#I can't keep up and i can't keep using savings
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Practice
Hardersson x Teen!Reader
Part of The Big Adventures Universe
Summary: You need to practice
On the weekend, when you don't have games and you've finished all your homework, you have a kick about in the garden.
Or, rather, Momma and Morsa had a kick around and you save their shots.
Momma's better at shooting than Morsa but Morsa does better headers so it all evens out you suppose.
Either way, you get practice and they get exercise.
It's a win-win.
You're doing well with your academy training but not well enough. Since the time you rejected Germany's offer to have you play for their youth teams, no one else had called you up.
Not Denmark.
Not Sweden.
Some of your peers at Academy training had wormed their ways onto the youth teams, even for just one call up.
But you hadn't.
You don't know what you're doing wrong. You don't know why you're not good enough.
What you do know is that you want to be on those teams. Those teams are stepping stones to get to the senior team and the senior team is the road to joining the big clubs.
The European giants that you so desperately want to play for.
Wolfsburg is your destination, in big blinding lights in your head.
You want to play for Wolfsburg. You want to dominate the German League with them and, hopefully, the Champion's League as well.
But Wolfsburg won't look twice at you if you aren't on Sweden or Denmark's senior team.
Hence why you're practicing now, saving shot after shot after shot in your fancy new gloves, standing in the new goal set up in your garden after a drunk Morsa stumbled into your old one and broke it.
Another shot streaks past your outstretched hands and you kick your goalpost angrily, rolling the ball from out of your net and back to Momma.
"You're not defending properly!" You tell Morsa, arms crossed over your chest," You keep letting her win!"
Morsa laughs, like she can't see how important this is to you. "We're just playing around, princesse."
"We're not! I'm practicing!"
"Take it easy. It's not the be all end all."
"It is!"
You stamp your foot and Morsa laughs again, fondly ruffling your hair and you want to scream.
"You're not at training, princesse. It isn't that serious."
"It is!"
"It isn't."
"Magda," Momma says warningly," Leave her alone."
"Pernille!"
Momma grabs the ball and starts dribbling.
Morsa still isn't taking it that seriously, making a few attempts at getting the ball again but ultimately leaving Momma enough room to take another shot.
You catch it this time, falling to the ground to hold it against your body like Zećira has always taught you.
You stay on the ground for a while, drawing big deep breaths into your lungs.
Pernille sits in front of you, nudging you gently with her foot. "What's going on, huh? What's got you all high strung?"
You huff and mumble," I don't want to talk about it."
"You're not usually this short with us," Pernille says," Talk to me. What's going on?"
"It's stupid."
"If it's upsetting you then I don't think it is."
"Everyone else has been called up for the youth teams," You let the rest of your words go unspoken.
"You'll get there," Magda says, still standing nearby," It'll happen eventually."
"I don't want it eventually! I want it now! Everyone else has been called up! Everyone else is getting game time with the youth teams!"
"People develop at different times," Pernille's trying to soothe you, to talk you off the ledge," It's perfectly okay to not be going to camps the same time as everyone else."
"I should have accepted Germany's offer when I had the chance!" You say and that's when Magda and Pernille know you're being serious about this.
"Just because everyone else is going doesn't mean that you're a worse player," Pernille says to you," You shouldn't measure yourself against them."
You sit up. "Whatever." You grab the ball, angrily booting it all the way to the other end of the garden. "I told you it was stupid."
"Princesse-"
You move to go back inside.
"Come here," Magda says.
You ignore her.
"Don't ignore me! Come here!"
She's using her captain voice, the one she used to use when she played for Sweden. You know better than to ignore her now.
You stand in front of her, looking up.
"You worth is not reliant on whether or not you get into the youth teams."
You scoff. "Maybe not to you."
"Princesse-"
"But don't lie and say big clubs don't start picking out future players from the moment they lay eyes on them. No one watches random youth team matches at club level, not really. But they do watch it at international level. I know that. You know that."
"I know that," Magda echoes," But you have all the time in the world."
"Do I?" You say," Do I really?"
"You're fourteen. You have so much time."
You look away. "No, I don't."
You're growing up now, shooting up like a weed but Pernille's still taller than you, still tall enough to rest her chin on the top of your head and hug you from behind.
"Tell me what you need, princesse. What do you want out of this?"
"I want to be the best. I want you to help me be the best."
"Okay," Pernille says," We'll help you be the best."
#woso x reader#hardersson x reader#pernille harder x reader#pernille harder#magdalena eriksson x reader#magdalena eriksson#woso community#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso#the big adventures universe
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there's a part of canto vi I've been thinking about since it came out, and it doesn't actually have anything to do with Heathcliff.
this
She is bitter as fuck and as time goes on she's getting worse at keeping it down. Sinclair's the one who started it, by talking about how sad it is that they'd never get to see color, and Rodya starts to get a little irritated over it (yeah, sure, pity the Backstreets folk and their poor miserable little lives, privileged nest boy), but she's obviously trying not to straight up call Sinclair a privileged nest boy because she doesn't want to. But then Yi Sang and Ishmael join in on talking about how sad this place is with no color and she just can't keep her opinion down.
But that makes the atmosphere tense, and she hates a tense atmosphere, so she changes the subject and her tone, not giving a damn about how obvious it is. also, haha, ice and cold references.
And actually, this doesn't really have much evidence to support it, but I wonder if she holds a higher level of resentment for Sinclair in particular.
Canto II had some discussion about how Rodya wishes she was special (and while I think what Sonya said about her killing the tax collector just to feel special is absolute bullshit, I do also think there is some truth to her wanting to feel special), and introduced us to the concept of The Sign in a way that was vague and more like foreshadowing than actually introducing it. Then Canto III was all about The Sign, and how special Sinclair is, and since then we've had people talking about signs and stars and a new birth of the world and it's all stuff Rodya doesn't get to be part of.
I don't think she wants to hold resentment for Sinclair, and she especially never wants him to know, but going back after all this time and rereading this one interaction with him in Canto II felt pretty jarring.
the more important part of this is the way it feels like she's making a joke at Heathcliff's expense, for being poor, like even though she's also from the Backstreets she feels she's "above" it.
She absolutely does not feel this way.
On my way to find the first passage, I reread some other interesting stuff:
Once again, there's the harsh juxtaposition between casual, fun-loving Rodya, and tired, poor man's advocate Rodya. Almost everyone on the team speaks through the lens of a Nest dweller (I have to wonder if learning that Heathcliff was apparently raised in a mansion made her even more bitter), and the way she's so short with her mention of the Sweepers makes me think she's thinking about how painfully obvious it would have been to any other Backstreets dweller. And then, right after, dropping back into her casual voice, and Sinclair revealing that Rodya used the fucked up Backstreets creature to tease him...
Other obvious moments of Rodya being bitter as hell about rich people include this part of S.E.A.
and this part of her observation logs on Spiral of Contempt (actually, nearly everything in that log that isn't about the physical abnormality has to do with how much she hates how rich people look down upon the poor)
Hong Lu's canto comes after Don's, and then after his is Ryōshū's, who, based on her source material, probably served one of the most awful, contemptuous rich people the sinners have access to, and I really hope at some point here Rodya gets to snap in a big way
...hey so I wrote this entire post at 1 in the morning and then saved it to drafts because I didn't want to post something at 1 in the morning. the Timekilling Time trailer came out about two hours later, featuring both Rodya... and the long-awaited return of the Yurodiviye. so now it's past 3 in the morning for me but I'm posting it now anyway because ohohoho seeing the Yurodiviye again has given me SO much energy
I have a feeling all this is going to be very relevant extremely soon
#limbus company#project moon#rodion#rodion lcb#lcb rodion#she's not even in my top 3 favorite sinners but she's so interesting to me#similar to lexaeus kingdomhearts except unlike him I know project moon are actually cooking something with rodya#rest in peace background character king#me post
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so I literally cannot stop thinking abt this here u go
god kink Noah and softie Christian reader
I already know I'm going to hell so no need to remind me ik this is filth but that's what's fun abt it also basing the looks of the building off of this big ass church I used to go to and it's very weird and industrial so apologies if it's confusing
*NSFW below the cut, MDNI*
cw: sacrilege lmao, degradation, raw sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, Noah kinda thinks he's better than everyone else, maybe bc he thinks he's God idk, corruption, loss of virginity, experienced Noah, dirty talk, slightly public, belly bulge, dacryphilia
♡ Noah's only at church cause he has to be, otherwise why the fuck would he waste his morning here. He sits through the awful music and wonders how all of these people live such a lie, its pathetic to him. The only thing that makes it bearable is the pretty little thing in the little white sundress that never fails to show up every Sunday.
♡ he thinks you're so cute. Brainwashed, but cute. All he ever thinks abt is how he could desecrate you and how you'd look so much prettier worshipping him.
♡ Noah is damn near your exact opposite, covered in tattoos, always wearing dark colors. He never really talks to anyone either, keeping to himself. You'd say he was miserable if you didn't see his face soften a little every time you catch his eye. You try to make a point and interact with him every chance you get, maybe he's lonely? You can't let that happen. He's the worship leader's son, you'd think he'd be having a better time but who knows what's going through his head.
♡ Noah almost feels bad that he can't keep his thoughts in order when you walk up to him, pretty smile plastered on your face. You're chattering about today's service and he's picturing his hands on your hips, fingers digging into the soft skin while he bucks up into you and gets to hear those pretty little noises he's sure you'd make. All he'd have to do is pull your dress up too, it'd be easy. He's nodding along with your conversation and trying to seem interested but it's getting harder and harder to pretend he's listening.
♡ his eyes drifting to the neckline of your dress which is pretty modest but God he'd be able to pull it down so easy, tease your nipples while you grind yourself on his thigh and whine for him to fill you up. His eyes snap back to your face which is etched with concern.
"Noah, are you feeling alright? You seem out of it."
♡ he could lie, but what's the point. Isn't lying a sin?
"I'm fine. Just thinking about how pretty you'd look split on my cock."
