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communistkenobi · 11 months

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I’ve been thinking a lot about fandom recently, both as someone who has engaged with it regularly for over a decade on various platforms and also as someone who has increasingly become disenchanted with those spaces. Not only because of pervasive issues of (especially anti-Black) racism, misogyny, transphobia/homophobia, and the like, but the particular way those things take shape within fandom.

At the most basic level I think fandom has a fundamental methodological problem with the way it approaches texts, be they shows, books, movies, etc. What I mean is that people almost invariably approach fandom at the level of character, often at the level of ship - your primary way of viewing a text is filtered through favourite characters and favourite relationships, as opposed to, say, favourite scenes, favourite themes, favourite conflicts.

This is reinforced through the architecture of dominant platforms that host fan content, particularly AO3 - there are separate categories for fandom, character and ship, and everything else is lumped together in “Additional Tags.” You cannot, for example, filter for fics on AO3 by the category of “critical perspective” or “thematic exploration”. There is no dedicated space for fan authors to declare their analytical perspective on the text they are writing about. If an author declares these things, they do so individually, they must go out of their way to do so, because there are no dedicated or universally agreed-upon tags to indicate those things, and if your fanfiction has a lot of tags, that announcement of criticality gets mushed together in a sea of other tags, sharing the same space with tags like “fluff and angst” or “porn without plot.” Perhaps one of the few tags closest to approaching this is the tag “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat,” which doesn’t indicate perspective or theme but rather that there is, broadly, some kind of “problematic content” contained therein - often of a sexual nature, frequently as a warning about “bad” ships.

Now this is not an inherent problem, as in, it is not inherently incorrect to approach a text and primarily derive pleasure from it by focusing on a given character or relationship. And I think a lot of mainstream media encourages (even requires) audiences to engage with their stories at these character- and ship-levels. The political economy of the production of art (one which is capitalistic, one that seeks to generate comfort, titillation, controversy, nostalgia, or shock for the purposes of drawing in viewership, one that increasingly pursues social media metrics of “engagement” and “impressions”, one that allows for the Netflix model of making two-season shows before cancelling them, as well as a whole host of other things) enforces a particular narrative orthodoxy, one that heavily focuses on the individual interiority of specific characters, one that is deeply concerned with the maintenance of white bourgeois middle class values of property ownership, the nuclear family, normative heterosexual sexuality and gender, settler-colonial ideas about community and environment, etc. If you do not care about the familial drama surrounding Shauna cheating on her husband in Yellowjackets, for example, because you think the institution of monogamous marriage and the nuclear family is stupid and violent and heternormative, then you will have a difficult time engaging with the show in general. We exist within a deeply normative (and frequently reactionary) media environment that encourages us to approach art in a particular way, one that privileges the individual over other narrative components (settings, themes, conflicts, ideas, political and moral perspectives, structure, tone, etc).

All of which culminates in priming fans to engage with art at these levels and these levels alone, even when that scope is deeply inappropriate. A standout example I recently encountered was browsing the fandom tags on tumblr for the movie Prey - a movie that recontextualises the original Predator film by setting it in colonial America to make the argument that the horrific violence of white colonists and imperial soldiers is identical to the violence we see the Predator do to human beings. It is a movie that makes the argument that, despite this alien monster running around killing people, the villains of the franchise are these occupying soldiers and settlers, an alien force who themselves have just as little regard for (indigenous) human life.

And when browsing the tags on tumblr, what I found was dozens upon dozens of horny posts about how hot the predator monster was. Certainly there were discussion of the film’s narrative, and these posts got a good amount of notes, but the tags were heavily dominated with a focus on the Predator itself. People were engaging with this film not as a solid action movie with interesting and compelling anti-colonial themes, but as a way to be horny about a creature that is, ironically, a stand-in for white settler indifference to (and perpetuation of) indigenous suffering. And if this is your takeaway from an extremely straightforward film with a very clear message, this is not merely a failure to comprehend the content of a text, this is something beyond it - a problem that I think is due in part to the methodological problem of approaching all texts as vessels for bourgeois interiority, individual but ultimately interchangeable expressions of sexuality, perhaps best-expressed by the term “roving slash fandom,” a phenomenon wherein fans will move from one fandom to the next in search of two (usually white, usually skinny) guys to draw and write porn of, uncaring of any of the surrounding context of the stories they are embedded in, and consequently dominating a large sector of fandom discussion.

This even gets expressed in the primary ideological battleground of fandom itself, the ridiculous partitioning of all fan conflict into “pro-“ and “anti-“ shipping compartments. Your stance on engagement with fandom itself historically was (and still is) always first filtered through one of these two labels, describing your fundamental perspective on all texts you engage with. And both of these two labels are only concerned with shipping, as if all disagreements about art can only be interpreted through the lens of what characters you think are acceptable to draw or write having sex. Nowhere in this binary is space to describe any other perspective you might take, what approaches you think are valuable when interacting with art, what themes or stories you think are worth exploring. It’s not just that the pro/anti divide is juvenile and overly-simplistic, it is a declaration that all fan conflict must be read through the lens of shipping and shipping only - the implication being that any objections raised, and criticisms offered, is ultimately just bitching about ships you don’t like.

Which, again, I think is a fundamental error of methodology. It leaves no space for people to discuss the political and moral content of a work, the themes of a piece of art, the thorny issues of representation not just as expressed through individual characters but entire worlds, narratives, settings, and themes. You are always hopelessly stuck in the quagmire of “shipping discourse,” and even rejecting that framework will inevitably get you labelled as either pro- or anti-ship anyway - and you will almost invariably be labelled an “anti” if you express any kind of distaste for the bigoted behaviour of fans or the content of the text itself, again reinforcing the idea that this is all just pointless whining online about icky ships you personally hate.

And this issue is best perhaps epitomised by reader insert fanfiction, circumventing any need for you to project onto a character by literally inserting yourself into fiction, primarily in order to write/read about a character you want to fuck. This then intersects in particularly disgusting ways with real world politics, such as reader insert fics about Pedro Pascal going with you to BLM protests. Even if this is (incredibly over-generously) interpreted as a very poor attempt at being “progressive,” it still demonstrates that many (white) fans are often incapable of thinking about anything outside of a character-centric perspective, quite literally centring themselves in the process, and consequently they think it’s totally appropriate to do things like that. The fact that this is also frequently a racist lens is not coincidental, because again, a chronic focus on (fictional) individuality prohibits any structural perspective from entering the discussion, which necessarily excludes a coherent or useful perspective on systemic issues, where people come to the conclusion that the topic of police brutality is little more than a fun stage to enact whatever romantic shenanigans you want to get up to with a hot guy.

I will stress, again, that it is not a moral sin to have a favourite character, nor is it bad to enjoy reading about two guys having sex in fanfiction. I enjoy and do those things, I engage with fandom often through a character-centric lens (see my url) - because it’s fun! But I think that this being the dominant mode of engagement inherently excludes and marginalises all other approaches, and creates a fandom space where the most valuable way to talk about media is to discuss which two characters you most enjoy imagining fucking each other

#media #effortpost #fandom discussion

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cookinguptales · 10 months

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So… I’ve been turning all this over in my head since last night, and I wanted to make a post about vampiric transformation as sex, and how it’s being used in wwdits as a metaphor for sexual repression, sexual freedom, virginity, and cuckolding.

Before I even get into the obvious metaphors about virginity and cuckolding, I think we need to talk about the elephant in the room. Guillermo’s sexual repression and how that’s come to find an outlet in his vampiric longing.

Guillermo is highly repressed, sexually speaking, but I don’t think he’s asexual. He’s shown interest in sex several times, but in an uncomfortable “this can’t be for me yet” kind of way. He was clearly raised Catholic and has internalized a lot of that shame re: sex, especially gay sex. He wants intimacy, but he’s also internalized the idea that wanting these things is dangerous and shameful.

But… the vampiric world seems to symbolize all the things that Guillermo wants but cannot have. He wants to be strong, powerful, attractive, and sexually liberated. As much as their openness about sex embarrasses him, there’s a certain longing there, too. He didn’t just want to be handsome as a vampire — he explicitly used the word “sexy.”

A vampiric Guillermo is a version of Guillermo that gets to have sex. Loudly, proudly, and without shame. It’s a version of him that is wanted, that wants, and who gets to have the precise kind of intimacy he's always craved.

Now, how much Guillermo has actually done sexually is still up for a lot of debate in fandom, but I think that’s kind of immaterial. For most of the show, Guillermo clearly wasn’t having the kind of intimacy that he wanted to be having, and he only started to even begin to allow himself to seriously consider all that in s4, when he got a boyfriend and came out to his family.

As being gay and wanting to be a vampire.

Guillermo is finally starting to own both his homosexuality and his vampiric life, and that means he’s finally starting to explore sex.

Now… At the end of s4, I talked about how Guillermo going to Derek in the finale had the air of a person who’d been fantasizing about losing their virginity in a certain way all their life — but then they finally give up on those dreams and hire a sex worker instead. There’s a resignation there in Guillermo that he couldn’t get it “the old-fashioned way,” he’s disappointed and jaded when it comes to intimate relationships, and now he’s tired of waiting for love and just wants a business transaction.

I wasn’t quite expecting for them to push that metaphor even more in s5! The money aspect was almost forgotten (Did… Derek even take the money? Why is he still cleaning toilets?) but the scene with Derek biting Guillermo was clearly a metaphorical virginity scene.

Guillermo’s nervous eagerness, his growing realization that this wasn’t actually the way he wanted it to happen. Asking Derek if he’d ever done this before and figuring out if he was “ready.” Taking off his clothes (that his grandmother got for him, even, that’s a whole meta post right THERE) and trying to make the vibe “right.” His insistence that though Nandor had never done this for him, they still had a caring and intimate relationship.

But… it was also a metaphor for bad sex. Many people lose their virginity in a way they don’t find satisfying, and Guillermo definitely seems to fall in this category. It was awkward, it was bloody, it hurt, his partner didn’t listen to him, they weren’t on the same wavelength, they didn’t connect, there was no emotional bond, and most importantly, he didn’t feel changed.

Like a lot of people do, Guillermo thought losing his virginity would change him. He’d be cooler, sexier, more powerful. His station in life would change. He’d become an adult his ideal form. But he’s still just Guillermo.

As he told Laszlo, as soon as he did it, he regretted it. He immediately knew that he’d been right, that this wasn’t the way he wanted to do it. He wanted to do it with someone experienced who loved and cared about him, who listened to him, and he wanted that person to be Nandor. But he wasn’t patient, he paid an inexperienced acquaintance for a one-night-stand instead, and he was left feeling deeply unfulfilled.

Most upsettingly, he immediately discovered that, like virginity, you can’t lose it twice. He can’t just have a do-over with Nandor now. He’s given something up that he can’t give to anyone else, and he’s going to have to live with the consequences.

Because like sex for humans, transformation has social implications in the vampire world. It can only be done in very specific situations. Guillermo seems to have grown up in a human world where sex should only be happening within a heterosexual marriage, and now he’s finding that in the vampire world, transformation is only supposed to happen between a master and familiar currently in a contractual bond.

So… him going to Derek and finding “outlet” in another relationship, so to speak, is effectively vampirically cuckolding Nandor. He’s given that honor to another vampire, which Nandor seems to find both vampirically humiliating and personally hurtful. It would in fact hurt him so badly that he would probably not survive it, in Laszlo’s words.

(There’s also definitely an element of an abusive “if I can’t have you, no one can” vibe in Nandor’s threat to kill Guillermo and then himself if Guillermo got what he needed from another vampire, but since when have we ever liked them well-adjusted?)

Guillermo is realizing that, as much as he’s been thinking of this in sexual terms, so have the vampires. He thought he was the only one who thought it was a big deal. He thought he was the only one placing intimacy and partnership and loyalty into this event. But now he’s realizing that as much as it meant to him, it might have even been a bigger thing for Nandor.

For Guillermo, vampirism-as-sex represents the idealized transformational aspects of losing your virginity. He’d built up this big event in his mind that represented his intimate bond with Nandor, he’d built up this idea that the event would change him, would make him better, would make him free. But he’s finding, like many first-timers do, that sometimes it’s not transformational. It’s just awkward and disappointing and the only thing that’s changed is that you ache in the morning.

He still doesn’t have the intimacy he wanted. He still doesn’t have the ability to be loudly himself. He still hasn’t been able to fully own his sexuality and ask for what he wants. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t enjoy it. He regrets it.

