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mymommykinkismywholepersonality · 3 years

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Sub! Yandere punishing his love

Warning!!! Rape! And reader beats the yandere! Please don't read if those subjects make you uncomfortable <3

You could do whatever you wanted to him.

Yell at him.

Call him names.

Slap him, choke him, ʙᴇᴀᴛ ʜɪᴍ until his skin had changed from a neutral tan to blue and purple. He would take it like a good boy should. I mean he knew the adjustment was hard on you and its not like he would delude himself into thinking he was worthy of you. Maybe that's why it ended up this way, because you seemed untouchable to him. But he needed you, so so ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ . He couldn't bare being without you.

"Y/n-"

"Don't call me that you waste of space" you growled, interrupting his plea.

"Right, Mistress. You can't keep doing this, I know you don't want to be here but I promise I can be a good servant! I can take care of you and please you, let me prove it!"

Getting on his knees he kissed the ground where you had stood not a moment before, never making eye contact per your instructions.

"I don't want you, I don't need you, and I sure as hell know a psychotic shit like you could never please me! I'll escape and when I do, you'll finally get your wish of being handcuffed but it won't be by me!"

Enunciating every word by grabbing his leash and yanking on it hoping it'd choke him out. But you didn't bother this time, knowing the crazy man before you adored any markings caused by you. The room was silent, even if it was underground with walls of concrete usually your captor would be crying by this time. You'd attempted to escape before and you had almost achieved your goal this time, it struck paralyzing fear into him. He didn't want to but he knew he had to come up with a consequence for you. Something to discourage you from running away.

You watched with uneasiness as his brown eyes squinted in concentration. Even though he had never laid a hand on you before, other than abducting you and dragging you back into captivity, you didn't trust him, obviously. Maybe he'd finally snapped and would kill you, the thought made your heart fill with a twisted hope of freedom. Without a word he crawled to the door and left you without his usual lecture so you lied on your bed and screamed into your pillow wishing the nightmare would end. Little did you know, it was just the beginning.

A few hours after he didn't bring you dinner, thinking he was trying to punish you, you fell asleep. To escape from your unfortunate predicament or to gain strength for your next escape strategy you didn't know. But when you woke up, you noticed the time on the clock was far earlier than when your internal alarm would usually wake you. You tried to sit up to see what had woken you up, well you knew what but you wanted to know why, only to find your hands chained to the bed by heavily padded cuffs. Anger coursed through your body until you realized your legs were chained and spread as well. That anger turned into fear at what he might be planning. In the beginning he usually kept your arms shackled in some form or another but never your legs.

"Oh Mistress! You're awake!" Snapping your head in the direction of his voice your face flushed with embarrassment then paled from the sight before you. He was just standing there. Cock in hand as he secured a ring around the base, preventing it from getting any harder than it already was. You felt like there was a boulder on top of you. Then pure rage took over.

"Don't you dare even think about putting that disgusting thing inside me!" You screamed at him, only to be met with a laugh infuriating and confusing you more.

"I would never do such a thing Mistress! Not unless you commanded me to of course. I know you may be mad right now but I'm gonna prove myself ok? I'm gonna make you feel so good, I'll be useful to you I swear! So just relax. Let me please you the way you deserve."

Sliding on the end of the bed your heart sped up when he brought out a knife.

"W-what are you doing?!" Instead of answering you he simply put his fingers to his lips in a shushing motion, carefully cutting off your pants. When you realized what he was going for you started shaking wildly in a desperate attempt to free yourself.

"No! Stop! You can't!" Your cries fell on deaf ears as he focused on removing your underwear without cutting you in the process.

His moment of triumph was your moment of doom. Without wasting any time he brought his face in between your legs. Experimentally he pushed his tongue in between your folds, vibrating your core with a moan. He knew the only satisfaction he should be getting was from bringing you pleasure but he found it impossible not to enjoy himself. On one hand he knew he was disobeying you and the guilt was eating at him, but you tasted better than anything he could recall! And he needed to show you he was capable. With that in mind he pointed his tongue to go further inside you and inhaled your scent.

You were making many different noises, some gasps for air, pleas for him to stop, until he angled his face just right. When his nose rubbed on a small bead at the top of your pussy, the noise you made was undeniably angelic to him. Knowing the treasure he'd found he brought his mouth up as he gave a gentle suck to the pearl.

"N-not there! Please!" at this point your fear had overcome your anger. You had screwed your eyes shut until you felt his warm mouth leave your clit, finding him crawling up to you. As he hovered over you, your anger returned but you couldn't stop the frustrated tears.

"You're so beautiful when you cry."

He stated lovingly, leaning down he starts to lick the tears off your cheeks, muttering something about not letting them got waste.

"Please stop, you've proven yourself, you're useful whatever! You don't have to let me go please just stop." You struggled to hold eye contact, his gaze being so intense.

"I'm sorry Mistress, I love you so much" you felt a moment of relief as he peppered your face with gentle kisses until he started to speak in between them "But I won't stop. Not until I make you cum."

More sobs racked through your body meanwhile he positioned his face near your heat again. This time he was relentless, licking and sucking on your most sensitive nerve, simultaneously scissoring you open with his slender fingers. You jolted when he found your g-spot, giving him all the instructions he needed. Eventually after what felt like years to you but seconds to him, your thighs spasmed. Quickly he replaced his fingers with an open mouth, tongue lolled out expectantly for your orgasm. He gently rubbed your clit until your legs had stopped shaking.

"S-stop! You said you'd stop! I did it! I came!" Babbling out your exhausted protests you could barely hear his response, still nestled in your opening.

"Can't waste! Gotta clean it all up, gonna clean Mistress up!"

Another ten minutes passed until he felt confident none of your pleasure juice had gone to waste he finally pulled away. Soon he unlocked you and braced himself, expecting you to hit him but to his dismay you just curled yourself in the corner of the bed.

"I'll replace your clothing Mistress, I'll even let you pick them out! Whatever you like is yours." He said kneeling at your side, smiling as though he'd won the lottery and hadn't just defiled you.

It took a good moment before you could speak and even then it wasn't audible to him who was barely a foot away.

"What Mistress?" he asked, eager to follow your command once again.

Without warning you began screaming at him, "Get out! Get out! Get out!" You started swinging at his face and when he fell back you tried to get off the bed to continue your attack but failed miserably still being sore. Only then did his expression change from lust to worry. Quickly he dove to your side and tried to help you up only for you to push him with all your might away.

"Mistress don't strain yourself, let me help!"

Struggling onto the bed you continued to shout at him until he started to leave. Hand on the knob, he turned to look at you but you were already boring holes into his head.

"I left dinner on your desk, please make sure to eat Mistress."

And with that he was gone, but you knew he'd be back. Eventually you regained the strength back into your legs and walked over to the desk littered with crayons. You quickly bunched up the note he always left on your meals and discarded it. Sitting, contemplating whether or not you should eat, when your stomach decided to speak up for you. You'd missed lunch due to your "break out" but at the same time you knew how genuinely distressed he'd get when you refused to eat. After mulling it over, you decided to listen to your body. After all, you were the only one you could rely on. Opening up the container you found your favorite meal. As you ate you wondered if this was his sick form of apologizing but it didn't matter. You couldn't give up.

#yandere imagines #sub character #dom!reader #yandere prompts #yandere

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bloodypapercut · 3 years

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something missing (g.w. x reader)

request from @lilyydfg : Hey! Can you please write about reader trying to make george (her boyfriend) feel better and get out of depression after Fred's death? :)

tw: this is heavily centred around feelings of being numb, dejected and hopeless.there are mentions of death and slight mentions of the battle (blood and injuries but not much). please don’t read this if it’ll dampen your mood and if you do read please do so with caution. <3 stay safe lovebugs

(requests are open)

word count : 2.1k

It had been months, but the initial shock never seemed to fade away. It plagued both of them horrifically, but George never fully recovered. The memories repeated themselves in his head, while he slept, worked, ate, laughed, cried, drank, and walked. They were intrusive, relentless, vivid, and unforgiving, they consumed every second of his life, so much so that guilt clawed at the back of his throat. The thought that he got to experience all the things they had promised to do together without his other half left him overwhelmed with grief. Why was it that he got to see the business they had worked so hard for thrive, why did he get to be in a relationship with plans for the future, why did he get to hug his mother and father at the burrow, why did he get to laugh alongside his siblings while Fred was gone, buried in the ground? It didn’t sit right with him, it wasn’t fair.

-----

After the hours of screaming, crumbling walls, peril, the bodies of those they loved limp and battered on the stone floors, bloody hands, and frantic running they returned home. The silence smothered them, it was inevitable. They were shattered. They couldn’t process what had really happened, surely none of it was real. Fred was just missing, it was the wrong body they saw laying there with a lazy smile still etched on his face, Fred was just playing a cruel prank. They told themselves anything but the truth because deluding yourself feels better than facing what’s really in front of you. It wasn’t until they had finished getting ready for bed that it struck them. They followed the routine that they’d had for years on instinct, brush their teeth, wash their faces, get changed, rush to Fred’s room to say goodnight, but when they found his room empty and undisturbed it became clear that he was really gone. Fred, the loving, goofy, sometimes obnoxious but always kind redhead, the reliable older brother, the loyal best friend, the free-spirited stranger was gone, forever. There would be no more shared birthdays, family photos with his cheerful grin, knitted jumpers with a large golden F laying around, ear-piercing singing, and raucous laughter followed by rushed footsteps. It was all gone, in a matter of a few hours. It was there where George broke the silence, more like shattered it. His sobs were violent and agonizing, his pain was palpable. As he sunk to his knees he hugged Y/N’s legs, clinging onto anything that would ground him. His body shook against her calves and his tears were pooling on the hardwood floor, leaving a puddle where his reflection stared back at him. He aguishly looked back at himself, he hated what he saw, it was just a reminder of what was missing.

“I’m sorry, I need to be alone right now.” He made haste to rush to his office and lock the door. She rushed after him, trailing behind his footsteps but as the door shut in her face and the smashing of frames, ripping of paper, and choked sobs resonated through the door it was clear that that’s what he really needed.

-----

For months George kept to himself, he seldom spoke of anything that he didn’t need to. He was reserved and feeble, avoiding interacting with people and finishing what he needed to do before heading straight to bed. It was unusual, to say the least, in his mind, there was no George without Fred. A part of him died that day, and it will never come back. He was numb, devoid of any genuine emotions. At any mention of Fred, he’d freeze up and immediately leave the room, if he saw something that reminded him of his older brother he’d snatch it and throw it into a box that he kept hidden under the bed. It was heartbreaking to see someone so vivid and bright suddenly solemn and burnt out. It was shattering to see George force himself to forget about the existence of his best friend to avoid the harsh sting of reality.

He dealt with all of the pain alone. Whenever he’d wake up in a cold sweat he’d rush out of the room, refusing to look Y/N in the eye. Every nightmare was kept to himself, only to fester in his subconscious. At any offer of consolation or guidance he’d simply shake his head and walk away or offer a hopeless “no,” “I don’t care,” “what difference does it make,” or “I don’t want your help” as he kept his head down. No one knew what he was thinking, no one knew how he was. He remained stoic, afraid that once he confronts his fears that it will all become too real.

It wasn’t until one night when one of his nightmares felt a little too hostile. It was the kind that plucked at any sense of security you thought you had and left you bare and vulnerable. His chest was weighed down and his breathing was labored. The erratic rise and fall sent the bed into light vibrations.

“Georgie, are you okay?” He remained silent and stared vacantly at the illuminated lamp resting on the vanity across the room. The tears in his eyes and remnants from where they rolled off his cheeks glimmered in the dull glow. She took his silence as a sign that he needed to be alone like he always wanted to be. An ache grew in her chest but she knew he wanted to be alone. She shrugged the blanket off of her legs and kissed his cheek lightly while stroking rogue tendrils of hair off his forehead.

“Do you wanna be alone, love?” She smiled warmly and wrapped her robe around her shoulders, preparing herself to leave the room.

