#consent under duress

[odinsblog]

Consent is not convinced, coerced or manipulated. It is not the man’s job to manufacture consent, or to wear a woman down to somehow “make it easier” for her to eventually say yes. Consent under duress is not consent.

#channel 5 #andrew callaghan #consent #informed consent #rape culture #rape apologists #consent under duress #rape

[heretherebedork]

Ah. Yes. I can feel the 'consent' from here. If you don't fuck me, you'll get beaten and not allowed to leave. But I can let you leave safely if you just fuck me. See, you agreed to fuck me, right? You said yes. That's all that matters! Me threatening you? Unimportant. You said yes.

... Oh, wait, no that's consent under duress and coercive rape, I forgot.

Sky's face during the sex almost killed me, he's struggling between enjoying the physical feeling and the fact that he doesn't want this at all. Ugh, baby boy. I'm so sorry.

#love in the air #love in the air the series #lita #poor sky #thai bl #thai bl drama #bl drama #bl series #thai drama #thaibl #thai series #seriously this best boy deserved so much better #and prapai better get a fuckton better to earn his affection #if this entire half of the show isn't just about him growing into a better person I will burn this entire place down #because sky deserves the entire world #rape #discussion of rape #consent under duress #this is not romantic #ugh i love sky though

[detectiveconnor]

connor would want/have/set up a separate safeword for any sex, even if. even though it is probably pretty vanilla sex and he would expect ordinary words to work completely fine for the same job, he'd have a back-up that was mutually agreed 'cause he'd want one and ask for one, and that's just what he's like

#lives so much of his life trying to offer people ways to Choose and to Consent and to Not Do So if they don't want to #sex mention tw #suggestive tw #anyway: markus indicating Something's Wrong while under duress/at gunpoint/etc in new jericho #by using the word in casual conversation #idk what the word would be #connor is not giving me serious suggestions bc he doesn't think it's any of my business #connor vc: sarsaparilla #me: :| #connor vc: dysentery

[macabresymphonies]

(minor TMA spoilers and general TMAGP spoilers) Having so much time to think about incidents in TMAGP due to hiatus made me realize that all of them, to some degree, contain the theme of "sealing your own fate" or "consequences of greed/hubris".

You see, while I do not believe that TMA had a consistent theme every statement was based on, the overall messege seemed to be that horrors are inevitable. Once you've been marked you cannot escape, no amount of therapy or running can release you from it. I think Michael Crew is the best example of that:

"The thing that chased me, you see, it was an arcing branch of the Twisting Deceit, taken shape to follow me. (...) And I knew within that book was something that could not only release me from my pursuer, but chain my being to that rush of wind and vertigo forever." Michael Crew in "The Coming Storm"

You cannot escape it once you've been marked, only bind yourself to different one and this marking is, most often than not, nonconsensual. Jane Prentiss would run around and infect random people, Not!Them didn't need anybody to come to them before it was sealed and Peter Lukas also tended to just disappear random people just to feed. The fears were very predatorial and active and the victims were selected based on their own fears and anxieties. This is not to say there weren't victims who failed due to their own curiosity/hubris/greed, but I think it's telling that few of the most greedy/curious people in the series, Mikaele Salesa and Jurgen Leitner, stayed largely uncorrupted by the fears not cause they avoided interacting with them, but simply avoided getting marked by them.

Now we come to protocol and every incident so far has the main subject of that incident actively engage with the horror and have one or multiple points at which they could stop and leave, but they do not. Daria went to the tattoo shop on her own accord, Harriet wanted her husband back no matter what and even Dr Webber was described to be able to leave the garden whenever he wanted, but, due to hiding from authorities, chose to stay until it was too late for him. Every incident so far seems to have this theme of consent, characters detailing very clearly that consent was given to engage with the abnormality:

"Ah well that’s a tricky one. Sort of? In many ways he stabbed himself on me. By the time he saw the needles we were already very close. Close enough to smell his sweat and cheap aftershave. In fact, he barely had time to be afraid before we embraced. He’s terrified now of course…" Needles in "Introductions"

"The young man's interview was not exceptional as he had no experience in charity work, no driving license nor any demonstrable experience in retail. He claimed however, to know the Hilltop Centre better than anyone and as he was the only applicant in the role I elected to give him a try." Dianne Margolis in "Give and Take"

"I hesitated a moment but before I could consider her strangeness a particularly high tide of color swept down the corridor toward me. I panicked, and before I realized what I was doing I had darted inside the lift and slammed the close-door button." Terrance Stevens in "Running on Empty"

It does not matter some of these are under duress or deception, all of them contain some type of action "confirming" consent. Mind you I do not believe all the victims of of these horrors confirm consent in some way, like people who get killed by Bonzo probably didn't agree to it (though considering he's most likely a hitman, some degree of "you agreed to this by overstepping your boundaries" philosophy could be applied), but subjects of the incident very much pay for consequences of their own actions.

That brings us to OIRA itself, and how every character so far seems to actively dig themselves deeper by their own accord, Gwen wants position of power, Colin wants to figure out the system, Sam wants to know why he wasn't chosen and Alice is in it for the money (for her brother which still counts as consent). This is literally said directly to us in episode 1:

"If you hate working here so completely, you are perfectly within your rights to resign. No one is forcing you to stay here." Lena to Gwen in "First Shift"

All of this, all this horror is happening due to their own accord, curiosity, obligation, greed for knowledge or just for the money, it does not matter, the choice is there, but they delve deeper anyway. We will see how long it holds up, but I will be on the look out for this theme in the future.

#the magnus protocol #the magnus archives #tmagp spoilers #tmagp #tma #magnus pod #alice dyer #samama khalid #colin becher #tmagp theory #tmagp analysis #lena kelley #gwen bouchard #michael crew

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

people who claim consent can be given under financial duress truly astound me. how likely is it to say no when you dont want sex when your income relies on saying yes?

how come men go to the brothel and magically theres always a woman there who wants to sleep with him? do you really think the brothel owner rents out rooms to women who keep saying no? do you really think women say no when their income relies on regular customers? when they have to satisfy a certain amount of men to even pay for rent in the brothel before they can pay their private rent and utilities, or send money home?

