#(it's just kind of an incoherent mess of ideas at this point. nothing specific just ~the creative process~)
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We ARE going to bring up Captain Amelia. You have good taste! GOOD TASTE I SAY! *aka I just rewatched Treasure Planet and got hit with, "Oh yeahhhhh... that explains a lot!"*
honestly, the Meg/Jasmine/Amelia trifecta tells you 90% about me as a person. (the rest is covered by Sailor Jupiter and Sailor Uranus and, uhhh, I'll stop baring my soul to the world now)
and speaking of Amelia, this is tangential, but like -- there's one Twst comic I have been kicking at for a while where I needed an RSA sports/flight teacher and, uh, well
someday I will wrangle this stupid comic into coherency and she'll get to make an appearance (in the background of a single panel, half-obscured by a tall hat) (but I will know she's there and that's the important thing)
#art#twisted wonderland#twst oc#my plan worked i've tricked you all into looking at my anime catgirl oc#she exists to yell at some rsa boys so she doesn't really have like. a character or story or anything. sorry!#(her name is alexandria north and that is what she considers a sporty outfit. that's as far as i got)#this is the one that is mainly about silver and neige having a mutual bluebird friend and i am having terrible trouble making it not suck#which given some of the stuff i post should tell you something about how it's going so far#(it's just kind of an incoherent mess of ideas at this point. nothing specific just ~the creative process~)#maybe the rest of episode 7 will give my brain the kickstart it needs. depends on how that goes i guess#god. the next episode 7 bit drops in (probably) just a few days.#I'M NOT READY#i have simultaneously never been ready and always been ready#i exist in a perpetual state of impatience
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Does anyone else wonder if pandora has the equivalent of weed *cough catnip* for the Navi? Imagine Miles getting some into his system and his senses just kind of go hazy. Loses control of himself a bit and drops the tough guy act long enough to make known how much he cares about you. Bonus points for stoned out sexed up miles 🥵
PLEASE I love this idea, I did google it. I know they have different poisons they can use to hallucinate, but I love this Concept. And I'll do two parts. One where Just Miles get's high and then one where they are both high as it doesn't sit right with me to write smut where one person is under the influence and the other is not.
That's some plant~ Na'vi Miles Quaritch x Fem/Reader
Warnings: Substance use? fluffy, Quaritch HIGH AS BALLS, soft Quaritch, Quaritch being baby.
Okay I can't think of a specific plot of this would happen so bare with head cannons for now.
Okay so he ingests it as an accident, maybe in the field? Like maybe there is a plant? And you don't have to prepare it, its chemical components can be ingested without any prep and bam. hello 420.
So you know the planet well? And you are teaching the recoms what is safe to eat and what isn't or what will do nothing but taste bad.
Quaritch is down bad okay? he likes you a lot and all this plant stuff isn't his thing he doesn't know how to impress you. Normally he would show off, in whatever way popped into his head but he realised that didn't work for you so he tried to act like he knew what he was doing.
He saw a large plant with a purple stem. large star like leaves five times the size of his head pointing out in every direction the odd flower sprouting. He picked two or three leaves and shoved one into his mouth, it tasted a little bitter but it was damp and once down the aftertaste wasn't bad.
What he didn't know was the best way to take this plant was in a tea, but no big blue simp man wanted to show off, he walzted over to you, already chomping down on the second leaf. Smirking at you. Your eyes went wide trying to grab the remaining leaf from him.
"Please tell me that you didn't eat that" "Ya just saw me eat one, what's the problem sweetheart?" He had pulled his hand into the air and was now lifting his head eating the third leaf. "Quaritch stop!" She wasn't sure whether to laugh or to cry at his impuslive behaviour. A hand resting over you're mouth in shock. It hit him there. You weren't messing around.
"Miles?" You asked placing a hand on his bicep. "How many leaves did you eat?" "Three" He spoke as if he was a child who had gotten caught eating cookies before dinner. "Alright, back to base. Now!" you gestured the rest of the recoms re grouped and headed to the ship in confusion.
"What's wrong did i eat something poisonous?" She stared up at him. "You just ate Pandora's version of cannabis!" "Fuck"
now you would be both mad, but mainly confused, who just randomly eats a plant they have no knowledge on? Miles Quaritch apparently. you would have told the science guys and insisted you would watch over Quaritch yourself.
He would be SO CLUMSY. Imagine him falling into a wall and apologising to it. Or staring at random inanimate objects and having very existential thoughts.
"Do ya ever wonder about the fact we never ask our beds if they want to be laid on?" You would have to stifle your laughter. getting him to his room was a MISSION. Lyle tries to help you. As Miles isn't able to walk by himself. You being a Na'vi you can kinda help him?
But man's is THICCC and even as a Na'vi you struggle to hold his whole weight. Also he doesn't want Lyle helping him. He starts swatting at Lyles hands. Incoherently mumbling at him. "What's the matter Colonel?" "Only want the pretty lady touching me." He would pout and rub his cheek against your head.
he was fucking purring, like actually purring while rubbing his cheek all over your head.
Lyle walked away as soon as you reached your room, you had picked your own room as you had all the medical supplies that you might need in case he has a bad reaction.
Okay so I have this vision in my head off him lifting his arm off your shoulders and trying to walk to the bed and just walking in a zig zag line. and doing a little fist bump in the air when he sits down on the bed.
Okay so you decide to grab him a glass of water, grab a med kit and take his temperature. Imagine him trying to bite the thermometer. Like your trying to put it under his tongue and he's acting like a child. You finally snap at him. "Just let me take care of you!"
"yes ma'am" He would push his legs together and make his back all straight and stare at you with this little goofy grin. You would place two fingers on his neck to check his pulse, and he would lean into your hand!
He's a little goofy baby boy. The whole dom thing melts away, and he just wants to be close to you.
He just wants to feel you, he comes down a little still high off his rocker but he's less toddler like. He gets sensitive to touch. Any fabric starts to irritate him, He starts pulling on his camo and tank top. Overwhelmed by the feeling on his skin yet unable to fully communicate what was happening due to fog in his brain.
You understand and walk over lifting his arms up and pulling off his tank top. You don't feel comfortable with him taking off his trousers due to his situation so you go to his room (Only for a moment) And find him some sweatpants. In hopes that it will make him feel better.
When you re entre the room he gets all excited and smiles at you. "You came back!" He wouldn't get overexcited it was more of a whisper. He would do little grabby hands and pull your hips pressing his face against your torso. Eventually he has wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you into his lap. Face buried in the nape of your neck, breathing in your scent.
"Ya smell soo good" So all his sense are heightened and he has always adored how you smell he has just never talked to you about this. "Miss how ya smell" at this point you give in and you start stroking the hair on his head, Causing him to purr again. The vibrations tickling your chest.
You stayed like this for a while until he fell asleep and you had to lay him down, in a half awake state he would pull you back onto the bed. "Need to hold ya pretty girl" "Don't wanna loose ya"
100% waking up thirty as hell.
Smiles when he sees you left a glass of water next to the bed for him, plus a few fresh fruits.
Fells slightly guilty about his behaviour because he doesn't know you feel the same way about him. He climbs back into the bed because he will be damned if he stumbles back to his room at unholy hours of the morning.
All the guilt melts away when he feels you roll into his side smiling in your sleep nuzzling against the bare skin of his chest.
is going to ask you to try the plant with him for sure, he just has to wait for you to wake up.
#miles quaritch fluff#miles quaritch x reader#miles quaritch#na'vi quaritch#avatar#avatar way of water#fluff
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DC COMICS: Incoherence as Not-a-Bug-but-a-Feature (Spoilers for Batman 89-100)
Due to the emergence of the new Batman villain character Punchline, I wound up buying the last 12 issues of Batman and reading them in a single sitting. I’ve had trouble following DC comics for a while, constantly feeling that they were in trouble since back in the mid 2000s (with a glimmer of hope here and there). The act of reading DC comics has been a frustrating experience, where individual good stories and runs were laying around in the context of a lot of things that didn’t make sense while the company’s thrust felt chaotic and ideas not well blended. Every status quo change seemed hard to figure out the rules of enough to parse the context. We’ll get into the background of this, but my reading today of this extended stretch of comics that keeps losing the plot in favor of a fever dream of what’s happening at the moment with specific characters that refuse to cohere, it became obvious that what I had been looking at as subtext or critique was actually the text. I could see the messed up trees but was missing the the forest the universe was trying to describe.
What happens in these issues (Batman current series 89-100, I missed the beginning of the first of 2 arcs) is rolling war between the major Batman villains and the heroes (plus Harley Quinn and Catwoman), which shifts into a Joker and Joker adjacent vs. all as the Joker double crosses everyone then manages to steal Bruce Wayne’s fortune. We meet 3 new baddies – Underbroker, whose schtick is putting ill-gotten gains beyond the reach of the legal system (with an explicit line to rich globalists drawn), the Designer, who back in the day offered the four A list Batman villains plans to achieve what they most wanted, and Punchline, who is your toxic ex’s new millennial GF who really has it in for you (there is also a new good guy Clownhunter, which is a whole different thing, and a new costumed detective that predates Batman). This doesn’t convey the chaotic nature of what is happening issue to issue, but there’s more than one Batman hallucinogenic spirit quest, dead characters ostensibly walking around, a plan revolving around the Bat’s origin story that tells some version of it several times, and a no-nonsense declaration that the Joker, as the Devil of the Batman spiritual system, cannot die. The whole thing has the effect of convincing you there is no definitive sequence of events, only versions.
Alan Moore’s Killing Joke is not a favorite of mine, for a number of reasons. But the ending holds up. The Joker has done terrible things there is no antecedent for, and Batman wonders aloud if this never-ending dance they do ends in anything but both of their deaths; can they uncouple from the unhealthy duality the cycle of which simply repeats. The Joker responds, well, with a joke about two lunatics trying to escape an asylum. One jumps the roof to the next building, while the other is too scared to try. The escapee offers to hold a light while the other crosses on a beam but he says no, no you’ll just cut the light while I’m half way across. This not very funny joke nonetheless has a bunch of resonances – BM and Joker as conspiring co inmates, BM wanting to break out, a commentary about their natures (almost a reversal of the frog and scorpion story where the scorpion won’t go because he knows how this ends), but mostly it implicates BM as the one who is enabling the cycle, the reason why it won’t end. They both laugh uproariously, and the ambiguous final panels can be read as the fundamental realization of his complicity causing BM to kill J. A lethal joke indeed… except, next month, we see the both of them again. In broader context, the ceaseless cycle of the diad is reaffirmed. This has been hellaciously sticky as an idea in the Batmen universe.
My realization of what DC has been doing is pretty banal in its pieces. Marvel has “ground level” heroes while DC has a mythos, a pantheon. Their archetypal makeup is strong, the seven JLA members lining up with the pantheon of Greek gods and the Chakras weirdly closely. DC has big characters that are somewhat flat which they can use tell big bold individual stories that are cool the way legends and fables are cool. But these stories require bold strokes that a bit incompatible with each other. People get attached to these iterations. Meanwhile, Marvel trucks in soap operas where the characters give you an empathetic stand in and are narratively flexible. Marvel events are usually about the writer vs. the company, asking you to sympathize or deconstruct the creative impulse amid efforts to impose control or order. DC’s events are about editorial vs. the audience, the shapers vs. the forces of the world. It may seem obvious, given this description, that DC’s focus is on an archetypal tableau though it may be less obvious that this tableau is under extreme pressure from expectations when trying to tell ongoing tales month in, month out (or semi-monthly in some cases). The stories are constantly compared against the big stories that have gone before, and the audience’s ideas of the characters exert pressure to push them in directions that capture “the” version they believe in. This circle is not possible to square.
DC and Marvel both have a multiverse of sorts. DC used to tell “Elseworlds” stories which were later tucked into pocket universes. DC invented crossing over between “realities.” DC’s continuity is heavy baggage and they began to have “Crises” to resolve the narrative incompatibilities. These only made things worse as you can’t get rid of the past people have a relationship with – it will come back. Now you have to explain that away too. Marvel just lets it lay – forget about the iffy stories, they count, sure, just no one is ever going to talk about them unless they have an angle. Marvel continuity is all angles and amnesia. This is just easier to do with dating and rent and your ancient aunt’s medical bills than with Gods. Marvel’s multiverse is about sandboxes that you can always dump into the mainframe if they work (and never really mention the sandbox again).
There is a shift that occurred in the industry in the 2004 to 2005 era that is less remarked upon than many upheavals in comic’s history. Marvel had gone through a period of incredible new idea generation in the early 2000s after a late 90s creative cratering but had just fired the pro wrestling inflected soul of that moment (Bill Jemas). DC was coming off of a period of trying to do moderately updated versions of what they basically been doing all along. The attitude was “yeah we’re under stress from the combined history of these characters, but we got to keep telling the stories.” Geoff Johns was one voice of DC over the 99-04 period that showed potential - he seemed to get how to find the core of characters and push them into a new in sync directions if they over the years have lost a clear identity. But mostly he had internalized a basic schism between something mean that the audience wanted, and something good and wholesome about the characters themselves, and figured out how to mess around with this in a equilibrating fashion.
Interestingly, the ignition point of the main forces that were going to blow DC over the next decade and a half was a comic that had virtually nothing to do with any of those main forces. Brad Meltzer, a novelist, was hired to do a comic called Infinity Crisis, which sold extremely well and was, justifiably or not, recognized as an event. At the same time, everyone also kind of hated it because the dark desires of some DC fans were pushed forward just a bit too much for comfort and for a comic with Crisis in the name it didn’t do a whole lot other than “darken” things. Nonetheless, this lit an “event” fire at both companies. Marvel chose a shake up the status quo for a year, then do it again, pattern and was off to the races (I have written about this, and more, here) while continuing its Randian framing of beleaguered do-gooders opposed by rule making freedom haters.
As this was playing out, Dan Didio quietly took power in DC Editorial. His outlook was more Bloomian – he seemed to spark off of writers who exhibited anxiety of influence. He recognized Johns was the one person they had could be promoted into something of a universe architect, starting work on two key projects from which the rest would evolve. The first, was bringing back Hal Jordan as Green Lantern and diffracting the GL universe into its own symbolic system, with parts frisson-ing other parts, and almost a Magic the Gathering color scheme of ideas. The other was to build up to Infinite Crisis, which would become the model for most of their universe changing events until the present day.
The basic frame is this: DC heroes want to be good (in a sense of their inherent nature) but forces outside form a context that makes them fall. It’s a very gnostic universe, DC. They examine reflections of the concepts, invent scapegoats for certain tendencies (see Superboy Prime as entitled fanboy, Dr. Manhattan as editors that try and fail to mend things, etc), make characters violate principles, rehabilitate them, then show that the world if anything is more broken than before. This is kind of Johns’ thing and it fits Didio’s narrative as historicval tension fetish. But then came Scott Snyder (not to be confused with Zack) who began to work on Batman in 2011. Since then, as much as Justice League is pushed as the central title and Lex Luthor has been pimped, Batman has been the core of the universe and the Joker the core villain.
Snyder had the same continuity conflict wavelength but was significantly more meta and able to contain multitudes than Johns. He was the first to make an explicit mystery of how there could be several Jokers around at one time (who are the same but not, he posited 3 – man, Christians!) that seems prescient given the near future coexistence of filmic Jokers that are not able to be resolved. I believe he was the first to begin to tease out an idea – that different versions of things in comics are not a diffraction or filter effect, a using the set of things that work best for that story and leaving the rest, but are a matter of the archetypal system of the audience coming apart. From an in story perspective what appears to happen is that multiple versions of incompatible things exist in the collective unconscious of the continuing narrative, and this is something that the characters may become conscious of.
The run I just read is written by James Tynion IV building on the above trends. The trick seems to be going all in on the Jungian aspect (at Jung’s most religiously epiphanic). The Designer was a progenitor and adversary to Batman’s predecessor and his intellectual approach eventually defeated the detective… broke him. At some point in early Batman history, the Designer brought the top four Bat-baddies together and offered each, in turn, a plan to achieve what they most desired: the Riddler, a way to achieve an empire of the mind; the Penguin, power; and Catwoman, money. They are all elated as they await the Joker to come out. The Joker emerges with a furious Designer on his heals and promptly shoots him dead. He explains that he didn’t like his joke in the form of a fable – the devil offered four people the path to their greatest desire: the three chose earthly things, but the Joker’s wish was to be him, to become the devil. The story proceeds to suggest that the Joker just exists, he is present as a necessary component in the system. You can kill him, yet he is alive.
DC has been using physics metaphors for the nature of their reality since Flash of Two Worlds in 1963. The multiverse as a continuity concept was their idea and the holographic universe of the hypertime was a thing. It seems like since Dan Didio took over, they’ve been heading towards a concept of broad superimposition, of measurement effect being weak, of the universe being like a quantum computer with all possibilities coexisting and the story instantiating not one reality but a path through all the possible ones. By making Batman trip balls through quite a few issues and relive his origin from different angles, the story is one of its own instability and the heroic task that confronts our hero is attempting to actualize the world. The Joker is the Devil in the sense of lack of fixed meaning, of relativistic chaos, of the world not making sense because it’s unmoored nature with ultimately no knowability. Batman, in this story, functions as a postmodern knight crusading against the impossibility of epistemological grounding.
There’s more going on, sure. One plot is, literally, defund Batman. There is rioting, people brainwashed by being exposed to toxic ether, people paid to go to theaters even though they will die as a result, and questions about neoliberalism similar to that one Joker movie. Punchline has no personality yet (Tynion’s not the best at that) but she serves well as a generational foil for Harley – a rudderless ideological vacuum susceptible to Joker-as-idea-virus rather than an unfulfilled MD who felt alienated due to the structures of her life and was seeking escape into structureless possibility. The Designer stuff is both continuity play (See why they changed from goofy villains to more “realistic” ones! Look how pulp heroes informed superheroes!), a comment on the nature of a longstanding narrative (strong intentions die out as Brownian motion overwhelms momentum), and a lawful evil/chaotic evil setup of the dualism of apocalypses (overdetermined authoritarian vs. center does not hold barbarism). But the thing that ties this to the past decade and a half of DC is the sense that the reality is fluid and susceptible to change or outright s’cool incompatibility.
This is different than other flavors of meta in superhero comics. Grant Morrison believes the archetypes are stronger than the forces that seek to bend them. Alan Moore wants you to deconstruct your sacred cows and probably hates you personally. Marvel might play with self-awareness, but effortlessly resolves inconsistencies after it’s finished playing. DC, at this point, allows you to watch the waves solidfy into symbols and dissolve, and the constant confusion and lack of grounding is more of a choice then I thought this time yesterday. The conflict theory of DC reality has been in full swing but this looks to be turning towards a kind of Zen historicism, holding contradictory things in your mind at once. Warren Ellis’ JLA/Authority book is the nearest comparable text I can think of. I need to call this, but I didn’t even talk about Death Metal, DC character multiplicity as meta-psychosis event extraordinaire. Comics just keep getting weirder.
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in regards to what you pointed out a few posts ago, ngl one of my least favorite fandom things is when they make Kaminari the Har Har Stupid Joking ADHD Bi Playboy Who Is Never Serious Trope. like, he's very smart, 'worst in ___ area of a UA course' is very impressive and I don't remember if it even said that or just that he was studying with some other students, worried about his grades overall, calls himself stupid with implied insecurities about it, and didn't think he was very smart compared to the other people in the course. quirk overuse makes him loopy, incoherent, and think everything's funny. and yeah, he's a bit of a flirt and made a few perverted comments and actions that he clearly didn't think through that well. I'm pretty sure he's not ever stated to be bi in the manga because it was written by a coward, so I think people should think more about why they're associating and pairing together the idea of "hot flirty playboy who if legally able would sleep with everyone he meets" with emphasis or joke in the captions of whatever the content is on him being bi. I don't think this is inherently bad, even put together, but the execution feels kind of :/ and shallow. and I mainly just wish they'd pause to consider if there's any reason (subconscious or intentional) why one of those makes them think about the other, and at the very least lean back to see if they're blatantly making those traits centric around each other and tweak how they're showing them a little. Part of this is also because it's basically his fanon sexuality, but then they stick together "oh he's bi and everyone thinks that" and "he's made flirty or perverted comments and actions in canon at some point" and then mentally exaggerate and have this Canon Image of him as *waves hand at above* and I don't think that's happening consciously in most cases but. again. Cookiecutter Bi Party Playboy Who's Made a Date Offer to Everyone In The Building. not a flirty Person or a Playboy who is bi and flirts with more than one genders
I myself headcanon him as adhd and while the exact sexuality depends on my mood I think of/have him as bi in a lot of my content, but it's the same thing with why non adhd people see how he acts and label "adhd!" Especially about comprehension speed and derpy acting and intelligence and attention span jokes/tropes. Again, not bad in and of itself, but the specific parts of his behavior that make them think he's adhd, or that they start making jokes about or Ha Ha ADHD'ing, or that they think is why we project ADHD on him, (which they aren't necessarily wrong about, but like right in a really disrespectful look at how funny this is oh look squirrel way that's only funny when adhd people are doing it and it isn't all mocking like that) when they see other people calling him adhd, are the wrong ones, I think, and it shows in their characterization of him.
I'm not saying that any of those traits are bad in a character, but as a queer adhd girl with very high annual test scores and Gifted Kid Intelligence but extremely poor grades, focus, and brain damage (admittedly nothing like his, it was a longterm passive thing that mainly just made me have a Lot of Really Bad headaches, and closest thing it did to me was make me sluggish and emotional on bad days and also techincally have the potential kill my language bit if left untreated or the surgery messed up, which it didn't, and it won't be a problem again. but even after explaining that it wasn't cancer or any sort of tumor, and after seeing it do very little at all to affect my behavior outside of irritability and performance, because y'know, constant migraines, gone after the surgery but this was before that, Certain People I Was Vaguely Kind Of Acquaintances With started to treat my like I was a fragile glass thing going to to drop dead and revive myself speaking like a comic relief cartoon crazy person at any moment which was. patronizing.) I've since had surgery for, the way the fandom combines them into stereotypes and portrays them really just rubs me the wrong way- "Flirty Bi(tm) Playboy" "Har Har ADHD Can't Focus Or Get Things After They're Explained To Him, He's Still Confused And An Idiot" "Stupid Person With Brain Damage Who Can't Take Care Of Or Think For Themself And Acts Stupid And Funny For People To Laugh At" which tbh is super ableist even and especially when people irl do fit that description, and also reminds me of the Autistic Person Freaking Out And Being Dramatic sense of humor. And I know it's not helped by canon, because it done for comic relief and to limit his powers, but explored more I think it as a limitation could have been used way more interestingly than canon did and also call me biased but that quirk induced brain frying sounds at least as concerning as Izuku's quirk's backlash.
And it's a shame!! Because he's so much more interesting than that! Instead, the fandom gives me the Cookicutter Funny Bi ADHD Flirt Who's An Idiot and I am sad about it.
tbh it reminds me of what happened to percy jackson, esp with the ADHD Idiot Trope thing. which sucks because apparently it originated in the author making up stories around characters like his adhd and dyslexic kid inspired by Greek myths to tell him after running out of actual myths because it was his special interest and he wanted more. and then the series got kind of all over the place and the fandom processed that the adhd and dyslexic main character who does dumb things sometimes but is very combat smart and great at strategizing and leading gets bad grades and has trouble focusing and has, y'know, adhd, and made him the ADHD Idiot and erased his Gifted Kid girl friend's traits and ADHD and dyslexia into No Nonsense Calls Him an Idiot And Thinks He's Stupid And Has To Tell Him What To Do And Manage His Life For Him and honestly that just kind of sucks and it reminds me of what happened to fandom Kaminari. and now that I think of it people have jirou like that around him a lot too.
im fine with you answering this publicly if you want or have something to add but probably tag as ableism and maybe a biphobia mention content warning for people who don't have the energy to deal with thinking about those kinds of negative things rn because I kind of Went Off About It
I love this! Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts and experiences 💚(and double thank you for tag suggestions)💚
I couldn’t agree more that a lot of fandom has messed up Kami’s character, which is why I’ve kinda been posting more about him cause he’s just stuck in my head.
I think a lot of fandoms have trouble with characters like this, people have a hard time with duality in characters and fast/fun posts are easier to make if you flatten a character down.
The did it to Kami, they did it to Percy, they did it to Ron Weasley, they do it to Thor, the list goes on. If being the Smart One ™️ isn’t your thing and you can be goofy than you get pigeonholed into the idiot trope.
I feel for Kami a lot(probably because I have adhd/brain damage too)
It sucks when you’re smart but it’s not the traditional, measurable kind of smart(even if by national comparison Kami technically is).
I got terrible grades growing up, and I pretty much got the absolute lowest gpa you can get and still graduate. But absolutely no one would have known if I didn’t tell them, because I’m not dumb.
(It’s okay if you are “dumb”, I love me a head empty just vibes friend. You’re 100% valid, stil worthy of joining discussions, and should be listened to and taken seriously. This just isn’t about that tho)
I joke sometimes that I’m clever and witty but not smart, because that’s exactly what it feels like.
I have lots of thoughts and ideas that I think I articulate pretty well, I am excellent at finding the humor in things and expressing it in a way that’s funny to others too, and there is almost zero problems I can’t find a work around. And the people in my life love it, and they love to use it.
But eventually everyone in my life finds out that I’m not smart. They see the way I have to pause to Google how to calculate a tip, that I don’t know the name of all 50 states or even where to find them on a map, or I legitimately just can not spell (if you ever see a post where it looks like I used a weird word choice it’s probably because I tried 4 times and autocorrect+Google couldn’t help me and voice to text wasn’t an option)
No one ever questions my intelligence until they find out about my adhd and/or catch me struggling with it. After the mask comes off it’s like they can’t even hear me anymore, nothing I say could be true or matter because I’m now just the goofy accident prone spacy girl. My family literally calls me Spacy
And ya know what sometimes I just let people think that because it’s easier, it’s easier than explaining that I’m dyslexic and that I didn’t have a single geography/history clas until 10th grade and shocker the capital of Iowa doesn’t come up much by then. And it’s easier for me to laugh off losing my keys again than dwell on the fact that sometimes it feels like I’m losing my marbles.