He also regrets it because now he knows it will hurt Nandor and the relationship they’ve built. Because for Nandor, vampirism-as-sex represents the societal aspects of sex. The rules people follow. The societal humiliation you feel if you’re cuckolded. The personal agony you feel when you’re cheated on. The sense that your home is broken if your partner goes to find satisfaction with someone else.

Guillermo, who has had to deal with societal disapproval of his desired type of sex in the human world his whole life, was viewing vampiric transformation as a way to be free of all that. The shame and the repression and the societal penalties for being himself.

But he’s just found himself in a mess of new rules, hasn’t he? Different culture, same struggle. And while the vampiric world has always symbolized a sexual liberation that both repulses and attracts Guillermo, he clearly doesn’t have as much freedom here as he thought.

So… to sum up, Guillermo always kind of thought of transformation as losing his virginity. He associated vampirism with sex, and he thought this would be his entrance into the sexual world. He wanted to have an intimate experience with Nandor, but eventually gave up on that and decided to pay for it — and then immediately regretted it, both because he found it personally dissatisfying and because it came as a betrayal to the man he loves.

The problem is that he thought he was the only person thinking of it as sex — he didn’t realize that Nandor does, too, just in a very different way.

Nandor was also thinking of vampiric transformation as this special act, and one that belongs only to him as Guillermo’s master/partner. He was thinking of it in intimate terms, but also in societal partnership terms. He’s thinking of his household, while Guillermo was thinking of things on more individualistic terms.

If only they’d both talked about all this shit even once. :’)

But that’s not how we do things here in Staten Island!!! We just long for things ineffectively, keep secrets, and fuck everything up!

(There’s also a whole thing here about how Nandor wasn’t keeping his side of the relationship bargain and that’s why Guillermo looked elsewhere in a moment of weakness, but I guess that’s probably a separate post. This is long enough already.)

#I could talk about this so much more but this post is so long lmao #well guillermo you can never give nandor your first time but that doesn't mean you can't still build a relationship with him #more important for a guy to have your future than your past right?#lmao we'll see #nandermo #wwdits #wwdits meta #long post #wwdits spoilers

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blindbeta · 2 months

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I've noticed that you are interested in stories with multiple blind characters and often propose adding more blind characters to a story as a solution. I really struggle with this because it's not as simple as that -- stories don't have infinite narrative space. The idea that every story has a large cast is influenced by the prevalence of long serialized media in fandom: webcomics, TV shows, etc. But many writers (myself included) write a lot of novellas and short stories which often only have a few characters -- maybe even only 1 or 2! Even novels don't usually have huge expansive casts -- maybe 5 main characters with some additional side characters.

Considering this, I don't understand how it's realistic for every story (or even, say, 50% of stories) to have multiple blind characters (without it feeling forced). This is compounded by the fact that most blogs that talk about other forms of representation say the same! So if I write a 2-character short story and the protagonist is a blind Latino man, does the second character also have to be a blind Latino man? It just doesn't make sense! This is just a general problem I've noticed in discussions around representation -- there's an assumption that every cast will have 10+ characters and narrative space to develop those characters, even though that's not realistic for most narrative forms.

Do you have any thoughts on this?

Writing Multiple Blind Characters in Short Stories

Hi Anon! Surprise. I write short stories as well. I have experience with this. I have never felt like my blind characters were forced or unrealistic, even with having several of them in the same story. I’ll try to explain what might help you.

First, the idea that multiple blind characters is forced or unrealistic comes from ableism. Think about why you feel there is a limit on disabled characters. If you can create stories, I would hope you are creative enough to consider the possibility that multiple blind characters could exist in the same place and time. Challenging this barrier opens up more possibilities, allowing you to explore different types of blindness, different reactions to it, different upbringings, and multiple ways of living, adapting, and navigating being blind.

Second, blind characters need access to their own community. This is where they learn how to be blind. This where they get support. This is where they might find understanding and belonging. You can find more information about community here in an excellent reblog. Also, here.

As you mentioned, I often suggest adding more blind characters when writers insist upon using stereotyped portrayals. Having multiple characters with different experiences helps to make your story more realistic and nuanced, contrary to what people might implicitly believe. Having more than one blind character is something I highly recommend because it helps with not having all your representation rest on the shoulders of one character.

For example, if you are worried a main character who has cloudy eyes might reinforce the idea that all blind people have cloudy eyes, having another blind character with a different experience may help. If one of your blind characters is naive and innocent, you might have another blind character who is brash, displays a lack of trust in others, and has a lot of shocking stories. Maybe they’re in a rock band together. They met while playing blind football (aka soccer) on a middle school team. They bonded over their pet cats and sour patch kids.

Or something.

Another important thing to remember when writing is that you have control over the story. Too many writers come to me feeling stuck because they feel they cannot change their story while also wanting to incorporate my suggestions. This makes it challenging to address implicit bias or stereotypes, much less guide writers in going in different directions.

Additionally, I feel uncomfortable with the complaints about other blogs in this ask. I feel like this isn’t really about me, nor is it something I can comment on. I will say that it sounds as if a bunch of blogs dedicated to helping people write marginalized characters are mentioning some of the same things. They are probably doing so for a reason.

However, while it helps, writing multiple blind characters won’t improve every story, which I explained in my review of the book Blind. I was not impressed with this book. I did not feel that the four blind characters were very good, nor did having them help with offsetting the portrayal of blindness as a miserable experience.

Conversely, one of my favorite blind characters is Toph Beifong from Avatar: The Last Airbender. Despite being the only blind character in the show, the writers did a good job with her. Would I have liked her to meet more of her community as she travels with the Gang? Absolutely. Even though I like her, she still never had access to her community after being isolated by her parents for so long.

So, no, you don’t need to have multiple blind characters if the suggestion bothers you this much. I even provided good examples of what to do, what not to do, and times where my typical advice was not as helpful for the resulting story.

However, please consider where these feelings stem from. Consider the origins of the idea that having multiple blind characters is unrealistic. Using the example you provided in your question, I wonder, would you say the same if both your characters were white and abled? Is there any way you can challenge the fear of seeming unrealistic? What about being considered unrealistic bothers you so much?

You don’t necessarily need to have characters in the story for them to exist. Even background characters can help. I will try to give some ideas for this:

Does your blind character have family they can talk about or remember? Are any of their family members blind?

Do they have any friends? Just because the friends aren’t in the story doesn’t mean they don’t exist at all.

Does the blind character have any formative memories or flashbacks?

Does the character who isn’t blind know any blind folks?

Your characters should have lives outside of the story. They should have memories and experiences that made them who they are. This is where you can have other blind characters. Perhaps this is how your blind character can have a community.

However, I would still like to see more blind characters interacting with each other. This is what I want as a blind person. If you don’t want to go that direction, that’s fine.

I hope this helps.

#blind #blind characters #writing blind characters #ask #scheduled post #writing more than one blind character #multiple blind characters #ableism #let blind people have friends and community challenge

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cherubispunk · 4 months

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CHERUB (PART III) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering.

a note from Lucy: Well, this is it folks. The third and final instalment of the unholy trinity that is cherub. The fic that i had no idea would get this amount of traction. The fic that gave me my username, blog theme, the majority of my mutuals and the freedom to explore more taboo areas of writing that I never felt comfortable with doing before. I just wanted to thank you all for all the kind words you’ve shared with me. Comments, reblogs, messages, they all mean the utter world. But i also want to specifically thank @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin who was such a huge help for motivation when wrting each of these. She's been there since the first day of cherub and always let me obsess over dealer!joel with her. Ange, i love you baby. Out of all my fandom experiences, this has definitely been one of the best. I know this sounds a lot like a goodbye completely, but it's not i swear! I just never really knew where this was going, but I think this is a pretty good way to end the series and I hope you agree too. Part of me isn't ready to let go after such a short run, but I honestly have no idea where to go from here so I think I did it as much justice as I could. Regardless, Cherub and Dealer!Joel will forever have a place in my heart all thanks to you lovely lot! Your love means the world to me and you are all so easy to share this with, you've given me an environment to flourish creatively and I'm eternally grateful for that. I wish you all the love, hugs, kisses, and angel wishes in the world!

playlist

wc: 5548 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, plot? what plot? we all know we're here for the porn anyway, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his late 50s), gore imagry, religious imagry, Smut, very dubcon in theory but both want it bad, grafic smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl i beg of you), teasing, sort of edging? (idk what to call it but he doesnt fuck you until you beg for it lol). nipple play, biting biting biting!!!!!, references to domestic violence, use of pet names, manipulative! joel, stupid stupid cherub, stockholm syndrome, oral (f receiving), cum eating, pussy slapping, Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk, overstimulation. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile vile vile porn I have written thus far…with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, i have my own circle now. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

The danger didn't lie in his hands. It didn't sit in his closed first to be suffocated. Choked out until the life of it was compressed. Until its face was blue, then purple and its eyes were bloodshot and streaked with red. The danger lay in your heart. And it thrived off the beating.

What is ‘it’, you ask? Mania.

The Greeks had it nailed down when they split love seven different ways. To the crucifix through its punctured and bleeding palms. All equal, but different. They understood that one love is different to the other. That love can be either obsession, or lingering in the quiet parts of a person's mind. You cannot hold up a mirror to one and deceive into believing it is another. No matter how sweet the lie seeps into the ear. They don't work that way. You were not Lucifer, you had no forked tongue. And your mania wasn't Eve. There was no apple to devour. Only the strong arm of Joel Miller to cling to like a noose.

Some love passionately. Find it in the scathing friction of flesh upon flesh. The heat two bodies make only in sex. You were no body anymore. Merely a corpse for him to dig up and breathe life into whenever he needed relief. So it was not Eros. Some love playfully. In the back and forth of a conversation that makes the mind and heart float in the clouds among the soul. Entwine them together until you are too sedated to know the difference between the three pillars of personal holy trinity. There was nothing lighthearted about Joel Miller. So there was no Ludus. Affection. The subtle, it-is-there-even-when-it-is-not weight of lovers hand in lovers hand. Joel clutched your throat with his heavy hand. He didn't lace your fingers in his like tapestry threads. And he was anything but friendly. So it could never be Philia. He was not unconditional. Familial. Constant. Committed. Long lasting. Selfless. He crept in through the backdoor and took. Then slipped back out. So the thick blood red line was drawn through Storge. Agape. Pragma. The love you had was not for yourself. Without him you hated yourself. Hated how you didn’t feel needed. Or wanted. So Philautia was buried six feet under hot earth, the final nail in the coffin that was lowered into the rotting, thick-with-decaying-mulch, stenching ground. By none other than Mania.

This was something you came to realise as you stumbled from his truck back to your room. His come dribbling down your leg. Luke asleep on the sofa. Months passed of the same thing. He’d take you home from work, only letting you go once he'd had his fill. Played out the sick fantasy from mind to matter, let it bleed through his fingers into fruition. You let it happen for mania. It was the thing inside you that kept you going. Before you thought mania fed off your heartbeat. But now you realised mania fed your heartbeat. The kick it got every second fired the next muted pulse. That's what kept it alive. Energy for energy. You were never one to bite the hand that feeds. That’s a sinner's duty.

—

The usual sight of Luke slumped in his lazy boy, guzzling beer was what you expected. The liquor once again swigged past his lips and dribbling down his stubbled chin. Wiry greying hair greasy on his head, balding. Thinning. Residue from a line on the coffee table. You were never tempted by it before. And you were determined never be a Angel dust statistic like him.

Instead, you opened the flimsy door of your trailer to see him hunched over a small collapsible table. His hand running over his sunken eyes, dragging purple eye bags down with his fingertips in shame. Cards in his other. It had your breath catching in your throat like a hare in a wire snare trap. This time around the small collapsible round table. Cards in his hand. And two other men shared a knowing glance and a grim smile of satisfaction. Him.

Joel Miller.

The tension was thicker than molasses in the room. You only wished it was as sweet. You swallowed it down thickly. It stretched your throat. You watched in morbid fascination when he lay his hand on the table in a fan for all to horror at, a sly smirk slithering over his lips and curling the one corner of it up like a scorpion's tail.

“Full house.”

“Fuck!” And Luke’s hand slapped the tabletop as he folded.

The door clicked. All three looked up to see you. Luke, Joel, and the man who held a familiar resemblance to your own personal devil. With eyes on you, you felt more like that hare in the snare than ever. Clapping eyes on the hungry wolf as mutton dripped bloody from his sneer. Cruel and hungry. You imagined him as that wolf, hyde thick and bristled under your soft fingers as he led you to some deep, dark, thorny place. A place only lit by the eyes of owls who observed while he had his way with you. Ripped your stockings to get to sweet fruit.