„but they dont have to like it, its a job” so you agree that women in prostitution dont want sex, and „consent“ to sex acts to get money? and sex buyers know that the women dont want sex and proceed anyways? how can that be allowed and even fostered and supported in a society where supposedly consent has to be freely given or it doesnt count?

„but they pretend to enjoy it“ they are being paid to pretend to enjoy it. sex buyers arent some clueless losers, they know exactly what they are doing: enforcing sex with a woman who doesnt want sex with him. but they dont want to feel bad, so women not only have to endure it, they have to act like theres nothing wrong with this situation, like they enjoy it.

„but some women do actually enjoy it“ even the women who claim that shit wont want or enjoy sex with every man she has to sleep with to generate the income she needs. also, they usually internalise the misogynistic ideal of women as vessels for male desires and they enjoy fulfilling the role they have been assigned. also not a feminist win, at all.

prostitution is inherently antithetical to any feminist sex positive interpretation of consent.

#mine #anti prostitution

[godsandvillains-if]

tw NSFW ask

How would the ROs react in a F*** or die situation w the MC? Perhaps still in the crushing stage.

This scenario is so funny to me, just like the sex pollen one 🤣🤣

While on the crushing stage, I think no RO would have much problem doing the thing if it meant they didn't die, however, some would be more enthusiastic than others, obviously.

I think Wildcat, Stardom and Mars would be ones more excited about the situation, not really caring about death lurking around them or how they even got into that situation.

Zodiac, Archon, and Ace would be a little reluctant, not really imagining that to be their first time with the MC—especially Ace and Zodiac. Archon would end up agreeing just to give themselves more time to figure out their real feelings toward the MC.

Paladin would be totally opposed to the situation. Consent and similar concepts are a HUGE thing for them, and I can't express this enough. Once the MC talks them into it by saying they are not doing anything under duress, they will accept it.

Thank you for the question!! 🥰

#if: gods and villains #ask #ros

[ventiswampwater]

subterranean

FANDOM : house of wax (2005) PAIRING : bo sinclair x afab!fem!reader RATING : explicit 🔞 WORDCOUNT : 3.9k

Reader POV. Basement fuckery. He tells you it's to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. You end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

Crossposted on A03 here.

⚠️ Stockholm Syndrome. VERY dubious consent under duress. This was supposed to just be porn without plot. But then I lost my goddamn mind. Oops. Decent amount of weird prose. Depersonalization and derealization. Pet play (but make it weird and kinda metaphorical). Collaring. Forced boot riding. Vibrator and anal plug use. Bondage/gagging/edging. Bo at his absolute WORST (his natural state), being smug and mean and awful. Dirty talk dialed ALL the way up. Extremely dehumanizing and degrading language. Mind break elements. LOTS of backhanded praise. ⚠️

You always got too comfortable.

A lifetime before—when you were first here—you sat on this mattress with him, swallowing down mouthfuls of cold beef and carrots. You can remember the soup swirling in the can, murky and brown like a puddle of stagnant rainwater. He hadn't bothered to warm it up for you, but it hadn’t mattered. The food was something. Sometimes it felt like everything.

You licked the broth off the spoon as he plugged another tape into the VCR.

“One of my favorites.” He told you. Of course it was. Every movie he showed you down here was one of his favorites. Every can of soup might be the last. It was always the same things, over and over.

That’s when you started to lose track of time, you think—when you’d started to cling onto all that nothing.

Time wasn’t all that bad of a thing to lose, was it? Who needed it when his thumb was rubbing against your knee, stroking up your skin? The soup was cold, and his hand was warm. You traded one for the other and you liked it.

Funny. Thoughts like that always felt like they came with an or else tacked at the end.

A chunk of potato sat unpleasantly on your tongue—almost bitter, gravel in your mouth. Just like everything else, you swallowed it down.

He pressed play, his fingers drifting up your thigh. The TV quality was fuzzy, interrupted by the occasional flicker of static. Sometimes the films he chose would start in the middle of scenes. You’d get brief glimpses of things he’d recorded over—the triumphant blare of a talk show theme cutting off mid-note, dropping you in media res. He always assured you that you weren’t missing anything. At least that was one thing he didn’t bother lying about.

The movie wasn’t why you remembered that day, though. It was because of something he’d asked you.

“Where’d ya’ grow up?”

You hadn’t known what to say. He never asked you things like that. Your confusion only deepened when you turned towards him. There was no tension in his jaw, no furrowing of his brow. He looked, for the first time, wholly and startlingly calm.

When you failed to answer, he leaned forward and switched the TV off. He never did that either.

“Tell me ‘bout it. Whatchu do out there, anyway?”

You always regret not lying to him.

The world had shrunk down so much in the time you’d been in the town that it almost felt like you could gather it up and stuff it in your pocket.

You think about home. It looks different now.

Spidery tendrils of dust cling to the gaps between the balusters. It’s so difficult to get light in the house. No matter how many windows you open, there are always corners lost to shadow.

It’s strange how you could be up there one day, replacing the bulb under a fringed lampshade—and the next, you’d be tumbled back underground.

Just last week, you were lying on the couch in the living room.

The dog had padded into the room. She’d been gone for the better part of the day. With the doors unlocked, she went wherever she pleased. It had worried you at first, but it didn't anymore. She'd never leave town. She knew better.

At least, that’s what he’d said.

“Come here, beautiful.”

Jumping up, she curled into the space beside you. You wrapped your arm around her, wrinkling your nose. She reeked terribly of dog, stale corn chips and dirt and musk. You wondered if she might let you give her a bath now that you were in her good graces. It took a while to get there, but she came around. In a manner of speaking, the same thing had happened with you.

Pretty funny, huh?

Earlier, you'd been thinking about the puppies in the pet store window. Did she know about them? Slumbering away behind glass and dust, forever only a couple breaths old. Click. A switch was flipped, and they were as alive as they would ever be, nestled on newspaper shavings. On days like this, did she ever make her way down the hill to see them?

