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etherealising · 10 months

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chapter two | the weight of existing

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pairings: platonic!mikey berzatto x fem!reader | carmen berzatto x fem!reader (future)

summary: you and carmy try to get to the bottom of your issues, only for carmy to sow further division between you two, leading you to share some unwelcome thoughts regarding life with mikey.

wc: 4.5k

You had been at the Berzatto family home for an hour now, and everything was in absolute chaos. You thanked your lucky stars for growing up around this family. If this had been your first time spending a holiday with them, you were sure your fight or flight alarms would be blaring right now. You had been in the kitchen with Donna ever since your and Carmy’s stifled meeting earlier in the evening.

You loved Donna, really you did, and you appreciated everything she did for you when your mom couldn’t. But if you knew anything by being an honorary member of the Berzatto family, you knew that being in the kitchen with Donna during the holidays wasn’t the most pleasant of places to be. And you saw your perfect escape when Carmy entered the kitchen, removing Donna’s attention from you and the conversation about how the world of journalism was treating you since you last came home in November.

Your eyes caught Carmy’s as he was swept into his mom’s explanations about what needed to go in the oven and when. You flashed a smile nodding as a sign of encouragement, you were rewarded with a small twitch of his lips before you disappeared into the hallway intending to take a lap around the house and greet the other guests scattered around the house.

The body leaning against the kitchen wall, seemingly trying to become one with the wallpaper caught your attention. Upon further inspection, you realized it was Natalie, a face you were more than happy to see after being in the same house together for over an hour. You gently brushed your hand across her shoulder doing your best not to startle her, her head shot up worry inked in her blue eyes, a deep breath leaving her as she took in whose presence was invading her space.

“Hey Baby,” The slight uptick of her lips showed you just how exhausted she already was, her eyes searching yours for any answers regarding the constant worries shooting through her mind. “How’ve you been, are you alright, I know mom can be a bit much during the holidays.” You let out a small chuckle pulling the older girl into a much-needed hug for the both of you.

“Do you ever take a moment to stop worrying about everyone else and focus on yourself?” You asked her pulling back slightly to further take in her appearance. You loved Nat dearly, she was pretty much the sister you never had, but you hated how she would run herself dry trying to fix everything for everybody else.

You squeezed her hand that was still clutched in yours letting her know that she wasn’t alone and could rely on you if need be. You pushed a stray piece of hair out of her face watching as she leaned her head back against the wall taking a moment for herself. “You worry about everyone Nat, but who worries about you love?” You questioned, and she knew this was no rhetorical question, you expected a genuine answer.

Allowing Nat to take in your words you walked around to the other side of her to lean against the wall next to her, she turned her head watching you take up a similar position as she. “Are you reciting lines from a self-help book?” Your eyes met hers watching as the edges crinkled signifying the smile she now wore, you huffed letting out a chuckle and knocking your shoulder into hers.

“You’re laughing Nat, but I’m serious. And even if I did steal that line from some book, I think it applies scarily well to you Sugar.” The last words spilled from your lips in a sarcastic tone, your eyebrows raising as she rolled her eyes at the sound of her nickname bestowed upon her by her Berzatto counterparts.

“I made a mistake Baby, you chose your nickname.” Nat deadpanned

You laughed, the sound drowned out by whatever conversation everyone else in the house was having. “You tell me what teenage girl didn’t have a crush on Johnny Castle, I will forever cherish your mom for letting me watch Dirty Dancing on my 14th birthday.” You sighed dreamily watching as Natalie shook her head at your antics.

“Baby, that is such a lame excuse,” Nat laughed, turning to face you. “You literally wouldn’t answer to anything else but Baby for a whole week after your birthday. Need I remind you, you took your obsession further and dressed up for Halloween as Baby.” She laughed, her voice filled with what you realized was a reminiscent tone, “I can’t believe you suckered Mikey into dressing up as Johnny though.”

You smiled remembering back to the exact Halloween she was talking about, “Carmy’s head was too far up his ass to dress up with me.” You huffed recalling how Carmy swore up and down that he was too old to dress up anymore. “Plus I think Mikey just did it to make me feel better, that was around the time my mom was having all her health issues.” You shrugged not thinking too much about Mikey’s motivations.

You finally turned to face Natalie, your positioning mirroring hers, “What do you say we find your mom’s old photo albums and hang out with Tiff for a few.” You suggested holding your hand up as Nat was about to give you some excuse to not take a beat for herself. “Shut up Nat your moms will be fine she’s got Ratatouille in the kitchen with her and about a hundred fucking bums in the living room.” Your dig at Carmy brings a slight smile to her face.

The sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen caught your attention a mumbled “Fuck.” Meeting your ears followed by a more coherent “I don’t fucking come home to be compared to a fucking French rat.”

You shared a knowing smile with Natalie, the two of you giggling like school girls in the hallway outside of the kitchen, “I’ll grab the photo albums,” You heard Nat mumble as she walked in the direction you presumed Donna kept the family keepsakes. The minute Nat was out of your sight you let out a deep sigh, you couldn’t help the impending feeling that things were going to get a lot more hectic in the coming hours, and taking a minute to relax with Nat and catch up with Tiff was an out you were definitely looking to take advantage of. Resting your head back against the wall eyes closing as the minutes ticked by while you waited for Nat to collect you, you knew deep down that break wouldn’t be coming but holding on to the idea of a little calmness in a situation helped you fool yourself into believing everything would be alright.

“You good?” Your eyes shot open as the all too familiar voice of Carmen Berzatto filled your ears, though what should’ve alerted you to his presence was the scent of his cologne, a scent you hadn’t smelled in a very long time, yet somehow your body instinctively remembered. You looked to see him standing idly in the doorway of the kitchen, a fresh cigarette hanging from his lips. “Uh, I’m gonna get a quick smoke in, did you - I know you don’t smoke - but you look - and.” You cut his pathetic ramblings off, not quite in the mood to play finish the lyric with him.

“Yeah Carm, I’ll join you outside.” You nodded passing him by to head towards the door, being in the same vicinity as him after so long made you physically ache. And now that you had seen him and deduced that he was in good health, you couldn’t help but feel a little pissed off at the lack of contact between the two of you. No, it wasn’t even a lack of contact. Carmy dropped you like a bad habit and never looked back. As you made your way to the front porch you tried to reason with yourself that Carmy didn’t owe you anything, he didn’t owe you his friendship, or his time, no matter how long you two had known each other. If Carmen woke up one day and decided you were no longer an essential part of his life, he was well within his rights to do so, he was a grown man for crying out loud. But what you wouldn’t stand for, what your brain couldn’t allow you to accept was being cut off with no explanation, you were sure this whole situation between the two of you would’ve hurt less if he had just explained to you why you were no longer good for him.

And maybe you were lying to yourself, and the explanation would have actually made things worse, but you couldn’t change what already was. And as Carmy slowly made his way to follow you out of the house you decided today was the day you were getting answers, call it Carmy’s last-minute Christmas gift to you.

The two of you stood next to each other. A good distance between you two, Carmy respecting you enough to not smoke directly next to you. Carmy tried his hardest to not steal glimpses of you in his peripheral vision, but it was hard not to when you were standing there beside him. If times were different he might’ve reached out to touch you, to assure himself you were physically here with him. To remind himself of what once was between the two of you. What could no longer be?

“Uh-um how have you bee-”

“Why?” You interrupted him, not particularly in the mood for his avoidance tactics.

“Wha-what?” He turned to face you and you wanted to laugh, you weren’t sure if he was genuinely confused or acting incompetent so you’d be the one to apologize. You copied his stance, eyes tracing across every inch of his face, you gave in with a sigh. Carmy was never one to weaponize any incompetence he may have had, you weren’t even sure if he knew how.

“Why are you asking Carmen, do you actually care, or are you just trying to make small talk?” You watched as he removed the cigarette from between his lips, holding it in the hand furthest from you and turning his face in the opposite direction to release the nicotine-scented air from his lungs.

He ran his free hand through his hair, something that used to drive you crazy, but now standing in this moment with him you couldn’t be bothered to feed into the childhood crush your weak heart still harbored for him. “I-I care, I didn - it was never my intention to cut you off.” He said searching your eyes for any signs that you were listening to understand, and not just listening to rebuttal.

“We grew up together Carmen, if you didn’t want me in your life anymore you could’ve just told me.” You felt the telltale signs of tears welling up in your eyes, your eyes stinging as you fought hard to keep them from spilling.

“It wasn’t like that.” He scoffed his irritation becoming ever present, it wasn’t you he was irritated with, it was the fact that he knew exactly what he needed to tell you, wanted to tell you but he wouldn’t allow himself to. Carmy didn’t know how to express what was running through his mind right now without becoming a stuttering mess as his mind raced too fast for his mouth to keep up with.

You let out a sardonic laugh “That’s exactly what it felt like Carmen. I’m not gonna pretend to act like I know what your life is like right now, but the least you could do is shoot me a text letting me know you’re okay. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be consistent Carm, I jus-I care about you so much that it hurts.” You choked the words out not knowing how you could get him to understand how much his actions affected you.

“I mean, I know we went our separate ways, and I promise I’m not desperately trying to hang off you or some shit Carm, but yo-you just left me, and I was in a whole new place alone, and I felt like such a fucking fraud. And I needed you Carmen, I fucking needed you and…and the crazy part is you got every single one of my calls and texts, I fucking know you did.” You were ranting now and maybe it wasn’t fair to Carmy to drop this on him all at once, but what else were you supposed to do when you knew things would just resort to the way they’ve been once the holiday season was over and you were both back on your respective sides of the country.

“Listen, Baby, I’m sorry I kno-,”

“You promised Carmen,” The words slipped through your lips in a whisper so quiet it was almost lost to the wind. “You promised you would call me Carmen, and I know that may not have meant much to you, but it meant everything to me, you meant everything to me Carmen.” The wind had taken your voice and ran with it, Mother Nature doing her best to soothe the two broken souls before her.