“Stay, please, I can’t do this alone anymore.” The grip on her wrist was relieving and her heart swelled at the thought that George was taking the next step, ready to face what had been haunting him for so long. He continued to cry leaning into her embrace and letting his arms wrap around her waist. His head was against her chest, and she felt his tears soaking through her jumper. Her hand danced up and down the expanse of his back, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, that she was there and always will be.

“Let it out Georgie, it’s okay, you’re so strong. Just let it out.” The hold around her waist got tighter and he released all the emotions he had been holding in for so long. His sobs were haunting and lingered in the air. After a couple of minutes, his weeping decrescendoed but didn’t seize. He looked up into her eyes, worried that he was unloading too much onto her by divulging all the feelings he tried to keep so secure.

“Tell me whatever you’re comfortable telling me, it’s okay. I’m here George, you’re not alone.”

“Before the battle, we were sitting in the garden. The gnomes were running around, they didn’t bother nipping at our ankles like they always do, even they knew how horrible things had become. We were against the fence and he told me,” George paused abruptly and swallowed forcefully, “he told me that it was unlikely that both of us would make it out. I remember laughing and throwing grass at him, but Y/N he knew, we both knew, I was just too scared to admit it. We promised each other that no matter what, we’d seize the days that followed, even if one of us didn’t survive, but how could I go on without him? He died that day for me, he saved me. And even though he made me promise, I just couldn't. I felt so guilty. Every time I find myself smiling or laughing or even being happy in the smallest ways it always reminds me that Fred would never experience it with me. He will never see his first gray hair, or see his children run around the yard, or see how many people loved the things he invented. It’s so crazy to think that when we drank that aging potion in year 6, that that was the only time I’d ever get to see him all old and wrinkly.”

He became silent as she traced shapes on the expanse of his back and dragged her fingertips along his forearms. Tears slowly welled in his eyes once more with the same urgency streamed down his face. Gently Y/N lifted his head and held it tenderly in her hands, his tears were kissed away by her cushiony lips.

“I really miss him. Not a day goes by where I’m not tortured by his absence. I feel horrible that I’m doing the very thing I swore I wouldn't do, but memories of him haunt me...and I’m letting them. Every time I hear his name or see anything that reminds me of him, it makes me so,” he paused, his hands rubbing at his red eyes in a frantic state, “so fucking angry, so mad and scared and confused and hurt and sick. I feel everything that he always managed to rid me of, but now that he’s gone it’s just so different. I just wish that he’d barge in like he always used to, but he’s gone, and I can’t accept that, I don’t want to.” His sobs echoed throughout the room once again, the unabating raw emotion seeping through every cough and gasp for air. His grip on the ends of Y/N’s jumper was fervent and desperate.

“You don’t have to forget about him.”

“I don’t want to, but it hurts so much because all I’m reminded of is what’s missing when he isn’t around,” he paused and as he did an ignominious expression painted over his face, “Merlin, Y/N I’m so sorry for dragging you into all of this, I’m being so selfish. I must be such a burden.”

“What? Angel, no no please don’t think that. I’m here because I love you, and I care for you. Never apologize for having feelings, you’re allowed to and it’s not something to be ashamed of. I’m not here because I have to be, I’m here because I want to, and because you deserve every ounce of love this world has to offer. Okay? Look, I know it’s easier said than done but you truly don’t have to forget him if you don’t want to, you just have to learn to understand what you’re feeling and to act accordingly. I’m here to help you with whatever you think is best. That’s all I want for you, that’s what Fred would want too. So tell me what you want help with, and I’ll be there every single step of the way. Anything to help you, you’re not alone.”

The room seemed a little less daunting from George’s point of view. Upon hearing the words she uttered so softly and so passionately he felt at ease, and for the first time in a long time without guilt. A new cloak of warmth draped over his shoulders, he didn’t know what to make of it but as he looked up at Y/N and around the cozy room he realized it was acceptance and relief. He quickly summoned the box he kept as his contemptible secret for months. It sat comfortably in front of him on the duvet, it’s presence was overt and consuming, but for once George was okay with that. For once he let the box serve as a reminder of his brother’s presence, not as something to smother it.

They spent the next hours slowly inspecting each piece in the box, smiling and reminiscing on the memories. It felt like Fred’s presence was flooding back, bringing more color and liveliness to their seemingly dull world. After hours of sitting close together, George let out a yawn and ruffled his hair.

“I’ll run a bath and then we can sleep, okay?” He nodded and Y/N headed to the bathroom, and within minutes she beckoned George to come in. Gingerly he rid himself of his clothes and sat down in the bath, leaning his head against Y/N’s warm chest. She soaked a sponge in the water and slowly dragged it across his tense shoulders, the water cascading down his ridged and freckled back. The sound of the water falling back into the bath and their steady breathing created a peaceful symphony in the room.

“I love you, angel, thank you.”

“I love you too Georgie, I know you’d do the same for me.”

#george weasley #george weasley imagine #george wealsey x reader #george weasley headcanon #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic #weasley twins #fred weasley #harry potter #george weasley one shot

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nikki-writes-stuff · 4 years

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Sweet As Sin (Part Two)

Summary: After losing your job and having to spend all of your savings, you find yourself completely broke as you desperately search for a job. On a whim, you join a website for sugar babies and sugar daddies can meet, and you’re surprised when you immediately make a connection with Captain America, of all people. But as you grow closer to Steve, you start to realize that there may be a dark side to America’s golden boy.

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Steve Rogers x Reader, with eventual Dark!Steve Rogers

Read part one here!

Read part three here!

You stared at the man in front of you, your eyes narrowed and your hands planted firmly on your hips. Your mouth had been opened for a few seconds now, but no words had come out of it, and you eventually let it snap shut without uttering a word.

“…I can understand if you’re upset,” Steve started. “I really do. I wanted to tell you, it’s just-“

“You,” you interrupted. “…are Captain America, correct?”

“Um…” Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean… Yes? But I don’t, you know… I don’t want you to see me like that. I’ve liked being just ‘Steve’ to you.”

You nodded your head.

“I… I’m not mad,” you assured him, and his shoulders visibly relaxed. “I just… I’m a little shocked, I suppose.”

“That’s completely understandable,” he assured you. He set his hand on your shoulder, leaning down a bit as he looked into your eyes. “How about we get some breakfast and just…talk for a little bit?”

You gave him a small smile, still reeling from the surprise, and nodded. He flashed you a small grin before leading you to the counter, keeping his hand on your shoulder the entire time. You felt your cheeks heat up, and you didn’t even notice that you were leaning into his touch.

Steve let you order first, and you got a blueberry-cinnamon bagel with your favorite warm drink. Afterwards, Steve ordered an everything bagel with a coffee for himself and paid, not even giving you an opportunity to take out your wallet.

“I could’ve-“

“Doll,” he interrupted. “I take care of you.”

Afterwards, the two of you went back to his table, and you sank down into the seat across from his. For a moment, the two of you just looked at one another, and after a beat you both looked away and chuckled.

“I… This is a very strange experience for me,” you giggled. Steve nodded and fiddled with a packet of Splenda that had been laying on the table.

“I can imagine,” he murmured. “But… I want you to know that I’m really glad you came to meet me; you’re even prettier in person.”

You shook your head and looked away.

“I…can’t believe that America’s heartthrob just called me pretty,” you joked.

“I really wouldn’t consider myself a heartthrob.”

“How about a dreamboat?”

“Ah, no.”

“…Sex symbol?”

Steve’s cheeks were bright red within seconds, and his head tilted back as he laughed.

“I mean… I wouldn’t mind if you considered me to be all of those things,” he chuckled. “But I’m still not really used to all the…fame. I guess. That sounds really self-absorbed now that I put it that way-“

“No, I don’t think so,” you assured him. “I mean, I just saw you on the news last night. Any time someone’s on the news I think they’re at least some level of famous. …It also doesn’t hurt that you have your own action figure.”

He laughed again, trying to rein in his chuckles when the waitress came back with your breakfasts. You were slowly feeling more comfortable with him – as you watched him devour at least a fourth of his bagel in one huge bite, he was becoming less and less of a world-famous hero and more and more the Steve you’d been talking to online. Down-to-earth, polite, funny. Old fashioned, of course, but now that you knew who he was and what decade he was born in, it seemed to be expected.

“So,” you said between bites, “how was Moscow? I imagine that it was hard to enjoy the culture what with the uh…bombs. And all.”

Steve smiled and sipped his coffee (black, you noticed, with no sugar) before answering.

“From what I saw, it was beautiful,” he remarked. “I’d like to go back there sometime on vacation. Whenever I’m able to snag one, at least. And the food was really good; spicier than what I’m used to, but good.”

“Do you have a favorite kind of food?” you asked, leaning your chin on your palm as you listened to him.

“Uh…” He thought for a minute. “Lasagna is pretty good. I grew up in the Depression, so I only got to eat it on special occasions. My mom used to make it for me on my birthday.”

You smiled.

“I would love to make it for you sometime.”

“If you did that, doll,” he grinned, “you’ll never get rid of me.”

“Who said I wanted to?”

He blinked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“You mean… You still wanna continue this, uh…thing we have going on? You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you who I really am?”

You took a bite of your bagel, turning over his words.

“Well, I can see where you were coming from,” you assured him. “Although… Just a tip for you, next time you meet a girl online, don’t wait to spring your real identity on her at the first date.”

“Hopefully, I won’t meet another girl online, but that’s only if the one I’ve already found sticks around.”

You grinned and sipped your drink.

“I don’t think she’s going anywhere any time soon.”

_________

You yelped as you felt hot tomato sauce hit your tongue, and you hurried to take a sip of water to soothe the burn. You blew on the spoon and tried again, and a smile stretched across your face from the taste; it was delicious.

With a grunt, you pulled the heavy lasagna out of the oven, and you smiled at the sight of the gooey mozzarella baked overtop of it. You’d been nervous about cooking for Steve at first, but now you were feeling more confident in what you’d made.

You’d spent hours at the bagel shop, just talking and laughing with one another. Before you knew it, he’d been getting a call from Tony Stark (the Tony Stark), and through the shouting on the other line you’d gathered that Steve was late for some kind of Avengers meeting.

“I’m sorry, doll,” Steve had apologized. “I didn’t even realize the time; I have to head in for a debriefing. I’m so sorry to cut this short-“

“Don’t be,” you’d interrupted. “I had…an amazing time with you, Steve. This might just be the best date I’ve ever been on.”

Steve had smiled so softly, so genuinely, at you, and you’d had to look away before you melted into a puddle at his feet.

“You really mean that, doll?” When you nodded, he’d reached across the table and let his hand rest over yours. “Then I’ll have a tough act to follow next time, won’t I?”

“We’ll have to wait and see. When can we do this again?”

That had been two days ago; Steve had informed you that he would be busy with “business” for a while, but the two of you had been texting almost constantly during the day. At night, he would call you and talk until your eyelids felt like they weighed a ton each. But you didn’t mind; the best way to fall asleep was to the sound of his voice.

Today, though, he’d called you in the morning, and when you’d picked up the phone you’d been afraid of him telling you that he’d been called out on another mission. To your elation, however, he only wanted to ask if you were free that evening.

And so now, you were standing in your kitchen in your best dress, checking once more over the food you’d prepared. A salad and some garlic bread were already resting on the table, and by the time he arrived, your lasagna would be cooled down enough to eat. Your hands fluttered up to your hair, making sure it was still pulled into the neat style you’d wrangled it into, and you fought the urge to run back into your bathroom to check yourself in the mirror again.

You felt your heartrate spike when you heard a knock at your door, and you forced yourself to take a deep, calming breath before walking over to open it.

Roses were the first thing you saw on its other side; the deep red blossoms were tied together in a beautiful bouquet, and if the sight of them wasn’t enough to make your toe curl, then the man who was holding them certainly was.

Steve’s hair was brushed into its signature neat look, and he was wearing a soft blue button up with a charcoal grey tie. His muscles bulged against the fabric, hugging him tightly as he straightened up and smiled down at you.

“Hey, doll. You look beautiful.”