♡ did he really say that??? You weren't sure how to even respond. Or if you should at all. You were flushed down to your chest and Noah admired the pretty pink tinge to your skin. He was almost nervous he'd fucked up but he knew what to say to have you following him like a little sheep. If you can sit through service every week and genuinely believe the shit his father is saying, you'll do anything if it's said in the right tone.
"Bet you've never even fucked before, have you? Saving yourself for marriage and all that bullshit. You know I could make you feel good, you should let me show you."
♡ you're still stunned, standing like a little deer in some headlights. You'd be lying if you said you didn't find Noah attractive but you felt like he wasn't in the cards for you. He's everything you're not, but maybe that's what's so enticing about him. How he talked about your beliefs stung a little but you couldn't help the way your thighs pressed together at the thought of him and his suggestion. He'd never hurt you, right? You can trust him, why would he wrong you?
♡ Noah nodded toward one of the exit doors, turning to leave and hoping you'd follow. You nearly tripped over your own feet trying to catch up with him. Your brain felt fuzzy and you knew whatever he was gonna put you through was horrifically sinful but you can be forgiven for being curious, right? Noah locked the door behind you, leaving you both in an empty stairwell. Hopefully no one tried to interrupt the two of you, because Noah was immediately to work. He walked you backwards until your back was pressed to the concrete wall and he tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling until you whimpered and keened against his hand for some relief.
"The only fucking God in this building is me. I expect you to treat me like such."
"You answer to me, and you follow my fucking directions, yeah? Gonna be a good girl and do what I say?"
♡ you felt your heart race terribly in your chest from how close he was, you felt like a prey animal being stalked by a predator. You really didn't know what to expect, you've never done this before. You shouldn't be doing this at all...what have you gotten yourself into...
♡ Noah surprisingly sinks to his knees in front of you, hands brushing at your knees and sliding up your thighs, hiking up your dress as he goes. His long fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties to tug them down and he threw one of your legs over his shoulder, without warning burying his face in your pussy making you yelp and tangle your fingers in his hair for some balance.
(Something like this yk)
♡ you pulled his hair tightly between your fingers, whining while he lapped at your pussy and groaned against you when you pulled a little too hard. You felt pricks of pins and needles all over your body, it felt like a swarm of butterflies populated your lower stomach. Oh god...one of his hands steadied itself on your thigh but the other slid up to glide between your folds, gathering the slick mess before prodding at your entrance making you squirm. He was right, you hadn't done this before. He wanted you to enjoy yourself though, that's why he was taking the time to stretch you out and make you cum, so you could actually take his cock afterwards.
♡ the fingers at your entrance slid in slowly, stretching you out and scissoring slightly to spread you further. Your legs were shaking and the swarm in your belly felt 100x worse. You were worried you couldn't hold yourself up much longer...Noah pressed his fingers as deep as he could fit them, brushing your cervix and curving up to press right into the most sensitive spot he could. He laughed against your pussy when he felt you clench around his fingers, teeth brushing your clit and making you whimper pathetically above him. He was the one on his knees and you were unraveling. Pitiful.
"You gonna cum for me? Can't let you take this cock till you cum, won't fit."
♡ when he nudges a 3rd finger in you completely come undone, tugging his face closer to you and nearly crying while you grind into him through your orgasm. He speeds his fingers up inside of you until you're squirming and begging him to stop. He withdraws and stands back up, reminding you he towers over you at his full height and he licks your slick off of his fingers right in front of you. You're still panting and your legs feel shaky, this isn't helping.
♡ Noah thinks you look adorable so shaken up, he can't help but admire how your chest is rising so quickly and your face is flushed. He did that to you. He's gonna do so much more too. He backs you into the wall again and runs his hands down your thighs, picking you up and pressing your back into the wall for extra support while your legs wrapped around his waist. You threw your arms around his neck to steady yourself but he wasn't gonna drop you, he could hold you up for hours if he needed to. Again though, he thinks you're adorable and lets you think he could drop you just to get your heart racing again.
♡ he holds you up with one arm while freeing his achingly hard cock with the other. You didn't even really get a chance to see it, but when he drug the tip through the slick mess between your legs you could describe the feeling as dread. He felt huge. Noah leaned his head against your neck, pressing soft kisses up to your ear and nipping at the soft skin.
"Gotta relax for me, promise I'll make you feel so good...trust me"
"Can't wait to feel how tight this pussy is, can't believe I'm your first. Bet I'll be the last too."
"Gonna fucking ruin you for everyone else, gonna be mine forever, yeah?"
"So much for staying pure, hm? All it took was one little comment and here you are letting me fuck you raw in a stairwell. Wonder how your god feels about that."
♡ he'd planned on taking it slow but after sinking in just a few inches he couldn't help himself. He trusted up into you, hilting himself in one move and sank his teeth deep into your shoulder to try and muffle the groan that escaped his chest. He slapped a hand over your mouth as he sank in and thank God he did because the sound you made was nothing short of a scream. Big tears welled in your eyes even after all the work he did to prep you, the stretch of taking his cock felt almost too much. Noah was loving every moment, watching you fall apart for him. He pressed a large hand to your stomach as he started fucking himself into you just to feel how deep he fit in your poor body.
"O-oh god-"
"The only fucking god you should be praying to is me."
♡ your whimpers and moans were nonstop but thankfully muffled against his palm, he didn't want anyone interrupting you. You gripped his cock just fucking right and he doubted he could really last long but he needed to have you unravel on his dick before he could finish. Noah reached up and tugged the front of your dress down, leaning to absolutely cover your chest in hickeys and lick at your overly sensitive nipples, your whines pitched up when his teeth got a little too rough but he couldn't help but admire his work. Your pretty soft skin marred with teeth marks and bruises. There's no way you could walk back out there and have no one notice, everyone would know exactly what you did, and who you did it with. Perfect.
"bet you've been thinking about this just as much as I have, huh bunny? Needed to get fucked, needed to get filled up by some fat cock, yeah? Tell me."
"Your little god was keeping you from this, does he really feel better than me? Wanna hear you say it."
"Gonna cum again for me, bunny? Need to feel you squeeze this cock, you can do it. I got you."
♡ your head fell back against the hard wall as he fucked into you, the coil in your stomach tightened unbearably. Every thrust sank as deep as he could possibly get and made your legs shake in his hold. Noah was chasing your pleasure as much as his own, he loved seeing your pretty little pathetic expressions. He slid a hand between your bodies and barely even had a chance to brush your clit as you came. His arm around you tightened to keep you still as he fucked you through it, tears spilling from your eyes and ruining your pretty makeup.
"S-shit- that's it- good girl, feels good yeah? So good for me-"
"That's it, tell me who's making you feel this good baby say my fuckin' name- n-need to hear it"
♡ his thrusts picked up in intensity, fingers sinking into your hips hard enough to leave Bruises and he sank in impossibly deep as he shuddered through his own end, you whined at the feeling of his hot cum filling you up and the extra dripping out of you making a mess on the floor under you. It took a second for Noah to set you back down on shaky legs, he helped you straighten your dress back out before pulling you in for an uncharacteristically gentle kiss. He felt like he was a little harsh on you but he was happy you actually would do something like this with him finally.
"So pretty...we should do this again sometime, yeah?"
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I just need willing sexworker reader with Mafia Konig.
He is fighting against the urge to have his lil wifey near bc he knows he will fuck 24/7 and also she would be his weakness. But how can he say no when she begs him so sweetly with his cock inside, when she says a mere thing about how they would be a cute family.
My breeding kink is showing, forgive my manners.
Oh, he can't resist your begging.
This man is weak - for you especially, with his mind working overtime just to compensate for all the things he is throwing away to be able to spend a few more hours buried deep in your pussy. You look so fucking precious under him, your body mangled to fit him perfectly - he needs you, wants you, sometimes thinks you're literally just a plant from a rival gang to make him stop working and just fuck you all the time. If you sleep together and you ask him to stay with you during the morning, with that adorable groggy voice of yours, he won't ever be able to resist - and if you want for him to breed your pussy until you're so filled up you can't walk, he will gladly stop whatever he was doing.
It started so simple. Konig was your client, paid a bit too much, and always took care of you afterward - if not personally, then by hotel staff and paid nights at the luxurious resorts. You couldn't help but fall for him, even if only for a little bit at the start. You adored his gifts, his compliments, even his obsession and his work - he protected you, started booking all of your sessions to drive clients away, even managed to get you an apartment without any strings attached. Well, without any strings that weren't attached to him, that is.
Konig sees you as his reprieve, his little saving grace. He indulges in your body and makes sure you know just how much he adores having you by his side. You're his weakness, and he tells you that it's going to get him killed one day, but if that means keeping you on his lap while dealing with gun deals and the drug trade, he is willing to risk everything. He needs you by his side - if not as a helper, then as stress relief. Konig never cared too much about what was going to happen with his mafia empire after he died, but now he started to think about heirs, legacy, making you pregnant, and then spawning a little army of his kids, ready to take over neighboring countries.
You beg him to fuck you so sweetly, he just can't resist. Even if his age means he can't quite go on multiple rounds like he used to at his horny young adult times, he is still going to keep his favourite lady satisfied. And fucked so much, she wouldn't be able to crawl out of the bed next morning, letting him tend to his criminal business.
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Consorts [Part 5]
The Ghoul|Cooper Howard x F!Bounty Hunter!Reader
Summary: When the group chasing you attacks while you're sleeping, you have to make a decision as to save a bleeding out Ghoul.
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 <-
a/n: you know I love some good angst
~~~
You woke up to an empty room.
No, he wouldn't...
You practically hop off the bed, fighting to put your clothes on.
Gun shots outside.
You ran through the abandoned house, quickly out the door. You had your gun at the ready. You saw Cooper kneeled down, shooting back and forth with the gunmen who had been chasing you. A new group of them had somehow found you.
"Get back inside!" Cooper waved you away. He was bleeding. They must have caught him off guard, there were so many of them. His blood decorated the dirt below him. He was holding his stomach, pointing his gun with the other.
"There she is! The lady of the hour!" One of the bigger guys cocked a grin at you.