“Girls don’t last in this town.” You murmured, scratching behind her ear. “Just me and you, yeah?”

With a huff, she buried her head in the crook of your neck. It seemed like she was done listening to you.

That was fair, really. Half the time you weren’t even saying what you were really thinking anymore—and when you did, you weren't entirely sure that you made much sense. So much of yourself was locked up in your head and you kept forgetting where you left the keys. It all got clogged up inside your skull and oozed out of your mouth in a trail of sickly platitudes. You were just so thankful, so grateful.

“Sorry.” You whispered. You were always sorry for something, and sometimes you even meant it.

The rays of light were receding off of the arm of the couch, crawling up the wall. Your thoughts filled the living room. You could almost see them floating through the air, bouncing off each other like bubbles. Fleeting, effervescent things, popping as soon as you tried to track their paths. When you turned your head, you could smell his cologne. It was his jacket, hanging discarded over the couch cushions.

For a sudden, terrifying moment, you missed him.

That’s when you said the prayer. You didn't know where you meant for it to go. You guessed it was for whoever was around to hear it. Most days it was him and some of the time it was his mother. Both choices rang false. If God was still in this town, it was here, caught in these beams of light. Or maybe God was the dog heavy on top of you, her breath a rhythmic rumble against your throat.

Maybe you wouldn’t last long. Maybe it was all just wishful thinking.

Today, Bo fastens the collar around your neck. The leather feels heavy against your skin.

He tells you it’s to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. All the light bulbs you screw in will eventually need to be replaced. Wiping away the dust only gives way to more dust. You'll end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

This almost feels more like his room than the one he sleeps in up at the house. Here, you can feel him more than anywhere else. There's more of you down here too. Real, tangible parts of yourself. Look around. There you are in the stain on the mattress, the blood crusted on the vinyl.

Welcome back, baby.

You keep your gaze on the ground, searching for something to bore your eyes into. Your eyes land on his shoes. Flecked with dirt, they bear obvious signs of wear. There’s a sizable hole in the toe of one of them. You focus in on that as he readjusts the collar, tightening the strap around your neck.

Embarrassment heats your cheeks as you hear him click the leash into place. Even without looking up at him, you can picture the expression on his face. It isn’t a good one. You still can’t decide if he looks more or less like himself when he screws his face up like that.

Tugging roughly at the leash, he forces you to look up at him. Wrists bound; your hands flex uselessly against your back.

“Please—”

Without warning, he sticks his fingers into your mouth, forcing them to the back of your throat. You choke, your hands flexing in panic behind your back. When he pulls them out, you cough, eyes watering.

“Now, normally I like hearin’ you, baby.” He says, smiling down at you. His face is a discordant thing. All American, boy next door. A slice of apple pie that someone put a cigarette out in. “But you know somethin’—”

He crouches down in front of you, still smiling. You watch him silently, shifting anxiously on your knees.

“I never did meet a dog who could talk.” Reaching over, he flicks at the metal ring on the collar. “Feels wrong.”

Dropping the leash, he gets to his feet, striding away. You crane your neck to the side as he rustles around behind you. After a moment, he lets out an affirmative grunt.

Quickly, you pivot your head back to the front. Making his way back to stand in front of you, your eyes flash to the item in his hands. Seemingly amused by your concern, he dangles it in front of you.

It’s a ball gag, shiny and black—noticeably a hair newer than the rest of the junk down here. Maybe he bought it just for you. It’d make a pretty lousy gift, but then again, he was always shit at stuff like that.

He had an incredible knack for getting you shit that you never asked for. Everything came with conditions, a laundry list of provisos and conditions that you didn't remember signing up for. Everything he gave you was actually for him.

“Open up, baby.”

Before you can think to do as he asks, his thumb forces your mouth open, pressing down on your teeth. You sputter as he forces the gag into your mouth, securing it around the back of your neck.

“That’s better, yeah?” He asks, grabbing hold of the leash again.

You stare up at him, exhaling tight bursts of air through your nose. You tilt your head a bit, working your jaw around the ball. Your teeth rest uncomfortably on the rubber.

“You been so good today, think we outta give that pussy some attention, huh?” He smirks. “Whatchu think?”

You whine, the noise coming out in an embarrassingly wet gurgle. Spit runs out of your mouth, dripping down your chin and trickling onto your neck.

“So cute.” His voice is syrupy sweet. He can play at authenticity, but never with you.

He kicks your thighs apart with his foot, nudging the tip of his boot between your legs. His eyebrows shoot up expectantly as he nods down at you.

“Go on, then.”

Disgust is an old friend. She disappears for months at a time, only to show up unexpectedly as if no time has passed. She’s back again, turning your stomach around in her hands. You tilt your hips down. Rubbing yourself against the tip of his shoe, you wonder if he’s doing this for old times' sake.

Rocking forward, you imagine a glossy magazine cover. You could see him on the cover of one. He does have the face for it, when he bothers to put it on.

Bored? 50 Ways to Keep the Spark Alive!

Your jaw is beginning to ache. Bo's hand strokes softly at the top of your head. You hate that the pressure against your clit almost feels good. Your mind unhelpfully supplies more article titles, bubbling up in your mind in obnoxiously curly lettering.

10 Mouth Exercises For The Modern Woman. Have You Tried Screaming? It’s All The Rage in This Town. Once You Start, You Won’t Want to STOP!

“That’s it.” He grins. “What a little slut.”

You look up at him pleadingly, another dribble of spit running down your chin.

“Always got told ya’ shouldn’t let dogs up on the bed.” He muses, the amusement plain in his voice. “But you been on your best behavior, huh?”

Last week, you fell asleep on the couch. You woke up somewhere else.

It was dark and you were pressed against something warm. Not the dog, not the light. Those were both gone. His jacket hanging off the side of the couch, maybe. But it was moving now, and so were you.

“Gotta getcha to bed.” He’d muttered, carrying you up the stairs.

You lay across Bo's lap, the side of your cheek against the dirty mattress. You shudder, your legs shaking.

“Pretty girl.” Reaching over, he tugs you up by the leash, forcing your head back.