“Great, the cunt is home.” Luke spat to the room but you, looking over the table again as he bit his thumb nervously to the edge of the hangnail. “Get me a beer.” Your nostrils flared in defiance at his demand, knuckles pale as fingers furled into a fist. An army of goosebumps had stood to attention all along your arms and the back of your neck. A shiver shattering down your spine. Your heart had enough of its prison of your ribcage in your anger, ramming into it over and over in a frantic hammering. And when that wasn't enough, you felt it in your throat. Among the tightening of your airways. “You hear me girl?” He asked, looking at you. He stood, chair scraping against the floor and you staggered back to the point your shoulderblades hit the door. While he was a thin, wiry man, he had a vicious backhand that stung. Like a vengeful aftertaste. “Y’need me to beat some sense inta ya girl, huh?!” You dared to spare a glance at Joel who was too busy collecting his winnings. You soon to be among them.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, looking to the floor and cowering off to the kitchen to get him his beer.

“Y’short, Luke.” You heard from the doorway, straining to hear the tail end of the conversation. Something about your uncle having it by monday. And then Joel telling him he shouldn’t raise a bet he doesn't have the dough to cover.

It took a second to catch your breath. Tears strung in your eyes and your chest threatened to split in two. Your sternum felt like it was cracking down the middle into clean halves under the weight of your chest. A hand clasped over your quivering lips to bite back a horrible sob and muffle it. Only your palm could know you were crying miserably. So you took a beer from the fridge, heard the hiss as the lid gave way and popped off. It clattered to the linoleum and you bared your teeth at the grating sound, picking it up and tossing it in the bin.

“Here.” You mumbled, placing it unceremoniously on the table in front of Luke.

“Y’got any spare cash on you, girl?” Luke asked, beady eyes staring you down as he raised the bottle to his lips and took a drink. You grimaced inwardly at the sight of his yellow teeth when he made a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

Joel’s brow raised. You should know by now not to lie to a man who can read you like a book. That's the thing about narcissists. They have a way of being able to understand you like a one word sentence on paper. A quick glance and you’re unravelling with concealed meaning and connotation.

“C’mon, Cherub…gotta have something from workin’ this late in that diner of yours…” You dared to challenge Joel with a look. A look that retreated soon after the advance of the glare of his eye. The same glare of the hungry wolf. Of the cheated man. It was unkind, and unyielding, and did not hold mercy upon the souls of the enthralled, the damned, or the harrowed. You might try to cross through the sentence, or turn the page. Or shut the book entirely. But the truth is still the truth even when you chose not to look. This was the man that knew your mind. Knew your body. And coaxed his will out of you each time. His word was all it took to cave, so you took the folded bills from your apron, flicking through them with a bitten back scowl,

“How much does he owe you?” Joel smiled with amusement, counting through his winnings to see what was short.

“Ninety-eight.”

‘What?” you asked, eyes wide, hurt. Disheartened. Fingers stilling halfway through the small stack. And Joel smirked.

“You heard me, Cherub.”

“Give Joel his money.” Luke warned.

“But it’s not his money! And it’s not yours to give!” You tried, and saw the warning tick of your uncle's narrow jaw. It was always set on edge before he threw a hand. Cast a palm across your cheek in a brandishing. It had you cowering. Relenting. Tossing the money in front of him. If it fell to the floor in its flurry he could pick it up and grovel about it. But Joel never grovelled. Only relished. Then reminded Luke of the money he still owed for the drugs.

And you walked back to the kitchen, biting into your lip again. With the devil and your demon in the next room over, you were sure this could be hell. A buzz filled your ears. Like the constant thrum of flies over roadkill. In festering flesh wounds where broken white of bone poked through gaping, bleeding holes. Blood matted in the hyde of the animal helpless and scattered across the road. A leg here, smashed teeth there. You were the roadkill. Joel was at the wheel of that which mowed you down. Luke was howling in the passenger side.

His boots thumped clumsily over the linoleum and he let out a huff through his nose while he adjusted his low slung jeans in the doorway.

“Cherub?” He asked, clearing his throat huskily — a consequence of the smokes he used religiously. You stood with your back to him, palms flat to the countertop and head hung low to fight the sting of tears simmering from within.

“He threatened to hit me.” You whispered, not turning to face him. If you mattered his ears would strain to meet you halfway. “And you did nothing.”

“Come on, Cherub…don't be like that.” he sighed, and you imagined him pinching the bridge of his hooked nose.

“He took my money. You took my money. How am I gonna get out of here without it?” You croaked, your tired eyes seeing faces of gaping mouths and slate black eyes in the speckled linoleum of the counter.

No reply came from the door. And when you turned it was empty. He had left. The other man had left. The tv was on again with the scream of a woman murdered. And Luke fell asleep in his lazy boy.

—

Another day, another shift. And more horror ensued. At first, what set the nerves thrumming was there was no sign of Luke. His truck was gone from its spot. No drunk slumped on the worn leather settee. No scream or grotesque image on the TV. Merely an empty bottle on the coffee table.

You swallowed, shutting the door cautiously with a muffled click of the latch. You didn't dare call his name. Just pushed it down into your stomach for it to churn the thought up in acid. But the horror jumped back up your throat into a lurid scream at the sight of your mattress tossed to the side. The moth bitten pillowcase on the floor, void of money. Your money. Gone. Someone had rifled through your belongings. Turned your only space into a mess. Strewn clothes, bed sheets, pillows in their haste. All your work. All the nights of living off bitter coffee from the pot at work, scrounging together tips. It made you seethe. The heat was an inferno at your fingertips, nails embedding crescents into your palms. You searched all over for it. But to no avail.

When Uncle Luke came home, he smelled of hard liquor. It was a miracle – or curse – he hadn't wrapped his car around a tree. He gloated, and sneered, and shoved it down your throat in his intoxication that he’d found it under the mattress. Joel had called him, told him you planned on leaving. And he connected the dots. Ransacked your room. Oh, how the man would hate his loose lips when you gave him hellfire.

You expected Luke’s reaction. You knew if he were to ever find out he’d snatch it up in his greedy, grimy hands and take it for himself. He spent all of it. Paid his debt to Joel, gambled some on bad luck bets, drank with the rest. Slugged liquor down his throat and got drunk off your labour. And then left you on your floor with tear stained cheeks and a heart of heavy lead.

You wanted your money. But would you take from the man who gave you your everything? Your sense of being. A religion and faith. You believed in nothing more than the way he held your name between his teeth. You forgot what your real name felt like in the same place. And it occurred to you that he had never said it. Did he know it? You weren't them anymore. You were Cherub.

The sweet and mourning lamb in you wanted to go over just to be his again, and not carry out the plan of taking back what was yours. That which he would see as sin. You felt guilt claw up your throat at the thought alone. It seemed blasphemous to conspire against him. Why do you insist on protecting yourself. You who was the sacrificial lamb?

If you did go – and you let him have you again – you were whole. But at what cost? Could you stand another night of temporary hell under the guise of heaven. Of touch so cold, like ivory or black ice. To have him thumb your skin with blunt endearments and the croon of ‘cherub’ past his chapped lips. Definite like black and white. No escape. What he’d do and how. Whispering them in the stone deaf shells of your ears like they were a sculpture. Pygmalion’s Bride. He’d made you all you were today. Took chisel to marble and carved out his masterpiece. Cherub.

You were soft, and pliable. Wax heated by his flame. You kissed back. You moaned for him. Begged him for his release and not your own. Bruised with his handprint. The warmth of life under flesh. But without him…you returned to marble. Another pretty thing to be gawked at. He tempted you with it because he knew more than anyone, more than god himself who watches these exchanges, that you can't live without him. It was like telling a child not to slip off to the woods in the dead of night. That was a pointless warning. You knew what lay there anyway, what threat it would be. That wolf in his thick bristled hyde. Curled up in his den. You would see it as innocence and vulnerability if you weren't so scared. But you knew when he woke up the teeth would shine again. And they’d tear flesh. Let blood. Gnash bone. Dripping from the glaring white once he finished with your carcass. Your matter between them and your crimson lacing his gums. Who knew being eaten alive could be so pleasurable.

But then again, how could bering alone really be hell if the devil wasn't there?

There is mania in your body. But you can't get it out. It rattles in your head and lungs and glues to the backs of your gnashers. No matter how much you wish to spit it out. It infects your tongue. It welds itself to the matter of your bones. Melts into the cracks between your teeth. Claggy against your tongue. All to show the sweetest of words have the bitterest of tastes. You can feel it swell underneath your skin. In the gap between muscles where it festers and heats you up. Like fever it burns, like the fire that consumes and the pillars that hold the temple up crack, the ground shakes, and the beast rears its ugly head at you. You’re losing your body to him. It's a fight you try to win. You dare to. You give your all, tooth and nail each time in the gaps between. In the silence and hollow that nestles in the middle of the meetings. In the quiet, where no one is around but the cracked plaster of your room. You stopped caring who fired the gun first. You were always the one who got shot down in the end. Right in the stomach. Blood gurgling up your throat in a grotesque plea for help.

All these weeks you had shrunk yourself to the size of a bird in his hands, sang a sweet sweet song of his name, until the squeeze of his first closest off your throat. And the sound stopped altogether. Laid there after the warning. Patient while you had your wings clipped and your freedom taken. And he took more. Took the beating of your heart with his teeth. Took the will to want. The will to love. The will to need anything else, as well as the need to have better. Below you were the foundations. Only now you saw them for what they were, a decaying mess of fragments, the stench of wood rot hot in your nose. A musk like no other. His musk. So in your anger you took an axe to a willow to see how it would weep. You slipped past the sleeping drunk you call Uncle Luke. Out the door, over gravel, past the truck he coaxed you to without the need of a sweet treat. You’d yank the axe from the bark of the weeping willow, its sob echoing in the wind that rustled its drapery of lush green leaves. Leaves that will wilt as sap bleeds from its severed trunk. Take the axe to the wolf. Cut him. Scrotum to throat.

Take back what was yours. And leave those woods skipping.

—

Your knocks descend upon his door in quick raps until he opened it with a grumble. Then a smirk. “Evenin’, Cherub.”

No salvation. No going back. No space among the clouds. Just the fall. You pushed past him into his front room. “Where is it?’ You hissed, tossing the cushions of the couch up. Nothing there. So you left them on the floor and did the same for the airchair. Nothing there either.

“Woah, calm down, girl!’ Joel huffed, reaching for your arm, which you tugged back from him in a new found strength surging you forward, out of his arms. “Where’s what?”

“My damn money, Miller!” You bit back with venom laced spit. A hunger for revenge making you salivate like a bad dog.

“The fuck you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about, dickhead!” And he recoiled at your bared teeth, your verbal assault and battery, but went in for his own.

“Watch your damn foul language, girl!” He warned, reaching the end of his already short tether.

“You know how much he stole from me? Three hundred dollars of my hard earned chash. Forget my fucking ticket out of this shithole, I ain’t even paying rent now! And for what? Your god awful drugs!” His nostrils flared, and you watched the vein in his neck bulge under the sweltering heat of his own anger. Coiling inside him. Wounded bitch about to bite back.

“You didn’t have much of a probelm with my drugs after I fucked that pretty little hole of yours. All dumb and needy f’me, Cherub.” You grimaced at the sneer. But the feeling made your knees buckle. The name again. Cherub. You were Cherub. His cherub. “You want ya money back, huh? You can have it.”

That made you stutter. Thoughts skidding to halt at the sight of a brick wall. Crumpled matter as it smashed into it anyway. “What?”

“I ain't giving it to you for free though.”

“You're sick! It’s my fucking money!”

“Not in the eyes of the law its not.” And he folded his great oaks of arms over his chest in satisfaction. Once again one upping you.

“The eyes of the law? Says the fucking drug dealer. I bet you got way worse than coke in duffel over there. Wonder what the law would say about that?” It was said dismissively over your shoulder as you turned to leave. Alas, once again his large hand encompassed your wrist and squeezed. Pulled you back flush to his broad chest. His breath was hot on your neck as he whispered sweetly into your ear.

“Come on now, Cherub. You wouldn't do me in like that would ya? Not when I love ya…”

The way he said it…it didn't seem real. It was false. Comforting but not real. You knew it was a lie. This wasn't love. He didnt love. If he loved you he'd ask for your number then call you. Take you out. Let you cry on his shoulder and drive you home after. Kiss you in the dark for only the walls to see. Let you stay a night or two, or a whole damn week. Give you your damn money back. Stand up to Luke with a closed fist to the face. Leave swelling and a deep bruise on his cheekbone as a first and final warning.

