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hyunjilicious · 3 years

Text

fwb [s. stan/c. evans/h.cavill]

A/n: DO NOT ask me why I wrote this. I have no idea why I did this to myself, but I thought I’d share anyway!

Summary: no matter how you put it, a catching feelings while you’re in a fwb relationship isn’t good! (SMUT, FLUFF, angst?) 9.2k

Warnings: threesome, dirty talk, unprotected sex, spanking, slapping, daddy kink, size kink, degradation, humiliation, oral, pain kink (+/- some dubcon), submission, cum play... issa lot ok? don’t read if any of these make you uncomfortable!! 18+

This is a standalone fic, and not part of any series. However, come talk to me about it, please!! Tell me what you thought!! And don’t forget to reblog in case you enjoyed it!!

"Last question-" the interviewer announced. She turned around the papers in her lap and placed them to the side, before she intertwined her fingers and looked up at you with a devious grin on her lips. "I have to ask this, Y/n. We all need to know, who's your favorite? Superman or Captain America?"

Of course you couldn't help but chuckle, shaking your head at the question she came up with. It was fair to assume you hadn't been asked this before for the sole purpose of avoiding a scene, but the lady standing in front of you seemed overly pleased with herself. Unlike Henry and Chris, who were seated on either side of you. Even if you didn't actually turn to look at them, you could feel their glares throw daggers. Anticipation floated in the room, and judging by the way they just softly chuckled or refrained from making any kind of comment, you knew how anxiously they were awaiting your answer.

"I-" you said, before bursting into laughter.

"Even I would choose Superman," Chris joined in, placing a hand on his chest for emphasis. "Dude's got X-ray vision. He's faster than light, he can fly. He's the real deal" he raised his palms, ready to accept his defeat.

"See-?" Henry butted in, and you giggled, more to yourself, at the game they started playing. You knew very well it was nothing but a big, fat, obvious trap. "Superman's got all of those, but Captain America still manages to save the world time and time again, without superpowers. I think that makes him greater"

Oh, how screwed you were.

"So, Y/n?" the interviewer pushed, ever so obviously satisfied with the tension she created, "Who will it be? Steve or Clark?"

In turn, you looked at both of them. Henry was smiling his ass off, waiting for you to say the wrong name, while Chris seemed to be lost in thought.

"Ugh, ok" you took a deep breath, and glanced into the camera, "I'm sorry, but I'm Team Cap. I gotta be."

Whereas Henry accepted the defeat with stride and sweetly mentioned he couldn't ever blame you for choosing Captain America, Chris was ecstatic. He didn't even try to hide his excitement, the chair nearly breaking under his energetic jolts of pride.

After a few more unimportant comments were made, the interview ended and the lights were turned off. You all hopped off your seats and walked over to the buffet table, your conversation still going strong.

"Really, Y/n? Cap?" Henry taunted, his voice low and mocking, right against your ear lobe as you popped a cheese stick into your mouth. "This guy? Why did you have to do me like that, hm?"

Henry placed the tip of his finger under your chin and elegantly prompted you to look up at him.

"I don't know, man" Chris laughed from somewhere behind you, "I think I own fair and square, Cap is just the better superhero"

Henry scowled, glancing at the blonde, over your shoulder. His ice cold eyes made the salty treat get lodged in your throat, and you had to pull away from him in order not to actually choke. "Relax-" you said, raising your hands in defeat as you started walking towards the door, "It's not like I chose between the two of you. That would've been a whole other deal"

"Wait what-?" Chris deadpanned, "What does that mean?" He added, hurrying to follow you and ask for further details.

Needless to say, the subject wasn't dropped until quite a while later. People swarmed you, papers had to be signed and pictures were taken as the employers from all levels of the building gathered outside your dressing room hoping to meet some of their favorite superheroes. It was all a buzz and about 2 hours later, the three of you were finally able to leave, making a beeline from the back door of the building, all the way over to the car that was waiting for you.

You ended up on the backseat, again between them, but this time the atmosphere was relaxed. Your blood only started to boil when Henry asked for the partition to be rolled up. As soon as the space inside the car was divided and you were given your privacy, Henry grabbed your chin and forced you to face him.

"Think I forgot about earlier?" he questioned, his devious grin wide enough so that his perfect teeth became visible.

You giggled and forced yourself out of his hold. Shuffling around the seat, you threw one leg over his thighs and sat down in his lap. Henry looked you up and down, remotely displeased with your attitude but he didn't complain.

You grabbed his cheeks into your palms and pushed yourself up against him, his face now inches away from your chest. "And what are you gonna go?"

He wasn't about to let his guard down, "You're acting all bratty now, but you'll regret that later, baby"

"I doubt that" you teased, bending down to tenderly kiss his sweet lips, "What could you possibly do that I won't like?"

"Wish you hadn't asked that" Henry laughed, his whole frame shaking against yours. He grabbed your ass and squeezed harshly, pressing you closer to him.

"I'm scared" you joked, trailing your lips along his cheeks, knowing just how crazy you could make him.

"Y/n" Chris warned, "Today I'm on your side, but even I can tell you're pushing your luck"

Even if he didn't necessarily manage to deflate your attitude, you plopped down from Henry's lap and resumed your spot between them. The atmosphere didn't get any denser and the topic of conversation swiftly shifted to rudimentary randomness like what food should you order once you got home or whatever plans either of you had for that night. You subtly avoided the word 'date' when you told them you'd be meeting with a friend, and breathed out relieved when they didn't pressure you for details. That was a conversation to be had between 4 walls and with no prying ears.

Once home, your home - they came over, you casually opened the door and meant to make your way inside as if nothing was wrong, but Henry, just as previously stated, had other plans.

Securing a strong hold around your way smaller frame, he lovingly leaned down over your shoulder, "How are you doing, love?" he nonchalantly asked.

His scent overwhelmed your senses, and despite knowing where this was going, you tried to play it off. "Good, you?" you smiled, sinking into his arms.

"We need to talk"

"Do we?" you laughed, but managed to do absolutely nothing in terms of impressing him.

You knew just how much he loved it when you asked for it, and this was not something he'd ever let slide. "Come with me, darling," Henry cooed, gently guiding you into the bedroom.

You followed him without showing any kind of resistance, turning around in his hold and wrapping your arms around his neck. You stumbled backwards down the hallway, sloppily kissing his lips.

Much to your surprise, he was more than eager to reciprocate, his palms burning through the soft material of clothing that covered your sides. He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with so much fervor, as if he had been deprived for too long.

Henry clumsily opened the bedroom door, stumbling forward with you against him, until he reached the bed. Considering how weak you were for him and how you always allowed yourself to get molded by his will, when he pushed you back against the bed, you fell with a small huff and remained there, only your eyes following him.

"What are you doing?" you asked, seeing him open your closet and actually step inside to look behind the corner.

Before he even started to answer your question, Chris walked into the room. He was casually undoing the buttons of his shirt as he strolled past the bed.

"Hi-" you giggled, extending your hands towards him. All you wanted was some attention.

"Hi, baby" Chris laughed, bending down to kiss your forehead. "You're gonna be good for us, ok? I don't wanna have to go to hard on you"

"Then don't" you pouted.

"That's only up to you" he added, straightening his back and finishing up on undoing his buttons. His tattooed chest became visible and your mouth watered in an instant.

Burning from the inside with anticipation and pure lust, you fell back against the cushions, your thighs uselessly trying to alleviate some of the pain between your legs. But no amount of rubbing and friction would ever match up to the tension in the room, and you loved it.

A couple of moments later, Henry walked out of his closet, dressed exactly the same, clutching tight into his hands the famous superman costume. None of you has ever been too shy when it came to exploring new kinks and desires, but this, you did not see coming.

Your mouth fell open, "Really!?" you almost drooled, but he has probably never been any quicker to burst your bubble.

Staring you down, Henry clutched his fingers into the material of his suit, bringing his hands together in front of his chest, before tearing the material apart with a loud screech. He lightly huffed with the effort, but soon enough, the actual costume fell to the floor by his feet, while the red cape remained neatly wrapped around his fists.

Your eyes widened with enthusiasm and you wanted to shuffle closer to him, but once you pushed yourself up on your knees, you felt a tight grip around your forearms.

Chris pulled you back with force, "Arms up, darling" he chuckled. He didn't even give you a chance to follow his directions, as he yanked your top over your head in an instant and unclasped your bra before leaving your top half completely naked and exposed.

As he plopped down on the bed, Henry came up to you and forced your hands up, using his cape to tie your wrists to the bedpost. His face was hovering inches above yours, and you licked your lips before pushing yourself up to kiss his jawline.

"The hell's gotten into you, hm?" he groaned, tightening the knot. When he looked down, he seemed amused, kind of at the edge between disbelief and satisfaction, as if he actually wished you'd push his buttons. As if he was waiting for you to dig your own grave. "You aren't usually like this"

"Had a great day, that's all" you grinned as you literally met with the two of them approximately half an hour after you woke up. "Ready for it to get better"

"Is it, though-?" Chris laughed, fumbling with the button of your jeans before pulling them down your legs. Off with them also went your underwear, and then there you were, completely naked in front of them, hands tied above your head. "-going to get better, I mean" Chris added, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs.

"I think-" you began answering but Henry stopped you as he gripped your chin.

"Stop talking back, love" he threatened, "Don't you think you said enough today? Look where it's gotten you"

You studied his expression with big, curious eyes, your bottom lip consciously trembling as you muttered a soft excuse. You knew not taking him seriously would get you into even more trouble, but that's what you were all about.

Henry chuckled. Keeping his glare trained on yours he pushed himself up. His big hands found your thighs and forced your legs apart.

With this new, sudden change in position, your eyes landed on Chris who looked down at you as if you were his prey. He had a bottle of beer in his hand, taking small sips as he stood back, allowing Henry to do his part. Even if he wasn't yet taking part first hand in this whole charade, he was ever so obviously still enjoying the show.

You squirmed under their dominating stares, feeling every inch of your body burn with excitement and traces of actual embarrassment that did absolutely nothing other than turn you on even further.

"You know you fucked up, right?" Chris taunted before taking another sip of his beer. His hand reached to cup your thigh, moving it further up until his fingers got dangerously close to your bare pussy. "I mean you're all good in my book, but that's not how things work"

"It could be" you whined.

By now, it should have been clear that talking back was never an option. Chris just smiled sympathetically while Henry clearly showed he wasn't going to have you keep this attitude much longer. He shuffled to the side, responding to your comment with a sharp slap against your bare cunt. "What did you just say?"

The impact made you instinctively gather your legs together but he was quick to stop you. Henry forced your thighs apart again, his thick fingers pushing past your folds just enough to get you to get on alert.

Your eyes snapped to Chris. You never thought of things like this, but just about now, having him on your side seemed like the best idea. Your stomach was tightening from the nerves building up inside your core and you needed his reassurance.

"I'm sorry, doll-" he cocked his head to the side as you watched him, your eyes begging him to stand with you, "You know I'm always here for you, but breaking you is just too much fun, I'm sorry"

"Asshole" you rolled your eyes and regretted it even before Henry delivered another slap against your clit. You cried out and your muscles clenched against your will, your knees bending in a pathetic attempt to curl yourself into a ball.

"Come on, darling" Henry scoffed, easily handling your tantrum and forcing your legs back down, wide open for them. "You're only making this harder. Calm down, take your punishment and then maybe you'll get something in return"

"Ok-" you muttered, shame taking over your senses.

"Ok, what?" Henry pushed and Chris shook his head in disbelief at how unwilling you were to follow your usual instructions.

"Ok, daddy-" you muttered, avoiding their eyes, "I'm sorry I-"

"Little girl-" Henry sighed, sinking two fingers into your dripping pussy, "Already apologising? Where did that attitude go? Your punishment didn't even start yet"

"Fuck" you cried.

Despite knowing it wasn't a good idea, you rocked your hips along his fingers. Deciding to let you play along, Henry pressed his thumb against your clit, applying that minimal amount of pleasure he knew would have you hollering.

And when you moaned for the first time, he stopped. He stopped completely and retracted his hand, leaving you craving his touch. Again, you felt exposed and it only translated into a painful sensation deep inside your belly.

Arching your back as a whine escaped your lips, you squeezed your eyes shut, "Come on!! Please-"

"Not yet, angel" Henry countered, spreading your legs again.

As he held one of your thighs, Chris grabbed the other one, both their hands gripping your flesh hard enough to bruise. You already whimpered in pain, but when the real round of slapping began you felt like your throat would eventually cave.

"Cry if you have to, angel. Just be a good girl" Henry taunted.

You struggled against their hold with each blow delivered to your sensitive pussy, crying out and begging for them to stop. You never did try to count, so you had no idea how long it took, as when he stopped, you fell down into the mattress, the pain dissipating into a burning sensation across your legs.

"Easy there-" Henry cooed, his big hand cupping your cunt, gently rubbing the sensitive skin he had just abused.

Tears rolled down your temples as you failed to calm down your breathing. "Fuck, ok, I get it-" you sniffled, turning your head around to hide your face into your shoulder, "I'm sorry, please. I'm sorry"

"Look at me, pet" Henry commanded, softly guiding your chin in order to uncover your face, "Don't hide from us. You're so beautiful crying like that, you have no idea"

A new fresh wave of tears streamed from your eyes, "Th-thank you..."

Ever so softly, Chris moved your thighs, separating them again. He kneeled between your legs, lowering himself until you could feel his breath against your folds. "Breathe, pet-" he cooed, pressing a lingering kiss to your clit.

Involuntarily, you flinched, your hips bucking. "Easy, baby-" Chris said barely above a whisper, placing a hand on your tummy to push you back down, "Relax for me, ok?"

He swiped his tongue along your folds, forcing you to suck a deep breath, "You good?" Henry asked, his hand exploring your naked chest.

You nodded up at him.

"We barely started, ok?" Chris said, pushing himself up, "You'll be a good girl for us?"

"Yes" you nodded with eagerness.

"Full sentences-" Henry nudged, lovingly caressing your abdomen, "I know it can be a lot for you, take your time"

You swallowed deeply, "Yes.. yes, I will be a good girl for you"

"Good" he cooed, leaning down. You pushed yourself up to meet his lips, but he stopped midway, tapping your chin, "Open up, baby"

Slowly, your jaw lowered, as you stared up at him, big awaiting eyes and mouth wide open.

And he made you wait, finally sending you a lewd grin before spitting on your tongue. You felt it dribble down towards the back of your throat before you swallowed proudly. You wanted to open your mouth again, but he hurried to distance himself from you.

With a harsh slap against your tits, he pushed himself up. Henry grabbed your thighs, gathering your knees together. He pulled your legs up until your hips lifted from the bed and your upper back supported most of your weight, your knees close to your chest.

"Such a beautiful pussy" Chris chimed in, his face inches away from your opening.

Never in your life had you felt this exposed and humiliated, but you swallowed your pride and remained motionless, not wanting to get on their bad side again.

"Are you ready?" Henry asked.

"For- for what?" you panicked.

"Wrong answer" he scoffed, slapping your ass. You yelped in pain and wiggled in his hold, but he didn't stop. He spanked your ass again, and again, and again, his palm hitting the bare skin off your cheeks, pussy and asshole. "Try again, little girl."

"I- I'm… I'm ready"

"See?" Chris beamed, spitting on your pussy. You felt it run down your folds until it reached your ass. "That's the kind of slut we want. One that says yes without even knowing what we're talking about"

"Come on" Henry huffed, slapping your cunt one more time before letting your body back down on the mattress again. He moved up along your frame and undid your hands.

You were eager to relax your shoulders and to feel the blood flow through your arms again, but as soon as he released you from the bedpost, he brought your wrists together, tying them up again. "I wish I didn't have to keep you restrained like this, but how can I know what goes through that dumb little head of yours?"

You shook your head no, trying to tell him you were actually planning on doing anything stupid, but Chris understood something else completely.

"Nothing goes through that pretty head?" he laughed, and Henry couldn't help but chuckle along.

Embarrassed, you hid your face and looked down.

"Don't be like that, baby-" Chris added, bending down over your body to caress your cheek, "You know we're right. You don't need to be ashamed, we like you like this"

His thumb rubbed along your bottom lip before he leaned down all the way and kissed you. His tongue barged into your mouth, dominating you completely as you barely managed to keep up with him. "A dumb little slut, crying for cock. That's what you are, aren't you?"

"Yes, daddy"

"Then why did you hide your face?"

"I- I don't know…" you mumbled.

"You know we keep you around just to fuck you, so I don't see why you'd get shy all of a sudden"

"I'm sorry-" you nodded, licking your lips, uselessly trying to moisten them. "I didn't get shy, I-"

"So you like being our fuck slut?"

"Yes"

"Just a set of holes for me and Cavill over here to cum in, right?" he questioned, before kissing your forehead. "Our beautiful, little girl" You smiled at the pet name and looked up expectantly. His gaze lowered and his expression became stern again. "Get on all fours, darling. Time to make yourself useful"

With every movement of your legs, your cunt ached more and more, but you followed his command and pushed yourself up. Once on your hands and knees, you saw them get into position too. Chris crawled behind you as Henry settled before you, his crotch inches away from your face.

Your mouth watered as you heard their zippers being undone, and looked at them in turn, unable to hide your enthusiasm.

At this point, you were eager for whatever they'd throw at you. Being in that mind state always made everything better. You existed in a haze, a world of blur where it was just you and your daddys. You wiggled your ass expectantly and licked your lips with absolutely no worry. In your head it was perfect.

Your bubble was burst by a harsh tug at the roots of your hair as Henry turned your head so you'd look up at him. He fumbled with his cock, giving himself a few pumps.

Just watching him with big, excited eyes, you opened your mouth for him. He chuckled at your state of pure submission and placed his leaking tip on your tongue, your lips instantly closing around him.

At this point, he still allowed you to control your own movements as you did a satisfying enough job at bobbing your head on his cock. You sucked with determination, hollowing your cheeks and taking him as deep as you could without gagging.

Your exquisite performance was interrupted when you felt something big and round trail along your folds, your eyes snapping wide open when you felt it enter you. Chris pushed his cock in with a satisfying grunt, slapping your ass in the process.

"Fuck, yes!" he exclaimed, his massive member spreading your walls apart.

A lump formed in the back of your throat, the feeling of being filled to the prim, overwhelming you. You were aware your rigorous sucking turned into a pathetic excuse as soon as Chris started rocking your body back and forth along his dick, as now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get your mind to focus.

Seemingly not at all bothered by your suddenly sloppy blow job performance, Henry tightened his hold around your roots, keeping your head in place as he started fucking your mouth.

The simple fact that at this point, all you had to do was stay there and take it, made it close to impossible to not lose yourself. As Chris picked up his pace, using your hips and maneuvering your body to fit his needs the right way, your pleasure started building up in the pit of your stomach.

"Come on, baby-" Henry called, "Ready to take good care of daddy?"

And he asked this just to mock you, as your mouth was full of cock and he wasn't about to let you take a break. You only blinked, hoping to send the message along, despite knowing he wasn't waiting for an answer.

He steadied his hold on your roots and then forced you down his cock, his tip barging in through your neck, completely blocking your air supply. You remained there, not fighting against his hold, as Chris continued slamming his cock balls deep into your pussy.