Every breath you take seems to make your muscles clench around the plug in your ass. He works it in and out of you slowly and you gulp, shallow breaths whistling out of your nostrils. Every time you jolt forward you can feel him press against you, hard against your belly.

“Hey. What’s wrong, baby? That hurt?”

You nod frantically.

“Huh. Funny…'cuz I don't think it does. You wanna know how I know?” You feel him spread you open, fingers dipping into your pussy. “You’re wet for it, baby.”

He pushes the plug deeper, and your head spins at the sensation. A warbling moan pitches out of your mouth as you feel it sink fully into you. You shiver uncontrollably, whimpering around the gag. Saliva gathers on your tongue, and you feel it spill out of the side of your mouth, pooling under your cheek.

“Good.” He rumbles out, stroking his knuckles along your back. “That’s my good girl.”

You squeeze your eyes shut when you feel him nudge something between your legs. With a click, the vibrator buzzes to life. You let out a startled cry as he strokes it along your pussy.

“It’s nice, huh?” He chuckles. “Don’tchu act like I never gave you anything.”

The vibrator teases against your clit in short bursts, pressing down just long enough to leave you panting before he pulls it away. Almost enough, not quite. You arch back uselessly, chasing after that glittery warm sensation. He laughs a bit, holding the vibrator just above your clit.

You can feel the edge of pleasure, but it’s nothing more than a distant dull thrum. He keeps you hovering over it for what feels like forever, squirming over a feeling that’s hardly there. You bite down on the gag, your sob watery and muffled around the rubber.

“This body’s all mine, girl.” He murmurs, running his thumb down your spine. “I ain’t gotta make it feel good.”

With a hum, he rests the vibrator fully onto your clit. The sensation you’ve been chasing envelopes you, shimmering through your core. Nasally, high-pitched whines escape you in quick, desperate succession.

“But I do, don’t I? ‘Cuz I’m just so sweet.”

You open your eyes, staring up at him in bleary gratitude. He presses down on the plug. The discomfort has crested over and all you feel now is loose and pliant. You moan around the gag, your eyes fluttering.

“You like having somethin’ in your ass while I play with this pussy?”

And you nod, humming out your agreement.

“Mmm-hmm? Yeah?” He teases, mimicking your garbled reply. "That's good, baby. That's real good. Reckoned I’d fuck your ass today, but that pussy’s gettin’ nice and wet for me. Whatchu think? Which hole you want fucked?”

You mumble incoherently through the gag.

“All of ‘em?” He exclaims, the grin evident in his voice. “Well, ain’t that real sweet. Good answer, baby.”

He keeps talking, but it’s getting harder to focus on what he’s saying.

“Next crew that comes through here—maybe I’ll tell ‘em I got a slut who needs breakin’ in. You spread those legs so nice, sure you’d fuckin’ love it.”

The image flashes through your mind. Hands everywhere, laughter and heat and friction from a kaleidoscope of people destined for death. You’re in the middle of all of those faceless people—a tribute to be used up, one last meal for a parade of living corpses.

You’re all destined for the same end, but theirs is closer than they know. Yours is prolonged, tied around touches and salt.

Bo would be in the corner, lighting another cigarette—watching, because he’s always watching. Mouth twitching into a smile because he’s right again. You’re exactly what he thinks you are. You’ll keep your eyes on him because you can’t look at anyone else. After all, if it isn’t his hands, could you even feel it? Would it even count?

The panic is sudden and hot, twisting inside your chest. A desperate little whine builds at the back of your throat.

If I’m everybody else's, I can’t be yours.

“I’d have a hard time sharin’, though.”

Relief. The vibrator pulses against your clit and your eyes go unfocused.

“’S funny. Gotchu down here—and nobody knows.”

Between your legs, your pussy feels pathetically wet, sloppily sliding along the vibrator. You almost wish he’d keep you like this forever, jolts of pleasure lapping hungrily between your legs.

“If there’s even anybody out there lookin’ for ya’…” He muses. “Wish they could see ya’ now, huh? Don’t think they’d feel bad for you, baby.”

Pleasure rolls dizzily through you, electric licks of sensation as he rubs the vibrator against your clit. The rubber in your mouth is an anchor, it feels good on your teeth.

“Betchu thought you were really somethin’ out there.” He chuckles. “How’s it feel to find out you ain’t? Feels good, don’t it?”

You open your eyes and nod up at him, panting out your agreement. Through the haze, you see him smirk. It’s a cruel, cold thing. You’re all full and useless, but he doesn’t need you to say it, because he knows. Thoughtlessly, you shift in his lap, trying desperately to spread your legs wider for him.

“Nothin’ but a little fucktoy.” He coos. “That’s all you are, baby. Want you to remember that.”

He doesn’t need to worry. You remember everything, except what counts.

“Good girls cum, baby. They can’t help it.”

You’re hurtling higher and higher, the pleasure battering against your brain. That’s where the memories are, where the time used to be. It feels better to fill it with this. But then again, you’ve known that from the start.

“Go on, baby. Cum all pretty for me, yeah?”

And you do, a million times over.

He keeps the vibrator pressed firmly against your clit as you tense up, your hands clenching into tight fists behind your back. Your orgasm is a bone-deep shiver, wracking your legs with uncontrollable chills. The pleasure throttles through the last of your coherency, prizing a desperate noise from your throat. Maybe it’s a word. It might be his name. It might just be the time. Maybe this is how you find it again.

The buzz of the vibrator goes dim and far away as he holds it against you. You’re twitching somewhere above it. Each involuntary movement you make brings with it a new hiccup of sensation. Around you, the room seems to spin—whirling into a terrific blur of green and yellow.

It can be beautiful down here, if you squint.

When he lifts the vibrator off your clit, you pitch forward, warbling out a dizzy laugh behind the gag. You wait for the sound of the wand powering off. It doesn't come. Behind you, the buzzing is a low, incessant drone. You’ve barely managed to ground yourself when you hear it kick up a notch.

Click.

