#it just reads as SO insidious to call her these things

[milfsloverblog]

Stood Up (Part 3) (NSFW)

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: This took me so long to write, I reaaaally wanted to write the angst (beware) but then got stuck at the smutty part (which is why it isn’t as detailed). I hope you’ll enjoy reading this chapter as much as the previous ones! Lil reminder that my requests are open and I’ll happily write for any of Gwen’s characters <3

~1,8k

Saying you had fallen for Larissa would be an understatement. In a couple of weeks the tall woman had insidiously made her way inside your brain and inside your heart. She was usually your first thought in the morning when your eyes fluttered open, and your very last at night when you went to bed and moaned her name, your hand buried between your thighs under the bedsheets.

You hadn’t dared use her phone number yet. She’d said to use it wisely and you weren’t sure that calling or texting her every time you wanted to would make her very happy. You knew she was a busy woman, probably working until late at night only to wake up early in the mornings, and the last thing you wanted was to bother her.

A couple of times you had thought about sending her flowers, you even had the perfect bouquet in mind. Some black pearl amaryllis paired with baby’s breath and eucalyptus. Love and passion, new beginnings, protection. The perfect bouquet. But you had no idea which school to send it to and even if you had, you still weren’t sure that sending flowers to a woman you were having casual sex with was a good idea.

————

You sighed as you flipped the sign on your shop window, staring at the word “closed” written in bold letters while you locked the door. Thursdays were always slow and you had only made a few sales that day. You hated Thursdays more than Mondays, but at least you had Fridays to look forward to. Even more now that you knew Larissa.

“Lydia!” You called as you walked past Ellen’s and noticed your friend taking her cigarette break outside the restaurant.

The girl stubbed out her cigarette and waved as you approached her, pushing an awkward smile.

“Are you alright ?” You asked with a soft chuckle, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“No, no I’m fine! It’s just…It’s so rare to see you on Thursdays!” Lydia laughed uncomfortably and rubbed the back of her neck.

You were about to answer when you noticed it, the silver hair through the restaurant window. You couldn’t believe your luck.

“Larissa!” You whispered, watching the woman for a few seconds before moving to walk inside the restaurant.

“No, no wait-“ Lydia tried to hold you back but it was too late, you had already pushed the door open and taken a few steps towards Larissa’s table.

That’s when you finally realised that another woman was sitting across from Larissa. A redhead with big glasses who looked around Larissa’s age.

The tall woman leaned in a little, telling her companion something that made her laugh loudly. Larissa smiled, looking proud of herself and you watched as the redhead put her hand on the blonde’s one on the table.

Oh. Oh. It suddenly dawned on you that you were witnessing a date.

You took a step back and accidentally bumped into Lydia who dropped the empty plates that she had been carrying. Immediately the whole restaurant turned to look at the two of you, including Larissa and her companion.

You kneeled at the same time as Lydia did to pick up the broken pieces of glass, your back turned to Larissa.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Lydia whispered, glancing at the tall woman still sitting down in her booth. “I tried to tell you, I…I’ll spit in their food if that makes you feel better.”

You looked at your friend, eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill, and shook your head.

“That won’t be necessary.” You managed to say, “We’re not together. She’s free to see whoever she wishes to see.”

With that you got back on your feet and took a deep breath, turning around to look at Larissa who immediately pulled her hand away from the redhead’s. She opened her mouth to speak but you didn’t care enough to listen, instead choosing to get out of the restaurant as quickly as you could.

As soon as the building was out of sight you burst into loud sobs, letting the tears run freely down your cheeks. And it was silly, you knew that. Larissa didn’t owe you anything, she wasn’t yours and you weren’t hers. You weren’t even mad at her, you were mad at yourself for allowing this to happen.

Of course, she would want to date someone more like her. Someone her age, someone who did more in life than owning a flower shop. You knew that you were different from Larissa in almost every aspect but somehow you had hoped that maybe…

Fuck, it hurt. Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest as you realised that you had fallen in love with a woman who probably saw you as a mere distraction. And you could never be mad at her, because it was all your fault.

——————

The next few days were hell. Every time you closed your eyes you’d see images of Larissa and that redhead woman and it made you sick to your stomach. So much so that you skipped dining at Ellen’s that Friday.

You resented every single person that came into your shop to buy flowers for their partner, your teeth grinding each time someone mentioned their loved one.

“Your partner is lucky, I bet they get showered in flowers a lot.” The tall man standing on the other side of your counter said.

You looked up at him and his beige coat, and then back down at the bouquet of stargazer lilies he had bought. He had been here twice this week already. Yesterday he had gotten a dozen of white tulips and you couldn’t help but wonder if the man knew what these flowers meant.

I’m sorry, the tulips said. I miss you, the lilies added.

“I don’t have a partner.” You simply answered as politely as you could. “I’ll be back in a second, I need to get some organza.”

You walked to the back of your shop, shuffling through your organza rolls to find one that would match the bouquet.

“Ha!” You smiled victoriously and made your way back to the front of the shop, stopping dead in your tracks when you saw Larissa standing where the man had been just a couple of minutes earlier.

Your eyes quickly scanned around the shop, the man was gone. It made no sense, because if he had left and Larissa had walked in, the bell over the door would have rung twice, and it didn’t ring at all.

“I waited for you on Friday night,” Larissa’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, “But you never came.”

You bit back a snarky remark and walked to the counter where the lilies were still waiting to be wrapped.

“I didn’t feel like going to Ellen’s.” You answered, keeping your eyes down as you cut the organza.

“You haven’t called, or texted.” She said, making you shake your head a little.

“Yes, well, I know you’re a busy woman. Didn’t want to bother you.” You shrugged, still not looking at her.

“You’re right, I am a busy woman. But I would have made time for you.” Larissa took a step closer and you put the scissors down, taking a deep breath before looking up at her face.

“I don’t think we should see each other again.” You said as straightforwardly as you could, watching how Larissa’s mouth dropped slightly open as she processed your words.

“Why?” It came out of the older woman’s mouth as a whisper.

Because I’m in love with you but you aren’t in love with me, you wanted to say.

“Because it wouldn’t be right to that redhead woman I saw you with last week.” You shrugged and went back to wrapping the bouquet.

There was a moment of silence before Larissa suddenly started laughing, and it made the anger bubble in your body.

“Yeah, it’s so funny, isn’t it? So, so funny.” You said through gritted teeth. “I really hope it made you feel good about yourself, me fucking you and you fucking me. I know I’m not good enough to be with someone like you, hell you probably wouldn’t even look at me if I walked past you down the street. But, fuck, it hurts. It hurts to know that if I had been a little more like that redhead, maybe you would have wanted me. Really wanted me, like I want you.”

Larissa had stopped laughing then, her blue eyes wide as she listened to your rant. She frowned because she thought she’d understood what you were implying but it couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly be in love with her.

“Marilyn, the redhead, is my employee.” She eventually said after a few seconds. “And she is the closest thing I have to a friend. I don’t know what you think you saw that night at Ellen’s, but it wasn’t a date. We do like and respect each other, but it’s nothing like that.”

You just stood there quietly, realising you had been even more stupid than you’d thought. You wanted nothing more than to disappear.

“You fell in love with me…” Larissa said barely audibly and you shrugged, fidgeting with the lilies in your hands.

The cat was out of the bag now, it would be useless to deny your feelings after your clear display of jealousy.

“Yes, I did. Can you really blame me though? You’re everything anyone could wish for.” You eventually said, daring to look up at the tall woman.

Larissa leaned on the counter, her face stopping only a few inches from yours.

“Tell me again how we shouldn’t be seeing each other.” She whispered, her eyes dropping to your lips.

What happened next happened so quickly, you barely had time to register it. You closed the gap between Larissa’s lips and yours, her hand immediately grabbing the back of your neck to pull you closer.

She walked around the counter and lifted you as if you weighed no more than a feather, only to take you to the back of the shop and lay you down on the workbench where you prepped the flowers each morning.

You could smell the roses and carnations that surrounded you when Larissa kneeled between your now naked legs, a couple of thorns dug into your back but you could not have cared less.

“Have me, please!” You begged, aching to feel the woman’s touch on your skin again.

How special it was, you thought as you looked down into Larissa’s eyes and she looked up into yours, to have a goddess kneeled between her worshiper’s thighs, her mouth and chin slicked with their arousal.

You knew you wouldn’t last long when the coil in your tummy tightened dangerously, threatening to snap at any second.

When you came moaning Larissa’s name, the woman’s heart swelled in her chest. You loved her. Someone loved her. She was loved, finally.

“I love you too.” Larissa whispered in your ear as you came down from your high, placing a soft kiss on your panting lips.

She loved you.

Thank god. Thank god for the imbecile who had stood her up.

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa weems x y/n #larissa x reader #no beta we die like larissa #principal weems

[muddyorbsblr]

summoned pt2

Read Part 1 here! See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: Anonymous

Summary: Now that your wish has been fulfilled, Loki has no choice but to leave as he is no longer bound to you.

Pairing: Incubus!Loki x Reader

Word Count: 6.4k [grab your drinks, grab your snacks, you're gonna be here a while]

Warnings: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers you should know the drill by now); vaginal fingering; unprotected p in v; light cussing; angst

Things to be aware of: Loki is a sex demon, not a god, in this one

"Loki it's time to return. Your duty with this mortal woman is fulfilled."

Lilith's voice floated into Loki's ears in the otherwise quiet of your bedroom. As soon as you'd said the words he knew it was only a matter of time before he was either summoned to another's bed or recalled back to her domain to await his next assignment.

He was just feebly hoping that it wouldn't come so soon. That perhaps he could just have one more night like this.

Just a few more hours to hold you.

"At least let me stay until she wakes," he grumbled, the agitated tone causing you to stir in your sleep. "Let me say goodbye to her."

"Could you do it?" her melodic snake-like voice taunted in his ear. "Could you say goodbye to her and bear to see the sadness in her eyes? Could you say it without kissing her? Touching her? Showing her that you've fallen in love with her?"

"If I leave now and she wakes up to nothing I will hurt her," he argued through gritted teeth. "She's been hurt enough times. I refuse to add to that pain."

"Better she be hurting but alive," she countered. "If you stay longer, if you say goodbye to her, you will want to have one last kiss. One last embrace. You'll wish to make love to her. And once you do, because of how strong your emotional bond with her is, you will deplete her of her life force. Completely. You won't just drive her mad, Loki. You'll kill her."

He ground his teeth together, tears stinging his eyes as if they were made of acid. "So my choices are to hurt her or to kill her? We're doomed regardless?"

"Come back, child." The gentle tone behind her words had him taken aback. "We have much to discuss. And I think you care for her enough that you would rather the outcome where she may still walk among her world and live another day."

When moments passed that he could no longer feel Lilith's presence in his mind, he gently laid your sleeping form flat on your bed, his heart already aching as you began to let out small whimpers in protest, your hand clinging desperately to his shirt as if you knew he was about to leave you forever.  "I'm sorry, darling," he whispered as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Once he'd coaxed your hand to let him go, he stared at you for a moment, desperately committing each delicate feature on your face to memory, before turning back and disappearing from your life forever.

"Welcome home, my child. It's so good to finally see your face once more."

Loki arrived back at Lilith's domain with a sullen look coloring his expression, the thought of you waking up to find him gone looming over him with an ominous persistence. Just imagining your face as you opened your eyes to an empty bed had him physically aching to return to you, to hold you and apologize profusely for even leaving you for a few short hours. The image of the hurt in your eyes akin to poison eating away at him from the inside out.

"You wish to be with her, don't you? The human girl?"

"Gee, Lilith, what gave me away?" he hissed, earning what seemed like a compassionate stare from the superior succubus. A look akin to a mother staring upon a petulant child throwing a slight tantrum. "I love her. And you called me away from her just as she began to feel as if she finally had a constant in her life. How insidious are we that the moment a wish as pure as hers is granted, we take it away once she realizes what she had? It sickens me, Lilith. To my core."

"Loki what if I told you there is a way? That there are certain…arrangements in place for our kind in the event that a situation such as yours ever arose?" The treacherous feeling of hope bloomed in his chest at her words, at even the remotest prospect of being able to return to you. To come home.

Home.

Not once did the demon ever think that there would be any place in any plane of existence that he could ever truly call that. Not even Lilith's domain if he was being truly honest with himself. Only to come to the realization that made his now beating heart swell as it dawned on him.

Home wasn't a place. It was a person. You.

His beautiful little mortal.

"What must I do?"

"Just like that?" She seemed to do away with hiding how confounded she was at his lack of hesitation. "Not even a moment of pause to think about what could be at stake--"

"Lilith please," he spat out, already growing exasperated of her nature of teasing out a conversation to longer than it absolutely needed to be. "You tell me there's a way for me to be with her again, yes or no?"

"Yes but--"

"Then tell me what I must do. Do I need to tell her to make another wish? Must I make a wish myself?"

"You need to relinquish your immortality," she blurted out, the concern now rife on her features as the words echoed around the caverns of her domain. "The arrangement is that one must surrender their immortal life in exchange for one mortal lifetime. What happens after that one lifetime is over is…unknown to me."

"Because I lack a soul?"

She gave him a pitying smile. "Yes, my child. There is no guarantee that when your time with her is over that you would rejoin her in her afterlife; however, miracles have been known to happen. Perhaps you'll be the exception."

"Have there been others with a similar plight? That took the same decision? What happened to them?"

"Truthfully, other than the knowledge that they did not return home, there is nothing I can tell you. Perhaps their existence simply ceased to be and there was nothing waiting for them on the other side. Perhaps they did move forward to the next stage of their lives and they found their loves again in the next life. As I said, there is no guarantee.

"Now I can understand if you will have your hesitations, so I can offer you to think it over while you're fulfilling your next--"

"I'll take it," Loki cut her off. He didn't need time to think things through; the only option he was interested in rang as clear as your voice breaking through the buzzing busy noises of other mortals drudging through their own existence back in your home. The one that would lead him back to you. "A single, finite lifetime with her is worth more than an eternity bereft of her. I'll take my chances."

The smile that Lilith gave him now was more akin to how he saw good-hearted mothers smiling at their children whenever the realization hit them that just because that person would always be their child, that child had already grown to become an adult ready to make their own decisions. It was a bittersweet smile rife with the mixture of excitement for what they would make of their lives and the stinging question of when they would see each other again.

"I wish you all the happiness with your mortal, Loki. Come with me. We shall begin the ritual. Your final ritual." She held a deceptively unaged hand toward him, silently instructing him to take it. "And then you can go home. Start your new life with your…?" she trailed off, prompting him to say your name.

"Y/N," he finished. "Her name is Y/N." Even merely saying your name had him helpless against the smile that crept up on his face.

My Darling Y/N,

When you wake I suspect you will be disoriented, confused, perhaps even angry. I would not blame you. You will wake on this morning to an empty bed, and for that I must apologize. Never did I wish to leave in such haste and without even a proper goodbye; you deserve much better than that. Better than me.

While you slept, I was summoned back to Lilith's domain, which is where you can safely suspect I am now. She's…she's complicated to describe, but I suppose in your realm she is to me something akin to a boss and a mother all at once. As much as I would rather not be sent to my next assignment, it would also be safe to suspect that if I am not already there, that I am on my way. Believe me when I say this: With all my heart, or at least whatever I may have that resembles a heart, I would rather be holding you right this moment.

But it seems that when you verbally acknowledged that your wish had been fulfilled, then my obligational tether to you was severed. There was no longer a force that bound me to you, and I was susceptible to being summoned by another once more.

Chances are you will never see me again, and I feel hollow even saying this. But know that even if you may not perceive me, that whenever I am there, in your realm, I will always make time to check in on you. I may have been forced to leave you, but you, my beautiful little mortal, will never leave me. You are my favorite. I fear you will always be.