“You love me?” You asked, voice small and hollow in your chest.

“Yeah, Cherub. I love you too.” He cooed, as if he knew you loved him already. All this and nose running over the curve of the side of your neck, tongue trailing hot in pursuit, it had you keeling over in confession at his feet. “You’re so cute when you're angry. Come on now, lemme make those tears go away…and you can have your money back, and we can forget this ever happened.” That tone…it was patronising. It made the sense in you rattle the cage of your ribs. Claw at the bars of bone and run into them like a caged animal. Because that’s what it was. A caged animal. But your heart was holding its hand over its mouth in a trance as it let his words ebb deeper. Somewhere between desperate and divine. But what was his motive?

God, Jesus, all above that is holy, you didn't care! After all this time, it was still no secret, or hushed uttering that Joel Miller was now everywhere in you. Scraping the backs of your teeth, festering like a virus in your bloodstream. Melding to the marrow of your bones. The walls of your cunt.

He still had a devastating habit of seeping through the cracks of your closed lids. Still ready to pillage and plunder his way through your head in its numbed state of sleep. When you could have finally— finally stopped and not felt. But he ebbs deeper. Always would. Always will.

It's what got you here. It would end you if it could. Snuff out your heartbeat and the fire inside of you. All he need do was lick his fingers and press them to the wick. And leave the smoke to string out and curl. You thought you were hungry for love before. But now you realised you were just hungry for the sight of your blood on his lips. The gnashing of you between his teeth. The curl you made of his brow. If it wasn’t devastating, reaping its agony in your silly little fractured chest— you didn’t dare need, nor crave it. You came for the pleasure but you stayed for the pain. And he took again, and again.

So you let him ‘make it up to you’. Let him claw at your clothes until they were scraps on the floor. Tore your stockings. Showed you those gleaming teeth. The wolf. And you, his sacrificial lamb. His Cherub.

“Feel that?’ He asked, with the slow drag back and forth of him inside you, parting you. This wasn’t fast, or rough. This was slow. And it made you need more. Need it faster. Need him hurtling you towards the edge of harrowing oblivion. He knew that. It’s why he took his time with it this time around. “Yeah. You do.” Joel answered for you. You never had to answer. But often he made you say it from your own quivering lips. Just to have the taste of the words from your tongue bleed into his. The neverending praise. “Why would you wanna leave that Cherub?” You couldn't answer, only let out a soft sob. “Huh? Answer me, Cherub. Why’d you wanna fuckin’ leave that?” And he punctuated it with pulling out to the bulbous head of his clock, then slamming back in with one sharp thrust. And then he was still.

You whined a shallow gasp into his mouth. But he didn’t kiss you. Joel never kissed you. His teeth sinking into your bottom lip shut you right up before his tongue delved deeper into it. The thumb of the hand that slithered between your legs rolled over your clit, making you mewl over the buzz of electricity causing you to clamp down on his thick, full cock. You were so eager for more. Anything more than what he was giving you. He smirked into your mouth when he felt your hips buck forward, trying your damn hardest to push his cock deeper into you. Silly little cherub. You should know better than to defy God. “See? Felt good didn’t it?” You nodded as much as you could in your current piston.

“Mhm.”

“See what you can have if you stay. Why fight it cherub?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“You gonna listen then, Cherub?”

“Yes. Yes! I’ll listen, just-” You shuddered at the thought of it, tears brimming at the the threshold of your eye. ”Please.”

“Say it.” He waited, wanting you to beg for it in the pretty way he knew you could. The choir voice. The songbirds hymn. The whole time his eyes did nothing but stare you down hungry at the sight of you falling apart from nothing but a hand to your throat and a single his throbbing dick buried in your aching cunt. It all pooled down into your centre, creating a rush your head had trouble keeping up with. “Tell me why you wanted to leave.”

“I dunno-” You stuttered, once again rolling your hips up. His hand at your throat pressed into your skin again, harder. It choked you. It had you drawing in a sharp, meagre breath. And he pulled out, running the underside of himself through the hot, drooling seam of your cunt. You shivered when the tip brushed up to your clit momentarily. The bead of precome at his slit smearing into your sex, mixing with your slick. “I dunno, Joel. I- I just wanted my money. I just wanted out. I hate it.” You babbled through closed eyes, chest heaving with sobs, and hot tears ran thick down your flushed cheeks.

“You hate it, huh?” He mocked and crooned, still catching your clit with the tip of his cock, hips waxing and waning in a slow roll. “You hate me too?” He knew the answer. But again, it was the satisfaction of knowing you were wrapped around his finger. Ready to bend over backwards for him. Him seeping into you through the cracks of your ribs, the gaps between your teeth. The opening of yourself to the twisting knot of denial within you. Your back arched like the lofty roof of a chapel, legs parting like its heavy doors. He followed you with hunger. You opened your mouth to speak but he squeezed momentarily on your throat again, oxygen starvation and the smell of him dizzying you. He relished in the whimper that he garnered from you. That and how he left you breathless just from his cruel touch.

“No.” You garbled as his thumb unhinged your jaw. Saliva in your mouth pooling while his thumb pressed your tongue down, bitter with a smokers telltale tobacco staining. It slipped past your lips, dribbled down his digits making a sticky mess at the curve of his thick wrist. He drew up a glob of saliva in his throat, watching as it drooled thickly, gluttonously, past his lips into your waiting mouth. He watched as you gagged on it, and then he let your jaw go so you could close your mouth. You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste on your tongue. For what did it matter anymore? One day, you’ll be nothing but dust. Bronchioles in lungs will mimic roots. Navels will copy trunks. Organs will feed worms. Ribs will fossilise and lips that are kissed will mould back to Mother Nature. It's all you have ever been. Quick. Convenient. Easy to please, eager to help. Waiting lips, wanting cunt. Warm, never warm enough. But he kept you like a butterfly in a glass jar. He let you see freedom but never experience it. Why need it when you had the stretch of him inside you. The feeling of him, heat to heat with your sex.

“You want this, cherub? Wanna be stuffed full of me again?”

“Always wanted it, Joel.” You mumbled into his mouth, sniffing back the last this spurt of tears, hypnotised. His hand wrapped around his cock, the large splay of his palm did nothing to dwarf its size with he jacked himself once, twice, three times to the sight of you. He squeezed the base with hiss, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth after cursing under his bated breath. He was thick, flushed, the tip swollen and leaking, drooling greedily with a rivulet of precum down the underside of his length. He trod a path with his hands down to your breasts, kneading each one between his palms with a pinch before guiding himself back into the mouth of your heat, your cunt swallowing him down to the base. The needy roll of your hips into his showed just how desperate you were. He groaned at the start of the friction between you, and slowly dragged back out of you, moving just as slowly back inside. He repeated this twice, and then he let loose. The motion turned into a needy clash of his hips to yours. Again. Again. Again. Somewhere along the sting of passion and heat, his hand wrapped around your throat, feeling the flex of it as you swallowed under his palm. He bit down into your neck, reaching out from you as his hips slammed erratically. His heavy balls slapping against your ass with each rut forward of his unrelenting. The way he fucked you, was like holding a knife to your throat. It grounded you in the most harrowing way to each of his breaths. His panting in your ear. It swallowed you whole. Mad your legs wrap around his waist and your hips keen up into him.

Your cunt drooled down his shaft, down to the base, down the sensitive skin of his cock. He growled and hissed in your ear, teeth closing around your earlobe, his hand dragging back up and grip tightening around your neck. Getting off on the feeling of your pulse under his thumb.

You felt the knot tighten. And tighten. Right in the pit of your stomach, deep in your sopping wet cunt where the mouth of your cervix met his fucking. The walls of your cunt sucking him back in as the angle of his hips snapped up into the spot that had you seeing entire constellations. They darted to and fro across your vision. It blurred the edge, spots of dark matter, deep black, the colour of oblivion slinging over the back of your eyes that now burned with tears of pleasure. His fingers dug deeper into malleable flesh, gripped tightly at your hip with his free hand, thumb brushing over your hip bone down your mound to toy with your clit after a slap to it. And it was the action that sent you spiralling, babbling his name nonsensically among a string of curse words. So pretty and fucked out beneath him. Joel couldn’t help but stare smugly as your eyes rolled back into your head when your orgasm hit like a freight train. He came undone soon after, his climax hitting a crescendo with a growl bitten into your shoulder, bruising and brandishing you with his mark again.

He pulled back, leaving you to the mercy of the cold. Watching was his hips moved again to fuck his release back into you. Your hole quivered in protest, and you squirmed under him. “Don’t be fucking ungreatful now, Cherub.” You relented, going still and boneless on the mattress. Limbs unfurling from their tension. “That's it. Take it. Take it all.” He groaned smoothly. Just like the roll of his hips. He fucked it slowly back into you. And you took his release inside you to keep. “Good girl, Cherub.” He whispered, kissing your lips in a tender dichotomy. Not letting you rest until he was satisfied you took every drop of him. Afterall, it was all you’d have left of him until he next chose to pick you up. All the while, he trailed his tongue back down to your breasts, pressing the flat of it to your nipple, drawing it with a sharp suck into his mouth. Pressing the blunt of his teeth into your flesh. Letting the taste melt on his tongue. Salty with your sweat. He did the same to the others. When he went soft inside of you, and his hips stilled. He slipped out of you with hitched breath, the pad of his fingertips tracing your abused, used sex. Your legs twitching when he rolled your clit under two fingers. “I said stop squirming.” He grunted, landing another slap to your pussy. It made an obscene wet sound. His come dribbling out slowly.

“Open your mouth.” Joel commanded, and you did. Waiting for whatever he had planned. He licked a hot strip from your asshole to your cunt, pressing his tongue in to drag out some of his release. And he climbed back up to spit it into your mouth. A hand clamping down on your jaw. “Don’t swallow. Close your mouth.” And you did with the side of his thumb clamping it shut for you. “Taste that?” You nodded in response. It was hot, heavy and thick and salty to taste. Divine. “Show me.” You opened again, his creamy spend diluted amongst your saliva and he smirked. Clamping your jaw shut again. “Swallow.”

Joel watched in open mouthed amusement as the delicate column of your throat rippled under muscle contract. “Good girl, Cherub. Remember that taste next time y’feel like leaving again.” He warned in a growl. And you nodded, swallowing your pride. Your fear. Your mania aiding in shoving it down your throat to dissolve in acid. Once again you were in those deep dark woods. The one where the wolf lay. Remnants of you in his teeth. The willow is still weeping, slashed in half. The axe free of his bloodshed by the entrance of his den. The owls' eyes still lit the scene of sin where overhead the starlight was snuffed out by the tangle of branches thick in their black greenery.

You never got your money back. Maybe one day you'd get out of this town. But the devil has a funny habit of making you want your own suffering. Even angels can’t resist a slice of that heaven. Fallen angel. Wounded bitch. Cherub.

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yuurivoice · 23 days

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Added point to the last post, but most of my work over the first 2 years being commissioned by individuals specifically gave me DEEP insight into what real life people wanted to hear. Not chasing trends, not trying to copy someone else's blueprint, none of that.

I heard directly from the same people who are listing today, the groups who specifically were looking to be served by me and my art. And I built my foundational philosophies off of those lessons.

None of them were asking for any of the shit people are trying to make this niche out to be. You can explore within it, I certainly have to much success. But ultimately?

Most folks just wanna feel connected to something. You can take them on a grand adventure, scare the shit outta them, do all kinds of things...but whether the premise is but a slice of moment in time between a character and a listener, or a whole chapter in a broader story, people just want something to grab on to.

We don't get to dictate what people can and cannot like, and there's no wrong way of doing things. When I first started stepping out of fandom characters and exploring original characters, there were people who said it was a bad idea. When I then started diving into longer form narratives, there were people who said that wasn't the right way of doing it, that I should stick to what worked before or return to their favorite character.

The moment we start letting other people tell us the "rules", we put a ceiling on our own growth and joy. So...fuckin...don't try and force people into silly boxes. That's all. 🙏💖

I'm gonna go cuddle with my cats now.