Your cheeks were on fire as you ushered him into your apartment, and you took the bouquet of flowers into your arms when he held them out for you.

“Steve, these… They’re beautiful,” you gushed. “Thank you so much. God, I hope I have a vase for them…”

You scurried into the kitchen, searching through your cupboards and cabinets until you were able to locate a vessel to put the flowers in. All you had was a large pitcher that you hadn’t used since the previous summer to make lemonade in, but it was the only thing big enough to hold the huge bundle of roses.

“You have a, uh…real nice place, sweetheart.”

After placing the flowers in some water and setting them on the table, you turned to see Steve standing with his hands in his pockets, looking around at your space. It really wasn’t an impressive apartment, and you’d never deluded yourself into thinking it was, but it seemed even more drab and small with Steve standing in the middle of it.

His eyes were trailing along the ceiling, and you looked up to the various water stains dotted across it. You bit your lip and followed his gaze as it flitted over the old futon that served as your sofa, into your matchbox kitchen, and then further past the doorway to your bedroom. Your full-sized mattress took up most of the space, and you carefully positioned yourself in front of him so he couldn’t see any more of your poor furnishings.

“It’s not much,” you admitted. “But it’s enough. I’ve never been one of those people who feel like they need a big, nice house to be happy. I’m perfectly fine here.”

Steve smiled fondly and nodded, leaning down to peck your cheek.

“I know, doll. That’s one of the things that I like about you.”

You grinned and looked away bashfully, still able to feel his soft lips against your skin. You wondered what they would feel like against your own, and for a brief moment the image of Steve kissing you flooded your imagination.

“U-um… I made your favorite!” you hurried to say. “Lasagna. I hope you like it; if you don’t, we can always order pizza. Or there’s a Chinese place just-“

“Doll?” he interrupted. You paused in your ramblings and looked up to see one of his eyebrows raised in amusement. “I’m gonna like whatever you cook, ok? I’m sure its fantastic.”

You felt a fluttering in your chest, and for a moment all you could do was look into his kind eyes. He was so sweet; how had you gotten lucky enough to have someone like him interested in you?

“Well… Go ahead and have a seat,” you told him. “I thought we could start with some salad?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Steve folded his tall, broad frame into one of the two dining chairs you owned, and you reached over him to grab the empty glass resting next to his plate.

“Would you like some wine?”

“I’ll have some if you’re having it.”

You smiled and walked into the kitchen, pouring each of you a glass before coming back to him. As you leaned down to put his glass back on the table, you saw him glance at your cleavage out of the corner of your eye, and you had to bite back a satisfied grin. The neckline of your dress had been one of the reasons you’d chosen to wear it – it wasn’t deep enough to be obscene, but it gave off a classy, subtle hint of what lay beneath.

Steve’s eyes popped back up to yours sheepishly as you sat down at the chair across from him.

“See something you like, Captain?” you teased. You were just joking around, but your pulse jumped when you saw the dark look that appeared on Steve’s face.

“Maybe I do, doll,” he purred, leaning one of his elbows across the table. It swayed with the movement, and his sultry look was quickly replaced with one of surprise.

“Oh, sorry,” you chuckled, pouring dressing over your salad. “It does that. One of its legs is all wobbly, so just be careful with it.”

“I could try and fix it for you,” Steve offered. “I used to fix stuff for my mom all the time growing up. Or I could just buy a new one for you.”

“You don’t have to do that! Honestly. I make do with what I have just fine.”

“But I don’t want you to just ‘make do’, doll. I want you to be well taken care of.”

“I promise it’s fine, Steve,” you smiled. “But you’re sweet to offer. Now tell me about how work has been over the past few days. I know they’ve been keeping you pretty busy at the compound.”

After that, Steve and you talked about his job, if being an Avenger could even be called that. From what you gathered, Tony had been teasing Steve incessantly about texting you all the time; Steve had even found him trying to unlock his phone so he could see who he was talking to.

“He’s not gonna leave me alone until he meets you,” he chuckled. “Tony keeps trying to get me to introduce you to the team.”

“I mean, I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to that. I don’t think anyone would pass up an opportunity to meet the Avengers.”

“Well, you say that now, but just wait until you have to spend an evening listening to Bucky and Sam fight like an old married couple.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“Doll, name a topic, any topic, and they’ll find a way to have a disagreement about it.”

You were nervous when it came time to serve him his lasagna. You scooped out a slice at least twice as big as your own for him, and you were on pins and needles as you watched him bite into it. But you really had no need to feel worried; the moan he let out upon tasting it was borderline pornographic.

“Doll, this is… amazing.”

“You mean it? You don’t have to just say what I want to hear.”

“Baby, this might be the best lasagna I’ve ever tasted; stop doubting yourself.”

You’d been too flustered from hearing him call you ‘baby’ to say anything else for a few minutes, but you found that, when the two of you were done eating, you didn’t want him to go just yet.

“Hey, Steve?” you asked hesitantly. “Would you like to stay and watch a movie with me or something?”

He’d smiled and placed his hand over yours on the table.

“I’d love that, doll. But first let me help you clean up.”

He stood up, taking his plate into the kitchen, and you hurried to do the same.

“Oh, no! Steve, you don’t have to do that! Just leave it in the sink and I’ll take care of it later.”

He’d arched an eyebrow at you, taking your plate from your hands and setting it with his in the sink. He ignored your protests and turned the faucet on, reaching for the dish soap after rolling his shirt sleeves up.

“You were kind enough to cook for me; it’s only fair that I help clean up. How about I wash and you dry?”

You did as he said, an almost goofy smile on your face as you dried the dishes before putting them away. He was so polite; you were almost convinced that he’d been created in a computer.

“What’s that look for, doll?” he asked, handing the last glass to you.

“You’re just… I really like you, Steve.” You put the glass away and turned to him with a smile, drying your hands off on your towel. “Thank you for coming over tonight.”

He took the towel from you and dried his own hands before setting them on your hips.

“Sweetheart, there’s nowhere I would rather be,” he murmured. He leaned down, his nose almost brushing yours, and you were sure he could hear how fast your heart was beating. “I know it might be a little soon, but…can I kiss you?”

You laughed, taking hold of his tie and pulling him down, closing the gap between your lips. He kissed you gently with a smile to match your own. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest against his as his hands slid up your back. When his tongue darted out, seeking entry into your mouth, you gladly parted your lips for him, not able to hold back the tiny moan you made as you felt his tongue brush against yours languidly.

Both of you were breathing heavily when you pulled away, and you gasped when you felt your leg brush against his hard cock. You bit your lip as your fingers played with his hair, dragging your nails softly against his scalp.

“I… I know that it’s impolite to ask on a second date,” he murmured, “And if you don’t want to, then its completely fine. But could we-“

“Steve?” You leaned up, pressing your lips against his ear. “Please make love to me.”

You let out a squeak when you felt him pick you up, and you clung to him for dear life as he carried you into your bedroom. He was gentle when he set you down onto your feet though, and he had an almost reverent look on his face as he reached down to grab the skirt of your dress.

“Can I take this off of you?” You nodded, lifting your arms up to help him get it off. You were wearing your nicest set of lingerie, and even though you’d got it from the bargain bin at Victoria’s Secret, you felt stunning as Steve’s gaze raked over your body.

His fingertips traced the hemline of your panties, toying with the sky-blue lace before making a path up to your bra. You bit your lip as he cupped your breasts, rolling them in his palms. Meanwhile, you were undoing his tie, sliding it out of his collar and letting it fall to the floor beside your dress. As he reached behind you to unclasp your bra, you popped open his buttons, one by one, until both of your chests were bare.

“Sheesh, doll,” he breathed. “You’re so gorgeous.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, Captain.”

That same dark look from before crept into his eyes, and suddenly you were in his arms again, clinging to him as he lifted you onto the bed. Your head hit the pillow, your hair splaying out wildly as he kneeled in front of you. An impressive tent had formed in his trousers, and it took all of your concentration not to lick your lips as he started pulling them off.

When the both of you were back to just your underwear, he leaned down to kiss you again, resting his weight on his forearms on either side of your head. This time, his kiss was insistent, rough, and it sent waves of anticipation down to your core. Your lips were slick as he pulled away, a string of saliva connecting them to his until he looked down. His large hands cupped your ass, kneading the flesh before gripping the lace of your panties, and you gasped as you felt the fabric being torn away from your body. You were about to complain, but before you could, Steve leaned down, his beard tickling the insides of your thighs as he pressed a kiss to the top of your mound.

“I’ll buy you another pair just like them,” he promised, tossing the useless lace behind him.

Any words you might have spoken died on your tongue when you felt his finger brush against your slit, running up and down your entrance.

“You’re so wet, doll,” Steve sighed. “Tell me how bad you want me.”

Your fingers gripped his hair as he leaned down, tongue gently brushing against your clit. You keened, spreading your legs as wide as you could for him as his thick finger penetrated you, curling against your walls as he licked slow, delicate circles around your bud.

“I-I want you so bad, Steve,” you moaned. “Want you to make me cum…”

“I will, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” You gasped as he added another finger, hissing a bit at the sudden stretch, but his tongue once more lapped at your clit, soothing the ache in your core. “Told you I’d always take care of you, didn’t I?”

You closed your eyes, relishing the sensation of his tongue lapping at your bud. Your hips were moving of their own accord, rising and falling in time with the thrusts of his fingers. They kept brushing at that spot deep inside of you, turning all of your thoughts into white noise. The noise of the traffic outside faded away, as did the sensation of your sheets rustling against your body. There was only Steve; all you could hear were your moans and the lewd sounds of his tongue gliding against your flesh. Your pussy was clenching around his fingers, trying desperately to draw them in deeper, and you were so wet for him that there was no pain when he added a third. You just knew that you wanted more; you were so close to your peak, so desperately close.

“Steve-!” You panted, pulling his hair as your hips rolled upwards. “Captain, please, please-“

He groaned, flicking his tongue one last time over your clit, and you were gone, your back arching painfully as you found your release. You were barely aware of your own broken moans as you rode out your climax, your body slowly turning into putty as his tongue gently worked you through it. You lay limply against your mattress, only moving when your pussy became too sensitive to his touch. You tried to pull away from him, to close your legs, but he held you firmly in place, ducking down to lap at the cum leaking out of your entrance.

“Fuck, baby, I could spend an eternity between your legs,” he mumbled. “Taste so fucking good. You’re just sweet inside and out, aren’t you?”

You hummed, smiling lazily up at him as he crawled up your body. His beard and lips were slick with your juices, and you could taste yourself on his tongue as he kissed you. His hands slid up your thighs, gripping and kneading at the flesh of them.

“I’ve thought about this since our first phone call, you know,” he whispered, tracing a path with his lips down the column of your throat. “It’s been a long time since I’ve like this about a dame.”

“I feel it, too, Steve.” You smiled, tightening your legs around his waist and flipping him onto his back. “It’s like we’re…”

You paused, reaching down to lace your fingers through his.

“Connected.”

He smiled, lowering his lips back to your neck, and you let out a moan as he started to suck a hickey into it. You rocked your hips, grinding your pussy against the bulge in his boxers, eliciting a choked-off moan from him.

“Please, doll,” he whispered. “I’m so hard for you – please…”

You rose up on your knees, gripping his boxers, and his hips lifted to help you tug them down. Your eyes widened at the sight of his cock – you’d never taken anything that big before, not even when you got adventurous with your toys. You gulped, looking back up to Steve, who held a small smirk on his lips.

“It’s ok, sweetheart,” he assured you. “We can go slow.”

You nodded, rising up on your knees again, gripping him in one hand and guiding him towards your entrance. You bit your lip, looking up at him one more time. He was watching you, tenderness glittering in his eyes. You took his hands, placing them on your hips, before slowly sinking down onto him.

“O-oh, my god-!” You whimpered at the feeling of him stretching you, letting your forehead rest against his. You took a deep breath, sliding down further until you felt him brush against your cervix.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured. “Just like that. Knew you would feel perfect.”