"Fuck!" You rushed over to Cooper. You kneeled on the ground in front of him, your hands holding his face to look at you. He lowered his gun. You felt true emotion for him. You had never seen him this vulnerable. His blood got all over you as you held onto him. Your eyes scanned him looking for the wound that caused all this mess. You wanted to help him the way he had helped you before.
"Don't tell me you've got feelings for that thing!"
You ignored them. "I can handle this, just go back inside," Cooper begged you. You shook your head trying to find your words. You were struck with fear. Real fear. Your heart was racing and your throat was dry. Palms sweating, a small shake on your hands. "You're dying. I can't just leave you out here bleeding out," you grabbed one of his meds from your pocket, forcing him to drink it.
"I hid the rest under the bed," you whispered into his ear. Cooper gripped you with all the strength he had left. "I'm sorry, Cooper," you kissed him on the cheek swiftly.
"Just take me," you stood and held your hands up, "Leave him here and take me."
"No-" Cooper protested, coughing with his exclamation.
You threw your gun towards them, "I'll go with you willingly. Just please leave him here."
Cooper reached out for you, falling over into the dirt directly behind you. You looked over your shoulder at him, his eyes pleaded with you.
"Why would we do that?"
"Well, doesn't your boss want us alive? You really want to take this guy to him in this condition? I don't think he would approve," you gambled with them. Praying that maybe they were dumb enough to fall for your words.
"Oh shit, I didn't even think of that," the big one scratched his head with the barrel of his gun.
Thank whatever was in the sky.
"Go grab her boys," he gestured towards you. You were manhandled by two of the men, pinning your arms to your back and tying you with some disgusting rope.
"I'll kill all of you fuckers! I swear to God, I will murder you and eat your skin!" Cooper screamed with the little bit of air left in his lungs. The men turned you around to look at him, "Shut the fuck up, freak!" They shouted and spit towards him.
This may be the last time you ever see him...
You mouthed three words to Cooper as the men threw you into the back of a wagon. They stormed off with you. Cooper screamed your name. Him calling for you faded as you traveled away.
You laid flat on the wagon, staring up at the blazing sun.
"You sure are one stupid girl," one of the armed men mocked you.
Another one laughed chiming in, "Seriously! That walking corpse never would have done the same thing for you! He would've turned you in in a heartbeat!"
You knew that was not true. Cooper had the opportunity to turn you in even before you had gotten comfortable again and did not. You knew this was the only way to keep Cooper safe.
You did not know what was in store for you. At least you knew Cooper had a better chance at living now. You closed your eyes reminiscing on your time with Cooper, finding comfort in your memories of him.
~
Cooper watched as they dragged you away from him. Just as soon as he had gotten you back, there you go again.
He struggled to stand to his feet, the liquid you had given him finally kicking in. He stumbled inside the abandoned home, going to the bed that you said you had hidden the rest under.
"What was she thinking," he spoke aloud to himself. He poured the rest of the liquid down his throat. "She's a goddamn idiot! FUCK!" He kicked the glass around the room. He sat down on the mattress you had shared the night before. His hand ran against the fabric, remembering how your body weighed the bed down.
“We were supposed to do this together…” he gripped the bed between his fingers. He could never admit it but he was scared of what they might do to you. Scared he would never get to see you again. Fear was something he had not felt in a long time. His fear brewed inside him turning into anger.
He began planning in his mind how he was going to get you back. There was no question; He was getting you back.
Cooper headed out the abandoned home, picking up your gun they had left behind. He followed the direction they had taken you in.
He was determined. A man on a mission.
~~~
END//Part 5
[Thank you for reading! If you are interested in being tagging in any of my writings don’t be afraid to message me! All tag lists are open! I have a master taglist and one for each character!]
Tags:
@mortuus-poet | @giggle-shade | @ghcstvibess | @pixelatedprofilepic | @maezydaezy | @writtenbyhollywood | @ivyinthesun | @vaultdwellingghoullover | @heif | @catclaw1 |
#cooper howard#cooper howard x reader#walton goggins#the ghoul#fallout#fallout tv series#writing#fanfic#walton goggins x reader#the ghoul x reader#sexymonsterfics#update#part 5
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I must admit, though shamefully, that I didn't believe you at first. What an ignorant heretic I was. How silly, I thought, that the second first man born unto God would choose such a humble place to spread his sermons. I've been so jaded in this awful life that I've rejected the one true light twinkling out past the darkness. This all-consuming black hole inside me...((Like a muppet hole)) No, no, no, no not like -((Are you so dissimilar to a toy? A muppet with a hollow inside where his creator's hand fits? I'm puppeting you right now and I'm telling you dude - there is a whole lot of empty in here.)) Why do I feel so ashamed? These thoughts are horrible.
((You know what's happening. You're just in denial.))
I remember the first time I saw the Muppets like I remember the first time my father hugged me (9). It shocked me to my core and I had this indescribable feeling- a feeling I can now put words to; This show was going to change the course of my life. I watched in awe as the be-felted people sung and danced. The songs felt like gospel in my young mind. I even tolerated the female Muppets because they were funny. All except one it turns out. Kermit was performing on stage and my life was reaching a peek. My soul was ablaze and my hole was being filled. And then this PIG walks on stage. Ms. Piggy was the definition of a 10/10 femoid in the looks department. Then this bimbo pig walks right up to Kermie and starts flirting with him. I think I must have blacked out the second she open her shrill mouth because the next thing I remember I'm staring down at my bloodied hands. The TV laid in a parking heap on the living room floor. I thought I could hear something coming from the TV, a whisper beneath the sparking and the now growing fire...muppet hole. The TV was undeniably glitching out and repeating the words muppet hole. No, it wasn't just the TV, it was a particular voice. Kermit.
((You saved Kermit from Ms. piggy)) No I didn't. I broke down, caused property damage, and had to skip summer camp for therapy. ((You were chosen)) For what? Almost burning down my house. Half of my hometown thinks I'm an arsonist. ((It is your role to burn every trace of pig flesh. Like a hog on a spit, rotating before the eyes of hungry horrors that lay just outside the fire's haze. She will know what it means to sacrifice your flesh to a smiling God)) Ok I understand.
Last night, laying in a puddle of congealing orange Faygo (huge bender), this memory came rushing back to me. I asked myself if my hole was filled. I checked and couldn't tell. After cleaning up I tried asking God if my hole was filled. He told me the answers I seek lay within my own mind. As a Maid of Mind I can dive really deep into my own mind. I used my ascended god tier powers to travel to the farthest recesses of my subconscious and find the answer for myself.
The further I descended the darker everything became.I panicked and tried to escape but hit a wall. Oh God, is this how I die? Trapped within my own mind, forced to suffer my sick, evil thoughts until my physical body perished? ((Keep moving)) I suddenly felt completely calm. I turned and kept walking. I soon realized that I was in a hallway. I could see a figure emerge in a sudden flash of light and I ran towards it for what felt like millennia. This invader of the mind had a dominant stance, with arms straight out to the sides as if to say ((come at me bro)).
Suddenly I was face to face with. Oh. ((Now do you understand?)) I do. Before me stood God, ie Dirk Strider. (If you're a monotheist Homestuck kin I'm sorry for the exclusionary language as Homestuck *can be read as a monotheistic work. I am just trying to express my religious views so my interpretation of the scripture is limited to my own experience. Sorry (๑•﹏•). God fist bumped me like a real bro and popped open a fresh bottle of orange Faygo to wash my feet with.
I can't write out the feet washing scene because I have a foot fetish. Let's just say it was very enjoyable for both of us although I don't think it was sexual for him. Was hard to tell through God's trademark dark sunglasses.
((You are my son, my child, my blood. Skin and bone but just as precious as the hand-sewn Smuppets. I have built from the clay just as my maker has built me from mud. We are Earth, we are space, we are transcending the roots. Together we will seed the universe and live out our Godhood.)).
How will we seed the universe?
((We must destroy Ms.Piggy so she can't hold Kermit down with her dumb feminine ways. Every snort from her is like a vast oink that pulls the threads of the universe apart farther, and farther. She is a force of chaos and having her so close to Kermit is limiting his potential to ascend. Kermit is one of my splinter selves and if he can't ascend I might lose narrative relevance altogether))
WELL THEN HOW DO I HELP YOU! PLEASE LET ME HELP YOU REACH YOUR TRUE POTENTIAL BY BRINGING DOWN THIS HOG. But I have one concern? How do I do it? My abilities aren't primarily combat based. How can I bring down nigh infinite incarnations of this foul swine?
((Muppet hole))
I woke up(?) in a puddle of sweat building over the now fully congealed Faygo puddle. I felt a purpose in my limbs as they moved easily like the wooden arms of a marionette. I felt full, fulfilled. I have found my purpose and my master. I HAVE FOUND SALVATION.
I've spent the past week going to every store on the bus route, 1 by 1, and defacing any evidence of Ms.Piggy. I cross out her name in big black sharpie and write religious seals on the pages of the magazines. I steal the dolls, replace the heads with different heads, and put them back. I even go to the grocery stores and cross out all the ham/pork labels on the meats. I've been replacing them with labeled that say things like "smile at your true god" and simply "flesh".
I do this all in the service of a god that is now crystalizing in my mind. And the sharper the image gets the closer it looks like Kermit's crusty hole. Amen.
Finally someone fucking understands
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Watching the hotel room scene with Tashi and Art and more and more I feel that Art was the one trying to make this personal while Tashi wanted it to keep profesional. And I think he was doing this because he desperately wanted a reason to feel again something,to play and win. That is why he was asking :" tell me it doesn't matter if I win tomorrow? Tell me if you would love me no matter what" " I am playing for both of us". While Tashi is the one wanting to keep the things professionaly :" you are the professional competitor",it must matter to him,not her ,"it can't be about avoiding my judgement" " I am your coach,I work for you".