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orkbutch · 5 months

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So I've been seeing A Viewpoint within the bg3 fandom occuring. And I gotta be honest. I disagree that the characters being bisexual in Baldur's Gate 3 means you cannot headcanon them as other sexualities for your own fandom content purposes. I think that's not reflective of how queer people and their sexual identities actually work, and its just antithetical to how fandom has always functioned, which is an exercise of imagination. I wanna clarify up front: I agree that someone saying that a character Can't or Shouldn't or Was Not Meant To Be bisexual because of whatever reason IS biphobic sentiment. The characters in Baldur's Gate 3 are canonically bi/pan, thats made pretty damn clear when you look through all their content. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about headcanons, au's; the kind of imaginitve play that is very much what fandom creativity is about. If you set a standard in fandom that depicting a character as a certain sexuality is Not Allowed, 1. you're kinda flattening sexuality in a weird way, like personally my sexuality is complicated as fuck and has changed over time, and 2. you're limiting creativity. And I think creativity in fandom is extremely important. It's the whole fun of fandom. Creativity is worth protecting and its worth establishing the nuance between Depicting A Version of Character who is X and Insisting That Character Should Be X in canon. Because like... we meddle with character's identities in fandom all the time. That's what headcanons ARE, they change appearance, social position, career, faith, species, traumatic experience, moral and political alignment, and SO much more. I think limiting what people can headcanon within fandom... is less fun! It's just less fun. Imaginative scope lets you do more, weird fun stuff. It lets you depict more complex interesting characters. Example: my Bad Nun AU. In that, Shadowheart identifies as a lesbian. Why is that? Because I wanted Shadowheart's experience within Bad Nun to specifically explore the history and context of lesbians within nunneries, especially how that manifested post Vatican II. These were also eras when 'lesbian' was more ubiquitos, had a different context and more flexibility; a lot of women that would probably consider themselves 'bisexual' now were identifying as lesbians, were in lesbian communities and events and spaces.

On that note: Flattening sexuality. You're gonna say people CANNOT depict these characters as ANYTHING but bisexual? That is not how most queer people's sexualities work. It simply isn't. I've identified as tons of different shit in my sexuality. I'm still not sure about it. For me half the time my "sexual identity" is just the words I use to communicate what I'm looking for, and that changes depends on What I Want at that time, what I'm looking to explore, my social context, ect. ect. like what. This isn't how sexuality works for real people. How are artists meant to be Creative and imaginatively depict real, complex, queer sexuality if they are restricted to depicting only what is within canon?? This is not how any other part of fandom works. Fandom art should work how all art works. If someone makes shit art, it gets dunked on and ignored for being bad or lazy or lame. If someone did Heterosexual Karlach fanfic, I would be like "what the fuck why" because they made Karlach less fucking cool. Het Karlach would be boring and thats More Egregious because they DECIDED to make her heterosexual DESPITE canon. But even then, EVEN THEN, I don't think that should be looked at as off limits shit, because I don't believe art should have many things off limits. Any limits must be very nuanced, because art and creativity is nuanced. Obviously my brain would go "het karlach? you deserve jail time and thats queerphobic", but I honestly believe creative license is more important than those feelings. I WOULD happily comment on their thing, "heterosexual karlach is boring, thats a shit idea" because I'm right

If you want good art and good writing, you need to protext creative license.

#bg3 #I think I'll get shit for this but. I'm right lol

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n3ptoonz · 4 months

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'The After Party'

Pairing: Kung Lao/F!Dancer!Reader

Fandom: Mortal kombat 1 (2023)

Warnings/tags: SMUTTY!! Explicit!!! Reader is straight up a woman here, wears heels and skirts and bralettes, reader is a stripper, creampie, cunnilingus, cum on face, dry humping, Kung Lao is submissive and reader is dominant, half proofread, reader needed this fr, she her pronouns used and he calls reader gorgeous

Word count: 1.9k+

Explicit content below the cut

'You always come to the parties...To pluck the feathers off all the birds.'

The way you moved was mesmerizing to Kung Lao. You were the only dancer here that interested him, truly. Your moves were captivating; the technique and clear thought behind them was what he liked the most compared to the others.

'You always come to the parties...'

You noticed that he's been a regular for the last month since he discovered this place. And honestly, even though you've never really interacted other than monetarily, he's starting to become your favorite customer. The most you've said to each other was a "Thank you" and him always responding with "Anytime." You didn't even know his name--or most of your customers for that matter--but that didn't bother him.

He didn't have to be the highest paying to get your attention. Rather...he seemed to differ from other men that come and go. Appearance wise and his overall demeanor. From his stylish hats to the fact that he didn't walk into the building wearing a tux and thinking he was the man. He was simple and respectful.

'Ride, ride'

After your fourth set, you approached him again for the second round with your waist band that was already full of money and he stood up this time to add his share. He leaned closer to your ear so you could hear him better over the loud instrumental in the club.

"Will you be here for the after party?" he asked, backing up to see if you heard him. If you had a penny for every time you've been asked that question, you'd be shaking ass on a yacht in Italy.

"Sir, the dancers cannot have sex on the job." you promptly said, your facial expression being neutral as possible. He was taken aback by your statement, he just wanted to see you again, maybe even have a chat. He knew you were just reciting club rules, but damn! He thought.

"That's not- I meant it as I'd like a private dance if you'll be here. I'm also well aware of this rule. Do you think so lowly of me?" he joked, crossing his arms and smiling. With how dark the setting was in this building, his smile lit up this part of the room. Wow, he has dimples too!

He wore a denim vest over top of an armless sweatshirt that was showing off his muscles and he was surely making it work, put together with a simple pair of jeans. His playfulness did make you laugh though, and it made you want to explore his personality more. Many of the guys here bland as hell and only cared about getting off to women who would never give them a chance.

"Alright, alright, my apologies. I will be here, yes, but unfortunately the private dances are being postponed due to an incident from last week with another dancer. Instead we'll be serving while dancing."

Kung Lao frowned a bit at the news. He really was looking forward to just being with you even for a short moment. He immediately assumed the incident had to have something to do with you straight up telling him there was no sex allowed here. However...that's when an idea sparked in his head.

"Okay...could I see you after work then?"

You haven't been asked that question since you started working here, but it was always from slime balls that were the least bit of your interest. But like you thought...he was different.

'On your knees...'

He saw you actually considering it with the way your face contorted. "I see you're thinking about it." he said as he leaned down since the music was still bumping.

"Why yes...I am, sir." you gave him a teasing look. You were half in work mode and half being yourself; you truly wondered what it would be like to make his wish your command. Maybe even the other way around the way he was looking at you.

He shook his head and waved his hands at your formalities, "No need to call me sir if we're getting to know each other. My name is-"

"Kung Lao~" you sang his name, gripping onto his shoulders as you dry humped his thigh like your life depended on it. His hands hung by his sides and he just sat in one of the lounge chairs in your appointed dressing room. One of the main rules in any strip club was that you couldn't touch the dancers. So there he sat, under your control with his head thrown back in pure bliss.

The more you moved, the more you could feel his print peeking through his pants. He was panting like a dog and on the verge of passing out he felt so damn good. Honestly, he could cum from the friction alone, but he was secretly hoping he wouldn't like this. He'd rather on...or in you...

You pulled his head up to look at you. What you saw was what was once a smiley man with a bit of playful arrogance. A man that had the utmost respect for you and what you did for a living, turned into a boy-toy for your pleasure. What he saw was a beautiful woman looking at him like he was a piece of meat, and you were a lioness who captured her prey.

"You wanna fuck me, don't you? Be inside me?" you asked in a whisper, slowing your pace down which lead to him whining and squeezing his thighs together. The most he could do is nod and give a weak "Mhm..."

His hands began to tremble right as you pulled him free and quickly started riding him. It's been so long and he filled you so good, seeing the pride already leaving his body was turning you on even more. You both cursed and moaned in unison at the feeling of each other.

It was already the feeling of your walls wrapping around him like no other, but also your mini skirt that was hiked up past your ass. The second he looked down he was greeted by it bouncing along, only making him harder. Not to mention your breasts that threatened to fall out of the bralette you had on from your previous performance.

"You're drooling. Haven't had sex like this before, have you?" you asked, not slowing your pace in the slightest. You had a smug attitude just as bad as his, and he fucking loved that shit.

"Agh...can I please touch you? I...I might lose my mind." he muttered, unable to focus on anything else.

"You can touch me if you cum in the next minute, how about that?" you replied, making it sound like it was an impossible task. But you haven't really met Kung Lao. The man with a plan and will get the job done when needed.

He was a man who never backed down from a challenge. He's the type of guy to always pick dare and wants the absolute craziest thing someone can think of. Now pair that competitiveness with the hottest woman he has ever seen riding him and talking to him with a sweet sensual voice.

He came.

What was that? Had to be like 20 seconds after you said that and it's the last thing you expected. You didn't anticipate him shooting inside and so quickly. His eyes were shut tight and sweat beaded on his forehead; he was out of breath.

His blurry eyes could only look up at the ceiling, "Am I allowed to now?" he said, his arrogance returning behind his tone and smirk.

You laugh softly, slowly getting up from his lap and grabbing his hand, "Sure you can, but you'll be cleaning this up."

You lead him to the small couch in front of your full body mirror and sat on the cushion after putting a towel on it, pulling him down to his knees in front you. You ran your fingers through his loose hair. He knew exactly where this was going.

With not another word uttered, he lowered himself further, grabbing your thighs and pulling you forward to the edge. A gasp and chuckle came from you at the eagerness he had. The hunger in his eyes alone was turning you into a waterfall.

The glistening sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you easily made him feel like he was drunk. He pushed your legs farther apart and delved in like a man starved. Your hand practically flew to his head as your head flew back into the soft couch pillow. The flesh of your thighs spilled in between his fingers, just how he liked it.

"Oh my God..." you breathed out. He was already fully determined to eat you out with everything he had, but he absolutely positively needed you to cum on his face. Another thing you didn't know about him, he was a giver.

He may have been full of himself at times, prideful, and smug. But nothing fueled him more than being able to have bragging rights. I can see it now: he's feeling like he won a gold medal simply because you came from his tongue.

The pace at which he lapped at you made your legs all tingly, prompting you to close your thighs around his head. Watch out, because he might just cum again!

You whined and writhed above him, biting your lip to not give him too much fuel. You still had to remind him that he was the one wrapped around your finger.

He winced and hummed against your skin from you gently digging your heel into his back. The vibration from the top of his nose made you jolt a little, and now here came that growing feeling in your stomach.

"Hmm...yeah, keep going." he murmured against you, encouraging you to leave marks all over his back. Your breaths became quicker as your back arched. The heels of your black pumps clawing at the flesh of his back was just enough to make him go faster than before.

"Oh fuck, Kung Lao-" you moaned his name, gasping the closer you got.

"Let it go, gorgeous."

Finally you let loose, all over his face like he intended. He soothed you through your high as he didn't stop or slow down. The grip you had on his hair gradually lifted--needing to grab and hold onto the armchairs for leverage. Your entire body convulsed in pleasure and your hushed moans got louder.

As you both calmed down, you picked up something to fan yourself while Kung Lao kissed the inside of your thighs. He was mindful not to leave marks in consideration of your job even if he really, really wanted to. He lifted his head and kissed your stomach, smiling up at you with those pretty dimples of his.

"I haven't felt that good in so...fucking long." you said. When you looked down at him he had a big stupid grin on his face, not even bothering to wipe his face yet. You playfully rolled your eyes and took the towel from under you to fold it in half and wipe it for him.

"If this is what happens at after parties, I'm gonna have start coming here more often." he joked, but at the same time dead ass serious.

"Oh no, next time will not be happening at my place of work. I could get fired at this rate!"

You swear you could see his ears perk at the thought and confirmation that you enjoyed this so much to ensure a next time.

"Fine by me!"

a/n: TWO POSTS IN ONE DAY OOHHHHHHH i told y'all i would post that fic today 😝 i fucking enjoyed every last minute of writing this (even if it took like three weeks LMAOO)

#n3ptoonz #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat #kung lao #smut #mk smut #mk1 kung lao #kung lao x reader #mk kung lao

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vampiric-hunger · 2 months

Text

𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕦𝕤 𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

pair: Cazador Szarr x female!reader

tags: no y/n is used, rating - e, dead dove: do not eat, smut, non-con, dub-con, PiV, creampie, fear, degradation (mild), praise kink, the beginning is definitely non-con so read at your discretion

summary: the promise of immortality, it has a pull you cannot resist. you have to try and gain it, to be given the eternal gift. without much thinking you find yourself in Szarr palace but when you are in front of the Lord himself - your resolve begins to weaken. you can try changing your mind but Cazador won't let you escape.

word count: 4,125

a/n: who's better to explore darker concepts with than Cazador lol. and well, i do find him extremely alluring so enjoy, i hope you will, because i did enjoy writing this <3 i̶ ̶a̶m̶ ̶a̶b̶s̶o̶l̶u̶t̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶n̶o̶r̶m̶a̶l̶ ̶a̶b̶o̶u̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶m̶a̶n̶

“Stupid little girl, do you have any idea what you wandered into?” a voice reaches you, it carries an edge like a razor’s blade and makes you immediately uncomfortable. It’s higher in pitch than most male voices you’ve encountered, but somehow it’s the most unsettling one you have heard in your life.