The sheets smell like all the thousand versions of you, each one answering questions she shouldn’t. Four walls surround you and they feel like they’re collapsing down on all sides. They could be made of plaster or stone, but they might just be something else. Your limbs, your heart, your mind, him. Separate appendages, but all linked. All part of the same crumbling structure.

A scream builds at the back of your throat as you feel him set it back on your clit.

“We ain’t done, baby.”

Your sleep is deep. Quiet. Only one dream.

Bo’s sitting on the edge of the bed, an inky blot in the gray morning light. He makes a move to stand up and you grab onto his arm.

“Go back to bed, angel.” He murmurs.

It almost sounds real enough.

When you wake up, you're alone. You try the door and find it unlocked.

Figures.

Upstairs, the shop is empty. There’s a can of unopened Coke on the counter. You crack it open and take a sip. Lukewarm bubbles of carbonation fizz over your tongue. God, he really was shit with gifts.

Walking up the hill, you catch your reflection in the window of a sedan. You look haggard, your hair a raggedy clump around your shoulders. You try the handle and it cracks open easily. Crawling into the dirty belly of the car, you wince as you lower yourself down into the seat. You sit with one leg dangling out, absentmindedly studying the dusty speedometer.

There are cars in other towns, parked on different streets. There are places without dust. There are always other futures. Sometimes you turn down the wrong road, and sometimes you die. Sometimes you don’t.

That’s just the way these things go.

You imagine the town collapsing in on itself like a pop-up book. There’s Bo, frowning down at it. He seemed like he’d been the type of kid that wasn’t allowed to check those kinds of things out from the library. He’d bring them back with pages ripped out, scrawled with pen marks. Pilled white card stock where faces used to be.

God, you’re miserably sore. It’s impossible to narrow down the ache to a certain part of you.

Lifting your leg into the car, you pull the door shut. The dust inside tickles your nose. Unthinkingly, you reach up, your fingers brushing against the metal buckle of the seatbelt. The sting is sharp and immediate. You pull your hand away with a hiss, your hand smarting. When you reach for the seatbelt again, you’re careful to avoid the clip.

You buckle yourself in. Click. Alive again, now more than ever. Wrapping your hands around the steering wheel, you close your eyes. The leather is hot against your palms, and it hurts a bit. Just a little. That’s just the pain again, but you don’t really mind. It’s something you can keep. It’s all yours.

Nothin’ you can’t handle, girl.

That’s what he said last night. Afterwards.

You were laying with your head in his lap, the itchy crust of dried spit against your cheek. It was then that you decided that you were so ugly that you had to be beautiful. You had to be worth looking at. You’d rolled over on your back, looking up at him through swollen eyes. That’s when he said it, so low and quiet that you almost didn’t register it. There’d been a an edge of pride to his voice.

Nothin’ at all.

A lick of pleasure thrums between your legs and your eyes flash open. You unbuckle the seatbelt and scramble out of the car, ignoring the pain that sings through your limbs.

Things like that? They always came with an or else tacked at the end. You remember that, don’t you? You couldn’t have forgotten.

Looming above you, the house is a dark blot of ink against the blue sky.

There were no collars for dogs in this town—they didn’t need them. They’d always find their way back home, pawing at the door for some scraps. The only leash is the one that exists in your mind. You can almost see it, trailing off your neck and up the hill, looped messily around the front doorknob.

You were going to die here with all that wetness between your legs, begging him to take out more of you with his teeth.

It's like he said.

You don’t need to tie up a dog if it loves you.

#I FINALLY finished this shit. it's horrific. tysm for coming there are drinks n snacks @ the door #we're goin back 2 ambrose I'm sorry 2 say #and our first stop? oh. just down these stairs #house of wax #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slashers x reader #slasher community #x reader #my fics #in his basement like damn bitch u live like this #shit is dis cos tang #r/malelivingspace for fuckin real #I've stared @ these bingo bongo ass words for far too long. so I'm sure there's errors. but I will fix them when BRAINCELL lmao

[myidlehand]

Something I really really love about the Witcher books is how a lot of the story is about taking back agency over your own body. I don't think we talk about this enough ( I hope Netflix will show that a little more too)

Both Yen and Geralt have had horrible stuff done to them. Geralt's transformation might have been more physically extreme but both have been changed without their consent, knowledge and regards for their well being or mental health. And we meet them on the other end of those changes. (And of course we see more things done to them against their will or consent or with consent given under some form of duress).

We get to see Ciri at the beginning of all that. The entire plot is about how lots of people want to use her for her blood and genes with no regards for what she wants. She has to make sacrifices and changes in order to survive. A lot of the story is about how Yen and Geralt are trying to protect her (sometimes failing) from people who would use her body.

Even secondary characters like Milva share a bit of that story as well.

I think it's a really important part of the story, probably a lot more important than the monsters side. The books are focused on finding your family and taking back control over yourself, your body and your life and I think that's an interesting topic to explore

#the witcher #ciri #Yennefer #geralt #cirilla of cintra #geralt of rivia #the witcher books

[galebrainrot2024]

GalexTav Enemies to Lovers Pt. 25

Summary: Gale is confronted by Tav to tell the truth about the secret he's kept, full blown angsty Gale ahead! Word Ct: 8k

Master List | Part 24 | Read on Ao3

“What’s Astarion talking about, Gale?” The tremor in her voice was unmistakeable, carried by the dewy morning air. 

The nausea that rolled through Gale was sickly and heat curled up his spine, beads of sweat forming across his brow. His mind searched for words and his tongue could conjure none. 

Karlach strode over, raising her hands over head with a yawn and a sleepy smile. The smile faded abruptly when she locked eyes with Gale. “Something the matter?” 

“Oh,” Astarion began, brushing off his sleeves and ruffled his hair. “I asked Tav a question, isn’t that right Gale?”   

Gale swallowed hard and felt his nails dig into his palms. He wanted to wipe the smug grin from Astarion’s face, wanted to shake him for his needless cruelty. Even if he did know, even if he had overheard… why play the hand like this when they were under such duress already. 

Karlach’s face contorted when she looked at Gale and then back at Astarion. “What in the hells have I stumbled into,” She said and the pale elf threw up his hands in surrender. 