Until Tashi finally made it personal and told him about leaving him,but did it help? I don't think so,that is why they reacted in that way and why Art was so sad and crying and Tashi with feelings of unease,it didn't work. And we see it the next day,Art is still not feeling tennis,even if she told him that,we are not seeing even a little bit of 6 grand slam winner Art Donaldson in that match against Patrick. And I think that is one the reasons she called Patrick,not just because she lived tennis trough Art,or for not fulfilling her ultimatum,or to fuck Patrick,as she said she felt winning against Patrick as Art had never did before,he could feel confident again,feel tennis again and even if he retired,it would be in his terms. She is taking care as she said to Patrick in his car.
And Tashi felt resentful about this, because she had to do that,like we don't think about how humiliating must be for Tashi to ask Patrick to lose,to show how bad Art and she are,she is asking him to save them,but she was still willingly doing it because she cared. She said in the scene when they were watching the match Art lost that she couldn't do that for him,giving his confidence back,but she is still here trying.
I even think Art isn't even sure about the retirement,that is why he wanted a reaction from Tashi when he told her,like yeah he lost his passion for tennis but I think he also wanted to have it again,he is tired not just of tennis but feeling that way,he is in a losing streak because he lost his passion,after a surgery,the brutal ,demanding,consuming life of a elite tennis player and confidence issues but also it isn't just a cause -effect thing,but a vicious cycle where his defeats made him less confident, tired and with desire to give up and retire and then he loses again... If retirement is what he really wanted and Tashi isn't confronting him,when that must be his biggest fear,why Art didn't feel any type of release at all ?
I remember their first scenes and how Tashi asked him two times " what do you want?"in different tones ,she gave him the option of retirement or continuing being tennis player and he didn't answer really what he WANTED,may be he didn't even know. They are fighting with this battle for some time after the injury,the hotel room scene is the lowest point.
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Three kinds of whumpers in Pet Whump…
Post 1/?
See [Next] Ex. 2 - Conservation Efforts -IN PROGRESS-
Type 1: Carewhumpers
Carewhumpers in pet whump are commonly found in places where pet whump is systemic. These are the ones who “don’t know any better”. In fact, they’re pretty sure it would be cruel to make a pet act like a human. They know the proper way to treat a pet, and they take pride in being a good owner. They’re always ready to “help” a pet in need. Their whumpees can’t be “dehumanized”, silly, they’re not humans! [Alternatively, in fantasy, it’s precisely because they’re humans that they should be treated as pets!]
Ex. 1 - Flight Risk
CW: systemic pet whump, dehumanization, brainwashed/drugged/conditioned whumpee, nonconsensual (non-sexual) touch, praise
Inspo: These posts by @sowhumpshaped & this post by @oliversrarebooks
"Honey can't go in the cargo hold! She's too delicate. Look, I have a pet ticket, I bought an extra seat!" Luce holds up her phone, swiping to show the gate attendant the extra ticket code. She keeps one hand on the back of Honey's short hair, tugging at the strands as if to calm herself. Honey's knees begin to ache, a feeling she thinks she'll never get used to. At least she isn't made to crawl everywhere like some fancier pets she's seen. Luce always says those pets look ridiculous, and whoever their owners are must have too much time on their hands. Still, her back aches from the hunched, submissive gait she's been trained to employ.
"I see that ma'am," the man replies with careful professionalism, "but unfortunately the flight has been overbooked. We're happy to offer you a refund for the seat and a comfortable cage for your pet, and we may be able to offer upgrades to our service on the flight. But unless you agree to place it in the cargo hold, I'm sorry to report that we'll need to transfer you to another flight."
"It doesn't matter if the cage is comfortable," Luce hisses, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She can't miss this flight, and have her dad bug her about what an impulsive brat she'd been, adopting a barely trained pet so soon after getting her degree. Spending all her savings on some rescue mutt. She couldn't miss his retirement party, especially not over this. "It's cold down there. Honey has issues with her circulation. Why can't you ask someone else to move flights?"
Luce breathes out heavily and smoothes the hair she'd gripped too hard, scratching her nails over Honey's scalp in apology. A faint memory plays in Honey's usually quiet headspace: long, long wavy hair, and intricate braid patterns pulled up on a phone screen. Honey's own eyes in the mirror, younger then... Luce tugs again when the attendant sighs.
"We have asked for volunteers. Unfortunately no one has offered, and our policy is that pet seats be deferred first to make room for other patrons. And your pet's tag shows that it hasn't completed recommended trainings, beyond the basics. So we're asking you before we ask owners with more compliant pets."
Luce hears her dad's voice in those statements, and she can't argue with that. She looks to Honey, who is sat staring at Luce's sandals like they're the most interesting thing in the world.
"I- Look, I need to be on this flight. Is there anything you can do to make it... more comfortable? She's always been nervous about traveling. I just... I don't wanna traumatize her, you know?" Luce shifts the leash between her hands, trying not to think about the news she saw a few months ago - a pet dying in the cargo hold.
In reality, Luce is the one who was nervous about travel. She had imagined Honey would spend the flight beside her, warm and calm, being that comforting, familiar weight on Luce's shoulder. She wants to tell the man she needs Honey. But she isn't going to be like those annoying owners who claim their pet is for "emotional support", without any sort of training to back it up. Besides, he's looking at Honey's ID right now. She's barely trained enough to board the flight.
"We do offer a complimentary Cozy-Dose. It's a pet-safe anxiety suppressant, a little stronger than the drug store ones. Does it have anything in its system?"
"Just some pet-nip for the ride over." Said pet-nip is currently wearing off, Luce thinks, watching Honey lift her head to look directly in the attendant's eyes, her browed furrowed in that adorably vague but defiant expression. Luce presses her hand against Honey's head, pushing it down to lay still at the side of her knee.
"Should be fine," the attendant is saying. "Do you have anything you'd like to leave with her? A toy, or a blanket?"
Luce has tried to get Honey to play with toys. On Honey's best days she ignores them. On her worst, she touches them with her hands, and Luce has to discipline her accordingly. Luce knows pets don't understand the dangers of playing like humans. Often, they don't know their own strength, and can break things or hurt themselves. But it seems Honey doesn't yet know what to do with a toy otherwise, so she has yet to find one she likes.
Luce looks at Honey's thin sweater dress, the green fabric stopping just above her knee. Perfect for playing and walks in the new spring heat. Not so good for a cargo hold. She shrugs out of the pale orange flannel she wears over her tee, much to the surprise of the attendant, and draped it over Honey's shoulders. Her pet presses her nose into the warm fabric, leaning more heavily against Luce's knee. Luce feels pride and affection well in her heart at the sight.
"Maybe she's ok without the Cozy-Dose," Luce murmurs, hesitant to drug Honey when she's being so sweet. The attendant shakes his head.
"I may have misspoken. The Cozy-Dose is complimentary, of course, but with the level of training..."
"Oh," Luce says. "Oh, okay then that's... fine. You'll probably just go to sleep, and we'll wake up at dad's house, yeah?" She coos at Honey, who doesn't bother to look up. Luce's hand finds Honey's hair again, wanting the hit of dopamine only her loving pet can provide. But before Honey can respond to the tug, the attendant is on the move.
"Alrighty. I've got it logged in our system. Again, we do apologize for this inconvenience, but we'll pride ourselves on our safety and pet specialists. Boarding's in about twenty minutes, so let's get Honey secure and comfy, yeah?"
Luce nods mutely, and hands over the leash.
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Honey doesn't like being away from Luce, in a strange back room near the boarding gate. She doesn't like the "pet specialist", Carson, and she especially doesn't like that Carson removes Luce's flannel and Honey’s pretty green collar. He makes her crawl as soon as they're behind the door.
Honey wishes she had spent more effort learning the gestures Luce tried to teach her. Things like "Food" and "Water", "Bathroom" and "Bed". She heard Luce on the phone with her father once. He seemed to be yelling about Honey's adoption - Untrained stray. Irresponsible. Hopeless. Luce gave up on the lessons for a while.
If Honey could tell Carson anything right now, it would be a toss-up between how ugly his shaggy hairstyle is, and how confused and afraid she is about the whole situation.
"Up," the man says when they reach the center of the room. A table with a leathery top and a long banner of thin paper sits there. Honey gets unsteadily to her feet and climbs atop it. The crinkle of the paper beneath her reminds her of something, and she absently tears at it. Smack. Carson's hand leaves a faint red mark on her own. Honey releases the paper and brings her hand to her mouth, looking up at the man with an indignant gaze. She fights the snarl pulling at her lip. Thankfully Carson busies himself with at a computer screen, and doesn't see. Honey watches the man click the mouse and raise his eyebrows. He turns back to Honey.
"Lie down," he says, putting his hands on his hips as if he expects Honey to disobey. Honey almost scoffs. She knows how to obey a simple command. She's very obedient, in fact, despite everyone telling Luce otherwise. She eyes the orange flannel, slung over the man's shoulder, as her world tilts and she dutifully lays on her side.
Carson comes around to the head of the table, and forces Honey's other shoulder down. Honey squirms as the man positions her flat on her back, a familiar sense of vulnerability spiking in her chest.
"Why do they always give me the troublesome ones," Carson mutters, taking something from the underside of the table. Honey flinches when she feels the buttery smooth grip of a cuff on her left wrist.
"At least they gave you Broca's. I suspect you'd be a whiny thing otherwise."
Broca's? Like Broca's aphasia? We learned about that in-
The moment gets away from her. Cuffs on both wrists, both ankles now. Carson is looking at her like he's surprised by her compliance. Honey pulls at the cuffs then. They're not painful, but they hold her tight. Her knees and shoulders pull together instinctually.
"Ss... Ssst-mm" Is all that comes out of her lagging mouth, before she hums a whimper instead. Don't like this. I don't like this. I don't...
"Thought so. Expensive little pooch aren'tcha? Usually they just trim the hyoid a little, but they don't like how pets choke on their food after that," Carson mumbles. More to himself, of course.
"Nice your owner could afford it. Irresponsible not to train you though," he grunts, seemingly irritated at Luce. A clinking sound comes behind her when Carson circles the table. Honey focuses on his words. Her owner... irresponsible. He sounds like Luce's father. But why would anyone be mad at Luce? Luce is wonderful. Carson still has Luce's flannel. He doesn't deserve that.