No, he’s wrong, you know exactly what you wandered into.

A Vampire’s Lair.

When you turn and face the man who silently approached you without you noticing, you find yourself standing in front of him – the immortal Cazador Szarr. His towering figure seems to be looming over you even with considerable distance between you. His slicked black hair and piercing red eyes that carry a glow make a cold shiver run down your spine. He watches you with a look you have seen on predator animals before. It makes your skin crawl and your palms sweat.

Have you been stupid to come here? Is this what you really want?

“I… I…” you begin, your lower lip quivers and you can’t hold his eyes anymore, casting yours down. You’re absolutely terrified. You heard the stories.

Stories of immeasurable cruelty, stories of flayings, stories of eviscerations, stories that you heard from his own spawn when you met one of them in a tavern a month or so ago. But that seems like a small thing compared to why you came here.

You want immortality, no matter the cost.

And perhaps stupidly you have a slim hope that maybe you can persuade the Vampire Lord not to treat you horribly. If you serve him willingly, even enthusiastically by offering yourself, then maybe he won’t do those horrible things to you that he so gleefully inflicts upon others.

“Speak up, girl!” Cazador’s voice feels like a whip on bare skin and you flinch, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to gather your strength. You have to at least try to bargain, if not, this hallway will witness your death.

“Lord Cazador I…” you swallow dryly and open your eyes, looking down at the carpet beneath your feet. You wish you could melt into it and disappear completely.

And why is he treating you this way? His servants let you in, told you were to find him, of course he has been informed that you’re here, was he not? Why is Szarr asking you why you wandered in here, it wasn’t by accident, it was not! You remind yourself of your desperate goal, of your own heart beating in your chest, you want it gone, you want to be eternal. Surely people have done stupider things to achieve immortality, surely there’s people who have been in your situation. Or worse.

Cazador’s footsteps a muffled by the carpet but they sound as loud as drums in your ears. You still can’t lift your face, your whole body is trembling and you ball your fingers into fists just to have any sense of control but it feels futile the moment you see noses of vampire’s boots stop in front of you.

“Look at me.” a command, one that has to be obeyed, Cazador sounds like a man who is used to people obeying to him and you are sure this is not just your imagination. How long as he been immortal? Two centuries, three? Maybe more? This man in front of your shaking form has been controlling his coven for more than some cities last.

Yet you follow his command, but not without strain. Your neck muscles feel like they are so tense they will snap the moment you move but you do so anyway, lifting your face up, your eyes trailing up Szarr’s body slowly. You don’t want to meet his eyes, they terrify you and yet you have to. If you still have half a mind to bargain with this imposing Lord, you have no choice but to face him.

Fabric of his black pants, a dark grey shirt draping over the belt, his open dark doublet richly embroidered with red metallic thread strangely looking like rat tails, the rings on his fingers that you catch a glimpse of, one of them bearing the Szarr family crest, his shirt open down to his collar bone, his unnaturally pale skin, a smirk tugging at his lips, a sharp line of his nose and then… your whole body shudders when you meet his eyes again, still carrying that scarlet glow that makes your knees weak and your body tense. Your fists continue to tremble by your sides and you know he sees it.

“Tell me, girl, why are you here?” Cazador is towering over you, it feels like he’s casting a shadow over you made from eternal void. You try to swallow but your throat is dry.

“I…” you stammer again, godsdamn it get a grip on yourself your mind yells at you and you inhale before trying to continue. “I wanted to… ask a favor.” it sounds silly, stupid even, you chastise yourself for not thinking through beforehand on what to say.

“A favor, hm?” Szarr lifts an eyebrow in curiosity. At least he’s not killing you right away, you count that as a success.

“Yes, please, just hear me out.” now you rush to speak, you don’t want to lose what it seems your only chance to actually talk to him, maybe even get what you came here for.

“Hear you out?” a pause as the Vampire studies your face, appraising you like you’re just another painting or a luxurious chair, you barely notice that you’re digging your nails into your palms, the pain is short, you broke the skin.

The moment it happens Cazador’s eyes immediately snap to your hands and he reaches out, taking your wrist and lifting your hand to your chest level.

“What’s this?” Szarr asks and you obey even without a command, you open your fingers, your palm slightly bloody, but you don’t see that, all you can see is the hunger that flares up in the Vampire’s eyes, for a brief moment making him look feral rather than a distinguished Lord of his palace.

And then he smirks, widely, his eyes flicking back to you.

“Very well, we shall talk.” when Cazador speaks you glimpse his fangs and your heart leaps in your chest. The promise of immortality, so close you could touch it, only if you were stupid enough to risk your life, that is.

But you’re not that brave or stupid, so when Vampire Lord releases your wrist you pull your hand to your chest and watch him turn on his heel, walking away.

“Follow.” another command as if you’re a dog rather than a person but you trail after him anyway. Your steps feel shaky and unsure, but you glance down at your palm and wipe the blood onto your hip, feeling slightly more relaxed now.

While you follow Szarr to wherever he’s leading you, you take your time to glance around. Paintings decor the walls and you can’t say that the imagery in them is a pleasant one: devils and undead, scenes of what could be either murder or coitus. You realize with sudden shock that if you do tell Cazador what you want from him - you most likely will remain between these walls forever. The back of your neck begins to sweat and you look around some more, taking in the view of candles and chairs, the wallpaper and carpets.

This place might become your home.

Before your panic starts to build your attention is drawn by Cazador stopping and opening a door at the end of the hallway. He walks in first and you follow him with your resolution to ask him that favor melting with each step.

What were you thinking…

“Close the door.” a softer tone, almost casual and you do as he says. When you turn back you watch Cazador walk to his desk and stop there, as if thinking, then turn to you. “Come closer.” Another almost gently sounding phrase and you walk towards him with your heart at your throat, your mind is reeling but you can’t stop yourself.

You feel like you’re walking into a lion’s den with each tentative step.

You keep respectable distance when you stop in front of the Vampire Lord and keep your eyes at his chest. No, you can’t look him in the eyes again, not right now.

“You spoke about asking me a favor, girl. What is it that you want?” Cazador sounds smug - you don’t see his taunting smirk and you’re not aware of his mocking look cast upon your face that is drained from blood in fear.

“Yes… I…” you pause, do you really want this? Do you? To be forever bound to this man just to be immortal? What if he does not treat you better? What if you can’t obey him well enough, make mistakes and get tortured like others? What if what you can offer to him is not enough? What if your body in exchange is not enough?

No.

Nonononono.

This was a mistake.

“I think…” you swallow hard. Damn it, what have you gotten yourself into. Maybe it’s not too late to flee yet. Maybe you can retreat and rethink what is it that you truly want.

“Speak, girl!” Cazador demands, his tone is harsh again and you flinch at that, looking up at him.

“I think I made a mistake by coming here.” you say in a voice barely above a whisper and Szarr chuckles. It starts as a low rumble in his chest and then he laughs, scoffs at you, his smirk reveals his fangs that now look more like a threat than a promise.

“Silly girl, you think you can walk into my palace and waste my time? No, you will tell me why you came here or I will force it out of you.” Cazador begins a slow walk around you, circling you not unlike a wolf preying on a wounded foal. You’re in his domain and you’re not leaving unless he permits you.

You were so stupid to come here.

Damn it.

“Please, I just want to leave.” you hear your voice and you sound like you’re begging. Maybe you are. You are definitely scared, terrified even. You’re facing a monster and you stupidly thought that you could placate it.

“Leave?” Szarr chuckles behind you and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Maybe you will leave. Only if you answer why you’re here.” a threat, an unveiled one. The trap closed around you the moment you entered the palace, you realize that now.

You know you should make up a lie, not tell the real reason you came here, come up with something silly, less damning, but you can’t think of anything. Nothing at all comes to your mind besides the bitter truth and you stand frozen in spot for a moment longer, feeling Cazador’s presence pass in front of you slowly.

And then a touch of cold fingers under your chin, turning your face to the side, lifting it to almost uncomfortable angle and you open your eyes just to immediately be ensnared by his sanguine gaze. A silent gasp escapes your lips.

“I thought I wanted immortality.” you hear yourself speak and you’re not sure if he somehow compelled you to tell the truth or if it’s just his presence, casting a dark shadow onto your mind that made you admit the truth.

You notice immediate change in Cazador’s face. At first he looked arrogant - now his smile falters, his eyes search yours.

“You want to be a vampire, girl?”

“I… I don’t know.” you admit again and your bottom lip trembles. You’re terrified to bear witness to the Vampire Lord’s rage. The stories… the horror stories that you heard, they return to your mind in flashes of imaginary visions.

“You don’t know…” Cazador’s voice trails off then he grins, widely. “I suppose I’ll make this decision for you.” you freeze in shock at his words, your eyes widen and he enjoys the sight of your fear. “After all, you came here on your own volition. It would be rude of me to… not accept a gift freely given.”

Fuck.

Your mind reels and then something snaps in you. Panic overtakes you, more animalistic than human and you run.

At least you try to run.

You hear a short laugh, then the back of your jacket is grasped and you get pulled back as if you’re weightless.

You scream in panic, in fear, in sheer terror gripping you and dig your heels into the carpet but to no avail. Next thing you know you’re being lifted off the floor just to be slammed into the ground chest first and pinned there with a fist between your shoulder blades. The drop was so heavy it takes your breath out of your lungs and you gasp like a fish tossed on a shoreline for a moment. Cazador uses this moment to kneel over your form and lean to your ear with a menacing chuckle escaping his lips.

“You’re in luck, little girl. I was getting bored tonight. You will serve as entertainment just fine. And when I’m done with you, you darling thing, you will never be the same again.”

His words, so cold and mocking, your heart nearly stops. Still in sheer panic you try to push yourself up, for your effort only to be met with a taunting laugh.

But when the fist leaves your back you pause, then swiftly get to your knees, forgetting that Cazador is still kneeling over you. The top of your skull meets his nose and you hear a shout. You turn to look over your shoulder, your eyes still wide, and now you see that you harmed the Vampire Lord. He probably expected you to crawl, not to try to get up, this led to you crashing into his face, his nose getting the worst from the impact.

Time slows as you watch Szarr slowly pull a palm from his nose. It’s bloodied just like the bottom half of his face but in his eyes you see only pure fury.

You harmed him. However unintentionally.

And you will pay for it.

There’s not a single word coming out of Cazador’s mouth, only a bloodied sneer that transforms him from scary to absolutely terrifying. The rage on his face speaks of murder. And then the side of your face gets slammed back into the carpet.

You cry out from pain, it feels like your bones are grinding, but the grip on the back of your neck is iron-like.

“No, please…” you whine with fear gripping your chest and tears gather in your eyes.

“Shut up.” the order is curt and clear, it makes your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth.

You clench your teeth and when you feel Szarr grab the waistline of your pants you close your eyes, letting the tears drop onto the carpet. He lifts your hips in the air, making you use your knees and you wince when with one determined pull your pants get slid down your hips and then almost to your knees. Exposed, scared and helpless, you can’t do anything, you know what’s coming.

“You pretty little whore.” Cazador mutters now, he thumbs your folds before he pushes it into your cunt, making you whimper. “You’ll be perfect to use and discard.”

A sob claws at your chest but you don’t let it out, just squeeze your eyelids tighter. His thumb is working your core and you stifle a desperate moan. You can feel your body reacting, responding to the invasion, protecting itself from harm if possible. And then the thumb gets removed. A second passes and you hear a low chuckle.

“You’re a tasty toy, girl. Maybe I’ll keep you for longer than just tonight. Just to see how long it will take for you to break.”

You don’t respond, you just keep your eyes closed, but his words make dread pool in your insides. Another sob wracks at your chest, it doesn’t escape, it’s hard for you to breathe as is, your breasts pressed firmly to the floor. Yet your mind is already painting you horrific pictures of what’s to come if Szarr indeed decides to keep you. Your panic rises again and you sweat, trying to think of a way to escape, to free yourself from this monster.

A shout is forced out of you as Cazador’s cold cock plunges into you without a warning. Your eyes snap open at the contrast of temperature and the sudden feeling of fullness makes your head swim.

“Oh Gods…” you whine and get a mocking laugh in return.

“No Gods to help you here, worm.” his tone is degrading, taunting and you blush.

Wait, no. Gods no.

