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#single person on earth has any reason to care about it and why should they! so I just feel like crawling into a hole and sulking like a piss

mysteria157 · 2 months

Text

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x Black Fem Reader

CW: Profanity, Light Angst, Alcohol Consumption, Explicit Sexual Content, Missionary, Cowgirl, Fingering, Fingersucking, Cunnilingus, Slight Dom Reader (not much), Car Sex, Bathroom Sex

WC: ~16k (It's long so get some snacks)

Summary:

Maybe you're single for a reason. You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations, and you refuse to settle for less. For the ones who aren't worth the air they breathe, you chew them up and spit them out. You savor the taste so you know what to avoid the next time.

So when he looks down at you with that devilish smirk and calls you 'Princess', you're determined to prove that Toji Fushiguro is no exception.

Notes: Hello! This is my first fic with Toji and I'm nervous to get it out here. The setting of this fic and the elements I incorporated connect a lot with my own childhood and the memories (not the interactions in this fic) that I had at family cookouts and get-togethers. Reblogs, likes, or comments are always appreciated! Happy reading!

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon Header: myself (stability.ai)

Masterlist | Ao3 | Twitter | **Sequel**

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

“Can I get you a drink, princess?”

When you meet Toji Fushiguro for the first time, it’s on the fourth of July at your uncle’s house. It’s a big get-together at a two-story house located in the countryside. Every year he opens up his spacious home for a gathering of your extended family to bring excessive amounts of alcohol, play old school rap and R&B too loudly, devour delicious fucking food, and set off fireworks that have been collected since the beginning of the year.

Your uncle has already made a home by the grill and taken control of the speakers after one of your younger cousins attempted to play something ‘a little too racy’ for his tastes. You’re pretty sure it was an Ice Cube song from the 90s that your uncle hates but is too proud to admit, so he lectures your cousin about ‘what young folks should be listening to’ instead.

The smell of hamburgers and ribs has been teasing your nose for the past hour, and your hunger is borderline unbearable with each sniff. You avoid the allure of the long table of food because if you look, you’ll be three plates in before the meat is done. There’s coleslaw, baked beans, greens, and macaroni and cheese. Your favorite aunt also brought her potato salad and you know she’s going to make yellow cake with chocolate frosting fresh before the fireworks. You love it so much and you were deprived of it last year when you were called in to work at the last minute. You will get some today.

The backyard is expansive and well-maintained, and your cousins and aunts have already laid their claim on swanky cushions of the nice patio furniture.

The one cousin you’re closest to in age and personality sits next to you on a large blanket a few yards away from the rising volume of your extended family. You were able to get a good ten minutes of conversation from her before her fiancé showed up and made a home inside of her mouth.

Your family normally has something to say about PDA—a stupid quip about acting ‘too grown’ even though you are both knocking on the door of thirty. But she doesn’t care—just like you, that’s why you like her so much even though her fiancé is sucking on her face like it’s his last day on Earth.

Shiu Kong is nice—gentle in his own way and carries himself with a bored air that seems to pull your cousin in. He’s enamored with her, practically folds in on himself when she’s around, and worships the ground she walks on. They’ve been together for a few years and you’ve never had a problem with him.

But that just might change today because he’s brought along a friend who has already ignited a flame of arousal and annoyance deep within your belly. From the moment Toji Fushiguro stepped into the backyard with Shiu, your family was transfixed. Your aunts can’t stop ogling, and your uncles and male cousins try to jokingly size him up.

“Oh honey why don’t you sit down, don’t be shy. Lemme get you something to drink.”

“That’s not steroids? It’s gotta be. Don’t play.”

“How much you bench?”

It’s annoying. So fucking annoying but you can’t help but agree. He’s a little older—maybe early thirties—but dangerously attractive.

Raven hair that reaches his ears, looks unbelievably soft and falls over emerald green eyes. A grey shirt hugs him too fucking deliciously for your comfort and dark jeans hug an ass that’s too fucking juicy. He’s a big man—a burly man and unfortunately, that’s how you like them.

Big, burly like a bear, respectful, and capable of making you feel small and protected but also valuing and worshipping you as a woman. Unfortunately, such men are hard to come by because you tend to intimidate them. You don’t tolerate disrespect in any form and quickly put men in their place if they try to undermine, belittle, or confuse protection with control. You know what you want, and you refuse to settle for less.

They can’t stand it.

And right now, you can’t stand Toji. As he looks down at you with a well-worn smirk on his face, a smirk that suggests he has plenty of experience in situations like this, your irritation grows. He’s a smooth talker, confident in almost everything he says. His voice is deep, but melodic in a strangely feminine way that makes his words slide like silk down your back, and the minute you heard it, your thighs threatened to rub together.

Definitely a smooth talker. But the nickname you don’t care for.

Princess.

Like you’re a dainty little thing who will bat her eyelashes and call him Daddy. It makes your walls of self-defense rise even higher, and the gentle smile you had given Shiu when he first said hello moments ago transforms into the beginnings of a frown.

Without hesitation, you rise to your feet, plant your wedges firm into the grass, and turn away from them before muttering, “I’m good.”

Toji simply shrugs; a gesture that annoys you even more because he doesn’t offer any other reaction that satisfies you. He settles into your previously vacated spot, leaning back on his hands. The jacket on his shoulders falls open and the sight of his shirt hugging his muscles is too much for you.

You inwardly curse as your eyes wander over his physique. Thick pectorals that you could easily rub your face against and make a pillow for yourself to sleep on stretch the fabric in a way that you’re sure it’ll rip. Abdominals tease just below the surface of his shirt that clings to him like a second skin. You want to lick between each one, press your teeth into the hard skin to make him wince and beg as you count each one.

Four, six, eight?

Fuck.

You don’t show how you want to straighten your spine against the chill of being caught staring. That smirk is on his face again, tugging at the corner of his mouth. There’s a scar on the right side that slashes vertically over his top and bottom lip and you dislike the arousal that begins to boil between your legs from the sight. You wonder how he got it. If it was a fight, did he win? The thought of him wrestling another man to the floor and taking a cut to the face in the process shouldn’t arouse you, but god it does.

His eyes make you think of moss as you watch them slide up your body, and it almost feels like invisible hands caressing you. They’re large and pale, littered with scars along the knuckles as they glide up your exposed chocolate legs, dip between your inner thighs, and caress the curves of your hips.

“See something you like?”

He’s ogling you but has the nerve to try and put you on the spot? You have enough self-control to let logic worm through the rising lust inside of you. You sneer down at him, sharp enough for Shiu to visibly pale and your cousin to giggle at.

“To be honest, I don’t really see much.”

You don’t give him a chance to retort and you pretend not to hear the soft hum of nonchalance he throws back. You walk away from them, turning just in time to shield the way your eyes widen at the feel of your face and neck prickling with heat.

The moment you close the bathroom door inside your uncle’s house, the breath trapped within your lungs escapes in a rush. You press your forehead against the wood and the coolness of it offers only little relief to the burning of your skin.

You turn your head and press your cheek against the wood so the cold surface can slide along your cheek as you open your eyes to take in your reflection.

Of course, Toji would ogle you. You’re confident enough to know your beauty.

A red sundress that hugs your curves, stops at your mid-thighs. Knotless braids with curled ends are piled on top of your head in a loose bun with a few strands that spill along your hairline.

You’re good-looking. But you’ve been out of practice with a man for a long time. Your last relationship ended when you caught him balls-deep in your coworker. You’re too shy to pursue a one-night stand and not detached enough for a situationship.

However, you could risk it all for Toji and you hate that you’re entertaining the thought. You hate that you’re imagining him barging into the bathroom, bending you over the counter, and taking you from behind with his large hand digging into the small of your back and whispering how much of a good girl you are as you beg him to cum.

God, get yourself together.

To calm yourself down, you find solace in your uncle’s quiet kitchen. There’s only one person occupying it, your favorite aunt, who is heavily pregnant and working on the yellow cake that you’ve been thinking about all day. You use the opportunity to distract yourself and take over for her, shooing her away to relax in the backyard.

You crack an egg against the off-white countertop, fractures splitting up the sides before spilling its contents into the silver mixing bowl in front of you. A self-deprecating thought slithers in your ears, and whispers loudly with wicked intention.

Toji wouldn’t want a woman like you.

You’re too outspoken and mean to men, too demanding with your expectations. It pushes them all away, and although you normally take pride in keeping away those who aren’t worth your time, it can get lonely.

To see your ex actively cheating on you was icing on a cake that was slowly cooking in an oven of your own self-doubt. You have standards, and while your friends consider you the voice of reason in their misfortunes with men, most members of your family think you’re too picky. You’re too much work, ‘you think you know everything’.

“Men will always have a wandering eye, it’s up to you to keep them in check, girl.”

“Honey, I love you, but the more you pick apart a man, the less he will want to be around you.”

“They love it when you cook for them, girl. Take care of your man and keep him fed and you’ll keep him forever.”

Bullshit.

It’s bullshit to take care of a man in the same way his own mother does. It’s bullshit to lose all sense of self and independence, to wait on a man when he gives you less than nothing in return—when he can hardly give you the bare minimum. You don’t mind cooking for a man who takes care of you, who loves and values you, who would never hold you back and would encourage you when you can hardly encourage yourself.

But all the good ones are in relationships now, married with a few kids, and in your resolve to stay strong and weed out the bad to find the good, it’s left you a little bitter.

Most black families are old school, and yours is no exception. They hold ‘for better or worse’ a little too close to their heart. They cling to an ideal that a man runs the household down to the basics in a way that makes you uneasy and in your defense, you snap when you’re backed into a corner.

You love them, you truly do, but they probably will never understand just how aware you are of the world and how little you are willing to put up with the problematic things that others consider normal.

Your ex was great at first. But he got comfortable. And when he got comfortable, he got lazy, a little too controlling, and a little too frustrated when you asked for certain things in the bedroom. The only person who knows about your breakup is your mother, who had the gall to be out of the country for work, leaving you to fend for yourself for today.

You watch as the batter spills on each side of your wooden spoon, parting and then falling back together like sand. In your reverie, you don’t notice a few of your relatives who have now entered the kitchen and are roaming through the fridge. You can hear one of your least favorite aunts—the bitchy one—playfully joking with someone, and whatever drivel comes out of her mouth makes that person laugh. It’s deep and suave enough to make a tingle of electricity stutter down your spine because you know it’s him.

Refusing to look in their direction, you continue mixing the batter until the lumps disappear.

“You been hiding in this kitchen for awhile now,” your aunt begins, Atlanta accent the most grating it’s ever been as she turns her gaze toward you. “You’re normally a little more talkative when your man is here. He not coming?”

There is not a trace of genuine concern in her tone. You and her bicker often; she presses your buttons and then gets mad when you press back. Your ex’s infidelity is ammunition you don’t want to give her, but being caught in a lie is something she would only treasure more to use against you later.

You clear your throat and turn the spoon in the batter once, then twice before answering without looking her way.

“No, he actually came inside of my coworker a few weeks ago. So we split up.”

You can feel the noise before you hear it—a characteristic and sharp ‘mmm’ that seems to be ingrained in your family’s DNA. It makes your grip tighten on the wooden spoon, and you scrape along the bottom of the bowl until it screeches on the metal.

“You gotta watch out for this one, Toji. She’s always been an outspoken one. Too good for ‘em all and likes to be a little mean to her men.”

You scrape harder and then turn to her, a sickly sweet smile plastered on your face.

“You’re right. The fact that I won’t settle for someone who will get bored with me after a few years makes me way too good for them. Should have turned the other cheek just like you did with your last husband. Or…was it the one before him?”

You catch the way Toji pulls his lips in to bite down on them, scar twitching as he fights to hold in a snicker.

Your aunt glares at you, purses her lips, and turns them to the side before pulling in a noise that has been passed down for generations. Her mother and her mother’s mother used the very same tactic to strike fear and insignificance in their children when they talked back. It’s a sucking of air between her teeth and the sound makes years of discipline from your own mother flash in your mind like you’re in the trenches of war.

You know she wants to say something, and you can taste the ‘you always got something to say’ in the air before Toji slides from his perch against the counter and places a hand on your aunt’s shoulder.

“Let’s get you a drink, huh? Didn’t you say you wanted me to try the beer you brought in?” She throws you a knowing glare before letting Toji lead her away; because if there is one thing that will distract her from showing out, it’s letting a good-looking man touch her.

The shaking in your hands helps you sift in the dry ingredients—a mix of sugar, flour, and baking soda—into the batter. The breaths through your nostrils are heavy and thick with anger, and the corners of your eyes sting with heat. You whip the batter harder than necessary, your aunt’s words replaying in your mind like a broken record.

Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry. Don’t—

The sight of a can of hard seltzer pressing onto the counter in front of you makes the ramblings in your mind stop. Familiar long fingers unfurl from the can and slide on the counter, their fingertips touching the edges of your mixing bowl in an effort to get to you.

“I would have given you a bottle of beer. But I had a feeling you might bash it over your aunt’s head.” He’s not wrong, and in your frustrated state, you consider his defense admirable. “I like a fight, but I’m a guest and the food looks good.”

Your grip on the spoon loosens slightly as Toji leans casually against the refrigerator, arms crossed over bulging biceps that stretch the short sleeves of his shirt. His jacket is now gone, and you can’t help but notice the veins in his forearms that protrude, tempting you to lick against them.

It takes the sheer will to tear your eyes away and focus on pouring the batter into the bundt cake mold, observing as it fills the intricate crevices.

“So he cheated? Most men are pigs.”

“But not you, huh?” you can’t help but retort, shaking the mold to disperse the air pockets that bubble on the surface.

In your peripheral, he shrugs. “I know what I like in a woman and once I get what I want, it makes no sense to look somewhere else unless she wants me gone. I’m a man…but I’m a loyal man.”

When you meet his emerald gaze, you can see a hint of pain and vulnerability that unsettles you, tilts you back on your heels from the force of his honesty. You reach for the can of seltzer and take a long swig to give yourself time to get your thoughts in order. The carbonation is sweet and fizzles along the sides of your tongue and down your throat.

“So what is it you like in a woman, Toji?”

It’s a question that probably should have been left untouched, but your curiosity overpowers your restraint. You don’t want to go back outside, because if your aunt is still feeling particularly petty, she will say something that will only make you leave. And you don’t feel like letting your family win today.

Toji’s strong gaze certainly isn’t helping. Those invisible hands slide along the crevices and dips of your body, stroking the small of your back before pressing featherlight against the back of your neck. The hairs rise in response, your skin prickling with gooseflesh.

Unexpectedly, he pushes off the refrigerator and walks closer to you, and you’re too shocked to back away. Despite his imposing stature, you know he won’t harm you. There’s something about him that’s warm and inviting, soft and tender even though his exterior is hard lines and muscle. The two of you are now mere inches apart, and the air feels thin as if you’ve reached the summit of a mountain and struggle to breathe due to the change in altitude.

Jet black locks graze against a rough cheek, the tips kissing the raised scar on the side of his mouth. Up close you can see his features more closely. His eyes are sharp and intense with deep green between his lids as if hiding a pearl in an oyster. Thin eyebrows make him look more serious and cutting and you’re swallowing back drool because your nose picks up a faint whiff of woodsy amber emitting from his body. It smells cheap—he’s put together in the most basic sense—but it still smells…good.

“I like a woman who knows what she’s about. Independent and doesn’t fuck around. Smart and pretty with curves I can grab and squeeze. Someone with some sass and isn’t afraid to put anyone in their place.”

He steps closer and your lungs heave in a desperate attempt to pull in air. The brush of the wall against your back makes you stutter out your exhale and you press your palms flat against the cool surface to keep you grounded.

“I like a woman with nice creamy brown skin that smells a little like the cake she’s baking…” Through the sea of delirium, you distantly realize that he’s describing you. “The red dress definitely is a bonus.”

That familiar smirk pulls against his lips again and your heart is thundering in your chest. You would be surprised if he couldn’t see it thumping erratically beneath the skin between what’s exposed of your cleavage.

But this is just another trick in their book to get you in their bed. Or in the bathroom. Or over the kitchen counter.

And as much as you want to, you can’t give in. Because you’ll hate yourself tomorrow.

So you tilt your chin up at him and narrow your eyes at his amused expression.

“Describing me in place of your ‘ideal woman’? That’s boring. Go use it on my bitchy aunt, she’s got fillers in her ass so that’s more curves for you to ‘grab and squeeze’ when she throws herself on you after the Hennessey kicks in.”

Toji’s eyes widen slightly before a harsh laugh barks from his mouth. It’s surprisingly nice on your ears and rattles the drums inside in a way that you don’t dislike. He pulls away from you, giving you a few more inches of space and the altitude in the air seems to level out enough for you to take an inconspicuous deep breath.

“Nah, nothing against fillers, but I’m more of a natural man myself,” he admits.

“Cellulite and stretch marks?” you ask with a lift of a brow, teasing but…mildly curious.

You watch as that smile slowly slides on his face, teeth glittering and eyebrows raising. He looks like he’s hit the jackpot.

“The whole package, princess.”

Biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile, you push down the lingering arousal in your stomach, refusing to let it simmer. He’s funny and you appreciate a man who loves the raw and often overlooked intricacies of a woman.

His response is disorienting, throwing you off balance, and you’re unsure of what to do next. Your usual response is to talk back, to take delight in a man fumbling when his own cards have been turned against him. But you can’t think of anything right now.

You move around him to place the bundt cake mold into the oven, setting a timer with the plastic buttons above the stove. Snatching the seltzer from the counter, you lean back against the oven, putting a considerable distance between the two of you to think.

Toji mimics your movements, retreating to the fridge to relax against it, folding his arms across his chest, and god he still takes up the room. Even though you’re further away, it still seems like you can smell the cologne as if it’s sitting right on the skin below your nose.

“Do your moves always work on women?” you ask before taking a good swig of your seltzer.

He shrugs in response and turns around to dig a beer from the fridge. You don’t bother to hold back the urge to leer at him. You want to grab his ass, listen to him squeal in surprise, and blush in embarrassment when you squeeze. The thought of digging your fingers into the skin of it as he fucks you nice and slow makes your mind short circuit, a computer rebooting and making a loud noise before frying out indefinitely.

“On the rare occasion that I happen to use them, yes they always work. But…obviously not on you.”

“I’m not easy to win over. You need to be worth my time.” Your eyes flicker up to his face before he turns around to face you.

He takes a swig of his beer and you watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow. The column of his throat is long and pale and you want to slide your tongue along the side to taste the saltiness of his skin.

“What’s it going to take?”

His interest in you is admirable, and a small part of you is giddy with the attention. But you’re nervous to give him an inch when most are quick to take a mile.

“I have a name so stop calling me princess. I’m not a royal, so unless you’re offering me land, money, or power, I don’t want to hear it.”

He barks out another laugh, his thick chest shaking and eyes closing as he throws his head back. You despise how good it sounds and you’re reminded of these moments when men seem so beautiful and wonderful before the ugliest parts of them are visible.

“What else?” he inquires, still chuckling as he takes another long sip.

“If you’re expecting sex from me, think again. I don’t do one-night stands or friends with benefits. It’s messy and I just don’t have the strength for it.”

He seems to consider your remark as if he has no choice but to weigh your stipulation before signing a contract. Then he smirks that devilish smirk that makes your cunt pulse between your thighs when you know damn well it shouldn’t. You cannot be this turned on by this man.

“Not even if I have a big dick?” he teases.

He’s annoying and you’re mildly disgusted but still willing to banter with him, so you grimace and roll your eyes. “What, you want me to take a look first before I make up my mind?”

He full-on grins, the fucker. “If that’s what it takes.”

But in true fashion, you bounce back with your own quip. “Public indecency is a crime and I also don’t like to look at cock until after I’ve eaten something. It’s nauseating.”

Laughter erupts from him once again, loud and boisterous that it seems to shake the oven against your back. He probably thinks you’re joking. But you’re not. Dick already looks alien. Looking at dick on purpose without any sense of arousal is pathological behavior.

Your heart flips in your chest when he pushes off the refrigerator again, taking a swig of his beer as he saunters to you and the sight is criminal. Your fingers dig just slightly into the metal can in your hands, a faint pop emanating from it.

“What are you bothering me for anyway,” you can’t help but ask, frustration coating your words as you frown more at yourself than at Toji. “I have so many other cousins here who are single and would love to get their hands on you.”

At first, he doesn’t respond, and in the silence, you struggle to take a full breath again. You don’t like that he’s so close to you, but you also love the way he smells and the way he looks at you as if you’re someone and not something to fucking eat. You’re a fucking mess.

His head tilts slightly, and his hair follows the movement, brushing against his cheeks as his eyes take you in instead of scrutinizing you.

The air feels thin again, and you ready yourself to leave when your pregnant aunt suddenly barges back into the kitchen and stops short at the scene. Toji takes a slow step back, not really bothering to fumble at being so close to you. You’re sure he doesn’t really care.

She’s your favorite for a reason because she understands. She’s not dismissive and mean and she simply smiles knowingly at you both before gesturing with her head towards the backdoor.

“Time to eat. Honey, why don’t you show Toji what’s what before your uncles steal everything.”

***

He stays close to you when you both make it outside, and you do your best to ignore your bitchy aunt’s gaze from her perch in one of the patio chairs. The spread of food makes your mouth water and you waste no time grabbing a plate for yourself and absentmindedly handing Toji one as well.

“I’ve never had some of this before,” he admits, and his voice is a little apprehensive from next to you as he takes everything in. It makes sense, this is probably his first cookout…his first black cookout at least. Strangely, you’re proud to be the one to guide him along.

“What is this?” he asks, pointing to the heavy helping of greens and ham hocks on his plate minutes later. You’re both at a small table alone and away from the noise.

“Collard greens…it’s a cabbage that’s cooked in a pot for a few hours with spices and broth. The ham hocks give it flavor, cook it before you add the greens so the meat falls off the bone better.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing as Toji gives them a wayward glance, an arch of a thin brow that makes his features more handsome than they should be, and then he takes a tentative bite before moaning sinfully in appreciation. The vertebrae of your spine lock in place, stiff with a sudden chill at the noise as you picture it slipping from his lips while you ride him until the hinges fall off.

You take your own bite to stop anything stupid from coming out of your mouth.

You figure he has to eat to accommodate for his size but to see it in action is something else entirely. He finishes two plates in fifteen minutes and as he makes his way to get another serving, your bitch of an aunt speaks up from across the lawn.

“Why don’t you get up and get him another plate?”

Why don’t you shut the fuck up?

You grip the plastic fork in your hand tightly, digging into your diminishing potato salad and swallowing the vile that you want to throw her way.

Make your man a plate before you make yours, get him a drink, get him another helping so he doesn’t have to, keep him fed.