Carmen closed his eyes tilting his head back to the sky, it was selfish, he knew it was the moment the thought crossed his mind, but those were the last words he wanted to ever hear from you. He took a second to try and collect the dozens of thoughts racing through his mind. Hoping to land on what he thought you wanted to hear, anything to soothe the indigestion starting to burn through his chest.

He came back to reality, eyes no longer looking in your direction, posture closed off signifying he was done with this conversation whether you agreed or not. He dropped the cigarette he had been holding the time wasted burning it down to the bud before taking a fresh one out of his pocket, cigarette lazily held between his lips as he brought his lighter up to the stick.

"He been treating you right?” He questioned head turning in your direction, but eyes never quite landing on your figure, as if he couldn’t stand to look at you.

And there it was exactly what you didn’t want to happen: Carmen's incessant need to avoid the tough conversations that he couldn’t help but make everyone else’s problem. You hastily patted your eyes to ensure any remaining tears didn’t make an appearance. “The fuck are you on about Carmen?” You snapped, having lost all desire to keep your emotions under control. No longer holding yourself back to appease whatever good nature was still between the two of you.

He gestured with his free hand back towards the house while sucking in a deep breath of tobacco and nicotine. “You and Mikey, I mea-it's just you two seemed pretty close earlier is all.” He chanced a glance in your direction, his soft blue eyes catching your stare before promptly turning away.

It took you a minute to digest what he was insinuating, a little offended that he deduced you to being Mikey’s bed warmer, all from whatever he thought he had been seeing this evening. If you were a violent person, you might’ve slapped him. You weren’t fucking Mikey and even if you were that was no longer Carmy’s business, he couldn’t just pick and choose the moments he wanted to make an appearance and provide input in your life.

You chuckled although the sound came out dry, no traces of humor to be found. You turned to Carmy and closed the distance between the two of you, snatching the cigarette from between his lips. You dropped it to the ground before stomping it out under the toe of your boot, “These things kill asshole.” You said before sauntering back towards the house, stopping a moment and turning to face him again, “And if I wanted to fuck your brother I don’t think I’d need your permission, Carmen.” With that, you entered the house leaving Carmy to stew with his thoughts and hopefully come to the conclusion that he made a bad situation even worse.

Carmy stayed outside a little while longer, he knew it was immature of him to avoid the conversation you wanted to have. He felt like a jackass for staring you in your face as he made the decision to disregard your feelings so easily. He kept telling himself he wasn’t a bad guy, a loop with those words playing in his brain as he did his best to convince himself. But what sort of fucking masochist breaks their own heart to escape the realities of a life he’ll never have. You were right, Carmen was an asshole but he knew he couldn’t continue to allow himself to want something as marvelous as love with you, he just wasn’t deserving. Not that he thought Mikey was any better of an option, but if it kept you in his life so be it.

You made your way through the house, looking for any space that you could compose yourself in, not wanting to ruin anyone else’s Christmas with your unpleasant mood. You did your best to quickly walk past the room containing the Fak Brothers and Steven. Any other time you would have sat comfortably next to Stevie as raptly intrigued as he was with the Fak family shenanigans. But in those potential instances, you also wouldn’t have been overthinking every decision you made regarding your friendship with Carmen and wondering why you were no longer good enough.

Continuing your journey through the house narrowly avoiding guests as you went, you quickly backtracked as you noticed a familiar back blankly facing the pantry. You felt bad for even letting the thought cross your mind, but you weren’t sure if Mikey was the right person to seek comfort in, especially after the accusation Carmy had just laid at your feet.

It was ridiculous actually to let something Carmy said have such an impact on you within such a short amount of type. It was even more ridiculous to allow his immaturity to overshadow the bond that had been carefully curated between you and Mikey prior to his youngest brother’s absence and now.

You let out a defeated sigh stepping slightly forward to wrap you arms around Mikey’s torso, cheek settling into the space between his shoulder blades, “Your little brother is a fucking idiot.” You murmured, voice slightly muffled by Mikey’s back.

A rough laugh escaped through Mikey’s lips as he patted your hand resting on his stomach, “Sure is when it comes to you ain’t he?” He questioned removing himself from your hold to lean his back against the pantry doorway. You followed suit standing opposite of him, the two of you now face to face.

You took in Mikey’s features, brows pinching together at the far away look in his eyes. It always amazed you that no matter if Mikey was physically in front of you, there was always a chance he was mentally somewhere else. That was the one similarity you could pick out between the two Berzatto boys, while Mikey’s charisma did a good job of hiding it, Carmen’s awkwardness put it on full display.

You reached out tugging at the sleeve of his shirt, “How are you doing Mikey?” You were genuinely curious, it's not like you were oblivious to Mikey’s many faults, the difference was you didn’t think he was a lost cause like everyone else. And as hard as it was to admit it to yourself you would never address the fact that you romanticized who Mikey was as a person. The Mikey you knew as a little girl was still the same Mikey you saw standing before you, and maybe he had a few more demons in his closet than you had been aware of back then, but it felt egregiously wrong to align your Mikey with the boogeyman everyone else made him out to be.

Mikey laughed swatting your hand away, “It's the most wonderful time of the fucking year Baby, how do you think I’m doing?” Mikey’s adversity in answering your question wasn’t lost upon you, but you knew Mikey wasn’t one to openly talk about how he was feeling. If avoidance was what you were gonna get, you knew there was no chance of this conversation going anywhere. You were 0 for 2 with the Berzatto brothers this evening it seemed.

You sighed, knocking your head against the wall you were leaning on, eyes shifting downwards as you prepared yourself for the topic you were about to bring up, “Can I ask you a question, Mikey? And can you be serious with me for one minute?” You pleaded needing someone to validate the way you had been feeling since your less-than-enlightening conversation with Carmy.

Mikey nodded eyebrows pinching together, a lick of concern tickling down his spine. Mikey knew you just as well as he knew his actual siblings. Albeit the age difference Mikey grew up right there with you, watching you grow into the person you were now, learning your mannerisms, understanding you as a person. You hadn’t asked for it but Mikey made it his mission to know you just as well as the younger Berzatto’s, if you were gonna be tossed into his eccentric family due to circumstance, he would do his best to treat you like a bonus little sister.

The slight nod of his head queuing you to reveal your query, “Do you ever feel, I don’t know, like inadequate?” You questioned scratching your nails against the material of your skirt, too consumed by the idea that Mikey would write your odd inquiry off. “Like sometimes it’s just exhausting to even fucking exist and-and there’s no rule book for this shit, but sometimes even your absolute best will never be good enough ya know? Like no matter how hard you try it doesn’t fucking matter because you’re just gonna die someday anyway?”

You chanced a glance at Mikey hoping he wouldn’t take your very real insecurities as a joke. The blank stare in his eyes greeted you by telling you a different story. Mikey was a hard person to read, and though you believed you had cracked the code to his complex soul, it was in moments like these that you knew you couldn’t be more wrong.

The sudden movement of Mikey’s hands reaching up to cup your face and jerk your head closer to him almost causes you to lose balance. “Why the fuck would you say that?” The tone in Mikey’s voice caused you to try and shrink into yourself. “This got anything to do with my shithead little brother?”

Your eyes cast downwards not prepared for the intensity in Mikey’s eyes, your lips parting to respond before abruptly being cut off by Mikey, “Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you, Baby. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” His hands redirected your gaze to his with a more gentle approach.

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling stupid for even talking like this in front of Mikey, “I’m not sure, to be honest. I talked to Carmy, and it went as well as you would guess. And I just, I don’t know, I guess I just got lost in my head. And work has been so stressful lately, I’m even considering moving back here.” You shook your head from his grip, “It's just nonsense, don’t worry about me. I think seeing Carmy after so long just made me spiral.” You offered him a small smile hoping it was as reassuring as you thought it was.

Mikey pulled you into a hug chin resting atop your head. The scene was oddly reminiscent of the hug you shared hours ago on the porch. Mikey’s hugs were like magic, a bear hug so comforting and warm, his arms made you feel safe, and protected. You felt a little selfish for constantly dumping your problems on Mikey, but he had become your closest confidant, you wish the same could be said about you from Mikey’s point of view, but you were already lucky enough that he shared what little nuggets of the inner working of his life that he did with you.

Mikey pulled back hands settling on your shoulders to get a good look at you, “Don’t let me hear you say shit like that again alright Baby?” You nodded the corner of your lips curving slightly as Mikey played the role of big brother and began scolding you. “You’re a great fucking girl alright, and don’t even worry about Carmy, you’ve got a heart of fucking gold. You’re like that motherfucker with the gold touch alright, and I need you Baby okay? I need you and that means something right, you’re fucking adequate these fuckers in this house wish they were you.”

You laughed the melodic sound filling the space between the two of you, “King Midas.”

Mikey’s hands dropped from their position on your shoulders frowning at you, “Who the fuck is that?”

“The motherfucker with the gold touch,” You joked.

“Alright, you fucking smart ass.” Mikey reached up to flick your nose, a small gesture carried on from childhood.

The two of you stood in the other’s presence for what felt like forever, no words needing to be passed between you. You and Mikey enjoy being in each other's company, using the pantry as a place of solace before returning to reality. The sound of Donna’s voice yelling about saltines and Carmy’s responding yell breaks the peaceful moment between you both. You glanced in the pantry spotting the saltines Carmy would be coming to acquire a small sigh leaving your lips. If Carmy was going to avoid a much-needed conversation, you would just avoid him. Sure it was petty but you wanted him to somehow get a taste of the suffering his lack of effort caused you.

“Well, this has been fun, but I should make myself scarce before Carmen accuses me of fucking you in the pantry of your family home.” You shot Mikey a sarcastic smile preparing to find some other hole to hide in before family dinner commenced.