You moved your hips, wincing at the sensation, but the look on Steve’s face was enough to keep you moving. His moans sent shocks of electricity straight to your pussy, and you felt the pain start to blend beautifully with the pleasure he was bringing you.

“Steve…”

You sighed, starting to roll your hips in a fluid rhythm, bucking against him. His hands came up to cup your breasts, teasing your nipples with his thumbs.

“O-oh, baby,” he grunted, starting to rock his hips up. “Yes, fuck-“

You whimpered, moving your hands to the headboard behind him. Your arms bracketed his head as you used the leverage to keep thrusting your hips, bouncing up and down on his cock until the bed was shaking beneath you.

Suddenly, though, his hands wrapped around your hips and flipped you over, pounding into you as you yelped in surprise.

“Sorry, doll, it’s just-“ He grunted, gritting his teeth together. “Fuck, I just can’t help myself.”

You nodded, hands coming up to grip his hair. You pulled it roughly, arching your back up until his chest was pressed to yours. His thrusts were hard enough to knock the breath out of you, and the springs in the mattress screamed in protest.

After a particularly brutal thrust, you felt something underneath you give way, and you gasped as the bed slouched on one side, sliding the both of you to the left. You caught yourself against the bedsheets, looking over Steve’s shoulder; the man had broken one of the legs of your bedframe.

“I… Shit, doll, I’m sorry-“

You broke out into a fit of giggles, covering your face with both of your hands as you laughed.

“Oh my god, Steve, it’s ok. Please, don’t stop fucking me.”

He grinned, chuckling under his breath before starting to move his hips again. Your laughs soon turned into moans as he once more started hitting that spot inside of you, and you let your eyes close as you felt your pleasure starting to crest once again.

“Steve, fuck, I’m gonna cum-“

“That’s right, baby,” he groaned. “Cum for your Captain.”

You gasped, clawing down his back as you bucked against him, chasing your release desperately.

“Captain! Captain, oh my god-!”

Your lips parted in a silent wail as you came, your pussy spasming against him. You felt his breath, hot on your neck, your name falling out of his lips over and over again as he grew closer to his release.

“Come on, Captain Rogers,” you moaned, biting your lip. “Cum inside of me.”

He needed no further convincing; within a few seconds, you felt him spill his hot seed within you. His eyebrows were pinched together, his hips stuttering in their rhythm, lips parted in a long, low groan.

He was beautiful.

The two of you lay there, catching your breaths, for a long moment. Your sweaty skin stuck together, and you felt his cum leaking out of you around his cock. When he finally did pull out of you, you both let out a hiss of sensitivity.

Steve rolled over onto his back, pulling you against him with an arm around your waist. You looked up, sharing a smile with him, before you shifted your focus down to the dip in your bed.

“You…you really did break my bed, didn’t you?”

He laughed, and you could see a faint, red stain grow over his cheeks.

“Yeah… Yeah, I guess I did,” he sighed. He pressed a kiss to your temple, squeezing your hip. “I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow, I promise. And a new dining table.”

“Steve, no, I don’t need a new table.”

He looked down at you, cupping your chin and tilting it upwards to him.

“Hey, listen to me doll,” he murmured. His voice was warm, but it had an underlying stern edge that made your eyes widen. “I wanna take care of you, and you’re gonna let me, ok? Let me spoil you; even if you don’t technically need it. Understand?”

You gulped and nodded, and a pleased smile spread over his face.

“Yes, Steve.”

“Good girl.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #sugar daddy!steve #sugar daddy!steve Rogers #captain america #captain america x reader

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the-bounce-back · 4 years

Text

THE CONFIDENCE CHRONICLES PART V - CONFIDENCE IN YOUR CONFIDENCE

This is post 5/5 of my “Confidence Chronicles” series, in which I discuss the mindsets, actions and thought processes I’ve applied to build/rebuild my confidence in different aspects of my life. The goal of these 5 posts is for you readers to be able to apply relevant points to your own insecurities in order to combat them, and hopefully build your own confidence over time.

—————————————————————

So… we’re finally at the last post of the Confidence Chronicles. It’s taken its sweet (long-ass) time, but we finally got there in the end. Furthermore, it’s almost exactly a year ago since the idea for this series popped into my head, so this really has ended up coming full circle… albeit unintentionally. Not going to lie, it’s kind of a bittersweet feeling - it’s going to feel strange to not focus so heavily on confidence anymore, but on the other hand… I don’t have to focus so heavily on confidence anymore. Finally, I can bring my other post ideas that have been collecting dust in my drafts to life!

The funny thing is that although I started this series with a plan for what I was going to write about in each post, I never actually settled on what aspect of my confidence I wanted to end this series with. I figured that when the time came to write this, I would have a clear idea of what would be an appropriate note to wrap up the series on.

Of course, at that point in time I didn’t know that the latter half of 2019 was going to turn my life upside down. I didn’t know that I was going to find myself in a massive slump due to stress, confusion and anxiety over my career, my direction and purpose in life and my role in the grand scheme of the world. I know it all sounds very melodramatic and like an excuse to not apply myself to complete my projects - which might be partially true - but the truth is that these questions have been weighing on me for a long time. Long before I started working on my mental health, long before I started this blog, long before moving back to the UK. I’ve been able to ignore these feelings for a long time, but lately they’ve been making themselves extremely hard to avoid. I think that the reason lies in that I’m soon going to be on what society likes to call the “wrong” side of 25, and that I still feel like I’m figuring out where my life is going… i.e. running around like a headless chicken.

However, this blog has really forced me to confront my fears in a way that counselling or confiding in someone I trust ever could - simply because it makes me work through my innermost thoughts and feelings alone. Attempting to address deeply buried issues in order to make my peace with them so I can move past it has been a very triggering process, and also extremely reliant on trial and error.

When you make an error in your healing process, it can be devastating and a major setback in your daily life. But when you get it right… the pain and hard work all becomes worth it. Trust me. There is nothing more satisfying than thinking of a past situation that used to make you feel like you had the weight of the world of the shoulders, and realising that although it felt like it at the time, it didn’t kill you. Hell, you’d even be able to go through it again and be confident you can make it through again, if you had to. One day you’ll even be able to laugh at the situations that once tore you down, and with your newfound confidence be able to realise that at the end of the day… it wasn’t that deep (or, at least, not deep enough to kill you).

For this reason, I want to tie the messages from the previous posts of this Confidence Chronicles series together to make this post - confidence in your newfound confidence. Once you build a solid foundation of confidence in all aspects of your life, the next step is learning to adjust to the newfound energy, positivity and motivation that this confidence manifests itself as. I personally learned (and - in certain cases - am still learning) how to harness this “power” in the following ways:

1. Slowly but surely trusting myself to believe in my own capabilities.

Do you want to know something that’s funny but at the same time not funny? If not, tough sh*t because here it comes: despite writing so extensively about confidence, my own levels of confidence are somewhat unreliable at best.

As I’ve mentioned countless times before, I never write blog posts when I’m in a bad place mentally. In fact, every single post (except one) on here is written when I’m in a great mood, my mind is clear, my confidence levels are unbeatable and I can write about my bad times in an objective manner that doesn’t end up making me sad. A quick scroll through my past posts prove that it’s so easy to assume that I’m 100% over the hard things that I’ve written about on here, simply because I’ve become so good at realising my own past mistakes and how I should move forward. However, in reality, there’s usually not a day that goes by without the topics crossing my mind.

I’ve been told many a time by friends that while I’m excellent at giving advice and knowing exactly what measures to take to get over a situation, I’m not very good at applying said advice to myself. It’s very true, and very frustrating - reading my own posts back makes me realise that I already have the tools and capabilities required to be able to heal, but so far I only seem to be able to use these tools when I’m in a good place. For this reason, I struggle a fair amount with self-doubt in my authenticity as a mental health blogger, because what’s the point of preaching about self-love, self-care and bettering your mental health if your own mental health is in a complete shambles from time to time?

However, it’s not all bad, because the more I apply myself to think of solutions, apply said solutions to my own life and start seeing the benefits of constantly working on myself, the more confident I become that one day I’ll get to a stage where I can confidently write about my issues without this nagging feeling that I’m a fraud. Additionally, g-checking myself from time to time and making sure that I am actually following my own advice makes me increasingly more secure in the knowledge that I am extremely emotionally intelligent and do have enough experience to change my own life, as well as others’.

I think the main thing here is to keep on doing whatever it is you’re trying to improve upon, and allow yourself to appreciate how far you’ve come on your journey as opposed to solely focusing how long you have to go. Regardless of if you’re doubting your capabilities in the workplace, your body goals, your ability to adapt to new situations or your creative ventures - or a combination of all four - it’s important to acknowledge and celebrate your progress.

Giving yourself a well-deserved pat on the back and focusing on how far you have come since the beginning gives you the chance to fully appreciate the hard work you’ve put in towards bettering yourself - which leads to you gradually feeling confident in trusting the power in your own capabilities over time.

2. Stopping the negative self-talk.

As it so happens, I have quite a dark and self-deprecating sense of humour - and so do many of my friends and my sister. Calling myself and others every offensive name under the sun as a joke is something that used to occur on a near daily basis, under the guise that it was all harmless banter. I’ve literally been doing this for as long as I can remember, but the past few months or so, I’ve really been trying to stop for a few reasons.

The main reason is that regardless of how harmless belittling your intelligence and capabilities as a joke may seem, doing it on a regular basis can lead to you internalising these notions and gradually starting to believe them. Although I genuinely thought that I was mentally resilient enough to be able to separate jokes from reality, whenever I’d fall into a bit of slump the first things that would come into my head were the things I’d said about myself as a joke. They would sting a lot, because in those moments I would genuinely believe them.

“God, I’m such a dumb b*tch”.

“Ugh, when did I become such a d*ckhead?”

“I swear to God.... I f*cking hate myself”

“Oh, great, so on top of being a dumb b*tch - I’m also a fat b*tch. Excellent”.

The mad thing is that I’m actually laughing while writing this, simply because I’m in a positive state of mind and know that it’s all a joke. I know I’m neither dumb, a d*ckhead, or fat. Nor do I hate myself anymore. But as soon as that Sunday night sadness hits (I know you all know what I’m talking about!), there I am - trying to choke back tears because I’ve managed to delude myself into thinking that the above is, in fact, true. For this reason, I’ve also tried to stop doing it to my friends, because I’d hate to think that they may be internalising something mean that I’ve said to them as a jOkE.

It’s also interesting to think why self-deprecating humour comes so easily to a lot of us. I can only speak for myself and certain friends that are similar to me in this aspect, but I genuinely think it’s because we’ve - very sadly - grown accustomed to being verbally abused and/or having our weaknesses constantly being picked at during our formative years - either in our home environments, school environments, or both. Instead of devising healthier methods of coping with and eliminating these internalisations, we’ve become reliant on using humour as a source of escapism from our nagging insecurities cast upon us by people around us.

When I started seeing self-deprecating humour in this light, it actually made me quite sad. There I was, thinking that I should get into comedy for being so hilarious, when really it turned out to be just me being too scared to deal with my own insecurities. That’s when I knew things needed to change, and I’ve been working on this ever since.

Personally, the easiest way for me to reduce my negative self-talk has been to try to visualise how I would feel if a stranger (it used to be friends, but then I remembered that most of my friends are as tapped as I am) was saying it to me. I soon realised that if it had come from anyone else but myself or my friends, I’d be ready to throw hands over this literal verbal abuse. I am now trying my best to speak to and treat myself in the same way that a stranger or acquaintance would - with dignity, respect, honesty and with a regard for my own feelings (because, lo and behold, it is possible to be brutally honest and kind at the same time).

Of course, this is so much easier said than done - especially if you, like me, love a cheeky self-drag and dragging others (out of love, of course). However, this doesn’t have to mean that you can stop having fun - I’ve found that an eloquently worded drag meant to act as a wake-up call for me/someone else to improve my/their situation without having to resort to insults and name-calling is infinitely more creative, satisfying and efficient. Furthermore, I’ve found that g-checks that are based on constructive criticism as opposed to cruel insults give you a clearer image of how to improve yourself moving forward - which can only be a good thing.