Y/N, all I wish for you now is that you would live your life no longer feeling alone. That even if it seems that way, you would remember that there will always be someone that would care for you and only wish happiness for you for the rest of your days. Even if I can no longer hold you, if ever you should feel a stray breeze on a motionless day, or a presence in a seemingly empty room, know that that would be me. Doing what I can to let you know that I am still with you.

Yours,

Loki

By the time you left for work that morning, you'd memorized every word in the letter that Loki had left laying on the pillow where you expected him to be, the paper seeming to apologize that instead of a kiss on  the forehead as you woke, its detached nature with the emotionally charged words were all you had to keep you warm.

You'd never been so cold.

Today you were thankful for the neglectful nature of your employers and your coworkers; nobody seemed to notice that along with your red-rimmed eyes, everything in your expression screamed "hollow". All it would take was one look your way and anyone would see that you within moments of waking up your heart had been irredeemably shattered, every nerve in your body on high alert for a stray breeze or an invisible presence, stubbornly searching for something you knew you wouldn't find.

His time with you always had an expiration date. You'd known that since the first night; part of you had even been convinced that you would've woken up to an empty bed after that first night, if you were being completely honest with yourself. And much as you always dreadfully expected that day every time you went off to sleep, a part of you still felt sucker punched when it was actually glaringly staring you in the face.

The way of the Incubi was cruel, you were sure. The moment that you finally had what your soul yearned for, it was yanked out right from under your feet and leaving you in a state as bad as you were before you even blew out that candle. You were even willing to argue that you were in worse shape now. Because at least back then you were simply alone.

Now you were alone and heartbroken. Now you weren't just yearning for a concept, you were aching for someone.

And that ache hit you the hardest coming home from work and finally being faced with the cold emptiness of your apartment. No arms to pull you into an embrace as you walked through the door. No velvety voice that welcomed you home as you felt the tension of the day leave your body.

There was just…nothing. Not even a stray breeze.

A desperation began to course through you as you marched over to the kitchen counter, fishing out a thin candle and the lighter, your heart thundering in your ears as the tears began to well in your eyes. The temperature felt as if it were rising rapidly as you felt your face heating in anger. "What's the point?" you hissed into the darkness. "They'd bring him back to me just to take him away again."

You couldn't manage anything other than silent sobs as you sank to the floor, the harsh, cruel reality forcing you to let it sink in. Loki was gone. And you would never see him again.

It felt like time had began to slow into a snail's pace as you stayed in your spot, slumped over with your head resting on your knees, arms wrapped around your legs in a desperate attempt to hold yourself together while the sobs kept coming. Still no breeze. Still no presence.

Still nothing. Still alone.

Goodbye, Loki, you said inwardly. The words hurt too much to voice out loud at the moment, so thinking them would have to do. I love you.

As your breathing began to take on a less labored pace, you pulled yourself up to your feet and walked over to your bedroom, making the split-second decision to put on one of the long-sleeved shirts that the demon had left behind and wear it to bed. He'd have no use for them anymore.

His words from that first night echoed hauntingly in your head, almost mocking you for somehow finding yourself in a worse state than you were in before he appeared in your life. To sleep alone when one yearns for companionship maybe one of the most cripplingly lonely feelings you can experience.

Apparently it was even worse when one yearned for love.

The sound of a loud thud out in the hall had you shooting up out of bed, reaching over in your nightstand and fumbling for your letter opener before you approached your front door, where whoever had crashed outside still remained, their audible heavy breathing permeating through the dark silence of your apartment. Chills spread throughout your whole body as a soft knocking at your front door followed a few moments later.

Gripping the letter opener tightly and holding it up in front of you to defend yourself, you threw the door open to see who dared to show up at your front door at this late hour. What you saw on the other side had you dropping your feeble excuse for a weapon the second your eyes met.

"Loki?" You inwardly winced at the hoarse sound of your voice as you said his name. This wasn't real. This couldn't be. You were losing your sanity, imagining him here with you.

There was no one there.

He breathed your name in what sounded like relief, taking a step toward you with his arms outstretched as if you pull you towards him. "Stop," you cried out holding your hand out as if it had the power to make him stay exactly where he was. "Don't. You're not here. You can't be. You said I was never going to see you again, you left--"

Any words you had left died on your tongue the second he closed the distance between you and wrapped you in his arms. "I know. I know. I'm so sorry, my darling." You found yourself breaking into more sobs as you felt yourself leaning in to his hold, an arm wrapping around you to hold you up, his other hand gently stroking your hair as you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. "I tried to make it back to you as fast as I could."

"Why are you here?" you mumbled against his chest, your hands tightly clenching into fists holding on to the fabric of his shirt, as if you could hold him there if you did so. "And since when do you knock?"

"Since today, sweet girl. I no longer hold my powers. What held me back from returning to you was not another assignment, but rather a ritual. My final ritual." He tucked his fingers under your chin, tilting your head gently so you could look up at him. "I am no longer a member of the Incubi, darling."

"What are you now, then?" Tears kept escaping your eyes with every blink, most of you still refusing to believe that this was real. Even as you placed your hands tentatively on his shoulders, giving a slight squeeze and still finding yourself surprised that you even grasping solid matter to begin with. "Because I'm still not convinced you're real."

Your heart sputtered in your chest as he pressed his lips to your forehead. "I'm here, precious mortal. I'm real and I'm here." He took a look around the apartment, a broken sigh escaping his lips as he saw the kitchen counter, the lone candle and lighter still laying on top. "Were you going to make another wish?"

"I wanted to." You kept your eyes trained to the floor now, afraid that if you looked at him a moment longer you would either burst into more tears or blurt out how you felt about him.

"What stopped you?"

"What was the point?" you scoffed. "I wish for them to bring you back only for you to leave again?" You let out a mirthless chuckle, the ache in your heart worsening as you felt him pull you into a tighter embrace. "I already went through the pain of losing you I wasn't exactly keen on doing it again." He cradled your head against his chest, giving yourself permission to relish in the feeling even for just a few short moments and finding yourself a touch startled when you could hear his own heart beating rapidly; you hadn't been able to before.

"You don't need a wish to bring me back to you anymore," he murmured against the top of your head. "To answer your question of what I am now…I can't be too sure. All I know is I am no longer immortal. I have but one mortal lifetime to spend how I desire. There is no longer a will in this world stronger than my own that determines who I am tethered to. Starting tonight I am free to choose my own path and…that would answer your final question. Why I am here." You let out a shuddering breath as you felt his fingers weaving through your hair, his lips pressing kisses to your temple, down your cheek, and stopping at the corner of your mouth. "Y/N, I'm here for you. I'm here because I have chosen who to tether myself to for this mortal lifetime and what ever may come after, and I've chosen you."

Words began to fail you at his admission, at this potential new reality of him getting to stay with you. With no more fear of someone or something taking him away because he was summoned elsewhere. Of him surrendering an infinite number of days for a finite lifetime with you.

It painted a beautiful picture. A life that felt so perfect that it couldn't have possibly been crafted for you. A dream masquerading itself as reality so that you could wake up and fixate on what was possible instead of what already was. All you could do as the words refused to form was to let out a near incoherent utterance of the final question that burned in your soul with every word that slipped through his unfairly perfect lips.

Why would he do such a thing?

"Why?" He guided your gaze back to him, his eyes shining with tears of his own. "Are you truly asking that, sweet girl?" More tears rolled down your cheeks as your eyes squeezed shut when he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss, much like he did the previous night.

Like he did the previous night.

The hissing thought made you recoil against him, the motion making him immediately release you, a panicked and apologetic look in his eyes, the pain in them apparent as he watched you step back from him. "I'm sorry," he breathed out, arms still reaching out toward you, fingers twitching as if there was an ache in him similar to the one you'd felt all day.

"Last night you kissed me and then you disappeared." The words rushed out of you, nearly garbling together with how fast you were trying to talk, every part of you on high alert, afraid that he would vanish again. "I don't want you to kiss me if it means you'll leave again."

A large part of you felt pathetic hearing your own words ringing in your ears, desperation lacing every sound that escaped your mouth. For so long you'd convinced yourself that you needed nothing and no one, and now here you were practically telling the former demon that if he left you again it would rip you apart.

Any other words that may have been lingering at the tip of your tongue died when he walked over to you, lifting you into his arms and walking you both further into your apartment, setting you down onto the kitchen counter so that your faces were level with one another. A shudder ran through your body as you felt his fingers lightly touching the backs of your knees, thumbs stroking the bare skin of your legs as he stepped between them.

A faint whimper pierced the silence of your apartment when he pressed his lips to yours again in a soft, fleeting kiss. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmured against your skin, kissing a trail down to your neck. "I'll never leave you again." You let out a broken moan as his fingers moved aside the neckline of your shirt, tracing his lips along your collarbone, whispering into your skin, "I love you."

You finally felt the cold that cruelly kept you company all day withering away at his words, relief flooding you as a smile pulled at the corners of your mouth. "You're staying?" His whispered yes may as well have been etched into your skin, your heart swelling as you felt him smiling against you when you wrapped your arms and legs around him, pulling him to you as close as you could manage. "Good. The next time someone tries to take you away from me I demand a fighting chance. Because I love you, too."

The air left your lungs in a little squeak as Loki lifted you into his arms once more and off the counter, capturing your lips in a frantic kiss that had you moaning into each other's mouths as he walked the familiar path back to your bedroom. "I was told last night that if I'd tried to love you the way I ached to while I was still a demon that I would have killed you. Depleted you of your life force."

You shouldn't have felt intrigued by the prospect; in fact, fear should have entered your system right about now at the mere thought of being alone with someone who could have ended you in such a carnal manner.

Yet somehow you'd never felt safer than you did at this moment, as he laid you down gently on your bed, his larger frame hovering just above yours as he resumed kissing along your collarbone. "While we need not worry about that any longer, I think it best we still take precautions." You could feel your pulse thundering in your ears as he kissed a path down your clothed torso, stopping above your heart as his roaming hands gave the sides of your hips a light squeeze. "We'll go slow, darling. For now."

The only response you could manage was a mute nod, your breaths coming out in jagged exhales as he pressed his lips to yours once again, fingers working their way to the hem of your shirt and lifting the fabric above your hips. He made quick work to slide your panties down your legs before gliding his hand up your inner thigh, the light touch already causing you to whimper against his mouth. "Loki please--"

Any words that would have followed were overtaken with a piercing moan that echoed in the darkness of your bedroom as long dexterous fingers met your slicked folds, easily working themselves into your entrance and coating his digits in your arousal in slow, sensuous strokes. "If you knew how I've longed to have you like this, my love," he whispered, repeatedly pressing his lips to your cheek and temple in soft kisses. "How I've fought against the urge to seduce you for months."

"Why -- oh f-fuck -- why didn't you?" Your question came out in breathy sighs as his fingers curled up and began to stroke against that soft spot inside you that had only been found prior by your own hand. With the aid of toys that had been locked away and unused for months since the night he came into your life. "I wouldn't have said no."

"Fear, my love." He let out a groan as your hips arched against his touch, driving his fingers deeper into you. "I've driven others I did not even care for to utter madness. I dared not think what I would do to the woman I love."

The mixture of his candid words and the way his fingers never faltered in their movements inside of you made a thrill run down your spine, making your body shake and push you closer to the peak of your climax. Words had all but completely failed you, the only utterance that even held a modicum of coherence being a whimpered 'I love you' as a heat consumed you, his pace becoming unrelenting as he chased toward the peak of your pleasure and shuddered whispers of your name and his mirrored sentiments were murmured into your skin.

"Let go, my darling," he groaned against your neck, proceeding to suck a bruise onto your collarbone and making your hips shoot off the bed as he placed this thumb against your clit and rubbed in slow, tight circles. "Let me feel you come undone."

It was like you felt flames licking along your body as you came with a trebling scream of his name, feeling your walls clenching and fluttering around his digits as he eased you off of your high with unhurried strokes against that same soft spot. You didn't bother holding back the whimper that escaped you when he withdrew his fingers from inside you, the sound of his zipper being undone sending another thrill up your spine in anticipation for what you knew would come next.

Once you felt the head of his length at your entrance, the only sound that came out of you was a whiny moan of his name, repeatedly pleading for more. "If anything feels amiss tell me right away and we'll stop," he warned, letting out a sinful groan as he inched deeper inside of you. "Promise me, Y/N."

You could only manage to nod your head as you made a weak attempt to wrap your legs around him and pull him closer to you, your hands clawing to his back and your lips kissing any spot within your reach. "I promise." The sounds of your moans filled the room as he finally brought his hips flush against yours, completely sheathing himself inside you. "You won't break me," you tried to reassure him in panted breaths. "I trust you."

You hadn't lost your sanity that night like he'd feared. No matter how many times he made love to you as the hours passed. The only thing that had been "lost" had already been his for a good long while.

Your heart.

Six months later

"Hey Y/N. You could take off early today if you feel like it. I personally wouldn't want to spend my birthday at work if I can help it."

You looked up from your desk in your office to see your new boss, Susan, poking her head in through the open doorway. Somehow no matter the mood that the day had taken on, she always found a way to lighten it even by a touch. And in truth, you owed the woman a great deal; she'd been the one to notice that you'd been working yourself nearly bone dry at your previous station and being horribly under compensated for your efforts because your former supervisor had been conveniently 'forgetting' to include your name when sharing the rewards that your team was reaping from your outputs.

So she took matters into her own hands and gave you his job. And his office. And even a little bit more than his salary.

"Thanks, Susan. I'm just gonna send over these reports to you for the month and then I'll head out." A couple of keystrokes later and the reports in question were now in her inbox. "Aaaaand sent." The sound of your office phone ringing made you start in your chair, the caller ID reading 'Reception' and making you give your superior a gesture as if to say 'excuse me' before picking up the receiver. "Hey Janice. What's up?"

"Miss Y/L/N, you have a visitor here," she stammered, her breathy tone evident even through the phone line.

"Tell him I'm on my way out, Janice. Thanks." You chuckled at the schoolgirl giggle that escaped the young woman before you could hang up the receiver, facing your boss with a beaming grin as you turned off your computer for the weekend. "Looks like that's my cue."

She snuck a quick peek at the man waiting for you by the door. "Alright Y/L/N, you gotta throw me a bone here. Where did you find him and does he have a brother? Or a best friend? Or a single dad?"

Without fail, her sentiment had you letting out a hearty laugh, knowing full well that every time she asked these questions, you'd always only answered her with the truth. "I told you, Susan. I made a wish and he just poofed into my life. Like magic."

"Okay but where did you make the wish? Maybe I'll luck out and bump into my own dream boat, I just have to walk around the same part of town."

As you walked out of your office, you placed a hand on her shoulder. "Would you believe me if I told you my bedroom?" you answered with a saucy wink.

Her jaw dropped at the answer she most likely interpreted as anything other than what really happened. "Ohh fuck me running, he's your neighbor? You really won the lottery didn't you?" That had you laughing a touch louder than usual, coming to accept that no matter how truthful your words would be, she would likely never see it as anything other than comical euphemisms and a form of evasion.

When you were close enough to get a good look at the former demon that was waiting for you at the end of the hall, you could feel your heart sputtering in your chest. No wonder Janice was a flustered wreck, you thought to yourself, eyeing Loki's towering frame clad in a phthalo green dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into onyx slacks, his raven hair pulled back in a half bun with a few tendrils loose and seamlessly framing his devastatingly handsome face.

"There you are, darling," he spoke with an unmistakable adoration in his tone, his arm already outstretched towards you as you began to approach him faster so you could step into his embrace.

"Guess I'll see you on Monday," Susan spoke from beside you, slowing her pace and waving as she watched you walk off to your boyfriend. You could only manage to throw her a half-hearted glance and a wave back before you were pulled into a warm embrace.

"Here I am," you answered his words playfully as you looked up at him, your chin snugly resting against his chest. "Hi."

Glaringly envious eyes seemed to follow you as you walked home with him hand in hand, never once breaking stride as he asked you questions about your day, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth when you stated that this birthday was leagues better than your last.