Maybe this is why you’re single. You want to scream. You want—

“Don’t listen to her. You’re still eating, don’t move,” he levels, and you don’t miss the hint of irritation in his own voice as he gets up. “The same seltzer as before?” he asks, pointing to your drink that you didn’t realize was empty.

“I—”, you fumble before clearing your throat. “I like the strawberry one…if there’s any left.”

He shoots a wink your way and your body ignites with heat.

Your cousin worms her way over when Toji disappears, and you try your best to ignore the sly look on her face.

“Defending your honor from our bitchy aunt? My, my, the perfect recipe for your feminist heart.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl, shoving the last of the potato salad in your mouth.

“He’s Shiu’s best friend. Moved here from Japan a few months ago and is living in the same city as you. It could be fate? You want his number?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap again, feeling exasperated but knowing that unless Shiu is here to stop her, she will talk until she’s tired or you’re swinging at her.

She giggles, undeterred and gearing up for more. “He’s single too. And you’ve got all our other cousins mad as hell because he won’t leave you alone.” You don’t reply, because you’re mildly intrigued and impressed with yourself. It’s nice to have the attention from someone so attractive; it’s just figuring out if he’s genuine that’s the headache. “When the music gets louder tonight…or when the fireworks go off, take him upstairs and fuck him on—”

“Didn’t I say—fuck you.”

She guffaws, loud and unabashed and it pulls a smile from the side of your mouth. You know she doesn’t mean it, you know that at gatherings like these, you’re the black sheep and she just wants you to enjoy yourself.

“Seriously though, cousin. Shiu doesn’t keep many around, but they’ve been friends since they were kids. That’s a good sign right?”

There’s some merit to it, but you still want to be careful.

And Toji Fushiguro makes it hard for you to be careful because he wants you around him all the time and is unashamed to show it.

Later in the night when the music is booming old school hip hop that your uncle won’t shut up about (he’s drunk), your other uncles—and a few cousins they will definitely con—have a table already bustling with spades. At first, you’re unsure how they convinced Toji to join, but he’s partnered with one of your cousins who has no clue about the game, and you realize they just want Toji to lose so they can feel good.

Feeling curious, you pretend to bring Toji a beer. He’s frowning down at the cards, irritated with his lips curled into a small scowl and your cousin is trying to act like he knows what to do, but his stupidity is palpable even from where you stand.

You offer him a beer and ignore the fact that the one on the table is still full. When he looks up at you, his sharp eyes hold you like a vice, frustration evaporating quickly before opportunity takes its place.

“Help me.” He doesn’t bother to hide the confusion in his voice and you can’t help the way your stomach flips.

One of your uncle’s snickers. “She doesn’t know how to play.” You do. “But she can try.”

You’re so annoyed, and you want to snap at him but Toji is pulling you closer to him with a muscular arm before you can. You’re in his lap before you know it, sitting precariously on a thick thigh with your back pressed against a broad chest and you can’t breathe again. The fluctuating altitudes are making you lightheaded.

Any other time and you wouldn’t hesitate to turn around and knock a man’s teeth in for grabbing you. But against your better judgment, you relax into Toji instead. His cheap cologne smells way too fucking good, he’s so big and warm against your body and your throat is drying up like you’ve taken a big breath in the middle of the Sahara.

“Don’t grab me like that,” you can’t help but grumble, only mildly put off.

“I improvised.” It’s a feeble excuse wrapped around a heavenly chuckle in your ear and you pray to whoever is listening, mentally offering up a sacrificial lamb, anything to ensure you don’t drip all over his thigh. “Now help me win.”

You do. Three times. He's adamant about winning and you're sure he has a gambling problem. And if your legs go a little numb from sitting on his thigh or if you lean into the way his outside hand slides to hold the curve of your waist, you don’t complain about it.

***

“You don’t dance?” Toji asks an hour later, joining you on the blanket that you occupied when you first arrived. It’s almost sunset, and the orange of the sky covers half of the backyard as your family revels in their merriment.

You shrug at Toji’s question, gazing at members of your family who are dancing in the yard. One of your loudest uncles is boasting about the music as he teaches one of your cousins dance steps. That used to be you so many years ago, and the moves are like muscle memory as you watch them. One of your aunts takes over the stereo, beginning what will surely be an hour of reminding everyone of the greatest hits.

You suddenly realize that it’s just you and Toji on the blanket. Your cousin and Shiu are off god knows where, and given her penchant for being a rebellious freak, she’s probably riding him on your uncle’s bed. The thought makes you shudder.

“Are you cold?” he probes, pulling you out of your thoughts.

It is cooler now, but that’s not why you were shivering. You’re ready to tell him no, to start shaking your head even as you watch him pull his own jacket off to place it over your shoulders. His hands smooth over your shoulders and down your arms as if securing it closer to your skin and your blood boils beneath your cheeks. Your skin isn’t light enough to show when you’re blushing, but you’re burning with nervousness.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you hiss instinctively, regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. The surprise is evident on his face and you immediately feel guilty. “I’m—I’ll only be mean to you in return.”

For the first time of the night, he looks angry. His eyebrows dip, the scar on his cheek twists with the harsh frown on his lips and he gives a severe ‘tch’ that makes you gape at him. “Why because you’re mean to men?” he snaps, impatient and free of any tease.

It raises your hackles instantly, and you’re talking back before you know it. “Exactly. So why don’t you take a hint and stop trying to get into my pants—”

You feel a rough finger on the side of your cheek turn you further towards him, preventing you from looking at anything else.

“You just don’t like bullshit. Stop acting up and let me be nice to you.”

For once, you don’t have anything to say even though your hand is twitching with the urge to slap the words from his mouth. You want to. It’s easy for you to fight back and push them away, you’re good at it. But you can’t fight the way his gaze seems to calm you down against your better judgment.

You pull your face from his hold and roll your shoulders, sliding out of his sharp gaze and turning back to your lively family. One of your cousins is arguing about why the Cowboys didn’t make it into the playoffs, and now everyone has something to say.

You pull in a deep breath, scolding yourself to relax just a little. He hasn’t been so bad, and you’re not one to make things intentionally difficult if a man is honestly trying. You’re still apprehensive about his intentions…but he is trying without being a beast. So you exhale your frustrations into the July air, calm down so your heart can steady its frantic pounding from the lingering scent of his cologne, and dig your fingers into your uncle’s well-kept grass.

“Fine. If I let you be nice to me…what would be the next thing you would say?”

You can’t look at him, but you feel his eyes on your body as you pluck a few blades of grass from the soil. The strands slide against the pads of your fingertips, rough and threatening to cut, before fluttering in the breeze when you release them.

He’s grabbing you again, tenderly but possessively, sliding you into his embrace so your back is to his muscular chest, his chin rests on the side of your temple and his arms wrap around your waist. Your heart is back to leaping in your chest, pumping loud and fast in your ears, drowning out the music and arguing as if you’re underwater.

“How about you tell me about your family?” he suggests, voice unmuffled through the thickness of your hearing.

It’s a random ask, as if he wants to impress them, as if you’ve been dating for a long period of time and he wants to be prepared to meet them for the first time. The thought doesn’t leave a bad taste in your mouth, even though you know it would never be a reality anyway. You don’t know if he’s just joking and frankly, the feel of him against you is warmer than his jacket on your shoulders and you don’t want to leave.

So, if it means he can stay put, you give in. You tell him about your aunts, uncles, and cousins—where they are from and what they do. You share your traditions when you all get together and the small intricacies you all share. It’s incredibly personal…maybe even too intimate. But he listens, and hums to let you know he’s paying attention, and asks you questions as you talk.

Eventually, his cheek rests on the crown of your head against your braids and you surprisingly don’t mind at all. When you notice his arms wrapped around you, you get a better view of the scars on his arms and fingers, and there is a rising urge to ask how he got each one.

“So she’s been married twice?” his voice is low in your ear so you can only hear him in the noisy backyard. His breath smells faintly of the beer he finished an hour ago, and it slides along the skin of your neck hot and thick. You resist the urge to cant your neck to the side to give his breath more room to roam.

You nod. “She got the fillers after the first husband. Those brought in the second husband. Then he left her for some girl in Cali.”

“Cali?’ he questions, confused.

You snort softly. “California.” You elbow him and the bone slides against hard muscle. Dammit. “You don’t know your states?”

“I’m foreign, not stupid.” The laugh that bubbles from your chest is sharp and you can’t help the smile that pulls against your cheeks from it. “I know my states!” He sounds truly annoyed and for some reason that makes you laugh harder. “Florida, Kansas—”

“I’m not asking you to prove yourself!” you sputter around a giggle, shaking in his embrace. But he’s not listening.

“Montana, New York…there’s another one…the big one.”

You gawk, turning just a little to crane your head up at him. He looks down at you with an embarrassed expression, his cheeks a little rosy even though his lips are flickering with the urge to laugh.

“I beg your finest pardon…the big one?”

The side of his face twists in the nastiest way, and he’s angry at being questioned. “Don’t—it’s the one down below!”

“In relation to what?”

His eyes narrow, emerald barely noticeable between thick lashes. You can sense his hold on you tightening slightly, his chest stutters in a huff and you realize with rising glee that he’s pouting. Normally you would revel in this…but—

“Texas,” you find yourself speaking up at him, voice soft and gentle on the edges. “The big one down below is Texas.”

He simply hums, his chest vibrating against your back, but his gaze is smoldering, taking you in and dipping down to your lips before flickering back up your eyes. You’re too hot now, his jacket against your skin too suffocating, your heart beating too fast against your ribcage.

You hate just how rebellious you like to be. “What, you gonna kiss me?”

The challenge is fleeting across his features and he leans down so quickly that you don’t have time to react. Your stomach flips with irritation at the implication that he would take from you without asking, and suddenly, you no longer want him touching you.

“I wouldn’t take it without asking,” he whispers in the small space between you both as if reading your thoughts. The tips of his raven locks brush against your cheek, there’s a slight kink in your neck from how you are looking up at him, but he’s so close that you don’t care. One of his hands skims up from your waist, caressing the curve of your ribs, and his thumb teasingly runs along the underside of your clothed breast. His touch is reactive in you, and you angle your body further into his actions. His gaze remains locked on yours, absorbing your very being without doing a thing and you’re fighting to stay in control.

“So can I?” he asks, voice deep with temptation. “Kiss you?”

You swallow the bucket of drool that has somehow pooled in the back of your throat in seconds. The thumping of your heart no longer fills your ears, replaced now by a deafening ringing, spurred by your growing desire as you open your mouth to respond.

“I…depends…are you any good?”

He nonchalantly shrugs, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as his scarred lips twist into a smirk. He’s completely calm and you can tell if you told him no, he would leave it alone entirely. But he’s enjoying this, you can see it all over his face.

“Jury’s still out.”

You don’t trust yourself to say ‘yes’. Some part of you feels like if it comes out of your mouth, it will sound too desperate and you want to stay in control as much as you can. But, you could give yourself this. You’ve earned it. Just one kiss and then you could hide away until the fireworks and then use the noise as a cover to leave. After all, he’s hot. He’s been so nice and honest and the warning siren in your mind has long faded.

You deserve a reward.

So you nod, stiffly but enough for him to notice, and the air seems to thin out again when he leans in a little more.

“Toji!” one of your uncles calls out, severing through the heavy cloud of lust between you both like a knife. You recoil from his touch, his touch now only making you itchy, and you pull from his embrace so that his arms unravel and his jacket slides off your shoulders. The cooler air is freezing this time against your skin. “Come help me with the fireworks, would you?”

You don’t pay attention to his response, because you’re already up on your feet and making your way inside the house. Your body floods with the embarrassment and shame of being caught by your family…kissing a man that you’ve just met. You know you shouldn’t care…but it’s so easy for their behavior to rub off on you when you feel vulnerable.

***

Thankfully, no one is in the kitchen when you finally make it inside. The music dulls down when you close the backyard door and the ringing in your ears is now silent.

You resolve to stay inside until the fireworks go off. No one is really paying attention to you anyway—most of them are drunk, others too absorbed in the music and gossip so it’s a perfect chance for you to duck away and show your face again next year.

Should you tell Toji goodbye?

No.

No, you hardly know the man. Just a few hours in good company and a kiss that almost happened that you probably would have let escalate. You probably would have let his tongue slide into your mouth. Probably would have let him pull you into one of the spare rooms, eat you out until you’re seeing stars, and then bend you over the edge of the bed to fuck you until he—

For fuck’s sake.

You yank open one of the kitchen cabinets in search of a glass. You need water because your body is piping hot. There’s a sheen of sweat on your neck beneath the layer of braids that fell when Toji laid his cheek on your head, and your hands are slick as they press into the counter to give you strength to peek into one of the lower shelves. Of course, the only one in the cabinet would be on the highest shelf. Of course, you’re too fucking short.

You climb onto the counter, knees digging into the off-white surface as you lift yourself up and peer into one of the higher shelves. You spot a glass, and you can have a heaping glass to cool yourself off enough to get you home. And then you can just use your vibrator once and go to sleep. Or twice. Or maybe a third time to get the thought of him out of your mind for the foreseeable future.

Unbeknownst to you, he’s standing behind you. You didn’t even hear the back door open and close. But you catch a glimpse of a long, muscular arm reaching past your ear to grab the glass. You’re frozen, your fingers digging into the wooden shelf, unable to turn around and face him, even though you can feel his gaze hot on your skin.

Your plan is shattered, and you have no choice but to come up with an excuse to leave him. You’re combing through scenarios in your mind as you slowly slide down and perch yourself on the countertop, finally facing him. He places the glass on the counter, away from you, and closes the distance between you until the ridges of his clothed abs brush against your knees. His hands are searing against your skin as they rest on your knees and you watch his thumbs trace an obscure pattern with a touch that is featherlight.

“Your uncle interrupted us,” Toji finally speaks, his voice carrying a hint of hopefulness despite his attempt to maintain a neutral expression. His gaze, so harsh and sharp, is alluring in its own way, tempting you to relax the steady clench of your thighs.

“It probably wasn’t a good idea anyway,” you chuckle, self-deprecation rising to the surface of your skin and prickling against the pores.

“Why not?”

Maybe because you would be too much for him and scare him away? Maybe the fear of being too demanding in bed, of not being able to stop once he kisses you, lingers in your thoughts, making the idea of having him only once and never again infuriating.

“I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. I’ll get you water and let you sneak away when the fireworks go off because I know you want to…even though you shouldn’t give a fuck about what your family thinks…but I would really like that kiss.”

Analyzing his features, you take in the sincerity reflected in the moss-green of his eyes. It’s a last-ditch effort to make sure something else isn’t hiding there, and you find yourself coming up short.

Slowly, you part your legs for him to stand between. His hands slide up your thighs tantalizingly slow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake before pushing the fabric of your red sundress up to your waist. You try to ignore the way the cool air on your panties does little to quell the heat radiating from them. His hands wrap around your waist and a gasp heaves from your lips when he yanks you to him, your thighs brushing the sides of his thick waist.

One of the hands on your waist trails up to the side of your neck, gently tilting your head up, so you can look fully at him as his thumb traces the skin of your bottom lip.

“You better make it good,” you challenge, hoping your faux annoyance can mask the anticipation building in your gut.

He sees right through it and simply hums before he leans down to finally seal his lips against yours. He’s a big man, an overwhelming man, and you feel it in his kiss as his lips take every ounce of breath you have in your lungs. He tastes like the pound yellow cake that everyone got to before you could and a hint of beer and it’s the perfect combination that you want more of.

His hands are under your dress, brushing beneath your thighs for traction and pulling you impossibly closer to the point where you feel your clothed center brush against the zipper of his jeans. You dig your hands into the fabric of his shirt, twisting and silently commanding for him to give you more. You open your mouth to coax him and his tongue is wet and insistent against yours.

You can feel your resolve dissipating in the air, fizzling against the heat that radiates from your body and your self-control is walking on a tightrope, precariously and seconds away from falling. And once it’s gone, you’ll be a woman unhinged.

He yanks you to him again as if its not enough, harder this time with a growl in the back of his throat that makes you gasp into his mouth, then rolls his hips against yours and behind his zipper you feel him hard and bulging and angry and oh—

You pull away with a harsh breath, gasping for air and biting back a moan that gurgles in your throat when his mouth works its way down the skin of your neck. Your skin is sensitive, and it buzzes with the touch of his lips and invokes a fervent need so deep within you that you’re losing awareness of where you are. You’re lightheaded, brain in the fucking stratosphere and you have to lay down, you have to—

He’s guiding you onto your back before you can do it yourself and the cool counter is a balm against the skin of your exposed shoulders and back. He looms over you from his place between your legs, big and muscular and reeking of hunger.

“Toji,” you try to speak into the air, stifling a whimper at the sight of him stretching out your leg to rest on his shoulder.

One of his large hands caresses the canvas of your calf before you watch his lips kiss your chocolate skin. His rough scar scratches against you in the most delightful way as his mouth kisses up your calf, bends your leg to get closer, and then resumes his touch on the inside of your thigh. His face should be melting with the amount of heat emitting from between your legs, but he must relish in the burn because the second his tongue slides thick and wet against your clothed cunt, you whimper pathetically into the air.

You have just enough common sense to break from the desire to be fucked thoroughly to whisper.

“Toji, we can’t,” you swallow against the dryness in your throat. “Someone could see.”

You can feel the impatience on his body in waves but he has to listen to you. If your family were to walk in here right now to see their niece or cousin being eaten out like a gourmet meal, the Earth would swallow you whole.

“Shit,” he hisses, pulling you into his arms and carrying you out of the kitchen. You don’t care enough to tell him where to go; you’re too hot, too wet in your panties, and your need is twisting at the base of your spine in the most irritating way, begging to be soothed.

You hear the beginnings of fireworks being popped off in the backyard and your family is loud, thankfully so loud as Toji locks the door to the bathroom and drops you unceremoniously onto the counter. Though the metal of the faucet digs into the small of your back and you fall into the mirror as you clamber to get yourself in order, you can’t bring yourself to care. He’s on you again, all teeth and lips and sinful tongue in your mouth with equally sinful hands digging impatiently into the sides of your panties.

“Take them off,” you demand, practically whining and in less than a second you can only get one leg out before he’s sinking to his knees, eyes wild and shoulders heaving with untamed breaths.

“God, you’re so fucking wet. So damn pretty,” he whispers in reverence, throwing your legs over his shoulders, and the compliment makes your cunt throb in anticipation.

You can’t be sure if he’s talking to you or himself. Before you can breathe to calm yourself, it’s catching in your throat, hitching against a moan as his tongue licks a long wet stripe up the slit of your dripping cunt. His tongue parts your folds as if it’s the sea, savoring your essence and then sucking your clit into his mouth like it’s the cherry on top and you love it, whine at the feel, eyes crossing and rolling into the back of your head at the exquisite feeling.

He pulls away for a moment, taking a deep breath as if to regain control, and kisses the inside of your thigh before sliding two fingers up your dripping center, collecting your slick before beginning to rub circles on your clit. He’s mesmerized, and you take a moment to marvel at just how little of his green eyes are visible to you, his pupils are dilated with hunger and focused on the way your cunt moves with his fingers.

“Your bitch of an ex ever eat you out?”

You really don’t want to think about him right now, and you also don’t like the thought of someone feeling like they need to prove themselves to you.

But there’s a big man between your thighs who wants to unwrap you like candy. So you shrug, panting softly as you speak, “Every now and then.”

Toji scoffs, eyes seeming to darken like a forest at night.

“Every now and then,” he parrots, voice incredulous as if he’s heard the most insane thing ever, like he can’t believe it.

He increases the pressure on your clit harshly, causing you to buck against him, yelping in satisfied shock when he flicks your sensitive bud hard with his tongue.

“I’ll make you feel good, princess. Don’t you worry.”

The nickname doesn’t have the effect as before. No, this time you moan in response, your guts churning with satisfaction at the prospect of being worshiped.

Slowly the two fingers on your clit slide into you, testing the waters, gauging if you’re okay, and your jaw slackens at the feel of the stretch. Fingering is an art, an act that requires patience and skill. You have to know the right pace, when to curl, how to know a woman’s body to determine what she wants. It’s glorious when it’s done right.

And god, does Toji do it right.

He’s thorough and fluid in his strokes, using the tempo of your moans to curl at just the right time and sucking and licking your clit like he’s ravenous and your head is falling back into the space between your shoulder blades, eyes wide with disbelief as you stare at the ceiling.

The fireworks are consistent outside, popping off every second and it’s loud enough that you have the courage to voice how Toji is making you feel.

“Every now and then,” he hisses again to himself, angry and curling his fingers a little harder. You jerk against him, whimpering like a fool when you feel his tongue flick your clit harder as a reward. “He’s so fucking stupid. You taste so good, it’s unbelievable.”

He’s curling more now, brushing against that spongy wall that zings heat to your belly. Your insides churn, a molten heat popping to splatter against the base of your spine, pleasure coaxing you to reach that precipice that will let you fall apart.

Vaguely you hear him whispering words into the skin of your thighs that you can’t decipher, the thrumming in your ears too loud to hear anything else beyond the fireworks outside, your escalating moans, and the obscene sounds of him slurping you up. The muscles in your thighs begin to tighten, your fingers are sweaty as they slide against the cool marble of the bathroom counter, and you dig your wedges into the muscles of his back, white panties dangling off one ankle. He’s so good, so thorough and your breath is hitching, choking on a moan.

“There you go princess, cum all over my fingers. Get me nice and messy.”

His deep words are accompanied by a sharp bend of his fingers and you’re cumming with a shout, rejoicing in the hot pleasure that puddles along your bones. It’s abrupt and overwhelming, pulling a sharp current down your body that makes your back arch until it bumps into the sink behind you. He’s groaning from his place between your legs, still pumping his fingers and licking your clit to collect as much of your slick as he can.

By the time you look down at him, you’re still catching your breath, your thighs tremble from the sudden chill injected into your muscles. You catch Toji just in time to watch him begin to slip his two dripping fingers into his mouth, but you snatch his wrist, riding off the high of your orgasm to slip his digits into your mouth instead. Thin rings of green widen in surprise and you savor the way his cheeks darken as you swirl your tongue around his digits.

“You’re unreal,” he gulps when you pop his fingers out of your mouth.

You shrug, not willing to show him just how powerful you feel, and wrap your legs around his waist, panties still caught on the buckle of one of your wedges.

“I’m letting you be nice to me, remember? So what’s next?”

With a harsh pull, he stumbles closer to you, his hands slamming against the marble counter on either side of your waist. His breath hitches as you hastily undo his belt, eyes widening as he takes in the way you leer up at him.

“You got me a drink, defended my honor from my bitchy aunt, asked me about my family, ate my pussy…you wanna fuck me now?”

“I—” he starts, caught off guard by your forwardness.

“You want to bend me over this counter, make me look in the mirror while I take your cock? Smack my ass and make me beg for you to fill me up?”