Basically, just be patient and kind to yourself and others. Take on the constructive criticism received from yourself and your friends/family to work towards bettering yourself, and your confidence will follow.

3. Learning to trust the feelings of positivity and self-love.

This is by far the hardest one for me - and for good reason. When you’ve spent a large part of your teenage years and early adulthood believing that your capabilities and strengths are inadequate, that you’re ugly, that you’re not worthy of love and happiness, that your life has no purpose and that your family and friends would be better off without you, it’s nearly impossible to break free from this toxic downward spiral and to unlearn all of the behaviours and thought processes that have manifested as a result of these feelings.

The keyword here is nearly.

Obviously, I can only speak for myself, but I would like to think that this could be applied to others as well. When I started this jOuRnEy, I honestly thought I’d never get to a place where I genuinely love every aspect of myself. Despite this, I kept pushing myself through the extremely triggering task of unpacking my toxic feelings - until one day I suddenly didn’t have them anymore. Or, at the very least, they suddenly no longer hurt me. Seemingly out of nowhere... I felt okay.

The sad but still understandable thing about suddenly coming to terms with who you are, what you’ve been through and feeling confident enough to move forward is that you don’t trust the feeling at first. At all. You tell yourself that it’s just one of the little upswings before everything comes crashing down around you again, dragging you back to step one, and you try to mentally prepare yourself for said downfall to happen.

But it doesn’t.

Sure, you might have little dips every now and again. You know that healing isn’t a linear process, so you assume that these little dips will lead to you spiralling again. But, to your surprise, they don’t - and you find yourself picking yourself up, dusting yourself off, and moving forward with your life relatively unscathed and with more experience and wisdom than before. You start to get suspicious and a little scared because things are actually going alright for once. You’ve become so used to your life being so riddled with anxiety, insecurity, sadness and chaos and the good times being fleeting, that this new reality is extremely alien to you.

This is where things can go one out of two ways.

Either your anxiety kicks in and you start self-sabotaging in different ways because you’re afraid that the longer things are going well, the harder the fall is going to be - so you might as well save yourself the pain by not pursuing things that could allow you to be happy. Or, you are able to tentatively start trusting and accepting the waves of love and positivity as your new reality - making you find the strength and confidence to move forward despite the past pain and hurt.

Personally, it took several rounds of self-sabotaging before getting to the point of learning to trust the positive feelings and my confidence in all aspects of myself. I try not to beat myself up over all the opportunities I’ve turned down simply due to genuinely believing that I’m not good/smart/pretty/talented enough, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t make me sad from time to time. However, the more time that passes I get more and more confident that new, even better opportunities will come up for me - and I’ll be confident enough to embrace them without any hesitation when the time comes.

To wrap up this whole Confidence Chronicles series, I want to leave you all with this simple but true statement:

It gets better - if you’re willing to put in the work.

Regardless of which of the posts resonated with you the most, I need you to understand that building confidence takes time. I would even go as far as saying that it’s a never-ending journey, and that the learning to fully love and trust yourself and your capabilities is a never-ending process as life progresses. However, the more you work hard on your own betterment, the easier and smaller the challenges that arise from time to time become.

My ultimate wish is that we all one day can get to a place where we can trust ourselves enough to be happy and confident, regardless of what life throws at us. That whenever things that would usually send us down that spiral again pop up, we can just take a deep breath, count to ten, and be confident in the knowledge that the situation no longer has power over us, and that we will easily be able to work through it.

Until that day comes - never stop fighting.

Love,

Liv

#selfhelp #goals #selflove #opinions #Empowerment

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yasuda-yoshiya · 5 years

Note

Hey there. Sorry to bother you. I read your write up on The House in Fata Morgana and I really love how you go into such detail on the second half, especially with The Maid. I agree with her being wasted potential, especially when Michel’s love is enough to erase centuries of psychological and emotional trauma and amnesia in the span of one minute. My question is, how would you handle the Maid’s arc while keeping the setup the same? This got long, sorry. But I have a lot of thoughts about her.

Aaahhh, it’s absolutely no bother at all; thank you for getting in touch! It’s great to hear from you, and I’m very grateful for the kind words about my incoherent babbling. Giselle/the Maid is honestly one of my absolute favourite fictional characters and it’s really hard to find any real discussion or meta around her within Fata’s tiny English-speaking fandom, so I’m always super excited to hear from other people who feel the same way about her!

Okay, this got really long so I’ll stick it under a cut:

I have actually put a lot of thought into how the Maid’s story could have been handled and resolved better (and even drafted elaborate AU fanfic about it, for that matter), so I’ll try and put some of that into words here. Prior to door 8, I honestly feel like the broad structure of the Maid’s arc as it exists ingame does actually hit most of the major emotional notes that it needs to; it just rushes through each of them so fast and gives them so little narrative weight that they’re not really able to have the impact that they should, especially when door 8 then goes on to completely ignore the whole thing. So for the most part, I’d lean more towards heavily fleshing out the existing content rather than making any real changes to the structure of the plot overall. Door 8 is the point where I feel that her writing completely falls apart and needs to be rebuilt from the ground up.

As for how exactly I’d want to flesh things out, the main thing I’d want to do is to heavily extend door 6 - both the backstory itself and the conflict between Michel and Giselle in the aftermath. As I think I said in that big old write-up, to me the whole door felt more like a quick checklist of events more than a real fleshed out narrative.The way I see it, Giselle’s character arc is fundamentally about her relentlessly trying to hold on to her optimism and the core of her “self” in the face of traumatic experiences - to not let her suffering take away her smile, her energy and positivity and upbeat personality, the things she saw as defining who she was before all of this happened to her. This is portrayed very well throughout door 5, where we see Giselle very consciously deciding multiple times to try and put her suffering behind her and start over from a clean slate with positive expectations - first when she’s sent to the mansion with Michel, then at the village with Amedee, and then again when she reunites with Michel - and it’s also very effectively conveyed that the effort of constantly keeping up that positive attitude and trying to block out the scars of her trauma puts a significant strain on her (one that Michel tries to ease by explicitly accepting her scars as a part of her and telling her that she doesn’t need to hide them from him).

What ends up breaking Giselle and forcing her to detach from herself entirely and become the Maid, then, is the feeling that she’s finally collapsed under that strain and “lost herself” to the point of being unrecognisable as Giselle, of having lost everything she used to define herself by. The fact that even “Michel” doesn’t recognise her any more, the fact that she herself is barely able to keep a hold on her memories of the past and who she used to be, her body becoming cold and lifeless and losing its old warmth and energy, and the weight of the years slowly wearing down her ability to stay positive and keep believing in a happy ending - all of those pressures end up breaking her self-confidence down to the point that she can’t manage to see herself as “Giselle” any more, and the burden of even trying to keep being “Giselle” becomes too much.

In that state of mind, it’s no surprise that the alternate story that Morgana tells her - that the Maid was always just a lonely witch haunting the mansion, an impostor who became fascinated by the real Giselle and Michel, and deluded herself into believing that their story was hers - becomes so much easier to believe in. Of course she’s failing so hard at being “Giselle”, because she never was Giselle to begin with. Accepting this narrative allows her to detach herself from the weight of having to try to be Giselle, and to project those feelings and ideals from a distance on to the White-Haired Girl instead, who is everything the Maid thinks “Giselle” should be. Note the Maid’s fixation throughout the stories on the WHG’s “purity” and her unchanging nature that stays constant across all times - the qualities that she feels she herself has lost. Of course, Giselle is also very much still subconsciously projecting her own lingering feelings for Michel on to the WHG as well, as she assigns WHG the role of her “master” and “the person she waits for” - but in a context that allows her to safely detach herself as a guide, watching over the real Giselle and feeling pity for her suffering. It puts her in a position where she can be the one to reassure someone else that it’s okay for them to give up, to forget about waiting for Michel and find whatever happiness they can for themselves - without having to shoulder the shame of making that decision herself. The things she can’t accept about herself as “Giselle” become acceptable if she takes the outside role of a witch. As Fata repeatedly puts forth, tragedy becomes a lot more bearable if you think of it as “someone else’s”.

Okay, I basically just wrote three paragraphs of meta here and I’m still not much closer to actually answering your question, so it’s about time I looped back to the point. Everything I’ve outlined above is the basic outline of what I feel is intended to come across through the Maid’s arc. Now let’s talk about where I feel that door 6 fails at actually making that arc really hit home as strongly as it could have. I think the essence of the problem, at least to me, is that door 6 does a perfectly good job of laying out a very believable sequence of events that lead Giselle to become the Maid, but it doesn’t really do such a great job at portraying Giselle’s reactions in any real depth. The narration doesn’t really bring to life the feeling of someone fiercely struggling with themselves to stay positive in the same way that door 5 does, and the process of Giselle’s desperate attempts to keep hold of herself being slowly being worn down over the years gets skipped through so quickly that it’s hard to really feel the weight of it from her perspective. Just going more into depth with Giselle’s internal thought processes here, showing more of her individual reactions to the events of the first three doors and things like her frantic attempts to rationalise it as maybe being okay that the WHG doesn’t recognise her, showing the strain it puts on her to have to keep trying to find ways to frame her story in a more hopeful and positive way until she finally just can’t do it any more, would really help make the door feel like more of a complete experience.

Again, though, as I said in my old write-up, I do think a lot of what is there in door 6 is really strong and effective - a lot of the individual scenes do genuinely feel really powerful in their own right - but there’s just not quite enough there to make the whole thing really hold together as a fully realised narrative. (To put it another way, when you have even a weird side character like Yukimasa getting such a slow, thorough and nuanced exploration of his gradual descent into madness, but your main heroine’s central identity conflict and breakdown of her sense of self is rushed through in about half an hour, something has gone terribly wrong.)

The other problem that I have with door 6 - and this might be more of a personal thing - is the point it chooses to end at. The pivotal moment where Giselle actually finally chooses to disown her old identity and accept Morgana’s story as the truth goes by so quickly that you could almost miss it, and then after that the door is pretty much over, short timeskip to the end of Jacopo’s era aside. Considering how much emphasis the earlygame puts on the Maid’s preoccupation with stories, and how important the story of door 4 is to her in particular, I always felt more than a little disappointed by how little time is given to Giselle’s internal reaction to Morgana’s story when she hears it, or to how she processes it and sorts out her feelings about it afterwards; how she uses it as a way to reframe her own story in a way that’s more manageable to her, and how it hurts to let go of it. Even the most basic point of the Maid passing her old identity on to the WHG isn’t actually touched on by the text of door 6 at all. It just really feels like a lot of wasted potential, since the Maid’s relationship with the narrative of door 4 is probably the single most interesting part of the character to me, and I think it could easily have been elaborated on a lot more here in a way that would make the arc as a whole much stronger. (Although now that I think about it, I think I might have pretty much made a lot these points already in my old write-up, so I might just be repeating myself now? Whoops? It’s been a while, sorry!)

So that pretty much covers my feelings on what I would have liked to see from the Maid’s backstory. Now I can move on to talk about how I’d want to handle the resolution, which was probably the main point of your question to begin with! I think the biggest problem with the Maid’s turnaround as it stands is that it feels so easy, with very little real struggle or conflict - as you said, it really does feel like all of Giselle’s issues as the Maid are just flat-out “erased” in a matter of minutes, and she just reverts back to her old self entirely. And that feels incredibly wrong to me, because it seems to basically uncritically validate Giselle’s ideal of herself as someone who can hold on to her cheerful attitude and just block out her suffering entirely as if it never happened - which feels totally at odds with the the rest of her narrative up to that point stressing how much of a burden she placed on herself with that unrealistic expectation and how trying to live up to that impossible ideal ended up tearing her apart completely.