"Would that be because your mother finally remembered on the right day?" he prodded with an audibly amused lilt in his voice, quickly switching sides with you before crossing the street so he would be on the side of oncoming traffic.

"Please, she probably started actively forgetting after the way I chewed her out last time we spoke," you snorted, beginning to slow your stride as you reached the final stretch toward your apartment building. "My sister called, though. Still doesn't believe you're real. Then again…probably my fault because I keep telling her the truth of how we met and let's be honest, if anyone told me that same story I'd ask them what they were on and if they could give me some."

As you walked down the hallway leading to your apartment, he slowed his steps to a halt and took you by the waist, maneuvering you until your back was flush against the wall and he was staring down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Then what was it exactly that made this day leagues better than last year, my love?"

"You really wanna hear me say it, huh?" Your smile threatened to split your face in two as he leaned in closer to you, your lips mere inches apart.

"I do."

"I have you," you breathed out, your whimper muffled as he captured your lips in a tender kiss that threatened to steal your breath away. You let out a squeal and giggled against his lips when he wrapped his arm around you and lifted you off the ground, walking you the remaining distance to your apartment and opening the door with his free hand.

"Keep your eyes closed for me, darling," he whispered, pressing one final tender kiss to your lips before setting you back down on your feet and taking your hands in his. "Do you trust me?"

"With my life."

His hands squeezed yours lightly, thumbs stroking the backs of your hands as he guided you through your home with careful steps. A smile once again stretched across your face when he placed one of your hands flat on the cold granite countertop of your kitchen. "One year ago you made a wish at this very spot that changed the course of our lives. The wish that brought me to you and made me realize that centuries of merely existing in this plane in small doses was not tantamount to a life lived.

"Y/N coming into your life started my own. The time I have spent with you had me living through the uniquely wondrous experience of yearning for someone even if you were mere feet away. Of waiting for the moment you walked through the door so I could hold you again. Of falling in love and getting to know the extraordinary feeling of being loved in return." You let out a contented sigh as he pressed a tender kiss to your lips once again, freeing his hold on you to place his hands at your side and turn you to face the counter when he pulled away.

You heard the sound of the lighter click and the warmth of its fire, the light crackling of a candle wick faintly registering in your ears. His hand took yours once more and placed a small piece of paper inside, your breath hitching in anxious curiosity on what exactly it was he was doing.

"This is my wish. My plea," he said softly, sighing against your skin as he pressed his lips to your temple. "When I tell you to, I want you to open your eyes, blow out your candle, and then read the paper. This is all I want." Your heart was pounding in your chest as he echoed your words from last year, the urge to open your eyes becoming stronger by the seconds that ticked by agonizingly slow. "Open them," he finally said, the hesitance in his tone louder than the words themselves.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with a cupcake not unlike the one you bought for yourself that fateful day, a striped green candle burning at the center. You took a breath and blew out the flame, unfolding the scrap of paper in your hand, your pulse thundering in your ears as you read the words he'd written out: Please say yes.

The sight that greeted you when you turned to face him stole the air from your lungs: Loki down on one knee, holding up a ring box that housed a gold ring with two emeralds and a diamond in between. "Becoming bound to you the first time was the single best thing to happen in my years of existence," he began, his tone unwavering even as tears shone in his eyes. "It would be my honor and privilege to be bound to you again for the rest of our lives. As your husband. Your partner. Y/N…" His voice broke as he spoke your name. "Will you marry me?"

Tears began to roll down your cheeks as you tried to blink them away frantically, trying to clear your vision as you nodded your answer, finding yourself unable to speak without breaking into sobs as you repeatedly whispered, "Yes."

The world around you faded into nothing but noise in the background as he placed the ring on your finger before lifting you into his arms and pulling you in for a kiss that had your heart swelling, a warmth and a calm washing over you as you felt that you could finally put into words what you felt when you were with him. Home.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

A/N: Aaaaaaaand that's another request off the list 😮‍💨🫡 I hope y'all liked my take on Incubus!Loki and the light sprinkling of smut I put in there (because of course I would he was a sex demon after all), and where I took their story in the end 🥹 Honestly I was planning on ending it with the smut and then I got the idea of what they would do for her next birthday and the proposal just followed 😅

'everything' taglist: @sailorholly @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017

Loki taglist:  @calumance @severuslovebot @moonlightreader649 @i-stand-with-loki @nixymarvelkins @cheekyscamp @lokisgoodgirl @purplegrrl27 @thedistractedagglomeration

'summoned pt2' taglist: @undertalegirl14 @yukio369 @vanana03 @lokisgoodboy

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #loki fanfic #muddyorbs writes #fic requests

[thewertsearch]

GG: you said you are asking me permission first and i appreciate that GG: but if you are asking im afraid my answer is no! AT: oKAY, i RESPECT THAT, AT: bUT, i WONDER, GG: what? AT: i WONDER IF A TRULY SELF CONFIDENT GUY, wITH THE BEST SELF ESTEEM THERE IS, wOULD EVEN NEED TO ASK, AT: mAYBE THE BEST GUY WOULD JUST KNOW HE WOULD BE SUCCESSFUL, aND WOULD DO IT ANYWAY BECAUSE IT IS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, aND EVERYONE ELSE'S,

I don't think Tavros is just emulating Vriska here. This is a very Alternian mindset, and it's one we've seen before.

Alternia is, after all, an empire. It's a society whose idea of success is inexorably tied to violence and domination - so if you're trying to be a better troll, you'll probably gravitate to both, even if you don't realize it.

It's not really about your personality, either. Karkat is, by all accounts, one of the more moral trolls in the party - but as we've seen above, even he's got those imperial instincts. This sort of thing is insidious, and once it worms its way into your brain, it can be hard to shake.

Tavros is a very straightforward example. He's finally gained some 'confidence' - and what's his first impulse?

To seize a useful resource from an alien, and use it against her will.

GG: that would be smug and arrogant and would make you a bully!!! [...] AT: yOU'RE RIGHT ABOUT ALL THAT, i'LL RESPECT YOUR WISHES, AT: oR, AT: wILL i? };) GG: nooooooooo dont dont dont dont dont GG: im serious GG: uuuuggghh i think my headache is coming back AT: i WAS jUST, AT: mAKING A JOKE, AT: sORRY, }:(

This dude cannot read a room. Truly, the anti-Terezi.

Oh, leave off.

AG: Next time you decide to open your heart to an alien girl…….. AG: Make sure her chat client isn't 8eing holographically projected for all to see, ok?

This exploit should apply to chat clients of any size, provided the screen is visible. Maybe John's Pesterchum Glasses were a better investment than I thought.

AG: Jade let you down too easy. She's too nice! Someone's got to tear into you for that appalling display, and once again, guess who's shoulders that falls on? AG: That's right. Vriska's, as usual.

Tavros probably does need someone to explain what he did wrong, but it should be anyone but Vriska. This is obviously just going to be more bullying, and no actual advice.

AT: i THINK SHE HAS THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF NICENESS, pERSONALLY, AT: aN AMOUNT THAT IS SOME, iNSTEAD OF, AT: nONE,

Showing backbone against Vriska, eh? Finally, a constructive use for all that confidence.

Progress is progress, even when it's just a minor clapback.

AG: Hey, I'm nice when it matters, [...]

Nope, I'm calling Vriska's bluff. What nice things has she done so far, exactly?

Sure, she made Tavros the rocket chair, but only after mercilessly tormenting him for his physical condition, which she caused.

Plus, this wasn't even a real apology gift. She kept bullying him after that, and is literally doing so as we speak.

I guess she also made Aradia's soulbot, as an 'apology' for murdering her with her own boyfriend. To be precise, she had Equius make it, with horrific results that she should probably have seen coming.

She also thought that it would be 'nice' to tell Terezi that her blindness 'wasn't that bad'. This conversation was kind of complicated, though, and I'm not sure what her actual intention was.

Anyway, it's pretty clear that Vriska doesn't really grok what 'nice' means. She gives Tavros a rocket chair, continues to torment him, and doesn't understand the contradiction, because she doesn't think his feelings actually matter.

[...] and where it doesn't strangul8te the critical development of people I give a shit a8out, ok?

"After all, no one was ever nice to ME, and look how gr8 I turned out! When you think about it, it's actually a GOOD thing that no one ever showed me kindness! It made me strong! Don't you want to 8e stroooooooong, Pupa? ::::D"

I'm reminded of this exchange from Hivebent. Kanaya recommends that Vriska practice some basic self-care, and Vriska completely flies off the handle, furious at the mere suggestion that she should be kind to herself.

Vriska thinks kindness will harm her. She refuses to accept it, and avoids showing it to anyone, which makes her remarkably consistent in her cruelty. I'm willing to bet that there's nothing she's said to Tavros that she hasn't already said to herself.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #3057 #s95

[bettsfic]

writers' block can have many causes, but one of the most common and insidious is what i call the Bad Faith Audience: the mass of anonymous readers in your head who make fun of and belittle your work. the Bad Faith Audience happens when you're staring at a document, you want to write something, but you think to yourself, "who's going to read this? why should i bother?" it also happens when you restrict yourself: "that's a stupid idea. it's bad writing." that's what's so messed up about the Bad Faith Audience--it's an assumption of a homogenous population of people who somehow get to decide what Good Writing is. "this isn't very good," you think to yourself of your own work. but by what standard are you judging yourself? how exactly have you reached that conclusion? you've built up a non-existent audience of people to attempt to appease. the harder you try to appease that Bad Faith Audience, the more you concede your own ideals and flatten your writing to appeal to the largest common denominator.

you stare at a blank document, and before you've even written a word, you've reached the conclusion it's not worth existing. that it won't be good enough based on an unidentifiable standard. it won't be perfect. and then you don't write it.

possibly you think, "but there are all these writers i admire and i'll never be as good as them." there will always be writers you think are better than you. always. that does not invalidate your work. you have improved from where you began and you will continue to improve as long as you keep writing. the author you admire may be on a different mile marker on their own journey, but you'll get there too eventually. or maybe you won't; maybe you'll walk down a different path than them and be able to acknowledge that their voice and aesthetics are just not what you write, and that's okay. you don't have to be able to write everything. you can admire something and not adopt it into your own goals.

here's a thought experiment that's gotten me to close the curtain on the Bad Faith Audience:

don't imagine many readers. imagine one reader. i call this reader Aunt Janet. Aunt Janet can look down on anything, no matter how lauded or famous. van gogh's sunflowers? "it's just flowers. who cares?" the mona lisa? "she's not even smiling."

Aunt Janet looks at your work and says, "what's the point? go do something better with your time." but the thing about Aunt Janet is that she doesn't know anything about writing or art or music, has no knowledge to help frame her understanding of your work, and so why does her opinion matter? you can never make Aunt Janet happy.

so whenever i think, "i'm not good enough," i ask myself, says who? Aunt Janet says who. and Aunt Janet doesn't know jackshit.

now let's look at the other side of the spectrum: the very opposite of Aunt Janet, the reader who just gets you, gets what you're doing, and loves it. i call this person the Ideal Reader. they're in awe of everything you write. they read your work and leave dozens of keysmash comments in the margins. they can't wait to see what you write next.

Aunt Janet doesn't exist and Ideal Reader doesn't exist either, but in the same way you can define Aunt Janet's tastes by reasons she would hate your work, you can define the Ideal Reader by the reasons they would love it.

Ideal Reader is exceptionally well-read in your genre. they know all the tropes and expectations. they know what authors your work is in conversation with. they have an intimate understanding of where your work belongs and the frame of reference necessary to understand the context of your work. all writing has context; when we dislike something, it's usually because we don't understand its context, and if we were to understand it, it may not be for us, but we can at least understand the kind of person who values it. we can fathom its Ideal Reader and avoid becoming Aunt Janets ourselves by acknowledging that every piece of writing can be loved.

whenever you dismiss an idea as ridiculous or stupid, Ideal Reader is there going, "no, wait, i want to read that." when you can't take your work seriously, Ideal Reader is shaking you by the shoulders saying, "it's serious to me."

now imagine Ideal Reader has a platform. they have authority. they're a BNF who recs your fic. they're an acquisitions editor at your dream publisher. they're a producer asking to buy the rights to your manuscript. imagine Ideal Reader is someone who can champion your work and take it to its highest possible place.

Ideal Reader has been in the business a long time. Ideal Reader is confident and doesn't take shit from anybody. Ideal Reader stands up for what they believe in.

imagine bringing Ideal Reader to a party and introducing them to Aunt Janet. Aunt Janet immediately tries to belittle Ideal Reader: "so you publish books, so what, who cares about books?" "so you have a million followers. why don't you do something real with your time?" "you're a producer? go to med school and do something meaningful."

Ideal Reader is amused by Aunt Janet and her gross misperceptions. but then Aunt Janet goes after your work, and that is too far. Ideal Reader points at Aunt Janet and goes, "you have no idea what you're talking about." and they proceed to list off all the things they value about your work.

imagine the things Ideal Reader would say to Aunt Janet, and write out that list.

that list is your value. it's what you're giving to your community when you share your work. it's why you write.

the sad truth is that you'll encounter far more Aunt Janets than you ever will Ideal Readers. sometimes Aunt Janets are actually very knowledgeable and still demean your work, but it's because they're jaded and insecure and maybe a little pretentious. that's okay. your Ideal Readers, or the people closest to it, are the only ones who matter.

i had trouble fathoming the Ideal Reader for a long time until i published my first story and the editor went wild over it. it was the first time someone i didn't even know read my work and saw merit in it, all on its own. i once got into a pretty prestigious residency and it honestly kind of baffled me, until i got there and found out the woman who ran it was a fangirl. when i workshop a story, usually only one or two people in the group will Get It. the rest will try and they'll mean well, but ultimately they're coming at it from a different context and different personal tastes, and that doesn't mean the work is bad, but that they're not my audience. when my agent offered to sign me, she wrote me this long, lovely email about how much she loved my manuscript, and she appreciated the same things i appreciated about it. becoming a successful writer, however you measure success, isn't about being Good. Good Writing is a myth. there's only the stubborn insistence of staying true to yourself, and the long journey of putting your work in the hands of people you hope are Ideal Readers.

there will always be people out there who will understand your work and champion it. there are people whose personal tastes align exactly with yours. but you'll never be able to find those people if you don't write the ideas that are dearest to you and share them with the world.

#writing advice #the ideal reader also frames my approach to editing but that's a different essay

[autolenaphilia]

Re-reading Auramgold's "The Abuser's Guide to Transmisogyny" and oh boy does it have the pulse on how transmisogyny works, especially the kind common on this website.(as the title might tell you, It's a sarcastic guide to using callout culture to isolate and abuse transfems, so basically all the content warnings.)

I'm not talking about the more explicit kind from outright terfs or nazis, although that is of course bad. I'm talking about the more insidious kind, the kind who has "terfs/nazis dni" in their bio, and who is often (tme) trans themselves. The kind of transmisogynist who openly disavows transmisogyny, but has a growing roster of callout posts about supposed "pedos/freaks" who all happen to be transfems. Really you should read all of it, but like here are some choice selections, things I've seen being done to mutuals like right now.

"The main factor of going for a fast and hard strike is finding some Controversial point to grow a harassment mob around. Maybe your victim said something you can ship-of-Theseus into sounding racist, maybe she chose to associate with someone already considered "problematic", maybe she even just posted about some sort of kink or sexuality and you're gonna bend that into her being a rapist or a pedophile. The last approach works best of all of these, as society is always primed to see trans girls as pedophiles; the TERFs already did the work for you on that front. But even if any sexual allegations aren't your centerpiece seed, they can do wonders as an extra spice, a perfect excuse for "if you support my victim against me, you're supporting pedophilia" attacks."