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Toji chokes on a nervous laugh, hissing when your fingers graze the sensitive skin above his belt.

“Is that a problem?”

The hair of his happy trail is faint and dark just like the hair on his head, and your touch makes his stomach bunch in sensation. He shakes his head in response and you want to laugh so bad at the sight of him struggling to swallow. You haven’t done anything to the man, but he’s sensitive to your touch, and that makes the blood in your veins sing.

“If you’re letting me have you, you can have it however you want.”

Arousal hums to life between your legs, and you can’t help but be turned on at how much he’s giving you. You want him now and while the prospect of being fucked over the counter was what you had hoped, if your family comes in and hears you taking it like a champ, you’ll never show your face again.

So when the door to your truck’s backseat closes, you’re climbing back on his lap, relaxing further into him with the knowledge that you can be as noisy as you want. Your uncle has a seven-month supply of fireworks and land in the middle of nowhere, Hennessey, and classics booming from his sound system… it’s going to be loud for a very long time.

You’re running on your own current of desire at this point, pawing at his shirt so he can finally yank it off his shoulders and you’re drooling. He’s glorious and you don’t hesitate to rub your hands down firm pectorals, between the abs on his torso, and along the musculature of his Adonis belt. He’s cut like a marble statue, something that takes a painstaking process to hammer and smooth over until the result is almost—

“Let me take you out,” he suddenly suggests, voice gravelly with want but insistent.

Huh?

You’re immediately puzzled, eyebrows dipping into a furrow as you try to decipher his words. His hair is wild, black strands splintering and bushy but still giving you a gateway to his eyes and you see that he’s completely serious.

“On…a date?” A lift of his thin eyebrow in reply and the reality of him actually showing interest flags dangerously against your desire to ride him into oblivion. “Just the dopamine talking, I’m sure,” you say, hoping to dismiss the idea. You hadn’t expected him to actually…want to take you out. You can’t think about that right now because your head is too thick with hunger to try and have a conversation.

He hums, low and dangerous, a hand brushing the skin above your clit and you’re reminded of just how wet you still are from his sloppy tongue minutes before.

“You’re the only one here that’s cum, princess. I’m being serious.”

“It’ll pass,” you reply immediately, licking into his mouth to shut him up.

Thankfully he doesn’t try to interject because you don’t have time to talk right now—you don’t want to. You don’t know Toji, not well enough. While tonight has been one of the most relaxed evenings you’ve spent with a man in a long time, you’re unsure if he genuinely wants you or if he’s merely carried away by the thrill of being with a woman.

He tried to come onto you the minute he laid eyes on you, tried to kiss you after a few hours, and pocketed your panties even though you pretended to be oblivious. You just don’t know. If you had a pretty girl in your lap, you would probably say the same things. Ask her on a date, make her feel wanted so she’s more giving when you slide her panties off.

It’ll pass.

And that’s what you tell yourself when you feel his large hands palm your ass beneath your sundress. You are teeth against him, nipping his tongue, biting the skin of his jaw, the meat of his neck, and the sharp groan that you pull from him in response makes you drip like a bitch in heat against his jeans.

“Take off your pants,” you whisper to him sharply, turning around and leaning over the center console to fish a condom from inside. You had discovered them months ago, and they should have been more than enough for you to dump your ex then.

“Shit,” you hear Toji hiss from behind you before your ass stings from his slap against it. You yelp, jumping from the contact and you hope he can see your cunt pulse from between your thighs in response. “Hurry up, baby.”

When you face him again, you freeze, eyes widening at the sight of his cock. As you take him in, he snatches the condom from your hand and unfurls it on his cock.

Surprisingly trimmed with dark hair, he’s thick—not enough to be painful—but enough to enjoy the stretch so you can ride him until he flatlines and enjoy the ache in your thighs in the morning. It’s perfect; pale with a red tip that leaks into the tip of the condom, a vein along the side that you can’t lick without tasting latex. It’s a shame.

He throws you that devilish smirk, eyes twinkling in pride before he taps his thigh and beckons you like the best ride at the carnival.

“Hop on, princess.”

Your fingers grip the hair at his nape when you feel him inside of you. It’s a delicious stretch that you have to breathe through, and the feel of his hands affectionately stroking your back catches you off guard. You don’t hate it; in fact, you want to lean into it, but you don’t want to give him any ammunition for something you aren’t sure about. So you slide down to the hilt and listen to Toji curse sharply through the sudden heat of you before you start a steady rhythm that throws him off.

Within seconds, you increase your pace, riding him with an intensity that makes the air in your throat catch and drag along the sides. He’s got a satisfying curve to him that grazes those magical spots within you to make the grip on his nape tighten like a vice. Your head is foggy with an overpowering mist that makes your mouth loose and your inhibitions low.

“You feel so good,” he whispers, pulling you out of the delirium you were basking in to focus on him. His jaw is relaxed, hot air puffing from between an open mouth and onto the skin of your neck, a few strands of his hair stick to his forehead and the sides of his cheeks and there’s a slight furrow to his thin eyebrows as if he’s trying to concentrate.

You’re giddy with desire. “Let me guess,” you tease, lips brushing against his. “Am I tight?”

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation, eyelids hooded and upper cheeks darkening with a blush that spreads down his neck.

“Am I nice and hot?”

“Yes, fuck yes, baby.”

It’s meant to tease, because every man that has ever slid inside of you in the past says the same shit, but to hear it from him brings a strange sense of satisfaction that you find yourself slanting your lips against his. He still tastes like the yellow cake that you never got, but the flavor is intertwined with the remnants of your essence that still lingers on his tongue that dances with yours.

You plant your knees harder into the seat on each side of him, use your muscles to bear down and give you more control, and then you roll your hips, guiding him in and out in a tantalizing dance that elicits groans from him and makes him roll his head back against the headrest.

“Let me take you out,” he gasps into the air and you refuse to answer him—you can’t. It’s harder now to believe his sincerity because he’s delirious with lust. “Answer me.”

You growl softly and yank your hands from his hair to push down the straps of your sundress. You’re not wearing a bra, and he cusses like he just stubbed his toe as he watches your breasts spill free.

“Stop talking,” you whisper and yank his head forward, beckoning him to you and he catches on quickly, licking and sucking a nipple before pulling it into his mouth. The sensation makes you shudder, a gentle pleasure that your cunt appreciates and you pick up your pace on him again. “Stop asking me. Just let me fuck you.”

He bites down in retaliation to pull a squeak from you and licks over the sting in a half-assed apology. When you look down, his gaze is illuminated by the streetlights, a harsh glare that showcases his annoyance with your deflection, but his eyes droop when you squeeze around him in response.

You’re stuffed full of him, stretching along the sides, punching the air out of your throat with each bounce on his cock and your legs begin to burn with the build-up of exertion. Your nipples are wet and sensitive against his taste buds as he teases each peak into his hot mouth and it helps to mix that pot of pleasure in your stomach to life again.

You can feel it, like a crescendo of waves crashing against a dock, but the waves are coming in quicker and more turbulent with every moan and cry that falls from your lips. You push him off of your chest, dig your fingers into his shoulders for more leverage so you can ride his cock like you have nothing left to lose.

His chest is blooming red, covered in a light sheen of sweat that dips between his pectorals and pools in his collarbones. Your bun of braids came loose when he was eating you out in the bathroom, and now some are heavy on your skin with sweat and plaster over your shoulders and between your sternum and you’re hot and sweaty and trying so hard to reign it in.

He doesn’t buck up into you and you’re unsure if it’s due to laziness or the fact that he simply wants to watch you while he brings himself closer to climax. You hope it’s the latter.

“Do you like this?” you pant into his mouth and nip his bottom lip. “You can tell me, you know. Be a good boy and tell me just how I’m making you feel.”

He groans and lands another smack to your ass that makes you gasp and arch further into him. It's the right amount of pain that makes your pussy pulse in response, the right amount of manhandling that can take you higher in a second.

“You’re a natural, princess. You ever ride him like this?”

You shake your head and he smacks your ass again, harder this time and digs his fingertips into the flesh to let the sting linger. It's so good, and you can't help the whine that you puff against his lips as he smirks up at you with a proud disposition.

“He couldn’t handle it. Probably why he cheated wasn’t it? You were too much for him. You know how you like it and he couldn’t deliver.”

You don’t answer him, but he’s right. He’s so right. He couldn’t stand it when you took control, hated when you asked him to do something that didn’t result in him being dominant, hated when he couldn’t even eat pussy without you having to ask.

The feel of his fingers on your clit makes you jump and you poke your fingers into his nape again and pick up your pace, panting and moaning like you’re running a marathon as the pleasure rocks inside of you like a pendulum.

“Oh god. Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you whisper, stomach burning.

You’re fluttering around him—pulsing and clenching and gushing over the thickest cock you’ve ever had and it’s glorious, you’re in fucking heaven.

The streetlight shines faintly into your truck, painting half of Toji’s face. He’s beautiful; that same annoying flicker of desire that captivated you when his green eyes met yours hours ago glimmers thin and dilated.

There’s a ruggedness to him that exudes masculinity, but glimpses into the depths of his eyes reveal a tender vulnerability that makes you wonder how soft he could be if he allowed you to get close enough.

The thought makes your cunt tighten around him, your thighs tense and fill with lactic acid and his fingers on your clit are unceasing, rubbing in a precise rhythm that makes you hiccup on a moan of incredulity. The hand not occupied with your clit is reclined across the headrest behind him and it makes him look unbearably sexy.

“I’ve never had a woman ride me like this,” he whispers, and you smile into his mouth, your kiss messy as you swallow down his compliment. He yanks you away and breathes that same insufferable ask against your lips.

“Let me take you out.” He rubs your clit faster, using the way you tighten around him as a guide to your pleasure, and his hand leaves the headrest to dig into the meat of your ass. “One chance. One dinner. I’ll give you what you deserve, whatever you want, princess. I promise just—”

“Stop it,” you whine and fight the burning sensation in your eyes. You’re so close, so fucking close and the storm inside of you is out of control but he won’t stop fucking talking. Won’t stop being so damn nice even though his cock is rearranging your guts in the nastiest way. You grip his hair and pull him closer to you so there’s no space between you to breathe. “Stop talking. Stop asking. Make yourself useful and make me cum.”

Thankfully he does. He scowls up at you behind the curtain of his hair but pinches your clit and you squeal, rolling your hips, riding him like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. The windows have already fogged up, the truck rocks with your movements, and you are consumed with a blissful incoherence that forces you to surrender and let your walls crumble.

Your thighs burn, your dress clings to your sweaty body, and the stimulation on your clit becomes almost unbearable as you whine with the need to cum. He hisses loudly into the car, bares his teeth for a second, and then his eyes roll before he’s slack-jawed and panting into stuffy air, a current of groans beneath.

“That’s it, Toji,” you gasp, voice strained as you teeter on the brink of an orgasm that threatens to overwhelm you. “Be nice to me just like you said and give me everything like the good boy you are.”

The hand not on your clit slips against the sweat on your hips, and you lick up the side of his neck, savoring the salt taste of his perspiration on his smooth skin, just in time to hear him. It’s faint and low, practically a whisper but he chants--

‘Fuck yes, fuck yes. So fucking good. Ride me, sweetheart.’

It’s tilted in a whine, pathetically desperate, but the sound of him does the trick because the flick of his fingers on your clit makes the biggest wave of pleasure crash over you.

You don’t get the chance to tell him you’re cumming, you simply yank his head back from the sudden force, tilt your head up to the ceiling and cum with an exhausted and wrung out ‘fuck!’ that you’re sure your uncle’s neighbors will hear a mile down the road. You’re dumbfounded with pleasure, dizzy with it and your belly is hot and simmering as you gasp and whimper at just how good it feels.

He’s laying you back on the seat before you can catch your breath. You’re still coming down, still moaning to catch up but his large hands are under your knees and bending them towards your chest to chase his own orgasm. The edge of the seat digs into the crevice of your spine, and your hand flies out to smack against the back of the driver’s seat so you don’t fall but it slips with sweat, is hard to hold onto and you can hardly focus with everything that’s going on.

His mouth is on you, stealing your breath that you still can’t control, swallowing your moans as he fucks you with a ferocity that pulls your soul from your body. He pulls away with a deep moan and stares down at you with a look that makes you anxious—like he wants to see you again, like he wants to come to another cookout with your rowdy family if it means he can bother you some more—like he really likes you.

You know he’s going to try and say something that you may not be able to talk yourself out of, so you take the intense furrow in his eyebrows and the stuttering of his hips as a cue.

“You gonna cum?” you purr up at him, moaning weakly from the harsh thrusts that stroke you into overstimulation.

“Yes,” he answers without fail, eyes locked on yours. “Yes, I’m gonna cum. Fuck—”

Reaching up, you cup his cheek, unsure why but feeling an inexplicable need, and the words that fall from your lips help him across the finish line.

“Cum inside me, Toji. Take what you want and fill me up.”

His eyes widen before they roll closed and he’s slamming against you three times hard and rough before the deepest moan you’ve ever heard slips past his lips. He pants heavily stuttering tiny thrusts into you as he comes down, the tips of his hair drip a few drops of sweat onto your neck before he lowers himself to rest on top of you. He’s too big for the seat and his knee digs into the floor of the truck to maintain his balance. His hot breath washes over your neck, slowly calming down, and in your daze, you realize that you’re holding onto his shoulders.

The hard lines of Toji that you noted when you first saw him now feel gentle against you.

He rumbles your name into your neck and you’re cutting him off before the dopamine can speak for him.

“We should get back inside before someone finally notices that we’ve been gone.” He abruptly lifts to look down at you, annoyance etched on his devastatingly handsome face. He wants to argue, you can taste it, but your fear wins. “My bitchy aunt has been at me all night, the last thing I need is her snooping.”

He’s quiet still, the edge of his lips curling into a dissatisfied frown. It stretches his scar in a way that takes away from the beauty of his face. Makes him look more alien and you have to pull your gaze from him. But he doesn’t argue like you think he would. He doesn’t speak or try to talk back or voice how annoyed he is.

He slowly pulls out of you and you immediately miss the feeling, ties off the condom, and pulls you up tenderly from the seat. Your skin is sticky and the truck reeks of sex. The high has worn off and all that remains is the overwhelming unease that rises like bile in the back of your throat.

When you both are finally dressed and creeping out of the backseat, the cool air is a welcome feel to your overheated skin. It washes away your trepidation, if only for a moment. Toji looms over you, tall like a bear that you desperately want to sink your embrace back into, but he still doesn’t speak, and the crease of annoyance between his brows doesn’t leave. He should hold onto it. It will help him get over you.

“Do you mind getting my purse from inside the house? I don’t want to go back inside just yet and I need to check my phone.”

Impatience emanates from his every pore, yet you can sense his anxiety as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. But he still doesn’t fight and makes his way back inside without a word.

You lied.

Your purse is in the front seat of your car—you threw it up there when you both snuck into the vehicle in the first place, but his attention was too busy trying to feel you up than pay attention to the satchel hanging off your shoulder.

Once you see the front door close, you get into the front seat, start your car, and drive away without a second thought. Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly as the temptation to turn back tugs at you.

It may not be right to leave without saying goodbye, and lying to him has left a bitter taste in your mouth. Your family is too occupied with the fireworks and each other’s company to really notice your absence anyway, and you’re sure they’ll have no problem trying to distract Toji when he realizes that you’re gone.

The grip on the wheel doesn’t lessen, but you roll down the windows and let the evening July air wash away some of the sex that still lingers on the seats.

***

“So you did fuck him,” your cousin snickers over the speaker of your phone a week later.

It’s a Saturday night and you’re knee-deep in your wash day routine. It took you all day to take out your braids and the clear shower cap on your head traps the deep conditioner inside. You wipe away some of the excess near your ear.

You have Chinese waiting to be delivered, and you’re ready to finish your routine so you can go to bed. Your eyes are glued to your television playing some sort of nature documentary but your attention is elsewhere, specifically on trying to worm your way out of this conversation with your cousin. She’s called you every single day since the 4th and she’s done nothing but make you feel guilty about your abrupt departure.

As you expected, your family didn’t really notice your absence. But when Toji asked your cousin for your purse and then realized you had lied, he sulked in a lawn chair for the rest of the night before Shiu drove him home.

“Yes, I fucked him. So what?”

“Soooo do something about it. Fuck him again? He lives in the same city as you and is here indefinitely. Make a move—”

“It was a nice night, but he was already trying to flirt with me as soon as he saw me and I still entertained him and fucked him and—I shouldn’t have done that…I should have waited, maybe tested the waters more. He only tried to ask me out because he was horny as hell.”

She’s quiet on the other line, and you look up at the ceiling in exasperation because you can feel her annoying logic rev up before she fires away.

“So you’re just scared? Your ex cheated on you because he was a spineless pissy boy who slithered away because you didn’t take his shit. That’s not a reflection of you, at all. I know you like to have it all figured out before you make a decision, but not everything works out that way. Toji saw a fine ass black woman who talks her shit and he made a move. He’s a nice guy...a little rough around the edges, but truly…a nice guy. Someone for you.”

James Attenborough elegantly voices something about the cuttlefish on the screen while you try to contemplate what to say. She’s right. You hate that she’s right. It’s why you two are so close but still you retort in the best way you know how.

“Girl, fuck you.”

Her raucous laugh vibrates over the speaker in delight and you snort and roll your eyes when the doorbell cuts you off. The prospect of your Chinese food makes your mouth water and you’re rushing to the door.

Only it’s not your Chinese food at the doorstep, it’s Toji Fushiguro. Toji Fushiguro who is protected from the rain under the overhang of your apartment door with one hand in the pocket of his jacket and the other clutching a container. The annoyed look that you last saw on his face is gone, replaced by a neutral and bored look that seems natural for him, even though his eyes don’t convey that specific emotion. Those green eyes are reminiscent of your uncle’s well-maintained lawn as they look down at you with a nervous glint.

“Toji,” you breathe in disbelief. “How did you get my address…”

Your cousin squawks on the other line and swallows a giggle. “I’m gonna go—”

“Your cousin finally gave it to me.,” he replies simply and gestures down to the phone in your tight grip. “I’ve been trying to get it since you fucking left.”

“Damn, thanks?!” she barks at him. “Lemme get out of here, I’m getting another call anyway. Bye!”

You’re going to kill her. Slowly. Painfully and maybe in front of Shiu to get a few tears out of him if you’re feeling particularly evil.

You know she’s right about Toji, but you can’t do this. You shouldn’t have fucked him in the first place and you should have thought of a backup plan on the off chance that your cousin was going to be annoying and nosy as hell.

You ignore his intense and heavy gaze, shifting in discomfort, scratch the back of your neck, and blanch in horror when your fingers brush the edge of your shower cap. You’re wearing a large t-shirt, your feet are bare and your head is covered in a shower cap with deep conditioner leaking from the sides; a stark contrast from the calm and collected woman who snapped at him all day a week ago. Mortification washes over you in a heavy wave, drowning your mantra of not giving a fuck about a man’s opinion, and you step back to grab the door.

“Listen…I’m waiting for food and then I have to get ready for work in the morning. So you need—”

“You have time to spare then,” he cuts off and walks past you. You round on him, indignant in your gaze.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?! Get out, Toji!”

“You want me to leave? Hmm?” he asks, goading you like you don’t know if you’re sure.

You’re not sure, but—“Yes, goddammit! I shouldn’t have left but I don’t do this sort of thing! The moment you met me, you only wanted to get in my pants. And that makes you trying to ask me out while your cock is inside of me, a lot harder to believe!”

He firmly places the container in his hands on your kitchen counter, takes a deep breath to calm himself, and gives you a look that either makes you want to melt into him or slap it off his face.

“Listen—”

You’re on the defensive now, backed into a corner and ready to pull every card you have to just make him go away. “You here for a quick fuck then? Because you got me to let my guard down and because we had such a steamy time in the backseat of my truck, you thought, what? You could just show up and bend me over my couch?”

That flicker of irritation is back on his face and it crinkles the edges of his eyes, makes him look nasty and hostile.

“Fuck, will you stop—”

“Wanna have a little ‘situationship’ while you get acquainted with your new life here? Have me get nice and comfortable and as soon as I ask for something more, you’re jumping ship. Sounds like a good plan, doesn’t it?”

A sharp growl leaves his throat and he glares.

“Girl—” he starts and immediately stops, eyes wide as saucers at the venomous gaze that you shoot his way. There it is, a hint of a name to make you feel small and insignificant. It reminds you of your parents when you used to talk back and they slid the name to you in a warning to stop talking. You hate it and it stings that you have to hear it from him.

“Get out,” you bark, seething with a rage that brings a sting to your eyes.

He throws up his hands in frustration, looming like a bear from his place in your kitchen. “Will you just stop it!”

“I said—”

“Oh my fucking god—I like you!”

His admission catches you off guard, cutting through your anger, and you stare at him in astonishment. His face is red with embarrassment, eyes trained up at the ceiling as if asking the gods to give him patience. He takes a deep breath before meeting your gaze from across the kitchen.

“You don’t do this sort of thing?” he asks, gesturing between the two of you. You can’t find the words to respond, still too shocked, so you simply nod.

“What sort of thing is that? Flirting with you because you looked like the sexiest little thing in that backyard and I wanted your attention?” He’s annoyed, deep voice razor sharp as he speaks, but you don’t miss the step he takes closer to you.

“Me trying to make you feel better because your family is judgmental? Teaching me about the food you like because I’m not from here?”

He’s closer now and the air is thin again just like that night a week ago.

“Helping me win that little card game?” It’s spades, but you’re too lightheaded with how close he is to correct him. “Telling me about your family? What sort of thing is that? Hmm? Tell me.”

You don’t have a retort. You’re too stunned to speak even though you refuse to let the annoyed expression on your face vanish. You want to hold onto what little shreds of defiance you have left.

“You aren’t mean. You don’t tolerate bullshit, you don’t fuck around, and you put people in their place. You refuse to settle for less, and I already told you that’s what I like in a woman…And I like you.”

What do you even say? You never expected to see him again, and your mind is muddled as if you’re submerged in water. Your heart feels too big in your chest, your body too hot and sweaty and you’re nervous. He’s angry with his confession, almost annoyed and you’re beginning to realize that it is an emotion that’s second nature to him even if it’s not as intense as you think it is.

“Is that right?” you can’t help but test him, lifting a brow. You have to crane your neck just a little to look up at him.

He scoffs, the crease in his eyebrows smooths out and the scar on his lips twitches.

“Yea, that's fucking right. So…” he takes one more step closer and his body is brushing against yours. He smells mildly of toothpaste and bergamot from another brand of cheap cologne and the combination makes you weak in the knees. “Let me take you out.”