The momentum of his thrusts pushed you forward, the ever so soft movement of your neck making Henry grunt with pleasure every time your body rocked into him. And they kept going, using you from both angles to fit their desires.

When it got too much, you felt tears prickle at the corner of your eyes as you saw no way out. You whined against his cock, your throat violently constricting in hopes of getting some air.

"A bit more" Henry cooed, maintaining his hold as you squirmed against it.

"Holy fuck-" Chris belted, both his palms relasing your hips only to be able to slap your ass harshly. "That's right, clench that pussy. Should fucking choke you more often when you're on my dick"

All you could do was whimper, forcing yourself to hold back cough after cough until you could no more. Tears streamed down your face as you started panicking, only then having Henry release you from his grip.

If he hadn't actually maintained his hold, you'd have crumbled into the mattress, a choking mess between their massive bodies. But Henry held on to you, pulling you up as Chris lowered his pace.

"Do you know how good you are, angel?" he asked, his thick British accent rolling off his tongue as exhaustion built up in his veins.

You nodded weakly, and smiled with awe when he wiped your tears away with his thumb.

"I'd keep this mouth on my cock all the damn time if I could-" Henry added, his tone deep and loving despite the condescending note of his words. "Are you ready to go again?"

You whimpered a soft, "Yes-" voice so whiny that if you weren't so deep into sub space, you'd have cringed hearing yourself. "Please..."

Chris bent down over you, his sweaty chest pressing against your back as he wrapped his arms around your frame, his greedy hands coming to cup either of your breasts. He buried his face into your neck and then kissed along your shoulders. "Are you close, baby girl?" he asked, burying his cock deeper inside your belly, "You wanna cum on my cock?"

As you breathed out, you nodded a weak yes. A smile instantly reached the corners of your mouth as Chris found your clit. He rubbed slow, intricate circles around it, your pleasure translating into sobbing moans. "Now take Henry's cock inside that little mouth of yours, and when you're getting close, you give me a sign, yeah?"

"Ok" you panted, curious about what he must have had planned.

The curiosity swiftly left your mind as your eyes landed on Henry's dick again. He was close too, the amount of precum leaking out of his tip, giving away that fact. He allowed some of it to dribble onto your chin, lightly slapping your face before popping your mouth open.

Pressing your tongue flush against the underside of his cock, you fervently sucked away as Chris started picking up his pace again. As if you weren't already close to losing any kind of self control, the painful slaps he inflicted upon your ass drove you over the edge.

You maniacally wiggled your feet against the messy blankets, giving Chris the promised signal.

Or at least you thought you gave it to him, as the next thing you felt was being pushed down along Henry's cock again. You took him deep down along your throat, moaning loudly against his member as an orgasm overwhelmed you. Tears of pleasure rolled down your cheeks as your body convulsed between them.

The sensation made your chest tighten and the lack of air started getting you dizzy. The electrifying feeling pulsed along your limbs, engulfing your middle in a sea of liquid fire. You didn't even feel the need to breathe as your mind rolled down a spiral of bliss. A whole white blur covered you as your brain stopped processing the information, too keen on sucking every last drop of pleasure from the orgasm you just received.

You were only pulled out of this trance when Henry pushed you off his cock, reality hitting you like ice cold water. You gasped for air, falling face first into the mattress, struggling to even breathe.

Not that you cared at that point, but neither of them asked you to resume your position. Instead, they shuffled off the bed, and with a soft slap against your raised ass, called for your attention.

"Come here, little girl" Chris demanded.

That was not the kind of information you were able to process, so again, they had to do all the work. With a harsh grip on your upper arms, they effortlessly grabbed you and forced you to your knees between them.

You looked up with what was probably the most obedient stare you had ever given them. You had two massive cocks hanging inches away from your face, and of course, your first instinct was to grab them as you popped your tongue out.

"No, kitten-" Henry laughed, petting your head and softly pushing you back. "Stay still"

And you did. Took a deep breath, finally feeling the engines inside your brain resuming their work. All your senses came back to you and it was as if you had been in a dream. Still, the excitement of seeing both Henry and Chris pump their cocks inches away from your face was difficult to contain.

"You swallow all, yeah?" Henry groaned, looking down at you with hooded, hungry eyes. "Don't use your hands. Use that slutty tongue"

Soon, hot cum started erupting from his tip, most of it landing directly into your mouth. Each time you swallowed you bobbed your head, proudly smiling up at them at the great job you were doing.

"Good girl" he muttered, his voice hoarse and out of tone.

All that changed when Chris grabbed your shoulder. He growled out loud as his orgasm reached him, and he threw his head back, still furiously pumping his cock into his fist.

"Holy mother of - fuck - !"

You did your best to get as much as you could inside your mouth, but your cheeks were a mess, your tongue only managing to spread their cum more than actually lick it off.

When they were both done, Chris helped you up as Henry kissed your forehead before walking out of the room without another word. The blonde cradled you to his chest, heaving as he held you.

"Such a good, little angel" he whispered into your ear. He was still panting, his hands clammy against your back, but he pushed through, focusing his energy on reassuring and soothing you.

"How are you, baby? Talk to me a bit" Chris pleaded, rubbing your cheek, "I wanna see those eyes"

As if every muscle contraction took up too much energy, you barely managed to look up at him, the most innocent of looks in your eyes. "I'm feeling really good" you sighed, leaning back against his chest.

"Good-" he laughed, his whole frame shaking as he hugged you closer, "Does anything hurt?"

"Everything" you giggled.

"Ok-" he sighed, accepting his defeat, "I'll ask again after we shower. You're all fucked out now"

"I like that" you mumbled as you all but drooled on him, sleep starting to envelop you.

"Would have been worried if you didn't"

Again, despite your direct state, you couldn't help but laugh with him. You softly pushed yourself up to plant a kiss against his naked chest.

Chris rubbed the back of your head as you did so.

"Hey-" Henry called as he walked into the room, but neither you nor Chris bothered to do anything else other than look in his direction. None of you moved. "Just a ran a bath-" Henry added, pointing to the bathroom, "Please don't fall asleep"

Chris helped you up and you wobbled your way across the room. "I'll go downstairs and shower" he said.

"You never wanna join us" you pouted.

"Just not really big on baths, that's all" Chris reassured you and then made his way out of the room.

After that, another wave of bliss followed. Another kind however. Henry washed every inch of your body, his careful hands caressing every dip and curve your frame. His lips were mostly on yours as he did so, never missing a chance to bring you even closer.

"Thank you" you mumbled, leaning against the marble wall as you watched him soap his broad chest.

Henry cluelessly raised his eyebrows, the movement of his hands slowing down as he waited for you to continue.

"For helping me wash up" you smiled, "You always do, but still. Thanks"

"No problem, darling" Henry nodded, gathering you closer again, and kissing your forehead. He got soap all over you again, and didn't even try to hide the fact that he loved having to help you rinse again.

A short while later, probably about 20 minutes or so, it was again the three of you, back in bed. You were laying between them. Judging by the light snores that danced off his lips and the peaceful way his chest rose and fell, Chris must have fallen asleep long before you and Henry finished showering. The sun started descending from the sky and the orange light in the room painted the perfect picture.

You cuddled into Henry's side, feeling your heart tickle the inside of your chest when he reciprocated the gesture. His warm breath graced the skin of your forehead as he gave you a longing kiss, barely even bothering to pull back before settling for a deep sleep.

You drifted off, content and with a smile on your lips, elated with what the day brought so far, and bubbling with anticipation for whatever surprises it might still have hidden.

By the time you woke up, fully rested, the sun was already sinking low behind the horizon, a red, tainted sky following in its footsteps. Extracting yourself from Henry's bear hold turned out to be much more than you expected, his reluctance to let you go, even in his sleep, making you giggle.

"How are you, sweetheart?" Chris asked, his voice a fresh tingle to your ears.

"Good-" you sighed, settling to lay down just a bit more. You kissed Henry's bicep as it spawned all across your chest, action which made him pull you even closer. "What time is it?"

"A bit past 6" Chris answered, rolling onto his side to face you. His shoulders slumped together making his chest stand out, but before you got a chance to take in the view, he cluelessly pulled up the covers all the way up to his nose. "Got any plans?"

"Yeah" you nodded, trying Henry's arm again, but he refused to budge once again. "I told you guys"

For a few seconds, Chris looked at you amused, and with a shake of his head, he grabbed Henry's hand, shaking him awake. "Wake up, buddy. Y/n's gotta get ready"

"No" Henry croaked, his light scruff tickling the back of your neck.

To be fair, you were excited for your plans, but in a way, your heart broke thinking about leaving that bed. Eventually you did, the cold of the room clinging to your body in an instant.

You shivered your way to the bathroom, quickly washing up before returning to the bedroom. The scenery hadn't changed at all, the two men still lingering at the edge between dream and reality, their phone screens perfectly accentuating their lazy expressions.

Swiftly making your way past the bed, you slapped the light switch on, the warm light of your candelabra flooding room, much to their simultaneous dismay. "Why- just no, turn it off-"

"Yeah, sure-" you sarcastically responded, stepping past the ruined superman costume on the floor, and opening the closet doors. You grabbed a pair of underwear and stepped inside it, before rummaging for your favorite bra. "I'll just get ready in a pitch black room. Of course"

None of them was impressed.

"Who are you seeing anyway?" Chris questioned.

You smiled innocently despite doing your best not to, and then turned to face them. "Sebastian"

"What" Henry gawked, sitting up in an instant, his frown taking over the previous sweetness of his features.

"What do you mean what?"

"Yeah, haven't you two-" Chris began speaking but Henry cut him off with absolutely no remorse.

"You haven't seen each other in two weeks. I thought that was done for"

As you finally found your bra, you slipped your arms under its straps and pulled them up your shoulders. "We haven't seen each other because he's been visiting his family. We kept talking"

"Talking?" Henry raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah we-" you sighed and then stopped. "Why are you acting like this? This is nothing new"

"I just-" Henry tripped over his words, shaking his head at the awkwardness he brought to the table. "I don't know, I'm sorry. I just didn't know it was that serious yet, that's all"

"It's not" you said, walking over to your makeup table and sitting down on the small, velvet chair. "We wouldn't be here if it was, would we?"

"I don't know, hun" Chris huffed, lazily slipping out of the bed. The way he walked made it look as if every muscle contraction pained him, leaning from side to side as he close to crawled his way to the bathroom.

In the process, you caught sight of his naked body in the reflection in your mirror, catching everything from his tattooed chest, to his massive thighs and still impressive cock.

"He's a great guy. I hope things work out if you decide he's the one for you"

"Is he?" Henry chirped, making you turn to him, a thick layer of concealer that still had to be blended, smudged under your eyes.

"We said we're taking things slow, you know this" you sighed, waving your brush around, "We're not exclusive. We're not a couple. We're just- I don't know, dipping our toes. We don't wanna fuck this up."

"Then why are you here with us?"

Perhaps the words slipped past Henry's lips a bit too harshly. You did not expect that. Not from him.

"Uh-" you muttered, feeling cornered, "Listen, he's just one of my best friends. And I really like him, I never lied to him. He knows about you two. We're just-" and then you stopped again, dropping your sentence as your brows furrowed above a pointed look. "Since we started this thing, you both have slept with other people and I never said anything about it. But now that I actually find someone I like, you act like I've committed a crime. Why are you allowed to-"

"Ok, I'm sorry" Henry jumped to stop you, clumsily leaving the bed and padding over to you. "That was incredibly rude of me, I'm sorry"

"What's up?" you asked sweetly, dearly wanting to help ease the pain that upclose was so clearly visible behind his sad, blue eyes.

And he hesitated, his eyes snapping to the window behind you before he licked his lips. "I just got comfortable, that's all. I care about you a lot, and I'll miss your sweet little body but if he makes you happy, I'll happily trade our encounters for... coffee dates?"

"Thank you, Henry-" you giggled, warming up at his sudden and sincere confession.

He kissed your forehead, the epitome of love gestures. His lips quivered, and brushed against your skin a few times before allowing you to finish getting ready.

Time had flown unreasonably fast, and in a matter of seconds, you found yourself running around the room, blazing through the last steps of your process, despite it not being neither tedious nor elaborated. To be fair, Sebastian was the only man in your life who you never tried to impress with your looks.

You felt appreciated and understood in his presence. He smiled when you talked and pecked your lips every chance he got. He was your friend before anything else, and regardless of the harsh reality you lived in, the status of your relationship changing was what you craved the most. He made you open up without even trying, his sense of stability and unconditional acceptance making you end up on his doorstep, dressed in just a hoodie and jeans, a bottle of wine in tow, ready to just kick back and feel your ultimate best.

For whatever reason, your heart started banging uncontrollably against your ribcage as soon as you knocked. When you heard the lock turn, your knees weakened.

He sprung the door open, welcoming you with open arms. You just took a step in and threw yourself against his chest, your cheek pressing against his shoulder as he brought you closer.

The fresh smell of his aftershave reached your senses, and you rubbed your nose against his perfectly soft jaw line. "You shaved," you smiled, knowing just how much he hated to do so when it wasn't absolutely necessary.

"Thought it was about time" Sebastian laughed, his right arm still tight around your back as he leaned to the side to close the door.

You only then realised you didn't even bother to put your bag down, take your shoes off or even say hello before going in for a hug. You felt your cheeks burn at the realisation, but he did not seem to mind at all.

"Come on, make yourself comfortable," Sebastian said, starting to advance further into his apartment. You took off your shoes, and just when you were about to enter the living room, the delicious smell of basil stopped you and made you turn around.

You headed into the kitchen, your eyes landing on his tall frame, his back facing you as he stirred something on the stove.

"You're cooking?" you asked, whiny with admiration and awe.

"Yes" he beamed, turning around. Only then did you notice what he was wearing. His usual black jeans and socks, but he had ditched his trademark sweaters, opting for an elegant button up instead. The sleeves were rolled up around his elbows, and he rocked a pair of fluffy house slippers, red with blue stripes, not fitting his attire in any way, shape or form.

You placed the wine bottle on the counter, and approached him cautiously. "What- um, what are you making?"

You felt bad, ungrateful and undressed. Where were his pajamas and the take out he always ordered? Did you miss something?

"There's this amazing spaghetti recipe I learned from my mum" he grinned proudly, eyeing the multitude of ingredients laid out all across the table. "It's not traditional or anything. She perfected the recipe over the years and you just have to try it"

"Smells delicious already" you giggled, looking around the kitchen.

The atmosphere was soft and warm, the lights were dimmed and slow blues tunes were playing in the background. It was nothing like you were used to.

You offered to help, but he insisted on finishing up alone. You always washed his dishes because he absolutely hated doing it, and you were also the one who always put his leftovers in the fridge, as he always forgot them on the table, cluelessly letting them spoil. It felt only natural to do so right now, so you made your way to the sink, and waited for the water to heat up.

"Stop" Sebastian laughed, coming up beside you to turn the faucet off. "Just relax for once, please" he begged, his hands on your waist effortlessly turning you around.

Your lower back pressed against the edge of the sink as he caged you in, his eyes warm and ambitious, boring into yours.

"I just want to help" you smiled.

"Not now" he shook his head, "We'll clean up later. Or tomorrow"

His words caused a lump to grow inside your throat, your lips involuntarily parting in surprise. You never spent the night at his apartment, and fervid anticipation started to surge through you.

"What’s going on?" you asked, cupping his cheek.

Sebastian leaned into your touch, his eyes all but fluttering closed. "Nothing. Why?"

As he spoke, he grabbed your wrist into his hand and brought your palm to his lips, kissing your soft skin as his eyes awaited your answer.

"I don't know…" you mumbled, feeling yourself melt. He was too close, too attentive and too focused on you, it felt so difficult to breathe. "Don't get me wrong, please. I absolutely love everything you did. But this is new. We never did anything like this before, what changed?"

"Is it bad?" he cautiously asked, planting his hands on the counter on either side of your hips. "That I want things to change between us?"

Your heart swelled. All the signs pointed in the right direction, but his words still managed to get your adrenaline going. "Change… how?"

As soon as you spoke, you felt like throwing up. You couldn't help but wonder how dumb could you have been, to ask something like this. As if it wasn't obvious, but your brain was too busy drowning in excitement to actually allow you form any coherent thoughts.

"I mean-" he hesitated, his confidence shaking a bit. He looked to the side, licked his lips and then playfully rolled his eyes as the corners of his lips turned upwards, showing you that perfect smile you loved so much. "While I was visiting my family, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. My mom just couldn’t understand why I didn’t bring you along. I don't just want you for a date a week and a kiss after we drank enough wine. I needed that time apart to gather the courage to make the first step" he confessed. "I really fucking like you. I want all of you"

"Oh-" you froze.

"Please-" Sebastian whispered, gently tilting your chin up. "Tell me now if you want me to back off, because I'm really struggling to not kiss you right now"

As much as you wanted to tell him to do it, you refrained from doing so. Instead, you just grinned up at him, your eyes sparking with lustful temptation. He watched you closely, and when he figured out your play, he shook his head in disbelief for the briefest second.

Following that, there was no awkwardness left. He engulfed your lips into the most passionate kiss. His tongue pathetically begged for permission, which you didn't hesitate to give. He explored your mouth as if it was the sweetest thing he ever tasted, kissed you deeply, moaning against your lips as his hands hazardously roamed your body. No matter what you did, you felt like you couldn't get close enough. You clung onto him, fisting the delicate material of his shirt into your hands, desperately trying to gather him against you.

Sebastian was the one to break the moment, grabbing your cheeks as he pulled back. His lips were wet and slightly swollen, as he ruggedly breathed out against your skin. "So?"

"So, what?" you teased.

"Come on" he whined, kissing you again, this time more aggravated and determined. "Can we do this? Do you want it?"

"Are we going all out? Real couple? Exclusive, all strings attached kind of thing?" you beamed with excitement and so did he, hearing you.

"If you want to," Sebastian nodded. "I don't want to pressure you, but I'm crazy about you"

"You're not pressuring me. I adore you, Seb. I'm all yours"

"What did you just say?" he smirked, kissing your lips and moving down along your jawline, "That you're all mine? Pretty sure I've never heard anything more beautiful in my whole life"

"Well, you'd better get used to it" you giggled.

And the goodness kept coming. You ate and god, how grateful were for his mum's recipe, it was simple, delicious and it tasted like home. Sebastian refused to tell you how to make it just so he could be your personal chef and cook it for you any time you wanted.

You cleaned the kitchen together, ate cake until the button of your jeans threatened to burst, and then settled on the couch, drinking red wine while scrolling through Netflix.

As ethereal as everything was, there was still a weight pressing down on your shoulders. You didn't want your relationship to start with you already hiding things from him, so you decided there was a conversation that really needed to be had.

"Sebastian?" you asked softly, grabbing his upper arm and squeezing lightly in order to get his attention.

"Yes, doll?" he hummed, a little bit distraught, before returning to search through the channels.

"Can you look at me a bit?" you muttered, "I wanna talk to you about something"

It was then he realised you were serious. Without question, he turned the TV off and leaned back on the couch, his slightly concerned eyes studying your features. "Are you ok?"