"Many communities have self-ascribed "anti-pedophile crusaders," and these are a valuable resource considering how easy it is to make someone see a trans girl as a sex criminal. Recruit them by leaning into a narrative of how your victim "protects pedophiles in <community>," which works especially well in fandom spaces with the presence of their "anti" faction. If you construct a narrative of your victim puppeting the community from behind the scenes, you can lean right into the fascist playbook of portraying your vulnerable victim as the puppetmaster."

"Of course, you don't even need even a made-up "victim" to accuse your trans girl victim of sexual impropriety. If your victim is into any sexuality at all, she's likely to have some kink or another that is vaguely Controversial enough to accuse her on. Never mind that it's between consenting adults, if you frame it as thoughtcrime, if you frame it as sin, it's very difficult for your victim to actually defend against it. One particularly effective mode to attack with is any caregiver/little dynamics your victim might be into, as it is very easy to twist "your victim likes diapers" into "your victim likes fucking children" as a ship-of-Theseus argument. Targeting littleness works especially well because it is a kink that usually comes from parental abuse that manifests into fawn trauma, and you can take advantage of your victim's trauma making her try to appease anyone that hurts her to neutralize any ability she has to fight back.

While littleness is one of the best targets to base accusations of sexual abuse on, basically any kink can work well enough for that. If she draws CNC you can call her a "secret rapist," if she's into petplay you can call her a "zoophile", if she's into gore or sadomasochism you can claim she's physically abusive. Hell, you can get the antis on your side if she merely ships the wrong characters together or likes a "bad" character, as they're all too willing to join at the hint of anything like that they can attack someone for. Literally any kink or sexuality can be twisted into a slight against your victim, and this works very well for your attacks so that they may pull at the groundwork the fascists already set out for you."

#cw: abuse #transmisogyny #callout culture #(honestly all the content warnings) #(but this is important to talk about) #the abusers guide to transmisogyny #cw:bullying

[sukibenders]

I really enjoy Yellowjackets but the way it throws its poc characters to the side, the way the fandom does is so unsurprising but saddening at the same time. Shauna is one of my favorite characters, she's cool and stuff but, being honest, the trope of housewife having an affair because she's bored of her current life has been played before. So what if this one had certain elements outside of it, it's still common so it kind of grew tiring to see Yellowjackets constantly shove this plot at me when Tai's storyline is right there.

Taissa, a biracial woman who, even after living through something horrific as a kid, "bounced back" and lived the life she always wanted. She was a lawyer, now ran for and won a position in office, married a beautiful and smart woman and had a son, has a whole perfect family who she loves. Only for the trauma, the aspect of her life she promised herself and others to never talk about, is now coming back and in the process causes her to do things she doesn't want to do. The plot that could have come from Taissa alone is out of this world. You mean to tell me that a biracial lesbain running for office wouldn't be more entertaining than Shauna's storyline? Why couldn't Tai be the main focus?

And I don't even want to get into the fandom, but I have too. Listen, I like TaiVan for all that they are. They helped each other survive during a time where they thought it would be impossible. But what annoys me and, sadly, almost pushed me away from this ship, was how the writers and fans treat Simone and Sammy. Like the shows only way to have Tai together with Van was to put her wife in a coma and abandoned her son? That really does not sound like Tai, who fought to get her old life. And very insidious how some fans make certain jokes that just reek of "Let's push away the black characters to make room for the yte ones", because I've seen people call Simone the villain, to other things, just because she told Tai to get help all while framing Van as the better option. I've seen people in the fan call Sammy unnatural or even a demon just because he exists in a way that is not natural, by that I mean acting out and expressing coping mannerisms because he saw a version of his mother who terrified him but can't express, but I forgot because he's a little black boy who needs help people will ignore him or dehumanize him, because that's how this works right? The shows main, and only dark-skinned black characters were quickly pushed aside by the plot for what?

And I have a feeling the show may make us watch Taissa go through great lengths to keep Van alive (even though I do want Van to live), but won't extend the same want to Simone, which will read badly with the undertones in so many ways.

And the fandom treats Tai poorly as well (don't even get me started on some pretending to care about her family just to hang it over her head and call her a deadbeat) and reaching some nearly very ableist thinking when talking about her. Taissa deserved so much better, from the show and the fandom, and I hope they do better in season three but I'm not so sure to be honest, because most of the scenes even having mentions of Tai's blackness were because of Jasmine, not the showrunners, who it would be fine if it were small things here and there but to add so many crucial parts to your character because others won't begins to become a pattern.

#tw abelism mentioned #yellowjackets #taissa turner #taivan #i love taivan so nobody better write this off as me dismissing their ship #van palmer #simone abara #fandom racism #shauna shipman #shauna sadecki #like they gave so much of the storyline to shauna and while i love her i waa getting bored #but the show has a tendency of writing off their poc characters and we see this with mari crystal travis javi akilah etc

[cant-really-remember]

This all started with an already complicated meta and I felt like mine was getting lost at the bottom (it is a lot to read). I feel like mine, even though it references the original posts, can stand on its own. I also want to put it out again because I am still fleshing this all out and want to write more about cult/abuse survivorship and GO.

I want to add so much to this from the perspective of a cult survivor (born in).

Important things to know about cults, cult survivorship. (In this, Aziraphale = she, Crowley = he)

Cults:

A system that organizes people around a doctrine, a charismatic leader, or both. Akin to fascism, complete obedience is expected - as well as complete honesty (or at least you have to be honest about when you “stray”).

There is a theory about the psychology of cults, by Janja Lalich, that is called bounded choice (also the name of her book). This theory proposes that the insidious cult system can, essentially, hijack personal choice or “freedom” by requiring members to make decisions in a wildly skewed reality where there is no choice that would be good for the individual and is often harmful to them. From the outside, these choices can seem irrational, dangerous, or just plain awful - but within the confines of the cult, which is controlling the narrative and truths of the world for members, these choices are aligned with the “highest power”, “greatest purpose”, or whatever the doctrine is built around.

(So much more under the cut)

Cults are often highly organized and incredibly insidious, with hierarchies that maintain the status quo and power, with written texts that shape the way members see the world, with directions for how everyone should think about everything. You are not allowed to come to your own conclusions and, actually, doing that can actually be downright dangerous.

It’s really important to understand that the cult mechanism of being in complete control of the narrative causes people to build their ENTIRE identities around this cult narrative. Any threat to this narrative (someone showing you the hypocrisy of the group, the potential fall of the cult or leader, tangible proof that the world is different than you’ve been told) is FIRST met with denial and thought stopping. “I can’t think like this.” At this point, the member can circle back and strengthen the cult narrative they carry by dismissing/fighting what they just saw. Or they can let it in. They can take it into consideration.

But this, this consideration, can literally feel like pulling out foundation stones of your house. The cult worldview is the foundation on which the member has built their ENTIRE IDENTITY. You think, oh great, the cult member can leave and join the world and be so much happier. But imagine, you are a member of a cult who tells you that the air on earth is unbreathable for “good” people. The only people who can just walk around and breathe the air are terrible, immoral people - so you have to carry around a tank of oxygen with you everywhere to maintain your “goodness”. One day, your oxygen tank falls down the subway steps and rolls on to the track and gets obliterated by an incoming train. You are standing there and you TRULY ABSOLUTELY believe that if you breathe the air you will become a terrible, immoral person and even beyond that, since you are now a terrible and immoral person, you will lose everything you had ever known. You won’t belong in your community anymore. Do you breathe? Can you breathe? Will you die? Will you lose everything?

This obviously seems irrational and absurd — we all know the air doesn’t turn you into a terrible, immoral person — but that cult member believes it with every fiber of their being. So when you present them with evidence or proof of the cult narrative being wrong or hypocritical, this is what they are experiencing. You trying to take away their oxygen tank.

Cult survivorship:

Getting out of a cult is basically getting out of an abusive relationship. But you are in relationship with an entire community and a narrative of the world. If you know anything about abusive relationships, what is most important in leaving successfully is finding your “you” again. The “you” before the relationship and the abuse.

If you are born into a cult, there is no “you” from before. This abusive, twisted, often sadistic and violent narrative of….well, everything is all you have ever known. You don’t know what it feels like to be a “human”. You have little knowledge of the “real world”.

Leaving a cult you were born into is like going to a different planet. You don’t understand how things work, what people are talking about, how relationships function, or how (real and healthy) communication is important. You definitely don’t have any opinions about anything. You can scarcely figure out what to have for breakfast, imagine trying to make huge complicated emotional decisions. And realizing those emotional decisions are meant to be made on the basis of what good for YOU. You have never considered yourself first, you don’t know what that feels like and in the past it has usually brought pain or isolation or loss.

Framework

I want to set the framework that in my analysis Crowley is a born in cult survivor who was kicked out of the cult, then goes on to do the very natural thing called “cult hopping” - where you leave a cult just to fall into another one immediately - his new cult is less powerful, less organized, and less scary. Aziraphale is still very, very much in the cult she was born into. She is still a “true believer”. They are both grasping at “the world” to leave their authoritarian cults.

The absolute MOST DANGEROUS relationship for a true believer to have is one with a defected or discarded member. This is the case for multiple reasons:

- The out person can provide a different perspective (NOT allowed in a cult) and can often see the hypocrisy, abuse, and control.

- Cults often have their own “language”, this may mean in a literal sense of having made up words but usually it means that words have double meaning. An out person knows this language and can have an much easier time getting through to an in person because of this.

- The out person is a living, breathing example that you can have a life outside the cult.

- The cult will have spent an extraordinary amount of time undercutting the “goodness”, value, and morality of the out person. If the out person shows any kindness or humanity, this can serve to undermine the cult teachings and control.

- And the obvious reason that “fraternizing” with the enemy can lead to shunning, violence, or even death.

In terms of the 1967 scene:

If you read the OPs, there is discussion of who knows what and when. The first, and I feel, most important thing to know is that emotions are complex, layered, and always evolving and devolving - especially if you have the CPTSD of cult survivorship. CPTSD often creates a firewall between the victim and their feelings. Simply, they don’t know what they feel.

Within this framework, Aziraphale firmly believes that he “can’t” love Crowley. Like it isn’t physically possible. Within the narrative she lives in, this is not even a remotest of possibilities, it’s against the laws of Heaven and physics. And every time Crowley shows her the hypocrisy of Heaven, we see the denial as she is desperately clinging to her sense of “self”. But we also see the cracks in the foundation.

Over 6000 years, the cracks have been widening and widening and Aziraphale’s self is beginning to be defined by humanity and Crowley. She is trying to leave the cult for “the world” because she is realizing that in THAT world her love for Crowley IS actually possible. Not just from the surveillance/meddling standpoint, but from the realization that the physics of “the world” allow for an angel and a demon to be in love.

All the while, she is struggling — and I mean STRUGGLING— to chose something for herself. She doesn’t understand what it even means to put herself first. Like again, I mean she cannot conceptualize it. Choosing yourself doesn’t obey the laws of physics in the upside down cult narrative.

Soooooo, as the OP says - the holy water incident is the first time Aziraphale does something against the narrative she has been brainwashed to believe WITHOUT some type of plausible deniability. She is doing it because maybe, just maybe she can begin to even consider that it could even be possible that she could have feelings for Crowley. She is very far from knowing she is in love. Here’s where the complexity comes in - I do think she is very in love with Crowley at this point, but she will not let himself even consider it because letting it in could topple her house of cards.

—“we can dine at the Ritz”

Another important thing to know about people in cults is they are, by necessity, very romantic and optimistic people. You have to believe in all kinds of crazy shit and make invisible connections and make meaning out of nothing. So her romantic “dine at the Ritz” is not only a “I’m really trying to get out but I can’t see a way out now but I really am trying” but it’s also such a “true believer” thing to do…she has probably spent so much time fantasizing about the perfect date in her disassociative daydreams.

She is planning the perfect escape but keeps putting it off because she believes she can game the system or fix the cult or find a way to quietly slip out the back door. None of these things are possible in a cult. You cannot chose yourself and the cult at the same time.

—“I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

Crowley, like always, is saying “GET OUT. Just RUN. I’ll run with you. I know it’s scary and painful and devastating, but I promise that it will be ok. I want to leave my cult, too, but honestly that would probably mean I would see you less or maybe die. So let’s do this together.”

Crowley knows that Aziraphale can’t fix it or get out peacefully. He is begging her to just pull the damn bandaid off. Crowley also knows the soul-crushing feeling of your entire life and world and everything you believe being shattered to dust. So he is endlessly patient and empathetic with the pain Aziraphale is going through.

—pause, “you go go fast for me, Crowley”

Baby girl can see what he is asking her to do. And it gives her so much hope. She can see him holding his hand out to pull her through the door. But she is still not ready. She cannot, yet, do the work and processing of her identity being built on lies and hypocrisy. She wants to continue to believe in good — and by proxy, evil.

I don’t think “you go to fast for me” is about Crowley’s lifestyle or that it’s getting too hot-n-heavy. I think it’s that he is (im)patiently waiting outside her door for her to leave her cult. Aziraphale knows that he is asking her to do, but she can’t even fathom it yet. She has to extricate her identity from Heaven (the cult) before she can leave.

Crowley wasn’t able to take his time and slowly turn away from Heaven - he was ripped from her bosom and left to rebuild himself year by year. His different hairstyles and fashions are not only about fitting in to humanity (which he adores) but he is practicing his new found personal freedom (limited by Hell) and rebuilding his identity on a new foundation. This is definitely a normal cult survivor response.

Where we are now

Instead of jumping into a idling car and flooring it, Aziraphale is trying to find her identity while still having the comfort of the cult. This is also a very normal cult survivor response. Trying to build herself and her outside relationships up so that when she leaves she has a soft place to land. But this is a very dangerous option…as we saw with the end of S2. You can eat food, listen to music, do all kinds of worldly things but if you aren’t truly rebuilding your identity on different foundations and without the cult influences, you can be drawn back in VERY EASILY. The deal with the Metatron is perfectly crafted to suck her back in.

The last 15 minutes of S2E6 is so familiar to me. It’s called hoovering. They suck you back in like a vacuum. They can do it expeditiously because they know EXACTLY where your buttons are, your hopes and dreams, what lies you will believe, what fears you have BECAUSE THEY PUT THEM THERE. If you don’t rewrite your cult identity, then you are still operating on the script you were given by the cult and they can write a new exciting scene that fits in ever so perfectly with your disassociative daydreams. They know you because they controlled the shape of your world and then observed you in it for your whole life. They didn’t allow you your own thoughts or to ask questions and now they have the “perfect situation” for you that will seemingly assuage both your cult identity and your outside influences. They can tell you EXACTLY what you want to hear.

And you fall for it, because the relief is enormous. Being in the good graces of the cult while also thinking you can do the things you want to do is literally the “perfect” situation. It looks like the painless path that will let you stay in denial but also feel like you have some semblance of choice. But, surprise, it’s a trick.

I think the moment outside the elevator when the Metatron admits to the second coming is the absolute “oh shit, I fucked up” moment for Aziraphale. She really thought she would get it all but again the cult lied and manipulated her and sucked her back in. At that moment, you hear a miracle sound. For the longest time I thought it was the Metatron putting some “spell” on Aziraphale, but I have come to be convinced that she is putting Nightingales on the radio for Crowley as a way of communicating.

Aziraphale is not the type to impulsively turn and run back to Crowley — but I think she realized she needed to tell him that everything he had said finally caught up with her in that moment and that she finally understands what the hell he was saying before the kiss. So she sends the song to the Bentley (it is already established that she has a strong connection with the Bentley and the Bentley can be felt/controlled from miles away by those with a connection) and then gives Crowley a glance that says “You were right. You were right. I was wrong. You were right.” and gets in that elevator gathering courage resulting in a smile that, to me, says “murder hornet in the beehive.”

Thank you @paperbunny and @zionworkzs for spurring this diatribe.