It’s the same demand that you’ve heard so many times now, but this time, it feels more serious, more meaningful with a hint of desperation. In the kitchen light, you can see just how silky his raven locks are and you grip your phone and the fabric of your t-shirt to resist the urge to run your hands through them.

“I’m listening,” you jest with a practiced air.

That wicked smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, scar adding a devilish flair to his features, and your stomach burns with the realization that he’s too cocky for his own good, and you’ve unfortunately grown to like it.

“Shiu has tickets for something here called…football? He’s taking your cousin and has two extra tickets. Come with me and show me how to win.”

You can’t help the snort that leaves your mouth and your stomach flips at the genuine confusion on his face. “We don’t participate in the game. We watch it. But it’s fun.”

“All the more reason for you to come with me.”

“I…”

It’s a compelling argument, all of it is. And you want to, you really want to give this a shot and just be vulnerable for once. Because Toji seems like the kind of man who would let you be just who you are and would never make you feel lesser than about it.

The feel of his large hands cupping your cheeks pulls you out of your thoughts, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are mesmerizing, like the color of pine trees right before the sun sets and you feel yourself weakening completely.

“One date, princess.”

The deep timbre of his voice does little to help you and it’s worse because it’s just how he fucking talks. You’re not a royal, and you don’t have land, lots of money, or power, but you can tolerate ‘princess’ if it’s coming from his mouth.

Just one date. You deserve it. You’ve earned the reward.

You wave away his hands from your face just so you can breathe a little easier. He chuckles but gives you your space, and makes his way to the door that you usher him towards.

“Fine. Make sure you bring cash because it’s easier at the concession stands. I want a pretzel…and a hot dog.”

He snickers as he pulls his hood over his head, obscuring most of his face except for the ethereal glow of his eyes. His teeth shine from his bright smile and you roll your eyes in response before watching him open your door.

“Toji?” you call, your voice softer…apprehensive.

He turns around to watch you shuffle to him, your feet and legs cold against the chill from the open door. You hand him your phone wordlessly and he takes the hint to insert his number. When he’s finished, you open your mouth to speak, lips shaping words that won’t come out—words you want to say. But you can’t. Not yet. Maybe one day.

For now, you throw him an annoyed eyebrow lift and grumble. “Parking is a real bitch, so pick me up early.”

You avert your gaze, frustrated at yourself for sounding so mean as usual. Because that’s just who you are. The bitter, mean—

A finger beneath your chin lifts your gaze to him and he kisses you full on the mouth, slow and reassuring, minty breath sliding into your mouth when he nips your bottom lip. The self-deprecating voice in your head finally quiets, smothered by a pillow held down by his scarred hands.

When he pulls away, that stupid smirk is on his face, but it’s not as teasing, and your heart does something weird in your chest that makes you swallow hard.

“Yes ma’am,” he replies finally to your demand.

You watch his eyes take in your form from head to toe before he kisses you quickly once more and ducks into the rain.

When you finally get your Chinese and place it on the counter to dig in, your eyes land on the container that was in Toji’s hands from earlier.

You peek inside, and your heart does that weird thing again in your chest when you see a heaping slice of the yellow cake that you never got to have a week ago.

Thanks for reading! You can find the sequel here!

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soleiltac · 1 year

Text

Okay, recently I found out the information from Disney Wiki that AUTO from WALL-E is the only non-sentient robot in the movie. And I don't feel like that. :(

I am aware that he is meant to be an antagonist, the "villain" of the story as he follows his directives like there's no tomorrow. But, I didn't think this trait should define ALL of his personality. Like, he clearly had emotions and showed them in a restrained way. Or at least I thought he did?

I decided to rewatch it.

Warning: spoilers, potential grammar, punctuation mistakes. Excuse me, english is hard!

***

Why do I think AUTO is a sentient robot? My observations.

• Every bot on this ship is capable of emotions, when why an intelligent steering wheel isn't?

• Well, why, he actually has them! You can tell it by his body language and a tone of deep synthesized voice.

He expresses:

1. Frustration, annoyance.

- "CAPTNNNNN D:" – AUTO said calmly.

2. Surprise.

- He is genuinely shocked to see WALL•E with 'the p l a n t' on his head. I actually laughed at his reaction.

- "n ot pos sible! 0:" every now and when.

3. He is persistent and blutantly stubborn. Strict on himself. Some people can be like that without any directives.

- Captain McCrea needed to give AUTO 'a stern look' for him to share the information about directive. AUTO reluctantly obliged. (At least he tried to reason with Captain.)

- "sir, i INSIST you give me the plant." (Dutch Van der Linde voice here: "he INSISTS...")

- (And the whole plot obviously.)

4. Anger, fear. McCrea: – You want it? Come and get it, blinky.

Auto: – N O.

- "E N ouGh" 😡 *flips the ship around impulsively*

- "NOT POSSIBLE D:" but with more panicking tone.

- "NoOOo..." when he gets deactivated.

• The whole sequence with manual is... interesting.

- At this point of the story AUTO ordered GO-4 to steal the plant from EVE to make her look defective in Captain's eyes.

- I felt how much AUTO and McCrea are tired of each other's presence. AUTO is patiently anticipating McCrea's attention, he is eager to do his job.

(- Captain tries to imitate jogging in his seat and AUTO for some reason looks at him with puzzled and uncertain look. )

- AUTO keeps pretending like he doesn't know anything...

• Which is actually not a common thing for robots. "Lying is a human emotion." (c) HAL 9000

And yes, hiding the truth is considered to be lying too.

It's not like he was instructed to lie by his superiors, they didn't care. But rather it's the tactic that he learnt while being active for 700 years. I bet he understands it would be much easier to secretly yeet the plant into space without bothering captain with a decision. I suppose it required some thinking in his mechanical brain.

When why does he show the captain an operation manual? Good question. My personal headcanon: he loves doing his job so much, it doesn't matter for him if it can increase risks towards his global goal. That is why I can tell it wasn't a programmed, logical decision of the machine. If non-sentient perfect AUTO knew about A-113, he wouldn't let captain see the possibility at all. He hasn't considered that his domestic human pet might get interested in whole "Earth" thing. And he hasn't considered sentient WALL•E and EVE as serious obstacles. He did a crucial mistake to satisfy his ego... Or... Or maybe not? It's a headcanon, after all. Maybe it was a part of protocol. Or maybe he tried to entertain McCrea. AUTO seems to care about him in some way as he didn't push him out off the power until the last moment. (uwu) Choose whatever you like more. It's a thought-provoking subject.

• That aside, have you noticed that there is not a single character in the movie who would not be terrified of having to leave the comfort zone? It's only AUTO, who is opposing this idea for the sake of survival. Recolonizing nearly-dead Earth is not an easy work, someone can get really hurt and, well, die. And knowing that AUTO is based on famous computer HAL 9000, who is, in fact, killed people because of his panic attack (he didn't want to be deactivated/murdered), this situation kinda gets a new meaning? It's an interesting perspective to look at AUTO's character, too. AUTO, like HAL, at the start of story was okay and non-hostile towards others. Eventually, as the story progresses, AUTO becomes more and more impatient, eager to complete his primary task, thus taking violent measures. In AUTO's eye WALL•E & EVE are rogue robots anyway, defected and dispatchable. But attacking the captain? AUTO's final step to AI "madness" was fighting the man he is designed to serve. And though I believe he wouldn't kill him, we can imagine AUTO was panicking at this moment. So, no programmed logic there either, pure emotion of fear and reckless behaviour, almost like HAL. And HAL is 100% sentient and conscious entity.

*** Well...

Maybe it's just me and my anthropomorphizing tendencies on non-living fictional objects. I can be self-projecting too much, so if you disagree, let's say it's my headcanons and leave that at that. After all, AUTO is a direct representation of BnL – heartless company, that destroyed life on Earth and continued destroying it in space. They made humans, their customers, helpless like babies! And I am afraid it could only be worse in the future, if it wasn't for WALL•E and EVE.

It's quite a tragedy that AUTO can't escape from this never-ending system of least resistance and comfort. He is the system. He is made to be an autopilot of Axiom, he IS the Axiom, programmed to do his job fully dedicated to the mission of saving mankind. And if he was really fully-sentient... well, it would've made his life even more miserable. What's the use of the steering wheel on Earth surface? It's not like they are gonna fly into space again. Captain's dead and woah, hello eternal loneliness, next generation forgets about your existence or decides to ignore it like a bad memory about containment. Even AUTO's closest henchman GO-4 is forever destroyed... *sigh*

I am overthinking too much, aren't I? Gosh, this wheel NEEDS a redemption arc. And friends. My heart bleeds for him, really.

#AUTO is a sentient being #with poor life choices #nevertheless #give him a chance to be nice #I made it angsty in the end #analysis?#text #wall e #wall e auto #my thoughts #ai

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polutrope · 1 year

Note

ok I slandered Daeron in the tags to that best singers poll and I FEEL BAD so go on convince me that I should like him ;)

(mainly not a fan of his behaviour to Luthien - I love your daemags fics though <3)

Heh, saying you don't like a character is hardly slander! But I will take any opportunity to defend the B-Side of First Age Disappearing and Despairing Minstrels.

First, some reasons Daeron is cool:

He's the greatest minstrel of the Elf clan (the Teleri) specifically known for singing. He's one of the only instances of an Elf who hasn't seen the light of Aman being the best at anything.

Silm says that "Under ... the teaching of Melian [the Sindar] became the fairest and the most wise and skillful of all the Elves of Middle-earth," and Daeron is singled-out as one of the greatest among the greatest -- and not only for his music! He is also a loremaster and invented the Cirth. Everyone compares him to Maglor but I actually think there's a bit of a Sindarin Feanor vibe to Daeron. In later ages, I like to think many great Sindarin creations would get attributed to Daeron whether they're his or not (there are other versions of the history of Cirth where Tolkien seems to be getting at this), like the Noldor would attribute their great inventions to Feanor.

Daeron's name, in later etymologies, is actually related to the word 'great'.

His name, in earlier etymologies, means 'shadow of trees' which is so mysterious and poetic.

Daeron's teacher and the Queen he sang for, was there for the Ainulindale itself (thanks @an-eldritch-peredhel for the point!). Melian is also said to have been most skilled of all the Ainur in "songs of enchantment" and the Valar would stop their work to hear her singing at the Mingling. That's who taught Daeron!

The Sindar were a largely an oral culture, but Daeron -- during the peaceful years of Thingol and Melian's rule in Beleriand -- invented an alphabet. Even in times of bliss, he cared about the preservation of memory and knowledge. I love that for him. This gorgeous quote ends the paragraph about his invention of the Cirth:

But of bliss and glad life there is little to be said, before it ends; as works fair and wonderful, while still they endure for eyes to see, are their own record, and only when they are in peril or broken for ever do they pass into song.

Like Maglor, he has the same tragic arc of messing up, repenting, and self-exiling. Unfortunately, he gets such cursory treatment in the published Silm that this doesn't really come through (in particular the repentance part).

I could say more, but now we've come to repentance, let's address the real elephant in the room: betraying Luthien. This is going under a cut.

I tend to see Daeron getting dismissed (or loathed) based on some variation of "he was a jealous unrequited stalker who betrays Luthien". And there's some truth to that (definitely the betrayal part), but I think a lot of assumptions are made about him based on certain unrequited lover tropes (Maeglin), or perhaps negative real life experiences, that I don't think really apply to Daeron.

Here's why.

He was Luthien's close friend.

Let's start with what we can squeeze out about their relationship from the Silm:

Then Luthien, perceiving that no help would come from any other on earth, resolved to fly from Doriath and come herself to [Beren]; but she sought the aid of Daeron, and he betrayed her purpose to the King.

[Daeron] it was that made music for the dance and song of Luthien, before Beren came to Doriath; and he had loved her, and set all his thought of her in his music.

Ignoring for a second that he betrayed her (that's coming up), Daeron spent a lot of time with Luthien (making music for her) and he was the person she trusted enough to ask for help in going after Beren. They may not have loved each other in the same way, but there was reciprocal affection there.

(In the Tale of Tinuviel he's her brother, so at its origins the relationship is so close that they are siblings.)

The Lay of Leithian makes their friendship much more apparent, as the bits below will show.

2. His betrayals of Luthien are complex.

In the Silm, Daeron twice betrays Luthien.

First, he tells Thingol she's been hanging out with Beren:

But Daeron the minstrel also loved Luthien, and he espied her meetings with Beren, and betrayed them to Thingol.

Then, he tells Thingol that she's planning to go after him (quoted above).

The first one, I admit, comes off kinda jealous and petty. But think about his situation. His best friend (who he may be in love with - but note that in love is never the phrasing) has just started secretly hanging out with this mortal who stumbled out of the bushes. This is not safe! This is extremely unexpected and stressful! He is upset!

He is also sworn to serve his king. He kind of has to tell Thingol once he knows this about his daughter. Yes, perhaps he had no business stalking around to see what she was up to, but he was worried. Probably would have been better to just talk to her (we don't know that he didn't, actually), but he's certainly not the only male character in Luthien's story who doesn't ask her what she thinks before taking action (this includes Beren).

As for the second betrayal, again he's sworn to serve his king and she puts him in an awkward position when she reveals her plans to go after Beren. But more importantly, he's worried for her safety! From his perspective, she's lost her mind. And how was he to know Thingol's reaction would be to lock her in a treehouse?

The way this all plays out in Lay of Leithian makes all these implied complexities more apparent:

Luthien starts having secret forest meetups with Beren and Daeron sees them together. He gets very upset and lays a curse of silence on Doriath (sidenote: kinda awesome that he has this power??).

Thingol summons Daeron to ask him what is going on with the silence. Daeron replies in riddling terms, and Thingol asks him to clarify.

But Dairon looked on Luthien and would he had not spoken then, and no more would he speak that day, though Thingol's face with wrath was grey.

So even midway through his "betrayal" (questioning by Thingol), Daeron seems to repent. It's Luthien herself who steps up and reveals what's happening.

Thingol is mad, he sends everyone off except Daeron, whom he asks to watch Luthien, which he "heavyhearted did" (Daeron is really not a position to say no here).

The watching proves unnecessary because Luthien brings Beren to Menegroth herself. Beren makes his speech about wanting to marry her.

Here Daeron behaves poorly. He calls for Beren's death, which is mean (but it is also a pretty badass moment and underlies my slightly-unstable Daeron headcanons) -- but! Tolkien actually struck these lines out and in the published Silm it's Thingol who wants Beren dead. Christopher Tolkien says of this cut: "It may be that my father wished to represent Dairon as less unequivocally hostile to Beren, and also ashamed of his words to Thingol."

Next time Daeron shows up Luthien is going to him for consolation and help (as in the Silm):

'O Dairon, Dairon, my tears,' she cried, 'now pity for our old day's sake!'

She asks him to play music for her, which he does, and she feels better.

Addressing him as "my friend" she asks for his help "if he would not for love of her / go by her side a wanderer" seeking for Beren.

Daeron swears to protect her -- but what he really means is he's going to tell her dad that she's lost her goddamn mind.

But straightway Dairon sought the king and told him his daughter's pondering, and how her madness might her lead to ruin, unless the king gave heed.

When Thingol decides the appropriate response here is to lock her up, Daeron feels pretty bad about it, and often visits Hirilorn.

There Dairon grieving often stood in sorrow for the captive of the wood [...] Luthien would from her window stare and see him far under piping there, and she forgave his betraying word for the music and the grief she heard, and only Dairon would she let across her threshold foot to set.

Which brings me to:

3. Daeron repents and Luthien forgives him.

See that passage above? She forgives him! And he's the only person she lets visit her!

Next up, Luthien learns that Beren is imprisoned in Tol-in-Gaurhoth and she gathers all the various implements she needs to make her big escape.

Then Dairon she called: 'I prithee, friend, climb up and talk to Luthien!' And sitting as her window then, she said: 'My Dairon...

And she asks him to craft her a loom (which she will use to weave her hair into the cloak of darkness she uses to escape, but she doesn't say this). Daeron shows some concern over what her plans are with this and she answers ominously and evasively.

Then Dairon wondered, but he spake no word to Thingol, though his heart feared the dark purpose of her art.

He doesn't tell! He knows she's up to something but this time he doesn't tell. He's learned. (Note that because Lúthien doesn't reveal exactly what she's doing, he doesn't necessarily have the same duty to tell Thingol.)

Then as we know, Luthien escapes and goes missing. The part of the Lay covering the events in Doriath while Luthien and Beren complete their quest weren't written, so all we know of Daeron's next actions come from what's in the Silm:

And it is told that in that time Daeron the minstrel of Thingol strayed from the land, and was seen no more. [...] But seeking for Luthien in despair he wandered upon strange paths, and passing over the mountains he came into the East of Middle-earth, where for many ages he made lament beside dark waters for Luthien, daughter of Thingol, most beautiful of all living things.

Also in the outlines of the unwritten Leithian Cantos:

Sorrow in Doriath at the flight of Luthien. [...] A mighty hunt is made throughout the realm, but many of the folk stayed north and west and south of Doriath beyond the magic of Melian and were lost. Dairon became separated from his comrades and wandered away into the East of the world, where some say he pipes yet seeking Luthien in vain. [...] Thingol is wroth [at Celegorm etc.] - and is moved to think better of Beren, while yet blaming [him] for the woes that followed his coming to Doriath, and most for the loss of Dairon.

Guh! This is just so tragic to me?? He just... disappears! In despair! How is that not sad?? How is it he made two minor bad judgement calls and this is his fate? Look, Maglor fully deserved his self-exile in pain and regret. I just don't see how Daeron did. But he loved Luthien so much that his despair over betraying and losing her was it for him. Many ages of lamenting. And it was a tragedy for Doriath, too, who lost one of the greatest minds the Sindar ever had.

I get so emotional defending this guy. I'm sorry this is so long.

I made a list of short Daeron fic recs.

#daeron #luthien #sindar #silm meta #meta #I am so normal about Daeron #asks

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ddlcsprite · 1 month

Text

Murder warning!

DDLC | Yuri.chr | encrypted file

If you found this note in a small wooden box with a heart on it, then *congratulations!* You are probably the first person to read this. I didn’t really plan on sharing this with anybody, but for some reason I think it’s exciting that somebody out there, a complete stranger, will come across this note and read my story. Someone I will never meet, sharing such a personal bond with me. I’m fascinated that either one of us could die — even as soon as tomorrow — with the other being completely clueless to the fact. To you, my entire life is within this note, and so I will live for as long as your memory can carry me. Writing this, I’m wondering if that makes you feel fascinated or violated. It’s so exciting.

I’m sorry if my story is a bit disorganized, but I’d like to get it down while it’s still fresh on my mind. First, I’ll tell you a little bit about myself. I’m a first-year college girl and have led, by most standards, a pretty unspectacular life up to this point. I grew up in an upper-middle class school district with decent teachers. I did track in middle school and some of high school, and I’ve had two boyfriends. Now, I’m studying for a career in occupational therapy, because I feel the field is undervalued and provides tremendous help to people.

I’m giving you this background because there’s this strange misconception that if you want to kill someone then you’re either sick in the head or you have anger management issues. But, it’s very apparent that I don’t fall into either of those categories. It’s true that most murder cases are in a domestic setting where someone loses control of their anger or something. But the thing is that those people kill under provocation, whether by a singular outburst or by a slow-burning series of misfortunes. Those people kill because in that brief moment, they want a specific someone, for a specific reason, to be hurt or killed.

What I’m talking about is wanting to kill someone for no specific reason, maybe just to see what it’s like. Do you ever get that? I wouldn’t know how others feel, because it’s not something I ever talked about. But I’ve been curious about what it’s like to kill someone ever since I was a child. Not killing anyone in particular, just a random person. It’s always just fascinated me that if I put my mind to it, I can approach anyone, and in five minutes they would be completely gone from this Earth.

But I’ve never done so for a couple of reasons. First of all, for most of my life it was logistically impossible for me to do it without getting caught. I only got my driver’s license a couple years ago, and even then, the preparations would take too much time, definitely stirring suspicion. It was only once I started college that I realized this was no longer an obstacle.

Another reason is that I was afraid of causing harm to too many people. You might laugh reading that, at how hypocritical it sounds. But, let me explain: Why should I feel bad about killing someone if they’re too dead to care? Who would I be feeling bad for? Contrarily, it’s the grief of the living that I’d rather not be responsible for. Because of this, I knew it would take a good deal of research before finding a suitable person to kill, and I’ve never had the means to do so — again, until I started college.

And now, having just experienced it, I’d say it was pretty satisfying in the end. Something I would try again? Probably not, since my curiosity has already been satisfied. It really wouldn’t be the same a second time.

But anyway, if by any chance you’re also curious to kill someone, then you’re welcome to take notes. :)

***

I started a hobby of people-watching soon after I entered college. People-watching is interesting to me because it’s taking one of the infinite extras in your life and turning them into a main character — without them knowing, of course. It’s so easy to forget that every single one of the hundreds of strangers you pass every day has a life story as deep and complex as your own. One thing I noticed about people-watching, and wanting to kill someone, is that you are in more constant awareness of this. When I find a person to observe, their story slowly becomes more clear to me over time, gaps being filled — it really is amazing.

I usually went to grocery stores on weekends and looked around in people’s shopping carts. If I saw something that interested me, I decided to observe the person for a little bit. Of course, since my goal was to find someone to kill, I ruled out anyone who had children or a partner with them. Wedding rings were another tell-tale sign.

So maybe once a weekend, I would find someone who fit my criteria, at which point I would follow them home and note their address. From there, it became incredibly easy to investigate a little bit more; most people have normal work hours, meaning I could spend afternoons going through their mail or looking around in their house. I repeated this with several people (and had one close call), but for varying reasons I didn’t really feel satisfied enough with them to kill any of them.

I started getting a bit impatient and thought that I might just settle for killing the man named Devon, even though I didn’t really want to kill someone wealthy. But then, I came across someone new — someone who just, felt perfect. The feeling only strengthened as I investigated her further, and I knew that she would be the one for me to kill.

A young-looking woman I met at the grocery store, as per usual. She was doing some light shopping with a basket. Her hair was wavy and dark brown, sitting inelegantly on her slumped shoulders and surrounding her tired-looking face. Her bare fingers told me she might be single, but beyond that, my gut was almost certain of it. This woman just seemed so…plain, really. I guess I felt a greater acuity for the personal lives of strangers ever since I started my people-watching. But the way she carried herself, I just got the feeling that if she suddenly died, nobody would be around to miss her. Of course, I still wanted to investigate her a bit.

I followed my usual routine of checking out her place during her work hours. I learned immediately from her mail that her name is Linda Watson. Linda lived in a quiet apartment complex, her mailbox easily accessible right outside her door. Instead of quickly shuffling through it, I decided I could take her mail back to my dorm and return it before she was finished with work (she only lived about 15 minutes from me). I did some research and learned how to open and reseal the envelopes without damaging them, which took some technique along with a hair dryer, rubbing alcohol, and Q-tips.