"Yes" you giggled and he visibly relaxed.

"Did I-"

"You didn't do anything!" you stopped him again, leaning down to kiss his lips. He was happy to reciprocate, but you didn't allow things to escalate. "I want to talk about something, and -" you cringed, your palms watering, "And I totally understand if it'll chance the way you see things"

"What are you talking about?"

He was rubbing your thigh, visibly growing impatient. But he allowed you to speak at your own pace.

"Um… you remember a while ago, I told you I was in that kind of a friends with benefits relationship?"

"Yeah" he nodded, "What about-"

"It is obviously over now that we took things to the next step, but these are my best friends we're talking about here. I just... couldn't help but wonder... I don't know… I feel like it wasn't fair to you.. considering how that went on until very very recently and-"

"Babe?" Sebastian stopped you, his voice soft and eyes even more so, "What are you trying to say? Did you think I'd be mad because you had sex before being in a relationship with me?"

"Huh" you gawked, "When you put it like that, it sounds really fucking stupid"

"I'm sorry, Y/n, but it kind of is" he laughed, shaking his head, "You're a free woman, you can do whatever you want. You don't have to explain yourself to me, especially when it comes to things like this"

"So you.. don't mind me seeing them again? Like friends, of course!"

He frowned a bit, scratching the back of his head. "I trust you, ok? I like to think that you wouldn't have been here with me if you had any feelings for any of them."

"Thank you"

"Come here-" Sebastian urged you, eager to bring you close against his chest again. He rubbed your back and rested his head on top of yours, "I really appreciate you telling me this. It was bugging you, and I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me"

"I was worried it would be sitting in the back of your mind and you would feel uncomfortable bringing it up. I felt like I had to, like I owed you that much since you were so understanding with this thing from the beginning-"

"You don't owe me anything ok? I don't care what you did in the past, that's your business. I care what you do now, here, with me. And I might be blindly in love, but I doubt I have any reasons to worry"

"You really don't" you mumbled, settling into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, "I'm so happy to be here with you, I don't want anything else"

"Me neither, doll, me neither" he sighed, kissing your temple and bringing you closer.

The night ended relatively early. If you were in love with him at the beginning of the evening, now you were head over heels. You fell asleep cuddling, and you had never felt so loved before. Deep down inside, you regretted not allowing things to escalate, but sleeping with him so soon after your last encounter with Henry and Chris just didn't feel right. And of course he understood. The awe and respect for you was visible in his eyes when you explained what was holding you back. That night you slept better than you had in weeks.

The next morning, you left quite early, both of you having your schedules quite full. When you entered your apartment it was quiet and dark, and you couldn't help but smile bitterly at the memories from the day before.

You made your way to the kitchen, and stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a pink bag and a piece of paper right by its side. It didn't take long until you eyed the donuts inside the bag, but you didn't pay too much attention to them as you picked up the letter beside it and read it over.

"Hey, Y/n,

The reason I wrote you this is because I didn't want to interrupt your date, but this has to be said, you deserve that much. I can't lie and say that last night I didn't stay here until 3am hoping you'd come back. It's awful of me, I know, but I really hoped your date would go horribly wrong and that you'd come home early. It's not that I don't want you to be happy… I just wish it wasn't with him. And again, I can't lie and say that I didn't drop by in the morning. I brought you those donuts you love so much, but you weren't here. It was absolutely unfair of me, I know, but during these last few months, I fell in love with you. I know I should've told you before, and I hope you don't think I'm saying this now to burst your bubble. The reason I'm doing this is because you deserve an explanation. I'm sorry, but I can't be around you right now. I need to get you out of my head, and seeing you now, would only make it more difficult. Please don't reach out, you'll only pull me back in. I love you too much, I need some time away to screw my head back on. I'd be lying if I said I won't be waiting for you. Even if I won't actively/purposely do it, I can't imagine a day when I won't jump if you told me to. Please, don't think I'm doing this to hurt you, you're my favorite person in the whole wide world. I will always love you. I wish you and Sebastian the absolute best. This is difficult for me to say, but I hope he is everything you ever wanted. I hope he'll make you happy and treat you like the angel you are. This isn't goodbye or the end of our friendship, it's just me needing to step back. I wish you the best, god knows you deserve it!

PS: I replaced your superman costume, I know you begged me for weeks to give you one, and I ruined it yesterday. I had a spare one at home, it's on your bed now. I hope you don't mind I took the old one with me… you know? Memories...

All my love,

Your Henry"

#henry cavill x reader #chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #henry cavill imagine #chris evans imagine #sebastian stan imagine #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans one shot #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fluff #henry cavill #henry cavill smut #henry cavill one shot #sebastian stan oneshot

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hickeys-dickey · 3 years

Note

Pls share your thoughts about the gays in THAT scene… I would love to read them!

Ahh you are too kind, I am but a little swiss cheese brain but I'll try my best to sum up my thoughts, I have too many! I wanted a chance to grab some screenshots too! I'm going to put a read more because this is a long one buckle up lads.

So obviously the whole punishment for Hickey is designed to humiliate him (I would imagine this is one of the reasons his punishment isn't explained to him, because if Hickey truly was a naval petty officer he would know, and I think it's another way for Crozier to essentially say "I see you" and not in a good way). The fact we're not shown the other whippings shows the importance lies in the scene with Hickey.

I've seen a bit of discussion about his charge of "dirtiness", which isn't listed initially when we see him being questioned by the Captains, and whether or not it alludes to homosexuality but on a quick cursory search it does seem to have been used as a euphemism where an outright accusation of sodomy would mean a death sentence. The way Crozier throws it out there, no doubt to heap the humiliation onto Hickey and add crimes to the list to cover the fact he added lashes on to the punishment essentially for a bruised ego (but that's another matter), suggests a whole lot of venom to the accusation. Hickey's pointed look at Irving and Irving's quick shift of his gaze down suggests they both know exactly why Crozier has listed this among Hickey's list of crimes, and Hickey looks furious for it.

But I think this is also ultimately where the panic begins to set in. Again, there are far greater minds than me who have made excellent posts about queer coded characters in the terror, and I think it's no surprise that most of them are the faces that are focused on in this scence. It is clear long before this moment that Crozier's leadership is lacking, and people have already begun to voice concerns fairly loudly. Tozer for one is livid in the wake of Heather being injured, and the marines have clearly started distancing themselves from both the officers and the men. I feel like this scene, for a lot of characters is a point of major shift in either allegiences or character.

Tozer and the Captains are the first faces that are panned to in this scene and I think the expressions speak for themselves.

Tozer is visibly upset/concerned after the first lash. I do think guilt probably has a part to play, in that is was him whole told Hickey where Silna was, and presumably approved enough of the plan to not rat him out to anyone. Again, very probably part of Tozer's anger at Heather being injured due to what he sees is Crozier's poor management. Fitzjames is stoney faced, but is also the only one looking. As a man who many have noted pushes himself to pick emotional scabs, I think it would make sense for someone who is also notably queer coded and stuggles with trauma to make himself look directly at someone being whipped for a crime he himself might commit. Crozier isn't even looking, whether out of suddenly doubting his harshness or simply triggering something in his own memory it's not clear. I think the end of this shot also speaks for itself.

(Fig 1. Three Concerned (very likely not straight) men contemplate)

The lads at the back behind Mr. Johnson are all looking Directly At the whipping as it is taking place. Interestingly none of the men at the front near the table are looking. This is the stewards, officers, and marines. Whether out of respect or also Concern at their own skins (I think every one of these characters has been addressed as being queer coded at some point, minus the marines who are all, except Tozer, fairly nameless characters).

I'm not a gifmaker which is unfortunate for this section, though this is what is gifed in the beautiful gifset by sashneeka I reblogged (x). Tommy is also visibly upset, whether because he knows Tozer was involved in the plot to kidnap Silna and is concerned for him and any of the rest of the crew who had assisted in someway or voiced support. Billy interestingly does look briefly, and sets his jaw after in a way that suggests he's trying to fight the guilt of being the one to tell Irving about the whole affair with Hickey to paint himself in a better light. It could just as easily be Billy there on that table being lashed, but he somehow rationalises it in his head (probably because Hickey is a little bastard) that he was right in what he did. He does look down fairly guiltily after this, so maybe he hasn't quite settled on an opinion. Jopson also looks incredibly concerned/unsettled, and interestingly looks at Hickey right up until the whip hits where he flinches, and not for the only time in this scene. From what we know about Jopson's past, though not at this point, it may well be he is remembering similar punishment/mistreatment and like Fitzjames looks enough to pick the scab open and flinch from his own trauma.

The closeup of Hickey shows the full extent of his rage and humiliation building, and as I think Adam himself said, they whipped something out of Hickey that day and let him reach this potential that lay inside him (to become an even bigger bastard). He's fully severed all ties and feelings of loyalty after this and it becomes full on train to manipulation station from this point. I have a lot of Thoughts about Hickey also (which I am sure you are all aware of) but I think there was some semblance of Hickey attempting to start afresh on this journey, or at the very least keep his head down and go unnoticed. The trouble is, he notices Crozier as a flawed man, and one not from the upper classes like himself, and his ego can't help but think we're not so different, that could be me with the right connections. Well surprise lads, its murder time now and he's gonna make this old man pay for not recognising initiative but punishing it. I do wonder if Crozier wasn't booze sick and rattled from losing even more men under his command, would he not have come down so harshly for someone clearly defying the Articles to do what he thinks is right and save the men (a la Crozier and his fuck you I'm directly contradicting an order and leading this rescue party myself).

Tozer gets another wee closeup here and again looks like he has resolved something in his head too. Most likely that he thinks Crozier an unfit leader, and admiring Hickey for having the balls to do what he did (Hickey also never reveals anyone else who came with him, and when he talks about Hartnell and Mason's part in taking Silna it highlights their skill and bravery and (he thinks) commends them to the Captain. It's probably the only time we see him building up and applauding others). He looks dead ahead here and seems to have a very steely gaze, like yep fuck it looks like I'm going it alone now. It is interesting that Tozer goes from this to notably disliking Hickey (both at the start and when they are packing up - "you've just given me an excuse to give a big shove". This might be anger at Hickey having caused all the issues with Silna after the fact when Heather gets killed at Carnivale), but still follows him in the end. Hickey has the ability to kill, manipulate, steal, basically do whatever needed for their group to get ahead, which means Tozer can be part of the group and not have to dirty his own hands. I think Tozer probably has a complicated relationship with Hickey, but he does fall for the charm hook, line, and sinker, and the fact he seems concerned for him here suggests how easily he is sympathetic to those he sees as being wronged.

Gibby getting Hickey's blood on his hand (ayy) seems to visibly make him blanch, and I do find it interesting that the shot then pans to Tommy as though they are looking at each other when they are stood side by side. The similarities between them maybe? (I've seen and reblogged a lot of discourse about Tommy loving Tozer, maybe another nod to no one being so different to the man on the table?) Irving doesn't get much of a close up in the rest of this scene but bless him he looks equal parts terrified and guilty (another man who has been noted as having a list of many things to distract from the Gay Thoughts like why do you need to distract from Gay Thoughts Irving?). He also has the Far Off Look of trauma about him, probably because he too could just as easily be on that table.

I have many many thoughts about the way Hickey turns to look (and fucking smile???) at Crozier next, which is when Crozier is looking directly at him and Fitzjames looks at him. Like if I were Crozier I think my fucking blood would chill, look at this man. Being humiliated and lashed still hasn't broken him, if anything he has just become fully unhinged and looks at Crozier as though to say "did you really think this would work?". I would also say, this man has fairly quite for someone who is at this stage something like 22 lashes in? Like what the actual fuck Hickey?? I fully belive Hickey to be a psycopath, and most of what he does in the beginning of the series is an attempt to stay hidden until they get to Hawaii and he can ditch the crew, but I think it is fairly safe to say he isn't hiding it any more.

And he knows this is going to make the men doubt Crozier - I can't do a proper search because I am using my work laptop atm, but I seem to remember reading that a punishment greater than 12 lashes required a court martial (probably why Little steps in to say so when Crozier orders his punishment as well as them technically being lost at sea), which would be another strike against him as a Captain. Not only that, but Crozier does seem to grant him some mercy in letting him only be lashed I think 23 or so times? Probably because the tension is fucking palpable in this whole scene and Crozier can either choose to claw back some sense of control on the matter, or deal with the consequences of many people admiring Hickey for what he has done for the crew and start a mutiny. I think this is the first time Fitzjames sees the damage Crozier is doing to himself with his choices as Captain, and is probably just as concerned at the look Hickey is giving him. He knows this has unleashed something in this tiny rat bastard too, and that he will become the physical manifestation of Crozier's self-destructive tendancies. Crozier perpetually comes to everything just a fraction too late to change anything - he never saves any of the men, only comforts them as they die, and a lot of this has to do with his own ego and bad decision making, and I think this is the first example here of the fact his actions are having an effect on others to the point it will be his downfall.

Anyway, to round it off, I think this scene really epitomises the notion that Hickey is a mirror to the rest of the men, and they see their flaws in him. Those who have questioned Crozier's captaincy look concernced knowing they too could be being lashed. They too would have tried to get Silna to stop the Tuunbaq hunting them. Those who are queer or queer coded know they too could be being lashed for it. Crozier himself sees his unwillingness to follow the Articles in him, sees his own insubordination, and feels what Sir John meant when he said his position afforded him deference. Hickey may as well be a metaphor for all the men being lashed, theres not one among them who haven't voiced wanting to do what he has done. Let them without sin and all that. This is make or break for who holds loyalty to the Captain, and the turning point for who is going where. I think everyone except Jopson, Irving and Fitzjames ends up in the mutineers camp, and Irving ends up killed and mutilated by Hickey and Fitzjames is scavanged by them. Theres not one of them that isn't haunted by what happened in this scene, and Hickey would end up being the death of every single one of them. The only one who remains loyal after this is Jopson, who thinks his care and duty to the Captain can outweigh his other sins. Fitzjames and Crozier have a stronger relationship once he recovers from his withdrawal, yes, but Fitzjames also keeps him in check now (I'm thinking of Edward Little being threatened with flogging again because of course I am), and it is another step too late for Crozier's self-destruction. I've seen a Hickey/Fitzjames Christ analogy on here before too, so I hope you'll forgive me in comparing them, but Hickey in this scene really does get punished for everyone else's crimes in this scene, and becomes a sort of Christ-like figure, reborn as a complete version of the worst of himself from the pain of being lashed. They whipped something out of him!! Anyway, that about sums it up!

#long post #thank you for asking I could talk about the nuances of the terror for days #hickey thoughts

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

Text

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 13.1)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 13

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Geralt could feel what you also feel and he was cursing the Djinn for making you both feel this way because it was a feeling that was certainly irresistible for one man to ever control. You were in heat, and it doesn’t seem to be such a good idea for the witcher to try and resist.

Warnings: This is just a filler chapter for the smut in the next chapter. Ahonhonhon! Kind of Jealous Geralt too? Lowkey? Hehehehe. A cute bard and Cirilla having the period-syndrome (I’m having it too rn and I’m thirsty for Geralt or any of Henry’s character. DAMN IT) I’ve given a name to the Djinn they’ve found because I’ve tried searching but found no name for every Djinn they find in the witcher? I think? Reader being so needy and in heat. (The animal type of heat for reasons..) Also, reader is...a virgin.

Words: 4.5k

A/N: You probably want to strangle me so hard right now, bb’s. I’m in the phase of a writer where I’m procrastinating stuff but not exactly a writer’s block. Just want to do things besides writing all day or I’m prolly just sleepy with no damn reason since last week. 😅😒

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

"Well, you're in a greater bad mood right now, rat." Jaskier frankly stated, wiping his lute with a cloth.

The night was serene with your heart strings balled up in a yarn. Your emotions consisting of woe with a face as if you lost a shit ton of money. You sat together with Jaskier in the middle of the vast leigh, knees touching against each other as the bard quietly sat with you in silence.

A bright purple evenfall draws nigh along the sky, stars finally becoming visible as you admired how beautiful their skies were. Less pollution and more aesthetic, though a lot more eccentricity happening around more than earth.

You've exhaled one last sigh, mouth in a tight frown as you took notice of the moon that was in replete. A perfect shape of a circle as it shines bright.

"Is the witcher being an imbecile again?" the bard ceased his cleaning, giving you his sole attention as he watched your face contort in utmost upset. But, you chose to just let the sorrow go for a moment, admiring the stars and skies like it wasn't laughing back at you from how delusional you were for having strong feelings for the witcher, "Don't start, Jaskier."

"Your cantankerous attitude shown in your cherubic face tells me that you are gradually adapting Geralt's crabbiness because you accepted the position in being his lover---," Jaskier has managed to bluntly say, carefully placing his lute on the grass as he narrowed his eyes at you, "---Though, it does seem like a sacrifice, small rat. Your kindness shall be missed. I would like to see you try and let Geralt adapt to your naivity and sweetness. The vision is pretty hilarious, if you ask me!"

Your frown even grew tighter when he mentioned the word 'lover', shoulders falling from how dismayed you were from hearing it.

"I'm not his lover."

The bard couldn't help but raise a skeptical brow back at you, remembering what he saw last night. He knew he wasn't hallucinating nor daydreaming, "Oh, so kissing under the moonlight is considered as a friendly gesture in my era now? If so, then this means you wouldn't mind kissing me too!"

He puckered his lips, making smooching sounds as slowly tried to teasingly close the gap between you both as Jaskier pouted to act as if he was about to give you a kiss on the cheek when you've yelped and immediately had your palms over his mouth, gently pushing his face away from you, "Jaskier! What are you even---?!"

He comfortably sat back down and had his knee over his chest prior to the position he had now, which was in criss-cross as he playfully shrugged. His pretty baby blues looking at the darkening sky, "A shame. I've been told by countable lads and lasses that I do kiss like I take their breath away,"

You tutted at that, shaking your head from his teasing and tried to send a hostile sally, "You suck then. Do you want them dying because of lack of breath?"

Your animosity has been curved by the bard. He seemed like he was acting like he didn't hear you as he let his eyes flicker to you again; going on with his jests, "Thank you by the way. I've been sleeping much soundly since the couple of days and you seemed to be having such wonderful dreams every night,"

Bawdy indications were hinted in between Jaskier's words; making you give him a glare that obviously made him grin like he won the lottery; thinking that your previous rendezvous back in Geralt's room when he wasn't around had some provocative explanations.

He didn't know your symbol was hurting a lot more on those nights where Geralt wasn't around.

You brush off his ribald comment, "I didn't do it for you,"

"I thought you were actually asking for forgiveness by calling me a horse's arse minutes ago? You're knowing the blasphemy of our language but totally naive of every monsters and places we have here. It doesn't seem to be such a thing to be proud of,"

Jaskier continued his blathers without even letting you talk, freely letting you give him death glares because he seemed to be more mouthy as days go by. You turn a deaf ear to exhale an exasperated breath, "I'm taking it back. You're still annoying as heck," before unabashedly laying your head down on his lap.

His yakking has been brought to a halt when he'd felt your head fall on his lap, the bard suddenly uttering quizzical gibbers that you continued to ignore as you felt the bracing wind hit your body; appreciating the eventide in quietude.