“My little brother is a fucking idiot,” Mikey mumbled moving out of the way to allow you to pass by. You laughed glad that someone agreed with astute observation skills. Deciding to check on Tiff you made your way to the stairs before stopping at the landing.

“Hey.” You turned back to Mikey catching his attention for a brief moment, if the raise of his eyebrows was any conformation. “I love you brother bear.” You shot him a wink then proceeded to continue your previously decided journey.

Mikey watched your figure disappear up the stairs, a solemn smile resting on his lips. The idea that you had at one point harbored such unnerving thoughts scared him. But what scared him, even more, was he knew exactly what you were talking about

a/n: so i’m a liar : )

i fully intended for this to be the last chapter of the christmas episode but my creative juices said no. alas here is chapter 2, but mark my words the next chapter will be the end of the christmas arc because baby i’m exhausted. please shower me with feedback (constructive criticism), it really helps feed my creativity. and while i would love likes/comments/reblogs please interact with my work however you feel comfortable, my ask box is always open 💜

also also this might be a little self-indulgent idk, i have the “existing is exhausting” convo like every weak : (

i just tagged whoever commented on chapter 1, so if you didn’t want to be on the tag list sorry! but if you would like to be tagged in the next update please let me know!!

strikethrough means i was unable to tag you : (

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto angst #michael berzatto x reader #the bear fic #all i ever knew only you ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊#[aiekoy] 2 #fem reader #the bear x reader

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ang3lik · 10 months

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Harsh dom Bill kaulitz? Hope your doing well x

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ PLEASURE .

tokio hotel masterlist. ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ bill kaulitz x fem!reader

synopsis. bill’s dark orbs stared down at you as he watched the way your eyes rolled back into your head at the pleasure.

contents. marking, choking, sub/dom dynamics, degradation, slight dacryphilia, dumbification

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ bill groaned as he thrust into you sharply. dark orbs stared down at you as he watched the way your eyes rolled back into your head at the pleasure. your supple skin was bruised, marked with his hickeys that he’d sucked into your skin earlier.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ his rough hand gripped the flesh of your neck, it’d raise as you gulped in air, the pressure leaving your throat every thirty seconds as he let you breathe a little. he’s doing you’d be able to be a brat after this, to open your mouth and smart talk him.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ his pace quickened as his cock pushed deeper, his tip kissing your cervix as you tried to squeal or make some sort of noise at the feeling. any noise got caught in your throat, your voice box silent in fear he’d tell you to shut up and take it.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ your brain clouded over as his thumb on the right side of your neck rubbed just a little, soothing you. bill smirked at the hitches and incoherent babbles pushed past your lips. he couldn’t take his eyes of you, even in moments of anger, you always looked prettiest like this.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ tears trickling your eyes, mascara inking into the salty liquid as they dripped from the corners of your eyes. cheeks flushed a rosy red as blood rushed around your body. lips plump and kiss bitten, parted just a little to breathe.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ drool gathered in the pit of your tongue that grazed over your teeth, slightly lolled to the side of your mouth, looking drunk on the pleasure he was giving you, making a mess.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ you’d already cum twice, the overstimulation making you sweat and your vision blurry as his hips didn’t halt. your mind proceeded the feeling of his left hand ghosting over your hipbone, your legs tried to squirm pulling away from him slightly before he thumbed at your clit.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ a mix of a moan and a sob emanated from your mouth as you looked up at him eyes pleading, his orbs mirrored yours in mocking submission. you felt a third orgasm firing up as heat pooled in your pelvis, moans becoming louder and high pitched whines, before he really did stop, the high drifting away immediately.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ you continued to look up at him in a begging haze, all he returned was a sickly sweet smile, the hand on your throat moving up to rub at your cheek gently.

“you know this, baby, if you want something, you have to use your words,” his rusty voice reminded, taunting you as he knew you could barely utter a few words right now. “please, bill, please, need you,” you cried, his hips rocking softly, easing the pain slightly.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ he cooed at you, swiping your tears away with his thumb.

“you’re so fucked out, aren’t you baby, just a little whore that needs my cock so bad but can’t even use her words, hm?” he spoke rhetorically, only receiving a dumb hum as an answer.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ his pace continued brutally, hitting that sweet spot inside your cunt over and over again. loud moans ripping from your throat as he began to fuck you again.

taglist. @astarborntowrite @liyahsocorro @gr4veyardg1rl

#𝘢𝘯𝘨3𝘭𝘪𝘬.#bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz imagines #bill kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel smut #tokio hotel imagine #tokio hotel x reader #black!reader #latina!reader #asian!reader #plus size!reader

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artbyblastweave · 8 months

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I've never made any connections between Worm and the Captain America mythos before. Spill some ink?

Okay, so from a purely aesthetic perspective, the gimme is Miss Militia. She's the most obvious "Captain Patriotic" in the roster, she has the power of GUN, she's the only one who actively buys into the mythology of America specifically. She's a Kurdish woman occupying an aesthetic niche generally held by a rugged squinty white guy. She's an output of the melting pot narrative. She's sort of a rendering of what a grounded superhero who somehow became very aesthetically into America might look like. Not in the craven marketing-driven way of Homelander or Comedian, not in the jingoistic maniac way of USAgent or Peacemaker. She buys it in the broadly left-liberal (USamerican connotation of that term) safe, friendly, reclamative way. Why, what a great rehabilitation of the archetype!

She's also deeply, deeply afraid of rocking the boat. She's got a deepseated childhood trauma related to the bad things that happen when she puts herself in a leadership role. She goes along to get along. When she's proactive, it's usually to point a gun at Tattletale to stop her from upsetting the status quo. She sits through a lot of situations where Steve Rogers, as commonly modeled, would probably plant himself like a tree by the river of truth and go, "Hey, this is fucked up." She more or less capitulates to Undersider domination of the city, in a way that predisposes us to think of her as a voice of reason after all these total nuts that Skitter's been up against- but would Taylor "to relinquish control is a form of ego death" Hebert really be willing to leave someone in charge of the local Protectorate branch who she thought couldn't be corralled? She looks like a beacon, but doesn't- indeed, probably can't- ever truly behave like one. I mean, you can debate the on-the-spot morality of any given one of her judgement calls, that's actually one of the less exhausting Worm Morality Debates to have- but in aggregate, a person in American flag garb who actually meaningfully criticizes the paramilitary organization they're part of is not gonna survive long in that role!

So again, she's the gimme from an aesthetic standpoint. But what I don't really see a lot of discussion of is how Cauldron plays into the riff.

Captain America is institutional, but in a comically morally uncomplicated way. The serum was originally mana from heaven, granted to a living saint, conveniently divorced from any nitty-gritty sausage-making process and even-more conveniently divorced from the horrible consequences of giving the, uh, the U.S government a replicable super soldier process. And in fairness to Captain America, this is 100 percent something the overall mythos eventually patched to my satisfaction; the sausage-making process eventually revealed as prototypical government fuckery driven by human experimentation on black servicemen, the overall Marvel Setting littered with failed attempts by the U.S. Government to recreate that golden goose so they can have their fun new jackboots. (In Ultimate Marvel, this is how almost all contemporary superhumans were created, and this is a state of affairs with a body count in the millions or billions.)

Cauldron draws you in with the same noble rhetoric about greater goods, the same one-off proprietary irreplicable formula- but you don't get the luxury afterwards of representing nothing but the dream. You aren't partnering up with a plucky crank scientist with a heart of gold. You're selling your soul to an organization with an agenda. The narrative makes no bones about the fact that everything you do is fundamentally tainted by the fact you opted into an end product created through torture, kidnapping and human experimentation. You don't get to pull a Kamen Rider by going rogue or opting out or making good use of the fruit of the poisoned tree; you are owned, and everything you do has this Damocles sword hanging over your head- when are the people who bankrolled this going to come to collect?

So that's the question of "who would willingly dress like that" covered, and the question of who creates a serum like that. What about the question of who takes a serum like that? I'd argue that Eidolon is the examination of that. Pre-Cauldron David reads to me like pre-serum Steve Rogers viewed through a significantly bleaker lens. They're both sickly kids desperate to serve, rocketed to the pinnacle of human capability by an experimental procedure. But for Steve Rogers, the crisis was that he had a specific vision of the world and was frustrated by his inability to carry it out. Before the serum he picked fights over what was right and wrong and got his ass handed to him; afterwards he picked those same fights and just started winning instead. The serum neatly solved a problem he had, and to the extent that his mindset is influenced by his pre-serum experiences, it's generally constructive; a desire to protect the weak, help the helpless, an appreciation for people who stand up for what's right even when they're clearly gonna get pancaked for their trouble. So ultimately there's no dark side, downside, or underlying neurosis ascribed to his initial impulse to take that serum.

But with David, it's not a tragic case of the spirit being willing but the flesh being weak. He isn't a preternaturally-noble soul, out to represent the best elements of the American ideal- he kind of represents the inverse, a guy who's been failed at every level while utterly convinced that he's the problem. He's actively suicidal because he's a wheelchair-bound epileptic in an economically-depressed socially-backwards rural town in the 1980s, and he's spent his 18 years of life internalizing the idea that he's worse than useless unless he can somehow find a way provide value to something larger than himself. Doctor Mother finds him in the aftermath of a suicide attempt spurred by his rejection from the army- and he didn't even want to join the army specifically, necessarily, he just needed his situation to be literally anything else, and he took what he thought he could get. And then he finds himself in a position to become a superhero, so he does that, molds himself into that, subordinates himself to that, builds his entire sense of self and values around the value he can provide in that role. No grand design or sacred principles carried over through the metamorphosis. Just relief at finally, finally having something that looks like an answer to the question of what he's supposed to do.