“Nothing happened,” Tav murmured and Gale shut his eyes. He felt her gaze bore to him like knives despite being unable to look at her. “Gale was about to share whatever it is he’s been keeping from me.” 

He felt Karlach’s fingers curl around his bicep as if she meant to steady him. “Ah… maybe it would be best if we headed out for the day. Let everyone cool off a little.” Gale looked at Karlach skeptically, confident her attempt to settle the tension would go unheeded. 

“Oh, but we were just heating up,” Astarion pouted and Karlach tilted her head in warning. His eyes widened and he rolled them before sighing, retreating back to his tent. 

It was happening too fast. His mind swirled with dizziness, his body quaking with adrenaline. 

Then, Gale felt the itching of something at the edges of his skull. The tadpole squirmed, as if on alert… he felt the presence of another, timidly seeking entrance. Crimson rose to his cheeks and he felt rage boil in his gut - an invasion. 

The remorse he felt for keeping his secrets from her mingled with anger and disgust as he felt her try to probe into his mind. “Ah - how creative, using the tadpole to force your way inside.” He hissed, turning to glare at Tav. “Consider this: perhaps there is reason why I keep my thoughts carefully tucked away. Perhaps there is reason why I haven’t shared with you yet even though I know I must.” He turned on his heel and rubbed his face, speaking quietly. “Now you seek to breach my trust, invade the privacy of my mind instead of waiting a few moments to allow me the dignity to collect myself.” He scoffed darkly, shaking his head. “Fine. If you’re so desperate to see the grim truth without my consent, so be it. Have a look.” As soon as the words spilled from his lips, their acrid residue lingered on his tongue. His voice was black and thick with shame and white hot fury. He stepped forward, grabbing Tav’s hand and knelt before her, putting it on his chest. “Go ahead. Tell me what you see.” 

The way she gazed down at him, her eyes swarming with confusion, betrayal, pain… his gaze softened for a moment and he inhaled, acutely aware of everything he would lose when she knew the truth. He felt shame twist him and knew he was being petulant, and yet was unable to control himself. She still brought out the competitive child in him, desperate for her approval yet intent on gaining her disdain if he could not have her love and affection. 

She recoiled from him, snapping her hand away and he felt her retreat from his mind. Momentary relief before he was swallowed by her indifference. “Karlach is right. We should head out for the day... we can talk about this later. I don’t want to pry.”  

“A bit late for that don’t you think,” Gale shot, gripped with agony as he watched Tav’s face crumple with both pain and.. was it fear? Shame? Gale’s thoughts were too muddled to make sense of it, his own emotions at the forefront. “I think it’s best I stay here.” Gale said icily. 

“Fine with me.” Tav shot, her arms crossed indignant across her chest despite the twang in her voice. Karlach held her breath, her cheeks puffed from discomfort. Her eyes shot from Tav and back to Gale, the tension between the two almost enough to make her wish she was back in Avernus. At least, it’s how Gale thought she felt. It’s certainly how he felt. 

“Great.” Gale hissed, his eyes narrowed as he turned away from her, storming into his tent. 

*** 

Gale spent the entire day brooding, writing, trapped in the prison of his thoughts. Wyll and Halsin were the only two who remained at camp, the others off to continue through the Gauntlet of Shar. Although Gale’s gullet knotted with worry, concerned the trails would be too treacherous he tried to force the anxiety from his mind. If Tav didn’t return, he wouldn’t need to worry about telling her - but which was worse? 

Gale knew the answer. Although he would have rather died by Mystra’s hand than tell her what he had done, the thought of her absence from the world was too difficult a thought to humor. He traced his fingers with his opposite hand, imagining the fingers were hers. He was accustomed now to her deft touch, how she would open and close her fingers around his palm, as if drawing out his life force. 

They had shared so much and any backlash would be of his own making. Actions, he learned too late, had consequences - sometimes they were dormant, like a viper waiting to strike. Oh, if he could go back to chide his former self, to explain the folly he was about to inflict… how many other mortal men had wished the same? 

He had wanted to change the past countless times, wishing so many things had not happened or come to pass. They were inevitable now. Gale bristled as he rebuked himself for being so careless, he should have heeded the sound in the brush before he spilled the dark secret to Karlach. He should have trusted his gut. 

Gale was swept with waves of nausea. Around mid-day, he took a potion of sleep to find solace in the emptiness of dream. 

*** 

The sleep was anything but restful. He was plagued with dreams, both reprises of him slipping the sussur bloom into Tav’s bag and watching her flounder in front of the most acclaimed wizard’s in the realm and watching her be flung from the stone wall, reliving her death. 

In each dream, Gale startled himself awake only to fall back into immediate slumber. He felt like he was under water, unable to move quickly enough, his tongue clumsy and useless in his mouth as he tried to form words and phrases with no luck. 

In his final dream terror, Tav stood at the edge of the water at Last Light with him. She took his hand in hers and pulled him into a passionate embrace. “I forgive you,” she whispered against his ear. 

When Gale woke with a violent start, he lifted a hand to his cheek. They were soaked and wet streams continued to pour from his eyes. Gale tried in vain to stop the flood, but years of pent up emotion have a way of sneaking up on a person and consuming them whole. 

He cradled his face in his hands, his entire body quaking as a sob swept through him. “Pull yourself together,” he pulled his hair back and patted his face with a cloth he dipped in the glass next to him. The cold water brought him back to earth, regulating his nervous system as he brushed it across his neck and chest, his forehead and wrists. “You have faced far worse things than the consequences of your own actions.” He laughed a little at himself then.

Although still unprepared and gripped with the gnawing guilt that Tav would hate him, he listened for the rumblings of return. When he heard them, he took a deep breath before slipping out of his tent to find her. 

#bg3 gale #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale #baldurs gate 3 #gale x tav enemies to lovers #bg3 enemies to lovers #enemies to lovers gale x tav #enemies to lovers #bg3 fanficiton #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 gale fanfic #bg3 gale romance

[heretherebedork]

You know, it'll be really nice when we get a chance to see Posche actually consent to anything that happens to him in the show.