This made it easy for me to learn a little more about her. Linda was a 33-year-old woman who worked for a small accounting firm — I’d rather not name the place outright. Her birthday was December 11th which, coincidentally, was approaching in a couple weeks. I also managed to find a bank statement that gave me a nice look into how she’s been spending her past month. It was at this point I realized that my assessment of Linda Watson as an extremely plain woman was pretty spot-on, because there was absolutely nothing interesting on the list. A trip to Old Navy, a bunch of Starbucks, something about $40 from Amazon — no restaurants, no movies, nothing that would really imply she was spending any time socializing. That aside, I also found a cooking magazine, so I guess she was into cooking.

Apartments are harder to break into than suburban homes, because there are fewer doors and windows. Every time I got Linda’s mail, I would check the front door and the windows in the back, but they were always locked. This was a bit frustrating because I was really interested in getting into her house. So, I came up with a sort of plan that I thought would be fun, even if it didn’t work.

Last Saturday, I visited Linda Watson’s apartment complex as I would on weekdays. The difference is that this time, I wanted her to be home. I thought it would be interesting to have a conversation with her. If I got lucky, I could take advantage of the situation to discreetly unlock a window from the inside. So, I walked up to her door wearing nothing warmer than a light sweatshirt, and knocked. The adrenaline rush was crazy. I was afraid I might screw something up.

The door opened, and in front of me stood Linda Watson, exactly as I remembered her from the grocery store. It was at that moment, making eye contact for the first time, that I realized I was running the risk of beginning to care about this person. As selfish as it is, I couldn’t kill a person I cared about, even if it’s a 33-year-old woman standing in a doorway with a slightly perplexed look on her face, giving me a reserved “Hello.”

Arms crossed from the cold, I shyly returned Linda’s greeting. I explained that I was walking my dog near the woodsy area behind the back of her apartment, and that he had gotten away. I had been looking for my dog for an hour and was wondering if Linda may have seen him roaming about. Of course, Linda sympathetically apologized for the situation and that she couldn’t be of use to me, but that she would keep an eye out. I wore a defeated expression in response, apologizing in return for troubling her.

It somehow went exactly as I had hoped — Linda invited me inside to warm up a bit with some coffee. I outwardly hesitated before accepting her offer, although on the inside I wanted to jump through the door and hug her for cooperating so well. And that’s how Linda Watson ended up with a 19-year-old girl next to her on the couch — who knows if it was just a nice gesture or if she really has no better way to spend her Saturdays than talking to some kid she just met (who happens to be interested in killing her).

Linda soon learned that my name is Maria (it’s not) and that I attend the nearby community college (I don’t). I was a little bit nervous that she would ask me too many questions because I didn’t have many answers prepared. I was able to steer the conversation toward her, and she was pretty happy to talk. I asked what she does, and she told me that she works for the accounting firm I already knew about, communicating with outside clients and keeping records. I told her I was pretty nervous about growing up. She told me to enjoy college and to make lots of friends because there’s less opportunity once you start working.

When I asked if she was married or anything, she laughed. Of course I knew she wasn’t married, but I wanted to hear more about her love life. She said that she doesn’t currently have a boyfriend (I guess she’s at least had boyfriends, but who knows how long ago). When I asked her about kids, she said she doesn’t want them until she gets a better job. On top of that, she told me that her family has a history of some genetic diseases such as arthritis and depression, which she is afraid to give to her kids.

It’s funny that she mentioned that because when I asked to use her bathroom, I noticed a tube of prescription pills on the sink. It was labelled duloxetine, which I looked up later and discovered that it is in fact an antidepressant. I had a joking thought that maybe by killing her I’d be doing her a favor, but quickly decided I was a terrible person for coming up with that.

The rest of the visit was pretty dull. We talked about food and some other mundane stuff before I eventually made an excuse to leave. I didn’t get the chance to unlock a window or anything like that, but I didn’t really feel the need to go through her apartment anymore. As early as the drive back to my dorm, I was already thinking about how I would best like to kill Linda Watson.

The choice was between effectiveness and fun. I decided to go with fun, because it would be way more satisfying to kind of dissect her as I killed her, rather than just getting it done and calling it a day. Fast-forward one week to December 13th — today, actually. Linda Watson turned 34 two days ago. I made a fun little wager with myself where if Linda was spending her birthday weekend alone, I would pay her a visit and kill her. If she was out or had company, I would stop by next week or something instead.

So this morning, I drove over to Lowe’s and bought an axe. Again, I expect you’re laughing, but that’s also kind of the point. An axe is so kind of cliche and a “movies” thing that I actually thought it would be the most fun. Swinging it at someone and everything, it’s a really entertaining image. They actually had a bunch of different axes, so I picked one that had a good weight but was still light enough for me to swing quickly.

The drive after getting the axe was when the adrenaline really picked up. All that kept going through my mind on the way over was “Wow, I’m really doing this.” Not in a bad way, just like a surprised this is real life sort of thing. I also got this strange rush of recollections of the time I spent with Linda. It was like my life was flashing before my eyes, except it was just the rather mundane hour I spent with Linda — like snippets of our conversations, the sound of her laugh, her facial expressions and stuff.

I also wondered to myself what the crazy serial killers would be feeling at a time like this — schizophrenic delusions? Sexual buildup? I have no idea, but what I felt was kind of like ridiculously alert and numb in the senses at the same time, however that’s possible.

Before getting out of the car, I had the sense to stuff the axe into my backpack to look a little less ridiculous walking across the parking lot. The handle was sticking out, but that didn’t really matter. At that point my heart was pounding so hard I could feel my throat throbbing. I tried controlling my breath, but it’s really hard to not breathe fast when your heart is pounding like that.

I reached Linda Watson’s door and quietly put my ear to it after setting down my backpack. I heard a voice that wasn’t hers — company? No, it was just the TV, mixed with her occasional tapping footsteps behind the door. I actually kept my ear there for a really freaking long time, because I wanted to make absolutely sure nobody was over. Probably 10 minutes of that and a lot of reassuring myself convinced me.

I quietly opened my backpack zipper and held the axe in my hands. My fiercely shaking hands. What the hell was this kind of reaction that my body was making? I told my body to shut up, that it’s no big deal, but of course it wouldn’t listen. It was actually bizarre how much my hands were shaking. It must be the adrenaline buildup. I rolled my eyes at myself and got my hand to rest on the doorknob. If it’s locked, I’ll knock, it’ll be basically the same. I took a deep breath and forced my muscles into action.

I swiftly turned the doorknob. Not locked. In one movement, I opened up the door and slipped inside. Linda Watson, just a few steps away into the kitchen. I see — she was in the middle of cooking. She immediately jumped and turned around, startled. I expected that. Quickly, I let go of the doorknob and adjusted the axe into both hands. In the following split second, I realized that she would probably start to make a lot of noise. Looking back, I’m an idiot for not considering that. Just as Linda’s mouth opened to speak — maybe even started speaking — I forcefully swung my axe into the side of her head.

But, my axe was facing backwards. I hit her with the blunt end of the blade. I actually did this on purpose, because in that split second I somehow decided that it would be the way to keep her noise to a minimum. It actually worked. I felt barely any resistance in the swing as I collided with her head, knocking it clean aside. Linda’s half-formed syllable came out as a kind of weird grunt — a noisy exhalation is probably the best I could describe it. That happened at the same time as her head smacked into the cabinet from the force, and she fell backwards without any ability to keep her balance. I didn’t hesitate at all to keep swinging at her while she was half lying down on the ground, this time my axe facing the right way. I didn’t really know where to swing, so I kind of just started hacking at her collarbone area and chest. It didn’t feel like the axe was going too deep, but there was a nice “thunk” sort of sound every time the axe embedded into her. I even felt the soft sinking sensation ripple into my hands, like the axe was a kind of physical extension of my sense of touch.

On a whim, I swung once at her throat, but most of the swing actually missed and I hit the floor by accident, causing a loud, dull whack to resonate through the apartment. I didn’t have time to think about it. I swung again with better aim and got a more centered hit, feeling the bone or cartilage or whatever is in there, so I must have split it open. Right after that, I decided to swing at her face, and I got this diagonal cut along her nose and mouth, which felt pretty good so I did it once more.

I finally briefly stopped to survey the damage. Linda was bleeding ridiculously. The blood was kind of coming out in waves, in sync with her beating heart, probably. It was pooling all around her and riding along the cracks between the tiles. Her light blue shirt was all torn up and stained dark, kind of mixed with a fleshy mess around her chest. It was all just glistening red. Her face wasn’t much better, covered in dripping red at this point, and her lip was kind of hanging off, revealing red-stained teeth in a really weird way, like a zombie or something.

Linda wasn’t dead, though. Her limbs were kind of weakly, aimlessly trying to move while she was stuck on her back. More than anything, she reminded me of a bug that you crush but it still pitifully moves its legs around before it dies completely. That’s basically what she was doing. But I didn’t know how long it would take for her to die, or what kind of condition she was in. I ended up grabbing a big knife that was on the counter that she was using to cut up meat. Trying to step around the blood, I reached down and carved into the upper half of her neck, trying to sort of saw it from the left side to the right. It was a little awkward because the area was so soft and squished around the knife as I was cutting. But the sensation was completely different from the axe. It actually felt like I was cutting a tough piece of raw meat (which I guess technically, I was).

The blood started pouring out, and I hoped that I severed the most major arteries in there. It must have worked, because after a moment Linda’s limb movements kind of just had the strength drained from them, soon resting still on the floor. I took a few seconds to catch my breath. No time to stick around and think about the experience. I shook the knife blade through a dirty pan in the sink to clean off the blood, then threw the knife into my backpack. I did the same with the axe. I also took her laptop that was sitting on the counter. It had some recipe open for veal and mushrooms. I didn’t really take the laptop to use it, since I have a perfectly good one myself that I got for college. I just wanted to look through it for fun.

I finally went outside and closed the door behind me. I got some blood on my sweater and jeans. But funnily enough, I actually anticipated that so I wore dark colors.

The drive back to my dorm was just a constant replaying of the experience in my head. I guess that’s still kind of happening even now, actually. But it felt pretty nice. Linda Watson is dead. I kind of let the weight of that sink in. The sensation of having completely removed a human life from existence. It’s crazy. I don’t know how else to describe it.

Anyway, I threw the axe and knife into a dumpster on campus, which I think is picked up every Monday, so they’ll be gone by then. My roommate goes home on the weekends, so I have the dorm to myself today. It gave me the chance to go through Linda’s website history. I was right in thinking that’s where her deepest secrets would lie.

There was actually a lot of dirty stuff, like the names of websites for porn videos and stories and things like that. Same with her searches. A lot of the websites were boring, like cooking websites and recipes, and game websites like Bejeweled and stuff. I eventually got to the “one week ago” section of her history, and it gave me a chill.

There were a whole bunch of searches like “methods of suicide”, “how to tie a noose”, “dangerous household chemicals”, “carbon monoxide poisoning” — like a lot of them. She was probably ready to write a book on suicide after all the research she did. So I guess Linda was contemplating suicide. I wonder if it was influenced by her depression.

The irony is actually striking. Maybe Linda was going to die anyway. Or maybe she couldn’t find the courage to do it. If that were the case, I almost literally gave her a birthday present by killing her. That’s actually really comical in a messed-up way, and it leaves a weird taste in my mouth. The part I don’t get is that I didn’t see any of those searches up until the “one week ago” section, nothing more recent than that.

I ended up throwing the laptop in the dumpster with the other stuff. It’s been a few hours since then, so I’ve had some time to calmly think about everything. Like I said, it was pretty satisfying and I’m glad I finally got around to it. I feel like I can finally cross it off my bucket list, or like I’m tying loose ends with myself. This is probably the first and last time I’ll write the name Linda Watson — it’s back to living a normal college life, except I might do some people-watching every now and then because it’s definitely fun and interesting.

But I’ll always wonder how many people there are like me. I’m sure there has to be a lot, because there is just nothing strange about it to me, being curious about killing someone. Sadly, it’s something that people can’t exactly just talk about, so I guess I’ll never know. I’m sure that anyone would just lie about it even if you asked them. But you can’t help but wonder if that person in the grocery store, who stares at you as you pass by, might be considering what it would be like to kill you. If I could, I would tell them all about it, so they could decide for themselves. But who knows, maybe I got lucky, and that person is you. I actually really, really hope so.

~♥

#DDLC #ddlc sprites #doki doki literature club #Yuri #Yuri.chr #Txt file #Decoded #secret file

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mistress-of-vos · 2 months

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Timber / timsteph? (I personally hate them, with good reason, of course! but I'd like to know ur opinion on them.)

I'm gonna do these two together! But this time I won't tag the ships as I don't want 🐜 interacting plus I don't really think it would be nice to put my hate on their tag lmao 🤣

TimBer:

Hate it. Loathe it. Rather than not ship it I'd say I want to destroy it.

1. Why don't you ship it?

It's terribly written. It's an ooc Tim with a self insert of the author and not even the most bland straight ship writing of DC is at this level of awful. It has done nothing but make Tim a terrible character and ruin him; currently Tim is a no one at DC and I blame this ship 100%. Amazing that what Slade's comics did so easily with Jericho was something impossible for Batman editorial.

2. What would have made you like it?

It would have to be written by another author. Someone who understood Tim completely, someone who wasn't afraid of real queer experience, someone who wasn't sexist as hell, and someone who didn't destroy years of a character's legacy.

B would have to be the old, original version. And his messiness should be kept, because that's literally the only interesting thing he had going on.

3. Do you have anything positive to say about it?

Sadly no. B current character sucks, which is a shame because his old version was kinda funny and definetely had the vibes of "mean, rude boyfriend". This B is nothing but a self insert and is closer to a woman than to an actual queer man, which also sucks. Tim has been made something he isn't, and it's horrible.

The fandom is disgusting. It's full of sexism, racism, and most people have zero media literacy which means they spend their time harassing people who create content for other Tim ships.

I really hope DC buries this ship down on the grave.

TimSteph:

Huh, 50/50?

1. This is a complex ship for me. I think my problem is that I was very satisfied with their situation at the end of New Earth: I see them dating, caring for each other deeply, and eventually going their own ways but still being friends. Not even as bitter exes, no, I genuinely enjoyed Tim & Steph still trusting the other and being friends. I do enjoy them as two teenagers who feel attraction to the other and try it out. Now, this is usual verse. As you know, I play with Tim's gender quite often, and when I write Timothea/Thea, I really enjoy TimSteph more and feel like it's a sad but real romance.

Perhaps my feelings are too complicated for a single post. I see Tim as a queer person who loves strongly and not always in conventional ways. I think he loves Steph and Tam and Pru in different yet similar ways, and with the first two there was an attraction. It's just that it wasn't meant to be. That being said, I would really prefer Tim to be dating Steph or Tam in current canon (as long as it didn't do the girls any disservice) rather than his current love interest, but if it were up to me, Tim wouldn't have a canon love interest and Steph and Tim would be friends (not to be confused with family).

Plus I think a deep part of me was really confident Steph was gonna come out as bi or lesbian before Tim did because her story resonates a lot with wlw people who stay in the closet for different reasons (such as her past pregnancy) so... 😅

Idk! I don't want them to get married or anything like that but I think them dating is and can always be part of their story and something they look at with a smile. No need to ruin their friendship or push any of them as "evil".

2. If Tim were Timothea in canon I would be definitely obsessed with TimSteph. Something something make them the DC version of the manga NANA and have them reject heteronormativity.

3. Steph is a character unfairly hated most of the time and I think it goes hand on hand with people's own sexism and DC's awful writing for her. It makes me mad that we have so few moments where Steph actually shines and is allowed to be a more complex character. This is why I say I really would prefer if she and Tim had been allowed to stay single and as friends, because both of them deserve better than current DC.

#my writing #my opinion #ask game #ship ask game #proship

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littlemisshaveitall · 2 years

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Season Secrets: August 7 Your Partner is NOT your therapist (and neither are his friends or yours)

It’s very tempting to tell your partner every single detail of your life and it’s genuinely allowed, they are your partner but love, not all partners have our best interests at heart. It can backfire and if it does, it’s going to hurt so before you decide to pour your heart, your daily recaps and any insecurities you must watch them.

You must watch your conversations and notice if it is always you talking. Of course, if you know your partner isn’t the talking type and has always been that way then it's okay to an extent but don’t take this disclaimer and run for the hills, you need to analyse if they really are that way or if they are that way with you. Don’t fall for “I just like listening to you” or “Your voice makes me happy”. All of that might be true but if your partner refrains from sharing about their lives but always indulges you to share about yours, you might potentially have a problem. As @honestsinnerrr has said before, ‘Men are info diggers’ and they will use the information you give against you and not only them but people in general.

You must listen to what they ask and really hear them. If they seem to constantly steer the conversation to a particular topic ask yourself why. What value does that topic present to them? What information are you giving and what can they do with it? If push comes to shove and what you’ve said comes out what is the impact?It is so important to know or at least have an inkling of knowledge about someone’s motives, especially your partners and friends.

You must watch who they are without you and find out why it is the case. You cannot tell me, they are the most talkative person on earth or the most charismatic person with an audience but with you they are suddenly a mouse caught in a trap.If they act of character they want something and are finding out how to get it. Miss me with the BS of “ He gets shy with me” or “She just likes when I do this and that” Sir, Ma’am that might be the case but surely, is it? On this point, you should also intently listen to the petty gossip you hear about them(obviously from reliable sources) , it will give you a sense of who they are and will aid your decision in trusting them with the intricacies of your life.

You might also be wondering why I mentioned your partner’s friends in the title. That was for us clueless babes.If you complain about your partner to their friends they will not only relay all of it to your partner but more often than not they don’t care about you and it will be these friends who cover for your partner if they cheat or do something of the sort. They hold no loyalties to you. Remember that.

It is important to watch the people in our lives because we can’t just disclose everything to everyone and before you decide what you can disclose with whoever, please babe, these topics… are off until they reach best friend status.

Relationship Issues - Refer to a therapist or two friends max

Family Issues - Again therapist ( There’s absolutely no reason to be spilling family drama on to the group chat)

Money - Even with the closest of the closest , unless you are declaring bankruptcy and need a couch to sleep on , we don’t do that here.

Your friend’s issues - Why are you telling your partner your friend’s business when they told you in confidence, I personally think that it’s plainly disrespectful unless your partner can help them in one way or another.

Your future plans - This could be due to evil eye or unnecessary sabotage from randoms but it is also psychological. When we talk about plans that haven’t manifested yet to lots of people we trick our minds into believing that we have actually achieved our goals and that in turn makes us less likely to achieve them

There’s always more to add and feel free to do so (don’t be extreme lovies) but I’d like to mention that as much as your friends/partners can screw you over with the information you give them, it is also extremely important to not become closed off in an effort to protect yourself because every single relationship platonic or not is a risk and after you’ve done your trust risk assessment and you deem them people you can trust, their dishonesty is not on you baby. I’ve been there, I traded meaningful conversations for surface level pleasantries and I missed out on significant connections because I was scared of being hurt again. Being hurt is always a risk but if you always live in defence mode you aren’t living so you must find a balance. My friend says “ You can only live a good life if you throw yourself completely into it and that’s every aspect of it. So loving like you’ve never loved before, living like you’ve never loved before, laughing like you’ve never loved before, trusting like you’ve never trusted before even though other things have given you reason not to because the moment you start to restrict yourself and hold yourself back , you diminish the quality of your life.”

You need to take the risk

but only if it’s calculated.

Love,

Quesa

#season secrets #level up #black women in luxury #manifesting #boundaries #self reflection #self love #self care #spoiled gf #relationships #responsibility #manifest #things ive learned #security #law of abundance #expectations #success #Spotify

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plunderwater · 5 months

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TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Sea Breeze Boathouse, Harborside, White Crest PARTIES: Shan "Aika" (@plunderwater) & Jasper (@eatdearth) SUMMARY: Shan "Aika" and Jasper go on a boat ride together! With Val the dog! CONTENT WARNINGS: Technically an attempt on someone's life

The last time Shan was around these parts was not that long of a time. At least not in her seal form. Renting a boat has never been something she was interested in either. For obvious reasons. Why row a boat, after all, when you can swim far better than any boat could float? But she did promise some guy she’d keep him company. Much easier to get secrets out of someone when they’re alone or lonely. Big catch if they’re both.

“Well, hello, handsome!” Shan waved at the arriving man from a distance, a huge smile on her face. Finally, he has arrived. Finally, they can rent a boat as per their discussion, all expenses paid by him, of course. Most importantly, finally, she can drag someone deep into the waters for a laugh or two. It’s not like she’s going to leave him there, anyway. It’s always more fun when they start wheezing, trying to catch their breaths, after her game. “Are you ready for some fun?”

The recent surge of arcane power from the blue moon has certainly made Jasper much more confident than usual. The geology professor had always been a little awkward, if not hilariously annoying. This time, however, it was evident in his strut, in the way he winked and smirked at everyone he passed by in his path to the boathouse, that he was feeling like a new man, maybe even a different man. It hadn’t been too long ago since he lost his face to the mines, thanks to a volmugger with a gagging problem, a traumatic tragedy in his life, but now here he was, already experiencing another strange, supernatural occurrence in just a few months, only this time, he’s liking it.

At the sight of the lovely young woman waving at him, Jasper would’ve gone cartoon wolf and made that ‘awooga’ noise. Given enough time, and perhaps leeway, he would’ve. But Val tugged on her leash, forcing the earth magician to focus his attention on her or risk an escape into the water. Despite their, well, differences, Val and Jasper decided on a truce, realizing this trip would benefit both parties: Val, so she can finally leave the creepy manor Jasper’s uncle bequeathed him, and Jasper, so he can finally leave the creepy manor his uncle bequeathed him.

All those days moping and skulking because of his missing face left Jasper gravely in need of this trip. He was very excited when he realized he would be experiencing it with a beautiful stranger, so much so, he didn’t even care if Val was included in the package. “You must be…the person I’ve been talking to online! How do you do? You look absolutely amazing! Stunning, even!”

Shan smirked as soon as he opened his mouth. Her first thought was that he must be an experienced charmer, though something about him made her very curious. Almost like he was being too much of a charmer. In her line of work, too much of anything can be very revealing. Especially when it comes to strangers. Trying to match his excitement, Shan widened her grin and offered her hand to shake. An introductory refresh should balance the scales between them. “Aika Chan,” she gave her one of her aliases without a single sense of hesitation. She’s done this before. Numerous times already. It was second nature by now. “And I see you’re quite the ladies’ man, professor.” Professor Jasper H. Langston. Geology professor at the University of Wicked’s Rest, Maine. She already knew him. At least the things on his online profile. She wasn’t quite sure digging further would be necessary. Maybe she’ll find out soon enough.