Honey tilts her chin up to look behind her, wondering if she can take it from him with her mouth. The tap-tap-tap motion of a syringe against the palm of Carson's hand meets her eyes. Honey's body tenses, and a whining starts up in her throat.
"Frank, come help me with this one," he calls when Honey begins to toss. She's trying not to, she really is trying to be good and still, but it's hard to do that when she knows what's coming next.
"Aw, poor girl," comes another man's voice. He pauses beside the table before coming closer. "Honey is it? Shh, shush now. You're okay, Honey," he says in that voice that people use with good pets. A soft emotion fills Honey's chest at the sound despite her fear. He places a firm hand on one shoulder, the other in her hair, soothing her with his thumbs as he holds her still. He presses her head to the side gently, all the time cooing in that same voice: "You're a good girl, yeah? It's scary, I know. You'll feel nice and calm in just a minute."
"Stay," Carson's voice, a jarring, commanding tone, stills her body in the way she's been trained. The impulse lasts for just long enough that the bite of a needle somewhere below her ear comes and goes without objection. Frank is there to sooth the sore spot when it's over. The cuffs are removed, and she curls to the side, a tear falling as she noses Frank's abdomen. He continues to stroke her hair, rubbing her ear between his fingers, and her thoughts calm and fade away one by one until she doesn't feel the need to cry anymore. She hums at the pleasant sensation instead.
"Fuck dude, you never cease to amaze me. Sure you don't have food in your pockets?" She hears the other man chuckle.
"Pets don't understand what's going on, man. It just needed to feel safe. We took the same courses yeah?"
"Yeah man, but I'm the one who has to strap 'em to the table and stick 'em, you get to be mister nice guy."
Frank steps away and Honey's head raises to find him. But the room is getting a little fuzzy, and the lights are too bright. Arms find hers and prop her upright before pulling her to slide to the edge of the table.
"I get my cert in a few months, so we'll see if they still like me, yeah? I'll grab the cage."
To be continued?
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Eclipse the kitten update
(please don't glitch tumblr it's the tenth time I've tried!!!)
Previous post
Welp! Winter's boy has a respiratory infection. It was causing him to wheeze so to the vet we went! Luckily it wasn't a diaphram issue (which had us worried because of his umbilical hernia). His hernia also came up normal on his x-rays.
(X-rays left out because might bother people, but I can send them on request)
He's on meds several times a day and taking them like a champ, but had to be put in a pen with limited free playtime (because nothing will stop Mr Indestructible from running around the house with all the grace of a car with no breaks). We DID get a reply after just a week from a really nice person who was going to give us one (shocked us let me tell ya because it was BIG dog sized). Unfortunately, they left it outside for us to pick up and someone else just... took it. Right out of their yard. And since all we had was a small cat carrier to keep him in (which was kinda cruel for more than a day or two tops), we ordered a cat playpen that we got for a decent price. We kept looking until it got here, but no luck. Still! It's a nice playpen and we have it set up so he doesn't have to jump if he doesn't want to (plus more vertical to enjoy later on). Sarah's mom also let us borrow her water fountain!
We went to a new vet as ours was booked up (and he had already been wheezing a day). Everyone basically fell in love with him instantly. He left with a little toy from the tech, they gave Winter a jar of honey (one of the people in the office has bees and they wanted to give her something for caring about a kitten that most wouldn't have despite him having a treatable condition), and they've been checking in on how he is recovering (very well since I first typed this actually). He's basically got an entire vet office wrapped around his little paw.
Also, the non-profit we're taking him to for his surgery had a cancelation and his got moved up to the 12th! Counting down the days yall.
Because I gotta kinda mention it, this hit us where it hurts. Between the vet visit and testing, the pen, and the estimated cost for the surgery and followup, it's gonna cost us more than $2k (as long as nothing ELSE goes wrong). We're lucky that we're all super careful with our money, but there's only so much we can save up with three people below the poverty line. Still worth it though. I mean, look at this doofus
He is so stubborn that we can't leave scratch posts upright because he keeps doing THIS! XD
I'm linking Winter's paypal, but I 1000% understand if you can't help out. Still, a reblog and a word or three mean a LOT to all of us so if you got a minute, I'd love some new post additions to show Winter.
(Truth be told, the only reason all the updates are posted on my tumblr is because I'm the longest winded out of the three of us and I take like 5 billion pictures. XD )
Speaking of, there WOULD be a bonus pic of him and his sister (Melanite, aka Miel) playing under my chair as my cat (Danny) looks on from a safe place, but tumblr kept glitching when I added it.
#cats#kitten#eclipse the kitten#umbilical hernia#respiratory infection#sick pets#pet illness#pet surgery mention#vet bill#finances#pet expenses#vet#tumblr glitch
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The thing about the Omelas story is that I don’t hate it, actually.
Don’t get me wrong. Usually, when I think about it, it drives me up a wall. I also—on the subject of responses to it—didn’t really like The Ones Who Stay And Fight. (Most of my reasons are said, better, in this article. Not the part about the tone, but that it shot for ambiguity and ended up in “somehow, the clearly magical power of child suffering made more sense than intolerance being a memetic virus that can only be solved through police murder.”) I’m fond of responding to trolley problems by asking who’s tying people to trolleys, and then insisting that it is morally relevant that someone tied those people to the tracks, because you wouldn’t be deciding who lives and who dies if someone hadn’t made the deliberate choice to put those people in mortal peril for no pressing reason.
(I like to think I’d save the five people. I think a lot of us would most likely panic and do something entirely unhelpful, and in practice, I have no idea if I’m one of them, because no one has ever tied anybody to a trolley track in front of me. It just hasn’t come up. But the ideal would be to save the five people. That’s not my answer in the organ-harvesting version, though, because it’s bad for everyone to live in a place where a surgeon can decide to kill you for your organs, no matter how many people doing it just this once would save.)
But I don’t dislike the story that Omelas came from. I don’t even dislike trolley problems, unless people are trying to insist that the context doesn’t matter. (The context always matters.) The problem is that everyone treats Omelas as a trolley problem. “Here’s a utopia where one innocent person has to suffer horribly. Is it worth it, to keep so many other people from suffering? Would you stay and be complicit, or would you walk out to go anywhere else?” The child is the central feature of Omelas, the only thing that matters. The child is nonnegotiable. You can’t rescue them, you can only walk away.
But the narrator did give us the chance to believe, before adding the child in.
Omelas is described to us as half place and half thought experiment, by a narrator that adds things as they go, a narrator that says this at close to the opening:
As they did without monarchy and slavery, so they also got on without the stock exchange, the advertisement, the secret police, and the bomb. Yet I repeat that these were not simple folk, not dulcet shepherds, noble savages, bland utopians. They were not less complex than us. The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can't lick 'em, join 'em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe a happy man, nor make any celebration of joy.
And goes on, in the narrative, to consider the reader’s opinion, to ask what they’ll believe.
I wish I could convince you. Omelas sounds in my words like a city in a fairy tale, long ago and far away, once upon a time. Perhaps it would be best if you imagined it as your own fancy bids, assuming it will rise to the occasion, for certainly I cannot suit you all. For instance, how about technology? I think that there would be no cars or helicopters in and above the streets; this follows from the fact that the people of Omelas are happy people. Happiness is based on a just discrimination of what is necessary, what is neither necessary nor destructive, and what is destructive. In the middle category, however – that of the unnecessary but undestructive, that of comfort, luxury, exuberance, etc. – they could perfectly well have central heating, subway trains, washing machines, and all kinds of marvelous devices not yet invented here, floating light-sources, fuelless power, a cure for the common cold. Or they could have none of that: it doesn't matter. As you like it.
[…]
But even granted trains, I fear that Omelas so far strikes some of you as goody-goody. Smiles, bells, parades, horses, bleh. If so, please add an orgy. If an orgy would help, don't hesitate. […] Surely the beautiful nudes can just wander about, offering themselves like divine souffles to the hunger of the needy and the rapture of the flesh. Let them join the processions. Let tambourines be struck above the copulations, and the glory of desire be proclaimed upon the gongs, and (a not unimportant point) let the offspring of these delightful rituals be beloved and looked after by all. One thing I know there is none of in Omelas is guilt. But what else should there be?
Omelas is a story being told to a listener, a utopia being described; the reader is an implied participant in a conversation, the narrator reacting to what they said where the page couldn’t hear. And so, after all of that, the narrator says:
Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe one more thing.
And the narrator goes on to describe the child, the terrible price, the self-justifications that people employ. Because the listener doesn’t accept the festival, the city, the joy—only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. So the narrator engages in “the treason of the artist” (if you can't lick 'em, join 'em) and regales us with the child’s sorry state.
[…] They know that they, like the child, are not free. They know compassion. It is the existence of the child, and their knowledge of its existence, that makes possible the nobility of their architecture, the poignancy of their music, the profundity of their science. It is because of the child that they are so gentle with children. They know that if the wretched one were not there snivelling in the dark, the other one, the flute-player, could make no joyful music as the young riders line up in their beauty for the race in the sunlight of the first morning of summer.
Now do you believe in them? Are they not more credible?
I don’t think we’re being asked, as readers, to consider whether it’s worth it, though it’s certainly something we can consider if we want. But the narrative seems quite clear that it isn’t: to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. A description of Omelas, of why Omelas should be believed in, but how could that be anything but a condemnation of a city powered by a forsaken child?
And, of course, everyone wants to ask—why don’t we free the child, why don’t we comfort the child, why don’t we change things and take the risk of making everything worse? Why is the best thing we can do to walk away?
Because we needed the utopia to have suffering in it, to believe it. Because it couldn’t be real until there was a cost, a price, something cruel and unfair to balance out the scales. Something had to be wrong with Omelas, as the narrator spun it up before us. Yes, perhaps we could save the child, perhaps we could ruin everything, perhaps we could be heroes—wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t that be the story we want, here, where someone is suffering and only we (who are of course more compassionate than everyone else) can fix it? That would make it a real utopia, if we could kick down the doors and fix everything ourselves.