#kinnporsche #thai drama #thaibl #bl drama #bl series #thai bl #thai series #like seriously #everything so far has been under duress or drunk or drugged #i mean it's early #i get it #but i look forward to him getting to consent to things

[abolishfandombs]

You know what? I've seen folks comment on Wyll's behavior at the camp party w/the tieflings and honestly...his behavior doesn't bother me.

I think in Wyll's mind, there's a clear distinction between tieflings and devils, and while there's not not much of a difference between them visually (someone really dropped the ball there and with Wyll's transformation) that's what he has become more or less: a devil not a tiefling.

And while his reaction may seem shallow and tone deaf to some at first, it is so real and it makes sense. The tieflings are victims of their bloodline. From their ancestors dealings w/devils so long ago and the result of that persisting even now. A choice that they never had a say in/consent to. Wyll doesn't see them as something to be reviled. Physically or otherwise.

Wyll, however, made a pact with a devil of his on free will. For incredibly noble reasons of course, (and what could be nobler than trying to save your city and and the inhabitants of said city) but still a choice he chose to make for better or worse. (Although, there is something to be said about him being a teen at the time and probably under extreme duress but that's for another post)

And now, he's having to deal with the fallout from going against Mizora's command. It has to be an incredibly sobering thing to deal with. He's gone from hunting down devils to becoming one. Staring at his reflection and something monstrous looking back. Most likely no longer feeling at home within his own skin.

Also, there's the fact that anybody who knew him before the change and do not know of his deal with Mizora, are gonna look at him and maybe put two and two together on what happened and shun/hate him for it. The devil he now is (even though he is still the same Wyll on the inside) Especially the tieflings, who he seems to be very fond of.

I said all that to say, that maybe it looks a certain way or doesn’t make sense. But I can't blame Wyll acting in a very human way to something very traumatic happening to him.

And I know that once time has gone by and he begins to realize that he is not the devil he thinks he's become, that it will be easier to deal with his new self.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #wyll #wyll ravengard #text #long post is long

[unfortunatetheorist]

Is Klaus' legal logic of The Bad Beginning sensible?

* Joint Theory: @unfortunatetheorist with @snicketstrange *

Klaus's speech to the audience during the events of The Bad Beginning had a carefully thought-out structure, anchored in deeply rooted legal, but more so ethical, principles. In defence of his sister, who was forced into a marriage, Klaus appears to have adopted a multifaceted approach to challenge the marriage's validity.

Firstly, John Locke.

John Locke was one of the first people to suggest that humans have natural rights. He also wrote a book about this called the 'Two Treatises of Government'.

Klaus likely invoked John Locke's arguments on natural rights to contend that the marriage was not consensual and, therefore, violated his sister's fundamental rights to life and liberty. The idea that the bride must sign "with her own hand" is interpreted here not literally, but as an indicator of action "of her own free will," supported by Locke's principles.

Secondly, Thurgood Marshall.

Thurgood Marshall was the first black Supreme Court Justice of the USA, who fought for the rights of black citizens against Jim Crow's extremely racist ideologies.

His defence of the 14th Amendment may have been used by Klaus to argue that, in cases of ambiguity or doubt, the judge's decision should lean towards protecting the more vulnerable party. This point strengthens the point that, if there is doubt about the how valid Violet's consent is, the legal and ethical obligation is to invalidate the marriage. The 14th Amendment to the United States Constitution is crucial for establishing constitutional rights and consists of various clauses. The most relevant for Klaus's case is probably the Equal Protection Clause, which states that no state may "deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws." Klaus may have leaned especially on this clause to argue that, in situations of uncertainty, i.e. his sister's forced marriage, the interpretation/application of the law should be done in a manner that protects (in this case) Violet. This would align with the principles of the 14th Amendment, using it for equal protection under the law to invalidate the marriage and protect his sister's rights.

Third, Ida B. Wells.

Ida B. Wells was, similar to Thurgood Marshall, an early civil rights campaigner, who campaigned for anti-lynching (a word which here means, opposing the brutally violent act known as lynching).

Klaus likely drew inspiration from Ida B. Wells to assert that everyone has the right to be heard and protected by authorities, regardless of their age or origin. This argument would serve to legitimize his own standing as his sister's defender in court, neutralizing any potential prejudice against him for being a child or, perhaps, belonging to a minority (he and his sisters are Jewish).

Moreover, the presence of a judge at the ceremony should not be viewed as merely a formality, but a control mechanism to ensure mutual consent, something that resonates strongly with Locke and Marshall's ideals about the role of government and law. Thus, if either of the spouses gave any evidence to the judge that the marriage was conducted under duress, the judge would be obligated to invalidate the marriage. Violet's chosen signal was to sign the document with her left hand instead of her right hand. As the judge explained, the marriage could be invalidated due to this discreet yet appropriate signal.

Lastly, the word "apocryphal" that Lemony uses to describe Klaus's argument suggests a non-conventional but insightful interpretation of the law, something that seems to echo Marshall's "doubtful insights" and Wells' "moral conviction." Instead of resorting to literalism ('literally' - with her own hand, i.e. Violet's dominant hand), Klaus's argument was much deeper and grounded, touching on the very essence of what legislation and the role of judges are. That's why Justice Strauss was so fascinated by the young boy's speech.

In summary, the historical references evidence that Klaus wove these diverse elements into a cohesive and compelling argument, utilising the legacy of these thinkers to question and, ideally, invalidate his sister Violet's forced marriage.

¬ Th3r3534rch1ngr4ph & @snicketstrange,

Unfortunate Theorists/Snicketologists

#asoue #asoue netflix #theory #vfd #a series of unfortunate events #lemony snicket #snicketverse #count olaf #thurgood marshall #ida b wells #john locke #legally snicket #Very Fatiguing Definition(s) #'My brother's defining words again' ¬ Kit Snicket

[gynandromorph]

anyway. even if you feel entitled to force people to engage with content you think is uniquely deep and important because it will compel important action, it won't. someone under duress is not a useful audience and they won't have useful reactions. everyone loses when you intentionally step over the lines of consent.