"Alright, alright! I'm not complaining...Ughm," Jaskier cleared his throat, anxiously scratching his head as he tried his best not to look at you.

The fullness of the moon has been drawing you in again. In a tranquil night, it was as if the stars began to whisper sweet nothings, lately realizing that their soft whispers has actually been your wishes; albeit, you've broken them down together, your whims willing and having no desire for you to actually come back in earth.

With only one thing in your mind, it was to stay with Geralt and his family.

But, do you really mean it? If you would choose earth or their dimension, were you serious that you wanted to stay?

Though, for him; you weren't that sure if he also wanted the same thing. If Geralt wasn't around, you were probably already dead, have been sold by noblemen or eaten by their monsters.

But, the stars seemed to jump out of the sky when you've heard a loud thundercrack of a door that came from the inside of their house, snapping the bard quiet as the noise tugged you out of your happy place; a place that you hoped Geralt came with.

The night has went slower, time ticking a lot more deliberately when one person is probably upset with another. Especially, when the person you were upset with lived in the same house as you and even was the owner of the bed you sleep on.

You were beginning to feel rickety as seconds pass by while Jaskier tried worming out whatever he had asked to Cirilla whom was feeding Kolby with a basket full of obsolete bread.

"Tell me why the back door is now broken off its hinges?" he asked in incredulity, hands on his hips as he had seen the brown, wooden door hanging with all its life, trying hard not to fall.

Hence, as they continued their talk; you couldn't help but massage that aching part of your chest, the one where the symbol laid upon the valley of your breasts as you heavily breathed.

It was attacking again.

The weight and fiery phantom of fingers grasping your heart more severe rather than the nights you had it felt like a rabid monster wanted to come out of cage. Their cold weather suddenly all swelter; as if you were walking on burnt out coals with one person clouding your mind.

Geralt.

You needed him, wanted him and yearned for his presence.

Cirilla gave a blatant shrug of her shoulders; sounding completely phlegmatic as she answered, "I don't know, bard. I didn't scream if that will make you any less more worried,"

Jaskier had his eyebrows furrowed as he keenly pondered as to why their door was broken all of a sudden, "Has there been a beast?" his slim, calloused fingers moved restlessly; dwelling onto what has raided their own home. The bard looked anywhere, continuing to be in distress while Cirilla patted the Hirikka's head with utmost care as she watched him devour everything in the basket, "You mean, Geralt?" she gave Jaskier a once over before turning back to look at Kolby, thoroughly undisturbed that it was the witcher's doing, "---He went out for a second and then came back, breaking the door off its hinges. But, he promised to fix it,"

Jaskier's head veered to where she was crouched in the middle of the living room, his baby blue eyes full of concern as he opened his mouth to tell all his inquiries but was instantly shut closed when he'd seen you hunched in his peripheral vision, palms on your knees as you were breathing like you were being chased by another Alghoul.

The latter took heed of those sweat drops falling on the side of your face as you were heaving deep breaths. Your head was darkening in assailing images of those familiar amber eyes you've grown to be thoroughly fond of; longing to be consumed by those glowing golden aureate.

You've heard someone walking closer to where you stood, seeing Jaskier crouch to give you a scrutiny of his baby blues. Bright azures. You didn't yearn for that. All you wanted was golden. His golden and you couldn't help but whimper, your chest has giving you agony as if you were being pricked in the heart by small needles, "You're sweating like a rabid---rat, are you alright?"

Another deep inhale of your breath; you breathlessly muttered, "I am Jaskier---It's just---" nevertheless, those train of thoughts couldn't be completed by the excruciating pain that ignited a troubled mewl. You straightened your back, making Jaskier stand up as well to scan your face for any signs as to what was happening to you, but only had seen your face painfully contorted in a way that tells him you were in agony.

"It's hot. Too hot," pause. You swallowed the tight knot of confining sensations wanting to be let out, "---Abnormally hot. Hot in two different ways; like I wanna be impaled or something!"

At your most forthright honesty, your statement has made the bard blink rapidly from how blunt it sounded, being taken aback by how outspoken you suddenly become; a thorough change of your bashful self, "You're actually revealing lewd facts that should be kept to yourself. You are certainly not alright!"

You could feel yourself grow hotter, the heat being scorching and aching at the same time. Your legs began to weaken and you can't help but fold like a paper, squat down and the position was utmost impuissant; totally vulnerable with your palms on your ears as you tried to shut down the restless whispering that went on and on; ceaseless as you had no power over it.

Jaskier began to panic; his face brimful of dread, "----GERALT? WE HAVE A PROBLEM DOWN HERE!"

The soughing of breathless whispers were relentless, no matter how you tried to cover your ears; they just keep coming. It was incessant, never ending despite of how they were giving your chest a pain that seem to be unyielding as they went on and on.

Witcher. You wanted the witcher. You needed him, you longed for him.

"Stop saying the word witcher, Jaskier!" you abruptly scolded, sounding too jarring and ear-piercing; void of kindness as you could feel the aggravation going to your head with the additional non-stop rustle of voices. The bard eyed you skeptically as he added, finding your rebuke rather surprising and odd because he never said anything about it, "I wasn't even uttering a word!"

Warm, slender fingers fell on your shoulders; trying his best to comfort you while the witcher wasn't coming down from his chambers yet. Nevertheless, from the moment he'd touch you, the toubadour has received a harsh slap of his hand being pushed away.

"Jaskier!" you harshly spat, your nose scrunched from how discomforting you were feeling.

He was quick to haul his arms up in surrender, stepping a foot away as he looked at you in horror, "Alright---I'm not touching you then!"

Another strained bleat left your lips as you were now fully sat on the floor, holding your chest as you continued to heave, shaking your head from the perpetual torment that tries its best to scream blandishments that sounded abridged. Some were incomprehensible and other words sounded lucid.

Destiny has it's price. It sounded just like a rustle of the winds as the shushed voices continued its onslaught. Two souls, together as one. Bound for eternal rest or a life forever. Zephyr shall protect. You cannot outrun death.

Your whimpers started to gradually increase, mewling in the process when you've exhaled a sigh as the needles seem to turn bigger, "It hurts, I swear it really hurts!" you screeched, body feeling like you were dropped in hot, molten lava as you were hearing foot steps treading in haste, "Geralt's coming, don't worry, rat."

Kolby prowled to where you sat; eternal mewls never ceasing as sexual, pent-up aggression was starting to travel to your head, but you tried to fight them off. Though, it ignited more pain as you struggled. Cirilla suddenly snapped her head to where you were, a tight lipped frown etching her face as she jogged to where you sat.

"Is she okay?" the pretty child asked in worry, watching you battle with something they couldn't see nor feel. Jaskier raised a brow; looking sardonic as he acknowledged, "No, she certainly isn't, Princess Cirilla."

She gave him a lour as she snarled; her riposte sounding a lot like the witcher because of how harsh it sounded, "I'm not in the mood for your sarcastic nonsense, bard."

Jaskier was unfazed as he took her retort like it was nothing, "Ooooh, is this how period--is it called period---does to a lassie?"

They're retaliations had them unaware of Geralt's presence who came marching down the stairs with an unfathomable expression on his face; the trepidation never seen in his features as it was emotionless, never giving anybody the panic that Jaskier, Cirilla and Kolby has been feeling when you've suddenly began bawling your eyes out from the thumping pain.

The witcher hurriedly crouched before you, his glowing amber eyes thoroughly scanning your features if there was anything weird happening; but to his discontent, Geralt noticed none.

He felt everything. Your frustration, pent-up aggression; venereal desires or not, the twinge of scorching ache that can't be relieved due to constraints given from the latter himself when he'd chose jurisdiction over his carnal wishes that you also wished.

But, he'd been bull-headed for his reasons; Geralt was not bargained for the repercussions held because of having no permanent proof that you were also suffering every night.

Just like him. Hence, the both of you needed relief. Corporeal appetites released for the betterment of both.

"She's in heat," Geralt rasped, trying to hear what you've been begging for and he sensed that you were hearing voices that continues to assault you, paining your chest as you were unaware of his presence that loom before you.

"What? Oh, Geralt! Cease the utter balderdash!" Jaskier exclaimed, eyeing the witcher who squat down in front of you.

Geralt's amber eyes has been searching for yours, but you've never let him see as you continued your hushed begging. He had his chiseled jaw clenched so tight, every breath he takes was also giving his chest a potent congesting pain that he can somehow resist. His medallion was vibrating wildly, alarming him that there was magic surrounding him.

Therefore, he knew the pain wasn't just one to disregard because he knew your pain has explanations that is needed to foresee.

Was the Djinn still in there? Keeping you as a host?

No. Impossible. The witcher thought at the back of his head because there were times that his medallion doesn't vibrate whenever he's around you, it only happened now and back then when you were possessed.

It was impossible that the Djinn was keeping you as its master as well. You could die if that ever happened. The seal was gone and never found back in the swamps, meaning to say it was already gone; broke free from its confinement because you already had three of your wishes.

Jaskier couldn't help but notice how clean and fixed Geralt's hair was. Hence, he'd started to acknowledge the aesthetic difference he claimed, "Also, did you just braid your majestic chalky white hair all by yourself?! Or did you do it, Princess Cirilla?" he bargained, utterly stunned from Geralt and his hair being braided, dubiously eyeing the lion cub of Cintra.

But, she only gave a nonchalant negation, "No."

"Oh, the rat did! She did a great job at making you look so feminine tonight, Geralt!"

Geralt paid no heed to Jaskier's teasing compliments, wanting nothing but to roll his eyes but ceased to do so as your fingers began to shake, his mind now in a perturbed fret as his gaze shifted anywhere to see what was causing your whole situation because he sees nothing. A tight furrow of his eyebrows tightly creased his forehead, "---The Djinn has given her effects for whatever the symbol does to her, bard."

Jaskier crouched beside where Geralt is, receiving a truculent glare that made the bard move away for an inch because his bellicose aura was radiating off him too much, "Symbol? What symbol?"

"I'm not showing you her chest." he bluntly chided as a low growl vibrated through his chest, giving Jaskier a hostile look in his glowing peepers.

The toubadour did a double-take, his mouth turning into an offended 'O' as he held a palm on top of his chest as he gestured to your squatted form, "I wasn't even asking you if I could see her breasts!"

"Then, shut up and stop asking."

Jaskier huffed, sulking beside the witcher because of how he'd suddenly become such a grump.

You've muttered a soft mewl, tightly closing your ears with your palms as you suddenly talked out loud, "I need Geralt. Where's Geralt?!" it was the only name you could hear, echoing inside your head as the heat traveled through your veins, searing and extremely scorching all of a sudden.

Your heartbeat was loudly drumming out of your chest. Sweat dripping down your face as the pain and heat was starting to make you feel lightheaded, his scent crashing through your senses. Earthy, pinewood and a mix of mannishness.

Geralt.

"Don't touch me!" It felt like you were burning; but also finding some aid to the ache as it soothed your heated skin like ice to the fire. You've felt his thick, rough fingers fall on your shoulder, making you jerk back as you looked at him; completely mortified for a second, "I'm here, midget." before the witcher tightened his hold on you, those fingers clasping around your feeble arm as he gazed upon you in deep concern.

"It's alright. Calm down, it's me." Geralt gently hushed your frantic state, softly grabbing the side of your jaw to make you look at him.

When he did, your eyes were dark and dilated, filled with carnal.

"You're having a hot spell," he roughly forced the words out of him, heavily swallowing whatever you were feeling because he's also having the same problems, but chose to restrain himself; doing a better job than any most men would, "A--A literal spell?" you didn't catch his drift and feel yourself breathing deep, his scent soothing your nerves as it also does the same for him.

Geralt shook his head, his fingers strapped on the side of your neck making his hand feel the pleasuring jolt. You've felt his fingers slightly tremble as your eyes were beseeching, those dilated pupils of yours tormenting him, "No. You're in heat, midget." pause. he lowly growled in displeasure, amber eyes pooling in keen, "---which explains your cravings for touches and the need for coition,"

Your face scrunched in pain and a mixture of pent-up frustration, the voices inside your head slowly dying down as it was now drowning in the witcher's unique, baritone timbre of his that was making you feel giddy before a jolt of pain rose up your chest again, "What am I---an animal?! Geralt, make it stop!"

Jaskier and Cirilla listened in silence. However, the bard fidgeted with the hem of his tunic; his mindless frets seeming to come up with such suggestions that will make everyone's mind boggle.

He raised a hand, not before taking a good look at you who had eyes pure of anguish and need which now focused at Geralt before he'd loudly cleared his throat, turning his head to see the witcher in distress from what other methods he could think of other than the impaling, "I have a proposal and an utterly brilliant idea to make the pain stop!"

Cirilla hushedly snorted, "His ideas are always nonsense. Don't listen to him, Geralt."

Jaskier placed his hands on his hips, pointing a finger at the princess, mouth opening before he was immediately ceased by Geralt himself.

"The princess is right, bard."

The sonneeter noted his lukewarm response, sounding like he actually opposes what Cirilla has reprimanded because all Geralt ever wanted and what clouds his mind is having his way with you, "---Give the small rat what she wants, Witcher. What if the pain carries on as nights go by? Give her the rumpy pumpy since that is always the answer to why an animal is in heat. It wants coitus, or if you've become one soft, romantic witcher; then I suggest to use the word, 'make love'." he emphasized, quoting the word 'make love' with both hands, his middle finger and index one folding as he said the last word with ardor.

Geralt was quick to scowl at that, exhaling an exasperated breath out of his nose as he hummed in protest; giving the bard his meanest glare, "You're saying she's an animal. You want me to take advantage of it?"

"No?" Jaskier quickly shook his head, groaning out; palms faintly hitting his forehead as he tried to act as if he was slapping it from Geralt's unreasonable assumptions. He continued, languidly blinking back at the frowning witcher, "---I didn't even say you would take advantage of the idea, you nincompoop! Then, do you want me to mate with her?"

It took him a second before he'd seen the latter started giving blazing daggers that had fire in it, his words seething as Geralt gruffly barked, "Absolutely not, bard!"

His glowing, amber eyes were boring holes at Jaskier before he lowly rumbled; more so to himself, trying to convince himself that there was another way.

He was dithering the idea of having you; not because he didn't find you pleasant, fetching, alluring or beautiful. Geralt found you in many types of wonderful adjectives he could tell, though mostly was kept inside his mind. The idea of having you, only to himself; ravishing you in ways that he ought to please kept him faltering because of one thing in his mind.

Vulnerability.

The witcher was thoroughly cautious of vulnerability because whenever it happens; once the walls have been broken down, there was always hindrance coming in his way and with the person he'd promised were important, or a person he loved because he knew that once he has you, Geralt was done for no matter how unstable he was.

You'll be seeing things you've never seen nor felt from him as he does the same way.

Especially, that you never came from their dimension and that the feelings he had for you was too strong to even control. But, the voices at the back of his mind was pulling him away from even pouring those emotions down because firstly, he didn't know how to show and second, there was a huge chance that you would also leave.

What if you leave? a person he'd treasured so much begins to leave him again?

Geralt mindlessly gritted his teeth together as he grumbled and grouched, avoiding the bard's eyes as he watched you shakily grab onto his palms that tenderly rested on the side of your face; leaning onto his touch as you looked at him; utterly lovestruck, "We'll find another way," pause. "---There has to be."

Though, it seems like the bard hasn't heard his beseeching and continued with his witful suggestions, "The only way is to impale her to cease the sufferings that the spell has cast upon her by the Djinn," Jaskier promptly stood up on his feet, his anxiety making him blurt out mindless blabbers he could ever think of, "---There is nothing to lose on this one, Geralt. Especially that you're...no offense---"

Geralt cut him off in haste, surly spitting out his words, "There is, Jaskier. Her purity."

Jaskier pointed back at the witcher, completely looking taken aback as he opened his mouth like he was stunned, "Oh." was the only thing he managed to say for the first few seconds before he quietly muttered, "OooooOh. She's a?"

The Ivory haired man gave a brief nod, "Untouched." he frankly informed as Cirilla quietly listened in the background with Kolby howling loudly in the middle of the night like a wolf in disguise, "---Oh! This is an unorthodox for the series of women that you have had, Geralt! Also, she's a rare one indeed!"

Jaskier couldn't help but feel dumbstruck from his suggestions, shamefully scratching the back of his nape as he has given the whole responsibility to Geralt because he could never help. He always never does because of some sorts that he couldn't explain, probably because he wasn't taught with these magical phenomena that Geralt expertly knows.

When the witcher has given you his attention, you've abruptly attacked him in a bear hug, arms tightly wrapped around his thick neck that you wanted to softly pepper kisses. As you were caging him in your arms, his delicious scent wafted through your nose, welcoming how it was indeed mouthwatering for your blazing appetite or carnal greed.

"I want to have you, Geralt. I--I need to have you! These thoughts inside my head...It needs you, I--I need you," you begged, softly pleading like there wasn't anyone around you; not noticing Cirilla, Kolby nor Jaskier as there was only one person in your mind. Geralt of Rivia. Your Geralt. Your witcher. The only person who gives you fluttering butterflies and wild ants inside your stomach and chest.

You've tucked your face in between your arm and his braided hair, breathing the back of his ear like a wild woman as Geralt stood still and heard your whimpers that went straight to his stronghold, his will in finding another method to help suddenly wavering from how soft and provocative it sounded that clouded his mind.

He turned relaxed in your arms, accepting the bear hug and probably loving how close you both were together after hours of not talking to each other. You've felt his calloused palm caress your clothed back, soothing your pained mewls that came after your sensual whimpers as it was unstable. Geralt gently unlatched your arms that surrounds him, his golden peepers meeting your baffled ones before he had no problem in scooping you up in his arms, like newly wed couples.

"We'll think of other ways, midget. Come. Let's help you with the heat,"

Cliffhanger before the smut? I’M SORRY, BB’S. LOVE MEEEE STILLLLLL!

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @winter-moons @cheesecakeisapie @silverkitten547 @angelofthorr @carrieannewaywardson @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi

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companionjones · 4 years

Text

I Got Her

Pairing: Barney Stinson x Fem!Reader

Fandom: How I Met Your Mother

Summary: The gang gets worried when Barney is MIA. They go to his apartment, and find something they weren’t expecting.

Warnings: Reference to a “greater tragedy” which I meant to be rape, WAY ANGSTIER THAN WHAT ANYTHING ASSOCIATED WITH HIMYM SHOULD BE

*******

“Guys, I’m getting really worried about Barney,” Lily tipped off at MacLaren’s.

Ted nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We haven’t seen him in what? Three days?”

Marshall also concurred. He started with a chuckle, “The last time he was gone for this long, he got mixed up in that drug ring, and we found him on the floor of his apartment in a puddle of his own puke.”

Everyone else nodded, and for a second they tried to hide in the nostalgia of it. However, they all quickly hopped out of the booth and ran to grab a taxi to Barney’s place.

“Barney?!” Ted called.

Robin followed, “Barney, are you in there?!”

Lily was the most visibly affected out of the group. “Please answer the door, we’re all worried!”

Everyone continued to bang on Barney’s door and yell for Barney’s attention.

