average story written by an artificially constructed average human, and it is hard to think of anything more meh than that.

I saw a real person posting on Tumblr that they wondered about using AI to run their fic through to make it better in English, which was not their first language. And I do get that: I still will sometimes throw some French through Google Translate because I am simply not sure that I am understanding it properly. But I also know that some of the most unexpectedly beautiful images I’ve ever read in fanfic came from writers who did not speak English as a first language but were writing in it and who put words together in a way that a native speaker rarely would and they delivered flashes of insight into character or place, or tinkling delights of sound that brought absolute joy to the reader. And those would all be lost with the machine making that English average.

Anyway, enough blather from me, Elizabeth is brilliant, go read her essay !

For the wonderful folks at @ellipsus-writes, I wrote a guest blog post about fanfiction and generative AI!

"Where the Wild Stories Are"

If you outsource the act of being a fan to AI, what does that leave you? Fan creators are powerful because they’re deeply participatory media consumers—they don’t passively absorb a work, but grab onto it and reshape it to their will. Large tech and entertainment corporations prefer the passive: they want us sitting there, clicking a button, as stories wash over us like the automatic scroll of a video app. Next, next, next.

On the AI forces swirling around fanfiction—but especially people using AI to generate fic. (Why?! The writing is the fun part!!)

(Also if you're unfamiliar with @ellipsus-writes, definitely check them out, especially if you're looking to get off gdocs as Google bludgeons the product to death with useless AI features. This post was editorially independent—not sponsored content—though we were very happy to do a sponsored segment for them on @fansplaining a while back. Their values strongly align with much of transformative fandom—and they even have an export-to-AO3 button!)

[narcissusinvain]

a teeny rant about dream again

look man i've been transported back to 2020, watching twitch and everything so I think i have to say something now that's bothered me since then

I'm not going to stand up and say that dream is evil (though i do severely dislike him) but the ignorance as to the power he has over other ccs, ESPECIALLY those younger such as tommy and tubbo astounds me.

friendships with a larger age gap CAN work, even online, but the way dream went about it was either cruel or fucking idiotic man. At this point, dream has said multiple times how he helped tommy out, calling with him for hours to talk stats and youtube and dream smp, helping tommy out as best as he could.

as he's said time and time again he never expected anything back from it but I just don't understand how dream could think that all this help wouldn't create a fundamental power imbalance between them - dream DID at the very least try help (from what it seems like tommys been saying, unsure how good much of this advice was) tommy out loads! of course he's going to feel grateful!! tbh i might even feel a bit guilty!!

dream could make tiny tiny remarks, little jokes (as he perceives them) about how he's 'made tommy' or literally an off-handed comment about it, and of COURSE tommy would freak out about it! of COURSE he's going to be worried that dream really is holding a grudge!! dream had a shit ton of power, so of COURSE tommy would be scared of it.

While i can play devils advocate and acknowledge that it's entirely possible that dream saying that he made tommy popular is just a joke, i will never be able to look past the fact that dream never thought to affirm tommy made himself, or that he never seemingly addressed/find ways around this major power imbalance they had!!

idk. it's either a severe lack of empathy and any semblance of critical thinking OR it's straight up manipulation.

[doodlejoltik]

my favourite writing device is having an un-Rei-liable narrator

[boyjoan]

i had this massive epiphany last night and I'm only just now remembering that it happened .

[eyes1nthewoods]

wait actually. how did that meeting lann's mom go for maercy sjsbshnsj

she completely misunderstood what ria was asking

[bikefuckersoftheworldunite]

Marco Melandri on his friendship w Vale and Vale&Sete [from Ring of Fire, by Rick Broadbent]:

“They used to go on holidays with each other. Now look at them!”