And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if after this post I get a lot more “fact checkers” and push back on anything else I post.(not talking about people who want to genuinely engage,y’all are always welcome, I’m talking those people who don’t wanna look it up themselves but no longer trust me to know what I’m talking about)
Kami is a sweet brilliant boy. He’s in a nationally high ranking school, he loves the weather channel, he’s careful about his quirk that could easily hurt his friends in combat, he has a very high emotional intelligence level, he wears dorky shirts with electricity puns on them, and he pays attention to his friends and remembers a lot of little things about them.
He wants to be a hero and he takes that seriously, and the series has tried time and time again to tell y’all that smiling and laughter are an important part of that. Kami excels at this part! So what if his history grades don’t rival the top of the class, the top 5 students would struggle hard to do what Kami does.
Iida can’t relax, Momos rather shy, Todo struggles with social cues, Midoriya is canonically not funny, and jfc where to even begin with Katsuki. I’m certain they’ll all grow up to be excellent heros in their own right, but none of them are going to bring the level of joy and camaraderie that Denki can. You can’t test that into someone.
Kami also just notices people differently and has any easy way of joining in with them, he doesn’t struggle approaching Katsuki or Shinso. Sure he doesn’t hit the the nail on the head the same way Deku does but he’s the only one who has the guts and skills to try. Also he’s not that kinda friend, he’s not looking to a save these guys but pal around with them
I think Kami 100% realizes what a special case and tough nut to crack Bakugo is, I don’t think he’s just careless or too dumb realize his life’s at stake or whatever.
I think he’s purposely testing Bakugos boundaries all while trying to not be a threat to Katsukis actual ego and calling Bakugo out when he needs it in a way that not to serious. Kami knows how to be just goofy enough that he’s approachable. He’s also keyed in that the way to Bakugo is through Deku, meanwhile everyone else is stuck believing the opposite.
Kami also realized how important music is to Jiro and saw an opportunity to let her display her skills and combin the two worlds she lives, and he wasn’t afraid to get some back lash from her for it.
Like Deku Kami isn’t afraid to be uncomfortable. You really can’t teach that level of social ease, you can teach the posture and feed people a couple of lines but it’ll never hit the same. Funny approachable people have spent a lifetime learning the craft, usually out of necessity.
It’s actually what gives me the biggest adhd vibes from him, because adhd is (speculated to be) a dopamine deficiency disorder. People with adhd are constantly trying to raise their dopamine levels, and that means looking for praise and reward and nothing makes the human brain light up faster than postative human connections.
Adhd children struggle a lot with connecting with peers and often find making people laugh a fast way into people’s circles and makes it more likely people will overlook being interrupted or spaced out on.
Also adhd people are pretty much forced by their own brain structures to be genuine in all they do, low dopamine levels make it very hard to do things you don’t enjoy because there no promise of dopamine from the activity and you don’t have enough to spare, plus impulsiveness makes it really hard to not show when you do or don’t enjoy something.
I agree that Kami is also painted as overly perverted at times, he’s a little flirty but in a fun casual way but it’s not the foundation of his personality and it’s really mellowed out over the course of the series.
And while I subscribe to the bi hc from his interactions with Jiro and Shinso, we should all be very mindful that we don’t lump these characteristics together. The are separate facets of his personality that are not dependent on each other in anyway.
Kami deserves all the respect and love, I can’t wait to see our electric king again 🖤⚡️🖤
#tw ableism#ableism#tw biphobia#biphobia#softy answers#I have a sorta sad one shot about Kami and his quirks effects#should i post it?
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;club zombie (m)
In a world overrun by zombies, you’d think everyone was a goner, but the reality is much different. A steady diet of brains lets a zombie exist as a fully functioning human. Just ignore the part where they’re technically dead… In fact, these days, the amount of zombies outweigh the humans. A lot jump at the chance to be turned. Beg for it.
Kim Seokjin controls the underground of Seoul. No one would dare cross him. That’s how most of the world goes these days. You wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of a zombie now, would you? However, you don’t quite see it like that. Spending most nights dancing at the club he owns, you catch his eye. It’s never the wrong side if you’re underneath him, right…?
pairing; kim seokjin x reader
genre/warnings; zombie! seokjin, mafia boss! seokjin, smut, oc has a ring kink (relatable), gets angsty two thirds in, some type of romance bc of course it gets fluffy towards the end lol
words; 17,113
listen to; friction // 555
⇢ Part of the Deadly Intentions collaboration. With @btssmutgalore, @kpopfanfictrash, @underthejoon, @lamourche , @prolixitae and @taetaetrashhh, who organised the whole thing and created the moodboard!
Please forget everything you’ve ever known about most zombie portrayals in books, movies and tv series, because this is totally different. The idea and inspiration came from the television adaptation of iZombie. If you’ve watched it then you have a better vision of how the zombies in my story are portrayed. If not, then please just give it a go lol. It may sound wacky, but it’s Halloween! So here’s to the 🧟🍆!! I hope you enjoy!
You could hear Seokjin’s footsteps, boots clanking up the wooden stairs, and your stomach lurched in anticipation. He’d made you wait two frustratingly long hours, which was hell considering you hadn’t had time to be alone together all week. You were beyond excited for him to finally get his hands on you. Your body had long got used to craving him down to the very bone.
He came into sight, the image of you draped along his bed rooting him in his tracks. Your robe barely covered your modesty. Nipples visibly hard against the silk. Sometimes there was no need for underwear. Not when it got torn off most of the time. He needn’t waste his money anymore. You let a slow smirk stretch across your face. “How do you want me tonight, Sir?”
No need to greet him with a hello neither. What was the point? He’d told you to be in his home ready for him when he got back. Bedroom. He’d made that very specific. There was no need for pleasantries. Not when you knew greater ways to please him.
Him.
Kim Seokjin.
How did you get here again? So easily. So willingly. Like you’d wanted such a thing from the moment you’d laid your eyes on him. You had. Seokjin wasn’t your husband, nor boyfriend. He wasn’t even a casual hook up. In some ways he was more than any of the above. In others, he was less. It was an arrangement. The most simplest kind. Sex. With the city’s most dangerous man.
No one in Seoul would dare cross him. Hell, this whole country. Maybe it ran deeper than even that. No, what were you saying? It definitely did. You just didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to know the details. You didn’t even want to think about what they could be. To you, the man you shared yourself so openly with could never be what they all described him as. Not when he’d shared so much with you too. It was puzzling to think people actually feared him. He had never frightened you. In fact, you’d only ever known him as gentle. Even when he had his icy cold hands wrapped around your throat, fucking into you so hard his bed, amongst other things, were fit to break.
Yeah. This wasn’t the turn you thought your life would take. But then again, this world wasn’t exactly the same place it had been four years ago. The human race had to grow a thicker skin. Most changed completely. See, Seokjin wasn’t just your average crime lord. He was a rotter. So was over half the population.
Dead and rotten on the inside. Cold and smooth on the outside. The correct scientific term was Undead, but in simpler, more familiar terms, they were zombies. Not your average text fiction kind though. No flesh rots. No foul smell. No incoherent noises, that sent a bolt of terror and dread through your body. No, the undead were able to live as fully functioning humans for the most part. A reality that took a little while to make sense of, but as it did, the world everyone had known began to change. Drastically.
Unsure how it all started, although known to have been caused by some crazy scientist type, the disease, as it was called—now more of a lifestyle—had swept through most of America before their government and medicals could get to grips with it. It was as it was known in fiction. A zombie apocalypse. The whole world went into lockdown, flown into madness. Panic and strife were universal. The infected were destroyed and the potentially infected were quarantined. It was there they began to understand the infection.
The virus still burning through the veins of the innocent would be extremely difficult to handle. The were, by lack of knowledge back then, your “cannon” zombie. Unable to speak, unable to think, and their eyes sunken, black and lifeless. If given the chance, and some had been, they would tear at the flesh of the uninfected, feast on their brains. However, kept under a close eye, locked and controlled in a box room where they couldn’t see out but an array of people could see in, medicals soon discovered there were ways to quell the deep, ravenous need they had inside them. Portions. That was the key. Starved or gorged of human brain just turned them frenzied. The need as a fresh, baby zombie was insatiable but with a controlled diet the world became a little more normal again.
If you could ever call it normal. Human greed was at an all-time high. Who didn’t find it amazing that you could be a certified zombie while also retaining your human life? Who wouldn’t want to be dangerous? Feared? Who wouldn’t want to live potentially forever? The list went on, and that didn’t include countless governments’ motives. Soon the infection had spread willingly throughout the world. It caused fresh havoc. Some countries who hadn’t even wanted to get caught up in the mess, perished because they were too small or undeveloped. But most were smart, scheming. Here in the East a plan was concocted.
Somehow they found the individual who created the virus. Whether they went willingly or were forced no one would ever know. Their identity still remained a mystery even after all these years. Together some of the countries’ top scientists helped mutate the sickness into something “better”. Injected straight into the veins, there was no longer a fear of the infected losing control. The Undead were created. Just another form of human, but with a hunger for brains. It took a total of eighteen months for the world to be okay again.
Now that was all just a memory. Zombies were considered the norm, accepted into society long ago. A recent consensus found that just under 60% of the world’s population were undead. Humans the minority. They lived like humans, worked like humans and had families like humans. Although not in the traditional sense. The undead could still have sex. The men could still cum, by some grace of god, lucky them, but they were infertile. Women too. Reproductive system dead like the rest of them.
Of course, just because there were a lot of humane rotters, didn’t mean there weren’t bad ones amongst the mix. Like you said, humans were greedy. Mostly for power, and being a rotter in the right place, right time gave people tonnes of that. They weren’t truly immortal though. That was well known. A shot to their rotten brain would kill them. Nothing else. That’s where the infection resided.
To be turned there was a system. Applications, interviews, contracts…a waiting list for the injection that would alter your life forever. However, it didn’t work like that most of the time. The world wasn’t so perfect. Corrupt would be a better description. There were other, more simple, ways of turning. A bite or a scratch. Or even sexually transmitted within the first year of infection. There was nothing the government could do about it, and there were many illegal zombies rooming the country. And try all they might, no matter how many times, scientists couldn’t change the way infection took place.
They also couldn’t change the compulsion for brains. Yes, there was no lost control in the beginning, but starved of brains for too long, devolved them into the “cannon” zombie once again. It would take months of starvation, but after the deed was done, it was impossible to be reverted back. Thus they were destroyed. As you could guess, crime levels had not lowered. They had only gotten worse due to gluttony.
Donors now offered their brains up once dead, in a bid to keep portions up. There was complete control when it came to that, but again, that didn’t stop some rotters. Over the years, a lot more murder victims had been found missing a brain. But you digressed. It wasn’t all bad for the undead. They didn’t starve. They could still eat normal food, just oddly needed some extra spice. Their tastebuds has pretty much been destroyed after the turn, so hot sauce was their best friend. Scientists had also created “fake” brain. Think of it along the same vein as fake meat for vegetarians. A substitute. It didn’t give complete satisfaction, but it helped. In fact, they had quite an array of foods now, sold at any local convenience and grocery stores. For some reason brain sushi always made you laugh when you saw it. Surreal. Fast food stores had also caught on. Yes, Big Brain Mac was a thing now… What more did they want? As long as they had the real thing each month, life went on as normal.
They looked normal too. You’d forgotten to mention that one. Sometimes, with the help of hair dye and fake tan, they looked just like their past selves. There were a couple of giveaways though. If they weren’t high maintenance. Their eyes had changed an ice grey after the virus had taken hold, skin pale and cold, and hair turning white. Sometimes fully, but more often than not streaks or wisps of it. Oh, and their heart rate was ten beats per minute. They were dead after all. Pretty much. It was only when they lost themselves, did they turn into something horrific. Eyes black, sunken into their skull, cheeks gaunt, close to rotting. You’d heard they could also fall into a zombie trance when experiencing intense emotions. Depending on the situation it had different levels of severe. You had never seen this though. You knew very well, that was a benefit for certain zombies. A scare factor. Intimation factor. Like you said, there were many who used their rotter status for evil and crime…
Which put Seokjin in a very grey area.
He controlled the underground of this city. You hated using the word mafia, naïve to it all. Something fictional to you, but that’s exactly what was going on. An organised crime syndicate. The oldest son of a wealthy and corrupt family, Seokjin was always heir to the blood soaked throne. He was extremely powerful, even more so than the city’s law enforcement. Actually, you knew for a fact he worked side by side with them a lot of time. Probably called most of the shots. He’d been human in the beginning, when he’d first become in charge, not long before the virus began spreading, but of course that had soon changed. You’d heard stories of how his turn came to be, but you took those with a grain of salt. They were hearsay in your eyes. You’d never been one for rumours and gossip.
As it would have it, you’d only ever known him as undead. You started working at his club just over a year ago. How you got there wasn’t important, you just liked to dance, and dancing was a must at Club Zombie. Cheesy name, but it got the custom. It was almost a sort of tourist attraction. An after dark one. Humans and zombies alike. The dancers were both too. It could be a seedy place sometimes, but you didn’t mind dancing around a pole for men when their money was involved. The day was yours, the night was easy; just dancing, putting on a show. Besides, you were safe. Seokjin never let anything happen to the women that worked for him.
This was the place you could find him at the most, although strictly professional he never brought danger here. The rumours surrounding him were probably what made the club so popular to begin with. He wasn’t stupid. A zombie mob boss, what fiction was made of. Everyone lapped it up. Some nights he sat right up front, quite literally a throne on a podium, surveying the bar and dance platforms. It helped that he was extremely good looking. Got the humans with a kink all riled up. Such soft, movie star looks when you truly studied him. Jarring in a way. A white streak running along the front of his dark hair, parted at the forehead reminded you of what he was. That and his cold, grey eyes.
It was working at Club Zombie where he soon began to take an interest in you. It was glances your way at first. When you made your way to the dressing rooms, or more often than not, when your eyes met as you danced and twisted around the pole. You wouldn’t admit it back then, but it did send a thrill up your spine, fresh confidence washing over you. Even more so when the glances turned to smiles. They could be better described as flirtatious smirks if you didn’t know any better. Because why would anyone like Seokjin want you? He had this whole city at his feet. You were a no one. No, you were imagining the signs. He might’ve not even been looking at you.
But he was. Or course he was. You just couldn’t believe it. Not until one night when he’d asked you to join him for a drink. Halloween night, to be precise. Not that you cared for the holiday. It was just another day.
You were the last one to leave the club. Usually the first, you’d misplaced your cell phone. Took you twenty minutes to find it, fallen behind one of the sofas in the dressing room when you’d flung your jacket down in a hurry not a few hours ago. You were in a hurry when you made your way across the bar, heading for the exit, hand in your purse trying to now find your car keys. You didn’t want to keep Yunho, the barman, waiting any longer. But he wasn’t the one left.
Seokjin was stood behind the bar when you looked up at the call of your name. A peculiar sight. In all the time you’d been here you hadn’t once seen that. The fact he knew your name was even more mindboggling. You opened your mouth to apologise to him, presuming that was why he was asking for your attention, but you got no where. Not when the question he asked stunned you to silence.
“Care to join me for night cap?”
You weren’t one for drinking, never had been funnily enough, but you ended up agreeing. You told yourself it was because he was the boss. You couldn’t say no to him, but the racing of your heart as you sat down argued it was something different.
He drank straight whisky, poured you a glass of rosé you didn’t request. Did he see you as that kind of drinker? Classy. Unless it wasn’t classy at all because you knew nothing about alcohol. You thought he’d stay behind the bar, lord of the house, but to your surprise he came out to meet you. You heart beat even faster when he sat on the stool next to you. You prayed hard that rotters didn’t have an acute sense of hearing. Your knowledge was failing you, but logically, going by that dumb fucking fiction, you’d have to assume they did. He knew you were nervous mess right now. How embarrassing.
He bared his teeth and made a wincing sound as he took a swig of his drink. It was nice to know the burn still affected him, and you watched him tilt the tumbler this way and that, staring at the swirling amber liquid as he did so. Maybe he was giving you time to relax. Maybe he just wanted to sit in silence. Who knew. His rings clanked against the crystallised glass. He always wore them. Large silver bands, dark coloured jewels encased in the centre. He had beautiful hands now that you saw them up close. Wrists too. His shirt sleeves rolled up to the middle of his veiny forearms. The watch he wore was more expensive than anything you’d earn in five years. Maybe a lifetime. You were clueless.
Momentarily distracted, it took you those five minutes to realise you’d never so much as had one conversation with him. He was mostly the untouchable boss who was more like a statue to awe over than a person to share friendlies with. There were other men who worked closely for him here, woman too. Those were who you went to if there was a problem. A drunken customer. A shift you couldn’t make. An emergency you had to leave early for. In fact, even when you had gotten this job it wasn’t by his judgement. So this made the exchange even more awkward considering you’d never said so much as two words to him. You sipped on your wine for something to do. The taste wasn’t all that bad actually.
“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”
You had been so used to the silence you jumped a little from your seat at the sound of his voice. He sounded curious, and you glanced his way to see him giving you his full attention now. Body angled to you; eyes so intense they made you a little unnerved. Fuck. He’d definitely heard the racing of your heart then. Mistaken it for something else.
“Afraid? No.” You decided to be honest. Or at least as honest as you could be. He didn’t need to know you were even more unsteady now than you had been not ten minutes ago. All because of…thoughts, that had entered your mind upon noticing his long, deft fingers. Not that you knew they were skilled, but it was just a hunch. You shrugged in what you hoped was a casual manner. Voice straining to be very much the same. “My nail technician is a zombie. My running buddy at the gym. My doctor.”
To your surprise he chuckled. Deeply amused by something. “I didn’t mean that.” Oh. Had you misunderstood? How embarrassing. “Are you afraid of me because of who I am?”
You blinked slowly. His status. That was what he was referring to. You slowly shook your head, making sure to hold his gaze as you replied. “No.” You shocked even yourself, because you really did mean it. Maybe you were reckless. Your parents had always said such words. You were drawn to the unknown. The excitement got you giddy, but this—he—was something new.
Your idea of living life on the edge was dancing in hardly anything, not warming to a man who discussed crime over breakfast like it was nothing. Did God knows what when he wasn’t sitting in this club.
He nodded in almost confirmation. “Thought not. Just wanted to be sure.” He spoke with a certainty. Like he already knew this information before you did. What vibes were you giving off here? Or was he always this confident and sure when it came to assuming others’ thoughts and feelings…
“Why?” It came out slightly more accusing than you meant it to.
It took him a moment to answer, taking a swig of his whiskey again. You thought he was going to ignore it all together. In a way he did. “Did you know that any human who fucks a rotter in the first year of their transformation gets infected too?”
You took a moment to let that sink in. The casualness of his tone cut with the crude language took you by surprise. You swallowed. “I did.” Everyone did. It was the largest cause of illegal turning. Even a condom wouldn’t save you.
He scoffed in amazement. “It’s amazing how biology works, even for someone dead like me.”
When someone described themselves as dead it never ceased to blow your mind. It was hard to believe that someone as handsome as Seokjin was rotten to the core on the inside. Black and decaying. You let a wry smile play at the corners of your mouth, replying before you took another mouthful of your drink. “This world isn’t what it used to be.”
He didn’t bother to agree, instead taking a moment of silence before he hit you with another question. “Did you also know that we don’t have any sexual urges for a while after we’ve been turned?”
This time it took you everything to hold it together. The shock close to becoming visible on your face. You suddenly thought of every time he had glanced your way in the past few weeks. Each smile he had given you. Just like the one he was giving you now as he waited for your reply. “I heard it varies from r-zombie to zombie.”
You stopped yourself at the R for Rotter. Yes, he had used the word not moments before, but it was always such a grey area. Mostly used as a derogatory term, by humans—usually the older generation—who couldn’t get their small, little brains around the reality of the world today, it had become increasingly popular over the past couple of years. Now, it was just accepted. Like everything else this day and age.
“Correct.” He continued to smile. If he noticed your slip-up he didn’t care to mention it. “This may be TMI but mine’s only recently appeared again.” Something squeezed in your gut. “A few months ago. Maybe longer. I don’t know. With work and the stress I think I ignored it for longer than I should have.”
“Oh.” That was… Yes, it was fact all sexual desire left when first turned. Most for a couple of months, maybe a little longer. You didn’t know the ins and outs, but three years seemed steep. He was a busy man, it made sense, but… Fuck. Who were you kidding? You were just distracting yourself with nonsense now. Anything to not have to acknowledge what was really going on here. But you had to. “Not to be rude Mr. Kim, but why are you telling me this?”
No one, and you mean no one, called him by his first name. Not anyone you knew anyway. It was easy to see him as none other than Seokjin, your Seokjin, now thinking back, but a few months ago he was just your boss with the intimating aura. The one who wouldn’t dare be interested in you. That all changed that fateful night.
His lips curled. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to be friendly or if he was greatly amused. Maybe both. “Seokjin. Call me Seokjin.”
You swallowed. His name felt foreign on your tongue, but you needed to press on. You needed him to confirm the hunch now coiled in your chest. “Seokjin, why are you telling this?”
A beat of silence followed. He actually glanced away from you as he went to speak. “I’m incredibly attracted to you.” You let out a shaky breath, unsure you could say anything back even if you tried. He chuckled awkwardly. Such a human reaction. You found your heart warming. “Forgive me. I’m rusty at this.”
He sounded way out of his depth, which was incredibly amusing for someone like him. You wondered how long he had been thinking of confessing this. How long he’d been trying… He’d taken his chance tonight.
“You’ve noticed me staring a lot?” His eyes were back on you now. You didn’t know if you were imagining it, but the harshness of the grey had begun to soften. The coldness, warming up.
“Yes,” you murmured. Your throat felt dry. You wouldn’t have described it as staring, but to say you hadn’t noticed would be an outright lie.
“I just can’t take my eyes off you,” he admitted with a slight sigh. “I love watching you dance because it’s the only form of interaction I have with you.” Without realising, you squeezed your legs together. Your face was flushing, you could feel the heat prickle your skin.
“My view gets obstructed a lot of the time, or my attention is needed elsewhere but I always try...” He cleared his throat. “I always try to admire you.”
His words bloomed against your skin, sending a warmth all over you. Call you weak, it didn’t matter. An attractive man was complimenting you. You did not question him. He was short and to the point with his words. No sugar-coating. You admired that.
You smirked his way, confidence washing over you. In a way, you felt like you had the upper hand here. He was the one who had confessed in uncertainty. “You should get better seats for the show.”
His eyes widened a little in shock at your brazenness. You’d surprised him, and his mouth stretched into a grin, a bewildered laugh leaving him as his browline furrowed. It was a glorious sound. “I really don’t scare you? Disgust you?”
“Of course not.” You replied so surely it would be difficult to doubt you. Maybe you were stupid. Maybe this was all part of his masterplan, but there was a small self-destructive part of you that didn’t even care. “Would I be working here otherwise?”
“You got me there,” he silked. Gaze holding yours.
The most deepest of desires began to come alive inside of you. Swirling around in your gut. Desires you’d held at bay because it was laughable to think you’d ever be in with a chance with someone like him. And perhaps a larger part of you was ashamed by your longings. Kim Seokjin was a bad person by definition. It didn’t matter how charming he was. How potentially misunderstood he was, or how secretly sensitive he was. Romanticised theories that should make you sick at yourself. This was wrong, a small voice whispered furiously in the back of your head, but when had that ever stopped you?
You hesitated but went for it anyway. It was too late. You’d made your decision. “If we’re confessing things... You’re way too pretty to be as dangerous as you are.” Half a glass of wine and you were already losing yourself.
He cocked a black, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Pretty? That’s a new one.” He chuckled quietly before making a joke. “These genes come from my mom.” Such a normal thing to say. You wanted to believe he was just like anyone else. Or maybe you truly didn’t care…
“Mr. K–Seokjin,” you corrected yourself quickly. The concept of being on first name terms would take a while to get used to. You took a breath and went for it, fingers reaching for his hand that held his whiskey. What did you have to lose? His lust for you was real. The ball was in your court.
You circled patterns against the skin between his thumb and index finger. It was stone cold. A sensation you were still not too used to, or maybe it was because this touch meant so much more. Despite the ice, he was marble smooth. You looked at his face. True beauty. He was staring right back at you, holding his breath, waiting for you. Hunger roared inside your body now. You tried your best to keep it under control.
“I know it’s out of hours and I’m not really dressed for it anymore but... I could dance for you right now if you like?”
You tilted your head to match your question. He copied, giving you a small smile, tone teasing when he spoke. Low and oddly soothing. “Private dances aren’t allowed.”
“You’re the boss. You make the rules.” You watched him hesitate, mulling your suggestion over in his head. It was actually kind of cute. Had he not expected you to accept his advances so easily?
He pulled his hand from the tumbler, his fingers gingerly reaching for yours and you clasped onto them. “Mm?” You prodded, watching him all the way. He gave you a tight nod, and that was all you needed to continue.
Rising up from your seat and leaving your purse at the foot of the stool, he followed you as you guided him by the hand to a set of centre red plush sofas. They curled around a small table, in perfect view of the largest stage. Not two hours ago this place had been filled to the brim, this section worth a hell of a lot of money considering where it was placed, but now his club was empty, safe for you and him. The reminder sent a thrill up you.
You slowly pushed him down to sit, hand on his chest before you let go and stood over him. A grin on your face. “Best seat in the house. No obstructed view.”
He didn’t reply, but the look on his face was almost giddy. You spun on your feet, back to him as you slinked away, towards the centre pole, kicking off your shoes. You didn’t get much of a chance to dance with it, this place saved for the ones who had been here longer. So this was an added excitement.