I think it would have worked a lot better to instead put the focus on Giselle’s resolution on challenging that ideal for herself, and letting her realise that she doesn’t have to be that ideal unchanging person she wants “Giselle” to be - that even if she has changed, she’s still Giselle, and still the same person Michel loved (Requiem’s epilogue briefly touches on this idea too). To accept the Maid as something that came from her, that’s a part of her, and that she doesn’t have to be ashamed of or make into an entirely different person to accept. The Maid believed that she’d lost her humanity entirely and become unrecognisable as herself, but when it came down to it, Michel did still recognise her, and still sees the person he loved in her. And some part of Giselle evidently still recognised and reached out to Michel as the person she had really been waiting for, too, even after she’d supposedly rewritten her story entirely to put the WHG in that role. The way her suffering ended up shaping her into someone like the Maid doesn’t make her inhuman; the ways she’s reacted to her suffering by trying to change into someone else are themselves human and relatable, they’re understandable and okay reactions for Giselle to have had in her situation, and the Maid is still someone Michel is perfectly capable of deeply empathising with and feeling love for.

Because in the end, the heart of Michel’s love for Giselle wasn’t ever really dependent on her always staying a bright and cheerful person who never stops smiling and always stays positive and never gives into despair; it was a relationship between two deeply wounded people who connected with each other through their shared experience of suffering. In blocking out and trying to forget the painful aspects of her past, in replacing them with a gently beautiful fairytale of a tragic love between two totally pure and selfless people, Giselle ended up losing what was really important about their relationship - that neither of them had ever been perfect, that they’d both been irreparably hurt by their trauma, but they still loved and understood and accepted each other, scars and all. Her remembering Michel as such a perfectly pure and flawless person is very sweet in its way, but it actually ended up turning her memory of him into someone so perfect that she couldn’t possibly live up to him or keep believing that he’d love someone like her - as is a running theme in Fata, blocking out the pain of their past ended up also blocking out the real significance of the connection they’d managed to make with each other through that pain.

So, approaching the end of door 6 and the Maid’s final resolution through that lens, I think I would put a lot more emphasis on Michel getting through to Giselle by his understanding and acceptance of what she’s been through and how it’s changed her, and by his own simple empathy with her and love for her as a fellow flawed and scarred human being. I think I’d also want to make that process of him getting through to her and coming to understand her a lot more difficult and painful than it came across in canon - I think a lot of things about the Maid’s attitude should have been difficult for him to understand and come to terms with for a while, especially when it comes to her wanting to cling on to her own story and push a false identity on to him instead of confronting the truth, which would hit a particularly bad spot for Michel at first. For example, with those small breakpoint scenes midway through door 5 where Michel and the Maid are reacting to the retelling of their memories, I’d want to have the Maid be a lot more fierce and persistent at first about denying that these really are her true memories, and denying the idea that the Giselle she sees in door 5 could ever possibly have been her - I’d want to see her trying a bit harder to defend the protective narrative she’s built up for herself in the face of Michel’s brutal attacks on it, and Michel maybe initially lashing out in frustration at that, until he slowly comes to recognise the basic emotions behind her actions as essentially sympathetic and familiar from his own experience of severe isolation, recalling how it had made him want to shut his heart off in much the same way.

Michel having to accept his own responsibility in leaving Giselle alone to deal with all this in the first place - for underestimating just how much she needed him - is also something that’s going to be difficult for both of them to deal with, but it’s something that I think they needed to more explicitly acknowledge and work through with each other because it’s important in the sense of Giselle being able to remember that Michel is a flawed and imperfect person too. (The Michel in door 4 explicitly did make the choice to die together with Giselle instead of leaving her alone, again reinforcing Giselle’s inaccurate memory of him as someone pure and perfect.) The Maid’s issues with her repressed resentment for Michel and with her own self-image are obviously very deep-seated to an extent that actually fully “resolving” them in just one conversation with Michel isn’t at all realistic, but I do feel that the process of actually having to talk things through with the real Michel would start to remind her of what their connection actually felt like after all those years of turning it into an abstract archetypal love story, and of how Michel was always someone she loved for being an approachably flawed and awkward person rather than any kind of perfect ideal - and to start to believe that maybe it’s okay for her to be flawed too, that her flaws could still be a part of her humanity and part of “Giselle” rather than something that makes her inhuman. As has always been the case with these two, humanising each other helps them to humanise themselves. Dealing with everything that’s happened is inevitably still going to be a difficult process for both of them, but I think Fata could have believably gotten them to a point where they’re at least starting down the right path without just lazily erasing Giselle’s issues and brushing the whole thing off. It’s a difficult balance to strike, but I do feel that Fata manages that delicate balance in other places and could have done so here, if a bit more care had been put into the writing.

From there, I’d keep the flow of the story as it stands - Michel and Giselle try to leave the mansion, Morgana stops them, and Salvage and Door 7 proceed as before. So the next thing to talk about here is Door 8. As it stands, the portrayal of Michel and Giselle’s relationship in door 8 is basically all about Michel gradually breaking out of his shell with Giselle’s support; as I think I said in that old write-up, I think it would have been much more effective if the focus was instead on the two of them supporting each other to start to break out of their respective periods of isolation and reclaim themselves as human beings who are still capable of living in the world and connecting with other people. Rather than Michel and Giselle’s dynamic just reverting to how it was in door 5, I would have liked door 8 to have them starting to develop a new dynamic to reflect how Giselle has changed, and to present her having to learn how to act like a “real person” again as more of a difficult and gradual process. Giselle really has irreversibly changed in many ways, but she’s also far from actually being unrecognisable, and I think the basic idea of her starting to naturally take on some of her old mannerisms again as she talks to Michel could have been genuinely sweet and touching if it felt a bit morenuanced and earned in its execution - starting to reclaim her identity as a human rather than a witch, as someone who’s still capable of feeling human emotions and having human connections, in the same way that Michel is gradually brought out of his shell by the events of door 8 and starts to be able to believe in himself once again as a person who’s capable of living in the world without being rejected or treated as an outcast. I think my ideal version of door 8 would focus a lot more on Michel and Giselle helping each other through that process.

Well, if I permit myself to indulge in full-on wish fulfillment here, my real ideal scenario would honestly be for Giselle to actually be physically there in door 8 and have her and Michel working together to save Morgana, with both of them getting to interact with the other characters and play an equal part as co-protagonists in the truest sense - but honestly, even without radically revising the structure and just keeping Giselle as a voice in Michel’s head, I think she could still have easily been given much more of her own personal arc within door 8 rather than just serving as an extension of Michel’s. One thing that’s really potentially interesting to me about door 8 is Giselle having to come face-to-face once again with the people from doors 1-3 who she had so strongly detached herself from and treated as supporting characters in the WHG’s story, to be picked apart from a distance as tragically flawed protagonists. I feel like the Maid was pretty clearly projecting a lot of her own feelings on to these people’s stories, using them to explore her own issues in a way that felt safer by framing them as “someone else’s problem” - so how does she feel seeing these people again, now that she’s self-aware enough to realise what she was doing? I think there’s a lot of interesting material to explore there.

With Yukimasa’s story, for example - before, as the Maid, she wouldn’t have been capable of articulating that her complex feelings about Yukimasa’s narrative and her wish for him to find happiness as Bestia were projections of the way she felt about herself and the way she also tried to find comfort in her own dehumanisation through a false narrative, because owning those feelings for herself would have meant acknowledging the fragility of her own coping mechanisms. But now that she’s started to come to terms with who she really is, I could see her having a lot of difficult and insecure reactions to seeing Yukimasa again, and having his story bring back Giselle’s own deep-seated fears that she’s fundamentally “not human” and deluding herself about her humanity in the same way that Bestia was. Of course, Michel would be there to help her talk through those feelings and remind her why that isn’t true - even as the Maid, she was still very recognisably human at heart - but I think that Giselle actually getting to talk those things out with Michel would go a long way toward giving proper narrative weight to her struggles and making it clear that the deep fears and insecurities she felt as the Maid aren’t just going to magically go away, the way they pretty much seemed to in canon. In the same vein, there’s plenty to explore with things like the Maid’s fixation on the theme of childhood innocence being inevitably lost with Mell and Nellie’s story, and her identification with Jacopo as someone who also tried to kill off his old self completely.

I think it would have helped tie the game together a lot better to have Giselle’s own resolution running parallel with that of the three men in this way, that seeing them being able to reach a more positive conclusion would help her to feel a bit less hopeless about her own story as well - as well as to start to see herself as her own person again, whose story doesn’t have to mirror theirs in the first place. In my ideal version of door 8, I kind of see working through their resolutions as a process of letting Giselle free herself from defining herself by these stories and from the story of the mansion’s curse as a whole, to be able to start to see herself and those around her as real people with real agency rather than as actors in a doomed, unavoidable tragedy.

But I also feel like this scenario has all kinds of potential in terms of allowing Giselle to maybe be able to reframe some aspects of “how she’s changed” in a more positive way, and to see some of the Maid’s characteristics as genuine strengths that she can draw on as well - the ability to emotionally detach from a situation and critically evaluate people and their relationships from afar can be legitimately useful in some situations too, you know? So I’d really like to have seen the Maid’s worldweary cynicism and piercing insight into people’s flaws get to be played as a strength at times, as an important complement to Michel’s lack of experience and knowledge about the world and people, rather than just a shameful phase that she has to move on from. (I think I’d definitely have liked that dynamic a lot more than the “Aww, Mell is like our best friend! We can definitelytrust him!” nonsense that canon pulled, which was just ridiculous. The Maid was absolutely brutal about Mell! Who is this person?!)

One part I really liked from the actual door 8 (and wished had been given more weight and expanded on a lot more) was Giselle saying after Mell and Nellie’s resolution that she felt bad for how she’d treated them as the Maid, sneering condescendingly at their flaws - but Michel responds that her story cutting right to the heart of their problems in that way actually helped him to fully understand them as people and how to help them, and that he couldn’t have done it without her. Making that into more of a fleshed-out arc about helping Giselle to reclaim some of the Maid’s attributes as something positive, not something she has to run away from, would have been a really satisfying resolution to me - there are absolutely real problems with dehumanising people and arranging people’s lives into a neat narrative, but there are also times that being able to detach and get that kind of overarching perspective can actually really help, if it’s done in a more balanced and self-aware way. I think going deeper into exploring this would have really done a lot to integrate Giselle and the Maid, and to tie together Fata’s whole themes as a story about people’s relationships with narrative in general.

Also, I would have really liked to see Giselle involved with the WHG’s resolution too! She spent 400 years obsessing over the WHG and defining herself in terms of the WHG’s story, after all, so I think it only seems fair to give her some closure on that and to let her play her own part in putting her to rest. Michel, Giselle and Morgana’s narratives are all connected together by each of their relationships with the WHG and their respective struggles with the pressure of the ideals she represents, so I think it would bring the whole game together nicely for the three of them to get to let go of her together.

So, I think that’s pretty much the outline of what I would have liked to see from Giselle’s arc in Fata! I hope this all made sense since I am kind of half braindead at the moment, ahaha. I would really love to hear your own thoughts about her too, though, so please don’t hesitate to share them if you can! I’d be super interested to hear your take on the character!

#the house in fata morgana

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dvineyinspiration · 5 years

Text

Do you care?

In Defence of Utilitarianism

Let’s begin with a bold statement. If you care above all about the happiness of all living beings you are a liberal. If you think something else is more important then you are not.

In a way we could end the book right there. That is why liberalism matters because it is about caring about well being, caring about all living beings.

The insult thrown back at this stance is ‘Bleeding Heart Liberal’. Like all the best insults it contains a grain of truth with it’s suggestion that the caring is an affectation.

But what if the caring is genuine? Then the idea of criticising it seems repugnant, at least to a liberal.

So what else might be more important than the well being of all living beings? Yourself? Your God? Your community? Justice? Power? Accomplishment? Science?

We need to explore each of these and more to see if the statement stands up to scrutiny but before we do that we need to examine the statement itself a little.

First off there is the choice of the word happiness. David Hume talked about utility, Jeremy Bentham about happiness, and John Stuart Mill pleasure. I am not too bothered which word we use, none is perfect because each one comes with slightly different connotations. But what they have in common is that they point towards pleasure, well-being, satisfaction, comfort, absence of pain and suffering in life.

Hopefully it is clear in the statement that we are interested in maximising this.