Finally, Stinson answered his door. “Hey guys, what’s up?”

“‘What’s up?’” Robin admonished.

Lily rebuked, “Didn’t you hear us?”

Robin finished, “We thought you were dead!”

“Who’s that?” Marshall pointed at a young woman watching the TV from Barney’s couch.

The gang’s whole mood shifted. Suddenly, they all were very angry and annoyed with the womanizer.

“Jesus, one girl for three days? How many times?” Ted was disgusted.

Lily jumped in. “Or-or is this the latest in a string of women that you somehow got to show up at your apartment so you don’t have to leave?”

“No, no.” It’s not like Barney could say it was an outlandish accusation. “It’s nothing like that.” He stepped outside with the rest of the crew, and shut the door behind him. “That’s Y/n. I met her a few days ago, and...and she needed help. Look, I’ll tell you guys everything later. Just...please go. She doesn’t do well around...big groups of people.”

The gang was shocked into silence by Barney’s behavior.

Aldrin was the first to speak. “Okay, Barney,” she nodded, and everyone else copied her.

“Just tell us is she okay?” Marshall pressed, referencing a greater tragedy the woman on the couch could have suffered.

Barney straightened up, and made direct eye contact with Marshall. Barney assured, “I got her.”

And that was that.

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more fics on How I Met Your Mother over on my page. You should check it out. REQUESTS ARE OPEN. I take requests for drabbles, one-shots, preferences, and headcannons. No smut, please. If you want to know if I write for a specific fandom, feel free to ask me. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3

#how i met your mother #barney stinson #barney stinson x reader #how i met your mother x reader #himym #himym x reader #neil patrick harris #nph #i got her #companion jones #this quarantine is really getting me down

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tarithenurse · 4 years

Text

If I succeed - 12

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Content: Some bickering, holding back feelings, sarcasm and eye-rolling. Also a tad of monsters and violence. A/N: Thanks for the patience and support! I may have to slow my postings down the coming weeks as I’m picking up extra shifts at the ER to assist on the COVID-19 diagnosis and care. I’ll do my best to update on the WiP/master list as well as posting. Want a tag? Send an ask or reblog! I’d love comments and feedback – even if it’s corrections on language or whatever. I’m not picky as long as I know my work brings joy too.

12 – Nightmares in Daytime

... Geralt ...

“Hm,” the Witcher tells his horse, conveying all the annoyance saturating his cells, “y’need to keep an eye on them, Roach.”

The animal in question bumps him gently with the head as if to show that she accepts the responsibility and understands her owners concern. Jaskier has been a fixed part of half of the horse’s life, and more often than not the lad gets himself into some sort of silly situation – though the risk of that is greater in the cities. But now? There are two. This is not to say that [Y/N] is cut from the same cloth as the bard, merely that she too lacks a certain understanding of the world and its darkness.

“Sweet talk vampires, pfft.”

“I heard that!”

At least no sound is created by rolling the eyes. Hmm. The seething tension burning into his back is easily ignored, Geralt’s attention focused on the surroundings as much as the narrow trail created by animals leading upwards.

Rising smoke marks their destination. Black. White. Purple. Each taint indicates a variety of nefarious purposes more than simple cooking fires or for heat or light – even a torch, when ignited properly, has a particular smoke. The smoke for a hot torch is thin and black, rising in silky tendrils to the cave ceiling above where it billowed briefly before dissipating along invisible divots and cracks, leaving a growing layer of soot behind. Their movements had disrupted the momentary remnants of the flame after it had flared as greedily as his own lust. Like a fire, the feverish desire had spurred him on as he found [Y/N] willing, responding perfectly to his every ministration with a simultaneously strong but pliant body. And afterwards...afterwards he had felt her fall asleep, listened to her breathing calm while she was tugged against him safely. An image of a wild flower nestled in a sunny spot by a shielding rock had flashed through his mind – perhaps, he thought for a moment, even someone as hard as him can belong with someone.

He had wanted to ask her in the morning, but he dallied for too long as he lay there inhaling her scent. The quiet moment had come and gone. Not a word was exchanged although it was on the tip of his tongue. More than once, he had thought that [Y/N] was about to say something, her movements halting and mouth opening slightly only to be closed with a sigh. Every minute brought the events of the night further away, making it harder to believe that it could all have been more than a moment of weakness if it indeed had happened at all. A slip where she had given in to the urges of the flesh after the physicality of the sparring.

A sound breaks the Witcher’s brooding: “Are we there yet?” Jaskier calls out softly – not out of boredom but worry.

A few hours. “Hm.”

“Hold on then,” the strong-willed woman halts them all, “let’s go over it while there’s time, Geralt.” He does not like the sarcasm in her voice but turns anyways to see her scurry past Roach’s hind. “Tell us, oh Witcher, what your plan is if it isn’t to avoid the people of Toussaint be slaughtered?”

Only Roach seems to react to the low growl coming from the Witcher’s chest, her ears flattening and eyes darting every witch way to find the possible threat. He notices. Stopping the sound, he softly pats the mare’s neck to soothe her, but his gaze is locked in a silent battle with [Y/N].

“When I agreed to let you come along, it wasn’t to have you question everything I say or do,” Geralt bites at her.

“You didn’t let me come along, and you know it.” Shorter than him, the woman stares unwavering up into his face. “Besides...someone’s gotta make sure you don’t just create a fight and get yourself hurt. Again.”

There is a small sound coming from Jaskier, a little chuckle perhaps that he swallows right as it is about to tip over the lip. Hmm.

The silver-haired fighter has always prided himself of fighting smart by using the environment to his advantage and gathering all the information needed before confronting the enemy whenever possible. The incident with the wyvern attack that eventually brought them to the threshold of [Y/N]’s home once more is not a typical example of how his work is done. I’m glad though. Unwilling to share that particular piece of information at this moment, Geralt bites the inside of his cheek.

“I wouldn’t...there’s always a plan!” Geralt sighs, brows pinched. “There’ll be no rushing in or needless fights, and no, I’m going to keep at a safe distance from the wyverns if possible...this time I know they’re there.”

... Reader ...

Of course, you sigh inwardly as the shadows condense before you, of course this happens when Geralt is off scouting ahead.

Whatever you had imagined of a vampire, this was not exactly it. Monsters are supposed to be less like humans and more like creatures wrought from pure evil even if there are plenty examples of monstrous people in the history books. This bloodsucker? He would fit right in at the Toussaint court. Perfectly tailored clothes in deep red silk and velvet contrasted by silvered embellishments that strike an echo in his otherwise dark eyes, yes, even his blond hair helps distract from the sallow greyness of the skin. Momentarily, fear is an unknown factor to you as your mind wavers under the spell of his gaze.

“Oh, hello there m-” Jaskier’s greeting somewhere behind you is interrupted a heartbeat before you hear his body hit the ground.

The vampire before you says something in a grating, foreign language, receiving an answer – no, two – that makes a smirk grow enough to reveal a fang. Oh. Not good. A swarm of self-chastising thoughts barrage your brains, battling with the urge to either run or fight the disdainful figure in front of you. Fear might have been slow at presenting itself but now it fills your guts with icy lead in a rush capable of knocking the feet out from under anyone. I gotta get away!

“Please, pretty lady, let me chase you.”

You understand two things then. One is that the vampire’s voice by nature sounds like flint sliding against flint, the other knowledge – which intangibly more dreadful – is that there is nowhere you can flee before he inevitably catches you. Whatever he may have planned now will surely worsen if you try.

Jask? I can’t leave him anyways. Spinning around, you try to find the bard but gentleman monster wraps his cold fingers around your throat. Struggling is futile, the controlled grasp presses expertly against veins and windpipe, making the world spin and blur into darkness. The last thing visible is someone picking up The bard’s lifeless body.

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nangbaby · 3 years

Note

Sorry, I just wanna ask but a big thing of your responses seems to be about power? But on a website like tumblr, power really isn’t involved, so blocking is just that blocking. So I guess my question is why you go to it being racism, sexism, homophobia or whatever

Aside from the fact that systemic biases work their way everywhere in society, including the Internet, and that as a micro-environment, there are times Tumblr does create its own subculture with its own hierarchy, power is very much involved in Tumblr as a website itself based on likes and followers.

If you have more followers and your posts have more likes, the algorithms involved will spread the reach of your posts beyond those who follow you. By garnering lots of impressions, not only do you personally benefit by driving traffic to your cyberbegging services, but you also gain visibility over all the others who speak. Your words as someone with a bigger following have a greater impact than the words of those with no following, which is an inherent form of inequality.

That power gives people the ability to abuse others without that same power, and when things like blocklists and such get passed around, that marginalizes unpopular users further.

Blocking becomes even more problematic when people respond or reblog your content, then block you. Take, for instance @redroganmarshall who replied to my post.

However, that person then blocked me, in spite of actually getting in contact with me first.

That person, like many others, uses the block tool to pre-emptively snipe at other users.

The point is all these things have hierarchy in common, and ideally, it should be abolished except where it is absolutely necessary to function.

#anonymous users #blocking

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bits-bobs-and-barnes · 5 years

Text

Dispute & Deceit {Loki Laufeyson x Reader}

This is Part Three of my Bend the Knee series! Read Part One here, and Part Two Here!

Warnings: the objectification of reader? veiled threats, controlling behavior, imprisonment? if you’ve read the first two parts, this is par for the course for this series.

{Author’s Note: Sorry for the extended break! I’ve been tinkering on this piece a long time, trying to perfect the flow, and I think I’ve cracked it! In my part of the world, its beautifully autumn right now, and I’m enjoying the cold weather-- puts me in a writing mood. Anyways, enjoy! As always, if you like the fic, please like and reblog, and if you like, leave a comment! I read all the comments, and they make my day!}

Tags: @chonisberonica @jilldsumner @legendsaresooftenwarnings @jessiejunebug @loki-poki-foki @pandacookieowo @kneel-before-queen-loki @rjohnson1280 @mother-of-fandoms-250 @notsomellowmushroom @heda-mikaelson @2heures @buckysclub @wandererinthelostforest @iamverity @alexakeyloveloki

You could feel Loki stiffen behind you, and you could only imagine the outrage on his face. “Father, I am the eldest son, I led the assault, I retrieved her-- what right does Thor have to claim her?”

Odin looked judiciously to his younger son, unperturbed by the other’s outburst. “You have achieved great success leading my armies, Loki, I did not think you eager to marry,” he thought for a moment, oblivious to the tension between the two brothers, “some domesticity would settle you,” he addressed Thor now, “or perhaps sharpen your diplomacy.”

Thor scoffed, opposed to the notion that he could learn anything from you, a Princess without a kingdom. But, he gave a sweet and falsely innocent smile, taking a step towards you. “What do you think, sweetling?” He radiated danger, and alarm bells sounded in your head.

Loki interposed himself quickly, his eyes flashing with warning as he tucked you behind him protectively, his hand on your waist. “Father,” he didn’t address his brother, those his gaze burned with seething hatred on the blonde, “the acquisition is fragile as it is, now is the time for finesse, not brute force.” Then, for added measure: “he should spend his time in the brothels if he’s longing for company.”

From your position behind Loki, you peeked out just around his shoulder to watch the exchange. It was ironic, you thought to yourself, that Odin had addressed the question to you if he truly intended to just offer you as a prize to the victor.

Thor returned the deadly glare, his jaw tight with anger. “You can’t hide your toys from me forever, brother.” The threat was spoken on the edge of a whisper, the acknowledgement of defeat sorely in his voice. Loki had always been able to wiggle his way into getting what he wanted, being the oldest, and clever with his words-- but Thor’s patience was waning with each barb.

Odin spoke after a few seconds of heavy silence, stepping forward and laying a hand on Thor’s shoulder, if to draw him away from the fight. “Then its settled?”

Thor didn’t pull away from his Father’s touch, his eyes moving over to the small visible sliver of you behind Loki.

“Clearly,” Loki allowed the smallest bite of satisfaction into his tone. “Princess?” His grip on you slackened, turning to face you and offering a small smile, drawing your hand into his own and laying a soft kiss upon your knuckles.

You both admired and despised his effort to make you comfortable. This man had tortured your brother to coax you out of hiding, he’d slaughtered your father, sacked your kingdom-- but he forced fondness into his expression when you were looking. Could you stomach being his wife? There was such elegance in his cruelty, pretending to woo you, knowing that you were a fly in his web. You were stuck in place, staring at his hand in yours, the slightest quiver to your lower lip.

“Princess?” Odin inquired, curiosity in his tone.

“Yes,” you spoke, trying to stand a little taller, ducking your head in reverence to Loki, and averting your gaze. “I respect your decision, Odin, I look forward to the ceremony.” The words felt like a white-hot knife pressed into your chest, submitting to his power. You made an attempt to retrieve your hand, but found that he did not release it.

“I will escort you to our chambers, Princess,” Loki insisted, gently guiding you towards the exit of the throne room. “I think some rest would suit you well.” He cast a brief glance back at his father, and his glowering brother, before he ushered you into the hallway.

“Our chambers?” You asked softly, trying very dearly to keep the shock out of your tone. “Are the Asgardians not... chaste until marriage?” You had sworn that it was a custom shared between your two kingdoms, straining to remember those lessons you’d received as a child.

Loki allowed a small laugh to break through his lips, but not long enough to mock you. “We will not be... consummating this evening, if that’s your inquiry. I will explain our living arrangement in more detail when we arrive,” he brushed off your concerns, making no effort to hide the smile that resulted from your naivety. He was not concerned with eavesdroppers, per se, all of the servants knew to keep their ears (or mouths) closed when the royal family spoke of private matters. But with impending vows, and threats from his brother, it was better he contained intimate words with you to behind closed doors.

Odin’s palace seemed endless, each corridor looked exactly the same, and they were all impeccably decorated. Perfectly smooth marble tiles covered the floor, free of any scratches or signs of wear, veins of gold in-between, meticulously clean. Without Loki’s confident direction, you would no doubt be lost in these grand halls-- this place was practically a labyrinth of opulence.

After a few moments more, you approached a beautiful set of doors, carved out a smooth dark wood, subtle bronze handles on each.

Loki casually flicked out his fingers, and the doors opened smoothly, pulled by the invisible force of his magic. “I know you are without many of your personal comforts,” he offered, leading you inside the chambers, “tomorrow morning, I’ve arranged for a tailor to fit you for some new gowns.”

The chambers were massive and luxurious. You first entered a parlor, with an emerald green chaise framed by two daunting bookcases-- full of titles you had never heard of, many of them in other languages. Simple and elegant sconces hung on every wall, illuminating the room with a soft candle light.

He tugged on your hand to recapture your attention, leading you into the next room. A large four-poster bed sat in the center of the room, with similar green sheets draped across the mattress fit for two-- or more-- people. Gauzy golden curtains were drawn back to reveal the interior of the bed, for some semblance of privacy, you guessed. He finally allowed your hand to drop from his own, walking to the window and looking out at the vast blanket of stars.

You lingered in the doorway. This was... extravagant beyond all belief. You doubted even your Father could afford such fineries for himself, let alone for his children. “My things,” you began, sitting on the edge of the bed, relieved to be off your feet after such an exhausting day, “will your soldiers retrieve them?” You had no need for jewels, or dresses clearly, but some tokens of your childhood would certain help ease the sting of grief in your chest.

“Of course,” he offered dismissively, as though the question was silly in the first place, “Odin’s acquisitions are always polished and perfected before they become part of his greater empire,” it sounded as though he was reciting some elementary truth that had been nailed into place through years of repetition. “Your castle will be cleaned, repaired, and improved in preparation for our arrival after the wedding.” He said this without flourish, though he glanced over his shoulder in your direction. “Your things will not be touched, Princess, on my honor.”

From what you’d heard of Odin’s eldest, you doubted his honor was worth much. “Thank you,” you offered politely, taking a moment to look around the room-- purposefully avoiding Loki as you admired the embroidery of the quilt.

Loki managed a small smile in return, however disingenuous it was, and moved to sit beside you on the bed. “I should explain your expected code of behavior,” he offered, more to himself than you, “Asgard is... very different from most kingdoms. You will be marrying into the most powerful bloodline in the galaxy, and your children will be descended from Odin. As such, there are certain expectations placed upon you.” Slender and cool fingers began to brush the hair away from your neck, his fingers beginning to fuss with the ties of your gown, loosening the corset in an attempt to help you relax.

“Oh?” You mumbled hollowly, feeling yourself stiffen under his touch. This was beyond inappropriate.

“Whatever your position may be in our new kingdom,” his breaths fanned coolly against the back of your neck, “you are beholden to me, Princess.” This information was presented as he very slowly unwound your corset, emphasizing the words that suited his tone. “Your people will be looking to you for guidance. We must project an image of unity and amicability,” he gave the cords a sharp tug, “My word is final, as your better.” There was a cold analysis beneath the calm diplomacy of his tone, a verbal vice winding tighter and tighter around your throat.

You thought of your brother as your will faltered, forcing the image of his bondage through your mind, and forcing your revulsion down with a stiff nod. How badly you wanted to scream with defiance, spit curses in his face and run far far away from here-- but what would they do to your brother if you did?

“You will not criticize Odin or his rule, naturally,” he continued, “and you are forbidden from laying with another man,” he finally withdrew his fingers, content to see the corset slumping around your waist. “You will spend each night here, beside me.”

Another man? You very nearly scoffed. Who? His oaf of a brother? One of the hapless guards? No, you assured yourself, there would be no other man. Sharing a bed with the Asgardian however... perish the thought. His polite disposition aside, you did not trust his chivalry. You thought again of your father, your mother, and your brother, a farce attempt to swallow a bitter pill with honey. You could hear his breathing beside you, see him out of your peripherals, the monster blinded by pride and privilege, but to sleep beside him? To call him your husband? To watch your children call him father? “I wish to retire,” you spoke softly, keeping your composure as closely as you could.

If he wanted to press you further for a definite answer, he contained himself, and stood, approaching a dresser on the far side of the room, and pulling a garment from within. “I’ll step into the other room,” he informed, laying the slip on the bed beside you.

You waited until the door closed with a quiet ‘click’ before you allowed tears to burgeon in your eyes, pressing a hand over your mouth to smother the sound. Your shoulders heaved with the effort of your silenced sobs, repressed emotion bursting out like a flood. You’d lost your home, your family, and your independence in the span of a day. You’d be married to a murderer, and your people trapped under Odin’s rule, and forced to smile through it all.

Loki waited until the door closed behind him before lifting a hand and pinching the bridge of his nose. This was not what he had intended. Emotion made fools of the rational, and judging by the muffled sobs, you were far from unemotional. One outburst, or snide remark to Odin, and the both of you would be in a world of pain. He needed a way to control you, keep you in line and away from his brother.

He paced around the parlor, growling under his breath. A threat could keep you in line, but just as likely brew a rebellion outside his gaze. No, this required a gentle touch. His fingers made a quick motion, and a veil of cool mist brushed over his skin. Approaching the reflecting glass adjacent to the burning hearth, he examined himself. A few tweaks, perhaps a brush of filth, and the disguise was complete. An uncharacteristic smile drew across his face, admiring his handiwork. He was the spitting image of your brother.