“This would be highly unprofessional in business hours,” he called after you. His laughter fizzling off when you began to lift your sweater over your head. “What are you doing?”
You turned back to him, a shy smile on your face. “I can’t entertain you in this.” You threw the mustard knit to the floor. “Will it do?”
He scoffed. Eyes a little wide, pupils starting to blow out. “You could be in anything. I wouldn’t mind.”
You appreciated the sentiment, but you didn’t know if you agreed. You’d removed the showy lingerie you’d been wearing tonight in favour of something more comfortable; a black cotton bralette, and you still had your leggings on as you gripped the pole with both hands. It wasn’t your best outfit, but you hoped it sufficed.
How odd it was to swing and grind in front of your boss. A man you hadn’t had anything to do with until tonight. Dancing to no music was strange, too. You had to imagine the beats and sounds in your head, praying you didn’t look too wooden, but somehow it began to feel increasingly intimate. Seokjin was a silent spectator, but it didn’t bring you a sense of unease. Excitement coursed through your veins, but you didn’t dare look at him while you moved. This was a reality you still couldn’t get your head around.
You didn’t know how long you were at it for, lost to the soundless rhythm, but soon enough you needed to catch your breath. He was still sat where you placed him but his eyes were fully black now, trained on your figure. As if in a trance It took a moment for him to notice you had stopped. His legs were spread open, giving you a very great eyeful of his crotch. A couple of buttons on his dress shirt lied open that weren’t before. It gave him an almost bedraggled look. You say almost, because his hair was still perfectly parted at his forehead. You suddenly had the mental image of your fingers running through it, tugging at the ends as he fucked you into the very sofa he sat on. You blinked away the dirty thought, taking a few deep breaths.
He also blinked, albeit slowly, outstretching one hand to beckon you. “Come here.” He croaked; voice thick with something that made you burn up.
You smirked. “That’s against the rules.” Private dances were strictly forbidden.
“Am I not the boss?” That was so. You laughed, and obeyed instantly, descending the metal steps to make your way to him. “You move exquisitely,” he complimented as you did so. His voice a little more human now. His eyes however, were anything but. Close now, inches apart, you saw the light grey that ringed the dilated pupils. It made him look unreal. Showed him for he really was. Undead. However, fear was the last thing on your mind.
“Can I touch you?”
“I thought you made the rules?” This back and fore only thickened the desire in the room, but you truly did appreciate his manners. That, and you really wanted him to touch you. You wanted to touch him too.
Straddling him slowly, your knees pressing into the soft velvet of the sofa, his cold hands met your waist and you jumped in shock, giggling in reaction. He did nothing but hold on as you attempted to dance atop of him. You say attempted, because you were basically grinding on him by now. You wrapped your arms around his neck, loving the way his breathing was laboured. Chest rising and falling visibly.
You felt his erection quickly begin to from under you, and it wasn’t long before he acknowledged it. In his own way, of course. “Forgive me for being inappropriate.” He apologised in advance. You held your breath in curiosity. “But have you ever fucked a rotter?”
With a lack of oxygen you replied instantly. “No.”
He swallowed. His dick twitched in his expensive slacks. “Are you opposed to it?”
You replied with only truth, confidence and desire. “Not if you’re the one in question.”
The noise that tore from his throat was nothing you’d ever heard before. A man starved, finally given the chance of relief. He flew at your mouth, movements hasty and rough. You gladly matched them. Everything was cold, something you weren’t used to at all. Not like this anyway. His tongue like ice ran along your own, both wet but drastic in temperature. It was a contrast that sent your nerves into overdrive. Sensitivity at its highest peak. You clung to his shoulders, rolling your palms over the thick flesh and muscle, as you moaned quite shamelessly into his mouth.
His hands found your face, gripping you tight as he continued to kiss you furiously. You were close to burning up, heart pounding in your chest at your new reality. A groan from him puzzled your mind as he tore away. “Not here. Not yet,” he rasped, lips wet because of you. He tried to keep him distance but failed, falling into your mouth once again to taste you. “I won’t fuck you in a place like this. You deserve better than that.”
You clung to him now, deflation beginning to drop to your gut. You were riled up, ready for him, he couldn’t take it away now. Not when he was solid between your spread legs. You gasped when he took your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging it carefully. Everyone knew the dangers of a zombies’ teeth. One false move and it was game over. The risk just seemed to turn you on all the more. You were sick. Sick for him.
“But I want you so bad. I want to make you feel all the pleasure in the world,” he divulged. He sounded so passionate, so desperate, fresh waves of longing and need flooded your body. Heat pooled against his cock. “Will you let me do that right now? Just a little bit?”
“Yes,” you practically exclaimed. Overcome and out of breath. You didn’t know what that request pertained but you would take anything for even the slightest bit of relief.
You had a better understanding once you found yourself under his large, solid body. Spread out on the velvet like your tainted mind had imagined not fifteen minutes previous. He kissed down your neck, lapping at the skin like you could fill him up. A sensation that had your eyes closing, feeling powerless but loving it. Even more so when you felt him between your breasts. It was a wonderful fusion; to be boiling hot but feel his cool, marble touch all over your body. His hands roamed you, familiarising himself with the woman’s body. Every bump, curve and dip, your soft moans encouraging him, until he couldn’t take anymore.
You pulsed when you felt his long fingers curl behind the waistband of your leggings. “Can I take these off?” He looked you straight in the eyes as he spoke, as if he was reading your face for any hesitation. There was none. You nodded firmly, a trembled ‘yes’ leaving your throat.
He pulled you forward in one swift motion, propping you up against the plush backrests. He was out of breath, jaw slack and eyes still practically black as he crouched, beginning to tug down the black fabric, your legs thrown over one of his shoulders. You didn’t realise he’d strip you of your underwear too. You were very naked, very quickly. Your bra the only thing left.
“Beautiful.” He uttered, eyes between your legs before he looked up at you. “You’re beautiful.”
You smiled at him, something he couldn’t seem to be able to bear, because he was on your mouth again in a flash. He kissed you greedily, low moans escaping him in regular sequence. Spoiled, he made his way down your chest, finding the swell of your breasts to flirt between. It wasn’t long before the fabric was pulled down, one nipple in his mouth while he rubbed the other with the pad of his thumb. That had you moaning, your legs wrapping around his hips to keep him latched to you. Cramped on the sofa, cramped under his body, but loving it. Pleasure swirled and grew heavy in your stomach. Arousal beginning to pool between your legs. It wasn’t long before you were grinding yourself against his body uncontrollably, desperate for some relief down south.
He pulled away when you began whining, teeth lightly grazing the flushed peak as he went. You gasped. Maybe it really was the danger that turned you wanton. Seokjin grinned your way as he sunk to his knees on the floor. He knew it too. He was already learning. You watched with bated breath as he spread your legs, giving him a very intimate view. You’d be self-conscious by now, maybe even uncomfortable, but not tonight. Not with him.
You pulsed against his thumb as he touched you, and all you could do was watch as he carefully began to rub at your clitoris, feeling it engorge beneath his cold touch. You moaned softly, hips circling ever so slightly, enjoying the almost cruel pleasure. Your arousal spread, wet noises squelching under his skin, lewd in your ears.
He looked up at you, eyes black, ringed silver grey. They made you shiver. So did his words. “Can I taste you?” His hair had become out of place, finally, falling in his eyes, and you reached for it, running the white and black strands through your fingers before nodding.
He dived straight in, those plump, almost blue-red lips encompassing your clit. You gasped as he sucked, pushing into him and clutching his hair in your fist. His cool tongue laved you almost hesitantly at first, searching for what you liked and what made you moan, until he grew confidence. You forgot he was familiarising himself again after so long. Hazy with lust, his movements weren’t calculated. They were made with haste and a fervent urge; hands wrapping around the underside of your thighs to hold them and pull you closer. Letting him feast until his heart content.
He only pulled away to catch his breath, minutes later, face from the nose down shining with a colourless substance. The same substance coated the heat between your legs and apex of your thighs. Probably stained the sofas too. You were sticky and burning up. Not even the the touch of his cool finger could control it as he ran the digit down your folds. He stopped at your entrance, tip pushing in slowly. You throbbed around nothing, desperate to be filled. He noticed of course, and he made to remove his rings.
You stopped him. “Keep them on.” You’d already felt the cool metal of his rings against the inside of your thigh when he’d been enamoured with your centre and everything it had to offer. You wanted more. A hell of a lot more.
He raised his brows in surprise, pausing before shrugging. “Anything for you.” You tried to suppress your moan as he pushed his index finger inside you, palm up, cold metal pressed against your swollen folds. He shifted closer, curling the digit against your velvet-like walls. He seemed to like the feeling, humming to himself, before he studied your face closely. “When was the last time someone had you like this?”
You cocked an eyebrow, smirking. “What? Like this specifically? In this bar, spread out naked on the VIP suite? Never.”
He gave a low chuckle. It shot through your body. “You think you’re funny.” You tried snarking him back but he slipped a second finger inside you, straightening them as he went. “No but,” he began, slowing thrusting them in and out. Your jaw grew slack as you watched him, the quietest of strained moans leaving you. “I just want to know how many people I have to contend with.”
That made you laugh. But fine, if he was so curious. “It’s been a while. Nearly a year.” You’d been single since then, your last relationship ending badly, and hook up culture wasn’t what it was since the virus. You smirked his way. “So, no one at all.”
“That’s great for me then.” He laughed heartily, almost as if he wasn’t three knuckles deeps inside you, and wasting no time getting intimate between your legs again.
You came hard. Shaking all over when he finally relented his tongue. Covered in a sheen of sweat and out of breath. He continued the movement of his fingers at his leisure, looking up between your body. The tips of his hair were wet and clung together. It wasn’t him—the undead incapable of sweating—but your arousal, which he seemed to be unable to get enough of. In all honesty, it seemed it he was unable to get enough of you full stop. Still determined to please you.
He shot his fingers deep, ripping a moan from your chest as your back curled. “You’re still sucking me in. What a greedy cunt you have.” Your burned at his crude words, squeezing around his fingers. “Do you consider yourself greedy?” He spoke low and calm, but you could hear the slight quiver to his voice. It made you feel powerful. You hated that word. Greed. But for him… It was different.
“If it’s for a pleasure like that, then yes,” you laughed breathlessly.
He tutted, curling his fingers along the ridges of your insides. Coaxing you. Enjoying the way your lower body contorted. “You flatter me. I would say I’ve reverted to novice status again after all these years.”
You didn’t think so. Unless that was the reality of someone like Kim Seokjin between your legs. He got you coming so good, better than you had in a long time, so maybe it was both options shared. “Somethings you never forget,” you told him simply.
He didn’t reply, instead rising up, kneeling on the edge of the sofa instead. You lifted your legs to accommodate him. His fingers got deeper and you tightened around them again. “I’m greedy too, you know?” He almost warned, his free hand gripping the back of your neck to tilt your head. Ice. He was speaking as he held his breath, moaning slightly when you did. “I want you to cum again. Please.” He always remembered his manners, even when impatient.
You faltered. You didn’t know if you could. Yes, it still felt good to have him inside of you, but you were too exhausted to go again surely. He leant over your body, caging you with his solid one as he murmured into your ear. “I want the visual ingrained in my mind forever.” He snapped his wrist hard against you. The pleasure made your eyes roll back.
“O-kay–!” You gasped out, nodding your head eagerly, gripping onto his shoulders. It was a big fuck you to the exhaustion. You wanted to cum again too.
Your body withstood his vicious pace, walls clamping down on him every time he thrusted into you. You were hot and sweaty again, held down by his large build, which only added to your delight. You imagined he was fucking you. Desperate for the real thing.
“You trust me a lot,” he mused, your hands in his hair now. It was surprising to you that he let you touch it like this. You looked at him curiously, wondering what he could mean, and felt his movements slow. You realised just how hard you’d been holding your breath, gasping for it at the tiniest of reprieve. “One accidental scratch and that’s it, game over. You’re one of me.” He spoke in an almost disarming whisper. It did not frighten you.
You moaned at the dragging of his fingers, before smiling lazily. “You’re not so foolish.” You’d already taken note that his fingernails were perfectly trimmed when you’d admired his hands at the bar.
“Maybe not. But in other ways…” he drawled off, lips millimetres from yours. You wanted him to kiss you so bad. “I enjoyed being a fool between your legs. On my knees…” You moaned softly, enjoying his words, eyes still glued to his mouth. It moved away; your chest grew heavy in disappointment.
“Would you get on your knees for me?”
His question had you squeezing again. The smirk told you he felt it. “Right now?” You asked, maybe a little too eager.
“No.” He laughed. “Not right now. Tonight is about you. But next time...”
You took a shaky breath and nodded. “Gladly.”
“Good girl,” he smiled at you. The praise went to your head, somewhere else too, and he let go of your neck, readjusting himself to begin picking up the pace again. You watched down your body, lifting your folded legs nearer your chest so you could have a better look at his hand as it pleasured you. His veiny forearm tensing with the force of his thrusts. You were so wet you glistened in the overhead lighting—so did the dark jewel on one of his rings—and you squelched noisily around his fingers, sucking him in over and over again. Greedy, you were.
“Fuck.” Seokjin cursed under his breath, distracting you, and you found his eyes were locked between your legs too. Mesmerised. “Delectable, as ripe as a peach…” It didn’t take you much longer to cum again. You felt sorry to whoever would sit in the VIP lounge tomorrow night.
Afterwards, once you’d both calmed down—you, dressed but still quite shaky, and he, now composed but hair still in disarray—he asked if you’d accompany him for dinner at his house next time he was free. You agreed quite instantly. You knew what it meant, and you needed it. Needed him. You also agreed when he insisted he’d arrange for a car to take you home that night. You had your own, but you’d had something to drink, regardless how small, and that just didn’t sit right with him. He’d get someone to drop off your vehicle the next morning.
Before you left, he bid you goodnight with a kiss to the cheek and thanked you for a lovely night, emphasising just how much he was looking forward to dinner with you soon. Just the thought had you up for hours when you found yourself in bed, alone, but still warm and sated from your two orgasms.
Seokjin’s house was stunning. A far cry from from your dingy apartment on the tenth floor of an ancient tower block. You were used to it now, but back then you had felt very out of place in such a beautiful home. He arranged for a car to pick you up, very much like the one that had dropped you off home four nights ago. A sleek black thing, with darkened windows. You didn’t know the name, a car was a car, but again, way out of your league. Four days was a short time in someone else’s perspective, but to you it had dragged by. Especially having to see him every night since while you danced in the club. Glances and knowing smirks just made it harder. You understood though, he was a busy man. He called you in the morning, apologising for the short notice, but he’d found a break in his schedule. If you agreed not to be at the club tonight, he could arrange dinner at his place.
You hadn’t hesitated. Had been preparing all day. The longest soak in the bath you could manage without turning into udon. You even brought the wax strips out. Found the most elegant dress you owned in the back of your closet. A blood red, floor length piece.
His phone call had felt very formal, but that was him all over, you had only just started finding out. You weren’t 100% sure, but the 0.1% didn’t matter… You were going to have sex together tonight. The thought made you giddy. It was only the shock of his house that distracted you as you stepped inside. Large and elegantly decorated, it did not look at all like you’d imagined. Not that you’d tried to. It was impossible to wonder what an undead mobster’s home would look like, but as a bachelor, it definitely wasn’t this. It almost seemed lonely to have just one person living here. You kept those thoughts to yourself though and let him lead you into the lounge, where, and you assumed this, a butler of some kind handed you a glass of champagne. This was not your world.
He even had members of staff to cook for him. Food you knew for a fact belonged in michelin starred restaurants. His dining room was grand, the beautifully carved mahogany table able to fit six people. Perhaps this place was once his family home. It made sense. He sat at the head, while you were placed directly opposite him. The distance was a little unnerving, but he was able to converse in small talk exceptionally well. It was lighthearted and casual, and soon eased you up.
You found it intriguing when he doused everything he ate in hot sauce, unable to stop yourself from giggling and he looked up, confusion etched in his features before he realised what had amused you so. You had no idea the need was that bad.
“Nothing tastes good without a little kick,” he explained, putting the bottle down. “Even the brains.”
You laughed. “You must go through hot sauce by the gallon.”
He smiled before reaching for his glass of red wine. “Me being a rotter really doesn’t phase you, does it?” He still seemed to be unable to get over the surprise.
You gave him a small shrug, picking up your cutlery. “It’s the world we live in now.” You sounded like a broken record. That was your explanation for everything.
You waited for him to continue the conversation. There was a pause and then– “Thanks to your father.”
You froze, an instant sense of dread filling you at the casual remark. You swallowed, looking across at Seokjin. “H-how did you know?”
He raised a perfect eyebrow as he brought the glass to his mouth. You watched half the red liquid disappear. The clank as he put it down on the wood made you flinch, and your heart thudded as you waited for his reply. He gave you smile. It didn’t seem fully loaded. “Is that you undermining my power?”
Whatever his intentions were you panicked regardless. “No, I just–”
“Don’t worry, this isn’t some kind of trick. Some kind of revenge...” He interrupted with a quick chuckle. Relief flooded you. Not that you had thought such things explicitly, but Seokjin was the man he was… Your lust hadn’t made you forget that much. He had found out what you’d spent the last three years or so trying to hide after all…
“I have brought you here to fuck.” Despite your alarm, something squeezed in your gut and pulsed between your legs at his frankness. “I’m just curious... You hide it well. Why?”
Unsure what to do, you took a mouthful of food. The chewing letting you think for a moment. Did you really want to divulge your family affairs with him? He was a man of few words and considering what he was—dangerous and undead—you couldn’t be sure to trust his intentions. Maybe you’d made a mistake coming here. Letting his words and actions cajole you.
“Good?” He asked, watching you eat.
You looked at him and nodded. Wiping your face with the napkin placed on your lap you decided to give him some of the details. Not all. “It’s not something I want to be associated with.”
Seokjin frowned. “You don’t agree?”
You shook your head. That had come out wrong. “I don’t agree with my parents’ greed.”
When the zombie virus had hit four years ago your father, a highly gifted scientist, had been one of the first to try and recreate it. To produce something better. For what, you didn’t quite understand. He had no desire to turn himself or his family. No, you guessed it was for the fame, the money…the glory… In the end, it took a number of people to create such a thing, but yes, he’d been one of them… Your mother had been so proud. Sick. That was still what you thought now. Turning the world into undead creatures who needed human brains to survive seemed utterly bizarre. Disturbing… But like you said, the glory seemed to be their fuel…
You hadn’t spoke to either of them in two years and prior to that, conversations were few and far between. To cut them out of your life hadn’t been a sudden decision though. Your whole life you’d always felt like you didn’t belong. Born to the wrong family. Maybe that was a problem with you. An issue you didn’t want to give much thought about, but one thing was for certain, you didn’t think anything like them. You’d spend most of your life rebelling. Maybe you were still doing so… The club you worked at would see them foaming at the mouth. You, surrounded by the people your father helped create. And Seokjin… Seokjin was a man your parents would be horrified to see you with. That thought brought you great pleasure.
“You don’t get along?” You shook you head in reply. Surprisingly it was enough for him. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” Or maybe he already knew that… He probably knew everything about you. He’d been humouring you all this time. For some reason that didn’t scare you like it should’ve. It was quite reassuring to know that despite everything, you were the one he wanted. Maybe your self esteem was shot to pieces. Maybe you were just an idiot.
You smiled. “Thanks.”
He jerked his head towards the direction of your plate. “Let’s not get distracted for too long. Dinner is getting cold.”
You ate with more small talk. He asked if you’d ever been out the country and when you’d replied yes, he insisted that you tell him all about Japan, like he’d never been there before. Maybe he hadn’t… You didn’t ask. In all honestly, you were positive he was trying his best to relax you again after his slight interrogation. It was endearing.
Once dinner was done and his staff had taken the used dishes away, you suddenly remembered what was to come next. You began to feel a little out of your depth. The night at the club had happened out of the blue, but this was pre-planned. Nerves itched at your skin, just wondering how this would go down now, but that didn’t mean you weren’t excited. Giddy.
“You really do look so beautiful tonight.” He praised quietly, admiring you from across the table. He had already told you that when he’d greeted you at his door, but you would never get enough. “I feel a little underdressed.”
You scoffed. “You look perfect. As always.” He was always found in a suit, so his attire for tonight was nothing new. Apart from the velvet suit jacket he wore. It was fancy, something you could never imagine him gracing the club with, and the cream embroidered shirt underneath suited him beautifully. His hair tonight was swept above his forehead, accentuating his breath-taking bone structure.
He closed his eyes as he smiled in silent thanks. When they opened you noticed they were getting darker, grey almost unnoticeable from where you sat. You suddenly thought about him between your legs. You squeezed them together under the table, trying to quell your dirty thoughts. You think he noticed, or maybe he was remembering back too.
“I’m surprised you can’t feel it,” he mused on cue.
“Feel what?” You sounded slightly shaky. Out of breath.
“My need for you is practically raging from my body,” he explained simply.
Something heavy dropped into your gut. Confidence began to wash over you again. It was nice to feel this powerful. “You hide it well.”
“Do I?” He laughed. “I must have more self control than I give myself credit for. I’ve been agitated ever since that night… Unable to stop imagining getting my hands on you again.”
You let out a tremble of a breath. More images flew around the forefront of your mind. The coldness of his hands caressing your body. The ice of his tongue inside your mouth, against your skin, laving against your… You closed your eyes, unable to cope. He murmured your name softly. As if he was desperate for you to look his way again. You obeyed. “I’m so incredibly attracted to you.”
You could hear your heart thudding against your ribcage. It almost felt strange, like it didn’t belong to you. When you chuckled, it didn’t sound like you either. Your lust for him was taking over. Time was nearing. “You already said, Seokjin.” You liked the sound of his name as it curled off your tongue.
He chuckled back. “Am I boring you? I thought flattery would be first protocol.”
You continued to laugh at his choice of words, shaking your head. “There’s no need. I’m here, aren’t I?”
He held your stare. It was almost like he was staring inside of you. “That you are.” He sounded like he still couldn’t believe his luck. He rolled his shoulders. “Well. I can still say what I like. It’s all true. I’m not trying to manipulate you here.” You chose to believe him. “Although... You don’t look like someone who falls victim to such things.” You shrugged, playing it casual. Maybe he was correct. You’d long stopped giving men the power to get inside your mind. You hoped it would hold with Seokjin.
“I’ll cut to the chase then.” He continued, realising you weren’t going to divulge anything that could confirm his assumptions. “One night won’t be enough. I want to enter a sexual relationship with you.”
Your eyes widened. Surprise visible on your face no doubt. Call you naïve, maybe clueless, but that possibility hadn’t crossed your mind. A one off was all you’d imagined. Seokjin had thirsted after you for months now, it seemed. Until he couldn’t ignore it any longer. In your head, one night would have been enough for him. What was so special about you? It seemed ludicrous he’d want something permanent. Taken aback, all you could do was listen to him.
“These,” he paused, “urges I have, they’ve been suppressed for far too long. I have curiosities. Maybe they’ve always been there, morphing with the passing months...years.” He shrugged, and you wondered why he had stifled himself for so long. You also wondered why you. Why were you so special? “It wasn’t until I noticed you that these thoughts...fantasies, became unbearable.”
You took his words like they were information at a business meeting. In fact, he was talking to you like such. It was strange. He was talking about imagining fucking you most probably, and here you were just nodding your head. You squeezed your legs under the table again. You were hot. Your excitement was building again and you were trying your best to control yourself. This wasn’t normal. You shouldn’t be here, but your desire for him seemed to have crept up and snaked its way around your throat.
“I don’t want to overwhelm you but I need things to be in black and white.”
“I understand.”
“You do?” He raised both eyebrows in surprise. You felt powerful with the knowledge you kept proving him wrong. “Your pleasure is my utmost importance. All of my fantasies include you enjoying yourself. Rest assured. However,” he looked down at the table. Was he flustered? Feeling awkward? How unusual. “There are some things I want to indulge in that aren’t to everyone’s taste. I do not wish to trap or force you into anything. If you don’t agree, then that’s that. No hard feelings. This isn’t a sweet or romantic joining. I don’t know if I’m truly capable of that…”
You puzzled in your head. What an odd thing to say. You hadn’t so much as thought about this being anything about romance. You knew where you stood. You hoped he wasn’t assuming that’s what you thought. You’d given up on love and romance a long fucking time ago. “I don’t expect it to be,” you added, wanting it to be clear.
He paused, smiled slightly and then chucked. “Then you understand I have this animalistic need to take you any which way I’m allowed.” He made sure your eyes were locked when he spoke. So he could see your reaction. It was hard tying to keep your expression neutral as you imagined just as he’d said. The corner of your mouth definitely twitched. Of course he saw. You could tell by the way he tried to suppress his smirk.
“I can be patient if you need more time.” He continued. “I am very much insistent that it’s you—there is no one else—however, if you disagree or discover I bring you no joy, I expect one day I’ll find another.” You admired his honesty. “Also. Selfish of me I know, but if you agree then there must be no other sexual partners during our attachment. Please.” “Seokjin...” You began, guessing he’d finished his proposition of sorts.
“I know.” He interrupted before you could say anything. “This is a lot to take in. You’re overwhelmed.”
“No,” you insisted. “I agree. I’m willing to give this a chance.”
He let your words marinate before swallowing. “What I’ve said doesn’t scare you?”
You scoffed. “No.” You’d already knew sex with him wouldn’t be conventional. You’d found that out from his very brazen attitude and mouth the night you were spread against the club’s VIP sofa. Your only mistake had been thinking it would be just once. You felt giddy knowing there would now be endless encounters. You craved him just like he craved you. It was a new sensation, something that had only been been simmering since you caught his eyes on you as you danced, but it was powerful and steadfast, and needed to be sated. Tonight.
He nodded to himself, seemingly deciding then and there to start taking action. “We’ll take it slow. Learn from one another.”
“That sounds good,” you agreed, unconsciously sitting up straighter, leaning in almost eagerly.