But it would have been better to believe that Omelas could exist without someone suffering for it, when we were asked.
#'the suffering exists because we insist it has to happen' remains very relevant to the workings of our society.#io's rambling
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NO OK BUT I'M STILL NOT OVER BOOTHILL AND DAN HENG AND THE JADE ABACUS IN ENA'S DREAM!!!!!
For some extra context, I have a whole henghill manifesto I wrote over here, but the tl;dr is that Dan Heng decides to use the Jade Abacus of Allying Oath to save the Express Crew the first time. Boothill urges him to think it over carefully, but he doesn't stop him. And then, the second time Dan Heng decides to use it, we get this instead:
And just! That's so!! so!!!
Because like. We see in the first battle against Sunday that that Jade Abacus is effective, like we really do just get an entire army lead by a whole-ass Emanator of The Hunt right to our location and ready to fuck shit up. It's important. It's incredibly valuable. That is a huge amount of power to hold in the palm of one's hand.
But Tiernan's relic works the same way.
Galaxy Rangers are terribly dangerous. Boothill comments on this when discussing Acheron's motives, because he can't believe anyone would be stupid enough to get The Hunt on their asses. They're considered to be on a level even above The Annihilation Gang.
And now, with the burial relic, he has a way to get thousands of them, almost immediately, and all in one place.
And you can't tell me that wouldn't be something extremely useful to Boothill, like literally life-saving. He's wanted by the IPC. He makes his living as a bounty hunter. His whole driving motivation in life right now is to do whatever he can, up to and including throwing away his own human body, to ruthlessly hunt down one man and kill him in revenge. Like that has to be dangerous, the IPC is a massive entity with far-reaching influence and money and power and weaponry. He surely must have already had some close calls.
Like can you imagine it? Galaxy Rangers are solitary creatures. If Boothill were to find himself near death, he would probably be all alone. Do you think he had regrets? Did he wonder if anyone would find his own burial relic? Did it feel the same way it did when they melted his flesh, replaced it with metal? Did he lay there with his vision slowly blacking out until he thought of home, and family, and the little daughter who he never even got to hear her first word, until he was so full of fury that he could prop himself up on his rage like a crutch and find help?
Tiernan's relic would have been like a get-out-of-jail-free card. Just for one time, no matter where Boothill was, someone would find him. The Galaxy Rangers aren't sociable or organized between themselves, but they help their own. Someone would save him.
He chooses to give all of that up to help Dan Heng.
And I just cannot get over it, especially the wording of it, the pause before he speaks, the gentle way he tells him to hold onto his once-in-a-lifetime treasure...!! He wants Dan Heng to leave this to him! He wants him to keep this precious item that will help him save his companions again in the future! And maybe it's just...wishful thinking, me reading too much into it? But I mean. Just the way he says it...
I really do think it comes from a place of deep kinship and respect. That there's a lot of thought and feeling behind that statement. Something from one Pathstrider of The Hunt to another. Boothill fought for his home and his family, he fought really really hard! But. Sometimes that just doesn't matter. And now he's watching Dan Heng fight for his, too.
When he made that decision the first time, Dan Heng was in the parlor car of the Astral Express. He was completely removed from any danger. He could have chosen to get the hell out of Dodge and not look back. Obviously we know he would never even consider such a thing, but it was technically an option, and Boothill watched him decide to go back into the proverbial lion's den for his friends anyway. And I'm sure that was part of what sealed his decision, to later use Tiernan's relic instead of the Jade Abacus to summon enough people to disrupt Ena's Dream. Because he greatly values ideas like righteousness and justice and saving people, and Dan Heng so beautifully embodies all of that and then some.
Boothill doesn't have people to protect anymore, only ghosts to avenge.
And there is just something so endlessly endearing about him wanting to help Dan Heng, to make sure his friend doesn't go through that the way he did.
#honkai star rail#henghill#boothill#dan heng#hsr#hsr boothill#hsr dan heng#bootheng#I feel like I'm just repeating myself a bunch and not saying anything orz#spinning my tires#do you get me. do you feel me.#do you understand my vision#does the blood in your mouth taste the same as mine.#I'm frothing at the mouth over here Hoyo how dare you get me so into a ship OTL#there are few things that get me in the heart so hard as 'character loses everything and uses it to make sure no one else goes through that#just#ARGH#Because Dan Heng has suffered so much in his life but it's never been this specific kind of loss.#He never had any kind of family to lose in the first place. He didn't until Himeko took him in.#But Boothill has been through all that and it sucked and he already really likes and relates to Dan Heng.#they're like two goofy little peas in a pod haha#so of course he wants to protect him#How could his heart not be swayed by him?
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This is Marty and my close personal friend Irina. We used to work together and she's a very kind, loyal person.
She moved to Tbilisi, Georgia a year ago to live with her daughter who left earlier, after the war in Ukraine was started. They live together in a small rented flat and struggle to keep afloat with whatever jobs they can find (she cleans other people's houses and sews/fits clothes, takes on small copywriting jobs whenever she can; the daughter babysits and dogsits).
They have a dog and two older cats who moved with them from Russia.
Two months ago, Irina found this pup on the street near where she lives with a broken paw. Because she's the type of person who can't pass on others in need, she took him in and spent all of her time and non-existent money on vets and dog food and medicine.
She's been trying to find a new home for him because they can't support 4 animals and there's no space. Marty is very jovial and active, and can be--let's say this--quite disruptive. He spent some time in temporary houses, even travelled to Vladikavkaz (Russia) for a couple of weeks. Last week a girl in Batumi offered to take him in for good and we all CELEBRATED! Two days after, she returns him. He's too much, she says. And so he's back with Irina.
While I'm happy the dog is saved and healthy now, I feel very concerned about this situation. I know she's the type of person who puts everyone's needs before her own. She can overwork herself. And I know she's struggling financially.
If you're in Tbilisi or nearby - maybe you know someone who would want a dog? This is the number one priority.
She's saving up to put him in paid animal care until a new home is found. Please help if you can.
For Russian cards: +7(989)135-48-45 (Sber, Ирина Александровна С.)
For international help: please donate through my boosty with a note, "for Marty". I will transfer 100% of the money to her.
Here's her telegram channel: Котики в Грузии
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I used to love writing when I was in high school, but stopped after I graduated because of life. Now, after almost a decade, I want to get back into it but I don't know how. I have so many ideas but I tend to bounce around the same variations and don't know how to stick to one thing, or how to just get back into the rhythm of writing actively. Or even reading actively.
Any advice?
Getting Back to Reading and Writing
What you're experiencing is what I like to think of as "the creative zoomies."
After so long away from actively reading and writing, there's now this flood of ideas, plans, books you want to read, and stories you want to write. You can't settle and focus on a single thing because your brain wants to do ALL THE THINGS, so you keep bouncing back and forth between things hoping something will stick.
First things first... DEEP BREATH.
As I said in an earlier post, remember: there is no ticking clock. It may feel like there is, sometimes, but we're just little ants on a planet doing our things. There are no deadlines unless you sign up for any, and you don't have to worry about that right now.
So... start by taking an honest look at your schedule and your life, and see if you can figure out a realistic estimate of how much time you have in a given week. Where are there slots of time you can dedicate to writing? How about reading?
Next, it can be immensely helpful if you have a comfortable, relaxing space, free from distraction and interruption, where you can go to write. Some people like to go write at a coffee shop or library to get away from family shenanigans or bothersome housemates. If it's not a billion degrees where you are, you might also try your patio, yard, or a nearby park. Listening to soft music or "ambience rooms" (tons on YouTube) through headphones can also help you focus. There are also still some different apps and programs for distraction free writing. Just make sure to save often and keep a master document on your computer to prevent losing all your work in case the app or program gets glitchy. Also: put your phone on silent, turn off your internet if you must, and let people know not to bother you. This is your writing time... don't be afraid to guard it fiercely.
As for choosing ideas, I'm a big fan of the old-fashioned methods... random number pickers, drawing out of a hat, rolling dice... But you can also do a process of elimination based on what appeals to you the most. If you get it down to two, and then you're disappointed with the one you're left with, you know the one you just eliminated is the right idea to go with.
If you're not sure what to write, try doing some writing prompts. There are lots available online and there are some great books with writing prompts. Doing one a day can be a great way to get yourself back in the habit of writing again.
As for reading, start by reading during moments of spare time, such as if you're taking a bath, riding your stationary bike, sitting in a waiting room, or riding public transportation. You can even read during your morning coffee or your lunch break. Also, embrace the world of audio books. This is one of my favorite ways to read, because I can do it while I'm exercising, showering, cleaning, cooking, driving, doing projects... I get through so many more books by listening to audio books. More than anything, just remember that once again, there's no ticking clock. You don't have to finish a certain number of books before the end of the year. Read what you want, at the pace that works for you, and don't be afraid to DNF if a book isn't working for you.
I hope this helps!
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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!
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Honestly, I can't stress enough how important the theme of family is in mdzs. IMO it is the main theme of the book. Of course romance and devotion is important, but there's something so special about the way families are portrayed in mdzs and how important they are. (I watched donghua and read some of manhua btw)
Let's start with sibling relationships:
The whole plot started because of love for a brother and rage for how unjust his death was. The whole Cloud Recesses arc is an amazing set up for Wangxian etc, but it also shows the complicated yet sweet relationship between WWX and JC. How they both care so much about each other, how they tease each other. IMO JC did see WWX as a brother and loved him as such. Every time he scolds Wei Ying, it's always about Wei Ying's safety. Usually it's not "How dare you use demonic cultivation, you're gonna get our clan in danger", it's " If you keep it up, I won't be able to protect you". Even during the Wen invasion, the they're still together, they sacrifice themselves to save another. And don't get me started about Jiang Yanli, she loves her brothers very much. Despite Madam Yu creating a competition between the boys or Jiang Fengmian's lack of action and even enablement of WWX' dangerous and irresponsible behavior, they still love each other. I can ramble about yunmeng trio so much, but in short despite everything they went through, they cared for each other deeply. After Jiang Yanli's death everything changes, because imo the boys fully internalized Madam Yu's last words. WWX bring pain and destruction to Yunmeng. I think I need to stop, or we'll be here all day.