A stolen glimpse, a momentary distraction, however, revealed something else, something much more important — The professor had a dog! Crap! The swear word quickly exploded in her head, though it was already too late. Shan was already bowing down, toward the dog, already squealing like an elated lover, drowning in good, positive vibes at the mere presence of a furry cutie. “Aww! Who do we have here? You have a very adorable wingman, professor!” She heaved a sigh of joy, giddy at the four-legged angel. “Who’s a good boy?”

Aika Chan? Jasper paused, caught off guard by the name. Not because it was suspicious, at least not to him, but because it sounded so very cute! Like how the girls say their names, introduce themselves, in those Japanese cartoons. Wait, is she Japanese? Jasper would have lucked out if that’s the case. He does love gyoza. “Aika Chan… That’s a lovely name,” he gave her his hand, waiting for her to reciprocate so that he could shake her most likely soft fingers. “Am I? I can only attest to the fact that I am indeed a professor… Professor Jasper H. Langston, University of Wicked’s Rest, Maine!” There was pride in his introduction. A lot of it.

But before he could turn that pride into something else, Val took over the scene, stealing the show with her cuteness. The half-beagle, half-Japanese spitz bounced on all fours as she skipped toward Aika, her tongue out and her tailing wagging excitedly. Aside from Jasper’s coworker/ex, the dog has suffered a lack of beauty around her, with only the spellcaster and the boring silence keeping her company since the death of her previous owner, who was Jasper’s late uncle. Without much prodding, Val was all over Aika, sniffing and licking whatever she could of her, much to Jasper’s dismay. “She’s a she, actually,” he scratched his head, an awkward smile on his face. “Her name’s Val. She’s 50% beagle and 50% Japanese spitz.” 100% butthole.

Yes, I already knew that. Shan hid the truth of her prior knowledge of his identity behind her impressed gaze complete with wide eyes and an innocent smile. A geology professor might not be the most useful of contacts, but he does seem very proud of his affiliation with the university. Who knows? Maybe she can make use of him in other ways. A quick but thorough look-over of the otherwise charming and dusky man seemed to support that thinking. Underneath that pride must be an equally potent virility. “A pleasure to meet you, professor!”

“May I?” Shan posed the question to both the human and the dog but did not wait for the former’s answer. When Val allowed her to touch and pet her furry being, the selkie took the opportunity to carefully and gently lift the dog and carry her in her arms. As if Val’s cuteness had given her the extra strength to do so. At least for the few seconds that she could. Shan gracefully deposited Val back on the ground when she realized she could not keep the physical charade up, awkwardly giggling to mask her failure. “I’m so sorry! I’m getting way ahead of myself! Should we find a boat first?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Jasper was so caught up between getting jealous of Val and getting distracted by Shan Aika’s charming good looks that he almost forgot what they were there for. No matter. That was easily remedied. He was a well-dressed man. She was a very attractive young woman. And they had a dog with them. Talking up the boat rental girl was easier than making next week’s lesson plan. In a span of minutes, seconds even, Jasper had secured all three of them (sadly Val had to be there) a boat. Not long after, they were on it, rowing across the waters, all three of them (sadly Val had to be there). “You do this often, Miss…Chan?”

It was a strange feeling. Not just the unexpected but welcomed surge of mystical powers in his bones, not just the trauma of having his face stolen by a creature he did not understand in a place he could barely make sense of, but also being a distance away from any semblance of earth. Jasper, being a spellcaster with a strong elemental affinity to the element of earth, had never been that far from the ground, off the ground, with the sole exception of the plane rides he had to take during his overseas seminars. This was perhaps the first time he was distant from his element in his hometown. As he rowed and rowed, that was all he could think of, though a stolen glimpse of Aika and Val made him smile. This was the perfect family he’s always sought, the vision of which, an idealized version. Shame it wasn’t real. At least not yet.

“Perfect day for a boat ride,” Jasper muttered under his breath, uncertain if she’d hear him, though he wouldn’t mind either way. “Perfect company, too…”

“Not often,” Shan purred, as she combed Val’s fur, the satisfied dog on her lap. They sat across from Jasper who had to row on his own, as there was nowhere else to sit and Shan had lamented her lack of upper body strength to ferry the three of them across the waters. Jasper seemed at that moment like any giddy lover, one who craved the opportunity to impress their better half and make themselves feel worthy in everyone’s watching eyes. It was a role she liked to play against, mostly because it gave her more power than the others tended to realize until it was already too late. “I prefer actually getting down and dirty in the water… You know? Get wet.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Shan gave her her sweetest smile, the best one she had in her arsenal. Funny story: That same smile was actually stolen from a naive boy in Japan. Or was it Korea? Either way, she was the last person he ever shared that smile with. “You flatter me too much! I could say the same thing…” No, she could not. Jasper didn’t seem like anyone important to, well, anyone. Might as well just spend the day with his cutie patootie dog! “I don’t think I’ve ever been with a distinguished professor before…” She had. Years ago. But that one wasn’t a geologist. “And a geologist at that!” The selkie made the effort to flutter her eyelashes, making him feel she had more of her interest than he actually did. Most people rarely get that opportunity. That was why, whenever it happens, all the moths slowly surrender to the flame. No questions asked. Only she had them. The questions. A lot of them. As per usual.

“Does that mean you know a lot about the recent goings-on in town?” Shan tried to be as coy as possible, but with all the flirting and the faux weakness she had shown him, surely he wouldn’t think of her as anything more than just a curious little lady throwing so much interest in him and his line of work. “With the crystals and the mines?”

Jasper almost choked on air when the lovely woman spoke the words “dirty” and “wet” but mostly only after his dirty mind processed the equally unclean association of those words with her existence. He was an idiot, too, so that didn’t help. He quickly tried to regain his composure by returning her smile, chuckling with the confidence of a confidant at the exchange of the flattery. “Oh? But you’ve been with other professors before?” A stupid question, prompted mostly by his lack of other alternatives. “Yes, you could say that. Crystals, the mines, face thieves made of crystals from the mines… One could say I’m an expert on those things and more!”

Just because he got his face stolen doesn’t technically make him an expert on any of those things, especially the part about there being more. Jasper was a geologist. That was it. He was an expert in geology. That was it. Anything more, especially the supernatural? He was a noob. Barely even well-versed in the basics. But he was surging with power and pride, so he felt like he was the king of the world. Or at least, of the town. “Why do you ask? Are you interested in crystals and the mines? Because I could maybe take you on an expedition…maybe?”

They were so far from the rest of the docks now, shrouded by the distance, barely visible to anyone who dared to care. In fact, if anything happened to either of them right then and there, no one would probably notice. Jasper thought about this, strangely, but immediately focused all his attention on the beautiful Aika. Maybe they’d share a kiss there, away from prying eyes. Ohoho!

Shan nodded, a playful smirk on her lips, already expecting Jasper’s manly man brain to go this route, “Plenty of professors.” She even made sure to add a hefty helping of confidence in that delivery, pride as well, just to draw him in. Like fish to bait. “Some of them, not even mine.” The truth was not far off, however. Shan has been with several professors, though not in that context. In her line of work, having access to an expert close by was always a boon. Speaking of experts…

“An expert? That’s very impressive! Only with you leading me by the hand, Professor,” Shan giggled. Like a schoolgirl. Or more accurately, the bait to his fish. It wasn’t just because he was a professor, too. Most men, though to be fair, also her, have a special place in their heart, a soft soft spot in an otherwise hard location, for school girls. Japan’s greatest export, maybe. A cultural gift. “Oh, we’re so far from prying eyes now, it seems,” the selkie feigned obliviousness to their current whereabouts, even though she had designed the entire play, so to speak.

Releasing Val from her arms, Shan carefully inched her way closer to Jasper, her eyes seemingly drawn to his lips. “I think you have something on your lips, Professor…” She made sure to stop a breath away from him, her lips from his lips, enticing the man to take the first step, tricking him into thinking he still had control over the situation, even though the selkie had already researched him months ago.

It wasn’t that hard, considering he had revealed as much online, starting with how he had lost his face in the mines. All Shan needed to do was follow him where she could, chat up or overhear the students that attend his class, even befriend his ex who also works at the university… All he needed to do was kiss her, have a little taste of her lips, let her pull him close… Into the waters. All her pelt needed to do was consume his magic, and if he had none, well, who was going to miss a geology professor who had no social life?

Jasper’s eyes grew wider than he thought they ever could, and his grin did the same. He wasn’t a prude. He didn’t have the time or the right to be one. Hell, he didn’t even want to be one. People deserved the opportunity to enjoy themselves, their bodies, and Jasper would be lying if he said he didn’t want that opportunity for himself either, especially since he rarely got one.

“You’re more impressive, I think,” Jasper almost howled, and he did in his head. Like a cartoon wolf. Awooga. “I would not mind the opportunity…to have you join an expedition in the future. I can check my calendar and maybe we can compare schedules once we’re back on dry land, hopefully at my place?”

But it seemed that they didn’t need to wait to get back on dry land, much to Jasper’s excitement. At first, he was worried he’d look like a fool in front of Aika, thanks whatever grime was on his lips. He tried to remember what he had for breakfast and failed. Was it jam? Was jam going to ruin this otherwise wonderful boat trip?

No. Apparently, it was just an excuse for her to get closer, and how could Jasper decline an opportunity given to him so obviously? With only a second of hesitation, trying to gauge whether she’d pull away (he thanked his luck when she did not), the geology professor planted a soft kiss on the beautiful lady’s scrumptious lips and felt “sparks” fly around them, him, all over the place.

The selkie wasted no more time. As soon as Jasper kissed her, Shan pulled him close, her arms wrapping around him, his back, his body, like an octopus wrapping its tentacles around its prey. His dog stared at them, a little miffed, but perked up when the selkie leaned back, throwing herself and Jasper into the waters. Val barked and barked and barked, but it was too late. The dog could do nothing else but wag its tail and bark in alarm at the loss of her owner as splashing water almost ruined her dry fur.

This wasn’t the first time that Shan had done this, and she doubted that it would be the last. With her pelt malfunctioning, its hunger for magic too strong for the selkie to overcome, she had to resort to this tedious process. The manner would often be different — sometimes her victims would fall on dry land, without the need to drown in water — but the point was always the same: for her to survive, these spellcasters and fae must be sacrificed. Not something she wanted personally, in fact she loathed the thought of it because she perceived it beneath her, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Shan felt the panic set in within Jasper as soon as he realized what had happened. Or more appropriately, the change in location. Most men aren’t quick on the draw, especially if the selkie’s lips were still on theirs. Confusion takes them first. Why are we wet? Are we floating? Did our boat sink? But the panic can never be denied. Even if the mind remains clueless, the body will do whatever it can to survive. The struggling was annoying to her, but they were in her waters now, her territory, and all things considered, she had the home field advantage. Until…

At first, Jasper just thought Aika was pulling him closer, on top of her, as all lovers kissing on a boat tend to do. At least that’s what he thought they did. But then things got a little wetter. Jasper thought their kiss was getting more passionate, more unruly, more uncontrollable. Because of course it would be, considering they both wanted this. But then things got a little too wet for his comfort and everything else, including his clothes, were now soaked. That couldn’t have been just a kiss, right? Definitely nothing normal.

So he panicked. His eyes shot wide open, the waters around him and her surprising the geology professor. Did she throw them overboard? Aika didn’t look like she was worried, much to Jasper’s concern. To him, she was enjoying herself so much, she was oblivious to the danger they were in. He tried to pull away, shake her awake, and even drag her upward, back to the boat, but her grip felt stronger, tighter, and the waters as well. They were going to drown. They were going to die down there.

All rationality left Jasper, replaced by his survival instincts. His body and his mind did not want him to die down there, did not want Aika to die down there with him. But they could only do so much. Luckily for him, there was another aspect of the geology professor that could do more. A lot more. So, as soon as Jasper started to lose consciousness, his magic kicked in, wild and surging, overfed by the strange blue moon that the scientist could not explain himself.

Pieces of rocks and stone from the waterbed suddenly shot up, a few hitting Aika, like missiles aimed at Jasper, except they didn’t hit him. All they did was surround him, forming a shell of sorts, before sending him back out of the water, spitting him on the nearest shore and crumbling like sand swallowed by the sea. The geologist was still unconscious but at least he was no longer drowning.

Where did the projectiles come from? Even under attack, Shan was still trying to make sense of things before taking cover. When the first hit came, however, when she was struck by one of the rocks for the first time, her instincts took over, and the selkie quickly spun around to avoid the second. At the same time, she withdrew her pelt hidden sneakily within the fur coat around her shoulders, the entire thing technically the pelt wrapped inside a thin but magical bag that resembled a fur coat’s exterior. It was a hard thing to acquire, rather a hard thing to make a spellcaster give her, but everyone would do anything to live. Just like Jasper and his magic, it seemed.

More rocks started to unearth themselves from the ground below, deep underwater, forcing Shan to wear her pelt despite it still needing a bit of mystic juice. Can’t be helped, however. She was ambushed by some sort of surging earth spell. If she delayed any further, she and her pelt would be floating in the waters, only found much later by curious passersby. Shan wasn’t going to die there. Not anytime soon. Draining the few magic that remained in the pelt, Shan transformed, and as quickly as she could, mostly because she feared taking her time would endanger both her and her pelt further, the Seal swam away to safety, catching a stolen glimpse at the last minute of the strange earthen shell, egg, that had consumed Jasper and whisked him back up to safety. So close.

Like Jasper, Shan managed to get herself back to shore as well, though he was nowhere to be found. She quickly took off her pelt, scowling at how her prey had escaped her. All she needed was for him to go unconscious for a few, so that she could steal his magic. She wasn’t going to kill him…probably. Shan planned to get him back to the boat as soon as her pelt was recharged. Did she consider his survival heavily? Not really, but she didn’t consider his death heavily as well. That should count for something, right?

“Ugh, looks like it’s back to the drawing board,” Shan heaved a sigh of disappointment, shaking her head, as she picked herself off of the ground, once again stowing her pelt within her fur coat, rolling it to give the exterior the bounce most people liked, them oblivious to the true danger the somewhat fashionable apparel hid. “But we’ll meet again, Professor… That’s a promise.”

When Jasper came to, he was back on solid ground. His throat immediately tried to regurgitate the remaining water in it, violently forcing as many of the foreign liquid out as possible. The geology professor coughed and spat and technically vomited the waters out, heaving on the ground as he turned himself as upright as he could, only noticing then that he wasn’t alone. Val barked, wagging its tail. The dog looked concerned, the first time she had ever been when it came to him, and sniffed him all over. When their eyes met, however, and Val realized its late master’s only living relative was pretty much all right, even though Jasper was wet and still suffering the effects of almost getting drowned, the dog raised its nose at him and looked away.

“So you do care about me?” Jasper coughed, chuckling. He couldn’t believe all he needed to do for his late uncle’s dog to show some semblance of affection toward him was to almost die. He’d done worse for a human girl. “Exposed!” He doubled down, much to Val’s annoyance. The dog growled and sat with her back, mostly butt, to him, pretending to not care about his well-being anymore. Maybe it no longer did. After all, Jasper was now conscious enough to pick himself off the ground, and Val did not have to worry about who’ll feed her anymore. “Where is…”

A sharp pain in his head interrupted his train of thought. Jasper coughed again, drops of saltwater still inside him. Maybe even clinging to his lungs or whatever. Shaking his head, he tried to pick up Val but the dog was like eww no you’re wet you dipshit and avoided his touch. Jasper grinned. Shaking his head again, he gestured for Val to just follow him as he tried to find their way home. “That’s the last time I’ll go on a date with a hot girl I’ve never met.” It won’t.

#༺◦°◦. para .◦°◦༻#༺◦°◦. jasper ◦ langston .◦°◦༻#༺◦°◦. season ◦ one .◦°◦༻#༺◦°◦. s1 ◦ canaries .◦°◦༻#༺◦°◦. bait on ◦ a boat .◦°◦༻#wickedswriting

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authoralexharvey · 1 year

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INTERVIEW WITH A WRITEBLR — @local-single-wizard

Who You Are:

Whonsper || They/them

A fanfic writer by heart, with no fandom at the moment. I also have an annoying tendency to bite off more than I can chew when it comes to writing, but I have wonderful ideas all the same, if I do say so.

What You Write:

What genres do you write in? What age ranges do you write for?

Adventure, comedy, fanfic, fantasy, romance, sci-fi, and tragedy. Young and new adult.

What genre would you write in for the rest of your life, if you could? What about that genre appeals to you?

Fantasy, I love to freedom the genre gives. I've always been interested in the kinds of creatures one could come up with, and what kind of silly adventures they could go on! And because it's such a large genre with no set rules, I can make up whatever lore I want for whoever I want. But there's always that feeling like a spark in your eye, tasting adventure with each breath, even if the characters have lived there their whole lives; the reader gets to taste that world now!

What genre/s will you not write unless you HAVE to? What about that genre turns you off?

History, despite my interest in history. I personally know many history nerds, and have seen plenty online as well, to know they would never be satisfied with any history story, no matter how well researched. I'm usually one to over-research even, and I'm too scared to touch the genre because I'm far too lazy to research every tiny detail, like the minimum wage in buttfuck nowhere, Alabama in 1952 and how it affects my characters in the next country. I simply don't have the mental energy.

Who is your target audience? Do you think anyone outside of that would get anything out of your works?

Usually myself, because I write exactly what I would want to read. Outside of that, my next targets are anyone that feels anything that I feel, any neurodivergents or aspecs or anyone that feels isolated in the world for reasons they cant quite articulate. For anyone outside of that sphere, I would hope they could understand a little better what others are feeling, at the very least, and sympathize with those people that feel like my characters.

What kind of themes do you tend to focus on? What kinds of tropes? What about them appeals to you?

I really like found family, finding platonic love, as well as enemies to lovers (I know what that says about me). Anything where I can introduce a character that doesn't fit, especially if they're a "monster" (usually literally), and pour my love for them onto the page through my other characters, or give them a home where they feel safe to be themselves. Bonus points if I can make them love the world around them, and in turn learn to love themselves. Enemies to lovers has a very fun dynamic that I really like playing with, especially if I can subvert expectations.

What themes or tropes can you not stand? What about them turn you off?

I'm not a big fan of any 'Chosen One' stories, because they feel cheap. Especially if there's no secondary pov or no fight to be that chosen one. I don't want my heroine to be handed their responsibility, their greatness; I want them to fight for it, to want it, to beat others for it. I want a story to prove to me why I should care about this person being the Chosen One over others, or it'll feel like this was a bit of a weak choice to me as a reader.

What are you currently working on? How long have you been working on it?

I've recently made the switch from all my writing being fanfiction to writing original stories, thus scrapping many of my earlier ideas, or at least shelving them for later use. I'm jumping between a couple ideas right now, but one I'm most passionate about is about a guardian angel, with a strong distrust of humans, being forced to Earth to find a person who he'll spend his life looking over. Overwhelmed with this new world, he starts following the first human to show him even a bit of kindness, much to the human's mixed amusement and irritation. Over time, they grow closer, with the human learning more about the angel, who they are as a being and how they feel about the world. The angel learns so much about the world, and slowly breaks down his distaste and prejudice against humans. I've had the idea for this since 2019, even writing a chapter of fanfiction following this premise, but since starting to rewrite it I've been mulling it over in new context for about 2 months.

Why do you write? What keeps you writing?

I write because it's a release of my thoughts, and also because I thrive off of validation. I keep writing for all the people in my life that have ever believed in me, or have written with me. Special shoutout to my 11 year old brother who would come in my room everyday for 3 months and ask to work on our fantasy choose-your-own-adventure story, and always had the most creative ideas.

How long have you been writing? What do you think first drew you to it?

I first accepted writing as my preferred medium when I was probably 13, but I've been complimented on my writing since I was 8 years old. I think I was first drawn to it because it's a way to get my thoughts out when I can't figure out how to verbally articulate them. I have adhd so figuring out what I'm trying to say while staying on topic is very difficult sometimes, and I get lost very often. I'm constantly confused in daily life, so writing is a place where I can have control and know exactly what I'm doing and what I've just done.

Where do you get your inspiration from? Is that how you got your inspiration for your current project? If not, where did the inspiration come from?

I get a lot of my inspiration from reading other writer's stories, or even hearing people's personal life stories. Many of my stories include elements I've seen in other places, little bits that another writer has in their story that I've become inspired by and put in my story. Another big source of inspiration is actually just random pictures, because I love trying to figure out why this would make sense, or inversely what subversion is happening in this picture right below the surface. My current project was partially inspired by works I've read in the past, but from the very beginning was inspired by a picture of a celebrity wearing angel wings, back when it was a fanfiction.

What work of yours are you most proud of? Why?

It's an unfinished, almost scrapped piece that I came up with last November, but one which I immediately became so obsessed with and thought about constantly. It's about a young person who learns that he has the ability to time travel, only backwards, never forward. He uses it too often for mundane reasons and very quickly loses control of it, and is thus sent hurtling back in time uncontrollably. He relishes what time he spends in these periods, meeting new people and gathering new friends and making a small life for himself before he's inevitably whisked away to the next time with no warning. He's accompanied by an immortal, who he's meeting backwards in time, and who is there every time he jumps, there to catch him up to the time and make sure he's okay. The two become a very close family, but there's the looming question of how far back will he go?

Have you published anything? Do you want to?

I haven't, it wasn't even on my radar until just recently, when my stepmom offhandedly mentioned that she knew I would get published one day, that she was waiting for it, and she would of course buy any of my books or short stories. She said she's always believed in me, and always been a huge supporter of my writing. So yes, I would love to publish a story, even just a little short story, for her.

What part of the writing process most appeals to you? What part is least appealing?

I love coming up with the plot, and interweaving little details, whether for my own amusement or for the sake of a better story. I'll spend so long on that step, coming up with more and more lore for the story and turning a little short story into a beast. I'm not a fan of the first draft, because that is always the hardest for me. I'm a perfectionist so it's very hard for me to accept that my writing is not going to be perfect on the first pass, and it honestly shouldn't be! I've been working on accepting imperfect writing, but it's very difficult.

Do you have a writing process? Do you have an ideal setup? Do you write in pure chaos? Talk about your process a bit.

My process is pure chaos, and definitely not effective. It usually starts with me texting my best friend about some crazy idea, rambling for at least half an hour, usually closer to 2 hours, about this cool new idea I've had, just putting any unintelligible bullshit that comes to mind. She'll give her take on it, give me some ideas, help me shape the idea, get rid of ideas that just won't work, help me sort out a plot, then I copy all these notes into a google doc and sort them. From there I try to write the filler between everything we've talked about. Then I refine it down, over and over again until it sounds okay.

Your Thoughts on Writeblr:

How long have you been a writeblr? What inspired you to join the community?