You close your eyes again and try to relax, trying not to think how him degrading you like this actually stirs something in you more than just fear. Stop – you tell yourself in a mantra that you forget immediately the moment the Vampire Lord begins thrusting.

His skin slaps against your ass in powerful, precise rhythm and you can’t help it, you moan silently. Oh no, no, why does this feel so good. Your face blushes even harder. No, you shouldn’t enjoy this, you can’t. Did he work his powers on you? No, you have to be honest with yourself, you know he didn’t. But his dick claiming your cunt as if its rightful place is making you actually aroused.

A different kind of fear begins to claw at your mind – you want him to treat you this way.

No. You can’t let him do this.

Your eyes snap open and with newly found determination you grit your teeth and push your palms against the floor, trying to battle his supernatural strength still squeezing your neck down.

“Tsk, little girl. You will learn to obey.” Cazador snaps at you and grabs your wrist, twisting it behind your back.

You grunt with frustration and still try to fight back but he releases your neck and grabs your other wrist, now bringing it over the first one and his long, strong fingers pin them both to your lower back. You try to lift your head but his once more free hand returns to your neck and makes sure your head stays down as well.

“Behave, you slut, or else you won’t see the sunrise.” a threat, a very real one, but with a promise in it – you might live.

You only notice Cazador’s thrusts stopped when he resumes them. Couple slow ones at first, he’s gripping your wrists and neck and it takes him a moment to position his knees for better balance, but then his pumps become powerful once again. No one ‘normal’ fucks like that. He has to hold you in place so that you don’t move, his grip painful and cold. His cock stretching you near to your limit and you moan again. So why, why you find yourself enjoying this?

Your body trembles as it welcomes Cazador, you become wetter and wetter as you submit to him, letting yourself relish the feeling, the power that’s forced onto you. Yes, you are enjoying this. Because, you have to admit to yourself - you have hoped for this. When you came here to bargain for immortality, this is exactly what you hoped for: to be his in pleasure and not in pain. You listen to the Vampire Lord grunt with satisfaction as he keeps fucking you, his grip still firm on your sweaty skin.

“Hm, you learned your place quickly.” he comments with another taunt and you open your eyes, feeling dazed from pleasure overtaking your mind. You try to focus and realize that the sound you’re hearing is your completely soaked pussy being pumped into with fervor. How vulgar.

How beautiful.

Your eyes meet his and you don’t fear the bloody embers that bore into you. How you could’ve been afraid of him? That fear that made you run in panic feels so alien to you in this moment. In this moment when you’re being taken. Blood on his lips and chin somehow makes him even more alluring.

“I want… immortality.” you manage through moans and Cazador smirks, his own gaze now reflecting physical gratification he’s achieving with your body.

“I shall consider it.”

You smile at that. Yes, of course you do. That’s what you wanted all along and Cazador is not indifferent to your obedience. His hand leaves your neck, giving you more room to breathe and express those delicious to his ears moans. Instead he grabs your hip, his fingers digging into your soft flesh and you watch his eyes sweep down your back, watching himself fuck you. This is the best you ever felt, the power of his body, your powerlessness in his grasp. You never knew you’d like such a thing but here you are, your eyes rolling nearly to the back of your head from what’s being done to you.

“Oh Gods… I’m close…” you whine, your body shuddering with pleasure.

“Of course you are.” Cazador taunts but you hear from his voice that he might not be able to keep going longer either. His thrusts are becoming erratic, uncontrolled and desperate. “You take me so well, little girl. So deliciously tight.”

That’s it, you can’t hold on anymore. His words push you over the edge and the knot in your stomach unravels with such power there’s nothing left but you and your orgasm. You cry out, you’re not sure how loud, and your body shakes with waves of overwhelming satisfaction. Only thing you hear is a loud groan from Cazador because your contracting cunt sends him over his own edge. He keeps slamming his cock into you, milking himself with your clenched core until he can’t go on anymore, until you’re full of his cum, as much as he could give you.

Cazador stops, panting and slightly trembling not unlike yourself, and you glance at him, trying to catch your own breath. You see his disheveled hair and he licks his lips, tasting his own blood that has dried already. Yet his eyes are cruel and unforgiving. There’s no softness and no affection in them. He used you. And you enjoyed it. You both know it.

After a moment longer he finally releases your wrists and swiftly pulls out of you, as if you having his cock in you for a second longer than is necessary is below him. He wipes his dick on your ass and stands up, tucking himself back into his pants, his look is anything if not arrogant. When you are not fast enough to get up he presses the sole of his shoe against your ass and pushes forward, making you splay yourself on the floor with embarrassment.

“Get up.” he commands coldly.

Since your wrists are finally free, you gather yourself up from the floor, stumbling a little bit because of your pants around your knees and your head feeling dizzy. You fix your clothing as Cazador watches in silence, his arms crossed on his chest. Judgmental.

“I will consider granting you immortality, little girl. But until I make a decision you are mine. I will use you and you will allow yourself to be used. You shall remain here, within the walls of the palace and serve me in every need. Is that understood?” Szarr’s voice is again cold and sharp, a command that demands to be obeyed. You simply nod, but this time you look into his eyes with no fear. This is what you wanted after all, was it not?

“I will obey you in all things.” you summarize and notice a flash of surprise in his expression but it’s so brief you’re not sure you really saw it. Still, Cazador’s face transforms in a malicious smirk.

“Yes, you will.” he takes a pause to look over your form. “Go, find a servant, let them show you to my chambers. Wait there.” He turns away from you and walks to his desk, picking up a napkin from it and beginning to rub at the dried blood on his chin.

You don’t linger. Without even as much as a nod you turn around and open the door. It feels like you’re about to exit in a world that changed so drastically after you entered earlier. In a way it’s true – your world has changed.

And Cazador was right about one thing – you can’t return from this, from a brand new world of pleasure he just showed you. He tainted you. And you want more of it.

Indeed, you will never be the same again.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #cazador szarr #reader insert #cazador szarr x female reader #cazador szarr x reader #x reader #cazador szarr smut #female reader

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enden-agolor · 9 days

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Hey enden! I just wanted to reach out as I know these are hard times for you. I’ve been wanting to say something and give you some support, but I have never known what to say, so I’m just gonna wing it.

First off, I would like to preface by saying you are an incredibly humble artist and writer. You carry great talent, yet you seem to almost expect people to not notice that. Never forget your talent, and that even something you spill out at 2am will most definitely be praised. You inspire me to create, I have been in a art and writing slump for so long. I got caught up in life and lost the love for it. You’ve lit that spark in me once more and want to get me creating, and most definitely writing, in honor of you!! That’s amazing man. You have some real special talent, and the mcsm fandom alongside others are seriously so so lucky to have you.

Second, I send nothing but love and support to you and your boyfriend. I know everything will work out just as you guys need it to. If she doesn’t get her karma legally, she most definitely will another way. I know you guys are so strong and will pull through with flying colors!! Death of a loved one is never ever easy, and the worst always happens to the best people. Know that none of what happened is your fault, don’t let guilt consume you, and both of you take care of and love yourselves. You guys seriously deserve it.

Lastly, on a less dreary note, I would like to ask if you had any fan fiction prompts for Jesskas? I want to write so bad, but I cannot come up with a proper idea that is really interesting and solid, yanno? I want to write something long, that I can really pour my heart out into. So if you had any tips or story prompts, it would seriously be appreciated, and you of course would get a huge shoutout, as you would with or without helping me since you are such a huge inspiration to me.

Best of wishes Enden!!

This may be a long response, so here-

First off, I suppose you are right when you say I don't really expect people to enjoy the content I create. It's not an easy concept for me to grasp. I have a lot of trouble seeing how people can like my stuff so much, or god even say I'm their favorite mcsm artist when there's so many others out there that carry so much more skill with colors and backgrounds and such. I know I'm not supposed to compare myself to others, but it is an incredibly hard habit to end. It's why I'm so shocked when I see actual fanart of my aus, or god even my writing. I cannot go back and read me own works for the life of me because I just cringe so bad at it, so when people say it's good I really just have to trust them and believe it.

All I could ever dream to do is inspire people to create and grow with their own imagination, so hearing that my stuff has done that sort of thing for you (and others who have told me the same) it brings me so much joy, but it truly is entirely hard to believe that it's me and not someone else being the one to do that. I don't know, but I am very honored to hear this from you. It only inspires me to push myself further and I don't know. Maybe some day I can push my imposter syndrome aside and really get a firm grasp on my full potential and be proud of it.

And thank you for the love and support towards our situation... As the days go by I fear more and more that that woman will get to keep her dog and nothing will come out of this other than we just have to move past it. So I hope you're right when you say she'll get her karma some other way. I've never in my life wished something bad to happen to someone. Not like this... So if karma does catch her, let it be as devastating to her as it was to us.

Now, real life shenanigans aside, we can get to the jesskas stuff 😏

For fanfic prompts, I always suggest exploring canon before getting into anything truly ambitious. If there's a certain scene in the game you'd like to further explore and add on to- do it! Like I've always wanted to write a fic that gets into a deep emotional moment between Jesse and Lukas after Jesse rescues Lukas and Petra from the Nether during episode 8 and they all enter the player dorms for the night. Just those off screen moments where you can take the characters and add more to the story is easy and fun in itself. I always like to look deep into the emotional aspect of it all, and really dive into how the characters might be feeling after a situation and how that gentle moment alone together could bring them closer. What I already mentioned being a good example because it's directly after PAMA, Jesse having to watch Lukas and Petra(or Ivor) die, and so on. There's a LOT of feelings to explore there. If that's something you'd want to try and tackle, go for it!! But if there's another scene from the game that really sticks out to you that you feel could be so much more, go for that too. It's good to start small and practice how you want to write the characters. Only reason I started a huge fic like Recovery straight away was because I'd been rping jesskas for like a year and a half already and was confident I knew how to write the characters and I wanted to do more for the little community by writing a nice big fic.

And again, it's Minecraft. There's a whole world to explore and put these two right in the middle of it. Think up certain scenarios you like and add on to it! Like if there's a certain scene you really want to do, build to it. Give the characters a goal and put obstacles in the way so you can really flesh them out on the way to that goal. What made them want to go there? How do they get there? What do they do when they get there? How do they communicate with others that might also be there? And how differently do they treat eachother compared to how they treat the others? Those are all things you really want to know ahead of time. Also pay attention to the scenery. Really look into the visuals your mind creates and do your best to get into the details about it all. There's a lot to get into with writing, and the best part about it is you're in complete control, so go crazy with your imagination, especially since it's Minecraft. It could be entirely self indulgent, or even something out of your comfort zone. No matter what it is, it's still growth and it's still progress to being a better writer. Just make sure you're having fun.

Also, thanks for taking the time to send this ask. I appreciate you 🩷

#ask

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captain-hen · 1 month

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The whole eddie thing sucks :( i think fandom / newer fans sometime have a fixation on buck and his character simply because the show gives him way more plots and development opportunities relative to eddie. And if new fans are in it because of s6 like what else are they supposed to do when eddie had all of 4 episode with a plot last year, only 2 of which were connected, and likely his most formative moment of the season for many people was as a support character to buck (crazy that eddie talks about the shooting in 612 but the scene boils down to “eddie is buck’s couch” or some variation of that for most people). Kinda curious if others feel this way but sometimes I think this also extends to eddie’s family too which might be my biggest pet peeve. Like buck’s parents dont care about buck then eddie’s parents must not care about him in the same way which is so wrong like eddies parents suck for various reasons but they do care, maybe just not in the way eddie needs/wants. Or even more simple things like abuela loving buck so much and like not having a single interaction with eddie. And idk eddie’s relationship with his family (including shannon) is probably the most interesting part of his character that hasnt been fully explored in canon yet so its just kinda annoying to read a fic where eddie’s parents are only raging homophobics or only care about chris with no regard for eddie. Anyways sorry for the mini rant lol

...i think fandom would have a fixation on buck regardless, because despite s6 being the way it was, we still have four other seasons where eddie actually got proper plot points and arcs.

oh, and i do agree that it extends to eddie's family—eddie's relationships in general, really, because it's always stuff like "buck is a better dad to chris than eddie!" "buck is actually the favorite of eddie's abuela/tia/etc." "the firefam is more of buck's family than eddie's!" "bobby is only a father-in-law figure to eddie and actually only ever hired him for buck's sake."