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki imagine #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine

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qqueenofhades · 5 years

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So, it’s Friday evening, and it turns out I have more thoughts about things that happened this week. I almost never do Discourse on this blog, on whatever subject, but sometimes even your friendly local depressed historian gotta say things. If you’re not in the mood for a long-ass meta-y text post, just keep on scrolling, no hard feelings.

In the wake of the Notre Dame fire, which obviously a lot of us were upset about, and profoundly relieved that it did not end up being completely catastrophic, the usual spate of posts began to pop up, alleging that people only cared about Notre Dame because of the loss to Western/European/Christian history, that nobody had been this upset about the National Museum of Brazil or the outbreak of arson at three black churches in Louisiana in the same week, and so on. I don’t blame anyone for making those posts, because I know they cared about those issues and wanted to ensure that their importance was communicated, especially when something major like Notre Dame was getting all the airtime. However, I couldn’t help but notice how that followed the same pattern as all Woke Tumblr Discourse (tm). An event happens, people express reactions to it, and are then attacked or indirectly shamed for not expressing reactions to another event. Or there’s the usual cycle of “nobody will care about this because it’s not happening in America”-style posts, or passive-aggressive insinuations that “you don’t care if you don’t reblog this.” And -- I say this with the greatest kindness possible, because I know, I know you guys care -- it’s... not helpful.

The culture of Tumblr and other left-wing sections of social media often rests on enacting performative wokeness, on showing that you care about the most Progressive (tm) issues, or that you have thoroughly scrutinized your fandom tastes or political beliefs for anything Problematic and/or can prove yourself to an imagined moral standard (and there have been some great metas written on how this essentially replicates conservative evangelical purity culture, with the goalposts switched). This is why we keep having to circulate (and doubtless will have to do so with increasing frequency) those posts reminding the left not to eat its young and flame all prospective Democratic challengers to Trump in 2020 to a crisp before the right wing, which is only too happy to let us do the work of sabotaging ourselves, even gets a chance. This is also why you see the posts responding to said angry “nobody cares about this!” posts, in which people mention the fact that not visibly reacting to all the (vast and terrible) injustice in the world does not mean they don’t care. The world is a big place. So is the internet. I can guarantee you that people do care, and just because you didn’t see immediate evidence and response to it when you opened up your Tumblr dash is not proof of a collective nefarious conspiracy.

Take me, for example. I am a thirty-ish academic and historian who considers myself well-informed and literate in current events. I read national and international news every day to find out what’s going on (because I live in England, the answer is Brexit, and the status is Failed). And yet, there are plenty of things that I only hear about for the first time on Tumblr, often attached to one of those “nobody cares about this!” posts. And you know what? I do care. I care a lot. And I’m guessing that most other people do as well, because no matter how it may feel, the majority of individuals are fundamentally decent people with basic empathy for others, even if our whole system is a nightmare. But the urge to demand why nobody is Discoursing about this issue (again, among a vast and exhausting sea of them) needs to take a few fundamental things into account.

First, the American media (as a large portion of readers are relying on) simply does not report this stuff. Look at what’s happening in that godforsaken country right now; does it really seem like the kind of place that’s eager to tell you about Brazilian museum fires or black-church arson? I’m someone who makes a conscious effort to read the news no matter how depressed it makes me, and I still miss tons of stuff, because it’s not there. The Western media reported on Notre Dame, people knew about it, and were upset. But when those of them who did not know about the National Museum of Brazil learned about it, they were also upset. We can definitively say now that the National Museum was a bigger and more irreplaceable tragedy in terms of what burned. But we were also apparently 15-30 minutes away from losing all of Notre Dame. You can be upset about both these things. You can express empathy for the history lost in both cases. There is not a greater moral value attached, and you’re not racist for caring about Notre Dame if you heard about it first (unless you’re only upset about Notre Dame for reasons related to race or perceived cultural superiority and are peddling vile conspiracy theories about Jews and Muslims intentionally burning it down, in which case you are a racist). Almost everyone who learned about the National Museum fire was just as horrified.

2019 is a hard and monstrously unfair and tremendously difficult place to live. The internet has made exposure to both all the information and no real information at all simultaneously possible. Not everyone can display active engagement and empathy with every tragedy everywhere. People have jobs, lives, kids, work, school, other commitments, mental and physical health to look after and even when they read the damn news, there’s no guarantee whatsoever the news is going to report it. If they haven’t made the conscious effort to search out every scrap of terribleness that exists in this hellworld, they.... really should not be shamed for that. If they don’t care even after they learn, that’s another debate. But again, in my experience, most people do. But if they are first exposed to it by someone claiming they won’t care, that makes them less likely to engage with it, and to want to enact meaningful change. Firing wittily sarcastic takedowns at easy targets on echo-chamber liberal Twitter is one thing. We all enjoy a good roast and venting our frustration at times. But as a long-term engagement strategy, it’s going to actively backfire.

I talk a lot about being a teacher, and my experiences with my students, but it’s relevant again, so here goes. The kids in my classes come in believing some pretty strange things, or they flat out don’t have a clue even about what I consider basic historical knowledge. If my reaction was to shame them for not knowing, when they have expressly come to me to learn better, I’m pretty sure I’d be a bad teacher. My strategy, whenever a student can actually be nudged to answer a question, is to pick out whatever correct thing they said. Even if the rest of the answer is wrong and we need to work through it, I start by highlighting the part of it that was right, and to build their confidence that I’m not just going to tear them down when they respond. Freshmen are scared of not knowing things and to be made to look like an idiot, so I try to assure them that I’m not going to do that and I will constructively engage with their contribution and treat it seriously. You can then move to dealing with the other parts of it that may not be right, or even Mmm Whatcha Say side-eye. It is a long and often frustrating process and sometimes after reading their essays, you wonder how much of an impression you made. But if you actually want to get people to care about things, you can’t mistake Ultimate Wokeness or Look How Progressive/Anti-establishment/Enlightened I Personally Am for the simple requirement of being a decent person. You can have the greatest and most necessary beliefs or value systems in the world, but if your response to people is to lash out at them even before they begin the conversation, you’re setting yourself back. And I know that’s not really what you want to do.

This should not be interpreted as some wishy-washy “everyone just needs to be nice to each other!!!” kindergarten-playground-rule. I frankly think the whole system could use a good nefarious dismantle, and you sure as hell don’t get there by mistaking insipid moral equivalence for necessary action. But accepting the existence of people different from you, and considering how you want to engage with them, and understanding that issues are complicated and people are flawed, is a fundamental part of being a mature adult (and this has nothing to do with chronological age; there are 15-year-olds who are plenty more mature adults than 50-year-olds). I honestly do love the desperate desire to make people care, and that, for the most part, is why people who identify as liberal or left-wing do so, because they want to (and they do) care. But it’s also why they can be bad at winning elections and getting into meaningful positions to enact this change. The right wing stays on message and sticks together. Even if they absolutely hated Trump, plenty of Republicans held their noses and voted for him anyway. The left did not do that. The greatest virtue of liberal thought, i.e. its determination to include multiple perspectives, has increasingly reduced it to smaller and smaller camps where only the purest survive, like some kind of ideological Hunger Games. It might be great for making yourself look good to your hall of mirrors, but.... not so good for actually doing something long-term.

Once again, this is not to blame anyone for being upset and worried about things, for wanting people to know about them, and so forth. But I am gently-but-firmly suggesting, in my capacity as old, salty, queer spinster academic aunt, that perhaps you consider how you start the conversation. Once again, it’s my experience that most people want to know and want to care, but there are countless factors that mean not every bad thing in the world will be acknowledged everywhere by everyone at all times. You can care about different things for different reasons. That is okay. You can care about something because you have a personal connection to it. That is also okay. You can not care about something because you just don’t have the capacity and are emotionally exhausted and there’s so much shit in this world that you have to compartmentalize and set boundaries. That is also okay.

For example, I was obviously very upset about Notre Dame, and still am, though I’m relieved it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Am I happy it’s going to be restored? Yes. Am I unbelievably angry that a half-dozen of the elite uber-rich could just suddenly throw billions of euros at it for its restoration, when it had to struggle for years to get funding for crucial renovations? Yes. Do I feel as if that if the vaults have suddenly been opened to restore one major European Christian landmark, it’s incredibly heartbreaking that that level of instant capital just won’t be addressed to actual endemic, long-term issues like global warming and social inequality and the Flint water crisis and whatever else, and that this is a sad and troubling message for our society in many ways? Yes. All of these things exist together. And I imagine most people feel the same way.

In short: I realize this is the internet, and therefore just is not designed to do that, but maybe we can give each other a little bit more of the benefit of the doubt, and think about how we would like to educate and engage those we come in contact with, whether virtually or in reality. We can do it wherever and whoever we are, with anyone that we meet, and I wonder what it would be like if we did.

#hilary for ts #history #notre dame #Le Discourse #anyway yes #i just felt like it needed to be said #nothing particularly original perhaps #and it has been said before #but still #long post

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norcumii · 5 years

Text

Reblogging a post from the prior blog, typos and all, because while I like the meta I am not comfortable sticking this on AO3.

Originally posted on 06/08/2018

I was kindly directed towards this post about the Mind Trick (it’s not a Jedi specific ability, so I’m not going to refer to it as the Jedi Mind Trick), because it’s one of my areas of interest and I can think of at least 3 of our stories where we’ve already planned on addressing the topic.

There is…rather a lot of this post that I take issue with. I’m making my own post because it’s a big fandom, everyone gets to view things how they want, don’t harsh the squee, etc etc.

Stuff under the cut, TRIGGER WARNINGS for: mind fuckery, gaslighting, victim blaming, and mention of various mental illnesses.

To start: mind fuckery is bad. I have a lot of personal experience with gaslighting, so I get twitchy about the notion of someone messing with my head. When I say gaslighting here, I mean both the vernacular (someone lying to fuck with a target) and the technical sense (from Wikipedia: “a form of manipulation that seeks to sow seeds of doubt in a targeted individual or in members of a targeted group, hoping to make them question their own memory, perception, and sanity. Using persistent denial, misdirection, contradiction, and lying, it attempts to destabilize the target and delegitimize the target’s belief”). So the possibility of someone coming in and forcibly changing my perceptions and memories is Very Not Cool. I think it’s an ability that canon does use a bit too casually for my own preferences, but the same could be said about how quick everyone is to pull out blasters.

Calling it ‘evil,’ though, goes way too far. As with many things, it’s neither good nor bad, it’s about how it’s used. So what good uses are there, you might ask?

Well, just off the cuff, we’ve got:

Breaking gaslighting

assisting with hallucinations and compulsive behavior

assisting with phobias

basically all the things cognitive behavioral therapy is useful for, now with a Force-assisted oomph

treating addictions

treating trauma, including PTSD

assisting with meditation and mindfulness

aiding memorization and learning

non-violent means to defuse potentially violent situations

Now, that last one in particular is questionable, and would vary as appropriate from situation to situation. Which is a greater evil, a security guard shooting and presumably killing a bank robber that could kill lots of people, or a Jedi using the Mind Trick to get them to surrender to authorities? People will probably give you different answers, but that’s the point about how this is tricky. It also doesn’t even get into ‘who decides how ethical a thing is’ and fears of authoritarian regimes, which I’m just not in the mood to tackle right now.

Moving on, we’ve got the OP’s interpretation of sources.

I. Well. Look, EU stuff is of questionable quality and level of canon in the first place. Secondly, there’s that weird split in both fandom and creators of canon where Jedi and Sith tend to be viewed as all good or all bad, not organizations what are fucked up and in need of reform. Third, I don’t have the texts they’re quoting so I can’t give you context, meanwhile it’s first person which is often used as an authorial mechanism to give unreliable narration and so immediately makes me hesitate to accept them whole-heartedly.

With all that in mind, I have a REALLY different interpretation than OP.

Jedi Order does not disclose their power, people don’t know how the Force works. All they know is that Jedi are good. That’s it.

Totally false. Both Jabba and Watto knew about the Mind Trick when it was being used on them. These are folks from Outer Rim areas – the boonies, where Republic education would not be standardized and taught – neither of them seems to be the type to either have extensive knowledge of fairy tales about Jedi abilities, nor a background in historical trivia. When Jabba declares he’s immune to Jedi mind tricks, no one around him acts confused or surprised – there’s no question what this is. Watto – a former soldier who now owns a junk shop – also knew the handwave was meant to indicate something, like he knew exactly what it would convey. So I’m pretty sure this means it’s common knowledge.

No, wait, it’s demonstrated in the next quote as to be known:

referred to by Jedi as affect mind and alter mind, but popularly known as Jedi mind tricks

JEDI refer to this ability as Affect Mind. OTHERS call it Jedi mind tricks. That doesn’t mean Sith, that means the general populace.

there are rumors but the victims are usually dismissed (or end up with brain damage) because they didn’t understand what happened to them and because this power was usually performed on “less influential” members of the Republic

Not backed up by their own data. The quote mentions “a relatively innocent subject” but there’s nothing that extrapolates to mean it’s more often used on the poor/disadvantaged. It IS typical Jedi sanctimoniousness, but it’s not about targeting more vulnerable beings.

The brain damage comment is also inaccurate for reasons I personally find frustrating. The quote is “the power can easily cause permanent damage”.

That doesn’t mean brain damage. There are plenty of ways to fuck with someone and ruin them without brain damage. IF the Mind Trick is extreme and unlimited in power, then you can make someone: perpetually anxious/depressed; so self-effacing as to never stand up for themselves; vulnerable to specific commands; all sorts of other nasty things.

That goes back to the whole ‘personal experience with gaslighting,’ and I need to point out that any of this can be done with time, patience, and willingness to fuck with someone. You don’t need the Force to do it. The Force is basically a shortcut, but vilifying the Mind Trick right off the bat because it messes with someone’s head and that’s something we norms can’t do is erroneous.

And the Jedi don’t see to care because they see their victims as weak-minded (like they had it coming).

That’s a deliberate spin on the text. Looks like I’m quoting the whole thing because I can’t pick out just one bit:

A Jedi can use the Force to manipulate the behavior and perceptions of weak-minded beings. Essentially, this power—referred to by Jedi as affect mind and alter mind, but popularly known as Jedi mind tricks—utilizes a combination of receptive empathy, projective empathy, and hypnosis. Jedi mind tricks can stop the understanding of what’s really happening by blocking the senses, and can also obliterate memories altogether or even replace them with false ones. [Star Wars Jedi vs Sith: The Essential Guide to the Force by Ryder Windham]

As a Jedi, you should be able to sense immediately whether the guard is prone to violence or susceptible to fear. This knowledge can be used to your advantage, and may direct your use of affect mind. Also, you must determine whether it is best to divert or subdue your target. Such decisions must often be made instantly, without hesitation. What would I have done in such a situation, you ask? I really can’t say. A Jedi is not proud or boastful, and I trust you will understand I am sincere when I say that it is hard for me to imagine that the guard might have spied me in the first place, had I not wished to be seen. But if a guard had seen me, I might make him believe I was nothing but a gust of wind, or the shadow of a soaring indigenous avian. A Jedi can do such things, for it is the will of the Force. [Star Wars Jedi vs Sith: The Essential Guide to the Force by Ryder Windham]

“Weak-minded” isn’t victim bashing, it’s back to sanctimoniousness. The narrator is describing who it can affect. It’s the exact same phrasing that was used in the Original Trilogy when we first encountered it. It’s not “those who are affected by the Mind Trick are weak willed and deserve it,” it’s “the Mind Trick only works on those with weak wills, and if someone isn’t weak willed then we’re just standing there waving a hand and talking like an idiot.” Which ALSO ignores that there are entire species who are resistant/immune to the Mind Trick and mental influences, and they can’t all be ‘strong-willed’ so that means the comment is bullshit anyways. It’s shorthand for “so this works on some people, but if they’re already on alert or tend to be stubborn you’re shit out of luck when it comes to making friends and influencing people even with your space magic.”

The “will of the Force” bullshit is more of the same. It’s a sanctimonious way of saying “I got lucky on the genetic lottery,” not “It’s the will of the Force I have this power and it’s the will of the Force this weak-minded being is here therefore it’s the will of the I remove their agency and do what I want to their mind.” Yes, some assholes are going to use that as an excuse for their behavior. Assholes are always going to find some excuse for their behavior, be it religion, substances, background, or whatever else might be in reach.

On top of all this, the Mind Trick is hardly a Jedi specific tool. In Rebels the Inquisitors use it. I want to say that Palpatine used it too but I can’t find anything convenient on Wookieepedia and I’m sorry, I’m not rewatching six movies and Clone Wars just to prove a point. Meanwhile, Mother Talzin DID visibly use it to manipulate both Asajj Ventress and Savage, so Nightsisters are obviously familiar with it. There’s no reason other Force users couldn’t do the same, it’s just that Jedi are the predominant group of such in the Republic.

In sum, the Mind Trick is a dick move, that post presumes a lot of incorrect things, and it really shouldn’t be called the JEDI Mind trick.

Finally, in criticism of the Jedi Order: Qui-Gon is so casual about his use in TPM, it makes me twitch. I love the guy, massive faults and all, but it often feels like this is the first tool he reaches for, not the last one. I get that this is a time-critical mission with an entire city going into prison camps, and those peoples’ fates rest on him getting shit done fast. I get that he has to weigh the Chancellor’s request vs planetary needs vs individual autonomy vs the lives of those he’s responsible for. (It’s still most often a dick move.) Meanwhile Obi-Wan’s…THING in Attack of the Clones with the deathstick dealer – I will never understand it, and I usually headcanon it as something other than what we literally see because WHAT EVEN you do not fuck with someone’s head like that. The casual “let’s raid Cad Bane’s mind!” thing in TCW is several massive types of awful. Given these charming examples (and there are others, but those are the ones I immediately think of), it’s no wonder that the Order has a reputation.

~end

There was also a follow-up post the same day:

oft-goes-awry replied to your post:I was kindly directed towards this post about the…

RE: Obi-Wan and the Death-Sticks Guy - Without going too deeply into the Mind Trick as a whole, I think we can break this moment into two parts, neither of which are GREAT, or good, even, but are mostly pragmatism and Jedi sanctimoniousness. 1) “You don’t want to sell me death-sticks” = “I am trying to remain undercover in this bar, without causing a fuss or getting people shot, and I have neither the time nor the patience to argue with you or risk a scene. …so please, GO AWAY.“ 2) "You want to go home and rethink you life.” = Jedi Sanctimoniousness, I know what’s good for you better than you do, and I don’t think anyone should be selling death sticks, so see, I’m HELPING you? Because Jedi know better and I am a Jedi, peon!

Yes, thank you! Well said! And credit where (what little) credit is due: he tells the guy to rethink his life, not actually change it. If dude goes home, thinks on things, and decides nope, he’s already living the life he wants, then he can keep at it –

which still sounds awful and sanctimonious, but it’s not quite as skin-crawlingly horrible.

#reviving from the purge #star wars #Norcumi has Opinions again #thinky thoughts #jedi #tw #mind fuckery #gaslighting #mental illness #victim blaming

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dramallamadingdang · 5 years

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The queer neighborhood...