“Tonight,” he hushed. “Tonight I just want to feel you. Pleasure you. To become accustomed with your body and what you like.”
You let out a shaky breath. You could almost feel the impending pleasure running through your veins. You’d had a taste of it a few nights ago. “I feel very much the same. Tonight is just the beginning.”
He exhaled through his nose, jaw tensed before he looked you straight in the eyes. Raising his hand he beckoned you. “Come.” You were beginning to see a pattern, and just like that you obeyed. His tastes were of the dominate kind. You would gladly listen.
Rounding the corner you made your way over and stopped right in front of him. He scraped his chair back, making room between him and the table, and motioned you to slot in between.
“When you said you’d get on your knees for me…” He reminded you. A suggestion of sorts. Maybe it was put that way to soften the order.
Your eyes widened, looking at the door that lead into the kitchen. “Here?”
“Don’t worry.” He smiled, taking your hands. “No one will will come in. They shall be leaving soon anyway. They won’t interrupt us.”
You listened, finding yourself in his lap, dress crumpled around your middle, creasing to no end, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Not when you could feel his erection pressing into you. You took initiative. Rising up to let your palm caress him. You’d been dying to get your hands on him ever since the night at the club. To feel him full and thick and long between your fist, in your mouth, in your– You reached to kiss him. He slipped his tongue inside your mouth like he’d been waiting for it, grunting when you gave his dick one quick squeeze.
“Seokjin,” you breathed, lips sticky as you pulled away. “Forgive my manners. I never confessed my attraction towards you too the other night.” It was easy to let him do all the talking, but you wanted to let him know you were 100% into this because you wanted him too. It didn’t go one way. You weren’t just agreeing to this for the hell of it.
He reached for your face, rubbing the apples of your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “No need to flatter me,” he smiled, dropping one thumb to the edge of your mouth. He tugged your bottom lip down slightly and met the tip of your tongue. “I guess my tongue did the persuading, mm?”
You swiped across the cool flesh and pulled away with a grin. “Trust me, if there was no attraction that wouldn’t have happened.”
He laughed, genuinely amused, before grabbing you by the hips, pulling you into his chest. “Enough chit chat. I thought you were supposed to be sucking my dick?”
Just like the rest of him, his cock was cool. Something you had never experienced before. It was swollen, filled with blood, but ice cold. Impossible, yet here you were. Knelt between his spread legs, laving him against your tongue. You had the intense urge to please him as best you could. Show him what he’d been missing all this time and just worship the beautiful, pretty gift between his thighs. He seemed to be unable to get used to the hot, wet velvet of your mouth, eyes glued to you, watching every move you made with soundless gasps. His hands gripped the arms of the chair at first, knuckles purple, until he decided he couldn’t hold back any longer. Taking your hair in his fists, his rings cold against your scalp, he held on tight, finally letting himself moan when you slackened your jaw and slid him down your throat as far as you could take him.
He liked it when you choked on his dick. He froze every time, digging his fingers into your scalp. He liked when you slicked him with your fist, thumb circling the sensitive slit that pooled drops of precum all over the place. He really had fought off all sexual urges for so long it seemed. You wondered if he’d even attempted to pleasure himself? It wasn’t something you were brave enough to ask, but you were brave enough for other things…
You wanted him to experience all the pleasure he’d been missing over the years, tongue pointing and going south, licking thin but long lines up and across his scrotum. He gasped, the noise choking in his throat as he jerked, chair legs screeching against the tiled floor. You shuffled closer on your knees, holding his cock tall in your hand so you could slowly suck one of his balls into your mouth, softly caressing the cool encasing with your tongue. You made sure to look him in the eyes as you did so, feeding of the reactions he gave you. His mouth fallen open in a soundless groan.
You smirked as you pulled away, pleased with yourself, and began kissing up his length, swirling your tongue across the cool marble, pressing your plush lips in the flesh; getting him obscenely wet. His fingers found their way around the back of your neck, holding you firmly as you popped him back into your mouth, sucking intently on the head of his cock, your fist working the base of him, slick noises filling the air, mixed with his low, staccato moans.
When you began getting lower, hallowing your cheeks to accommodate him, your tongue tracing patterns along the underside of his thickness, his hands flew to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair to stop you. You pulled back instantly, waiting for some kind of response from him. He was close. Dangerously close. You understood that.
“I want –” He cut himself short, voice gruff, and cleared his throat, hips jumping when you kissed the tip of his cock. He tried again, taking one hand to caress your face. “I want to cum on your face.” Your legs squeezed together. Excitement overcoming you. “Please.” He added that as an afterthought, forgetting his manners with the urge to cum.
You smiled, slowly taking his hand from your cheek to guide it to the base of his cock, exchanging yours with his. He gripped himself tightly, and you squeezed your palm over his fist. Giving him permission with a sordid whisper. “Be my guest.”
You waited for it on your knees, between his spread legs and watched as he raked his beautiful hand over his equally as beautiful cock. Slowly at first, exploring the pleasure and then he sped up, jerking the top in tight, quick motions, chair legs screeching across the floor again as raised up, tightening his hold on your head to keep you in place. His breathing laboured before a strangled roar left him.
You prepared yourself, closing your eyes as you felt the first spurt hit your nose and drip down your top lip. The second flew across your left cheek. Unlike the rest of him, this substance was searing hot, shocking you so much you gasped. The third spurt, stronger, landed in your mouth. You swallowed and savoured the taste. It wasn’t over. It just kept coming, coating your face and congealing in the air, as Seokjin furiously tried to get every last drop out. Savouring the pleasure, moaning in sweet relief until he grew weak from exertion, collapsing into his seat.
You peeled your eyes open, cum glooping from your right eyebrow and onto your eyelid and watched him with awe. All that filled the dining room was his rough breaths as he tried to get a hold of himself. He ran his clean hand through his hair, strands of white falling down, and finally took a look at you. He was silent for a long time, eyes still black, the crescents of silver sending a shiver up your spine. He leaned over, pulling some of your hair behind your ear, saving it from the mess that coated your face. He looked at you with wonder and amazement in his eyes, like he was trying to retain the image of you like this forever.
When he spoke, his voice sounded different. Softer, warmer. Weaker… “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on…” Two of his fingers ran along your bottom lip, spreading some of his cum along the way. “Like this…” He awed. “It takes my breath away.”
He reached behind you, his embroidered napkin coming into view. The set was probably more expensive than your outfit. He began cleaning your face up, and you let him obediently, still kneeling on the hard floor. It was all worth it though. For him. For what was to come.
When he was done, he threw the soiled cloth to the table. There was still some cum on his fingers, where he’d rubbed your lip, and he opened your mouth, dotting your tongue with the fluid before he stuck two fingers inside, holding the muscle down before he prodded you to suck them. You did so, mimicking how you had pleasured his cock, letting your tongue trail along the expanse of his rings. He groaned, the other hand cupping your face to make you look at him. He opened his mouth, sounded beside himself. “The things I want to do to you...”
You got no sleep that night. Fucking one another until the sun began to shine through his drapes, and then some more, letting him enjoy getting familiar with the sensation again, but also feeling a pleasure like no other yourself. No man you’d ever been with had been into sex this much, and his stamina, his strength, was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. He fucked you, quite literally, to glorious, pleasure-soaked tears. Three years really hadn’t hindered his skill at all, but he blamed it on his greed, incapable of taking a compliment. Nonsense, but you soon got used to that charming personality trait…
The weeks had rolled into months, and you continued just like that. Meeting and fucking any chance you got. It was him who called the shots. He was a busy man after all. You worked to his schedule. Fucked to his schedule, and luckily for you, you were in a position to drop work every time he called. Direct permission from the boss.
True to his word, you took it slow. Going further and further each time until your body was trained to him. His was trained to you too. What he liked, how he liked it and when to do it. You knew how to read his moods and work with it each time you met up for sex. There was a mutual trust between the two of you, and you would give your all if it meant pleasing him, because it brought you pleasure too.
Sex had always been just something you’d done. The guys got their rocks off and maybe if you were lucky, you’d get one orgasm, probably gifted by your own hands. Even when in love, sex hadn’t been this enjoyable nor exciting. It was all new with Seokjin. You lived for pushing yourself to the limit, finding something new and trying it. Greedy. Maybe that was the correct word, Seokjin had been right. You were greedy for one another. You’d be dammed. The desire and the pleasure you just knew you couldn’t get from anyone else. The chemistry was on a totally different level, and it just kept getting stronger.
Seokjin did have a softer appetite though. It wasn’t all hard and extreme. That was the beauty of it. He wasn’t a one-sided dom who used you as some kind of sex toy. He was gentle and caring, even when he had you tied to his bed, blindfolded and at his mercy. Sometimes he just wanted you. Raw and passionate. An unspoken vulnerable. You think in a way, even though you would never say it to his face, he sought comfort in you. On days when he was tired or stressed, he wanted you. Only you. There was a comfort there. And you gladly obeyed. How could you not? You were flattered he chose you to share this with. Touched, in a way.
Your bond only grew, until any awkwardness was a thing of the past. You could tease one another, joke around. It was surprising at first to find out someone like him could become embarrassed and shy when provoked about certain things. Like how he had been so formal in the beginning. He insisted it was because he was so awkward about his extended inexperience fighting head to head with the raging desire he had for you… It had sent him frenzied, until he had to do something about it. You were so glad he had…
Your relationship for the most part was left undetected. It was chosen that way, to keep things strictly professional at work, but also you suspected it was something more. He requested for you not to tell your friends or family, and the only one who knew about your arrangement on his side, was the driver who took you to and from his home. Seokjin’s line of work came with danger, and even though you didn’t voice it, you guessed that danger spread to anyone he was involved with; family, friends, lovers…
You say mostly undetected because of course there had been a slip up somewhere along the line. Working in such close proximity, perhaps you had been foolish. The club was always packed, someone was bound to pick up on it, and unluckily for you, it happened. Give you a major reality check to go with it.
You had been involved with Seokjin for near to three months when it did, juggling nights at work and nights spent with him. More often than not, both at the same time. That night wasn’t one though. He was away from the club altogether, so you got changed at your usual pace, surrounded by the rest of the human girls as they chatted. That night rotter talk filled the dressing room. There had been one watching one of the girls, Jaeha, dancing. He’d taken a shine to her and asked her out for dinner at closing time. She’d agreed, but now she was getting doubts, some of the other girls laying uncertainties in her head. Of course the conversation had turned to sex. It always did where men were concerned. But this was different. They were talking about having sex with a zombie. It was times like these you were thankful there was separate dressing rooms for the human and undead girls. Although some would probably still carry on the conversation regardless.
“What about you?”
You looked up, realising that Jaeha was directing the question your way. “Hm?” You played dumb, even though you had been listening to every word of the conversation. You just didn’t want to answer.
“What would you imagine it feels like being with a rotter?”
You gave a small shrug, realising you had no choice now and turned away as you replied. “I don’t know.”
“Wait. What was that?” She exclaimed excitedly and you inwardly sighed. You guess something about your body language hadn’t been believable. “You have?!” You gave another shrug but she wasn’t having any of it. “Look me in the eyes and say you haven’t!”
You faced her again, defeated, realising you had about half a dozen other pairs of eyes looking at you too. “Fine. I have.”
A couple others squealed. Maybe it was an age thing. You were a few years older than a handful of the girls. At twenty-two you had probably been easily excitable and naïve too. Scrap that. You definitely had been.
“Who?!”
Shit. She really wasn’t going to drop this, was she? You were hoping admitting to it would have been enough. You did up your jeans as you dismissed her. “It doesn’t matter who. It’s just sex. No different.”
“No different? But they’re cold,” she whined, shuddering at the thought. “Doesn’t that feel weird?”
You opened your mouth but found yourself stuck. This conversation was making you feel uncomfortable. Thankfully, a voice came to your rescue.
“You just get used to it.” You looked to your left to see Yeeun coming into view behind
the group of girls. She’d been here nearly the longest, your age, maybe a year older. She kept herself to herself most of the time, but you guessed she wanted to put this conversation to rest. That, and maybe put you out of your misery.
Jaeha turned and opened her mouth to ask more questions, but Yeeun spoke over her. “Jaeha, just make sure to be careful if you decide to go for dinner with that guy, yeah? Undead doesn’t mean he’s inherently bad but coming to a place like this should make you think. Keep your wits about you.”
Just like she’d wanted (and you) the conversation died. Everyone left soon after that, you close behind, but Yeeun was still getting changed, distracted by her phone. You stopped by the door as an afterthought, wanting to say something to her. “Thanks,” you called, waiting for her acknowledgment.
She slowly turned and smiled. “No problem.” You watched as she shoved her cell into her jacket pocket. “Um, you got a minute?”
You nodded, unable to guess what she wanted. She sighed, almost like she was psyching herself up. “First, this isn’t me trying to get up all in your business, alright?” You nodded again, slower this time. A sicky feeling in your stomach. “Everyone else may be clueless when it comes to who you’re fucking, but I’m not.”
You tensed. Maybe you’d misinterpreted her motives. She was trying to put you out of your misery yes, but it ran deeper than that. She was trying to save your skin. She knew. How? You were always careful to never talk in public with Seokjin. Yet… maybe your reluctance to leave early like you used to do roused suspicion from her. Maybe she’d seen you both leave together… Foolish. You panicked, played stupid. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She stared at you, calling your bluff. “Be careful, okay? You’re an adult, you can do whatever the hell you like, but just don’t forget who he is.” You kept quiet. There was no point denying it. “And I’m not on about him being undead. He’s...” She hesitated before deciding to go for it. “Just don’t forget he’s responsible for a lot of this city’s darkness.”
Unexplainable anger filled you. You didn’t like being judged, but more than that, the idea of someone judging Seokjin made your blood boil. She didn’t know him like you did. How kind he was when you were alone, how gentle… He wasn’t what people described him as behind closed doors. But what was the point? You knew you couldn’t tell her that. She’d just laugh at you, tell you how deluded you were. Maybe that’s what you were scared of... That you really were deluded. In over your head…
You watched her shrug on her jacket, her mind at ease now that she’d warned you. “You don’t have a problem working in his club though?”
She froze before pulling out a cigarette from her pocket and chuckling. “It’s money, babe.” She placed the rolled tube in between her lips and spoke through it. “We all need it, and at the end of the day, I’m not the one fucking him.” She finished with a casual shrug. As if she had no worries. You had plenty.
You swallowed, careful to keep your voice steady. “Well thanks for your concern. I’ll bear it in mind.” And the you left, wiping away a stray tear from your left eye.
You didn’t tell Seokjin about what happened that night, certain that Yeeun didn’t care enough to tell anyone. She wasn’t like that, hated gossip like you. You were also worried that if he found out, he’d do something. You didn’t want her to get fired. She said she’d needed the money after all. Maybe your worry went even further than that… You didn’t know. If Seokjin was as bad as everyone seemed to think, you really didn’t know…
So you kept it to yourself. But you couldn’t shake the exchange. Seokjin noticed there was something wrong with you instantly. You saw him two nights afterwards, seeking distraction in the only way you knew with him. Sex. He was tired after his “business trip” and you went along with it, using it as a way to explain your unusual behaviour, so the sex was quick but indulgent. Definitely needed. You clung to him because you’d missed him. You clung to him because you were beside yourself. Torn and unable to truly feel fine. You’d thought being reunited again would reassure you. But it didn’t.
“Smoking again?” You asked him after you were done, watching him reach for the pack of cigarettes he kept on the nightstand.
He chuckled, knowing you hated the dirty habit. The addiction. Maybe in a way you were a hypocrite. “My insides are rotten anyway. What can it do to me?” He was correct you supposed. Rotten to the core. He was untouchable.
However, to your surprise he put them back, wrapping his arm around you like it had been. Your head on his chest, protected from the chill by a fur blanket. His temperature always seemed to get you after sex, your own levelling out. Plus with the winter months now it was harder. He wasn’t the best to cuddle with after sex, an activity that seemed to be happening more often, so you had to separate your bodies with warmth. You let silence spread over you both, lost in your own head with a whirlwind of thoughts.
“Hey,” he prodded gently after a little while, wanting you to look at him. “You’re lying to me. You’re not tired.” You didn’t bother to deny it. He sounded hesitant when he carried on. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
You stayed silent for a moment. unsure how to begin, but you knew you couldn’t continue like this. You needed some type of reassurance from his mouth. Selfishly, you needed your conscience eased. You explained with a question, at least you hoped you did. “Do you like being who you are?”
Seokjin tensed under you, his expression becoming guarded and you instantly feared you’d crossed a line. He knew you were referring to his status, not his being. Something pretty much off limits. Discussed vaguely in the beginning, your joining was never about that. Now it seemed like a forbidden subject. You understood Seokjin saw you as an escape. He didn’t want to discuss work, and you didn’t want to hear it. Yet, it was looming over you, like an ominous presence. You needed something. You could live with who he was if he was as unsure of it as you were. You were positive. He just needed to be honest with you.
You waited patiently, and just as you resigned yourself to stone cold silence, he spoke.
“It was handed to me. I don’t particularly have a choice. It’s all I’ve ever known.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that was bitterness in his tone. “My father is frail now. I don’t know how long he has left. I want to make him proud, regardless of how stupid it sounds. It’s fucked up, I know that. Especially with life as it is now.”
You’d long given up trying to make your father proud, but you understood. Seokjin’s experiences were vastly different to yours, but you understood. His was a matter of life or death, you were sure of it. Yours was just the gradual estrangement from the people who had raised you. He confirmed the seriousness of his detriment in his next sentence.
“There’s nothing I can do about it. It’s my life. It’s expected of me. If I refused, said no... Ran away like a coward... God knows what would happen to me.”
Cruel of you maybe, but it was warming, reassuring to know he’d had such thoughts. Soothing to know in a lot of ways, he didn’t want this life. Selfish of you like you’d known. Trying to ease your own conscience, but here in his arms perhaps you really didn’t care. You didn’t care what Yeeun thought, what others would think if they ever found out. Your parents… None of it mattered because you knew that deep down, in his core, Seokjin was a good man. Rotten or not. He was good to you, and all that mattered. Yes, you were selfish, but you didn’t care.
“Fuck.” He cursed quietly, voice thick with emotion before he laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. “What a world we live in. When being a motherfucking zombie is considered normal and the least of your problems.”
You didn’t laugh along but kissed him softly. You think it stunned him, shutting him up instantly when you pulled away, until he exhaled, pulling you into another, longer, even sweeter kiss. He wrapped you in his arms tightly and you’d never felt safer. He got you onto your back, rolling on top of you, the fur separating your bodies, just, and your need for him burnt away inside your chest.
But he pulled away before you could do anything about it, opening his mouth to say something, expression hesitant. You cupped his cold face, trying your hardest to spread some of your warmth through his body, silently encouraging him to speak. He smiled thankfully. “I didn’t choose that either, by the way. This rotter body.”
Your forehead furrowed, trying to make sense of his words. “That shocks you,” he noted. “I know why. You think I wanted this, just like everyone else.” You opened your mouth to deny it, but what was the point? You hated gossip, like you’d said so many time before, never listened to it, but you had let it sink it’s way into your mind without realising.
Greed. You thought he was like all the rest. Seeking power. Your attraction to him overshot your distaste for the ghastly act of will, but maybe deep down, you’d hoped it wasn’t true.
“It’s okay,” he reassured, twisting slightly to kiss the palm of your hand. Then the tips of your fingers as you sought the touch. “I know what people say about me. They’re wrong though.”
“What happened?” You were whispering, asking without thinking. You didn’t want to pry but Seokjin had never shared this much before. You didn’t think he’d ever shared this much before. To anyone.
“A miscellaneous deal gone wrong. I won’t bore you with the details, but I was scratched.” Your eyes widened, heart ached for him. How wrong people were. How wrong you were. “I took it in my stride, still do. I guess in some ways it helped me, in others not so much... But,” he stopped himself, letting his eyes close as he kissed your fingertips again. When he opened them the grey looked sadder than usual. “Who will follow after me? The family name gone. Although maybe that isn’t a bad thing.” He added with an afterthought, chuckling humourlessly. “I would want no kid of mine doing this. I don’t know. What I’m trying to say is, if there was ever a cure, I’d take it in a heartbeat.” Your own heart beat loudly in your chest. “Wishful thinking, right?”
You were stunned to silence now, trying to make sense of everything. You wanted to reassure him. There was adoption, he needn’t have to dwell, but then it seemed like such a human, vulnerable thing to get hurt over. It made your throat tighten, eyes well up. You had never imagined his anguish over being undead. He always seemed so casual, so put together. His human life was stolen from him cruelly and he was just left to deal with it, alone. You didn’t care if that was his by choice or not. It made sense now, that in ways he had hidden from himself, and why. He was ashamed. He wasn’t greedy, he was lost.
“I don’t think so,” you murmured, caressing his face. “If they can mutate the disease and inject people with it, they can find an antidote.”
He smiled sadly. “Do you think they want that? This world is a corrupt place. Everyone has their own selfish reason’s for letting this disease take over.” He was correct. A cure would never be made by any official. But there could be other options. One day. Hope wasn’t lost.
“You can still live a normal life,” you insisted.
“I can never age. Who would want that? Amongst other things. I have everything against me.”
Something strong tore through your chest. It almost took your breath away, but you couldn’t voice it. You were too afraid. “I don’t think so.” You replied instead. It was hard to keep your voice stable. “What’s inside is more important.”
He chuckled sadly. “Angel, I’m rotten on the inside. Maybe on the outside too.”
His pet name warmed your heart, always did, but his words made it weep. You swallowed, coating your dry mouth and squeezed his face, clinging to him, hoping he’d understand what you were trying to say. “Not to me.”
He smiled, his eyes warming up and leant down to kiss you. “Thank you.” You held him close, sinking into his mouth. The cold was unnoticeable. He did understand. You could feel it in his kiss, taste it on his tongue.
He drew back slowly, just before he lost himself entirely. He had more to say before then. “I have never felt more comfortable with anyone than I have with you. More human...” He trailed off and laughed quietly. “Even when I was one.” He kissed you once more. Like he couldn’t keep away. Hands holding the sides of your face, he lingered, your breaths mingling.
“You care for me without judgement. That’s never happened before. I’ve never had that feeling.”
You squeezed his wrists in silent understanding, eyes glassy. You couldn’t speak if you tried. Couldn’t let him know you felt exactly the same, in fear of bursting into tears. He understood though. Of course he did.
And that’s where you were now. This present moment. The aftermath of such a confession only bringing you closer together. There were silent boundaries that had been made that night. Seokjin did not wish to go into detail about his days, nor did you want him to. You were at ease now, knowing you had been right about him, the others wrong. Yes, he wasn’t perfect. No one was. Yes, maybe if you knew the cold, hard facts, you wouldn’t be able to bear it, but you were happy being ignorant to that. It wasn’t greed that drove you, for Seokjin and all the pleasure he could give you. He had been wrong. You made him see that. It was a selfishness, and that was okay. It had to be. They were two different things. You were selfish for the happiness he made you feel, and likewise for him.
For the first time in your life, you were truly happy. Felt truly understood and not judged, and so did Seokjin. Despite your different life experiences, you were the same in your hearts; yours alive, his rotten, but it didn’t matter—and that’s why you’d been so drawn to him. Twin flames in this dark, overbearing world. You knew the weight of such words, but you didn’t care. Not when you had something good, something pure, and you were clinging to it with all your might.
As much as you had put him on a pedestal in the beginning, not quite believing he’d chosen you, wanted you. Potentially put your worth on his choice, it didn’t matter. Because he had done and felt the same. He had always been thankful you’d made the decision that you had. He was thankful that you wanted him. Still, even now. In ways, you had given him certain confidence and esteem that he’d been lacking. Similar to how he helped bloom yours too. Made you feel beautiful, sexy. It was not one sided with you two. It was real, and pure, and shared. Your admiration for one another. Your love…
Yes, this had been a simple arrangement. Sex. But it wasn’t so simple anymore. You both understood that. There would come a day when you’d have to acknowledge it, your feelings… It was potentially soon, or you could just keep hiding for a little while longer, but it would happen. Seokjin didn’t think he was capable of love after his turn. You remembered him saying something similar the first night you spent together, about romance. You knew now it was because he hated what he was. Undead. He had already lost so much of himself over the years, and to become infected only tore away more. But he was wrong. He was capable. You felt the love he gave you every day. Even if it was the silent kind. It shone from him, warmed you up when you clung to his ice cold flesh.
So yes, you were selfish, so was he. But you didn’t care. Not when you had one another to hide behind.
“How do you want me, Sir?” You silked the words, excitement bubbling away in the pit of your stomach. That was your little thing. What you called him sometimes. When he was in the mood for it.
He smiled at you, but it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. You tensed, studying him almost intently now. Maybe there had been a reason he was delayed. You opened your mouth to ask if everything was okay, but he beat you to it.
“No need for that tonight.” He sounded exhausted, beaten. You realised how terribly you’d misread the signs, feeling a little guilty as you sat up, tightening your gown over your chest. He walked over to his bureau, steps heavy on the wooden floor. Long ago had you come to accept his insistence on wearing shoes indoors, but you watched him step out of his boots now. Loosening the red tie around his neck before removing it completely.
You waited politely for him to continue in some way. Not wanting to push an explanation for his depleted mood. He removed his rings one by one, dropping them into a glass bowl. That’s where he spoke to. “Today’s been hard. I–“ He stopped himself, unable or unwilling to go on. You wondered if you should press him. You realised keeping things bottled up like he did wasn’t good. But you were scared. Scared it could ruin things. You bit on your bottom lip, hard, stifling yourself.
He turned to you then, a longing in his eyes. You knew that look very well. It was a yearning for you. “I just need some solace.”
You nodded slowly, outstretching your arms for him to meet you. He rounded the corner of the bed in a few, quick strides and dove into you. His mouth finding yours in a deep, intense kiss. You wrapped your arms tightly around his shoulders, feeling him squeeze his around your chest, like he needed to make sure you were really there. He spoke no more and that was okay.