#good omens 2 #ineffable fandom #ineffable husbands #good omens #ineffable partners #crowley x aziraphale #good omens prime #good omens meta #go2 #cult omens #religious trauma #cults #cult survivor #can’t really go

[greenerteacups]

So, because I definitely care a Normal Amount ™ about Lionheart, I went back and re-read the entire thing in preparation for the last chapter of Book 4. It was such an interesting exercise because while I love reading serialized fiction (it's such a core part of what makes fanfic amazing) - it really does hit differently when you look at the story up until this point in it's entirety. (I could go on absolutely unhinged tangents about how much the way you have adjusted canon that just scratches the excema in my brain.)

However- on this re-read, the line that Draco says when he and Hermione have their seminal discussion in the owlery snagged my mind and I can't stop thinking about how Draco accuses Hermione of liking the fact that he's meaner than she is. Because on one hand - yes? He absolutely has less of a sense than she does about Right Decisions, because she always wants to do the "right" thing, but objectively its not always the right thing to do - its just moral relativism rearing its old ugly head again. But on the other hand, he's completely wrong because Hermione (at least in the original books) has this enormous capacity for cruelty that shes not even aware of - partially because girly does not have a single ounce of tact, but also because she wasn't brought up in the wizarding world. She lacks some of the context and cultural clues that allow characters like Draco and Daphne to navigate with an ease she likely envies. And while all the Slytherin bbs have high IQs and low EQs, I think they also are hyper aware of personal standing, so I could easily see Hermione blithely insulting someone without realizing it and completely RUINING their day/month/year etc.

I'm curious if you've thought any more about this dynamic between D/H - and what they think of the others capacity for mean-ness and cruelty??

YES! To all! Especially the bit about Hermione having "an enormous capacity for cruelty that she's not aware of," because yes, that's pretty much one of her cardinal faults as a character — the insidious combination of (a) not really prioritizing other people's feelings if/when they conflict with something Hermione wants or feels, and (b) not being at all aware that she has that quality, and in fact believing herself to be the most emotionally intelligent member of the Trio. (Remember "emotional range of a teaspoon"? I burst out laughing when that happened, because like... girl. The call is coming from inside the house.) At the same time, she's smart enough to recognize when other people are unkind or tactless, so there's this beautifully intricate hypocrisy to how she understands her own emotional intelligence — her pride and arrogance blind her to ways that she neglects others, but her sincere generosity, kindness, and desperate yearning to be helpful and good to other people actually do allow her to see when other people are bad at it, as well as propel her to... well... try. It's a really interesting combination. Hermione is so much fun.

I wouldn't characterize that as cruelty, though, and to an extent it's not necessarily meanness — not in the way that Draco's talking about in that conversation, anyway. Firstly, as a caveat, Draco is in the middle of a fight when he accuses Hermione of liking the fact that he's mean, so I don't think he's altogether sincere about it; I think if you asked him in a moment of repose, he would have a more measured and generous interpretation on their dynamic, even though he's not necessarily wrong. Rather, I think what Draco said is a very inelegant way of pointing out how Hermione uses Draco as a moral backboard: she enjoys the moral high ground, does Granger, and Draco is almost always completely happy to cede it to her. Being around Draco makes her feel like a Good Gryffindor, because while he matches and challenges her intellect/ambition/drive, she gives him direction and moral focus, which is a role he's explicitly told her she plays on multiple counts, and which she's expressed insecurity about in the past (their fireside conversation about "am I good?" and what that means — the idea of capital-G Goodness, and how it becomes increasingly difficult to find as you leave childhood, is one of the tenets of Hermione's arc.)

Secondly, I think Draco is just meaner than Hermione because when he is mean, he does it on purpose. One of the earliest moments of bonding that they ever have as people comes from Draco making fun of Ron's performance in Charms (while imitating his accent, to add insult). Hermione doesn't make the joke herself — but she does laugh at it. She finds it funny. Of course, that's before she's friends with Ron, and she has about 500,000 words of personal growth in front of her, but she still enjoys Draco's dry humor and his attention to detail, both of which he not infrequently uses to make fun of people on purpose. Draco knows this, and he likes amusing her, and sometimes he'll actively make a mean joke because he knows she finds it funny, and because he knows she won't make it herself. They're not the most likable people in the world.

Hermione may not have the same social graces as people born in the magical world, but when she insults people, she usually does it on accident, out of tactlessness, or because they've (in her eyes) well and truly earned it. She doesn't go out of her way to pick on people who haven't asked for it first, and I would go so far as to say her moral compass bars her from it. That's part of what Draco means when he claims to be the worse person, and while he's being wildly uncharitable in that argument, not to mention just an all-around arsehole, he is also a licensed expert on the particular subject of his relationship with Hermione Granger. He knows their dynamic very well, and she knows it.

#ugh i was clearly yearning to talk about this #but thank you for the ask! #dramione #lionheart spoilers

[miss-celestia13]

Run Towards the Monster

Dark Richy x Dark OFMC

@hacked-by-jake requested I write a dark smut one shot with Richy in the mine. This is the result! It’s something completely new to me. I’ve never written anyone but Jake with my MCs and this is my first foray into dark romance. Two villainous people find one another and the world will never be the same.

Words: 4.4k

Aylin knows one thing for certain, in this town, it’s kill or be killed. Her whole life has been one shitshow after another until she learned to steal the power from those unworthy of it. Once she was involved in the search for Hannah, she knew she did not want this group of self obsessed people to have a happy ending. No, she wanted to help him burn Duskwood to the ground. A carnal hunger was awoken the moment she figured him out and she is determined to satisfy it.

TW: Dark romance. Rough, twisted sex. Blood. Pain and pleasure. It’s consensual smut, just not my typical type. Wanted to warn you before you read it. They’re insane. I don’t think it’s too triggering though, just not what I’m used to writing. Probably the most gratuitous smut I’ve ever written 😂 p*rn for the sake of it!

Aylin

Jessy: You can’t go! He’ll kill you.

Aylin: I’m the only one that can stop him. You know that

Thomas: If it saves Hannah, I say we let her go

Dan: Could you think of someone other than yourself for once, Thomas?

Jessy: Exactly! Hannah isn’t the only one we care about.

Cleo: Let Aylin decide. It’s her decision, not ours. She has to live with whatever she decides.

Lilly: Don’t go. We’ll find another way.

Aylin: I need time to think. I’ll let you know my decision soon.

The truth was, she’d made her choice days ago. She had quickly figured out who was behind this whole situation, and she had been delightfully surprised to discover the man who seemed to wear sunshine-like armor was rotten to the core, just like her. His “kidnapping” had sealed the deal. She knew he was the mastermind of this farce when Thomas found only his bloodstained hat surrounded by raven feathers. It was far too convenient, and she had been itching to go to Richy ever since. She had liked him before, had sensed a darkness in him that called to the dark in her. Their messages had become more flirty as time wore on, he seemed to both trust and distrust her. It amused her greatly and she wanted to test her theory that he was just as beastly as she. The hacker had gone quiet. She had asked him for space and he’d granted it. He had felt guilty she’d been pulled into all of this, not knowing she had inserted herself and had no plans of retreating.

While her new “friends” had panicked and lived in fear, she had enjoyed every moment of Richy’s twisted game. He had made many mistakes; if he’d asked for her help, she would have perfected his grand scheme. There was still time to do so, and now she was on her way to do exactly that. She had come to Duskwood the day after everyone had messaged her for the first time. Never one to miss out on the macabre, she had hopped on the first flight there. Richy had messaged her from an unknown number, and she hadn’t told him she knew it was him yet; she wanted to do it in person. She hadn’t found him the least bit attractive until it became clear something insidious was hiding under his deceptively jovial surface. Now she was positively elated at the idea of having him for herself. And Aylin always got what she wanted.

All her life, she’d known she was different. Whatever part of the brain made people care or love was missing in hers. She could love, but in a selfish, manipulative way, and no one had been able to withstand her for more than a few weeks. Richy would be different. She felt it in her bones and blood. She was profoundly selfish and thrived on chaos and death. Her own family had long since disowned her, and she’d taken great joy in destroying their lives, piece by scrumptious piece. Now most of them were afraid to even breathe in her direction. It was her proudest achievement until now. They’d broken her first; she had simply returned the favor.

She wasn’t wholly evil. No, she only went after those that deserved it. Rapists, abusers, and the like. The justice system in her country was terrible, and sometimes the world needed someone like her to carry out karmic punishment when the law failed them. The fact she enjoyed it was just a perk to her. Legend said her heart died in her chest long ago. It had putrefied, and now a heavy slime as thick as tar coated her insides and insulated her against hurt or emotion. She had grown scales, fangs, and claws over the years; she kept them honed and knew when to use them.

They weren’t just for meting out suffering and retribution. She particularly enjoyed unleashing them on anyone unhinged enough to get into bed with her. Pain and pleasure. The two addictions of her life. And she felt the familiar heat of desire kindle and smolder low in her stomach as she approached the waterfall. She had told him she would be here, yet she saw no sign of the object of her current craving. Her sharp eyes scanned the forest and waterfall, the rushing roar of the water masking any footsteps that may or may not be approaching her. She scented him before she felt him wrap his arms around her and press a wickedly sharp blade to her throat. Pine and smoke, blood, and the salt of dried tears after Dan shot him. Oh, she already loved where this was going.

“Don’t move,” he warned, low and vicious in her ear, making her shiver, “do as I say, and I’ll let you live.”

She chuckled, leaned into his warmth, and purred, “Oh, I don’t know. I want to see what you’ll do if I don’t listen… Richy.”

A sharp inhale as he heard her words, “How - why… when did you figure it out?”

“The day you staged your own kidnap. Your acting is piss poor,” she smirked as he pressed the knife harder, knowing her blood had already welled over the edge of it.

“Why are you here then? Why didn’t you tell the others?” He demanded.

“Let’s go inside the mine, and then we can talk. I don’t want an audience. Anyone could come around here.” She replied, feeling him tense at her denial.

There was a tremor in his hand, nerves making him feel weak. She sighed. The first vigilante adventure was always the hardest. It took time to shake off the laws and morals that were drummed into everyone from the moment they could understand the concept of crime and punishment. If she wanted him, she had to work fast before he freaked out and killed her in a panic.

“I’m not here to stop you. I’m here to help you. We need to plan our next move, Richy.” She said firmly, and Richy gave a bitter laugh.

“Why would you want to help me when you’ve gotten in my way all this time?”

“I had a part to play. I’m done now. I want to help. Come on; I’ve done this before. I know how to end it.” She insisted, and Richy fought with himself for a long moment.

Then the knife was gone, his hand grasped her upper arm, and she allowed him to drag her over to the entrance to the mine. His manhandling only heightened her excitement. He didn’t let go of her as he heaved open the iron door to the mineshaft, ushering her down first and following once the darkness swallowed her. The clang and clank of metal chains and the weighty door slamming accentuated her slow descent into the mine. Richy ensured the entrance was sealed tight before she heard him begin to climb down the rickety ladder. Putting all her trust into that fragile railing, Aylin smirked into the darkness as her blood heated and anticipation began to sink its sweet teeth into her.

Though she was unable to see, the walls felt too close, too suffocating as her knuckles grazed the rough, uneven walls as she went straight down the shaft. Loose stones broke free as the ladder shook with their combined weight, and she couldn’t yet hear the echo of them hitting the ground. A slow drip of water was audible the nearer to the bottom she got, a phantom breeze ruffling her inky hair as the skittering of tiny paws reached her ears over the roar of her blood. The air was cold and stale. Standing water, musty air and dry rot intermingled to create an offensive perfume that made her hold her breath, her revulsion was strong but she was set on seeing her insane idea through.

Dust and sweat coated her fingers despite the chill. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck when she missed a rung and, for a brief moment, thought she was falling. It didn’t frighten her, she laughed, and Richy made a disgruntled noise that she ignored. The railing was so riddled with rust and rot it trembled as she clung to it, her foot trying to find another step and feeling only dead air. She realized she’d reached the bottom and took a deep breath before she let go and jumped. Landing in a low crouch with a muted thud of her rubber-soled boots, she backed away from the ladder so Richy could follow.

Playing the part of submissive captive, she waited patiently as he jumped, and the dull smack of his feet as he strode toward her, matched the beat of her poisoned heart. Again, he grabbed her upper arm and tugged her through a narrow passage. It resembled a yawning black hole, a gaping maw of some long extinct beast as they moved through it. Her brain was filled with bats and ghosts, knives in the dark, and ruby-red blood spilling across the uneven treacherous ground. Gooseflesh flared over her skin as Richy pulled her into a small alcove that opened into a manmade cave.

Flickering candles illuminated the stingy space, haphazardly placed on jutting rocky ledges and the dust and rubble-strewn ground. He released her, backing up a step as he crossed his arms, arched a brow, and said, “Let’s hear it then. Make it quick. I don’t have long left.”

She smiled like a snake, “We have plenty of time. The others don’t know I’m here. They are waiting for me to decide.”

Richy snorted, “Why would they listen to you? All they care about is finding Hannah and fuck everything else.” He spat bitterly, making her bite back a grin.

“That’s precisely why they listened. My life means nothing to them, and so they mean nothing to me. I think that makes us allies, don’t you?”

“Allies?” Richy barked a laugh, head shaking, and she was utterly entranced by the intensity of the hate in his dark eyes as he said, “You’ll only stab me in the back.”

They were circling each other. Drawing close, then springing apart, invisible elastic bands pulled to their limit as they metaphorically sniffed the other out. Tension was building thickly, a thrum in the air turning her into a creature of base instincts. Richy’s eyes were locked on her, pupils dilating as she licked at her lips and curled her hands into fists. Fight or fuck? Both. Definitely both.

“That would be cowardly. If I ever stab you, you’ll see it coming and thank me.” She crooned, madness taking over as she dropped the mask she wore to be more palatable to normal humans in polite society.

“Why did you come here? Clearly, you don’t care about Hannah.” Richy asked, his voice filled with smoke and dark, dark lust.

“Because you and I are the same, Richy.” She teased as he drew closer.

“You don’t know me. No one does.”

She smiled, “I do. Better than you think... You and I masquerade as humans every day. I wear the skin of a woman to hide the monster underneath it. I see much of myself in you and want to see what you look like without that mask.”

Richy stopped their restless prowling, crowding her against the cave wall as he bent down to mutter, “Monsters in human skins? Poetic. Is that why I couldn’t stay away even though I knew you were dangerous for me?”

She nodded, eyes heavy-lidded as he leaned ever closer and breathed in her scent, “I sensed the shadows in you. They speak to my own. It would be foolish to keep them apart, don’t you think?”

Spellbound, she watched in hypnotic wonder as his facade finally slipped, and she saw the predator lurking inside him. There were many monsters in this shit world. She had learned from nature that some predators needed predators of their own. And he was hers. Their demons would dance together, tangled and bloodthirsty. They would wreak havoc upon any who stood in their way. She couldn’t wait for it. Her blood sang as he brushed his lips over hers, a ghost of a touch that set her nerves alight. Gentleness wouldn’t do. She needed to feel it; she needed it to burn, ache and bleed. The next time he did it, she surprised him, catching his bottom lip between her sharp teeth and sucking it into her mouth.

Richy groaned, the sound so filthy and luscious that her head spun. Suddenly, his hand was around her throat, and he shoved her against the wall hard enough that she hissed in pain and smiled against his mouth.

“This is wrong...” He tried, not moving away, and she knew he was only saying what he thought he should.

“It would only be wrong if you stopped.” She taunted with a challenge in her eyes.

Her breath quickened, heat crept up her chest and neck as his head lowered so slowly she thought it would have turned her insane if she weren’t already there. Adrenaline flooded her body at the animalistic and venomous lust she felt radiating from him, and she knew this would be a fight. A battle of wills and power. Who would submit first? She was about to find out as determination flashed across his face. He finally crushed his mouth to hers, quickly forcing his way inside her mouth. The first brush of his tongue made her cling to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin over his hoodie. It was too late for her. The clumsy kiss soon turned into complete ownership of her mouth, so deep and violent she felt it from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.