[yuri-for-businesswomen]

sexual consent is not just a YES, it always has to be put in context.

if someone says yes because there is a gun to their head thats not real consent. if someone says yes out of fear thats not consent, even if the other person doesnt explicitly threaten them. if someone says yes because they think they have to, because they feel obligated, thats not real consent, even if the other person is not aware of it.

its not necessarily the case that the other person is causing or even aware of the duress the supposedly consenting person is under; but if they are, it makes them an abuser or rapist.

in prostitution, the sex buyer is aware of the duress the supposedly consenting person is under: financial duress. the whole premise of prostitution is that someone needs money. they might lie to themselves that she wants sex too, but just because someone rationalises the harm they inflict, doesnt mean its not there.

there are other ways to have anonymous sex without strings attached where both parties want sex and therefore consent can be given. sex buyers actively choose to make use of a system where saying no, actively not consenting, means a loss of income. if sex is a service, a profession, a job, sex is an obligation. if you have to endure sex to make money, consent is given due to fear of losing income. and as a sex buyer, you dont know whether someone else is forcing or threatening the prostitute to have sex. this makes buying sex inherently abusive.

nordic model now

#mine #anti prostitution #sex positive

[abigail-pent]

some thoughts on Mercymorn/reproduction/children:

I've seen a few posts recently looking at pre-Resurrection Mercy's insistence on reproductive justice in NTN, and juxtaposing it with her supposedly anti-children stance in HTN, and essentially going "hmm interesting what a big personality change!" and like. y'all. no.

first: plenty of people who are passionate about reproductive justice do not particularly enjoy the company of children. (I'm one of them. hi!) you do not need to want something for yourself to advocate for others to have it. like there just really isn't any contradiction here. present-day repro justice advocacy includes everything from abortion rights to better socioeconomic support for people who do choose to have children. it's about your right to control your own body, and that encompasses both freedom from having children and freedom to have children. two sides of the same coin.

second: I actually don't think we know post-Resurrection Mercy's opinions on children! We know her opinions on *making children into Lyctors.* "Children as fists! Infants as gestures! Yuck! Pfaugh! I live in the worst of all possible worlds!" and that's because... she does! it is an objectively bad and horrific thing to turn children into immortal beings! they've hardly had any life experience, and now John's asking them to live forever, like they have any idea what forever even means. and in Harrow's case she became a Lyctor under duress. like of all the House heirs who come to Canaan House, only Ianthe would have chosen Lyctorhood given any other alternative (yes, Harrow wanted to renew her House, but like... this is also a form of coercion I think. not super consensual imo. or like, consensual only on a technicality, which I hope we can all agree is not the same thing as free and enthusiastic consent, and should *not* be treated like it's real consent.) but I digress... the point is that what we know about Mercy is that she thinks it is bad to turn children into immortals. and also, given her involvement with BOE, I think it is very possible that she is against bringing on any new Lyctors at all. so we have thoroughly registered her disgust for Harrowhark and Ianthe the First, but we have absolutely no information on her opinion of actual children, either before or after the Resurrection.

but what we can infer here is that she cares quite a lot about consent and the right to self-determination. which in itself is quite interesting because Mercy's own ascension to Lyctorhood can also be described as coerced consent... as in, the suicide pact between Alfred and Cristabel forced her hand, and Augustine's as well. and clearly if Cristabel thought she needed to commit suicide in order to get Mercy to ascend, then we can infer that Mercy herself would not have ascended if Cristabel hadn't all but made that decision for her.

#nona the ninth spoilers #nona spoilers #ntn spoilers #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb spoilers #mercymorn

[pinkandpurple360]

Honestly I feel like the show should have leaned more into Blitz and Fizz's reconnection and just slipped Stolas entirely. Like, if you wanted Stolitz drama, there it is. If you wanted some kind of tension, it pretty much writes itself. Instead of sending the crystal to Stolas, Fizz has it sent straight to Blitz. Blitz returns the book to Stolas who is super confused and actually kinda petty about it. Blitz and him have their huge falling out where Blitz finally has the leverage to say "Whatever you thought we had 25 years ago was a delusion you came up with. I had a best friend and it wasn't ever you. The only reason I even slept with you was because I had no one else. And even though I hated the fact that my worth to you was just my dick, it was still more value than I had for myself."

And Stolas realizes his whole fabricated slutty love story was all his own belief and, yes, he absolutely threw away his reputation and daughter over an imp. But he's not necessarily jarred that he's realized that Blitz is an imp, he knew that. But realizing Blitz only ever saw himself as "an imp" and that there never was any sort of equality in the dynamic. And Stolas never really made room for Blitz either.

It would have been so easy to close the book on the stolas story, fizz is already more likeable, popular, and with a far more deep layered story with the main character than this disconnected owl is. Fizz is connected to not only his romantic past but his friendship, his family, and an enemy as well? And he’s connected to major adversaries (Ozzies - Verosika - Tex - Loona - Bee - back to Asmodeus) Holy shit it’d be easy for him to connect to the 4 with these social connections. Stolas has none. Just being a yandere over Blitzøs junk.

Viv honestly thinks stolas’ arranged marriage deserves more screen time and sympathy than the very thing responsible for the scars on the main characters face that he has always had and will always have to live with. She thinks stolas’ arranged marriage is more tragic than the circus fire. But it’s just not.

Also to add more to what you said

— what tipped Blitzø over was that stolas said he was his first ever friend**

— he did it out of pity, not attraction

— he only consented to one night. Stolas violated that by creating a monthly contract under duress. Even if he stole from him, that response doesn’t make any sense. And not to mention, it feels like a punishment.

If this is Blitzøs story, as it claims to be, and not the stolas show, Blitzø MnM and Loona are protagonists. The only character who functions as an antagonist is stolas, he’s not a hero. And he’s trying to take away Moxxie and Fizz’s roles in the story as the slightly meek counterpart he has a back and forth with at work, and his childhood friend with untold feelings tension and shared traumas.

#helluva boss critical #stolitz critical