His mouth and tongue found your neck, kissing the skin like it could kiss back, until he ceased and held his face in the crook, hugging you tightly. You ran your fingers through his hair, unsure what else you could do. Your chest felt sad and heavy, his mood affecting you immediately. But you needed to be strong. You kissed at whatever part of his face you could reach, your turn to make him feel good. Make him feel loved.
Somehow your lips met again, tongues slipping together, going from slow to fast. His anguish over what was unknown to you, turned into an urge to forget. An urge to bury himself so deep inside you, he’d forget the outside world. If not just for tonight. You would gladly give him that. Give yourself that.
Your hands ran along the tops of his arms, squeezing the muscles as you went, moaning softly when his tongue slipped into your ear, the coolness sending a shiver up your spine. You quickly found the buttons of his shirt, undoing them in equal haste, revealing the expanse of his chest. His hands tugged at the tie of your gown, getting it to fall open and reveal your chest. He cupped your breasts softly, like you would break if he tried any harder and slowly got you onto your back. Your gown slipped open fully, rendering you bare to his eyes, and he let out a sweet sound of awe. He loved your body. Always had. Always would.
You tugged where his shirt tucked into his slacks, and he ripped it from his body, desperate to get as naked as you. It wasn’t long before he was, lying atop your body, staring into your eyes as he caressed your face. His heart was beating a little faster than usual, like it did when he was aroused, yet still not that of a human heart. It never would, but it had become oddly soothing these days.
“Not too cold?” He asked, voice thick with something that had you reaching for him, holding him close.
You smiled. “No. I like it.”
He returned the action, rubbing your noses together affectionately. Your heart swelled in your chest. Fit to burst. You closed your eyes and let yourself sink when his mouth began travelling your body. Your chest rising and falling visibly as he found his way between your legs, making love with his mouth.
In fact, out of the hundreds of times you’d had sex, tonight was the closest you’d ever gotten to such an act. It just felt different. More vulnerable than ever before. Sweeter. It filled your hole body, elevated you. Took you to places you’d never been before.
He pushed inside you slowly, indulging in your velvet warmth, and when he began to thrust it was to a tantric rhythm. Your back arched, your toes curled and all that you felt was warmth. No matter how cold his flesh was, his glow engulfed your body. You wanted it to never stop.
“Tell me you’ll always want me,” he rasped into your ear. Silver and black eyes burning into yours when he pulled back to view you. It was the most defenceless thing he’d ever requested of you. Exposed in the darkness, you shone, giving him the confidence to plead for such a thing.
You held his face tight, voice a hushed whisper, but it didn’t make it any less true. You didn’t know what the future held, nor what would unfold. But you were sure of one thing. There would never be a time when you didn’t want him. You were his, and he was yours.
“Always.”
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Tony Reappears - Pt 2
The follow-up to my previous post looking at what would happen if Tony appeared out of nowhere to be found by Peter, who’s still haunted by Beck’s reality bending.
In which Tony is in bad shape and Peter helps, Strange snarks, and Pepper gives him the kick in the pants he needs.
This is now Part 2 of what is looking to be turning into a slow-burn starker, y’all. Just a heads up, it’s still Pepperony for now since it’s pretty much canon compliant through Endgame.
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Peter was at his side before he could blink, hands hovering, unsure, before cradling Tony’s face briefly, eyes darting across his features as he catalogued every detail. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I-is it really you?”
Tony just nodded wearily, letting out a soft huff as Peter’s hands slid back through Tony’s hair, touching the gray at his temples reverently. Seriously, if he wasn’t already about to pass out he’d probably be reeling from the emotional whiplash of seeing Peter transform back into the gentle, wholesome boy he remembered.
When Peter seemed to be content to simply stare, followed by flitting, fleeting touches, Tony cleared his throat before croaking, “Hands?”
Peter’s brow scrunched in confusion before realization dawned, cheeks flushing. “Oh! Oh, oh, oh my gosh. Of course. Um, here, one second,” he muttered, fumbling with something on his web shooters before producing a vial of clear liquid that he poured carefully over the webbing on Tony’s hands.
“This is normally something I use in aerosol form from my web shooters, but it can make a mess and it makes everything ironically sticky, so I figure you might not appreciate a potential full-body spray. I’m still working out the kinks - It’s surprisingly rare that I ever need to prematurely dissolve my webbing,” Peter explained, voice high and quick like he was nervous.
“I seem to remember designing a solution for that specific problem - in fact, I think it was the first thing I did when I got back to my lab with remnants of your spider juice still stuck to my hands after our first meeting,” Tony said. Or at least he tried to, but his mouth just wouldn’t cooperate. It came out more like; “I...solution already...lab...spider juice,” with incoherent mumbling in between.
But Peter, bright, wonderful Peter, got the gist and grinned, small and guarded but genuine. “Yeah, of course you did Mr. Stark,” he assured as he pulled Tony’s hands away from the wall and set them gently on the floor next to him. “You thought of everything for my suits! But I’m always tinkering with the web fluid design so I’m also having to change the dissolving solution.”
How long has it been? Tony finally thought to wonder.
Peter sat back on his haunches, still staring wonderingly at Tony. Tony couldn’t blame him - if he had the energy, he’d probably be doing the same thing. He had invented time travel, primarily to bring back one Peter Parker, to remedy his worst failure. Of course, saving the rest of the world was motivation as well, but that was mostly an afterthought. And other than a quick, heartfelt hug on a battlefield at the end of the world, he never got the chance to acknowledge that he had actually succeeded.
But now that his life wasn’t in immediate danger, his pounding headache and burning throat were clamoring for attention again. Right. A glass of damn water, that’s how this started.
Tony’s head listed to the side, staring forlornly at the fridge. It was only about two feet away, but it might as well have been two thousand miles.
Peter followed his gaze and, noticing the shattered glass on the floor, quickly realized what Tony was wanting. “You want some water, Mr. Stark?”
Tony nodded gratefully. When Peter returned a minute later, he tried to lift his hands to grab the cup, but couldn’t get them to do more than twitch. After hovering awkwardly for about thirty seconds, Peter hesitantly lifted the glass to Tony’s mouth, tilting it carefully so that the water trickled slowly past his lips.
When that first drop of cool, clean water touched his tongue, Tony’s breath hitched and his eyes stung, overwhelmed by the relief of it. But after only three swallows, he felt the liquid fall heavily into his completely empty stomach and he clamped his lips shut tight. Peter’s intent, watchful gaze and quick reflexes ensured that he noticed almost immediately and righted the glass, pulling it away. Now that Tony could feel the moisture on his face from the slight dribble that escaped his mouth, he realized how agonizingly dry his skin felt, stretched taut and paper thin. His heart was racing, chest heaving, the thirty seconds of interrupted breathing it took to have his precious drink apparently too much after everything else.
He glanced back up at Peter to see his face creased with concern, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. He could definitely make out the ‘Are you okay?’ forming on Peter’s lips.
He tried to respond. To reassure him that he was fine, he just needed to rest, but spots were blooming behind his eyes, slowly taking up his field of vision as his heart rate continued to increase. Uh oh. He was pretty familiar with the way an overstressed heart felt and this was suspiciously similar. He felt Peter’s hands press firmly on his chest and saw his name frantically falling from his mouth before his eyes rolled back and everything faded away.
.
When he awoke, he blinked blearily, eyes sluggishly tracking around the room he was in. Off-puttingly white, machines beeping quietly in the background, and people in scrubs off to the side. A hospital. Which was probably apt, considering he felt like he’d been starved to death only to be thrown in front of a train and lit on fire. He also took note of the comfortable mattress and tastefully low lighting. So he was probably in one of his own facilities.
“Mr. Stark! You’re awake!” Tony startled at the exclamation to his right, not aware that anyone was there. He turned his head to see Peter, the wizard standing aloofly behind him.
“What happened?” Tony asked scratchily, hand coming up to rub absently at his throat. Peter leapt to his side to bring a cup of water with a straw to him, only letting him take a few sips this time before pulling it away. Tony gave him a quick smile in thanks.
“Well I was hoping you’d be able to tell us,” Strange said dryly.
“I meant my health at the moment, which I thought you might have a better idea of than I since you’re actually a doctor, as you’re so fond of reminding me,” Tony responded, finding the remote and levering his bed up to sit up slightly, feeling much more human than the last time he’d been awake.
Strange stared at him impassively for a long moment before replying. “Of course. Well your vitals are stable now. Your main ailments are malnutrition and dehydration extreme enough to bring you to the brink of organ failure, which has been aided by the IV fluids and nutrients you’ve been receiving for the three days you’ve been unconscious. You’ll be on a strict diet for a while before you’re ready to eat normally.”
“Spectacular,” Tony sniped. At least he’d regained enough energy to maintain his flippant attitude. Priorities. “Don’t worry Doc, I know the drill. Been there, done that. Would have gotten the t-shirt, but they were fresh out. You know the saying. Whatever. Point is, that’s a pretty standard medical issue. A little above your pay grade these days isn’t it?”
“I was simply answering your question, Stark. That’s not why I’m here.”
When silence followed that statement, Tony gestured in his direction. “Do you need an engraved invitation to finish that thought? A drumroll? Some dramatic mood lighting?”
The smothered laugh from Peter’s direction was a pleasant counterpoint to the irritated pursing of lips from Dr. Strange.
“I would have thought it would be pretty clear. You reappeared unexpectedly after being dead for 3 years. I’m here to figure out what’s going on and make sure you haven’t completely torn a hole in the fabric of the universe, as I’m sure you would at the first possible opportunity.”
“And to make sure you’re really okay, you know, mind, body, soul and all that,” Peter chimed in.
“Yes. You do appear to actually be alive, by the way, considering near organ failure affected you as it would anyone else. Further tests will need to be done to determine if everything else is ‘normal’,” Strange explained.
“Mmhmm,” Tony hummed with a dismissive nod. He was choosing to work very hard at not thinking about the fact that he’d pulled some kind of resurrection act. He didn’t know how he was back, if he was still himself, how long he would be here or anything. And he was choosing to live in blissful ignorance at this point. That was a problem for future Tony. If there would be one. Who knows? He could disappear tomorrow.
“So you really don’t remember anything?” Strange pushed.
Tony glared at him. “Whoops, you caught me, Merlin. I’m purposely keeping a whole host of information all to myself so that I can remain under constant surveillance and suspicion. Because that’s how I get my jollies. No. I remember dying - which, not super fun, let me tell you - then nothing, until I suddenly showed up here. Or there. Am I still at the Compound? Where am I?”
“Yeah, you’re at the Avengers medbay on the Compound campus,” Peter answered helpfully.
“Well there you go. Consider me interrogated,” Tony intoned.
Strange was opening his mouth, probably to continue his inane, insulting questioning, but Tony cut him off as he saw the door to his room open. “Pepper, Honey, light of my life!” he called, holding his arms out in her direction.
Pepper stopped right inside the doorway, hand falling heavily on the wall beside her as she stared at Tony with wide eyes that were quickly filling with tears, chin quivering. “Tony,” she whispered.
“The one and only. Come on Doll, don’t leave me hanging here,” he joked, hoping the desperation that was creeping into his chest wasn’t apparent in his voice.
Pepper finally moved, stumbling to a stop at Tony’s bedside and collapsing to the side of the bed to gather him in her arms. Tony let out a heavy, ragged sigh. Yes. This is what he’d needed, her warmth seeping into his skin like a toasty towel fresh out of the dryer.
After a moment, he looked around and frowned. “Where’s the munchkin?”
Pepper pulled back, looking uncomfortable but not averting her gaze. “Tony. We don’t know yet what’s going on - are you really back? For how long? Are you completely stable? It didn’t seem right to bring Morgan into this until we knew for sure.”
“Right, yes, of course,” he murmured, heart seizing in his chest again. It all made sense and objectively, he agreed. She was still so young - to involve her now when he could possibly be gone in another five minutes would just be devastating.
But subjectively, it was fucking ripping him to shreds. His daughter, his baby girl. Even if he was only here for five seconds, he’d want to spend them holding her tight. But that was selfish. She’d probably moved on by now, made some kind of peace with his death. He didn’t want to ruin her world all over again. And what if he wasn’t safe? What if he suddenly went berserk? What if he was some radioactive mutant or some crazy shit like that? No, this was the right decision. Didn’t mean it wasn’t low key killing him all over again though.
Suddenly he was a lot more motivated to face everything and get it all figured out. Guess he’d have to actually cooperate with fucking Dumbledore. Wonderful.
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Part 3 - Tony comes back with more than he bargained for
#starker#eventually#slow burn#tony comes back#endgame fix it#tony stark x peter parker#tonyxpeter#ironspider#fic#ficlet#yadds writes#tony stark#peter parker#pepper potts#peter takes care of tony#tony is a good dad#starker fic#my au: Tony Reappears
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“What can I do to help?”
As I’m writing this, I’m dealing with a rather astounding amount of vicious harassment which is taking a very serious toll on me. Usually when this is happening, I try not to talk about it publicly, because the sort of people who do this love nothing more than seeing evidence that it’s working, but sometimes, exceptions need to be made. And more to the point, as someone who deals with these sort of attacks as a constant presence in my own life, as well as helping others deal with the same in what is arguably a professional capacity, it seems to me the state of things today is at a point where we need a fresh round of public education on how these sorts of attack play out, and what any given person can do to actually help people deal with them in a meaningful way.
Predators and Herds
As a basic fundamental primer here, I’m going to need everyone to start looking at things from the perspective of a herd animal, because not only is it a pretty clear metaphor for a lot of this, I honestly think this is literally the sort of ancestral memory/instinct that drives this sort of thing. Plus there’s an amusing irony in telling people dealing with these sorts of predatory scumbags that they aren’t acting ENOUGH like sheep.
Some animals are predators. In order to survive, they have to stalk/chase/pin down other animals and kill them in order to eat. Invariably, the animals they target are those that are the most vulnerable. It’s the easiest way to go, and the one with the least risk of anything going wrong. If you’re a hungry wolf, you’re not going to mess with the big beefy ram who can headbutt you and break some ribs, or the really fit sheep you’d have to chase for an hour and still might never catch up with. You’re just going to go for the one with the broken leg, or the little defenseless baby lamb. Those ones you can definitely pick off without much effort at all, and they can’t really fight back in any meaningful way.
Some animals deal with predators by just focusing single-mindedly on defending themselves. If you can outrun the predators, and never let them get the drop on you, or you hide well enough they can’t ever find you, or you know how to really fight back and hurt them badly enough they know not to mess with you, then cool, you aren’t going to get eaten. At least until you let your guard down at the wrong time, or you get injured, or age starts taking its toll. Plus with all of these you’re just living your whole life in this constant state of fear, actively aware that death lurks just around the corner, and you can’t really form any real attachments with anyone else or protect them. It’s no way to live your life, and all of these require you to be able to outperform any predator who comes at you.
The other way to survive with predators wanting you dead is to be part of a herd. If everyone the predators want to prey on are in a big group, there’s inherent safety in numbers there. Not, to be clear, simply because having so many potential meals to choose from means the odds of you being chosen drop. Predators have to weigh the risks now of coordinated defenses. That big tough ram they’d rather not tackle for fear of getting hurt is right there next to that shaky-legged little lamb that would otherwise be the easiest meal to snag there is.
Herds cause a whole lot of headaches for predators, so when they’re a factor, the first step is pretty much always going to be to scatter the herd in some fashion, so all the prey that would be a pain to deal with leave, and the easily picked off targets are left behind to move in on. There’s a lot of ways to do this, and I don’t want to get into too much detail because the metaphor would get too strained, but the real key counter-strategy is to keep the herd from scattering.
Wolves are going to show up, they’re going to show up in packs, they’re going to start snarling and howling and all that, and some sheep are always going to run when that happens, and some sheep aren’t going to be able to. The trick is to have as many sheep as possible stand their ground. If there’s only a couple who do, they’re just going to get picked off along with the ones who can’t run or fight back. But if enough sheep stand their ground to keep those intimidating numbers, nobody’s getting eaten.
There’s our big framework for looking at this, don’t ever let it drop.
How Predators Attack
Now, the next thing to keep in mind here is that people who haven’t been really hit hard by the sort of attacks I’m talking about here tend to be totally clueless about what they actually involve, and even those who have been targeted tend to be really bad at recognizing when other people are being put through the same.
What people imagine to be a “really devastating attack” is when, say, 2000 different twitter accounts all coordinate to hurl violent threats and horrible slurs at a single person over a single one-hour period or something. Don’t get me wrong here. That does happen, regularly, and that’s never a fun thing to deal with, if only because it essentially serves as a DDoS attack, rendering you unable to see any messages from people you want to see things from, but at the end of the day, it does no more harm than having your router go down for a few hours, maybe a day or two in the most extreme cases. It’s also not something that ever really gets sustained in the long term. It’s more like the predators are just holding a pep rally and testing how many accounts they can direct at once.
The really devastating attacks are the effort to drive herds away. They’re a hell of a lot less flashy, generally. They’re hard to point out to others. When really well executed, the target doesn’t even necessarily see anything happening. And what’s happening is elaborately orchestrated character assassination.
I can’t really convey the seriousness of this without some very specific examples. I may follow this up with a roundup of every attack I’ve personally had launched against me, but for now, let me present a very old and famous example, along with the one I’m most recently dealing with.
The classic, of course, from way back in 2014- “Zoe Quinn slept with five guys from various publications in exchange for good reviews of a game.” If this were the first time you encountered this statement, odds are good your personal reaction would be along the lines of “who?” or “who cares?” The goal here isn’t to make everyone hate Zoe Quinn though, just people immediately around Zoe Quinn. The premise of trading favors for good press is something anyone involved in the press is going to take quite seriously, with even baseless claims having an extreme chilling effect. For another crowd, promiscuity is considered a crime worthy of stoning someone to death (and it’s rather telling that the most commonly repeated version of this attack shortens it to simply “Zoe Quinn slept with five guys”). Much more to the point though, the premise that anyone reading this hasn’t previously encountered this line. That message was shouted from the rooftops all over the world for five straight years, over every possible channel.
More recently, I’ve been dealing with... this incoherent mess. This is much less coordinated, with just a handful of people in the think tank, testing every attack live on the fly. You can watch, more or less in real time, as this predator tosses out a variety of defamatory attacks, switching to a new one every time one falls flat. I’m friends with Graham, then I’m business partners, then I’m either paying him or maybe sleeping with him in exchange for promoting some website. I’m a professional journalist (which is a rather weird angle to press as an attack). Then suddenly I’m a “pedophile defender.” A new attack every day.
Now, in both these cases, there’s no truth at all behind any of these attacks. None of these are even stories with two sides to consider. Zoe Quinn’s game was a little choose your own adventure story comprised of a few simple HTML pages linking to each other. No one ever reviewed it to begin with, so the whole thing falls apart. Graham Linehan is a disgusting crusader who attacks children’s charities for daring to provide support to trans children, and quite famously has some weird fixation on publicly attacking me, and I’m a trans woman who hasn’t had any real luck finding work of any kind since coming out half a decade ago. I’ve never run any website that wasn’t a simple blog like this one, or this one which I think puts that last claim to bed well enough.
But again, the idea with attacks like this isn’t to be credible, or even plausible. People don’t make these sorts of attacks based on anything the target has done, it’s all about what will do the most harm if even one person actually buys into it. You want to hurt an indie game dev? Get people to believe they have to bribe people with sex to get any positive mention of their output. You want to hurt a trans woman? Get people to believe she’s friends with and/or sold everyone else out to the king of the transphobes. Someone who does real work to shut down child porn sites? Secretly a pedophile. Etc. Etc. And the success rate of attacks like this is never zero. No matter how transparently false the claim is, shout it at enough people and SOMEONE is going to treat it as ironclad fact, spreading it around in turn and coming off more credible because they’re quoting someone.These rumors spread like wildfire since, let’s be honest, social media sites are all just glorified gossip mills at the end of the day, and all those laughable details from the original lie drop away, replaced with lists of all the very credible people who always know what they’re talking about these scathing claims have been filtered through.
In my experience, honestly it’s the all the most pathetic claims that do the most damage. “Slept with five guys” sticks more than “in exchange for reviews” because it’s such a non-crime that people default to “let’s say that’s true - who even cares?” rather than question the veracity. And I swear all the most damaging attacks I’ve ever suffered really just boil down to baseless claims that I really just don’t like some arbitrary collection of mostly women (a mix of strangers and people I generally view in a positive light).
Having established all of that, we can finally get around to the big question found in the title of this post:
What can I do to help?
Really, the most meaningful and impactful thing you can ever do when someone is being attacked like this is just to do whatever you can to get in front of it. If you know someone has some predator out there trying to convince people she eats puppies, broadcast a big announcement about how that’s happening, along with how and why you’re as confident as you are that she doesn’t, and it’s a baseless hit job. If you have media connections, try to get a story printed about the whole mess, or set up an interview where the victim can talk about how surreal the experience is. If you don’t, just shout about it where you can, so people know not to trust it when word eventually reaches them of all the depraved puppy feasts.
Past that, just be an active support. Tell the alleged puppy eater how you have her back. Ask how she’s holding up. Offer to talk for a bit, or watch a movie. More often than not, attacks like this cost people career contacts and close friends, and cause a lot of trauma. Whatever you can do to help beat the encroaching darkness back helps.
Also? Don’t fall into that trap of granting these sort of BS claims are true to argue the point that they’re stupid reasons to attack someone. They’re always going to be a big deal to someone, and your hypothetical just makes it seem more factual.
Do keep in mind though that these sorts of solidarity moves are going to make the predators real mad. They want to drive you away, and failing that, they’re going to want to take you down too for not running off with the rest of the herd. If we can establish these sorts of defenses as a cultural norm, or you’re personally the sort of person it’s too risky to go after, this is a total non-issue, but if you’re also particularly vulnerable, and nobody else is following suit, be aware of the risks you’re taking.
Finally, make sure you don’t fall into the trap of becoming a predator yourself. So many people get this idea in their heads that the best defense is a good offense, and set out to “turn the tables,” but frankly it just doesn’t work. When you go on the offense, you can’t help but take on those predatory instincts. You end up targeting the most vulnerable people you can find and convince yourself are “the enemy.” I mean that’s almost certainly how the batch of predators you’re trying to fight got started in the first place.
So just... try to be kind. Be supportive. Get out in front of life-ruining rumors. And don’t just do it for people you know and trust. Do it for strangers who are plainly being preyed on. Look for people who just live to tear into people, especially when they keep tearing into the super marginalized. Object to that on principle. And remember anyone can fall into doing it, no matter how long you’ve known and trusted them, or what their politics are.
And some more thoughts on this topic.
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i feel like i haven’t done an actual review on this blog in months, so get hype, everybody, for my incoherent, unedited thoughts on the fly (1986).
(i actually watched this movie for the first time about a week ago and should have written this review at a similar point in time, but there’s nothing i can do about that now)
(just know that it’s starting to get fuzzy is all.)
so the thing about the fly is... it’s pretty gross. like before i say anything else about the quality, or even how enjoyable i found it, i’ve gotta be upfront and say that my main takeaway was really this big, resounding ew. by the end of the movie, what starts as an attractive, confident jeff goldblum has become an oozing, seeping creature of mucus and weird hairs. just for that, it’s kind of hard to watch.
which isn’t to say i didn’t like it, because i did.
it’s a good story. the effects are pretty fantastic, and cronenberg’s trademark body horror, while nasty, made for a good, campy sci-fi/horror story, and really, all i look for in a movie is camp, sci-fi, and horror elements. so it checks those boxes pretty well.
the thing that kind of holds me back on this movie is its treatment of women, or more specifically, the treatment of the main female character, veronica quaife. veronica is the primary love interest, pursued by both main character seth brundle and supporting character stathis borans, and boy, she gets treated like shit from both of them. i’ve heard arguments that say the second act of the fly feels like a different movie entirely from the first act (the first act having a lighter, softer tone and 80% less body horror, unless you count what happened to that poor baboon), but i honestly can’t see it; there isn’t a part of the movie i can identify wherein the tone suddenly changes. it’s just been dark from the start, and getting darker.
stathis borans apparently exists as a character to be a sort of romantic foil to brundle in his treatment of veronica. at first, it’s pretty easy to identify. stathis comes off as a dick from the start, pursuing ronnie jealously and doing petty things to spite her, like threatening to run the teleporter story after veronica has shelved it. at this point, seth hasn’t yet started to ooze and drip and puke on his food to dissolve it, so he’s got a pretty good shot at coming out ahead in a comparison. still, if you’re really watching, brundle doesn’t really respect her autonomy a whole lot more. their very first scene together, brundle insists that veronica come back to his apartment with him, and won’t take no for an answer, hounding her until she eventually gives in and follows. it’s not that stathis does respect veronica, or that his treatment, at least to start, is any better, but the difference is in the way that they’re framed. borans is a dick, and we’re meant to think that about him. brundle’s unrelenting pursuit of veronica is softened by a geeky exterior that makes his harassment cute. i’m honestly not sure if we’re supposed to excuse his behavior here or not--on one hand, he’s the “hero,” and if the romantic subplot has any chance in hell of landing, then we probably shouldn’t be reading him as a chauvinistic asshole. on the other hand, it definitely does foreshadow what we see of him later on.
hm.
another dark shadow over seth’s character is his actions upon veronica leaving unexpectedly. they share their “is this a romance?” scene, which i’ll have to be honest and say that i found endearing, but then veronica gets stathis’s petty threat and leaves to contain it--an action she’s undertaking FOR SETH, given that it’s him who wants the teleporters to be kept under wraps until he’s ready to unveil them--and seth instantly becomes just as jealous as borans. he drinks for the melodrama, and then, despite having no actual proof that veronica is cheating (and really, no real reason to think so at all, beyond stathis’s name on the portfolio thing), he decides to rush into an extremely dangerous experiment that he wasn’t supposed to undertake for weeks. does he want to hurt himself? i’m not sure. is he spiting veronica? almost certainly.
things naturally deteriorate from there. seth comes out of the experiment feeling better than he has in his life, and for a little while, things seem to be great. he reconciles with veronica. he’s got superhuman strength. he’s suddenly become an insatiable sexual dynamo.