She was pushed harder into the dry rock, the hand around her neck burying in her hair and pulling hard, the pain licked over her scalp deliciously, and she again bit into his lip, drawing blood. The taste was akin to melted butter on her tongue, salty yet slightly sweet, with a slight iron tang that made her moan, and he tugged on her hair again. The blood in her own veins had been replaced by fire, so hot she was surprised she didn’t scald him as he blindly fumbled with the zip on her jacket. She chuckled when he sighed, earning herself a nip on her lip and a thigh pushed between hers. Liquid flame shot down her center to pool between her legs as she was crushed so tight the air was expelled from her lungs in a gasp. She was grateful, doubted she would’ve been able to stand without his weight holding her up.

Grabbing, greedy hands and fingers tore at their clothing. Breaking apart only so they could pull each other’s shirts off. Her chest heaved, covered in maroon lace that both annoyed and pleased him. A look of full possession appeared on his face as his eyes obsessively wandered over her, and she felt that gaze like he was clawing blunt nails over her skin. Shivering, she beckoned him close again and pounced, legs locking around his waist. She was pressed against the wall again, unsure how he’d moved so fast but glad all the same. She mouthed and nipped along his jaw, loving the salty taste of his skin, and thrilled as the unforgiving stone abraded her back.

Only scant lace protected her from the hard length she could feel through his jeans. She was grateful she had thought ahead and worn a skirt as she reached between them and flicked his fly open, hand diving inside to wrap around his thick cock and she began to awkwardly stroke him. He retook control of her mouth, bruising and ruthless. He didn’t let her breathe as she teased him. The wetness between her thighs soaked her underwear as she sank her hands into his hair and scratched at his scalp, smiling into the kiss when he shuddered. His fingers toyed with the fastening of her bra, struggling for a time as she did nothing to help. With an impatient noise, he succeeded in undoing it and her breasts soon popped free, and she let go long enough to take it off completely.

She was shameless as he abruptly pulled back, arching against the stone to offer herself up to his hungry mouth. He took the bait, mouth closing around her hard nipple, teeth biting hard enough that she cried out and threw her head back. The pain only added to the inferno in her core, her wetness slipped down her thighs, and a delectable burn spread over her as an ache built within her. She would ignite if he touched her, so riled and crazed she lost control of herself. Her hands turned to claws, raking down his chest, drawing blood she so badly wanted to taste again. His starving mouth pulled, sucked, and nipped each breast in turn, each vulgar sucking sound making her lose herself even more. His smothered desperate noises as she tormented him with unsatisfying strokes, sending a lick of nerves down her torso as he let go of her with a lewd noise she wished she had recorded.

Letting go of his cock, she arched in a sensuous slide, the scrape of the rock making her moan. She rubbed herself against him, frantically seeking friction as he smirked at her distress. The ache of overwhelming need beat like a war drum as her molten blood rushed straight to her cunt. Her volatile desire mirrored his haunted gaze as he held her pinned against the wall. Reaching under them, his long fingers slid inside her underwear, slipping through her soaked folds. He hooked his fingers around the delicate fabric and tore them off her. She growled, slapping his arm while he laughed, and she felt the fat head of his cock at her entrance.

Without warning, he was buried inside her, the stinging pain of her abruptly rent flesh making her toss her head back and howl it was so intense and consuming. She was very tight around him, knowing it hurt them both as he snapped his hips and grimly smiled at her wide eyes. She was suddenly very vocal, her back torn to ribbons with every thrust that shoved her up the cave wall. Sweat prickled on her skin and her many abrasions stung, she gave herself over to the madness of the flesh, letting it control her as he marked her throat. When he met her eye, he looked as dazed as she felt, his eyes like black burning coals as he claimed her mouth again, and his punishing thrusts caused a torrent of her essence to flood her sticky thighs.

It was exquisite agony. Her skin was inflamed as her nerves fired, making her jumpy and incapable of doing anything other than keen and wail. Richy was panting, and his jaw tensed so hard it could cut glass. Her torment was so complete she barely noticed when blood dripped down her back, his hands sliding over her skin as she whimpered and viciously pulled his hair, initiating a kiss to silence the noise she was making. She had hoped it would be like this. Ferocious and insatiable, each plunge of his cock inside her taut channel made the hair on her nape lift. The pain merged with the fire in her core decadently.

Stealing his breath, she tasted his fervor like spiced honey on his tongue and urged him to fuck her harder, clutching his shoulders hard enough to bruise when he did. Brutal and merciless, he forced her to a familiar peak, using her body just the way she liked and she revelled in the fact she would hurt tomorrow, looked forward to it more than was healthy. Soon she was walking on a blades edge, inner walls fluttering and clamping around his cock as he sensed her nearing release, her body going tense as he tore his mouth from hers and snarled in her face.

“Every moan you make belongs to me. You’re mine.”

She managed a short chuckle, pleasure surging so fast she was breathless and shocked. They were fighting each other with every kiss and thrust, spinning her so high she closed her eyes against the onslaught as he growled into her ear that she was his to use, his to keep. She would have agreed to anything then if it meant he kept fucking her. Their kind didn’t love. They owned. And the thought was so sinful and demented she could only nod, mentally claiming him as hers too. Toxic and unstable, it fed her chaotic self and it was all she ever needed from a lover. The warning pulse of release snatched a wanton moan from her black soul and a dark laugh from Richy. Prying a hand from his shoulder, she let it fall between her thighs, fingers slipping through the mess he’d made to feel where he split her in two, keening when he drove into her impossibly harder.

Circling her clit, she was sobbing and quivering in his hold, the wall at her back not enough to keep her bound to reality as red bursts of light obscured her vision, and he ordered her to come. His command, her fingers, and his cock worked in tandem to send her freefalling. A loud and fierce scream erupted from her and seemed to go on forever as the echo bounced off the stone. Richy groaned and chased his own end, ignoring her pleas for respite as she fluttered and spasmed in his hold, the force of her orgasm almost terrifying in its ferocity. Every pore on her skin sparked, her nerves exposed as her muscles jumped and tensed. It was almost unbearable as he slammed into her again and again. He gave a strangled, pained moan and one last cruel thrust, impaling her on his cock as he came inside her.

Her name was a curse on his tongue as he sunk to his knees. The scratches on her back worsened as she was pulled down with him. The wound Dan had given him had reopened at some point, and she saw her bloody handprints and fingerprints tattooed into his pale skin. She smiled lazily, brazen and bold, as he blinked at her in amazement. Nothing more was said. There was no point in sweet nothings or platitudes. Neither would mean them; she’d rather spend that time doing anything else, like plucking the hair from her underarms one by one. Richy seemed to feel the same as he cleared his throat and shifted her weight a little, wincing in discomfort as he softened inside her.

The aftermath was funny, as she usually found it as they hastily redressed and adjusted themselves as best they could. Her skin felt flayed and too hot each time she moved, and her jacket irritated her sore back. Every part of her ached in some way, and it kept her smiling as Richy explained what he planned to do. He wanted to release Hannah and then stage his death by burning all the evidence he had moved into the mine. She agreed with his plan, except for one detail, and Richy’s sadistic grin when she proposed her changes made pride flare in her ruined heart.

“Let’s untie Hannah, but we won’t let her out. She killed someone and covered it up. She has to earn her life. Give her a taste of death before she gets her freedom.”

“She may get more than a taste,” Richy murmured.

Aylin shrugged, “Then that’s what she deserves… Come on. We best get moving.”

Richy left her with multiple gasoline containers while he went to untie a drugged Hannah, who had woken due to the noise they’d been making. Fractured rainbows sparkled on the dusty mine floor as she laid her trail of destruction. Richy soon joined her, and they moved swiftly as Hannah could be heard weeping, her sluggish footsteps ran away from them as the cloying scent of gasoline saturated the air. Richy had chosen a different exit, both agreed it would be the rankest stupidity to use the one they entered through. They ascended the rickety ladder. She stopped halfway up; Richy rushed the rest of the way up to shove the wooden board covering the exit aside as she took out a Zippo lighter, igniting its perfect flame before letting it fall into the gasoline pool.

Scrambling up the ladder as quickly as she could, she still cried out in shock as the shockwave of heat washed over her, the flammable liquid catching with a thunderous whoosh that deafened her as Richy hauled her out of the mine shaft and into the forest. Sirens blared in the distance, and they shared a look, knowing their “friends” had given up waiting for her to decide, and they must have called the police. Without a backward glance or thought of Hannah’s fate, they turned their backs on the magnificent sight of the fire spewing out of any crevice or hole it could find. Neither knew how far they’d get or how long they’d manage to stay free, but both were determined to have a marvelous time ruining everything until the day they were forced to stop.

Maybe she would end up killing him when he grew tiresome. Or he would get there first, and she would finally know what it felt like to die. Either way, she was determined to make the most of it as they bolted through the forest and ran as far as their feet would carry them. It was over. She had solved the case. It was a shame that only she knew it. At the very least, whatever became of them would be worthy of a true crime documentary. And that was all she had ever wanted from life.

Very unsure of this. I hope it was fun for anyone reading! I wanted a challenge, lol. Don’t tell me if you hate it 🤭❤️

Part Two: Kiss With a Fist

#duskwood #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood fandom #duskwood everbyte #duskwood game #spicy content #duskwood mc #duskwood smut #fanfic #duskwood spoilers #duskwood richy #duskwood jessy #dark romance #dark fantasy #rough smut #dark smut #shameless smut #pain and pleasure #duskwood fanfic #duskwood family #fanfiction #trying something new #smut #spicyromance #everbyte studios #romance #miss celestia13 #dark souls #sociopath #fuck around and find out

[gayerthanevertbh]

say your prayers - five.

pairings | dark!priestess!natasha x fem!reader

your school have church service once every week. of course, as a good little schoolgirl you are, you attend to it. which means you always have to see your priestess, natasha, who you are secretly infatuated with. until there was an unexpected turn that made you feel something else other than good. but maybe, even better.

warnings | smut/dark taboo themes - 18+ MINORS DNI! religious themes, blasphemy of religion, sacrilegious acts, sex with a priestess, mentions of rape (nothing happened), oral sex (r receiving), fingerfucking, oral sex in bed, top!natasha, dirty talking, pet names, slut shaming, and a form of love triangle.

notes | the love triangle is happening WOOOO but hey you know what it’ll be fine... :D enjoy reading, readers!

series masterlist | navigation

Do you know the feeling of being caught by something so scandalous, insidious, and sinister? When you are standing right in front of your father who is not so happy about your reckless motions that began to become bigger and bigger? Was it my fault in any way? Perhaps I wasn't careful and more daring than I shouldn't have been. I felt my toes curling when I saw his face, he looked so solemn yet very upset. Curse my principal for calling my father when it's not even a big deal.

"Where have you been, Y/N?"

"Nowhere." I protested.

"I know when you're lying, girl," he responded, crossing his arms. "Your principal has told me that you are flunking your classes lately, especially literature! And now I see my daughter sneaking out? Where have you gone off to? Is there a man in your life?"

"Can you please not assume things?" I said, raising the palm of my hand in the air. I was angry, short-headed, and trying my best to look puzzled so that he could not have suspicions about my affair with Natasha. "I'm just being a teenager, is that too hard to understand?"

He sighed as his eyes calmed down that it looked like they were about to shoot me with a laser. He said–dragging his words–"I understand that you're growing up, but you are getting your scholarship. But never hide stuff from your teachers or from me ever again, do you understand?"

"I don't think I comply."

"I'm sorry?"

Perhaps I'm pushing his buttons, I want him to know that I'm madly in love with my priestess and that I'd rather be with her other than doing something so stupid in life that won't even apply to me as a human being. Growing up, I thought. What is there to grow up for? I'm already grown up, I've become a better version of myself when Natasha decided to stick her tongue on my skin and ravish me like no one else. No boys or girls would've done it the way she does, no men or women would've done it the way she did. She's different, so different from them. And maybe–just maybe–I'm afraid to lose her.

"Let me grow up, Dad," I said, sighing loudly for him to hear. His eyes softened again and deflated his shoulders; he should feel bad for me. "I need to experience these things to learn something in life. Don't you want me to be a normal girl? Then let me."

There was a long silence between us until he nods, agreeing to my statement that was pretty dramatic, I would say. At least it worked; I tried my best to look poker other than being so joyful about this.

"Okay," he finally says. "I understand, .But please, just be careful, Y/N. You're still my daughter, I'm just protecting you."

Protecting me from the real world wouldn't consider you a good father, or a parent.

"Do you trust me?" I asked.

He nods.

"I do trust you," my father says softly, using his normal voice. "I just don't want anyone to take advantage of you. If you want to sneak out, please just let someone know. Maybe your friends?"

Wanda? I don't know, she doesn't even want to speak with me–and I think that's sort of my fault.

"Okay," I said, still agreeing even though I won't do whatever he's telling me to do. Shrugging, "Yeah, okay. I'm sorry, Dad. I'll do better next time."

Will I even do better? No, I'll still repeat those mistakes–very repetitive. Do I care? I do, but not a whole lot.

He kissed me on the forehead before muttering out a short prayer, and then he left without saying anything much. The thing about my father is that he never looks out for my talent, my charisma, and my good work. Go harder, go faster, aim for your price, as he always says–like a mantra. I'm not going to lie, but it does give me the drive to become a person with a brain, with such great intelligence that I could possibly make Natasha feel bad and question her knowledge. I don't mean to sound conceited, but I do want to be smarter than anyone else.

But sometimes, I find myself feeling clueless and innocent when Natasha touches me when she kisses my lips–then to my chin–as if it was her saying: I love you, I want to be with you. You compel me, I'm obsessed with you. Is she obsessed with me? Does she want me as much as I want her? All I want to do is wrap my arms around her nape and let her carry me to her bed, fuck me until I'm brainless, and make me wet so that she could lick it all up. You are better than anyone else, I don't wish for anyone else. Can she say those words to me? Can she let me know that I'm the only little girl she needs? Every service, I wish and pray for her to give me a short glance. And she would never give me what I want, as she says: we will get caught if I look at you, they'll have an idea about us. So what if they have an idea? So what, so what, so what?

Sometimes all I want to do is rather die in her arms, let her be traumatized, and be in love with me so that she could not seek anyone else. Let her be traumatized, let me become inhumane. Make her scream, cry, and beg for forgiveness. Perhaps she'll be guilty enough for corrupting an innocent girl like me, perhaps she'll have the intelligence of knowing how much I love her. And then, maybe, she'll kill herself too.

                                                           —

Today, I was back in Natasha's room with a dreaded look on my face. We had an exam that was excruciatingly long, maybe longer than I was once waiting to get my passport. I was at the foot of her bed, dangling my feet like a little kid. Mother Natasha was by the window frame as she sucked out her cigarette, blowing a huge puff outside the window. I looked up at her innocently, trying to catch her gaze. She looked back, and I could've sworn that the lower pit of my stomach was churning.

"You're cute," she mutters, sucking her cigarette again as she blows it out. I hated it whenever she was smoking, it would make my eyes feel irritated. "Wearing your cute little high socks, covering your legs. Tell me, do you still feel as innocent as when I first touched you?"

I shook my head a no; she smirks one side of her lips.

"So cute," she repeats again, a hazed look on her face that makes her look a little out of place. She nears herself to me and kneels on the ground, looking at both of my knees. My breath hitches when her lips made contact with my left knee, looking back up at me with the darker shade of her eyes. "You're my pure little lamb, kotenok. Open those sweet legs of yours for me."

Kotenok. Kotenok. Kotenok. How much I love to hear her say my pet name like that again with her deep voice that sounded so sultry, luscious, and humid like the air. I looked up to the ceiling and felt her hands departing my legs, shamelessly exposing my covered cunt with my white cotton panties. She badly wants to ruin the undergarment, imagining her fingers into the hem of my panties just to rip them off. I'll let her do it, I'll let her do whatever she wants to do with me. Eat me, Mother, taste your peach. I'm her fruit, especially her peach.