Or, another example: Nie bros. Nie Mingjue had to basically raise A-sang. They do deeply care about each other, and despite everything they'll be here for each other. Yet the desire to protect NHS from sad reality of golden core and qi deviation, their relationship soured a little. But it's obvious even for an outsider like WWX, that NMJ loves his brother. He pressures NHS, because he feels that he's starting to lose it. He wants to prepare his little bro to be a decent leader and to live without him. And NHS literally makes it his life mission to avenge his Dage even if it means having a blood on his hands.
Lan brothers show a good brother relationship. Lan Xichen supports LWJ in everything he does. Even his love for WWX. He gets protective, when he thinks WWX is laughing at LWJ's feelings. Lan Zhan is deeply saddened when his brother is missing and helps him discover the truth about his best friend's death. They're almost perfect siblings. (Plus they're super funny when drunk).
MXTX deserves an award for writing so many different sibling dynamics. And that's not all, she also portrays this different parental relationship so interesting.
Like, the nephews you didn't want, but care so much about, that you don't want them to suffer like their father did (Lan Qiren and this family drama); the kid of your husband's unrequited love, whom he seemingly loves more than your own children (Yunmeng Jiang happy house), JGS and the myriad of the kids he has ect. I love this variety so much.
I just love so much how MDZS has so much themes. Every time I think about MDZS, I find more and more interesting points and moments that change my perception of the characters. Every character is so humain and has their own motivation, that I can't truly hate some of them (apart from Wen Chao, his mistress and JGS, they suck).
TLDR: MXTX is a queen of writing complex human characters.
#mxtx#mxtx mdzs#mdzs#yunmeng bros#yunmeng siblings#twin jades of gusu#nie bros#lan qiren#madam yu#jiang fengmian#wei wuxian#lan wangji#lan xichen#jiang cheng#jiang yanli#nie huaisang#nie mingjue#mo dao zu shi#the grandmaster of demonic cultivation#I'm sorry for this incoherent ramblings but i just wanted to get this out of my head#i just noticed it after thinking about other mxtx books. i only watched donghua versions of tgcf and svsss but they have a very different-#-themes. due to my limited knowledge i can't fully determine this subtext
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I could be reading this all wrong and only seeing what I want to see, but if I'm right and you think about it, Aurora's actions in this chapter seem to be meant to further confirm that she never fled because Armand told her to and, more glaringly, she never cared about the Sadida beyond using them to enable her own ascension to power.
When she returned in chapter 3 and Yugo and Amalia called her and her father out on fleeing and abandoning them against the Nécromes, Aurora claimed she was just carrying out Armand's will, which was to protect their unborn child. She even went as far as trying to paint Amalia in a bad light due to "not knowing the joy of carrying a child", implying Amalia couldn't possibly know what it's like to put your child first, not-so-subtly calling her selfish.
This all coming from the same woman who is now going against her father's admittedly reasonable orders in the face of a furious Amalia looming over them.
Now, as much as I'd like to say Amalia wouldn't have touched her hadn't Aurora taken flight with the intention of fighting her in the first place, the truth is it's hard to tell Amalia's true reasons behind going after the Osamodas. Maybe she just wanted to berate and kick them out of her kingdom for poisoning Yugo but her emotional state was reflected by her vines, giving her a more dangerous, unhinged look. Or maybe she truly intended to use violence against them and she is partly to blame.
Whatever the case, it doesn't change the fact that Aurora has once again revealed her true colours: she's chosen to fight Amalia, even while pregnant, even though she refused to do so to aid and lead the Sadida in battle.
This all reads as her entire personality being nothing but two-faced, hypocritical, and self-serving, with no concern or care for anyone but herself. Not her husband's people, not her husband's family, not her husband, not even their child.
Because this time she doesn't even have the excuse of trying to protect her child, that's actually what her father was trying to do. No, she willingly and knowingly put her child in danger by ignoring her father's warnings—why am I not surprised that one (1) time she doesn't blindly listen to her father is the one time she honestly should have?— and engaging Amalia.
What's more, her motives for forsaking her child's safety after painting herself as the widowed martyr, burdened by the responsibility of motherhood, are purely egotistical.
As the above frames show, she's not even trying to defend herself and the child from Amalia's wrath (again, that's her father), rather, her actions are motivated by her pride, ego, and seething hatred of her sister-in-law. There's no moral high ground, no motherly love, no protective instintcs, nothing!
All there's left is the all-consuming desire to get rid of Amalia once and for all. Her hatred of her overrides all reason, which is probably part of the reason why her father came with her to the kingdom to reclaim the throne in the first place: because Aurora is both too unstable and impulsive to be trusted with such responsibility. The Osamodas King is essentially keeping her in check because she can't be trusted to be left to her own devices without messing it all up.
And this all ties back to her actions in season 4, which, combined with the webtoon, highlight her sheer hypocrisy. She claimed she only ran away because she was protecting her child, so she should be forgiven for throwing an entire kingdom and possibly the whole world to the wolves in order to save her own skin, but suddenly there's nothing wrong with fighting a very pissed off Sadida Queen (one of the most powerful Sadidas around after Sadida Himself and His dolls and the one she just so happens to have a personal vendetta against) while pregnant.
She didn't leave the kingdom because Armand told her to, she did so out of her own volition. Just like nothing she's doing is for her child, but for herself. She's no mother, let alone a queen, but an unstable, entitled brat.
#wakfu#wakfu analysis#wakfu season 4#wakfu webtoon#wakfu la grande vague#wakfu the great wave#wakfu spoilers#amalia sheran sharm#yugo the eliatrope#armand sheran sharm#Aurora#the osamodas king#sadida#osamodas#ankama#krozmos#dofus
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My Lovely Detective V
— PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Fem!Detective!OC
— CO-WRITER: @iron-flavored-lipgloss
— CONTAINS: Unprotected non-con anal & vaginal sex, rough body play, breeding kink, rimming, creampie, fingering, manhandling, swearing, abuse, degradation, dirty talk.
— WORDS: 3k
— A/N: Another chapter for our lovely readers!🙏💗
— LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].
Reflections
Andrea balanced on the edge of reality and unconsciousness, but when she felt something poking at her tight ring of muscles, the woman began to scream and wriggle like a fish trying to escape. "N-no! Stop...stop!"
But instead of stopping, Bateman submerged the detective once more, forcing her to stop struggling as his thin finger teased the rim of her ass before the man mercilessly shoved it in while the woman continued to drown.
'I have to survive...I have to tell everyone about this psycho!'
Andrea tried to save whatever oxygen was left in her lungs, but thankfully Patrick pulled her out. With all this endless torture, the woman didn't even notice that Bateman had managed to stick himself and that his fully erected cock was shamelessly stroking her abused pussy, not to mention his index finger slipping in and out of her tight anal.
"Use...use a fucking condom, you scum!" the woman screamed, leaning over the edge of the tub. "I'd rather die than have a drop of your seed!"
"You didn't mind swallowing yesterday!" Patrick struggled to hold Andrea's arms together behind her back. The mixture of water and oil made everything slippery and even in her weakened state she didn't make it easy for him to keep control of the situation.
Andrea threw her legs around as much as the space in the tub allowed, causing water to spill over the edge and splash in his face. Patrick cursed, spat and in the end it was all useless. He forced her down, her breasts pressed uncomfortably against the cold tiles and her backside raised in the air, giving him a perfect view of between her legs.
"If you're afraid I'm gonna get you pregnant, I'll take your ass," Patrick sneered, as if he hadn't planned to do it anyway. "You can't tell me you're not into it when you have such a slutty tattoo right there as an invitation."
It drove Patrick wild to see Andrea's muscles contract so tightly when he was only using his fingers. He enjoyed the way she shivered every time he pressed his length against her cunt, rubbing it teasingly between her lips like a promise he wouldn't keep. The fact that he only had one free hand to use and his growing impatience made the prep work sloppy at best and Patrick knew there was no way it wouldn't hurt her.
For him, though, the feeling of finally penetrating her was an incomparable pleasure.
"Oh fuck," he couldn't help but moan out loud, his hips bucking as he felt her cling helplessly to him, and for a moment his mind was pleasantly cleared of any thoughts.
For a moment, the woman let him have his way, feeling that her power was reaching its limits, so maybe now was the time to let go and save some energy for later attempts to escape this cursed place.
"Mmmh," Andrea whimpered at the stinging sensation in her tight cunt, the way Bateman was ramming into her was borderline brutal, but she told herself she could take it, she could survive it. "It's...it's so f-fucking deep...a-ahhh," the detective went limp against the cold edge of the tub, her body no longer struggling. "Are you...really...gonna fill me up?"
Just the thought of getting pregnant made her feel nauseous and she had to fight back the urge to vomit right then and there. Either way, the situation she found herself in was discouraging and it seemed like a dead end, but her body was the worst traitor as she could feel her soft inner walls clinging to Bateman's cock like a vine, as if Andrea's life depended on it.
"A-ahh," she cried, grabbing his hips and pressing her face against the marble so abruptly that it split her lip. "My boyfriend...fucked so much better than you, not gonna lie."
Patrick knew that she had to be lying, or at least he told himself that, because there was no way anyone could be better than him, let alone her pathetic boyfriend.
And yet her words got to him.
Gritting his teeth in anger and humiliation, he pulled away from her, only to give Andrea a brutal smack on the ass that nearly knocked her over the edge.
"Your boyfriend isn't here," he hissed, pulling her cheeks apart to reveal the reddened marks of his abuse. "But I can assure you, no one has ever fucked you as hard as I will!"
In a twisted way, Andrea's audacity had done nothing to diminish his insatiable desire for her, but now more than ever he wanted to tear her apart with his cock.
And without warning, Patrick rammed it deep into her unprepared asshole. "There, how do you like that? Don't complain, at least you won't get pregnant."