...which is another thing.
if the beginning of the end wasn’t seth getting into the transporter with the fly, it’s probably the scene where seth tries to pressure veronica into going another round after she’s already complained of being exhausted. his stamina is just as superhuman as the rest of him now, but she’s being worn out, and when she finally pushes back against him, he becomes manic, trying to drag her into the transporter so that she might be made as godlike as him (yeah, good luck with that, seth) and lashing out when she declines. from there, he deals with his emotions poorly again and goes out to a bar, where he breaks a man’s arm and hustles another girl into coming home with him--a girl whom he also tries to force into the transporter, only to be stopped by veronica, who’s Had Enough.
good for her!
that’s when things start getting nasty and gooey, so i’m gonna cool it with the plot summary now. let’s just say he turns into a fly, she freaks out about it, things are bad. veronica goes to stathis borans, her only confidante (as laughable a title as that might be for a dick like him), and that’s sort of the point where he becomes a little more sympathetic.
i’ve gotta be honest. i really liked stathis, generally. not all the extra-creepy shit from the beginning, but once seth gets bad enough that stathis is preferable in comparison, he starts to be forced into a role where he acts like a goddamn human being, and the “confidante” role is played more seriously. of course, all of this with the disclaimer that i have terrible taste in fictional men and that i thought the scene where he pretended to “worship” her in the department store was kind of sexy, but he genuinely did step up to the plate, if only because of the absolute horrors that his foil was then undergoing. at any rate, his fingernails were intact, so i don’t think it’s unreasonable for veronica to have gone to him as the better option.
this is also the part of the movie where the pregnancy scare took center stage, and i have to be honest, that was the part of the movie that probably upset me the most. personally, as the unwilling owner of a uterus, the idea of pregnancy in general is fucking horrific to me. veronica’s naked horror at realizing that she’s carrying the baby of the mutated genetic horror seth brundle has become felt real, not only in the context of the actual horror she would have had inside her (although the dream sequence did a very good job of illustrating that), but also in the more personal context of the fear of pregnancy in a person who doesn’t want it. seth’s reaction to her pregnancy versus stathis’s is another reason i came to like stathis best by the end of the film. of course, seth wasn’t in his right mind by the point when he found out, but he begged her to keep it despite her fear and the probable consequences, whereas stathis’s face showed the same dawning horror i felt upon her announcement, and he helped her to get the abortion she wanted. there’s probably some comments about agency to be made here, at the risk of gassing up a character who is still, essentially, an asshole.
(side note: i haven’t seen the fly 2, but the fact that the whole plot is based around veronica keeping the baby after all that and then dying... sours it for me. to say the least.)
then, of course, there’s the grand finale. the three main players in the story settle into their final roles once and for all: veronica is the damsel in distress, for all the discussion of her agency, stathis is the reluctant hero, brundle is the monster. his ultimate plan culminates into fusing himself, veronica, and the baby into one being (a “perfect family”), removing veronica’s agency forever, along with setting up the kind of body horror i really don’t care to imagine. yuck. stathis comes in to stop him with a shotgun, and gets his hand and foot dissolved by acid for his trouble. despite that, he still has the presence of mind to shoot at the telepod with his one remaining hand, freeing veronica (his best scene, imo, but maybe i’m biased) and luring brundlefly out of his own telepod... where he gets further warped by the machine of his own creation, and comes out a horrific, bloody mess, warped together with the machine and begging for his own death. veronica grants his last request. role the credits.
so, what? what’s the takeaway with this movie? it must go beyond “flies are evil and if you merge with them you’ll become that too.” the fact is, the worst parts of brundlefly don’t come from the fly at all, but from seth. his inability to acknowledge veronica’s “no,” his jealousy; all of these come from seth’s humanity. they’re heightened, perhaps, when combined with the mindless creature concerned only with its own survival, but ultimately, the fault is his own. it would be easy, perhaps too easy, to say that the movie functions as a warning against the evils of technology. personally, i think that such a reading is bullshit. over and over, it’s drilled into our heads that computers are stupid. they only do what we tell them. yes, seth’s transformation was heralded by a mistake in the machine, but such a mistake was only possible because of his spiteful, stupid decision to get into the telepod without checking all variables in the first place. i think it’s more of a warning against hubris, if anything. the fly shows us a man with an idea that could change the world, and a disposition that makes us wonder if he’s really ready to. it’s a tragedy, what happens to brundle. but he’s hoisted by his own petard.
#the fly#jeff goldblum#text post#seth brundle#veronica quaife#stathis borans#went this whole rant without saying anything about the 'cheeseburger' scene#smh#well. here's me signing off.#until next time..... think of me and know that i'm out there stanning nasty ugly men#peace
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My thoughts on Rhett’s story
Rhett telling the story of his spiritual journey made me feel more than I thought was possible for me, and this post is my attempt to put my feelings to words. I don’t know if any of what I wrote under the break makes any sense, but if you’re interested, go ahead and click through. Just in case, TW: religion and TW: mental health, although I didn’t really go into anything specific.
And because my text is a bit of a mess, if it leaves you with thoughts or questions, I’m open for discussion. Right now I feel like there is a bouncy ball going randomly around in my brain, and I need to spend the rest of this day in trying to make it stop.
I spent most of my 60 minute therapy session yesterday talking about all the things Rhett’s story on Ear Biscuits made me feel and think. I’ve been in a bit of a loop all week, trying to figure out why I felt so much. I’ve never really been able to believe in a god or a higher power, yet hearing Rhett tell about how painful his process of losing faith was, made me feel his pain, and somehow my own, and it confused the heck out of me.
I planned to write a more comprehensive commentary post about this Ear Biscuit, but every time I’ve started, my emotions have taken over me, and I had to skip the original idea of including the links to the books Rhett mentions. Instead of being factual, logical and scientific about this, I’m just going to explain how I felt, why I felt it, and what I think about all this.
So, I’m not religious. Most times, everything outside of logic confuses me. I want to know facts, and base all my decisions on the real things, and that’s just the way I am. I have serious trust issues in my everyday life, but in a way, also when it comes to spirituality. I also have serious issues with maintaining control, and the thought of losing this control freaks me out – in small things and major, life-changing things. Losing control feels like someone suddenly pulls the rug from under my feet, and I fall from an airplane without a parachute. Or as if I was first sitting safely in a boat, but suddenly, I was dropped into the ocean in the middle of open water, with nothing to hold on to, and no solid ground beneath my feet. At this point, if you’ve listened to Rhett’s story, jumping from a boat to water is how he described the moment he realized he could no longer believe in the god he had believed in for his entire life.
Rhett’s religion was based on the bible, and on a complete trust in god and Jesus. His faith was what provided him security, happiness, way of living and a path to follow. He had everything figured out, and all he needed to do was follow this path. There is such security in knowing what you are supposed to do.
I wasn’t raised to believe in god. I believed, and still do, in science and knowledge. At around the same time as when Rhett decided to pursue a path as being a missionary, and saving the souls of non-believers, I was absolutely certain that I had a similar path all paved and ready. I was going to be a science-woman, I was studying environmental biology in the university, and was driven by my desire to save the world. I had found my passion for environmental work as a teenager, and everything in my life was directing me to this path.
Rhett had to really push himself over the years to be able to ignore his doubts. He wanted to believe, because his faith was the basis for his entire being. When he finally couldn’t erase all of his doubts, he suddenly had nothing to believe in – and even though he says multiple times he wasn’t traumatized by anything in the church, he most certainly experienced massive trauma when he had to let go of it all. He didn’t choose to lose faith, yet he did, and losing everything you believe in is traumatic.
Not believing in higher powers, and having all the trust issues I have, I’ve ever only been able to believe in myself. Too bad, it turned out around when I was 23, that I wasn’t quite as trustworthy as I believed myself to be. I’ve been socially awkward, anxious and a perfectionist for as long as I can remember, and because of my anxieties, I didn’t ever really get close to other people. I survived through high school and childhood mostly by being pretty smart and just clueless enough to actually realize if someone tried to bully me. I knew I never really had very good friends like the other kids, but I was an introvert, and perfectly happy on my own – and it was my fortune that I grew up in a small community, and went to school with the same kids from kindergarten to end of high school. Life was stable and safe. Too bad, it didn’t really prepare me for the big world, and when life got too complicated for me to handle, I lost faith in myself and was left with nothing.
I tried to be what I expected myself to be, and what I assumed my parents, the society, my high school teachers and everyone around me expected me to be. At 23, I couldn’t return to my university classes after the summer break, and I was in the deepest personal crisis I have ever been. I felt like a failure, and I felt I could never again face anyone I knew, because I had let them and myself down. I sought help, went to therapy, and at one point, realized that the path I assumed I would follow wasn’t for me. I had to tell my family I wouldn’t be going back to university. I had to accept that I couldn’t control all of my feelings with logic, and thus lost the foundation to my existence.
It took me quite a few years of therapy and rebuilding myself to get to where I’m at today. First, I found my joy of making art – something that the science life had almost successfully deleted from my life. I went to study jewellery making, and slowly started to believe in myself again – only to experience quite a few relapses along the way. Despite finding a new path in my life in doing art and making jewellery, I still had to come to grips with the fact that I was on the asexual spectrum, and bisexual, and I’m currently, with the help of my therapist and psychiatrist, figuring out if some of my lifelong problems might be based on being neurodiverse (I’ve been going to tests for this for a while now). All of this has forced me to accept that I can’t control my life quite as much as I’d like, and I’m still trying to find a balance between the logical and the emotional parts of what makes me, me. I feel so much more whole now than back 20 years ago, even though there are so many things I can’t know for sure.
Rhett had to rebuild his belief system, and re-evaluate what his core values in life were. He has gone through the painful process of telling his loved ones that he no longer believes the things they still believe, and he basically had to rebuild his marriage from a different perspective – and by the sounds of it, he and Jessie are now in a good place in their relationship.
What struck me most about listening to Rhett’s story is that despite him starting out as a devoted Christian, and me starting out as more than anything, a religiously scientific, somehow, in 40+ years, we’ve somehow come to many of the same conclusions, and despite the obvious differences, we have a lot in common. We both lost the foundation to our lives and had to rebuild ourselves on firmer ground.
I wouldn’t describe myself a hopeful agnostic, but I have to admit there are so many things in this universe I can’t fully comprehend, and even though I can’t believe in a higher power, I feel connected to everything in this world through nature. Thinking about the universe, I’ve understood that the human existence is such a tiny fraction of everything that sometimes it feels absurd how much time and effort our species has spent trying to explain it all. In the end, all religions are attempts to explain the things we don’t know for a fact, and what we believe is only the result of the culture we’ve grown up in. In the grand scheme of things, we are friggin’ small.
I need to end this (probably very incoherent) post before I get sucked into the loop again – but I also have to get this posted so I can get it out of my system. I think Rhett’s current philosophy of living his life the best way he can, and focusing on this one life he can be certain of instead of worrying too much about what happens after he’s dead, is a pretty good idea. In my own life, I’ll continue on my path of learning to accept myself with flaws and all, and instead of trying to fit into a specific box of any kind, I’ll focus on shaping my own kind of container. I still struggle with accepting that not everything can be controlled, but sometimes losing control can create something pretty amazing. I kind of lost the control of my emotions while listening to Rhett’s story, but after almost a week of processing everything his words brought to surface in me, I am grateful for him sharing his story. I’ve never felt more proud for being a Mythical Beast – being a part of this community has enrichened my life more than words can express.
#ear biscuits#Rhett's spiritual journey#ear biscuit 226#my thoughts#tw: religion#tw: mental health#rhett and link
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Come with me
A Roger Taylor imagine requested by the lovely @ironicallyrog I hope this is what you wanted.
Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac
Roger Taylor masterlist
Enjoy.
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(Y/n) couldn't stop it.
The sudden tidal wave of tears that poured from her eyes was like the heavens above had opened their doors and let the torrential downpour commence. Her vision blurred from the amount of saltwater that collected in her tear ducts and began to fall from her eyes, diving to the freedom of her features from her lashes.
Why was she even here? Why was she at the studio with the boys? She wasn't a necessity to help them work, she wasn't some kind of good luck charm which Roger had once called her. She didn't play an instrument, help them to record, sort out their recordings or even work any of the controls to record the tapes. (Y/n) had no purpose being here in the studio when the boys were working and yet here she was, a distraction dressed like a daydream that felt like a mess on the inside. Roger had promised her that he never minded when she dropped by and wanted to stay for a while, in fact, he seemed to love when she came down.
Today just wasn't her day. The boys were busy and she had come down and distracted them already. Their music was not doing its usual remedy in helping her mind to calm down, in fact their music was fueling her brain that was beginning to melt. Their music showed (Y/n) that she had no place here, but she felt out of place when at home and Roger wasn't there because it simply tricked her into thinking she was just as alone as she was when he was on tour.
The sob that wracked from her lips felt like a mistake for it would alert the other people in the room that she wasn't okay but she didn't want them to know that. She wanted them to think she was fine because it was so much easier to pretend than to face facts. It felt even worse when she tried to swallow the next cry that started to crawl up her throat and through her lips. She was fighting with the inevitable and it was a losing battle.
(Y/n) fisted her hair in her hand so tightly that she could feel some of the strands becoming loose from her scalp. But that feeling was nothing in comparison to how her head felt like it was going to explode. All the thoughts rushing around in her mind were making her brain short circuit like it had done so many times before. Reaching breaking point like this was never easy but it had never happened with an audience to watch before. (Y/n) could hardly feel the pain when her hand tugged at her hair as if trying to remove it from her head. Nor could she feel her sharp knuckles slowly and methodically bashing into her temple. Desperate but feeble attempts to make the pain and thoughts go away.
As soon as the pained noise that seemed to resemble some sort of scream left (Y/n)'s lips, the band was alerted that she wasn't okay.
Roger's eyes met with both Brian's and Freddie's before he speeded from behind the drumkit to get to (Y/n). He perched himself on the sofa beside her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders, trying to pull her into his side but she fought against him. Her knuckles still beating their rhythm against her forehead until Roger noticed the action. His hand enveloped her own as another sob parted through her wavering lips, her body trembling as she just wanted it to stop.
"Alright baby, come on. Come with me." Roger whispered the words against the shell of her ear, moving his arm so it was around her waist. His other hand still holding her hand that he gently removed from her hair so she didn't cause any pain or damage.
Easing (Y/n) to her feet, Roger kept his arms around her as he quickly guided her out of the room. Walking down the corridor as she suddenly pressed herself into his chest as another sob left her lips when she felt Roger kissing the top of her head. He never seemed to mind when this happened, he was always there when she felt her mind was going to sink into an abyss she couldn't get herself out of. He was meant to be working and she was stopping that yet he still didn't mind. He was more bothered about making sure she was okay and that was adding to her pain.
She was becoming more of a distraction because she needed help when the boys needed to work.
Turning right, Roger headed into a small side room that held a sofa and a worn-down oak coffee table none of them used. He kept his arm around (Y/n)'s waist, his other hand moving to rest against the back of her head. His fingers knitting into her hair as her arms pressed to her chest, fingers tightly bonding to Roger's thin white shirt as her head pressed into his neck. Hiding against him as if she was too frightened or nervous to be seen.
"I've got you, baby. Let it out." He soothed when another scream left her lips, muffled by his shirt. His fingertips brushed against the back of her head as he rid her hair of the knots it held. His lips pressed to the top of her head as he felt her quivering against him, incoherent words leaving her lips through smaller cries.
Roger didn't ask what had caused this, he had an idea of why this was happening but he didn't need to know. All he needed to do was help.
He told her it was alright which wasn't something that always worked or that people needed to hear but today he thought (Y/n) needed to hear it. She was going to be okay, everyone was fine, nothing was wrong. She wasn't a distraction to the band, she was a welcomed input and therefore everything was alright. He told her he loved her which again wasn't something that always worked, but it wasn't a lie and it was always reassuring to hear. He told her he would make sure she was okay which was something that he knew (Y/n) needed to hear today. He wouldn't let her go until she felt okay, he would hold her until she wanted him to let go, he would reassure her with any words he could find until she told him she was okay.
"I- I'm sorry-"
"Why are you apologising, sweetheart?" The smile on Roger's lips told her that she had no need to try and say sorry because she had nothing to say sorry for. She hadn't done anything wrong or bad, (Y/n) had felt down and needed an outlet for her emotions, that wasn't something she should apologise for. "Come on, let's make sure the boys haven't ruined my song."
As they started walking back down the corridor leading to where the boys were, (Y/n) pushed herself into Roger's back as her hand tightened around his own. She'd never acted like that in front of the boys before, they'd never seen her cry or heard her cry or witnessed a breakdown before.
Her head pressed into Roger's shoulder when they entered the room as her free hand wrapped around his upper arm, keeping herself as close to him as possible. Roger's eyes danced across the room, watching his bandmates who dipped their heads at him in acknowledgement that he had come back into the room. Their eyes drifted to look at (Y/n) who had a tint of red to her cheeks from embarrassment that they had witnessed her like that.
To (Y/n)'s surprise, Freddie sent her a cheeky smile before he started to click his fingers, singing to the beat he was creating. His eyes drifting to Roger who looked less than pleased at hearing the singer had changed the drummer's lyrics which Roger been both pleased and proud of.
Brian tapped his hand against the table in the same rhythm as Freddie, causing a whine to drawl through Roger's lips as he dipped his head back. This was his song, he wasn't having that slow tempo or those lyrics, he was having the beat he had played them earlier and the lyrics he had written down on the sheet in front of Freddie. Their changes were not welcomed to this specific song today. John continued to strum a steady riff as he wasn't really part of this argument that was bound to start, but when (Y/n) slowly pulled herself away from hiding behind Roger, John sent her a warm smile.
None of the boys felt it necessary to voice what had just happened, it wasn't any of their business. They had been told by Roger before that (Y/n) was beginning to struggle with depression and they didn't have to try and comfort her because that wasn't what she needed. Nor did they have to talk about what just happened because it had been sorted by Roger now and that was that.
When Roger turned his head, the smile he flashed at (Y/n) made her insides flip. It was one that told her everything was going to be okay, and she could do nothing but believe it.
#roger taylor#roger taylor imagine#roger x reader#imagine#queen band#freddie mercury#john deacon#Brian May
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There's a wonderful long post about the Leonard Cohen song Hallelujah here. I want to respond to something way down in the (excellent) reblogs.
It's talking about these verses, which are incredibly powerful, and giving some of the Jewish context for them:
You say I took the name in vain
I don’t even know the name
But if I did, well really, what’s it to you?
There’s a blaze of light
In every word
It doesn’t matter which you heard
The holy or the broken Hallelujah
I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah
@stoneandbloodandwater says:
Like honestly, I identify with this song so strongly as an off-the-derech Jew, I sometimes wonder what Christians can possibly hear in this song, as it speaks so specifically to the sadomasochistic relationship that a lapsed Jew has with their God.
I can only give the perspective of an ex-Christian agnostic who discovered this song several years after leaving the toxic semi-fundamentalist church I grew up in. I had a very sadomasochistic relationship with God, and a very nonconsensual one. (The idea you mention of always being forced to come around to inevitably worshipping him in the end is hair-raising for me; something very close to that idea was part of the abuse I survived and so I can't deal with it as part of my own cosmology. But that's me.)
For me, Leonard Cohen singing these verses was incredible because the religion I had internalized was all about a "holy" hallelujah: that a person must be perfectly morally pure and holy at all times in order to be valid, and that there was an extremely limited, rigid way of speaking, thinking, and acting that counted as acceptable, with the penalty not hell but being written off as utterly unworthy of care. There was no room for earnest trying or honest failure or piddly human emotions or screaming into the dark about the unfairness of what was expected of you. It was an abusive relationship on every level, with God (or the version of him I was aware of) as the abuser.
And here I heard this man say: "I did my best, I tried, I failed, I craved human things like touch and sex, I told the truth as well as I could--and even though it all went wrong, even though I was imperfect and fallible and it wasn't enough, here I stand. Without trying to defend myself. Here I am. All I can give you (God, or anyone standing in judgement) is this wrenching, naked honesty from the bottom of my heart."
And he said "How could I blaspheme when I didn't even know the name?" and I quietly admitted in a whisper that I had probably *never* had the relationship with God that everyone assumed I had.
And he said to me, "It doesn't *matter* if you can't hear the high, perfect, holy hallelujah, and if all you can hear is broken notes. There's still a blaze of light in every word: there is still something that is true and valuable and worth expressing even in the shattered incoherent mess of *your* ragged prayers torn from the depths of *your* heart. And if the only thing that makes sense to you is words your childhood authorities would hate? Hang the hell on to those blazing bits of truth anyway."
("Ring the bells that still can ring," he said. "Forget your perfect offering.")
Basically, the sheer raw human honesty in this song was astounding. And the idea that those imperfect and *real* parts of being a human were valuable in and of themselves, whether or not God approved, whether or not they fit the rules, just because they were real--it was and is something that helped me learn how to be a person.
The kind of Christian who goes around changing the lyrics to something smugly certain is missing the entire fucking point of this song, to me. It's completely enraging. I suspect there are Christians who haven't lost their religion who got something similar from it to what I did, but I suppose they're not the ones who refuse to engage with the ambiguity.
#hallelujah#leonard cohen#religion#religious abuse#long post#my thoughts on yaoi#how the fuck do I cut tag on mobile
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Majora’s Mask (N64)
Hello people of Tumblr! Let’s talk about the most divisive Zelda game.
James Rolfe semi-reviewed Majora’s Mask as part of Angry Video Game Nerd, tying the game’s themes into both a Twilight Zone reference (as per masks) and the New Year ball drop (as per moonfall):
youtube
I DIDN’T LIKE WUT HE SAID HARUMPH. >:o[
The Nerd is, of course, a fictional character that James has to put on an act for, and I’ve found that this act is much more obvious and stiff than usual. The Nerd normally tries to balance criticism with praise, but the transition in this one comes across as especially jarring and abrupt.
(OOTA = Ocarina of Time Also = James / The Nerd complains about something that applies to OoT also, or doesn’t notice / appreciate something that he ought to as an OoT veteran)
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Graphics
For some strange reason, The Nerd begins by complaining about the graphics - possibly a reference to the Game Grumps playthrough of Majora’s Mask. Arin Hanson did not wait 5 seconds before blurting out “THIS GAME LOOKS LIKE SHIT“ in a tone that made it obvious he was simply trying to stir drama.
OOTA: Despite pointing out that Majora’s Mask reuses the engine and some other assets, James / the Nerd doesn’t include or compare to OoT while criticizing the derived graphics of Majora’s Mask.
Of course, Majora’s Mask is designed to take advantage of the N64′s surreal, creepy graphics and create a disturbing, uncanny world. I would say that “bad graphics” tend to work in the favor of such games, if handled properly. Just look at Puppet Combo.
One must keep in mind, and James would absolutely be familiar with this, that older games up to around the GameCube era were still played on CRT televisions. The color choices and jagged edges of the N64 were less obvious due to the color balancing and blurriness of these old TVs. As such, today’s better monitors actually make these particular games look worse.
While the console overall has definitely not aged well visually, Majora’s Mask is one of the most graphically intensive games on the N64. If I recall correctly, the scene where the Woodfall Temple rises from the swamp is the most graphically demanding scene in any N64 game.
The Nerd asserts that, in contrast to early 3D, certain 2D styles such as Link to the Past still look good by today’s standards. This is never going to be an objective statement - not only because of the strong bias most people have in favor of or against particular graphical media, but also due to the high emotional investment longtime Zelda players have in both LttP and OoT, which tend to jockey for the title of Best Zelda. (Link’s Awakening is usually a close third place.)
I personally find LttP’s color palette appealing, but many sprites are incoherent or anatomically malformed, and its Escher-esque viewing angle with every wall slanting away from you is absurd. This is underscored in A Link Between Worlds, which is in full 3D but copies the viewing angle by hilariously tilting everything.
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Cosmic Checkpoints
The central criticism of Majora’s Mask, which the Nerd for some strange reason prioritizes after the graphics, has always been an example of Time Limit Syndrome.
Time Limit Syndrome is the phenomenon where perceiving a time limit will make many players freak out and possibly make them quit playing the game permanently. This is true even if the time limit turns out to do absolutely nothing when it expires. After all, they don’t know that ahead of time.
I usually hear complaints about Majora’s Mask’s time system from people who quit within 5 minutes due to Time Limit Syndrome... but James / The Nerd has beaten the final boss and really ought to know better.
As James / The Nerd implies, Majora’s Mask does not expect you to beat the game within a single three-day cycle. Indeed, you are forced to “fail” the first cycle in order to teach you the underlying mechanic of resetting the clock and instill in you the idea that you do not have to “beat the time limit”.
Majora’s Mask runs on a cosmic checkpoint system.
At any millisecond you can simply play the Song of Time to return to the Dawn of the First Day and keep every “checkpoint” you’ve met up to that point; “checkpoints” are things like acquired items and learned Songs.
For instance, as soon as you have the Sonata of Awakening, you can enter the Woodfall Temple. You can and should smack the Owl Statue closest to that temple, then immediately reset to a new cycle and enter the temple fresh on the First Day, skipping the long-ass Metal Gear Solid segment you did to get that song.
The Nerd’s implication that you’re “losing progress” when you use the Song of Time thus makes no sense. It’s not any different than leaving a room in a dungeon and seeing that the puzzle in it has reset when you come back in. You don’t need to do that puzzle again if you already got the key item you get for completing it, thus you have not lost any progress. The proper term is replay value, since you have the option at any point of doing any part of the game over again, with any power-ups or self-prescribed inhibitions you like, without starting a new game. Why criticize Majora’s Mask for the #1 reason people love Super Mario World?