"Tell me that you want me."

"I want you," I gasped out, panting almost. "Please–I want your mouth so much, taste me."

Natasha hooked her fingers inside my panties and dragged it down slowly while her eyes were glued to mine as if watching a scene in a movie that she had been anticipating. She drags it and drags until my panties are now discarded. A smirk still hovers on her face as her tongue dips into my inner thighs. I threw my head back in the air while unbuttoning my blouse, trying to touch my breasts so that the mere pleasure could be more intense and passionate.

My stomach flexes hard when I feel her tongue dip into my folds like a greedy person who's thirsty enough to eat their peach. She moans when she tastes my insides, licking the clitoris furiously while furrowing her eyebrows in concentration. I gasped and heaved, I wailed and cried. It all felt different when she had her long tongue lathering up my folds as if she couldn't get enough of it. I whimpered, "Yes! Oh god, you lick me so good, Mommy..."

"Mmph," she groans, her lips smacking when she tasted my juices. God, she was hungry. "Fucking hell, you taste better than ever. Gonna fuck your pussy so good with my tongue, little girl."

A strong yelp came out of my lips when she started to make circular motions with her thumb on both of my thighs, somehow inching close to touch my pelvis. I didn't care if she was going to hurt me with all she can, I wanted her to do it–as if submitting myself to her until I've become a complete  mess. She deepens her tongue inside my hole, licking the top part of my walls. Her eyes were closed, holding out my left thigh for support. "You're making such a huge mess of me, angel. I've got to clean you up."

"I can't–" I gulped, trying to catch some air. My chest starts to hurt from panting too much, my hips rolling to get more of her tongue inside of me. "P-Please, keep going!"

"So fucking dumb," she huffs out, licking her lips together and dives back in again–pressing her whole face against your wet cunt. She laps to your folds, playing with your gaping hole using her index finger. "Look how your cunt is so ruined for me, no one would ever want to fuck you. I only get to do that, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

She growls and inserts her tongue inside of my walls again, reaching to the depths of my vagina. I could practically feel the tip of her tongue hitting my spot, but not quite there. It wasn't as long as her cock, it wasn't as long as her fingers, yet I didn't care. She eats me out like I was god-sent to her, her mouth grows tired from munching on my juices. I start to hump her face–trembling, shaking, and my forehead creates a thick sweat that I cannot wipe off. I removed my bra, pinching one of my nipples to electrify my body more–to ignite that spark that is called a climax. I was so lost in my own world that I felt her dipping two fingers inside of me, curling it with force and want.

"Oh my god–"

"You're fucking pulsating around my fingers," she groans out; kissing my fat clit. "You like it when Mommy fucks your sweet little hole, baby?"

"Uh-huh," I began to say, panting hard. My fingers threaded through her silk red hair as I tried to hold her head in place–but I wasn't in control, I never was. "You feel so good inside of me, Mommy!"

"Yeah?" she taunts, spitting on my folds to create more lubrification. Hot. "Want me to fucking take you without permission, huh? You just want me to fucking hurt you, huh baby? You're a fucking slut."

Call me a slut one more time, make me your whore, make me come all over your fingers, make me yours. Tell me that I'm a whore over and over again, slap my face, choke me, make me yours. Natasha, I need you.

She was no longer careful with her fingers whenever she would plunge them back into my cunt, no, she was furiously pumping most of her fingers inside of me while having her mouth suck on my clitoris. My back was sprawled all over her sheets at this point, I felt like I was in heaven–paradise. All I could ever think about was her above me with her strap or her fingers, pumping inside of me until I couldn't breathe; until I was going to die. So what if this was my deathbed? That would be too embarrassing enough, yet I didn't care. I wanted her to go harder, to make me bleed like the first time she did on that night.

"Cum around my fingers," she demands, her voice deeper than before. She curls her fingers again and again until my midsection starts to churn. "Come on, pulse around my god damn fingers again."

Her tongue lapped on my clitoris once more to get me to the edge and it worked. I arched my back as I moaned out her name relentlessly, covering my face with my arm and clenching around her fingers–just as she wanted me to. "That's it, little lamb. That's my good girl." Natasha mumbled, staring intensely at my vagina as it kept pulsating with my undying orgasm. My vision started to blur as I flopped my head against the mattress, my chest still heaving like an engine. I felt indiscreet, dirty, and a mischievous girl that spent her time having sex with an older woman who was two decades older than her. I didn't move when her body came back up again and felt the side of my mouth being kissed by her, a hand holding my neck as the woman kisses me desperately–"Good job, little girl. You've made Mommy proud."

My socks and my uniform are definitely ruined.

Her cigarette was torn and lying on the ground.

A pair of my underwear was beside it.

Her clothes were soon discarded and lay down with me with her arms wrapped around my stomach, holding me close.

She kisses my temple, then my cheek, as she whispers coherently: "You are my sin, a beautiful one. If you were taken by someone else, I'd slaughter them with no shame. You are meant to be with me, I know it. God has brought you to me, there's no doubt about that."

I believed her to be the good child I was, I nodded twice. She smiles down at me and kisses my lips once more and we both fall into a shameless slumber while the sun strikes in the room–aiming for our naked bodies.

She was smoking again while I was reading a book in her bed to get my mind off elsewhere other than her naked figure that has been standing against the window frame. Gladly enough, there was a shade on the glass so that no one else could see her nudity–as well as mine. Natasha looks at me with a chilly mysterious gaze, making my stomach churn once more.

"You're quiet," she points out. Has she noticed my distress? "Is everything going well for you, baby?"

"Define well."

"You seem distraught," please don't point that out again. "Did anyone hurt you?"

"I wouldn't say hurt but scared? A little."

"Why scared?" she asked, sounding so interested and inquired.

"My father came to my dorm room this morning."

Her face fell, I noticed by one glance that she was also in fact–nervous as I was. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything, would this ruin our relationship? Then her face changes into technical as if finding a solution to help myself as well. She said, "Your father doesn't know anything about us, right?"

"No." I parried.

"He shall not know anything," she echoes her words, sucking in her cigarette. "I would love to meet your parents one day, I just don't think right now would be the right time."

"I didn't say I want you to meet them," I responded quietly, dropping my book against my covered lap. "I just said my father visited me this morning. I've been failing my class lately, that's kind of my fault."

"This damn school is a mess."

I sighed, nodding. "It is, but I do have to get my scholarship."

"For what? What school are you trying to get into?"

"Well, NYU since my father graduated there. But I don't know, do you think I'll fail?"

There was a short silence since Natasha spent her time dragging her cigarette from her mouth, pushing the bud against the ashtray to stop the fire. She looks at me and nods, smiling softly. At least someone like her would believe in me, my parents barely give any effort.

"I know so," she says, sitting down near my body and kissing my shoulder blade. "I love you so much, if you move away then I'll come with you."

"What about your job here?"

"I do like it," she sighs. "I just want to be with you most of the time. Is that bad enough to say?"

I shake my head, giving her the same smile she's giving me. I decided to kiss her on the lips, although it took me time to process it since it was a slow kiss. She deepens her lips and I could tell that she wanted to make out with me, to make love to me again if that's what you're going to define it. She was now kneeling on the mattress, wrapping her free arm around my rib section as our kiss went deeper and deeper, hotter and wetter. We kissed until we both stopped, knowing that anyone could hear our lips smacking together.

"My schoolgirl," she lets out a lovesick sigh; our foreheads touching. "If you decide to go to NYU, I'll buy an apartment for us both. Maybe we can both live there, you don't have to depend on your parents."

Perhaps that was a generous idea, it all felt too risky and daring. But that says a lot about her personality, including mine. We ought to be together, I can admit that the Lord has put us two as companions and lovers. At least I like to think that way to the point I'd constantly think if I'm a delusional woman. I nodded slowly and pecked her upper lip, giggling like a little girl.

"I think that's a really nice idea."

                                                           —

Going to class without Wanda seemed so lonely and depressing. I don't mean to exaggerate, I'm just stating a mere fact. Whenever I'd see her, she wouldn't dare to give me a bat of an eye. No simple: hey, how's the class? Or we should do a project together. None. My heart could sometimes falter when there was an opportunity for me to see her with someone else, laughing with them about a stupid school joke that I don't tend to make a lot. Perhaps she was happier without me, perhaps I have realized how of an awful friend I am. Why did I have to say that to her? Why have I become so arrogant towards the person who only gave me nothing but care and love? Pathetic me, pathetic life.

That changed when I saw Wanda leaning against my dorm room with her head down, playing with the tip of her shoes. I tapped her shoulders, to know why she was there, and she gave me a whimsical smile–then it falters when I touch her shoulders.

"I might've overreacted with what happened." Wanda states, admitting how immature she was even though it was the opposite. I shrugged, letting her know that it didn't really matter to me; because it didn't.

"It's no biggie."

"But if I tell you this," she hesitates a little, then continues. "I-If I tell you a secret, would you keep it?"

"Certainly." what kind of a friend would I be if I didn't keep one of her secrets?

She looks at me with determination, as if she's going through a mission that I have no idea of. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion until suddenly I felt her lips grazing against my cheek. She breathes in me, she holds my neck just like how Natasha does. Except that Natasha does it so much better than she does–no offense. I look at her with more confusion, so baffled by her lips and she whispers: "I like you a lot. I know we're supposed to be best friends, but I like you. I don't want to date a boy from a diner or even hold their hand. I want to hold yours, I want to take you out on a date."

"Wanda–"

"Just don't say anything if you don't feel the same way," her voice sounded like a plea, making my body deflate more. "I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I'll see you soon."

Before I even blinked, she was walking away and I tried my best to follow her and tell her that I was falling in love with someone else. Why does it have to be me? Why on earth was she interested in a wretch like me? Confusion and questions start to swirl in my head crazily, wondering if I could ever talk to her again. The thing is, if Natasha never existed, I'd say yes to her. And when I do say yes, I'd mean it.

Deciding to go back to my room, I saw a tall figure standing near the corridors. I looked to my side and it was Natasha who had a bible clinging to her hip, staring at me with no emotion. She saw what happened, she saw how Wanda kissed my cheek. She saw it all, and I didn't know what else to say. When I take one step, she backs away and walks off–leaving me completely alone in the hallway.

I've got two women wrapped around my finger, and it's not good.

                                                          —

Mrs. Johnson,

Mother Natasha, who's the priestess in this school, is not what you think of. She may come off as a kind and gentle woman who does hear your problems, prays for you, and whatever else you could think of. But she is a rapist, she has touched innocent young girls ever since she stepped into the school. Each time I see her, it feels like I'm her next victim. I will come off as anonymous since I'm not comfortable enough to let you know who I am. Though I can put my initial to make you an idea of me. Please take her out of this school. I want her away and to stop raping other children like me, think about us girls.

If there's not enough evidence, I can dig deeper for this sudden information. Until then, here's my letter to you about what is going on with this woman.

Sincerely,

W.

well “W” is framing Mother Natasha...

taglist: @olicity-boo @nickalpatel @sayah13 @inluvwithfictionalwomen @daddynatasha @natnutkuy @mrs-johansson @ageofolsen @easybxy @natasharomanoffswifeyyy @ayyy-lety @wandsgurl @rt–link @pancakefan7529 @korekiyoss @natash7456574657646645 @riveravalonsage @queen234 @gracied710 @aru-son @katherineromanova @agent99galanzo @dumbdoll-420 @meshuganna @jessromanoff5 @kimromanov @cl-e @profoundpersonacoffee @wandaslittlewhore @natashaswife4125 @setsuna1415 @encyrpted @d14n4ol @natashaswife4125​ 

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #dark natasha #dark!natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x you #say your prayers series

[horizon-verizon]

Hürrem Sultan gave birth to Mehmed before marrying Suleiman, Alicent would call him a “bastard” and would call Hürrem a “prostitute”, and as a Catholic bigot, she would hate her for converting to Islam. And in the end, it was the blood of Hürrem/Rhaenyra who was on the throne and continued the dynasty. Every Ottoman sultans since then has been descended from Hürrem.

I need them to pick if Alicent is just a teary-eyed, depressed, guileless teenage sad fawn with no power & ambition or a cunning & strong-willed girlboss “it is not a king who sits the throne these days, it is a queen.”

A)

I think she'd think of Hürrem as a slave or like the "salt wives"/bridal slaves of the ironborn. Because that it is the closest to what she already knows. And of course, she'd also still think these were "spoiled" women, & therefore use the word "whore" if she wants to express any negative emotion. Yes she'd hate her for converting and becoming an "infidel".

However, this is a Watsonian read while the next is a Doylist criticism against the writers and they don't relate to each other as evidence to say that Alicent's writing is bad. JIC.

B)

I need them to pick if Alicent is just a teary-eyed, depressed, guileless teenage sad fawn with no power & ambition or a cunning & strong-willed girlboss

I think these don't have to be exclusive (not the crying part necessarily, that can go or just be severely reduced).

Alicent is already strong willed to a degree in the show (episodes 6-9)...she's just not very cunning nor are her motivations clearly conveyed because there was no build up to her blow up through scenes before that jump cut before episode 6...the show did not properly establish the events--apart or just more than scenes with her kids--building her frustration against Rhaenyra, slowly but surely. She doesn't have direction because she has no way to get Viserys to agree to just expose Rhaenyra and she has never tried to be subtle or manipulate him, just pushing and pushing. And this doesn't produce good court drama.

It's more like a presentation or a series of pictures of a life rather than an immersive walk through of a life. The scenes are isolated from potential progression.

It's like her sad-lip and drawn face and self victimhood makes as if she is not displaying that will when she very much is...just insidiously more righteous about it. Which would be fine, again, if only she was smart or her internal logic were more consistent [I refer to the 2nd thing in #3 below]!

My problems with show!Alicent's writing is not her anger's existence nor a lack of will (bc she does have will, it's just wrongly directed by her father's counsel, Andal traditional patriarchal principles of order, & her own jealousy) but:

how she's made even more vulnerable than she used to be, to face SA not once and not even from the same person

how the show tried to make as if she could ever see Rhaenrya as her friend and vice versa after the years they spent together AND by who they made these characters to be...bc even in the show, their relationship just never made sense and it's never going to

the stark, TOO ILLOGICAL switch from her trying to get her own friend killed out of the belief that Rhaenyra would be even willing to murder her kids to her accepting her bc...Rhaenyra apologized -> which stems from the writers trying to make their women anti-violence peacemakers on the guiding moral principle of "war is bad" unless it comes out exclusively against other women

Yes, women in patriarchal systems can & do slight or harm each other for power using using patriarchal logic or practices or principles for power in patriarchies a lot more often than out of them so that they can access privileges they can only access through men. But to:

make as if Rhaenyra did not have any positive, huge, & meaningful female friendships because "women have no agency in a patriarchy"

remove all the confirmed positive female relationship bk!Rhaenyra had and to replace them with a badly-written and unexplainable friendship [Rhaenicent] that blew apart so easily by contrast (as HotD did! and willfully chose to do!)

is inane & inherently sexist bc you'd be arguing women are incapable, totally incapable, of forming friendships or having positive relationships in such a world [from pessimisticpigeonsworld] and you'd still have to prove or provide reasons as to why you think Rhaenyra was not best friends with Laena or that Rhaenys wasn't about being one of her supporters or that her stepdaughters didn't ride for her, etc. other than the whole "F&B is propaganda", bc how does this line prove Rhaenyra didn't have these female support?!

Because why do we credit Rhaena the Black Bride her female-centered relationships but not Rhaenyra? Does the narrative of F&B also try to paint Queen Dowager Rhaena as a "shrewish", "bad" woman?!

#asoiaf asks to me #magnificent century #character comparison #Hürrem Sultan #alicent hightower #bastards #alicent's characterization #hotd characterization

[acertainmoshke]

New and Improved Writeblr Intro

I didn't really know what I was doing the first time and my WIP priorities have changed, so here we go again.