If you'd like to get in on this action, this is your last call. :) I mean, I will accept Sims for the neighborhood until the 9th of this month, but this post will soon be buried on everyone's dash, so I'm guessing that if/when you see this will be your "last call."

Also, I'm looking for suggestions for a name for the neighborhood. It's an island map, it'll be summer all year round, and one of my inspirations for the whole thing is Key West, Florida which is an island where non-heterosexuals make up a significant percentage of the population. So, a play on "Key" would be good, but it doesn't have to be that. I'm open to any suggestions, since naming neighborhoods isn't a strength of mine. :) If I get a lot of suggestions, maybe I’ll do a “drawing” or something.

Anyway, this post is mostly for people who've contributed Sims already (and thank you all so much, again!), letting you know what's going to happen with this thing. So here we go:

1) I'm going to completely build the neighborhood first, so it'll be a little while until it'll actually get played. I'm estimating that I'll start playing in February sometime, since I already have a December non-Sims-related commitment and a post-holiday/January Sims-related commitment, and I'll have to squeeze in building around those things where I can, along with playing my other hoods, so I won't be able to totally concentrate on the neighborhood until toward the end of January. Whether or not it’ll be documented here on Tumblr or on my Dreamwidth will depend on how things go with Tumblr come December 17.

2) On December 9, probably in the late evening my time (UTC-7), I'm going to set up a numbered list of contributed Sims. Then, I will use a random number generator to determine who my initial playables will be. I will be picking 9 Sims this way, each of whom will begin in the neighborhood as a single, unattached Sim. (There will be 10 playables total to start, but I’ve predetermined that @ch4rmsing's Anette will be a playable because I built a house specifically for her because I liked her and her little bio.)

Note: Most of you contributed a lot of Sims or gave me permission to use any/all of your Sims, but some people only contributed a specific one or two Sims. In order to be fair in the "playable lottery," so that no one creator has a hugely-greater chance of their Sims being chosen as initial playables, for those who gave me a choice of more than two Sims, I will just put your username, not any of your specific Sims, on the list twice. If you are then chosen to have a playable Sim (or two, if your name is chosen twice), I'll ask if you have any preference as to which one (or two) of your Sims you'd like to see as a playable. If you have no preference, I'll just randomly pick one or two. :)

3) I will make a post here on my Tumblr announcing the "winners" of the playable lottery, with all of the creators mentioned so that you should receive a notification.

4) On that same post announcing the winners, I’ll include a questionnaire, of which you can fill out (via a reblog or whatever) as much or as little as you choose, about details of your Sim, to guide me and maybe give me some ideas about how to play them. If you don’t fill out any of it or if you leave any questions blank, then you’re granting me (or the random number generator, as the case may be) free rein in those categories to do what I want to do with your Sim(s). :)

5) The initial playables will be set up at the start in households of up to three unrelated single Sims, since there will be 1-, 2-, and 3-bedroom lots in the neighborhood. This is mostly because I often find single-Sim households a little boring to play. It will also serve to make the rotations shorter, at least until new households start forming.

6) Any specific contributed Sims not chosen as an initial playable will become townies. I’ll be putting 40 adult townies (and possibly some additional teen/child townies; I haven’t decided yet) in the neighborhood to start. Priority will be given to those creators who only donated one or two specific Sims. Then I’ll fill in the remaining “slots” with Sims from people who gave me blanket permission to use any/all of their Sims. Of course, the 10 playables will likely need a partner or four (Yes, polyamory is certainly a possibility!), so there will soon be a lot more playables than the initial 10, and those partners will, of course, be drawn from the townie pool. :) In addition, I’ll be using community lots often, so townies will be highly visible, and I’ll be sure to document any fun stuff that they do. :)

8) Once the townies have been selected, I’ll post a list of them. At that time, I’ll post a questionnaire for them that will be less-detailed than for the selected playables. Again, the creators of the townies can fill it out or not or just in part, as they choose.

9) Once the initial playables and townies have been selected, I'll download any that I haven't yet downloaded and then start creating them in the neighborhood, in anticipation of finishing building it. I’ll post pics of each Sim, playable or townie, so that you can see how they’ll look in my game.

10) When the neighborhood becomes townie-depleted, I’ll put out another call to contribute Sims and/or I’ll draw more from those who initially gave me blanket permission to use their Sims.

#the queer hood

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zeciex · 5 years

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Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 12

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes,

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

Satan is that you?

She saw him, hair in greasy tossels around his head, with bags under his eyes and a five o’clock shadow. His shirt was unruly, buttons missing and curled, pulled out of his pants. Kneeling among the trees, head held low, hands resting on his thighs with their palms up he looked like hell, like someone lost. Oya couldn’t get past the barrier of trees and he couldn’t hear her calls, the only thing she could do was watch, watch as he had drawn a pentagram in the ground soft with pine needles, how he had called for his father and found no answer, no help. The sky had changed from day to night, time and time again, yet he remained in place.

She could almost feel his pain, taste the distress in the air, sense how utterly lost he was feeling. Everything came in flashes, puzzles pieces out of place, from past to present, a child in a cradle surrounded by mirrors, relief when embraced by a woman whose face she could not see, a room full of masks void of any human emotion and now the woods.

Something moved behind him, far of in the distance, a glimpse of light hair, blue eyes and then it was gone. The feeling prickled along her skin and send a shiver down her spine. The picture shifted so quickly that she lost balance, gripping onto the tree, her nails digging into the bark. Michael was now standing, with his hand wrapped around the throat of a hooded person, no a man without clothe, blue eyes and sharp features, wings sprung from his back, he said something and then he was gone.

She fell through, her heart stopping for a second as everything was black and cold and void. The need to get out of this place grew with every second that dragged on for hours, days, years? Something within her was missing, pain spiking through her heart so vicious she couldn’t breath. The loneliness carved into her bones, twisted itself with thorned stems growing throughout her veins and made its way into her heart.

Oya woke with tears in her eyes, half the dream forgotten the moment she woke up, the other half a blurry mess that didn’t fit together. However, the pain on his face she couldn’t forget, the tears that had run down his cheeks as they now did hers, the way he cried out for help, for guidance and finding silence were a voice should have been. The pain of being alienated and alone lingered in her, a sniff coming from her while she turned to find the other side of the bed empty, cold where it should have been warm.

Sitting up, her hair rolled over her shoulder in a mess, strands sticking out here and there, tousled so much that it looked far closer to a birds nest than hair. She climbed out of bed and picked up one of Michael's shirts, the size comfortably big for her smaller frame. A pair of boxers were picked out from a drawer, also too big for her hips but usable nonetheless. She wrapped the shirt tightly around her and inhaled his spicy, yet sweet scent, letting it linger in her nose for a moment.

With careful steps she walked out of his bedroom and down the stairs to find him sitting on the couch with his back turned towards her, rubbing his eyes with a finger while listening to someone talk at the other end of the video call. She leaned against the counter, letting him remain focused on whatever it was that was so important. Who ever it was talking to him they were annoying the shit out of Michael, that much were evident by his cool tone of voice, by the way he rolled his neck when they spoke.

She could walk to him, she would have, if she weren’t distracted by the wooden door. There had been no venture down the dark stairs since that day where she discovered him. Quietly she opened the door and felt her way down the stairs, flicking on the light at the end of the steps.

The room looked different in superficial light, there were no shadows dancing in the candle light, the candles that were, was all in various height, some bleeding out into the floor while others were almost gone. The red pentagram on the floor was more visible than ever, now cleaned off blood, though there were still traces left on the sandy marble floor. The room held a strange aura, as if there were no life within the room, the air stiff and suffocating.

She walked around in circles, finger trailing over the walls while she drifted around and around. “I don’t know if you can hear me.” She spoke quietly but with clear articulation. “I don’t know how or what happened in the past, I don’t know what you whisper to him or what you want from him but if you ever,” she stopped and let out a breath, trying to gather her thoughts, to recall the dream. “If you ever abandon him when he needs you the most, if you ever hurt him, I swear I’ll come down there to your domain and drag you into mine. You might be Satan but I’m Ereshkigal of the underworld and I will not let you hurt him.”

She stopped and looked through the empty room, eyes scanning over the unlit candles, waiting in anticipation for something to happen, for a red man with goat hooves and horns to break through the floor to strike her down, but nothing happened. She threatened Satan himself, in quick retrospect it was brave if not stupid. He was someone to fear, his power reaching far and wide, if he wanted her dead, locked away or destroyed completely it was within his capabilities.

But she couldn’t stop herself, he needed to know that someone would hold him accountable if he abandoned Michael. The heartbreak he had been through she knew all too well herself, even if he didn’t speak of it, it was there, in the fine cracks of his soul.

Michael wanted to put a match to the world and if that was what he wished she’d pour the fucking gasoline.

But there was a fear deep within her, that Michael was just a pawn in a greater game, one that she herself were no less a pawn in than him, though he held a much higher value. It gnawed at her that Satan was just using Michael and when his task was done, he’d be thrown to the wolves.

She wouldn’t let it happen.

Whatever happened she’d be by his side, they were bound together, a bond that his father would most likely have been against, at least that was what she thought.

“When he needs you don’t abandon him, don’t disappoint him, don’t betray him. He deserves more than that.”

With no response from the devil himself, she turned around and walked up the stairs not noticing the flicker of a single lit flame that soon spread to all of them, only to be extinguished as if it never happened.

Oya closed the door behind her, leaning against it. Michael was no longer sitting on the couch, the computer had been closed and long forgotten, replaced with a glass of cold water by the kitchen. Their eyes met, he lifted his brow in question, swallowing the last water before setting the glass on the counter and letting out a tired breath.

“What were you doing down there?” He asked. Oya pushed herself off the door and strutted towards him, folding her arms over her chest.

She shrugged,“Got curious.” No more no less was said, he accepted her answer even if he knew it wasn't the whole truth. No longer did he pressure her to confess, not in small matters as this. “Are you coming back to bed?” She asked reaching him. Michael smirked at her outfit, taking the collar of the shirt she wore between his fingers with the belief that it would somehow feel different when she was the one wearing it. It didn’t but it looked nice, no one had ever worn his clothe before. Now his fingers traveled to her wild hair, taking a curl between his fingers and lightly tugged at it.

“Soon,” he drawled, brushing the strand behind her ear. “I still have some work to do.”

“It’s the middle of the night, work can wait,” she huffed, rubbing her eyes as sleep clinged to her, luring her towards the warm covers and silk sheets. She longed for bed, for the pillow that’d mess up her hair further or just with some luck detangle it.

“Not this,” he said. Oya hummed at him, giving his hand a squeeze before turning. It wasn’t before she was about to disappear up the stairs she heard his voice again. “What were you dreaming of?”

She looked over her shoulder at him, calculating if she should tell him about the angel she saw, the flash of blond hair, him . It was clear he had come far, that it was a point buried in the past but it was still hidden somewhere within him, it had to be. Just like her past were hidden within her. Their polished beauty hiding scars that would never heal, memories that’d never be forgotten and betrayal that wrapped around their hearts with barbed wire.

“Nothing,” she said. “Memories, I guess. It’s nothing but a stupid nightmare.”

“Nightmares can leave their marks.”

“Yes they can.” She send him a tired smile and headed towards the bed. Waking up from a nightmare that made you call directly to Satan himself left one tired and cold. She hid herself under the covers, a silk shield against the outside world, a warm hug lulling her to sleep.

It was not much later before Michaels arms replaced the embrace of the covers.

She sat on the edge of the freestanding fireplace, letting her fingers glide between the orange flames, licking at her skin. The pain was there, she felt her hand burn, she acknowledged it but didn’t allow it to affect her. The skin reddened, blistering and burning but she continued to let them lick at her, moving fingers back and forth. Then she’d heal while still in the fire, skin repairing and regenerating until it was smooth and fine. Then it started all over again. Her head rested against her knees, the dress around her from thin and see through, while her hair waved over her back and shoulders and by her toes on the mantel a half empty glass of red wine.

Obsidian eyes reflected the flames.

If she turned her head she’d see Michael resting against the couch that had been deemed entirely too uncomfortable a long time ago, with one leg crossed over another, papers and folders scattered over the cushions, while he inspected whatever the tablet held within his hand.

It often came to this, the two of them silent in each others company, doing each their own thing but still entirely aware of the other. Often times Michael’s mind were preoccupied by mountains of paperwork that pushed forward the end times, while she had been studying medicine, chemistry, botany and biology. Magic surging through the book of her choosing, picking up the words and writing themselves inside her mind to be kept forever. It was a way to prepare for the new world, even if the old one ended it’d be nice to know how to do heart surgery or how to make medicine, even if Michael deemed it unnecessary.

Most of all it was a way to keep herself busy, to fill the void that her anger and resentment towards her family had left within her.

And then there were times like these, were a book couldn't capture her attention, where she was left staring into the flames while her mind silently wandered the planes of brain.

“How did you come to be?” Her voice were silent, almost swallowed by the crackling fire, and still it found its way towards Michael, who looked over the tablet, his face lighted up by the screen and casting tired shadows on his face. He hummed at her, brows knitting together to tell her that he heard her voice but not her words.

Oya turned her head and rested it against her knees, hand finally coming out of the fire, scorched and blistering that soon turned to fine soft skin once more. “I mean, how did you… come to be?” She repeated not able to find other words.

Now Michael’s full attention were on her, the tablet went out as he put it to the side, his face now dimly lit by the orange flames. The ghostly light was gone, replaced with an ancient one. “Why the sudden question?”

“I’m curious,” she answered quietly. “You didn’t just spring from the earth.”

For a moment there were a playful smile on his lips and then it was gone, replaced with something reminiscent, almost bitter. “My mother was human, my father… not so much. They call it an unholy union between human and spirit, life and death.” He went quiet.

Oya watched him, silently. She didn’t ask the questions that burned on her tongue, she didn’t push him, all she did was wait patiently to see if he’d be willing to give her more.

The pain was there, hidden in the cracks of his mask, lingering in the air around him. Most of all it showed itself in his eyes, blue and pierced with pain. No matter how far you get from your parents, no matter long ago things were, the pain would still be there, even if you hate them.

“My mother died in childbirth joining the rest of spirits in the house. My grandmother raised me, or, she tried.” A tear slipped over the edge of his eye, falling down his cheek. Upon seeing this Oya carefully stood and walked over to him. She hitched up the thin fabric and straddled his lap, hands running over his shoulders in comfort. Michael’s hands ran up her outer thighs, dipping beneath the dress, to caress the hidden skin with his thumb, a way to ground himself. “Like everyone else she abandoned me, hated me, so much so she took her own life inside that house. She refused to see me.” Michael shook his head, voice vibrating in his throat. With a sympathetic touch, Oya brushed away his tears with her thumbs, her own face falling into a show of compassion.

The dull, harrowing pain he felt within his chest, were something she recognized so well. It was branded upon his soul, a scar that’d never mend. Not even if you filled your life with light and love, not even if you surround yourself with it, that scar would never go away, never heal.

The pain you’d get used to, however horrible that is.

“Everyone I care about abandons me,” Michael said, giving her thighs a light squeeze. Oya’s head tilted to the side, her hands still cupping Michael’s head. There was no need to object, to fly into a temper to validate what she meant to him because the words were there, unspoken but very much true. Everyone I care about I lose, everyone but you.

“When I finally found someone who cared about me, treated me like a person, who loved me, she was taken from me.” A shadow fell over his face, embers lighting up in his eyes. The invisible tendrils sparked up, anger and resentment flowing through the energy, an unfulfilled vengeance.

“Who?” She asked quietly, brushing away another tear from his cheek. Michael learned into her touch, closing his eyes and savoring her warmth.

“My Mrs. Mead. She was the only one who cared for me, she took me in when I needed it the most,” his voice were soft and hard, all at the same time. “But they took her from me, the witches.”

“The New Orleans coven,” Oya finished. So that was what her mother was talking about, why she feared him and rightfully so. Taking out a coven was no easy feat if you were a mere warlock but he was no mere warlock. Witches had a tendency to come back from the dead.

“I didn’t get all of them,” he licked his lips and scoffed at the memory. “The supreme got away along with some of the other witches.”

“I will find them, for what you did for me, I will tear through the world to find them,” her voice was clear as day and the intent even clearer. Her fingers brushed through his hair before they eventually caressed his cheeks once more.

“You can’t,” he breathed. “They’re gone.”

“They will be when the bombs drop,” she claimed with certainty.

“I sure hope not, that’d be no way to exact revenge,” Michael said, fingers drawing circles and infinity signs into her skin with a burning touch she’d otherwise melt to. Instead she leaned back and raised a brow at him, hands falling to his chest.

“Are you saying my way of revenge is not desirable?” There were both a playfulness and seriousness to her voice. Michael tilted his had the same way she had done, eyes matching hers. In the flicker of the flames behind her, his eyes were a darker contrast, his pupils swallowing up the deepend blue.

“Your revenge,” he said and leaned towards her, breath rolling hot over her lips. “Were the most inspiring.”

“You just want your vengeance up close and personal,” she commented. He wanted something else, a different way of revenge she couldn’t help but admire even if she didn’t know of his plan. Her revenge were a punishment that’d only lead to their destruction, it was made to twist it’s way into their souls and punish them by showing what was waiting in the future, to know everything they’ve ever known or loved would be gone and they could do nothing about it.

Oya pecked his lips, a quick chased kiss before he fell back against the cushions again. A pout formed on her face. “It’s too bad, I could do with some witch hunting now that my own vengeance have been taken, and you all too busy with ending the world.”

She pushed off of him, her butt hitting hard cushions and papers creaking beneath her weight, leaning against Michael and resting her head on his shoulder as she fished out the folder beneath her. Outpost 5 it read in big black letters. “What is your plan for me in the sanctuary anyway?”

Michael removed the folder from her hands and replaced it with a new one that read Outpost 3 . Oya furrowed her brows in confusion. An outpost? But wasn’t she supposed to be in the sanctuary? He had mentioned it briefly before, that the sanctuary were for the chosen of the chosen. More specifically his chosen.

“Is this your way of telling me I didn’t make the cut?”

“No, it is me trusting you with a task,” he confided, his voice vibrating through his chest and into her body. Oya signed and leaned further back, opening the folder and began inspecting the content within while listening intently to what Michael said. “I don’t trust the management and would have you play part in finding out who among the people in outpost 3 is worthy of the sanctuary.”

“Why not make me the leader?” She asked and looked over the credentials for a Mrs. Venable.

“I find you better at working in the shadows. I don’t want to pose a risk to your safety by being the leader.”

“None of them would pose a risk to me, I’d snap my fingers and their necks would do the same.” Now she was looking through the safety procedures of the bunker. Some of them were basics while others were not so much. Regardless she didn’t question them and instead committed them to memory just like she had done the books.

When Michael didn’t comment or elaborate Oya twisted her head to look up at him. He looked calculating, as if there were something he wanted to say but didn’t know how to say it. Of course Michael couldn’t possibly possess this kind of uncertainty… There was something he wanted from her, something he was almost afraid to ask. This revelation made Oya push away from him to properly look upon his face.

“What is it?”

His face fell into the meticulous mask he had created for himself, one that usually carried a confidence that made her weak in the knees. The uncertainty turned to certainty. “I want you wear sheep's clothing, or in this instance human clothing.”