When you use the Song of Time to return to the Dawn of the First Day, you save the game. This is the only way to make a “permanent” save in the N64 version of the game (as compared to the 3DS remake); the other methods let you make a temporary save if you’re interrupted or have something else to do, which is deleted when you load it back up.
If you do let the timer run out by itself, then you get an amazingly horrific game over scene (as featured in the above video), and your current 3-day cycle is lost as you must reload the previous First Day save. The reason the N64 game will not let you override your permanent save mid-cycle is, undoubtedly, so that you do not somehow save a scenario where you will repeatedly game over without any chance to use the Song of Time (however unlikely that may be.) In addition, you can always count on your hard saves being at the start of everybody’s schedule, and you will not need to remember where in the middle of some convoluted three-day quest you were.
Personally, I would have made it so that the timer running out just forced the Song of Time effect. The only “good reason” I can think of to do otherwise is because Majora’s Mask is a very unsettling game and the anxiety of Time Limit Syndrome may actually be intentional as part of the mood... but I would prioritize consistent and intuitive gameplay over an inconsistent and unpredictable audience response.
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Time & Dungeons
Majora’s Mask does have a few frustrating consequences of its time system.
Minor annoyances include quests and rewards that only trigger at a very specific time (ghosts at night, The Other Link, etc.)
Moderate annoyances include quests that are not only that specific, but you have to trigger them first by doing something else specific at an earlier time, or intentionally fail another quest. (the Kafei & Anju quests that are not the Couple’s Mask quest)
Major annoyances include questlines that take place over all three days and which you have to completely restart if you mess up at any step and which sometimes have more than one ending (Couple’s Mask quest)
... but the dungeons semi-resetting is not a problem.
You should be smart and warp back as soon as you can access the dungeon, so that you can enter it at the very start of a new cycle. All you need is the Song that opens it and the Owl Statue closest to it (usually right in front of the dungeon entrance.)
Half of the dungeon is only there to block off the dungeon item. Once you get that, if you need to reset, you can skip half the dungeon next time because you’ve already got the dungeon item. You only need to get the Big Key and go fight the boss.
If you’ve ever challenged the boss, even if you had to quit the fight and reset, you can skip the entire dungeon and teleport right to the boss again on all subsequent cycles. (The boss will also call you out for holding its remains, if applicable.)
You only need to gather the fairies once per dungeon, since you keep all of the unlocked items across cycles.
It’s really quite forgiving except that it does not make it overt exactly where your checkpoints are. In fact, before James made this video and I looked it up, I didn’t know for the last 15+ years that merely challenging the boss let you skip the dungeon on subsequent cycles.
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But Why Tho
The entire 3-day nonsense is a necessity because of the illusion of life.
Similarly to Harvest Moon, major NPCs are scheduled to be in particular places at particular times of the three days. However, unlike Harvest Moon, this schedule is extremely specific for applicable characters. If you slow down time with the Inverted Song of Time, you will actually see these affected NPCs moving proportionately more slowly, because even their path from one place to another, and their exact departure and arrival times, are aligned to the time schedule. Doing certain things will also alter NPC schedules accordingly.
This, of course, helps deepen the characters and make them look more life-like in a game that is all about exploring them emotionally and learning about their fears, hardships, and heartbreaks. Link earns every single Mask in the game by healing somebody, even if he does not use the Song of Healing per se. If he gets every single last one, then he has the ultimate power of love and kindness that off-handedly obliterates the malice and hatred of Majora.
This level of detail would not be feasible, or at least not very intuitive, with a very long schedule, so the game takes place over the same three days repeated indefinitely.
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Comparisons
The Nerd compares Majora’s Mask to Breath of the Wild in other places in the video, but does not do so when it would not be favorable to the latter; specifically, his criticism of the Majora’s Mask banker and his/her talkiness applies ten times over to the Great Fairies in Breath of the Wild, who not only give their entire explanation of how they work every time you leave and return to them again, but also forcibly close the upgrade window when you run out of items you have materials for, without letting you look them over to see what you need to farm for.
You need to use the BotW Great Fairies all the time, but you only need to use the MM bank rarely. You can just deposit money into it once per cycle and ignore it otherwise, since you refill your ammo just by cutting bushes and never need to purchase any... unlike Breath of the Wild.
To deposit or withdraw all your Rupees at once, just enter 999 as the number. It will change it to however many you actually have. The reason you’ve given 5 Rupees in hand is (probably) because otherwise you might lose them when you had 995 or more Rupees in the bank, if indeed you can stand to grind Rupees for that long.
OOTA: The banker is the Termina counterpart of OoT’s beggar, and reuses the animation.
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Around this point, the “sequence breaking” in the editing becomes apparent. Like a videogamedunkey skit, random bits of the game are strewn into the video out of order.
This comes back to bite the review because the Nerd acts like he’s just gotten to a part of the game that has to be completed before what was shown earlier in the video (hence why I call it “sequence breaking”). This breaks the illusion of sincerity; the suspension of disbelief as to the video being scripted is lost and it starts to look a bit more doctored to color the perception of the game.
OOTA: The Nerd does not recognize obvious counterparts to or parodies of characters like the Organ Grinder / Guru Guru, and acts like he’s never encountered an N64 ReDead before.
OOTA: The swim sound is the same sound as in Ocarina of Time. Talk about fishing for complaints.
I disagree harshly with the statement that “all everybody talks about [in regards to Majora’s Mask] are the good things”. I’ve almost only ever heard people complain about the time system and how it’s “Not Really Zelda”.
The particular glitch shown - Zora Link rapidly colliding with the wall - must be intentionally invoked. That glitch occurs if you use the speed-swim against very specific spots of very specific walls... fittingly, any of the corners in the infamous whirlpool room work. All you have to do is let go of the buttons and it will stop. It’s kind of like sailing Mario under the log with a Green Shell in Lethal Lava Land, except Mario always dies (in the most hilarious way) when you do that and Link is only briefly inconvenienced (in the most hilarious way).
OOTA: Most of Majora’s Mask’s more common glitches are the same as in Ocarina of Time due to reusing the engine. Infinite Sword Glitch and Bombchu Hover are both still around, for instance.
The one glitch that is the most problematic is that sometimes, when you reset in the middle of a dungeon, the doors will lock but the Small Keys will not go back into their chests. You then have to keep resetting until it resets correctly, which should be the very next reset.
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Wart / Arrghus
Majora’s Mask may be the only Zelda game with two minibosses in every dungeon - one for the dungeon item, one for the Big Key.
That eyeball boss is Wart, the first of the two Great Bay Temple minibosses, who guards the Ice Arrows. It’s Arrghus from Link to the Past, who was always called ワート WART in Japanese. In the 3DS version, its name in several other languages is the same as Arrghus’s.
Wart is the most annoying enemy in the entire game. He’s a fucker and I hate him. The worst thing about Wart is that the only way to make his long-ass battle faster is to completely destroy your N64. You do this by shooting an arrow into his eye when it’s open, causing every single mini-eyeball to fall off of him, dropping your frame rate into the gutter. (It gets even worse when you start hitting them with the sword.)
You fight Wart again in the Secret Temple (which is basically a boss gauntlet.)
Fuck Wart.
And fuck the second Great Bay miniboss, the gecko in the blob.
───────────────────────────────────
Bits and Bobs
Sometimes the game’s camera cuts (such as when night falls and the game pauses to announce it) interrupt the gameplay. I don’t remember whether the camera angle you had before the cut effects the camera angle after the cut.
While not strictly required, the Bunny Hood literally only makes you run much faster, and makes the skeleton captain sequence (and 90% of the game) much easier. Always use the Bunny Hood when you don’t need any other mask.
OOTA: You should always be tapping the Lens of Truth on and off to use way less magic. (Basically zero, if you tap it rapidly enough.)
The Goron Race is one of the most frustrating parts of the game, and you need to complete it by the 2nd Day or else you can’t get the Gilded Sword. To get the most amount of time possible to complete it:
Confront Ghot at least once
Save a lot of Rupees in the bank
Get the Powder Keg certification
Start a new cycle
Buy a Powder Keg
Use Fire Arrow to ready forge and turn in sword for Razor Sword
Defeat Ghot (necessary for races to start)
Use bought Powder Keg to blow up boulder (shoot it with an arrow to detonate it)
Complete race as soon as possible for Gold Dust
Get Razor Sword
Turn Razor Sword right back in
Get Gilded Sword
Nintendo has never had good control sticks; the N64 and the Joycon alike both have shitty sticks that experience drift or misalign after a few months of use. This is probably why James is unable to roll Goron Link straight forward, or stay on the pipes, despite the N64′s analog stick locking into an octagon to ensure the 8 main directions are easy to hit.
You have to hit the trees with the Hookhot, but the stupid turtle wobbles around, so the trees are hard to hit. I’m not sure how the game determines whether the Hookshot connected or not. Is it checked on fire? Is it checked on arrival? No idea.
The reason the Ice Arrows are not working is because James is shooting too close to the wall. The ice platform would then clip through it. The game could move the platform to be further from the wall but decides to just not form any platform at all. I remember being pretty pissed off with it myself.
───────────────────────────────────
Video ending
The Nerd doesn’t have to do the entire dungeon over again, because he already has the Ice Arrows. He only has to get to and fight that stupid blob gecko again for the Big Key and then get back to the boss.
OOTA: Why would you walk into the giant exit light before you got the Heart Container. Hell, so far as I know, this is Every Zelda Game Also since all of them let you forget to pick up the Heart Container...
Majora’s a bastard. If you get every mask in the game and turn them all in to him, he will for some unfathomable reason give you the Fierce Deity Mask and let you completely whoop his ass with it. The Fierce Deity Mask makes the battle into an utter joke. In the N64 version you can only use it in boss rooms, unless you use a glitch. The 3DS version also lets you use it when fishing (which itself is not in the N64 version.)
───────────────────────────────────
In summary
Majora’s Mask is definitely beloved more for its themes and characters than for its gameplay. It has some of the most beautiful music in all of Zelda, most notably the Song of Healing, and its advanced special effects and cinematography are top-tier by the standards of the N64. It is chock-full of bittersweet, heavy-hitting content and is a major source of inspiration for future "serious subject” indie games and creepypastas - not just BEN DROWNED and Spooky’s Jumpscare Mansion, but in general.
The gameplay is, for the most part, a weird Ocarina of Time mod. The mask forms play differently, and there are extra mechanics introduced by some songs such as the Elegy of Emptiness, but overall you solve puzzles and fight battles with the same “strategy” as in OoT.
MM has always been very divisive because of the time system, which the game does not adequately explain to most players, and which is particularly frustrating in regards to specific parts of the game such as the Gilded Sword or the Couple’s Mask quest. The Bomber’s Notebook helps keep track of some aspects (and is expanded in the 3DS version), but many players simply find the detailed scheduling and the sequence of events too much crap to keep track of and too many repeated chores in the event of failures and many resets, and do not develop a recognition - let alone appreciation - of when they have reached a checkpoint in the main game and can reset to a new cycle without losing anything, or how to gauge whether they have the time left to take on a new task whimsically rather than through planning.
When I first started playing I hated it, but over time I began to be okay with the structure around the time cycle, albeit a bit bored or frustrated when I had to repeat day 1+2 because I screwed up a quest on day 3.
There are so many cool moments in Majora’s Mask that, for me at least, it supercedes the frustrating parts of the quests that cover all 3 days, and some of the just plain annoying parts that are not strictly relevant to the time system.
How the dogs react to each form of Link
Any time you use the Song of Healing
Mummy-Dad and the Well
When you realize who the Skull Kid is
When you realize what happened to the Butler’s son
The full ending with 100% completion
I’ve often said that Earthbound is “a lousy game but a great experience”.
I suppose it’s not out of the park to say Majora’s Mask is in the same boat.
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What about some cold-blooded torture for the Bad Things Happen Bingo. I'm a sucker for angsty shit
sorry this took fuckin forever, it took a while for me to get a decent idea for this one. enjoy 1990 words of connor suffering
word count: 1.9k
pairing: none ig
additional tags: whump, body horror, leg trauma, android gore, graphic descriptions of violence, like seriously a lot of violence i think i went over the top whoops
Connor awakens slowly, blinking away distorted error messages and opening his eyes to a rusty ceiling. He doesn’t recognize the room he’s in on sight, and his mind palace is too corrupted to run his GPS software. He’s been awake for not even twenty seconds, but dread and panic fill his mind quickly.
He tries to sit up, only to find himself stuck. He’s lying face-up on a table - metal, based on the sounds produced by his body struggling against it - and his arms and legs are tightly bound with steel rope. He pulls away from the bonds, trying to free himself in every way he knows, but nothing works. He’s only making noise and causing himself discomfort.
The only part of him that isn’t completely restrained is his head, so he takes the chance to look around the room. The walls and ceiling appear to be made of tin, though it’s so rusted out that it’s hard to tell. Shelves and tables all along the walls seem to have various tools and biocomponents lined up along them. Arms and legs, eyes and hearts and pump regulators, some in containers, some just lying in the open. The empty, limbless chassis of an ST300 lies face-down in the corner of the room. Even without his mind palace fully operational, he can detect countless thirium stains all over the room and the table he’s strapped to.
Once upon a time, a sight like this wouldn’t have fazed Connor in the least. Now, it makes his gut twist uncomfortably, sends a chill down his spine. This room has seen so much death. The fact that he’s restrained can’t mean anything good.
Connor can’t see his own stress level, but he can guess that it’s fairly high. He struggles harder against the ropes, tries to rub his wrist into it. If he can detach even one of his hands, maybe he can figure something out.
Unfortunately, he seems to have drawn too much attention. A door squeaks open somewhere out of Connor’s line of sight, followed by the sound of heavy, echoing footsteps.
“Who’s there?” Connor says, craning his neck to look behind him. He’s greeted by the upside-down visage of a human woman he can’t identify. He continues to struggle, despite knowing it’s no use.
The woman doesn’t speak. Someone else steps into the room behind her. He’s carrying a camera and a tripod in his arms. Connor can’t see their faces properly. They’re wearing masks styled to look like skinless androids.
“Who are you?” Connor yanks on his restraints. Despite his best efforts, panic creeps into his voice. “What do you want?!”
The humans exchange glances. The woman walks around the table until she’s standing at Connor’s feet. The cameraman only walks close enough for Connor to see him out of the corner of his eye.
“We’re going to send a message to your charge,” the woman says. Her voice is pitched down unnaturally; Connor can’t recognize it. “Markus. The leader of the machines.”
“People,” Connor insists. “We’re just people who want to be free.”
The woman’s voice remains unchanged. “You’re anomalies. It’s not you’re fault; you were designed to integrate with human society, and in the process, you lost sight of your true purpose. Servitude.”
Connor stops struggling and grinds his teeth. “If you think Markus is just going to roll over--”
“We know he won’t,” the cameraman interjects. “He fought tooth and nail for the freedom you don’t deserve. But he cares about his colleagues. He cares about you specifically.”
“Which is why we brought you here,” the woman finishes. She turns to the cameraman and nods.
The cameraman sets his camera and tripod down on a table and walks over to Connor. Before he can react - not that he knows how he’d react - the man lifts his head up roughly and sticks something into the access port on his neck. Connor jolts, blinking rapidly as the unknown data copies itself into Connor’s system. The specific details of said data are incoherent and jumbled up, his mind palace too damaged to tell him what’s happening.
Halfway through the process, his neck starts to burn and ache. He twitches away from the sensation, but it follows him. It’s unlike any discomfort he’s felt before; his sensory feedback is advanced, but whatever this feeling is, it’s completely foreign. He hates it.
“What are-- Ow! What is that--?!”
The download finishes, and the man tears the data drive from his neck. He feels the pull of it, but it aches, sending sparks up and down his back.
“It’s pain,” the woman says. She doesn’t elaborate.
“What does that mean?” Connor demands. He pulls the rope again. It digs into his skin uncomfortably.
“It means you’re going to suffer for the sake of your kind.” She turns to the cameraman. “Get the hammer.”
Connor follows the man’s movement as he walks away, picking up a sledgehammer in the opposite corner of the room. His stomach drops, and on instinct, he struggles wildly. Sharp discomfort shoots through his wrists and ankles, but he ignores it. He has to escape. He has to get back to Markus and warn--
In the very next instant, Connor’s vision goes white, and he emits a sound he didn’t know he could make. Warnings flash past his eyes, illegible and too numerous to comprehend. He thrashes in his restraints, kicking and choking on another scream as unimaginable pain consumes him.
“Don’t kick. You’ll only make it worse.”
Connor coughs; something an android shouldn’t be able to do. He looks down at the hammer, where it rests upon what used to be his ankle until a few seconds ago. He doesn’t need to see the wound directly to know all that remains is a mess of shattered white plastic, flattened grey metal, and blue blood.
It’s the worst thing he’s ever felt. Worse than the chill of the Zen Garden. Worse than guilt. Every sensor in his body is on fire. It’s like he’s dying again; only it’s so much worse than feeling it secondhand. He wants to vomit, but he’s physically incapable. Not that it would do him any good if he could.
The woman is unfazed. “Keep going.”
The sledgehammer comes down on his other leg. This time, it’s his knee that gets crushed and split apart. Connor whites out again, shrieking as if it will save him from the pain. He tries to force himself into stasis, but doing so only yields an error message and more pain. He feels it in his eyes, and nothing has even touched them.
Once, twice, three more times the hammer is brought down on random parts of his body. His other knee, his shin, his elbow. After that, Connor loses count. The pain is no longer centered on specific parts of his body; it’s omnipresent and inescapable. No part of him hurts more than another. It’s agony no creature should be subjected to.
By the time he hears the hammer clatter to the ground, Connor’s extremities are completely unresponsive. Most of them have fallen off, too mangled to stay attached. He could try to roll off the table, but it’s like they planned for that; his left wrist is all that’s restraining him now. Even if he could escape, he wouldn’t get far with broken legs.
The sound of the hammer being set down fills Connor with relief. It’s quickly replaced with fear when the man tears Connor’s shirt open and picks up a pair of pliers, holding it over Connor’s stomach.
“No, stop!” Connor pleads as his stomach panel is forced open. “That hurts! Get off me-- Make him stop! STOP!”
The torturers disregard him completely. The man looks over to his counterpart. “What do I do?”
“Disconnect everything that isn’t vital. Make sure he stays conscious and verbal.”
The pliers haphazardly dig into Connor’s wires, pulling them open to slip deeper into his chassis. The agony is unbearable, prompting screams of almost animalistic torment. Connor instinctively curls away from them, but they’re inside his stomach; moving even a little sends even more torturous misery through Connor’s system.
He can’t see anymore; too many bright red, corrupted warnings appear faster than he can take them in. He’s positive that he’s the closest to physically ill that an android can be, and it’s just from the pain. He’s retching and coughing uncontrollably, like his body is trying to eject the intrusion but forgot he can’t vomit. The pain gets exponentially worse with every heartbeat, but his heart just keeps beating faster from the sheer trauma of the experience. The pain is in his CPU now; he literally feels it in his brain.
He can’t think, can’t move, can barely speak. Bits of him slowly go offline as more of his biocomponents are picked apart from their wires. Thirium is pooling in his chassis, but at some point the pliers stabbed all the way through to his back and opened up, splitting him open from the inside. He feels it soaking through his clothes, distantly hears it dripping onto the floor.
He’s not going to shut down, but that might be the worst part of it. He just wants it to stop. He wants everything to stop. The torment has gone on for far too long, and there’s no hope of adapting to it.
He wants to thank every deity in existence when the pliers are finally removed, but he’s too exhausted. Not even physically; the emotional trauma of the experience has just taken everything out of him. He feels like he’s overheating, but his cooling fans, his lungs, they’re all offline. He can’t move a muscle. He barely has muscles to move anymore. He wants to sleep, but the lingering pain is too immense to allow him that luxury.
“Can you speak?” the woman asks.
Connor tries to look at her, but he’s completely paralyzed. He clenches his jaw. It hurts.
“Ffff...fuck you...” he spits. His voice is heavy with tears he doesn’t remember shedding. There’s blood in the back of his throat. His vision is completely dark. The error messages no longer appear.
“Should I set up the camera now?” the man asks.
“Yes.”
---
The sight of the deviant leader falling to his knees would be enough to alarm anyone, but considering he’s been worried sick over his missing friend for days, everyone hurries to his aid.
“Markus, what’s wrong?” North asks. “What is that?”
Markus looks between North, Josh, and the tablet in his hands. He chokes back a sob. “It’s... Connor, he’s...look...”
He turns the tablet and replays the video so the others can see. Josh immediately puts a hand over his mouth. “Oh my God...”
It’s Connor, bleeding from the mouth and strapped to a bloody table. His clothes are torn and stained with thirium, his stomach is wide open, and he looks completely unfocused. He’s mumbling to himself; almost too muffled to make out, but they can barely hear him pleading, “It hurts... Make it stop... Kill me...”
Then the angle shifts over to someone clad in black, wearing a mask. “This is what freedom has cost you,” they say in a too-even voice. “You androids are lost and in pain. You’ve lost sight of what’s important, and you’re suffering for it. If you want the RK800 back, then stop trying to merge with humanity. Further details will be disclosed after this message is broadcast to your followers. You have two days to comply.”
The figure steps over to the table and puts a hand on Connor’s forehead. He visibly bristles at the contact as his head is pushed to the side, towards the camera. “Do you have anything to say to your charge?”
His eyes aren’t even on the camera, but they’re filled with misery. “Markus...” he whispers. “Markus, it hurts... Help...”
Markus caves in on himself, tears falling uncontrollably.
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Oh god... Yeah, right after the in-video ad break, we’re hit with this: Doug Walker dressed like a Nazi with a smudged dotted line around his face and the words “person you hate” written on his forehead in sharpie. Dude, if this moment didn’t make you stop and wonder what the fuck happened with your life to bring you to this moment, then it damn well should’ve been.
Before you ask if this was based on something from the film or album, yes, but as usual there’s context for it. It’s difficult for me to explain, but in short the idea is that Pink’s attempt to build a metaphorical wall between himself and everyone else is making him more and more mentally unsound, right up to the point where after he’s forced to be drugged up for one of his shows he hallucinates himself as a fascist (the very thing his father died fighting against), the fans his zealous followers, and his concerts rallies where he encourages violence against marginalized groups. This goes on for a few songs with the violence and threats escalating in each one, and by the end of the last one he’s ranting and raving incoherently on a megaphone until the hallucination ends as he shouts for it all to stop, finally realizing how dangerous the things he’s been doing to himself are. It’s disturbing, and intentionally so. That’s what I got out of both the album and the film anyway. I have no clue what Doug Walker got out of this part of the film, though, because these next two parody songs have almost nothing to do with it. The first one mentions it so people will know that it’s a parody of something from the film, but that’s about it, and the second one doesn’t mention anything about the film or album at all.
The next two parodies are of “In the Flesh” (the reprise), and “Waiting for the Worms”, neither of which I will post links to based on what I explained earlier, but if you want to look them up yourself I will warn you that there are things said there that are identical to things the Nazis have said and done, and use words like “queers” and others that I dare not say nor want to. (Also, yeah, they didn’t include “Run Like Hell”, presumably because Doug couldn’t think of another full parody’s worth of “fuck you, haters” for it.) In the parody of the former, Doug addresses his crowd of followers, which are the same five people copy-pasted onto the screens of multiple devices (I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be intentional commentary or Doug didn’t have enough people willing to work with him to pull off what he wanted for this), in a place called the “Echo Chamber”.
Yes, really.
It’s supposed to be commentary on how bad callout/outrage/cancel/purity/whatever-we’re-calling-it-this-month culture can be, but considering who this is coming from, what his own fans are like, and the rest of the presentation in this “review” it comes off more like “technology bad” and “social media bad”. Worse than that, the latter parody song is still about callout/outrage/cancel/etc. culture, only now it’s even more apparent that this is his way of commenting on the Change the Channel movement. This isn’t just me saying this either, other people have taken note on it as well, including people who didn’t even completely hate Doug Walker after the Change the Channel thing happened. I’ve seen one person try to (rather weakly) argue that it wasn’t trying to mock the Change the Channel movement, but even if one were to give them the benefit of the doubt and they weren’t making fun of that, then 1: they still should’ve known that doing something like this was going to get people to draw comparisons to said movement whether it was intended or not, and 2: it’s still absurdly over-the-top and out of touch with why “outrage/cancel/callout/whatever culture” has become a thing. It’s about as subtle as, well, a hammer to the face. (Speaking of which, the hammers for this parody are used to make hashtags instead of an ‘x’ and instead of chanting “Pink Floyd” or “Hammers” the fans chant “hashtag”. I’ve been sitting here for five minutes trying to think of how to comment on this, but all I can do is put a hand up to my face like Captain Picard in those memes, I think that says it all.)
This message of “technology and social media bad” is so ridiculously passé at this point that it’s laughable, and yet it seems like Doug Walker is under the impression that he’s saying something new and brilliant. This is also a truly bizarre message to be hearing from a guy who had so much success with his internet career that he quit his previous job to pursue it full-time. You know, that career that’s dependent on technology. (Also, Doug, social media itself didn’t cause those problems with said internet career: that was all you.)
The sad part is that for this sequence we get some brief scenes with actually good CGI of things like marching smartphones (identical to the original’s marching hammers) and a decently-animated 2-D(-ish?) sequence of a six-fingered hand coming up from the ground and forming into a hammer much like something that happened during part of the film (not this part specifically, but a part). It’s weird in context, but these animated parts look far better than any of the other effects that were used earlier. I’m guessing the guest person who made the effects I’ll talk about later also animated this (at least the CGI bits; as I said earlier, the 2-D-ish parts look so suspiciously close to the original that I have to wonder if they were traced over for this). While it is good, that just makes me wonder that if they were hired to make the animation in this part then why didn’t Doug let them animate the black eagle scene for the “Goodbye Blue Sky” parody section too? He clearly had the time and budget to get a talented animator to do this stuff for him, so why not fully use them?