Call me Moshke Palmoni (they/them). I spend as much time as I can writing, but that is not as much as it might be because there's also a lot of life going on right now. I also like to read, knit, collect vintage ephemera, and play with my cat. Most of my time currently is taken up with fixing up the 100-year-old house I just bought. It's lovely but it was not cared for in the last couple decades and the previous owners made some interesting decisions. I also visit libraries and museums as much as possible.

Active WIPs

(respond to this post to be added to or taken off any taglists!)

General taglist: @blind-the-winds

To Die Among the Stars

First draft about half done at ~50k words.

In the future, 20 people are sent into space on a second test of an FTL drive, aiming for a habitable planet. The first test was a disaster, so this time they’re more careful—the volunteers are only needed for data on how humans fare at faster than light speeds, so they are selected from prisons and “mental wellness centers” and areas where people would agree to a suicide mission for the promise of feeding their families. No one expects them to live, just to provide enough data to improve the next test. Told from 4 POVs: Pixel, a semiverbal black market modder; Ri, who has so many illicit mods embedded in his body he can no longer experience the world the way most people do; Zippy, a young disabled woman desperate to support her family; and Peppermint, a genetic experiment combining human and cat DNA raised in a lab with only a sentient android for company. Despite all expectations, the group bands together for survival.

Taglist: @hd-literature

A Blade of Ice

In the outlining stage.

Working title. Part of the Legends of Halara series, which follows 1,000 years of fantasy kingdom history. About 300 years into that history, Princen Aryel is born. Aryel is never good at going along with expectations but has a certain duty eso must follow to take care of eson kingdom. Aryel is one of three royal children and not expected to rule, but after eson youngest sibling dies relatively young Aryel has to take on the responsibilities of both leading the army in a generation-long war and leading the kingdom through a time of shortages and despair. Aryel often clashes with the noble advisors in ways eson sibling never did, and the balance between who Aryel is at war and who eso is at court is not an easy one. It certainly doesn't help that in a world of politically arranged marriages, Aryel always seems to be in love with the wrong person.

Worldbuilding Links for Halara: cultural genders are explained here (with pictures of clothing styles here) and non-human gender systems here. This is a basic post about their pantheon of deities and this is a post containing maps of all the local kingdoms.

Cold Iron

In the outlining stage.

Shakatra is 107 years old. They are also 33. They are a rare case of a Fae changeling surviving to adulthood without being killed or dying from iron exposure or the weak constitution common among Fae children chosen to be left. They survived long enough to gain magical strength not only beyond any human but beyond many of the more minor Fae. They used to use this to exert power over Wild Fae, to protect humanity, to exact revenge, or just for fun. Now, however, they are widowed and retired with two kids to take care of. Their brother Kris, also their best (only?) friend is equally happy to be done with that world. Neither of them are prepared for it to find them again. When there is a Fae threat against the entire world, Shakatra may be the only one with the power to stop it and enough love of humanity to bother. But things are not what they seem and questions of betrayal, priorities, and what they are willing to do to protect the life they've built are harder to fight than a direct battle, insidious like the creeping poison of iron.

Links: Character posts here and here.

Backburner WIPs

Time to Kill

Working title. Esther Dahan is part of one of the first teams ever sanctioned to use time travel technology. Against all historical odds, they aren’t cops or soldiers—they’re anthropologists. Her team specializes in Jewish history specifically, and as tough as it is to leave her young daughter behind for long stretches the team is like her family as they get to truly experience what life was once like, always careful not to change anything (the butterfly effect having been disproven, they must still not share too much information or come in contact with major figures). And yet, something is off. In more and more time periods, they find suspicious activity. But they can never quite get enough proof to convince anyone why this matters—why they should believe that these scientists found the first known rogue travelers. It’s not until trying to solve the mystery on their own leads to Esther’s life being torn apart that they’re taken seriously, and even then her team might be the only ones capable of finding out the truth and stopping something even worse.

A Tangled Knot of Gold

Also in the Legends of Halara series, about 200 years into the kingdom's history. Tlapil is the cousin of the heir to the throne, Soter, who is also the only person who treats eso like a person because eso is semi-verbal with unusual body language and interests. Tlapil's main useful skill seems to be mapmaking, but when the kingdom needs unusual solutions Tlapil's ready to help—along with eson only other friend, who happens to be a slime. Having proven esonself, eso holds a respectable position as advisor to eson cousin, but when tragedy threatens to tear apart the entire kingdom it might be up to Tlapil to find a way to hold it together.

Falling Petals

A story of imperfect love and family and undiagnosed disability across generations (they're all autistic before they would have been called that). Ira Katz was born in 1913, the only child of Russian Jewish immigrants. He was clever and charming, but there was always something off-putting about him. He didn't understand why blunt observations and mean jokes went unappreciated. He would give long and detailed lectures on his interests, which included photography, without regard to anyone else's level of interest. He spent his adult life working in the drugstore he inherited from his father and had 4 children with his wife, though he never knew how to connect, loving them from a distance.

Ira's second child, Daniel (born 1939), was also odd and isolated. He was gentle and generous but mocked for being sensitive, for his silly attempts at being serious and adult too soon. So he learned to channel his pain from tears to rage and disappear into comic books to forget about the world. He learned to script friendly conversations so no one could see his confusion or pain. He studied architecture because it was more manly than becoming a librarian, married a teacher, and had twin daughters. He refused to become his father--he never mocked his kids and he spent some time with them--but the pain and overwhelm and frustration would burst out of him in rages that terrified them.

One of Daniel's daughters, Shoshana (born 1961) was also odd. She was bright but seemed young for her age, clinging to toys her sister had long discarded. She had a bad habit of freezing when confused or scared, so she would stare blankly and just not answer people. She cried easily. She read constantly but failed out of college and ended up back with her parents and no chance of marrying or living alone. She convinced herself she was stupid.

And then Shoshana's sister had a daughter, Naomi (born 1987). Naomi was odd in a way Shoshana recognized, and she was determined not to project her own pain onto her niece but to use this chance to break the cycle of pain and give a child a chance to grow up loving herself and her differences.

#moshke writes #writeblr #writeblr intro #yes it's only been a couple months and some of this is the same #but I have learned some things since then

[homemadegirlbossbattle]

ROUND 4 / POLL 4

Team Patience & Valerie Wester (@cherry-spot and @toa-arania) vs. Poppy (@stobotnik)

Patience & Valerie Wester info:

Patience and Valerie's Descriptions: What’s better than one girlboss? Two, of course! Red and green, fire and plants, spiteful god and godless heathen, and just so much drama to go around.

Patience, the self-declared leader of the high court of heaven, looks on the surface to be the kind and selfless leader to those she tries to save face for, with the noble goal of wanting Heaven to be a perfect paradise for all. Her family and the other gods know the truth, thanks to her “encouragement” for them to be her version of perfect. From the people she drives away, and to the countless people she actively seeks to harm, her insidious grasp on the divine beings can be felt everywhere throughout the realms.

Valerie Wester, a plant witch staying with her aunt in Springdale, is outgoing, confident, blasé, and consumed with overwhelming hubris and pettiness. She is notorious throughout the town for a variety of things, and when she isn’t enacting meticulous revenge, saying “we learnt something new” to justify her latest bullshit, or completely failing to understand the concept of altruism, she’s casting hexes, pissing off her ‘friends’, and attempting semi-successfully to get the attention of the various gods.

Patience's Crimes:

Pushed away one sister (Thena) to the point that she left the entire universe and convinced the other (Tempy) that her husband cheating was her own fault to encourage "improvement", then convinced her brother to be Heaven's executioner against his explicit wishes Framed Tempy's husband for the murder of someone who wasn't even dead so she could get him and his mistress kicked out of heaven and then put the 'murder victim' in a magic stone because she wasn't good enough at her job, a thing she does a lot and to anyone she just doesn't like very much. Some of them have been in there for centuries now because Patience """forgets""" about them. Intense demon hatred to the point of getting a demon-hating cult leader to be her understudy and nearly getting someone killed because their brother (not even the guy himself) was trying to convince her to let demons into heaven Unintentionally started a war between heaven and hell because she indirectly caused the death of the Queen of Wrath Total unshakable belief that everything she does is for the good of Heaven. She doesn't understand why the higher beings of Heaven have effectively disowned her

Valerie's Crimes:

Kleptomania for use in magic spells that exist almost entirely to fuck with people and extensive breaking and entering Compulsive lying and actively manipulating her friends Fucking with her sort-of-ex (including letting him think he's being haunted because it's funny and not doing anything about a rumour that they hooked up because it wasn't inconvenient for her) Liberal application of poison including to make herself sick to get out of assembly so she could go and steal things Lack of ethical consideration in spellcasting, such as accidentally cursing half the school to see terrifying demonic visions (re-traumatising an ex-infernalist and her ex's new girlfriend in the process) and spying on her friends to read a book about elder gods A frankly inordinate amount of scheming, including deciding "I'm going to destroy the Queen Bee's reputation in one week" because she is incapable of flirting normally (also for revenge) and nearly pulling it off, scrying on an agent of the god of trickery and deciding she wants to outwit him, and accidentally giving a venus fly trap sentience that she then used to get the fae king's attention. Being horny on main and a monsterfucker in a Christian Town™

Other Notes: @cherry-spot's friends are often split on calling Patience either the worst being in existence or desiring her carnally, and @toa-arania's friends are all terrified of Val using the word "fascinating" because it means an impending Val Moment.

Poppy info:

Description: Octoling MILF who traversed the deepsea metro and all she got out of it was this loser robot husband. You can’t spell ‘unethical cephalopod experimentation’ without all the letters of cute!

Crimes: Assisted Cdr. Tartar in omnicide, world domination, brainwashing, and eugenics. Allowed her daughter to destroy a world monument to also take over the world and assists them in their drug ring. Stole a cadaver to revive a rogue AI and allow it to continue living. Scrolls Pinterest on the clock at Grizzco while her co-workers get their shit rocked by flyfish.

Other notes from the submitter: Autism be damned my girl can work industrial machinery

#poll #oc poll #hmgbb

[middle-earth-mythopoeia]

Hey I have a question. I want to see Amazon burn and to do anything in my power to hasten that end.

Would dropping negative reviews of RoP help at all? Or will that just make them think I’ve watched the show and add that to the count? I know they were deleting negative reviews off IMBD but idk if spamming stuff like that would help

If you’re not sure could you tag some blogs you think would be able to answer?

Tysm!!

Hi, thanks for the ask!

Leaving negative reviews is certainly what Amazon deserves. But yeah, like you said, they’re probably counting numbers of views, and they’re also just deleting any negative reviews they receive because they’re cowards. We’re probably not going to win the battle over reviews, as much as I hate to say it. Amazon’s too afraid of admitting how unpopular their show is.

In terms of how to hasten Amazon’s demise: it’s hard to know how to end Amazon, but there are always small things you can do, and if enough of us do them, it will make a difference.

Boycott Amazon entirely

Boycotting Amazon is a good first step, but it’s also great to encourage other people in your life to find alternatives to Amazon as well. If you search online for “alternatives to Amazon” you can come up with a lot of good options. I think many people who have become dependent on Amazon don’t know what else is out there. I’ve found that by having that information on hand I’ve been able to recommend alternatives that people didn’t know about.

Spread the word

I also think it’s good to spread the word about Amazon’s unethical practices among people you know. For instance, my mom reads the news a lot and is very well-informed, but she hadn’t heard about the recent Amazon worker deaths and the OSHA investigation into them. When I told her about it, she was shocked that this wasn’t bigger news. I think it’s really important to spread the word about these things because not everyone hears about them in the midst of their busy lives, and I wouldn’t underestimate the power of these stories to change people’s minds about using Amazon.

Here is an extensive list that I have compiled of many of Amazon’s crimes and abuses.

Support anti-Amazon legislation

Another thing you can do is call your representatives to support legislation that hurts Amazon, like this bill that already passed that Amazon was opposed to. It doesn’t do enough to reign in Amazon, but it’s something. And it’s good to support calls like this one to investigate Amazon’s unethical labor practices. I live in the United States, so my examples are from here, but I’m sure there are legislative efforts in other countries as well. I would recommend calling for this kind of legislation, too, if it doesn’t already exist where you live. In general, legislation can help fight Amazon if it supports union activities, protects workers’ rights, demands a livable wage, and forces the wealthy to pay their taxes.

And I think all these things fit together, too. If, for instance, enough outrage builds against Amazon for its unethical labor practices, that can help drum up support for legislation to hold Amazon accountable. But that means people need to be aware of it, and talking about it. One of the most insidious aspects of Amazon is how it’s become a “normal” part of so many people’s everyday lives. It shouldn’t be. We have to un-normalize it. Fight Amazon wherever and whenever possible. 

Anyone who wants to add onto this post with ways to stand up to Amazon, please do.

I leave you with some wisdom from Gandalf:

“It is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till.”

#asks #I'd like to do more to hurt Amazon too #I'd like to be involved in a more organized fashion #but working full time gets in the way of that #I figure that one thing I am good at is writing and research #so I've used those skills to collect information about Amazon and spread it #and to talk to people I know about it #Amazon #my writing

[ariesbilly]

misc. tag game

tagged by @blood-mocha-latte

a band you don’t like that many others do:

maneskin... tried a couple songs, wanted to like them.... cant do it

a childhood memory that you remember vividly:

this costume contest i refused to enter because my costume was boring and i knew i was gonna lose by the adults were like "no just join come on itll be fun" and i was like... already consumed by the darkness at that point lmfao and i sat watching everyone crying. fun! lmfao

least favorite animal and why:

i hate a snake. i respect their role in the ecosystem but dont you ever put one near me. dont put one within 5 miles of me. no. i dont trust anything that slithers bitch aint got no legs! i dont like that. and the striking? dont like that either. i have to stop talking about them now im genuinely uncomfortable

hot fandom take:

steve harrington is not a good character. he is badly written. yall only like him cuz you think joe is hot. thats literally it. the man has literally zero positive qualities. apply this to every other loved st character as well theyre all bad the show sucks i hope everyone dies

do you were any jewelry, if so, what’s your favorite piece:

i wear a friendship bracelet and a rope bracelet i got on a cruise (i forgot what theyre called. sailor bracelets or something?) and thats about the extent of my jewelry wearing

a movie others liked but you didn’t:

i don't think i've ever cognitively watched a movie and thought that i loved it or hated it. i'm usually just like Well That Sure Was A Movie. <- im keeping prevs because thats what wildest thing ive ever read in my life i need to study you lmfao as for my answer, insidious movies are bad. youre next is bad. many movies this website loves i havent even seen but i know they are bad thats why i havent watched them.

three things you love about yourself:

my hair is getting real cute lately. i am a huge bitch. i stare at my butt a lot i think its fun

a place you hope to visit in the future and why:

italyyyy i want to trace my roots

an actor that gets on your nerves and why:

idk if theres actors i have beef with for their personality lmao several i dont like because they are overhyped and im sick of seeing them. ariana grande she counts as an actress i cant stand her lmfao the vibes are rancid also stop dating married (taken) men its gross its weird

things you’re excited for in the nearby future?:

for my dog to finally be healed from her surgery cuz god its a lot of working making sure she dont pop her stitches

least favorite ship in a fandom you’re in:

if stancy is endgame im setting fires to buildings i want you all to know this. also fuck a steddie and a ronance but that goes without saying

what’s the most toxic fandom you’ve been in?:

stranger things. riverdales a close second but stranger things... you are all genuinely mentally unwell i would like to speak to your therapists and tell them shit aint working

list three things you find beautiful about life:

the ocean my best friend the ocean. animals just be out here looking for pets... brings a tear to my eye. im really struggling for a third life is bad lmfao my best friend? thats it.

any dreams for the future?

i try not to think about the future it gives me panic attacks

how are you really feeling today?

sleepy

tagging (no pressure): @panickedpenguin @avalonlights @ihaveacorgi @imsodishy