And you know, you know that if Steve Rogers was facing down the barrel of being depowered, he'd smile and nod, he'd Cincinnatus that shit. It's happened before. But for David, the emotional trauma and self-worth issues that caused him to roll the dice on a Steve-Rogers treatment never really went away. When would it? He's been Providing Value as a ten-ton Hammer Against Evil for thirty years. No family, no social life. Certainly, no incentive on his handler's part to lance his Atlas complex. So he barrels towards atrocity in the name of remaining useful. Admittedly, this is where the comparison breaks down in a significant way; Captain America is much more of a symbol than he is an irreplicable powerhouse, so it's not catastrophic if he's taken off the board. Eidolon is so unbelievably powerful that his myopia and self-centeredness actually do align with a real problem everyone else is gonna have if he loses his powers. But in terms of the starting points- I think that Steve Rogers embodies the myth about why you'd want to join the army that badly. Eidolon is, I think, much more closely modelling why you'd actually want to join the army that badly.

#apologies for the delay in responding #worm #wildbow #parahumans #worm meta #eidolon #thoughts #meta #miss militia

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phoward89 · 26 days

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Jealous!Coryo x Reader, Odair!Ancestor x Reader.

Series Masterlist

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. That man is a walking blood red flag waving heavily in the wind! engagement (not reader), smut, infidelity, love triangle, manipulation, stalking?, gaslighting, fluff, Head Gamemaker!Coryo, District 4 Cruise Ship Heir!Odair OC. Dark!Coriolanus, Jealous!Coriolanus, Dom!Coriolanus

Chapter 4:

You just resumed chopping up the vegetables for the quick stir fry you were going to make for dinner whenever a knock sounded at your door. Oh, so Coriolanus came back for his forgotten jacket. That's good. So, without giving it much thought, you put down your knife and left the kitchen- to go into the main room and answer the door.

But when you opened the door, it wasn't your platinum blonde ex that greeted you, but your current bronze haired boyfriend. Odysseus.

“I brought you some dinner from North Italia.” He smiled, holding up a couple of cardboard boxes with the restaurant’s label on them. “It's squid ink tonnarelli and tiramisu.” Odysseus informed you with a bright smile, making his way to your kitchen. “I think you'll like it; it's what I always get when I go there.”

“I usually get the chicken parm and some cannolis, but I'm sure what you got me will be good.” You half lied. Oh, you were honest about what you always ordered from North Italia (a place that you and Coryo seemed to both order out from and attend his business dinners at), but not about how you felt about what Odysseus got you. Just the thought of eating something made of squid ink made you cringe.

Like, really? Squid ink? Food made with squid ink… You know that Odysseus is really into his District 4 roots, but isn't squid ink food a bit much.

“Hmmm…” Your boyfriend skeptically hummed.

“I was chopping up some veggies to make a stir fry with, but I guess I'll just put them up in the fridge for another day.” You told your boyfriend, following right behind him.

Upon entering the kitchen, Odysseus stopped dead in his tracks. The takeout containers fell out of his hands, due to his shock at seeing a red suit jacket and a large bouquet of red roses on your kitchen island.

Your eyes went wide as you remembered the roses and Coriolanus’ forgotten jacket that are on your kitchen island. Oh no…Odysseus saw them.

“Odysseus?” You tentatively asked, coming up next to him and placing a hand softly on his arm.

He could react one of two ways…

Either lash out on you or cry, but both would come with an accusation.

Pushing your hand off of his arm, Odysseus turned to you only to incredulously exclaim, “We've been together for over a week and you're already cheating on me!” Shaking his head, causing his bronze waves to rustle around his shoulders, he rhetorically asked, “What the hell's wrong with you, honey? I thought you were a nice girl.”

“I am a nice girl, Odysseus.” You told your boyfriend, only to quickly deny the cheating (that you finished doing not that long ago) with, “I didn't cheat. An old friend from my Academy days came over. He's a gentleman; has a thing for bringing roses, and forgot his jacket when he left.”

“You expect me to believe that, Y/N?” Odysseus bitterly scoffed. “Please, don't lie to me. We both know that you're not an Academy graduate, honey.”

That took you aback. Why would he assume that you weren't an Academy graduate?

“But-” You began, only for your boyfriend to cut you off with, “We both know what kind of people attend the Academy, Y/N. Hell, I attended it because it's for rich people, and sadly, honey, you're not rich.”

You felt a heavy, sad feeling welling up in your chest, but you pushed it down. You didn't want your new boyfriend to see you get upset from his words. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Plus you only felt comfortable enough with one man to let yourself show emotions around them. Or at least you did, before everything went down the previous month…

Trying and failing not to let your boyfriend's words get under your skin, you retorted with, “I know I'm not rich, Odysseus. I never said I was, but I was raised around rich kids despite growing up not having a pot to piss in.”

“Look, you don't need to impress me by trying to fluff up your background with Academy cred. I’m not into the social hierarchy of the Capitol, unlike my father.” Odysseus told you, clicking his tongue in a slight reprimanding manner. Crossing his arms over his firm chest, he revealed, “I like you, honey, but the fact that I can't trust you now cause of-” Waving his hand towards the red jacket and roses on the island. Refolding his arm over his chest, your boyfriend sighed, “I think we need to take a break for a few days, so I can clear my head and see how I feel about us.”

Of course, he wanted to take a break. You don't blame him one bit for that. If the roles were reversed, you'd probably want a break too.

“I think that maybe you should take a few personal self-help mental health days. Uh, 3 of them should be good.”

“What? Odysseus-”, You began, feeling that 3 personal self-help mental health days was uncalled for just because the two of you got into a fight and decided to take a small break, but Odysseus cut you off dramatically with, “I suspect you of cheating and you need to think about what you did. Plus, honey, we don't need tension in the company, you do work in the marketing department of the Odair Luxury Cruises.”

“You can't expect me to stay home because we're having a misunderstanding, Odysseus. Hell, we don't even work on the same floor.”

“I don't need any company drama, Y/N, and we're not having a misunderstanding. I caught you cheating, honey, and now I have to decide if I want to give you another chance or not; I don't need to be seeing you around my Pop's company while trying to figure out what to do with you.” Odysseus told you before exiting your apartment; leaving you alone in your kitchen entrance to stew in your thoughts.

You’re alone in the elevator, holding the large bouquet of red roses in your hand; red jacket draped over the crook of your arm, furiously rubbing away the tears that are trickling down your cheeks. Your eyes were starting to blur as you saw the floor numbers begin to reach double digits.

You had to quickly dry your eyes. You couldn't let that platinum haired ex of yours see you crying.

No.

You just wanted to give him back his jacket and roses; thank him for fucking up your new relationship too.

Suddenly, the elevator reached its destination and came to a stop. The doors opened with a loud ding, causing you to step out and into the foyer. You didn't even bother to take in the foyer’s modern decor, just made a beeline towards the penthouse door. The sooner you give Coriolanus his stuff back, the sooner you can go back to your apartment and wallow in your misery. Think of something to say when you call up your boss in the morning to take a few impromptu self-help healing days.

Coming to a stop in front of the ornate door, you scrubbed your eyes dry for a final time and let out a sigh. Balling your hand into a fist, you knocked- quickly to signal that you didn't want to wait in the foyer too long.

It felt like hours as you waited for Coriolanus to answer the door, but in reality it was only minutes.

And when you saw him leaning in the doorway, eyes taking in your upset form, you didn't hesitate to throw his forgotten jacket and roses at him while shouting at him to take his stuff back and to stay the fuck out of your life.

When Coriolanus heard the knock on his door, he was on his sofa watching the P-PANEM (Political-PANEM) channel on TV to see how he was doing since announcing his Senate run. And, sadly, he was ranked at the bottom, which pisses him off. So, your knock was actually a nice distraction from the bullshit he was listening to about himself.

And he knew it was you too. How did he know? Eh, call it lover's intuition.

It only took Coriolanus a few minutes to reach his front door and answer it.

But when he saw your red puffy eyes paired with the roses and his red jacket in your clutches, he knew that his plan worked. He just wasn't expecting it to be so soon. Wow, seems like Odair just had to see you tonight. He was expecting the big cheating breakup fight to happen in the morning or tomorrow night. But it happening so soon worked in his favor.

“Take your roses and jacket back.” You told the tall, sinewy man in front of you while throwing the stuff at him. The jacket and roses flew over his shoulder, landing on the marble floor with a loud thud. “And stay out of my fucking life, you damn bastard.”

Coriolanus figured you'd be upset about a breakup with Odysseus l, but he wasn't expecting you to order him to stay out of your life. Okay, now he wants to know what Odair said to you. What happened to make you start calling him a bastard with a hateful tone of voice.

“Baby, what happened?” The platinum blonde asked, placing his hands on your shoulders in a show of concern and sympathy.

“My boyfriend, Odysseus, came over to bring me some squid ink tonnarelli and tiramisu from his dinner meeting at North Italia, but he saw your jacket and the roses you left in my kitchen and now my life's ruined.”

“God, I hope you didn't eat the squid ink shit? That sounds like a case of botulism just ready to happen.” Coriolanus dryly jokes. On a serious note, he did think that the food sounded disgusting- but to each their own.

But hearing you say that your life's ruined did concern him. A simple breakup doesn't ruin somebody's life. So, he was getting the feeling that more than a breakup occurred.

“How is your life ruined now, Y/N?” The blonde asked, needing to know how bad he needed to punish Odysseus for making you cry; ‘ruining your life’.

“Odysseus wants to take a break for a few days and told me that since I work in the marketing department for his father's company that I have to- well he ordered me to- take a few days off for personal self-help mental health days; that Odair Luxury Cruises doesn't need any issues due to me cheating on him.”

“What? He told you that?” Coriolanus asked, not believing the bullshit manwhore Odair was pulling on you. You two didn't even work on the same department, with you being in marketing and him on the top floor playing VP.

“Yes, he did.” You confirmed with a nod.