Andrea almost choked on the air at such an intrusion, her eyes filled with tears. "O-hhhh-fuck...fuck..." she cursed in pain, with the perfect realization that her no longer innocent asshole was bleeding for how hard and wild Bateman was attacking it.
For a moment the woman thought it would be better for her to lose her consciousness here and now, but Patrick seemed to be aware of her intentions and yanked at her hair, making her scream.
"I h-hate you, you... fucking son of a bitch!" Andrea screamed, clawing at the marble surface of the tub. "You're going to rot in prison...for this!"
Uncontrollable rage coursed through her veins, mingled with devastating despair and disdain. How could such a good detective like her get into this situation in the first place? What would her boss—Detective Kimball—think of her after all the shit she had been through? In fact, Andrea doubted whether she would survive with Bateman tormenting her like this every day. God, was she really considering being locked in here for days on end? 'Pathetic!' She snapped at herself, biting her lip until it bled.
Patrick hated Andrea too—hated her for her lack of obedience and the way she insisted on taunting him to no end, but at the same time he couldn't deny how good she was. She milked his cock so much better than any of those paid whores, even though nothing about her was his type—or so he kept insisting in his mind.
The man couldn't remember the last time it had been this hard to delay his climax, despite the cheap tattoo just above her tailbone, right where he had to see it now every time he took Andrea in his favorite position. “Don't stop” , it said, mocking him silently, and Patrick was overwhelmed by the urge to cut it out of her skin for the way it made him feel. Bateman dug his thumbs painfully into the inked flesh, gripped her hips even tighter and lifted Andrea off his cock, a violent shudder running through his body.
There it was—the faint but unmistakable smell of iron coming through the lavender mist around them as a thin trail of blood ran from her abused hole and who knows what would have happened if the knife had been within Patrick's reach right now. Unexpectedly, he decided to thrust back into her pussy instead, a few hard thrusts just in time before his orgasm hit him with a ferocity that sucked the air out of his lungs as Patrick filled her with his seed for the first time.
"I'm gonna make you pregnant, I'm gonna make you mine in every possible way," he growled mindlessly, and even when everything turned into static noise in his ears, Patrick didn't allow himself to pull back. He kept fucking Andrea, even when it started to hurt, just to make sure that not a drop was wasted.
Finally, he collapsed against the cold bathtub panel, panting heavily as his mind began to wander. 'I'm not going to kill her yet ...', he thought, 'not even if Kimball comes knocking on my door tomorrow.' And in his hazy post-orgasmic state, Patrick was perfectly content with the idea of ruining himself just to keep this woman alive a little longer.
It's been a few weeks since Andrea was locked in Bateman's apartment and something has changed drastically, not only in Patrick's demeanor, but in the woman herself. Why hasn't she even tried to escape? Maybe because the man was blackmailing her by sending the porn tapes to her boyfriend? But the most interesting and shocking thing was the realization that no one seemed to be making the slightest effort to find her, as she didn't see any police officers paying a visit to Bateman's place. What about Mr Kimball? He was the only person who knew where and when the woman was going to meet Patrick, and it was so damn obvious that Patrick's apartment was the first place they should have checked after her disappearance, but as mentioned before—no one showed up.
Speaking of Bateman, his behavior became too erratic and chaotic, as if he was suffering from an internal conflict with himself every time he was with Andrea. How many times was she close to death, but he always spared her. What was that about? It was something unusual for psychopaths like him, but it was the only reason she was still alive.
One day, when the man allowed her to sleep in his bed instead of the cage, Andrea took the opportunity to sleep on something soft, as her back hurt from sleeping on the floor. She didn't even mind him touching her in her sleep, squeezing the soft mounds of her breasts, or slipping his morning wood between her legs to bring himself to orgasm and painting her white with his thick cum. All this was nothing compared to the emptiness within her, the feeling of being lost, all forgotten and broken.
That day the weather was terrible and Andrea spent most of the time in the bathroom because she hated thunderstorms, especially when she was alone. She didn't know where Bateman was, and at one point she even felt she missed him. Missed the man who had kidnapped her. Depressed and mentally exhausted, Andrea stumbled into the bedroom, hid under the covers and as soon as her head hit the pillow, she blacked out.
It was after midnight when Patrick stepped into the familiar darkness of his apartment, away from the glaring neon lights and bustling nightlife of New York. He felt delirious, the coke had not worn off, and his collar was stained with red splatters and a bit of smeared lipstick—a case for the cleaners.
Work had been terrible as usual and the whores at the club weren't what they used to be; if McDermott was okay with fucking his way through D-list celebrities, that was his business, but Patrick had better options.
Bateman couldn't help but feel his heart beat a little faster at the sight of Andrea's naked form draped across his bed, the white sheets disheveled to expose her bare ass to his brazen gaze. Her skin was cool to his touch and Patrick clicked his tongue in disapproval. "God Andrea, you're lying there like you're already dead. You're going to freeze."
The man squeezed her ass in a poor parody of sympathy, then shrugged off his clothes, taking his time to fold them neatly, even though he wasn't going to wear them tomorrow anyway. It had become something of a routine for Patrick to come home and shove himself inside her, or to rub himself against Andrea's ass, half asleep, half hard, completely oblivious to her own state.
But tonight her apathetic reaction actually bothered him.
'In that case I might as well just fuck a cold corpse'.
Patrick forced the realization that he had liked it better when she had tried to fight him, only to end up moaning and writhing under his weight and precise thrusts. "I want you to do something else for me. Not there, go lower," he instructed Andrea as she parted her lips, expecting him to make her suck his cock. "Be a good girl and lick my asshole."
This time, his request made her stop in shock for a moment before she could even react. "W-What? Are you kidding?" Andrea replied in a shaky voice, but when she saw his stern gaze and his jaw clenched in unveiled anger, she realized there was no way out. "Shit..."
How many times had he strangled her for disobeying him? How many times did he slap her face until blood ran from her nose and lips? The detective was not sure if she could survive such a beating, since her mental capacities were already on the verge of being shattered. So she decided to obey, but not without thinking about how wicked Bateman's kinks were. Did he really want her to eat his ass? That was something she never practiced with her boyfriend, and no one ever ate her ass, but eating a man's ass...
'Oh my fucking God!'
Blushing, Andrea cursed to herself and lowered herself to tease his swollen tip before making her way down, starting with a long lick along the entire length and ending at the base of his thick cock where his big balls were straining from such sensual touch. Inch by inch, she got closer to where he wanted her most and when the woman finally dared to swirl her tongue around his tight hole, a muffled moan echoed through the bedroom and this time it belonged to Bateman whose cheeks blushed traitorously as the woman peered up at him.
'Fuck, he's probably enjoying this so much. Maybe I can use that to my advantage?'
With that thought Andrea hugged his legs, spreading them wider to get better access to his ass so she could plunge her tongue inside, licking his tight walls from the inside, and the deeper she sank the louder the man's moans became. At one point she noticed that he had wrapped his trembling hand around his throbbing cock and without thinking Andrea began to massage his tight sac while fucking his asshole with her warm tongue. What the fuck was that?
The woman tried to ask herself if she was doing this just to survive, but when Andrea felt him tighten around her tongue, it stirred something inside her - the overwhelming sensation of the power she was wielding over him at that moment - his soft groans and the way his beautiful eyebrows were furrowed, all this had a strange effect on her. Probably she had already lost her mind because she couldn't get enough of it - his taste, his strong muscles flexing under her grip. Did it really feel that good? As this thought flashed through her mind, she suddenly stopped all work, gasping for breath, on the verge of tears as she found herself thinking about how it felt to have someone worship your ass.
'Did I really turn into a psycho like him?'
Andrea asked herself and started to sob, not even noticing what Patrick was telling her—the white noise covered her ears from inside—she was falling apart here and now at the revelation that there was probably no Detective Moore anymore. Maybe that was why no one was looking for her, since the person she was no longer existed?
A choked moan escaped Patrick's lips, his thighs flexing beneath her fingers and he managed to control himself just enough not to crush her face beneath him.
He had expected Andrea to be much more shy, but now the woman plunged her tongue into him as far as it would go. Teasing his vulnerable spot so boldly, he felt his whole body tremble from the sharp pleasure that was building deep inside him, and Patrick rocked harder against her mouth, his hand tightening around his length.
"Oh God, Andrea..."
Patrick didn't even realize it was the first time he'd moaned her name and now he couldn't stop himself from calling it out, his voice rough and needy, betraying the cold facade he usually took care to maintain. Andrea was like an unknown fever taking hold of his system and the idea of self-control was slipping further and further away from Patrick's hazy mind. All this—it was even better than he had remembered from the one hooker who had introduced him to the pleasure. 'Which was saying a lot, because this service saved her life,' Patrick remembered, feeling his guts tighten in anticipation as Andrea's tongue continued to probe his tight asshole. Maybe it said too much about him and his fixation on the woman beneath him, but there was no time to think about it.
His movements became more and more erratic as her soft touch did the rest for him, and Patrick could no longer hold back his impending orgasm. "Oh fuck... Andrea... I'm going to -"
Waves of pleasure came crashing down on him, leaving Patrick trembling, his hips bucking against his own hand one last time as he stained her hair, his fingers, the sheets, with thick ropes of cum. For a small moment he wondered if he was experiencing some strange form of awakening.
Her need was almost ultra-violent, breaking her willpower with an ease she had never expected. Wildly, almost greedily, she licked every drop of his warm cum, but it was still not enough. Andrea was hungry, tired and doomed to be trapped here for what seemed like an eternity. But her primal instincts kicked out all her discomfort and spurred her on to get what her body craved - his hot flesh inside her and her juicy pussy filled with his seed.
Rolling onto her stomach, she spread her legs and whimpered. "Fill...fill me," Andrea closed her eyes for a second from the phantom pain that coursed through her body from the emptiness. "I need you, please… it h-hurts."
Jesus Christ. Was she really begging for his cock? How had she come to that?
P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and my amazing co-writer @iron-flavored-lipgloss and turn on notifications to know when we update!
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