Also, I swear one of the visuals looks more like a mashup between something from the opening of Phantom of the Paradise and The Wall than anything actually from The Wall alone. Maybe Doug and/or the person animating this got their rock operas momentarily mixed. Maybe they did this on purpose to mess with people. Maybe my brain’s making up this shit because a Phantom of the Paradise/The Wall double feature sounds infinitely better than this “review”. Maybe the headache I’ve gotten while watching this dumpster fire is fucking with me. I don’t know.
[Lyrics (and snark) below the cut]
Oh yeah, I’m the
P-Person you all think you know
That sucks up all your angst and confusion
I’m that nameless foe, huh!
[Oh, so you are trying to do an impression of Bob Geldof. ...It shouldn’t take me over half-way into the “review” to figure out for sure that’s what you’re doing. Or did you choose to only actually do an impression of him for just this one part? I can’t even fathom almost any of Doug’s thought process for this “review” anymore.]
I’ve got some weird news for ya, sunshine,
This was dissin’ Thatcher’s administration
[So I have seen Wikipedia mention that at least some people have either interpreted or used this part as commentary on Margaret Thatcher, and I don’t know enough about UK politics to dispute whether it was intentional or not. What bothers me is that if this was intentional, then how did Doug pick up on this? That would mean that he either caught this but somehow didn’t pick up on any of the other, more obvious things in this film that doesn’t have “the slightest bit of subtlety”, or he researched this and only this. Or it was a random guess he made that happens to coincide with what some others have interpreted from this part. Who knows.]
But it’s vague enough to put anyone you fear -
Politician, showman - just put their face here!
[Uh... Are you talking about how someone edited this part of The Wall so that it was Drumpf in there because of how much he talks about his stupid wall? ...You are aware that the entire point of the film and album is that those kind of walls aren’t good and should be broken down, right? You know that Roger Waters himself openly despises Drumpf, right? ...Right?]
Are there any authority figures in the crowd tonight?
Well put them in The Wall!
(Get. Them. All.)
That one’s looking stressed, he wants to feel oppressed
Put him in The Wall!
(Post. His. Balls!)
[Oh yes, The Wall - a film about the cycle of abuse and the effects it has on people and how taking self-isolation to its most extreme is unhealthy for the health of one’s self as well as those around them, among many other things - is something that adults don’t take seriously, not like this web video that has lines talking about people posting some dude’s balls on social media for shits and giggles. (In case you couldn’t tell that was sarcasm.)]
And that one looks sheltered, like she never leaves her room
I’ll be that friend that you can blame for all your gloom
That one looks like he really wants to be outraged!
Now with social media, you have the stage!
[...You know, as awful as the previous songs in this “review” were, at least they were about the film and album. This, however... What even is this?]
(This is the part where the five-person audience starts chanting “hashtag” which goes on until Doug and his two goons run outside, run back inside due to it being too bright out, and then start the next parody. There’s not much to comment on for that, it’s just stupid.)
[End “In the Flesh” parody, begin “Waiting for the Worms” parody]
(One, two, three, post it!)
Ooh, you can’t convince me now
Ooh, I’m too far on my side
Goodbye, nuance
I never will abide
[You are not one to talk about nuance, not regarding this film or album, and certainly not about the Change the Channel movement, which this parody is pretty transparently about as we’ll see soon enough.]
It’s us vs. them, I don’t even know who us or them are
[“Us and them, and after all we're only ordinary men.”
Come on, man, I know it’s not from The Wall, but the opportunity was right there. Actually, since Rob Walker is there as the Charts Guy (a recurring character in Doug’s reviews), you could’ve even thrown in a “Have a Cigar” reference if you wanted (also not from The Wall, but still). I know at this point I’m nitpicking, but I’m forcing myself to watch a “review” where a guy dressed himself like a Nazi to make a blatant “take that” statement against his “haters” without understanding and/or caring why the Nazi comparisons were there in the original; if Doug Walker doesn’t give a shit about those kind of details, then why should I.]
I just wanna be angry so I can be
(Tweeting)
About those who hate me
(Tweeting)
I need their attention
(Tweeting)
Love me or hate me, just look at me more
[Sadly one can’t say that this train wreck of a “review” didn’t make at least some people look at Doug Walker again even after they didn’t want to.]
(Tweeting)
Whatever side you choose, just don’t ever wane
(Tweeting)
Waiting for the point
[I’d joke about how that’s how most people felt about the video at this point, but everyone has made that joke already. Everyone.]
Don’t fear that you’re wrong
Just fight until the end, my friend
[At this point I could just say “Okay, Boomer” at every line in these two parody songs and it’d be about as meaningful as all of Doug’s comments about the actual film. Remember, the film he’s parodying here and supposed to be reviewing (allegedly)? The film he’s not mentioned once in this particular parody?]
All you need to do is fight off something
Don’t worry! As long as you don’t see me as human,
You can hate me all you want!
Because remember, this can never happen to you!
I’m bad! You’re good!
The more extreme you can get the more happy you’ll become!
They’ll put that person whose face you hate here, and tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet, tweet!
[...Doug, please tell me you didn’t have these parody songs in mind first as a sort of rebuttal against your detractors and then used it as an excuse to make a “review” for the actual film in this style as well as a whole parody album of it...
Also, this may be another nitpick, but towards the end the guys aren’t even “marching” in time to the music. Because of course they’re not.]
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Desire
Game used: Diabolik Lovers
What kind of story is this? It’s a One shot/Smut
Characters: Ayato x Reader
Point of view: Second person
Rating: NSFW
Lenght: 2,600 words.
Warning: Contains female dominance, abuse & non-consent.
——————————————————————————
A mixed feeling of excitement and fear rushed through your body as you fastened the cold handcuffs on Ayato’s even colder wrists. His chest slowly heaved up and down in his sleep. If not for that he would have seemed dead.
One wrong movement now and it would all be over. You could only hope he wouldn’t be strong enough to break free on his own. Because struggling he would.
Four years in a relationship with the vampire and you still couldn’t get your way with him. No, Ayato always had to be in control. The only times he let you be on top was when he so desired and after finding out it did not — as he hoped — embarrass you, he quickly lost interest in it at all. He much rather had you squirming beneath him, getting embarrassed at all the lewd things he inflicted upon you.
But not today. Today would be your day. The day of your desires.
You brought it up once — your desire to handcuff him — but he wanted none of it. No, there was no way the vampire would simply submit to anyone. Only he would be in control. He’d have it no other way.
He’d never admit it to you out loud, but deep down you knew giving up control scared him. He couldn’t help it. Even if the two of you were lovers he would never be able to trust you to this extent.
You knew that. You knew. But still…
It was impossible to ignore that his rejection of your idea was a disappointment to you. You wanted this to happen. You craved it.
Which is why it was so difficult for you to let this opportunity pass by. When you saw him peacefully sleeping like that, and so unlike him not noticing your presence at all, you had to act. It was now or never.
And so you ended up here, with Ayato still peacefully sleeping beneath you like a living, breathing, doll — his hands handcuffed to the bed. By far the sexiest view you’ve seen recently. Just thinking about his possible reaction upon waking up got you so excited. The feeling of suspense and rapturous joy rushing through your body was perfect. It made you feel so… lewd.
The vampire beneath you started to move a little, his breathing changed as if close to waking up. The mere thought of him opening his eyes both send a shiver down your spine and made you feel ecstatic. You couldn’t wait for him to wake up and realise the situation he was in, as well as you were scared for the reaction he would have.
A mere second passed before his eyes flew open — looking at you with a hint of confusion mixed with panic.
“What the!? Oi, what is this about!?” he shouted, looking up at his tied wrists.
Luckily you were smart enough to have tied his ankles as well, avoiding the option of him kicking you away. He was completely and utterly defenceless in this state. Just how you liked it.
“It is just a little surprise.”
You smiled as you straddled him, your left hand already touching his stomach.
“Stop fucking with me. Untie me!”
“The fucking hasn’t even started yet,” you said with a playful tone in your voice.
For only a second he stared at you in disbelief, but then he started struggling as if his life depended on it, although it was nothing but a wasted effort.
“How low of you to do this while I’m asleep. Your punishment will be bad. Bad, I tell you,” he threatened.
“Only if you manage to break free.”
“Don’t fucking try me,” he said, pulling on the chains harder than before.
The rattling sound made you pause in fear. For a second you were afraid they might break under that amount of force– but they didn’t.
“Hmmm, I wonder what I shall do to you today? Such a rare opportunity cannot go to waste, after all.”
You wanted Ayato to fear it a little. You wanted him to think about all the possible scenario’s — his mind going crazy with worry, if only for a little bit.
“How about you untie me.”
“Sorry, I’m afraid that’s not an option. Hmmm,” you pretended to be in thought, “perhaps I should tease you a little.”
Ayato gritted his teeth, his glare piercing right through you. It would have scared the shit out of you if only he wasn’t tied up right now.
Truth be told you were already scared for what might happen in the future. You knew that once he’d get his hands on you you’d be screwed, and not the good kind. But right now was not the time to show fear. Right now was the time to let your dominant side go wild. Especially because this would probably be your only chance.
“First let’s get rid of your shirt.”
You slowly unbuttoned the remaining buttons, admiring his chest to the fullest. His skin still felt cold, a sign he wasn’t feeling any arousal yet. You didn’t know if he’d gain some of your own warmth, or if it was his own body heating up when aroused, but whichever it was — it was always nice to know when you’d have effect on him.
“Of course you’d like to look at my naked body. You’re such a lewd woman. Going through all this trouble for a bit of view. If you want to see me with clothes off that badly, you could have said so. No need to tie me up like this,” he said, trying to make you feel embarrassed about your own desires.
“It’s not seeing you naked that I want to achieve.”
“Then what do you want?”
A good question. What exactly did you want to achieve from this? What made this so unbearably arousing for you? Perhaps it was the reversal of your roles — him being at your disposal for a chance. Perhaps it was the kick you got out of this clearly dangerous situation — no really, one would think you had a death wish. Or perhaps, maybe, it was some type of revenge for all the times he embarrassed you and forced himself upon you — because if we’re being fair… he did not always give you a choice, either.
“This is what I want. You submitting to my will for once.”
Not that his pride would allow him to be in a submissive state like this. If there was anything that Ayato would not do – it would be to submit to your will like that. He would fight it, with all his might, until he would have no other choice left. And that was exactly what you were going for, you realised.
“Never!” he shouted, moving about more aggressively. “The moment I’ll get out of this you’re dead. I’ll never forgive you!”
A chill ran down your spine at his threat. Honestly, even after four years of being together you still weren’t sure if he might kill you one day. Perhaps this time you went too far. For all one knows this time he really would. Yet, you would not stop. It was too late to stop now… this is what you wanted.
“You don’t have to,” you tried to sound confident. “I’m sure you’ll end up enjoying it as much as I will.”
“You fucking bitch,” he started yelling.
“Shh.” You put a finger to his mouth. Ayato angrily bit at it, his sharp teeth sinking into your skin. You couldn’t help but to cry out at the pain — blood dripping on Ayato’s face and down your finger as you pulled back.
“This is nothing yet,” he threatened.
Staring at his angry expression you felt yourself getting wet — he was so hot when he got angry.
For a second he seemed to calm down, staring as you sensually licked the blood off your finger. You could tell this was doing something to him; that this specific action was arousing him. He was, after all, a sucker for blood.
“Tch.”
“Now let’s get you more aroused, shall we?” you said seductively as your hand rubbed his crotch. It didn’t take long before you felt him get hard. “What is this? I thought you said you didn’t want this.”
“I don’t! Get your hands off me!”
You smiled sweetly, ignoring his demand. Taking off his pants you felt him stiffen a little — he was clearly afraid of what you were going to do. His body unready to accept your dominance. You’d tell him to relax, except you didn’t want him to.
“Look how hard you are.”
You removed his boxers.
“I’m going to fucking ki— ah!” he gasped as you wrapped your hand around his cock.
“Yes? What are you going to do?” you teased, jacking him off.
The features on his face stiffened and his breathing grew a little heavier, yet he still tried to keep a pokerface at what you were doing. He was a strong one. He would not give in this quickly.
“Kill you,” he finally managed.
You smiled, ignoring him again. As you fastened up the pace you felt his body temperature quickly rise — he was definitely very aroused right now.
Ayato tried to move away from your hand, denying himself his own pleasure, but you wouldn’t let him.
“Na ah, I am far from being done with you,” you whispered, lowering your head and wrapping your lips around his cock.
Ayato started crying out but quickly caught himself. You knew how much he liked you going down on him and you would definitely use that against him now. Before he’d know it he’d be a whimpering mess begging for more. At least, so you hoped.
“Hnm, like that?” you mumbled incoherently. He ignored you, but you just knew how much he enjoyed your skills.
Pretty soon Ayato’s protesting started dying down and small moans escaped his lips as you sucked all the right spots.
“That’s a good boy.”
“Shut up!!”
You could tell he was close to orgasming now — meaning the real game was about to start. Right before he got to the point of releasing inside your mouth you abruptly stopped all that you were doing, leaving his cock desperately wanting for more.
“Oi! What are you doing?” he asked angrily.
“Hmmm? I stopped like you wanted me to.”
“Tch.”
“What’s that? I would almost believe you were… enjoying being dominated by me.”
“As if! Never! Now untie me.”
He was clearly trying to hide his shame. Pretending he hadn’t enjoyed what you were doing to him.
“No.”
Slowly you started to stroke his cock again, paying close attention to when he was about to cum again. Then just before that happened you let go again. He’d shout at you and protest and you would start all over again, tantalising him by edging him over and over. You could tell he desperately wanted to cum. You were torturing him.
“Perhaps it is time for the next step,” you announced, undressing yourself.
Ayato couldn’t help himself but stare at how your skin got revealed bit by bit. He loved it when you stripped for him — although he loved ripping your clothes even more than that.
“What are you going to do?” he asked, calmer now.
“What do you think? I’m going to ride you, of course.”
You couldn’t help but giggle as his cock twitched at those words. “You’ve been wanting that for a while now, haven’t you?”
“I told you to fucking untie me,” he screamed, regaining his strength. His sudden movements caught you off guard for a moment. His knee managing to bump into your side. Ouch, that hurt.
“You deserved that,” he hissed.
He was right. You did.
Finally naked you straddled him again, taking him in one hand and rubbing your, by now very wet, pussy over his shaft. Ayato grunted.
For just a moment you teased him again, rubbing on him but never letting him enter… but even you couldn’t keep up with this. This was torturing you as well.
So before long, you let him slide into you. The feeling of ultimate control made you quiver with joy. The mixed expressions of rapturous delight combined with shame on Ayato’s face almost immediately pushed you over the edge. He was feeling good, yet obviously ashamed he let this happen to himself.
You started focusing on your own pleasure, bouncing up and down on him for what felt like a good ten minutes. Being in control gave you the opportunity to choose exactly how you wanted him to enter you each time; it gave you the possibility of rubbing on all your good spots. Your moans getting lost with his.
Suddenly you felt your pussy tightening and Ayato was showing signs of almost finishing inside you as well. You got off him as fast as you possibly could — his semen now spurting all over your boobs and your stomach.
“Good boy,” you said again.
“Fuck you.”
“Again? Sorry, I need a break,” you teased.
Ayato gritted his teeth. “You got what you wanted now right? Let. Me. Go.”
He was right. You got what you wanted. But was letting go of him really the smartest thing to do right now…?
For a moment longer, you stared at the expressions on his face. While it was clear that he was satisfied, you were sure he hated you a little now. Oh, god. What did you do?
Now that your arousal had died down the realisation of your actions were finally daunting on you. You had to let him go right this instant!
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, quickly releasing his ankles. You half expected him to kick you the moment he got free, but he stayed eerily calm.
Your hands started to tremble a little as you removed his handcuffs as well. There were dark spots on his skin, even blood at some parts — the proof of how hard he had struggled to get free. You hadn’t meant to do this. To… hurt him like this.
But he always did this to you, didn’t he?
The exact second his other hand got free he pushed you into the bed with such a force that all the air got squeezed out of your lungs. Before you got the chance to gasp for air again he squeezed his hand around your throat.
“Never do that again,” he hissed.
An immense fear shot through your body, staring at the murderous look in his eyes. This was it then… he was really going to kill you this time.
“I guess it’s time for your punishment,” he said with a wicked grin. A low, sinister laugh escaping his body as he stared at your reaction. When he was satisfied with the level of fear in your eyes he bit your neck so hard all you could do was scream.
He let go of your throat, pushing your hands into the bed instead, as he drew back and stared at you again with an almost insane stare— this time blood dripping down his chin.
A knot formed in your stomach, fearing the punishment he was going to inflict on you tonight.
“Prepare yourself — for the pain you will feel tonight is nothing compared to what I’ve done to you in the past,” he promised. And you knew it was the truth.
#diabolik lovers#sakamaki ayato#ayato sakamaki#fanfiction#smut#tw: abuse#tw: noncon#nonconsent#female dominance#x reader#second pov#dark#mature#tw: blood
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*incoherent word ramble cuz I both do and don’t feel like talking/ seeking out someone to talk to rn and so that means it gets to go on tumblr I guess*
It feels like absolutely nothing is happening in my brain right now but also that’s cuz I can just feel that everything has been sped up and so word thoughts are gone cuz I think they’re going to fast to hear, either that or they got dumped and it’s only other kinds of thoughts that I don’t know how to focus on happening now. Idk, like, I had whole lots of coffee (like six smallish cups of coffee but also it’s been literal months since last I drank even one cup so that is soo much) cuz it was free at work this morning and I got to sit around while people chatted for almost two hours today and just eat the free snacks and coffee, which was super cool cuz I’ve literally been looking forward to this all week, even though set aside time for morale-boosting office place gatherings are and interesting beast.
So back to word thoughts coming from current state of being instead of explaining why current state of being is being (heh). It feels like everything is and exists so much rn and I don’t care, cuz like also there is just nothing that is me? There is no solid “me” that exists, and their is no solid me that cares about things I’m doing/knows where I should start in order to help in things that matter/isn’t scared to find where I’m supposed to be. *but also like, supossed to is such an interesting term, and I should maybe reexamine the frequency with which I tell myself I should do something or that I’m supposed to do it, cuz there is no inherent purpose to the universe and so nothing matters. But also like, a good reason why I’m alive is cuz I have frequently told myself that I’m supposed to stay alive in order to not make other people upset. And so maybe I should just tell my self that I feel like I should stay alive cuz I don’t feel happy when I make people upset? Or is that just a different version of what I have been already doing? (the actual thing is maybe that I’ve got to find a thing that I feel makes me want to continue to exist cuz it makes me feel the feels I want?, but idk what that means and also I don’t know why or how or where I’m gonna find it and I don’t think it’s gonna be until after I’m done with college {only one more quarter, woot fuckin woot!!!!!}, so I got to keep figuring out what things make my brain want to keep caring?, or just keep on telling my brain that even if it doesn’t care, it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t care cuz future brain does and will care, but also nothing matters and there is no purpose to anything even if I find purpose so is everthing just a conundrum and why will I just keep existing to live within a purposeless conundrum) I’m curious about what else there is but also I know that there’s no thing that makes it so people know why we need to be alive, and everyone is so scared of dying? and like, it will supposedly almost definitely be a painful and awful experience?? but also a lot of things are? and I don’t know why that matters cuz I’ve suffered before and got through it, and I’ll continue to suffer and get through it, and then one day I’ll supposedly suffer and not get through it, and apparently that suffering is more important to postpone then other suffering? Nothing makes sense (including and definitely this word spew) and yet everyone/society pretends like it does and that it matters and that anyone has anything figured out. but we just don’t. We just really, don’t. And that doesn’t matter, but my brain does thing /unless it doesn’t/ and I’m supposed to continue to do things even while my brain does things even though I don’t want to do things and so I don’t excpet when I do- which is both often and unoften cuz boy the world sure just keep on coming and it don’t stop coming- but I like just observing, participation is so much hard when I have to exist as me, (school participation is not hard cuz I don’t exist as me and I just learn the things and say the words that professors/teachers need to hear in order to continue to advance a subject/teach a class)
(I’ve written much of this, I think I probably am going to post this cuz words are words and whoever reads can decide not to whenever cuz like, you can decide to not do most things just whenever, but at least stopping reading this won’t have negative consequences upon your life for whatever reason -unless it does, in which case, fuck I’m sorry, that’s a weird and somewhat unforeseen circumstance)
ahffshighrghori
Why do people act as if words are easy? Communication is so impossible and yet people think they do it? and to some degree people sometimes do? But also no one ever knows if they actually successfully communicated in entirety, but also there are ways to be more successful? (and I’m not currently using most of the ones I normally do!)
But maybe just saying all the words in all the stupid orderr and not reading or working with them or doing them in more than just the way I’m “thinking” will just make them have a meaning even if it’s not important beyond what it makes them not in my head cuz fuck proper coherence nothings ever made a goddamned sense
(have you ever just exist in a place? and not made sense, even when you hear what people say? not being able to understand is weird.
Hope this doens;t)
Some of this is purposeful incoherence, but I don’t know what it means that you can just, one can just choose to then make a words how they happen in your head and that they then don’t make sense. I don’t know what I’m saying! why do other?
Why do people understand eachother, why do people think things make sense? Why do they sometimes,
gosh when people tell you to just write and see what happens they really do mean that it won’t be good the first time, but also fuck having word s that make good, it doens’t mattetr
. It just djorenst ay doesn’t.
This entire mess both is and isn’t because of the addition of caffeine to my present. Wild It’s shared because of the caffeine, but it’s existent because my existing is incoherent and not wanted/understood/necessary/working out how I imagined cuz I’ve rarely if ever imagined what existing would be./
Idk, I assumed I’d be dead when I was 10 and hadimagined that life had no understood purpose at and before then, and I never really did stop with it and that think. ogsa gshi gi gi g igi we i
Fuck man, what is
I hope if you read this you at least realize a little bit that nothing makes sense/has any purpose/matters, but that, like, that’s both freeing and makes it hard to do things and is maybe a good idea to fairly regularly ignore? Cuz none of this
(also if you read this I hope you’re doing okay and undrstand that even though nothing makes sense and there’s no proof of purpose there’s no proof of unpurpose and so maybe just caring about people will make something better, cuz maybe happiness in the present is as good as it will ever get and so it’s okay to find and seek that out when you can?
Words are hard and don’t make any sense even when they’re in my head and what I’m trying to think. Why am I even trying to think cuz I do that anyway (as evidenced my most if not all of this words cuz dan g if not any of it was I trying to think beyond the thinking involved in not letting my thougghts rowrds thingk.
Was gonna edit it cuz the typose werewakl twp gajow
cuz the typos were and weren’t purposeful and how can you know when your actions are simulated to achieve a specific purpose and when they aren’t and why do I feel as though purposeful word order to achieve specific thoughts is a tthing to not because not. ?.
Nothing needs to make sense and I hope you’re having fun.
I also hope you’re not making the world worse, but I’m not convince I’m not, and if you are and it’s not purposeful then it’s okay if you give yourself some slack and breathe and move past it to get to where you are and can be contributing not good and not bad and maybe just good or the morality that you want to achieve and make be in what
Fuck senssfm, sorry if
If I pause for too long does that mean done? I think i t means slowing down and that it might be done soon, if I’ve said something that you read and word was harmful, I don’t think I did but that’s cuz I didn’t stop to think and did not intend harm but am willing at time when can think more to try and thing positively but also I’m fairly certain this isn’t somethings that is in any way too much offensive and is probably just overly personal in an not sense making kind of way that might seem like too much later or more likely I’ll just forget about cuz who thinks. sfljagwjogogohi
Gosh I don’t like when the overthinks so trying to make this end is making that happen which makes it feel like it need s to keep being word sthat come out of my brain and do the typing even thoeugh I was trying kind of to make it stop cuz it felt like maybe it was reaching an end but why would I let it reach an end if the entire point (if there was a point which apparently I’m trying to assert that there was even though I didn’t let my self assert that there was at the begiinnning cuz obviously theres is jsust htat wacky randomness of words that just happen and not every thing that is written serves any purpose or thoughts to convey cuz If when if I try and let my words b e with and wiithout no purpose then when nad if nothing word isa than to make sens b cause thaen word that I’m trying don’t matter and that good? Fuck yah I managed to lean into not want ting to say that sentance when I lost it. In conclusion there isn’t one?
Sorry, brains and words are weird and I’m glad I did this but I don’t know what it means I and I don’t know why I said it and I dont’ know why or if you read it but I hope you knew the words you understood and wanted. Hope you’re having good, hope you find coherence, hope we have good.
#personal#I don't know what this is and I don't really intend to reread it within any known timeframe but apparently thsi is what words when I odn't#tldr this is just me stream of conciousing with semi-caffeine induced existentialism?? and no editing#and if you read it feel free to tell me what you think or feel free to not#this simply exists cuz there was no reason not to let it exist and that's okay#now to figure out how to make this a read more cuz that is definitely what this post should be cuz it's way too long#and very much just the concept of you can just say whatver you damn well want/don't want can't you#and so I did and am kind of continuing to do in the tags cuz that's what tags are for and also I don't know when/ how to shut up#(I also don't know how/when to speak up#but that is a both the same and a different issue)#Words!Just!Happen!Why!#also like really feel free to not read this cuz I don't know what it is beyond letting my brain be completely not filtered for a bit#(but also feel free to read if you want to I guess cuz that's apparently the point of being vocal within the world/on tumblr)#I'm losing the coherence of what it means to think the words in my head again so I'm actually gonna stop and figure out the read more stuff#okay I did the thing it is a read more but now I got to just briefly mention that not rereading this is while cuz I almost started to#and then that first tag both would and wouldn't kinda be a lie#but boy the fact that you can actually say words and then people have a way to know more and less things about who they think you are#dang that is just wild
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