You're a hard worker and great at your job. Coriolanus was awed that Odysseus was putting your career in jeopardy over his bruised ego. Fuck, even Coriolanus wouldn't do that. In fact, he'd do the opposite. He'd be up your ass at work, trying to work things out.

Then, the aspiring politician had a wonderful idea. Yes, yes, it was perfect. He'd surely win you back with his sudden spur of the moment idea.

“Come in, we need to talk.” Coriolanus told you, grabbing your hand in his and leading you inside of his lavish and modernly designed penthouse.

“There's nothing for us to talk about, Coriolanus.” You objected, trying to pull your hand out of Coriolanus'.

Your ex just tightened his hold on your hand while closing the door behind you. “Yes, baby, we have something very important to talk about.” You just rolled your eyes at him, prompting him to say, “You're fearful about your job, so let's talk about a new career opportunity that’ll make you 92 thousand a year.”

“And what would that be, your personal mistress?” You sarcastically scoffed.

“No.” Coriolanus shook his head, leading you around the items you threw on his floor (the maid’ll get it in the morning). “You'd be my campaign manager; my public affairs advisor.”

“What?” You asked, feeling as if the air was knocked out of you, while entering the large living room with Coriolanus.

“Well, you'd be working with me at the Citadel as my assistant, but I'd have you running my Senate campaign and PR.” He told explained, leading you over to the large white leather sofa.

“Part of your PR would be me promoting your engagement and wedding to Livia, Coriolanus. I don't know if I can do that.” You honestly told him while sitting down on the sofa.

Coriolanus sat down next to you, only to cup your chin and say in a manipulative and soft baritone, “It's a money match. And arranged between Strabo Plinth and The Cardews, nothing more. You can do PR on it because, my darling rose, I hate Livia and she hates me right back.” Tenderly stroking your jaw, he went on to assure you, “I have no feelings for her, whatsoever. But it's you that I feel rather fond of.”

Hmm…so he feels rather fond of you. Nice to know that you're on the same level as an old stuffed animal or a memory. Things that people are fond of are usually things that get forgotten or tossed to the side.

Of course, you're easily expendable. You're something that's perfect to be fond of.

You loved (you still love him, but refuse to admit it since you're moving on from him) Coriolanus, but he's just fond of you. Just your shitty luck, huh?

But, despite how you feel, the yearly salary that Coriolanus promised you was more than enough to rent your apartment and to give you a life that your mother and brother always dreamed of for you. A life where you're able to be successful. And perhaps you'll be able to find love again while attending various social events that are only exclusive to high Capitolite society.

“Fine, I'll do it. I'll take you up on your job offer.” You told him, hoping that you wouldn't regret saying yes.

“Wonderful, darling.” Coriolanus smiled widely, pearly whites on full display. He thought that he'd gotten you right where he wanted you, but he has no idea that you're just using the new career move to secure a future in Panem.

A future without him. One where you can rely on yourself and show everyone that you're perfectly capable of being successful in the dog eat dog world of Capitol City, Panem.

Plus, there won't be any work drama at the Odair company if/when you and Odysseus decide to work things out and get back together.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @tian-monique @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @dcylight-fciry

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phddyke · 3 months

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Thinking about different parts of Hazbin Hotel and the different parts of Christianity they critiqued.

For one, I saw some people say that they were surprised that Vaggie was maimed and kicked out of Heaven for sparing one singular demon child. That didn’t surprise me in the least. It’s very clearly a one strike you’re out situation, and for fundamentalists, they do believe some people deserve to die (yes, even children). If you don’t believe me, crack open the Bible. God kills plenty of children there. Furthermore, I like that Vaggie is a lesbian who was kicked out of Heaven. She’s literally a lesbian, but she was kicked out of Heaven for not obeying the rules, making one mistake—her story works on a literal and metaphorical level, and I love that. I don’t just like when it’s a metaphor for some type of discrimination, the literal should be there too. And I’m a lesbian, so I like relating to her.

For two, the moving of the goal posts in regard to Angel Dust. Adam came up with three completely random things, but clearly no one in that courtroom expected Angel Dust to do them. When he did, suddenly it’s “not everything is spelled in ink” and “why isn’t he here then.” Which is exactly what I expected them to do. If Angel Dust did somehow meet their arbitrary standard, they’d just dismiss it outright or come up with something else he didn’t do. Par for the course.

For three, the fact that Sera told Emily she needed to stop questioning things because if she did she’d end up Fallen like Lucifer. Because that is, once again, a Christian belief: that questioning things is a sin. You’re supposed to just accept it. It sounds bizarre, but it is true.

I think it was an excellent job in terms of critiquing Christianity and pointing out a lot of the flaws inherent. For people like me who were raised Catholic, the rhetoric and things the characters did were all-too-familiar. Even Sera describing the extermination as “a hard decision” was exactly what my grandfather said about his decision to not come to my wedding. (Which, yeah, thanks, asshole.)

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dontyouworrydaddy · 4 months

Text

𝓎𝑜𝓊‘𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎 ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem! Reader

summary: Simon comes home from another exhausting mission and you decide to make him forget about his work and just let himself relax.

warning: smut (MDNI! 18+), thigh riding, oral (m! receiving), breeding kink

.･:*:･ﾟ’✫,’✫’ﾟ･:*:･˙

It's been a few months since you have seen Simon (and had sex with). And today is finally the day. This night Simon is gonna return home back to you. So you woke up extra early to clean the house and do a little shopping.

You just got done with cleaning the house and showering and right now you're cooking Simon a meal. And you couldn't help but feel a little too excited to see Simon. And yes of course he is your boyfriend and it would be a little confusing if you hadn't had missed him. But you missed the feeling of him filling you with his cum. You missed how gentle he was with you but also how he could be a little mean. For example not letting you finish and tease you before he lets you finish on his cock. You just miss your sweet and huge boyfriend.

You were too deep in your thoughts that you didn't hear the door open, revealing your handsome boyfriend.

"Hello my beautiful girl." you hear the so familiar voice call out from behind you. And you could swear you were about to tear up. You turn around let the spatula fall from your hand and straight up run into his arms. You don't care about the cooking anymore. You could order take outs if the food burns off. Right now, you just want to feel your boyfriends presence and his huge and inked tattooed arms around your body. "oh baby. I missed you so so much" Simon adds. And right after this sentence you feel yourself tearing up. Simon kisses the side of your head and tightens the grip around you. He inhales your scent and oh god... how much he missed you.

"Welcome home Baby" you finally say. Simon lets out a little chuckle and changes the position so that you're facing him. "Dinner is almost ready." you say and lead him to the table, serving a homemade dinner just for him. He didn't actually mentioned it but he was about to tear up a beat when you told him you made him dinner. I mean he hadn't had those since childhood. And he's definitely gonna show you how much he appreciates this gesture of you.

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

After dinner and a little bit of catching up, you guys washed the dishes together and right now you're sitting in each others arms, watching a boring movie. The little devil you are, you get a random and devilish idea. I mean it's been so long since you both had someone touch you. And you bet Simon has missed the intimacy too.

Without thinking twice you get up from where you were lying and positioned yourself on one of his legs. Simon was a little confused and doesn't know what you're trying to do. But as soon as you put your hands under his shirt, feeling his hard and sexy abs, and start riding his leg, his confused face immediatly into a smirk. "So you also missed the sex, huh?" he asks a rhetorical question. The answer is obvious. You missed the Sex as much as you missed him. "You're no good for me, but baby I want you." you say as you lean down and start kissing him passionately.

Your motion starts speeding up and you feel his cock hardening. The kiss gets sloppy and right now you're cursing at whoever invented clothes. Because you can feel yourself getting wet through your panties.

Simon switches the position in a heartbeat and now you're caged between his arms. "Simon..." you mumble in between the sloppy kiss. His leg circling around your heating spot. "Yes love? What do you want?" he asks a question but the answer is more than obvious. You need him to fuck you. senselessly.

"Please Simon. I need you. I need you to fuck me and don't hold back." you say. In those months, you've had wild imaginations with Simon but your hand was never a help to you.

"Get on your knees first. You gotta earn in baby." he responds, his voice dark and filled with lust. And you don't waste any time. You free yourself and get on your knees. As you pull his joggers and boxers down, his already hard cock springs free. You look up at him and start working your mouth down his length. And seeing his mouth open slightly approves your work. You start sucking him off until he finishes in your mouth. And you shamelessly swallow every single drop of him while holding deep eye contact.

"Now that's a good girl. Let me fulfill all your nasty imaginations you saved in your little pretty and smart head of yours" and with that being said, he pulled you panties down and started adjusting you with his fingers first. But you are being impatient and let your hand fall on his back, leaving a little scratch. "Simon please...I can't anymore" you moan. Simon laughs at you being so desperate. "Patience baby."

After adjusting you with his large fingers, he starts slipping his cock into your tight cunt. "OH god..." you moan out. You will never get used to his cock being that's huge. And he is only halfway inside of your needs cunt. "how much I missed your tight pussy. God, those months without you were horror. I never want to go a day without your pussy around my cock, baby." he starts moving in and out of you. You feel a little tear leave you left eye due to the pleasure. The sound of the TV is quiet compared to the noises your body does when Simon's body hits yours. And he goes from gentle and slow to fast and mean. "Such a good girl for me. Taking me so good. Fuck, makes me wanna finish inside of you..." he groans as his hands hand move around your body and up to your tits. "Please do Simon. Fill me up." you say earning a small chuckle out of Simon. "I'm gonna cum" he says and you feel yourself on the edge too. "C'mon baby. Cum with me together." he says and you do as he told you. You both cum at the same time. As Simon pulls out of you, he uses his fingers to push the leaking juice back inside of you. "Tomorrow morning, you're gonna get your round 2 baby" Simon exhaustingly says as he picks you up and move to the bathroom, to clean you and himself.