I'm not even sure I am a writeblr, to be honest. I started the writing blog only about a month or so ago, but I've only been interacting with other writeblrs in the past week or so I'd say. I actually got more in to the community because of a writeblr valentines event, the one that pens-swords-stuff hosted just recently.

Shout out some of your favorite writeblrs. How did you find them and what made you want to follow them?

@pens-swords-stuff, of course. Scrolling their page has helped me figure out how to engage in the community as well as fix my blog (I'm still working on that one). also @monstrousfreedom, absolutely fantastic stuff on that blog, and writes things that I'm very interested in.

What is your favorite part about writeblr?

The sheer difference between any writers, I've never seen such a large community with such different tastes hype each other up, even if some of those people absolutely do not make the same content, or even consume the same content.

What do you think writeblr could improve on? How do you think we can go about doing so?

Being so new to the community, I haven't seen anything just yet. Everyone seems so nice and open to talking to others, even newer people like myself. I've only seen positivity so far from writeblrs.

How do you contribute to the writeblr community? Do you think you could be doing more?

I could absolutely be doing more. As of right now, I don't interact too terribly much, as I'm still trying to get set up and find my feet in the community. But I'm trying to worm my way into the community through events like this, getting my name on people's dashes so I don't feel so bad about posting my own writing, or ranting about my wips to no one.

What kinds of posts do you most like to interact with?

I love interacting with any post that asks questions about your current wip. I love talking about my writing, even if it's just to myself in the tags.

What kind of posts do you most like to make?

My own writing ideas, or a story that a specific song felt like.

Finally, anywhere else online we may be able to find you?

@whonsper, my main blog, or on discord, whonsper#9454

Questions For Fun:

If you could time travel, what time period would you go to? Why?

If I could time travel, I'd probably want to go back to ancient Rome. It seems like the safest option, what with women owning property and indoor plumbing and all, but I'm also really interested in learning about what life was like back then. What small details of life have slipped under our radar but are prevalent in day to day life for ancient Romans? What's similar about human nature and culture through all of time? What hidden gems do they have that historians today would be pissing themselves to get?

If your writing was a food, what foof would it be and why?

I'd want to say my writing is like a bowl of soup. I always want it to feel comfortable and natural reading my stories, but you never know what you're gonna get. Is it cheddar broccoli today with a side of high fantasy romance? It is Italian wedding soup with some magical realism? Is it chicken noodle like your mom used to make, but oh no I've done something to your beloved fairytale. Or maybe I just really like soup.

Do you have a favorite fantasy creature? What makes it your favorite?

Through the years, I've picked up my brother's love of dragons. The amount of magic you can play around with in dragons is incredible, and with so many different breeds and physical characteristics and personalities. They're also very intelligent, which leads to them usually being even more of a problem than anyone signed up for, which I love. They're an incredibly versatile creature to see used in fantasy, and I always get super excited when I see one.

#iwaw #writeblr celebration #writeblr event #writeblr #writing community

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kyliafanfiction · 4 months

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What's the gripe with the Templin people? I tried watching their videos once but they seemed very boring so I don't really know anything about their content

(Full disclosure, it's been years since I watched any of their videos, so while I remember generally what they've said that pissed me off, I don't remember the specifics and I don't care to. Unlike say, Craptain America Steve "I am Drone Strikes In Human Form" Rogers, the Templin Institute does not live rent free in my head all the time, they just sublet some space every few months for a day or two) Well, My gripe is that their opinions on worldbuilding in sci-fi are very, very wrong. There's a lot of little things I didn't like or didn't agree with, like opposing the idea of a single government governing an entire world even if that world is part of (or even the capital of) a multistellar state, or saying that monarchies couldn't possibly ever function in the future because western democracies are so much more effective and efficient (*points to the United States* Not to say Monarchies are *good*, but monarchies are as capable of being effective at governing as democracies, because a monarchy is just a dictatorship where you call the dictator King, and we have a lot of functioning, for varying values of the word, dictatorships right now on earth), to saying that an Empire shouldn't call itself an Empire because it's too 'on the nose' or something to that effect, etc

But the thing that was the 'fuck this shit I'm out' for ever watching their videos again and soured me anytime anyone else links their videos and calls them "great worldbuilding advice" (seeing someone do that on a forum thread is what prompted my bitchpost) was one about sci-fi ships, and basically asserting all sorts of nonsense about what kinds of ships did and did not work/make sense (Dreadnoughts apparently are Bad™ and no serious writer should have them), ignoring that

1.) In most sci-fi settings that serve as settings for stories, games, TTRPGs, etc the classes/kinds of ships are there for narrative reasons first (in general, Templin's narrative-neutral approach to worldbuilding, while in theory sound, creates a lot of problems very quickly)

2.) The author is responsible for the space physics/etc of the universe. It's not hard to construct a universe where Dreadnoughts are the only viable form of warship for some reason. Or one where carriers rule the day, or one where carriers are actually a terrible, terrible idea, etc, etc, etc. Templin has this tendency, in their worldbuilding advice videos, to ignore that writers are gods of their own universes. Or so is my impression. They also speak authoritatively without basis, but that's kind of a me hangup, because ultimately it should be obvious it's all their opinion (I just think their opinions are bad) So I don't like them, get annoyed when I see people rec their worldbuilding stuff and can't believe I'm the only person who thinks their worldbuilding 'advice' is barely above useless half the time.

As for why right-wing neckbeard basement dwelling pissbaby shitheel fuckface morons hate them, it's that Templin Institute has "Gone Woke". The primary source of complaint for them seems to be that the Templin Institute asserted, accurately (if pointlessly, IMO) that Female Space Marines are entirely possible, if Games Workshop (the people who own Warhammer 40k) really wanted them, they could just change the lore. Under the cut for more details and context on that hot mess.

For those of you not familiar with this bit of interminable nonsense, in the Wargame (and associated setting that contains books, video games, TTRPGs and I believe at least one board game) Warhammer 40k, there exists a class of unit called a "Space Marine" which are genetically enhanced supersoldiers that are the flagship characters of the 40k universe. They get the most models made for them, the most narrative focus, etc.

Space Marines are, generally, made by taking candidates who pass a pretty grueling battery of tests, and grafting all sorts of extra organs into them that, if they survive, turns them into transhuman superpeople that are like ten feet tall, super strong/fast/etc and then gives them a pretty long lifespan. Space Marines are very, very. very, very skilled warriors and often deploy in 100-man companies that are often capable of turning the tide of planetary wars all on their own.

In-universe, the reason that Space Marines are all dudes isn't that the Imperium doesn't think women can't fight (the Imperium, as a whole, just cares if you hate the alien, the mutant and the heretic and can hold a lasgun when they conscript you into the Imperial Guard, and yes I'm oversimplifying) but that the process to create the Space Marines was made by the God-Emperor thousands of years ago using his own genes (or something like that) so they didn't work on women at the time - and the big E is on life support and has been for most of those thousands of years, and science and technology don't really advance much in-universe because it's a crapsack world setting (40k's fandom invented the word Grimdark, for reference), so even if someone was inclined to try and improve on the God Emperor's work, it would be hard to.

All of this is of course, arbitrary, because Games Workshop writes the lore. They've retconned things before, and these days their official position on 'canon' is that all published materials are from nominally in-universe sources and thus potentially biased or inaccurate. And they have had a guy named Cawl create an improved 'Primaris Space Marine' after thousands of years of work (though to be fair, in some quarters, the Primaris Space Marines went over like a lead balloon), so Templin Institute's point was that Games Workshop could say 'actually female space marines are possible because no one realized it before' or 'someone invented a way to make them possible' which is true.

This comment pissed off a bunch of idiots, most of whom are the sort of crypto/quasi/open (it does vary) fascists (or their technically apolitical buddies that give them cover) that give the rest of 40k's player base a bad name. And so they whined that Templin Institute 'went woke'.

Personally, I agree with Templin on this, but I also think this is a stupid argument and people who really want female space marines should just stop engaging with 40k and find a better game/setting to be into, because the Warhammer 40k game and setting is a horrible, terrible, noxious steaming pile of incoherent trash that should have been left on the ash heap of gaming decades ago to be replaced by better stuff.

And I say this as someone who has bought several Warhammer 40k video games, would like to buy at least one more, played some 40k-set TTRPGs a few times, reads some of the 40k novels and spends more time than she'd like to admit (that is, any) reading the 40k Lexicanum (a fan wiki). I will fully concede that the 40k game/setting is a compelling pile of trash, but it still is a pile of trash.

#Long Post #Kylia Writes Metas #Anti-Warhammer 40k #Fuck The Templin Institute #Worldbuilding #Science Fiction #Grumping #Asked and Answered

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secretgamergirl · 1 year

Text

Twitter is absolutely dying and that is an unambiguously good thing.

For those who somehow missed it (which I doubt because hey you’re looking at Tumblr again, Elon Musk recently bought Twitter and seems to be doing some kind of speedrun for how quickly he can burn the whole site to the ground and salt the earth so nothing will grow there again. From where I sit it looks like half the userbase has already jumped ship, plus all the advertisers, so, yeah, probably dead by the end of the year. Consequently I’m seeing a ton of people posting various reasons they think this is a great and terrible tragedy and... basically I just want to quickly run down why all of these are wrong and/or deeply selfish.

News

So let’s start with the biggest and most obvious example. People are lamenting how Twitter is such a great way to stay on top of current events and always be informed about everything that’s happening.This is so wildly untrue I want to slap people. Stuff does indeed get shared around twitter super fast, but actual factual useful information kinda never does? Like, nobody ever fact-checks a damn thing, or takes a good look at the source of something. Every day I’m seeing people who should know better because it is literally their job to know better retweeting straight up nazi propaganda from accounts which if you take a look at them for 3 seconds are literally nothing but bigoted hatemongering. People pass around links to news articles, but the article is always A- behind a paywall, and B- given a profoundly misleading headline, frequently saying the exact opposite of what the actual article says, and people will routinely read the headline only, or not even read the headline, just the often disingenuous framing of whoever wrote it. People will form lynch mobs against totally innocent people at the drop of a hat, sometmes because someone is spreading straight up lies, sometimes because a comment about one situation goes viral and the way it’s wording it plausibly fits in another unrelated conversation about a completely different person, or it mentions someone with a similar name to someone else, and everyone starts shooting first and asking questions later.

And that’s not even getting into the way Twitter has completely destroyed the ability of basically every journalist on the site to actually do their jobs anymore. Somehow it became this expectation that if you report the news, you have to live on twitter, scooping up everything getting any buzz as it happens. And also doing your socialization there, and invariably getting swept up in gossip and cattiness and straight up neo-nazi propaganda, and after a while the lines between the three blur away completely for basically everyone. Look how many “news articles” are literally just someone pasting the last 20 tweets on their feed into a template and posting it. Look at how many reporters get into these weird parasocial relationships and sic their followers on people who disagree with their takes on things, or just start hunting people for sport. Hell, look at how basically every single member of the press in England managed to get recruited into a dangerous bloody-minded transphobic cult and literally no longer talk about anything else in any situation. None of these people cover news anymore, they’re just mentally back in high school sharing gossip or worse. Pull the plug for them, kick everyone who’s clearly too far gone to ever come back to the curb, and let’s go back to people actually researching stories, writing something coherent, editing it, fact checking it, and putting it into print.

Friends

A whole lot of people say Twitter is how they keep in touch with all their friends and... again, probably the worst possible way you could do that? Getting Twitter to display posts from everyone you care about instead of whatever random crap it feels like throwing at you is kind of a huge pain in the ass, and even when you go to the trouble it routinely just... drops messages. Like if you do the list feed thing, and eve if you individually load all your friends profiles up one by one, read everything from the past day, and hit reload, you’d be surprised how many things will appear or disappear because the software does not at all reliably fetch everything. And they’ll do weird shadowbans or have netsplits and just blank out entire people, incoming tagged messages only get logged for like a day or two at best, sometimes just a few hours, sometimes never at all. Direct messages are a massive memory leak and bad about showing when there’s updates. Plus you know, personally speaking half the people I know have formally left the site so far. You are far far better off if you keep in touch with everyone you care about through Discord, or Slack, or Skype or IRC or VR Chat or Second Life or really like anything that has ever existed as a means of getting some arbitrary number of people into a shared space that live-updates whatever people type into a feed. Way better archiving too. Or you know, there’s blogs. You’re reading one.

All the Things in One Place

I wish I still had the quote but I saw someone all waxing romantic about how looking at his twitter feed he got live news updates, AND people making dumb jokes, AND getting on the ground POV reports on life in Uganda or whatever, “all in one app.” And... OK so this was just a guy admitting to having a serious social media addiction. Like all the stuff I mentioned above will also give you that variety of info. Just get in a big discord with a lot of friends or on a webforum or something. Or look at youtube now and then. If you’re on the internet in the year 2022, trust me, ALL THE THINGS will be shoved at you constantly, that is in no way unique to Twitter.

Verification

Before this stupid $8 thing, some folks claim, Twitter verification was the clear way to tell if someone really was who they say they are and a way to tell who to take seriously. No, no it really wasn’t. If that were actually true, literally anyone would be able to get the little verified sticker just by proving to the company that they are who they say they are, but what they actually had was an incredibly prejudiced and politicized system where regardless of one’s notoriety, it was exceptionally rare for any woman in any field to get verified, and random nazi propaganda accounts would routinely be granted them. The whole $8 free for all is plainly worse, sure, but it never guaranteed accurate info and was pretty plainly used to marginalize people with some weird arbitrary haves and have nots deal.

I’ve similarly seen people expressing shock at how abuse reports about people posting “kill all the Jews” or whatever have been coming back saying “we reviewed this post and found no violation of the rules” and like... that’s actually what has always happened when you file a report. I guess some people are only just trying it for the first time now, or whoever made sure to actually look at reports from a handful of noteworthy people by hand got fired.

Self-Promotion/Begging

A friend just a little bit ago expressed a concern about how there’s a whole swath of the population whose basic survival depends on people making patreon donations or whatever and Twitter is the only real viable place for rattling the ol’ can. Same boat for freelance artists putting it out there that they’re open for commissions. Her concern was when the site fully goes under, or just from all the people who have already abandoned it, such people won’t be able to make ends meet.

Now, that one is a valid concern. I’m such a person myself, here’s my Patreon. It’s my sole source of income. It’s been my sole source of income for a few years now, and yeah, Twitter is the only place I really plug it. But here’s the thing. Twitter is also the place where malicious scumbags routinely organize efforts to convince anyone who gives money to me to cut me off, where they hunt donors down and harass them, and where they organized all the smear campaigns that burned down all my professional contacts and completely destroyed my ability to ever find actual work again. It’s been on a steady decline for years, and every time I really start desperately begging and get it up a few dollars, another character assassination sends me two steps back. And Twitter’s algorithms down rank any such links to boot. So... honestly as things stand I am going to be living on the street before the end of the year if I don’t have some sort of sudden windfall and I don’t think twitter dying is going to have any particular impact on the speed where that happens. I’m officially out of savings this month, just scraped out what’s left to pay my rent, and my projected donations are $500 short. I’m dead either way, but seriously, the vector for hate outways the vector for begging by far.

So yeah. Watch the whole site burn, watch the scumbag who bought it lose all the money he spent, celebrate, avoid any urge to create some sort of replacement, just go back to forums and chats. You’ll be happier, healthier, and better informed.

Oh and here’s that link again if you want to maybe help me live through the end of the year or whatever.

#twitter #web 2.0 was a mistake

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jockmewalking · 10 months

Text

Here it finally is! The Camp Tv Reloaded biographies. I might alter Cam’s a lil bit or maybe not...

Brick McArthur

(The Crass Cadet)

What’s your best quality?

MY LEADERSHIP SKILLS!! HERE AT BOOT CAMP, EVERYONE LISTENS TO WHAT I SAY!!! …EVERYONE THAT HAS ANY SENSE OF SELF-PRESERVATION THAT IS!

Faves? (Music, Colour, Movie, Food)

DON’T LISTEN TO JUNK ON THE RADIO! BUT HARD ROCK AND METAL ISN’T SO BAD!

BLOOD RED! WHICH IS THE LAST THING MY ENEMIES WILL SEE BEFORE THEY GET CRUSHED TO DUST!!!

ANY WAR MOVIE COUNTS DOESN’T IT?! IT’S HARD TO CHOOSE MY FAVORITE, BUT I GUESS SINCE MY MOM LIKES IT, THE SURGE OF HASSAN!!!

ANYTHING THAT CAN FUEL ME FOR A DAY IS WORTH IT!!! …BUT I SUPPOSE MY MOTHER’S RENDANG IS GOOD FLAVOR-WISE!

Describe your craziest dream.

I WAS PICKED ON FOR NO REASON BY MY LOYAL SUBORDINATES! THAT’S UNFAIR!!! I SHOULD NEVER FACE DISRESPECT FROM ANYONE EVER AGAIN! WHICH IS FUNNY I SAID THAT!! SINCE NO ONE HAS LIVED TO TELL THE TALE WHEN THEY DO!!!

Best memory from childhood?

…JOINING THE COOKING CLUB IN 4TH GRADE! OBVIOUSLY!!! I HAVE NO CLUE WHY PEOPLE ARE ALWAYS SHOCKED BY THAT!

Most embarrassing moment at school?

UGH!!! THERE’S THIS ANNOYING BOY NAMED ARTHUR NOTHINGCHICK AT BOOTCAMP! HE KEEPS…TAUNTING ME AND PUTTING DOWN MY AMAZING ACCOMPLISHMENTS!!! AND SOME FREAKIN’ KID HAD THE AUDACITY TO SPREAD A RUMOR ABOUT US DATING JUST BECAUSE OF A WEIRD DREAM SHE HAD!!! WHAT NONSENSE!

Describe the first job you ever had.

I WAS…AWAY FROM BOOT CAMP FOR A WHILE AND I HAD TO DO SOME ‘COMMUNITY SERVICE CRAP’ FOR MY ‘BRASH’ AND ‘IMPROPER’ BEHAVIOR!! I HAD TO TAKE CARE OF RANDOM PEOPLE’S DOGS FOR WEEKS INSTEAD OF KICKING BUTT AT THE ACADEMY!!! …THE DOGS WEREN’T SO BAD…

Ten years from now, what are you doing?

BEING A HIGH-RANKING MILITARY ‘SARGE TO HONOR MY MOTHER’S GLORY!!!

My dream date would be with ___________, doing what?

SOMEONE WHO CAN ACTUALLY HANDLE MY INTENSITY, SO SOMEONE JUST AS INTENSE AS ME OR SOMEONE MORE…CALM, I SUPPOSE!! NO MATTER WHAT THEIR PERSONALITY IS, IM GOING TO COOK THEM A DELICIOUS MEAL AND BRAG TO THEM ABOUT ALL MY ACHIEVEMENTS AND AWARDS FROM BOOT CAMP!

It’s the last day on earth. In one sentence, what would you do?

LAST DAY ON EARTH?! HAH! MAYBE FOR EVERYONE ELSE! I’M GONNA LIVE OUT THE REST OF MY DAYS DOING DRILLS AND DANCING ON TOP OF THAT NOTHINGCHICK FELLOW’S GRAVE!

Maribelle ‘Mary’ Flemming

(The Sports Fanatic)

What’s your best quality?

I know a crapton about sports—popular celebrities, common misconceptions, random trivia, strategy-stuff—you name it! Thing is, I’m not exactly an athletic gal, but I guess my bro says that makes my obsession way cooler AND unorthodox!

Faves? (Music, Colour, Movie, Food)

Indie or prog-rock is OBVIOUSLY the best! My favorite song right now is Summer and a Typhoon by Trolly Hell

Any type of purple’s really awesome…

All kinds of action flicks! …It’s nice putting yourself in the shoes of a cool character.

A bag of chips would do me good… Ironic, junk food’s not good for my body, but I guess that saying “You are what you eat” really rings true, huh?

Describe your craziest dream.

Heh, this one’s a real doozy! I was ranked as the no. 1 athlete in my school! 6 years in a row!!! God, I always admired people who have the motivation to work on their physique…

Best memory from childhood?

When I got picked first during team-picking in volleyball! My ‘ol leader’s heard a LOT about my knowledge surrounding a variety of sports, so he’d thought I’d be a great first choice.

Most embarrassing moment at school?

…Turns out the same guy was hoping I’d be some ultra-mega-jock! My bad for wearing sportswear that day—easily fooled him with my fashion style! My team didn’t score a single point in that game and they all blamed me for the loss…

Describe the first job you ever had.

Never had one come to think of it! Most jobs in my town are only open in the daytime, not the best for my…personal schedule you know?

Ten years from now, what are you doing?

…Wasting away in my bedroom… As I always do.

My dream date would be with ___________, doing what?

A total loser who thinks they’re really cool but actually isn’t! I mean—my older bro Jon says I’m the awesomest gal who think’s he’s the lamest, so I guess a person like that would be my match! …Still stuck on what my total opposite and I would do on a first date….

It’s the last day on earth. In one sentence, what would you do?

I’d probably be fiddling around with the tv remote to watch my favorite sport shows one last time, or I’d be asleep. Whichever works best!

Staci

(The Gossipmonger)

What’s your best quality?

A lot of RUDE people consider this a ‘flaw’, but I would say it’s my ability to spin any story around and have people believe anything I say!

Faves? (Music, Colour, Movie, Food)

Pop music from the radio, I really like Glad Donna’s songs!

PINK!!! All shades of pink are the best!

Rude Gals is my jam! I don’t really know why, but Reggie and Janelle’s story really speaks to me…hmm…

An assorted box of chocolates! Especially if it includes fruit-flavored ones AND the box looks super cute!

Describe your craziest dream.

I got into my first…relationship!! Though I sadly didn’t remember what the person looked like… It was totally awesome and fun at first, but then she started arguing with me about something… Before I could respond, the dream abruptly ended.

Best memory from childhood?

Way back in kinder, I told a girl from my class that the boy she was ‘play-dating’ thinks she’s a ‘doo-doo face’ and prefers playing with a girl named Emily! It was hilarious seeing her bawl her eyes out while ‘breaking up’ with this confused boy. …Poor kid, but whatever! It was his problem to deal with months of bullying from the other kids! Haha!

Most embarrassing moment at school?

Someone spread a rumor about me wearing a wig everyday to school! Complete truth—I’ll give them that—but I had students try ripping out my hair and messing up the cute space buns I spent soooo much time perfecting!

Describe the first job you ever had.

Right now, I’m working at a hair salon! Hairstyling is one of my specialties, though certain people say my ‘chatterbox tendencies’ only leads to my clients complaining about me and giving the already unpopular business a bad reputation or whatever bull…

Ten years from now, what are you doing?

Opening up my OWN successful hair salon, while my current one shuts down from bankruptcy!

My dream date would be with ___________, doing what?