Then there is the phrase ‘all living beings’. That includes ourselves, our family, our community, other living people, other animals, plants, fungii, bacteria and whatever other branch of living thing I am too biologically ignorant to list. It also includes all future living beings and if you press me all past living beings though there is not much we can do for them.

Finally let’s look at that part of the statement ‘care above all’. This does not preclude caring for other things. I can care about my football team’s result on Saturday, but if I am fanatic enough to wreck someone else’s life to achieve the right result, most people will conclude I am not a liberal but a nutter.

What’s so good about happiness?

In my opinion this is a good question and one there is no answer to really. Some things just seem to be that way, like gravity.

Try imagining the following and hopefully you will see what I mean:

We have accomplished incredible feats but we are filled with despair.

We have accomplished nothing but everyone is happy.

Our politics is rightfully and perfectly ordered but everyone is suffering.

Our politics is a mess and everyone is carefree and joyous.

Injustice has been eradicated in the world and everyone is deeply depressed.

Injustice is rife but no-one is suffering as a result in fact everyone is perfectly contented.

Everyone is perfectly following the one true faith but everyone is miserable.

No-one follows any faith but is happy.

Some might seem incongruous like injustice and happiness going together, but would you seriously choose any that involved suffering and misery?

If you choose anything over happiness and pleasure, at best it just seems weird and at worst evil.

It seems that although accomplishments, order, justice and religious faith are, or potentially are great things, if they lead to misery they are worthless.

To be clear I am not saying these other things do lead to misery but only that they are really a means to an end and the end is always happiness, well-being, absence of suffering, whatever you want to call it. I suppose biologically it is hard wired into our DNA to value happiness and well being over everything else.

Unfortunately happiness is a vague term because it encompasses different emotions. It includes an emotional high where you are smiling, laughing and filled with the joys of life but there are of course other types of happiness like the idea of being happy in one’s job which is not about a feeling of elation but more about being relaxed, aligned with your role, your environment and the people around you.

So to be clear we are not only talking about some flash in pan moment of joy although that is always a bonus, we are talking about alignment, ease, absence of suffering.

Me and my folk

As I have already made clear caring for the happiness of all living beings, includes me and my folk.

And whilst in a perfect world I might make ethical decisions that treat my well being, my family’s well being or my community’s well being any differently from people I don’t know or an amoeba 200 million years hence, we have to recognise that it is more logical to treat them differently because we simply don’t know nearly as much about these other living beings.

There is something fundamentally important about me looking after my happiness. For one thing, I can do a much better job of it than anyone else. I also relieve others from the responsibility. If I can take care of my family’s well-being that is also great because now I am providing well-being for others and again I am much better placed to do that than some stranger to my nearest and dearest. I also know my community and my folk better than someone from outside my community, so probably I will be able to look after their happiness better than someone else.

What I am trying to point out is that there is nothing wrong with this, it is important and it would be madness to equate my ability to make good choices about the happiness of my family with my ability to make good choices about the happiness of someone else half way around the world I have never met. Looking after oneself and one’s own is therefore not inherently inconsistent with utilitarianism which is the branch of ethics we are talking about.

Where it gets screwed up is when it is clear that looking after one’s interests is at the cost of someone else’s and I don’t stop to consider that and whether there is way for me to get what I want without them losing out, or whether their suffering is greater than my pleasure.

All of this is pretty basic really, it is what we teach children in nursery. But a lot of serious criticism is leveled at Utilitarianism on this point. As we will see the serious criticism often ends up in some fairly extreme ‘what if’ scenarios. An example here might be along the lines of: you live in a flat in London worth hundreds of thousands of pounds, if you are serious about being a utilitarian why not sell your flat and donate the proceeds to Sightsavers UK thereby restoring thousands of people’s sight? Ok you will make yourself destitute and throw your family onto the street, but you will transform the lives of thousands of people.

But this ignores quite a few things. I know the unhappiness my family and I will experience from being made homeless. I certainly have no problem imagining the prolonged pain and suffering I will experience doing this to my wife and children. How happy will it make those thousand people? How long will that happiness last? How much suffering are they in now? Are we saying that all blind people are living in misery? Will all of them stop suffering? Would they want me to be homeless to give them their sight? Isn’t there another way I can help all those people that doesn’t involve me and my family being homeless? All of these are valid questions in the judgment I must make about which course of action will maximise happiness.

That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t consider it. I should. But the ethical utilitarian answer now seems less clear cut.

Often when you look at these what if scenarios that are put forward to disprove the ethics of utilitarianism, you find that utilitarianism does in fact give you the ethical course of action but it is not obvious at first glance. It needs some thought and digging under the surface of things. This is actually one of the great strengths of the philosophy, though perhaps also one of its great weaknesses.

In the above example, I would say the real reason why it is not ethical for me to sell my house to restore the sight of thousands of people is that the fabric of society depends on most people living sustainable pleasant lives. If my life falls apart and so does my family what resources will others feel they need to give us to support us? We add to the burden on society in the process of relieving it. What is clearly preferable is that we pool our resources to get these people’s sight restored, that we make a collective effort. It is more sustainable and no-one needs to suffer in the process.

Or it could be I am deluding myself. Maybe I should be selling my house, maybe it is clear to you that this would increase happiness in the world. The fact that I don’t do it, does not disprove the value of caring about well being. It may just prove my morals are as compromised as the next man.

Does this mean my happiness is worth more than someone else’s? No. But it does acknowledge that there are different levels of risk at play when I make decisions about myself or my family and other people. If I am making a calculation about maximising happiness that involves me and others, I have to also evaluate my risk in getting my calculation wrong about the impact on my own well being and others. If I am 95% certain a course of action will make me happy but only 50% certain the opposite will make someone else a bit happier, I should make myself happy. In that way of operating I will maximise happiness over time.

So far we have remained at the level of our personal choices, the individual and our family. But this book is about politics and that is where we must turn next.

Everyone Else

Finding a way to be happy as an individual is hard. Finding a way to provide your family with happiness and fulfilment is also no small undertaking. So trying to take decisions that bring well-being to a nation or the world is fairly mind-boggling.

One big argument for ditching the collective well-being as a guiding light for decision making is that it is simply too difficult. Inherently there is the certainty that my assumptions about what will make others happy are bound to flawed. I am bound to superimpose my own bias for what makes me happy on others, I am bound to think about my community before anyone else’s.

Even if I could free myself of my bias the time it would take to evaluate and compare the effect on everyone else’s happiness would be prohibitive. By the time I got to the right answer, the world will have moved on.

To me all this is true, but no reason for abandoning our guiding light. Yes we will fail, yes it will be hard work, yes it is all subjective, yes we will never have time to do it properly, but if we abandon our guide think of the damage we could do.

Probably we are going to need some rules of thumb and short cuts in our endeavour which is what the second part of this book covers.

But most of all, if we make maximising happiness our aim, it forces us to consider the consequence of our actions, it makes us think about how they will affect others, it will lead us to listen to others about their opinion about the actions we are considering.

So it turns out that our philosophy’s big problem, is also it’s great strength. It’s not easy to do the right thing. It takes hard work, but the outcomes, however imperfect they are, will be better for the effort. And what is clear is that choosing to ignore other’s well being is going to result in some truly awful outcomes.

At this point in an argument about the merits of utilitarianism, someone usually brings up persecution of minorities. The challenge goes something along the lines of:

‘What if it becomes clear that the majority will be really happy and contented from persecuting a minority whose unhappiness is real but puny in comparison.’

The Nazis and Hitler’s popularity will often get a citation.

To deal with this objection we have to think about the nature of happiness and contentment. First off there is a big difference in between the unhappiness that someone who is persecuted and abused will experience, and the pleasure the general populace might get as a result.

Very few people will experience intense joy frequently in their lives. And the moments when it arrives tend to be passing by their nature. However it is possible to live with intense pain, fear and despair for prolonged periods and commonly if you are being persecuted.

Secondly persecution is about domination, it requires justifying a self righteous anger at or superiority over the persecuted.

In the moment human beings are in a place of self righteous anger, self justification and domination they do not experience love, freedom or joy. That is not a statement of opinion but a statement of fact. If you do not believe me, try filling yourself with self righteous anger and self justification sitting in your seat now. Then try to experience love, freedom and joy at the same time. You will not succeed.

The two states do not exist in same person at the same time. A society filled with self rigtheousness, self justification and domination is not a society that is experiencing love and joy.

Bullies are not known for their carefree happiness.

Hate is a poison that we administer to ourselves not our enemies.

Finally, I have never heard of an actual situation where persecution of a minority was required to make the majority happy. The scenarios that tend to get raised to prove the weakness of the philosophy on this point are generally ludicrous. They seem theoretically possible but on closer examination you realise they describe a human race that does not exist.

Everyone? Yes everyone

One feature of these scenarios that get used to attack utilitarianism is that they often hide the clear and obvious reduction in happiness inherent in them. They are like a magic trick where we don’t notice what is being stuffed up the magician’s sleeve as the ace is being plucked from behind our ear.

One of the best is about environment. It goes like this:

‘Utilitarianism would agree with of us trashing the planet. Clearly everyone would be really upset if they had to radically change their lifestyles to save the planet. Ok there are a few liberals who get worried about it, but most people would be outraged to have to give up their lifestyle.’

For a while you scratch your head, then with luck you spot the sleight of hand. It doesn’t consider future generations.

If we are going to be true to our guiding principle, we have to include those yet to be born. Their happiness is no less valid than ours. However once again in our evaluation of maximising happiness, we can’t treat it in the same way as our own because there are so many unknowns. But in the case of the environment it doesn’t take being a genius to realise that if we make our generation the last to enjoy the incredible privilege of living on an inhabitable planet we are most likely diminishing the sum of all happiness possible.

All living things

I predict that a common reaction to reading that our ethics must embrace the happiness of animals, plants and even amoeba will be ridicule.

I have sympathy for the reaction. Too often liberals have given equivalence to the well being of plants or animals and humans.

To explain why I have sympathy for the reaction but have included it my ethical stance, we need to carefully dissect two aspects to making ethical choices. One aspect is the relative value of our own happiness with the happiness of another living being. The other is our ability to evaluate it and the likelihood of arriving at the right evaluation.

I believe we need to treat our happiness and the happiness of other living beings equally. However we have a problem with evaluating the happiness of other living beings which is we have so little insight into their experience.

As you cut down a tree it shows no sign of unhappiness. It does not cry out in pain, it does not immediately seem to react in any discernible way. Over the months that follow as the leaves on the tree die, one may say one can see it is not happy, but it is more of a projection of our imagination that it doesn’t want to die than any knowledge of it’s actual suffering.

If we have no real knowledge of it’s suffering how can we safely include it in our evaluation of an ethical decision? My response is that we can’t. If we can see human suffering being increased by not cutting down the tree, we should cut down the tree.

Of course we may also see human suffering caused by cutting down the tree. We may mourn the loss of a thing of beauty, mourn the loss of habitat for other animals and plants we love, despair at the impact the destruction of the environment may have on our children’s lives. But all that is a separate matter to our evaluation of the suffering experienced by the tree itself.

If we can see no real effect either way, don’t cut down the tree because although we have no real understanding of what suffering a tree may experience, it seems likely that it there is more suffering involved in being cut down than continuing to live.

Animals, especially those with more intelligence do show clear signs of suffering. If you hit a dog, you need to be in denial not to see it suffering. Therefore I am much less inclined to ignore the suffering of a dog in my ethical decisions. But I do also accept that however much suffering I infer from the look on the face of a dog that has just been hit, no dog has ever been able to tell us what it is experiencing and so I have less certainty to their suffering than I have of my fellow human.

When I look at ethics this way, I see some justifiable anger at liberals. Are there times when we have prioritised the suffering of animals and plants over humans? I think so. And worse, we have probably been ultimately motivated out of self interest about our own likes and dislikes.

That said, it is much more common that we ignore the suffering of animals. We have industrialised animal torture for our own gratification of eating meat in a way that is indefencible. We should not ignore this suffering. Nor should we ignore our pleasure of eating meat.