Oh how much you missed these moments with him...

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awyeahitssam · 1 month

Text

Harry giggles. His limbs feel lighter than usual, almost as if bubbles are making them float a bit. He can still control them, but it's a vague, interesting sort of control. Fun.

Harry lets sleep take him. The world whirls around him in sparks of disorienting colours, and Harry watches with a broad smile. It should make him dizzy, but he feels in the middle of something fantastic—a watercolour painting come to life. It's brilliant. Elating.

It stops as suddenly as it starts. Voldemort stares at him from across a desk. "Harry Potter," he sounds almost surprised.

Harry blinks at him. He still feels light, like he is floating, but also distantly sad. "Are you okay?" he asks thoughtlessly.

Confusion masks itself behind anger. Voldemort masks everything behind anger. "Pardon?"

"I’d never felt as good as I did a moment ago," Harry confesses, drawing closer to the Dark Lord. Red eyes track him suspiciously. Harry's chest aches. "But now, looking at you… it makes me so sad."

Thoughtlessly, Harry reaches out, and Voldemort lets him. It’s how Harry knows this can’t be real. That it’s just a silly, drunken dream. Their fingers intertwine, though Voldemort’s hand remains stiff and cold in his gentle grip.

"Aren’t you lonely?" Harry wonders. "Is that yours I feel pressing in, or my own? Even without you," Harry smiles, crooked and small, brushing an irreverent thumb over his scar, "I’m sure it’d be there. People always isolate the freak."

Voldemort’s hand twitches in Harry’s, and he hums, focus dropping from red eyes to trace the long fingers with his own.

"Everybody’s frightened of you. You isolate yourself from friendship, from love, from time itself... don’t you want, Voldemort? I can feel that you do—you’re never satisfied, are you? Will it ever be enough? The world at your feet, no attachments, nobody to challenge you—is that your dream, or your nightmare?"

"You’re speaking nonsense, boy," Voldemort says, but it comes out odd. Stilted. "You presume much."

"Is it presumption when I feel you?" Harry asks genuinely, brows drawing together, hand lifting to press over his heart. Voldemort is dragged with him, pulled a bit over the desk, and Harry blinks in surprise before realizing he still has a grip on the other’s hand. He lets go slowly, and Voldemort pulls back with a scowl.

"You are drunk," the wizard snaps with disgust. "You know nothing of what Lord Voldemort feels."

Harry finds the words… annoying.

"You feel so loudly, though," he returns sharply, moving forward, sliding onto Voldemort’s desk. Ink spills over—Voldemort hisses in annoyance and the stain is gone with a thought—dreams are a magic of their own—Voldemort’s forehead is cold and smooth. Harry bears the man's mark. He presses his scarred head to the smooth. Long, clawed fingers are wrapped around his wrist. His throat.

"Right here, always pressing in," Harry continues, heedless of his position, precarious as it is. "You feel so much it hurts, Voldemort. You hate so much. You’re never just happy. And I was, am, could be. So just take some, won’t you?"

Red eyes are narrow, intent, fascinated as they dart over Harry’s face, trying to gather his meaning. "How do you propose I do that?"

"How does one normally take pleasure?" Harry wonders. Voldemort grimaces, pulling away quickly, and it takes Harry’s bubbling mind a moment to put what he said to context.

"No," he chokes on a laugh, "I’m not asking you to—to snog. To fuck. Just open yourself up. You’re so good at taking, usually, but all you’re doing is giving. Don’t you want to feel like this? Light? Thrilled?"

"You don’t even know what you sound like, do you?" The question is rhetorical. Voldemort’s hand tightens over his throat, until Harry’s breathing grows thinner. "You wish for me to let your happiness pass my Occlumency, as though you have not just slipped through yourself. As if you have no method to make Lord Voldemort feel your pleasure; as if you want to give Lord Voldemort pleasure at all."

Harry touches the hand on his neck, slowly tightening with Voldemort’s rant, and a spark lights his fingers. Voldemort’s hand spasms before it drops. Harry takes a deep breath, glaring balefully. His light-hearted air has faded.

"Perhaps I would give you pleasure so your misery would be all the worse for it," he bites out. The world is fuzzy, but no longer from alcohol. From being choked. Even in his dreams, his life is threatened by this man.

"A pretty plot," says Voldemort. There is something very condescending in his voice; he is clearly looking down on Harry. Doubting him. It’s nothing new, but it makes the sting of anger grow in him. "Very well. If you can conjure happiness as you peer into the face of your death, Harry Potter, then do. Make me feel it, if you can."

Harry’s nails bite into his palm and release. He takes a breath and lets his eyes flutter closed. He focuses.

Happiness. What does it feel like? Like floating, as he was moments ago, or like getting an anticipated hug—not his first, not all the ones he flinched away from, but a hug from Hermione when they’ve almost just died. An arm around Ron’s waist as the boy drapes one around his shoulder. Laughing, hysterical and joyous, by the fireplace. Finding his wand. Finding out he was escaping the Dursleys. Happiness is a brief thing, drenched in the shadows of his life. Happiness is contentment, even if it is a momentary thing. It is the pleasure of a perfectly prepared cuppa; from—nonono, not going there.

Harry wraps the sensations up, one by one, like he’s re-wrapping hard candy, and throws them at Voldemort. Into Voldemort. All but one—his favourite one, his happiest one. That, he grasps, and it’s actual candy in his hand, a sweet that he looks down to, and then unwraps, and he’s moving forward, intent eyes raising, and Voldemort is already gasping, a bit, at the suddenness of it all—of pleasure.

Harry’s lips curl and he pushes the candy into the slightly agape mouth of the Dark Lord a bit cruelly, shoving it deep. He pulls back quickly, before sharp teeth can gnash on his fingers, and watches on as Voldemort experiences pleasure. As Voldemort softens, and sighs, relaxation in every hard line of him, mouth sucking almost greedily around the treasure that Harry has placed within it. Now he’s drunk on it, Harry thinks, horribly pleased to see Voldemort this way.

It’s not real, but still, he hovers on Voldemort’s desk and observes the pink brushing his cheekbones with fascination. He observes the way red eyes roll back a bit, and the way a long, pale throat swallows convulsively down on a slowly dissolving candy until there is nothing left.

Lashless eyes open, dark and suddenly staring. Red barely peeks out from behind the dilation of his pupil, and Harry’s smile is a smug thing.

“There’s your pleasure,” Harry whispers to him, like a secret. “I hope you enjoyed yourself. It can only get worse from here.”

“Worse?” murmurs Voldemort, staring at Harry intently. “You think there is worse you can do, Harry, then give me that and take it back?”

Belonging, thinks Harry, quite suddenly. He’d given Voldemort his favourite thing, the thing that he had been looking for, for a very long time. Longing, and peace, and laughter, and a burgeoning happiness that had very rarely managed to emanate past its conception. He had given Voldemort, too, his desperate hope for things to get better—and then he’d made them get better—and now Voldemort had lost it all.

Suddenly, impossibly, Harry’s eyes are liquid. I’m cruel, thinks Harry, gaze falling from red. There is nothing so cruel as what he has done, and he had done it so carelessly, so happily, so smugly, because he had felt slighted. Had felt wronged by this man who had ceaselessly wronged him.

Slowly, Harry looks back up at Voldemort, who is watching his tears with an expression of keen interest.

“Has it made you sad to give your enemy your pleasure, Harry Potter?” Voldemort asks, gripping his wrist and drawing him near enough that Harry barely keeps his bottom on the desk rather than Voldemort’s lap.

“It makes me sad to treat you with such cruelty,” Harry corrects, “when I know you will never allow yourself to experience such pleasure again.”

“Would I not?” breathes Voldemort, eyes still dark instead of bright.

“You won’t,” whispers Harry. “It'd require you to trust someone. To have faith in them. And that, I know you’re incapable of, because you are a man but don’t see yourself as one, and gods do not have friends, nor equals.”

“Equals?” Voldemort’s breath brushes Harry’s brow, his stinging scar. “But what if Lord Voldemort were to draw you from the depths, Harry? Raise you from the pale mortality until you, too, are exalted? Then you may give Lord Voldemort what he so deserves; give me pleasure, Harry Potter,” Voldemort enunciates awfully. “Give me it all.”

I wrote this one of the first times I ever drank, and just expanded upon it a bit. I'm honestly really fond of finding these little things I've forgotten.

#drunk Harry #Harry/Voldemort #dream antics #dream mechanics #physical concepts #silly boys #drunken moodswings #this is kinda...#odd

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mundivagantsoul · 7 months

Text

✩ Bookshopist Moonboys✩

Part 1: Nerds, Dead Trees and Dust

Moon Knight System x Reader

A/N: Hi all! This is my first time posting my writing. I apologies for poor grammar and spelling, my only excuse is daydreaming throughout school when I was was supposed to be learning this stuff. If you have any feedback or comments please let me know, I'd love to hear from you! Hope you enjoy ♡

Warnings: mentions of violence (nature documentaries), coarse language, British lingo?

Word Count: 1K

Masterlist | Next ->

-------------------- ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ---------------------

Seated in the dim living room light with tea-steamed glasses, a certain chocolate-curled Brit scrolls aimlessly through job adverts until a particular post catches his attention

Full-time bookseller- The Old Town Bookshop

Taking a sip of his Earl Grey, Steven opens the listing, greeted with the classic rhetorical questions and enthusiasm only found in job adverts.

Love books? Are you a passionate reader who wishes to share your enthusiasm for literature with others? Come work at “The Old Town Bookshop”, where you can expand your literary knowledge and create a meaningful career with fellow book lovers!

“Living amongst books isn’t enough for you?” Marc quips from a small mirror placed deliberately on the desk's corner.

“I thought you cared about animals and the environment, and yet here you are, further supporting an industry that indoctrinates the destruction of their homes?” Jake nonchalantly adds from an adjacent mirror, oblivious to the surprised faces of his headmates.