(and it's ironic because i cannot remember eddie ever having a single conversation about buck with all of the characters mentioned. lol. it's almost like he's his own person, having relationships that have absolutely nothing to do with buck. shocking, i know.)

and, yeah, the stuff with shannon gets bad, because you have the people who are obsessed with the idea of eddie never actually loving her, so that buck can be his 'first real love' or whatever. these are the same blogs who get upset when eddie speaks positively about his relationship with shannon. it's so, so dumb. and there's absolutely no nuance to be explored with eddie's parents, yeah. it's just 🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️

#neethu answers #anon #negativity #fandom discourse

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seleneprince · 2 months

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Hear me out

With the growing popularity of transmigration webtoons, I assume we've all read those ones about a random girl or fan reincarnating in the villainess' body and changing the original plot completely, and often finding out the villainess wasn't so bad and the MC was the real enemy all along.

I'm obsessed with that trope and I don't care how repetitive or predictable it gets sometimes, it fuels me. It gives me life. And since I recently started to re-read The Remarried Empress on webtoon (i'm following I Abdicate my Title as Empress now and the nostalgia hit me), I had an idea I can't stop thinking about. Well, two ideas:

A fierce fan of The Remarried Empress dying in an accident or falling into a coma, I don't care, and reincarnating in Rasha's body, right when's she found by Emperor Sovieshu on the trap. She's a BIG supporter of Navier and hates Sovieshu with passion, blaming him for everything. Her opinion on Rasha is the same as the average fans...until she experiences the girl's trauma and hardships herself, and realizes that there's more depth in the unfamous webtoon villainess than she thought. Despite her new identity and knowing most of the plot, she cannot bring herself to stay away from Navier and show her adoration for the Empress, acting like a fangirl whenever she sees her or hears about her. She helps push all the strings to guarantee Navier and Heinrey's love story to shail, because even though she wants her close, she wants Navier to have the happy life she deserves.

Or the original Rashta going back to the past after her death and, feeling terrible for what she did, vows to not commit the same mistakes again and decides to do her best to help Navier from the distance whenever the Emperor fucks up. She doesn't want to be empress, just have a cozy and secure life away from slavery, so she's resolved to make Navier stay and if she has to act as a marital therapist for them so be it. She knows her position is secured with her baby, so it's not like she needs the Emperor's affection on her, just his promise to look after her (plus she resents him a lot now, so the less she interacts with him, the better).

These ideas were born out of my new found realization that Rashta, while she works amazing as a pitiful villain, her character was deeply misunderstood and forever condemned to be mocked and attacked by everyone, both in the story and the fandom. She wasn't a saint, sure. She did bad things out of selfishness and purposedly went against Navier to steal her place, and I was satisfied with the ending she got. But most of the flaws that made her so annoying for the fans are actually reasonable within her character's past. Rashta was sold as a slave by her own father when she was a child, placed in a house with masters that abused her and treated her like trash simply for existing (Lotteshu even gave her a dead baby to let her believe it was the one she lost, how the fuck no one talks more about it?). Then, she escapes and the Emperor saves her, showering her in affection and riches and promising her a fairytale love story. She think she's safe, that she can finally be happy, but Lotteshu re appears and begins to blackmail her, and then turns out the Emperor doesn't love her but wants to the heir she can give him. Ergi is her only friend in court apparently, but he's manipulating her from the beginning and eventually betrays her. And Rashta wasn't purposedly rude to Navier at first, the girl was illiterate and knew nothing about etiquette, but she admired Navier and wanted to be close to her, but Navier assumed she was mocking her instead. And Sovieshy obviously never helped this situation.

I want to see a story where Rashta's traumatic past is properly explored instead of showing it as side information, and she gets the development she should have had. And what better way than with a reincarnation story? At least in my opinion

Anyway, thanks for coming to my ted talk lmao

#the remarried empress #empress navier #navier ellie trovi #heinrey alles lazlo #sovieshu #emperor sovieshu #rashta #remarried empress #navier x rashta #unmarried queens #reincarnation manhwa #remarried empress reincarnation au #we hate sovieshu here btw #he's the one i never felt sorry for #he got what he deserved

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respondedinkind · 4 months

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Okay, okay, so... the new year isn't here yet, but 2023 is coming to an end very soon and I have planned to make a post - so here it is.

What this post is about? You!

I just want to be here and say thank you to everyone who has joined me here on my blog, even though I haven't been around for long. I am insanely grateful for each and every single one of you being here, for all the good memories you allowed me to make, and that so many of you welcomed me - and my muse - with open arms. I am so happy that you gave - and still give - me opportunities to explore my own writing and my muse's behaviors, and I just cannot stop saying it enough: THANK YOU!

I met some incredible people over the last months - some of which are people that I have RPed with before and where I was oh-so-excited to have them met again, after all these years of me having been separated from my Khan-muse because of fandom-changes, interest-changes, whatnot; For those of you who don't know, I first started to write Khan in 2012, BEFORE Star Trek into Darkness even aired, solely based on speculations and a teaser trailer lol. It wasn't very serious, but then definitely developed into what is my most-written muse after the movie finally came out and Khan just invaded my brain like some kind of parasite.

Since then, I have made a few blogs, kept writing Khan for a couple of years, then went on hiatus - remade, revamped, wrote for a few more years, disappeared... and now here I am again, with an AU-Version I was very, very scared to just put out here but now I am so, so glad I did. Thank you all for allowing me to write it, and yeah, I'm repeating myself, but... the opportunies I got and still get? So wonderful. Thank you so much for giving my Khan a chance.

Besides that, I also expanded my horizon a little and made two more blogs: One is on a little hiatus right now, while I am very active on the other thanks to some wonderful human beings who basically set my love for that character into flames. I hope that, and I mean that with the utmost sincerety, my choice of 'second and especially third muse' is not taken as a will to replace anything or anyone, but rather me being so immensely starstruck by other writers that have given me such a great insight and made me want to explore the depths as well.

Okay, okay, this is already insanely long and I am so sorry (I am unsure if anyone will ever read this lol), but now I want to give a shout out to ALL OF YOU, who are here, writing with me! All of you are so, so amazing and I am so glad to have met you, and I hope we can continue to write for as long as our muses and our creativity will let us. Thank you, again, and please take a look at those awesome people in case you aren't already following each other:

First of all, amazing writers and amazing people in general that I look up to (in no particular order), who are inspiring me in so many ways, make me feel a bit like a teenager gazing at their favorite star (lol) and just... are great people, yes, that I just want to mention separately for varying reasons:

@ssolessurvivor (Friend! Omg! When you first followed me, I could never imagine how things would ever develop - and how well Logan would fit to Khan, how their story developed into what it is now, so deeply plotted and filled with so many sub-stories and little moments that push both our muses along, allow me to explore my Khan on so many levels... it's insane how attached he is to your Logan, and I am so, so happy about us being in so much contact and just keep plotting and talk about everything! You are such a friendly mun and I am so, so grateful that you indulge me, even over on Stephen (hehe). I hope we can keep writing for a long time; Thank you so much for letting me throw in all my ideas about Khan, all the quirky things about him, I am so, so grateful!!! ♥)

@darehearts (I felt insanely welcomed by you, giving my Khan *and* my Bones such a chance to interact with Kirk ♥ Thank you so much for that, and thank you so much for indulding in my Khan-joins-the-crew idea as a Kirk-writer. That's definitely not something you need to do and yet you allow me. Ahhh! I was so blown away when you asked me if I wanted to become mains sdfasadfasd. Still am honestly because I am just a potato haha. Thank you for being here and being such a kind person ♥)

@strxngetimes (seriously, I was so nervous approaching you first but I am so glad I did; I do look up to you like you're some kind of superstar (haha) and I am still amazed that you gave me the chance of exploring things the way we do. Thank you for indulging me AND enduring me (and my muse lol), and you really, really inspire me in so many ways when it comes to your Stephen, it's amazing. You actually caused my interest for him to go back up into flames and for me to join the MCU fandom lol (and I would also bother you on your tony BUT i am SO UNWORTHY hahaha). Thank you - I hope we can keep writing for a while longer ♥ And I look forward to everything that might further develop between Khan and Stephen. Very much <3 Love them a lot!)

@mehrere-musen (Ok but really, of course I have to mention you. The way you accepted me, the way we started to write and things just??? Happened??? I love interacting with you and your Stephen and I love the way he works with Khan too, and I am so happy that you allowed me to be with the two where they are. Our thread has almost 800 notes by now which is insane, and with how we keep having ideas, it might go further than that lol. Thank you so much for indulging me - and thank you to Stephen to make Khan so insanely happy. :) ! I hope we can continue to write for a long time! ♥)

@fasciinating (SPAWK! I know we don't do a lot of OOC chatting in any way but our thread??? You are so good for just throwing us into that mess and for you to be like 'lmao ok here let Khan do whatever' and where are Spock and Khan now??? A NIGHTMARE LOL. I love the creativity and how you maneuvered us into that mess of a situation and how we can just seriously fuck moments up and go 'ah yeah somehow there's a rabbit also the world explodes'. I also love the way you write Spock! Thank you so much for giving my Khan a chance, despite his 'AU-ness', and that I get to explore such an interesting storyline! I was also very happy to have found you again, because I remember you from a long time ago (even though we didn't write much back then I think? But I remembered your name!)).

@sxbaist (MY BELOVED! God, you have no idea how insanely happy I was when I realized you were still there. Vega has stolen Khan's heart back when we first wrote so many years ago and when I rebooted him with his AU Version, my heart almost stopped when I saw you were still active and around. I was so, so nervous to approach you - but you welcomed me back, so did Vega welcome back my Khan, and honestly... I love them so, so much, and I adore you so much as a person. Thank you for doing all of that, for allowing me back, for Khan to have his wonderful woman back and for them to enjoy each other. It feels like as if they never got separated at all and I cannot express my gratitude enough, really. You as a person are so awesome as well and I will forever wait for your return! You are also the only other Khan I write with, so I will mention your @paramounticebound here too because your Khan is insanely great and I look up to him so, so much, people need to know!!!)

@vuulpecula (OK but listen, I know we also don't do much OOC chatting at all BUT!!! I just have to mention you here too because the things we do are just so??? SO??? HNNG like lmao we just write each other like 'ok what should happen' AND THEN DOOM HAPPENS to either Khan / Fox and Stephen / Fox LOL as if we got no chill really! I enjoy it a lot to explore those plots and see where things will go! Also you are such a kind person and so easy to talk to!!! Thank you for also indulging me on Stephen hehe ♥ and also all the things on Khan ofc!)

If I could, I would write every single one of you such a text, but alas... if I were to, I wouldn't be finished in 2025 (lol), so I hope you take my gratitude and my love for you as a combined package as well; You are all wonderful people and I am so glad to have you here, and it has been a joy - I hope it will continue to be a joy in the future too, and I cannot wait to see how things will develop (once again, in no particular order):

@whydotheykeeptakingmine ♥ @noblehcart ♥ @resignedworkaholics ♥ (also over on Stephen) @he1msman | @spacesk1pper | @entrpz ♥ (also on Bones) @ensnchekov | @cosmiicheskaya ♥ (also on Bones) @vulku ♥ @onlybonesleft ♥ @wtsns | @agntross ♥ (also over on Stephen) @goodheartedfool ♥ @oceansfirst ♥ (also over on Stephen) @kingofthewebxxx ♥ (also over on Stephen) @fallenregent ♥ @danversiism ♥ @nursc ♥ (also over at Bones) @nightmdic ♥ @brooklynislandgirl ♥ @defectivexfragmented ♥ (also over on Stephen) @haiiling ♥ @gcldenratio ♥ @hiippocrates ♥ @tangleweave ♥ (In case I have forgotten someone: I am so, so, so, so, sorry!!!!)

Also, last but not least: Should you not be named on this list, this does not mean I am not grateful for you or don't appreciate you! I thank you for being here, especially if we have already written something... and even if you follow me and I do not follow back, I am still immensely grateful that you're here in the first place, even if you might not stay ♥.

Thank you so much for every single one of you, really - everyone I mentioned here, everyone I did not. Because of YOU my experience on this (and my two other blogs) is what it is. Without you I wouldn't be where I am now, I wouldn't be able to explore my Khan, my Bones, my Stephen, and I wouldn't be able to have such a good time.

I WISH YOU ALL THE BEST FOR 2024 - MAY GOOD LUCK, LOTS OF LOVE, HAPPINESS AND FORTUNE COME YOUR WAY! No matter where you are, or what your plans are... you are valid, you deserve to be here, you deserve to do what you want to do and you deserve all the good things coming for you.

THANK YOU.

L. finally over and out. (and if you read up this far, you'll get a cookie from me!)

#Out Of Character #tw long post #A thank you post to all of you. I know it is insanely long)#(but i can never keep myself short lol)

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