The truly liberal response is to try and find a way to avoid the torture whilst maintaining the pleasure and if there is no way, in my opinion we need to stop the torture because it is much more significant than the pleasure.

As ever the point with liberalism is to look beyond the surface of things and make an honest attempt to resolve things in such a way that produces most happiness and the least suffering.

The Power of Love

The connection between utilitarianism and love is clear. Caring is a function of love. The things we care for are the things we love. Our capacity for love is important because it determines our capacity to look after others and include them in our thinking.

The further we can extend our love for others the happier the world will be. So the bleeding heart of the liberal is important. Love moves us to imagine the suffering of others, without it we will ignore their suffering. We should not underestimate its ability to reach across the things that divide us and resolve our problems.

At the same time it is vulnerable to being faked. Having someone else truly share our suffering can be life altering but having someone pretend to share it is profoundly insulting.

Love is a precious quality and we must cherish it, but that also means having the integrity never to fake it. We have to face the fact that all human beings have the immense capacity for self delusion. One of the most deeply damaging lies that we can tell is that we are motivated by love for our fellow human when we are simply motivated by our own self interest.

It undermines the idea of love and the idea of caring. It spreads mistrust and disillusion. One reason that we face a fight with reactionaries is because too often the leaders in liberal democracies have professed to be motivated by the greater good but in fact motivated by self interest. Then the idea of acting for the greater good is degraded.

If we want to take a stand for liberalism we have to examine our caring and bring integrity to our expressions of love.

We also cannot limit our expression of love to sympathy and being lovely. Sometimes but thankfully not often, the most loving course of action is hard, cruel and even brutal.

Liberals need to rebuild respect. Respect that we really do care about more than ourselves, respect that we can make difficult decisions and respect that we will do the hard work to truly understand the consequences of our decisions.

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adventureis--out-there · 7 years

Text

Defining Your Happiness

“Sometimes a flame must level a forest to ash before new growth can begin.”

- Splintered, A.G. Howard

I'm not the same person I was at the beginning of the year -- hell I'm not even the same person I was four months ago. This change though, isn't by any means a negative one. I lost myself, I forgot my passions and I was broken beyond recognition.

I can sit here and point fingers at this person and that person and place the blame on everyone else. That's not the truth though. While there are certain people who contributed to the breaking of who I was, at the end of the day when I'm being honest, the person at the root of the problem was myself. I was at fault for breaking my own heart repeatedly.

I can't pinpoint the exact moment when I lost myself, but it was probably around the same time I started defining my happiness by other people instead of myself. It was evident within my relationships -- even with family, that I just wasn't the same girl I was once. It's probably because I put my happiness on people who didn't need that kind of responsibility placed on them. That's what I mean when I say I'm the one to blame. I was asking for it. If that wasn't bad enough for who I was, I decided it was my responsibility to make everyone else happy. That's when things became disastrous. I lost myself entirely, I held onto people that sucked the life out of me and I spread myself way too thin for the sake of others.

I wish I could say I knew where the downward spiral came from. It was certainly rooted within the heartbreak I had experienced at the end of 2016. I allowed the person who broke my heart to remain in my life, because that’s what I do. I forgive and forgive and forgive some more. For an Aries, I’m not very good at holding grudges. Another factor in what pushed me over the edge was probably the pressure put on me by society to answer the question “What do you plan to do when you graduate?” The truth is, I had no real idea -- I still don’t really know, if we’re being honest. I have too many passions to pick just one path for myself. In fact, I felt so trapped by this question that I almost dropped out of school entirely. I almost decided to call it quits after my first year at Regis University. If I couldn’t answer the question, what was I even doing in school? The question was suffocating me and it took me some time to realize that it’s okay that I don’t have that answer. I want to do many things; voice a Disney princess, write movie scripts, sing, and so on. I realized though that there was something in common between all of the things I want to do; I want to be someone who means something. I don’t mean I want to just be someone who’s important to their family, I want to be a light in a world that can be so dark. Whether I light up a kids day because they watched their favorite Disney movie and I’m the voice of that princess, or I touch someone’s life with the music I make. I want to be someone and for now that’s a good enough start. I thought that having come to terms with my lack of an answer to one of life’s most daunting questions that things would be okay; but I forgot to mend a broken heart in the process and I allowed too many things to build up; fights with my best friend, allowing a person to lie to me continually, fights with my family, and desperate attempts to distance myself from everyone.

I don't cry in front of people, I hate it. In fact, my best friend of ten years has only seen me cry a handful of times. I reached a point though where I was too broken to care. One day, my friend said something to me that made me realize why it is that I hate crying in front of people. Up until this point, I had been doing a good job at pretending I was fine -- even though everyone around me could tell I wasn't. The charade wasn't for them, it was for myself. Maybe that's why I hate when people lie to me so much -- I spent so long lying to myself. Anyways, he had made a joke that normally I would have laughed at but I didn't have it in me so instead, I just glared at him. It was then that he asked me if I was okay. Something about that question made the facade break entirely. It was a moment of being okay until someone asked if you were and suddenly okay was a foreign feeling. I burst into tears without meaning too but I also didn't really care anymore. The next day he asked me if I was doing better. I lied and said I was doing a lot better -- but the lie again, was for my sake and not his. He followed this up with “You're normally the happy one. That worried me.” Had there been anything left of me to break in that moment, I think that would've done so but instead I realized that that was why I always felt I needed to be okay and why I never wanted to cry in front of people. I was always the happy one, always the one so well put together -- I didn't break. That wasn't who I was, except ironically, it was who I had become.

I shut down entirely after that moment. My relationships with everyone were falling apart because I didn't know what else to do other than distance myself entirely. I even caused damage to the relationship I had with my mom. Yet, I still went out every night for the sake of pleasing those around me. It never worked though. I was tired. I would go out one night with a couple people just to have a few others offended I didn't go out with them or invite them. So, I'd go out with them the following night and upset more people for the same reason. My mom was upset that I was never home. My dog didn't want anything to do with me because I was never home. My dad was upset with my behavior because of the way it affected my mom -- rightfully so. It was a cycle of trying to please everyone and in the end only upsetting everyone and damaging myself more.

Who I was, was completely gone by the time May rolled around. I had lost the desire to do the things I loved, I didn't talk to people the way I used too and I was just done. I didn't know how to fix the mess I had made of myself. I was lost and I didn't even know where to begin to find myself. I thought maybe the summer would be the time for me to fix myself, but it was the summer that showed just how much I had actually lost my mind.

I went on a trip to Arizona to see one of my best friends graduate, a trip I almost cancelled because I just didn't care anymore -- at least for the most part. The little part of me that did still care told me I needed to go to Arizona and support my friend. I needed to make her happy, because I couldn't make myself happy so I had to try and make someone else happy. I went to Arizona and met a boy. Yeah, I know. After everything, you'd think another boy was the last thing I needed. Unfortunately for me, I was so desperate to feel anything but the emptiness that I let my desperation cloud my judgement -- and the alcohol probably had something to do with it too.

He had made me laugh a few times and we got along well so I clung to that feeling. I felt happy again that night in Arizona. I was surrounded by friends I hadn't seen in a year, I was far away from what I thought was the root cause of all my issues (turns out though, you can't run away from yourself), and I was receiving some flirty attention from a boy who was quite cute. I deluded myself into thinking he could help fix me, which is where I went wrong once more. He simply caused pain and more heartache instead.

Although, I wasn't entirely wrong about him. Something about the situation did fix me -- it made something in me snap. Look, I know I was dumb to allow myself and my naive heart to get involved with someone who lived twelve hours away, but I had starved myself of human connection and emotion. Even as a writer, I find it hard to arrange twenty five letters in the right way to express how I had felt. I could go through the motions of the day and laugh a few times and pull out a smile but at the end of the day, when I was alone again all I felt empty. I wasn't necessarily sad and I wasn't mad, but I was so far from happy. There's no real way to understand the feeling unless you've felt it yourself.

This boy though, we would talk all the time, I opened up to him, he opened up to me. I felt that he genuinely cared -- and I still don't think that he didn't care, I just think that maybe there was an expiration date on it. They say that the universe gives us exactly what we need when we need it. Thinking back on how things went down, I couldn't pinpoint why the universe would think I needed that, why after all the other shit I had gone through this year that I needed this on top of everything else. It's only now that I understand why I needed it. I let things play out, I let my heart be fooled into thinking there was something there. I let my heart ignore the twelve hours between us and the communication issues that began to arise.

I continued to put on a facade, pretending everything was fine even as things were falling apart. Summer was coming to an end, the warmth and comfort of summer slowly being replaced by the cool autumn air, and along with the end of summer, came the end of something I had thought was great. Listen, I'm not going to sit here and bash him and say he was a terrible person and wasted my time, because despite everything and the complete heartbreak he had caused, I cared about him. I'm the type of person that when I care for someone, I'm all in. It doesn't matter to me, everything in my life is so black and white. I don't know what grey is. I never have. When I care though, I'll make excuse after excuse for someone when they hurt me just because I've seen the good in them and I don't want to let that go. Someone could drag my heart through the mud and I'll still say that they didn't intend to hurt me in that way. I don't want to call this a flaw because it's not a flaw to care about people but it is a dangerous game to care too much -- and unfortunately for me, I always do.

I tried my best to keep things together and fit pieces of a puzzle together that just didn't belong, which is a bad habit I seem to have. This time though, something was different. Something inside me finally snapped. When someone tells you they don't have time for you, there's just something in you that snaps, or perhaps I had finally reached a point where I could open my eyes again. In that moment, I realized what I was worth. I realized I was worth more than this and deserved a hell of a lot more. I give my all to people, I'll go out of my way to make someone I care about smile. It's just what I do, and I realized that I deserved the same. I don't deserve someone who only talks to me in their free time, or someone who makes excuse after excuse. I deserve someone who sees me for what I'm worth, and that’s a lot.

Although, I suppose I couldn't expect anyone to see what I was worth when I didn't even see it myself. I finally did though. I can’t tell you what exactly about this moment made me wake up, pushed me through the fog I was sleepwalking through; something just clicked inside of me. I was done being heartbroken and I was done making excuses for people who didn’t deserve it. More importantly, I was done allowing myself to feel this way and I was done taking everyone else down with me. I finally realized that my happiness cannot be dependent upon other people, I have to be the one who makes my own happiness. Everyone has their own shit, they don't owe me anything. I also learned that trying to make everyone else happy would only result in disaster. You can’t make everyone happy all the time and that’s okay.

I am not saying that you shouldn’t make others happy and I’m not saying you shouldn’t let someone else make you happy. Do it. Make someone smile, make their day -- allow them to make you smile; let people in like that. Just don’t pin your happiness on someone else, that’s when you lose control of things. Trust me, I know. I tried to pin my happiness on too many people and I ended up worse off every time. I’ve finally decided that I need to be happy for me and I need to know my own self worth to do so. Let me tell you, it’s not easy. It’s hard to put yourself first sometimes, it’s hard to say that you deserve more when you care about someone, but in the end the only person you’re really stuck with forever is yourself. You can remove yourself from any and all relationships that are toxic, but if the relationship you have with yourself is toxic...that’s something you just can’t run away from and it’ll bleed into every other aspect of your life.

I’m not going to sit here and say that I’m perfect at this. I still have a couple areas in my life in which I’m not entirely happy, but I allow myself to remain there for the sake of other’s happiness -- but that’s a story for another time. The difference this time though is, I am happy in other areas of my life and I’ve kept the good people close. I also recognize the situation in which I am unhappy. I’m still learning to put myself first, but I’m making progress.

I’m not writing this so someone can read this and learn from my mistakes. I’ve been preached to my whole life about knowing my self worth and loving myself, but it’s not a lesson that can be taught through someone else. It’s one that I had to experience on my own to understand. So instead, I write this to share my story and let even one other person know that it’s okay to not be okay and it’s okay to struggle with understanding your worth. I had to break myself down entirely. I had to lose who I was and burn down my forest so I could grow back a little bit wiser, a little bit new, and a whole lot stronger.

#writing

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