Marc raises a brow, “Since when did you become an animal rights advocate?”

Jake shrugs, gaze subconsciously finding Viejita lazing on the lounge before returning back to Marc. “Dunno. Guess I actually pay attention when Steven puts on his nature documentaries”.

Marc mocks being insulted. “Oh I’m sorry, I just don’t find watching baby antelopes getting mauled to death entertaining”.

“Of course, you much rather maul people to death yourself”, Jake's voice mimics Marc’s, enticing a scoff from the latter.

“You’re one to talk Mr. I abuse wheelchairs and kidnap patients from psych wards and then murder them in the back of my fancy car”.

Steven interrupts the dispute before it can get out of hand.

“Bloody hell, Lads’ shut it! Look, if I’m being honest, I’m not gonna take animal ethics from either of you carnivores”, then adding, “And need I remind you two, you’re the reason we’re in this dire situation”.

It’s true, between Marc, Jake and Khonshu’s shenanigans, they’d managed to lose their only legal job, and unfortunately, being an ancient Egyptian deity’s ‘fist of vengeance’ doesn’t pay well.

Marc begins to grasp at any logic that means they don’t have to work amongst nerds, dead trees and dust. “Well… Jake and I aren’t avid readers, and the job description says we must be ‘passionate readers’”.

“Well… I’d say with the number of ‘adult’ novels you read, you’d be classified as a passionate reader”. Steven states matter-of-factly, earning a snort from Jake and a finger from Marc.

“Look, capitalism exists, fish need feeding, and it’s either this, working at the laundromat on 6th, or grovelling for my old job back. You pick”.

Sharing a glance, they sigh, “Fine, we’ll work at your nerd hub”.

Triumphantly, Steven opens the application form.

-------------------- ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ---------------------

A weathered sign inscribed with “The Old Town Bookshop” hangs atop the quaint corner store. Parallel white arches and a broad window decorate its petite structure with morning sunlight reflecting off the seemingly fresh coat of indigo, enriching the buildings' otherwise aged aesthetic.

Breathing out a puff of warm air, Steven adjusts the strap of his shoulder bag, a nervous habit he’d picked up over the years. Peering at the lit window, he opens the door. Greeted by the homely smell of paper and ink, Steven gazes around at the array of books and colours, marvelling at the unexpectedly large floor plan.

"Like the Tardis". Marc hums from the window reflection whilst Jake observes their surroundings, habitually checking for threats.

Strolling further into the store, a warm pressure rubs itself along his calf. Peering down, Steven’s met with honey eyes and golden fur.

“¿Gatito?” Jake chirps, seemingly forgetting about surveying the area.

The cat meows in return as if replying to Jake’s comment.

“Great, now we’ll be covered in dust and cat hair”. Marc comments, trying to remain apathetic about their adorable feline coworker.

Kneeing down, Steven scratches the tabby’s head, earning a delightful purr from their new acquaintance. Checking the collar, ‘Dorian’ is engraved on a fish-shaped name tag.

Dorian huh? Makes sense, you’re a pretty lookin’ fella. Steven observes before returning to the task at hand.

Following the familiar monotonous sound of a sticker gun, the Brit finds himself walking towards the counter where, surrounded by a pile of new releases, you are busy at work. The boys take in your features, entranced as the morning light caresses your face, highlighting the soft beauty that adorns your profile. Eyes roaming over your features, they notice your slight frown of concentration and inaudible movements of your mouth.

As Steven approaches the counter, your words become interpretable.

“How are we already getting Christmas and holiday content when it hasn’t even been Halloween yet?” you grumble, condemning whoever decided it was a suitable practice. “I swear if I start hearing Mariah Carey, I’m gonna…”.

Someone clearing their throat interrupts your malicious thoughts. As your head shoots up, you notice the fidgeting man in front of the counter. Shit. How long has he been standing there? You think, face heating up at the possibility of him witnessing your moral decadence.

“So sorry to bother you love. I’m here for my shift? I was supposed to start today… I’m Steven, by the way”.

The realisation smacks you in the face like a flying stop sign. Crap, it is already 8 o'clock? Internally criticising yourself for losing track of time, you scramble for an apology. “Right- yes, Steven, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise the time”. Sticking out your hand, you introduce yourself.

God, your name sounds as beautiful as you look, They simultaneously think.

A warm, calloused hand engulfs your own as Steven rolls your name over his tongue. “All good love happens to the best of us”.

You smile warmly, and suddenly, the prospect of spending 9 hours a day surrounded by nerds, dead trees and dust doesn't seem too bad.

Thank you for reading ♡

Also please go check out the fabulous @viejita-n-co who created Viejita! You’ll find a bunch of fanart and pictures of the boys too ♡

#steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight #moonknight #bookshopist moon boys

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c00kieguy · 12 days

Text

Boo! April Fools!

A/N: I know I'm more than 2 weeks late shhh. Anyway, pranking Jing Yuan, Welt, Boothill and Dr. Ratio. Not proofread.

masterlist

Jing Yuan

You choose a very classic prank for this. All you needed was a piece of paper, some ink and something to stick it with

“Morning Jing Yuan.” You greet the general and hug him. He accepts your hug graciously but unbeknownst to him you stick a piece of paper to his back.

The rest of Jing Yuan’s day was…something.

“Good morning Jing Yuan.” “Rest well, Jing Yuan?” “Would you like some tea Jing Yuan?” Sure it all sounded like normal morning talk but…not a single person called him General. Not even Yanqing.

“Good morning Jing Yuan! Shall I start my training now?” Absurd. He’s close to losing it. I mean, he didn’t mind being called by his name but this…no…there was too much wrong with this.

When you reveal your schemes he’s very amused and gives you one of his signature hearty laughs. “I’m surprised everyone went along with it.” “They just wanted an excuse to see you confused since you’re always so calm and collected” “Ah….”

Welt

Now this was a very interesting case. Welt wasn’t someone easy to prank, besides, you hardly knew much about him.

One important tit bit you managed to bribe out of the trailblazer tho was his immense love for collectables, and that’s all the help you needed for your prank.

Welt takes his time surveying the cabins of the express for anything odd. It was a quiet day but it never hurt to be a little cautious, besides, he was bored so might as well.

On his way back to the main cabin he spots something amazing, a small trinket, so small that he almost missed it. Getting down on one knee he realizes that it’s a small keychain of some sort with a toy robot at one end.

The man really felt like it was his birthday, sure it could belong to someone else but, small joys like these were rare.

When he goes it pick it up however, it seemed to have been stuck to the ground

You take the opportunity to start filming him from out of sight, this was going to be hilarious!

Welt tugs on it once, twice then on the third try he rips it off the floor with little to no effort. You just stare at him flabbergasted, was the super glue that weak? No…that can’t be it

You decide not to confront him about the incident and delete any video evidence, Aeon knew what he’d do to you if he found out…

Boothill

What a carefree guy he was, but Boothill got annoyed very quickly so you had many options to screw with him.

That made it harder to pick however, but ultimately you decide on something very devious.

Sneaking into his room at knight you carefully connect your device to him via the usb port on his hip. After that it was only a matter of adding your code to the existing one and voila, done!

Unfortunately your luck ended there.

“What do mew think mew’re doing nya?”

…

“WHAT DID MEW DO TO MEOW?” He looks furious and you’re doing your best not to laugh but you have to physically bite down on your lips to stop yourself. “Stop purring and fix thisss!!” Yea you lost it.

You spend the rest of the day undoing your mess with the occasional cocky rhetoric from your cyborg friend. You’re gonna really miss this tho, he sounds so cute saying all those adorable cat puns. You swore sometimes he’d growl like a cat whenever you slacked off for a bit

Overall, extremely tedious to fix, but was it worth it? Very.

Dr. Ratio

Another tricky guy, you had to pull so many strings just to get everything ready so you hoped the payoff would be worth it.

You set up a small outing with Topaz, Aventurine and Ratio and go to meet up with them, so far only Topaz was there and Ratio joins you swiftly.

“Um…can we help you?” Topaz asks him. “Excuse me?” “Is there anything you need…?” “No? I’m here because you invited me.” You two give each other a very lost look.

“Sorry, do we know you?” Ratio looked like he was close to losing a few brain cells for sure. Luckily just then Aventurine arrived and Ratio visibly looked a little relaxed.

“Heyyy, who’s the new guy?” Yea no, he’s not relaxed anymore, the doctor looks like he’s about to blow a fuse.

“Is this some sort idiotic prank? I’m not interested in playing your stupid games-”

“Oh wait, I know you!” Topaz pipes up. “You’re Sunday right? Can’t believe I missed that signature blue hair.” The three of you share understanding nods between each other as if you had just uncovered some ancient truth. Out of the corner of your eye you swore you saw the doc’s eye twitch.

Luckily you and Topaz managed to slip out of there just as you hear Ratio’s brick book make contact with Aventurine’s head.

masterlist

#hsr #hsr headcanons #hsr jing yuan #hsr welt #hsr boothill #hsr dr ratio #hsr fanfic #star rail headcanons #honkai star rail #reader insert #star rail jing yuan #star rail welt #star rail boothill #star rail dr ratio #hsr aventurine #hsr topaz #c00kie.writes

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agentmarvel · 27 days

Note

theme -> smut ❤️‍🔥 (surprised? no, haha)

character -> simon "ghost" riley 👻

"summer vacation" ⛱️

💖✨️

delightful! 🥰 thank you, love! my inbox ate your ask for like 3 or 4 days and regurgitated it yesterday morning, so i'm sorry for the delay!

simon "ghost" riley x gn!reader

cw: smut

prompt list here

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

"Quiet, love," he murmurs into your thigh. "Don't want the boys to hear you screamin'."

You bite your knuckle as he eases a second slicked up finger into you.