Anyone—as long as it isn’t a guy, bleghh!—with an awesome sense of fashion! AND TAKING CARE OF THEIR HAIR IS A BIG THING!!! The more extravagant the hairstyle, the better. I could talk endlessly about all my annoying co-workers and maybe they could talk about TONS of things after or just listen.

It’s the last day on earth. In one sentence, what would you do?

Ugh, normally I don’t like graffiti, but I might as well vandalize my salon with all the embarrassing secrets I’ve gathered about each and every employee! That will show ‘em to NOT insult me whenever I’m around.

Mike

(The Comedian)

What’s your best quality?

Lighting up a room with my sense of humor! The way people show their appreciation is quite peculiar though…! Instead of a bouquet of flowers, I once got a bouquet of tomatoes thrown straight to my face!

Faves? (Music, Colour, Movie, Food)

I like upbeat jazz!

Yellow, the color of radiancy and happiness!

EarthDog Day was a blast to watch! …I’m not sure if I should be rooting for the main guy and the girl to get together or not..!

Smoked ham! It was something my old, cranky caretaker made a lot back in my childhood! Welp, at least a piece of him is still with us ;)!

Describe your craziest dream.

…I was in a dark, dark room. And all I could see was face of someone who-shall-not-be-named. I don’t want to let out TOO much detail, but they were saying a lot of really hurtful stuff. …I wish things were better between us, but it’s better not having them around for my sake and for many others.

Best memory from childhood?

About that! I have severe memory problems… Many things about my past is a blur, though I remember fragments of events I do NOT want to dwell on. One positive—aside my former caretaker—is this funny Russian TV show I watched about an awesome stuntwoman who loved making people laugh, just like me! I guess that lady really help me through a lot now, didn’t she ;)!

Most embarrassing moment at school?

We were supposed to do a puppetshow and I was prepping all week! But, then…! Just before I presented, I suddenly felt all woozy and like the world was spinning round and round uncontrollably…! Next thing I remember, my teacher was scolding me for having such an unorganized show! There was a lots of…ermm….not-safe-for-school humor… and that it kept switching from an Oilers-inspired love story to an Indie Jonas retelling! I think I have a strong idea on who caused that mess!

Describe the first job you ever had.

I was a waitress for a homey, diner restaurant! Sadly, I got kicked out…! See, me and the crew were singing Happy Birthday to a customer, but then the young birthday celebrant started weeping because of my ‘horrible’ singing!

Ten years from now, what are you doing?

Isn’t it obvious?! A world-renowned comedian! …And I would definitely share the spotlight with 4 other people who helped me through a lot!

My dream date would be with ___________, doing what?

Lorrison Elli! She can definitely give me pointers on how to be a successful comedian!

It’s the last day on earth. In one sentence, what would you do?

Sing romantic ballads to drown my sorrows away!

Scott

(The ‘Jaded General’)

What’s your best quality?

How I take no nonsense from other people. I stand my ground strong and do as I please whether people like it or nah.

Faves? (Music, Colour, Movie, Food)

Music?! I got no time for that nonsense!

Dirt brown. I just dig it.

Don’t remember its title, but its about a guy from a military platoon infiltrating an enemy battalion. Sweet-talking his way through ’n hiding under a different identity then pretending like he’s on the enemy’s side before taking all ‘em suckers down one by one!

Whatever’s not being served at boot camp! Though my momma makes a nummy sharped’s pie.

Describe your craziest dream.

In a world as wacko as this one my dreams hardly ever compare!

Best memory from childhood?

That time I beat ‘ol pops in long and difficult wrestling match. Not fair ’n square though! I may or may not have drugged his coffee before we fought…

Most embarrassing moment at school?

More nerve-grating than embarrassing but our general was ordering us to do some drills and I just couldn’t care less! As punishment that shmuck forced me to 130 push-ups in front of all the other cadets!

Describe the first job you ever had.

I once trained a bunch of raccoons to hunt down a two wild hounds that were bothering the neighborhood kids. Didn’t do it to help ‘em just wanted to own an army of feral ‘coons ’n for them to pay me a grand for my work. Funny enough I’m darn sure there’s a book about this with an almost-but-not-quite similar premise…

Ten years from now, what are you doing?

High up in the ranks of whatever business I take up… ordering my goons to do whateva I want ‘em to do whether they want to or nah!

.My dream date would be with ___________, doing what?

No thanks! I’d rather mess up the lives of potential lovebirds than be a lovesick fool myself.

It’s the last day on earth. In one sentence, what would you do?

Terrorize the neighborhood with my ever-growing raccoon army!!

Cameron

(The Explorer)

What’s your best quality?

Well, bad luck seems to follow me wherever I go… But I don’t let that stop me from getting where I want to be!

Faves? (Music, Colour, Movie, Food)

Fantasy video game music, especially The Myth of Link! I love listening to that genre while on my expeditions.

Red! It’s exciting and passionate, just like me.

The newest Metal Might Movie obviously, though I will say I prefer the comic books.

Rocky road ice cream! there’s a shop nearby my home that makes the most DELICIOUS rocky road ice cream imaginable!

Describe your craziest dream.

I’ve was forced to live in a bubble my whole life! That’s terrifying!!! I’ve got almost nothing to do in a small space like that…

Best memory from childhood?

That time I first met my closest buds! They were a bit mean at first… But now we spend every waking hour at school together! I love them all to bits, but they always ask me for my lunch money and seem…distracted… whenever I geek about Metal Might!

Most embarrassing moment at school?

I did terrible in a math test and the teacher exposed my mistakes to the entire class! I’m normally good at logic-based problems, but that was the first and only time I did terrible in a test…

Describe the first job you ever had.

I was part of a Boys Scout group back in the day. We sold granola cookies!

Ten years from now, what are you doing?

I want to travel the world one day and write a book about all the best places I visited! I know there’s tons of books already about this concept, but I have a feeling this one’s REALLY special.

My dream date would be with ___________, doing what?

I may be a lively guy, but I would prefer being with someone more serious or otherwise collected to ground me out. Maybe we can watch the stars or I can show them all the best touristy spots in my city.

It’s the last day on earth. In one sentence, what would you do?

Traverse the city one last time. Then right before the day ends, sit on top of the tallest building while reading my favorite comic series!

#camp tv reloaded #td brick #td mary (camp tv)#td staci #td mike #td scott #td cameron #I'll make a separate post just for some extra trivia bits #I feel tempted to maintag this but I don’t want this blog to gain much exposure so ehhh

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dissociativediscourse · 2 years

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Today I got told by my therapist that if I want to schedule bi-weekly sessions rather than weekly, shes either going to “help me find another therapist within the practice to discuss my treatment plan with who MIGHT be ok with bi-weekly sessions” or shes dropping me as a patient, strictly because I have DID. She told me that she sees it as unethical on her part not to do weekly sessions, and that for some of her DID patients, she says them three times a week. Forgive me, shrink, but I dont want to focus on trauma recovery every single week when I JUST got out of a constant fight or flight state for the first time in my whole life recently. Why do I have to become trauma to get care? Why am I not allowed to have a busy, functioning life and DID at the same time? I was desperately looking for a great therapist that would specialize in trauma and dissociation, and she does, and I got that, but now its under the condition that I bring everything that I dont even have access to to the surface every single fucking week, something I dont have 1. time for, 2. energy for due to being chronically ill (which is where most of my fucking trauma and dissociation came from in the first place), 3. the space to fucking care about it when Im busy being able to look outside and know its not a literal firey apocalyptic wasteland out there. Theres grass outside. Theres trees and forests and wind and bubbling water and cold things and hot things and all these wonderful plants (I love plants) and animals and so many lovely things, and Im seeing all of that for the first time, and she wants me to see the earth burn again every week? Im not fucking Prometheus and she cant make me do shit. I fucking abhor how DID is somehow synonymous with such intense suffering it renders you either clinically inept or clinically insane. No, motherfucker, I survived. I fucking survived, you think my brain would do all of that just to leave me with dementia-like behavior? Fuck you, how dare you.

This just seemed like the perfect blog to send something like this in, I just had to get this out and I feel so alone with dealing with this shit. Trauma recovery should never mean removing the survivor from their present moment and bringing them back into trauma, especially WITHOUT CONSENT which is all Ive been fucking getting no matter how blunt and upfront I am about controlling my own care. I just want her to see a person, not pain. Why is there no nuance? Why cant I be a person in pain sometimes and a pained person other times?

I am glad you sent this here. I’m sorry I’ve taken so long to respond. The way October is for me has just made me step back a little.

It sounds like this is a blessing in disguise. (Signaling you to RUN!!) Because your therapist is doing so many things wrong I doubt they should be treating anyone with DID. I mean, the fact they’re trying to get you to do trauma work multiple times a week when you do not want to or threatening to drop you is one of the biggest therapist red flags I think I’ve ever seen. And it sounds like a tactic an abusive parent would use. Trauma therapy can be and is retraumatizing if it is not done right, and this is especially the case with DID. That’s why there are phases to its treatment.

You are supposed to be *reasonably stable enough to be able to handle any of the consequences that occur and to be able to cope with what you go through* when you start to deep dive into trauma. The VERY FIRST phase of treatment is stabilization. And it sounds like you are just being forced straight into constant… This? No!!! This is not how you do it!!! This is not therapy!! This is forcing someone to have flashbacks at your will and threatening them if they don’t!! How is that okay?? It’s not!!

And this isn’t even to MENTION that if you are not ready, or say you do not want to do trauma work that day, or are severely uncomfortable or a host of other things— the therapist SHOULD NOT be either making you do it or even allowing another part to try to force you into it for self harm purposes.

I’m so sorry. Please find another therapist. Let her drop you. That threat was a blessing in disguise. This is a situation that cannot end well, and I worry about her other patients if she acts like this is standard. She needs to deal with her own issues before she should be anywhere near others’. If you need resources for help finding therapists, please send an ask or a message my way letting me know or and I’ll help you out. There are also some in my #advice asks tag.

Trauma therapy should not torture you, it should not hurt like this. It hurts, but it should not be this way. And there are good therapists out there, it just sounds like you haven’t found one yet. And I’m really sorry for that.

If you’re an adult and you want someplace to gather resources for finding therapy/advice from others/to chat about any of this, it seems like you might have some use for the Survivor’s Network? It’s a discord server and it’s in my pinned. I know a lot of members have been through similar therapy situations, and when you are going through that, it’s nice to have a purely recovery-oriented space to help out. (Not trying to plug, just seemed helpful, lol.)

#advice asks #advice #asks #dissociative identity disorder advice #osddid #osdd advice #therapy advice tag

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myrfing · 2 years

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reading some other ppls thoughts about gaius. the one DIRECTIONAL thing I can appreciate about his character is that he doesn't really ask for forgiveness nor is it a priority in his character's brain versus just righting some of his wrongs but.

the narrative itself however is super jarring as it prioritizes his forgiveness above all else and scratches against this premise as well as nails on a chalkboard. like you have this character they want to preserve the nobility and dignity of because since arr before the writer's politics developed an inch he was always portrayed as just, rational, and fair (but he's the villain that's the twist! *brushes everything about WHY he's a villain under the rug because god is in his heaven all is right on earth it's about strength of innate moral character not of effect and action and reality btw*) so he doesn't care about what you or anyone else thinks, he just wants to get shit done. this is how those who have done great wrong should think, after all. when he popped back up as the shadowhunter (lol aborted storyline) I could appreciate that being the grounds on which we have to work together with him.

but werlyt like...makes everything about granting him forgiveness. they want you to do it so bad. the very fact that he wants to "just fix it" above his personal image is something that only is a thing to grant him more respectability points. no other substance. every single other character in it exists to grant him redemption. all their fates and all their motives...LIKE AGAIN I ALWAYS GO ON ABOUT THIS the fact they retconned his dubious relationship with livia, making her just some "crazy nymphomaniac daughter of his that he graciously extended his patronage to but was just too #crazy and all the other kids didn't like her either btw she was just yucky disgusting" was like. the fact valens exists just to make him look better even though they are remarkably similar people and this is even acknowledged, because, again, look how reasonable and just he is-- the difference manifests in how he's self-aware and tries! the fact all the children pretty much just exist as a guilt and tragedy device for him and their destinies were set in stone to whirl around the gamma rays of his bs because he needed this and allie's left in his hands in the end as again his redemption. oh and now she has fun cute father daughter dates with him at festivals and thinks nothing of anything. the fact he's allowed to walk the streets of ala mhigo while fordola isn't and everyone easily accepts his presence even when he is not remotely useful enough to justify it considering the driving force was "send the wol and a big robot and the wol in a big robot and we'll brute force it". being GIVEN POWER OVER TERNCLIFF/WERLYT as if the people there are his second chance. Making him somehow just STUPID ENOUGH to not know about racism and abuse within his ranks to give him the benefit of ignorance. just all over the place at any disjointed opportunity. All while being like btw he doesnt care about redemption he's just here to do the right thing cause he's so based. ^_^ the basis of his reintroduction as a character is a direct reduction of the harm he's caused but the narrative itself makes everyone suffer for the emotional and ideological redemption of his character with VERY LITTLE ACTUAL REDUCTION OF HARM LMFAOOOO and none of it is further examined. "you tried to redeem yourself by doing the right thing but you are the wrong person for it" IS SOMETHING that could be written well but it wasn't because they cannot commit to him actually being wrong and actually never having been noble and respectable at all and he was just handed his do-over anyways. IT'S SO....IT'S SILLY. it's goose

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elleloquently · 2 years

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stranger things volume 2 spoilers. this is not going to be cohesive whatsoever, just some thoughts put together because i was really loving volume 2 but then it felt spoiled and im still mad so here we are

i hate what happened to max. like to my core i absolutely hate what happened to her and i just cannot imagine why she needed to end up in a fucking coma. we have the dear billy episode, which was so fucking beautiful and incredibly well done and max did it! she escaped from vecna! only to almost be killed 200 more times and ultimately end up in a coma??? it feels like they couldn't decide if they should kill her or keep her alive and putting in her in that horrid state and then frozen in a coma just feels so frustrating.

eddie. i knew from the beginning that eddie wasn't going to survive this season but i loved him anyway and totally sobbed when he died. he died a hero, and no one besides dustin even acknowledged. everything about it was devastating. so why on earth did no single person have any emotional reaction to his death except for dustin??? why did everyone seem fucking fine?? that seemed so out of character for me.

nancy and steve and nancy and jonathan. from the very beginning i shipped nancy and jonathan, i think they have such a good dynamic together and work so well together and im really rooting for them to work things out. what i dont love is how they keep alluding to steve and nancy getting together. i genuinely feel like that will ruin so much for me, it feels backwards even though they've grown as characters... i LOVE nance but her starting to have feelings for steve again while IN A RELATIONSHIP with jonathan is borderlining on ruining her character for me. nancy is amazing, i hate her whole story being around which guy she'll end up with. fix her relationship with jonathan or leave her single.

vickie. im so sorry but instantly i cannot stand her. im sososososo relieved that robin beat the death allegations !!!!!!!!!! and i have the softest spot for her but god.... i hope vickie doesnt stick around. i HATE when a character is introduced solely to be a love interest and that.... feels exactly what vickie is. she's boring and all they did was attempt to give her the same personality as robin, like come on. if you want our girl in a relationship, let the story build into one naturally, don't just force her into one with some random character. i really didn't want to see vickie on my screen making sandwiches, i would've preferred idk,,, someone acknowledging dustin's feelings???

steve harrington is like the love of my life and i was so scared for his life but he SURVIVED and i feel nothing but relief but also,, did he seem different to anyone else too?? i feel like over the seasons hes had the most amazing character development, he cares so much about the kids and he has such strong friendships with dustin and robin and its all very loveable and consistent until this volume?? i feel like he spent the majority of the time with nance, like he ignores everyone else when she's around but not in a good way and its one of the reasons why i wish they would retire that damn ship. it feels like they can only pick one between steve, the well rounded and developed character or steve with nancy..,,, like his personality and friendships don't exist when they're teasing a relationship with nancy and i hated it . a lot. the steve harrington we know and love would be absolutely devastated about what happened to max. the steve harrington we know and love would have acknowledged eddie, and been there for dustin and comforted him and hugged him??? yeah, it couldve happened offscreen, but thats... not good enough. it didn't feel true to his character. he had like no response to anything (except nancy!) and genuinely that spoiled so much for me.

there's probably so many errors and grammar issues but im typing this fast and i havent slept but yeah there's a lot of issues that kinda ruined it for me???? there were a lot of moments i loved too but these parts felt icky to me and kinda spoiled the ending like the last 30 minutes ruined any positive feelings i had??? kinda wish we could've seen a moment of the whole group just being together and comforting each other esp bc steve's distance from dustin just didn't make sense to me ): he loves those kids and he would've been upset about max being in a coma too. it just felt weird and maybe im being picky idkidk feel free to let me know ur thoughts as well if anyone actually read this???

also i thought it was pretty obvious byler wasnt going to be a thing but ive seen a lot of ppl really angry about it which i understand but people are hating on mike and el for .loving each other? i adore and love will and he deserves the world and hes so kind do you really think he wants el, his friend and sister to be unhappy??? that he just wanted mike to immediately dump el to be with him instead?? no it does not make sense and i thought all of their scenes were very sweet and touching and well done

also everyone was split up so much, I live for the moments they all reunite I really wish we could’ve had a bigger/longer moment of everyone together ):

there's so much more honestly but my brain feels so scrambled and i am tired but i just had to get some thoughts out okay bye

#stranger things #stranger things season 4 #stranger things volume 2

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iceglade · 2 years

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long thoughts i had while listening to dreams 🤓podcast🤓

obsessed with the idea of saving time like with the wayback machine and traveling to select saved/marked/preserved moments like that

get me in the ring coach i wanna talk to dream about it. gonna hit em with the "yeah we can but Should we" just to see what he does

im a big advocate for putting together an ethics committee cause we're only gonna need one More as time goes on and hardware/SOFTWARE advances.. especially software

cApItAlIsM LeAdS tO iNnOvAtIoN yeah when they want to empty the clouds before a big sports event, but the simultaneously dumbest and most important question here is whos gonna pay for using it where people Need it not that they Need that when there are simpler tech options to fix stuff like world hunger and global warming literally we could solve every single problem listed right NOWWWWW its just that NOBDOY WANTS TO FUCKING PAY FOR ITTT CAPITALISM IS SO GOOOOOOD .. OBVIOUS SARCASM ...

hes talking about technically everything being useless except for your brain.. yeah dream the only reason thats the case is we dont understand how the brain works. if we understand how the brain works we wont even need the biomass there too

im allowed to say dreams dumb because im smarter than him and i also love all these topics

"DIE EARLY I DONT CARE"

hfjgj hes just wow'ed by the possibilities open to us huh... hes also totally stuck at step 1 bc chat is so so miserably stupid

well. having muscles and spending the energy to move around helps regulate our system. its like when you go onto space and 0 gravity ..

i mean yeah you can drug yourself with endorphins too. is that as valid a way to live as any?

why do we need all this? it CAN be made but there are so many more things to consider than just innovation innovation innovation fast fast fast. a genuine question to consider is, when does convenience start cutting out things that can't be calculated? but yknow what AI struggling with soft sciences is like the whole big question right now so im gonna move on

"METEORITES"

that seems so painful to have to crack open meteorites to fulfill future water demands. why cant we just maintain the cycles instead? i mean like yeah i can think "ai does the math automated controlled detonation system" but thats doing too much. i'd just occams razor that bitch. earth has its own system why do we have to make our own less efficient system other than just to just be able to say we did it. like its cool but inefficient you might as well program your grocery delivery bot to perform a musical number before it lets you touch your food. its dumb

climate change fixing, actually i was on tiktok and someone made a video about how they fixed the acid rain from the 60s i think. which was deincentivizing companies by putting a cap on pollution levels, giving them buyable passes, allowing them to buy them from Each Other, and then making it more monetarily profitable to invest in green energy and sell off their pollution passes. like. thats FUNNY. and that WORKED.

trueeee change and development takes time but it also takes money. time for the people below, money for the people above 🤓🥸

i personally want horses to come back.

like yas i hate gas cars

bring back the horse

its true that prices lower as tech gets less and less expensive to make and mass produced, all ethics on THAT topic aside, but this makes me think of going to the store and seeing massive, beautiful tvs that would have been thousands in 2010, selling for 400 just sitting on the floor. the opulence of this fucking era occasionally hits me when im in a grocery store surrounded by food just sitting there...

empathy huh.. off topic tangent, but i'm a firm believer in that hereditary inherited trauma/genetic memories, i completely believe thats an actual thing, and when i have to think about humanity i think about how we're all beings made up of layers upon layers of ideas that Worked. if it didnt Work we would not have Been here. thats how evolution works, yeah? if we were to program a robot to feel empathy and to have consciousness, would we follow that same process to have it generate its humanity? how else would we create consciousness? or maybe we could follow the octopus format of having multiple computation centers that communicate.. is that any less or any more valid a form of consciousness than anything else ... i wonder what dream would say on these topic. and yet ALL OF THIS is totally moot once ai develop to think faster and bigger than us because i cant

i think ai would have as many limits as humans do. its a hardware vs software situation just like everything else

i wanna be like "living as a robot is just another way to live, chase your happiness" but do i really wanna get into the social when dreams already moved on in the podcast okay

ROBOT REPRODUCTION.. ELIMINATE BABIES ENTIRELY .. though i agree, there's still developing to do even if you could download worldly knowledge and experience directly into a newborn's head.

oh he circled back around to it, but i also really appreciate having the option to do it even if i dont. or to Not do it even if i Do. just on principle. but that's MY view on the world

life purpose and meaning huh ...

i like that dream optimistic, though. its one of the things that makes him matter so much to me.

the people who are causing climate change can be MADE to care, though. it's possible.

well. asking this question to the universe but do we really have to hit rock bottom before anything gets done? why does everything have to be a tragedy? cant we just solve the problem before its the World End? why does it always have to be this way?

i hope dream is enjoying his ice 🥺

i agree. humans are cockroach-like. we really are the biggest threat to ourselves.

disaster events always gets everyones priorities in order. but i really wish it didnt have to be so dire for that to occur. why does this always have to be the case

OH HERE WE GO AGAIN. GHOSTS ARE SCIENCE

THATS THE PROBLEM DREAM BELIEVES IN HEART BUT HE DOESNT BELIEVE IN SPIRIT. "they could. anything's technically possible i dont think my view is the only right view but based on my worldview i dont believe in ghosts because theres no evidence pointing to it whatsoever so i dont have any reason to believe it" YOU'LL SEE. YOU'LL ALL SEE

"so whats up" nothin much man whats up with you

the fucking word hunt sounds im crying

okay post over thanks for reading guys

put me in the ring coach id love to talk with you!!!!!!

#just in case anyone was interested #dreamwastaken #long post #don't mind me #delete later

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