Oya’s face fell, heart beating out of rhythm within her chest. No, he couldn’t possibly be asking that. “Are you… Are you asking me to have my powers bound?”

Michael cupped her face, thumb brushing over her newly released lip that had just been caught between her teeth. He looked as sincere as the devil, with the flicker of fire in his eyes and deepened shadows biting at his features.

“I am asking you to bind your powers so that no one would ever know how powerful you really are. I’m asking you to be my hidden card, my secret weapon, if I will need it.”

“With my powers bound I wouldn’t be able to-to heal myself if anything were to happen, or to protect myself. You’re asking me to expose myself to humans , indecisive and vicious humans! For what? What do you expect to happen? This Mrs. Venable poses no threat to you!” Her words began calm but ended in exclamation, pulling herself out of his grip. Binding her powers, again and this time so well that’d leave no trace of magic at her disposal were quite possibly the scariest thing he could ever ask for. Crazy, he was fucking crazy to ask that. And yet, she owed it to him, for so many things.

“I have someone else there that I trust, someone who will protect you, even if they don’t know why,” Michael assured with a voice filled with honey and sympathy. Oya eyed him with narrow and reluctant eyes. “You will be safe.”

“Why is it so important that I’d be in outpost 3?”

“Because there’s people I don’t trust there and you,” he said capturing her in his hands once more. She leaned into his touch. “I trust.”

“You better fucking trust me, you leave me vulnerable in a pit full of snakes,” she said equally harsh as it was playful. Michael flashed her a beaming smile, taking her words as consent, then leaned back. Oya joined him, resting against his side once more, letting her head lean on his shoulder.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re a snake charmer,” he commented. Oya couldn’t help but laugh shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

“Snake charmer?!” She exclaimed. “You’re the one with the silver tongue, I’ll stick to the shadows, make myself tiny enough to inspire a sort of trust and if anyone tires anything I’m sure I can be creative enough to find a way to get rid of them.”

“Do not kill everyone before I arrive, there’s a reason they’re there.”

“When will you arrive? Don’t leave me with the boring humans too long, otherwise I can’t promise you they won't all be dead when you do.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, that warm glow present. “3 months.”

Oya felt her nerves show themselves as knots in her stomach. After the end there’d be no certainty, anything could happen. Without her powers she’d be vulnerable, if radiation got to her she’d be dead, if she was stabbed she’d be dead, if anything happened and she couldn't reach her powers… All this just as she got them back. Michael had given her freedom and in return she had given him her heart, bound herself to him. Never had he asked such a thing, demanded it, she had given him it willingly. And now he asked this of her.

In reality what he really asked was to trust him with her life.

And she did, however ludacris it was.

“Remember what I once told you?” She asked throwing the outpost 3 folder across the couch. “If you fuck me over I’ll make your life a hell, even as a bound goddess, even as a human .”

“I believe those weren’t your exact words.”

“But the meaning is very much the same,” she said and turned her head towards him. Michael had found a folder and held it up with the one free hand he had, while she kept his other arm occupied as a pillow, nuzzling herself further into him. He smiled, the orange flames giving him the look as something ancient, devine.

“ I trust you with my life, don’t make me regret it for we are bound you and I, that means something, regret will only root itself and bloom into dismay,” she mumbled in her native tongue, Michael looked down at her with his brows raised in question. Oya merely smiled and uttered; “You have your secrets and I have mine, maybe one day I’d let you in on them just as you might let me in on yours.”

For secrets he had enough of, it was sewn into his being, he had secrets at his seams, unspoken words carefully structured on his silver tongue never to be spoken, truths and lies spun so beautifully you’d never know which one you get, with every truth there’d be a little lie and in every lie there’s a truth. Michael was mystical, he never revealed himself completely and still she trusted him, adored him in a way that others would call blindly.

Maybe one day she’d understand him fully, decipher him. Maybe not but she sure wanted to find out. Michael was an adventure in himself, he was a home, even if he wouldn’t label himself as such. She cared for him, deeply and she was beginning to show it unreserved. Maybe one day he’d do the same.

Yes, Michael had secrets sewn into his seams, she didn’t understand his reasoning behind some of his plans, he never revealed the whole picture to her and still she’d stand with him through the end of the world and beyond.

By the gods, she hoped he felt the same.

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon fic #ahs #obsidian & angelite

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tophertv · 5 years

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Tumblr is no longer on the app store. So here's the deal.

Some people make their own porn- artists, actors, cameramen, what have you. They do this for a living, for a hobby, whatever. Their hard work and intellectual property then gets put into the internet for consumption and or sale, and from there people have a field day with it.

Now, some people want to make a living off porn without doing the work. So they make up a website to post their collection if porn to, and charge viewers in views from advertising to make their cash.

But the problem of marketing makes it difficult to get people to view their collection and make them money. Google's search algorithm actively looks for scam sites and filters them out, by determining if these scam sites are linked to legitimate sites or user stories. If some guy on the internet says "this porn site is great," then Google tends to tune them out. But if 300 people say so, Google thinks it is a legitimate site, and includes it in search results.

So what's the easiest way for scammers to make their sites appear legitimate? Link them to Tumblr, of course!

If a pornbot on Tumblr links both to reputed funny guy blog setheverman and also to a porn site, then Google thinks every person who interacts with setheverman is saying "this is a good porn site," to the associated link!

Tumblr, in the early days of its advertising algorithm, decided to capitalize on its pornbot problem. Porn blogs would reblog completely unrelated ads, granting high notes to advertising, and also making their respective porn links more lucrative to Google.

But after Tumblr's advertising system changed to non-re-blog-able, un-skip-able posts, the usefulness of pornbots dropped off.

Tumblr, however, elected to do nothing about this. They claimed that policing blogs based on their content like pedophiles, Nazis, pornbots, or scammers violated their terms of service- unless, of course, those blogs made safe for work content of an LGBT nature, in which case their content should not be visible in searches, or if those blogs were Russians being paid by their government to sew deceit about upcoming elections (I am still not convinced of the legitimacy of this last one).

Recently, the users attempted to take matters into their own hands, and a blog was created to coordinate a purge of porn bots via mass reporting. And it worked for a time, but as user fatigue grew, the bot purging declined.

Now, Apple and Google have decided to take matters into their own hands, removing Tumblr's mobile app from the Apple app store and the Google play store, on grounds of unpoliced nsfw content.

Tumblr, in a blind panic, has begun deleting blogs that contain nsfw content randomly, which is why many porn blogs have begun linking followers to their Twitter accounts. But this is not a solution.

Porn, as a media, is problematic- meaning it is worthy of debate. After all, it is objectifying, marketed to men primarily, and as an industry often mistreats its actors. But the people who produce and develop pornography should be able to share their work and monetize off of it, like any artists. And it is my personal belief that artists (directors, painters, cameramen, actors, etc) should be able to share their work here on Tumblr.

It is also my opinion that people who collect the work of others should not be able to redistribute that work at monetary gain: if person 1 draws porn for person 2, then person 3, who was unrelated, should not be able to monetize on that art.

Therefore, I believe that the pornbots of Tumblr should be deleted, but not the pornblogs, which create their own content.

I do agree that the run of the mill 13 year old who downloads the Tumblr app should be unable to view porn of any nature, and I believe that porn artists should be able to mark or denote their blogs so that users under a certain age or uninterested in pornographic content will not be exposed to it. And as a computer programmer, I can think of many ways this could be done, without requiring non porn related users to police their own content.

And I know many pornblogs would be happy to denote their blog (or even manually denote each post) as nsfw to enforce this policy and protect these minors, as well as make a greater experience for all users.

But @staff and @support are not interested in creating an enjoyable user experience, they are interested in implementing a quick-fix that gets their mobile app back on the play store and app store so they can get back to making money.

Because Tumblr is run off of advertising revenue, and if the app isn't on mobile phones, then the amount of people creating new Tumblr accounts will dwindle, and the number of people deleting accounts and leaving Tumblr will grow.

Except, of course, for pornbots, who will continue to make multiple accounts per day to improve their results in Google's search engine.

This means we will either see a fundamental change in the way Tumblr handles pornbots (meaning that the site will start to do something about them), or more likely, Tumblr itself is going to fail, and the site may be shut down.

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itsyourchoicedevotionals · 2 years

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Knowing Place

“O Jacob, how can you say the Lord does not see your troubles? O Israel, how can you say God ignores your rights? Have you never heard? Have you never understood? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of all the earth. He never grows weak or weary. No one can measure the depths of His understanding.” Isaiah 40:27-28NLT

If we ever think our God isn’t BIG, read Isaiah 40. Verses like V12 “Who else has held the oceans in his hand? Who has measured off the heavens with his fingers? Who else knows the weight of the earth or has weighed the mountains and hills on a scale?” and V15 “…He picks up the whole earth as though it were a grain of sand.” thrills my heart. He’s not a Buddha statue, or a sacred cow. Yahweh exists in a world more powerful than anything we have in the realm where we can see.

Jehovah Jireh is one of His 800 names: meaning the God who provides. We sat in on a small group Bible study. A time came where we could share a testimony. I felt led to share how Lou had decided to come home and work for the union. His choice, union problems, and state regulations took us to the place of him earning one third of his previous power line pay. Within five months, we went from having just bought a home, new furniture, and all payments paid up to date— to choosing from a bowl who got paid, three months behind on every payment, with barely enough food. After a period of fasting and prayer, God gave me a scripture. I knew in my knowing place, this scripture was my promise from God. He would fulfill His word, Ephesians 3:20KJV “Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us,” I knew bottom line, God would provide supernaturally. Yahweh “see your troubles” and doesn’t “ignores your rights.” What rights? I’m (we’re) His children, joint heirs with Jesus, Romans 8:17.

Immediately after receiving His promise, I wrote out checks— paid in full for every debt and put them in the bowl with the bills. Lou got called back to work for the union a few weeks later. Even their wage was a pittance in comparison to all the late payments we were behind. Three months later, a power line company called Lou. ‘Come work for them on a new power line.’ We agreed, it was God’s provision, even though it meant he’d be away from home again. Lou’s income tripled. God wasn’t done. As that job was winding down, his former employer called with a job offer at an unheard of wage. Again Lou’s right-of-way wage was tripled. In nine months debts were paid off, because of God’s faithfulness to His word.

As I concluded our testimony, a young woman sat across from us crying. Her financial need is great. Like we had been, she has no visible way of provision for a need greater than her income can ever provide. We concluded by praying for her, asking God to show Himself, the exceeding abundantly God— Jehovah Jireh.

Is a financial miracle what you need— or a healing miracle? Perhaps you need a marriage put back together— or a child to return home alive and safe. Our text says— “No one can measure the depths of His understanding.” There’s something else which can’t be measured, His depth of love for His children. May I suggest you fast and pray, until you know inside your knowing place, God understands. He will provide. It’s your choice. You choose.

LET’S PRAY: Jehovah God Thank You for being more than enough to meet our needs. Whatever we face, You are able “exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think.” Help us all to believe in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

#Jesus Christ #lord of lords #Word of God #Holy Spirit #God #it's your choice #devotional #knowing #place #testimony #income #tripled #miracle #debts #love #hope #faith

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vroenis · 3 years

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Part 2

This is part 1.

It turns out reflecting over my whole life is going to be a daily affair. It doesn’t really feel that different. Also I don’t know when it started.

- When a domestic interaction induces stress, my immediate response is to reduce external signs of my presence in that space. I look for objects that indicate my presence and remove them. I am an extremely tidy person, but things like shoes etc., I’ll withdraw them from a common area i.e., foyer, and put them in the most invisible place possible such as in a bedroom wardrobe.

I’ve been doing this for a long time. I also do this socially. When I read friction or difficulty between myself and others, I withdraw from them, even when it’s one-sided on my behalf. I wait for them to demonstrate to me that they want my company, which leads to

- I’m confused as to why people don’t demonstrate that they’re desirous of my company enough, even if obvious and understandable logistics prevent it.

I appreciate that as an autistic person, I spend a lot of time in self-observation, so I may have quite literal timers running on how often I’ve been communicating with the various people in my life. For neurotypicals, I assume much of this is allegedly natural, whatever that means, so if it isn’t, I don’t know what’s happening. I’m left to assume I’m not welcome. If I’m not welcome, I’m abandoned.

- There are people in my life who have had greater awareness of my health states than others and for a longer period of time, who have nevertheless behaved in manners that I can only describe as controlling, manipulative and abusive.

Today is the day I’ve realised this and I don’t know what to do about it. They hold positions of immense power in communities. I don’t need retribution, that’s not something I’m ever interesting in, but knowing something means reconciling it and never unknowing it. They won’t acknowledge it, won’t recognise it, will absolutely deny it, will be deft and intelligent at disarming and gaslighting, and I suspect may have for a long time been subtle in what they communicate to others in shared social circles about who I am and behaviours I exhibit. This is the first time I’ve ever spoken about these things. Until now, I’ve thought of these people only in good faith. The sinking feeling I have is that their behaviours have for a long time affected others and will continue to into the future. And I don’t know what to do about that.

- I keep thinking back on things I’ve done and now that I understand myself and autism, I know exactly how I fucked-up and I wish I could go back and explain to everyone I ever met why I did the things I did and how I wouldn’t do the same things again.

Over time my self-observation and self behavioural analysis has taken over so much of my time and energy spend, not only on the present i.e., what I do in the present right now, but on reflection and how I’ve made mistakes in the past and even things I’d taken for granted; interactions from the past I may not have ever rostered for assessment. My entire life would have had a myriad of different trajectories had I been aware of ASD. The earlier I’d had awareness, the more things may have changed. I did mention this before with regards to bipolar, as in I’ve had my bipolar diagnosis for longer hence more awareness, more education, more management, but now with autism and neurotypical/neurodivergent behaviour I keep going back thru my entire life or events and interactions keep coming to me - my mind brings them to me for assessment as if to say “so what about this, then?” - not in a malicious way, either, I genuinely enjoy it, it feels like the action comes from a place of curiosity because I genuinely want to know. So many things that hadn’t made sense or had baffled me or were incongruous in my life are beginning to connect and make sense and it’s simultaneously pleasing but also sorrowful to have happen.

I don’t ever seek to alleviate myself of my accountability, I would never seek to say something wasn’t my fault as if to treat my autism as this thing that’s somehow separate from myself. I’m still me. I still did what I did. I just wish I could explain it to people and apologise to them because I’m still so so sorry and no matter who they are, even if I still don’t like them, every human deserves respect and dignity. Outside of the fact that so many things are so difficult for me to navigate in this life, regardless - I still don’t want to harm other people.

- Showers are surreal and wonderful instances of suspension and isolation.

There are few activities that can suspend time but a shower seems to be one of them. Being enveloped in heat, moisture and constant, sustained sound is immensely pleasing. I enjoy clarity of thought in which I can meditate, pursue linear, parallel, multi-dimensional, scattered or nebulous meandering thought-spaces, or simply be in suspended null-space and simply hear and feel. There are the actions of washing, including those times that are wash days for my hair, and then the rest of the time is simple state of being. I can’t simply treat a shower as brutal utility. I have few moments of peace left in my life, let me have this one.

- Oddly either I don’t stim as often or only in specific circumstances, or in specific ways, or I’ve been admonished so often by others that I’ve clamped/suppressed it so hard I can’t do it any more. Nevertheless, when other people keep making human noises all together at the same time, I become distressed.

This is a different statement to the human noises of people doing their shopping at the grocery store/supermarket. These situations are more specific to perhaps being in a room together attempting to focus on something specific or driving in a car. It’s difficult for me to be specific because in certain contexts, a cacophony of speech and noise is not only understandable and acceptable but totally fine and encouraged as in, I will encourage and induce it and I’m totally fine. Some specific board games would be good examples and I love them and enjoy them. This would make it understandably difficult for the neurotypicals around me to try and understand under which circumstances I might need calm and peacefulness given I’m not always a quiet person, altho perhaps my own behaviour at the time might assist in telegraphing that. In some situations, people seem *to me* to begin emitting strange and unrelated noise that is difficult for me to reconcile and my response is distress. This is likely due to the lack of ability in psychoacoustic filtering. Neurotypicals can remove/ignore sounds, or have some or all of it have a reduced effect on them. I can’t speak for all ASD people but I’ve never been able to do this. All audio stimulus arrives and is processed with equal importance at all times. To loop back to the music and advertising at the supermarket, this is why I have to remove the music and advertising that plays at the supermarket, because it’s so godawful and I can’t bear it and I *can’t not hear it* and I *can’t ignore* it.

- Most neurotypicals don’t know that many of their behaviours induce stress to neurodiverse people. I don’t know how to educate them directly.

This is an edit so I hope I can get this in before too many people miss it. Some people are really receptive to learning about something and making an attempt to modifying their behaviour, others are less so, especially the elderly which for some of us at our age, means our parents. The other challenge is depending on our stress levels, it can be extremely difficult to communicate in a way that is conducive to others hearing it what our needs are. I should stop speaking in the collective and speak in the individual/personal. Unfortunately when I’m distressed and people around me ask “what’s wrong?”, that’s probably the worst time for me to tell you what I need i.e., that something you and/or everyone present is doing something that’s causing me distress. I know and understand that no-one is intentionally doing anything to cause me stress, but neurotypicals tend to take it personally.

Often NT’s first response when we tell them something they’re doing is causing stress is to get offended and say

“I didn’t mean to do this to you”

and we didn’t say you did - that’s not the point. The point is it’s distressing anyway. It’s a bit like an industrial jackhammer down the street. It doesn’t mean to offend me either, it’s a machine. It’s still battering my ears, tho. (I usually don’t mind industrial jackhammers, by the way).

This is why I’ve generally not ever said anything about anything that distresses me my whole life, I’ve just suppressed my reactions and endured it.

I’ve been suppressing and carrying so much my whole life and I think doing that has been taking it’s toll and I don’t know what the long-term consequences of that are. It’s beginning to leak, now, at my age, and I can’t really do it any longer, because I’m tired. I need the people around me to understand and help me cope.

- Only this week, in May of 2021, am I learning that Tumblr is actually a wonderful place and resource for neurodiverse people.

I will always adore and respect the rebloggers, I love you all. I’ll never be someone who reblogs endless content but I’m so happy to see people doing this, it’s a way to keep content alive, keep it distributed and keep it visible - don’t ever stop. But what I have found is that the autism tag has a high volume of people actively writing about their experiences, whether it’s their encounters with the medical industry, the process of diagnosis, social stigma, daily interaction, challenges or triumphs. All of it is important - all of it - the memes, the writing, the twitter screencaps, the push against the bad orgs and systemic misunderstanding, it’s been heart-warming to go exploring. While I write wholly on my PC, I tend to go exploring on my phone and I’ve saved started to save a few hilarious memes, but also really touching and meaningful images that mean so much because they capture so perfectly what our lives can be like.

We might be strewn across the globe, separated by kilometres and miles, we may never meet in person, and we may be very different people and personality types with broadly different artistic and cultural tastes from a myriad of different backgrounds, but in this we are united and we have this common understanding.

So far this week if I have two good things, it’s showers and Autism Tumblr.

#2021 #chrono #mental health #autism #ASD #bipolar

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