It's early in the morning, the sun yet to crest the horizon, but having two kids under 7 doesn't exactly lend enough time or privacy for intimacy these days, especially when they're out of school for the summer. Simon will let you sleep in when he's done with you - he always does on mornings like this - and he'll get up with your boys instead.

Your husband is gentle in the way he stretches you out. Even after a decade, he's still taking just as active a role in your comfort as he did your first time together.

A third digit prods your already full hole. Simon nips your skin to draw your focus back.

"Think you can take another, love?" It's rhetorical. You both know you can. But you nod nonetheless, feeling the tip wedge itself in merely a fraction of a second later.

"Doin' so good, baby. Takin' it so well. Promise m'not gonna make you wait much longer."

"Just fuck me, Si," you whisper back breathlessly, the ruthless stretch a mere pressure. "We don't have much time left."

"Bossy little thing," he counters with a chuckle. His fingers curl into just the right spot, shooting sparks up your spine. You arch, chasing the feeling with zeal. The pressure he applies is constant as his forearm flexes, muscles dancing beneath the inked skin. He begins to press deeper inside you before drawing his hand back, passing over that spot each time with almost alarming accuracy. It's hard to keep quiet when he's like this; trying his hardest to make you scream despite chastising you for your noisiness.

Simon works you right to the edge, then withdraws entirely. You whine at the loss, nearly pouting.

"Hush, you," he breathes. "Asked me to fuck you, didn't ya?"

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod x you #jj writes #unblock my brain prompts

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haggishlyhagging · 5 months

Text

Get "power" by "surrendering" and "submitting" to your man's every whim, a leading '80s self-help manual advises in typical feminist-sounding rhetoric. Don't talk back, because a ladylike silence will "enhance" your "self-respect" and "feeling of mastery." "Take charge . . . of your courtship," suggests another popular text. "Overcome obstacles," so you can get married. The pseudofeminist title of one 1989 advice book puts it most succinctly: Women Who Marry Down and End Up Having It All.

While the backlash therapy books may be written in feminist ink, they blot out the most basic precept of feminist therapy—that both social and personal growth are important, necessary, and mutually reinforcing. This is a view that was supported, albeit in a rather degraded, commercialized form, in the leading self-help manuals of the 70s; in 1975, The New Assertive Woman issued an "Everywoman's Bill Of Rights" that called for "the right to be treated with respect" and "the right to be listened to and taken seriously." The '80s advice writers, by contrast, seemed to go out of their way to urge women to stop challenging social constraints and to keep their thoughts to themselves—to learn to fit the mold rather than break it.

On no group of women did the self-help authors impress this message more strongly than the ones without wedding rings. The diagnosis was, underneath it all, little changed from the postwar era, when that era's leading advice book—Marynia Farnham and Ferdinand Lundberg's Modern Women: The Lost Sex—declared all single women neurotics and proposed subsidized psychotherapy to get them married. In the '80s, even advice experts more sympathetic to single women and the pressures they faced touted the same marital party line. In the popular 1988 advice book, If I'm So Wonderful, Why Am I Still Single?, counselor Susan Page acknowledges in her introduction that unwed women are contending with a social climate that is especially rough on them now; they are burdened by "the specific problems that our times have spawned, such as misogyny," she writes. But she's not interested in helping single women develop the self-confidence and internal strength they need to bear up under these antagonistic conditions. Nor does she propose that single women even question the culture's marital marching orders. "I want to accept certain sociological and psychological factors as given [her emphasis]," she writes. "In this book we will not discuss why [her emphasis] these conditions are as they are, and we will not lament them." What then should single women do to ease what Page calls the "Great Emotional Depression" that she says has descended on millions of them? Just change your single status, she proposes. She dispenses "strategies" only to make women more marketable for marriage.

The '80s backlash therapists firmly rejected another fundamental feminist principle—that men can, and should, change, too. "[L]ately it seems there is a rising tide of utter frustration among women concerning men," Smart Women/Foolish Choices observes, and a lot of women "always end up feeling disappointed by men." But Cowan and Kinder do not go on to consider what men might be doing to inspire such an outpouring of frustration, nor how men might change their behavior to make women feel better. Instead, the psychologists conclude that men are fine and any disappointment women feel is wholly self-generated. It's not the men who are "inadequate," the authors write; it's just that the women's "expectations are distorted." Women are just "hypercritical" of men. All would be well if women only learned to "truly understand men" and their "need for mastery and career success." Women would be happy if they only quit "pushing" the opposite sex to change and learned to "compromise."

Asked later what sort of compromises he had in mind, Kinder says: "Women could have their kids while they are still in college, and then, if they still want a career, they can do that after the kids are grown. You do have to make some sacrifices." What about fathers "sacrificing" by taking some responsibility for their children? Kinder, whose wife stayed at home to raise their children, mulls it over. "Yeah, well that would solve the problem," he says. "But men won't do it. And it's not our place to be saying things like that. We're not social engineers." Not, anyway, when it comes to men.

Confronted with the antifeminist implications of their message, the backlash therapists almost always issue a denial. "We're talking about broadening expectations, not settling for less, and that's not just a play on words," Cowan says. But it is exactly that—unless Cowan has already forgotten his own "Rules for Finding the Right Man" in Smart Women. Rule #8: "Fewer expectations lead to greater aliveness."

Some of the therapists attacking women's liberation most forcefully claimed, in fact, to be proponents themselves. As many media-conscious therapists in the '80s discovered, feminist-bashing "feminists" garnered the most airtime. Susan and Stephen Price, authors of the popular No More Lonely Nights: Overcoming the Hidden Fears That Keep You from Getting Married, were one such "feminist" husband-and-wife therapy team who got a lot of press mileage plugging this backlash diagnosis of modern single women: "androphobia." This "problem without a name," they wrote, shamelessly stealing Friedan's phrase, was a "deep-rooted intense fear of men" shared by most unmarried women over thirty, especially professional women. The cause: "You have been deeply influenced by feminism."

* * *

"These obsessive androphobic fears are a major ingredient in women's resistance to marriage today," Stephen Price is saying in his Manhattan office, a few weeks after his appearance on the "Today" show. "Now that we've reached the end of the women's movement, which is where our culture is today . . ." Here he hesitates, then says, "We both, of course, feel very pro the gains of the women's movement."

His wife, Susan, seated in the office's other therapeutic armchair, nods vigorously. "We're both feminists," she says. "In fact, it was almost me being a feminist that kept me from seeing these hidden fears developing. As a therapist I encouraged women to pursue careers. But what happened is, women escaped into their careers and they didn't put their energy into their relationships. Their feminist viewpoint became a trap." But if careers hurt women psychologically, then why do professional women consistently rank highest, as we've seen, in virtually all measures of mental health? The Prices have no answer.

In spite of their pro-feminist claims, the Prices seem to oppose every feminist tenet, from economic independence to sexual freedom. In their book and in their counseling sessions, they advise women to refrain not only from initiating sex but from having sex at all before marriage. "If the woman is sexually aggressive, the man might put her in the category of someone to go to bed with, period," Susan Price says. Evidence? "Fatal Attraction may be overdrawn in some ways, but you can really see that operating there," she says.

Unlike authentically feminist therapists, the Prices don't consider, much less confront, other forces at work in women's lives. They reinforce the era's isolation of single women by encouraging their female readers to see themselves as defective units, alone and isolated only by their own aberrant behavior. They advise women to "deal with your own personal crisis: What might you [their emphasis] be doing to make intimacy with a man impossible? What attitudes are keeping you [their emphasis] unavailable for marriage?" The primary offending attitude that the book singles out: an insistence on respect and equal treatment from one's mate. "The desire to avoid a submissive status in relationship to men can lead you into a loveless life," they assert. Again, there is no analysis of the attitudes of men, much less proposals for altering them. If a man mistreats a woman, she probably asked for it. "A resistant woman picks a resistant man," Susan Price says. "What we help single women to see is how what they think is a problem with the man is really something inside them." Don't men play any role in difficult relationships? "Probably it is a fifty-fifty proposition," Stephen Price concedes, shrugging. "But this book is focused on women—for the purpose of clarity."

While they don't actually support a feminist vision, the Prices are happy to appropriate the movement's activist language to promote their own agenda. They urge women to "take control" of their love lives by scaling back their career aspirations and to "gain power" over potential husbands by remaining celibate. "It's Up to You to Get Married," the manual instructs, this being the only arena, apparently, in which it's okay for women to take the initiative.

Androphobia may have a scientific ring, but it's not based on scientific research—or any research at all. "We just knew it was a phobia," Stephen Price says flatly. How? "Well, because there's an avoidance there." Pressed to explain what that means, Stephen Price falls silent. Finally, he says: "A lot of the dynamics of phobia are hidden. That's how we know it's a phobia. It's very hidden." This invisible phobia turned the Prices into very visible "marriage gurus," as they now call themselves. "We are inundated," Susan Price says happily. "We've been doing three radio shows a week. Women are calling up saying, what's your [marriage] success rate? We do sessions by phone. We have women flying in from out west. And we get so many letters from women saying they read our book and they realize now how they did it to themselves. They are grateful."

It turns out that Susan Price does actually support feminist principles in one way—for herself. "When we first married, Steve couldn't understand my need for my own career and not wanting to be a homemaker," she recalls. "I got jobs [to support him] while he was in graduate school. He was being groomed for a career and what was I doing?" First she became a schoolteacher, but she didn't find it fulfilling enough. "I decided I wanted to be a therapist. So I went back to graduate school. The kids were still babies at the time. We hired a lot of baby-sitters and put them in a lot of nursery schools." Was any of this a mistake? "Oh, no. I love what I do."

-Susan Faludi, Backlash: the Undeclared War Against American Women

#susan faludi #marriage #self help #antifeminism #female oppression #male entitlement #the more things change the more they stay the same

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